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1kook · 4 years

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hulu & woohoo

summary: But there’s more important matters to attend to than Jungkook’s Jersey Shore boner. warnings: slight feelings of insecurity, smut; fingering, cunnilingus, cum eating, squirting, handjobs, unprotected, riding, slight praise kink misc: if you’re not a Jersey shore fan honestly GET OUT, mentions of capitalism😡, more kind/understanding kook, basically a “what are we?” fic but silly, irresponsible emailing habits, its so dumb just read wc: 6.3k

[ this is a sequel to netflix & chill !! ]

started off silly then I was like 😳what if we sprinkled in a dilemma™️😳 anyway here’s the kook i imagined for this fic <3

Contrary to popular belief, Jungkook does in fact have his own paid subscription to Netflix. He doesn’t ride on his family account anymore, nor does he swindle his friends into sharing their passwords ‘just once.’ Just like everything else about his mature persona, Jungkook is adamant on paying those ten and something dollars for the streaming platform.

However, his fall into capitalism doesn’t end there.

Among other things, Jungkook also pays for Hulu, Amazon Prime, Disney Plus, HBO, as well as a couple indie stuff you’ve never heard of in all your years. He’s a bigger nerd than you originally thought, with an incessant need to watch every single piece of media available.

Frankly, you don’t see the need to own so many different streaming services, especially not when pirating websites exist and you could so easily watch Jersey Shore for free, if you’re not too concerned with infecting your laptop with every software virus known to humankind. Luckily for you, your app developer boo with his—admittedly tiny—knowledge in computers can iron out those issues for you.

It’s moments like these, Jungkook fiddling with the internal system settings of your laptop to the best of his abilities, that you find yourself grateful for having met Jungkook, and even if it’s been a little over two months now and he still hasn’t popped the question (“Will you be my girlfriend?”), you’d still kiss him silly.

He sighs for the umpteenth time, rubbing his eyes as he stares at the same system warning on the screen. “Babe, just pay the six bucks for Hulu and you can watch all the Jersey Shore episodes you want,” he says, leaning back in his chair as he stares at you from across the dining table.

You scoff, almost scandalized by his suggestion. “You think I have the resources to hand over six bucks every month?” You abandon your homework in front of you, the one you had so dutifully been working on before your computer was flooded with about a thousand Hot Moms in YOUR Area! notifications before abruptly shutting down. “Buddy, that's lunch at Starbucks.”

Jungkook clicks around a few more times, round glasses sliding down his nose which he will occasionally scrunch up to save from falling. “First of all, lunch at Starbucks sounds sad,” he retorts, and you kick his shin from beneath the table. He doesn’t even flinch, the damn muscle bunny, instead leveling you with an unimpressed glare. “Second of all, I told you I’d give you my passwords but you said—“

“No!” You exclaim.

Call it what you want, but that rose-tinted image of Jungkook being a saint in this world, too sweet and naive for his own good, never faded. Your brain saw it that night of your first date and ran with it, never mind the fact he was quite the devious scoundrel, gentlemanly perception be damned the way he’d tug at your skirts and your hair in public like you were on the playground, always teasing, always playing with you, so discreetly no one would ever see it coming from him, of all people. Your brain saw all that too, the little childish streak he’d get sometimes, but your heart stomped it out, wrapped up in the image of Jungkook being your golden boy, and you couldn’t possibly take advantage of such an angel’s kindness to mooch off his streaming services.

From across the table, Jungkook gives you a pointed look, as if he knows you’re trapped in that brain of yours again. Unlike you, Jungkook was easily able to pick apart your true personality, and the way the devil on your shoulder spoke more often than not. He knew you were prone to outrageous schemes and evil villain monologues, and he still kept you around. Let you linger around his home in his big shirts and eat his healthy breakfasts with him. Jungkook liked you, as silly and mean as you were, and he was very obvious about it.

“The password—“

“Is none of my business,” you halt him with a tone of finality in your voice, gesturing for him to slide the beat up laptop back over. Jungkook sighs, runs a hand over his face like you’ve worn him out, but relents.

Taking it with a triumphant grin, you settle back into your seat, nudge his foot with yours beneath the table. Jungkook nudges you back, the adorable fuzzy socks he was wearing making you giggle, a sound that finally brings a smile to his face. “Y’know…” he says, “if you’re gonna be the Disney villain you claim to be, you might as well just take all my passwords.”

Rolling your eyes, you focus your attention back on copying some notes for class, falling back into the rhythm of glancing at the screen and back at your notebook. “You’re cute,” you mindlessly hum, taking great pleasure in the rosy hue that rises to his cheeks, one he tries to hide by coughing into his elbow. You set your pencil down, watch him squirm under your gaze like he always does, blushy and shy like he hadn’t had you twisted like a pretzel beneath him an hour ago. “Don’t worry about it,” you tell him, reaching over to place your hand over his, where it’s idly tapping over some textbook he’s got out. Immediately, he turns it over, squeezes your palm in his. “I don’t mind getting thirty two viruses an hour.”

The reluctant worry in his gaze remains, sweet puppy eyes flickering over you as if trying to catch a hint of a lie. He was so adorable, you could kiss him silly. Finally, Jungkook gives in, though he does so with a lot of effort; letting you fool around on pirating websites truly was the bane of his existence. “Just bring it to me if it breaks down again, okay?” He settles, and you nod.

To your surprise, he brings your hand up and presses a kiss to the back of your knuckles, holds your gaze like he absolutely adores you.

He was so handsome, so caring, and so blatantly not yours.

—

“Not heading to your boyfriend's house today?” Doyeon asks the second she steps into your shared dorm, fighting with the boots on her feet. In the last two months of knowing Jungkook (everybody say thank you, Kim Namjoon), it’s become rare to see you home for more than two nights in a row. Jungkook was irresistible in more ways than you could count. If you weren’t falling into bed with him, you were smothering his cute face on the couch, or hovering behind him in the kitchen.

“Not my boyfriend,” you deny, huffy, and she knows how you feel about the subject, which is why she only prods more.

“Wow,” Doyeon drawls, glancing over your shoulder where you’ve got Jersey Shore playing on one half of the screen, an essay document on the other. “The man you see every other night, who looks and fucks like a god, who buys you a shit ton of presents, and treats you like you’re his world… is not your boyfriend?”

On screen, the toxic couple of the century is engaged in another screaming match, the reality tv show quickly spiraling as dramatic music takes over the speakers.

You scratch the back of your head. “Yeah. Well.”

Doyeon almost combusts at your response, flinging herself onto her twin bed in disgust. “He is a fool, a court jester if you will,” she seethes. “You're the hottest babe in a fifteen mile radius chasing after him and he still hasn’t asked you?”

Deciding you can’t comfortably watch the toxicity on screen with Doyeon talking so loudly, you slam down on the spacebar to pause the show. The fickity website, set out to ruin you since you first discovered it a few weeks ago, crashes. It takes your half-assed essay with it as the whole computer suddenly blacks out. You sigh.

“And on top of that,” she’s still going, “you’re hot and evil. Like bro. Come on.”

“Yes, I’m sure every man dreams of getting with an evil seductress,” you sarcastically reply, reaching for your phone to text Jungkook for help, when you suddenly remember why exactly you’re not with him right now. He’d gone to Busan to visit his family this weekend, a quick trip, he’d told you with his tongue down your throat. You shiver at the memory.

You still really want to watch Jersey Shore, though. Almost desperately. It’d been a long time since you watched it, and you honestly forgot the pivotal role that and a bunch of other reality shows had played in shaping you into the conniving woman you were today.

Doyeon seems about done with her tirade against Jeon Jungkook, dramatically storming into the en-suite bathroom you share with your neighbors.

Tapping your phone against your lip, you carefully consider your options. You could just boot your laptop back up, pray for the best and move on. But the 240p episodes were doing a number on your eyes, and for a moment you considered handing over those six bucks to pay for a Hulu membership.

It’s short-lived, and eventually you settle on calling Jungkook.

He answers on the fourth ring, and wherever he is is insanely loud. There’s voices shouting, lots of bustling, until eventually a door closes and Jungkook’s silky voice oozes through the speaker. “Baby? What’s up?”

“Hi,” you respond, feel something disgustingly sweet settle in your chest. “Is this a bad time?” You ask tentatively.

Jungkook laughs, low and raspy. “No,” he tells you, and you hear the smile in his voice. “Never a bad time for you.”

You could lunge through the screen right now, rain kisses down on his face until he’s giggling, telling you it’s too much. The feeling in your chest tightens, and you almost blurt out something embarrassingly cheesy, but a voice in the background calls for him, and Jungkook’s voice responds, “In a sec, mom. I’m talking to a friend right now.”

The glass roof shatters.

Even though you’d just told Doyeon you two weren’t a thing, despite all the coupley things you did, something about Jungkook telling his mom you’re just a friend isn't right. You frown, listen as his mother, a voice just as delicate as his, asks him to grab something from inside. With each second that ticks by, the discomfort you feel grows tenfold, until you’re barely holding yourself together.

Eventually, Jungkook returns. “So what’s up?” He asks again, and you remember what you initially called for. Putting on your big girl pants, you brush your uncalled for insecurities to the side, making sure he can’t detect anything in your tone.

“Your Hulu password. Can I have it?” You say, realize how robotical your voice sounds and belatedly throw in a, “please.”

Jungkook laughs, loud and boyish. The sound almost makes you melt, makes you fall for him even more. The niggling doubt in the back of your head still rings, but it’s temporarily washed away by the man on the phone. “Finally giving in?” He chuckles, doesn’t give you time to respond. “Sure, babe. I’ll text you the login stuff.” You hum, twirl your pencil idly as Jungkook announces he has to go, something about his family waiting on him. You bid him adieu, send him a halfhearted kiss over the phone, and only hope he feels half as content as you do when he does the same for you.

You don’t want to be dramatic about it. In your heart of hearts, you know Jungkook is just more reserved when it comes to dating. He wants to be one hundred percent sure your heart is in the same game as his, tied to the same rules, and putting in the same effort. But there’s a seed of insecurity that plants itself in the back of your head, tells you the reason Jungkook hasn’t asked you out is simply because you’re not good enough.

Jungkook was as rich as they come—not in money, but in personality. (Well, with the way he was advancing through his career, you get the sense he’ll be rich rich in the next few years too.) He had a huge heart, so caring and supportive of those around him, and an even bigger moral compass—hence the ridiculous amounts of streaming services he paid for—and you strongly believed no one was worthy of standing beside someone as wonderful as him.

Sadly, that meant you too.

Jungkook was your dream lover, and with every passing day, you were beginning to think you weren’t his. It had been two months since your first date, and realistically speaking, you know it’s not weird for people to casually date for such a time. It hadn’t been that long, truthfully, but the way you and Jungkook had clicked made it seem so.

He treated you like a queen, pleased your heart and body like no other. None of what Doyeon said earlier was a fib—he picked you up from school in that classy Benz, let you stay the night and sleep in his clothes, ate you out in the morning like you were his breakfast. You acted like you were in a relationship, but what exactly were the two of you?

Were Jungkook’s feelings even at the same level as yours?

Some days, you couldn’t fathom the idea of being so far away from him, texting him incessantly to feel a semblance of his presence. There was always a metaphorical elephant sitting on your chest, the weight of your unlabeled relationship, your insecurities, waiting for him to finally cut you off, decide you’re not what he wants. You wonder sometimes if he sees you out of convenience, but you always remind yourself Jungkook was too emotional and soft to drag someone around like that. (Or was he?)

Realizing how deep you’ve fallen into your spiraling pit of uncertainty, you shake yourself of those thoughts, mindlessly typing in the Hulu login credentials Jungkook texts you.

—

You’re in the student center when Jungkook comes home, laptop and books spread out over a circle table to stop anyone else from coming up to you. You’ve got your headphones in, the background sounds of late 2000’s club music from a Jersey Shore episode drifting through your ears.

A hand suddenly grabs onto your shoulder, and you send nearly half the table’s contents onto the floor when you screech, leg blindly kicking the table. “Woah, woah,” Jungkook calms, pulling out an earbud for you, and the sight of his face makes you relax again, before you’re striking his chest.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” you warn, shooting daggers at him as he pulls a chair close to you, plopping down beside you. Jungkook laughs, kisses your temple.

“You doing okay, beautiful?” He inquires, and your heartbeat, which had only just begun to settle from your fright, lurches at the hooded gaze he sends you.

You nod, unconsciously lean closer to him. Jungkook smiles, cheeks pulled tight when you plant a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Glad to hear it,” he says, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to keep you close.

You never thought you’d be one of those people. Y’know, the couple shoving PDA down everyone’s throats in a very crowded place. But you can’t help it with Jungkook, gaze honed in on the mole beneath his lip as he recounts his trip to his family’s place. His hair is fluffy again, parted a little to the side to show his forehead. He’s got that big dark hoodie on, the one you love. Your love-addled brain thinks, I could give you a family, but you quickly shut that thought down.

There was no need to think as much for a man who wasn’t even your boyfriend.

Before you can spiral, there’s a set of fingers brushing over your neck, almost casually. You return your attention to Jungkook, watch him leisurely gaze over the bustling students around you. “Missed you,” he says quietly, like he doesn’t want anyone to hear. Hell, if your eyes hadn’t been trained on his face, you don’t think you would’ve.

Finally, he glances back at you. He says nothing, his eyes dipping down to your mouth. He leans forward, presses a smooch to your lips, only to smile at you afterward. “Come over?”

The difference between you and Jungkook is that you were very obviously, outwardly evil. You were not embarrassed to admit you were scheming, or that you had ulterior motives behind doing something. You used what you had to your advantage, mastered all types of expressions to get what you wanted.

Jungkook, on the other hand, was a subtle schemer. In fact, he was so goddamn subtle, you doubt he even knew he was a schemer.

But he definitely was one, and your experiences with him were enough to convince you so. There were times he’d stare at you longingly, like a puppy, until you’d do something for him. Times he’d use his demure face to lure you into going to the hardware store for him, into watching some boring documentary with him. Times, like now, where his voice was a little too smooth and low to be considered his normal pitch, clouded gaze sweeping over your features until you understood what he meant by come over.

Numbly, you nod, watch the quirk of his lips as he kisses you once more before gathering your things for you.

The car ride passes by in a flash, Jungkook’s hand on your knee, your head in the clouds. You imagine how easy it would be to just lean over right here, tug him out of his sweats and get that super suck 5000 on him. But Jungkook’s shy, the devil on your shoulder croons, he’d like it better in the backseat, where no one can see.

Your bag hasn’t even touched the floor yet when he pushes you against the door of his house, shoes and coats half off as he envelopes your lips with his.

His hands are warm, cupping your neck to guide you through the kiss, blindly pulling you down the hall. You feel him falter by the stairs, torn between just throwing you on the couch and ravishing you there or making the trip upstairs to the comfort of his bed. You reach up, run your fingers through his hair. “Wherever you want, baby,” you reassure him, and become consumed with glee when his hands grab into the backs of your thighs, hitch you into his arms as he rushes the two of you up the stairs.

The bed is as fluffy as you remember it, and you bounce up towards the pillows after he drops you on the end. He tugs his shirt over his head, chocolate strands coming out a mess afterwards, before crawling up your body. Jungkook’s hands are incessant, grabbing onto every inch of you he possibly can. He kisses up your tummy, pushing your shirt up as he goes, hikes it over the swell of your breasts to gently fondle them in his palms.

When he’s just about suffocated himself between them, he pops back out, catches your gaze with a twinkle in his. “Hi,” you squeak, and Jungkook grins, leaning up to kiss you.

“Hi, pretty girl,” he returns, let’s your tongue slide into his mouth, sucks on the appendage teasingly. You whimper, and Jungkook releases. “You miss me?” He asks, and if you hadn’t been well-versed in the art of Jungkook’s sexy talk, you wouldn’t have noticed the tingle of nervousness that curls around the question.

You placate him, “always.”

It’s all Jungkook needs as he wiggles you out of your clothes, shucks them off somewhere to the side. His hands trail over your body, massage your breasts and pinch the nipples. You sigh, melt into the sheets as he runs his palms over you. He rolls you over, pulls your hips up and carefully pushes your face into the mattress, pushing your hair to the side to peck your neck when he leans over.

“So soft for me, sweetheart,” he purrs, hands slithering around your waist, down your abdomen until the tip of his pointer finger is idly swirling over your clit.

You whine, clutch the comforter beneath you at the touch. “Oh, fuck,” you groan, push your hips back against him. He’s still got his sweats on, and you want desperately to turn around and rip them off of him, feel the press of his cock against your ass.

As if sensing your urgency, Jungkook calms you with kisses trailing over your spine, hot breath fanning over your neck. His fingers slow, just barely grazing over your clit. “Did you touch yourself while I was gone?” He asks, and you struggle to choke out a response when he presses his finger down against you.

“No,” you eventually gasp, jolt when his hand reaches down, glides through the swollen folds of your cunt.

As if content with your response, Jungkook lets his fingers caress you for a few beats, laps against the side of your neck as you whimper, beg him to continue. When he does, it’s with no ounce of his usual gentle attitude, two fingers shoving forcefully past the tight clench of your pussy lips, deep into your cunt. You shudder, gasping into the sheets.

“Good girl,” Jungkook praises, flutters a kiss right below your ear. Your neurons are working overtime, unsure of what to do as he explores your cunt, fingers dragging against your walls. You want to close your eyes, bask in his touches, but every brush of his fingers has them rolling back, fluttering open. “This pussy is mine, isn’t it?”

His fingers curl, briefly brushing over your soft spot. But it’s enough to make you cry out, pant against the sheets. “Yours,” you choke, push back against him like he’ll do it again.

A thumb circles your clit, and the tight feeling in your belly snaps, has you crying out his name as your first orgasm in a few days washes over you. “Jungkook,” you whimper, nearly sob when his hands pull away, letting you flop down onto the mattress in a boneless heap. Your thighs feel sticky, and you watch blearily as Jungkook hovers behind you.

“So quickly?” He chuckles, turning you back over. He spreads your legs, exposing your pussy to the cool air of the room, and you shiver. A lone finger drags over your cunt, collecting the glossy substance on the tip, before Jungkook is sucking it into his mouth.

He had an affinity for this kind of stuff, you’ve learned. Like he genuinely thought your cum was the most delicious thing in the entire world. That being said, you’re not surprised when he ducks down, pushes your legs to your chest as he begins devouring your pussy.

“Slow down,” you gasp, hand curling in his hair as he spares you not, sensitivity be damned. He was gonna lick you clean. He groans, tongue shoved into your cunt, cute nose brushing against your clit. “Kook,” you warn, though it’s more of a shuddered cry. “I-I’ll come again.”

He pulls off with a wet smack, licks over his tongue as he narrows you with a daring glare. Gone was your sweet Jungkook, replaced with this cum-eating heathen who only purrs, “in my mouth” at your warning.

You scream when the second orgasm hits you, pushing his face against your cunt as his tongue continues, lapping at your folds and your hole as a gush of wetness spurts out of you. For a second, your vision pales, soundless cries caught in your throat as you come all over his face. When you touch down on earth again, your body feels featherlight.

Jungkook is watching you from between your thighs, his face, hair, and chest glistening. “Oh fuck,” he gasps, shit-eating grin slowly consuming his features. “Did you just.”

You groan, cover your face with your palms as Jungkook settles over you, beaming excitedly at your newest ability. “No,” you whine, pushing him away from where he’s basically glued to your cheek. “That’s so weird.”

He laughs, cute and airy. “Fuck, sweetheart, you squirted all over me,” he sighs, cuddles against you, and you wrap your arms around him only to hide your face in his shoulder, also glistening with your pleasure. He shifts closer, and the hard press of his cock rubs along the inside of your thigh.

“Can we take a break?” You murmur quietly, hesitantly. “I can’t feel my legs.” Jungkook nods, presses a kiss to your temple as he gets off the bed, tossing his t-shirt over to you. He stumbles towards the en-suite, comes back with a dry face and chest; his hair is still damp. He tugs the sheets out from under you, cuddles close. He’s got the two of you wrapped up in no time, your head cradled against his shoulder as he reaches out blindly for the tablet he keeps on the side of his bed, the Hulu app already open.

“Any requests?” He hums, scrolling through the multitude of movies and shows. You wiggle closer, stop his finger when he returns to the home page, and Jersey Shore is the first thing to appear. “You’re kidding.”

“It’s a good show!” You defend, click on it before he can argue. You press closer, throw a leg over his waist where you can feel his still rock hard member hiding beneath his sweats. Poor guy, you think, he must be suffering. But you have to rest for a moment if you wanna ride the shit out of him and knock him breathless like you’d planned.

Jungkook doesn’t comment on the erection he’s sporting, instead choosing to criticize everything wrong with Jersey Shore. You’re not surprised. He’s an avid film nerd, obsessed with ‘real’ storylines, not whatever reality tv shows were.

You’ve seen this episode about a hundred times, so you don’t really mind that he completely ruins it for you with his nitpicking. It’s cute, listening to him ramble about television integrity while you listen to the subtle thudding of his heart beneath your ear.

He’s on his fifth slandering of DJ Pauly D when you decide you’ve had enough, muscles in your legs feeling rejuvenated as you wiggle into his lap, toss the tablet off to the side as you straddle him. “That show makes you hard?” You tease, let your sensitive folds settle over the bulge in his pants.

Jungkook combusts, cheeks flushing at your jab. “No,” he huffs, “my pretty girlfriend’s boobs pressed up against me does.”

You short circuit.

