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danddymaro · 1 year

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Soft Hitmen | Risotto Nero x Reader

A bit of a tender moment.

The reader is effected by a stand that renders her weak.

Word count:

Soft Hitmen

You'd been misinformed, terribly so.

Seldom were the times when you encountered other stand users in your job that weren't colleagues, and in the case where they were your target, you had the intel that warned you.

- But not this time.

It was bad, but not much worse when you considered the fact that you’d screwed up even after your lecture.

It had been the three of you, Prosciutto, Risotto, and you out on the field with your eyes aimed at a certain, little hair-brained politician that had gotten too cocky and too much of a liability.

It would have been just you and Prosciutto, but Risotto was forced to oversee given the sloppy nature of your group’s last few operations.

"And why do you need to babysit us," Prosciutto grunted with a halfhearted glare, insulted by Nero's details of the mission. He'd never needed anyone to watch over him, even as a rookie, and he didn't think you needed anyone either.

"We didn't screw up," he added.

At his side you bit your tongue, feeling the same sourness, but not too bothered by the fact that your leader would join you, even from afar.

Risotto noticed the way your lips pursed, and hearing the blonde-haired male's complaint, his teeth grit hard before he took a step closer to you two, the way he looked down at you icy.

" He's had us on a tight leash for the past year..." he started, and you could only imagine the blood in his veins boiling. " And if that isn't bad enough our last two jobs haven't been our best," he reminds you two, an undeniable fact you wince at, much more when his voice has an even shaper edge than usual.

" If we keep this up, It's only a matter of time before he defiantly gets rid of us," he said lowly.

"- And What the hell does he expect, huh?" Prosciutto suddenly says, thoroughly peeved.

"Our cut of the pay is shit compared to everyone else..." He reminds Risotto. " for everything we do..." he added with deep huffs because it was true. You did the dirty work, and you hardly ever got anything back other than a stack of cash that was measily compared to the other guys.

-Not even a thank you was given.

And if that wasn't bad enough there were periods where you weren't needed at all.

"...Besides... we got it done," you pipe up in regard to the sloppy operations, but barely.

You didn't like arguing too much with your leader.

You knew it wasn't his fault, but every now and then you couldn't help voicing your own annoyances.

Risotto suddenly placed a hand on one of your shoulders, the strong grip surprising you enough to make you look up at the man that had his other hand on Proscuitto's opposite shoulder.

"We'll get our moment," he said simply, which meant so many things, but you could only think of one that would solve your every issue.

'One day...we'll kill him...and we'll take what we deserve,'

You hardly spoke of it, too shaken by what would occur if the Boss caught any wind of treason, but you had all silently agreed that it was the only way to breathe free.

-Especially after what he’d done to Sorbet and Gelato.

The gruesome memory still gave you cold shivers.

"But for now...we do our jobs, without failure. Without so much as a hitch," Risotto reminded you.

You were there because you had talents.

Because any fool could kill, but it took a special bunch to do so efficiently, without so much as a change in air that would hint at it being foul play.

You gave Risotto a fierce nod, and slowly, Prosciutto followed too, though with a little curl to his upper lip that displayed existing annoyance.

"Fuck..." you could barely speak, seized by terrible shivers that left you weakened and to your knees.

Proscuitto took hold of you, cradling you close, saving you from impact, and he watched over his shoulder as he saw your target leave with two of his bodyguards, one of which had rendered you to the state you were now.

The nearly vacant street let him catch a clear view, and he contemplated just letting you fall so he could take care of the job before risotto appeared beside you two, agitation evident in his face that you could barely witness through your impairing sight.

"It's a stand user...maybe two..." Proscuitto stated, having a suspicion the second guy was also one.

You then pushed him away, standing on unsteady footing as you glared in that direction too.

"We have to..." you said while taking a step in the direction before you fell to a knee, and as Proscuitto moved to you again, you, used your arm to ward him off, something he huffed at.

Hesitation was not one of his typical traits, but given that you were a woman, he'd always been just a tad bit gentler with you out of pure instinct, something you noticed.

Granted, eventually down the line he cared about you, but the initial consideration was due to that, and you were thankful for it.

Otherwise, he'd beat you around just as badly as he did Pesci.

Delirium hit you and your surroundings grew darker and murkier, and with a soft exhale, you stood back up on wobbly legs.

Shivering, you hugged yourself, backing up into the outstretched arm of your leader as he wordlessly caught you. Seeing your need to stand on your own, he made sure to grip you hard before his body came closer.

You craned your head back to look at the man but found it dreadful as your head felt too heavy and it hung back.

"Go..." Risotto told Prosciutto, trusting that now that he was aware of the retaliations, he'd finish the job himself.

The ashy-haired man doubted your assignment could go any further south, and he trusted Prosciutto to take care of it.

At that moment you hated yourself, much more with how feeble you felt.

"Please..." you start, and you find it in you to somehow move your body to face him, your hands daringly reaching out to take hold of his shirt, holding on with the last bit of strength that you could gather.

"- stay with me, " you tell him, breathing hard, batting your eyes at him pathetically. You practically have tears in them, and as he looks down, his own eyes slightly widen at the words.

You don't know why you say that, why the words just drip out of your drying mouth, but they do.

And perhaps it's because that's why you had wanted to tell him so many times before.

Like, that one time he'd lead you home after you'd all decided to have a few drinks at some crappy bar.

"I should have..." you incoherently think out loud, having thought of the moment so much, wishing you would have had the guts to invite him in to stay the night.

Meanwhile, Risotto could feel his heart race, thudding strongly in his chest.

He would have to pick each of your little fingers off of his top to go free, and the idea was unbearable.

And how could he?

the word of denial he wanted to strongly let loose was locked in his chest, unable to escape as he looked at you, finding your weakened state somehow enticing.

He had hardly ever seen you so desperate, and much more with that need directed at him.

You needed him ; an idea he'd never considered.

"Risotto..." The way you said his name had him feeling strange, and he felt his own desperation too, one that had him driven to cocoon you safely within his arms.

"Are you mad at me...?" you could hardly say it without a few tears welling in your eyes.

Disappointing him always felt like a punch in the gut...it was nearly unbearable.

Without a word he picked you up, easily doing so with his strong build, the question going unanswered as he moved in silence.

He headed towards the black-tinted car you'd arrived in, easing you down with a gaze that would have left you weak had you caught sight of it.

Warmth graced the scarlet orbs even as he shook his head in disapproval, leaving you resting on the back seat.

"Idiot..." he muttered.

- He should be.

"I am..." he added lowly as he leaned back on his seat, staring up at the car's roof in frustration.

Since when did hitmen become so soft, they stupidly stood as shields for other members, rendering themselves useless?

As he sat there in wait, he expected that when Prosciutto came back, he thanked you with something other than a half-assed mutter.

He watched you through the mirror, his gaze softening as he continued to watch your face form subtle expressions in your sleep, most of witch were short grimaces.

"Idiot..." he said again, his eyes closing while he waited, occasionally checking on you.

#risotto x reader #risotto nero x reader #risotto nero x reader insert #risotto nero x you #risotto nero x y/n #Risotto Nero #risotto x reader insert #JJBA fanfiction #jjba fanfic #JJBA Vento Aureo #JoJo's Bizarre Adventure Vento Aureo #vento aureo x reader #la squadra #la squadra fanfic #la squadra x reader #golden wind jjba #JoJo's Bizarre Adventure Golden Wind

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silvermuffins · 2 years

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Seward Summary!

Okay let's get this going. As mentioned in my earlier note, this entry should be pretty safe to read. Which is good - the summary may be a bit sloppy today, as I am both busy and very tired. Let's go!

WARNINGS: discussion of blood, minor injury

Seward writes to Arthur after examining Lucy to inform him of the results.

Seward was unable to diagnose anything about Lucy's condition, but very much agrees her health is poor. She looked nothing like last time he saw her, though he hadn't been able to examine her thoroughly then (you might recall he was busy proposing).

When Seward met with Lucy, her mother was present, and he could tell Lucy was feigning being fine. She probably suspects her mother's condition, though she doesn't know outright.

Pretending to be cheery actually worked for a little bit, then Lucy's mother went to rest and they got to the examination. Lucy still pretended to be fine until they were alone.

She hates talking about herself, but Seward reminded her of doctor-patient confidentiality but that Arthur is very worried about her. She understood, and gave Seward permission to tell Arthur everything - thus this letter.

Seward could tell she was low on blood, but that it wasn't any typical anemia.

By chance, there was an incident with opening a window, and Lucy cut her hand a little. Seward was able to get a blood sample and analyze it.

Her blood is very normal and shows she's actually quite healthy. In other physical matters she's fine.

Seward thinks the problem must be mental.

Lucy told him about her other symptoms: difficulty breathing enough, heavy sleep, troubling dreams she can't remember, the sleepwalking - including that she hiked up to the cliff where Mina found her.

Lucy says she's not sleepwalking now. Seward has doubts and is calling in a specialist - his old friend and master, Professor Van Helsing.

Van Helsing knows many obscure diseases, and Seward is confident he can help. In accordance with Arthur being willing to cover all costs, but also Seward is willing to do anything for Lucy and Van Helsing will do anything for Seward due to personal reasons.

Seward goes on to sing Van Helsing's praises: he is eccentric but knows what he's talking about, he is a philosopher, metaphysical, and scientist, he is open of mind, steely of nerve, cool of temper, iron of will, blessed with self-control and patience, and has a heart kinder than anyone else's, and he works in both theory and practice for the good of humanity.

Seward has asked Van Helsing to come immediately, and to meet Lucy tomorrow. They won't be meeting at the house because Seward fears that if he visits again too soon it will worry Lucy's mother.

And that's it! After Seward's entry, we get a second letter, from a new pen pal! You can scroll down to that and read it, but take it slow: Stoker's efforts to render accents and dialect very much are. This new friend is very language.

See you next time!

#dracula daily #daily dracula #seward summary

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synnthamonsugar · 2 years

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>:) Crow and Phoebe #15

15. That you regretted after

In the permanent twilight of the Tangled Shore, a hunter and titan stagger, almost-emptied bottles in hand, from their drinking spot in the High Plains. They'd planned to sleep it off in one of Crow's old hideouts until the opportunity for mischief intervenes.

"We should take something," Phoebe suggests to Crow, scent of whiskey strong on her breath even at arm's length, while eyeing the entrance to Spider's Safehouse.

"Like what?" Crow asks, steadying himself on her shoulder. He's not as far gone as she is, but the buzz is still strong enough to throw him off kilter.

"Beats me," Phoebe shrugs. Tips her head back and lifts the bottle above her mouth, trying to get the last few drops. "He's got all sorts of fancy old shit, right? He's not gonna miss a painting or a jar."

Crow looks around. The Shore is deserted this time of "night", most of its residents asleep, his ex-boss among them. With liquor-greased hunter stupidity and a hot ember of spite he makes up his mind. "Let's do it."

He couldn't forget the secret entrances and the utility corridors even if he wanted to, so he's able to navigate to Spider's treasure room even with his head swimming and his vision spinning. The locked door presents a greater problem. Even if Glint was willing to lend a hand, he wouldn't conceive of involving him in something so petty and dangerous.

"Crow, how long will it take you to get what you need?"

The stash is just down a set of stairs. He tells her 'not long'.

"And if I made a commotion, uh, hypothetically — how long would it take for the big guy to get here?"

"A minute, maybe two? The quarters are all the way on the other —"

A blinding flash of blue and the shearing of metal as Phoebe slams her fist through the door, and rips it from its hinges. The audacity just about knocks sobriety into Crow, though he has to deal with the field of stars dancing across his vision. Like he stood too close to one of the welders in the Tower hanger. "Go. Gogogo!"

He's gone before the first 'go'. No time to take the staircase, he decides as he's already falling, and lands with a serviceable-enough tumble. Flawless. Red afterimages still dancing across his field of view, his eyes dart from piece to piece. Grabs one.

When he makes it back up, Phoebe is already brawling with two of Spider's guards — there's an arc of electricity as she lands a crunchy uppercut on one that sends them flying, before wheeling a sloppy roundhouse kick into the other — never mind the form, they stagger and fall. Crow spikes a smoke bomb at their feet and they dissolve into invisibility before booking it for the exit.

. . .

Crow wakes up to a pounding head and dry mouth face-down on the floor of his jumpship. Glint is a few inches away, judgement clear in his optic even if Crow has trouble focusing his eyes at this distance.

Phoebe croaks a pained groan from the bunk she's claimed as her own. Didn't even bother to get out of her armor before she flopped; he feels a prickle of annoyance that he'll have to clean oil and dust and ether out of his bed-linens.

"I don't think we can go back," she murmurs.

Blurry memories of the night filter back into Crow's brain. If he wasn't nauseated before, he is now. "I don't think I want to."

They both sit up and assess the burglarized painting. A cow's skull, rendered in perfect detail, over an abstract backdrop of white and blue flanked in two red stripes. Huh. It's a little unfortunate he'll have to wait a couple hundred years before he can show anyone.

For now, his ship has a new piece of decor.

#cw alcohol #i asked myself ''what is the funniest situation i can think of for these two'' and it was ''stealing one of spider's priceless paintings''#then I asked myself ''which of spider's paintings would be funniest to steal'' and instantly decided ''the georgia o'keeffe one'' (canon)#destiny #destiny crow #guardian oc #synnth fic

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femme-enby · 19 days

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Talk of something commonly considered the truest “taboo” and worst thing one could do to follow..

Aka, Cannibalism. Spoken about casually.

Anyway, one thing about me? I’m a menace.

Another thing about me? I think long and hard about a lot of topics that will likely forever be irrelevant to me and my life.

So when the concept of cannibalism was introduced to me, and the fact that humans in general (but ofc colonizing yt folks are no stranger to it in recent times) I had thoughts.

Of course desecrating graves of Egyptians and stealing mummies to use the bodies for medicine and (iirc) paints, is disgusting and horrifying (in the sense that taking a body from it’s final resting place, provided it isn’t like… radioactive and dangerous to leave, is just… wrong and unnecessary, but also essentially rendering the incredibly hard work that went into preserving those bodies is rude af. And ofc… a dusty crusty body? Fr? You gonna ingest the sun dried roadkill too?) and treating enslaved individuals as animals, not just for labor but hair for stuffing chairs, bodies for food or for critter bait, is truly morally wrong and unethical, as well as just plain old cruel.

BUT!!! Let me start with this- I don’t think humans are separate from animals. For example- cats are animals. Felis Catus. Cat. Animal. Homo sapien. Human. Also animal. Following? Scientific name, casual term, general grouping. We are still just another species of animal. Plenty got some “holier than thou” “hoity toity” superiority complex, but who’s to say cats don’t think similarly? Or cows? Pigs? 🤷‍♂️

So following that logic… animals provide meat. Humans are animals as much as cows, pigs, Buffalo, etc. humans also provide meat.

My PERSONAL perspective is that eating human meat is not INHERENTLY wrong. It carries dangers as does eating just about any meat, and I personally would only partake in it in an ETHICAL SETTING (SUCH AS the man who had to have a foot amputated, got to bring it home where he and a few friends tried human for the first and probably last time ever. Now idk about feet, I know some folks eat pigs feet and such but… ain’t much meat ya know?) but basically I ain’t just gonna be like “let’s take a bite out of whatever corpse we come across” bc not only is that NOT ethical, but it’s also dangerous from a purely logical perspective.

So, all that to say- I do not think cannibalism is inherently wrong, just that majority of the ways one could theoretically partake in said act are UNETHICAL and THAT is where the wrongness lies for me.

Anyways, some weird yt conspiracy weirdo on TT was like “now that we have confirmation on the underground cannibal restaurant in California where rich people go… what is it that makes ANYONE think cannibalism is acceptable???”

This comes across my FYP. Likely due to mention of cannibalism bc a little while ago some person was like “mom said I should be myself but no one wants to hear about my special interest in cannibalism” (which… when they got around to sharing their essay on their special interest… like… they didn’t actually share anything specific? Anything new? Some things were either outright incorrect or mixed up? Wrote notes to keep everything straight but didn’t double check? Sloppy. C. You pass but could have been better. Anyway-) and not the weirdo conspiracy theory bs bc I hate conspiracy theories. There’s enough shit goin on in the world rn where we really don’t need conspiracy theories to make it more “interesting.”

I HAVE DIGRESSED SLIGHTLY. So the video is presented to me, I am a glutton for punishment, so when they go “expose yourself in the comments” I go “self, the chances of you even having something remotely resembling a semi calm conversation are slim to none, do you really wanna open your mouth?” And that part of my brain was quickly gagged and hogtied and tossed back into the Empty for another nap bc this would be fun.

Anywho, I briefly summarize my perspective due to text limit in comments… and the responses were… soooooo boring. Shit I’ve heard a million times for dumb shit like voicing that folks should indeed have bodily autonomy or that women are still just as deserving of respect regardless of how much sex they have, and other completely normal thoughts, right? So being told I’m a “freak” or that I’m “demented” and that I should “seek help” really doesn’t… illicit anything in me.

Old. Used. Uncreative. Thoughtless. No critical thinking skills were used in the responses. Boring. I was completely polite if odd, and I got folks yappin at me mindlessly like rabid chihuahuas.

