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dreaminpetals · 3 years

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can i request a fic where naib thinks his fem s/o is cheating on him when she isn't, and it leads to... smut perhaps 👉👈

🔪 mister loverman // naib subedar

art credit

it was a usual occurrence for everyone in the manor to become a bag of nerves weeks before the annual ball. hunters and survivors alike were expected to pick a date and a lavish outfit in a short period of time, all while balancing brutal ranked matches and competitive tournaments.

naib wanted to ask you ー he was going to ask you, his one and only love, but he wasn't sure how. if it was up to him he'd casually ask over dinner, but his friends had chided him for his bluntness. eli's advice repeatedly swam through his ears. 'give her the invitation she deserves, not what's easiest for you, naib.' he'd have to think of something romantic, something that would amaze you and leave all the girls jealous.

until then, naib fiddled with his elbow pads at the dining table, eager to get matched up already so he could release all his pent up anger on the battlefield. he was seated between his girlfriend and her new best friend, luca. the two were always up to something and naib would be lying if he said he didn't feel the thorns of jealousy every time he saw the prisoner by your side. luca was an alright guy on his own, but he had no sense of boundaries and got a little too close to you for naib's comfort. platonically holding hands with luca always leaves your boyfriend a disgruntled mess. that should be him with his fingers wrapped around yours.

"hey naib, pass this to y/n for me," luca sneered and a twitching hand passed him a folded up note. he did just that. you passed him a note back, so on and so forth. naib wondered just what they were talking about that couldn't be spoken aloud, were they discussing him?

were they flirting?

no, you wouldn't betray his trust like that. you promised you would stay with naib through thick and thin, there was no chance of you leaving him for luca. he pushed his darker thoughts to the back of his mind when the fourth survivor and hunter joined.

naib was the first survivor to be blasted back to the manor, all because luca kept distracting everyone. making funny faces, trying to convince the hunter to go friendly, all the things naib hated during matches. sure, it was only a quick match, but it wasn't often he got to be matched up with his girlfriend. the urge to protect you always took over his body and made him fight better, this was his chance to shine and luca snuffed it out.

before naib could storm out of the room, two notes crumpled on the floor by the dining table caught his attention. would it be so bad if he read them for himself? seeing an innocent conversation between you and luca would quell all the suspicions that plagued his heart, he thought. naib smoothed out the notes and what he saw shook him to his very core.

'y/n, would you like to be my date for the ball?'

'of course, luca!"

naib's hands began to shake uncontrollably and it took all of his self restraint to not rip the notes into shreds. he fucking loved you. and you did this.

the notes were stuffed into his pockets. he was going to confront you for this and it wasn't going to look pretty. it would hurt to lash out at his girlfriend, who he thought was the love of his life, but if you were so willing to throw everything away for a random newcomer in the manor ... so be it, he would make you regret hurting him. the closer he stomped to your shared dorm, the heavier the weight in his pockets felt. two slips of paper. that was all it took to shatter naib subedar's heart and douse the shards in gasoline.

he couldn't bear to look at the couple photos hung up on the walls. the dishes you made together during a pottery class. the presents you bought each other. your belongings still on the nightstand. he would have to throw all of it out. naib took a seat on the edge of the bed, releasing a ragged breath he didn't know he was holding. his whole face was red and he was shaking with a silent rage. if it wasn't for the damage in his elbows he would have punched a hole through the wall. his girlfriend, his future wife, the love of his life had cheated on him. it still hasn't sunk in yet.

when he heard two pairs of footsteps approach the door, your graceful steps and luca's hobbled footing, naib winced. his nails dug into his thighs as the doorknob turned, and a single tear trickled down his cheek when you bid luca goodbye.

"hi babe! sorry if this is sudden but have you seen my dice? i can't seem to find them anywhere..." your innocent, sweet tone normally made naib's heart swell, but now it was more comparable to his heart being torn in half with rusty pliers. he wanted to lash out at you, to scream and show you just how much pain he was in, but the moment he heard your voice and felt your presence in the room all of his rage subsided. he still loved you.

"why don't you ask luca." his voice had an unrecognizable emotion in it.

"luca? why's that?" he could hear you drop your bags to the floor and approach him. "hey, is everything alright?" you went to place a concerned hand on his shoulder but his quick reflexes allowed him to roughly grip your hand and twist it midair, holding you in place. "huh?! naib stop it, you're hurting me!" he let go when he heard those words fall from your mouth.

"i said. why don't you ask luca." he hissed, venom oozing from every word. it was strange, when the hooded mercenary turned to face you, fear and confusion were apparent in your eyes.. you didn't look like someone who was caught in the act, moreso like someone caught in a misunderstanding. "i found these in the dining room," he fished the notes out of his pockets and placed them in your palm, grabbing your other wrist so the notes would be cupped in your hands. he didn't want to look at them. "care to explain?"

"naib, let me go," your hollow voice flickered above a whisper. you tried to move your hands but they were trapped by his larger ones. the eyes staring daggers into you were so damp, like he was moments away from bursting into tears. he wouldn't budge. "naib... i can explain this if you let me go. i know what you're thinking and i didn't cheat on you,"

his gaze softened and he slowly freed you from his grip. in a heartbeat, you fetched two extra notes from your pockets. laying them out on the bed, they formed a conversation:

'can i ask you something?'

'of course, luca!'

'y/n, would you like to be my date for the ball?'

'i'm sorry, i'm waiting for naib to ask me'

naib reread the notes so many times he may as well have burned holes in them. the tears that fell from his troubled eyes stained the papers and made them even harder to read... he was so furious with his love and she hasn't done anything.

"naib sweetie, it's okay... i would have thought the same thing if i were you," a pang of guilt hit your heart to see the usually strong and fearless naib subedar look so crestfallen, so stripped down and vulnerable. you were all he had and for a moment he thought he lost everything. you crawled into his lap and draped your arms around his shoulders, craning your neck to give him a reassuring kiss. it took a few seconds for naib to react, pecking your lips then pulling away again. he hesitated for a moment before his arms rested on either sides of your waist, it was clear he was afraid to touch you. naib didn't want to hurt you again.

his adam's apple bobbed as he thought of what to say. the words trapped in his throat were begging to spill out but he couldn't think of an adequate way to apologize to you. "i shouldn't have assumed," was all he could sombrely squeeze out, gingerly tugging you close so your rosy face could press against his tearful one. when you kissed again, a thin string of saliva connected your aching lips as he pulled away to speak once more, "i don't want to lose you... m'sorry if i hurt you baby," before you could respond, the hand resting on your waist took hold of your wrist and he kissed it better, making eye contact with you the whole time. his soft kisses trailed all the way to your neck where his hot breath fanned under your jaw. "there's nothin' i could do to make it up for you, is there?"

his words went straight to between your legs. "there is one thing," your teeth met your bottom lip and naib suddenly flipped you onto your back, pinning you down and looming dangerously close to your lips again.

"mm? and what would that be?" he curled his lips to give you a sharklike grin. naib was hungry for you. he clapped his hands onto the sides of your knees and rode them up your thighs until he reached the hem of your skirt. in one swift movement, he hiked the fabric up to your belly to expose your panties. "somethin' like this?" all you could do was nod, your words were caught in your throat. naib hooked his fingers into your undergarments and pulled them straight down, lifting your legs to toss them across the room. your bottom half laid bare in front of him, the man you loved and nearly lost. naib outstretched an arm to place some soft pillows under your hips.

you were on the verge of breaking while he took his sweet time to spread your thighs apart. you squirmed and felt your pussy pulsate for every second that naib wasn't devouring you whole. "naib, please," you mewled, lust pumping through your veins.

your words fell to deaf ears, naib was only focused on the perfect dessert laid out just for him. he was a very primal man ー once something was in his sights, he wasn't letting it go. naib brought his tongue to swipe a stripe up your sopping wet pussy, delving straight in. your body convulsed at the sudden pressure, his hands coming to grip your hips and hold you still. you rutted against his face and he seemed to enjoy the friction from the low drawls of 'good girl' that escaped his lips between flicks of your clit. you weren't sure how long you could last with his head going berserk between your thighs. naib lapped up every drop of juice that spilled from you and licked every inch of your pussy clean, it was as if his life depended on it. to him, it did. he had to go through the agony of thinking you slipped from his grasp. he would never tell you this, but he was working extra hard to bring you to euphoria because he wanted to outdo anything luca could do.

naib knew you were close the moment your thighs squeezed around him and your hands smacked over your eyes to cover them, fingers twitching and wrists tremoring. one final tongue over your sensitive bundle of nerves and you were seeing stars, your body giving out in his arms.

