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nortism · 10 months

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Unburied Secrets (BBC Ghosts fic)

A/N Since ao3 is down I’ve decided to upload my recent fic here. Stay strong gang

A/N ao3 is back! you can read my fic here

summary:

“Why me?” he said, conscious that he was starting to sound like a whiny teenager while also being far too tired to care.

“Well Kitty was quite insistent that it be you, she’s in my room picking out blankets for your sleepover.”

“Our sleepover?”

After Sam and Clare’s wedding, the Captain wants nothing more than a quiet night to himself. But the snowstorm forces guests to stay at Button House overnight, the Captain gets roped into having a sleepover with Kitty in which secrets are revealed.

Set immediately after S2 Ep6

word count: 5,161

relationships: The Captain & Kitty, Alison & The Captain, The Captain/Lieutenant Havers

tags: coming out, sleepovers, late night conversations, angst, emotional hurt/comfort, the captain is gay, bisexual kitty, the captain needs a hug, and he gets one

Unburied Secrets

The clock had almost struck midnight by the time the guests started filing out of Button House and into an assortment of cabs waiting to take them home or to nearby hotels where they could sleep off the events of the day. The Captain was very much looking forward to doing the same as he stood by the door, making a show of ferrying the guests away, actions that were entirely futile but comforting all the same. His fellow ghosts were no doubt lounging about, enjoying the aftermath of the party but not him. He had a sense of duty. There was no excuse to let standards slip.

Sam and Clare were the last out, having thanked all their guests. Together they gave Alison a final hug and made their way out into the night, their hands intertwined. They shared a peck before slipping into the cab. Through the frosted glass, the Captain saw Clare slip an arm around her new wife’s shoulder. They were the picture of domestic bliss and something about their joy made the Captain’s long unbeating heart ache. He was distracted from thinking about this too hard by Alison approaching him from behind.

“Thank you for tonight,” she said, her sincerity catching him off guard, “If I’m honest, I wasn't sure how you’d react to a wedding party, especially after the one me and Mike threw last month.”

The Captain shuddered at the memory.

“Yes, well this was a rather more dignified affair,” he replied primly, “And I wouldn't have wanted to ruin Clare and Samantha’s big day.”

Alison gave him a knowing smile that the Captain did not want to decipher.

“Speaking of, I’ve got one more mission for you. Clare’s aunt and Sam’s parents can’t drive home in this weather so I’m going to have to commandeer your room.”

“Absolutely not Alison, I’ve had a long day and as ranking officer it is vital that I get the proper rest-”

Alison cut him off mid rant, “Mike’s already showed them to their rooms so unless you want to share your bed with an elderly woman who can’t see you, you’re going to have to move. I’m bringing the sofas back into the ballroom, you can sleep on one of those.”

It was a fine plan, the Captain mused. There was just one thing missing.

“Where are Sam’s parents going to sleep?”

“Well,” Alison began, slightly sheepishly, “Kitty volunteered her room- in the name of love apparently. She’ll be joining you in the ballroom.”

Clearly whatever God was out there was not just content to let him peacefully rot in purgatory. Katherine was a sweet girl, certainly one of the more tolerable of his fellow dead people but he was really not in the mood for her antics tonight.

“Why me?” he said, conscious that he was starting to sound like a whiny teenager while also being far too tired to care.

“Well Kitty was quite insistent that it be you, she’s in my room picking out blankets for your sleepover.”

“Our sleepover?”

Alison gave him an apologetic smile, “You know how she gets when she’s excited, I couldn’t bring myself to talk her out of it.”

“I could refuse to go.”

“Right…” Alison raised her eyebrows at him, “And you’re prepared to deal with the aftermath of that are you? The crying? The emotions?”

The Captain grimaced. Alison could clearly sense she was winning and went in to deal the final blow.

“If you keep her entertained, there's a new BBC docuseries about assassination attempts on Hitler in it for you.”

“Done.”

Realistically, the Captain would have done it to avoid Kitty’s wide eyed, tearful stare which has the uncanny ability to actually make him feel sorry for his actions but he wasn’t above using the situation to his advantage.

“Thank you so much!” Alison beamed at him, “Do you want to come and help us set up? I know how much you like bossing me around.”

“No thank you, Alison. These grounds won’t patrol themselves.”

She gave him a quizzical look but didn’t push it.

“Right... Well, have fun.”

Before she could leave the Captain called out, “Oh and well played Alison. We’ll make a commanding officer of you yet.”

She gave him a mock salute and went upstairs.

—

The Captain had only come to appreciate snow after his death. In life, it was a disruption, forcing the events of the day to be rescheduled around it. But in death, he couldn't feel the bite of the wind or the sensation of cold damp trickling through his boots into his socks. As he walked, he left no footprints, no evidence he was there. The swirling flakes fell to the ground, transforming the landscape he’d been haunting for the better part of seventy years into something new.

Logically, the Captain knew he didn't actually need to patrol the grounds of Button House. Even when he was alive, the chances of the Germans invading a remote country estate in Surrey were slim and each decade that passed since the end of the war saw that chance become slimmer. And even if something were to happen, in his current state there was very little the Captain could do against corporal beings, as the recent home invasion had demonstrated. But routine had defined the Captain’s life and it was only fitting it define his death. The ritual of following the perimeter of the grounds, observing the occasional passerby was comforting to him and especially after a day like this, gave him a chance to untangle his thoughts.

He’d been running on autopilot ever since Sam had stepped out of the car. Keeping busy was the best way to keep the façade up, to make sure that no one in the house could suspect him of being any more interested in this particular wedding than he would be any other. He’d turned off his mind and his heart and let the events of the day sweep him up. It had been far too easy to remain unaffected with the general chaos that accompanied all occasions at Button House.

But now, out here in the quiet night, the Captain’s thoughts turned to Sam and Clare and what their wedding meant for him. Sure, he'd had an inkling that things had gotten better for people like him (even in the privacy of his own thoughts, he couldn't quite bring himself to say it) but to see two women getting married in front of his eyes was another thing. What had hit him was the sheer normalcy of it all. It was just two people in love, surrounded by the love and support of their friends and family, without any opposition or backlash besides from the ghost of an Edwardian lady who neither of the brides could see nor hear. But even she had come around in the end, he reminded himself, something he’d never seen Fanny do in his over seventy years of haunting. How could times have changed so much?

He was happy for them, he thought. Yes, happy. But even in his own head that didn't feel quite right. Looking at the brides, he felt that warm glow of pride at their courage to be themselves in ways he never would have dared but underneath there was something else. It wasn't the fault of these women but watching their happiness brought out something ugly in the Captain. Perhaps a few decades ago it would have been jealousy and before then even repulsion but after all these years alone, all he could feel was a sense of grief. He mourned the life he could have lived, the lives so many could have lived. He wondered if two men could do that, could get married, move out to a cottage by the sea, away from the roar of gunfire and simply be together, in peace. It still scarcely seemed possible. Banishing the incriminating thoughts from his head, the Captain spun on his heel back towards the house.

—

When he arrived in the ballroom, the furniture had been moved back to its usual positions with the two sofas running parallel in front of the fireplace. The only evidence that it had served as a makeshift chapel just hours earlier were the string lights the Captain had helped (ordered) Alison to hang from the ceiling. Kitty was following Alison as she arranged a truly obscene number of cushions on one of the sofas, chattering away all the while.

Kitty let out an ungodly squeal when she saw him, immediately rushing over to explain her blanket choices to him. She’d selected a simple knitted blanket for him in an army green which would have probably been quite soft if he was able to touch it. All of Button House’s various stuffed animals (the locations of which Kitty had memorised over her time haunting the house) were arranged on and around both sofas so that they could all join in on the fun.

After Kitty had introduced the Captain to each and every toy (she’d insisted he pretended to shake their hands), the pair retired to their respective sofas. Alison mimed draping the blanket over Kitty, and although it just passed through her ghostly form, it seemed to please her.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” Alison said, moving to turn off the string lights.

“Wait, leave them on,” the Captain called.

“Okay, goodnight,” Alison smiled as she closed the door.

The soft glow of the fairy lights illuminated the otherwise dark room. If anyone had looked out the window, they would have seen that the night sky bore a remarkable resemblance to the ceiling. The Captain stiffly lay down on his sofa and relaxed as best as a ghost who was unable to touch the blankets or cushions could. The rustling of petticoats from the other side of the room suggested Kitty was doing the same. The Captain let out a deep sigh. Perhaps he was going to get away with his night of rest after all.

Five minutes later, Kitty let out a giggle.

“Katherine,” the Captain called lowly, “Are you quite alright?”

“Oh yes!” came the lilting reply, “I’m just far too excited to sleep yet!”

The Captain stayed silent in hopes that she’d realise he wasn't in the mood but those hopes were dashed when the voice spoke again.

“You missed our conversation earlier, when all the others were telling me about their weddings!”

This was very quickly moving into uncomfortable territory for the Captain. He carefully pondered his reply.

“Yes, well I must have been helping Alison with the decorating.”

Undeterred Kitty continued, “Oh that’s a shame, it was most interesting! Well Julian just said horrible things and Lady Button just started listing people I didn't know. Oh, and then Thomas started wallowing about the wedding he never had. But Pat’s sounded nice!”

That was all pretty much as the Captain expected such a conversation to go, which probably said a lot about the amount of time he spent with the other ghosts. Truthfully, he’d heard that line of inquiry starting up and had immediately left the room in search of a distraction. He hadn’t initially been all that interested in the wedding, seeing it as another disruption to his sacred routine, but the topic of romance was to be avoided at all costs. However with the intimate nature of a sleepover, he may not be so lucky this time.

“Were you ever married?”

The question ricocheted off the Captain’s armoured heart like a bullet. He cleared his throat.

“Um, no Katherine, I never was.”

“Why not?”

That dreaded question had followed the Captain throughout his life and it seemed now it had come back to haunt him in death. He’d given many answers over the years. As a teenager he said he was too focused on his studies. Immediately out of school, he’d enlisted and been shipped off to the Western Front. His fellow soldiers seemed to be obsessed with girls and he was often asked if there was anyone back home, but the backdrop of the trenches was the perfect excuse for his lack of experience. After the Great War, he stayed in the army. The question gained new urgency as one by one his old schoolmates and surviving comrades paired off. The Captain became skilled in the art of avoidance, citing a busy schedule, his devotion to the forces and “never meeting the right one” as excuses for his perpetual singleness.

The higher he rose through the ranks in the army, the less the question was asked. His position gave him authority and status and let him keep those around him at an arm's length. He told himself he was happy that way. His family eventually gave up asking and by the time the Second World War rolled around, it had been over a year since anyone had asked the Captain why he’d never married. That was until Havers came along: friendly, sincere and far, far too interested. He wormed his way into the Captain’s life, graduating from a Lieutenant to an actual friend, the first in far too long.

The question reared its ugly head on a warm spring evening in 1940. A shared bottle of whiskey to celebrate a breakthrough in their secret project had quickly led the two men into the realm of the personal. The Captain’s carefully maintained walls, loosened by drink and the high of progress, were gently chipped away at by Haver’s persistent desire for information. They discussed their hometowns, their families, their old friends; everything but the omnipresent war that surrounded them during the day.

“So how come you never married?” Havers finally asked. It was hard to tell if the red glow on his face was due to the alcohol or merely the setting sun warming his features. Either way, the Captain thought it suited him.

If he’d been sober, the Captain would have been able to pull out one of an assortment of well practised lines that answered the question without inviting further inquiry. As it was he spluttered and stammered in lieu of a response, his normally disciplined mind clouded by alcohol. The corners of Havers’ mouth slowly turned up into a knowing smile, like the Captain’s incompetence had answered all the questions he could ever wish to ask. Idly, the Captain wondered if the other man had always had dimples. Was Havers getting closer or was it just wishful thinking?

“I think I know why you never married,” Havers said, his usual close mouthed smile replaced with a grin that showed all his teeth right back to his molars. He was definitely getting closer.

“I think you are just like me.”

The voice in the back of his head was screaming that this was a terrible idea, that everything he’d ever worked for could be lost if the Captain succumbed to temptation. But that voice was getting quieter and quieter and Havers was getting closer and closer and maybe he was moving too. Their faces were inches apart over the Captain’s desk and the man was aware that they must have both been leaning out of their seats to get here.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the Captain whispered in a last ditch attempt to delay the inevitable.

Havers just smiled and cupped his cheek with one hand. It was unclear who initiated it but suddenly they were kissing. Their bodies were too far apart and the side of the desk was sticking uncomfortably into the side of the Captain’s hip. Havers tasted of stale cigarettes and alcohol and his lips were slightly chapped. Everything about this experience should have been repulsive but to the Captain, it was a revelation. It could only have been a minute, maybe less, but he knew nothing could ever be the same again.

And then he felt it, his old friend, the slithering feeling of guilt that had made its home in his heart since he was a small boy. And like the coward he was, the Captain broke the kiss. His lieutenants' panic stricken face carved itself into his mind as he left him in his office, without a word of acknowledgement.

Honestly, what had the man been thinking? He’d have to report him, the Captain thought as he paced the perimeter of the grounds. It was too cold to be outside without his jacket but that was back in his office and there was no way he was turning back. He should definitely report Havers. But even then, he knew wouldn’t, because the Captain could lie to himself, but he couldn't lie to a court. After a solid hour of circling the grounds, the Captain concluded that the best course of action would be to pretend it never happened. Havers was a good lieutenant, it hardly seemed worth it to disrupt their work over this. Sure, he was breaking the rules but there was a war on and every man was needed. It was really the Captain’s fault for letting a subordinate get too close. It wouldn’t happen again.

The Captain went back inside, his fingers and nose red from the cold. His office was mercifully empty. As the Captain tidied his desk, he saw a hastily scribbled note in his Lieutenant’s handwriting:

Sir,

My apologies for what happened. I had too much to drink, it won’t happen again. Can we please pretend it never happened?

- W.H

So it seemed they were on the same page in regards to forgetting the night. The Captain tossed the note onto the dying fire and tried to convince himself that this was what he wanted.

Unfortunately, the Captain had been blessed with an excellent memory. Rather than forgetting about it, that night plagued the Captain’s mind, leaving him to stew in a cocktail of desire and regret. Still, he pushed on. They had a war to win after all. Havers upheld his end of their unspoken bargain. The pair never discussed it, nor anything unrelated to work, again. The Captain told himself he didn’t miss it.

Two months later, France surrendered and Havers left for the Front. The Captain considered for a brief moment, saying something, anything, to make him stay. He even wrote it down but in the end, he was still a coward and Havers left him. Life marched on. The Captain threw himself into his work and for a while, Havers’ absence helped to keep the memories from replaying in his mind.

Then, almost a year later, Havers’ mother arrived at the House. Her son was dead and she needed to pick up his things. He’d been dead for a couple of months. The Captain hadn’t received any word of this. They weren’t family, they certainly weren’t married and now they never could be. To the record of history they were just a Captain and his former Lieutenant, nothing more, nothing less. All that remained of them was a letter he’d been too cowardly to send.

He gave himself an hour to cry that night, for the first time since he was a boy, before wiping his eyes, putting on his coat and finally burying the prototype mine, the one Havers was supposed to help him complete, alongside the letter. He’d hoped the symbolic burial would relieve him of the burden of memory, of wondering what might have been, but that night had stuck with the Captain to his own burial and beyond.

“Captain?” Kitty’s voice shook the man out of his reminiscence.

“Sorry Katherine,” he replied, straining to keep his voice level and calm, “I- uhm- suppose I never got married because I was too busy with the war.”

This was not his most convincing lie, there were several years in between the World Wars in which he could have settled down but hopefully Kitty’s memory of this period was limited. Whether she believed him or not, she didn’t push and instead moved the conversation to herself.

“I should have liked to have been married,” she began wistfully, “I didn’t live long enough to ever meet someone but I often imagined what my own wedding might be like. How the church would look adorned in flowers, what dress I would wear! And of course the handsome groom that would be waiting for me by the altar!” She let out a giggle at this. “Though I suppose nowadays it could be a handsome bride! Oh that would be wonderful!”

The Captain’s heart skipped a beat at this revelation, which really shouldn’t have been possible considering he hadn’t had a functioning body since the 1940s. He put considerable effort into keeping his tone casual when he asked, “And would that be something you’d be interested in? A bride?”

Kitty’s voice remained as light and breezy as ever as she replied, “Well I’d never really thought about it until today but I think it would be lovely to marry a woman! We could wear matching dresses or even suits like Clare!”

The Captain almost wanted to scream that it wasn't that simple, that she couldn't just say things like that so casually. But a voice in the back of his head, a voice that sounded suspiciously like a man he’d known long ago, asked why shouldn’t it be? Why must it be so difficult for him?

“- And I’ve always thought women were beautiful, like Alison. Oh! Do you think Alison would wear matching dresses with me?”

Belatedly, the Captain realised he was supposed to reply.

“I’m sure she would Kitty, if it were possible.”

A slightly awkward silence followed, as it often did when one of the ghosts was confronted with the reality of their state of being. Determined to salvage what had been a not entirely unsuccessful social interaction, the Captain spoke:

“Well Katherine, if you were to ever get married, I would be honoured to attend.”

He could practically hear the smile in her voice when she replied, “Why thank you Captain! I would also be honoured to attend your wedding. Oooo could I be a bridesmaid? Please please please?”

“If you like Katherine, though I can't imagine anyone wanting to marry an old man like me.”

“I’m sure that’s not true!” Kitty sounded genuinely offended on his behalf, “There’s loads of people you could marry. What about Lady Button?”

The Captain almost choked on his own tongue.

“Now Kitty, I’m not sure that would be appropriate-”

“How about Pat?” the young woman continued, undeterred, “Or Julian!”

The Captain wondered if it was possible for a ghost to kill themself.

“I don’t think any of the other ghosts would make appropriate marriage candidates, I’m afraid.”

The room was silent for a moment and the Captain naively hoped that this topic of conversation had been dropped.

“What about your lieutenant?”

No such luck.

“I’m sorry?”

“You know, during the war?” Kitty continued, “I forget his name but he had kind eyes and a very handsome smile. He was the only soldier Lady Button could tolerate, she said the others had appalling manners.”

“Havers…”

“Hmm?”

“His name was Lieutenant William Havers,” the Captain was struggling to keep the tremor out of his voice, “He helped me develop the limpet mine, the one Alison blew up in the garden, before he left for the front.”

“Of course! I remember the two of you were very close.”

The Captain often forgot that Kitty was actually much older than him. He knew of course that the older ghosts would have seen him during his service at Button House but he tried not to think about it too much. But now the very real possibility that Kitty had seen the events of the night he’d been unsuccessfully trying to forget for the better part of eighty years was dawning on him.

“Well Katherine, I wouldn’t say we were very close, it was just the nature of the job you see.”

“Well to me it seemed as though you were good friends, we all thought so.”

So deflection wasn't going to work. It was time for a direct charge.

“You didn’t see anything, did you Katherine?”

“I don’t think so?” Kitty sounded puzzled, “I just meant that the pair of you spent a lot of time together in your office. I didn’t usually spend much time there, I couldn’t understand a word you and your lieutenant were saying.”

Well that had backfired. The Captain cursed himself internally. Kitty had genuinely thought he and Havers were good friends and now he’d ruined it with his excessive defensiveness.

After a moment, Kitty spoke up tentatively.

“Would you have liked to marry him, Captain? If you could have?”

There it was. The finishing blow. The Captain was open and exposed and he had nowhere to run. He considered his options. He could play dumb, pretend he didn't know who Kitty was talking about. But that wouldn’t work, he had volunteered the man’s name mere moments ago. Or he could just leave, find somewhere else in this giant house to sleep. But that would answer the question for him and upset Kitty. He was out of choices. This was it, he was going to lose everything he’d built up in this half life. The other ghosts would lose all respect for him.

But then he remembered this was Kitty he was talking to. Yes, she could be naive but she could keep a secret if she knew it was important, he was sure of it. And she wouldn’t judge him. Not out of a sense of moral obligation but more that the thought of judgement simply would not have crossed her mind. When the Captain thought back on the days of his youth spent in church under the fierce watch of his parents, he thought that if God truly was out there, His love would look far more like Kitty’s; unquestioning and unwavering. He took a deep breath, steeled his nerves and charged out over the top.

“Yes, I think I would have liked that.”

Looking up at the fairy lights he’d helped Alison string up earlier, the Captain didn't feel as though he was talking to another person but merely that he was confessing his secrets to the stars.

The couple beats of silence afterwards were enough to send the Captain spiralling into a panic.

“By which I mean of course that I would much prefer to marry him over say Julian, not that I-”

He was cut off by a soft weight landing on top of him which he realised was Kitty diving on top of him for a hug. Really these were not the optimal conditions for it: he was horizontal and he could hardly see Kitty in the dim lighting but she clung onto him until his muscles slowly melted into the embrace.

“It’s okay,” she whispered into the crook of his neck, “And I’m sorry you couldn’t be wed.”

Dimly, the Captain realised there were tears running down his cheeks though by the sound of Kitty’s voice, she wasn’t faring much better.

“Yes, well there’s nothing I can do about it now, I suppose.”

The Captain awkwardly patted the girl on the back. He couldn't remember the last time he’d been touched like this and he was slightly out of his depth. Kitty seemed to notice his discomfort and slid off him to sit on the floor.