The OP even went on my page, dead btw I don’t be posting semi-thirst traps so I don’t get attention, tryin to be like “you freak, you degenerate. You were so bold to state your stance on my video-“ you TOLD me to??? “-don’t try and hide here-“ I AINT??? I said it in the comment section of a public video shithead, I talk about it casually with a multitude of people, folks who let me sleep over at their homes even after the conversation!!! Idk why tf you’re actin like I’m some rabid serial killer when the folks I’ve had perfectly polite and calm discussions on the topic still trust me around them while they’re unconscious! Ridiculous.

And then!!!! Went to one of my videos about Palestine that mentioned the children dying and said something like “bet you’d wanna take a bite out of those bodies huh you cannibal?” Again, no??? That would contradict the ethical aspect I mentioned, which I would have expanded on if you had simply spoken to me like two people who have opposing viewpoints instead of someone who said some crazy ass shit like “I’m in your walls and I’m gonna eat your toes”! Then went on to say “…eat some flesh you freak” I did, I had a baconator today, it was delicious.

Like I KNOW I have an odd perspective on the topic, but also folks have certainly looked at me like “you’re insane????” Then asked questions only to end up at the end conclusion being like “bro is weird, but not insane and not a threat.” At worst, bc like… I’m not.

I’m not just gonna take a chunk outta someone if I get a bit peckish, if we got lost in the woods and you died, unless you had been in your right mind and gave me prior permission to do whatever I had to so I could survive before your death I still wouldn’t make a meal out of you? Bc I’d consider it unethical. I’d sooner starve as well unless I ended up not in MY right mind, which is something I cannot necessarily help or account for.

Anyway, I’m gonna follow this with another post on my personal theory on conspiracy theories and why white people fuckin love that shit an unhealthy amount bc it relates to this.

Bc the swiftness at which they went to attacking me, misgendering me bc they “don’t care” (feels very much like how cis folks rescind trans folk’s “right” to having their pronouns respected once they do somethin the cis ppl don’t agree with) feels… like it was the plan tbh.

#ryan rambles

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1kook · 3 years

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jungkook + long distance relationship pls

it’s smut <3

The trickiest part is the time difference. It’s early evening for you when Jungkook calls, the window behind him showcasing a pitch black sky. As usual, he’s at his desk, phone propped in front of him and to the left, the glow of his computer screen illuminating his fair skin. He’s got on his pajamas, a sandy-colored set he treated himself with for his last birthday. “Hi, baby,” he smiles, voice low, matches the lights in the room. It’s enticing.

Fresh off work, you’re sore all over, completely worn out from the events of the day; the walking, the talking, the being. Jungkook’s silky voice is a nice break from your droning boss and chattering coworkers. “Hi,” you mumble, setting your phone and Jungkook aside as you strip yourself of your clothing. His usual wolf whistle doesn’t go unheard, sending a pleasant warmth over your cheeks. “What time is it for you?”

He hesitates to tell you — more than anything, the idea of Jungkook sacrificing a healthy sleep schedule in favor of speaking to you is probably the worst part — his eventual answer a muffled string of absolute gibberish that has you sending a frown his way. His pixelated face scrunches up cutely, smiling impishly at his phone, at you. “…3am,” he confesses, saves himself from your unimpressed glare by simply shutting his eyes. “I wanted to see you!”

Down to your undies, you settle at the edge of your bed, wary of laying down on your clean sheets. “And I want to see you,” you murmur. As frustrated as you were from the day, you couldn’t take it out on your handsome lover on screen. Jungkook’s sheepish smile is too sweet, makes you yearn for him like never before. Still. “But it’s late,” you sigh, “and you’re tired.”

His scoff is scratchy, a little choppy thanks to the long reception it travels over. “I’m not tired,” he says, but you’ve long since mastered the art of deciphering Jungkook’s expressions and physical state through the tiny pixels. “I just… really wanna see you.” His voice becomes laced with a dangerous proposition, his dark eyes glancing down the screen, not at your face, but at your body. “Can’t I see you?”

Biting your lip, you feel a rather juvenile wave of shyness wash over you, the arm not holding your phone up reaching over your chest. Your feeble attempt at covering yourself is met with a soft chuckle from Jungkook, who leans back in his seat. His thighs spread apart, and you catch sight of his dark briefs beneath the slightly translucent material of his pajamas. “Let me see you, baby,” he croons, teasingly running his hand over his thigh.

You cave too easily — it’s hard not to when your man looks like that — and slip the strap of your bra down your shoulder. A small action that makes big waves, wipes the smile off Jungkook’s face. The dying rays of the setting sun paint your room in a golden hue, embolden you with their comforting warmth as you snatch a pillow from the head of the bed. Propping your phone against it, you shuffle onto the bed anew, on your knees, acutely aware of the way your camera catches your entire form now. “Shit,” Jungkook mumbles, palming his growing erection. “You’re so hot.”

Watching him work his hand over himself, you find yourself mimicking his actions; after discarding your bra, your palms glide over your body, meeting at the mound between your thighs. You run your hand over yourself, the gentle pressure licking the flames of your desire. On your phone, Jungkook’s head lolls to the side, exposing the smooth column of his neck. It’s been months since you’ve last seen him, got to places kisses against his skin. You miss him dearly. “Can I touch?” you ask, voice airy. He’s so gorgeous, just the mere sight of him is enough to kick something hot up inside of you.

The glow of his monitor catches on his eyebrow piercing when he moves. “Please,” Jungkook exhales. His hand dips beneath the waistband at the front of his bottoms, eyes momentarily fluttering shut as he, presumably, grips his cock. You follow, hooking your finger beneath your panties and tugging them to the side. It’s a little embarrassing to see your tiny reflection on screen, and you find your thigh muscles threatening to jolt shut at the sight. “No, no,” Jungkook rushes out, jolting forward, closer. “Keep them open— please?”

He’s so sweet, polite, even with his hand down his pants. Steeling your nerves, you let yourself relax once more, sinking your knees into the mattress. The hand not holding aside your underwear snakes down, pointer finger dipping into the wetness that’s collected at your opening. A quiet gasp escapes you, glancing down at yourself in curiosity as you realize you’re wetter than you thought. Your run your finger through the warmth of your folds, drawing it back up to your clit. Slowly, you begin circling the swollen bud, gaze instinctively returning to your boyfriend.

Jungkook’s lips are slightly parted, eyes zeroed in on his phone as he watches you. It doesn’t feel as awkward and as nerve-wracking as it did the first few times. Now, Jungkook’s focused gaze feels empowering, in a sense, has you picking up the pace of your fingers against your clit as he watches. His hand works itself over his member, hidden beneath the fabric of his bottoms. “Jungkook,” you pant, slightly amused by the harsh jerk of his hand at the sound of your voice. “You, too,” you gasp, “let me see you, too.”

And just like you, he caves easily. Yanking his hand out of his pants, he makes quick work of pushing them down his hips. They stretch over his thighs, barely stand a chance against his bulging muscles when he spreads his legs. “Fuck,” he groans, melting into his seat as he tunes back into your show. His knuckles are nearly white, holding his cock tightly in an attempt to imitate the snugness of your cunt. The tip weeps with precum, trails down his length and over his knuckles the faster he pulls. It’s an image you burn into your mind.

Your gentle caresses turn into rabid rubbing, two— three fingers pressed together at the front of your slit, desperate to match the tune of Jungkook’s wrist. Unconsciously, your hips grind forward, the memories of Jungkook’s hot and heavy body against you spurring you on. His hands at your waist, digging into the skin until it’s painful. His breath against your damp skin, sending waves of shivers down your spine. “__,” he grunts, and although the lewd squelch of his hand is fuzzy over the line, your brain fills in the gaps. He always gets so sloppy toward the end, bucks into you like it’s his first time.

This time is no different. You watch as Jungkook unravels before you, his brows furrowed as he watches you move. “Fu— you’re so wet,” he chokes out, watching your fingers slid over your clit ferociously, his own speakers probably filled with the sounds of your pleasure just like yours are with his. “You’re always so wet after work,” Jungkook mumbles, running the pad of his thumb over his tip. It’s true, but you don’t want to tell him it’s because you think of him all day, imagining him bending you over your boss’s desk, the printer, a bathroom stall.

The motions of his hand speed up, jaw clenched as he works himself away. His name tumbles off your lips, gaze growing foggy as you watch the man before you; Jungkook’s breathing is shallow, harsh as he jerks himself to completion. The pressure at your core becomes unbearable and eventually, a shock of pleasure bursts over you, makes your toes curl, your clit go numb. Stuck in the motions, you can only weakly buck into your hand as your orgasm rolls over you, always careful to keep your face in Jungkook’s line of sight.

Jungkook follows, fills your bedroom with his strained breathing and a choked cry of your name. The pleasure renders him a limbless mess, head rolling back against his chair as he slumps further into his seat. His pearly cum leaves a splattered stain on his pajamas and on his thighs, cock still twitching as it pushes out the last of it. “Jungkook,” you call out softly, slowly regaining your strength. Your fingers begin to feel dry and icky, and it’s with a scrunch of your nose that you wipe them against your thigh. You needed a shower anyway.

On screen, your lover laughs. “God,” Jungkook exhales, eyes even more tired than before. “You’re so amazing.” You respond with an easy smile, languidly reaching forward to snatch up your phone. Jungkook’s face is flushed now, but the sky behind him remains as dark as it was when he first called. It matches the sky outside your own window, and you only have a moment to marvel at how quickly the sun set before Jungkook is speaking again, his voice soft and dainty as he talks you and him back down from your highs.

#jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #jungkook x reader smut #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook fic #bts smut #bts x reader #mine #jjkd

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chiwhorei · 4 years

Text

team spirit

pairing: k. sakusa x fem!reader x a. miya

genre: college!au, smut, 18+ minors dni

word count: 2.6k

warnings: threesome, semi-public sex, daddy kink, spitting, a spank, a tiny bit of choking, tit-fucking, degradation, a little coercion, curruption, gaslighting, voyeurism, a subtle age gap (freshman vs. senior in college), cum play, cum eating. nothing too crazy and everything is consensual- it’s just pretty dirty lmao

a/n: in a radical act of self care i have given up on kinktober as it was killing all love that i had for writing. i present to you a piece written solely because it made me h-word. thank you to the love of my life @hqbbg for beta reading, you have my soul and share my desire to be mask-man’s little bitch.

hymn: smells like teen spirit by: nirvana

“Didn’t I tell ya’, princess?” Atsumu’s voice is low and sharp against the shell of your ear as he brushes away a rogue strand of hair from where it fell from your high-pony. The action gentle, the tone unmistakingly galled. “I told ya to behave, but ya’ never want to listen to me.”

The grip he has on you is bruising, fingers nestled on your hips, large hands scrunching your pleated cheer skirt and exposing you to the almost empty locker room. Your boyfriend’s hard-on is distinct against his shorts, pressing against your bare cunt. Your hips buck desperately in his hold, but any fight is useless. There’s no way Atsumu will give you more than just minimal friction; only enough to make you dizzy and malleable in his capture.

Atsumu isn’t oblivious. He’s fully aware of how sweet you look every week, cheering on the sidelines of his games, donning his jersey number in a heart on the apple of your cheek. Having the prettiest little member of your college’s cheer squad in his bed every night never fails to fill him with an almost evil pride. Ever since the beginning of the season, your first year in college, Atsumu has been on you. The moment he first saw you, skin sheened with a layer of sweat and workout shorts riding up high enough to see the angelic curve of your ass cheeks, you were his. He totes a fine line, dancing between cockiness at his prize girlfriend when you’re hit on or ogled, and egregious rage.

Game-night started the same as any other: Astumu sneaking away before warm-ups to kabedon you against the wall when you walked out of the girls locker room. You always flush red-hot, no matter how many times he traps you, fiddling with the pom-poms in your hold. He grabs them from you, tossing them without care onto the ground to pull you tightly against his hard chest, your wrist pinned against the front of your uniform top in one of his hands. The rest of your squad walks by the two of you without much thought; the scene unfolding is rehearsed at this point. It seems like the whole student-body ignores the two of you.

“You act more like a horny teenager than a senior in college, Atsumu.” You puff your cheeks out and glare at him from the fringe of your perfectly curled eyelashes. The fake-blond towering above you snorts at your defiance.

“Well, you act more like an old prude than a freshman in college, princess.” His lips dip lower to fan over yours, “And my name ain’t Atsumu.”

Your knees feel weak trapped in his grip, his presence a strange mix of comfort and distress. You’re welcomed home into the den of a lion. You gulp down a painful air bubble trapped in your throat and mumble an apology.

“I’m sorry, Daddy.”

It seems to please the arrogant setter, earning you a chirpy laugh as he twirls a piece of your hair in his finger. You hate when Atsumu seems upset with you, so relief washes over you at the light gesture. He releases his hold on your wrists and pulls you into a sloppy kiss. You melt into the feeling of his lips, his hands rubbing up and down your arms lazily, causing your body to slack against him. Atsumu’s attention always renders you compliant (often against better judgement).

“I’ve gotta go, but make sure I hear ya’ cheering out there for me, sweetheart,” he says after letting go of your lips with one last nip. So begins the quick restoration of your uniform from where it was misplaced by setter fingers. After you’ve collected yourself under the watchful eye of your senior, you bend at the waist to pick up the stray poms and feel the swift union of Atsumu’s hand against your ass. You scoff at his childishness, even though you had expected it. Game nights are always the same.

The same round of cat and mouse, the same suffocating sexual tension and embarrassing public display.

The only anomaly tonight is the lecherous stare of your boyfriend's teammate on your folded body. A stare that shouldn’t belong to the curly haired man fixes onto you and the view of your tight pair of spandex has turned him into stone.

Pride is a cardinal sin, and so is lust.

“Do ya’ like what ya’ see, Omi? She’s a pretty little thing ain’t she?” Your eyes snap up to meet the gaze of the man in front of your disheveled form. Sakusa’s eyes are dark and cold; his expression reads indifference, but the hard cock in his shorts is clearly seen. He’s frozen in place a few feet in front of the bench you’re displayed on. Your crisp white sneakers are on either side of Atsumu’s built thighs, knees bent and held in place by the man under you. Your uniform top and bra have been pushed up unceremoniously, freeing your tits to bounce slightly with every squirm. Sakusa watches every jiggle of soft, supple skin in front of him. The tent in his boxers is becoming painful with every heave. Both hands are pressed stiffly to his sides, left hand clutching your white, cotton panties. The fabric is damp, sticking slightly against his fingers and making him cringe. Disgusting.

Atsumu’s hand wanders down to spread the puffy lips of your pussy, long middle finger proading against your tight hole. Atsumu growls at the feeling of your arousal, not wasting any time sticking a digit into you with practiced movements. You whimper at the intrusion, legs feeling weak and shaky from their strained position as Atsumu adds a second finger with ease. He always knows exactly how to work you over, rendering you at a loss for words with his prodding against the spongy anterior of your pussy.

“Y/n is always such a little mess on her daddy’s fingers.” His middle and pointer finger are pulled out with a resounding pop and his palm lands a harsh pat against your clit. “Do you like putting on a show for Sakusa-san? He seems to fancy ya’, doesn't he?” You’re asked a question but can only yelp in response as Atsumu’s fingers are shoved back into you, pumping with fervor.

The tall man in front of you is only partially familiar; aside from volleyball games and visiting your boyfriend at practice, you’ve only seen Sakusa at the occasional party or team dinner. He’s never seemed too keen on getting to know you before, but now he’s palming himself at the sight of your most intimate angles completely open for his viewing pleasure. Sakusa’s slightly flushed cheeks and boring stare causes your cunt to clench around Atsumu’s fingers. Ever the painfully observant man, neither the tightening muscles nor the reason behind it is lost on the blond.

“Ya’ like being watched, that’s why yer sloppy pussy’s extra wet tonight, huh?” You shake your head frantically, not wanting to admit that the heat rising in your stomach is due to your voyeur’s deep brown eyes. Atsumu is a prideful man, some would say too much so, a fact he’ll have to atone for later. One thing he isn’t? Greedy.

“Omi-omi~” The singing of the stupid nickname seems to snap Sakusa out of his stupor as he flicks his eyes to meet Atsumu’s. “Don’t be shy, c’mere.” Sakusa is still working long strokes over his confined cock, stepping forward to further invade your personal space. Atsumu’s chin rests against your shoulder, face amused and casual, disconnected from what his hands are holding.

All you can do is look up at the looming figure, black hair falling in front of his face and mouth set in a harsh line. You’re eye level with the bulge in his shorts now, so close you can almost feel the fabric against your lips. Every sense is overwhelmed, crowded in the abandoned locker room with your boyfriend working you open in front of his teammate. Sakusa reaches out and runs his finger over the uniform top that sits wrinkled up above your breasts. His calloused pad runs over the article in a moment of contemplation, before pinching your hardened nipple. A surprised yelp falls from your lips along with the already tumbling whines.

Distracted by your new company, Atsumu’s cock releasing from his shorts goes unnoticed. With the dark, inky stare keeping you hostage, you only realize his fingers are being replaced when the hardened tip is pressing into you. A pathetic squeal rips through your throat at the breach. No matter how many times Atsumu stretches you out on his fat cock, it burns every time.

“I think ya’ should help Sakusa-san out, princess.” Another few inches disappear, your shaky balance is corrected with one of Atsumu’s hands wrapping around your neck, “Since it’s yer dirty little body that’s got ‘em all hard.”

The intonation wracks you with guilt, looking up at Sakusa with bleary, begging eyes. You’re not sure what exactly you’re begging for.