"did i do good y/n? please... tell me baby," a whine fell from his lips as he used your slick to lube himself up, the tip of his dick growing red from need.

you were still experiencing the aftershock of your orgasm, heaving and dragging your hands down your face while you quivered. it was hard to form a coherent thought, let alone speak. "yes... i'll never leave you naib, i love you so much," he growled in response, and that was when you knew he was entering a frenzy that nothing could pull him from.

he positioned the head of his cock in front of your entrance and deliciously rubbed himself over your folds for a few good seconds, seizing the opportunity to coil his arms under your back and lift you up so your forehead rubbed against his. he was flush on top of you, getting sweat and drool all over your shirt. "need you so fucking bad," was all he could muster before sheathing himself inside of you, sloppy thrusts following suit. there was no rhythm or rhyme to how he fucked you into oblivion, he was desperate. naib was beautiful above you, his glistening eyes searching yours for any sort of malice to which he found nothing. nothing but adoration. holding you steady with one hand, he reached down to thumb your clit. the sensations had you crying out underneath him and bringing a jagged smile to his lips. he grew more frantic with each thrust, eventually spilling his seed deep within you. the two of you moaned in unison and he laid you down on his chest, still rubbing circles on your clit. he wasn't finished with you just yet, he couldn't pry himself away from you until he stopped being ashamed about his incorrect assumptions of you. he still had no clue how he read his girl so poorly. while he relentlessly fingered you, a lightbulb appeared above his hooded head.

"by the way, how'd you like to go to the ball with me?"

#gonna use fanart when i cant find official art i like fjdnsk #naib subedar #idv x reader #naib subedar smut #naib subedar imagine #identity v

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narakurosaki · 3 years

Text

title: jealousy

collection: equivalent exchange

summary: the resembool trio attend resembool’s summer festival. unfortunately, jealousy isn’t a good look on a certain elric brother.

rating: t

words: 4173

accepting prompts!

read on ao3

. . .

It reeks of sheep shit.

Resembool was known as a sheep-farming town, using the gathered wool to craft Amestrian military uniforms. The smell shouldn’t be a surprise, but the awful odor still causes Edward to gag. He’s grown used to the shit-free scents encountered across Amestris during his travels—Central reeked of car fumes and smoke from factories; Dublith had become associated with the stench of blood and raw meat thanks to the Curtis’ butcher shop; Liore held the scent of sand in its air; and Briggs stunk of overpriced coffee. The scent of shit in the air had even overwhelmed Alphonse, bringing up his earlier lunch the moment the brothers stepped off of the train. It was the scent of home, he’d smiled, spitting the taste of bile into a nearby trash can. Edward begged to differ. There’s a reason he prefers to stay indoors, the smell of burnt electrical wiring and oil mixing with the mouthwatering scent of freshly baked apple pie.

The strumming of a guitar, the banging of a drum, and the clapping of hands are like nails against a chalkboard. Reaembool’s annual summer festival was in full swing, complete with food, drinks, rigged games, and dancing. Alphonse had been counting down the days since summer began, crossing each passing day off of the calendar until the circled date had approached. He’d gained enough physical strength since returning home to walk without the aid of a crutch—he looked like a proper fifteen-year-old boy, now; his bones no longer protruded from his skin, and he’d even began gaining a healthy amount of belly fat. Edward and Winry had worried themselves silly when Al announced he would partake in dancing with old friends, but Pinako had assured them that Alphonse knew what his body could handle. Still, Edward watches the dance floor for a glimpse of his little brother, spinning in circles with a different girl than before.

The moment dancing was mentioned, however, Edward bid the two farewell, wandering aimlessly along the riverbank. It drained him to be around Resembool citizens his age—they often posed questions regarding his newfound flesh arm, or inquired about his time spent in the military. Some even asked him to perform alchemy, unintentionally striking a cord within him. The friends he and Al had made in grade school weren’t forced to grow up far too quickly. As far as he was concerned, he, Al, and Winry were the most mature teenagers in town.

But, he understood Alphonse’s want to mingle. He deserved to be carefree after spending so long as a suit of armor. Winry tagged along to keep him company, arguing with Edward about ditching his younger brother. She’d yelled that he was a fucking jerk and to go home if he was going to act like that.

He sighs. Things with her had gotten incredibly confusing as of late. Maybe that was his fault; he had kissed her two days ago, and had barely spoken a word to her since. Could that be adding fuel to the fire that was her anger with him for ditching Alphonse? Could that be why he’s been seeing glimpses of her in the distance, spun around the dance floor by another man, a grin on her face?

His hands ball into fists, a fire burning in the pit of his stomach. He knows he shouldn’t care—Winry was free to dance with whoever she wanted. They weren’t dating, after all. They’d only kissed briefly one night, and Edward had scurried back to his room before she could ask what it meant. Perhaps this was payback, not that he would blame her. He deserves it.

To his right, leaves crunch beneath someone’s feet. He lifts his head, averting his gaze from the sheep, searching for the source. Illuminated by the moonlight reflecting off of the river are golden eyes, closed as their owner smiles. Alphonse holds his hand up in a friendly wave.

“You’re missing out,” he speaks into the silence, settling beside his older brother. “We’re having a lot of fun back there.”

“Trust me,” Edward waves a hand, dismissively, “I’m well aware.”

He chances a glance back at the dance floor. It’s easy enough to pick Winry out from the others—long blonde hair that flows freely down her back, a pretty white dress that ends just below her knees, a bright smile that makes his heart race in his chest. There’s a pair of hands at her waist, and Edward squints to make out who they belong to. It’s Benjamin Thompson, a local farmer boy that Ed knew nothing of, other than his hatred for him in this moment. Winry’s arms are wrapped loosely around his neck. She throws her head back to laugh at something he’s whispered in her ear. The hair on the back of Ed’s neck stands on end.

“You could’ve danced with her, you know.”

He looks to Al, brow furrowed. “These festivals aren’t exactly my style.”

Alphonse rolls his eyes. “Would it kill you to think of someone other than yourself for once?” He leans partially into the pen, running his hand through sheep wool, one by one. “You think Winry wants to dance with those guys?”

Edward drops his gaze to the sheep gathering around his brother’s hand. “Sure seems like it.”

Several sheep baa in Al’s direction. He smiles and reaches his other hand in, commenting that he will gladly pet them all if they would wait their turn. He cranes his head to look at Edward. “She’s trying to make the best out of a bad situation, Brother. Do you know how confused she must be? You spent an absurd amount of money on that ring toss game just to win her that bear she said was cute.”

Ed drags his right hand along the length of his jaw. He had only want to make her happy with that damned plush bear. Seeing Winry smile was one of the greatest sights to behold. While Edward pumped a fist in the air upon landing the winning toss, Winry was jumping up

and down with excitement as the attendant fetched her prize. She’d hugged it so tightly, Edward had joked that she’d squeeze the stuffing out of it.

“…I kissed her the other night.”

It’s spoken so suddenly, so out of no where, that Alphonse removes his hands from the sheep pen. They baa in annoyance, to which Edward glares at them. Stupid, smelly, annoying things.

“You…” Al’s jaw goes slack. It’s evident in the way his cheeks twitch that he wants to smile. His expression remains blank. “When? How? Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

Edward offers a lazy shrug. “Two nights ago. We were saying goodnight in the hall and it just… happened. It wasn’t anything big.”

“Are you kidding!?” Al runs both hands through his short, golden hair. “Brother, Ed, this is huge! I’ve been waiting for you two to do something since we got back home!” A groan escapes him. His head falls forward, bangs bouncing against his forehead. “Leave it to you to screw things up.”

Where a retort from the elder Elric would be, there is only silence. He looks back at the sheep, now wandering and munching on grass. He begins to pull at the fingers of his right hand. “Maybe she’ll kiss someone else, tonight. She seems pretty comfortable with that Benjamin jackass.”

He can feel his brother’s golden eyes on him, feel the judgment as though it were rain drops upon his skin. Alphonse breathes a sigh from his nose. “There’s a way to fix this, but if you’re going to be stubborn I can’t help you. I have to get back to the dance—I promised Angela I’d dance with her.”

Ed gives a nod.

Al pats his brother’s shoulder, an act of comfort, before making his return to the dance floor. Edward wrings his hands together. A few sheep linger near him, desperate for the human touch Alphonse had offered. Ed only scoffs.

“One way to fix it my ass,” he grouses, gripping the wood until his knuckles go white. “No way in hell am I prying her away from some redneck just to beg her to give me another chance.”

He pushes himself away from the sheep pen, the wood creaking in defiance. The sound alerts the sheep, and a dozen pair of eyes settle on him. “Oh, you guys gonna judge me, too?” But the sheep quickly return to their grazing. Ed rolls his eyes and shoved his hands into his trouser pockets. He begins the trek back to the Rockbell house.