“Huh?” You blurt dumbly. Jungkook rolls his eyes, too concerned with guiding your hips over his crotch to realize you’re having a complete meltdown in your head. An airy moan leaves his mouth, head lolling back against the pillows, when he moves you just right, grinds against you perfectly. But there’s more important matters to attend to than Jungkook’s Jersey Shore boner. “Kook,” you say, cup his face in your palms to force him to look you in the eye.

Jungkook huffs, pointedly looking down at where you sit on him, “babe, gonna need you to—“

“What did you say?” You interrogate, press your foreheads together until he has no choice but to look at you.

Annoyed with your act, he groans. “Babe, your hips,” he urges, almost desperately.

“No,” you retort, “not until you say it again.”

“Say what again?” He cries, lips twitching in irritation, and you’re about two seconds from behind shoved into the mattress, pounded into from behind like he’d done the last time you teased him a little too much.

“That I’m your girlfriend!” You exclaim, heart hammering in your ears.

Jungkook seems to finally halt at that. “Oh,” he responds, leaning back to scan over your expression. “You are?” He says, unsure of what point you’re trying to make.

Your brain fizzes at the news. “Since when?” You cry, suddenly feeling dumb for all the time you spent moping over this perfect boy you thought didn’t want you. “You never asked!”

Jungkook levels you with an unimpressed stare, reaches over for the iPad you tossed to the side, some dramatic fight scene on a boardwalk taking place on screen. You wanna scream. Why is he so concerned with Jersey Shore now of all times?

Before you can rain down your displeasure on him, he’s turning it around and showing you a bookmarked email.

It’s from you, apparently, sent a few weeks back at exactly two in the morning. You glance at the date received. It’s from Doyeon’s half birthday, when the two of you had drunk yourselves silly on wine. The title is some mix of dashes and exclamation points, but that’s irrelevant when the contents of the email come to view, some stupid slur of beeee myyy boyfrienderdd????? ;))((;;; that has your jaw dropping in mortification.

You glance back at Jungkook, who seems just as confused as you. “What the hell?” You shriek, snatch the tablet from his hand to see that not only was it a single email, but a thread of emails all asking the same question—there’s even a three stanza sonnet detailing your love for the mole on the side of his neck. You could die. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?! I was so drunk— how could you even take me seriously?”

Jungkook shrugs, almost amused now as he watches you scroll through the twenty emails you sent him. “The next day you told me you really liked me over lunch, so I didn’t mind. Besides, drunk words are sober thoughts, y’know.”

You stare in disbelief. “You told your mom I was your friend,” you whisper.

The blood rises to his cheeks quickly. “Babe,” he sputters. “I’m not exactly introducing her to every girl I date after three weeks.”

It makes sense, and you hate how much it does so. Pursing your lips, you look away, focus on the bedside table and hope he doesn’t see the tears that threaten to spew out of your eyes. He does, he always does. “Hey, what’s wrong?” He hums, sits up to pull you into his arms. One hand brushes over the back of your head, gently. Softly. “Did that upset you?”

You shake your head no, can’t help the ugly Kim Kardashian sob that rips itself from your throat. “I thought you didn’t like me,” you sniffle, covering your face with the iPad when he tries to duck closer and get a look at you. “Because it’s been two months.”

Jungkook shushes you, hugs you close to his chest as you cry like a baby over some apparently unjustifiable doubts. “That big brain of yours,” he sighs, kisses the frown of your head. “Too busy being evil to be logical.” You whine in protest, and Jungkook chuckles, carefully laying back with you clinging to his chest.

He lets you cry it out, palms rubbing over your back, listens to the annoying Jersey Shore opening song playing when the episode ends. When you’re done, you sit up, try to pretend your eyes aren’t swollen and puffy. Jungkook smiles. “All good?”

You might love him.

“I’m gonna ride you,” you announce, and he chokes in surprise, and before he can try to convince you it’s okay, you’re wrestling his sweats and boxers off, taking his half hard cock into your hand. Jungkook flounders, tries to calm you down, but you’re on a mission, working your hand over him until he’s fattening in your hold, melting into the pillows.

“Baby,” he grunts, rolling his hips into your palm. You lean over, pucker your lips and let a thick drop of saliva fall onto the tip of his cock. It trickles over your fingers, makes it easier to run your hands over him. Jungkook groans, reaches down to cup his hand over yours, urging you to squeeze tighter.

When he’s finally as hard as you want him, tip engorged and angry, you sit up, place your palms on his chest as you scoot over him. Jungkook watches you with dark eyes, skin flushed as you line him up. His hands reach for your hips to steady you, tiny gasps falling from his lips at the first prod against your folds. You’re wet from watching him squirm beneath you, from feeling the heavy weight of his cock in your hand, and you hope he feels how much he excites you.

“That’s it,” he croons as you slowly sink down on him, whimpers catching in your throat from the stretch. “That’s my girl.”

Jungkook is purposeful with his words, smiles at you when the muscles in your thighs jolt at the term. When you’re seated to the hilt, folds brushing against his pelvis, Jungkook ruts experimentally. “Fuck,” he chokes breathlessly.

You let your body adjust, spine tingling with every subtle shift from the man beneath you, still so sensitive from your two orgasms from before. Jungkook waits, even though you know all he wants to do right now is fuck up into you like a madman.

When you’re relaxed enough, you begin to move, pushing yourself on your knees slowly, hissing at the drag of his cock against your folds. “F-Fuck,” you whimper, fingernails scratching against where you’ve got them on his chest still. Jungkook grips your hips tightly, and you unconsciously reach for his forearms to steady yourself instead.

“There you go,” he purrs as you slowly pick up the pace, cock sliding inside of you rougher, faster. You know it’s mostly him, muscles in his arms flexing as he moves you up and down, but you don’t care—it feels so good, the upward curve of his cock brushing against your soft spot with each drop of your hips.

He holds you down on one thrust, grinds you over his cock until your clit is rubbing against him roughly, and you cry out his name. You want to kiss him, so very badly, but your position makes it hard. Besides, the sweat beginning to pool in the deep of his collarbones hinted at his oncoming orgasm.

Still, you can’t help the way your eyes instinctively go to trace over his mouth, pouty lips pushed out even more in exertion, teeth grinding together every time your pussy swallows him anew. “Kook,” you mewl, hips bucking forward.

He hums, plants his feet firmly on the mattress as he begins fucking into you. “What is it?” He grunts, pistons into your dripping cunt as you whimper, pleasure crawling up and down your spine. “My pretty girl needs something?”

You wail, nod your head as he continues fucking, ramming his cock into your quivering hole, precum dripping over him. “Yours,” you gasp, mind stuck on what he’d said earlier. “‘M all yours,” you sob, body finally giving out, and you barely catch yourself from falling into him with a palm pressed flatly against his chest.

Jungkook smirks, bucks into you brutally, like he wants you to fall into a boneless heap on top of him. “Yeah, you are,” he groans, as you finally give in, lips brushing against his ear when you flop down on him. “My pretty girl,” he huffs, and you nod, muscles pulled taut as your orgasm begins looming over you. “So cute and mean,” he rambles, lips pressed to your temple. His hips are beginning to lose their rhythm, thrusts growing stilted as he chases his high. “But you know what?” He murmurs, and you whimper. “I like her just like that.”

If his words don’t knock the air out of your lungs, your orgasm surely does. It makes you shudder, the way his hands run over your body, cock ruts into your heat, and you almost cry when the pleasure gets a hold of you. Your muscles tighten, and then loosen, melting into his chest. You’re trembling in his arms, like a leaf holding onto a branch for dear life, choked gasps of his name muffled against his neck.

Jungkook pistons into you, rounds the final corner in his race to orgasm, and eventually spurts his hot cum into you, coats your walls as another reminder that you’re his. He’s a silent orgasmer, sounds catching in his throat as his body twitches beneath you, silent even afterwards as he regains his senses.

A few moments later, you’re shifting out of his hold, pushing yourself onto your elbows to glance down at him. Jungkook’s eyes are shut, but, as if sensing you’re looking at him, he flutters them open, chocolate irises softening at the sight of you.

“Holy shit,” he groans, rolls you off of him carefully. His hand brushes over your thigh, like he’s contemplating licking you clean again, but you stop him with a pointed raise of your brows. “Fine. Pass me the tablet.”

You do, and it’s almost unnerving how easily the two of you slip back into comfort, Jungkook changing into some shorts and handing you your discarded panties, before climbing into bed to watch Jersey Shore. You’ve missed about an entire hour-long episode, so you end up rewinding until the point you last saw.

“You and your Netflix and chilling,” Jungkook snorts, head nestled against your breasts. You roll your eyes.

“This is Hulu,” you point out.

“Oh yeah,” he hums, snuggles closer. His body feels so nice and warm over yours, hands wrapped around you like a lifeline. You end up positioning the tablet off by your hip, supported by a pillow so the two of you can watch properly.

You’re still processing your new title, your new boyfriend, when he perks his head up suddenly, solemn gaze catching yours.

“Hulu and Woohoo,” he says, ever so seriously, and you understand why Doyeon thinks he’s a fool.

[ part three ; imax & climax ]

#goldenclosetnet #ksmutclub #networkbangtan #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #jjk smut #jungkook fic #jeon jungkook fic #mine

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eldritchtickles · 3 years

Text

A Lesson in Love and Dunamancy

And here's one of those once in a moon fics I write! Inspired by an ask from a long long while ago that I cannot find anymore lmao. But enjoy some wizard tickles! And of course a big thank you to the Critickle Role discord for not only lotsa ideas, but also keeping me writing this with your own amazing work lmao. Enjoy!

Fandom: Critical Role

Characters: Essek Thelyss, Jester Lavorre, Caleb Widogast

Word Count: 2665

“And as you can see here..”

The dark skinned hand moved lightly across the thick paper, gentle fingers tracing the runic symbols etched into its form. Essek’s eyes were focused as he read through the ancient script, while Caleb’s followed the drow’s finger with intent. Both wizards were sat closer to each other than either seemed to realise, leaning deeply into one another. The room was cosy, hazy with incense with small candles floating lazily through the air. Calm, oriented, as a wizard’s study should be. “These dunamantic symbols are the basis for most spells”, the Shadowhand continued. “Any current spell relies on these calculations, and predictably any new ones would include them too.”

“Ah, ja, I see it now…”, Caleb muttered, leaning closer as a slight smirk played at the edges of his lips. “I also see you already suspect I intend to play with dunamancy’s limits myself, hm?”

Ah, he was caught. A soft smile came to Essek’s face as he nodded. He knew Caleb Widogast would not be one to leave such magic alone if he could create with it. The transmutation master kept true to his discipline, creating something of nothing at a moment’s notice. Including making a need for Essek to put him back in place.

His face leaned down closer to his human companion’s, a twinkle of slight playfulness in his eyes at Caleb’s snark.

“Yes, Herr Widogast, I imagine you’ll be creating many a spell based on the Krynn magic, hm?”

As Caleb went to retort just as smartly, the gentle cosy candlelit haze of the room was bathed in the harsher light of the hallway outside.

“Oh Caleeeeeeeb~!”

Both wizards were suddenly acutely aware of their close proximity to one another as Jester Lavorre loudly interrupted their study session. In a second Caleb found himself alone on the floor as Essek’s floating spell took effect and jettisoned him into a more regal standing position, even if his face was flushed an embarrassed lilac colour.

“OH!’, Jester exclaimed, a not so sorry grin on her face as she surveyed the suddenly awkward tension she had created. “I didn’t meanto interrupt you two cuddling-“

“Jester!!”, Caleb yelped, embarrassment lending his voice a strangled tone as he stumbled to his feet and brushed himself off and cast a glance to Essek. “You… You did not disturb anything. Was there something you needed from us this urgent?”

Jester was already in the room as the wizard spoke to her. She inspected the floating candles overhead, courtesy of the magic inside Caleb’s Tower, giving each a slight poke to watch it bob away free of gravity. She cast a teasing grin at the two flushed wizards, before diverting her attention to the dunamantic scroll on the floor as she spoke.

“Weeeeelllllll”, she began, nose scrunching up as she tried to understand the arcane glyphs. “Beau asked me to get you! She needs help compiling notes, and said ‘his stupid keen mind would kind of be helpful’. So I came to fetch you for her!”

“Ah scheisse, you’re absolutely right”, Caleb said with a small groan, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Essek, would you remain here? I promised Beau earlier I’d help her with her endeavour, I’ll finish quickly and be right back to continue.”

“Ah, quite, yes…”, Essek mumbled, glad to feel the blush on his cheeks calm down. “Take all the time you need, alright? I’ll prepare the next part of the lesson in the interim.”

No more words passed between the two, just a polite smile and a nod before Caleb parted to help his comrade. Soon as the door closed, Essek let out a slow breath. What had he been thinking? This was a professional relationship, student and mentor, and yet he had been practically sitting in Caleb’s lap as he had taught. Where was his usual maturity? Had he gone mad? Really, he had to get his act together before someone thought-

“Essek likes Caleb~!”

The Shadowhand froze up. The heat of his lilac blush returned, reaching his ears this time. Just over his shoulder was the grinning face of Jester, he knew it. He could practically fucking feel her waggling her eyebrows suggestively at him. Damn tieflings.

He rounded quickly on the woman, face not seeming able to decide between incredulous, embarrassed, or angry. Probably a mix of all three.

“Jester I- You can’t think that- That’s just not-“

A breath. Nerves calmed.

“…….. Ms. Lavorre, you cannot make such claims about two acolytes. It is in very bad taste, our relationship is strictly-“

“Oh come ooooon, Essek! Admit it, you like the stinky wizard!”, the tiefling said in a lilting voice, walking around to his front so she could stand on her tip toes till her nose met his, which made him make a funny face as he floated back a step. “I mean, no one will blame you. Caleb is charming, and sweet, and kind of dirty but that can be fixed, and he’s so clever, Essek! And he’s-“

“Jester, I do not-“

His voice caught in his throat, before a pout was brought to his face as the drow turned from the intruder on his lesson. He started to spread out another spell scroll, putting all his effort into making sure he was solely concentrating on this.

“I would prefer not to speak on this topic if you don’t mind Jester.”

If it were anyone else, they might have taken the hint. Essek’s exterior had turned icy and aloof, as it had been when they first met, and was usually enough to deter more questioning. But while her insight may not be as good as Caducueus, Jester had enough of it to see through the drow’s shit.

“You are such a liar!!”, she whined, accentuating her point with a poke to the back of his ribs.

It took Essek a few seconds to realise through his brooding that he had squeaked.

It took a few more to have him pinned on his back underneath the grinning tiefling.

“Jester, this is most- A-Ah, Jester!!”, the Shadowhand blustered, squirming slightly as a clawed hand gripped his ribs. He was not used to… Physical touch. Much less being pinned with his arms above his head, straddled by a strong blue trickster. His blush was back in full swing.

“Well, are you going to tell me Essek~?”, Jester asked, that familiar lilt in her voice that meant a plan was in motion. “Or, we could juuuuuuuuuust…”

She accentuated her point with a gentle waterfall of tickles cascading down the stretched out ribs beneath her. Those pointed nails cut through Essek’s shirt worse than any blade, a choking giggle trapped in his throat now he expected it this time. That didn’t mean it didn’t- No, if he admitted the word to himself he’d be doomed.

“M-Ms. Lavorre, I would kindly ask you-“

Shit, he almost laughed as she brushed the area right under his arm. Deep breaths.

“I would ask you let me gohoho!! Dohohon’t!!”

That was most definitely a whine.

“Wow Essek, I knew you were squishy but even Caleb can hold out longer”, the girl teased with a giggle, concentrating her free hand on the wizards lower tummy. It was the spot that had earned the giggle, and with a slight ruffle of his shirt that dark drow skin was exposed to the air and a tiefling’s evil fingers, fluttering along his waistline. “Aren’t you the most ticklish Shadowhand in the Dynasty~! Tiiiiiickle tickle, Essek!”

“I am… T-Thehehehe only Shadowhand and you knohohow this full wehehehell Jester- DOHOHOHON’T SAY THAHAHAHAT!!”

She snickered at the little squeak as he said her name, and the subsequent shout at such a little tease. The poor man’s face was flushed so much you’d think him drunk, the only thing worse would be- oh, she couldn’t-no, definitely could. Artagan would be sorely disappointed if she didn’t.

“Ok Essek, time to get real!”, Jester said with a serious face, nodding to the giggly elf beneath her as if in agreement on what she was about to do. “When you want to tell me how much you looooooooove Caleb, you let me know, ok Essek?”

“W-What? Jester, wait, what?”, Essek asked as he regained his breath, diaphragm working overtime to get back oxygen lost to giggles. His mind was already slightly addled, not even realising his arms had been let go. He quickly did take that into account, if only because they had shot down to grab Jester by the horns and try push her away as a scream ripped through his body.

“JEHEHEHEHESTER!! THAT IHIHIHIS- EEEEEEHEHEHEEE!! TERRIBLE STOP IT STOP IHIHIHIT!!”

Ignoring his pleas, Jester just giggled and shook her head in amusement before returning to nibbling gently at the soft stomach beneath her. The tiefling’s hands held Essek’s hips down as her thumbs gently massaged a ticklish touch into the dips in them. His back arched as the sharp little teeth scraped along his skin, and as Jester cast a look up at his face her eyes lit up like a Winter’s Crest tree.

“You’re crying?!”, Jester giggled, an incredulous look on her face. Essek’s head was tilted back in ticklish ecstasy, eyes screwed shut as streams of tears stained his bright lilac cheeks. Frankly, it was the most adorable sight Jester had ever seen! And she knew she was close to getting an answer from the deathly ticklish drow.

“P-Plehehehease, Jester, just not my stohohomach...”, Essek pleaded weakly, hand still tangled in the tickle monster’s hair and horns. “I’ll do anythihihing, just not there..”

“Anything, hm?”, Jester pondered, raising herself from his stomach to give him a break and smoothing his shirt back down. Even thatearned a squeak, she noted. “Liiiiiiiiike….. Admitting you have a teeny, tiny, itsy-bitsy crush on Caleb….?”

There was a solid five seconds of silence as Essek debated with mattered more; his sanity, or his pride.

Jester got her answer as his face turned back to a pout, turning away from her.

She shrugged. Time to try somewhere else.

“Hm, alrighty then Essek!”

In a second, after a slight tousle, Essek’s light form had been flipped so he now lay on his stomach with Jester laying on top of him, facing toward his-

“Jester, don’t you fucking-“

His face burned as she ignored his words, feeling his ankles gripped in a hold by Jester’s deceivingly strong arms. He had of course taken off his shoes on entry of the tower, as any good guest would. Now he was wishing he’d be a bit ruder in the Nein’s abode.

“Oh, I’m just making sure your feet aren’t dusty when your crush comes back! See? I’m helping~!”

Essek thought no such thing as he felt those fluttering fingers returning to his poor oversensitive skin. He felt the tears well up already, which was fucking embarrassing might he add. Speaking of embarrassing…

“A cootchie coo, little Shadowhand~! Don’t be embarrassed, maybe Caleb will find it cute when he finds out how unbearably ticklish you are! He’ll be all like ‘ja, zat is inchresting Essek, you look so cute ven you are laffing unt squirming, tickle tickle my dear’. Just like that! Wow, you reeeeeaaaally hate teases huh, Essek? Let’s test!”

“Lehehehet us nohohot, Jester-“

“I’m going to get youuuuu~! I’m going to tickle these poor, helpless feet!! Aw you’re going to giggle soooo much when I just….”

“Jester, no, Jehehehester- NAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! STOP THIS INSTAHAHAHANT- EEEEEEEHEHE!!”

As her claws scratched from his heel, across his sole, before nestling under his toes to make a wiggling, tickling home for themselves, Essek lost all resolve. He barely kicked anymore, body limp as silent laughter overtook him. Instead he lay shaking from the intensity of it, face sore from smiling so much more than normal, tears rolling hot down his face and falling dangerously close to meticulously written scrolls. All till…..

“I- Pffft nahahahaaaaa!! I LIHIHIHIHIKE HIM JESTER!!”

No sooner had the words left the wizard’s mouth did the devilish fingers below leave him. Essek sucked in deep breaths, grateful for fresh air in his tired lung. Finally, a break… Even if…

His eyes snapped open as his blush deepened. Had he really-

He looked back quickly at Jester, grinning broadly with twinkling eyes.

“Jester-“

“I have to, Essek-“

“You will not, Jester-“

“OH, CALEEEEEEEB-“

No sooner had Jester yelled for the wizard of the hour had she found herself under Essek instead, helped by some sort of gravity spell. His hand was clamped over her mouth to shut her up, a panicked expression on his face.

“Jester, you cannot mention this to anybody, do you understand- DID YOU JUST LICK MY HAND?!”

The look of delight as Jester giggled through the barrier of his hand gave him an answer. Despite his panic, Essek couldn’t help but break a smile. Jester Lavorre was genuinely the silliest girl he’d ever met. But still, he had to keep her quiet… And there was one way to keep her that way.

“Let me explain this in a way you can understand Ms. Lavorre…”

Jester was about to say something rude back, but instead a muffled squeal was all that escaped. Essek had a look of absolute seriousness on his face, not unlike the first time they’d met him, that made the cleric’s eyes widen. Then they snapped closed as his hand goosed her lower rib, extracting another squeal.

“You are not to mention this exchange to anyone, understood?”

His hand moved lower, fingers digging deep into the pocket of her hip. Jester cackled and snorted behind the man’s hand, unable to fight against the dunamantic magic that held her in place. It seemed wizard’s made amazing ticklers, with their dexterous, precise fingers.