There’s no restraint left in Sakusa, having used most of it up when your panties were ripped off and tossed to him with a cheeky wink from his setter. He shoves said garment into his pocket before pushing his shorts and boxers down enough for his cock to spring free. Your eyes roll slightly at the sight in front of you, impressive in length and pleasantly veiny. Right under his head, you see two freckles, noting they almost mimic the ones right above his eyebrow.

Atsumu’s cock is snugly inside you, buried to the hilt, and you're pulled back into his broad chest by the grip on your throat. Sakusa holds himself at the base, stroking upwards and swirling his thumb against the precum collecting at his tip. He leans over you, slapping his head against your tits experimentally. The reaction Sakusa gets seems to be the one he was seeking, as your whispered cries thump to the same beat of his length against your skin.

“Such a nasty girl. You always look so sweet and innocent cheering for us. Does he fuck you like this after every game?” Sakusa has found his voice, regarding you coolly. Tears prick at your eyes, any retort caught behind your teeth as you stare back dumbly.

“Answer ‘em princess,” Atsumu lifts you up slightly to slam you back down onto his heavy cock; the sound is squelching in the stale air around you, “tell ‘em how you cream on Daddy’s cock after everyone leaves.”

“I- please, I-” You’re cut off by your own mewl when a string of saliva breaches Sakusa’s lips and falls towards your chest, watching as it ascends onto the valley between your tits. As it rolls down your sweat-sheened skin, the black-haired man rubs his weeping cock down the map his spit makes. Your brain is fuzzy at the attention of both men, warming your boyfriend's cock as his teammate grinds himself on your naked chest.

Sakusa grabs your wrists, causing your thighs to wobble weakly from their squatted position, and presses your palms to hold your breasts against his shaft. The pressure has Sakusa’s head falling back as soft, warm skin welcoming his shallow thrusts.

“Such a complaint little pet you have, Miya.” His hand brushes against your cheek and trails downwards to find purchase on your chin. “Dirty little girl,” his voice coos you, “Open wide.”

Your mouth falls at his order, fussing weakly at the nickname. Another sharp putt meets your ears and his warm spit hits the fattest plane of your tongue. Tears escape at the sides of your eyes with the overwhelming presence. Atsumu begins a slow assault on your aching pussy, removing the hand on your throat to pull your hips against his lap. The rhythm is a salacious duet with the cock nestled between your tits and has you clenching even tighter.

“Ya’ better not swallow Omi’s spit until I say so, princess. Keep that wicked tongue out for him to paint.” You do as you're told, as always, tongue lolled out with a pant. At your passivity, Atsumu rewards you with tight circles to your throbbing clit. His cheek presses against your own, peering over to watch his friend’s cock against your chest with wonder. Such a distinct beauty is found in the ruined body on top of him. As much as Atsumu appreciates the sweet, loving moments that he shares with you, the sight of your precious body bent to his will makes his dick twitch acutely. It’s sick how much he enjoys seeing how far he can push you-

“I’m going to cum on your girlfriend's sweet face, Miya. Christ, it’s disgusting how much she seems to want it.”

However, your enjoyment in your own depravity and humiliation is much more sickening.

Atsumu’s pace picks up, skin slapping against your sore pussy with new resolve. He wants to see you break into pieces right on the locker room bench. Your vision is spotting at the pressure on your clit, mixing with the dulled sting of being split open on the blond setter's thick cock. All you can do is produce a garbled squeal from around your dangling tongue. Sakusa pulls his cock from your chest, pumping his hand feverishly against the soft skin. The sight is almost unbelievable: a man who barely allows his teammates a high-five has your hair wrapped around his other fist. Your head is yanked back, eyes entrapped by Sakusa’s. Atsumu’s fingers are unrelenting against the bundle of nerves that now feels more like a ticking time-bomb.

“C’mon princess, don’t hold back on us. I wanna see ya’ cum right in front of Omi. Show’em how much team spirit ya’ got.” Atsumu’s teeth bite down onto your neck, angling his tip to press against that deepest spot inside of you. The fraying cord in your stomach is pulled taught, snapping at the feeling of Sakusa’s hot cum against your face, thick spurts landing on your cheer uniform and splattering against your already marred tongue.

Your own orgasm tears through you, burning deeply through every vein in your body. It’s sinful how your body reacts to the messy splotching of a stranger's cum against you, thrown head-first into release at the ministrations of the men on either side of you. Your tight rings of muscles pulsate around Atsumu’s cock, coaxing his own orgasm out to meet your silky insides. There’s nothing better in the world, Atsumu thinks to himself, than fucking his hot cum into your sweet, submissive body.

As the pair of volleyball players steady their own breathing, another menacing laugh escapes your boyfriend’s mouth. He peers over the mess in front of him, strings of cum drawing random patterns against your chest and cheeks. He turns your face towards him and smiles, finding that you did exactly as he asked. Your mouth wide, tongue still stuck out and awaiting further instruction. Such a perfect girl you are, letting Atsumu’s most debased fantasies play out on your innocent little body. Your job is to motivate his team after all, and there’s no better way to boost comradery after a win than to celebrate the best way he knows how.

“Team spirit, huh?” Sakusa tucks himself back into his shorts, leaning in to swipe his cum against your lips as a parting gift. You watch him with glassy eyes and suck on the digit when pressed against your tongue.

“That’s for sure.”

all writing is dymphnasprose’s original content, please do not repost or modify. do no read my content as asmr.©️

#sakusa x reader #atsumu x reader #sakusa smut #atsumu smut #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #atsumu miya #sakusa kiyoomi #sakuatsu #tw: coercion #tw: corruption #tw: gaslighting

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pastelwitchling · 3 years

Text

Alex had both palms braced on the console, breathing deeply, and trying not to spiral into the hurricane of questions and horrifying scenarios his brain was making. He had to stay focused.

“What about the security cameras?” Liz said somewhere behind him.

“We checked them, there’s no hint where he could be,” Max said with a little edge. “Whoever did this knew exactly where to stand to keep hidden.”

“It was Mr. Jones,” Alex muttered, thinking. “It had to be.”

“He hasn’t woken up yet,” Liz was starting, but Alex cut her off.

“Not alone, but he did do this,” he said. “This is how my dad works. He uses people, whoever he needs to. He used Michael when he’d taken me, and now he’s used Mr. Jones.”

It wasn’t right, not completely, Alex knew. Something about this whole plan to take Michael and leave Mr. Jones behind felt off, it felt sloppy. His dad was many things, but not sloppy. The finer details though didn’t matter. All that mattered was that Michael was gone, and Alex was on the verge of losing his mind. Maybe he already had. That didn’t matter either.

“I want to talk to him,” Alex demanded. “See what he knows.”

“Alex,” Max started to shake his head, “we don’t know what he’s capable of, even under the pollen, he could be too dangerous to –”

“I’ve seen things that would give you nightmares, Max Evans,” Alex hissed, and the room fell silent. “Right now, the only danger you have to worry about is me. None of you know anything about interrogation, I’m taking over.”

It was not a request, and Max and Isobel didn’t hear it that way. They took Alex back to Max’s house, through his large living room, into the guest bedroom where Mr. Jones was being kept.

Alex had expected him to look like Max’s twin, but there was something unhinged in the darkness of his eyes that Max definitely didn’t have, a twisted curl to his mouth that said he knew Max and Alex were vibrating with fear for Michael, and that it made him happy.

“Well, well,” he said slowly, his voice hoarse despite the upward quirk of his lips. “Aren’t you a pretty one? I was wondering when I’d get to see you here, Jesse Manes Jr.”

“It’s Alex, actually,” Alex said, kneeling in front of Mr. Jones and peering up at him. There were dark circles around his eyes, his cheeks were hollow, his shoulders slumped with an undeniable exhaustion. There was a single needle wound in his neck.

“You took someone that belongs to me,” Alex said quietly, and Mr. Jones tilted his head, his eyes locked on Alex’s. “And I want him back.”

Mr. Jones started to laugh. It was breathy, his voice cracked, and it faded into a fit of coughs, but he was clearly amused, nonetheless.

“That’s sweet,” he murmured. “You’re sweet. I kinda like you.”

“Enough with your stupid games,” Max warned. “Tell us where my brother is, or you’re going to wish you were never born.”

Mr. Jones gasped mockingly. “Goodness me, brother. What’re you gonna do? Lecture me to death?” His laughs grew louder, stronger. “I know you too well. You put on the villain face, but in the end, you ‘aint got the nerve.” He looked down at Alex, and sneered, like his next words were the most insulting he could think of. “You’re heroes. You see the good in everyone, even a lunatic like Jesse Manes. Now that man is dark. View’s too limited though, too narrow-minded. Can’t see the big picture.”

Alex stared. “You won’t tell us where Michael is? That’s your final answer?” Mr. Jones opened his mouth to retort, but Alex coldly cut him off. “Keep in mind that this is your last chance to talk.”

Mr. Jones’ smile widened and he tilted his head. In a singsong voice, he responded, “Michael’s gonna diiii—eeee.”

Alex’s eye twitched. “Max,” he said, his voice unfamiliar to his own ears. “Can I have a minute please?”

Max must’ve known something bad was about to happen because he quietly responded, “Sure, Alex. Just don’t kill him.”

Alex clenched his jaw, his eyes unmoving from Mr. Jones. He wouldn’t kill him. Dead men couldn’t talk.

Max regretted leaving the second the door closed behind him. Isobel, Liz, and Kyle looked up from where they sat on the couch, waiting for an answer.

“Did you find out where Michael is?” Isobel demanded.

Max shook his head. “He won’t talk, no matter what I say.” He punched the wall. “He’s having too much fun.”

“I don’t get it,” Kyle shook his head. “Jesse Manes left him to get caught. How could he still be defending him?”

Max didn’t say his biggest fear; Mr. Jones didn’t care if Jesse had left him so long as he was killing Michael and the rest of them were suffering for it. He would have fun watching no matter what.

Kyle was staring at the guest bedroom door from his seat on the armrest, his arms crossed. “Why’s Alex still in there? Shouldn’t you help him? You’re the one with the powers.”

“Alex wanted a minute alone with him,” Max said, avoiding their eyes.

Liz, of course, noticed right away. “Max,” she said, “what aren’t you telling us?”

Max shook his head. Alex was just worried, they were all worried. He was fine. He opened his mouth to say that when Mr. Jones suddenly screamed.

The others shot to their feet, Isobel’s hands over her mouth, her eyes wide.

“Oh my god,” Liz breathed.

Oh my god was right, Max thought. That wasn’t any normal scream. It was one of pure and utter agony, like the scream of a man having his limbs slowly torn off.

Max took two long steps to the room when the screams suddenly cut off, and the door opened. Alex was wiping his bloody hand off on his jacket. Max stared. He was not the only one. That blood, they knew, was not Alex’s, but it covered his entire forearm like paint.

“Alex,” Kyle breathed, “what the hell –”

“Caulfield,” Alex said at once, already heading to the door. “He’s at Caulfield.”

It was too late to hide the look in his eyes. Max had seen something in Alex shatter, something dark, something frightening.

“Drive faster,” Alex said through clenched teeth.

“This is as fast as it’ll go, Alex,” Max said. Alex could feel him glancing. “If anything happened to Michael –”

“Don’t.”

“—We’d know,” he finished. “Okay? Isobel and I would’ve felt it. I would’ve felt it.”

Alex felt the smallest bit of reassurance. It was nothing compared to the overwhelming fear and discomfort at not having Michael in his arms, safe and sound. His hand, his fingers, his wrist and forearm, they were still stained with Mr. Jones’ blood. He could still feel the meat of the alien’s flesh as he dug his fingers into the needle wound at his neck, opening up the cut to fit his fingers, until Mr. Jones was screaming. His eyes wide, as though he’d never expected Alex to raise so much as a finger at him. He’d been wrong. He’d taken Michael.

He had no idea what he’d unleashed.

As if hearing his thoughts, Max quietly asked, “What’d you do to him?”

“Doesn’t matter,” was all Alex said, not wanting to linger on the familiar chill of his own voice.

When they reached Caulfield, they were careful to come in the same way they’d come when it had just been Michael, Alex, and Kyle. Alex held his gun up, as did Max. Kyle stayed on Alex’s other side, a taser in his and Liz’s hands while Isobel held her hands up in case of a sudden attack.

Getting in was difficult. It felt like every few feet, a guard came out to stop them. Alex knew these people were trying to keep Michael away from them, and wanted nothing more than to tear into them with his bare hands, but they needed to hurry. He shot each one in the shoulder or leg. There was more than one spot in the human body that rendered the rest of it paralyzed. He didn’t care if they screamed, if they bled out. As far as he was concerned, they’d signed their death warrants when they helped Jesse hide Michael from him. He was being merciful not doing worse.

They moved deeper and deeper into the facility, and by the end of it, it was him and Max with the most stains on their clothes and the more bruises. Better that way. They made it into a long, dark hallway that took them to a sealed room.

Through a small window, Alex could see Michael in a steel chair, his head dropping between his shoulders as an IV strip pumped something that looked a lot like the pollen’s serum and something else into his veins.

There was a keypad next to the door. Without missing a beat, Alex held his gun for Max to take and pulled out his phone.

“Michael!” Isobel called through the window, panicked, but it was no use. He wouldn’t be answering anybody.

“Can’t we break the door down?” Liz demanded.

“It’s reinforced steel and set up to self-destruct,” Alex muttered, typing rapidly on his phone. He knew that hacking software he’d created would come in handy sometime. “Look around you. This place is already falling apart from the last time someone tried to break in.”

“But you can get him out, right?” Max asked Alex.

“Yeah,” Kyle said without missing a beat. Alex could feel him staring. “Yeah, he can do it.”

A second. Two. Three. Four seconds of Alex hearing nothing but the blood rushing in his own ears and the held breaths of everyone around him. The keypad beeped, the steel hinges clicked, and the door swung open. Alex pushed it enough to run in and fall to his knees in front of Michael, yanking the strips out of his arm while Max and Isobel set to work on the cuffs that kept him in the chair.

“Hey,” Alex whispered, lifting his chin gently. “Hey, baby, can you hear me? Michael, look at me, can you hear me?”

Michael’s eyes were half-lidded and hazed. Michael made a soft “Hmm?,” and his gaze focused for a split second. He smiled sleepily.

“You,” he breathed, “you look . . . just like my Alex.”

A small cry escaped Isobel’s lips before she quickly stifled it. Liz put a hand on her back as Kyle undid the rope around Michael’s waist. Jesse was nowhere in sight. He must’ve run the second he heard them arrive, knowing the guards would do nothing but stall for time. None of it mattered.

Alex smiled at Michael. “I am,” he huffed a chuckle, his eyes burning. “I am your Alex. Okay, come on, give me your arm, lean on me.”

“Alex,” Kyle tried, “if your leg hurts, I can –”

Alex cut him a glare so sharp Kyle turned silent at once. He’d apologize for it later. Right now, he needed to feel Michael against him, and he trusted no one but himself to help get him out of this hellhole.

Michael was able to stand, though he leaned most of his weight on Alex, his other arm around Max. His face was in Alex’s hair and he inhaled.

He murmured, “You smell like him, too.”

“Come on, baby,” Alex encouraged, unwilling to ever let go again. “Come on, you can do it, just hold onto me.”

Alex’s fingers and toes had turned numb from the lack of movement in the last two hours, but he didn’t dare stand and walk around. He didn’t dare take his eyes off Michael until he woke up. He’d collapsed almost the second they’d gotten him into Max’s car, but Alex had kept a tight hold on him.

Max’s healing was useless against the pollen, and technically, Michael didn’t need a hospital, but Alex wanted Kyle to have access to whatever he needed to help him.

So they were pumping acetone into his veins instead of saline, they were monitoring his heart rate, even as, by the minute, it was getting better and better. And still, Alex kept close, kept watch, made sure no one but Kyle came in, no one but Kyle changed his IV bag and cleaned his wounds.

At one point, Kyle came in and put a hand on Alex’s shoulder. “Dude, you need to rest.”

“I’ll rest when he’s awake.”

“Alex –”

“Kyle,” Alex said, his voice clipped. “I’m not leaving him.”

A moment of silence, then, “Are you okay?”

“The man I love was kidnapped by my father, what do you think?”

“Alex.”

Alex glanced at Kyle, and the lump that had been in his throat since he first discovered Michael had gone missing lodged itself firmly in place now, forbidding him to breath steadily. His eyes burned and his lower lip trembled as a horrifying realization that he’d been keeping at bay surfaced now.

He whispered, “I’m just like him.”

“No,” Kyle said immediately. His voice was calm. “You’re not.”

“What I did to Mr. Jones,” he shook his head. “I would’ve killed every single guard in that prison without batting an eye.”

“No, you wouldn’t have.”

“Kyle –”

“You wouldn’t have.” Kyle sat down next to him. “Alex, you’re not your dad. All he ever thought about was himself. You did what you had to do to get Guerin back. Mr. Jones never would’ve told us where he was if you hadn’t – if you hadn’t done what you’d done.”

“I’d do anything for him,” Alex whispered, watching the way Michael’s chest rose and fell with his breaths. “Isn’t that a bad thing?”

“Maybe for some people,” Kyle shrugged a shoulder. “Not for you.”

Alex clenched his jaw. “I’m scared of what I’d become for him.”

“Who you always are is Alex,” Kyle said, and stood, ruffling Alex’s hair. “No matter what you become, that doesn’t change.”