If he looks, he can still see Winry dancing with the Thompson boy. His face is burnt from the sun, his messy brown hair falls in his eyes, and he grins from ear-to-ear as he spins Winry around like he knows what he’s doing. His wears a red and white checkered button up shirt with a basic pair of blue jeans and boots. Edward grits his teeth. The outfit was practically the standard amongst the working men of Resembool—Ed and Al had influence from the cities of Amestris when it came to their fashion. It made Edward feel overdressed at this stupid festival, walking around in a white button up with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a pair of black slacks covering his ass, and black boots on his feet. Alphonse had dressed similarly, and Ed often heard the girls gossiping about how handsome he looked. At least it worked out for him, in the end.

He pushes his bangs back and flexes his jaw. Maybe his behavior had pushed Winry into the arms of another man, as Al suggested. There was no fixing it now, not in his mind, anyway. He and Winry had fought shortly after he’d won her that stupid stuffed bear. He wouldn’t blame her if she’d tossed it in the river out of anger. He’d fucked up pretty badly.

The sounds of the festival—instruments, laughter and chatter, the stomping of feet—begin to fade the more distance Edward puts between them. He watches his feet carry him down the familiar path home, kicking any rock that stands in his way. Granny would ask why he was home so early the moment he walked through the door. There wasn’t any use lying to her—she could read him like a book—but he didn’t want to talk about it, either. He planned to climb up the stairs and settle in his bed, doing his best to forget what he’d seen and sleep the remainder of the night away.

Maybe if he hadn’t acted so stupid after kissing her. Maybe if he’d manned up and discussed how he felt, he wouldn’t be in the situation he was now. But he’d learned at a young age that there was no fixing your mistakes. At least, no easily, and this one seemed beyond repair.

“Dammit, Ed, what are you doing?”

He stops to look over his shoulder, the familiar voice catching him off guard. He blinks, eyes widening as his brain registers the sight before him: Winry is running down the dirt path, oversized bear hugged against her chest, desperately trying to catch up to him.

His chest tightens.

“What’s it look like?” His voice lacks its usual hardness. He’s unable to mask the pain. “I’m going home. I didn’t want to be at that stupid thing, anyway.”

As he turns his attention ahead of him, Winry clutches his wrist, pulling his arm back. “What the hell is your problem?”

He clenches his teeth and yanks his arm out of her grasp. “I don’t have one. Why don’t your go back to your hick of a boyfriend and leave me alone.”

“What, are you jealous?”

“Of course no—

“Because I’m not the one who kissed me and then avoided me for two days!”

So he had hurt her feelings.

What a dumb thing to think, believing he could get out of the situation without hurting her. He really is foolish.

He fills his lungs, doing his best to ignore the stench in the air, and breathes out slowly. He turns to face her, brow furrowed. He isn’t surprised to see just how angry she is.

“All you ever gave me was a small acknowledgment, and that was only when you ran in to me.” Her arms loosen around the stuffed bear. Its head flops forward a smidge. “I figured you regretted kissing me, but, then you insisted on playing that stupid game just to win me this toy…” Their eyes meet, and Edward can see just how much he’s hurt her. “I’m confused, Ed. You never talk about your feelings, you just act. And right now, you’re acting like a dick.”

He deserved to be called every name in the book, but Winry would never do it. She was right—he was acting like a dick, and why? Because he was worried she may not return his feelings for her? Because he couldn’t bear to be in the same house after embarrassing himself? He hadn’t even been sure that she’d kissed him back. It was more of a peck than anything, and she had’t said a word once he’d pulled away.

He sneers. It infuriates him how well she knows him, how she knows exactly what buttons to press to elicit a reaction. “Why does it even matter? You’re having a good time. Why not just let me leave?”

The plush bear falls to the dirt as Winry throws her arms in the air. She groans into the night. “Geez, how stupid can one man be!?”

If it’s meant to hurt him, he barely feels it.

She places her palm against her chest. “Did it ever occur to you that I was trying to make you jealous?”

They remain there, glaring at one another as Winry’s words settle in the air. Edward’s brain works overtime to process them—he blinks, the anger on his face slowly fading as the realization settles. The anger he felt lingers, dancing in the pit of his stomach with his jealousy. Annoyance bubbles its way up his throat, leaving the taste of bile on his tongue. She couldn’t be serious.

“That’s a low blow, Winry.” His words are soft, barely audible above the sounds of the festival.

“Is it?” Her hands ball into fists at her sides. “Because I think it’s pretty on par with your behavior these past few days.”

He grits his teeth and reaches for the plush bear’s ear, lifting it forcefully off of the ground. “Don’t worry, I’ll put this in your room for you so you can go dance with Benjamin.” He turns on his heel, oversized plush dragging on the ground as he continues down his earlier path.

He makes it only three feet when Winry’s words stop him. “What is it going to take to get you to talk about the other night?”

The other night; the kiss, she means. What did it mean? Why had it happened? Why had he avoided her afterward? He swallows and lowers his head, keeping his back to her. Maybe it would be easier to discuss if he couldn’t see her face…

“I kissed you,” he answers, “and then I went to bed.”

An exasperated sigh rushes from her lungs. “You’re so stubborn, you know that?”

He spins around, ponytail coming to rest against his shoulder. His bangs hit his face, hairs sticking out in disarray. His grip on the plus bear’s ear tightens, knuckles whitening. He clenches his jaw past the point of comfort, and scowls at his best friend. She thinks this is easy? He’d avoided her those two days because it was anything but.

His upper lip quivers until he can no longer take it. “I was afraid, dammit!”

His words echo across the river. He looks worriedly towards the festival grounds, seeking anyone who may be looking his way. He comes up empty, met only with Winry’s bright blue eyes.

He shoves his free hand into his pocket. His cheeks burn with embarrassment. He ducks his head to hide his face beneath his bangs. “I had no idea what you were thinking after I kissed you. For all I know, you didn’t even want it to happen. I couldn’t face you just for you to put me down easy. We live in the same damn house, Winry. I’d die of embarrassment.”

“God.”

Here it comes, he thinks, here comes her shooting me down.

It’s okay. Tonight has prepared him for this. If she wanted to be in the arms of another man, so be it. He’d move on. He’d have to.

“You really are dumb, aren’t you?” From behind his bangs, he watches her pinch the bridge of her nose. “It’s a wonder they let you become a state alchemist. Actually, scratch that.” She places her hands on her hips and rolls her eyes. “State alchemists don’t have to be smart with women, I forgot.”

He lifts his head, dumbfounded.

“Didn’t it ever occur to you that maybe, just maybe, I wanted you to kiss me?”

Actually, it hadn’t.

He shakes his head.

“Geez,” she grumbles. She closes the distance between them and plucks her plush bear from his fingers. She sets it down on a small grassy patch beside the path. “Here, come dance with me.”

“What?” But she’s already grabbing his hands, pulling the other out of his pocket. She leads him to the grass by the river bank. She places his hands on her hips, looping her arms around his neck. His heart rate picks up, drowning out the faint music from the festival. Winry sets the pace, swaying side-to-side to what he guesses is the beat of the music. He swallows the lump in his throat.

The moonlight reflects off of the water and illuminates her eyes; they’re a cloudless sky that Edward could easily lose himself in. “I’ve literally spelled it out for you, and you still don’t get it.” She shakes her head and smiles. “What am I going to do with you?”

He sways in time with her. He begins to hear the music over the beating of his heart—the strumming of a guitar, the beat of a drum, and the deep voice singing a song of a man that didn’t dance, but would for the woman he loved. He glances down at his hands upon her hips and turns a brighter shade of red. Winry places her index finger beneath his chin and guides his eyes back to hers.

“You really hurt my feelings when you avoided me.” Her voice, barely above a whisper, is drenched in sadness. “That morning, after you kissed me, I was hoping to talk to you. Granny and Al had no clue where you were, and you didn’t come back until later that evening. Do you know how awful I felt?”

He shakes his head, and she loops her arm back around his neck. Truth be told, he hadn’t put her feelings into consideration even once. He’d ran off that morning, visiting his mother’s (and, inadvertently, his father’s) grave, telling her just how stupid he was, how he’d made a fool of himself, how he’d destroyed a lifelong friendship because his feelings for her couldn’t be held back. He won’t tell this to Winry. Not now.

“I felt awful, Ed. I felt that you kissed me on some whim and grew to regret it.” Her fingers play with the hair at his neck. “No girl wants to feel like the guy who kissed her regrets doing it.”

The pair continue to sway to the beat of the music as Edward processes Winry’s words. He hangs on to each word, each syllable, analyzing their meaning. He’d hurt her, that much he knew, and he regrets it deeply. But he never could have imagined that she would believe he regretted kissing her.

“Is that why you decided to make me jealous?”

She nods stiffly. Clearly, that wasn’t her proudest moment. “You won me that stupid bear and I figured that you were finally going to talk to me about what happened. Instead, you ran away, again, so I went with Al. All I planned to do was wait for my turn to dance with Al, but Benjamin asked me go dance, and I saw you out there by yourself… I knew you could see the dance floor. I knew you would see us—that was my intention.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” Ed rolls his eyes. “You were all over him.”