“Nod your head if you understand, Jester…”

Essek was enjoying this. He had a grin on his face, one less evil and more proud. Jester was about to nod when the hand at her mouth joined its brethren, both choosing to squeeze at the point where hips met thighs. The laughter that spilled from Jester’s mouth was hysterical, giving her the boost needed to break the spell’s hold on her as her hands weakly tried to pry Essek’s off of her, legs pedalling in the air with how much the Shadowhand’s fingers tickled.

“Ah… Essek? Jester?”

Both parties stopped dead. Neither had even heard the door open, but as they looked they found Caleb standing in the entryway. His face was noticeably flushed at the sight he had encountered, not able to look directly at them. Though Jester and Essek didn’t look at each other, both knew what the other was thinking; adorable.

“I-I apologise, Beauregard had asked the Tower be soundproofed tonight so I did not hear from outside… Should I….?”

“No!! Gods, Light no!!”, Essek yelped, scrambling to his feet and casting a half-hearted glare to Jester, who stuck her tongue out back. “Jester was just leaving, aren’t I right Ms. Lavorre?”

“Oh, of course, Mr. Thelyss~!”, the woman giggled, speeding from the room with a wink to the wizards.

“……… So that was-“

“Advanced interrogation techniques, we shall call them.”, Essek said quickly, trying to keep away the blush once more. Caleb couldn’t help a small smile crossing his face at that, taking a seat beside the spell scroll once more.

“Ah, a different sort of lesson for our cleric, I suppose…”, he said with a small chuckle, patting the spot beside him. “Let us stick to dunamancy for tonight, hm?”

Essek took a few seconds to smooth out his robes and compose himself. Seeing Caleb act so… Normally about all this. It was oddly comforting, to know he didn’t mind. Even stranger, Essek thought as he took his seat, was one observation.

That wasn’t so bad.

“Perhaps a lesson for another day, Mr. Widogast?”

He caught the way Caleb flushed and concentrated on the scroll, along with the small embarrassed smile that returned.

“Heh. Another day, yes.”

#critical role #critical role tickle fic #critickle role #caleb widogast #essek thelyss #jester lavorre #shadowgast #tickling #tickle fic #eldritch writes #YES WELCOME TO MY LONGEST FIC #i spent so fuckin much time on this akdskd #hopefully people like it tho!!

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jimlingss · 4 years

Text

Sugar and Coffee [20]

Chapter 19 - Chapter 20 - Chapter 20.5 OR Chapter 21

➜ Words: 4.5k

➜ Genres: 99.5% Fluff, 0.5% Angst, Pâtisserie school!AU

➜ Summary: It isn't hard to be a pâtisserie chef, but it's not a piece of cake either. It seems like for you in particular, life keeps throwing in one wrench after another. It always finds ways to make your sweets bitter. The cherry on top is Jeon Jungkook — a rival with a sensitive sweet tooth who always finds ways to complain about you.

cr.

Breakups are the worst. You know from first-hand experience — how it feels like your entire world is crumbling. How the most important person in your life that was the most involved is suddenly a stranger. How you lose not only a lover, but a friend, someone who was considered family. So witnessing Hoseok becoming despondent and sluggish, and being an observer to the heartache, it’s surreal. “Are you okay?” you lean over to ask. The yells of Taehyung, Super Smash music and sound effects are loud in the living room. It’s unusual to gather on a Tuesday night when there’s class early tomorrow, but you know everyone’s gathered for Hoseok. No one might pour their feelings onto the table and talk about what happened, but you’ve quickly caught on that this is all meant to act as a distraction. Not a counselling session. Still, you want to ask him in case he does want to talk about it. “I’m….holding up okay.” “If you ever want to discuss anything, I’m here.” “Thanks.” The both of you turn back to the screen where Yoongi, Taehyung, Jungkook and Jimin are duking it out. At times they’re screaming at each other and at others, they fall into silence. You stare at Jungkook — the way his thick brows are furrowed in concentration, how the tip of his tongue is peeking out, nose scrunched, his body leaned over with his elbows on his knees, forearms exposed and the veins popped. Jungkook looks angry and it’s hot as fuc— “Hey, Y/N?” “Huh?” You turn to Hoseok, hoping it wasn’t obvious that you were salivating over your boyfriend. “Y-Yes?” “Has Aeri said anything?” he asks hesitantly, quietly. “I know you and her are close, so….” “She did talk about it with me…” You pause. He seems to wait, so you go on, “She said you guys broke up after a lot of arguments, that it seemed like you were more mad at each other than happy and decided to end it. She doesn’t hate you, Hoseok, if that’s what you want to ask.” The man nods. You know what it’s like — he wants to hear every detail but doesn’t at the same time. So you spare him from it. “Thank you. Tell her….tell her that...nevermind.” Hoseok sighs. “I’m just glad she has you for support.” “It’s nothing,” you say sincerely. “Trust me.” It simmers into quietness again. But when the match ends, you jump into the game with them. And while Hoseok protests, mumbling that he doesn’t want to play, Jimin forces him to hold a controller and naturally, he joins too. It’s fun to play — Jungkook and you secretly have an alliance and you team up to crush the others. And when it’s just you and him left, Jungkook lets you win. Taehyung yells that it’s totally not fair each and every time but your boyfriend feigns ignorance, citing that you’re just too good. After seven more rounds, you begin to get drowsy and check the time. “Oh, we should go.” Yoongi quirks a brow. “You two have somewhere to be?” “It’s snuggle hour.” Jimin pauses the game. Everyone whirls around to stare. Hoseok grins. Yoongi remains puzzled. “The hell is snuggle hour?” “It’s nothing!” Jungkook suddenly interjects, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights. “What do you mean it’s nothing?” Your jaw goes slack — just yesterday he said it was his favourite part of the day. It baffles you that he’s outright denying it now. “It’s something Y/N likes, not me.” “Excuse me?!” It was him who came up with the entire concept — personally, you could take it or leave it. “Can we keep playing or what?” “No.” Jimin disregards Jungkook’s attempt at changing the subject and eggs you on, “Y/N, what’s snuggle hour?” “It’s a designated time slot in our schedule to snuggle for an hour everyday. Jungkook likes being touched,” you state it in a matter of factly way, deadpanning it before your boyfriend can stop you. “Babe.” Jungkook’s face is bright red. He turns to his friends. “That’s not true.” “Ugh, gross.” Taehyung’s entire face scrunches in disgust. “Not like that, you idiot. It’s not sexual.” “Babe!” Jungkook shouts and you redirect your attention to him. He’s shaking his head, horrified. “TMI.” “Why are you embarrassed?” you question with a frown. “Aww, Kook likes being touched?” Jimin teases, leaning over to hug Jungkook. “I knew it!” “Get off me,” he huffs and pushes the other man off. “She’s kidding. It’s her who wants to cuddle.” You scoff. “That’s a blatant lie.” “Oh shit.” Taehyung lifts his brows, head darting between you and Jungkook and your exchanges of expressions. The brunette looks like he’s about to grab a bag of popcorn and neither you nor Jungkook appreciate it. “Are you ashamed of me?” “No—” You cock your head to the side. “Your ego is too big to be romantic?” “Can we do this later?” Jungkook ducks his head and whispers harshly as if they can’t hear. “You can’t do that in front of our friends. You can’t tell them.” “Why not?” you bite back loudly, arms crossing. “You’re embarrassed? You’re too good for me to love you?” “It’s not like that,” he sighs. “I think it is.” You grab your coat and your bag. “I’m leaving.” “Y/N.” Jungkook stands up, following after you. “Wait. You’re not upset, are you?” “Nope. Not at all. I’ll see you tomorrow.” You offer a stiff smile and the door slams shut with you on the other side. It’s awfully silent. It happened so fast, he’s still reeling. “I don’t miss that.” Hoseok smiles gingerly. “What just happened?” Jungkook returns to the couch, completely bewildered. “I think you just missed out on snuggle hour,” Yoongi snickers. // The next time Jungkook sees you, he’s wary. But you greet him as if nothing happened and the two of you go on about your day. Yet, the boy is unsettled and constantly glances at you from the corner of his eye. He finally decides to clear his throat stiffly and go in for the kill. “You’re not still upset from yesterday, are you?” “No. I get it. You think it’s personal and you don’t want to share what we do in our down time with your friends.” “Exactly.” Jungkook’s entire body drowns in relief, shoulders easing from their tension, muscles no longer stiff. He’s so glad you get it. You smile. “I’m sorry for lashing out and being crazy.” “It’s okay.” “So it’s true then.” “What?” “You think I was being crazy?” There’s an extended pause. You stare at him — he stares at you. Jungkook pales, not knowing what to say, but then you burst out laughing. “Kidding!” He starts laughing too. “You almost got me there.” “Did I?” You laugh some more. Then it goes silent. The only noises in the corridor are your footsteps and Jungkook takes a moment to glance at you. It doesn’t take a second thought for him to reach down and take your hand. But before he can grip it tightly or lace his fingers through yours, you shake his grip off. He looks at you in surprise. “Nope.” You shake your head, keeping your eyes trained forward. “You’re too cool for that, remember?” “What?” Jungkook increases his strides when your steps begin to speed up. “I thought you said you weren’t mad!” “I’m not. But what if your friends see? We can’t risk that,” you say, feigning worry and it’s almost mocking. Jungkook scoffs. “Who cares?” You hum. “But see, you do. You gotta remain cool for your friends, Jungkook.” You turn to pat your boyfriend’s head once and then you’re walking away. The boy’s left absolutely appalled, but unable to say anything when you keep barrelling straight down the hall. Jeon Jungkook knows he’s fucked up. // Jungkook isn’t a particularly confrontational person — he’s not big on arguing and fighting, but you always seem to be the exception to every rule of his. From the beginning, you’ve gotten under his skin and the pair of you have bickered back and forth relentlessly. Even now that your relationship has changed, he discovers that he would rather have you angry and shouting at him. He’d rather you quarrel, so at least he can apologize and things can go back to normal. He can’t keep up with these mind games. You’re just teasing him at this point. When he puts an arm around your shoulder, you slink away. “Let’s not get too touchy here, buddy. Someone might see.” When he comes to stand next to you, your shoulders brushing against each other’s, you immediately step away from him like he’s got the bubonic plague. “Appropriate spaces between us only, Jeon. You gotta stay cool and hard. God forbid, someone finds out you’re a giant softie.” Jungkook never realized just how much he naturally reaches for you throughout the day. Not until you were pointing it out and avoiding all acts of physical affection. But the last straw is when he’s in your room, reaching in for a kiss, and you dodge him completely. His mouth nearly smashes on the wall. “Oh! Can’t do that, can we? You never know who’s watching!” “Okay, okay. I’m sorry, alright?” Jungkook breaks first. He can’t take this anymore and turns to follow you, watching you crawl into your bed. “I’m sorry for acting like I’m too good for you and being embarrassed and I’m sorry for all of it. You’re right. Who cares. I made it a big deal when it didn’t need to be.” You get settled into the covers and stare at him impassively, as if you were the queen judging if he, the jester, should be executed or not. Then a tiny smile of victory pulls at your lips. You untuck your feet from the blankets and hold the left one in the air. Jungkook already knows what to do and sits down, placing your foot in his lap. He holds and cradles it behind the heel, rubbing and squeezing at the tender parts, making you sigh. Nothing beats his massages. “You know I’m not actually mad.” You grin and squirm when he hits a ticklish spot. “I just like teasing you.” Jungkook scoffs and sulks. “I don’t like it when you tease me.” “Oh, poor, baby.” You laugh, but you can’t taunt him when he begins massaging harder. You hiss when his fingers slide towards the base of your heel and back to the top. “Feel good?” He smirks at your reaction. “Uh-huh.” You open your eyes again. “I get it though. I do. You don’t want Taehyung and Yoongi and them to make fun of you. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable either, so I won’t talk about our private things anymore—” “It’s okay,” he hums, “I don’t care. I shouldn’t anyway, they’re all just jealous of us.” A light laugh falls from your lips and he relishes in how the sound tinkles. “So you’re not ashamed anymore?” “I wasn’t in the first place. I love you.” “You always know the right thing to say at the right time.” You scoff, but reach for your boyfriend anyway. You take his arm, pulling him up to you and you plant a small kiss on his lips. You smile. “Get over here, Jeon. It’s snuggling time.” “My favorite time of the day.” He grins and the two of you shuffle to get comfortable. He wraps his arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer so you can rest your head against his chest. You throw your legs over his, tangling your limbs, arm snuck over his torso. Jungkook’s such a big baby, you don’t know what to do sometimes. You wonder if he knows it, but you wouldn’t want it any other way. After all, cold, bad boys are overrated. Jungkook might be corny, sappy, a giant softie yet you love him all the more for it.

When you see Jungkook in the morning, his eyes light up and he doesn’t hesitate to come over to give a short peck to your lips. When he pulls away, you’re smiling and he hums, leaving to get his food. Yoongi, on the other hand, is gagging from across you. “Oh, grow up.” You debate on throwing your fry at him, but you decide not to in case he lunges over the table to fight you for getting oil into his poreless skin. “I can see you two made up.” You scoff, a smirk playing at your lips. “Oh. We made up alright.” Yoongi lifts up his palm. “Spare me the details.” “Wouldn’t tell you even if you begged me to,” you snicker mischievously much to the man’s dismay. You’ve learnt to treasure these moments of the day. Times when all of you can gather together for a meal in the dining hall or maybe late on a Friday night at the apartment or someone’s dorm room. There doesn’t even need to be any meaningful conversations, any exciting news to share — as long as there’s each other’s company, it seems to be enough. You try to savour these moments, even if they’re frequent. Since it’s these meaningless moments that will one day become fond memories. When everyone’s graduated, gone their own paths to continue developing their skills and chasing their dreams, it will be hard to gather. To banter over mediocre food, to play games and chit chat without a care, to have ridiculous debates and fights. And as you become vigilant and learn to care for those precious moments, you inadvertently become afraid of time every now and then. It was only ten months ago that your relationship with Jungkook began to alter and change, that you both saw each other in a different light and started an unlikely friendship. And it will only be seven more months until graduation is here. You didn’t know that time could move so quickly. It makes you scared of what’s to come. “Afternoon, Y/N.” Taehyung plops down and waves a hand in front of your face. You snap back to reality with a curious look and he grins. “You were spacing out.” “Sorry. I’m just a bit tired.” “Wonder why,” Yoongi deadpans. “Maybe it has something to do with Kook and you making up.” “Ugh, gross.” A disgusted expression creeps onto Taehyung’s face. “I thought you said you didn’t want to talk about it.” You eye the lethargic man who only shrugs. “I’m just stating the facts you gave me.” You scoff, right in time as Jungkook and Jimin sit down with their dinner trays. But your boyfriend pays no mind to the conversation. His attention is immediately taken by the silver bowl his friend has on the table. “What’s that?” “Oh, it’s cookie dough!” Taehyung grins. “Want some? I made too much during class and couldn’t bake it all, and I thought it would be a waste to throw it away.” Jungkook grabs his spoon but you stop him. “Wait. You can’t just eat cookie dough. Did you learn nothing from baking safety?” “Why?” Taehyung blinks. “It’s fine.” “No, it’s not. The eggs are raw and it could give you salmonella, and the flour could be filled with bacteria. You might end up in the hospital with e.coli. People have died from that.” “I’m going to have to agree with Y/N there,” Hoseok pipes up. “Just save it and bake it later, Tae,” Jimin offers. But your boyfriend disagrees with them. “You can’t get salmonella if the eggs are pasteurized. And contamination of raw flour is rare.” You whip your head over to your partner, baffled that he could be so dumb. “You know better than that. Why would you even want to risk it?” He shrugs. “Don’t we risk our lives daily? We get into cars that could technically crash.” Yoongi grabs his spoon and digs into the cookie dough without hesitation. “We’re all going to die anyway. Live a little, Y/N.” “That’s gross.” “It’s delicious,” your boyfriend corrects, about to dig in too but you grip his elbow. “I’m not going to show up to the hospital if you get sick.” He smiles in spite of your threat and pulls himself away from your restraint to scoop into the batter. Taehyung grins and offers Jimin some, but he adamantly declines like you, expression queasy. Hoseok is in the same boat. “I’ll pass, thanks. I’d rather not get sick.” “Oh, c’mon.” Taehyung chews. “It’s not going to kill you.” “Except it might.” “A little is fine,” Jungkook says, smacking his lips together. “A little is enough to get you ill,” you retort. “How can you be so stubborn about something you’re so wrong about?” He scoffs and blatantly eats a spoonful in front of you. His eyes shut and he hums in delight as if it’s the most delicious thing he’s ever eaten. But Jungkook’s exaggerated reaction does little to tempt you to the dark side. “Maybe because I know I’m right and you’re too stubborn to admit it.” “This is like baking safety basics.” “Yeah and it’s basics not to let saucepots burn but you do it anyway.” “Oh. So this is how it’s going to be, Jeon?” You narrow your eyes. It’s personal now. “I can’t admit I’m wrong when I’m not, babe.” Jungkook slyly smirks, the corner of his mouth curled. There’s a clear division of teams — Jimin and Hoseok are disgusted like you are, but Yoongi and Taehyung can’t seem to care any less that they might be inviting bacteria into their bodies. And Jungkook appears to be eating more just to spite you. The argument is different this time around. No one’s backing down this time. “Oh, would you look at that?” Jungkook nudges you hours later. “What?” “I’m not sick from the cookie dough.” He grins, but you only give an impassive expression, turning away from him. // Jeon Jungkook can argue what he wants. But you were educated and you have the facts. It’s late the next night when his phone lights up with a text from you, despite you sitting right beside him. “Did you just text me a link to webMD on...salmonella?” “Did I?” Your head quirks to the side, lashes fluttering. “Must’ve been a mistake.” Jungkook scoffs. // The following morning while on your way to class, he shows you a picture on his phone. “My mom found this yesterday. Look.” It’s an old photograph with a smaller version of Jungkook. Perhaps when he was four or five — red shirt and blue overalls — so cute your heart might explode. He’s got big, buggy eyes and giant nose, tiny body and an excited expression. Mini Jungkook is sitting on the kitchen counter with his mouth open wide, half-way to spooning something in. But you don’t need to ask what it is he was eating. He tells you— “I was eating cookie dough! Looks like I’m still alive today, huh?” “How lucky,” you deadpan. “Lucky enough to live this long and meet you, babe.” The little shit leans down to press a kiss to your cheek. Your eyes bore into his backside when he walks ahead. // It’s in the evening after dinner when you’re both in the library and Jungkook suddenly sighs. “I can’t believe school just started a month ago and now midterms are coming up.” You hum, unloading your bag of textbooks to start studying. But Jungkook notices one in particular — it catches his eye enough that he stops taking notes of his readings. “Isn’t this our baking safety textbook from last year?” He frowns, picking it up. “Yeah, I brought it along.” You smile at him. “Thought you should do some reviewing.” Jungkook scoffs. You maintain your welcome, friendly demeanor that a perfect girlfriend would have. And you keep exaggerating it when you notice how much it irks him. “You’ve probably forgotten about the contents we learnt about, sweetheart. Wouldn’t want you to forget important facts.” “You’re so considerate.” His smile is stiff. “I’ll consider reviewing then.” “You really should.” “Thanks.” // The back and forth continues for a while. It’s small and incremental mentions, from him linking you pictures of kids eating cookie dough to you sending back pictures of what it looks like to have e.coli. In the middle of your snuggle session, Jungkook mentions he craves some cookie dough and in passing, you quote news articles of people getting sick from it and what the FDA thinks. You can tell Jeon Jungkook isn’t going to back down or give in. And with no end in sight, you start to plan one. “I don’t feel like studying anymore.” You close your textbook, pouting at him when he lifts his head up from his own pages. “Can’t we just go back to your room, Jungkook? I’m tired.” Jungkook smiles at you, wholly unsuspecting and dancing right in the palm of your hand. “Okay.” “Are you hungry?” he asks on your way back. You hum. “Not particularly.” “Alright.” The both of you walk the rest of the way in silence, but the second you get back to his dorm room, the door slams shut, your bag drops and you shove Jungkook against his own bed. He laughs, allowing himself to fall back onto the mattress. “I thought you said you were tired.” “I was,” you correct. “Not anymore.” You waste no time — moving to climb onto him and sitting yourself down on his crotch. You get comfortable and swivel your hips hard. Jungkook grabs hold of your waist as his breath stutters. “F-Fuck, Y/N.” “Like it?” You cock your head to the side. But he doesn’t answer. Instead, Jungkook reaches up to you, his hand slinking to the back of your neck pushing you downwards, so he can kiss you. You follow his command and at once, his hot tongue intrudes into your mouth for a slobbery, eager kiss. You try your best to work him up as much as you can, letting Jungkook grope you anywhere he likes while you touch him gingerly. And after a few minutes of heavy petting and making out, you pull apart, sitting back on your heels. Your hand slinks down to his hardening bulge. Jungkook’s breath hitches in anticipation. You smirk mischievously. “Want me to keep touching you, Jeon?” His brows are knitted together, not sure where you’re taking this, but he nods. “Y-Yes…?” “Then I need you to do one thing for me.” You tuck your hair behind your ear, softly whispering. You allow your hot breath to skim against his exposed skin. “Just...one...little...thing. Please?” “What is it?” Jungkook exhales shakingly, swallowing hard. “Admit you were wrong,” you mutter like a seductress hypnotizing him, “Cookie dough is bad for you.” Immediately, Jungkook freezes beneath you. Your hand is right on his goods, caressing and squeezing his crotch. He shudders and shuts his eyes. Unbeknownst to you, Jungkook wasn’t relishing in your touch — he’s gathering willpower that he doesn’t know he has. Suddenly, a yelp sounds from your chest, and then you’re the one being pinned to the mattress with Jungkook on top of you. He’s flipped you over before you’ve even had a chance to blink. “I don’t think so.” He grins while you pout at him. Jungkook’s thighs are pushing your legs together, his hands holding down your wrists beside your head. He’s got you fixed right where he wants. “You really thought you could use this tactic to win?” “I’ll never give you what you want until you admit it,” you bite back even in this compromised position. He clicks his tongue in annoyance. “Brat.” Cockiness is a good look for Jungkook. But it’ll also be his downfall. Your leg moves and you knee him right in the ass. It’s enough to catch him off guard and when he jolts, his hands on you loosen and you laugh, taking the opportunity to tackle him down. It’s your turn to be on top. “Admit it, Jeon!” “Never!” He laughs and wrestles against you. The two of you roll around in his bed, ruining the covers and wrinkling the fresh sheets, all while giggling. You try to tickle him until his strength overpowers you. You could never win against his muscles anyway, but it was worth a try. Finally, Jungkook gets you on the bottom again with your arms above your head. “Can’t we agree to disagree?” “No, because you’re wrong,” you laugh. The boy shakes his head, eyes full of endearment. “You always have to be right about everything, don’t you?” “Only on the things I know I’m right about.” Your legs wrap around his waist and you pull him closer to you until your hips and pelvises are rested against each other. The movement renders his bottom half immobile and with Jungkook closer, you quirk your head again, lips pouting. “Plus, if you get a bacterial disease and die, how am I supposed to live without you?” “Are you worried about me?” Jungkook grins, the strands of his dark hair brushing against yours. “Is that it?” “That and the fact that I can’t have my boyfriend be such an idiot.” He scoffs and one of his hands comes down to jab at your sides, making you squirm. “You gotta live a little, Y/N.” “I’m very content with my life, thank you very much. I’d rather not risk anything,” you tell him. “And if you want to blame anyone for that, blame yourself. You made me this way.” Slowly, an even bigger grin spreads across his face — enough to swell his cheeks and break his face. Jungkook giggles full-heartedly, giddy and amused. He’s unable to resist and leans down to capture your mouth with his. It’s a fight that never ends up finishing. But by the end of the night, neither of you have half a mind to continue on the pointless debate. Not when you’re tangled in the sheets and each other, more content than ever.