With that, Kyle left them to be alone, and still Alex would not look away from Michael. He sniffled and reached out, taking Michael’s hand in both of his and holding tight.

The lump, the weight on his chest, the pain in his leg, he knew, wouldn’t go away until he got to see Michael was awake and safe. With the knowledge that he would be here all night, Alex squeezed Michael’s hand, and waited.

Michael opened his eyes to a white ceiling, white walls, and white sheets. A steady beep beep beep went on somewhere behind him, there was a warm weight on his left hand and hip, and he realized that he was in a hospital. Before he could start to question why though, he caught the source of the weight.

Alex had his head rested against Michael’s hip, sleeping with pinched brows as his hands clung to Michael’s. Michael stared. It took him a minute to process what he was seeing.

He heard himself breathe slowly, carefully. If this was a dream, he hoped he never woke up. Alex looked so real, his dark, straight hair splayed against the white sheets, his long lashes curled against rosy cheeks, his warm breathing against Michael’s hand as his lips brushed Michael’s fingers.

Michael reached up his thumb to touch Alex’s cheek, to see if it was as soft and warm as it looked (it was), and Alex started awake. His eyes followed Michael’s thumb to his face, and he sat up, a grin splitting his lips.

“Guerin!” he breathed. He stood and cupped Michael’s face. Michael did not miss the way he winced, but his eyes were filling with tears that begged to fall and his smile was so beautiful and happy that Michael couldn’t find it in him to do anything but cling to Alex’s hands just as tightly.

“You’re okay,” he sighed with relief, his fingers gentle on Michael’s jaw. “You’re okay. I’m going to – I should go get Kyle, I –”

“No,” Michael croaked, his throat dry, as he tried to sit up. “No, stay here.”

“Be careful,” Alex said, setting up his pillows and helping him lie down against them. “There you go, careful.” He stood back, looking Michael over for any open wounds. “Do you – uh – what do you need?”

Michael watched him. His fingers were trembling, his eyes twitching, his jaw clenched so tightly Michael feared he was drawing blood. He wordlessly held his arms out, and Alex eyed him a moment before his expression revealed the grief behind it, a sob escaped his lips, and he fell into Michael’s embrace.

“I’m so sorry,” he cried, and Michael’s heart broke. His hold on Alex tightened.

“Don’t,” he growled. “That wasn’t your fault. Got it? It wasn’t your fault, Alex. You’re my hero.”

“I’m not,” Alex whimpered. “You don’t know what I did.”

“I don’t care,” Michael breathed, his hold unbearably, painfully tight now. “I don’t care. You’re always my hero, Private.”

Alex burrowed deeper into his side. He kissed Michael’s shoulder, his neck, his jaw, his cheek, and held his face as he kissed his lips. Michael didn’t care if they weren’t officially together or hadn’t really spoken about their feelings since Alex and Forrest had ended things. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was Alex.

He held Alex back just as desperately, and kissed him again and again and again, until all Alex could do was laugh through his tears.

“I’m sorry,” Alex swallowed, straightening. “I should – I should be more careful. You’re still hurt. Uh –” he wiped his face roughly “—do you want me to get you some water? Juice? Anything you want.”

“You,” was all Michael said, taking hold of Alex’s hand and pulling him onto the bed.

Alex looked startled, but went where Michael guided him until they were both lying on their sides, pressed close together.

“Guerin,” Alex whispered as Michael wrapped an arm around his waist, his forehead against Alex’s. “We can’t do this now, you – you need –”

“You,” Michael whispered back. With his other hand, he traced Alex’s jaw, his lips, down his neck. He couldn’t remember anything after his bunker had been broken into, but he’d been sure of one thing; Alex would bring hell to the doorstep of anyone who dared hurt him.

“All I’ve ever wanted and needed is you,” Michael said into the small space between their lips. Alex’s eyes fluttered, his chin raising so that his lips met Michael’s, as if he couldn’t help himself. Michael was so in love, it hurt him.

Before he closed the distance between them, he whispered, “My Alex.”

#alex manes #michael guerin #malex #malex fic #malex fanfic #malex fanfiction #roswell new mexico #roswell nm #tw graphic violence #malex angst #malex fluff #tyler blackburn #michael vlamis

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detectivejigsawpines · 3 years

Text

Just a Normal Day

A short drabble about sea grunks having an average adventure, written in honor of their birthday.

Even before they got attacked by the Cthulhu beast, it had been a pretty average morning on the sea for the Pines twins.

Wake up at the crack of dawn (Ford) or closer to late morning (Stan); eat breakfast; reset the spell to ward off the vengeful leprechauns who might still be after them for stealing their treasure in case they’d figured out they were chasing a decoy trail by now; do a little late morning fishing, while keeping an eye out for that golden fish Stan was sure he’d seen swimming under their boat last week, and which he was hoping laid golden fish eggs or something; finally notice what time it was (Stan) and head inside to make lunch.

Just another normal day.

Stan was examining their supplies, trying to decide if it was worth breaking out some of the canned hamburger meat and throwing together sloppy Joes instead of making them eat fish again, when he was knocked skiwampus by the boat being yanked to a halt; as he struggled to regain his balance by grabbing onto the table, a vicious, blood-curdling roar came rumbling through the air from outside.

Stan sighed, and wondered if the kraken was back. In one swift motion he grabbed the spare harpoon they had hanging over the door, and stepped out to see if Ford needed help dealing with it.

It wasn’t the kraken.

It still looked like some kinda big octopus monster, though, with a mass of writhing tentacles where its face should be, and a bulbous head in the back just like an octopus body. The rest of it, at least as far as the torso, was kinda like a human’s but a little bigger (about the size of a baby whale), with slimy-looking green-brown skin and a pair of big, wrinkled, wet wings sticking out of its back. Whatever this thing was, it had grabbed onto the back of their boat, and was looming menacingly over Ford as Stan stepped outside.

“...and you are now my prisoners!” he bellowed, as his piercing golden eyes landed on Stan. “Surrender your weapons now, puny mortals, and I might be merciful!!!!”

“Yeesh, did we trespass on his territory or something?” Stan asked, leaning on the harpoon.

Ford shrugged with one shoulder, since he was trying to write in his journal at the same time. “He didn’t really say; he just jumped onboard and started threatening me.”

“Huh.” Stan looked up at the beast. “You the lord of this part of the ocean or whatever?”

The beast blinked-which looked pretty weird, his eyelids went sideways instead of up and down like humans-before nodding vigorously. “Yes! I am the lord of this part of the ocean, and you must surrender to me now, or else suffer my wrath!!!!” He slammed a fist down against the side of the boat, making it rock up and down so hard he had to scrabble to keep his balance. Stan coughed into his fist to hold back a snicker.

Ford tilted his head. “I could have sworn this was still the primary territory of the Manatee-Merfolk Alliance. Are you sure you haven’t made some kind of mistake?”

“What part of prisoners did you not understand?!” the beast demanded, spreading out his wings and shaking them as his tentacles writhed angrily. “Give up your weapons, now-all of them!!!!”

“...You sure you want that? It’s kind of gonna take awhile-”

“NOW, or I crush your boat in my mighty fist!!!!”

Stan glanced at Ford, who rolled his eyes and nodded. With a small sigh, they began disarming themselves.

********

...A minute passed and they were still at it.

Ford’s pile of weapons was almost as tall as he was, mostly consisting of long-range weapons like guns, but with a few vials of poisons and some handcuffs thrown into the mix.

Stan’s pile was more proportionate, but the number of places that weapons were produced from (including a smoke bomb that he’d somehow managed to keep tucked under his beanie) was frighteningly impressive.

The monster watched their progress with increasingly wide eyes; finally, as Stan produced another set of brass knuckles out of a secret pocket sewn onto the inside of his coat, he spluttered, “...Where were you keeping those?”

Stan just grinned shamelessly. “Trust me, sunshine, you don’t wanna know.”

“Okay, I think that’s everything,” Ford said at last, indicating the pile of weaponry.

“Yeah, well, I’m still workin’, gimme a minute.” Stan produced a switchblade, and tossed it onto his pile. Then, in a brief sleight of hand, he snatched another one from the pile and pretended to draw it out of his coat to toss it on next. “Hey, tentacles-face-ya think you could bring us back by Wednesday? We got a Zoom appointment ta keep, and our niece and nephew hate it when we’re late.” Another sleight of hand allowed him to scoop up another weapon.

“That’s not how this-now see here!” The monster drew himself up to his full height, nearly falling backwards off the boat. “You guys-you puny mortals are my prisoners! And as such, you need to understand that this is not a joking matter! I could squash you both like sea slugs if I wished! I’m all-powerful, an eons-old abomination whose very name would send you into madness if spoken aloud! So you better start quaking in fear and begging for mercy like proper captives!!!!”

Stan looked at Ford. “Sounds like we’re his first.” He looked back at the monster. “You’re doin’ great, buddy-good job on the whole threatening schtick.” He offered a thumbs-up, while using the other hand to snag another weapon that he pretended to produce from another hiding spot.

Ford winked at him, and looked back at their ‘captor.’ “Is this some sort of coming-of-age ritual for your species?” He produced his journal again, pen poised. “Very clever move, by the way, threatening our boat to get us to disarm ourselves. In the future, though, I would suggest that you try taking one of us hostage first, in order to create maximum-”

“STOP IT!”

The monster abruptly started pounding his fists against the side of the boat, nearly tipping it over before instead pitching him all the way onto the deck. “YOU’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE LIKE THIS! YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO-I’M YOUR-IT’S NOT FAIR-!”

It took Stan a moment to realize that the angry noises leaving his mouth (?) were accompanied by the sound of frustrated sobs.

He hissed through his teeth, and shot Ford a guilty look.

“...Oh boy. Looks like we got a little one here.”

********

Stan crossed the boat and crouched down in front of the weeping monster, putting a hand on his back and rubbing the spot right between his wings.

“Deep breaths, in and out. You’re not gonna get anything done like this, so just take a bit ta calm down, okay?”

The monster hiccuped and coughed, shrinking in on himself in a way that was painfully familiar to both of them.

Ford knelt down at his other side. “Maybe if you tell us why this is so important to you, we can provide some assistance?”

The monster shook his head and buried his head in his arms. “I just wanted-hic-to show my friends I could catch the Pines twins all by myself,” he croaked.

The two old men looked at each other in a mixture of surprise and slight alarm. “...You know who we are?”

That was finally enough to get him to sit up, wiping his eyes with his tentacles. “You kidding? Every creature of the seas knows who you are! You’re the guys who beat up krakens and steal gold from leprechauns and then you and your boat vanish without a trace! You’re the coolest cryptids ever!”

It took both of them a moment to digest that. By the time they did, though, they were grinning in equal delight.

“We’re cryptids?!” Ford asked, eyes practically brimming over with overjoyed tears.

“Yeah! And people at school were sayin’ you’re just a myth, but I knew you were real cuz my uncle saw your ship up in the Arctic last winter, and I was gonna capture you and bring you to class to show everyone how wrong they were and then I’d be famous and they’d stop calling me a weird runt all the time!” After a second his wings drooped, and he stared miserably down at the deck. “...Guess it was pretty dumb of me to think I could catch you all by myself.”

Stan put a hand on his shoulder. “...Kid...as much as we wanna help, we can’t just be your prisoners. We got our own lives ta get back to.”

“Plus, neither of us is able to breathe underwater,” Ford added.

The monster sighed, and pulled a strip of kelp from around his neck, turning one of the leaves until it was facing him. He squirted a stream of black ink from one of his tentacles, and dipped the tip of another one into the ink and used it to trace something that looked like a bunch of gobbledygook to Stan onto the leaf. “Humans...don’t...breathe...underwater.”

Awww...he’s a super nerd, just like Ford and Dipper!

That gave Stan an idea.

“Hey.” He nudged the monster. “What about a picture of us instead? Along with genuine proof of a close encounter?”

The monster’s head jerked up. “A picture?! Like with one of those weird magic boxes you humans carry around sometimes?!”

“That’s the one.” Stan grinned. He looked at Ford and jerked his head towards the cabin; his brother took the hint and headed for it, returning with an antique Polaroid camera that Ford had been experimenting on, but still took good pictures.

The monster’s tentacles began writhing around his face like they’d come to life, and he let out a high-pitched squeal of excitement.

“This is the greatest day of my life!!!!”

********

It took a bit of staging and directing and trying out different angles, but eventually they produced a set of photos that appeared to be of an eldritch abomination in training being attacked by, and bravely fighting off, the ferocious monster hunter Pines twins (hopefully nobody would think to ask how and why the monster had managed to get these pictures taken).

Then, while Stan took them into the cabin and soaked them in a special substance Ford had invented that would render them waterproof, Ford sat on the prow next to the young cryptid enthusiast and offered tips on future hunting adventures, comparing notes with him on some of the creatures they’d both seen. He also (with permission) took a few samples from the monster, including a long strip of skin (“Make it look like a wound I got in the fight! Man, this is gonna be so cool, Yog-Sothoth is gonna eat his heart out! Possibly literally!”) and some of the ink from his tentacles.

When Stan came back with the photos, he also handed over one of his spare brass knuckles that had lost a corner. “Have another souvenir, kid.”

The monster’s tentacles lashed out and wrapped around their faces in what felt like a really weird version of a hug before pulling away, leaving them covered in some of the slimy stuff they were coated in.

“Thank you so much! I really really hope the leprechauns don’t catch you-if they come this way I’ll make sure to eat some of them so they won’t!” He waved at them joyfully as he dived back into the ocean and disappeared.

********

After a moment Stan wiped his face on his coat sleeve.

“...Well, that happened.”

He turned away and began gathering up his weapons.

“Such a strange mixture of childlike innocence and barbarity,” Ford mused as he pulled out a jar and gathered the slime into it for yet another sample. “His culture must be fascinating-I almost wish he would have taken us with him so I could have seen it.”

“You would’ve drowned before you could gather any data.”

“...You don’t know that.”

“He literally didn’t know that humans can’t breathe underwater, Sixer. Not gonna happen.”

He ignored Ford’s sulking and kept cleaning, while musing to himself over the possible monetary opportunities being a couple of cryptids could bring...

#gravity falls #sea grunks #stan pines #ford pines #cthulhu doesn't stand a chance #stan just adopting everyone #humor #and fluff (sort of)#drabble ish

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butmakeitgayblog · 3 years

Text

City of Angels: Just a Little Doped Up

Also available on AO3

///////////////////

Lexa ached seeing her wife in pain.

Ached.

The weeks leading up to the big day had left Lexa feeling emotionally drained; a jittery ball of nerves bouncing from one room of their apartment to the next, testing out any and every remedy she could come up with to alleviate her wife's discomfort. Weeding through half-hearted protests of, "I'm fine," and diligently argued pleas of, "I'll do it later," Lexa clawed, begged, borrowed, and stole her way to this particular finish line.

After a month of grumbled fights and empty threats of a contentious divorce if Clarke didn't stop rescheduling, Lexa could only manage a haphazard sigh at being on the receiving end of her wife's icy glare when they'd finally led her away.

Because Clarke had eventually agreed to the procedure, albeit with an air of begrudging resignation, having spent the days leading up to the appointment grumpily preparing Lexa for what to expect.

And she thought she did know what to expect. Lexa had fully anticipated the swollen cheeks and glazed eyes that greeted her when the nurse had called her back. She'd expected the blood tinted dribble of drool that leaked from the lax hang of her wife's mouth. Even the wobbly chin and glistening sheen of tears upon seeing her again didn't lead Lexa to think a single thing was amiss.

But this?

She certainly hadn't anticipated this.

"Who the hell is that?"

"Pardon?" Lexa mumbled in return as she continued to read through the clipboard in her hands, a sigh escaping her at the fifth question in a row.

"I thaaaid," Clarke pushed out with a glassy roll of her eyes, "who the hell is that?"

Slowly dragging her eyes up for a moment Lexa flashed a pleading, yet overly-saccharine, look of love at her wife.

"Clarke?" she said as sweetly as she could manage.

"Hu?"

"Shhh. Just for a little bit, okay?"

Lexa watched an affronted frown pull at her wife's lips, cheeks stuffed with enough gauze to render any threat from the look quite moot. Shooting the disgruntled love of her life another smile, Lexa turned back to the discharge sheet she'd been attempting to fill out.

"Is she always this… lively?"

A cough of laughter jumped from Lexa's chest as she dotted the final 'i' in her last name. Handing the clipboard back to the waiting nurse, Lexa grinned over at the woman now fighting through a series of torturous looking blinks.

"You have no idea," she whispered. "But this is rare form, for sure. You'd think a doctor would-"

"Oh no," the nurse, Monroe, interrupted, shaking her head ruefully as she moved to slip the clipboard in its holder. "Doctors make the worst patients. If they're not pulling the MD card on you, they--"

"Heeey you. C'mere."

"-- Act like a fool?" Lexa finished for her, tossing an exasperated look toward the caregiver in charge.

Turning to the sound of her wife's call, Lexa had to swallow the urge to laugh. Despite Clarke's best attempt at what Lexa knew to be her sultry voice of seduction, the growing puddle of spittle escaping the loose sling of her mouth was enough to kill any hope of that particular mood.

"Yes, my love?" she soothed anyway, rolling the wheeled stool she sat on over to catch her wife's searching hand. "You feeling okay?"

"Yeah," Clarke hummed, her words sticky, and slow, and slurred. "There's thit in my mouf."