“Oh, Edward.” Now it’s her turn to roll her eyes. She struggles to stifle her laughter. “Benjamin is gay.”

Oh.

Now he feels like an even greater ass.

“You honestly think I’d willingly dance with someone just wanting to get in my pants?”

Well, yes. He had thought that, anyway.

He hangs his head and lets out a sound of annoyance. “You’re evil, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told.”

Again, her arm untangles from behind his head, hand moving to cup his cheek. She guides his gaze back to her, a soft smile on her lips. He stares into her eyes, a fire burning in the pit of his stomach. A sense of urgency hits him like a ton of bricks—kiss her; make it right—but he’s lost himself in her beauty. His feet move automatically to the song, eyes drinking in every ounce of her. It isn’t often he sees Winry in a dress—she greatly prefers the comfort and protection of her coveralls while working, and can often be found lazing about in an oversized shirt and a pair of shorts. Though, it was strange. She was always beautiful, even covered in grease. Perhaps he’s just never been this close. The last time he’d felt this way was two nights ago, outside of her bedroom, their actions masked by the dark. He swallows.

The hair at his neck twirls easily around her fingers. He yearns for her to run them through his hair, to touch him in ways no one has ever touched him before. His eyes close as he begins to dream.

Winry let’s a content sigh out through her nose. She pulls his head down until their foreheads touch. “You still don’t get it, do you?”

“Mm, get what?”

He feels her gently shake her head. “That your fears were silly. I like you, dummy.”

His eyes open, met once more by a sea of blue and a warm smile. A faint blush dusts her cheeks. His heart skips a beat.

She lays a palm flat against the back of his neck, the other moving to rest above his heart. Their swaying comes to a natural halt, and Edward moves his right hand to cup her cheek. “I like you, too.”

Winry’s grin is instantaneous. “I think we’ve established that.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, guess so.”

His tongue peeks out to wet his lips. There’s an array of emotion within Winry’s eyes that drive him wild—excitement, joy, infatuation, and something deeper that he can’t quite place. He leans forward and tilts his head, closing his eyes as their lips meet. An electric current runs between them with nowhere to go. Winry’s pulls Ed closer towards her, Ed’s hand on her hip grips the fabric of her dress tighter. Their lips move awkwardly, both lacking any form of experience. His teeth clack clumsily against hers, her lips move too quickly at one point, and his tongue shyly enters her mouth without a clue of what to do. They are intoxicating one another, freely conveying years of pent up emotions for one another with their mouths. In the distance, the band stops playing. The only sounds they hear are their lips, their breathing, and the crickets hiding amongst them.

#edward elric #winry rockbell #edward x winry #edwin #fma #fullmetal alchemist #otp: equivalent exchange #equivalent exchange #my fics #jealous ed is honestly fun to write #my fav fic to date #enjoy!!!

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hannahshattuck · 3 years

Text

A Birthday Getaway

Pairing: Bi!TJ Hammond x Reader

A/N: My first prompt for helping @the-ss-horniest-book-club clean out the archive. I teared up when I came across this prompt. The B&B is an actual place in West Virginia and I would love to visit. Send in an ask or DM to be part of my taglist. Enjoy! This is gender neutral although if there is a slipup please let me know.

Warnings: angst, slight smut (blowjob), curing, mention of drugs and alcohol, mention of suicide, TJ deserves all the love in the world,

TJ has always had a hard time finding love. The deep, meaningful connection of love. With being the gay son to a president and having his life mistakes being plastered for all to see, TJ has had many people use his unwanted fame for their own gain. Well that was until he met you.

You were the most kind and selfless person he’s met. He ran into you, literally ran into you, when he was stumbling out of his club. You helped him get to his home and stayed with him until he was fully sober. He cried in your arms when he realized that even though you knew who he was you didn’t take advantage of him in his inebriated state. You two exchanged information and you were the one he called when he needed a savior or someone to talk to so he didn’t make a mistake. After about two years of being friends, TJ confessed that he had feelings for you through tears streaming down his cheeks. That night was spent making love with tears from both of you.

TJ didn’t celebrate his birthday when he was on his own. He usually spent his birthdays high, drunk, with a hook up, or all the above. This would be the first birthday you spent with him as a couple. You reserved a suit at the Hillbrook Inn and Spa in Charles Town, West Virginia for the two of you for his birthday. You reserved a whole week that way the two of you could relax without feeling rushed. You decided to surprise him with it before the club opened. You worked with him at said club mainly taking care of stuff behind the scenes.

You walked in and saw TJ stocking up the alcohol behind the bar. Even though his parents believed that owning a club would be detrimental to his recovery, you’ve seen first hand how well he’s been doing.

You leaned on your elbows on the bar, “Hey sweet thang. How’s set up going?”

TJ turned around and lit up when he saw you, “Hey baby! It’s going good. We’re running low on a few things but we’ll be good for tonight. I made a list so we can make an order tomorrow.” He leaned over and gave you a quick kiss on the lips.

“Well, you’re gonna have to give the list to someone else because tomorrow morning we’re heading to a B&B in West Virginia for a week for your birthday.” You smiled.

TJ’s jaw dropped, “What?”

“You. Me. Birthday trip. West Virginia.” You could see tears well up in TJ’s eyes and knew in that moment this is the first time anyone has done something like this for him. “Oh baby.” You grabbed his hand. He laid his head down on the arm you weren’t holding and cried. You ran you fingers through his soft, fluffy hair and just let him get his emotions out.

TJ sniffled as his cries subsided, “Really? Just the two of us?” It broke your heart to see how doubtful he was. To know how many people took advantage of him. To know that he most likely didn’t get the love he deserves. To know how many times he’s been ‘just another hook up’.

“Yeah baby boy. Just the two of us.” Your thumb rubbed the back of his hand in comfort. He looked at you and then a teary smile spread across his face. He jumped over the bar and pulled you into a tight hug. You laughed and hugged him tight as well.

“Hey, T. We open in 15.” One of the bouncers yelled across the club. TJ gave him a thumbs up as an acknowledgement. TJ grabbed both sides of your face and pulled you in for a big kiss. You smiled into the kiss knowing this would be the best birthday for him.

The next morning you two got up bright and made the 5 hour drip from D.C. to West Virginia. You drove and let TJ sleep since he had a late night. He woke up as you pulled into the entrance of the B&B.

TJ gasped, “It’s so pretty.” You giggled as he acted like a little kid in wonder. He probably didn’t get to act like a kid when he was a kid but you didn’t mind. You found a parking spot and got out. He got out as well, jaw still dropped at the sheer beauty of the place. You started to grab yours and TJ’s bags when he snapped out of his wonderment.

“Nooo! Let me grab them!” TJ ran around the car. “You drove! I can get them!” You laughed as he grabbed the two duffle bags out of your hands and swung them over his shoulders. “Let’s go!” He grabbed your hand and dragged you over to the front entrance. You two checked in, got your room, and chilled for a bit before exploring the place.

The day of his birthday he woke up with his dick in your mouth. His hand flew to your hair and tangled his fingers, “Fuck babe.” You kept going until he warned you, “I’m gonna cum.” You doubled down your efforst until he released into your mouth, “Fuck. That’s a way to wake up.”

You swallowed and kissed up his naked chest, “ Happy birthday, baby boy.” A kiss to his lips progressed into a slow make out session. “Today is all about you so we can do whatever you’d like.”

“Does that mean we can stay in bed all day?” TJ smirked.

You giggled and kissed his nose, “If you absolutely wanted to.”

He shook his head, “Nah. I just wanted to know what you would say.”

You playfully slapped his chest and rolled your eyes. You got off him and headed to the shower. “You gonna join me, birthday boy?” TJ scrambled out of bed so fast he felt out of bed. You giggled. He stood and took a step but fell again because you left his boxers around his ankles. You doubled over in laughter as he kicked them off and ran to you carrying you the rest of the way into the shower.

After a wonderful day of exploring, sex, lunch, more exploring, presentation of gifts, and a wonderful dinner at a nice restaurant you had one last surprise for him. He called the club to make sure everything was running smoothly and you took that moment to set up the bathroom.

A bubble bath. Candles lit throughout the entire space. Bubbly apple juice because he’s done so well to stay sober and didn’t want to ruin that. Good smelling soaps. Soft towels and warm, fluffy robes. You make sure the water was hot but not scalding and walked out the bathroom just as he hung up.

“Everything is good at the club. What’s on the itinerary now?” TJ walked over to you. You just smiled and grabbed his hand dragging him to the bathroom. He gasped. His eyes took in everything around him as you silently began to strip him. Once he was naked you helped him in the tub and started to wash his body from outside the tub.