Time. It’s a scary thing. It goes by too fast and you’ll never know how much of it is left. But it’s what makes you savour moments. It keeps you cognizant and aware, not to take any hour for granted. “They have a special over there,” Jimin announces, taking his place at the table. “Does anyone want pineapple pizza?” “Me!” — you exclaim at the same time as Jungkook’s face wrinkles. — “That’s disgusting.” You look at each other and there’s a playful exchange of expressions that feigns offence. Time and time again, you hope Jungkook will always be the one here to have meaningless arguments with you.

#bts fanfic #bts scenario #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fluff #jungkook scenario #hOW SAUCY #choke on this fluff y'all

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chockfullofsecrets · 3 years

Text

Critical Role: Difficult

(Read on AO3)

Rating: Gen

Summary: He considers for a moment and then pulls it over the back of Caleb’s head, leaving his arms dangling loosely in the taut pull of the fabric. “Be good or I’ll tickle you again.”

It’s something he’d say to one of his siblings, and it gets an equally petulant response - Caleb growls, elbows flailing as he tries to break free of his shirt prison. “Caduceus.”

Difficult. Caduceus eyes the bare and probably-ticklish - and currently burnt up - expanse of Caleb’s exposed torso and makes a decision.

Wordcount: 2.4k

A/N: Fill for this anon prompt!

---

Caduceus likes to think he’s pretty immune to nonsense, as things go - growing up with three siblings will have that effect - but that doesn’t mean he’s not frustrated when certain people decide that they’re going to walk away from a we-barely-survived-a-dimension-with-a-dragon-in-it healing circle.

Still, he knows how these things go. He sees everyone off to bed and reminds himself to come up with some tea for Beau later. He pulls thick green stalks of succulents from his pack, grateful that he’d thought to wrap most of his herbs up in oilcloth before his time with the group took a decidedly nautical turn, and crushes them methodically into paste before stirring in some warm oil and beeswax. He hums a quick prayer to the Wildmother, asking for the same patience it took not to sneak something annoying into Clarabelle’s food when she started putting worms in his bed at night.

Then, he goes to find Caleb.

Their guilt-ridden wizard looks even worse than he did before, if that’s even possible. He smells of soot, shirt scorched and blackened around the collar, and his cheeks are red and peeling with what might be mistaken for a particularly terrible sunburn if Caduceus hadn’t been in the room with him and a fire elemental and a whole entire dragon. But that’s not the worst of it - he’s hunched up at the head of his bed in the already confined space of the room he and Nott have taken over, knees pulled to his chest and a faraway look in his eyes that says he’s probably sat himself down and not moved since.

Caduceus tries not to sigh. “Hey, I brought you some stuff.”

Caleb’s head barely twitches in his direction. “I am not in the mood for tea just now, Herr Clay.”

“Well, good, cause it’s not tea.” He ducks through the doorway properly and brandishes the bowl of salve for inspection, cradling it gently in his hands. “For the burns - you’re going to have to take care of those sooner or later, or they’ll get pretty gross.”

“I will sleep it off, then.”

Caduceus very tactfully refrains from mentioning that Caleb has obviously not been sleeping. “Where’s Nott gotten off to?”

Caleb tends to be a little less guarded when Nott is around, he’s noticed, and the question gets him to shift just enough to reveal Nott hidden between him and the wall, high-pitched goblin snores muffled in the sleeve of Caleb’s coat that she’s wrapped herself up in. “We will let her sleep, ja?”

He turns away, clearly considering the conversation over. Caduceus takes just a little bit of smug pride in the way his head snaps back around when he climbs onto the bed to join them.

“She can sleep. You, though-” He settles cross legged at the foot of the bed, catches Caleb’s eye and pats the mattress in front of him. “C’mere.”

Caleb stares. Caduceus thinks he might be trying to intimidate him. “Herr Clay, we do not know each other so well, but I think I have been quite clear-”

Caduceus snags one of his ankles and starts towing him in, patiently watching him wince and sputter as he scrambles to keep himself upright without the support of the wall. “You - well, the group, but also you - asked me to come with you to heal you all.”

Caleb, just shy of his lap, makes an immensely frustrated noise - he looks like he wants to gesture angrily, but both of his arms are occupied keeping him from falling over. “Yes, but you cannot just-”

“You need healing,” Caduceus says firmly. He takes Caleb’s shoulders and nudges them around, leaving him to straighten the rest of himself out. “Hold still now, I’m doing the back of your neck first.”

All at once, Caleb seems to decide that it’s not worth the effort to crawl back to the other side of the bed - his shoulders bend under the gentle pressure Caduceus puts on them, and he looks away. “Jester has never been this dedicated to healing,” he complains, but he turns himself to sit on the edge of the bed and pulls his feet to the floor.

Caduceus hums approvingly and lets go of him- it’s important to reward good behavior. “Isn’t it nice that the Wildmother decided to bring you to my door, then?”

Caleb snorts.

It’s slow going. First Caleb won’t let him braid his hair up out of the way - he jerks his head away, and Caduceus can see the way his back stiffens with pain as he produces a twist of silver thread and yanks the reddish locks into a painful looking tail at the back of his skull. Then he bows his head and refuses to say a single word when Caduceus asks him if he’s pressing too hard. Honestly, he’s met more cooperative corpses.

“Does it help?” he asks, smoothing more of the salve over the taut muscles on either side of Caleb’s neck. Goosebumps spring up under his fingers, and he rubs a little more firmly to smooth them back down. “The sulking, I mean. Doesn’t do much, in my experience, but you seem pretty attached.”

Caleb, unsurprisingly, stays quiet. Caduceus has to laugh at that, doesn’t particularly bother keeping it quiet. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

It’s not a big area to cover, and he’s finished within a minute, but as he keeps rubbing his thumb over the bony jut of spine just under the fragile curve of skull Caleb relaxes ever so slightly into his touch - very much despite his own intentions, he’s sure - and he’s interested in chasing that rather promising hint of compliance. Another minute, and Caleb’s elbows unlock from their pillar-straight position by his sides. He’s curious what might come next, but the exhaustion of the day is starting to pull at him and he knows he needs to check on Beau too before he goes to sleep. Caleb’s a multi-step project, if anything.

He does take the opportunity to tease Caleb’s ponytail just a little looser, though. He doesn’t like seeing people mistreat their hair.

He pulls his hands away - Caleb sways in his direction, a quiet protest escaping, and he does make sure to hide his amusement at that - and reaches for the collar of his shirt. Tugging it away from the skin, he peeks down Caleb’s back and instantly hisses in sympathy. It’s not burnt, protected by two layers of cloth, but the skin still looks red and irritated from the heat. No wonder Caleb isn’t keen on going to sleep. “Okay, shirt off, let’s do your back too.”

And, just like that, Caleb locks right back up. “What? I thought we were done.”

He does permit himself an aggrieved sigh, at that - he’s sure the Wildmother will understand. “Yeah, no - I can see the burns on your back, you know.”

Caleb’s shoulders take on an especially mutinous hunch, fingers tightening on the hem of his shirt. “I will be fine.” He huffs in a dark, angry way that makes Caduceus’ ears want to flatten against the side of his head. “I’ve seen worse.”

Somehow, he doesn’t think his look-over-here trick with the mushroom will work as well here as it did on Beau. Instead, he flutters his fingers along the side of Caleb’s neck, on an unburnt patch of skin just below his ear. Tends to be distracting, even on people who aren’t ticklish there - and he’s fairly sure Caleb isn’t, after watching Jester try to blow a raspberry on the back of his neck and immediately gag on the taste of days-old sweat and earn barely a startle for her troubles.

Which makes it all the more delightful when the sensation takes right away - “Oh”, Caleb gasps, and instantly crushes his shoulders up against his ears as goosebumps bloom over the sensitive skin. “Ah- hffff-”

Caduceus keeps a watchful eye on his hands, yanking his shirt up as soon as his death grip on it loosens and - oh, right the holsters. He’d forgotten about those.

Caleb recovers quickly, pulling away from the tickling and jerkily tugging his shirt down from where it’s caught up by his ribs. “Okay, this is - I am low on spells right now, but if this is what it takes then I will fucking do it-”

Caduceus tunes him out, searching the visible stretch of skin on Caleb’s back for somewhere that’s not going to hurt him to be touched, and - ah, there it is.

Caleb’s tirade cuts off with a startled squeak as Caduceus wraps a palm around his side and wiggles a fingertip into the soft spot just underneath his ribs. Perfect.

He smiles triumphantly and leans over to fish for the buckle on the front of Caleb’s holsters - he’s tall enough to catch a look at Caleb’s face as he does, and finds the scrunched-up nose and twisted lips of someone trying desperately not to laugh. “Didn’t know you were ticklish,” he tells him, gently tugging at straps until he finds the ones he wants. “You could’ve said, if that’s what you were worried about.”

It’s definitely not, he knows, but he’s hoping to bait Caleb into trying to say something in the hopes of getting him to laugh - it’ll be easy enough to deal with him like this, squirming and distracted from the tickling, but he might at least have some fun in the meantime.

Caleb doesn’t seem to share the sentiment. “Sta - hhh - stohoppit” he grits out, swatting at Caduceus’ hand, and he does, but only because he’s got the buckle sorted out and can finally get Caleb’s shirt all the way up.

He considers for a moment and then pulls it over the back of Caleb’s head, leaving his arms dangling loosely in the taut pull of the fabric. “Be good or I’ll tickle you again.”

It’s something he’d say to one of his siblings, and it gets an equally petulant response - Caleb growls, elbows flailing as he tries to break free of his shirt prison. “Caduceus.”

Difficult. Caduceus eyes the bare and probably-ticklish - and currently burnt up - expanse of Caleb’s exposed torso and makes a decision.

Grabbing Caleb around the ribs to hold him still, he murmurs a prayer to the Wildmother and smooths his hands over the damaged skin. Lichen sprouts beneath his fingertips and webs across the irritated skin, a beautiful thing made all the sweeter for happening amidst the salty waves of an earthless ocean. He watches for a moment, waiting for the growth to crumble away as the spell finishes and leaves pink and tender flesh in its wake.

There’s a lot of dust. Caleb’s gone still under his hands, finally, so he lets go and starts to brush everything away - curls his fingers a little more than he needs to, while he’s at it, scritching lightly here and there to see if he can find anything particularly sensitive.

“You,” Caleb says slowly, the bright edge of a laugh squirming its way up under his words, “had spells?”

“Mhmm.” The grooves of Caleb’s ribs seem particularly useful, even if lingering there for more than a moment makes him start squirming again.

“Then - what - ahhf-”

“Well, you didn’t want them earlier. I thought you could use a little fussing over.”

“But - hfff-” Definitely a laugh caught in Caleb’s throat now, words jumbling uselessly on his tongue as he tries to fight it back. Caduceus chuckles and presses his fingers carefully into the bony ridges of his ribcage, rubbing nice and slow to give him a fighting chance of getting the words out. “But I - heh - I am healed now, so-”

He considers for a moment. “Now I’m going to make you laugh,” he decides, digging in a little harder, “and we’ll go from there.”

Caleb jumps hard enough that his shirt tumbles back down around his shoulders, revealing his flushed face as he turns around to gawk. “N - hnnn - no, no, but Nott is sleeping, please-”

“Yeah, she’s a deep sleeper,” Caduceus says. “Does she know how ticklish you are?”

“I’m not,” Caleb gets out, just as Caduceus goes to tickle under his arms and finds the top edge of his ribcage instead.

The resulting shriek of laughter sounds very ticklish to him.

“Not when you’re surprised, maybe,” Cad tells him. Caleb’s starting to wobble dangerously close to toppling off the bed, too tired or distracted to stay upright, so he wraps an arm around his waist and tugs him back to sit properly in his lap. “But if I spend enough time poking around-”

He kneads at the top of Caleb’s ribcage again and finds himself with a lapful of cackling wizard - his hands are under Caleb’s shirt now, but even with his arms free the poor thing isn’t making much of an attempt to get away. “Ahaah, ahahaaa - aaa! - hah, Caduceus - please - ”

Caduceus hums and lets his hands still for a moment. “Yeah, what’s up?”

Caleb’s face is nearly as red as his hair. “It tickles,” he pleads, squeaking helplessly as Caduceus twitches a finger a little too close to his ribs.

Caduceus grins down at him. “Sure it does,” he teases, drifting down to squeeze Caleb’s sides until he starts laughing all over again. “Maybe I should just heal you like this, from now on, so you can’t wander away. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

“No! Noho, please, I’m sohorry - ahahaaa!”

Whoops, his fingers are back on Caleb’s ribs again. “Yeah? You’ll stick around next time?”

“Yes,” Caleb shrieks in an very un-Caleb like way, kicking frantically as the merciless tickling heads back up under his arms. “I will, I will, plehehease!”

His voice cracks on the last word, cresting into silent laughter, and Caduceus begrudgingly deems him repentant enough that working on any other bad habits will have to wait. He pulls his hands out from under Caleb’s shirt with one last pinch to his tummy, looking over the giggling mess in his lap with the serene satisfaction of punishment well administered.

He’s been on the other end of things too, often enough - especially from Calliope - but no one here needs to know that.

Caleb sits up, the giddy remnants of a smile lingering in the corners of his mouth as he scrubs his hands furiously over his ribs. “Herr Clay,” he says, breathless, “I think that I will stay very far away from danger for the time being. Just in case.”

Caduceus just laughs at him.

#tickling #critical role #caduceus clay #caleb widogast #chocfic #i'm a little :/ over the characterization on this one but HERE WE GO

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spritewrites · 3 years

Note

to celebrate your new blog theme - “I know a way to make you smile!” with Veth and Caleb? -Chock

thank you for noticing!! hope you enjoy!!!

9. “I know a way to make you smile!”

It hasn’t been that long, really, the scope of things. But she really thought she’d be better adjusted by now.

“It is new,” Caleb tells her. “You’ll get used to it.”

Veth puffs out her cheeks. “Just like I got used to the whole goblin thing.” Her words wind around her teeth, getting caught in her tongue. “Ew. Mouth’s too small.”

“It looks all right to me. Perhaps you need practice? Here, ah… stick your tongue out for me.”

Veth scrunches her nose and does so. “Feelths straynge, Caylub.”

She can sense Caleb laughing even without looking at him. It. Well. It might be easier not to dwell on how she knows him well enough for that. She nudges him with an elbow. “No making fun of me.”

“Would not dream of it.”

Oh, he’s playing that game, is he? Veth tries to glare, but it doesn’t seem to have the effect it used to. Caleb’s looking at her fondly, though, same as always. The whole scary goblin act never seemed to work on him.

“Maybe try to smile?”

She bares her teeth.

“Ah, no—a real smile.”

“This is all I’ve got.”

“I think I know a way to make you smile.”

“What—” The ground under her feet vanishes in an instant as she’s scooped up. “Hey—Cay—eeehehe—”

Two sets of human-sized fingers bury themselves under her arms, and gods above, she’d forgotten how ticklish she is. Foolish, really, she’s friends with Jester; but somehow in her time with the Nein, she’d managed to get quick enough and sneaky enough to avoid most of their tricks.

Of course Caleb remembers. She’d probably have to bribe him to forget something like this.

“Naahaha—okahay, you win, you win—m’smiling, Caleb—”

He hums thoughtfully, never slowing the relentless poking at Veth’s armpits, the bastard. He even brings one thumb around to press gently into the space between her shoulder blades, because of course his hands are big enough to do that, and of course it tickles like hell, and of course she’s losing her mind right now, why would the universe allow her anything different?

“Show me,” he says, and Veth can’t tell if he’s teasing, exactly, but he sure is doing something, because she can’t remember the last time her face was so warm.

She squirms in his arms, trying to shimmy around. “I’m trying, you—ehehe, you have to—Caleb!”

“Yes?”

The hand newly locked around her ankle shifts a little to let one finger trace over her heel, and Veth shrieks.

“Can’t—”

Gods, she’s trying, she really is, but she’s terribly ticklish, and her cheeks ache, and her stomach’s shaking with helpless laughter, and she’s really not built for this kind of stamina thing. Caleb’s laughing, too, she can feel it vibrating in his chest. Good for him. Wish it wasn’t at her expense.

The finger on her foot adjusts enough to skate over her toes, and okay, armpits were one thing, toes are quite another.

With a squeak and a kick, she’s out of his grip and ten feet across the room. Honestly, bless Disengage.

Caleb’s chuckling at her. The fond smile hasn’t gone away, and he looks a little ruffled. Maybe from all her squirming. “There, see, is that not better?”

What? Oh. Right. Veth brings one hand up to her cheek, cautiously feeling for the smile. It’s— well. It’s different, that’s for sure, but it’s. Natural. Easy.

Huh.

“More of this, ja?” he’s saying.

“Sure, Caleb. More of this.”

#ask meme #chockfullofsecrets #critickle role #idk what their ship name is but i love them so much #wanna write more of them #veth's my absolute fave

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wefoundloveunderthelight · 3 years

Text

Skyline Manor by GleefullyCaptainSwan Chapter 5/13

Or on FF

Stacy's Tortured Crew: @teamhook @kmomof4 @stahlop @lfh1226-linda @ilovemesomekillianjones @itsfabianadocarmo @mariakov81 @qualitycoffeethings @zaharadessert @jrob64 @jonesfandomfanatic @natascha-ronin @tiganasummertree @xarandomdreamx @therooksshiningknight @batana54 @superchocovian @onceratheart18 @ultraluckycatnd @snowbellewells @karlyfr13s @the-darkdragonfly @xsajx @deckerstarblanche

Chapter 5: We have an Accord

“What do you mean you lost him?” Sir Henry watched from his hiding spot behind a stone column as his uncle spoke with the Captain who had burst into his room.

“I saw him on the staircase during the dance, I went after him, and he vanished from sight.”

“Dammit.” The King cursed. “The good news is that the diamond is still in the place it was left. So, he was unable to take what he came for.”

“If he was unable to claim his prize, he will return. He will need shelter in town, my men and I will remain in port, seek information at the tavern. He may have won this round, but I do not intend to lose the game.” The Captain said confidently.

“See to it that you don’t. We can’t afford any distractions.”

“Was your sister able to choose a husband tonight?”

He groaned. “She did not. I do not understand the hesitancy of women. The Duke would make a fine husband, yet she continues to search the realm for something that she may never find.”

“What is it that eludes the Princess?” He asked.

“What every woman wants of course, true love.”

“And she has not found this with your friend the Duke?” He questioned with a laugh.

“I had thought she might, his Grace is a good man, he would make an excellent husband but my sister…”

“What do you speak of your sister?” The men turned toward the approaching voice, the Captain’s heart stopping as the blonde woman came into view. “It is unkind to talk about a woman behind her back.” Killian felt his mouth standing agape and tried to will it to close. The woman from his dance earlier was Princess Emma?

“I was simply saying that my sister was the star of the ball this evening.” The King said with a knowing glance to the other man.

“You have not yet introduced me to your guest.” She mused, turning toward him, and offering him her hand. Killian took it gently, bringing it to his lips to press a kiss against her knuckles.

“Captain Killian Jones.” He announced, though he knew quite well that she was aware of his name as he had given it to her earlier.

“Captain Jones.” She touched the tip of her finger to her chin. “No, I don’t believe I’ve heard of you.” She said without a care in the world.