“I suppose not,” she said. The Captain could make out that she was wiping her eyes with her sleeves in the dim light.

“Now, now Katherine,” he said, moving to join her on the floor despite his knees’ vocal protest, “It may be too late for us but things are getting better for the living. We may have not gotten our happy endings, but Sam and Clare did and so will many others. It’s a gift in itself that we get to stick around to witness their joy.”

Kitty didn’t reply, instead leaning into the older man’s side. They spent a little while like that, in total silence looking up at the lights twinkling like stars on the ceiling. Eventually the Captain noticed Kitty’s eyes beginning to droop. He took it upon himself to guide her onto her sofa and almost instinctively took off his jacket and draped it over her drowsy form. By the time the Captain had laid down himself, the jacket had reappeared on his body but he slept soundly that night with the image of Kitty tucked up cosily in her makeshift bed.

—

“Alison?” the Captain called, bouncing on the balls of his feet at the kitchen door, “A word if you may?

It was the next morning. The final guests had left the house and Alison and Mike were just about to settle down for a well deserved breakfast.

“Sorry Mike, ghost thing.” Alison kissed her husband on the cheek, leaving him to make the tea. Mike grumbled sleepily under his breath but let his wife go deal with whatever problem their undead housemates had come up with this time.

“I’m sorry I didn’t time your run this morning but with guests-” Alison began, leading the pair of them into the hallway.

“No no no Alison it’s nothing like that, though I would like to make sure that you will be promptly on time tomorrow.”

“Yeah yeah yeah, will do,” Alison went to leave but was stopped by the ghost.

“That's not all. I just wanted to let you know how much I enjoyed the wedding yesterday and,” the Captain looked at his feet, “And I was wondering if it was possible for two men to do something like that?”

Alison looked at him with the same knowing smile from yesterday.

“Of course they could, Cap.”

“Hmmm, well that’s excellent of course,'' he was still refusing to maintain eye contact and rocking back and forth on his feet, “Fascinating modern world this is.”

“Is there anything you’d like to tell me, Captain?”

“Absolutely not Alison, just an intellectual curiosity is all.”

“Right,” Alison didn't sound entirely convinced but she didn’t push it, “Can I go back to my breakfast now?”

The Captain nodded. Alison turned back towards the kitchen only to be stopped once more.

“I say Alison!”

“Yes?”

“Those insipid romance novels that Katherine enjoys so much, do you know they have any featuring two girls?”

Alison raised her eyebrows at this.

“For Kitty, of course,” he added uncomfortably.

“Yeah I figured,” Alison said, “I didn’t know she was into that kind of thing. I’m sure I could find something on eBay.”

The Captain had no idea was an “E Bay” was but he decided that this was a mission accomplished.

“Well jolly good. I’ll see you this evening for my Hitler assassination show.”

And with that the soldier spun on his heel and left. Alison shrugged and returned to the kitchen, ready to regale her husband with more tales of the weird ghosts that haunted their house.

#bbc ghosts #ghosts bbc #bbc ghosts fic #fanfiction #ao3 #the captain bbc ghosts #kitty bbc ghosts #alison cooper #lieutenant havers #capvers #the captain x havers

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papergirllife · 3 years

Text

Lee Jeno

'You ease Jeno's frustrations during a late night recording session."

Warnings : unprotected sex, cockwarming, generally quite fluffy.

Word count : 1.8k

You were in your pajamas at 1 a.m. in the morning, still in the company because your boyfriend is trying to record the best version of his verse in the recording booth a few feet away, his black denim jacket draped across your chest to shield you from the cold.

You were going through your own lyrics, making a few changes here and there to make sure the flow of the song suits you, working in a low volume to avoid disturbing Jeno, who was already getting antsy from this certain verse.

When you were done, you placed the pencil on the desk and got up from your seat, walking to the booth where Jeno had his handsome face in a frown.

“You okay, Jeno? Aren’t you cold in here?” you asked as you took his jacket off of you, draping it back onto his broad shoulders.

“I'm feeling fine, you should use it,” Jeno said shortly before he takes it off, putting it onto you again.

“But you're just in a tank, and you have to perform on stages very soon, you can't catch a cold,” you argued before trying to take it off once more, only to be stopped by Jeno’s hands.

“I'm fine, you're the one who's sensitive to the cold, I don't want you to get sick because of me, I didn't ask for you to be here with me, and still you showered and came back here to be with me, I'm sorry for eating up our time, I know I promised to have a night in with you,” Jeno said with a sad tinge to his usually cheerful eyes before reaching out for you, embracing you into his warmth.

“I know how important this comeback is for you, I wanted to stay here with you because I'm stubborn and that's on me, not you,” you said before turning your body to tuck yourself closer into Jeno, giving his bicep a quick peck before burying your head into his neck, the familiar scent of cologne filling your lungs.

Jeno let's out a chuckle at this odd but familiar action, you started doing this since the day Jeno had started working out on his arms more, every little thing he does you’d always be proud of it, which is why you're so different from everyone else, Jeno feels safe with you, the fact that the both of you absolutely adore each other irks his members out, but he doesn’t care, not when he only has eyes for you.

“I love you,” Jeno said without hesitation, it's always been like this for the two of you, saying these three words whenever you felt like it, communication between the two of you has always been good, though it hasn't always been like this.

There was a time at the beginning of the relationship where Jeno only knew how to show his love through actions, fearing that it may seem too pushy if he constantly speaks up about his emotions, being a guy and all, but your reassurance of loving to hear everything he has to say, as well as those doe eyes of yours that always have a hundred percent focus on him, had given him a sense of comfort, and so he now speaks whatever that comes to mind when he's with you, most often 'I love yous', it could be in the morning when you wake up, or moments like this where there are uncertainties in his head, you’re his rock.

“I love you too, Jeno,” you said it back before pulling away slightly to kiss him, pulling him closer again by looping your hands around his nape, playing with the strands of hair there as you bit on his bottom lip gently before feeling a sudden grip on your hip, a gasp falling from your lips just to give Jeno the opportunity to dominate the kiss, getting you right where he wanted you to be, under his control.

Jeno tasted like the chocolate mint balls he was having just now, a mixture of sweet chocolate and invigorating mint clouding your senses, the taste so addictive that you licked at his tongue just to taste more, but soon Jeno pulled away, noticing that you were running out of breath, your forehead lolled against his, a sign that he was all too familiar with.

“Slow down, baby, what's got you so worked up?” Jeno asked as he peppers kisses down your neck sloppily, he knows he can't mark you without your manager lecturing you, so he'll just have to manoeuvre himself to the valley of your breasts, popping open the buttons of your pajamas to reveal that you've worn a set that had no padding, the tips of your nipples would've been obvious it weren't for how loose your shirt was.

“Remember the last time we fucked in here? You had a writer’s block for stronger and 119, I want to be your muse again, Jen,” you reminded him as you trailed your hand at the hem of his tank, palming his abs that you go crazy over, you must be the luckiest girl ever, to find a guy who’s as hot as he’s talented in his career, not to mention the sinful things he does with those dancer hips.

Jeno chuckled at that fond memory, recalling Jaemin’s horrid expression when he found the two of you in such a state.

“You do know that this is ANL right?” gesturing at the lyrics on the stand.

“Which is a highly suggestive yet quite a fluffy song, we have to set the mood in order for you to actually gain some inspiration, no?” you said before you pulled off his shirt, throwing it somewhere behind you.

“Greedy aren't you?” Jeno said as he tips your chin higher to get a good look at you in the dim lights, admiring your swollen lips and the lust in your eyes, all because of him.

“Well, you can't pen my name down for these songs, the least you can do is give me a good fuck to remember it by,” you said with those seductive eyes of yours looking into his hooded ones before reaching down his pants, a jolt from his cock at your freezing hands.

“Whatever my baby wants, whatever she gets am I right?” Jeno said before manoeuvring you to your back facing his, letting your ass feel his hard on.

You placed your hands on the stool that Jeno previously sat in, arching your back for him to easily access the situation.

Jeno pulls your sweats and panties down hanging them onto the stand, you purse your lips at the sight, hoping that none of your arousal gets onto the surface, but before you could make up your mind whether to tell Jeno to place your clothing somewhere else, Jeno had spread your folds with two fingers, a hand coming up to swipe at your slit teasingly before pinching your clit lightly in between his thumb and index finger, combing a moan out of you, legs jolting at the sudden pleasure, you were always sensitive there.

“Fuck, baby, I barely touched you and you’re dripping wet, didn't know you were this worked up,” Jeno said by your ear, his voice a few octaves lower.

Jeno enters two fingers in one go, making you buckle your knees at the sudden intrusion, not expecting it so soon, the feeling of his rough finger pads reaching deep into you, searching for that one spot, and when he found it, it felt like the first taste of heaven, a whimper falling from your lips as you held onto the stool harder, preparing for what's to come.

Jeno thrusted his fingers in a moderate pace before sliding in a third, making a scissoring motion to open you up for his large cock.

When he deemed that you were wet enough, Jeno shoved his pants and boxers down to his knees, impatient for the warmth in between your legs.

Jeno positioned himself at your entrance, pushing in an inch before slamming himself into you.

“Fuck, Jeno!” you could feel how full you were now, and how he fits perfectly inside you, his tip dangerously close to your sweet spot, you just need him to move.

“Jeno, you can move now, please,” you begged, breathless as your mind is still registering the feeling of this euphoria.

Jeno clenches his jaw in concentration before pulling out of your sweet pussy slightly, before thrusting back in, starting a quick and shallow pace, the way your warm walls were clenching onto him was making him lightheaded from the immense pleasure, but he knows he has to get his shit together if he wants to actually finish up recording tonight.

Jeno grips onto your hips as he builds up his pace, pistoning his dick inside of you hard and fast as he hears your screams of pleasure, the sound echoing in this small booth, encouraging him to go faster as he gets addicted to this sweet melody.

You held onto the stool for your dear life as you felt the knot in your abdomen slowly unwinding, a sign that you’re nearing your edge.

“I'm gonna cum, Jen, cum with me, please,” you said before purposely clenching onto his dick.

“Fuck, baby, I’m not gonna last any longer if you keep doing that,” Jeno said in one breath, before focusing back onto chasing both your highs, a hand moving to your breasts to pinch your nipples with the perfect amount of pain, he knows how much of a pain slut you are for him, and that was exactly what pushed you over the edge.

You felt your body convulsing as you orgasmed, the knot snapping free as the screams of Jeno’s name tumble from your lips as you let Jeno continue.

Jeno came only a few sloppy thrusts, after you, biting onto your shoulder as he came, giving a few hard thrusts to ride out both your highs, and just so he could bury his cum inside you, letting both your juices mix.

When both of you were done, Jeno moved your limp body expertly on top of his as he took a seat onto the stool, him still inside of you, your head tucked by his left shoulder, picking up where he had left off just now.

“You're right baby, you really are my muse,” Jeno said before humming a tune, then correcting some errors on the sheet.

“Well, good to know I was helpful, now if you'll excuse me, I need to clean up,” you said before trying to get up.

Jeno's left hand grips onto your hips, restricting you from leaving.

“Stay for a bit, I'm finishing up soon, then I'll clean you up, I'm sure you’re too tired to walk now, get some rest,” Jeno said as he pats your head gently, something he does that oddly lulls you to sleep.

“Okay, just don't overwork yourself,” you said before drifting off to sleep on your boyfriend’s shoulder, your very own human pillow.

#nct smut #nct fluff #nct #nct dream #jeno #jeno smut #jeno fluff #lee jeno #nct 127 #wayv #jaemin

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spencers-renaissance · 3 years

Text

The Other Side of the Storm

Summary: Spencer & Luke are not out as a couple but have to attend the same FBI gala where a young, pretty agent insists on flirting with Luke. Misunderstandings and surprising reveals ensue.

Tags: relationship reveal, secret relationship, coming out, jealousy, caught, hurt/comfort, autistic spencer, angst with a happy ending, misunderstandings, found family, est. rel., cuddling & snuggling, domestic fluff

Pairing: Luke Alvez x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 2.7k

Masterlist // Read on AO3

Lets pretend I didn't just disappear for a couple of weeks bc I'm BACK now yay! This is written for a prompt from @ralvezhq who asked: "Ralvez is already dating but no one knows about them yet. they get invited to some sort of FBI gala and a young, accomplished female agent won’t stop flirting with luke and spencer is absolutely not having it so he finds a way to let everyone know they are together." -- I stuck to it except that they're caught rather than willingly confessing, I hope that's okay! I really enjoyed this one, so I hope you do as well.

!!!TW: the woman is very insistent on her flirting and makes Luke uncomfortable when she touches his chest without his consent!!!

“Any particular reason you keep looking over at that table full of Fugitive Task Force members, Spence?” JJ asks amusedly, sipping from her wine glass.

“Mm, I’ve noticed you looking over there a little bit,” Tara muses. “You got your eye on someone?”

Spencer looks down and forces a laugh, but he can feel the tips of his ears turning pink, and knows that he’s not gonna hear the end of this for the rest of the night. The team have never been fond of the FBI Galas they’re forced into attending every year, and unfortunately, Hotch’s usual stunt of pulling a non-urgent case from the stack and jetting off to some far-flung corner of the country to avoid it failed to fool the director this time.

He’d broken the news to them at the start of the week, and conversation in the bullpen has pretty much exclusively revolved around the event ever since. Even Penelope, who loves seeing people win awards and dressing up in her favourite full-glam outfits, has been significantly less upbeat. She only gave him one spontaneous hug all week.

None of them, though, have been dreading it more than Spencer. The others aren’t exactly fond of the faux smiles and convoluted politics and fake niceties either, sure, but tonight he has far more to lose than ever before. Namely, the man sat just out of his direct eye line at the Fugitive Task Force table.

Ironically, he and Luke had gotten ready for the same event together. They’d stood in the mirror side by side and tied one another’s ties in the way that always makes Spencer smile and Luke had gently brushed his hair out of eyes, but when it came time to leave, Spencer called a rideshare, and Luke drove the truck, arriving at completely different times in completely different vehicles.

The thing is, that as much as he loves his team, and as much as the FBI fraternisation policy has been significantly relaxed over the last few years, no one can know they’re together and have been for the last eight months.

Even the thought of Derek or Hotch or even JJ finding out — not only that he’s dating someone but that that person is a man — makes him feel queasy.

Which is why he smiles around an awkward cough and forces himself to meet the eyes of his profiler teammates, fighting every instinct in him to run, leg it out of here, never show your face again.

“No, I’m just looking at the clock above them,” he lies, and it isn’t smooth in any way shape or form but it’ll have to do. “You know I can’t wait for this to end. I haven’t read any Carl Jung in weeks.”

Tara laughs, raising her wine glass slightly. “Now that I understand.”

“Nah, I’m not so sure,” Derek grins slyly, “I think my man has his eye on some girl and he’s just getting a little shy, am I right, pretty boy?” He quirks an eyebrow playfully, leaning over to pat him on the back, and Spencer scrambles to recover.

“Believe whatever you’d like, Morgan,” he says, bringing his own glass to his lips to conceal any tells in his expression. “Doesn’t make it any less false.”

Thankfully, the conversation is interrupted by the Director clearing his throat into the mic on the stage as he introduces the next round of awards. Spencer loses himself in the anonymity of a dark room and a clapping audience, grateful that he’s avoided this round of interrogation.

The rest of the night progresses similarly. Spencer tries to keep his eyes away from Luke’s table — and valiantly attempts to keep from blushing like a schoolgirl when their eyes meet and Luke’s lips quirk upwards in an I-tried-to-stop-it-but-I-just-can’t kind of smile — and the rest of his team rib him pretty relentlessly about this ‘girl’ he supposedly has his eye on.

Hotch tries to get the team to leave him alone, but when a group of skilled, determined profilers all a little tipsy on wine and champagne encounter a friend’s mysterious love life, it’s pretty difficult to stand in their way.

Once dessert is served, though, things rapidly go downhill.

As much as he’s been trying to keep his eyes away from Luke’s table, it’s almost impossible to prevent his gaze from straying in a temporary moment of cognitive lapse every now and then, and while everyone is relatively quiet and occupied, digging into the Belgian waffle dessert, it happens once again. This time, though, instead of a small smile from Luke, he’s rewarded with the frankly heart-stopping sight of a young, pretty agent practically sitting in his lap, trying to feed him dessert.

He looks uncomfortable, and immediately Spencer is hit with an overwhelming wave of insecurity, jealousy, and an urge to protect that strangles his breath for a moment. He stares unabashedly, no longer caring whether anyone sees him because that’s his boyfriend and an extremely pretty woman is all over him and he looks like he wants her to stop, and oh my god, what does he do?

“Is that the girl you like all over that dude?” Derek asks sympathetically, catching onto Spencer’s staring. “It’s alright, man, if she’d choose someone else over you then she’s not right for you anyway. Why don’t you come and enjoy your dessert?”

Spencer senses the rest of the team’s eyes on him, but they don’t say anything, probably from a combination of pity, awkwardness, and confidence in Derek to counsel him through it. He’s hardly cognisant of that, though, instead a roar of emotion crashing through his mind, and he has no idea what to do about it.

When he sees a perfectly manicured hand land directly on Luke’s chest, though; when he sees Luke reject her more firmly, this time pushing her away; when he watches as she clearly gears herself up for some sad protest of self-victimisation, he sees red.

Before he can stop himself, he’s storming across the room over to Luke’s table. “Hi,” he says firmly, audibly pissed off and not in the mood for bullshit, “do you mind if I borrow my friend here? I have some official FBI business to discuss with him. Thanks.”

Without waiting for a response, he grabs Luke’s arm and leads him to the corridor outside the main hall, Luke following quickly and willingly behind him.

“Are you okay?” Spencer asks with his brow furrowed, his hand coming up to gently rest on Luke’s waist as he peers at him concernedly through the dim lighting of the hallway.

“Yes, baby, I’m fine,” Luke smiles reassuringly, raising a hand to Spencer’s face. “I’m sorry you had to see that. She was… persistent.”

“She shouldn’t have made you uncomfortable like that,” Spencer insists, still feeling distressed and anxious despite the immediate situation having been diffused.

“You’re right,” Luke agrees. “And she should’ve listened to me when I told her I was taken. I’m sorry you had to see someone flirting with me so openly like that, carinõ, I know you still get insecure about things like that.”

Spencer sighs, relaxing slowly the more he hears Luke’s voice as steady and strong and kind as it always is. He steps forward and buries his face in Luke’s neck as he nestles in close for a comforting hug.

“You know I only have eyes for you, right, sweetheart?” Luke whispers softly, one arm holding his waist and another tangling itself in Spencer’s loose curls.

He nods into Luke’s neck, but doesn’t make any move to pull away, just enjoying the warmth and closeness of standing so intimately with the man he loves until—

“Spencer!” Derek’s voice pulls him violently from his sweet escape from reality and horror instantly floods him as he jerks away from Luke, staring at Derek in a nauseating mixture of alarm and trepidation.

“What…” Derek stares right back at him as both JJ and Tara come tumbling through the doors behind him, looking ready for a fight—

Oh. That makes sense. They all saw him storming towards a woman they thought he had a crush on, then pull the man she was flirting with out into the most secluded corridor surrounding the hall. Even considering Spencer’s character, he has to admit that the circumstances definitely look like he was gearing up for a fight, and everyone knows that he is not the kind of person who could hold his own against an ex-military man who chases down criminals for a living.

“You’re… not fighting him,” Derek says hesitantly, the puzzle pieces clearly falling into place for him.

Spencer shakes his head minutely, and is only thankful when Luke inches closer and wraps an arm around him. After all, he has nothing more to lose.

“You were looking at him, not her,” Derek continues slowly.

Spencer nods, unable to meet the eyes of any of the three friends standing in front of him.

“You’re dating him,” he says, still sounding shocked, his voice almost entirely numb. “You’re gay.”

“Or bisexual,” Tara offers, and Spencer takes a little comfort in the fact that she doesn’t sound shocked or upset, her voice warm and helpful. He tries to meet her eye, but he can’t work up the courage and buries closer into Luke’s embrace instead.

“Gay,” he whispers.

“Spence,” JJ says quietly, earnestly, “why didn’t you tell us?”

It’s too much to go into right now, too convoluted and long of a story for him to explain when even choking out a single syllable takes a herculean effort, so he shrugs instead.

“We were talking all night assuming you were interested in a woman,” Derek says numbly, more to himself than anything, but Spencer watches out of the corner of his eye as he shakes off the shock and comes back to himself, slowly putting more of the puzzle together as he looks at Spencer. “That’s why you didn’t tell us. We’ve been making assumptions all this time and hurting you in the process.”

“Oh, Spence,” JJ whispers sadly, stepping a little closer.

“I’m so sorry, pretty boy, I— I should’ve known or tried to be more inclusive at least, I’m so sorry I made you feel like this.”

The regret in his friends’ voices and the absence of a negative reaction brings him out of the safety of Luke’s arms slightly. His boyfriend is eyeing him with serious concern, and he tries a smile to reassure him a little, squeezing his hand.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he manages, clearing his throat awkwardly as he finally succeeds in making eye contact. “It’s a long story and I’ll tell you another time, but, uh— this is Luke. We’ve been together for eight months, two weeks, and four days.”

Luke smiles fondly. “As much as we didn’t expect to reveal it like this, it’s nice to meet all of you properly,” Luke says warmly, shaking everyone’s hands quickly before stepping back to Spencer and interlocking their fingers, pressing a quick but meaningful kiss to his temple.