"It's gauze, sweetheart," Lexa said, leaning down to press the whisper of a kiss to the swollen curve of Clarke's jaw. "You had your wisdom teeth taken out."

"They took my teef?!"

Seeing the flash of indignant anger in Clarke's eyes, Lexa immediately moved to intercept Clarke's free hand that had sluggishly tried, and failed, to fly up to her mouth.

"You asked them to, remember? They were hurting you."

Clarke shook her head, her eyes turning watery along with her words. "I wouldn't do that."

"I promise ya, hun," the nurse chuckled as she moved to Clarke's other side. "You did."

"But I hate doctorth."

"Amen, sister," Monroe hummed as she took Clarke's wrist and did a final check of her vitals.

Lexa watched as Clarke's eyes seemed to spin in their sockets for a moment before landing on her again, a smile blooming on Lexa's lips at her wife's adorable befuddlement.

"I lub you," Clarke slurred with doe-eyed conviction, picking her head up just to have it fall back a second later. Letting her wandering gaze loop around to her opposite side, baby-blues turned to the nurse instead. "I lub her, ya know."

"I should hope so," the nurse grinned as she placed Clarke's hand back down. "Otherwise the whole marriage thing would be kinda awkward."

"Yeah," Clarke said in a lazy sigh. "That'd be weird… Like we were straight--."

"Okay, Clarke," Lexa tried, shooting Monroe an apologetic smile. "Why don't we just-"

"But I'm in lub with her," she rolled on, pausing for a moment to noisily smack her obviously numb lips. "She's an angel, ya know?"

"She seems like it."

"No. No," Clarke shook her head defiantly. "You don't get it."

Releasing a nervous laugh, Lexa squeezed the hand in her grip in warning. "Clarke--"

"She's an angel. Like with the flappy wingth one. A halo and… 'N a harp, I think. Birkenstockth."

"Well those are certainly all words," Monroe smiled down at the babbling patient.

"She fell down a cliff to lub me," Clarke crooned in high-pitched broken words, her lip starting to tremble again with emotion.

Running a soothing hand through blonde hair, Lexa shook her head at the nurse holding back laughter as she stood to lean over her doped-up wife. "Clarke, sweetheart, shhhh, okay? We're gonna be going home in a minute, so just rest. If you talk too much, the swelling will be worse."

"Thee, look," Clarke said, ignoring Lexa entirely as she flopped a hand in the general direction of Lexa's face. "She's still got a lil thcar on her eye... I kith it when she's thleeping."

Head rolling back towards the nurse, Clarke looked up with a deadpan warning.

"Don't tell her that though."

"It'll be our little secret," Monroe winked before moving toward the door. "Okay, Mrs. Griffin, I'm gonna go get you the rest of your aftercare info and a wheelchair, and then you can get this one home."

Lexa breathed a sigh of relief and smiled. "Thanks, Monroe."

"No problem, just sit tight."

The door clicked shut as the woman left, Lexa taking her seat again to fire off a text to Raven to let her know they'd be done soon. A hush fell over the room as she slid her phone back into her pocket before lifting her head… and seeing her wife glaring daggers at the closed door.

"What?"

Blue eyes rolled to her with what Lexa supposed could be defined as righteous indignation.

"I think that bith was flirtin' with me."

"Clarke," Lexa gasped and her mouth dropped open. "Do not call her that."

"She got all winky with me," Clarke argued, mimicking the move by seductively winking with both eyes. "I know what that meansth."

"Sweetheart, she was not flirting with you."

"She's trying to busth up a happy home. Make me get a divorce."

"She wasn't. She just thought you were being goofy."

"I'm not goofy… You're goofy."

Lexa simply sighed. "I am goofy, you're right."

"I know," Clarke nodded as Lexa tucked back a wayward curl behind Clarke's ear. "... 'N fuckin' 'winky' out there-"

"Clarke, stop."

"You tell her to sthop," Clarke frowned. "I'm married and she nid- no- needs to knock it off."

"I'll tell her that, okay?"

Clarke merely sighed, head falling to the side as stared over at Lexa through several slow blinks. "I can't feel my lipth."

"They're still there. Pretty as ever."

"I think they took my tongue away."

"I hope not. Definitely need that for later."

Clarke perked up at that.

"Are we gonna have thex later?"

"No," Lexa chuckled. "You're high as a kite, love. And you're going to be in a lot of pain in just a little bit, so I think it's gonna be a while before-"

Her words cut off as Clarke's bottom lips scrunched together, eyes filling with tears yet again.

"Oh, don't cry," Lexa hushed through a laugh as she scooted closer, carefully cradling her wife's face in her palms. She swept the pad of her thumb along the delicate row of lashes, collecting the dewy droplets before they could fall.

"You don't wanna have thex with me anymore," Clarke sniffled.

"I always want to have sex with you, Clarke," Lexa assured with a smile, rolling her eyes at the entire trainwreck of a conversation. "But you just had surgery, so for now you have to heal first."

"... Heal first?"

"Yes," Lexa nodded definitively. "Heal first, then sex. I promise."

Clarke seemed to debate the matter for a moment, her eyes shifting in and out of focus as Lexa ran fingers through the tendrils of her hair.

"Okay," Clarke finally conceded, giving a lazy shrug of her shoulder as all traces of sadness suddenly vanished from her face.

Lexa snorted as she pulled back, glad to have seemingly navigated that particular minefield successfully. A quiet knock on the door pulled her attention away as the door eased open and Monroe walked backward into the room.

"Alright, Clarke," she announced, pivoting around to pull a wheelchair up to the side of the recovery chair. "Your chariot awaits, m'lady."

"Oh look, winky'th back. Mleeeh."

Monroe's face pulled to the side in confusion, her gaze darting to Lexa who could only close her eyes and shake her head in answer. Biting her lips to seemingly hold back an amused response, the nurse gave a tiny nod of understanding as she moved to help the patient currently losing a battle with a blanket.

"Alrighty. Anyway. Ready to head home, Mrs. Griffin?"

"Griffin-Woodth," Clarke immediately groaned as she lumbered to her feet, one arm hooked through Lexa's while the other elbowed the nurse away. "We're a team."

Monroe lifted her hands up in surrender when Lexa grunted against Clarke's struggling and gave up on their coaxing method of transport, instead moving to wrap an arm around Clarke's waist to bodily shuffle her into the wheelchair. Easing her wife down in the seat, Lexa dodged a sloppy kiss aimed at her cheek.

"Hang on, sweetheart, you're bleeding again," she rushed out before Clarke could become emotionally unglued at her rebuff, mechanically moving to ransack the sterile tray still off to the side to grab a few fresh bundles of gauze.

Squatting down, Lexa tipped Clarke's head forward by her chin, thanking everything holy when her wife let her mouth fall open at her urging. Swapping out the soaked gauze for fresh ones and escaping unscathed from the teasing nip of teeth at her fingers, Lexa tenderly wiped Clarke's chin clean before tossing the rolls in the biohazard bin and moving to wash her hands.

"Well at least we know she's all set for home aftercare," Monroe said with a grin as Lexa shook her hands off and wiped them dry on a few paper towels.

Ears pinking at the statement, Lexa ditched the towels in the bin as well and made her way back over. "Yeah, sorry. Force of habit. Working inside of a hospital and being married to a doctor for four years, you just kinda get used to it."

"A lot of spouses can be a little put-off by the blood and drool."

"She drools when she sleeps anyway," Lexa shrugged, gathering up the paperwork they needed and stuffing them inside Clarke's purse. Placing the bag over her shoulder, Lexa leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to her wife's forehead. "You ready to go home, love?"

"Mhmmmm," Clarke hummed with a dopey bob of her head.

Lexa held the door open as the nurse started wheeling Clarke out, her eyes doing a scan of the room to make sure they had everything. A quick jog let her catch up to the pair as they neared the patient checkout, Clarke babbling Monroe's ear off the entire way.

"Hey, sexy," a voice shouted as the doors of the clinic slid open. "Get your fine ass over here."

Lexa smiled at the call as she looked up from the soggy flow of words her wife was directing at seemingly no one in particular.

"Wabeeeen," Clarke called back in a throaty haze of excitement, her head and hand not holding an ice-pack wobbling back and forth in a bizarre kind of drugged-up celebration dance. "Baby, Waben's here."

"I know," Lexa said as Monroe wheeled them toward the SUV parked by the curb. "She drove us here. And now she's gonna give us a ride home, remember?"

"That'th nice of her... She's tho nice," Clarke sniffled as they pulled to a stop. Lexa could barely hold back a sputter of laughter at that, giving Clarke a conciliatory nod.

"Sure she is. We'll go with that."

"Jesus, Griff, what'd they do to you?"

Lexa's head snapped up to level their friend with a warning glare after blue eyes turned to her and started welling up all over again.

"Because ya look great!" Raven very expertly added, pulling her lips back in apology before spinning around toward her car and opening the door. "Okay, let's get you up and in, princess. Chop chop."

Scoffing at that pathetic display, Lexa pulled the purse off of her shoulder and shoved it in Raven's general direction as she rounded to the front of the wheelchair.

"You ready to get in, love?" she asked as she squatted down in front of her wife. "Me and Monroe are gonna help, okay?"

"No."

"Clarke--"

"I can walk mythelf."

"Let us help."

"You really shouldn't walk by yourself, Mrs. Griffin."

Clarke scowled at the nurse, a mumbled "Griffin-Woodth" floating between them as Lexa straightened back up.

"Don't make me do it, Clarke."

Blue eyes swung back around to her, a defiant glint coloring them… once they'd stopped rolling in Clarke's head.

"You're gonna be mad at yourself later," Lexa reminded. She waited a long moment as her wife stubbornly stared back. Shoulders slumping in defeat, Lexa stepped aside with a sigh and nodded toward the car.

Raven smiled and shook her head as she raised a knuckle and rapped twice on the darkened window.

"You owe me five bucks, Woods," Raven said as the door popped open.

"Yeah, yeah," Lexa frowned and shuffled aside to make room. "Excuse me for siding with my wife."

"Well in all fairness, it was a really dumb bet."

"Thank you," Lexa drawled as her friend stepped out.

Anya only shrugged as she closed the door behind her. Stepping to the wheelchair, she pulled up the sleeves of her long black coat and smirked down. "So we meet again, Clarke."

"Anya!" Clarke cheered, throwing her hand up to awkwardly pat the woman on the arm. Twisting around to look at the nurse behind her, Clarke hushed her voice and added, "She's an angel too, ya know?"

"Is that right?"

"Mhm. Our guard- our garden- our gardenia angel. But she kinda thucks at it. Don't tell her I thaid that though."

Anya's spine snapped to attention at the words, her glare darting between Lexa and the nurse eyeing the strangeness of her thick, dark outfit in the middle of L.A. heat with curiosity. Letting out a nervous chuckle, Lexa minutely shook her head and grabbed Clarke's hand to get her attention.

"Yes, sweetheart, everyone here's an angel. Let's get you in the car now, 'kay?"

"Yes," Monroe said as she seemed to blink herself out of whatever thoughts she'd been having, instead walking to the side of the wheelchair and flipping on the breaks. "Time to go, Mrs. Griffin… Woods. Griffin-Woods," she tacked on at the narrowing of Clarke's eyes before glancing up at the woman across from her. "You wanna grab that side?"

"Don't worry about it, just step back," Raven said as she helped Lexa guide the nurse up and away. "It'll be easier this way 'cause grouchy ass likes to fight anyone helping her."

With that, Anya crouched down and slid one arm beneath the bend of Clarke's knees, the other snaking between her arm and waist to wrap around her back.

"Up we go," Anya murmured and lifted Clarke out of the seat, ignoring the lazy protests from her passenger as she kicked aside the wheelchair with ease. Monroe grappled to grab and right the seat as Lexa refused to look at her, instead letting her head fall into her hand at the entire display.

Raven opened the backseat door as wide as it would go when Anya stepped forward.

"Clarke, tuck your head into me like you do Lexa," Anya said as she bent to scoot the woman through the door of the car, only to yank back a moment later with a garbled yell of disgust. "Not like that!"

"Anya--"

"She licked me!"

"You thaid like Lexa."

"Why did I agree to not film this?" Raven groaned and flopped back against the side of the car.

"Can we please get this shit show on the road," Lexa sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose as she took control of the chaos and began rattling off instructions. "Clarke, no licking. Anya, just get her in the car. Raven, you agreed because your friend, my wife, is a very well-respected doctor and teacher, and having a video of her licking a random woman's neck wouldn't be great for her career. Now, go start the car. Monroe… I don't even know. Thank you? And I'm sorry about all of this."

The nurse simply smiled as she reached down to unlock the wheels again and looped around back toward the clinic. "Don't worry about it. Happens more often than you'd think. She'll be out of it for a bit, but just roll with it. Keep everything clean, read the aftercare instructions, and call if you have any questions."

Exchanging a final nod of goodbye, the nurse left the group and went back inside.

"Okay, put her in, Ahn. I'll meet you on the other side."

With a disgruntled huff, Anya gave the woman in her arms another wary glance and moved to settle her into the backseat. Lexa rushed around the back of the SUV and flung the door open, slipping in and across the bench seat in the back as Anya leaned in and set Clarke down.

"Hey, Clarke? I'm gonna buckle you in now," Lexa said as she accepted the seat belt clasp Anya stretched out for her.

Clarke glared between the two of them, her hands swatting at her sides. "I'm not a child. I can do it mythelf."

"You just licked Anya's neck in the middle of a parking lot," Raven pointed out as she started the engine. "And that was after you told a random stranger that she's a whole ass angel."

"Yeah, she told her I was one inside as well," Lexa said as she clicked the buckle in place.

"Hence why we're not exactly trusting you or your motor functions right now, babe."

"But she is an angel. You are an angel," Clarke hummed, sending a hazy look of adoration to her wife while Lexa draped a blanket over her lap. "You're my angel."

"Say angel again," Raven snorted and slipped on a pair of sunglasses.

"... Sure doesn't fuck like an angel though."

"Ew, no!" Anya thundered and flung herself backward out of the door frame, dramatically heaving twice before slamming the door shut hard enough to rock the entire car.

"Clarke," Lexa hissed as her wife continued to leer.

"Huh?"

Anya grunted as she whipped the front door open and climbed in. "Why did I agree to come to this?"

Clarke's lips pooched as she sent a very wet sounding smooch in Lexa's direction. "Don't be mad, baby. I like that you're nasty in bed."

"Oh my G-- Lexa, will you please muzzle her. No one wants to hear this."

"Speak for yourself," Raven gleefully cut in as she started to pull away. "Get it, Griff! Tell us the really freaky shit."

"She lets me--"

"Clarke!" Lexa yelled while leaning forward to get her attention. Glazed eyes blinked at her in slow passes as a pout spread across Clarke's face. Sighing when she was sure she had her wife's attention, Lexa reached up and tugged a curl of blonde behind her ear. "... I promise you, whatever it was you wanted to say just now, you would wholeheartedly regret saying it later. Especially to Raven."

"That's fair actually," Raven called back as she moved them through midmorning traffic.

Clarke shifted to reach for Lexa's hand, assuring her in what Lexa supposed could be a valiant attempt at a whisper. "Don't worry, baby. I wasn't gonna tell 'em about the butt stuff."

Eyes sliding closed as a chorus of retching mingled with cackling laughter from the front seat, Lexa sat back in her seat and ran a hand through her hair.

"Not a word."

"I'm not saying anything," Raven choked out through the dying rolls of her laughter.

The car fell quiet as they drove, Lexa looking out the window and letting her mind drift. She watched the cars and hills of the outskirts of L.A. fly past as they wound their way home. Despite… well, everything, she was glad this was finally over; the final expense officially checked off of their list of 'to-do's'. She idly tapped her fingers on the leather of her seat and admired the green hillsides, smiling to herself as she thought of what came next.

They hadn't told anyone when they'd made the decision to start looking through private listings, Lexa having sworn Anya to secrecy until they'd figured out an actual plan. She wondered if she'd miss the familiar drive to their apartment, the only home she'd truly known on Earth. She was excited, if not a little nervous, but ready to take the next step with the… absolute mess of a woman beside her.

Letting her head lull back over to check on her patient, Lexa startled a bit to find watery, blue eyes already staring back.

"What's the matter?" she hushed in a soft and concerned voice, scooting closer as she reached up to brush away a rogue tear.

"You're really hot... And tho pretty."

Rolling her eyes at the dreamy words, Lexa grinned back. "Not as pretty as you."

"My wife'th gonna be tho mad at me," Clarke whined and shook her head.

"... Why is your wife going to be mad at you?" she asked with a quirk of her brow.

"'Cause I think you're really hot," Clarke confessed through a fresh wave of tears.

"Seriously can you like, knock her out or something?"

"Shut up, Anya," Lexa said as she scooted the remaining distance between them. "Clarke, darling, I promise, your wife won't be mad at you for thinking I'm hot."

"How do you know?"

"Because she's your wife, genius," Anya drawled. "I still can't believe they trust that woman with human lives."

"You're just a little doped up right now," Lexa soothed even as reached out to flick her friend on the ear. "Don't worry though, I'll take care of everything. You just relax."

Clarke blinked owlishly at her for a minute, Lexa clearly able to see the cogs grinding to life through the fog of the drugs. She smiled and nodded as Clarke's face suddenly lit up, eyebrows shooting upward as her mouth dropped open.