Killian smirked as she stepped away from him, a slight grin pressed to her mouth. “I must take my leave.” He said suddenly. “I have urgent business to attend to.” The King returned his nod. “It was a pleasure to meet you Princess Emma.” He bowed in her direction. “Until we meet again.”

He slipped from the room, taking one last glance over his shoulder at the blonde woman that had his heart in his throat.

“Sister, tell me you’ve interrupted me to announce your decision to marry the Duke.”

“I have made a decision.” She paused. “I have decided that I will not marry the Duke.” She announced without fanfare.

“Sister.” He chided. “Why not? Did he not please you tonight?”

“He was pleasant, I suppose, but I met many men tonight. Perhaps one of them is…”

“Not the true love thing again! Emma, I told you, it is time that Henry has a man in his life.”

“He has many men in his life. You, William…”

“His jester does not count as a man in his life.”

“He most certainly does. He’s the best friend Henry has ever had.”

The King sat down unceremoniously on his throne. “Sister, I want to ensure you are taken care of. This means you must marry.”

She sighed. “I will. I promise.” She spun around in her dress. “There was a man tonight that I danced with…” She bit her lip.

“A man, what man?”

“A man.” She restated. “He was handsome, and charming, and very intriguing.”

“Well, you must decide soon, or else I’m going to accept the Duke’s offer.”

Princess Emma rolled her eyes, excusing herself from the room. There was no way she was going to marry the Duke, not when there was a chance for adventure and intrigue in figuring out who Captain Killian Jones was and what his business was in her realm.

Henry was pleased with the way the party had turned out. Even though his mother spent most of her evening talking to Graham, he couldn’t ignore the way that Killian’s eyes seemed to find her from across the room after returning from the basement. His mother had even lifted the ban on his visits with their neighbor and Henry found himself splitting his time between building Legos with Will and stopping in to provide a treat to Smee after dinner.

However, when he knocked this evening, he was met by another man at the door. “Evening, lad. If you’re selling something, I don’t live here.”

Henry narrowed his eyes and stepped forward. “Who are you? You aren’t Killian?”

The man appeared surprised to hear Killian’s name. “I’m Liam, who might you be?”

“I’m Henry, Killian’s friend.”

“Are you now?” He said with a laugh. “Well in that case, please do come in.” The man stepped away from the door and Henry bounded into the apartment. “Brother, you have a friend here to see you.”

Henry turned toward the man. “You’re Killian’s big brother. Wow, it’s great to meet you.”

“You seem to know about me, and yet I know nothing about you.” He seemed to question his brother as he entered the room.

“Henry, here to see Smee?” Killian interrupted. “Liam, this is my neighbor, Henry.”

Henry held the treat up high for the dog, rewarding him when he sat as he was supposed to. “Are you a Captain too?”

“Liam’s in the Navy. He’s a Lieutenant onboard the USS Delaware, it’s a submarine.”

Henry’s eyes grew wide. “You mean you go under the water?”

“Aye, you never know what’s lurking beneath.” Liam responded with an eerie grin.

“That’s really cool. Did you ever go in a submarine?” He turned toward Killian.

“I prefer to Captain my ship above the water.”

“So, Henry, do you live next door with your mom and dad?” Liam asked.

“I live with my mom; my dad lives across town.”

The man glanced at his brother. “Is that so?”

“Speaking of your mom, isn’t it your dinner time kid?” Killian scolded. “I don’t want her coming over here yelling at me again.” He laughed.

“We’re having tacos tonight.” He stood up and patted the dog on the head. “It was nice meeting you, Liam. See you tomorrow, Killian.”

“Talk to you later, kid.”

~*~

Killian closed the door behind Henry and turned to see his brother staring at him with a smirk on his face. “What?”

“So, you’re hanging out with a ten-year-old now?”

“He’s eleven, and he’s a nice kid.”

“Are you sleeping with his mom?”

“God, Liam, of course not.” He exclaimed. “Why do you accuse me of sleeping with every woman I meet?”

“Don’t you?” He laughed.

“No.” He argued, walking back into the kitchen to finish dinner.

“Are you still seeing Belle?”

“She’s around, yes.” He knew where this conversation was leading.

“Interesting, it’s been what, six months? That’s some sort of record for you.”

Killian groaned. “I know where you’re going with this. She’s not my girlfriend. I meant what I said that night, I’m not interested in a relationship.”

“Interested or not, you’re already in one. So, if you don’t actually want to be with this woman, you need to end things before she gets hurt.”

“No one is getting hurt; we’re just having a little fun. That’s all.”

“Suit yourself, brother. But one of these days, you’re going to have to break that promise or you’re going to end up alone.”

~*~

“And he works underwater all day!” Henry exclaimed excitedly.

“How chu u wrk under watur?” Will spat, his mouth full of food.

“Would you not speak with your mouth full! How old are you?” Emma scolded the man.

“Sorry, Ems, how does he work under water?”

Henry laughed, reaching across the table to grab a slice of bread. “He’s a Lieutenant on a submarine. Isn’t that cool?”

“That’s very cool. I had no idea he had a brother.”

“I did, he told me about him before. He lives in Maine, where Killian used to live before he had to move.”

Emma chuckled, sharing a glance with Will. “He told you all of that.”

“He tells me loads of things when we hang out. The other day, he was doing his laundry and singing. He said it’s a sailor thing to sing when you’re sad or melon collies.” He scrunched up his nose as he said the word.

“Melancholy.” Emma corrected.

“You guys should invite him to your happy hour tomorrow night. He doesn’t seem to have a lot of friends around here, except for Belle, of course.” He paused then sat up straighter. “Or me.”

“That’s a bloody good idea, kid. The more the merrier.”

“What did I tell you about using that word around Henry.” Emma whispered.

“His eleven not six! Would you rather I used the F word?” Will groaned.

“Fruit?” Henry responded, looking at her with a confused glance.

“No.” Emma said shortly.

“Oh, that word.” Henry laughed. “I don’t think you should use that word. My friend Roland said it in class the other day and our teacher sent him to the office, he didn’t come back to class for an hour.”

Emma watched the boys on the other side of the table making jokes and laughing throughout dinner, it made her heart settle seeing Henry smiling. She had hoped that he would get past his initial disappointment from his father bailing on him for a month so he could go chase some ass in Barbados.

While she had been wary of him disturbing and bothering the neighbor, her son seemed quite taken with the man. Ever since the barbeque Henry had lost himself in his writing, spending all of his time jotting down notes in the notebook that he thought he was hiding from her.

She would never read any of it without his permission, but her teacher had told her that he was a talented writer with a very creative mind, so she tried to give him his space to allow his imagination to grow.

As long as he was happy, Emma was content to give him the wings he needed to fly.

“So, do you want me to invite Jones, or would you prefer to drop by yourself.” Will wiggled his eyebrows at her and she slapped him on the shoulder.

“What’s are you trying to say?”

“Just saying, he’s an attractive man, a fact that hasn’t escaped your attention.”

“I have Graham, I don’t need an attractive man.” She bit her lip. “I’m not saying that Graham isn’t attractive. He is. Very. God why do you always get me so worked up?”

“That’s what I thought.” He stepped into the hall and headed to his door. “I’ll let you invite him. Would hate for you to miss a chance to stare into those baby blue eyes.”

“I hate you.” He turned around and gestured toward her shirt.

“Maybe open a button or two, ya sexy git.”

Emma extended her middle finger toward her friend as he closed the door in her face. Turning she looked down the hall and exhaled loudly. Before she could head toward his door, it opened and a man stepped into the hall, turning right toward her.

He was tall with lighter hair than Killian’s, and he didn’t carry that same devil-may-care attitude that her neighbor seemed to have at all times. Emma cursed under her breath as he approached, and she stood rooted in her place like a statue.

“Evening.” He said with a smile.

“Hello, you must be Liam. My son hasn’t stopped talking about the man who works under the water since he got home.”

The man’s grin grew wide on his face. “Henry, right?”

“That’s him, about this high…” She held her hand up in front of her. “Loads of questions.”

He laughed. “He is very inquisitive.”

“I’m Emma.” She held out her hand and he took it with a firm handshake.

“It’s nice to meet you Emma. Glad to see my little brother has some friendly faces around him.”

“Well, we are one big happy family here at Skyline Apartments.” She internally cursed herself for sounding like a complete idiot.

“It was very nice to meet you, Emma. I’m sure we’ll see each other again.” He raised his eyebrow and then nodded at her as he headed to the elevator.

Emma waited until the elevator doors closed before turning down the hall toward Killian’s door. Standing in front of it, she brushed her fingers through her hair, stopping at the collar of her shirt. Without thinking she undid the top button, pushing her chest out.

What the hell was she doing? She didn’t come here to flirt with the man, she had a boyfriend!

For the hell of it she unbuttoned the second button, shaking her head in disbelieve at herself and knocked on the door.

The door opened quickly, “Did you forget something?” He paused, his eyes trailing from her face down her body before snapping back up to meet her eyes. “Uh sorry, Swan. Henry’s not here.”

“No, yes, I mean, I know.” She said with a slight fluster. “I’m here to ask if you wanted to go to a bar. Tomorrow.” The smirk on his face started to grow. “I mean for happy hour, with my friends, not like you and me or a date or anything like that because I have a Grant…Graham.” The words spilled out of her mouth as she reached up to grab a lock of her hair, spinning it between her fingers.

“Are you asking me out, Swan?” He teased.

“To happy hour, Jones. You can bring Brittany.”

“Belle.” He stated with an arrogant chuckle.

“Sure, bring her too. 7pm, Howl at the Moon on High Street.” Turning quickly, she walked away, she was sure her face was a special color of red. As she got to her door, she turned the handle but sadly realized the door was locked. She glanced back toward Killian’s apartment and saw him leaning against his door watching her in amusement.

“Door’s locked.” She said absentmindedly, knocking on the door. When Henry didn’t answer she turned and knocked on Will’s door. “Just gonna check on Will.” She hollered toward Killian who was currently staring at her with apparent glee. The door opened and Will looked at her with a grin.

“Back so soon? My God did you take off the whole shirt.” Emma shoved him backward into the apartment and slammed the door shut behind her, leaning against the door and banging her head backwards. “So…”

“Don’t say anything.” She warned with her finger in his face.

~*~

Killian climbed the plank of the Jolly Roger, exhausted and feeling slightly defeated by this Baelfire man. As soon as he approached the ladder, he heard a noise behind him. Turning he saw his first mate standing behind him.

“You left early.”

“I tried to find you. What happened tonight?”

Killian stared at his boots. “He was there. I saw him. And lost him.” He growled.

“Did he get the diamond?”

“No. But he won’t leave without it.”

“So, we’re staying.”

“Aye, I will not let this Swan Thief best me. Tomorrow I will go into town and inquire about this Baelfire man.” He turned toward his quarters. “Get some sleep, French. Tomorrow we play a new game.”

“Aye Captain.”

He closed his cabin door with a thud, kicking the ladder at the end of his bunk. He had not been beat in a long time. Yet this man got away from him. He wouldn’t leave until he had this Baelfire in irons.

He heard a creak outside his door and reached for his cutlass. Blowing out the candle at his desk, he creeped toward his door, hiding in the shadows.

The door squeaked as it slowly slid against the wooden planks, a dark figure stepped into the room, peering into the expanse of his cabin. Killian stepped forward, wrapping an arm around the neck of the intruder, and putting his blade to their neck. “It’s bad form to enter a man’s room uninvited.”

“Don’t hurt me.” The woman squealed and Killian dropped his resolve for a second, long enough for the lass to turn on her heels, a dagger sticking into his side.

“Well played, love.” He growled, whipping his arm forward and grabbing the dagger from her hand, spinning her in his arms until he had her pinned to his desk. Reaching up he grabbed the hood from her cloak and yanked it from her head. The moonlight shone on her face, a smirk growing across his lips. “You’re a long way from the castle, Princess.”

“I was just curious.” She said softly.

“Curiosity is dangerous for someone of your stature.” He removed the blade, releasing her from his grasp. “Does your brother know you strayed from the castle?”

“My brother spends far too much time worrying about my affairs.” She complained.

“How can I be of service, M’lady?” He said with a mocking bow.

“What is your business with the King?” She asked.

“I told you earlier, it’s confidential.” He pulled the bottle from his cabinet, pouring a glass of rum for himself and his curious companion. Pushing the glass toward her, he took a swig of the warm liquid. Watching as she eyed the glass, her fingertips sliding around the tip.

“Is it in regard to the Duke?” She mused, taking the glass in her hand, and smelling the liquid it held inside.

“I’m as uninterested in the affairs of the Duke as it appears the lady is.” He narrowed his eyes, watching her put the glass to her lips. His brow raised as she hesitated with the drink. Sensing this, she tilted the glass, swallowing the liquid inside. As soon as it reached her throat she began sputtering and coughing. The Captain laughed, taking the glass from her hands.

Putting her hand over her mouth, she coughed once more, then lifted her chin. “And the King was not trying to convince you to offer your own hand?”

Killian chuckled. “I have no need for a wife?”

“He’s hired you for something.” She said angrily. “I want to know what it is.”

“Are you quite certain you can handle it?”

“I’m not a child.”

“No, you most certainly are not.” He said, stepping closer to her, his hand reaching out to run his fingers through her golden locks. Her breath hitched in her throat, but she didn’t move from her spot. “Baelfire.” He whispered.

“What did you say?” She gasped.

“Your brother believes a man named Baelfire to be the notorious Swan Thief. He asked me to stop him from stealing the jewel of Arendelle. A diamond I believe.” He left out the part about knowing the man’s connection to the Princess.

She blinked. “It can’t be.” She stepped away from him. “He’s not been seen in years.”

“I can assure you; I saw him with my own eyes tonight. At the castle.”

Her eyes grew wide. “Henry.” She turned toward the door. “I have to get back to the castle.”

Reaching forward he grabbed her by the arm. “Princess.” She turned toward him, a frantic look in her eyes. “This man terrifies you?”

“He can’t get near Henry.”

“I will find this Baelfire, love. I won’t let him near you or your boy.” He said earnestly. She didn’t flinch at his words, but her expression softened.

“Meet me tomorrow morning, behind the Thirsty Lion.” She turned to leave before spinning back to him. “But say nothing of this to the King.”

“We have an accord, Princess Emma.”

“Call me Swan.” She smiled, pulling the hair clip from her tresses, and pressing it into his hand and scurrying up the ladder as she retreated from his sight.

“Swan.” He whispered into the shadows, holding his palm up to the moonlight, the silver swan hairpiece glistening in its glow.

From the shadows of the deck, a figure watched the woman retreat from the Jolly Roger. Slipping into the darkness, he covered himself with a large canvas tarp. He was unsure what business his mother had with the Captain, or if any of this had to do with the man that was being hunted outside the castle, but Henry was determined to find out.

#skyline manor #stacy's fics #emma swan #killian jones #captain swan modern au #captain swan fics #captain swan au #captain swan

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itcameuponamidnightqueer · 4 years

Text

it’s not like it’s easy to take down vokodo; he may not be a god-god, but he is still super powerful. but so are they, and especially with vir—vilya on their side. they get the best of him eventually, and the island starts to wake up again. fjord and caduceus start helping people, explaining to them gently what really happened and that they might have been missing from their real lives for a very long time.

jester is helping too, just not a bunch of people at once. she can’t shake vilya’s haunted eyes, the way her shoulders sag where once they were upright in posture and conviction.

vilya sits on a boulder, her legs stretched out in front of her as she rocks them from side to side, just a little.

“are your memories coming back?”

jester doesn’t sit right next to her, but the rock is big enough. she sits down a foot away and waits.

vilya smiles to herself. “a little bit. most of them are still just of the island. the time before—it’s hazy.”

“do you—i can send magical messages to people, no matter where they are in the world. can i do that for you?”

“i think so,” vilya answers, “if i could remember them.”

jester crosses her legs and pivots to face vilya, tucking her tail out of the way. “i sent a couple messages to beau’s dad before we met him because she knew his name and she described him to me. do you think you could remember enough for that?”

vilya shakes her head. “i just see blurry shapes, long hair and pointed ears. sometimes a big smile. i hope the rest will come to me, in time.”

“okay.” jester’s tail flicks as she thinks. “oh! i know a super powerful wizard who’s totally connected in tal’dorei and probably can get the message out to a lot of people. do you want me to message her?”

vilya shrugs and kicks a fly off of her foot, where the vine is curling back like the top of a clown’s shoe. “you can do whatever you want, jester.”

“great!” jester cranes her neck, turning her left ear towards the sky. it doesn’t really do anything, but it feels like she thinks faster like this. she starts and restarts counting a few times on her fingers before finally settling on a message.

“it’s jester! we found a half-elf druid from tal’dorei on rumblecusp who can’t remember her family. can you help? she’s missing part of a leg.”

there’s a little zap in the back of jester’s mind as the message sends.

“sometimes we have to wait a while for a response,” she explains. vilya simply nods.

the air around jester’s ears gets fuzzy for almost a full minute, like allura’s message is fighting to get through. but it might just be a time difference thing—jester has no idea what time it is wherever allura is in tal’dorei, but she certainly sounds sleepy.

“part of a leg? i’m not sure, jester; that’s not a lot to go on. If she could remember anything to narrow it down...”

jester looks guiltily at vilya. “i know you’re trying really hard already but, do you think maybe you could just remember one thing? or, maybe a couple? it would help a lot, i think.”

vilya takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, tilting her head toward the sky. “i see...red hair and freckles. a bright sun. an endless wave of clouds, and a forest between worlds.”

jester scrunches her nose, counting again. “okay that’s...hold on.” she cranes her head again. “okay, so,” she starts. “red hair, freckles, lots of sun and clouds, and an enchanted forest. i think. does that help? also, were you sleeping?”

allura’s reply is immediate. “wait.”

“wait?” jester scoffs. “what does she mean, wait?”

“i think that’s pretty self-explanatory,” vilya quips.

jester groans and lies back across the rock, spreading her arms wide as her legs dangle. “i hate waiting,” she grumbles.

vilya brings her not-vine leg to her chest, rests her chin on her knee. “it’s not so bad, once you get used to it.”

“yeah, but that’s what magic is for. so you don’t have to wait.”

vilya laughs, like rocks skittering over dirt. “i would appreciate if you waited with me, jester.”

“sure.”

jester starts counting the stars in the sky, looking for something to focus on. it would probably be the worst thing, she decides—to lose your memories. to have a life without her friends or the traveler or her mom; who would she be without the people that shaped her?

she respects the hell out of yasha, that’s for sure.

jester loses count of the stars so many times but she keeps going back. the longer they wait, the more the hairs at the back of her neck prickle, like something is watching them. but vokodo is gone and she can’t see anything in the vicinity, so jester chalks it up to lingering paranoia and doesn’t say anything.

“do you really think your friend can help?” vilya murmurs.

jester thinks for a moment. “i don’t know her that well, so i can’t say for sure. but she’s friends with an elf who can do all kinds of crazy magic, so i think she’s probably a pretty good bet. but even if she can’t, you can always come with us! my friend veth and i are very good at solving mysteries.”

“i’m sure you are.” vilya sighs. “i’d rather be home, wherever that is.” her voice is muffled, like she’s resting her cheek on something. “i think i left something very precious behind.”

“ooh, like what?”

the feeling of being watched looms closer and closer until it feels like a cloak on jester’s shoulders. she tries to shrug it off and pay attention to vilya but it’s stifling, squeezing tighter and jester can barely breathe.

there’s a snap of a twig behind them and jester springs up immediately, her hands glowing pink even though she’s way down on spells.

the snapping gets closer; trees and bushes rustle loudly and someone swears as they get caught up. finally, a head pops up from the brush and it takes a moment for jester to register the sandy blond braid.

“allura!” she blurts. “i didn’t know you were going to come here!”

some hair is poking out of allura’s plait and she has to smooth her dress to get some burrs off, but she looks respectable enough. probably regal even, if she weren’t so dirty.

“i apologize for the lack of warning,” she huffs, “but i thought it more prudent to scry quickly.”

“oh, that’s what that was! gosh, does it feel like that every time?”

“i would imagine.”

allura continues picking the forest off of her as she walks toward the rock. jester jolts when vilya speaks, having almost forgotten about her.

“is this your friend?” she asks quietly.

“mhm.”

vilya turns to watch allura as she trips over herself. “not much of an adventurer, i see.”

“i think she used to be,” jester shrugs. “but she’s married and stuff now.”

“i might just be able to help your friend, jester,” allura says, a few paces away now. she twists one more time to pull a twig off of her shoulder. “i think i know—oh.”

she spins back around and notices vilya for the first time. her eyes fill with tears; jester watches as allura takes three very slow, deliberate breaths.

allura clears her throat, a calming hand pressed against her heart.

“you look just like her,” she breathes.

#critical role #jester lavorre #tumblr fic #i know we all want her to message kiki but imagine!!!!#had to get this out before canon eliminates its potential

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beauregardlionett · 3 years

Text

this poem is my confessional (loving you isn’t a sin)

AO3 Link

A/N: big shout out to my man @sadwizardvibes for the inspiration AND for writing me a fucking song to go with this piece thanks for fueling my beauyasha brainrot man <3

If she was honest with herself, giving Beau that poem had been entirely an impulse decision. Yasha had told Jester she would work on it—which she did—and that she would find a special moment for it. But most of the moments she shared with Beau were special to her, so that didn’t exactly narrow things down. She cherished every conversation and tried her hardest to keep Beau safe. Especially after the events at the chantry, Yasha appreciated every moment she got with Beau.

So, she had handed the paper over and prayed she didn’t embarrass herself.

Beau had seemed flustered, touched, and Yasha had wanted nothing more than to kiss her then and there. But she had held back, because she wanted Beau to at least read the poem before anything else happened.