“I’m really glad you felt able to share this with us, Spence,” Tara says encouragingly, smiling at him in that bright, reassuring way of hers that rivals Penelope in the warmth and comfort it radiates. “I’m proud of you.”

Something about her reaction this entire time has him wondering whether she already knew. He’ll ask her later when he feels less like his heart is still firmly lodged in his throat.

“Me too, kid,” Derek agrees, smiling as well. Spencer wonders whether the initial shock and numb reaction was more a response to his own behaviour than anything about him and Luke, and the thought makes him feel substantially better.

JJ grins, stepping forward and grabbing Spencer’s other hand. “Me three.”

Before anyone can say anything else, the doors are opening again and Penelope is flying through them.

“Oh! Thank god you’re all okay! You just ran off after Spencer and I left you guys to it because I thought you could handle it better than I could but then you didn’t come back and even Hotch was worried, and—” she cuts herself off as she realises everyone staring at her, and slowly she takes in the scene around her. “Oh my god, I’ve missed something. Oh my god, I missed a moment, didn’t I? What have I told you guys about having moments without me? Someone tell me what happened, please, before I explode—”

“Alright, Penelope,” Spencer chuckles, interrupting her. He’s known her for too long to expect her to cut herself off when she’s on a tirade like that. “Uh, this is Luke. My boyfriend.”

“Your… your boyfriend? Oh my god, I finally get to meet him? Wait you told the others? Oh my god I’ve missed so much!”

“Penelope knew?” Derek asks, surprised.

“Half of mine and Spencer’s mutual friends are FBI Agents, and the other half are drag queens, of course I knew,” Penelope dismisses him, “but he wasn’t ready for me to meet his boyfriend yet or even know his name and I very nicely did not go hunting to find him out because I could’ve done that, but I didn’t, because I value you so much as a friend, Spencer, and I’m so glad you finally—”

“Penelope!” Spencer interjects, laughing even more as the tension and distress he’d felt only minutes ago finally melts away fully. “Do you actually want to introduce yourself to Luke, or do you want to keep rambling about drag queens?”

“Right! Yes!” she says eagerly, turning to Luke. “I’m Penelope and it is so nice to meet you, like you don’t even know how much I’ve wanted to meet the man who has my blueberry muffin blushing bright pink in the corner of my batcave while he texts on the phone, and I know you call him carinõ because I saw a text once and it’s the sweetest nickname ever, you are just the cutest, and we are going to be best friends—”

Spencer rests his head on Luke’s shoulder as he listens fondly to Penelope rambling and his friends chatting amongst themselves and everyone getting to know the most important man in his life — the only man he’s ever wanted anything long term with, the only man he’s ever wanted to actually marry one day — and a warm, sweet feeling of contentment floods his chest.

It’s far from the way he thought he’d feel after the team found about Luke, and he savours it, holds it in his mouth for as long as he can before swallowing the memory and filing it away to treasure forever. A moment like this deserves that kind of reverence.

“How are you feeling about tonight?” Luke asks gently as they crawl into bed, tired but happy at gone 2am. He pulls Spencer into his side as soon as they’re under the duvet, resting his chin on his head as he always does.

Moments like these make Spencer smile, the kind of familiar routine that’s so essential to their relationship. Luke had figured out early on that close physical contact and firm touches make him feel safe and settle his racing mind, so they’d worked out positions that made them both feel comfortable, and now relaxing into them is second nature.

“A bit weird,” Spencer admits after thinking for a moment. “I’m happy that they know now and everyone took it well, but it’s strange. A significant part of who I am has been not only that I’m gay, but the dedication I felt to protecting that secret. And now that it’s out, it feels like something private has been bared for my friends to inspect.”

“I think that’s only natural,” Luke muses quietly, pressing a kiss to Spencer’s curls. “It’ll take some getting used to, but you’ll adjust eventually.”

Spencer sighs. “Yeah, you’re right. After I tackle telling Hotch and Rossi, it’ll be nice not to have to hide it. I’ll be able to talk about you at work and maybe even go crazy and put a photo of you on my desk.”

“Wow, that is wild, check you out,” Luke chuckles, before they settle into a comfortable silence in the warm glow of their bedroom. Eventually, he speaks up though, quiet and reverent. “I’m proud of you, carinõ. I really am.”

The words instantly make Spencer smile, a light blush tinging his ears again. He hides his face in Luke’s chest, scooching impossibly closer into his arms. “I love you,” he whispers.

“I love you, too, Spencer,” Luke replies, a happy sigh in his voice.

He reaches over and turns off the bedside lamp. His hand returns to Spencer’s hair and something clicks into place somewhere, a fundamental alignment of the universe that brings a feeling of something so incredibly right as their breathing rhythmically matches to one another and they slide into the welcome embrace of sleep.

I hope you enjoyed that! I had a lot of fun with this one. If anyone has any more ralvez relationship reveal prompts, feel free to send them my way!

Taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @hotchseyebrows @reidology @spencerspecifics @tobias-hankel @marsjareau @hotchscotchh @oliverbrnch @im-autistic @thataveragenerd @anxious-enby @kuolonsyoja @ropoto @cmily @nudgerox @love-pyramus @notevanbuckley @downwiththedoorpoole @nomajdetective (Add yourself to my taglist here!)

#my writing #ralvez #criminal minds #cm #luke alvez #spencer reid #ralvez fic #ralvez fanfic #ralvez fanfiction #luke alvez/spencer reid #luke alvez x spencer reid #spencer reid/luke alvez #spencer reid x luke alvez #ralvez fluff #ralvez relationship reveal #ralvez au

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catchmewiddershins · 3 years

Text

Haikyuu Hugs pt 4:

FUKURODANI

Bokuto Koutarou:

THE ONE YOU'VE BEEN WAITING FOR

THE BEST HUGGER IN THE ENTIRE SERIES

THE BIG MAN HIMSELF

He is the absolute KING of hugs, let me tell you

If you want hugs, he's got you, 900%

All you have to do is hold out your arms and your face will be buried in his chest before you can say Hoot

When he wants hugs he'll stare at you and blink a bunch to get your attention

Or sometimes he'll pout at you, or rest his head on you until you notice

Before we get into the pillow qualities of this man though, let's discuss his hug technique

The kind of man who you can go to when you’re scared, and he’ll wrap you up and whisper reassurances and loving words to you because he is whipped

He can pull off ANY SORT OF HUG

Lying down? Head on chest or thighs, you can fall asleep as he plays with your hair or wraps his arms around you

Sitting down? You can sit on his lap, or drape yourself over his shoulders, or he'll drape over yours!

Standing? He'll hug you straight on, facing you, arms at your waist. He'll hug you from behind, a protective weight at your back, resting his chin on your head.

He has a habit of squeezing you to him, arms round your shoulder blades

His arms are SO BIG and he's SO BEEFY and PLEASE getting hugged to his massive, warm chest is a DREAM COME TRUE

The CUDDLE MASTER

And finally, my magnum opus, the ultimate Bokuto hug:

If you see each other after a while, he'll run to you, especially if you run to him, he'll squeeze you to his chest and hoist you into the air with a joyous laugh, spinning the both of you around before slowing, holding you close as he sways you, humming softly in your ear

Ah that felt good to get off my chest man do I long to hug this man~

Washio Tatsuki:

Tall + Intimidating looking + Strong, silent type? You know this man gives good hugs

Very warm, very safe, like a tower with the insides of a fluffy blanket

Honestly? He’s pretty quiet, not too into loud and exuberant hugging or whispered conversations, but he is so good for comfort cuddles

Anytime you need sheltering from the world, or you’re just tired and stressed, you can go to him and he’ll hug you when you relax, sleep, or vent to him

He’s an incredible listener, he loves to lie on the sofa with you on his chest as you talk about anything

He’ll stroke your cheek or hair, or rub circles on your back with a soft smile

I actually think that, once you’ve been friends or in a relationship for a while, that he’d get a little clingy, once you’re close

He seems to have this stony, blunt, stern face that he shows the world, and that is who he is, but he also really cares for you and he wants to make sure you’re ok, and he will approach you for hugs if he can sense that something is up

Sometimes he’ll hug you to him and he’ll muse quietly over some things he needs to do, or something he’s working on; only short sentences but that’s all he needs to convey his meaning, lulling you to sleep with the low rumble of his chest

Once you fall asleep he’ll press a kiss to the top of your head and whisper ‘I love you’

Sarukui Yamato:

When I tell you that there is SO LITTLE on this man’s personality-

Anyway, I am taking the very very little we see of him and running with it so-

~ahem~

He really loves giving you little kisses while hugging you!

There you’ll both be, standing around, and before you know it he’s got you pressed to his chest, dotting your cheeks, nose and brow with tiny kisses, short, sweet and loving

He does longer kisses too! He’ll press a kiss to your lips mid-embrace, holding it for a little just so you can feel how much he loves you

He’ll do the same if you’re cuddling while laying down, just kiss your face or hands without pulling away for a while

His favourite thing to do is rest his face against your neck or collarbone, letting his lips linger against your skin, not fully kissing it but feeling it, loving the contact between you

He trusts you with his problems, and will sometimes come to you when stressed or annoyed, and vent to you a little while your fingers run through his hair, a feeling that he finds incredibly reassuring

He’s also a fiddler, he’ll fiddle with your hair or clothes or fingers while cuddling, or he’ll paint patterns on your arms with his fingers, twisting fabric into whorls as you cuddle

Akaashi Keiji:

Ah~ another beautiful character! There are far too many of these in this show, it’ll be the death of us all

Regardless - I think Akaashi began a little more uncomfortable with physical contact! He didn’t jump straight into the hug life, but stepped in gradually, yet once he became comfortable oh you’ve unleashed a monster

Akaashi prefers to be calm, collected and polite around others, so it is with you that he unwinds the most

He absolutely adores laying with his head in your lap, letting you play with his curls as he gestures emphatically towards the ceiling while describing his day and how the team is doing

He’s a sway hugger too, he’ll rock you gently from side to side as you embrace, one hand firm at your back or waist

He has a habit of making little sarcastic comments while you hug too, things about what his teammates or other schools have been up to

He gets a little touchy at points, brushing his hands past your arms or shoulders while you work, or using you as a head rest - casual contact for the win here

Considering his habit to overthink, he’ll seek you out whenever his thoughts begin running too wildly

At his point he’ll curl up in a blanket with his head on your chest, talking out his thoughts as you whisper to him - he finds your presence to be the most calming thing in the world

He likes to kiss your hands too, before embracing you - he has this little thing he’ll do

He’ll offer you his hand, and when you take it he’ll press a kiss to your fingers, or the back of your hand, before sweeping you towards him and wrapping you in a hug

He then begins laughing, and he has the most enchanting giggles - they range from quiet to full on snorting, but all of them are some of the beautiful laughter you’ve ever heard

Konoha Akinori:

In all honesty, Konoha is really hard to characterise - I have like... two routes I could go down and I can’t choose... So I’m going to throw in elements of both! Enjoy!

First of all, this guy is really fun and teasing and his hugs reflect this

Another sway hugger, but not gentle swaying, but happy swaying, almost like dancing, you can tell he’s happy as he swishes you around within his clasps, laughing all the while

He likes to flirt a little too as you hug, both hands at your hips and his words a breeze by the shell of your ear, words of affection and admiration for how wonderful you look today

He likes to be the big spoon, and will hug you from behind constantly - he loves to have you laying on him, or to rest his head on yours or your shoulder, humming a small tune

He actually enjoys giving you massages too! His fingers are long and dexterous, and dig perfectly into the knots that the muscles of your back form after a long day, moulding you into a relaxed puddle like a vat of kinetic sand

On the flip side, he harbours several insecurities over his supposed lack of outstanding talent, being the ‘jack of all trades’ and not having a specific ‘thing’

Some days this will hit him hard, and he’ll come to you - lay down his head and close his eyes

He knows you’ll feel his hurt - and nothing cheers him up like your reassurances that he is good enough and that every person with one talent needs an all rounder to back them up and that he’s more useful in the long run

It reassures him, and he smiles as he soaks up your warmth - knowing that he is master of one thing and it’s loving you

Anahori Shūichi:

He’s so sweet and excitable!

Such loving and enthusiastic hugs from him, because you are his whole world

He will squeeze you to his chest with the utmost abandon and give you little kisses all over your face

He does puppy eyes when he wants a hug

When you first became close, he was often a bit nervous to approach you if he wanted a hug

But over time he became more comfortable... and adorably clingy as a result

He’ll always back off if you’re not in the mood - but this man wants his cuddles

CHAIR CUDDLE KING!

Oh what’s a chair cuddle? Only his favourite hug in the world

The BEST hug you can give him is one where he sits in a chair (preferably a massive, squishy armchair) and you sit on his lap and let him cuddle you

Facing towards or away from him he loves it, just having his arms around your waist as you watch something together

He also loves to sit in your lap, if you’ll have him, either as a joke or sincerely

Just this man... he loves the cuddle

Woollen blanket levels of snuggleeeeeeeeeee

Please stroke his hair he loves it

Komi Haruki:

Another energetic boy (this poor team’s coach rip)

He loves you

Like really loves you

And he wants to tell you that over and over again!

While he hugs you he will definitely whisper sweet nothings into your ear and tell you he adores you

Cuddles all day, cuddles all night!

Will cuddle you in his sleep, like you’re laying in bed and you wake up in the middle of the night for whatever reason and he will be snuggling you so hard

One arm thrown over you and his nose at your neck and he’s so happy there that you’d feel really bad moving him

Also definitely headcanon he’s warm

Not open oven Bokuto warm but...

In a room with a log fire in the corner on a winter’s day warm

Very cozy and comforting, also very sweet with you

Will tell you about the funny parts of his day while hugging

Onaga Wataru:

He’s less enthusiastic than some of our previous boys for sure

But that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t love you just as much

I’m feeling sappy tonight so honestly? You are his everything

But headcanon! I don’t think he’s the best exactly at speaking his emotions

Oh he cherishes you with everything he has but he’s relatively quiet and finds it hard to express all that sheer emotion with words

In his mind, letters don’t cut it - how can a mere human mouth fully express the depth of the heart��s devotion? His love is more than words it’s colours and feelings and everything he associates with you and he is not (in his mind) eloquent enough to tell you

But he wants to

So? Hugs

When he hugs you this man puts his all into it

His squeeze is the perfect tightness, not too weak, not too tight

When his arms wrap perfectly around your shoulders, he tries to push all of his feelings into the hug

He wants to transmit his love for you through the physical contact

Long hugger definitely, he can hold you for hours

Will DROP EVERYTHING to hug you if you ask - no matter how important, you are first

Sturdy hugs and frame as well, just a good hugger

199 notes · View notes

galaxytastes · 3 years

Text

Jumin’s Birthday

Hi! This is my first post and, rightfully so, it will be a “little” 10 page long “drabble”. It’s pretty self indulgent and non-romantic. I’m a sucker for angst and platonic affection, so buckle up, simps. Thank you so much for reading!

Words: 3033

TW: Alcohol, mention of death.

CW: Spoilers for the secret endings/Saeyoung’s after end

Jumin Han has always been a curious person when it came to commoner practices. Whether it be family traditions, silly superstitions, or childlike games; all of it intrigues the man like nothing else. Even as a child, despite his privileged and sheltered upbringing, Jumin still felt the temptation to explore the world of the common folk. And who better to experience the unknown than with his best friend? The two would often find themselves lost in their own world. A world without responsibility. A world without heirs, businessmen or conglomerates. A world where two boys could be just that; boys.

But, life is not so simple. Summers and winters pass. With time came more responsibilities and adulthood pressures. Long felt the days of childhood; that which there was not much to begin with. Despite the challenges and tribulations life threw at the pair, one tradition remains unshaken by time. Birthdays.

Slender fingers wrap impatiently around his Rolex as Jumin checks the clock. He sighs in annoyance, noticing how quickly the day flew by. On most work days, the director can barely wait to get out the door. While he certainly didn’t dislike his office, he much preferred most anywhere else once the clock ticked past 6 pm. But today was different. Today was October 5th.

The dark haired man pinches the skin between his eyes and only looks up from his desk upon hearing the familiar clicking of heels up his office hallway. Jaehee knocks gently at the door and peers in from around the corner. The woman has a concerned look in her warm eyes, but Jumin can’t begin to worry about what was the matter.

“Yes, Assistant Kang. Have you come to bother me more about Saeyoung’s complaints over my lack of celebrations this evening?” Jumin speaks to his assistant, his voice icey cold. “I understand, Mr. Han. I… did come in here to talk about that, but not because of Saeyoung. It’s just… it’s 7 pm and you’re still here. It’s your birthday, and you say you have plans. I was wondering w-” “I’m well aware of what today is.” The director hisses as his hands clench together on the wood desk. He sucks in a quick breath and immediately backpedals, offering Jaehee an apologetic look. “Forgive me. I’ve been getting bothered about this day for… weeks now.” The director sighs and stands from the desk, making no move to hurry himself on gathering his things.

“No need for apologies, sir. I completely understand. I’m sure you’ve heard enough pushing from the others.” Jaehee dismisses his coldness and grabs his jacket from the stand near the door. She meets him halfway across the room and gives his arm a comforting squeeze as she hands him the coat.

“I think everyone just wants to share today with you since we truly care. So, if you change your mind, do let us know, please?” The brunette woman smiles sadly at her boss, earning her a weak smile from him in return. His heart warms a bit at her genuine words and he almost wishes to take her up on her offer. But, he made a promise to a friend for this evening. As always, Jumin Han is a man of his word.

“I will. Thank you, Assistant Kang.”

The ride to the venue is quiet, and most of the time Jumin prefers it this way. His days are loud and chaotic, full of phone calls and stuffy conversations. His backseat oasis behind his trusty Driver Kim is normally a breath of fresh air. But, tonight, it feels suffocating. Both hands rake through his thick hair and he quietly wades in the painful silence. As if on cue, a voice perks up from the driver’s seat. “Mr. Han. I’ve prepared the supplies for your evening. I assume it will be to your liking?” Driver Kim meets Jumin’s unusually scrambled gaze, and the tightness in the director’s chest loosens just enough to allow him another deep breath.

“I appreciate you, Driver Kim. I’m sure it looks beautiful.” Jumin nods gratefully to the older man. “Did you happen to retrieve the bottle I’d set aside for this evening?”

“Of course. It’s wrapped in the basket along with some other things I thought would pair well with the wine. You have exquisite taste as always, Mr. Han.” The man’s eyes crinkle behind his glasses as he clicks his turn signal to pull to a stop.

“Thank you again… Ah. We’re here already?” Jumin looks out the window, admiring the landscape lit beautifully by the setting sun. “Right on schedule. The sun will set the mood for a lovely birthday evening.” Driver Kim hums as he fishes something from his coat pocket. He turns in his chair and reaches to the backseat, holding a small box with a ribbon atop of it. “This one isn’t for you, young director. So, don’t go peeking until he gets to see it first.” Jumin chuckles and nods, gently taking the small box from the other man. The driver moves to let out his employer, but Jumin waves him dismissively. “We will not be too long. I’m not one to fuss over birthday celebrations.” The director smooths out his suit jacket and pant legs before opening up the car door. “I know, Mr. Han. Take all the time you need. Tell him I say hello, and happy belated birthday.” Driver Kim keeps his gaze on the horizon ahead of him, wetness stinging the old man’s eyes. Jumin actively ignores the sudden show of emotion and uses his free hand to shut the door.

Tiny lights sparkle along the trail up through the finely landscaped hill, leading Jumin directly to his destination. Clammy hands hold onto the tiny gift tightly as he continues along the rocky trail. Once he reaches the top, he strays from the path to greet his friend. His chest storms with emotion and dark eyes widen as he counts each step. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. His breath sounds too loud in his ears, and he’s sure his heart is beating much too fast. Suddenly, he wishes to be anywhere but here. Anywhere but anywhere. But, Jumin Han is a man of his word. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Oxfords continue to pad across the grass and eventually come to a slow stop. “Ten.” Jumin breathes aloud. “Hello, old friend.”

Jumin’s mouth remains open as he goes to continue greeting the other before he takes a moment to take in his surroundings. A checkered blanket, red and white, is delicately laid out in the plush, green grass. A picnic basket brimming with all sorts of delicacies is centered on the blanket, along with another smaller basket, cushioning two crystal glasses. Candles flicker over petals of flowers, casting a glow to compete with the setting sun. “It’s like something from a film. This is…” Jumin lets out a breathless laugh as he eases himself onto the blanket. “This is beautiful.”

Jumin wastes no time in exploring the basket prepared for the two. The smile never leaves his lips as he pushes past fine cheeses, chocolates and a beautifully decorated cake. He lets out a little “ah-ha” upon finding the thing both men would enjoy more than anything. “Now, this is more like it, hm?” Jumin wriggles out the vintage bottle, holding it up for the both of them to admire. “Henschke, Hill of Grace, Shiraz. 1994, if I recall correctly? Australians know their reds.” With a skillful hand, Jumin uncorks the bottle and pours the red liquid into the fine crystal glasses. The aroma of the wine fills the evening air between them, and for a moment, Jumin feels lighter. The weight of the day melts away in the twilight’s embrace. Perhaps birthdays can just be birthdays. Jumin muses to himself as he wraps his fingers around the stem of the glass. He scoots slowly across the blanket to hand the drink to the other man. Perhaps it is alright for him to enjoy himself this way. The crystal is set down with great care onto the stone and Jumin uses the wrist of his jacket to smudge away any thumb prints he may have left. His vision blurs as he clinks the glasses together. The sound is familiar, but in a very different way now. Lonely.