"Oh yeah," Clarke beamed, her head wobbling back and forth as she flopped around a little in her seat. "That is you, innit. I forgot, ha. That'th crazy."

"It is."

"Man, I am high."

"You are."

"You should kith me."

"I should not."

Lexa nearly groaned as soon as the words left her mouth.

Clarke's face fell into a devastated frown, her lip trembling as her head fell to her shoulder. "You don't wanna kith me."

"Clarke, no, that's not it--"

"I knew it. I'm tho ugly now you won't kith me anymore."

"Oh my God, stop. Just, hang on," Lexa huffed. "Raven, do you have napkins or Kleenex in here? Anything?"

She waited as Anya rifled through the glovebox, accepting the fistful of napkins along with a deep look of disdain when she passed them back. Gently cradling her wife's chin, Lexa tilted her face back up.

"I'm gonna make you a deal," she murmured as she dabbed away as much blood and spit from Clarke's lips as she could. "I will kiss you. But. You have to let me kiss you. You just sit there, okay?"

Clarke bobbed her head in a tiny nod, Lexa's heart squeezing tight at the sad but hopeful face still cradled in her palm. Once she deemed those lips as clean as she could ever hope for given the situation, Lexa tossed the soiled napkins into the seat beside her.

Bringing her other hand up, Lexa held her wife's face between her palms, a smile spreading over her lips as she took in the sight of her. The sight of laugh lines that had begun reaching out from the corners of baby blues, their recent appearance reminding Lexa how happy their life together had proven to be. She admired the few twists of grey that weaved in and out of silken blonde, the effect of them making the woman look all the more distinguished.

Running her thumbs over the apples of delicate cheekbones, Lexa leaned in and gently pressed a kiss to her wife's lips. She hummed at the familiar feeling, soft and sweet as ever, her movements steady and light so as to not cause any pain. Pulling away, she left a last peck on Clarke's upper lip, forever a slave to sealing the little beauty mark with a kiss.

"Better?" she whispered as she watched Clarke's eyes flutter back open.

Clarke was quiet as she stared back, a long moment passing before she heaved a defeated sigh.

"I couldn't feel it."

Lexa did her best to bite back a snort of laughter, head dropping forward as her chest shook with the effort. "Don't worry, sweetie. I'll kiss you plenty to make up for it when you feel better, I promise."

"We're here, lovebirds," Raven announced as she pulled to a stop outside of their apartment building. Lexa squeezed her shoulder over the top of the seat in thanks as she reached for the handle. "I'm gonna stay here so my lazy ass doesn't have to find a place to park, but I'm gonna call you guys later, okay?"

Grunting in acceptance as she opened her door, Lexa hopped out and ran around the back of the car to meet Anya on the other side. A few petulant protests and a very one sided bartering war later, Lexa pressed the button to shut the doors of the elevator in their building.

Sighing as she all but collapsed back against the rail of the elevator, Lexa reached out a hand to nudge her friend's shoulder.

"Thanks again, Ahn."

"Yeah, whatever," Anya grumbled, adjusting her grip on the woman sagged at her side.

If Lexa had had the energy she would've laughed at the pair of them, knowing full well Anya was supporting every inch of the woman's weight despite Clarke's staunch insistence that she could walk.

She reminded herself that her wife's stubbornness was part of why she loved her.

"Okay, here we go," Lexa rallied as the doors slid open on their floor. "Last stretch, love, and then you can rest."

"I wanna make nachos."

"Yeah, we'll have to see about that," Lexa shook her head as she jogged ahead to unlock the door, holding it open as Anya all but dragged Clarke through the entrance of their apartment.

"Where should I put her?"

"Bedroom."

"No," Clarke said with enough ferocity it startled the pair, taking Anya particularly by surprise when she elbowed her way out of the hold and launched herself toward the couch.

Lexa felt her heart jump up into her throat as Clarke nosedived toward the cushions, landing face first into the set of pillows.

"Clarke!" she yelped, darting around the couch and crouching over her. Biting back a twitch of annoyance, Lexa pulled the woman upward and helped her flip over. "Jesus, you have got to be more careful. You could've really hurt yourself."

"I'm fine, baby," Clarke slurred, glassy eyes shining behind the low droop of her lids. "I don't feel anything. You could punch me right in the mouf and I'd be fine."

"I'm not going to punch you."

"I might."

"Goodbye, Anya. Thank you for helping," Lexa blindly called over her shoulder, "but you can go now. Raven's waiting."

"Right, right, right," Anya said, rapping a knuckle on the wall as she turned to go. "I'll leave you to take care of the little missus. Call if you need anything. Feel better, doc."

"Byeeeeeeeeee," Clarke sing-songed out to her before the door closed, shimmying in place as Lexa helped her adjust on to her back. "She's gonna go makeout with Waben."

"What else is new," Lexa grinned and pulled the blanket off of the back of the couch.

Lexa moved to take off Clarke's shoes and socks, leaning down to peck a quick kiss to the wiggly toes before tucking them under the blanket as well. After placing the shoes in their home along the front hall of their apartment, she moved to ditch the balled up socks in the laundry despite the disgruntled yowl from the plump feline stationed on top of their washer.

The jingle of Penny's collar followed her as she went about collecting the supplies listed on the aftercare sheet, piling a tiny tray up with gauze squares, water, pain medicine, and snacks.

"That'd not nachoth," Clarke said with a sleepy grump of a frown as Lexa laid the tray on the coffee table beside her.

"Not nachos. No crunchy stuff, unfortunately. Doctor's orders. But may I offer you a bowl of our finest applesauce?"

"This is bullthit."

"I know."

"You did this to me, and I'll neber forgib you."

"I know."

"Will you cuddle wif me?"

Smiling down at her wife, Lexa simply nodded and quickly tied her back into a ponytail.

"Scooch," she hummed, toeing off her shoes before gingerly climbing over to the opposite side. Lowering herself as gently as possible, Lexa fit herself into the snug space between her wife and the back of their couch. She wriggled down enough to make sure she was safe from knocking into the already swollen jaw.

"Better?" Lexa whispered as she rested her head on Clarke's chest and draped an arm around her waist.

"Mhm," Clarke said, the drowsy weight of her hum sounding peaceful and warm.

"You can't sleep with those things in your mouth."

"Not thleepin'."

Giving up that fight before it could start and deciding she'd just slip them out once the woman dozed off, Lexa snuggled in deeper, breathing in calming lungfuls of her wife's scent.

The day had been insane, which after four years of marriage she was generally used to, but overall Lexa couldn't help but pat herself on the back. She knew when the medicine started to wear off they'd both be in a world of pain, but for now, she let herself relax into the peace of the moment.

Which was promptly broken by the faint buzz of Clarke's phone.

Sighing in annoyance, Lexa dug her hand under the blanket and into Clarke's pocket to pull it out. She thumbed in the passcode, muscle memory having her click 1203 for their anniversary without a thought, and tapped to open the notification.

Asshole (11:42 a.m.): so... you're gonna tell me about that butt stuff thing later right?

"For fuck's sake, Raven." With a disgusted sigh, Lexa closed out the message and slapped the phone on the table.

Snuggling back into the snoozing body beneath her, Lexa decided she'd just have to deal with that later.

#sorry for the ugly ass moodboard just go with it #clexa #clexaweek 21 #clexaweek 21 day 6 #day 6 magic #CoA

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mythicamagic · 3 years

Note

“If i asked you to stay, would you?” Please ❤️

Decided to do a continuation of - this drunk Kagome prompt

Also, all prompts have been posted to Ao3, fanfiction.net and Dokuga if anyone wants to read them there ^^

---

Inserting a spare key into the lock, Sesshoumaru casually let himself into Kagome’s apartment the next day around noon after hearing a loud groan answer his knock.

Stepping over some discarded heels and shedding his human glamour mid-step, he found Kagome messily sprawled over her bed.

Blue eyes cracked open, and she winced.

“Sesshoumaru...I think I’m dying.”

“I did tell you to drink water before passing out,” he intoned flatly, lifting a bag of food from Zubway into view.

Kagome groggily sat up, rubbing her head and sighing. “You did, huh? Was I really bad?”

“The usual amount of drunk, I’d say,” thin lips quirked as he left to grab some water, bringing a full glass back.

Kagome accepted it, along with a painkiller. “Thank you so much. You’re the absolute best.”

Sesshoumaru’s golden eyes flickered. They strayed away, and he fell quiet as they both dug into their food. Kagome barely had the stomach for it, but forced herself to eat, knowing it would make her feel better in the long run. She managed half of her sandwich, before leaning back against her pillows with a hungover sigh.

“You know...I think some things are coming back to me,” she mumbled, squinting.

Sesshoumaru hummed, hardly expecting anything miraculous to be remembered.

Kagome blanched after a moment, blue eyes widening. “D-did I...say something weird about your butt?”

A wicked smirk came to his lips, delighting in her humiliated whine of defeat.

“Oh nooo- go on. Lay it on me.”

“This one seems to recall you wanting to bite my ‘cute butt.’”

“Nooooo!” she fell face first into her pillow, the noises coming out muffled.

“And then you wished to lick me-”

The sounds of embarrassment rose higher.

His tone dropped into a low whisper, “you also said that you loved me.”

Kagome’s head rose, fumbling with her dishevelled hair, “hm? What was that last one? Your voice was too quiet.”

“I said you wanted to lick honey from my person-”

“Nooooooooo!”

Smirking, Sesshoumaru rose from the bed to dispose of their trash, glancing at her rumpled form furtively from the corner of his eye.

It was for the best. If she’d really meant it, then surely Kagome would’ve told him by now. The only reason he kept his own silence was because of how fragile it all felt.

Because this- spending easy time with her- being her companion, all of it was more than enough. The inuyoukai had been alone for so many years, by design of course. Only a select few were permitted close.

Ultimately, his relationship with Kagome Higurashi was too precious to be mishandled. If he confronted her- only for the miko to become awkward around him, he couldn’t...take it.

Sesshoumaru reached down, hooking his claws under the strap of her tight black dress that had slipped decadently off one shoulder, staring into her eyes- mascara smudged on her lashes. “You should change out of the clothes you wore last night,” he said softly.

Kagome blinked, reddening a little. Eventually she gave a nod, watching him walk to the threshold of her door.

“Sesshoumaru?”

He paused, “hn?”

“Was there something else? Any other odd things I might’ve said?”

Turning to face her, he couldn’t quite keep the intrigue from his voice. “Such as?”

“...I dunno, but…” Kagome chewed on her bottom lip maddeningly. His chest flared, hunger rising in his throat. Fangs ached. She was such a tease- no- he shook himself firmly.

“If any stuff I said when I was drunk made you uncomfortable, we could talk about that.”

“None of it made me uncomfortable.”

“I guess you are pretty difficult to embarrass,” she mumbled, bowing slightly. “But still, I’m sorry for any trouble I caused.”

Sesshoumaru smiled slightly, assuring her, before continuing out of the room. A sense of missed opportunity heavily pervaded the air as he let out a slow exhale, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Foolishness.

---

The next time she got drunk was strangely two nights later, which was very odd in itself. Kagome did not drink so frequently.

And especially not alone.

“Come overrr,” she’d slurred down the phone. “We can have a sleepover!”

Sesshoumaru’s claws bit into the leather of his armchair, considering this, “I do not think that wise-”

“I’m gonna run through the halls, naked~”

“I will be right there,” he grunted, hanging up.

---

Her apartment lay on the fifth floor, and when Sesshoumaru reached her door, hearing nothing from inside- a sense of disquiet filled him with dread.

Kagome was a happy drunk. She was a stupid fool who loved everyone and showered them with affection.

Finding her inside sitting on the sofa- with the glassy look of unshed tears in her dark eyes, Sesshoumaru stopped and wondered how well he even knew her at all.

She collapsed into his arms the second he offered them.

Making low noises of comfort, Sesshoumaru lifted the miko onto his lap, combing deadly claws through her hair.

“What ails you?” he rumbled, kissing her behind the ear. He then winced, reminding himself not to take liberties with her person.

“I-I feel so happy,” Kagome sobbed, clinging tight around his shoulders.

Sesshoumaru blinked, rubbing her back in soothing circles using his large palm. “That is an issue?”

“It is!” she wailed, hiding her face. “B-because, I feel so guilty for it, all the time...all the time,” the words trailed off into a whisper.

“Why, miko?”

“Because I loved Inuyasha…and you’re his brother,” she breathed. “Because I miss my friends, but if someone asked me to give you up in order to see them again- I...I couldn't.”

Her grip tightened around him, shoulders shaking.

“And because -when we’re doing friend stuff, I don’t think of you as a friend- well I do-” she stumbled over her words. “Only I- I can’t help but hope for more. Wishing- and that’s not fair! It’s not fair to you! I never...thought I’d be happy again after the stupid bone well shut, but you fill me with...joy.”

Kagome stared at him suddenly, her face much too close.

Before Sesshoumaru could react, or do much of anything since he was already rendered speechless by her chatter- she’d pressed her soft lips to his. The action sent him reeling. His attention focused razer sharp on the sensation- of the tight grip she kept on his clothes. How she trembled with want of him.

Sesshoumaru inwardly purred, feeling a glow light up inside him. He reached for her hair- before she abruptly pulled away.

“And I just really think your butt is cute! I wanna grab it so bad that I feel like I’ve turned into Miroku! I-I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he panted, a strange warmth dusting his cheeks. “Is this why you only tell me such things when you’re drunk? You’re too ashamed to say them in the cold light of day?”

“Guess so. You’re so smart,” she slurred, resting her cheek against his shoulder and tiredly booping his nose. “Love you.”

“Hn, so you have mentioned,” Sesshoumaru uttered, casting his frazzled mind back. “Many times.”

But now a sense of understanding filled his rattled senses, and his own fears were swiftly being laid to rest.

Kagome hugged him tight, and Sesshoumaru returned it, cradling her close.

“If I asked you to stay, would you?” she murmured.

Midsummer eyes slid shut, confessing a very real truth. “I would do anything you asked of me, miko.”

---

When Kagome rose that morning, clinging to his solid body tightly and lifting her head to meet his gaze, Sesshoumaru cupped her cheek.

“Sesshoumaru, what-? Mmfh?!”

A warm mouth fiercely crashed into hers, arms wrapping around her. She tasted terrible, and the kiss was sloppy- not at all perfect. He adored it anyway the second she tentatively kissed back- touching his hair gingerly.

She’d been like him, he realised, purring with satisfaction as he deepened the kiss, hitching her thigh over his waist. Too afraid to pursue anything, for fear of harming what they had.

Grabbing Kagome’s hand, Sesshoumaru forced it to the curve of his ass, permitting her to grope it. She could bite it if she wanted, he hardly cared. She squeaked, eliciting a devilish smile against her mouth.

He wanted to reassure her. He wanted her to know that she didn’t need to get drunk anymore to permit herself to love him. She could confess her deepest desires and he’d listen to each and every one.

Kissing her hard, Sesshoumaru inhaled her scent and dragged his lips across her cheek, hissing lowly in her ear;

“I love you too, foolish woman.”

#Sesskag #Sesshoumaru x Kagome #Asks

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daddywanken0bi · 4 years

Text

Armor

word count: 1.7k

author: Allie

warnings: female reader, but none other than that. it’s fluffy :)

a/n: oh my gosh it’s been so long. Jess and I have been working like crazy this semester, but we’re finally on break. And this one, for some reason, took forever to write. I still don’t think it’s perfect, but I don’t want to keep y’all waiting any longer.

Obi Wan x Mandalorian!reader

requested by @the-mandalorian-clone-lover

Armor

Your armor didn’t used to feel this heavy.

It was designed to be light weight, flexible and silent in combat. It was precisely tailored to your body with chrome plating and acute edges. It used to be something you relied on and trusted to protect your most vital organs. But now, as the red paint chipped to reveal the true blue underneath, it only felt like a burden, a customized reminder of a distantly past life. You probably offended someone wearing it still, but you didn’t really care at this point. The menacing helmet was enough to prevent people from approaching you - that was the last thing you needed.

So you kept it, wore it with some sort of false pride that was more akin to stubbornness than anything else. If you were honest with yourself, you’d acknowledge the comfort it provided - a shield that prevented you from facing the Galaxy and coming to terms with your past. But life as a bounty hunter was far from honest, and you were good at your job.

Your armor hung especially low on your shoulders as you landed back on Coruscant. The target you’d been hunting for a week slipped through your fingers again. Every time you thought you had them, the bastard squirmed out of your grasp. And to add insult to injury, a colleague (to put it politely) captured the shmuck just as you were about to close in. Dejected and bitter, you returned to the city planet with very little of your pride intact.

However, as soon your boots hit the pavement, all of the tension released from your shoulders. You exhaled and tilted your gaze to the magnificent temple piercing the horizon. Beneath your chest plate, your heart reached for your lover that resided there. It wouldn’t be long until he found you, you knew, as the Force drew him to you like a moth to a flame. You shook your head, and beneath your helmet, a smile tugged at your lips.

The thought of reuniting with his sapphire eyes kept your shoulders square as you traipsed through the muddy streets. You surveyed its inhabitants, noting how any of them could be your next target. On your left, an elderly man played the ommni box, his hat on the ground for credits. On some strange level, you empathized with him: you both resorted to your talents to make a living. To your right, a couple stumbled out of a bar, giggling and collapsing on top of one another. Acidic jealousy bubbled in your stomach as you watched, but shame quickly suppressed it. It was unfair of you to be envious. Loving a Jedi was difficult, but you knew you were just as difficult to love, if not more.