And then all of that insanity with Vess and Molly—no, Lucien—had happened, and Yasha found herself grateful nothing else had transpired between her and Beau. She hated to think the memory of their potential first kiss might have been marred by the events following.

Regardless, they were underway toward Aeor; the snowy landscapes were taxing, endless, and a little boring. Supposedly it was a good thing they had encountered none of the foretold beasts, but Yasha harbored a lot of pent up frustration and nerves. It would be nice to have something to take that out on.

At the end of their second day, Caleb set up his tower. He ushered them all inside to a haven of warmth and stained glass they were becoming steadily more familiar with. Dagon seemed understandably impressed with the magical structure and grateful for the guest room he was directed to.

Usually they would gather up for dinner together, but there seemed to be a silent, unanimous decision that exhaustion took precedence. They retired to their various rooms with yawns and quiet ‘good nights’, safe for the time being. Yasha lay on her back on the cot in the room with the floral mural. She traced an absent gaze over the patterns, identifying flowers in her head and hoping it would lull her anxious mind to sleep.

She couldn’t stop thinking about Molly—Lucien—and what they would do when they caught up to him. Yasha couldn’t stop thinking about Beau, about the poem she carefully tucked away to read later. Yasha couldn’t help but remember of Zualla as she stared at the flowers on her wall.

There was a knock at her door.

Pushing to her feet after a moment, Yasha walked to her door to poke her head out. She was confused about who might be at her door at this hour until her eyes found Beau fidgeting on the other side of the threshold.

“Hi,” Beau mumbled, hands behind her back.

“Hi,” Yasha breathed back, opening the door a little wider. “Are you okay? It’s late.”

“Yeah,” Beau said, voice pitching up a little at the end in a tell Yasha quickly realized meant she was nervous. “Yeah, I just uh…”

Yasha raised an eyebrow at Beau’s nerves, unused to a Beau who floundered. She realized in the second before Beau pulled the piece of parchment out from behind her back what this was about. The Aasimar flushed pink and her eyes flicked to the ground, embarrassed.

“This was…really beautiful, Yasha,” Beau mumbled, fingers fiddling with the edges of the paper. “But I uh…I noticed this.”

Yasha chanced a look up, Beau extending the paper and pointing to a tiny note scrawled in the bottom corner. She had forgotten about that.

In her messy, cramped handwriting, Yasha had scrawled the word harp? She had been considering turning her poem into a song, because it was always easier for her to express things through music. Plus, she knew that Beau enjoyed her music, so why wouldn’t she put it to chords? But Yasha ended up pushing the idea aside. It was one thing for Beau to like Yasha’s wordless performances, and a whole other for Yasha to direct poetry with music toward the woman of her affection.

“It was…just an idea,” Yasha said with a half-hearted dismissive gesture.

“Would you play it for me?”

Yasha felt her cheeks grow warmer, more red than pink now. But before she could give it too much thought, the Aasimar felt herself nodding. She stood aside and let Beau into her room, leading the monk back into the chamber painted with flowers.

Beau sat cross-legged on the floor across from Yasha as the Aasimar tuned her harp. She took a little longer with the task than strictly necessary, just so she could freak out in silence.

Of course, she had prepared chords for this, because she had run with the idea. But Yasha shied away from it, losing her courage. Music was something that had helped Yasha heal, a meditation in her own way. It brought her peace and offered her an outlet for emotions she didn’t quite know how to express. So, to have Beau sitting before her, eyes trained solely on Yasha, was intense and nerve-wracking.

If Yasha had learned anything, though, it was that she could trust Beau. The monk had been looking out for her, and for the entire group, since day one. Before Beau had trusted any of them, she had still been looking out for them. It was something Yasha admired about Beau—her capacity to care and to love despite everything she had been through. Beau inspired Yasha to keep fighting.

The least she could do was play this for her.

She didn’t need the parchment back. Yasha had spent hours pouring over the words and the chords to make sure it sounded perfect.

Oh, oh Beau, I’m grateful for you.

You waited while I wandered,

While everyone was wondering

If I’d ever come back, you stayed true.

Her voice faltered slightly at the start, uncertain and underused, but she persisted. Beau’s eyes on her simultaneously made her nervous and strengthened her resolve.

Oh, oh Beau, you mean so much to me,

I’ve lost so many people,

I cannot fathom losing

The woman who has loved so fearlessly.

Yasha rarely sang. She used to sing for Zualla in those quiet stolen moments years ago. When they were out in the fields alone, walking or hunting or just existing to stare at the stars. She sang once for Molly, both of them a little past tipsy after a good night for the circus. He had told her she possessed a voice fit for performances, but Yasha had waved him off.

Her voice was sweet, higher than her speaking voice because she sang from her nose and her head. It threw most people for a loop, but Beau merely sat there and stared. Her blue eyes were wide with awe, lips slightly parted. If Yasha didn’t know Beau couldn’t be charmed, she would almost think the monk under a spell.

And I’ve ambled and trekked over miles and miles,

Every step lead me straight back to you.

You gave me the space to learn where I belong

And I’ll tell you right now, it’s the truth.

It was almost like nothing else existed. Yasha’s fingertips buzzed against the taut strings of the harp, her voice vibrated in her chest, and Beau’s eyes stayed fixated on Yasha’s face. This was all that mattered right now, and Yasha couldn’t think of what existed before this, or what might exist after.

Oh, oh Beau, the one I’m thinking of,

I want to hold your hand and

Stand quietly beside you.

I want to confess, you’re my love.

The last strum of her harp faded into silence, and Yasha reveled in the peace vibrating through her veins. She had rarely known stillness like this before discovering music.

Beau sniffed, and Yasha twitched as she startled, eyes snapping up to Beau’s face. The monk still stared at her, eyes wide and watering.

No one’s ever written me a poem before. Yasha remembered the soft-spoken admission as a tear tumbled down Beau’s cheek. She guessed without asking that no one ever sung for Beau before, either.

“Yasha…” Beau breathed. “That was incredible. Your voice…”

The Aasimar ducked her head, not even trying to suppress the smile pulling at her lips. Beau’s awe was so genuine, Yasha barely knew how to face it head on.

“I didn’t know if you would…y’know want to hear it like that. Or if you would just rather read it,” Yasha rambled, running her fingers with absent focus up and down one string on her harp. “So…yeah, I mean, it’s a song, too. But it was originally a poem. For you.”

“Yeah,” Beau’s voice cracked. “I don’t—Yasha, that was…incredible. You’re incredible. You wrote that? For me?”

“Of course,” Yasha said, looking up again with a small frown. The note of disbelief in Beau’s voice upset her. Why wouldn’t she write a poem for Beau?

“Thank you,” Beau said, her voice overflowing with an emotion Yasha could empathize with, but couldn’t name.

“I am glad you liked it,” Yasha said as she set her harp aside. She didn’t know where to go from here. Jester had said Beau was waiting for Yasha to make the first move, and this…was this enough? It felt weird to question that kind of thing because Yasha had been married before. Theoretically, she should know how to do this. But then again, everything she and Zualla had done had been in secret. Yasha never learned how to express affection for someone openly.

And knowing what she did about Beau, Yasha figured that the monk had no better clue in any of this than she did.

“Maybe uhm…” Yasha started, but stopped. She didn’t want to mess this up. “Maybe after we finish this job…we could, y’know…get dinner? Just us?”

Watching a slow smile spread and pull at Beau’s lips was like watching a sunrise. It began slowly, a little hesitantly, colors bleeding into and washing away the darkness of Beau’s uncertainty. It was a gentle harbinger that lasted a lifetime in no time at all. Then, between one blink and the next, the sun. Beau grinned with wild abandon, lips pulled wide to reveal her teeth, and eyes scrunching at the corners with the force of it. Yasha’s heart went giddy in her chest at the mere sight of Beau’s joy.

“I’d like that,” Beau whispered. There was the same quiet, awed excitement in her voice from when she first received Yasha’s poem.

Yasha’s cheeks hurt from how hard she was smiling. “It’s a date.”

#cr #critical role #beauyasha #writing #my writing #beauregard lionett #yasha #LET'S MANIFEST #i honestly got this idea like two weeks ago but better late than never am i right #c2e114

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maybedefinitely404 · 4 years

Text

Day 7: Roman x unknown (Creativitwins focus)

@tsshipmonth2020

Day 7: There is a string tied around your pinky that only you can see, the end of it leads to your soulmate.

Content warnings: food mentions, mention of losing soulmate, autistic character (not explicitly stated, but heavily implied).

Word count: 2.5k

Little Roman was barely six years old when he first felt the gentle tug on his pinky finger, looking down from his coloring book to inspect the digit. A gap-toothed smile spread across his face when he saw the thin red string, tied in a neat little bow, the end trailing off for about as long as he was tall before fading. He’d been expecting his soulmark since his mom had told him about the concept just a little while ago, and now it was here! The Disney prince lover that he was, he was already ready to meet his true love. Six years had been too long a wait.

His mom turned from the late dinner she was preparing when he hobbled down the stairs, overstuffed and oversized backpack dragging behind him and Mrs. Fluffybottom stuffed into the front of his shirt. She tried her hardest to keep a straight face as he gripped the railing for balance, tongue poking out between his teeth in a valiant attempt to not faceplant.

“Where are you going with Virgil’s backpack, sweetheart?”

“I’m on a quest!” He announced as he stumbled off the final step, puffing out his little chest like a kitten trying to look intimidating. The rabbit stuffy that flopped in front of his face greatly diminished his threat.

“Is that so? And what is the purpose of this quest, my prince?”

“To find my soulmate!”

She put down the wooden spoon she was stirring with a wide grin, their family resemblance shining through with the action. “Your string appeared? That’s amazing!”

Roman couldn’t help but nod excitedly all the while shifting the uncomfortably heavy backpack on his already sore shoulders. “I’m going to find whoever it is and live happily ever after!”

“I’m sure you will, Roman. But how about some dinner before you embark on this journey? Don’t want to get hungry.”

He thought it over carefully, nose scrunching, deep in thought. He wanted to find his soulmate as soon as possible, but the food also smelled super good, and he’d already waited six years. What was one more meal time? His stomach gurgled in affirmation and he took his place at the table, dropping the bag and Mrs. Fluffybottom onto the floor next to him.

“Valiant choice. Boys, come get dinner!” She hollered in the stair’s general direction, being met almost immediately by thundering footsteps echoing through the upstairs hallway. Moments later, Remus slid down the handrail with a shout. His feet screeched loudly against the bannister in an attempt to slow him down, but it failed (as it did every time) and he ended up plummeting off the bottom, landing on his back with an “oof!”. He didn’t seem bothered, though when did he ever, as he scrambled back to his feet and plopped down in his spot, diagonal of Roman. Such arrangements had to be made a while back, when the twins proved incapable of sitting within hitting or kicking distance of each other for meals.

“Ah, and the Duke joins us. Did you see Virgil on the way down, hunny?”

She watched as he knocked the table with his fist lightly, his ‘deep in thought’ face identical to Roman’s, before he shook his head with a low hum.

“That’s okay. Do you want your spaghetti sauce on your noodles or beside it?”

Remus patted both open palms on the table, looking at her with wide eyes.

“Two separate bowls?”

He nodded.

“Sounds good. And Roman- Oh, there he is! The Prince, the Duke, and the King!”

Both boys turned to the stairs as their older brother stepped into the landing, his headphones wrapped around his neck. He looked like he’d just woken up from a nap, eyes drooping and stifling a yawn.

“King? More like court jester!” Roman stage whispered to Remus, incredibly proud of himself for the dig. Remus gave out a delighted giggle, wiggling in his spot. His mom tried to look disappointed, but her smirk was as difficult to hide as Virgil’s eye roll. She placed down Remus’ two bowls before going back to the stove to fill the rest of the plates.

“Cute. Why do you have my backpack?”

“I’m going on an adventure!”

“Okay, well, use your own backpack.”

“It ripped.”

“Then use Remus’.”

Remus let out an indignant grunt, narrowing his eyes in a way that definitely indicated anyone who touched his backpack would be met with his rage. He didn’t like people touching his things.

“I need it for school, dude.”

“And I need to meet my soulmate!”

The kitchen went silent except for Remus slurping marinara off his spoon, interchanging between bites of chopped up noodles and spaghetti sauce, oblivious to the sudden energy shift in the room.

“You got a soulmark?” He asked lowly, less as a question and more of an accusation. Roman puffed his chest up again, refusing to let his older brother bring down the joy of this momentous occasion. What was his problem, anyways?

“Yup! And I’m going on an adventure to unite-”

“Don’t even bother. Soulmates are bullshit anyways.”

“Virgil, language!”

His mother set down the remaining plates, casting Virgil The Look. Roman stuck his tongue out at Virgil before digging into his own plate, concentrating on swirling the pasta around the fork properly. His mother always offered to cut it into pieces like she did for Remus (and how Virgil did for himself) but no, he wanted to be a big boy and eat it like she did. She didn’t complain, because even if it meant twice as much clean up for her, his focus on the task provided a much more peaceful meal time.

“I’m not hungry. I’m just gonna go do homework.”

“Virgil, please eat dinner with us.”

“I said I’m not hungry.”

“You say that now, but I’m the one cleaning reheated pasta off the microwave tomorrow morning because of your little ‘midnight snack’.”

“I’ll clean the microwave,” he grumbled, feeling his chance at victory slipping through his fingers.

“You know that’s not the point. Not that I’m going to prevent you from doing so.”

She softened her smile, gesturing to his plate as she took her spot next to Remus. Virgil took a shuddering breath, hating that he loved his mom this much, and dropped into his seat numbly. He gave Roman a glare out of the side of his eye but the younger didn’t notice, spinning his fork with both hands, before he took his knife and cut his own noodles into bite sized chunks. Something about looking less like an idiot when he ate it.

Dinner went by in a flash, Remus lifting his bowl to lick the inside only to have it plucked from his hands by mom, who stacked his bowls on top of her plate and carried them to the dishwasher. Roman was scraping the last remnants onto his fork when Virgil stood up and stormed from the room.

“Mom, Virgil didn’t clean his dishes!”

“Don’t tattle, Roman. I see it,” She chastised before clearing the plate. Roman hopped off his chair and dutifully brought his own plate over, loading it into the dishwasher. The light in his eyes suddenly exploded to life and he bounded over to his chair, lugging Virgil’s backpack back onto his shoulders.

“Well, I’m off now! Thanks for dinner, mom, but I have a soulmate to find!”

Just as he strode towards the door, trying to decide between his his mickey mouse sneakers or his red velcro ones, Remus let out a wail and dove from the table, eyes bright with tears.

“What is it, Rem? I have to go!”

Another sob broke from his chest as he latched his arms around Roman, effectively smearing the sauce from his chin on his prince costume. He was mumbling something into the fabric, more gibberish than actual words, though Roman heard the word ‘no’ distinctly more than once.

“Aw, now I have to go change!” He pulled back, earning another whine. “I’ll be back, Rem! I don’t know when, but-”

“Roman?”

He turned to his mom, who was standing in the doorway with a gentle smile, watching the scene before her.

“I don’t think Remus wants you to go just yet, sweetheart. And it’s getting dark. Maybe you should stay here for tonight.”

As if to affirm the statement, Remus wrapped himself tighter around Roman’s ribs, shaking his head vigorously against his shoulder. He glanced out the window and sighed; it was getting dark, and despite being an incredibly brave adventurer, he had a strong dislike of the dark. For practical reasons, of course!

“I guess I can stay tonight.”

Remus barely gave him room to breathe as they stumbled up the stairs in an uncoordinated mess, their mom chuckling as she followed a step behind. Luckily she broke them apart long enough to allow them to get into their pajamas and brush their teeth, an affair that went without its usual amount of bickering and petty toothpaste shenanigans. For once, Roman didn’t have the heart to bother his twin, not when the other kept looking at him with teary eyes every time he moved, as if he needed to watch him, lest Roman run away from him again.

When he rinsed out his mouth and walked back into their room, his mom was sitting on his bed, thumbing through his backpack- well, Virgil’s, technically- and neatly refolding the clothes he’d haphazardly thrown in.

“Mom, I’m gonna have to repack those tomorrow!” As much as it bore a hole into his chest, he ignored Remus’ whine and climbed under the blankets. His twin looked torn for a moment, watching him wiggle past his mom’s form, before dejectedly crawling into his own bed, eyes never leaving Roman.

“Ro, what did I tell you about soulmates?”

“That they’re your true love? And the string leads you to them.” Roman shifted so he was lying on his back, smiling wistfully.

“I think I phrased it differently, but yes. Anything else?”

Cue nose scrunching, his trademark thinking face. “I don’t remember.”

“Sweetheart, the string connects you too, but you can’t follow it to them until it’s time for you to meet.”

Roman’s face fell, “You mean I can’t go find my soulmate?”

“You’ll find them on your own time, naturally. If you rush it, or try to force it, it won’t work.”

“Well… what if I try really hard?”

Mom laughed lightly, running a hand through his hair. “That won’t make a difference, sweetheart. You can’t make the process go any faster than it’s supposed to.”

“So I can’t follow the string?”

“I’m sorry, Roman. I know how excited you are for your soulmate.”

Roman couldn’t deny the heaviness weighing in his chest at the news. He had to wait longer? This is getting ridiculous. But if the risk of trying to find the person might delay it even more… well, he’d just have to let it run its course. As much as it sucked.

“Okay,” He sighed, closing his eyes as she leaned forward and kissed his forehead. Picking up the now empty backpack from the floor, she stepped up to Remus’ bed.

“Hug and kiss?”

He stared at her for a second as if heavily debating his options, before nodding. She seemed pleased with the response, though Roman knew she’d be okay with whichever he chose, and pulled him into her arms, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

“I’m just going to take this back to Virgil,” She waved the backpack towards Roman impishly, “Maybe ask before you take his stuff next time.”

“Wait, mom!” Roman yelped as she went to close the door and she poked her head back in, eyebrow raised. He took a deep breath, not understanding his sudden nervousness. “Why was Virgil so upset? After I told him about my string.” It was mom’s turn to sigh, heavily, before she pushed the door open more and leaned against the frame.

“Virgil doesn’t have a soulmark, sweetheart. It’s very difficult for him to talk about.”

“...Oh. He never got one?” His heart sank, immediately feeling guilty.

“He… he used to have one. And then one day it…” She did a poofing motion with her hands, “Just disappeared. We don’t know why, and Virgil was very sad when it happened.”

Roman could understand… to have this little bond taken as quickly as it was given; he’d be distraught. “Well, maybe he can get it back!”

His mom smiled sadly, slowly reaching for the door handle, “Maybe. Don’t try to talk to Virgil about it, okay? It’s a sore topic.”

“Okay…” Roman pulled the covers up to his chin, his mind filled with newbound anxieties. “I love you.”

Her expression morphed into one of fondness, her eyes glittering with joy. “I love you, too, my Prince. And you, my Duke. Sweet dreams, okay?”

“Night, mom,” Roman called as she closed the door, going back to watching the glow in the dark stars on their ceiling. He couldn’t stop thinking about Virgil’s lost soulmark. What if that happened to him? How old had Virgil been when it happened? Was his soulmate still out there, or were they... gone?

All questions he’d have to talk to his mom about tomorrow, since she’d told him not to talk to Virgil about it. Maybe he’d just give Virgil an extra tight hug tomorrow, to make him feel better. Hugs always made Roman feel better, so it was probably the same for his big brother, too.

He was pulled out of his thoughts by a small sniffle from Remus’ bed, turning his attention from the galaxy on their ceiling to his brother. In the dim glow of their respective red and green nightlights, Remus’ brown eyes shone with bright tears, watching Roman intensely and choking back small sobs. He still thought he was going to leave.

With not a moment’s hesitation, Roman scooted back until he was against the wall and lifted the corner of the blanket in a silent invitation. Remus didn’t need more than that, scrambling out of his own covers with lightning speed, almost tripping over the fabric, and launching himself into his twin’s bed. Like an octopus, he wrapped his limbs around Roman in a tight squeeze, digging his face into his chest. He got the message. Please don’t leave.

“I’m not going anywhere, Rem. I promise. I’ll stay.”

That seemed to be enough to satiate him, because his eyes immediately drooped, though his grip didn’t falter.

“If you kick me, I’m pushing you onto the floor.”

Remus hummed gruffly from the back of his throat, like an unspoken way of saying shut up. Roman didn’t fight his hug, didn’t try to escape, because even if his twin was the bane of his existence, he still loved him more than anything. Except maybe his mom… and reluctantly, Virgil. They all tied for first place. But for sure, if anyone talked bad about Remus (and peers had, in the past), he would be the first to deck them and sit on them until they apologized (he’d done that, too).

“Love you, Rem,” He grumbled like it was a reluctant admission. His brother didn’t answer, and he realized he’d fallen asleep, curled against Roman like a koala. That was fine. They hadn’t shared a bed in years, and he’d kind of missed it.

He got comfortable, as much as he could with his human attachment, and let his eyes drift shut, visions of his possible soulmate filling his dreams.

#if you tag this as remrom i will personally steal your kneecaps #lywrites #tsshipmonth2020 #creativitwins #roman sanders #remus sanders #virgil sanders #ts soulmate au #soulmateseptember #soulmate september #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #sanderssides

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justkending · 4 years

Text

Just Roommates. Chapter 24.

Series Summary: These two college friends have had years to grow together. Each being the others support system, adventure buddy, movie night partner, and dorky roommates. That is until things start coming to a new light in their relationship. At least for him… Is there something else there? Is it possible? Were these feelings always there?