The other glass is still. No hand reaches to join him in the toast. No voice returns his greeting. No smile returns his grin. Jumin’s black eyes blink and he swallows back the pain that threatens to lurch from his stomach. He raises his drink between himself and the headstone and tosses back the entire glassful. The wine burns his throat and he is grateful for the pain.

“Happy belated birthday, V. And, as you would surely remind me. ‘Oh, it’s your birthday. Quit pretending it's not, Jumin.’” The man’s voice cracks a bit and he clears his throat. Please, keep it together. He wills himself to hold on as he continues. “I don’t care much for my birthday. But, I promised you I would make time for my birthday if it meant I could celebrate yours.”

For the next few minutes, Jumin forces small talk with the stone. He talks of work. He talks of Elizabeth. He reaches desperately into the backs of his mind to talk about every nonsensical thing he could imagine, avoiding the things he wishes to scream out.

“Ah. I should update you on how the RFA is doing.” Jumin leans back on his elbows, horizontal with his friend’s grave. He looks up at the stars, allowing himself to instead imagine V there next to him; laying on his side as he listens to Jumin in attentive silence. The thought warms his cheeks and his heart. “Assistant Kang has been especially… gentle since the incident. Even Zen has begun showing me a side to him I never expected. He’s… kind. Yoosung, on the other hand… He has matured in a way I was not expecting. He misses you…” Jumin clears his throat once more before he continues. “Saeyoung and Saeran are doing very well. Both of them speak of you often. The twins and MC live together, all under one roof, as you always wished for. You’d be so proud, V.” Jumin shakily inhales as his lips tremble around his fourth glass. The tears that well in his eyes finally spill over onto his pale cheeks as he finishes off another drink.

So many things are left unsaid. So many angry, sad and desperate questions of why and how. Jumin sets the glass down and sits up, pushing his hand against his mouth to muffle the sob that escapes him. He should be here, pulling the glass from me, telling me I’ve had enough. He should be here to slug my arm around his shoulder. He should be here. No one but him should be here. Why, V? Why did you leave? The silence is louder than ever as Jumin attempts to calm himself down with a deep breath, using the back of his sleeve to wipe his cheeks. While the pain still clings to every inch of the man’s body like a bed of nails, Jumin swallows it back to properly finish his evening. “I almost forgot. Driver Kim wishes for me to give you this belated birthday gift. On my birthday, of all days.” Jumin sniffles with a smile as he fishes out the small box to set down on the memorial stone. He carefully unwraps the brightly colored ribbon and wriggles open the box. “Here, I will open it for you. Driver Kim has excellent taste in gifts. Perhaps it is a matching cufflink to my own. They’re designer, you know. And-” Jumin’s voice catches in his throat as the top of the box pops open. Cushioned inside a bed of white tissue paper is a small photo frame; no bigger than the palm of his hand. In the frame stares back two boys wearing birthday hats in front of a cake. Happy birthday, J & J is written across the cake in cursive writing. Jumin bites the inside of his cheek as a final tear escapes from him. The boys look like complete strangers. Both so innocent; so unaware of what the future will hold for them. Young Jihyun’s eyes are crinkled in a smile and his toothy grin takes up nearly half his face. Young Jumin smiles just as wide, but his eyes are wide open and looking directly at his friend. Cheeks flushed red, black and teal hair a complete tangled mess. They were happy. “We’ve changed, but not much. I loved you then, and I love you now.” Jumin whispers to V as he carefully sets down the frame along with all the other flowers and trinkets left scattered around the grave. His hand traces across the name etched into the stone slab and he uses the other hand to finish the wine directly from the bottle. “‘Happy birthday, Jumin.’” The director whispers into the lips of the bottle as he drains the last drops.

The car ride home is quiet. Driver Kim helps a drunken Jumin into the car, taking no time at all to clean up the picnic and wine glasses. The shared silence between the two men is comfortable and calm. No words are shared with the driver and the director. Driver Kim simply hands the man a handkerchief and drives him back to his penthouse.

Jumin’s eyes sting from the tears and his legs stumble as he steps from the car. He quietly thanks his driver who helps him up to the penthouse and fumbles with the keypad to unlock the door. Jumin exhales into the quiet room, letting the darkness consume him. His hand comes to rest on the center of his chest, and he takes a moment to appreciate the lighter feeling in his torso. The pain is less like broken glass now, more like the remnants of a broken mirror. The sharp and painful pieces have been removed, leaving the frame of what once was. It’s obvious something shattered the mirror, and a few bits of glass are left behind. But, the danger of the pain has been cleared away.

“Shhh. Don’t yell, you’ll scare him. He looks sleepy.” A voice whispers from the kitchen. “How about you shut up and say surprise like we practiced? We’ve been here for an hour now, my legs hurt from squatting.” Another deeper voice grumbles in reply.

“Hm?” Jumin drunkenly stumbles further into his seemingly empty penthouse as his tired eyes scan the dark room.

“Can everyone at least attempt to remain quiet?” Another softer voice sighs.

“Saeyoung, this was a stupid idea. Put his cat down.” A voice exclaims, accompanied by a smack and a familiar yelp.

“Hey! That’s my job!” A woman giggles and another smack echoes through the penthouse.

“Well, now I feel left out.” A man’s voice speaks, adding on another, more intense smack sound. “GAH! Okay, okay. Princess, we’ll catch up later. Go see your daddy. He needs a birthday hug.” This voice, he recognizes immediately, and his eyes fly wide open as he reaches for the light switch. “Saeyoung?! What?!” Jumin shouts as he squints into the bright light.

“Wah! SURPRISE!” “Hehe! Surprise, Jumin!” Saeyoung and MC screech, dressed to impress, both sporting white cat ears and paws. “Surprise, Jumin!! Woo-hoo!” Yoosung pops up from behind the counter, tossing an armful of balloons into the air.

“Jesus. Well, surprise, trust-fund-kid.” Zen leans from around the sofa, smiling sheepishly at the other man. “Sorry about all this.” The albino laughs and rubs the back of his neck.

“I was dragged here without my consent. Do not blame me for the home invasion.” Vanderwood growls from next to MC, winning another giggle from the girl and her fiancé.

“Surprise, Jumin Han. I apologize for my brother breaking into your home.” Saeran smiles, shoving his twin away from the white cat as she scuttles to her owner’s side. “Though, I may have helped a little.” Jumin leans down to wrap Elizabeth in his arms as his mouth hangs open in shock. Each face looks back, expectantly and worried.

“Is he okay?” Yoosung whines, slowly inching closer to Jumin as his eyes dart from person to person. “Is he having a heart attack?!” “Yes.” Saeyoung says confidently, his cat paws resting on his hips. MC nods with him, looking to Yoosung with mock concern.

“No.” Saeran, Vanderwood and Jaehee reply in a harmony, sharing looks of annoyance. “I know you wanted to be alone after your evening with him but…” Jaehee stood from behind a chair, offering an apologetic smile. “No.” Jumin interrupts her, shaking his head in disbelief.

Each member of the RFA continues to stare at the man as he wobbles and before anyone can say a word, the director sets his princess down and lurches forward.

With arms wide open, he embraces his friends. With no reservations, no walls of emotions, no tightly wound strings. He holds his friends and finally inhales a full breath of air as each friend wraps their arms back around him.

Sure, he’s drunk. Very drunk. Sure, he will regret and deny everything tomorrow morning. But tonight, Jumin will laugh with his friends. He will laugh till he cries, indulge in birthday cake, glare as the redheaded twins crown him with matching cat ears. He will open silly and thoughtful gifts and read cheesy and stupid birthday cards. He will refuse to sing karaoke, but instead watch and clap along as Zen and Saeran have a battle of the bands moment. Jumin smiles and laughs to himself, feeling an unseen hand wrap around his shoulders. He closes his eyes and pictures V there, smiling along with him. “Thank you for allowing yourself to enjoy today,” he would probably whisper to his friend. “You deserve this.” Jumin allows himself to believe his friend’s memory. This is what he would have wanted. “Happy birthday, Jumin!!” The RFA cheers together as the song comes to an end, the room lit by smiles and camera flashes.

And a happy birthday it was, indeed.

#mystic messenger #mystic messenger fic #mysme fanfic #mystic messenger fanfic #mystic messenger headcanons #mysmes #mysme #angST #jumin han #jumin mystic messenger #jumin fanfic #juminhan #jumin #fanfiction #vumin #kinda #saeyoung x mc #sorta

59 notes · View notes

mxvladdy · 3 years

Note

THE WAY YOU FILLED YOUR FIRST REQUEST SHOOK ME?!?!?!? YOU BLESSED US!? Would you mind also imagining how Mammon, Luci and Belphie would feel with a MC who's guarded with themselves and their feelings to avoid hurt, so they try to keep these brothers at a friendly arm's length as they don't believe the brothers don't really care about them? It would make me so happy, thank you so much!

EEEEK! Sorry for the wait. It took forever and a day to get enough time to seat uninterrupted and then try to edit ;.;

I hope you like it! Apologies if I didn’t get the prompt just right!

Mammon

He didn’t hide his disdain for his human protection duty when you first met. The fact that you kept him at an arm's length was a devil’s blessing. Good! He is a busy demon after all, he doesn’t have time for some human. At first.

Then he caught the feels and it’s all downhill for him at his ‘cool devil’ act. Not that you ever NOTICED.

He tries to flirt with you. Before you, he thought he was good at it too.

He’s never had someone so civil with his advances. You smile and laugh politely at whatever complement he throws at you. You might even give him a few back in a teasing, but clearly friendly manner.

You stress it heavily whenever he comes on too heavy with his advances. You stamp down whatever feelings he evokes and try to keep your line clean and precise in the shifting sand of your relationship.

He takes you out one evening after school, determined to get an actual answer from you over some made up snack he lied about. You don’t think anything of it, happy for an excuse to hang out. You walk and talk, not taking notice of his steadily reddening face as he keeps making swipes at your hand each time it brushes his.

You make an off-handed (get it) remark about the closeness and offer to walk behind this was bothering him.

He is miffed and throws out all semblance of “coolness”. Just flat out confess. Face flaming hot from embarrassment and sweaty palms now shoved into his jacket.

It was a blink and you’d miss it kind of moment. Mammon’s cheeks start to heat gradually. A staunch look of panic growing behind his eyes.

The words just slip off his tongue. His lips forming a sentence you were dreading. You didn’t quite catch it all; his declaration lost in the wind of the open market. You try to catch his gaze, to make him repeat himself clearly, for what purpose you didn’t know. You don't particularly want to hear it again, yet it would give you time to compose some kind of response.

He refuses to look at you. No matter which way you bob and weave beneath him, he dances around you. His face always looking in the opposite direction of yours. His gaze permanently pointing at his feet. The uneven cobblestone beneath his scuffed boots was suddenly very interesting it seemed. "I'm sorry? I didn't catch that." You ask once more, grabbing on to the crook of his elbow.

He buries himself deeper into the flipped collar of his coat and whispers it again. "I-I like ya, ok? Like like like ya know?" He stumbles over his thoughts.

Now how in the hells were you supposed to dodge this? It had been easier to evade his blatant affections when even he wasn't admitting to them. "No, you don't." You step away with a dry chuckle. "Don't be silly." You back away shaking your head in denial. You were sure Mammon could feel your heart rate picking up. You need some space, more space than the street could give you. Somewhere away from your tall, sweet, white-haired problem.

"Oi!" He makes a grab for you as you turn to flee. He spins you around leaning down to meet with you face to face. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"We are friends Mammon," You try to wiggle out of his strong, yet gentle grip. "You're just mixing up the feelings." Bullshit. With him touching you, your joint pack acted like an amplifier. You very much felt what he thought of you. The yearning from his newfound mental clarity mixes with the panic of your rejection. It makes a bittersweet taste bloom in your mouth, so hopefully yet reserved.

He was not so lucky. Your feelings felt like ash on his tongue, a sour tang of fear and self-doubt building on his sense. You were afraid of the inevitable, or what you presumed to be the inevitable.

You were supposed to be friends then disappear forever once the school year was up. Him, down here, and you back to being just another nameless soul in the human realm. No need to get the storyline all tangled. "Hey-hey," Mammon speaks in a rush. "It ain't like that, really." He coos shuffling you closer till you are wrapped tightly in his soft leather jacket. He pours more of himself into the pack, opening himself up in ways he never thought capable of from his demonic form.

"I'm stupid." You speak into his chest. The warm reassurance of his unspoken pledge soothing you. It lessens the tight feeling of uncertainty that you had grown accustomed to.

"Ah- now, ain't that supposed to be my job?" The taste in his mouth dissipates slightly as you let out an indignant huff. He flinches as you poke his side hard between his rib cage.

"Told you to stop talking down on yourself Mammon."

The demon hums noncommittally keeping you close. He rocks you both from side to side, oblivious to the throngs of other pedestrians forced to walk around you two. "Guess I forgot. Maybe you could remind me? O-on a date?"

He smiles down at the little sliver of your face and eyes peeking up from the darkness of his jacket. He could damn near feel the smile trying to break from your forced scowl. "Just one?"

"Heh- don't bet on it."

Lucifer

Welcome to the ultimate game of pleasantry chicken. The two of you know this dance by heart, but your footwork isn't synching up.

Lucifer is trying to keep this whole debacle as professional as possible. You are an esteemed guest and pact holder for all of his brothers and himself. This should be business as usual. He totally has his emotions and growing frustration at your lack of interest in him in check.

Yup. He's fine. He's great; glad you two have such an unspoken understanding of your standing in his company and in the house. The same book, same chapter, same bloody page.

You are a good friend. Just. A. Very. Good. Friend.

He breaks first. Not that he will admit it. But the weekly coffee breaks become a bi-daily thing as he tries to court you. He draws these evenings out now. Have you finished your schoolwork? No, allow me to tutor you. Perhaps you would like to listen to this new vinyl with me tonight? It is a complete demon rendition of Wagner's Die Meistersinger. A classic, you’ll love it.

You take it all in stride. Thanking him innocently enough and going along with it. You buffer every little turn of phrase and slightly off-color hint of what he wanted from you with grace. So tactfully done he begins to doubt himself. You couldn’t be misconstruing his intentions right? He hasn’t doubted himself like this in a long time.

Diavolo catches on quickly to the kicked puppy look Lucifer tots around in your presence. He’ll tease, but try to help. He’s a decent wingman truth be told. “How has Lucifer been treating you? I haven’t seen him this happy in ages. He is a great friend to have, yes?” Kinda backfires when you agree that he is indeed a good friend. Oops.

He’ll crack one night over a glass (or bottle) of something strong he pulled from his study. You had slipped into his room unannounced asking for a quiet place to read before bed. The interruption to his musings leads to him running his mouth and pile driving his pride into the ground.

He can’t say no to you anymore. He really should. You were hell bent on keeping him at an arm's length, so he should too. Lucifer watches you like a hawk from behind his desk. His ungloved fingers swirling the dregs of his drink. The cognac inside of it looking up at him, his scowl reflecting in the rich red liquor. Don’t judge me. He scoffs at himself, was he that far gone that he was arguing with his glassware? Should have switched to the bottle hours ago.

“Luci?” You say again waving a hand in his face. “You forget to sleep again this week?” Your smile was warm, a little twinkle in your eye drawing a heat to his collar that had nothing to do with the spirits. You sit on the edge of his desk in your sleepwear. The baggy shirt and sweats reeked of his brothers.

“No.” He lies pushing his desk chair away. “Did you need something?”

You shrug hopping off the desk. “Not really. Wasn’t feeling movie night. You ok if I hang out here? It’s nice and quiet.” You slink off to the couch in front of the fire before he could answer.

“You could not do this in your room?” Lucifer snips. He tosses back the rest of his drink and rises to his feet. He grimaces at the burn spreading across his throat. “I’m sure it is quiet in there too.” He catches your eyes looking over the back of the lounge. While everything lower than the bridge of your nose was blocked by the black velvet he could feel the frown growing on your face.

“Well, yes. But I still want some friendly company. Just not rowdy company, I thought you wouldn’t mind...”

Devils. There was that word again. "You assume to know me?" He cannot hide the venom lacing his words. The liquor had dulled his senses enough that he could not hide his rancor.

“I’m-” You leave the chair coming around it to give him your full attention. This wasn’t like him. Not anymore at least. But you were used to the odd mood swings that plagued your companions. "I don’t assume anything about you Luci. But if you want to talk-"

“I don’t want to have some idle friendly chit chat.” He could feel the tantrum coming. “Have I not proven myself capable of-” His jaw snaps shut with an audible click that echoes across the spacious chamber.

“Of?”

A noticeable blush grows on his pale cheeks. “More.” He sighs deeply, he feels light-headed at the admission. Whether it was from the drinks or from going against his nature and swallowing his pride he couldn’t tell. “Am I not enough to be more than a friend to you?”

That takes you by surprise. You had speculated that he harbored feelings for you. Diavolo all but cementing the idea in your mind. But, this was Lucifer. It felt like just yesterday you were at each other's throats, before he recognized you as something other than a threat to his family. You wanted to respect that little bit of trust he had given you. “It’s not like I never thought about it.”

“But?” He perks up slightly hearing the unspoken word in your inflection. He could see your apprehension yet there was a shimmer of something else underneath. Something he could work with.

“I was- I am scared.”

“Finally, a reasonable response from being around demons.” Lucifer snorts.

“Hey! You know that’s not what I mean.”

“No, I don’t. Explain it to me.” He invades your space waiting to see what you would do. Run or stay. He would have his answer either way. You don’t move, instead, you wrap your arms around yourself. Guarding yourself yet standing firm. One of the many reasons why he admired you.

“I feel like we just became friends. I didn’t think you felt the same and I didn’t want to mess this all up.” You confess. “I just thought it would be easier this way.”

Lucifer absorbs your words quietly, nodding at the logic behind them. “Messes are not something I generally like true, but," He reaches for you, careful of your defensive stature to lead you back to the couch. “If you are willing to iron out the bumps with me I’d like to see what we can make of it.”

If it meant he could have you he would take as much time as you needed.

Belphegor

It takes him the longest to notice that you were trying to keep him at arm's length emotionally. It was hard for him to see at first since you still readily accepted his invitations to snuggle and hang out.

He thought he was very blatant with his desire for you and your affections. The head pats and evening is the planetarium or his attic.

The fact that he had apologized for that little murder mishap. He thought that was a big bright neon sign. Yet you always seemed to try to invite someone else along to chill or leave quickly after an hour or so. As much as he loved his twin and tolerated his other brothers he was trying to get you ALONE.

He starts trying to see you outside the house now too. Lunch in the cafeteria? Pffft. You are going to eat and nap with him in the courtyard. After School activities? Could you help him with some council stuff instead?

Yes, he will go out of his way to do work if you are involved.

You are still too closed off though. You act around him like you do around any of the other brothers and it drives him crazy. You are just so friendly and cordial with everyone. How come he is the only one that becomes a flushing mess now?

He becomes your second shadow, almost as bad as Mammon. You start to get an inkling of his intentions when he starts wanting to sleep in your bedroom at night instead of his or the attic. You let him but offer up the couch or split the bed with a pillow.

He snoops when he gets desperate. Did you like someone else? Was that why you were constantly acting like his advances were just him being overly friendly? He doesn’t find anything, you act like this around everyone else too.

He gives up. Stops interacting with you entirely. He is 99% sure he can sleep through the next century without being bothered. Maybe he’ll get over you by then.

“Belphie? You up here?” The demon in question opens a bleary eye to his locked door. He should stay quiet, leave you hanging. Give himself some vindictive pleasure in snubbing you.

“Hai~” He rises from his nest of blankets and pillows. “Hold on.” Unlocking the door he opens it ajar. You smile around the large stack of books and binders in your arms. “What is that?” Please don’t say homework.

“Work you’ve missed sulking up here.” You confirm his worst fear. “Satan and I thought we would spot you a bit though.” Belphegor watches you struggle for a second to pull a folded piece of paper out from the middle of the stack. “We got most of the answers done for you. Now you just have to fill the worksheets in with your handwriting.” You wave the paper expectantly.

Hearing his brother’s name makes him sour immediately. How long had you been hanging out with him now? “Thanks, leave them at the door then.” He goes to shut the door and return to his dreamless slumber but it’s blocked by your foot.

“Ouch.” You wince hopping back on one foot.

“Idiot! Are you hurt?” He wrenches the door open crouching down to take a look at your sock-covered foot.

“Nothing I can’t walk off. Though my arms are getting sore- weak human muscles an’ all.” You hint wiggling the stack in your arms. He takes the work this time, still eyeing your foot. “Relax, I’ve stubbed my toe with more force than that before.” You whisk by him, using his brief moment of distraction to slip by.

“Did I invite you in?” Belphegor eyes you with a frown. He kicks his door close and dumps the pile of papers on his already over-encumbered desk. Hmm. How many days had he missed?

You ignore him plopping down on the still warm sheets. “Nope!” You pop the ‘p’ with a grin. “But that has never stopped you from sneaking into my room. So fair trade all around.” You pat at the bed, clearing inviting him to join you. “Come on. I’ll help you finish that work then we can chill.”