Once his body was cleaned you took off your clothes and climbed in behind him. You got his hair wet and started washing it. Taking your time to run your fingers through his ultra soft hair. He was quiet the whole time but you noticed silent tears streaming down his face when he leaned back against you. You didn’t bring it to attention but instead continued your movements. You grabbed the plastic cup you set aside and started rinsing his hair. After all the soap was out of his hair you wrapped your arms around his shoulder and held him while he cried.

The two of sat there with you placing kisses in his hair and whispering affirmations. Just letting him know you were proud of the choices he made to change his path. How proud you were even though he was dealt a bad hand. How proud you were of in with the success of the club. How proud you were of him in general.

The water started to get cold so you gently sat him up and got out before you helped him out. With your frame wrapped up in one of the robes, you grabbed the other and wrapped it around his tying it at his waist. You grabbed one of the towels and wiped his face of tears and dried his hair. You giggled a bit because of his hair sticking out in many directions which made him smile. You walked him over to the bed, pulled the blankets back, and pulled him into bed with you. TJ laid on your chest as you cuddled him nails scratching against his scalp.

“That’s the first time anyone has be gently with me. It wasn’t sexual. It’s wasn’t for drugs. It was just-” He trailed off not knowing how to describe it.

“I know baby.” And you did. You’ve seen the aftermath of what non-gentle touches have caused.

“Sometimes I wonder how different my life would be if I didn’t fuck up so much. Maybe my parents and Dougie would be proud of me. Maybe my mistakes wouldn’t be broadcasted for everyone to judge. Maybe if my suicide attempts worked people might say nice things about me.”

That last phrase set you off, “Thomas James Hammond,” you sat up pulling him up with you, “You know how I feel about you talking like that. I know how sucky life was to you. I’ve been with you through a lot of it. But there are people who are proud of you. Hell, I’m so damn proud of you there are no words in any language that can describe the feeling. You’ve managed to push through the worst life has thrown at you and come out on top. I love you so damn much it hurts every single time you doubt your accomplishments. I know none of what I said will change your mind overnight but I will keep telling you everything and anything until the end of time.” You lifted his head to look at you, “I love you so, so much Thomas James.”

You pulled him into a teary kiss. When you pulled back you saw a small smile grace his face. “There’s that smile I love so much.” That caused a bigger smile. You kissed his nose and he scrunched his face. You pulled him to lay back down and cuddled him close. You laced your fingers with his and laid in silence. After a few more silent moments, TJ looked up at you.

“Thank you making this the best birthday.”

Tags: @patzammit @sherlocksmanwatson @katiew1973 @bugsbucky @this-kitten-is-smitten

#the ss hbc drunk drabbles #tj hammond #tj hammond x reader #sebastian stan #sebastian stan characters

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everyhowlmarksthedead · 4 years

Text

EZEKIEL ‘EZ’ REYES x READER ⨟ HEADCANON

Anon asked: There is not enough ez tho and you are great writer so can you write something about him falling in love with someone else after emily? headcannon or oneshot ?

Word Count: 1.6k

Author comments: This work wasn't re-edited, so I'm sorry if you find grammar mistakes! I hope you all enjoy. Gif credits: @angels-reyes.

Tag list: @starrynite7114 @chibsytelford @dazzledamazon @mara-mpou @sammskellington @gemini0410 @1-800-imagines @briana-mishell24 @sassymox @whyisgmora @aquamento @sadeyesgf @viviansafizada @samcrobae @jade770 @witchy-wish @rebel-without-cause-x @xx--day-dreamer--xx @spiced-reads @tita127 @ifoundmyhappythought @enamouravecleslivresetlechocolat @angelxshiba @destynelseclipsa @sheeshgivemeabreak @abbiesthings @knowles-morgan @lady-pswrld @minnicelli ✨ (if you wanna be tagged, send me a message!)

When you walked to their table and asked what could you do for them, EZ only thought “marry me”.

It's been six months since your father opened his cafeteria at Santo Padre, and the Mayans come every two or three days, except when they're traveling.

They're already your friends.

But, even if EZ is the cutest guy you have ever met, he acts kinda strange some moments. Mostly, when you two are alone.

“Morning, boy scout. Coffee?”

It's too early so the place is almost empty. The Reyes is sitting at his table, writing something in a small notebook that he hides as soon as he notices you.

“Uh?” He asks then nailing an elbow over the white wood, pretending you haven't seen anything.

“Coffee?”

“Su—Sure”. He nods clearing his throat, offering you one of the mugs on the table.

“Were you writing… poems?”

“Poems? Po—Poems? No. No, no, no”. He laughs nervous, shaking his head. “That... shit ain't my style. No. Definitely, no”.

“I like ‘that shit’”. You just say, wrapping your left forearm with your right fingers, after serving the drink.

He looks at you with parted lips, noticing that he's a complete idiot, trying to pretend he's a bad boy just because of the piece of leather he's wearing.

“Hey, mami! Damn! Te ves preciosa por la mañana”. (You look beautiful in the morning). Taza's voice calls your attention, behind you.

“Hey, Aztecas”.

“Uh, right to my heart, querida”. Bishop pretends that you hit him, turning to the guys coming to the table.

“Coffee, coffee, coffee!” Angel says leaving a kiss on your cheek. “Oh, sorry, guys. Have we interrupted your Disney moment?”

“If you say that because your brother looks like ‘Dopey’ from Snow White… yeah, we were having a Disney moment”.

EZ talked about you with the crew. They all were happy because he, finally, was forgetting Emily. And he also looked somewhat more focused. But he's too dumb to talk with you and the crew is always trying to help.

“It's too late, EZ can take you home”. Tranq says, looking through the big glass to notice the empty avenue.

“Yeah! Right, boy scout?” Coco palms his back harder than he should, causing him to almost choke on the beer.

“Fo—For sure. For sure”. He replies coughing, cleaning his mouth with a hand.

“Don' worry, my boyfriend is gonna pick me up”.

Angel spits his drink all over Gilly, when he hears your words.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” The oldest Reyes asks with a high-pitched and shrill voice, trying to recover himself.

“Angel, don' try to escape from the friend zone, it's annoyen' put you in once and again”. You point at him, raising both eyebrows. “I was just kiddin', relax... About my boyfriend, not about the friendzone''.

“Anyway. EZ will take you home”.

“Will you?” Turning to the Reyes, he nods with pursed lips. Well, you actually don't know if he's agreeing or denying, because of the moves of his head.

The whole ride you are preparing yourself for something to happen, but nothing. He just hugs you for a second, before leaving.

Because of the next two weeks listening to his little brother saying that he's going to ask you out, Angel ends up going crazy.

Someone is hitting the small bell on the counter, making you nervous, until you're able to turn around frowning. You find Angel sitting on a stool. Messy hair, eye bags and the same clothes than yesterday. Serving him a coffee, you rest your forearms against the marble edge.

“Rough night?”

“Yeah, like the last two weeks, querida”. He answers by opening his eyes too much with an annoyed and singing voice.

“Can I help you?”

“Yeah, by having a fucking date with my lil'bro”.

Wrinkling your nose, you lean back your head for a second. Confused like never before.

“You like him, dumbass. And since he took you home, he's the whole fucking damn time telling me he's gonna ask you out”. Bowing above the counter, he grabs your wrists resting his forehead on it, almost sobbing. “I fuckin' beg you, (Y/N). Go on a date with him”.

“Why doesn't he ask me?”

“'Cause he has never have a girlfri— Well, he had one, but that fuckin' bitch doesn' count”.

How was possible that a guy like EZ was single all the time. There is something fishy (...).

“But don' worry about sex. He's pretty goo— I mean, I don' know. Zero incest. But girls say so”. He says supporting his chin on the counter, smiling sideways. “I beg you. I'll do anything for you. Please. If I have to listen ‘I'm gonna ask (Y/N) out” again… Damn, preciosa, I swear to god I'm gonna be the fucking mexican Van Gogh”.

When Angel tells EZ that he has talked with you, he goes to the cafeteria like a bat out of hell. But you're not there. You asked for a day off. He thinks he fucked up things because of Angel's chat.

He has been trying to get your number at all cost to text you something. He doesn't know what. Maybe a ‘sorry, my brother is stupid’, maybe a ‘I would like to have a date with you’. But he can't get it.

The next morning he comes back to the cafeteria with the crew, but you're not working. And he feels somewhat disappointed. And Bishop already scolded Angel.

But then, EZ receives a call from the Romeros and Bros.

“Pretty girl asking for you, Ezekiel Reyes”.

He describes you getting up from his chair with his heart about to explode, under the Mayans look.

“Yeah, that's the pretty girl. She's waiting in the clubhouse”.

EZ rides his bike at full speed.

And he's about to have an accident. But it's Ezekiel Reyes. The golden boy. He can't have an accident. What do we say to the god of death? Not today, mijo.