Pairing: (Modern) Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warning: Fluff, Adulting, sexy-times mentions, language.

Word Count: 2000+

A/N: A little short and fluffy chapter for you all as I bring together the future of this series:) Hope you enjoy my dream world!

Chapter 24:

Sure enough... It wasn't much of a quicky. Bucky and Y/N ended up at their friends house a good 30 minutes later than everyone else, and it did NOT go unnoticed.

After coming out to the crowd at the gala about their relationship, they figured it was time to confess to their friend group as well.

But after Nat said, "Good God, it took you long enough. I've been waiting close to a month for you guys to finally say something." They realized that their little secret wasn't much of a secret at all.

Bucky had moaned and groaned as the boys hassled him for waiting so damn long, and Y/N and the girls immediately started talking details as they sat around the fire in Wanda and Visions back yard. The night was simple, intimate, and a great memory compared to the annoyance that happened at the ball.

All of that was quickly left in the back of their minds after they had their sweet friend group gathering. Time together like that always gave them a little reboot when the world seemed to be going too fast. Who better to slow down with than your best friends?

3 Months later.

"Babe?" Y/N shouted from the front door as she came home from work.

"In my room!" he shouted back.

Bucky had been working at home more often because things had calmed down in the business. He never REALLY had to go in as much as he had to before, but being the good boss he was, he made sure to be present. Now, he was trying to find things to help with the No Soldier Left Behind center more, so it was easier to just set up shop in his room where he had a mini office to the side, and not have to worry about people distracting him.

"Hey," Y/N smiled as she leaned her head into the room.

Bucky looked up from his computer and sent her the same grin she was giving him.

"Hey gorgeous," he chuckled when she didn't come in fully. "You just going to hang out by the door, or are you going to come in and give me a 'Honey, I'm home' kiss?" he teased.

"I actually have a surprise for you," she said with a wider grin, but one that showed she was up to something. Bucky knew that smile a little too well.

"What did you do?" he questioned slowly pushing his chair back going to stand.

"Wait! Stay right there!" she shook her head, but her hands were behind her showing whatever the surprise was was behind her back. "First, I got flowers for the week," she said, bringing a bouquet of her weekly flowers out. "One of your favorites. Baby breath, lavender, and daisies."

"Thanks sweetheart. That's sweet, but why do I feel like another boot is about to drop?" he probed, tilting his head as he put his hands on the arms rest and leaned back. He wanted to stand and go to her, but she told him to not move, so here he was.

"Well, that's the second part of the surprise..." she said tilting her head more and scrunching her nose.

Damn that nose scrunch! She knew what that did to him.

"Y/N..." he drug out.

"Just close your eyes real quick-"

"Y/N."

"Please! Please! I promise it's a good thing!"

"You said that last time and I ended up with a face mask on and my hair in two french braids."

"Don't act like you didn't like it," she scoffed with a small rolling of her eyes. "You love spa night."

"Sam found out and said I lost a piece of my man card," he crossed his arms.

"No, you gained a piece because you're secure in your masculinity unlike 99% of men out there," she countered. "Forget that for now though! Close your eyes."

"I don't know what I'm getting myself into-"

"That's the best part!" she shouted with a loud sigh, "Close your eyes or else Buck." The last part was said with a hint of a threatening tone was all it took Bucky to surrender. He put his hands up before crossing them again and doing as she asked.

He wanted to peak and he was so close to doing it, but right when he was about to break she giggled.

"Ok, open 'em!"

Bucky wouldn't have even come close to guessing what was sitting in front of him. Outstretched in her arms was a white cat with even bluer eyes than him. His hair wasn't long, but it wasn't short, and he had a big bushy tail. He looked as if he was kinda small for a cat given he wasn't a kitten.

"You got a c-"

"A cat!" she jumped pulling the white furball back into her arms and cradling it as he purred to her.

Bucky didn't know how to react. He never had a pet growing up, and even if he were to, he imagined it would've been a dog. Not a cat. Cats always seemed so temperamental and angsty. But the way this one was looking at him made him second guess his quick judgement.

"Don't be mad. There was a girl trying to get rid of him by the shop where I usually get my flowers. She said it was either someone buy him from her, or she would have to take him to the shelter," Y/N was quick to explain. "I knew we would treat him right compared to another stranger on the street, and if someone didn't get him at the shelter they would probably put him down." The small pout on her lips and the longing look of the cat was all it took Bucky to let out his breath he was holding in and lean back in his chair.

"Ok."

"Wait... You're not mad?" she asked, turning her head to the side.

"No. You were just being you," he chuckled standing up and placing a kiss on her forehead.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she said furrowing her eyebrows.

"All good things Sassy. I mean you being you because you constantly are trying to help people, and apparently," he looked down at the cat who gave a loud purr where she was rubbing his tummy. "Animals too."

"Awe, Buck!" she smiled putting the cat down and jumping to hug him around the neck. "You're the best!"

"I know, I know," he laughed as he pulled her into him. "Hey, how about pasta for dinner tonight? I already have the meatballs ready to go."

"Oh, yeah. I've been craving Italian all day. It's like you know me really well or something."

"I know it's crazy, right?" he said looking down at her with a joking grin. "Come on you loon," he said, giving her a quick squeeze to the hip before walking toward the kitchen.

"I'm not a loon," she mumbled following him. "Wait!" she said jumping and bouncing on his back. He was quick to catch her and let out a laugh as he piggy backed her to the kitchen.

"A loon," he chuckled squeezing her calves.

______

Halfway through their meal, Bucky caught Y/N looking around as if inspecting the apartment.

The cat had curled up in the chair next to him having already taken a liking to the man of the house. Bucky every once in a while giving him a scratch on his ear, but still not really sure about the pet just yet.

"Ok, what in the world are you doing?" he finally asked as she furrowed her eyebrows in concentration for the 100th time in the past 15 minutes.

"Nothing, nothing," she shook her head with a light chuckle before snagging a piece of garlic bread.

"That's not nothing. You've been in one of your dream worlds for the past 5 minutes. I can see it in your eyes," he jestered, filling their wine glasses again. "Are you redecorating the house in your head again?"

"Well..."

"Y/N you literally changed the entire layout of the living room just 2 days ago." He couldn't hold back that laugh.

"Ok, but hear me out!" she shouted forgetting her meal and leaning forward with her leg propped up next to her. "How long do you plan on living here?"

"You mean the flat?"

"Yeah," she nodded.

"Uh, I mean I don't know. I haven't really thought about it," he shrugged, grabbing his wine and relaxing in his chair. "I own it now, so I could sell it anytime."

"Have you ever wanted to live somewhere else?" she questioned propping her chin in her hand as she watched him intently.

"Uh," he paused really thinking about it. I guess if he had a choice he did have a place he always imagined. "Upstate New York actually. I always imagined still being close to friends, but far enough out of the city it would be quite at night. No city lights making the night sky disappear, but instead being able to point out constellations and star gaze. I would have some land, a nice big house, and hell, maybe even a place I can build on and landscape some. I've always wanted to look into that stuff."

He hadn't even realized he was rambling about his dream world, until he finally looked up at Y/N who had a soft smile painted on her lips and admiration in her eyes.

"That sounds beautiful B," was all she said.

Bucky smiled before taking a big sip of his wine. "It's all a dream though. That would be a lot of work to get there, and I'm not sure something like what I want even exist."

"Who says you can't make it exist?"

He looked up at the comment and Y/N was gingerly taking a sip of her own wine as she kept eye contact with him.

"What else do you have up your sleeve today, doll?" he said with a challenging look.

"Oh Buck. It's funny you think it's just today," she stood grabbing her finished plate and his. "I always have something up my sleeve. Every. Day." With that, she sashayed her hips to the sink with a smirk on her lips.

But Bucky was two steps behind, and as soon as the dishes were no longer in her hands, he was already picking her up.

"Tell me what's going on in that beautiful mind of yours Y/N!" he said fake biting at her shoulder, neck, and ear getting a laughing fit out of her.

"B, put me down!" she shouted as she tried to stop laughing, but his hands were already working their way under her shirt and tickling her stomach too. "Bucky!"

"Tell me!"

"Ok, ok! Put me down!'

He relented, sorta. He placed her to sit on the island, and then put his hands on either side of her thighs as he trapped her in. She wasn't leaving anytime soon if he had a say. Gently and ever so lovingly she leaned forward placing her forehead on his and smiled. Bucky loved when she did this cause it was intimate in a whole other way. It was like she was opening that mind of hers and letting him peak inside it.

"How do you feel about moving in together?" she whispered.

Bucky chuckled a little, but didn't move. "I'd say we seem to have already've done that."

"What about into your dream home? Our dream home?"

"What are you getting at Y/N/N?" he said, finally pulling back enough to see her face. He sweetly pulled some stray hair behind her ears as he kept eye contact with her.

"I mean... What if we moved in with each other for REAL, and got our dream house together? How would you feel about that?" Her big doe eyes were captivating and practically asking Bucky to give them the world.

All he could do was let that lopsided grin he only gave to her, grow on his face.

"I would say that sounds like an even better dream than I could imagine."

Just Roommates:

@starfirerules @buckys-blunders @alexxcorona113 @tcc-gizmachine @vrgelivvvv @nighttwingg @firefly-in-darkness @mizzzpink @poppunkdork @nerdygirlwithacrush @irespostthingsiwanttoseelater @ellaenchanted91 @sebbbystaaan

Marvel Tags:

@thejourneyneverendsx @death-unbecomes-you @heyiamthatbitch @zeilenkrieg @lizzymacy555 @iheartsebastianstan @srrymydood @xa-dia @redhairedfeistynerd

My Lovelies forever:

@natura1phenomenon @lauravic @traceyaudette @kakakatey @notyourtypicalrose @laneygthememequeen @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @sandlee44 @thorne93 @snffbeebee @thefaithfulwriter @marvelfansworld @essie1876 @greyeyedsmile14 @capsiclehan @naomi02hook @xostephanie @averyrogers83 @awesomenursingstudent @gh0stgurl @cs-please @carls1022 @jjlevin @rainbowkisses31 @carls1022 @anise-d-castle6 @deannotmoose @their-bibliophile @kitkatd7

#bucky barnes roommate #bucky barnes x reader roommate au #marvel #marvel au #marvel roommate au #justkending #bucky barnes #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes roommate au #marvel fanfiction #marvel series #Marvel Family

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smallpumpkinboi · 4 years

Text

Sunny days

Pairing: Harry×Ron

Summary: Ron decides Harry had a boring childhood and takes him out for a surprise.

Rating: K

Warning: Mild cursing

Word count: 1,196

Authors note: short little one shot, has like zero plot but feed back is appreciated!!

---

"Harry come on!" Ron shouted up the stairs, rocking on the balls of his feet.

"I'm coming! Maybe if you'd tell me where we're going I'd be ready" Harry ran down the stairs, shoes and socks in hand. Molly had taken them from grimmauld place for the weekend, everyone was getting cramped up in the depressing house and thought they could use some fresh air. Yesterday they had all played a game of quittage, Charlie accidentally breaking Fred's nose abruptly ended the game and any future games for the rest of their stay.

Stumbling down Harry spotted Ron, the red head was carrying a patched up bag, a big smile plastered on his face.

"Harry lets go!" Ron bounced towards the door, bag dangling beside him. His fingers gripped the doorknob, swinging the door open eyes beaming. Rushing Harry was dragged out the door, shoes barely on his feet.

Walking closely the sun warmed their skin, a soft breeze tangled their hair, knotting the gentil locks. Damp dirt was pressed under their feet, dirtying their shoes as they trailed along a new path. Ron was taking Harry to a "special" spot for something, small colourful flowers littered the forest floor, clovers growing in between them and bees lazily hanging around. Their walk was mostly quiet, Ron pointing out trees he used to climb or his favorite hiding spots in hide and seek. Harry absorbed all the information, imagining playing childhood games with the Weasleys.

"One time Ginny climbed that tree so high Charlie had to take a broom up to get her. I don't think she was scared, she seemed perfectly happy but everybody decided to freak out 'bout it." Ron laughed, patting a tree, dark moss grew up the sides, mushrooms blooming out of it as thick branches reached the sky. Continuing their walk Ron brought Harry into a clearing, large trees surrounded them, bright grass was scattered around, crabgrass and dandelions sprouted from the ground. Pulling Harry into the shade of a tree he held his arms out,

"What's this place?" Harry asked, looking at the beautiful sight. Smiling Ron started rummaging through his bag, pulling out a large blanket.

"Charlie used ro bring me here" he laid out the blanket, crawling around and spreading it out. "During the summer, he used to tell me everything that had happened at hogwarts'' he sat crisscrossed, pulling his bag towards him. Jestering for Harry to sit he continued, "sometimes read me stories, never shut up about dragons' ' he laughed the last part. "But we'd have most fun eating lunch" he pulled out a container of food and opened it.

"A picnic?" Harry asked, picking up the food and smelling it. "You seriously brought me on a picnic" he smiled.

"Well ya, I used to have them with my brothers all the time and you said you've never been on one" he started as if it was the most logical thing in the world. Continuing to pull out containers Ron set them around the blanket, chatting aimlessly about the forest, pointing out flowers and greeting bugs. Harry watched, amused at the sight of Ron telling off a fly for landing on some pie, he remembered when he told Ron that he'd never been on a picnic. It was in their first year, Ron mentioned how nice the weather was and wished he could eat outside, he told him he never ate outside with his family. He never really put much thought into the conversation but Ron remembering warmed his heart.

"What's that?" He asked, pointing at an orange mash.

"Those are supposed to be yams" Ron picked them up, smelling it and scrunching his nose. "not very good at cooking am I?" He put them down, shoving them to the side.

"Nah, they can't be that bad" Harry grabbed a spoon, scooping up a heap and putting it into his mouth. He was met with a sour taste, mouth going dry as salt stung his tongue. "This is very nice of you but these are nasty" he tried to hide his disgust, but the dry taste lingered on his tongue.

"They can't be that bad" Ron took the spoon from him, dipping it into the yams and putting them into his mouth. "Fuck these are god awful" Ron gagged, laughing as he sealed back up the yams, tucking them away in his bag. Grabbing a small turkey sandwich he observed the spread, choppily cut carrots, runny pudding and lukewarm pumpkin juice surrounded him. Ron obviously made the lunch himself and Harry wouldn't have any other perfect lunch.

Smiling he took a bite out of his sandwich, the familiar taste entered his mouth, Ron made his favorite kind and even brought his favorite juice! Ron seemed pleased with himself, sun giving his hair a brassy glow, bright eyes looked at him lovingly he even had a stupid smile on his face happily munching on some carrots. He danced along to his eating, beaming wherever he looked at Harry. Butterflies flew around them, landing in their hair and resting on the blanket. A kind breeze sifted through their clothes, cooling the boys from the sun's hot glares. Their skin grew warming, their shade having moved exposing them to the bright light, Ron's cheeks were dusted with a bright red, freckles nearly hidden by the colour.

"You should try the pudding" Ron grabbed a spoonful, shoving it into Harry's mouth. A deep chocolate taste smoothed over his tongue, he hummed at the milky dessert, pleased with Ron's cooking skills.

"It turned out good didn't it!" He smiled, giving Harry another spoonful, "I made it last night. Pulled the recipe from one of my mum's cookbooks. Worried it was going to be too runny" he stirred the pudding, taking a bite. Picking up his own spoon Harry shared the dessert with his friend, talking about quittage and guessing who would be next year's captain.

Minutes turned into hours as the food was finished, discarded off the blanket. Harry laid beside Ron, head resting on his stomach. Ron"s fingers were twisted in his hair, untangling and re-knotting his messy locks. Birds chirped, singing their happy song in tune with the humming of the bees and rustling of the leaves. Their conversation had died out a while ago and both boys were enjoying the quiet company.

"Harry" Ron said, gently patting his head. "We should go before someone comes looking for us" he laughed. Sitting up he gave Ron's leg a kind pat, jeans hot to the touch. Together they packed up, throwing the empty containers in the bag and tightly rolling up the blanket. Throwing the bag over his shoulder Ron ruffled his hair, thick main a huge mess, grass tangled in some places, bright green standing out against the deep red. Reaching up Harry pulled out the weeds, throwing them onto the colourful floor.

"Thank you" he cupped Ron's cheek, face burning his hands.

"Ah it was nothing" Ron blushed, eyes meeting his feet.

"Lets go" Harry stood on his toes, kissing Ron on the nose. "Before we are late" he grabbed his hand, pulling him along the scenic trail.

---

Hope you enjoyed!! Thanks for reading

#ron weasley #harry potter #hp fic #ronarry #rarry #harry potter fic #fanfic

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seafleece · 4 years

Text

you know, the worst fucking thing about it is she almost doesn’t. jester almost checks in time.

—

there’s a funny swirl of sensation— she thought the hand would be cold, clammy or oily, like the hair or just otherwise filthy, the kind of hand only a desperate man would shake, the kind of hand that feels like it’s knitted together with sorrow, but it’s not. the fingers are really long, but that’s about it.

the door is opening behind her, that predictable witch-y creak, and isharnai’s grin isn’t as evil as she thought it would be. her eyes dart towards the door, and back to beau, and when jester calls to her, something curiously mundane, she sinks in this huge, satisfied exhale. like she’s done. like she’s settling in to watch.

“beau, are you done yet, we—“

isharnai lets her go and she falls backward onto the floor.

—

there’s a distant yelp, and the sound of feet. isharnai is perfectly still above her, perfectly silent, her work done.

jester’s hands cradle her face, lift her up, like she had back in the cathedral.

this will be the last time, beau thinks. tries to drink everything about it in.

jester’s eyes, big and deep and purple. her mouth opens— she’s saying something, shouting something, her hands cold and curiously shaky against her cheeks, but beau can’t hear it. so pretty, she thinks, should’ve told her again. just to say it. just to know she knows.

—

“beau? beau, what happened, what did you do—”

beau smiles at her, a loose and open thing. her mouth opens and shuts again, and the look in her eyes is so warm it almost makes her forget the sight of isharnai letting go, long fingers unwinding from beau’s wrist like threads. almost makes her forget that beau’d been gripping back.

isharnai drifts over her so smoothly, like shadows drawing forward with the sunset, and she reaches for jester’s face. there’s not much she can do to fight the pull as isharnai twists her, peering down into her face with that serpentine curve to her spine, looking somehow sleepy, sated.

she’s starting to cry, and isharnai’s eyes glitter at the sight of it. she looks between them, at jester’s tail still wound around beau’s wrist, at the way beau’s hand twitches, tries to close around it, and falls slack again.

“oh,” she says. “oh, i see.”

her long, too long, unsettlingly long thumb swipes under jester’s eye, and the shadows spread from her like long hair in water. when she lets go of jester she falls, too, and the darkness creeps up from the corners of her eyes.

—

“i have to say,” isharnai says. “i did not expect this.”

—

sitting up is like pulling herself through molasses. she clutches at her head— breathing feels like fog is pouring from her nose, her mouth.

“beau?” jester stirs from beside her— she’d been on the floor when beau had fallen asleep, she remembers, the bed was gross and she’d said something stupid about the poison not being able to hurt her, but it’s not the first time she’s gone to sleep alone and woken up to jester next to her. “what’s happenin’—?”

“i—” she says. “where are we?”

jester’s eyes are open for only a second. they don’t glow so bright as molly’s used to in the dark, but she can feel them on her face before they close again and jester pulls herself further into beau’s side. her horn digs a little at her ribs.

“we’re in the inn,” she says happily, “in kamordah.” like all is well. “we’re going to mount menteri tomorrow.”

“no, i—” she pauses. “we already did that. we were just there, i—”

“yup.” jester’s voice is muffled where her face presses into beau’s back. “you messed up, didn’t you.”

it’s not a question.

“yeah.” beau laughs, pulls a hand backward through her hair. “just like always. what’s— why are we back?”

“you’re doing what you said you would. giving it up.”

“huh.” beau lays back down. she and jester don’t fit together perfectly, like the people in jester’s books probably do. she’s a bit too small in jester’s arms, gets swallowed just so if one of them rolls in their sleep. jester’s horns wake her up sometimes, sometimes she elbows jester in the stomach and jester wakes with an oof— she sees it all happening in a blur, a montage of fond imperfection. of things to miss.

“you know, you kinda sound like isharnai.”

she falls asleep again to the sound of laughter.

—

she opens her eyes in nicodranas to the sound of water on the rocks by the chateau— she’s been wading in from further out in the ocean. on the sand, jester is standing, holding a big floppy hat down over her hair with one hand and waving furiously with the other.

it’s foggy out, but she can still see jester’s cheeks scrunched up towards her eyes with her grin, the ribbons of her dress catching the breeze. the chateau’s secret little beach is boxed in by low cliffs and crawling coast plants— everything is still except for this, the others are back inside still. asleep, or preparing breakfast. they’d left this moment for just the two of them.

they did that a lot, she thinks. even nott. there are so many of these she still has to remember, still has to wade backward through.

she makes for shore, but with each step the water drags heavier and heavier at her legs, refusing to get shallower. nugget is barking and barking— he runs out toward her, into the water, but the fog is drawing down to meet the ocean until she can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.

—

“love you, jes.”

jester’s tears bleed into her vestiges— funny, how she can feel it even with the rain.

“it’s not that i don’t believe you, you know,” she says, “but do you really believe me?”

“i—”

“it’s how you show it, too.” she squeezes tight around beau’s waist, and lets her go. “it’s whether or not you act like the other person loves you, too.”

beau turns. lightning breaks the sky at last, and the thunder rattles something deep in her chest. jester seems so far away all of a sudden, tears still rolling warm and unabashed down her face. “i’m gonna try,” she says, has to raise her voice over the storm. she’s crying, too. “i’ll try to remember.”