Oh, now you want to hang out. He felt a rush of bitterness wash over him. “Don’t you have something better to do?” If this keeps up he’ll need another nap, alone preferably. “Doesn’t Asmo need a shopping buddy or something?”

“What’s gotten you all worked up?” You frown, hurt by his accusatory tone.

Belphie shoots you a wounded look. "We never hang out anymore." He sulks. "Alone, I mean. I'm tired of you always inviting Beel or someone else with us."

He glances over to you idly thumbing at one of the books on his desk. It's frustrating. This game of touch and go he accidentally got himself into. Ugh- why did this have to be so hard. "I want to spend more time with you. Just us, so why are you always avoiding that?"

"I.” You look down at your feet dangling off the side of his mattress. “I’m sorry you feel that way. I just felt like- like things were going off the rails between us.” You weren't oblivious to his advances.

He cocks his head in confusion. "Mmm? What are you afraid of?" You read a flicker in his eyes, a haunting memory of cruel fingers around your neck darken his gaze. "Ah-"

"No! No that's not it!" You panic waving your hands up. Of course, he would immediately go to that. "I'm just worried. I know you like me, and-just what if things don't work out? What if you realize what a mistake this could be?"

Your admission gives him pause. So you knew this whole time? Not surprising; he wouldn't fall for someone stupid. "So, are you admitting to liking me back?" He feels giddy when you nod, covering your heating face with your hands. " Well then, what’s the problem? It’s not a mistake if we both are making it.” He grins slyly. “How can it not work out if the feelings are mutual.”

“But what if you are mistaken?” He wraps you up into his arms, flopping you both over onto his messy bed. He takes one of your hands and places it on the top of his head all while burying his nose in your neck.

“Please,” He yawns, feeling his body grow heavy. “I don’t waste my energy on ‘mistakes’.”

#obey me fandom #obey me mammon #obey me lucifer #obey me belphegor #prompts! yay

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floreleine · 3 years

Note

Floreleine getting caught! I just had this vision of them being caught in the halls of the Library by Anna May, who they thought didn't know about them. I leave the caught doing what up to your creative muse he he.

I'm procrastinating the longfics I'm trying to write and thought I could have a look at my inbox again! Thanks for the prompt :)

This is a standalone, but I think it can be read as a follow up to this fic, coincidentally also prompted by you! :D hope you'll like it!

~1k words, rated M, established Floreleine pre-canon

~~~

Madeleine washes her hands, hides her ruined panties in her pocket and carefully readjusts her skirt as she steps out of the bathroom.

She shouldn't be sneaking off to touch herself in the middle of the work day, but goodness, she had to watch Florence be all incredibly sexy while assembling guns, sharpening knives and polishing gold bars, without being able to do anything about her building arousal, and it has been driving her crazy!

Looking left and right, she quickly sneaks back into the front of the library, hoping that Anna May hasn't noticed her longer absence - she really doesn't need her asking any questions. She and Florence are trying to keep their relationship hidden from their leader, as Florence is quite certain Anna May wouldn't approve of their being together, and Madeleine trusts her judgement.

Taking the next stack of returned books she is working on, Madeleine checks them each for damages, inside and out (and whether they still hold what they should hold in the first place), before carrying the complete ones over to Florence, giving her a tight smile and trying not to watch the way Florence's hands work on the rifle she is currently handling.

Oh, how Madeleine would like to be the one under these fingertips right now...

Florence puts down the weapon and hands Madeleine a few of the finished books to shelve. Neither of them speaks, but their fingers brush, and heat shoots through Madeleine's body.

They repeat the process a few times, and Madeleine's hands are so sweaty, she has to brush them on her skirt so as not to stain the books, or have any metal objects slip from her hands.

When Madeleine is shelving a few books in the foreign section, humming to herself as she imagines Florence there with her, working side by side as well as they were fighting side by side the day they met... She is almost done with her work now, and hopefully Florence will finish early as well, so they can have a little date night at a restaurant Anna May doesn't frequent, or just disappear to one of their rooms to make love all evening until they are exhausted and have to sneak out to the kitchen for a midnight snack...

So lost in her thoughts and the by now familiar motions of stepping up ladders and pushing books into their assigned spaces, Madeleine doesn't notice that she is no longer alone until an arm sneaks around her waist just when she steps down from a ladder again.

"Ah! - Oh, Florence, love, you scared me!"

"You should learn to be more vigilant," Florence murmurs before pecking Madeleine on the lips. "That's an important skill in our line of work, darling."

Giggling, Madeleine lets Florence crowd her against a shelf, happy to find a moment alone together. "I know, I know. But I was distracted, thinking about you..."

"Yeah?" Florence's lips are on her ear, and then her tongue touches the shell of her ear before she withdraws enough to look Madeleine in the eyes. "Good thoughts?" Her right hand slides down Madeleine's body, touching her through her skirt.

"Florence!" Madeleine gasps in shock. "We can't - what if -"

"Anna's gone to meet with a possible new client in the diner, she won't be back for a while, I'm sure," Florence murmurs, her hand not moving away. "and I had to look at you walking by in that tight thing all day..."

"I had to look at your hands," Madeleine whimpers. "That's worse!"

Florence laughs, and then she moves her hand away from Madeleine's core, making her whimper again at the loss of contact. "So you agree, then, that we definitely deserve a bit of a break?"

Madeleine nods shakily. "If you're sure that it's fine?"

Florence nods. "Now where the hell is the zipper on this thing?"

Giggling, Madeleine pushes the elastic down her thighs, then moans when Florence's fingers immediately meet her bare mound.

"Oh, please!"

A not insignificant time later, they are both sweaty and sated, breathing heavily as they are trying to put their clothes back into order.

"Finally! I was thinking I'd have to get the garden hose," a voice comes from the corner of the shelf, and Madeleine and Florence jump apart as if burned as Anna May steps into view.

"I swear, I came by three times already! Florence, I need one of the old guns for our new client, is one finished yet?"

With slightly shaking hands, Florence pulls one out of the pile that Madeleine had been shelving. "Here."

Madeleine twists her hands behind her body, looking at Anna May worriedly.

Anna May catches her look and raises an eyebrow, looking from her to Florence and back.

"What, did you think you were so slick that I wouldn't notice that you're fucking? Or that I'd tell you to stop? No, I get it, you're constantly around each other and no-one else, why not spend the time that way... Hell, do you really think I care what you're doing, as long as you still get the job done? You could be fucking 24/7 for all I care, as long as these books still get done and you get it out of your systems! Just don't get attached or emotional about it, that way lies trouble."

With that, she puts the book under her arm and disappears again.

Florence and Madeleine look at each other.

Madeleine knows that they must have both had the same thought: guess they still have something to hide from Anna May, after all...

"You're not so vigilant either, apparently," Madeleine finally tries to lighten the mood, "if Anna May already walked past three times..."

"Oh, she just said that," Florence grumbles, opening a button on her blouse that had been in the wrong buttonhole. Madeleine watches hungrily as the movement exposes her flushed skin. "And besides, I had a very good reason to be distracted, don't you think?"

"For sure!" Madeleine giggles, then turns hesitant. "...do you want to go to the small French restaurant we meant to visit, once we're done with the books?"

Florence smiles. "Date night? Sure."

"So... We're good? About what Anna May said..."

"Anna can't dictate our lives. We're good."

"I'm glad."

Florence leans in to press a kiss to Madeleine's lips, skillfully erasing the last of her doubts and fears.

"We better get back to work," she murmurs against her lips, "if we want to make it to dinner on time..."

"Good idea," Florence pulls back and winks. "I can't wait for tonight."

~~~

Might turn this into something rated E for Ao3 at some point, we'll see!

Also, am I wrong or do these fics also work as the backstory to the also pre-canon works with baby/kid Sam I have on Ao3?

Feel free to reblog!

Still taking prompts! If you reblog my stuff and ask off anon you're more likely to get a quick reply, tho it still depends on me liking the prompt idea of course :)

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euphoricsunflowers · 3 years

Text

happy without you — im changkyun/i.m

a/n: the summary is purposefully misleading darlings don’t you worry.

a/n: based off of happy without me on the best album this year: all about luv.

word count: 1.3k

content: sub!changkyun, dom!fem!reader, this ones for the tall bitches such as myself, oral (reader’s recieving), we’re a lil rough w him but he’s okay w it, angst!!

summary: you and changkyun broke up months ago, and while you’ve been doing well, he hasn’t… but now that you’re both at a party, he makes it his life’s mission to wreck you.

do you think about me sometimes? ‘cause i think about you sometimes…

it hurts more than he wants it to. it hurts more than he’ll admit. he doesn’t want to think about all the times you’ve smiled and laughed and joked and lived without him, and he surely doesn’t want to think about just how little you need him. because you don’t need him, and that’s not something he wants to accept.

what was her name? the name of that new friend that introduced you to all the people who’s parties you attend what feels like all the time? it feels like you’re trying to fill a void, but he knows you’re not. you’re genuinely happy, and he doesn’t get that. you used to hate going out, or was that just him? did you not want to go out because of him? was your relationship that toxic?

so he sits here, at the island in the kitchen of a friend who invited him to their party, as if they didn’t know the irony of him being present. he’s miserable. he hates parties just as much as you seem to love them. he drinks water because he can’t fathom being drunk right now, with the mood he’s in he’s really not wanting to be vomiting on himself, thank you very much.

and some stupid part of his brain, in the very deep recesses of his mind, wonder if you’ll be at this party. surely his friend wouldn’t be stupid enough or cruel enough to put him through that right?...right?

well, sure enough, he hears the familiar cacophony of laughter that rings in his head just like yours does. he sees the familiar smile, even if it’s not aimed at him, when you greet the very same friend who invited him. splendid.

enough time passes to where he’s sure you haven’t noticed him, which for the most part, even if it somewhat hurts him, is good, but now that stupid part of his brain is back to thinking about you. what if he approached you? what if he just tried to talk? you’re still friends, you didn’t end on bad terms, in fact he was the one that broke up with you, saying he needed space, but the idea of trying to talk to you felt stupid now.

until he was already doing it.

“changkyun?” you mutter in shock, before smiling. he can’t tell if it’s fake or not, but he can tell there’s no love in the way you look at him anymore and it stings, “it’s so nice to see you! oh, it’s been too long, how have you been?”

he fakes a smile, taking a sip of his water, “i’ve been alright. i see you’re going to parties a lot now. enjoying yourself?”

“yeah!” you smile excitedly, “i’m meeting a lot of new people and making friends and connections and having a lot of good times! i could take you along sometimes if you want, they’re really fun if you let go and loosen up a bit!”

“maybe i’ll take you up on that,” he murmurs, but he won’t. he absolutely never wants to go to another godforsaken party and he especially doesn’t want to go if he can’t be all up on you like he’s dying to be right now, “can i tell you a secret?”

“sure, changs, what is it?” you ask, but all he can think about is that name. god, not that nickname, because it just sparked a small flame called hope in his chest and he needs to remember what he’s doing here.

because… there’s no getting you back and going back to the way things were. and if the only way he can have you in his arms is by lust instead of love, then fine, you got him, “i miss you, mommy.”

your demeanor changes instantly, and he can’t tell if you liked the comment or not, but it definitely made an impact, “do you now, kitten?”

he wants to sigh in relief and hold his breath in excitement simultaneously, but resting his head on your shoulder and leaving soft kisses on your neck will suffice, “y-yeah. no one makes me feel like you do.”

“then maybe you shouldn’t have broken up with me,” you mutter, much colder now, and he whimpers at your harsh tone. you’re not wrong, obviously, but it still hurts, “and instead of, i don’t know, trying to make it up to me, you choose to just say ‘mommy, i miss you’ and think you’ll have me wrapped around your finger?”

despite the loud chatter around you, changkyun can’t stand the silence enveloping the both of you. he wants to mutter an apology, even just a quick “sorry” is better than just sitting here, but you stand up from your seat, pulling him against you before he even has the chance, “god you’re so fucking lucky, kitten, you’re so lucky i’m feeling nice tonight.”

as you pull him into an empty bedroom and lock the door, you all but throw him on the bed, crawling on top of him and eyeing him like a predator would its prey. you’ve always been taller, but god he really feels just how small he is.

“tell me, my darling kitten,” you muse, “do you regret it?”

“yes,” he whispers, in a heartbeat. no lies, no hesitation, no nothing. he’s sure of the fact that if he could go back, he wouldn’t do what he did, “i shouldn’t have hurt you like that. so please, use me.”

“oh? you want me to use you? elaborate, will you?”

“w-well, i hurt you a lot emotionally, right? so take it out on my body. all that anger and pain, take it out on me. leave every permanent mark on me that you want, slap me, hit me, make me bleed, i don’t care,” he looks into your eyes, seeing the first sliver of genuine emotion he can’t quite pin, but he knows it’s real, “just use me for all your desires, i’ll be your toy to play with.”

you groan at his words, because god they were really turning you on. you move off of him, pulling him towards you and pushing his head lower. he gets the idea immediately, moving any clothing out of the way quickly before immediately devouring you. he groans and makes a lot of lewd sounds as he tongue fucks you, stimulating your clit with both his nose and sucking on it every now and then.

no words are exchanged at this point, which is odd. you’re usually sweet talking to him or degrading him or something, and your fingers are usually threading through his hair or pulling at it but they’re still, and you’re just quietly watching him, moaning whenever it feels really good. he tries to keep eye contact, watching you even as you hold his head down, but you don’t really let him. he gives up, just trying to get you off at this point. he can tell you’re getting close because you’re holding him tighter, to the point where it’s hard to breathe (not like he really cares). you moan out one last time, surprising changkyun with the volume. he continues to eat you out, trying to help you through the orgasm as you grind against his face, until you let go and he’s finally able to breathe.

you spend the next few minutes just breathing while he sits on the floor in front of you, until you motion for him to come closer. you spread your arms out and he honestly wants to cry at how comforting your hold is. the question burns in his mind, but you answer it before he even tries to ask, “i’m not sure what’s gonna happen now, kyun. i don’t know what we are or what i want us to be, but if you don’t give up on us, i won’t give up on you.”

maybe there was considerable making up to do that was more than just eating you out, but at least the hope that burned in his chest felt worth having.

i don’t think about you sometimes... ‘cause i think about you all the time.

—

taglist: @lovingonrepeat @neosincity @sub-hoshi-enthusiast @staranonthoughts @maknaeronix @multidreams-and-desires @mellowriting @baa-nana @foenixs @sunflowerkeen @vanillaknj

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aperrywilliams · 3 years

Text

Maxcer HC/Blurbs: Someone is Coming

A new one for Maxcer HC/Blurbs/Mini-fics! I hope you like it. Any like, reblog, or comment is appreciated.

Request: "When you have the time. Love to see a little blurb of Maxcer telling the team, they're pregnant."

Word Count: 1.3k.

Warnings: Pregnancy topics and a lot of team fluff.

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

After Max told Spencer she was pregnant; they wanted to wait until the 12th-week sonogram to spread the news. Yes, Max and Spencer were ecstatic with the pregnancy, but both were prudent enough and decided no telling anyone - well, almost anyone. Spencer only told his mom by letter, and Max told Michelle because she trusted her sister would be discreet with the news.

That meant Spencer and Max had to navigate the first trimester on their own. That was hard: morning sickness, headaches, muscular aches, body changes, and mood swinging weren't easy for both of them. Spencer tried his best to make Max comfortable, and Max appreciated that, but some things couldn't be 'fixed' and just needed to be faced. The couple had to learn to deal with that.

Max was nervous at the doctor's appointment, and despite Spencer's effort to soothe her, his own nervousness didn't help too much.

"Okay, Ms. Reid, are you ready?" Dr. Finch asked as she entered the room where Max and Spencer were.

"Yes. We are ready," Max answered, squeezing Spencer's hand.

Soon enough, Dr. Finch told the couple that they didn't have to worry. Everything looked perfectly fine with the baby. Both Max and Spencer exhaled in relief as Dr. Finch gave some instructions and freed the couple.

Next step: telling the world they are expecting a baby.

"Okay. A dinner with your father and your sisters to tell your family. Now, how are we going to tell the team?" Spencer asked. Max pondered the options in her mind, and something came up. She smirked at Spencer, and he knew that an idea was in her brain. "Tell me what are you thinking," Spencer demanded.

It was the end of September, and despite Reid's birthday would be in a month, Max thought that a harmless birthday party was the perfect moment to gathering their friends and drop the news without raising any suspicion.

"Why just we can go to the BAU with the sonogram's copies, and we tell them?" Spencer asked Max. He thought her plan was too elaborated to the purpose in mind.

"Honey, don't you feel excited thinking you can fool a bunch of the best profiles in the country? Because I do!" Max tried to convince Spencer about her idea. "Well, if you want to keep it interesting, we can run bets about who catches the news first. What do you say?" Spencer considered her words for a minute.

"Okay. Let's do it!"

Max kicked off the plan talking to Penelope first.

"A birthday party for Boy Wonder? Are you sure, Max? He never liked that kind of celebrations," Garcia said.

"I know, Pen. But I'm worried about him. Spencer has been so down lately that I think seeing his friends on his birthday could cheer him up a bit. It would be great if Morgan and Hotch could come, actually..." Max mused.

"Don't say another word! You're right! Boy Wonder deserves a party. Don't worry about details; I'll take care of Morgan and Hotch," Garcia stated.

Said and done. Before Max could overthink it, Garcia talked to Rossi about using his house and contacted Morgan and Hotch to come. Constellations aligned; they both accepted and booked a flight to DC for that day.

Meanwhile, Max and Spencer prepared a surprise for the team.

That night was a blast for everyone. Spencer was not supposed to know about the party, so he had to act surprised when he entered Rossi's house. It wasn't a total fake surprise because Max didn't tell him Hotch and Morgan would be there. Spencer was ecstatic to see his friends again. The hug that Spencer shared with Morgan and Hotch was pure happiness and emotion.

"You did good, pretty boy. She is great. Garcia told me the party was her idea and to call us her idea as well," Morgan complimented Spencer, both looking at Max talking with Tara and JJ. Spencer nodded.

"Yeah. Max is the best. I have never been more grateful for that Saturday off in the park," Spencer stated. Morgan chuckled.

Past dinner, the lights dimmed, and Max came to the patio with a cake in her hands. Everyone started to sing happy birthday to Spencer. After Spencer blew out the candles, he kissed Max, and the two looked at each other knowingly. Spencer cleared his throat, and everyone kept quiet, waiting for his speech.

"Well, I want to thank you all for coming tonight. I really appreciate you guys—especially Morgan and Hotch, who flew here. That was a good surprise. Thank you. I want to thank Max, my wife, who has to put up with me at home every day. I want to thank her also because she gave me the best gift for my birthday this year, and I want to share it with you guys." As Spencer spoke, Max handed everyone an envelope with a card inside.

Weird faces, frowns, whispers, and thinking looks could be seen among the attendees. Each one opened their envelope and took out their card. The card in question had a copy of Max's sonogram and a text:

'BAU: the place for Best Aunts and Uncles. Baby Reid thanks you for coming to dad's birthday party. Besides, Baby Reid wants to announce that they are coming in March, already eager to meet you all.'

Max stepped beside Spencer, enjoying the team's reactions.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Emily asked after reading her card.

"Oh my God, Spence," JJ was about to cry from pure emotion.

"A baby genius!" Penelope squealed, leaving the card and running to hug Max.

"Pretty boy and pretty girl are going to have a pretty baby!" Morgan excited announced, approaching to hug Spencer.

"That's wonderful news, guys. Congratulations!" Luke said, raising his glass to the couple.

"You're going to join the club. I'm happy for you two," Hotch greeted.

"I have five of those; I guess you can use some advice from here if you needed," Matt teased.

"That baby will be so spoiled! Papa Rossi will take care of that," Rossi admitted.

"With those aunts and uncles, I can assure you that baby Reid never will get bored!" Tara said, laughing.

"Wait, then you knew about this party?" Garcia asked. Spencer nodded. "So… you're not depressed or something, right?"

"I'm sorry, Pen, I didn't want to lie like that, but it was for a good cause," Max acknowledged.

"You fooled us," JJ conceded.

"Sort of. We wanted to tell you guys, but we wanted something unique, and well, my birthday was near in date…" Spencer trailed off. Everyone started laughing.

"I think this was the best way to announce such important news. We'll have a new member of the team. That's reason enough to celebrate," Rossi said. Everyone agreed.

After the hugs, congratulations, and all the questions about Max's pregnancy, the younger couple sat on one of the benches, exhausted.

"How are you doing, Dr. Reid?" Max asked. Spencer had a grin plastered on his face.

"Perfectly. And how are you doing, Ms. Reid?" Spencer asked back.

"Very good. Baby Reid is excited yet, but I don't blame them. Has been a busy night," Max admitted. Spencer rubbed a hand in Max's belly.

"This baby will have the best mom they could ask for," Spencer said, pecking Max's lips. Max smiled.

"And the best dad too. And, of course, the best aunties and uncles in the world as well." Max said, looking at the team laughing and celebrating no so far from them. Spencer chuckled.

"The best family, without a doubt," Spencer recognized.