EZ feels his legs trembling as he comes closer to the main door.

“He—Hey… Were you looking for me?”

“Why have you only had one girlfriend and ‘that bitch doesn' count’?”

The Reyes doesn't answer, turning around the bar in silence to grab a small glass, serve tequila on it and drink it in one gulp. After that, he holds your hand, pulling you to the closer sofa to sit with you.

“A man killed my mom. I chased him. I shot a cop by mistake. He died. I went six years to jail. I broke up with my girlfriend because she deserved someone better than me. Then... she aborted our baby, in some kind of revenge. But she still being around, even if I don' want her close, 'cause we work with his husband”.

You're freaking out, hiding it by a serious gesture with pursed lips, nodding for a second.

“I'm not the guy a father would want for her daughter. I should have told you one bit at a time, but I really fell in love with you, when you came to my table. A red lace with white dots tying your hair, the apple smell leaving a trail wherever you went, the smiley you write above every ‘i’ in our bills…”

Now you don't know if he's a psycho.

“Sorre', I remember shit. Photographic memory”.

Oh.

“I would really like to have a date with you, (Y/N)”.

“Were you writing a poem?”

“My mom used to read me every night, and I was studying Literature at college. I fuckin' love poetry”.

He finally gets the date. Tacos, dance, tequila and poems. The perfect one.

Angel sleeps like a baby that night.

Some months before, he introduces you to the club at a party, even if they already know you. But they're Mayans. They need parties like they need air to live.

For life issues, you meet Emily one day walking around Santo Padre, hanging out with Leti. She jeers about your relationship, until you break her nose and also one of your knuckles. Of course, you get arrested because she's Miguel Galindo's BITCH wife.

When EZ goes to pick you up, that BITCH woman is there, making a complaint against you accompanied by a man with braids and black sunglasses.

“Ezekiel”. She sobs, while you live the scene from the cell, rolling your eyes with a heavy snort.

The club has paid your bail, so you can go home after spending the night there. But you're not sure if you want to go home in case that, because of what you did, you're going to have trouble with your boyfriend. You don't want to lose him and maybe you should have thought better about it before hitting her.

The Reyes passes her away, straight to the cell being opened by a cop. And you're trembling, until the man puts his kutte on your shoulders, leaving a kiss on your temple.

“Let's go home, ex-con”. He jokes laughing, surrounding your neck with an arm, walking stuck to you.

EZ usually makes fun of you because of it, calling you “the mexicans Bonnie and Clyde”.

At the end, even if he doesn't have to prove it, he shows you everyday how much he loves you. And after two weeks you don't remember who the fuck is Emily Galindo.

#mayans mc x reader #mayans mc imagine #mayans mc #mayans x reader #ez reyes x reader #ezekiel reyes #ezekiel reyes x reader #ez reyes

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soulwillower · 4 years

Text

if you’re too shy • richie tozier

(richie tozier x cam girl!reader smut)

[based off the song if you’re too shy (let me know) by the 1975.]

requested: i can't find it lol BUT 🤍anon (i think) requested a fic based off of the 1975′s new song, if you’re too shy let me know !!

warnings: swearing, alcohol use, switch!richie kinda, smut, unprotected sex, a tiny bit of cumplay i guess, mentions of phone sex, oral sex (female receiving), face sitting, a bit of dirty talking, UNEDITED as always

also i wrote this in a different style than usual and idk if i like it much but u can let me know what u guys think,, if its weird i can go in and change the povs since its 3rd person richie

[losers + reader are 21+ in this.]

7.4k words lol

♡

i see her online all the time i'm trying not to stare down there while she talks about her tough time

"h-hey, man, who's that?" the voice from right next to richie makes him damn near leap out of his seat. it makes beverly chuckle a bit as she takes a bite of her apple, shaking her head. "it’s nobody." richie says quickly as he tilts his phone towards his chest and shoots a toothy grin to bill. his friend raises his full eyebrows, "wh-what, so n-nobody was sending you n-nudes?"

"something like that." richie mutters, stomach fluttering as the image flashes in his mind’s eye - the curves, the dark red lace, the plush skin painting a perfect scene in richie’s vivid imagination.

richie looks back down at the photo. his his thumbs hover over the profile picture; he'd found her originally on his instagram explore page, the photos teasing and immediately he had to know more. y/n.

and then a few days later, he'd subscribed to her only fans, which he never quite thought he'd do with anyone, but he couldn't help it. she was so enticing, so perfect and so alluring. it was the playfulness that pulled him in; and he swears he's never lusted after somebody like he has with her. it was kind of starting to freak him out.

"is that o-onlyfans?" bill says and richie shoves bill's nosy face off his shoulder with a panicked grunt. "fuck off, mushmouth."

bill laughs and stan and bev perk up from across the table, staring at the two, interests suddenly piqued. "did you subscribe to a girl's onlyfans, rich?" stan says with a grin, setting his pen down on his notebook.

richie just smirks and wiggles his brows a bit, enough to confirm his question. bill chuckles from next to richie.

"let me see." bev says, wiggling her manicured nails in a "gimme" motion. richie hands his phone over with red cheeks. normally he wouldn't care about his friends discovering he's paid money just to see a hot chick's bod, but this was different. for some reason, he felt connected to her. god, that thought made him want to slam his head against a brick wall. she doesn't even know him, for all he knows she could live in the middle of.... montana, or like, ohio.

bev whistles and stan nods, "if i looked like that," bev mumbles as she tosses richie's phone back towards him, "i'd do that too. mad props."

noises of agreement fill the table but richie's just looking at the small smirk that peeks from the corner of one of the photos and he can't help but wonder what her eyes are like in real life. he wishes he could meet her.

girl of your dreams, you know what i mean there's something 'bout her stare that makes you nervous and you say things that you don't mean

it's a cold day when bill and richie find themselves stumbling in to the coffee shop for a drink. bill's muttering about some girl in his creative writing class that gave him head when richie's eyes catch a figure so familiar yet foreign that he stops dead in his tracks. bill turns to him, face confused. "r-richie, what's wrong w-with you?"

richie shakes his head, stammering in disbelief, "that-that's her, bill. the girl, from onlyfans. y/n." he whispers, gesturing with his eyes towards the girl working the register.

bill’s jaw goes slack, green eyes raking over her form and igniting richie’s stomach with boiling rage. as if bill’s doing something that only richie is allowed to do – as if they're not both being total creeps.

“h-holy sh-shit. she’s b-beautiful.” bill mumbles. richie elbows him in the ribs, shooting him a glare that prompts an eye-roll from his auburn haired friend.

richie swallows and watches, his throat feeling like sandpaper as she laughs at something the customer in front of them said. bill nudges richie, "i-i'm gonna get a s-seat. t-talk to her."

he winks and grins as he walks away, leaving richie with his reckless self. he thinks he's sweating through his sweater as he walks up, finding himself face-to-face with her. "hi, how can i help you?" she asks, giving him a smile

holyshitholyshitholyshit.

he might've just came right then and there. okay, he's gotta say something cool, something smooth. don't be a dumbass, tozier.

"howdy, sugar. i'll have my coffee like i like my women." his mouth blurts as his brain sirens go off, PUT ON THE BRAKES, RICH – "a hot shock to the lap.”

she glares at him, cheeks light pink and eyebrows pulled together in annoyance and yep, richie's probably going to get hard because of that look but he's also probably going to toss his body off a bridge because what the fuck, tozier?

he can hear bill laughing quietly from a ways away and he quickly shakes his head, muttering quietly, "jail. jail, richard."

"funny." she deadpans, clearly not amused. because of course she isn't.

"sorry, i'll have a black coffee, y/n." he mutters, eyes widening to himself when he realizes she was not wearing a goddamn name tag and he just said her name.

this is a disaster. she gives him a bewildered, slightly creeped out look and if richie wasn't panicking, he'd gape at how she still managed to be effortlessly gorgeous even now.

he sighs, shaking his head, the door of the cafe opening and blowing a gust of frigid air through the warm room. fitting - douche chill.

"look, toots, i don't want this to be weird. i- um, i recognize you." he says, cheeks aflame. she raises a brow, face straight for a few moments, unsure what he means.

it's not long after when recognition flashes over her own face - must have ruled out coffee shop, university and her local gym - and she nods with a tight, almost uncomfortable smile.

he tries not to think of the livestream he watched last night where she showed all her new gifts and modeled lingerie, and how he’d spent his time to himself with his left hand immediately after watching. his cheeks are red with shame.

"okay." is all she says, writing down a scribbled order on the coffee cup. her eyes shoot back up and give richie a once-over that really makes his fingers itch - god, why did he have to be this way?

he almost runs his fingers through his curls but decides against it, eyes opting to focus on her own gorgeous eyes as they meet him. "i'm impressed i have a fan who looks like you, i must say. even if you are a complete jack ass." she purrs and his jaw nearly smacks the floor at its velocity as it flies open.