“me, too,” jester wraps her arms around herself, preserving. “i love you.”

the storm carries the sound of it to her, even as the sky swirls black and endless overhead.

—

“i don’t think i’m forgetting everyone else,” she says, miserably. “just you.”

they’re in the cart, and jester has her eyes closed— it’s a pretty good facsimile of sleep, she’s even remembering to breathe like it, but beau knows she’s awake, knows the inside of the cart is too familiar for her to look at. a stray tear curls into the hollow under her chin.

“it’s funny, you know. i didn’t get it until just now. why it would just be you.”

“yeah?” jester’s voice scratches with disuse, with tears from earlier.

“yeah. you were what i thought of when i said i’d give it up— i thought it was the traveling part, but it was the traveling with you part all along.”

“you should have told me.”

“yeah.”

“i’m gonna forget, too, you know.” jester opens one eye. the purple is so deep it’s almost black. “i’m forgetting right now.”

“i’m sorry.”

“we will still do it, you know. what we planned. but none of us want to. something isn’t the right way, or what was supposed to happen, just because you can survive it.”

“when’d you get so damn smart, jes?”

jester laughs— a sudden bark— if beau didn’t know better, she’d think it loud enough, harsh enough to alert everyone else, but the magic on the cart keeps it in. anchors them in this sad little nest, together still for a moment. “it’s you,” she says. “this is what you know.”

“oh.”

jester’s eye closes again. the uneven rattle of pebbles under the wheels of the cart grows smoother, less distinct, a falling away of sensation.

“dairon’s not gonna know how to braid the circlet into my hair as nice as you do, huh?”

“no.” it’s a whisper.

“i hope she doesn’t get too offended when i talk about you in my sleep while we’re traveling.”

“she already knew, i think. that night in rosohna.”

“yeah, probably. i was never too subtle, was i?”

“only for me.”

“funny how that works,” and it doesn’t feel funny at all.

—

it’s getting dizzying, faster and faster— isharnai must be bored, she thinks. so many nights of them crowded together and whispering, the next little bit of one long conversation, one they never quite finished.

she sees, for the first time, the funny look jester gives her when she sneaks back into caleb’s hut after keg leaves, wary of the magic— it had been the first night they spent in the hut, and she left them. keg was lovely— is lovely, flushing bright red when she puts her armor back on and beau stirs— but peering into her face again beau thinks that she looks an awful lot like herself. sharp-edged in strange places, snapping like the baby dragon turtles the shop in kamordah somehow got their hands on when she was little, and without someone to worry her into something softer in their embrace.

—

jester beams when beau blows her a kiss in the victory pit— “this is the first time you said you loved me!” she shouts across to beau, and beau’s grin slides off her face into something brackish and cloying at her feet.

—

jester traces the blackened veins in beau’s neck when they embrace, crushingly, on the ground in the evening nip. “i wouldn’t have done this with anyone else, you know,” she whispers.

—

they’re face to face in the shitty little trostenwald inn, heads on the same pillow. jester looks so deep into her eyes she feels pinned there like an insect; she shifts, and her hips bump sleepily into beau’s.

“you’re almost done,” she breathes, sweet and damp. “one more. what are you going to do?”

beau reaches for her hand and lets the nebulousness of the memory shift to create the sensation of jester’s grip. “my job,” she says. “i’m gonna keep working. the soul needs at least one expositor on the dynasty’s side.”

“i’m gonna be so proud of you, still,” jester whispers. tears blot the rough fabric of the pillow. “even if i don’t know it.” she shakes a little.

“yeah.” beau pulls the dreamy rendition of jester’s hand up to her mouth, presses a kiss to the cold center of her palm. “me, too.”

—

jester spins her in a dizzy, joyous circle and she tries to catch her breath, afraid to hold on since her hands are still slick with snake blood. fjord pulls his falchion out of the thing’s head— the blade is almost unrecognizable, a solid, single-edged blade with no accents, no golden tinge. he can’t even un-summon it, has to sheathe it like a regular mercenary and everything.

she wants to laugh, but there’s this sick, rotten feeling in her chest. the death of something final.

“jester,” she says. “can you help me do something?”

“sure,” jester says, voice too serious for the smile on her face.

—

they kneel right there in the mud— the farmer hasn’t even come to check on them yet, and fjord just stands there next to the snake’s body, looking on.

jester folds her hands around beau’s.

“okay,” she whispers. “no promises, but he’s listening.”

she’s quiet for a few seconds.

“uh, hey. traveler. the traveler? whatever jester calls you—” she scratches the back of her neck, the unadorned back of her neck.

“i don’t know if you can even answer prayers— jester says you’re a god, though, so— but anyway. i’m scared. for me and her, and i get if you don’t care about me, but i don’t think she wants to forget me either.”

she screws her eyes further shut. “no, fuck— i know she doesn’t want to forget me, because that’s not what people who love each other want, i know— i just. if there’s anything you can do, if you can save anything, can you at least try? i want to see her again, even if i think it’s for the first time. please.”

jester squeezes her hands. “okay.”

“okay.”

“are you ready?” she opens her eyes and jester’s looking at her like she did on the floor of isharnai’s, watery and afraid and raw.

“no,” her voice is like a kick of gravel, like the backwards sandpapery drag of frumpkin’s tongue. “i’m so sorry.”

jester lets her hands go. “i know.”

and beau falls back, again, spread-eagled in the mud. the morning mist swirls heavy and fathomless overhead, and on the other side of her next blink is dairon’s face, huge and worried.

—

she turns the sending stone over in one hand and strolls off the plank, head on a swivel.

“hey, just made anchor. i’ll check back in when this stupid thing reloads, but i’m gonna take your advice and do some sight-seeing. we’ve earned it, right?”

the first thing she hears is dairon’s sigh. “beauregard, it cut out again. you have to count, remember? anyway, that’s a good idea. if i were you, i’d check out the, uh, the—” the message cuts out, and she huffs out a laugh.

then there’s a weird scuffly sound and dairon’s voice comes back. “sorry, had to steal someone’s— it’s the lavish chateau, beau, the lavish chateau. you should really go there first. like, today.”

“uh, okay?” she waits a few seconds to let the spell end, so she can mutter only to herself instead. “lavish chateau, huh, sounds kinda—”

and then this funny thing happens— it’s like getting kicked right in the solar plexus, the first place dairon taught her to stun someone. she almost pitches forward off the deck and into the shallow water of the quay.

something blurs behind her eyes— a whirl of color, the sound of the ocean, a woman singing, a room covered wall to wall in children’s scribbles. it’s like in her dreams— everything is tinged green, just so, and she just sits right down when it ends, lets her boots dip into the water.

—

the lavish chateau looks a little different than she expects— blue, almost the same color as the sky, and there are no guards out front. she stands there with the map clutched in her hands, feeling the odd need to hold tight to something, and a figure ducks out of the front doorway, leaning down to avoid hitting his head and straightening up.

there’s a long second where he and beau just look at each other, and then—

“caduceus,” she breathes, and goes running.

—

caduceus doesn’t run, but he spreads his arms out wide— still wearing that shirt with the one stupid sleeve, she sees— and lets her bull up into him.

he’s stronger than she remembers, grunts and manages to lift her off her feet, and his laugh rumbles, honey-warm, in her ear.

“beau,” he says. just “beau.”

—

he tows her inside under his arm, her head ducked low and sheepish, and she’s barely back through the door when they all swarm her.

everyone’s hair is so long— they all seem to have the same funny little crown braided into it. everyone except caleb and nott takes a turn crushing her half to death, though for their part they try their best.

“we have not seen you since the ceremony, beauregard,” caleb says. “you should have told us you were coming!”

“yeah, well,” she scratches at her neck, uses the buzz that touching the tattoo always gives her to center herself. “no magic, remember?”

“lousy excuse.” fjord elbows her. “like the soul doesn’t have a million people who could do it for you.”

“i, uh, didn’t know you guys would be here.” which is true, why the chains of tharizdun are milling around in the lobby of the menagerie coast’s most famous courtesan, she can’t quite fathom, imagines it’s for something stupid. “i’m just being a tourist, y’know? never been here before.”

everyone stops talking at once. caleb’s face sinks into its old scowl, and they sort of all collectively sink into their chairs at the first big table.

the synchronicity of it hurts— she used to feel it, too, but it’s her own damn fault, right? she gave it up. nott looks fucking stunning, though— halfling and happy and resplendent, resplendent as a dress stitched full of buttons can possibly be. she’d do it again, maybe not in a heartbeat, but again all the same.

“ah,” caleb says, suddenly gravelly. “yes.”

“hey,” she panics a little. “it’s okay, i’m here now, right?”

they exchange looks— simultaneous, again, and she aches to trade expressions in kind. to be on the same page.

“beau,” caduceus stands, puts a massive hand on her shoulder. “i think you should see the beach.”

“what? i’ve seen the beach before. i still remember being here with you guys, you know—”

“the chateau has a private beach,” fjord says. “it’s really something special. why don’t you check it out, and we can catch up when you get back?”

“uh—”

“i’ll come with you,” yasha says, and stands. “i would like to see this as well.”

“okay?” it does sound nice, a walk on the beach with yasha. they never really got around to talking, beau thinks, after they got yasha back, just sort of danced around each other. broken people broken differently, magnetized towards each other a little but never enough.

“let’s go.”

yasha links her arm in beau’s and near-marches her down the hall, to the little back door.

—

it’s weirdly foggy when they step outside— the sun doesn’t usually take long to burn off the morning sea chill, but it’s still early, she supposes.

they walk in silence, not uncomfortable but not especially calm. there’s this weird anticipatory buzz she can feel from yasha that’s passing into her.

the path is laid with this colorful little stones, flat pieces of sea glass. it’s almost childish— not in the bad way, just something she wouldn’t expect from a place like this. it reminds her of the path into a family’s backyard garden, something a child would walk with wonder.

she has the image of a little girl running, full-tilt down to the water. she’s seen portraits of the ruby of the sea, and there’s a familiar curl to the girl’s horns, the heart-shape of the tail.

“here,” yasha says, and the vision is banished. the fog is thicker still here, clinging to the sand and spreading out across the water.

there’s a dim shadow a ways away, and wouldn’t you know it, beau’s heart starts in this messy gallop that steals her breath. “i—”

she has the vague sensation of yasha pushing her forward, and she half-runs down to the water on fawn legs, suddenly wobbly.

the fog feels thicker, and thicker, until suddenly it clears.

and she’s there.

heaving with breath, the little bells dangling from her horns jingling. cheeks flushed purple almost deep enough to match her eyes.

the fog is pushed out from behind beau in this impossibly strong rush of wind, and when she closes her eyes it’s like all her dreams superimposed.

crowding together on a narrow inn bed, blowing kisses, trading i love you in the rain, tearing out onto this same beach in ribbony dresses, waking up with the slick crunching of broken glass in the belly of a cathedral and hands on her face. lying on the floor of isharnai’s hut, limbs heavy with misery and magic.

jester rushes into her like the tide, none too gentle, fully bowling her back over into the sand. before her body warms with the returned memories, before her hands can reach for jester’s face, jester’s mouth is on hers.

it’s not a particularly skillful thing— their teeth jar for a moment, and they’re both still out of breath, but the first desperate second passes and then jester’s arms slide around her waist and she sighs happily and it’s perfect, really, just perfect.

distantly, she can hear barking— nugget recognizing her, no doubt— and the crash of the waves on the chateau’s private beach, but everything beyond this feels as far and unimportant as the fog.

i remember you, she thinks, i remember i remember, i love you i love you i love you, and jester’s tears run into their kiss and they break apart so she can say it for real, so she can clear her head just enough to hear jester saying it, too.

#i'm SOFT #listen it is 7:30 am #i have been writing this for three hours #but it's WORTH IT #i even made a playlist for this #my writing #critical role #beaujester #beauregard lionett #jester lavorre #the mighty nein #isharnai #misery loves company #long post #based on a) me yelling at fiovske in messages at like 3 am #and b) eternal sunshine of the spotless mind

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guessmonsta · 4 years

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hello my queen... returned to her castle I see? Could you please do a thing just like the Kuroo one except Kuroo is Bokuto's wingman? I'm so soft for them and you ohmygoodness

You’re adorable and I appreciate you so much. For legal reasons I created a fake cafe called The Gazelle. I’ve used it like twenty times if this is a real place I’m so sorry

It was a very rare occurrence for Bokuto to be awake before noon on a weekend. It was even rarer that he was sprinting across campus to get to Kuroo’s dorm at nine in the morning. Campus custodians gave him weird looks, girls walking to their professors office hours giggled at him, but he just kept running.

Kuroo lived on the eighth floor in the farthest dormitory building from Bokuto’s. He ran up the stairs, skipping two as he went, and once he finally got to Kuroo’s door, he didn’t even bother to knock, he just slammed his fist against the door in one harsh blow.

From inside, he heard Kuroo mutter a quick, “fucking hell,” to his roommate before the door swung open in his face. Kuroo didn’t look amused, and scanned Bokuto up and down before he snorted, covering up his mouth with his hand.

“I’m not gonna judge your lifestyle bro,” Kuroo snorted, “but literally, what the hell.”

“Listen, hear me out,” Bokuto began, still slightly out of breath. “The cute girl who works at The Gazelle has a shift right now.”

“What?” Kuroo stared at him dumbfounded. “How do you know that?”

“Me and, and a couple of my friends from statistics have been taking notes on each time she works. She always works Saturday mornings so-” Kuroo cut him off by laughing again, then stepped out into the hallway and motioned Bokuto to start walking. No matter the situation, no matter how ridiculous it sounded, Kuroo was always readily available for anything Bokuto had in mind.

“So you’ve been stalking this girl?”

“Bro, I’m not stalking her, I’m just admiring her. A-and that admiration has gotten to a kind of unhealthy level to me personally, as a person.”

“Wait, so have you actually ever even talked to this girl?” Kuroo asked, and was faced with Bokuto widening his eyes. “Dude, you’ve gawked at her every single time we’ve gone, and you haven’t even talked to her?”

“I ordered a hot cocoa from her that one time-” Bokuto sighed, “I sound like a simp.”

“Bro, you aren’t a simp. What you are is stupid. How the hell are you going to work together with your statistics friends to recreate some random girls' work schedule but you all have a D in the class?”

“Listen-” Bokuto laughed. “Sora says that she has dyscalculia, and that the rest of us probably have it too. We all have our strengths and weaknesses, Kuroo. Sorry I can’t be a perfect chem major like you.” He teased, socking Kuroo in the arm. Kuroo winced slightly, then punched him back.

“Yeah, you have your strengths for sure.”

“Okay, so I’m probably gonna actually talk to her today.”

“Wow, making big boy moves.” Kuroo laughed, “Where’s this coming from?”

“I can’t tell if it’s fake confidence or adrenaline!” Bokuto shrugged. “Both work!”

Once they entered the cafe, the familiar smell of coffee beans, warmth, and just a tinge of something else hit Bokuto and made him so much more nervous. Why should he be nervous? He was hot. He was sexy. He was 6’2 of big beefy muscle and fat ass, he shouldn’t be afraid of rejection!

But then he saw her. __ hair pulled back into two pigtail french braids as she politely took a stoners order at the counter. He finally got to see her eyes, they were __, pretty __ eyes and the cutest little smile and this cute little way her nose scrunched up when she did-

Kuroo was laughing at him. Kuroo was doubled over Bokuto’s shoulder, absolutely wheezing at him, and Bokuto no longer knew how to feel.

“Bro, not cool!”

“You’re just-” Kuroo started cackling, his signature loud witch cackle, and Bokuto felt his face flush red. The pretty barista made eye contact with him at the sound of Kuroo’s laugh, cocked an eyebrow, then went back to her order. The butterflies promptly returned to his stomach.

“The way you looked at her bro-” Kuroo hiss whispered. “Priceless.”

“Get your shit together dude, you gotta be my wingman!”

“How the hell am I supposed to do that?” Kuroo managed to choke out between laughs. “This is too much.”

“You’re horrible! I can’t be my own wingman! How am I supposed to hype myself up without looking like a complete jackass-”

Before Bokuto could finish, he realized that they were next up to order. Pretty __ Eyes looked at him and cocked her head, a shy, playful smile crossing her cheeks.

“Hi there! How can I help you today?” She chirped. Awh, even her customer service voice was adorable, he thought to himself. He sighed, trying to suppress a goofy smile on his face. Somehow, Kuroo got it together enough to stammer out, “Hey, hi, yeah, can I get uhhhh… iced latte with oat milk and vanilla flavoring please?” like a dork would.

Bokuto was so caught up thinking about how the prettiest girl in the world was somehow working at a cafe and not walking the runway, and why Kuroo would order something with oat milk out of all things, to even realize that he had to order next. Before he could snap out of his daze, he heard Kuroo laugh.

“Sorry about my friend. When he was born, all his brain cells were converted into sexy instead.”

The barista covered her mouth with her hand to suppress a laugh, and Bokuto felt a hot blush run up his neck. He would’ve punched Kuroo in the arm, but figured he had to keep his cool.

“I-” The barista giggled, not even trying to hold back her laugh. “I mean, yeah, good for him?”

“Oh yeah.” Kuroo leaned his arm up on the counter. There was nobody else behind them, and Kuroo knew what he was doing. “I mean look at the guy. Seventy four inches of pure, raw sex. Do you like volleyball?”

At this point, Pretty __ Eyes was borderline hysterics. Bokuto was starting to think Kuroo was less of a wingman and more of his own, personal jester.

“Yeah, I played in high school.” She responded. Cute, and played volleyball? Bokuto just felt the blush just hotter.

“Yeah, this guy right here, Owlboy Sexyman, he was the fourth best ace in the country, don’t you know. Fukurodani’s captain.”

“Oh wow, you guys went to Fukurodani?”

“Nah, just him. I’m not even a fragment of how cool Mr. Sexyman here is.” Kuroo pointed at him with his thumb, then shook his head. “And he has a fat ass.”

She laughed, and shook her head.

“And does Owlboy Sexyman want anything today?”

At this point, Bokuto couldn’t hide his blush. He knew if he opened his mouth to start talking, he would end up sounding like a dog toy.

So he just stood there.

Kuroo sighed, and kicked him in the shin, which caused him to jump.

“Seems like he’s just too damn sexy today! No brain cells in sight. He’ll take a large iced hot chocolate with extra whip.”

“Sounds great.” She giggled. “Since you guys literally just made my whole shift, I’m gonna give you twenty percent off today.”

“Thank you, you’re a doll.”

When they stepped aside to pay for their drinks, Bokuto burst out laughing. Kuroo looked down at him, and choked back another cackle.

“Did you like what I did there?”

“You-” Bokuto snorted, “Are so fucking stupid.”

“Ah, it’s my specialty.”

“That definitely did not work at all. If anything, she probably likes you from that whole show you put on.”

“Nah, she didn’t look interested in me. Worst case scenario, at least we made a pretty girl laugh at your expense!”

“Yeah, I guess.” Bokuto shrugged.

“Iced latte for Kuroo!” Pretty __ Eyes called out, then handed the drink gingerly over to him. He took a dramatic sip, then sighed.

“Hits the spot.”

“How the heck do they even… milk an oat.” Bokuto muttered, and Kuroo shrugged.

“I dunno. How do they milk almonds?”

“Do almonds have boobs?” Bokuto asked, a little bit too loud.

“Iced hot chocolate for Owlboy Sexyman!”

The moment she announced this, Bokuto wheezed, and Kuroo spit his coffee out in the most violent, dramatic, and cartoonish way possible. Bokuto didn’t know whether or not to keep laughing, or start crying. Kuroo had iced coffee dribbling down his neck like a toddler, but even he himself couldn’t stop laughing.

Bokuto looked up to see Pretty __ Eyes hunched over the serving station convulsing as well. Bokuto walked over to her, and bowed his head in shame, all while laughing.

“I am so-”

“Who the hell are you two!” She stammered between giggles. Bokuto noticed her eyes were brighter when she laughed. He had managed to stop laughing but the smile on his face only grew. She was beautiful and he had no idea how to handle it.

“I am so, so sorry.”

“Don’t worry.” She shook her head. “Your friend has to clean that up, because I’m definitely not going to.”

“He will, he will. “Bokuto looked back over at Kuroo, who was still laughing to himself hysterically, his face buried in his hands. “I promise we’re not on drugs.”

“Hey, it’s college. No judgement.” She smiled, Her fingertips brushed his as she handed him his drink. He noticed that she had scribbled her number on the side of the cup, and the dying blush on his face returned. His mouth gaped a little bit, then he looked back up at her.

“My name is not actually Owlboy Sexyman.”

“I would hope not.” She smiled. “I’m __, by the way.”

“I’m Bokuto.”

“Bokuto.” She repeated, then smiled. “We should hang out sometime. I don’t know many other people around here who play volleyball.”

“Oh, wow, I-” Bokuto nodded and smiled, looking a little bit dumb as he did. “That’s awesome! That’s great! That’s great.”

“See you around then?” She cocked her head. Bokuto nodded a little bit too aggressively.

“I’ll see you around!”

__ shot him one last smile before she turned around and walked back to the order counter. Bokuto sighed a deep sigh, and sat back down next to Kuroo, whose shirt was covered in spit and coffee.

“Dude, you did it.”

Kuroo looked up at him from his hands, and smiled.

“Shit, I would hope so, because this oat milk is fucking disgusting.”

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu!! imagines #haikyuu!! headcanons #Bokuto Koutarou #Kuroo Tetsurou #bokuto koutarou x reader

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