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

Permanent Reid's Taglist: @dreatine @andiebeaword @calm-and-doctor @mind-of-a-girl @katelynnwrites

Maxcer's Army: @dreatine @andiebeaword @ironwoman18

#spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid #maxine brenner #maxcer #spencer reid x max #spencer reid x maxine brenner #spencer x max #criminal minds #spencer reid fluff #dr. spencer reid

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a-lil-perspective · 4 years

Text

Interspersed

A/N: Here’s a lil Tech X Reader drabble I wrote while doing a big sad over the weekend. Also to rectify the disgraceful lack of Tech content on my blog. Also also, to utilize a beloved Hamilton quote from my prompt list. Anywho. Soft Tech drabble in which Tech is sleepy and suddenly questions his own intelligence. A very big mood. Not to worry; the S/O is here to help. :)

He’s doing it again.

Another day turned to night, with no end in sight.

Another project, another fixation, another night the bed is cold and stiff. Another leave he doesn’t spend with you.

“Tech.”

He doesn’t tear his attention away from his work, makes no acknowledgment to your call. He’s positively hyper-fixated, and if he wasn’t troubled, he’d be in trouble, surely.

With the sound of your perturbed tapping somewhere off to his right, Tech rather nervously concludes he still might be.

He thinks you won’t see it. That if you’re fussing over the proficiency of his hands and the hunch of his shoulders, you won’t see the way his mind is racing, burning fumes. The way he’s… struggling. He’s a reputation to uphold, and this engineer simply can’t comprehend letting you marvel over anything other than his ingenuity. Certainly not of any mental ailment. Struggles are merely a kink in the neurotransmitters that with a little self-convincing, can be plucked out and overcome with all haste.

But that is merely the science behind it.

“I wonder how long you keep ignoring me before I start a betting pool from it. Don’t think I won’t, either.”

Tech bites his lip at that, hollowing his cheeks with an expression vaguely reminiscent of a scolded child. He can’t bring himself to respond, and a surreal frustration boils because of it. He always has something to say, words filling the space effortlessly. He should apologize, should reason, should rebuttal with something painstakingly factual—

But if he says what’s on his mind he’ll spill something that’s terribly insensible, and even more terrible:

Insecure.

Even still, Tech’s thoughts often broadcast far, far too loudly for his liking.

“Am I a capable person?”

It feels like such a trivial thing; silly, even. Of course he is capable, his title alone is a testament to such. These are inquiries not to be mused aloud, in Tech’s informed opinion.

You blink in confusion. “The most capable person I know.”

Tech says nothing at that, relying on the methods you use to upend him and on the ways you speak for him when he won’t—which is ironic, given that his every waking moment is spent talking, talking over you... and about you. However it’s widely known of the way he verbally shrivels away when his burdens require him to divert all of his energy to upholding the strain. Perhaps he’s more predictable than he’d like to admit.

Perhaps that’s why these feelings manifested in the first place, flourishing in his chest until they’ve become this far too constraining thing for even the brightest engineer.

“How are you certain?”

How are you not? you nearly ask. Instead, you arch a brow. “What is this about?”

There’s only the mechanical hum-drum of the hangar for a long moment.

“I feel inadequate,” is all he says.

“What in the kriff for?” You’re utterly baffled, gaping crudely no doubt. Tech can’t tear his eyes away from the project splayed out before him. It’s just randomized parts, really. Much like the current state of his headspace.

“I… experience a sense of dissatisfaction with my work, and everything that pertains to it.”

You shake your head slowly, unable to fathom where this is all coming from. For Tech, it’s unprecedented.

You frown, and then your lips pull down even further when you realize that he can’t even see it; he won’t look at you, and it’s maddening. “Well I experience a sense of dissatisfaction over the way you’re too hard on yourself and the way you won’t ever take a break unless someone forces you. Seriously, do you know what time it is—”

“No, you don’t understand, there is… more to it,” he murmurs conspiratorially, his face scrunching.

You open and close your mouth, now at a loss. The desire to grant him peace of mind is overwhelming; all you can dwell on. Tech is this whirlwind of coding that you all-too-easily get swept up in. He’s every foreign language accumulated in the databanks. He’s the answer to questions, and the questions to every answer. More often than not, it’s a challenge to keep pace. But one you wouldn’t trade for anything.

You soften, stepping closer to him. “Then help me understand.”

He purses his lips, considering.

“I fear that when it comes down to it, I do not perform as well as I could—as well as I should.”

Your steel your posture. “Tech. Your contributions are invaluable—you’re invaluable. To your squad, your brothers. To me.”

“I sometimes wonder if it is enough.”

“It is. You are enough.”

Chapped lips pressed to a grim line, the rim of his goggles ever so slightly inching down the bridge of his nose, Tech twitches at your touch to his armored forearm. He blinks hard in an attempt to alleviate the burn in his retinas forged from an unrelenting stare at things he’d rather not examine but does anyway. His hands have fallen slack in defeat against the table before him.

You gently turn his ragged body away from the workbench because Maker knows a hyper-fixated Tech has to be herded like a baby Shaak to get any coordinated movement from him in such state. You keep a firm hand braced along his upper arm and turn his face to yours, cupping his cheek.

“I don’t pretend to know the challenges you’re facing, the worlds you keep erasing and creating in your mind. But I’m not afraid. I’m not worried. You shouldn’t be, either. Just let me stay by your side. That would be enough for tonight.”

The engineer finally brings deprived eyes up to yours. He extends a gloved hand out, soot-coated and all, and you take it with all eagerness, squeezing tightly. It always amazes you, the way he can piece together inventions and desecrate standards to formulate his own, paving a path far brighter than anything someone else could conjure up in their wildest dreams. The way he’s so unapologetically himself.

Except for now.

“I... apologize for pushing you away. That was not my intent. I suppose I am not too well-versed in emotional discovery—yet.” His determined smile almost overrides the crackling of his voice. Almost. He takes a deep breath, giving your hand a squeeze and continuing on at the reassuring one he receives back. “But... I would like you to be here with me. Very much so.”

You reciprocate the smile, and with a free hand you ruffle through his unruly tuffs, a stray chuckle escaping you at the sight.

“Well. I’d much rather be in bed with you than standing here,” you gesture to his less-than-ideal work surroundings in the isolated part of a mostly vacant hangar. Tech looks longingly to his project that’s more busywork than an actual project, sighing.

“Soon—”

“Has become now,” you gently chide.

“My work—”

“Will be there when you wake up. But more importantly, so will I. Rest now.”

With that you pull him along, ignoring his endless excuses and refutes, and the way he reaches out for his tools like a child and his beloved toy he can’t bear to part with.

You lead him out and towards the barracks, to your quarters, with Tech undressing in small increments along the way after he quit grousing under his breath. It’s futile; he knows your resolve is unshakeable. It’s a deduction he made long ago, in a sweet past that feels but a dream now. But then he looks over to you and remembers that it’s still very much an active dream. One that a part of him aches at the very thought of ever waking up from.

By the time you make it to the door, Tech’s helmet is tucked under his arm, turned up like a literal bucket, his gauntlets and other small armor components resting inside. A resourceful man through and through, with not a care in the world as to whether or not anyone stumbles upon his oddities. Public perception has never been a priority for Tech. So ahead of his time, ahead of the game.

You get cozy once inside, freeing yourself from a constricting uniform while carefully eyeing Tech in the doorway for signs of instability—it wouldn’t be the first time he’s nearly collapsed from exhaustion while removing his armor, utilizing his last ounce of strength left at whatever ungodly hour he’s finally reeled in.

Stripped to his blacks, Tech flops onto the bed and nestles against you, sprawled at an awkward angle with his head resting on your bare thighs. He wraps a tired arm around the circumference and squeezes like it’s that of a pillow. He’s got you in a vise-like grip, and you can’t help the snort it pulls from you.

“Why do you do this to yourself.” You caress his face with the back of your hand, gently scrutinizing the quivering Commando who’s now faced with the side-effects of potent caf shots he very much has an addiction to. They always hit him hardest once coming to a full stop in his endeavors, no longer masked by the methodical fidget of limbs hard at work. You feel his lips curl into a frown as his body involuntarily trembles.

“Do, what?”

You stifle a yawn, grappling for the blanket at the foot of your bed and draping it over the two of you; he’s chilled. “Fight like you’re running out of time,” a flick to his expanse of forehead. “Doubt that big brain of yours.”

Tech shoots upright, damn-near colliding his head with your inclined chin. “Technically, intelligence does not equate to a larger brain mass, at least not in us humans—”

“Stop talking,” you hum, pressing him back to your leg and batting away the fatigue rapidly seeping over you. You stroke up and down the corded muscles of his back to ease him out of the shakes.

Tech falls silent but only for a moment, revisiting the question that you both already know the answer to. He traces random, unsteady shapes over his pillow. “I do it for you, you know.”

“But you do it at the cost of yourself. And... of us.”

There’s a pervading sadness to your words, and it tugs at Tech. “I strive to be the best I can, for you and my brothers, and the mission.” It sounds like such a wormy excuse in his ears.

You lean forward, hair strands lurching with to kiss his cheek as you press your lips to the shell of his ear. “Be the best you can for you. Just stay alive. That would be enough.”

Tech squints contemplatively. With effort, he reaches up to rest a hand on your cheek. “Well then I must respectfully request the same of you.”

“Oh I will, don’t you worry about that,” you smile down at him, fingers carding through his hair as your gaze flits somewhere far away. “We’re smart. We’ll make it.”

“I’m smart?”

As if he needs you to tell him that.

You scoff but it’s not heavy. “You know you are.”

“But what is ‘smart’?”

Either he’s pulling your leg (literally) or getting all philosophical on you, and in either case: exhaustion and a distant validation have successfully taken the reins in the conversation.

You roll your eyes. “I’m looking at him.”

The goggled member smirks. “Is he good looking?”

There’s this rare side of Tech that shines through in his hedge of exhaustion. It’s delightfully loony, one of those seldom instances where the precocious engineer retains his fleeting youth through fatigue-driven giggles and caricature expressions. It’s a lovely thing you don’t get to experience often, but when you do, you milk it for all its worth.

A playful swat to his backside. “Handsomest thing I’ve ever seen. The smartest, in fact,” you purr, thoroughly humoring him but also believing in him; the sum of your playfulness and your full endorsement. You sweep your hair out of his face, resting your forehead against his.

“What would I do without you...” he murmurs against the skin of your leg, lids fluttering heavily, drunk with exhaustion and undying appreciation. His goggles lie crookedly affixed to his face, which makes the entire sight that more endearing.

“Excellent question, Tech; what would you do without me?” You gingerly remove his corrective eyewear and set it atop the nightstand. Tech’s toothy, lopsided grin is truly a sight to behold. He ponders for a second, then lazily shrugs one blanketed shoulder.

“I’d never get tucked in.”

#star wars #the bad batch #clone force 99 #tech #tech x reader #sorry y’all I’m trying to come around #having a helluva time over here hahah #anyway!#should I do tags for these drabbles?#I never know #I have no idea why the title #it’s a title I’ve had down as a Tech wip for the longest time now #and it just #stuck #Tech is baby and just needs some love and validation #don’t we all #my writing #it’s a lil thing #*silently begging for requests from my Hamilton prompt list*

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skiller0dani · 4 years

Text

Heart of Stone | Timothee Chalamet

M A S T E R L I S T

smut requests info wanna be on a Timmy taglist? click here

hey guys. so I’m really depressed right now and everything I try to write is shit. so if you want something good it’ll have to be depressing bc that’s the mood I’m in. sad shit is all I’m good at. ahahaha I am useless. just ignore that. hope you enjoy. thank you for all the love, I appreciate all your lil angel baby faces. xx (I listened to ‘diamond heart’ by alan walker before I wrote this. just some inspo)

there’s something broken in me. anyone relate?

He called so many times he was worried you were going to block him.

Tim knew he needed to give you space but he didn’t know how to do that. You’ve been by his side for so long he’s used to calling you about everything. Most of the time he doesn’t even realize he’s calling you until he hears your voicemail. ‘Hey it’s Y/N, uh call me back! If you want, or don’t I don’t care either way you can do what you want. I’m not the boss of yo-’ He always smiles when he hears your rambling voicemail, the beep eventually cutting you off. For the life of him he doesn’t understand why you never changed it but he’s happy you didn’t. It’s so you.

Nothing tasted the same, if that makes sense.

Timothee used to love orange juice first thing in the morning, but now it tasted too sour. He didn’t know if orange juice had changed or if it was him that changed. It was hard to tell anymore. Nothing fit together the same way it used to, like all the pieces to his puzzle didn’t go together. It all felt jumbled, he never thought this would happen. But according to you it wasn’t anything he’d done wrong, it was you that needed to ‘explore emotional experiences’ with someone else. Tim knew what that meant really though. It meant you started having feelings for someone else and wanted to pursue it. A really fancy way of saying she emotionally cheated on him. At least that’s how Tim sees it. You pulled out of the relationship emotionally and began to invest your heart in somebody else. How fucked up is that? Tim tried not to be angry but how could he not be? His heart has been crushed in his chest and he was here, alone, in the apartment you picked to put all his pieces back together again. As if that was even possible.

His desk chair was too twirly. It spun too much. That’s what started this whole fiasco Tim found himself in. His desk chair spun too much. He had gotten a knife to try and pry the chair apart to tighten it when the knife slipped and sliced his hand open. This kind of crap never happened when you were around. You always stopped him whenever he reached for the knife, “Wait, what’s the knife for?” Tim can hear your worried little voice in his head, except this time he decided to promptly ignore it. So he’d cleaned the cut, and instead of getting stitched he opted to superglue it shut and slap a bandage on it. Even pain felt different. Were you a life dampener? Did your love shield him from dealing with crap like this?

Tim leaned his head back against the bathroom wall, his throbbing hand resting in his lap. It was concerning how numb he felt to everything because at first Tim was pissed. He trashed your shared bedroom and smashed nearly all of your dishes. He was currently eating on paper towels until the replacements could be shipped. Normally Tim would have bought more from the store but you know- fucking COVID. He rubbed a hand down his face as the tears built behind his eyes again. Who was better than him? Who stole your heart right from him? Who on Earth could have caught her damn attention? Why did this happen? Tim had a hundred questions and no answers, but he didn’t know if knowing the answers would help.

His friends called, they texted. They even tried to stop by. He didn’t answer his phone, or the door. There was no way he would ever feel comfortable talking about this with anybody- not even Dr. Phil. Even Jimmy Fallen reached out attempting to make some sort of contact with Timothee. But Tim for the life of him could not understand why nobody understood that he didn’t want to talk. He wasn’t expecting you to abandon him, he loves you. He wished he didn’t. Tim wishes he could wake up and for this to be some sort of extremely vivid nightmare. That he could wake up and pull you into his arms with a deep sigh, just inhaling your scent and pressing kisses to your bare skin. Thumping his head back against the counter, Tim squeezes his eyes shut as he feels tingles running south.

He’s always had you here to help him take care of his sexual needs, he doesn’t even know how to deal with his hard ons without you. He curls his fists against his sides when he remembers you on your knees in this very bathroom, swallowing his cock all the way down your throat. Tim can still see you in front of him, your eyes locked on his. Standing from the bathroom tiles Tim pushes out of the small room, needing to get some air. There are tears in his eyes again as he paces the living room. He quickly reaches for his phone but instead of landing on your contact he keeps scrolling to a contact he had saved in his phone a few days ago when he was out at a bar. Tapping his fingers along his phone nervously he prayed to God she would answer.

“Hello?” Her voice was groggy on the other side and in any other circumstance Tim would feel guilty for waking her. Not this time. “I need you.” His voice was nearly a whine as he gasped into the phone, his cock straining against his jeans. He was hard for you not for some girl he met at a bar but goddammit he needed to get off, and you left him.

It wasn’t too long before whatever her name was arrived and as soon as Tim opened the door he was pulling her against his lips. “Not to be rude or anything,” Tim began as her lips chased his in a desperate and fast kiss, her hands grabbed at his curls to tug gently. “But I just need someone to fuck.” He gasps against her lips as her right hand slides down his body. She nods as her lips find his neck, “I know.” She agrees and as soon as she does Tim’s hands are hauling her legs up and around his waist. She ground against his hard cock, and he groans softly. “Sorry but what the fuck is your name?” Tim asks and she laughs against his mouth as he walks them to the couch. She pulls back from him, her blonde hair pulled up in a ponytail. She’s not nearly as pretty as you, but she’ll do. “Ashley.” She smiles but in all honesty Tim doesn’t really care. He just doesn’t want to call her ‘whatever her name is’ in his head anymore.

Tim throws her back against the couch, her pupils dilated as he leans over her to pull her shirt up and over her head. He trails wet kisses down her body until he’s tugging her yoga pants down her legs. “Right to the point huh?” Ashley pants, lifting her hips to help Tim remove her pants. He doesn’t bother answering her as he literally tears her thong off. He doesn’t feel like doing the whole foreplay thing, he doesn’t want to ‘enjoy’ this. He wants to get off.

Tim licks a line through her folds to ensure she’s wet as he hurriedly pushes his jeans down. Ashley hands him a condom, which he quickly takes before tearing it open. “Fuck you’re big.” Ashley muses as she spreads her thighs, watching as he rolls the ‘a little too small’ condom down his shaft. He presses his head into her, and when Timothee sinks his cock inside her all the way. He feels like a goddamn animal.

Tim never was a smoker but he did it occasionally for movies. Tonight seemed like as good a night as any to give it a try. He leaned over the balcony of the apartment, overlooking New York. Ashley was asleep on the couch and he really should make her leave but he doesn’t feel like waking her up. Jeans hang low on his hips and he couldn’t be bothered to put his shirt back on. He feels like a bad person, for having sex with Ashley. It’s not his fault you left him. A cigarette hangs from his lips and for once the ambiance of the busy city soothes the storm brewing in Timothee’s head. He’s not used to you not being here, he doesn’t want some random girl named Ashley on the couch. He wants you on the couch. This fucking cigarette is doing nothing for him, why do people smoke anyway? In every damn movie you always see someone smoking after sex, why? What’s the point?

Tim flicks the cigarette over the balcony with a shake of his head before he hears quick and desperate pounding on the front door. He turns to answer it, seeing Ashley having been jolted awake with a blanket pressed to her bare chest. Without looking Tim swings the door open and the sight before him nearly makes his eyes bulge out of his head. There you are stood, with your bags, at his door. Your eyes flicker to the girl on the couch, and there’s an unreadable expression on your face. “May I come in?” You ask politely, as though the two of you were briefly acquainted strangers. He sucks in a sharp breath before opening the door wider for you, seeing Ashley already pulling her clothes on.

The fireplace created a soothing ambiance, but the current mood in the room is anything but soothing. Ashley hurriedly gets to her feet, her shirt only halfway on as she scrambles to the front door- swinging it shut behind her. Tim reaches for the carton of cigarettes, so this is why people smoke. He lights it, much to your disbelief. “You smoke?” Your voice portrays how utterly shocked you are, but that’s not what Tim is concerned about. “Forget something?” He asks bitterly, turning back towards the balcony. You stand dumbly in front of the fireplace as he turns his back to you, “you know where everything is. Careful there’s broken porcelain in the kitchen.” Tim adds as he steps onto the balcony, needing space from you.

Tim isn’t all that surprised when you step out onto the balcony beside him.

“That’s not why I’m here.” You say softly, careful not to get too close to him. There’s a tension between the two of you that was never there before, and it’s all your fault. You look back inside at the couch, the blankets are messed up and the cushions are squished down. “You had sex with her didn’t you?” You ask, knowing you don’t have any right to sound as hurt as you do. Tim takes a long puff of his cigarette before blowing the smoke out into the New York night. “Yeah,” he breathes, although he doesn’t sound very proud of it. You nodded, your eyes looking out at the beautiful city laid out before you. “I think we both know that I made a mistake.” You start, your voice soft. Tim scoffed through a bitter laugh, his elbows resting on the railing.

He doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t trust you not to hurt him again. “I love you Tim.” You say, your heart betraying you as tears well in your eyes. You wanted to try and remain strong. Tim’s eyes are downcast as the cigarette rests between his lips. Your eyes land on his hand, and you notice the blood soaked through the bandaid. “What happened to your hand?” You asked and Tim briefly glanced down at his palm before turning his gaze to you for the first time since you got here. “Please just tell me what you want.” He says, crossing his arms as he leans away from you. You hate that you did this to him.

“You Tim, I want us.” You tell him, your eyes following him as he moved back inside. You followed him like a lost puppy as he moved into the kitchen.

“But you want him too right?” Tim asks, a look of hurt and anger on his face as he eyes you. There’s a bitter smile on his face, and a look of guilt on yours. You shake your head, “I thought I did. I was wrong, I could never feel for him the way I feel about you.” You plead, tears threatening to spill down your cheeks as you stand and watch him move through the kitchen. “The problem Y/N, is that I knew that from the beginning. I knew right away that I would never love anyone the way I love you. I didn’t need to go gallivanting off with some other girl to figure that out!” Tim snapped, his voice raising as he looks into your eyes. There are tears falling freely down your cheeks now as you pull at the strings hanging from the sweater you’re wearing. It’s Tim’s sweater actually, and you’re sure he knows that.