"what's that supposed to mean?" he asks then with a small grin, flattered at the tiniest of compliments that just barely, in his mind, eclipsed the insult that he so very much deserved.

"i'm saying you're kind of a dick. it's too bad, because you're real cute." she says casually, handing him his change. his stomach flips and butterflies release in his chest, a feeling that he's not felt in almost five years.

but damn, of course he messed up - he got the chance to talk to the hottest girl on earth and he started it by saying an awful joke that wasn't funny at all. of course she though he was a dick, he is one.

he's shocked, though, as he waits for his coffee with bill, who is still snickering into his hand every few moments, to find his coffee cup with extra sharpie scribbled on the white paper. a name.

y/n. and below it is a phone number with a small heart scribbled, and richie can't tell if it's a seven or a one but he figures he'd try every phone number in the damn state if it meant he could fucking text her. holy fuck.

"maybe i would like you better if you took off your clothes i'm not playing with you, baby i think that you should give it a go" she said, "maybe i would like you better if you took off your clothes i wanna see, and stop thinking if you're too shy, then let me too shy, then let me know"

he didn't text her for two days and three hours. yes, he counted it. no, he won't think about why he was obsessing over the numbers - but since the time he'd finally had found the courage to text her today, things have escalated proficiently.

she'd just mentioned how hot it was in her apartment since her heater had gone haywire - even though the winter winds were cold, she'd claimed she was burning up in what she was wearing.

and the mere mention of her clothing had sent richie into somewhat of a spiral, spending at least seven minutes glued to his phone and scrolling through the saved album he had of those photos of her that she'd posted; his sweatpants getting increasingly tight and his palm suddenly aching to slip through the fabric and find some release.

but, in true trashmouth fashion, he apparently needed that sweet, sweet rejection from a hot cam girl he'd somehow weaseled into getting the number of in order to wank off properly, so he types out a text and hits send immediately.

what are you wearing?

and then he almost vomits in embarrassment – what was she going to think? did he just royally fuck up? oh god, he’s going to have to shave his head and move to canada.

his phone buzzes and he nearly passes out when he lays his eyes upon the image attached – there her body is again, curvy and full and beautiful, her skin glowing in the fading light of what he assumes is her bedroom. and with it:

this. what are you wearing, rich?

and then he pulls his gaze from his phone and stands, breathing heavily because holy shit.

he's gotten nudes before, but.... none from someone like her. holy shit.

he walks to his bathroom, splashing water on his beet-red cheeks. he swallows, staring at himself in the mirror. fuck.

he slaps his cheek once, then winking at himself in attempt to muster any sliver of confidence. and then he snaps a picture, only in his boxers.

and then he has to physically refrain from making a joke about wearing the same lingerie set as her, instead sending a flirty text that he knows any other woman would blush at. he just doesn’t know with y/n, and maybe that’s why he loves it so much. she's keeping him on his toes.

you like what you see?

he sends that one afterwards, shaking his head because oh my god, she's going to respond with "no" and then bill him $40 for the nude she sent him. not that he wouldn't pay, but...

his phone dings and he nearly breaks an ankle running to his desk.

yeah, i do. but maybe i'd like you better without any clothes on.

he almost yells out loud at this, but he has a feeling that waking up stan in the middle of the night would not be optimal after their 'roommate agreement' they'd made that explicitly states richie cannot scream between 1am - 9am. so instead he smirks to himself, face turning red.

he's getting harder by the moment, and as he stares at that picture she'd sent earlier, he lets out a breathy groan. the lace....

we could face time yk

or we don't have to.

he reads her words in live time, watching the thought bubble appear again and watching it like a hawk. he can just imagine her sitting there with a small smirk as another text comes in and he almost groans as his dick twitches.

like, if you're too shy or something ;)

he stares at the screen for two seconds at that sinful photo she'd sent just before those texts and then sighs, shaking his head and pressing the green face-time call button.

i've been wearing nothing every time i call you and i'm starting to feel weird about it sometimes it's better if you think about it this time, i think i'm gonna drink through it

three days later, richie was undeniably and unequivocally drunk. but, as he's just explained about three times to mike, he knows that it is just easier to not think right, especially about her, right now - and the best way to do that is by getting so piss drunk that even if he tried to "hit her line," as he so eloquently put it, his dick would be too whiskey'd out to make a full appearance.

it's for the best. mike had fake gagged at richie’s cadence with a laugh, but richie was dead serious because he was starting to think he had a real issue.

it was obviously just a fun thing to do between two near-strangers, but he'd found that he was starting to almost pavlov-style condition himself into getting turned on every time the name y/n came across his recent texts or face times, and it was getting to be too much.

especially when her post notification popped up and he cracked a fatty in the middle of his econ lecture. christ, the point of elasticity of markers in the u.s. was not something he pictured when he usually had to quell a pitch in his tent. so yeah, it's too much.

because yes, he loves her fucking body and wants nothing more than her, but in truth he longs for the feeling of her skin against his; to touch her, to kiss her, to make her his. all the time.

but yet, it was just a good way to get off without all the strings and ribbons and yarn and whatever the fuck her soft-looking knit bra is made from attached.

so much for not thinking about her.

but i see her online (and don't think that i should be calling) all the time (i just wanted a happy ending) and i'm pretending i don't care about her stare while she's giving me a tough time

it’s noon the next day and he's laying in (for some reason) stan's bed instead of his own with a blinding, mind-splitting headache and an insatiable craving for a cheeseburger, eyes squinting in lust and something akin to shame as he watches the livestream y/n had just started. she’s in a slip – a very thin, silk and see through slip and it makes him more frustrated than he’s willing to admit.

as he stares at her smooth skin and wonders how it'd be to touch it all, her eyes catch something in the chat and she smiles coyly. "hi, rich." she purrs and richie almost chokes - holy shit, she saw him join.

"do you like my gift i just got?" she asks coyly, snapping the straps of her bra with a small smile and he stiffens almost instantly, thinking of how many times he'd seen her skin in videos and photos that were just for him.

how she'd moaned his name two nights ago on face time, her fingers buried inside herself slightly off-camera. and oh, how he wishes he could see all of her, but they'd not crossed that line yet - anything they'd done hadn't been yet proven visually, only from facial expressions, noises, and the brutal honestly of being together through face time.

he wants her so fucking bad, he needs her like he needs water to drink and air to breathe and it's murdering him as he watches her react to the chat of her livestream, playing with the hem of her black lace panties.

god, he needs a cold shower or something if he's going to get anything done today.

and then he's calling her an a few hours after her stream ends because he just can't wait - he feels his stomach twist with shame as he realizes he should not be doing such a certainly a terrible idea. but she answers after three rings. "richie." her siren voice purrs and he literally feels himself fall deeper into the pit.

"hi there, toots. got any coffee in the pot for me?" he asks, sounding surprisingly eloquent compared to how she normally makes him feel.

she hums in fake thought, and it makes richie grin. she's fucking adorable. "come to the shop, i have my break in ten." and then she hangs up. he sighs, rubbing his face with his hand as he shakes his head. he's utterly fucked.

he's there in record time, a smirk plastered on his face as he walks in and sees her sitting at a table, lookin' all pretty. just for him.

"what made you think of calling?" she says in loo of a greeting. he sits across from her and wills his eyes to meet hers. "nothin' toots." he says with a half shrug, taking a sip of the coffee placed in front of him that has the the name 'dick' written on it in her handwriting. he rolls his eyes affectionately.

"oh, so it wasn't anything to do with my livestream this morning?" she asks with a look, eyeing him. her eyes are swimmable, they hold so many stories and secrets and maybe richie's just hungover, but he's feeling very flustered.

"we-w, uh, no. what... what are you talking about?" he rolls his eyes at himself inwardly, cursing stuttering bill and his contagious speech patterns. "-i don't know what you're talking about, sugar." he recovers fairly smoothly, if he may toot his own horn. and honestly, he can pretend not to care as long as he doesn't look into that goddamn stare of hers.

he chuckles awkwardly, cheeks aflame as she stares at him with a bored look and a small hum. she still looks perfect and he's even more nervous now, because oh god, oh fuck, he's gonna get slapped in the face by y/n.

it was pretty unspoken since they'd started doing... stuff... that richie probably still watched her content online, but she'd never fully addressed it until today during the livestream in front of a thousand others.

he's choking on his spit in shame but then a smile splits her face and richie's sure he's suffocated on his own saliva and gone to a sinner's heaven. or maybe hell.