You shook your head and his eyes flashed in your mind once more. You smiled again at the reminder, and the old man and the couple disintegrated back into the hustle and bustle. You kept your head high for the final few blocks that separated you from your building, but as soon as the elevator doors sealed behind you, you slumped against the wall. You sighed as you peeled off your helmet, grateful to release some of the weight. The hum of the lift was lulling and you hardly fought the closing of your eyelids. But the hiss of the lift doors opening reminded you that you weren’t at your apartment yet, so you heaved yourself off the wall. You could barely keep your eyes open as you made your way down the hallway. All you could think about was how wonderful your bed would feel as soon as you got the door open...if only you could get the door open.

“Are you having trouble with your key code, dear one?”

Your eyes few wide.

You swung your head, and sure enough, your lover stood, propped against the wall with his arms crossed deliciously over his chest. A smiled played on his beautiful lips a you registered him there - just as you predicted.

“Obi Wan,” You crossed to him in two steps and all but collapsed into his arms. “How long have you been here?”

“Oh, not too long.” He whispered into your dirty hair, his smile evident in his voice. You released him, eager to see that smile with your own eyes. He nearly took your breath away. Wow, was he remarkable.

You returned to your door, finally energized enough to tap in the (correct) code. You reached for him with your free hand (your helmet tucked under the other), a silent gesture for him to follow you inside. He did, and he watched as you discarded your helmet and made a b-line for the kitchen. You reached for the kettle.

“It’s good to see you.”

“You, too,” Obi Wan said as he leaned against the counter. He crossed his arms over his chest, restrained excitement bubbling in his eyes. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t posses the same look. You focused back in the kettle.

“I nearly had him, you know.”

“I believe you.”

“If only that stupid patron didn’t spill their drink and make an entire scene-“

“You must be exhausted,” You hadn’t noticed his proximity until he slipped his hand under yours, taking it off the stove ignition. You peered up him.

“No more than usual,” You chuckled.

“Lets get this armor off you.”

“Obi Wan-“

“Come.”

You knew better than to argue with him. So you followed as he lead you out of the kitchen, down the hall, and into your bedroom. He dropped your hand and crossed to pull fresh clothes from your dresser. You took to opportunity to start loosening the clasps on your chest plate.

“Please,” Obi Wan took your hands again as soon as he noticed. “Let me.”

Resigning, you let your hands fall to your sides. He resumed your previous chore, gentle and patient as ever. He unbuckled the last clasp and mumbled a small “up,” urging you to lift your arms so he could pull the armor over your head. He then moved to the metal on your arms, unhinging their grasp on your biceps and forearms. He finished with your gloves - he placed a soft kiss to each palm as they were revealed.

“Sit.” He nodded towards the bed and you did as he asked. He knelt before you and began unlacing your boots. He pulled each one off, massaging your toes before removing your socks. He worked next on your shin guards, then pulled you up to stand once they were shed. He remained kneeling, peeling the last bits of armor protecting your legs to the floor. You stepped out of them, and Obi Wan gathered the discarded pieces and placed them into the drawers of your dresser.

You just admired him, joy radiating from your bones as he moved so gracefully around your room.

“Do you need help changing your clothes, too?” He teased. “I thought you would be capable of doing that yourself?” You giggled.

“I’m just so tired, Obi Wan. Would you please assist me?” You feigned, biting back a grin. His eyes rolled to the side, but his laugh gave him away.

“You’re lucky you’re beautiful.” He reached for zipper down the front of your bodysuit.

“That’s the only reason you love me-” As he pulled it down your shoulders, “-my appearance.” He pursed his lips.

“Oh no, darling.” He pressed a kiss to your cheek, “I love your wit,” a kiss to your jaw, “Your humor,” to your shoulder, “Your no-nonsense attitude,” your collar bone, “Your strength,” the center of your chest, “Your flaws,” your chin…

“You,” He hovered just above your lips, “in entirety.”

You gazed at him, pure adoration in his eyes. You traced his cheekbone with your fingertips and kissed him with all the love you had to give. For he was the only thing in the galaxy that gave you purpose anymore, the least you could do was love him in return.

You drew away from him for breath, he rested his forehead on yours. You forgot for a moment that you were half dressed, until a draft shivered up your arms. Obi Wan noticed, and reached for the clean shirt he pulled out earlier. He pulled it over your head, blissful smiles permanent on both of your faces. You peeled the rest of your body suit off your legs, and replaced it with fresh lounge pants.

“There.” Obi Wan sighed, content, “Better?”

“Much.” You smiled. “Now it’s your turn, Master General.”

“Sweetheart, I’m alri-“

“It’s simply unfair that I stand so unprotected in front of you.” You placed your hands on his shoulder pads. You raised your eyebrow, and repeated the same phrase , “Let me?”

He didn’t protest, he only chuckled and nodded encouragingly. You mirrored his previous actions - drawing his chest plate over his head, unclasping his arm guards, and pulling his gloves. However, you placed a kiss to his knuckles instead of his palm. He wore significantly less armor than you, so you were done much faster than he was, but you wanted to savor the moment as he did. You caressed the linen hugging his chest, grateful to feel him near you again. You ghosted your lips at the crest of his collar bone, the small glimpse of him his robes provided.

Obi Wan lifted your chin with his finger, an endearing gesture that always sent butterflies to your stomach - this he knew. You melted into him, closed your eyes, rendered yourself completely vulnerable.

“So beautiful…” He murmured, barely audible. You leaned closer to him, expecting to feel the weight of his lips on yours-

A scream rang through the apartment. You relaxed after you realized it was only the obnoxious screech of the kettle echoing from the kitchen. The moment with your love now absolutely butchered, your head fell onto his chest, laughs and giggles spilling from both of your lips. Your head tilted back up at him.

“Care for a cup of tea?”

He grabbed your cheeks and smacked a sloppy, playful kiss to your lips.

“Absolutely!”

Wiping the kiss from your mouth and stumbling with laughter, you followed Obi Wan out of the bed room, your lost bounty forgotten with your discarded armor.

#obi wan kenobi #obi wan kenobi fanfic #obi wan kenobi imagine #obi wan x y/n #obi wan x reader #obi wan fanfiction #obi wan imagine #mandalorian reader #the-mandalorian-clone-lover #request #star wars fanfiction #obi wan x female reader

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tiny-slasher · 4 years

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Billy Lenz x Reader | Coffee Shop AU

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

“U already know who this is... Coffee shop au but there's a competing coffee shop that sells holiday themed drinks depending on the day of the week (B I L L Y L E N Z I D E M A N D H I M)” - anon

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Billy was pissed.

Stupid Coffee Shop with their stupid snowflakes- and who the hell painted that sorry excuse for a snowman on the front window?! It wasn't even December, and they already had decorations up and Holiday Specials advertised in big, bold lettering

Billy blew a stray strand of hair from his face, glaring out the window at the coffee shop across the street. Two years after they opened there, and he still couldn't believe they'd had the audacity to choose that location - maybe less that thirty feet away from the location of his shop. There he'd been, finally settled after years of therapy, content with the stability of his life, when they showed up.

Them and their hair...their clothes...their stupid face- stupid eyes-

They came and opened their shop, selling coffee a dollar cheaper than him and attracting half of his customers like moths to a flame. When Billy put up a sign advertising cookies, they advertised two-for-one deals. When he offered special holiday sales, they offered free cookies with any purchase on Tuesdays. When he advertised limited time coffee flavors, they advertised seasonal baked goods. Those with fewer tastebuds and lighter wallets began to switch to the other, lesser coffee shop within a couple of months, and Billy was left to suffer the consequences.

Granted, he still got good business, his coffee shop was unique, and obviously quite superior. Not only was he skilled in the art of coffee making, and served everything in ceramic cups unless otherwise specified, his shop was themed.

Each day was a different holiday, with different options for coffee. He had 'plain' options for those who just wanted a caffeine fix, but he had alternating holiday flavors for the more adventurous. And damn it, if someone wanted a Leprechaun Cappuccino on Thursday then too fucking bad! They’d have to show up on Monday like everyone else!

It had started off with just Christmas themed brews all year 'round, but he'd expanded after the first year. He hated having to explain the menu to new customers every single time they showed up, but he did enjoy messing around with different types of latte art. That is, if everyone stopped ordering the iced coffee...

Glancing back at his rival, he snarled.

Billy hated them. He hated their coffee shop, he hated their smile, he hated their dumb laugh-

He'd often see them through the window, putting a sign out front, or sweeping off the front step before they opened. They looked dumber and dumber each time he saw them. Sometimes they had the nerve to wave at him and yell out a greeting like they had no idea they were rivals, and Billy hated it. He wanted to get rid of them. He wanted to dump boiling coffee over their head. He wanted to rip out their intestines and-

Bad Billy! Bad for having bad thoughts again! Stupid, nasty Billy! Stupid-

Billy took in a long, deep breath, just like his therapist taught him to, focusing on the way his lungs filled with air and collapsed when he exhaled. He played with the hem of his sweater, worn from years of doing so, feeling the way the fibers ran across his fingertips. He sighed, wishing for just one day without intrusive thoughts, but knowing he'd never be granted that sort of reprieve. No, it wasn't something he'd ever be cured from...but it was something he was learning to manage better as the years went by.

He glanced around the shop, hoping none of the customers noticed his little episode. Thankfully, they all seemed absorbed in their activities and conversations.

Billy sighed, a bit relieved. He wiped off some glitter that had fallen onto the counter from the tinsel hanging above him, hoping none had gotten into his hair again, when the front door of the shop opened. Glancing up he saw a woman and a young boy walk in and make their way over to the counter. They were regulars, coming every single Tuesday for the Valentine's Day special.

"Welcome to ‘Fa-la-latte’, what can I get'cha?" Billy asked with a smile plastered on his face.

"I'd like a Sweetheart iced coffee," she gestured towards the boy. "And he just wants a strawberry muffin. To go, please."

Billy nodded and spun around to get to work, withholding the eye roll he nearly gave her. If he had one more customer order the iced coffee he was going to take it off the menu.

He didn't notice the bell on the door ring, too focused on his internal dialogue and making a damn good iced coffee (or, as good as iced coffee is going to get). Even if he had to make the same damn thing every Tuesday, he wasn't one to disappoint.

Shoving the lid of the coffee with one hand, he grabbed a muffin in the other, putting it in a bag and setting them both on the counter. The boy, like any child would, grabbed the muffin almost immediately, and Billy rang up the price on the cash register. While the woman pulled out her card, Billy saw the person behind them.

Billy's eye twitched and his pupils narrowed at the sight before him.

It was them.

The absolute nerve this person had was astonishing. They thought it'd be okay to just show up whenever they wanted? In his shop? The shop they were practically stealing money from by simply existing? With their little stupid, ugly smile, and their stupid-

"Thank you!" the woman's loud voice broke Billy out of his thoughts, taking her coffee and exiting the shop with the boy in tow.

Billy's knuckles were white as they walked up to him, a smile on their face. He saw through their facade. He wasn't falling for that sweet demeanor.

"Wow, they weren't kidding when they said you had a lot of options!" they said, eyes wide as they looked at the signs above Billy's head. "It must be exhausting having to have a different menu for each day!"

Billy's jaw began to hurt from clenching, eyes raking over their form as they rattled on about things he didn't care about.

"So, Tuesday is Valentine's Day, huh? What would you recommend for a newcomer?"

Billy blinked, "What?"

"I came to try it out myself! Everybody keeps raving about how good your stuff is, and I wanted firsthand experience!"

Oh. Oh this sneaky- They wanted to taste it so they could copy him! They wanted to steal his ideas and sell it for half price! He was so close to just leaning over the counter and grabbing them by the throat-

But, he couldn't just cause a scene in front of his loyal customers! This coffee shop was supposed to be their quiet space, where everyone could just relax and enjoy themselves. He wasn't about to ruin it for them, and risk losing business.

Gathering himself, Billy gave them a sickly sweet smile, "Well, everyone orders the Sweetheart Iced Coffee."

They shifted on their feet, "Is that what you would order?"

Oh they were good...

"No," Billy leaned on the counter. "I'd order the latte."

They glanced up to the sign, "Just a regular latte?"

"Yup."

Seemingly dumbfounded, they shrugged and said, "Alright. One medium latte, please!"

Sending them one last smile before he turned around, Billy scowled and got to work.

Who'd they fucking think they were? 'oNe MeDiUm LaTtE pLeAsE!' Like he was gonna make them one of his specialty drinks anyway! Still...if they were out for his recipe, they would've been more insistent to order a specialty drink, wouldn't they? He glanced back at them, watching the way they looked around the shop with an awed expression. Their acting skills were top notch, he'd give them that.

Billy shook his head, trying to stop himself from mumbling. A few phrases escaped his lips despite his efforts. He heard them laugh softly, and he nearly burst a blood vessel trying not to scream at them to get out. An image of stabbing them in the eyes with a candy cane abruptly took over his thoughts, and he couldn't help but muse over it with a satisfied hum. He'd watch as their blood warmed the candy in his hands, mixing into a sugary, sticky mess-

NO! Bad Billy! Bad, bad, BAD BILLY! Naughty, NASTY-

Billy closed his eyes for a moment, focusing on the way the coffee machine hummed.

"You have her father's love, Demetrius. Let me have Hermia's. Do you marry him?" Billy muttered in a low voice, steaming some milk with an iron grip. "Scornful, Lysander! True, he hath my love-"

"Are you quoting Shakespeare?"

Billy pointedly ignored them, trying not to break the handle on his coffee machine as he turned the steamer off while he murmured to himself, a bit softer than before, "And what is mine my love shall render him. And she is mine, and all my right of her, I do estate unto Demetrius."

He poured the milk into the coffee, swirling it into a neat, but not overly exotic heart. It was Valentine's Day themed, after all, and he wasn't about to get ridiculed for a sloppy job. Turning to set it down in front of them, he was briefly stunned to find they'd moved to sit over at the bar near him. His fingers twitched as he inhaled sharply, plastering a smile back on his face as he shakily set the cup down in front of them.

Their eyes scanned him for a long moment before falling to the latte in front of them, sending him a small smile and a thanks. Billy gave them a sickening "You're welcome" before turning to clean up, ignoring the pleased hum they gave after their first sip. He was mumbling to himself again while he washed out some used cups when they spoke.

"So, are you in a play?"

Billy paused for a moment, confused, "What?"

"Oh, you were just reciting lines, so I thought maybe you were trying to keep them memorized," they shrugged, and then lifted their cup of coffee. "This is really good, by the way!"

"Were you expecting it to be bad?" he bit out, a bit more harshly than intended.

"No, no! I'm just used to coffee that's not so great," they shrugged.

"If you wanted bad coffee, you should've ordered the Americano," Billy mumbled.

The laugh he earned stunned him, his thoughts pausing for a moment to take in the sight of their smile. Despite his suspicions, the twinkle in their eyes seemed genuine enough... It would be so easy to put that light out...make their eyes as dull as his own can be. Turn the whites into a scarlet-stained-

A cup shattered in Billy's grasp, slicing the silence like a knife through butter. A curse escaped his lips before he thought better of it, echoing throughout the room. Some of the customers looked in his direction. Billy wanted to apologize, but his voice wouldn't cooperate. He lowered his head a bit, hiding his face behind a curtain of hair, and shakily gathered the broken ceramic from the sink. Thankfully, he hadn't cut himself.

You should have, stupid, stupid Billy! You deserve it! Bad Billy! Bad-

"Are you alright?"

Billy turned to them, eyes manic. He relished in the way they tried to hide their discomfort.

"I'm fine," he bit out.

Billy seized the opportunity for a bathroom break, escaping the hellscape that was his coffee shop. Standing in the middle of the small bathroom, he spent the next few minutes trying to even his breathing. In, and out. In, and out. The breathing technique left a lot to be desired, and didn't do much for his racing thoughts...but it was better than nothing. If anything, at least he could tell his therapist he'd put in the effort. He glanced at his reflection in the mirror, unsurprised to see a murderous gaze looking back at him.

"If we shadows have offended, think but this and all is mended," Billy muttered, hands gripping the sink. "That you have but slumbered here, while these visions did appear. Heh! Dramatic."

Shaking himself off, Billy inhaled and exited the restroom.

They were still there, sipping their coffee and eyeing him as he walked back behind the counter. He sent them a smile, as though nothing had happened less than five minutes before. They blinked at him, confused, but Billy paid them no mind. Instead, he decided to make himself a latte. His hands were still quite shaky, and his heart had yet to really calm itself down. He fumbled with the steamer a bit, but managed to complete the drink with no mishaps.

"So...which holiday is your favorite?"

Billy stared at them as he sipped his latte.

"Mine is Halloween! I'm curious to know what the Death Brew tastes like," they smiled. "Is it bitter?"

Billy's eyes were glued to them as they patiently awaited his answer, and he took his time swallowing his coffee. They wanted to know what his brew tasted like, huh? They were definitely out to steal his recipe.

"It tastes like death," he replied. "Hints the name."

He jumped when they laughed out loud, apparently finding his sarcasm amusing. Billy hated the little butterfly that flew around in his tummy, and promptly squashed it with an eye roll and a huff.