“I-I know, I wish I had the answer you want but I don’t! I don’t! All I can give you is what I got right now, I-I love you.” You beg, your voice breaking through the tears. Tim holds a glass in his hand, presumably to get a drink but he never gets the chance to use it. He chucks it at the wall, glass exploding off everywhere as he turns back to you. “You love me? That’s fucking hilarious Y/N. If you loved me you wouldn’t have left!” He yelled, the emotion on his face making your throat close. There are tears behind his eyes, and you can see how badly you broke him. You’d give anything to undo this, to go back in time. “What do I do Tim, what c-can I do?” You plead, trying to catch your breath through the sobs. Tim doesn’t bother responding as he storms past you and to the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

You stand in the kitchen and cry, you’re not sure this can be fixed. Why are you so stupid? You love him so damn much, why couldn’t you see that sooner?

Tim slides down the door, part of him wants to take you into his arms and never let you go again. But the other part wants to hold you at arms length, wants to scream and break everything in this damn apartment. He hears you slump against the door on the other side, and his heart rate begins to slow. “I want to fix us.” You say softly. Tim rests his head back against the door, his knees are pulled up. “How can I trust that you won’t leave me again? I won’t survive this a second time.” Tim says, his voice calmer than before. It’s true, he will not survive this a second time if you up and decided to leave him. “You can’t, but I won’t leave you again. I promise.” You whisper, turning to press your forehead against the door.

Slowly the door opens and you immediately stand, seeing Tim standing before you. “I love you.” You whisper again, seeing the tears in his eyes. They match the fresh tears brimming in your own eyes. “I-I love you.” Tim breathes through shaky breaths, his trembling hands reaching up to cup your cheeks. Your forehead presses against his as your arms wind around him, and you feel at home again. Slowly, cautiously, you press your lips to his. Tim reacts immediately to you, his head tilting to deepen the kiss, his hands pulling you more firmly against him. The kiss is quick and desperate, but at the same time slow and sensual. You feel tears falling down your cheeks, and tears falling down his as well. You begin to walk him backwards towards the bed, you need to feel him all over your body.

The two of you fall against the bed, your bodies tangled together as your lips continue to slide against each other. Your hands are the first to wander as they head south to his hardening cock. His chest is still bare and your other hand dances around his revealed skin. Tim’s hands push up the bottom of your shirt, slowly working it up your body as your hand dips under the waistband of his jeans. He gasps into your mouth when your small hand wraps around his cock and his grip on you tightens when you begin to slowly pump him in your hand. You break away from his lips to allow him to pull your shirt over your head and he groans when he sees your bare breasts and no bra.

“I missed this.” He mumbled against the skin of your neck, his kisses trailing downward towards the swell of your breasts. Your head fell back as soft gasps escaped your mouth as his lips latched to your left nipple. You continued to work your hand over his shaft, feeling the head precumming all over your hand. “You’re hard awfully quick after the blonde bitch.” You say, your voice sharper at the end. Tim hummed against your skin, his other hand dancing down between your bodies to the waistband of your jeans. “She wasn’t particularly satisfying, just enough for me to cum though.” Tim says simply, kissing across your chest to your right nipple. You feel a sting to your heart but you say nothing because you totally deserved that.

The pad of his fingers makes contact with your aching clit and you nearly cry out when you feel him beginning to softly press against your bundle of nerves. You pump him in his pants faster and when you feel his hips stutter one of his hands snatches your wrist in his hand. “I’d rather cum in your sweet little pussy rather than in my jeans.” Tim mumbles against the supple skin of your breast. You nod immediately as you begin to push his jeans down his legs, helping him remove your own jeans. You rolled onto your back and pulled you with him so that he was hovering above you. “Don’t think this fixes everything, we have a long way to go.” Tim reminds you, his hands planted on the pillow on either side of your head.

“I know.” You say softly, parting your thighs for him. He groans at the sight of your wet pussy, this was definitely a view he missed enjoying. Tim smiles to himself as he leans down to part your pussy lips. He sits back and takes in the view of your glistening folds until you’re squirming under his intense gaze. “Please do something,” You plead softly, watching his eyes flutter over every detail of your soaked pussy. He softly blows cool air on you, causing a soft moan to tumble from your lips before he leans back up over your body. Tim nudges the head of his cock into your opening as he looks down at you, “look..you hurt me but I love you. More than anything.” Tim says sincerely, his eyes flickering between yours. You wrap your arms around him before you press your lips to his, “I love you.” You mumble against his lips as he presses into you.

You wince as he slides inch by inch into you, the last time you were with anyone was him and that was a few weeks ago. You missed the feeling of his cock stretching you open. Tim squeezes his eyes shut with a long groan, “Christ baby you are so fucking tight.” Tim gasps, the feeling of you tightly hugging his cock is making him feel a little lightheaded. “I haven’t been with anyone since you,” you gasp once Tim slid fully inside you. He sat still for a moment, basking in the feeling of being fully inside you. You moaned softly, you loved feeling so stuffed full with his cock. How could you ever think you were better off without him? Or his Godly cock? Eventually Tim pulls his hips back, sliding out until just his tip rested inside you. Your legs spread even wider for him as he thrusted back in, his strokes long and deep. Tim kept fucking you nice and deep, keeping his pace steady as he panted above you. His mouth hung open and his eyebrows were pinched together as he frantically lowered his mouth over yours again.

Your lips moved quickly against Tim’s as you felt the heat building in your stomach. “I missed this pussy so much baby,” He groaned against your lips, his pace picking up a little. You began to moan uncontrollably as Tim began to pound into you, “I-I won’t leave you again, fuck I can’t live without you or your perfect cock.” You cry out, your arms flying around him as he bites down on your shoulder to try and silence his groans. Tim loves hearing the sounds you make for him. “Don’t stop baby please.” You plead softly as his pace slows to deep and hard strokes. Tim reaches down to harshly pinch your clit and you cum around him, your back arching up into his chest. Feeling you tighten around him sends Tim over the edge as he spills into you. Thank God for birth control.

Tim pulls out of you and collapses onto the bed next to you, his arm pulling you into his chest. You both sit and catch your breaths for a second before you feel Tim pressing a kiss to your head. “I know you’re scared I’ll leave again, but I won’t and I’ll spend the rest of our lives proving it to you if that’s what it takes.” You tell him and he offers nothing more than a nod as he squeezes you to his chest. He doesn’t know the future, he only knows right now.

And right now, he’s got what he needs.

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our-jensen-ackles-love · 4 years

Text

Little Doe

Geralt x Reader

Request from @destielstuffandthings

--- Geralt saves you, twice actually. The second time around is a little different.

Word Count: 1500

Warnings: some language and a smidgen of smut.

Author’s Note: This was supposed to be a drabble, but kind of became a whole thing. Unbeta’d and probably poorly proof read.

--------

They left you.

They fucking left you there to die.

There was supposed to be a pact. Have each other’s back from the moment we stepped foot out of that prison, but alas, you were due for a good taste of reality. All it took was an arrow to the shoulder for any sort of promise to go rushing off into the woods like deer running from a pack of wolves.

You had stumbled along as far as you could, praying that you’d come across a village or the lone traveling merchant who could provide some aid to you. But once more the Gods were out to get you because the last thing you remembered was seeing that trail of blood run its way down your arm before the world faded into darkness.

---

Eyes fluttered, allowing visions of gray and silver, but they never stayed open for long before you tumbled back into the realm of unconsciousness. The next glimpse of reality you got was of dark amour, causing you to sit up a little too quickly making all other surroundings spiral.

“Woah, woah,” a gruff voice coaxed you. “Calm down. Don’t go scaring Roach.”

“The hell?”

Despite the sudden need to flee, you did as you were told, closing your eyes and taking several deep breaths before trying to peek out once more. Golden, cat-like eyes peered down at you as a shroud of silver envelope the features of the man before you. While the initial concern of your savior being someone of the Nilfgaardian army hauling you back to camp, you were still cornered by a very large man.

Those same gold eyes scanned you openly now as they moved from being all up close and personal to several feet away, allowing you to have some space to breathe. Carefully, well aware of the bandaging that was wrapped tightly around your shoulder, you sat up from the patch of ground you had been propped upon. Everything was throbbing from your head, down to your toes.

“Where - where am I?” You dared, eyes darting between the trees trying to see out into the dark wilderness.

“Not too sure,” the strange man replied, eyes staying idly on you. “Somewhere outside of White Orchard.”

You shook your head, trying to recall any sort of clues as to where you had been held prisoner for the last couple of weeks, but nothing was coming to mind. The only thing that stood out was a massive rock leading way to a large creek.

“Who are you?”

He shifted in his spot and exasperated sigh leaving his lips. “I’m Geralt of Rivia.”

An eyebrow lifted as you eyed the man once more. Upon further inspection, in the dim light of the fire, it was clear that this was no ordinary man. If you could have, you would have smacked yourself for not realizing that he was a Witcher by his eyes alone, but judging by the massive headache you were positive you hit your head a lot harder than you thought when you fell.

Those eyes continued to bore onto you. “I’m a Witcher,” he continued. “But I’m sure you know that.”

Slowly, you nodded towards him. “I’ve heard the stories.”

His face remained stoic as he shifted once more. “It appears everyone has these days.”

“I have no coin,” you continued. “I have no way of thanking you for helping me.”

He was silent on the other side now, those eyes of his flickering in the flames of the fire as he focused on something in the distance. “I wouldn’t take it if you did,” he said flatly before standing up suddenly. “We need to go. Now.”

---

Roughly three weeks you had been with the great Geralt of Rivia. What had started as an effort to save you from bleeding out on your own in the middle of the woods had turned into trying to help you get home. You had insisted time and time again that you didn’t need help, that you knew just where you were, but a quick bout of questions from the Witcher proved to you wrong.

Every single time.

Tonight had been close. You had stumbled into a pack of wild dogs while trying to forge some berries until you could make it to the next town, completely catching you off guard. Your scream of surprise and utter terror had sent Geralt running, a look of fury overwhelming his features in such a way that had you not known any better you probably would have taken off into the hills when all was said and done.

Geralt’s heavy breathing wafted into the frost of the mountains. “What did I tell you about keeping close to the camp?”

“I was.”

His eyes narrowed at you. “You’re a couple of miles out.”

“You found me.”

“Little Doe,” he scolded, using the little pet name he had given you shortly after the two of you had gotten comfortable with one another. He liked to use it when he was frustrated, as you noted when he was frustrated with you. “I’m an exception,” he took a couple of paces closer to you. “But if I can find you, someone else can as well.”

His scent of something close to clove and cinnamon overwhelmed you as it always did. “But they didn’t,” you argued, shifting the cloth full of blackberries in your hands. “I knew you’d find me. Like always.”

“Hm,” he mused. “Like always.”

He led the two of you back to where Roach was waiting, grassing the grass as if he didn’t have a care in the world. The anger was still rolling off of Geralt, although you couldn’t figure out why and you were honestly a little too scared to ask, causing you to prematurely munch on your hard-earned work.

Feeling like a child who needed a heavy scolding, you sat yourself down on the fallen log while Geralt grabbed ahold of Roach and bringing him over towards you, patting the saddle for you to get up. “We’re going,” he stated. “There’s an Inn a little ways south, I figured a good bed and a bath could do us both some good.”

The ride took maybe an hour before the warmth of the Inn welcomed the two of you with open arms. Some of the patrons eyed the silver-haired Wolf as you passed by, making your way to your room. Geralt had stated when you arrived that he didn’t have enough coin to get the two of your separate lodges, so it would have to do.

Honestly, anything would be better than the cold hard ground of the Winterland beyond those windows.

Anger was still present when the door clicked behind you. Geralt spun on his heel to face you for the first time since the incident with the dogs. “I could have lost you today.”

There was something other than anger in his voice now, something that almost sounded like real emotion. “Excuse me?” You whispered as he stepped in closer to you now, the cool wood of the door seeping through the thin material of your dress.

“I could have lost you today,” he muttered again, closing in on your now, his eyes fixating on you like you were his prey and he was the big bad wolf coming to devour what was his. “You could have died.”

“Okay,” you kept your voice low, feeling small in his corner. “I told I was sorry.”

He shook his head, bright locks coming loose from his ponytail. “That isn’t enough.”

“Do I need to toss some coin to you then?” You teased, trying to lighten the mood, but his expression didn’t weaver. “Cause I’m sure I could get my hands on some if you give me a couple of minutes.”

“No.”

“Geralt -” his lips cut you off as they came crashing into your with such force you actually stumbled backward. The gasp of surprise was captured in his mouth as his hands found their way around your waist tugging you into his broad chest.

There was no more need for words anymore as his lips and tongue were doing a damn good job of trying to get the right conversation going. Those very arms that were holding you, lifted you up as your legs wrapped around his waist and you felt the wool of the bedding come into contact with the bareness of your shoulders.

You swore there was barely a breath shared between the two of you before you were both naked and bare before him. He admired you for a moment, the heat creeping into your cheeks as were all too aware of how he was looking at you. There was a pause, his eyes pausing on your face, lips parting as if he wanted to say something.

Instead, you pulled him down, asking his lips to crush you once more. He took the unsaid note, hiking the two of you up higher on the bed before you felt him at your entrance.

“I could have lost you,” he muttered once more as he pushed himself in. “Never again.”

#geralt x reader #little doe #geralt of rivia #geralt x #geralt x you #geralt x y/n #the witcher #witcher x #witcher x reader #witcher x you #witcher x y/n #henry cavill #not spn

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pparkerpoetry · 3 years

Text

Face Reality (Part 18)

Title: The Stories All End (but this time, it ends well)

Summary: Ranboo's story comes to a close, because after seeing his family, he's realized that not only is he safe, but he his happy.

Chapter One

Masterlist

Ranboo laughed as he chased Tommy across the countryside. It was a beautiful day, the sun was shining, and they were out of the house, on their way to visit Eret’s castle and all of the people that lived near there.

He overtook Tommy because his legs were so long, which caused Tommy to squawk indignantly. “Oh, that’s it, bitch boy,” Tommy trilled, leaping into the air and flapping his wings to gain speed.

“That’s not fair!” Ranboo called ahead, still sprinting, though his side was starting to hurt.

It didn’t take long for Tommy to get tired too, so they both slowed down to walk the rest of the way. Before long, the colorful building came into view and two figures walked towards them.

“Tommy, Ranboo!” Fundy shouted. “You came!”

“Of course we did, big man!” Tommy yelled back, and Ranboo smiled. It was nice here. It felt safe.

Eret was behind Fundy, and he showed them the castle. They didn’t need a tour, since it had been built forever, but they oohed and ahhed at the restoration. There were flags everywhere, the stone was smooth, and it looked so welcoming.

Fundy was hovering around them constantly, making all sorts of little snuffles and barks.

Eventually, Ranboo asked about it.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Eret said. “It’s just that visiting you guys yesterday triggered his thin day, so he’s been pretty playful. We played fetch this morning.”

Fundy scowled, but his face lifted. “Puffy and Niki are here, I can hear them coming.”

It was true, the footsteps of the two ladies echoing through the halls a little later. They were smiling too, and Ranboo hadn’t felt this at ease since before Phil and Techno had visited.

Greetings were exchanged, and so began the day of relaxing. It was like a vacation, and Ranboo could tell that it was doing wonders for Tommy.

The morning flew by too fast, and during lunch, Fundy couldn’t sit still. He was anxious and twitchy and everyone tried their best to just let it be, since he couldn’t help it, but Tommy just wanted to eat his sandwich in peace.

“Fundy,” he asked, “do you want to go outside?” No one could tell if he was joking, least of all the fox.

“Don’t make fun of me,” Fundy grumbled. “You’re a jerk.”

Tommy made a face. “I’m not making fun of you. Do you want to go outside? I bet I could toss the ball pretty fucking far with my strong arms.”

No one missed the way that Fundy’s eyes lit up. “You’re sure you’re not messing with me?”

“No,” Tommy smiled, “I just want to spend time with my nephew.”

“I’m still older than you,” Fundy teased, but his eyes were still filled with tears from the genuine love from Tommy.

As it turns out, the strong arms weren’t so strong, but Tommy fixed that by flying up before throwing the ball, which resulted in Fundy running some pretty long distances. Neither seemed to mind, because they stayed outside for a good few hours, leaving the others inside to talk.

“So, what made you guys visit today?” Eret asked, adjusting their crown.

Ranboo winced. “Well, Tommy had a bit of an issue with Phil and got pretty upset, so I figured this would be a good break.”

“What happened?” Niki asked, concerned.

His mind went back to the look of pure fear that had been on Tommy’s face. “From what I can gather, Phil asked to preen his wings as a sort of bonding experience, but instead of feeling nice, the preening hurt? Neither one of them are taking it well. Technoblade told me this morning before we left that Philza had been crying.”

Puffy snorted lightly. “Sounds like he’s realizing how messed up his actions were.”

Niki nodded, but looked doubtful. “Has Technoblade made up for everything yet? Because if it were me, I wouldn’t forgive him. Not in a million years.”

Ranboo paused. “I mean, he did a lot of research for me and figured out why I had more than two thin days. Sam told you about that, right?”

“But has he apologised,” Niki stressed. “I want the best for you, Boo. Has he actually apologized and made things better?”

“I think…” he trailed off, thinking about everything that had happened. All the late night running into each other for snacks, the tense smiles in the library… “I think he’s trying, but he’s figuring out everything on the way, because he’s never had to actually apologise for something before.”

Eret hummed, “Well, if he’s genuinely trying, I guess we can’t ask for much more. What about Phil, though? I can’t excuse his actions just because he cried. We’ve all cried over things we’ve done before, he’s not special.”

“I think he will try,” Ranboo spoke honestly. “He’s lived for so long he’s become desensitised to emotion, but I think that now he’s coming back down to earth, he’ll try to make up for everything.”

Niki sighed. “I guess I can give him another chance if he’s going to actually try to be better, now. We’re not perfect either, but he needs to put in some effort to make up for everything, like we have.”

“He will,” Ranboo promised. “I’ll make sure he will.”

“We trust you,” Puffy smiled, before looking over to where the other two were playing. “Oh, it looks like they’re done. I’ll bet they’re tired- I’ll go make some lemonade.”

Puffy left as Tommy and Fundy came running up, and their joy was contagious.

“You’re done?” Eret asked.

Tommy nodded. “We lost the ball somewhere in the forest, and we couldn’t find it. But we’re also tired. What can we do now?”

“Watch a movie?” Ranboo and Niki suggested at the same time, causing everyone else to laugh.

They ended up watching a movie while sipping Puffy’s lemonade, but Fundy hadn’t even finished his before he was fidgeting again.

He snuffled. “Can I make a burrow? Like a fort, or something?”

Eret smiled softly. “Sure, bud. Let me go grab some blankets, I’ll be right back.”

They came back with a giant pile of cloth, so they paused the movie and let Fundy go wild. It didn’t take long, since he seemed to know exactly what he wanted, so before long everyone was in a fort with Fundy curled up in the middle. It was really just a floor of blankets, with walls built up, but he seemed content.

Ranboo was towards the back, with Tommy sprawled across his lap and wings covering whoever he could. Niki leaned on Ranboo’s shoulder and Puffy was pressed into her side with her feet over Eret’s legs. Fundy somehow was in the middle of it all, making happy noises and radiating warmth.

It didn’t take long for the entire group to fall asleep.

The next morning, Ranboo was the first one up. He hadn’t gotten any nightmares, which was always a plus.

“Ranboo?” Tommy’s voice was groggy.

“Yup. How you doing?”

“I am so poggers.” Tommy yawned before stretching, his wing nudging Fundy and waking up the fox.

Fundy groaned. “I hate waking up after a thin day. I’m all curled up and shit. It’s the worst, my muscles hurt.”

Ranboo laughed, and by a few minutes later, everyone was up. Niki and Puffy had somewhere to be, so he and Tommy left, too. They promised Eret and Fundy that they’d be back, though.

The walk back to their home was uneventful, which was good, because when they got home, it was chaos.

“Why didn’t you sleep?” Purpled was demanding. “I was up all night and you have the audacity to just go ‘sorry?’ You didn’t sleep yesterday and Tubbo didn’t the night before and I am fucking tired.”

Sam tried to console the boy. “I’m sorry, Purpled. I forget that you can’t fall asleep if one of us is awake. I’ll sleep tonight, okay? I promise.”

“I still have to get through all of today!” Purpled snarled, eyes glowing a little brighter and suddenly pale skin highlighting the bags underneath his eyes that seemed more prominent, now. “I’ve got a fucking headache and my wings are all sensitive and none of you seem to care, because you just stay up all night as if it doesn’t affect anyone else. News flash, pal, the world doesn’t revolve around you!” He stormed off, wings folded tightly around his body.

Sam just stood there.

“Well, hello,” Tommy said, breaking the silence. “Wonderful welcome.”

“He’s been pissy all day,” Tubbo shrugged. “I mean, he hasn’t slept in at least three days, so I’d be, too.”

Ranboo frowned, then remembered Fundy. “Is he having a thin day? It seems to be running in the family right now, so I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Sam considered it for a second. “That- that is actually a very good hypothesis, Ranboo. I’m going to go call Punz. Behave, boys.”

Once Sam had left the room, Tubbo mumbled, “Anyone in the mood for arson?”

“Nah,” Ranboo shrugged. “I’m gonna go talk with Purpled, but you guys can do whatever.”

Tommy went over to the couch and flopped on top of Tubbo. “Okay. Bye, Ranboo.”

Purpled was in the bedroom, all the lights shut off, curled up in the corner.

“What are you?” Ranboo mused, “A vampire?”

Purpled just scowled. “I might as well be. Leave, or I’ll suck your blood.”

Ranboo shrugged and went over to the bed. “Nah, I don’t think I will. You’re going through your first thin day, you shouldn’t be alone.”

“My first thin day? Why’s that such a big deal?”

“Because it’s your hybrid side growing stronger,” Ranboo said, “It’s probably one of the worst thin days to have, to be honest, since you aren’t used to it and still need to adjust to how it feels.”

Purpled thought about how his day had gone. He’d been up all night, and the previous night, and the one before that, so he couldn’t remember when today had started, but he figured it was probably before the time he’d gone to the bathroom and noticed how pale he was, and how awful his under-eye bags looked.

Yeah, sometime around there, because he’d noticed his wings feeling sensitive a little after that- which was why he’d abandoned blankets, since the fabric had felt all wrong. That had been the wrong choice, since he’d started shaking from the cold.

The day had only gone downhill, too, since he’d stepped one foot outside and immediately gotten a headache from the sunlight.

“Yeah,” Purpled conceded. “This might be a thin day, but it still sucks.”

“No doubt,” Ranboo agreed, moving to sit near Purpled instead of on the bed. “Is the floor comfortable?”

“No, but the walls feel nice on my wings. I dunno why.”

They sat in silence, because they didn’t need to talk. The silence spoke louder than any words that either could have said out loud.

A while later, the door creaked open.

Punz peeked through. “Purpled? You alright? I heard you were having a thin day. They stink.”

“I’m okay.” Purpled said, his voice quieter than he would’ve liked. “I feel bad for snapping at Sam, though.”

“Aw, that’s not your fault, kid.” Punz frowned, moving into the room. “He doesn’t hold it against you.”

“I still feel bad, though. If it didn’t hurt to be in anything but darkness, I’d apologize.”

Ranboo slipped out of the room to let Punz help his brother adapt to the new concept of having thin days, and was surprised to see Phil and Tommy talking.

“I’m sorry,” Phil was saying, and he seemed to be genuine. “I haven’t been the most human recently, and I’m sorry that you had to go through everything just so that I could realize that everything I did was fucked up,” He laughed wetly, tears welling in his eyes. “I wish I could go back and do all of it differently, because in a way I lost all of my sons. I don’t hold it against you, choosing Sam I mean, because in the end, I was a fucking awful father. I’m glad you found someone who could care for you properly, I really am.”

Tommy smiled weakly. “I wish I could say it’s okay. I really want to, Phil, but the things you put me through, Ranboo through, everyone else through… I can’t just put it in the past, but as long as you’re willing to change, I’ll let you have some time, okay?”

“Thank you,” Phil said earnestly. “Tell me to go at any point, and I will. I cross any boundaries, tell me. If Techno does anything you don’t like, tell me. I can’t change what I did and I don’t expect you to forget it, but you even giving me a chance to change is more than I deserve. Thank you, Tommy. You will always mean something to me, even if you don’t consider yourself my son, and from now on, I’ll try harder to stay human, okay?”

“Okay.” Tommy said, voice thick with tears. “As long as you know you fucked up and want to make up for it, I can stand you around, old man.”

Phil laughed, but his laughter died out when Ranboo entered the room. “Oh! Just who I needed to talk to! I, uh, I apologised to Tommy, but I need to talk with you, too.”

Tommy stayed, even as Ranboo sat down and motioned for Phil to continue.

“As I was saying, during the past few years, I slid down a slope that led to me not really being connected with the more human side of things, and recently I’ve realized it. I’ve managed to acknowledge that everything I did was more than fucked, and I’ve hurt an insane amount of people, not to mention I’ve ruined relationships I may never get back. I deserve all of it, of course, but I need to apologize and get it off of my chest, even if you tell me to go to hell and hate me until the day you die.”

Ranboo nodded, but stayed quiet. He didn’t trust his voice.

Phil went on, “I hurt you and nearly made you- well, through my actions, I almost made you kill yourself, is the reality of it, and I know that just saying sorry will never be enough, because a few measly words is in no way enough to make up for the pain and trauma I put you through, not to mention everything with- with L’manburg. But, I think that apologizing is a good place to start, and I can work from there. So, Ranboo Underscore,” Phil took a breath and willed the tears to not fall, “I’m sorry for everything that I’ve done and everything I’ve put you through. I should have understood much sooner what I did, and the fact that I didn’t will haunt me forever. I completely get if you want me to leave and never return, and won’t hold it against you in the slightest, but if you feel that you can let me make up for what I’ve done while still maintaining good mental health, I would like the chance to.”

Ranboo hesitated, and Phil spoke again.

“Please don’t feel pressured to. You can absolutely tell me to fuck off, I deserve worse. Do whatever you feel is best for you, and I will comply.”

Ranboo felt comforted by that, but… “I can change my mind at any point?”

“Of course,” Phil agreed.

“Then yeah,” Ranboo started. “I can let you try to make up for what you did. This is a good start, but you have a long way to go.”

“Don’t I know it,” Phil nodded. “Thank you, Ranboo, I really mean it.”

“I know you do,” Ranboo said, and he really did. Something told him that Phil really was genuine, and he was inclined to believe it. And, a feeling settled through him, content to stay until the end of time- and it was happiness. He was happy, truly happy, and he wanted it to stay like that.

Phil left Sam’s house, and from a distance, Death watched. She was proud of Phil for apologising and meaning it, and she didn’t doubt that he’d actually try to change. There’d be bigger consequences if he didn’t, she decided, but she knew it’d never come to that.

The whole server had faced reality and came out victorious, so they’d all be family until the day that she came for the last of them.

_______

there will be more one-shots in this universe. this isnt the true ending :)

#ranboo #awesamdude #tommyinnit #tubbo #eret #captain puffy #niki nihachu #fundy #purpled #philza #technoblade #dream #dreamsmp #fluff #the end #im gonna cry

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honourablejester · 4 years

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Ideas for Warforged (D&D)

Because magic robots/constructs are the best idea. I will admit that backstory/inspiration-wise, I’m fonder of things like Discworld’s golems or the Muses from Girl Genius. I like the feeling of ancient constructed things learning to be people.

(I also like the caster classes, which will possibly be really obvious in a minute)

Cleric

I love the Grave Domain for warforged. How does a constructed being conceptualise death? Especially if they get slapped in the face by it. Take the standard warforged background, the machine built for war, a constructed, immortal child created for violence. Have them watch their squishy biological comrades die. A lot. Do they have an epiphany? Do they become curious about the beliefs and fears around death? Do they want to give comfort to their friends? Do they start to think of mortal death as a reprieve from a life of endless service and violence? (Do they view undeath as a horrific corruption of their own constructed service and immortality, taking relief away from those who have earned it in death?) Imagine a warforged priest of a grave god. The serene, mechanical face. The slightly off, dispassionate gentility. The curiosity and care. I love it.

Druid

Circle of Spores! Sorry, but we are continuing the theme of decay and the undying here. But with spores there’s a lot of … I’m thinking post-apocalyptic fiction. Robots in the remnants. Wall-E, even. Your trash-heap, rusted, bucket-of-bolts survivor of a dead world or colony or underground kingdom. The curious innocent finding beauty in decay, or perhaps a wiser, more melancholy survivor. Or a darker one, cynical about the cycles of extinction and regrowth. Also, just the image. A strange, skeletal metal creature, crystal eyes glowing uranium green, strange mushrooms growing from their rusted plates and darkwood sinews, surrounded by an almost-sound, a subaudible buzzing that people feel in their teeth. Watching warily as new creatures wander through their ruins, or spurred by their own curiosity to venture up into some strange new world.

Bard

The Muses, here, so very much. 18thC automata. The music box song from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. A construct built for beauty, grace, skill, to be the epitome of a craft, but also a construct that is very old. Built for kings, because who else could afford such breath-taking craftsmanship? Built to entertain or advise a ruler and their court, and so a lot wiser to the passions and vices underneath the pretty words than they seem. Students of history, who’ve seen it cycle through a few times. Maybe trying to escape, now. Find a simpler life. Or trying to affect things rather than just witness them, trying to be a hero or the villain or the spy instead of just the historian or the muse.

Paladin

Clockwork angels. Hubris and innocence all in one neat package. Constructs made in the image of celestials, complete with flightless bronze-and-silk wings, out of arrogance or hope or despair or for mysterious purposes that even they don’t know. Found in the laboratories of dead mages, or manufactured by warmongers for propaganda purposes. Innocent, still, hopeful, or else deeply, deeply cynical. Struggling to find or maintain a sense of their own identity, choosing oaths in honour or defiance of their image. Redemption, Crown, Conquest, Vengeance. Lots to have fun with.

Sorceror

We’re going more for the ‘touched by cosmic power’ angle than bloodlines, obviously, though there’s possibly some wiggle room if you go for weirder origins. Constructed with a little flesh and bone and blood from your creator, maybe? But I really like Shadow Sorceror here. A construct made in a dark ritual, touched by the fell energies of the Shadowfell. A strange, half-alive being, shadowed by darkness, who ‘woke’ in an empty ritual chamber with no idea of their nature or their purpose. Honestly, shadow sorceror is as good as warlock for the gothic, haunted end of origin stories, so might as well go full Frankenstein on the confused horror of a constructed being. Might lean a bit more on the ‘organic’ end of warforged construction here, darkwood, living stone, black metal. Just to match the aesthetic. Warforged are great for aesthetic.

Warlock

Speaking of. Just. I have already mentioned, but I love both warlocks and warforged, and they’re a lovely mix together. The Lurker Patron. A construct built to dredge a long-lost harbour, finding sentience and a strange ‘friendship’ while wandering the deeps. The Great Old One, a strange, mad being who cobbled you together from spare parts in an attempt to understand the life forms of this foreign plane. Fiend, the demon who was baffled and intrigued by the concept of an artificial soul, granting power just to see what temptation looks like in a heart made of crystal and stone (or the puppet master who stole the most beautiful and extraordinary puppet, to call back to the muses). The Archfey who built or stole themselves the perfect knight, a mobile statue or plaything that was never meant to win its own soul. There’s so many things to play with.

Rogue

To throw a bone to the non-caster classes. But. There is a lot of potential to the rogue, too. Assassin, particularly. One of the things that’s so cool with warforged is not only their own choices and motivations, but those of the ones who built them. Why train a perfect killing machine when you can build one? But then what happens when they become sentient? When they start to have feelings and opinions of their own? Rogue warforged have a lot of the same appeal as bard and paladin warforged for me. Beings built for the machinations of those around them, and struggling to free themselves and forge their own path. (Also I loved the Zeta Project cartoon as a kid and it rubbed off on me, and there’s something half-humorous and half-terrifying about a seven foot metal skeleton somehow built for stealth and infiltration).

Barbarian

My other favourite non-caster class, but there also some lovely things to work with here. Perhaps the flipside of the grave cleric above? The soldier warforged who grew to love battle instead, whose first emotions were the rage and terror and thrill of the battlefield. I like the Zealot barbarian here. The being literally made for the fight, who channelled it so perfectly that it drew the attentions of the gods of battle. But there’s also … the opposite of rage. When it’s a robot, a machine. There’s the image of the blank, emotionless killing frenzy. An anime I watched, Pumpkin Scissors, had a supersoldier as one of the main characters. A normally extremely sweet and gentle man, who could be brainwashed into a mindless killing state by a blue lantern. He was terrifying and tragic and unstoppable and broken. Imagine a warforged barbarian like that. A being terrified of the truly emotionless machine they become in battle, the remorseless frenzy they enter when injured or struck by the sight of blood, but believing they were built for nothing but war, knowing no way of living other than that.

… Um. In summary? Magic robots are great and, depending who built them and what for, can delve into tragic very quickly and easily. Heh. Though you can also easily go the benevolent creator route, the parent who taught them well, and take some much gentler angles on all of this. I’m just in a gothic mood tonight, apparently.

Also, there is just no beating the imagery you can build up around a living wood-and-metal being. And I’m not just saying that because I love a) robots, b) skeletons, and c) robot skeletons.

Honest, yer honour.

#d&d #dnd #warforged #character concepts #robots #skeletons #i am in a gothic mood #okay then

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mlm-writer · 4 years

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The Long Ride (John Kennex x GN!Reader)

Pairing: John Kennex x Gender Neutral Reader Rating: E for Explicit but also for Emotional Words: 2026 Summary: John has issues with his synthetic leg. You want to help him, but you can’t if he stays in denial about having a synthetic leg in the first place. Oh and you ride him to show you can have a good time without the leg. The sex is very emotional. Note: Ok I know the request said smut and there is smut, but I also have so many emotions when it comes to John Kennex. I would die for this man. I mean look at him. Fluffy hair and puppy face and that body hgdjksgasflsjfk Tags: Emotional sex, psychological rejection of his synthetic leg, communication, riding, protected sex (AS IT SHOULD BE), hurt/comfort, angst, swearing and idk man I got carried away

“God fucking dammit,” John cursed as his synthetic leg ran out of batteries, making him lose his balance and slip. You closed your eyes, but your boyfriend was dexterous enough to push himself out of the way, causing him to fall face-down next to you rather than on top of you. A string of curses left him as he struggled to change his position.

“Relax, it’s been a long day,” you reassured him as you helped him getting in a sitting position against the headboard. “We should’ve charged it over dinner, but we’ll do that next time, yeah?” You smiled at him as you sat on your knees in front of him. He looked beyond angry and you knew it was not a mild inconvenience that got him riled up like this. You never complained about your sex life, but it was less than ideal half the time. John’s leg had a record of acting up, but as long as it had battery life left, John tried to ignore it and muscle through. It was a huge mood killer.

John pretended like his synthetic leg was a real one and he was not disabled, so you tried playing along. The truth was, he was disabled. He did need special care and you didn’t mind that. What you did mind was pretending he did not need special care, just to stroke his ego.

“Sorry, tonight’s a bust,” your man muttered, not even looking you in the eye. You kissed his cheek. You tried to keep it at that, but he pulled you back in for a kiss on the lips. You loved how he kissed you. John was not short on passion. He was known for his passion for his job, but even that was nothing compared to how precious and loved he could make you feel with just one kiss. Your hand ended up on his chest as he ravished your mouth. It travelled lower, resting on his lower abdomen, afraid that he didn’t want to do anything anymore tonight and that you were pressuring him into more.

You had a feeling you were right when John took a gentle hold of your wrist and lifted your hand away. You pulled away, your other hand cupping his face. “There’s lots of things we can still do, love, but we don't have to do anything if you don’t feel like it,” you whispered. Your smile disappeared as John’s face turned sour. Sometimes it just was too easy to say the wrong thing to him.

“Don’t treat me like I’m fucking made of glass. This stupid…” He pushed you aside to forcefully remove his leg. You wanted to help him, but knew that he did not want help right now. “Leg! Isn’t even made of… Fuck!” He leaned back and covered his face with one hand, when he failed to get the thing off. You wanted to get it off for him, but John was pretty clear on how he felt about his leg, even though you never talked about it. He always kept your hands away from it by either changing positions or holding your hand.

“John, don’t take your anger out on me,” you warned him. He let out a grunt in response. You sighed and moved to get off the bed, but John had taken a hold of your hand in a second.

“I’m not angry at you.”

“I know you’re allergic to apologies, but just say you’re sorry and look at me.”

John sighed, removed the hand from his face and looked at you. He looked older now, tired, a little resigned. “I’m sorry.” You had hoped for more, but it was a start. You shifted on the bed, showing you were no longer leaving, but John kept a hold of your hand, his eyes trained there to avoid looking at yours. “I know our sex life sucks, so I kind of hate it when you pretend it doesn’t,” he confessed.

You chuckled. “The only sucking our sex life is doing is how often I got your dick in my mouth,” you joked. John finally looked at your face, probably trying to guess if you hated sucking his dick or not. “The rest just has been… inconvenient,” you placed a hand on John’s thigh, but far enough above the line where it was no longer organic, “but that’s because you try to act like your leg is normal.” John looked hurt by your words and you felt sorry to break the news to him. “I know you hate the leg, but pretending it works just as fine as your other one is just not working. I don’t mind the leg, but you got a shitty attitude about it.”

He let out a bitter laugh. “So what you’re saying is the problem is not the leg, but it’s me?” You winced. That’s what you said, but you didn’t mean it like that. “No, it’s okay baby. I get it. I just… I want to do right by you. I don’t want you to feel like I need special care.”

“But you do, John!” You groaned in frustration. “That leg needs special care to work properly and if you don’t give it that care, it will work like a shit machine. I’m not gonna carry you around, but maybe let me help you remind charging it, cleaning it and maybe rub in some oil from time to time. I would just really like it if you just stopped blaming the leg and start looking at how you take care of it.” You didn’t mean to rant, but the frustration was up to your head to the point that you didn’t realise you were still naked, until John casually pulled the sheets towards you. You took them, covering yourself a little.

“Okay, noted,” John sighed, clearly doing some mental work to not throw a tantrum right now. There was an awkward silence between you. Things were said and you both needed to process a little. John ended up breaking the silence. “Could you… help me getting the leg off?” You were surprised that he was just ready to let you touch it out of nowhere. You hummed and pushed the sheets off his right thigh, your fingers gentle but quick to remove it. You’ve seen it often enough to know how it should be done… and you asked Dorian. Either way, it required the gentle touch John never had with it.

The leg came off smoothly and you discarded the sheets to get up and put it on the charger. You admittedly stuck your ass out a little more than needed, knowing John liked looking at it. “You know… I am still a little loose and slick from our foreplay,” you mused. You couldn’t help it. Your favourite detective was naked in bed and had prepped you earlier to get his dick inside you. It was a waste to just ignore that effort.

“Babe, I love it when you get me off, but I wanted you to have a good time tonight.” You crawled onto the bed, smirking in his face.

“I will, if you let me ride you like this.” You saw John swallow heavily, the idea rolling in his mind.

“Grab the lube and condom,” he ordered and you happily obliged. You wanted to take care of everything, but John insisted on getting himself hard and ready to fuck himself. You sighed, before leaning back, shamelessly watching him. “Not complaining now you get to enjoy the show, are you?”

You huffed. “Two can play that game, detective.” You leaned back on one arm, your other travelling down your body until you reach your crotch. You briefly remove your hand to stick two fingers in your mouth. You got as much saliva on them as possible, before slipping one finger inside you. It met with little resistance, so you joined the second one immediately. You lifted your leg, giving yourself a little more room to finger yourself. The sight certainly helped John. You were just about to enjoy yourself, when your boyfriend was ready to go. You eagerly straddled him, using your clean hand to pull him into a hungry kiss. John ravaged your mouth. You reached behind you, guiding his cock towards your hole. You rubbed it over your entrance, your breath getting heavier.

“Stop teasing,” John grunted, his voice always ten times sexier when he was turned on. Usually you would challenge him, but he was right. You pressed your hips down onto his cock, shaking when the head entered you.

“Oh fuck you feel so good.” You put your hands on his shoulders and rode the head of his cock. He kissed your neck, sucking and biting a little, leaving small red marks that would be gone by morning. You needed more and pressed down further, moaning when you got his entire length inside you. John was not particularly big, but he had a delicious girth. Your hole was tight around him, dragging over his cock as you rode him.

You were enjoying yourself, your head thrown back while you fucked yourself on your boyfriend’s cock with abandon. John could never do a very fast pace, because his leg never cooperated, but you were not limited by that. “Fuck, baby, slow down,” John groaned, his fingers finding your ass and digging into the soft flesh there.

“Don’t want to,” you replied, every word a moan. You whined when John lifted you off his cock with his strong hands on your ass.

“Stop being greedy, baby,” he warned, making you moan at the voice he used. You nodded, knowing you had to agree or he would keep you there, all empty, for longer than you wanted. He stopped keeping you up and lowered you back down on his cock. You rolled your hips, keeping a slower pace. “That’s good,” John praised, his eyes locked with yours, “you’re so sexy and,” he stopped to let out a small moan himself, “I love you.”

You cried. He had said it before, but it felt different after the emotional debacle from earlier. “I love you too,” you said, before grabbing his face and bringing your lips together. You stopped moving for a moment, his cock balls deep in you as you kissed him as if you hadn’t done so for months. “I love you so much, John, and I want you to be happy. You deserve to be happy so much.” Emotions poured out and John led you through them, his hands and lips reassuring, letting you have your moment, before wiping your tears away.

“I hope I can make you happy,” he whispered. You continued to move, your hips moving slowly over his cock, making you feel every inch of it entering and pulling out of you. You rested your head on his shoulder and he kissed yours.

“You do,” you told him, your hips gradually moving faster. You went back to your original fast pace, making yourself see stars on John’s length. “I want you to cum while inside me,” you whispered in his ear. He groaned, his hands on your hips and helping you. He came first and you rode him through it. One raspy whisper in your ear and you came undone as well, his cock all the way inside you and not a single need for anything but that to make you see stars and cum.

He held you in the aftermath, listening to you rambling how much you loved him. You knew he probably did not know how to deal with your words, but he would have to figure that out himself. Once you stopped, he helped you get off him. You plopped down beside him, resting against his shoulder and hugging his arm. He complained as you made tying off the condom hard. He tossed it onto the floor to be dealt with later. His head came to rest on yours and you could not feel happier.

“You should ride me more often.”

You laughed.

“I will. After all,” you snuggled against him, “I’m with you for the long ride.”

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