Billy watched as they continued to look around at all the different decorations adorning the coffee shop, seemingly in admiration, but he couldn't be too sure. This person was crafty, and he had to be ready for anything. They were clearly looking for some way to ridicule him, or one-up him, and he would not allow it.

Still...the twinkle in their eyes...and the soft smile that settled on their lips...

"Christmas."

Their sparkling eyes turned back to Billy, "What?"

"My favorite holiday is Christmas," Billy said.

They smiled at him, "I should've known...there's a lot of tinsel hanging around in here."

Billy looked down at his latte, trying to sort through his racing thoughts. He hadn't felt this unsettled in a while, and it was a feeling he hadn't wished to relive.

"Your place is a lot calmer than mine," they said airily. "It's nice..."

Billy's eye twitched. He couldn't tell if that was a compliment, or a well-hidden insult. He just hummed in reply, trying not to appear as frazzled as he felt. However, he was sure the trembling in his hands was giving him away.

"Christmas is on Saturday, right?" they asked.

He nodded and they gave him a sweet smile.

"Well, I might have to come back in a few days, then," they replied, hopping off of the bar stool. "I'll see you around! Thanks for the coffee!"

Baffled, Billy watched them leave with his mouth hanging open. He stared until he saw them disappear behind the door of their own coffee shop.

Everything about that interaction had gone strangely, in his mind, and he wasn't sure if it was because it had been strange or if it was just him who found it odd. They'd seemed genuinely curious about everything, not with ill intentions in mind. However, they'd left so abruptly...almost like they did it on purpose.

They were probably scared of Billy. They probably heard him mumbling nasty things under his breath and ran away- T-they knew Billy is bad! They knew Billy has bad thoughts! Bad, bad thoughts! They- They...

They didn't fucking pay for their coffee.

Billy nearly saw red, glaring at the empty cup that sat on the counter. With shaking hands he grabbed it, doing his best not to toss it across the room in frustration. He froze, however, when he saw a small slip of paper flutter on the table where the cup had been sitting. Curiosity peaked, Billy set the cup in the sink and then picked the paper up between in fingers.

"Feel free to stop by my shop any time for a free coffee! We've got lattes ;)"

Billy didn't enjoy the way his face felt as it flushed, and he really didn't enjoy this new feeling of butterflies in his stomach. And yet, a grin split on his face, and a cackle escaped his lips, earning a few glances. He turned to see them staring at him through their own window. They grinned and waved at him, and he choked.

If they were so insistent on stealing his recipes, he'd just have to return the favor. He wanted to see what all those customers saw in their stupid coffee shop. They probably batted their stupid eyelashes at people, and smiled their stupid smile-

Their stupid, goofy smile... Made their eyes crinkle at the corners... He could think of many different ways they could use that mouth of theirs-

No! Bad, naughty Billy! Having naughty thoughts at work! Bad! Bad! BAD!

#billy lenz #billy lenz x reader #slasher #slashers #coffee shop au

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everybodyscupoftea · 3 years

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baked (sorta)

college isaac x reader

baking cookies and discussing christmas plans

(warnings: cursing, light editing)

You let yourself into Isaac’s apartment, arms full of grocery bags, ecstatic.

“Isaac,” you called out, “I have the best news.”

“What’s up?” he looked up from where he was reading something, sitting cross legged on the couch.

“I found sugar cookie dough on sale.”

He gave you a confused look, “So?”

“So, I found a whole bunch of cookie cutters in the discount section which means we can make Christmas cookies!”

Cocking his head, he stood to peek in the bag, “I’ve never done that before.”

“Oh,” you paused, “well it was my whole childhood, so now we’re going to relive it.”

Laughing, he nodded, “Okay, I’m on board.”

With a victorious smile, you walked to the kitchen to set the bag on the counter and started searching his cabinets for flour. Isaac walked in after, and leaned against the wall next to you. He pulled two tins out of the bag, “This is for the cookies?”

“Yes sir.”

Eyeing the two tubes of dough, he gave you an incredulous look, “Are we icing these? Because if so I don’t think they’re all going to fit in these tins without making a mess.”

You waved his concerns away, “Don’t even worry about it, I have plenty of experience. Now, heat up the oven for me, will you?”

He raised his eyebrows but did as you said with a simple, “Yes ma’am.”

You were pretty sure he had parchment paper, and sure enough, after digging a few seconds through a drawer, you found a roll, “Scissors?”

“Top left drawer.”

With a pleased noise, you got to work cutting circles the size of the tin to layer the cookies as best as possible.

“Okay,” you started when you were happy with the amount of circles you’d cut, “you got rolling pins?”

“I do.”

He bent down to grab them and cookie sheets while you sprinkled flour on the counter. Rolling up your sweater sleeves, you smiled up at him, “Ready?”

“Very much so.”

Isaac liked the snowman cookie cutter, you noticed as he put the third one down on the cookie sheet. You smiled as you put an angel down next to it, “Fan of the snowman?”

“Huh?” he asked, staring at you in confusion as if he were just waking up from something.

“You okay, bud?” you asked, concerned.

“I-” he sighed, “zoned out, sorry. I got a call today that threw me off a little, that’s all.”

You hummed, “Who from?”

Isaac hesitated and squished some of the dough anxiously between his fingers, “My dad. His yearly, ‘are you coming home for Christmas’ question.”

“Are you?”

He snorted out a laugh, “No. Spending it with you, remember?”

“If,” you paused, frowning and tore the cookie you were trying to move to the cookie sheet, “if you wanted to go see your dad, or even just go home, you don’t have to stay with me.”

Isaac frowned at you, “Did something prompt this?”

“No. I just don’t want you to feel like you have to stay for me. I’ll be okay here by myself.”

Wiping his hand on a dish towel, Isaac pushed some hair out of your face, “I’m not doing this out of obligation you know?”

“I know,” you sighed, “but Stiles told me Allison and her dad were in Beacon Hills visiting. I know how much they meant to you.”

He lifted your chin up to look him in the eye, “Yeah, Scott told me. And I talked to Chris and Allison.”

“And?”

“And they understand why I’m not coming home.”

Your smile felt wobbly at his words, eyes watering a bit, and you inhaled sharply, “Promise me that you’re positive.”

“I’m positive,” he held his pinky out for you to link with yours. “Now, let’s finish these cookies.”

Before he could do anything else, you grabbed a piece of his dough and put it into your mouth. Isaac’s jaw dropped and he shoved you gently away. You reached up to pinch his cheek, “Half the fun is in the eating, Isaac.”

He sighed, faux put upon, “I can’t stand you.”

“That’s a lie and we both know it.”

Isaac lost interest pretty quick as soon as you turned the Grinch on. The two of you sat on the couch to watch while the cookies cooled before you got up midway through to get everything set to start icing them.

You mostly watched his face, between cookies, having seen the movie often, and it was way better.

“Why are you staring?” he mumbled after an hour, “It’s creepy.”

“Not staring, you’re just paranoid,” you answered, sticking a cookie into the last spot of the first tin.

He rolled his eyes, “Sure.”

So you looked away for a few minutes before looking back. That time either he didn’t realize or he didn’t care, and you relaxed back into the couch, content to keep observing him while you worked.

When the movie ended, Isaac stretched and smiled, “Okay, I’ll finish these if you want.”

“It’s okay,” you told him, “only have a few left, but if you want to put the sugar on these, feel free.”

He took the shaker, and you slid a cookie over for him to finish. After a few seconds of sloppy shaking, he dumped the extra sugar on the plate you’d kept off to the side and took a giant bite out of the cookie instead of putting it away.

You laughed, “That was- jesus christ, bud. You really just chose chaos today, huh?”

“Just this once,” he agreed, taking the second and last bite of the smallish cookie.

“You know,” he said once he finished chewing, “you never really talk about your childhood.”

You’d just taken a bite of cookie yourself, and you froze, mid-chew, considering the best way to answer. Inhaling sharply, you shrugged, “Yeah, I guess I don’t want to seem like I’m rubbing it in if I tell a good story about my parents.”

“You aren’t.”

“Feels like it though. I just don’t want you to get upset.”

“I won’t.”

“I guess,” you thought for a few seconds, “I’ll tell stories if you ask. So that way I know you’re down to hear them.”

He hummed, “Okay, I can do that. Can you tell me about the cookies?”

You nodded, pulling your feet up on the couch, “My mom started it. We’d do it just like that, my dad would ice them and my sister and I would do the sugar part. We’d normally listen to Christmas music.”

“This was every year?”

“Yeah, until I got a certain age and we were at home less during the holidays.”

Isaac pulled another cookie out of the open tin and leaned back into the pillows, “Were there any more stuff you cooked that you’d maybe want to try for Christmas?”

“My family always did steakhouse takeout on Christmas Day.”

“We can probably do that,” he mused, squinting.

You leaned forward, starting to get excited, “Can we make pralines too? And puppy chow?”

“Let’s do it.”

Isaac leaned forward and ruffled your hair, laughing at your disgruntled face. Pushing his hand away, you pouted, and he smiled softly. “Don’t be mean,” you whined.

“I’d never be mean to you.”

And you wanted to respond with something sarcastic, but the earnest tone in his voice caught you off guard, and you paused. He smiled, finally rendering you speechless, so all you could do was launch yourself at him in response.

Laughing, he fell back onto the couch, arms coming around you as you buried your face into his neck, “I’m not sure I believe you.”

“You just tackled me,” he defended between laughs.

“With love.”

“Mhmm, really feeling the love.”

“Good,” you beamed, squeezing your arms tighter around him as music from the title screen of the Grinch played over and over again.

for day eight of @obxmermaid‘s holiday challenge: baking cookies

#college isaac #isaac lahey #isaac lahey x reader #isaac lahey x you #isaac lahey fanfiction #obxmermaidholiday

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bubmyg · 4 years

Text

idcilh (4) - jjk

pairing: jeongguk x reader

genre/warnings: youtuber!au, sickening fluff, ft guk’s glasses

word count: 1,560

summary: “these have been done before but I don’t care I love her” - a series on gcguk in which jeongguk tackles old, cheesy YouTube couple challenges. episode four: boyfriend does makeup challenge or please stop laughing you’re creasing my masterpiece.

a/n: s/o to the angel that is @gukniverse that inspired me to write this one uwu

“I’m not sitting in your lap.”

“It would be easier.”

“No, it would not.”

“...what if I—”

“Do not touch my legs.”

“Baby!”

“Jeongguk!”

He pouted, ring light reflecting in the wide frame of his glasses and masking a bit of the stars in his irises that normally would render you useless in denying his wagers. It didn’t help that he pressed his cheek into his shoulder, palm on the space between your thighs to lean closer to you.

After a moment, Jeongguk asked gently, “Can you at least come closer?”

A devastating smile overtook his features when you shifted, leaving enough space to turn completely toward him to fold your legs at the ankle. You sighed, do your worst, and you couldn’t keep up the faux annoyance when he excitedly wiggled a bit on the couch cushion before diving for the array of products you’d laid out on the coffee table.

You watched Jeongguk fiddle quietly through the products, making offhanded comments here and there for the blinking camera stationed in front of you. You heard him but you didn’t comprehend him, instead convinced that if someone were to see you, they’d mistaken your features for one giant beam of sunshine, overly endeared with the way he was muttering to himself in between camera friendly comments until he finally settled on a container and a brush.

He blinked, eyes round and lips fished into a little button, demanding, “What? What—” and when you covered your mouth to keep from laughing, he broke into tiny giggles as well, ones that started with his cheeks bunching up underneath his glasses, eyes wrinkling, lips spreading outward last.

“Nothing,” You grit your teeth to keep your grin in place, “Tell everyone why you’ve got your glasses on.”

Jeongguk flushed a bit into dabbing the tip of your widest brush into the pan of powder, narrowing his eyes underneath his fringe, “Because I need to be able to see for this video. Obviously.”

“Noo,” You sang, drawing out syllables and nudging his leg with your foot, “Because I told you that you look cute—”

He silenced you with one sharp jab of the brush against your cheek. The dust went everywhere, falling into your lips and you spluttered while he continued to laugh.

“Oops,” Jeongguk shrugged, teeth capturing his bottom lip when you glared at him. Gentle knuckles brushed across your skin, moving to set his pinky underneath your jaw to tilt your face up for careful brushstrokes, a far cry from the first, “Sit still.”

You waited until he was two taps into your powder foundation to murmur, “You’re starting with this?”

“Is this wrong? Is there something—” He looked over his shoulder at the other products he’d shuffled around before settling into set shoulders, “—you know what, no. Silence from the peanut gallery and let the master work.”

You let your eyes roll up when he rolled the soft black brush underneath your right eyelid. “The beauty community is terrified, truly.”

There was an utter gentleness in the way he went about it, cradling the balance of your face on the feathered end of his fingertips, barely brushing the fibers of the brush to the surface of your skin, using the edge of his thumb to make minor touch ups. Moments of concentration had him zoning out, circled eyes inspecting your features with parted lips to complete the three shapes dominating the majority of his face, only an outline to the round shape of his nose.

Periodically, Jeongguk would make a noise in his throat, varying in tone and volume, only enough to catch your attention before his lips were on the space just off the side of your nose. You sighed each time, letting him have his fun because, again, you were overly fond of your lovesick fool of a boyfriend. That is, until the one time he caught you off guard, hand engulfed on your opposite cheek while his lips caught the corner of your mouth again. And again.

And again…

...until you were laughing enough to shove at his shoulder.

He’d gotten his initial wish. You’d all but ended up in his lap the closer he shifted to you in between trying to figure out blending eye shadow and contour and the thing he’d heard you refer to as baking. Your leg was thrown over his thigh, latter knee bent and resting against his. If you stretched a bit more and scooted forward, you could trap his waist with the lock of your legs. Neither of you were complaining of the predicament.

“Stop laughing!” Jeongguk chided, immediately leaning to you after the end of your fingers finished shoving. “You’re creasing it…”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” You rolled your lips over your teeth to suppress some of it, cocking an eyebrow when his crooked index finger rested underneath your chin, “Are you almost done?”

Jeongguk hummed, lifting up on his finger to tilt your face toward him. “Yes…” He let his thumb unfurl from his fist, pad tugging on the forced sanction of your bottom lip in your mouth, “I need these though.”

You let your lips loose, half into asking why when his mouth was on yours, lingering for longer than the previous, fleeting pecks had. He hummed happily into the seam of your lips before pulling away, only enough to nudge his nose against your cheek before returning in your line of sight with a shy smile.

“Lipstick,” Jeongguk provided to your previously cut short question, raising the small tube of red up.

The delicacy in which he dabbed the color onto your lips made your heart swim laps in the flutter of butterflies that had gathered in the pit of your stomach, a few breaking loose to lift your most vital organ back to its proper position where it then proceeded to grow in size, spilling over into the spaces between your ribs. He’d finished by the time your fond had, for the time being, ceased to grow in the warmth that harbored the very feeling to the very tips of your toes.

Thoughtfully, you rolled your lips together, smacking them together a few times before you pursed them comically, like a red tulip blooming through the frost into spring. “Good?”

There was a handheld mirror under your nose before you could blink, Jeongguk’s shifting next to you outlined by his giddy stream of statements, “I think I did a pretty good job. Did I do a good job?”

Truthfully, the blending of the eye shadow was a bit questionable, but he’d managed to draw two mostly decent eyeliner wings. There was way too much highlight, by design of him insisting he wanted you to glow, but he hadn’t grown sloppy in sliding the lipstick to your mouth. It, honestly, wasn’t that bad.

You told Jeongguk so to a proud smile that burst into his cheeks, jostling his glasses on his nose to which he shoved up with the heel of his palm. Some more formalities, mostly those that marked the end of all his videos, a small and slightly sarcastic shout out to the beauty community, and he was about to let the footage roll out a few seconds before shutting off the camera when you were stopping him with a loud wait!

“You forgot something,” You nodded solemnly when his gaze whipped down to you still seated in front of him.

“What—”

There was a minor struggle, mostly one out of surprise when you squished his cheeks in your palms, leaning forward to plant a lipstick stain to the center of his cheek. A noise of protest mewled out of his lips and his cheeks quickly flushed around the mark you’d left, quick to wave off the camera for his editing self later before you were happily clambering astride his lap, planting more kisses to match the first mark while he giggled underneath you yet made no motion to stop you with his fists gripped to the front of your shirt.

He wiped those first with the makeup wipe he retrieved, only after you took a selfie to have for promotion purposes whenever the video would eventually come out. And a few selfies, just for safekeeping.

Jeongguk worked at removing the makeup he’d just applied to your skin with a tender patience, parked between your thighs where you sat on the bathroom counter. A gentle tune that he murmured under his breath filled the silence but otherwise, you were content with the happiness of your heart in your ears while his tongue poked between his lips to get a particularly hard speck of black from the crease of your eyelid.

He only hesitated when he reached your lips, ones that pursed playfully at him to catch his attention. “What’s wrong?” You continued to make soft noises at him, “Don’t want to part with your creation just yet?”

“Something like that.”

Quietly, he let you pinch the frame of his glasses in the center, dragging them off his nose to set them next to your thigh on the counter, instead fitting your hands on either side of his neck to drag fingertips upward into the fluffy hair at his nape.

Jeongguk dropped the makeup wipe when you locked your legs around his waist, fitting the artificial cherry between the natural strawberry of his.

#bts imagines #bts reactions #bts scenarios #bts fluff #bts x reader #jungkook imagine #jungkook fluff #jungkook x reader #fic: ytber jk #i've missed them :'-)

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