"oh, richie, i'm just teasing you. look at your face!" she says with an airy laugh, pinching his cheeks and making him want to shrivel up as he turns even redder. what the fuck? "-so cute. alright, i've got to get back to work. i'll see you around, rich." she says with a wink, taking her coffee and tossing it into the trash bin as she stalks towards the employee back room.

he gapes as he watches her leave and then gets up and makes his way to the exit, clutching the coffee like it was trying to jump out of his grasp and make a run for it. god, she's too much.

"maybe i would like you better if you took off your clothes i'm not playing with you, baby i think that you should give it a go" she said, "maybe i would like you better if you took off your clothes i wanna see, and stop thinking If you're too shy, then let me too shy, then let me know"

"-babe, you'll have to try harder than that." richie says with a chuckle, watching his phone screen as the beautiful girl on face time gives him a sly, challenging look. she's in a green lace bra, one richie's not seen yet and he can feel himself stiffen as she absently trails her fingers over her chest.

they'd been much closer over the last week since he last saw her in person, enough so that in the three-is weeks of knowing her, he's positive he's head over ass for her in a way that he shouldn't be. and yet, she still comes back every time, still texts him and answers those face time calls. he's baffled, honestly.

"i know you hate me because i'm right." he adds, not even totally remembering what point he's trying to prove as y/n shifts back a bit and more of her body is revealed, her hair glowing dimly in the soft lighting of her room. his eyes run over her curves, her full thighs and stomach and hips that fill over her panties and he almost groans.

"whatever, maybe i'd like you better if you took off your clothes." she says coyly. and richie's half flattered, as usual, but the more he thinks of it the more deflated he feels. he kind of thought they were growing something more than just getting each other off over face time like horny fifteen year olds. he grins nonetheless.

"you say that a lot, you know." richie says breathlessly as he stares at her. she tilts her head ever so slightly and grins, biting her lip as her eyes move around her screen with a conflicted look. "-why?" he adds.

she hums again.

"well. okay, so there's the visual world - like, the internet, onlyfans, instagram- it tells us that everything is amazing. and we should want everything. and it makes us yearn for everything that we don’t have and everything that’s unobtainable. you know, love, a relationship beyond physical. and even physical, it's different when it's online."

her words confuse him much more than they aid him. "you think... that because of the internet, love is unattainable?" he asks with furrowed brows, unsure how somebody so perfect and, quite frankly, lovable, would think that.

"it is for me." she says it with a small sense of forlorning but mostly it's whispered. enough that richie's heart skips a beat and he's, for the first time, not having a hard time keeping his eyes on her face instead of her body.

"what?" he asks dumbly. she just laughs, shaking her head and he stares at her on his tiny phone screen in the dark.

"that’s something that, you know. in real life, person to person, it has a lot of connotations of... trust and vulnerability and connection. doing what i do- and what we're doing… on the internet - it has the opposite of those connotations. like, before you, i didn't- i didn't really do this, i just was selling stuff. because guys don't want to fuck the girl who sells her body online. and you know now, i want to..." she trails off and richie doesn't dare interrupt her because he thinks she's about to say something he's wanted to tell her for a while now.

"i don't know, i guess. exploring someone's body in physical presence isn't seen at all as voyeuristic, or anything apart from...like, an intimate exchange." she says it casually, brushing hair from her face and shit, richie's swooning. he's in fucking love, he knows it, because y/n is so smart and intelligent and he's so fucking trashed for her. as she speaks, her hands move and distract him slightly from her body, doused in blue light from the screen and splayed out for him and only him on her phone camera.

the soft lace on her hips and chest make his body stiffen and it causes him to suppress a groan as she sighs, but richie knows he can’t screenshot this heavenly sight because she’ll definitely notice and she can probably already tell he’s having a hard time not staring at her alluring figure as she talks.

"-whereas, you know. as soon as it happens on the internet, it becomes kinky and cam-girly. and, you know, that's fine. i love doing it. it's just, i'm not sure where the authentic communication even is now. or if i get to have a happy ending." she says and he finally sees her blush for the first time.

he wishes he was there with her, he wishes that he could touch the redness on her cheeks and caress her curvy body and taste her skin on his tongue. he wants to feel himself inside her, he wants to be with her and kiss her lips and yet he can't, so he sighs and shifts in his position, moving to turn up the brightness of his phone so he can see better.

"shouldn't you get to be the one to decide that, doll?" is all he adds. because he feels kind of lost and just as confused as y/n is with this.

he's starting to feel weird about it, because... is this authentic? what makes things like hookups or whatever the hell they've been doing authentic? shouldn't this be easy? it's just phone sex, phone sex with a really hot girl.

a girl who is complex and alive and full of sincerity and richie is definitely falling harder than he should.

she just sighs but makes no other comment. and then they just stare at each other, richie's face illuminated in his dark room by the phone's reflection.

well, i found a motel it looked like the bins i think there'd been a murder so we couldn't get in i need to get back i've gotta see the girl on the screen

"come over and watch a movie with me." he says into the phone, biting his lip. the silence from the other end of the line is deafening as she makes her decision, because they both know she's not about to come over just to watch the shining or psycho.

they've never done that before, and richie knows if she does come over, then whatever they have will crash down in a fiery mess. and he hates how excited that makes him as he waits in silence for her to drop the ball. so to speak.

"okay." she says, sounding shocked herself, and richie can't contain the excited grin from eclipsing his face. "yeah?" he asks breathlessly, and she's quiet for a little longer. "yeah. text me your address."

she hangs up after that, and richie's thumbs shake as he types his address and sprints out to where stan, mike, ben, and bill are playing video games in he and stan's living room, wheezing at all of them to get out because someone fucking unbelievable is about to walk through that door.

she's there about an hour later, cheeks flushed when richie opens his door, looking just as nervous and flustered. "hi, chee." she says breathlessly, staring up at him with those goddamn eyes, the eyes that pulled him in the first time. his stomach flips in affection at her nickname and he offers her a drink as she takes in his shitty apartment. he wonders briefly if stan ended up buying that rosé that he'd given him shit for considering, and then prays that stan will stay the night elsewhere.

she's already pouring out glasses of wine when he snaps back to reality, and he grins at her, mumbling in thanks as she passes him a glass that's certainly poured almost to the brim.

"what are we watching, then?" she asks coyly, lifting a brow at him. his cheeks are red, but he tugs her arm down the hall towards his room with a grin, their wine sloshing from their glasses as they move erratically.

"we're watching psycho, y/n/n." he says as he pulls her into his room, glancing back to see she's already swallowed down almost half her glass, a lipstick stain on the side of it. faintly he knows stan will be frustrated if richie doesn't clean that off, but he's more distracted by her lips.

"i like psycho." she says with a nod and a cheeky grin, "the whole 'voyeuristic gaze' thing with hitchcock." she mumbles, and richie recalls faintly learning about that in one of his film classes freshman year and he grins as he takes a hefty gulp of his rosé, figuring he's already given himself away and if she's going to do that, he can too.

he hums, setting down his glass and grabbing hers to set it besides his on the bedside table. he turns around, intending on grabbing his laptop so they could watch the film, but she's so much closer that he'd expected and her hands fall onto his shoulders and he almost shits himself.

unpleasant, but honest. just richie's style.

"can i try something?" she asks with a grin, and richie nods, knowing that she could do anything to him and he'd gladly let it happen and most likely pay out of pocket for the damages afterwards.

and then she's pulling him from her grip on his shoulders, her lips sliding against his and making him grip her hips. his mind almost explodes at with y/n-sensory-overload because he feels her everywhere - on his lips, against his hands, on his shoulders, and pressing against his front.

her lips taste like chamomile and rosé.

she thinks his lips taste like vanilla and cigarette smoke, just as she'd always imagined. he feels so real, pressed against her lips and his body against hers, and she sighs as her tongue slips into his mouth because god, she's needed him for so long. and now she has him.

his hands move, touching every inch of her as their tongues fight for dominance. she pulls back, smirking as she gently pushes him onto his mattress, sliding onto his lap smoothly afterwards, grinding her hips against his slowly.

the moan he emits is heavenly and she could cry because she finally gets to hear it in person and not through the crackling static frequency of the phone.

so she grinds down on him again, eager to feel all of him. he's hardening against her core and she whimpers into his mouth in need as his fingers slip under her top, rubbing circles on her bare skin and making her shiver. she's noticed to this gentleness; it was rare when she did get to enjoy the comfort of another body with her own, and when she did they were hardly half as loving or caring as him.

she's desperate now, she needs to feel him inside her after all these weeks of teasing and waiting, so her hand snakes down to palm him through his sweats. he lets out a small groan into her mouth, biting her lip as he pulls back slightly. their eyes meet and his are hooded with lust, lips parted as she pumps him slowly from outside his sweats. his hips buck up lightly into her palm and she smiles gently, kissing him slowly.

"let me make you feel good, y/n." he mutters, eyes pleading as he stares up at her. her stomach flutters with butterflies and she nods, shocked that he wants to pleasure her.

he gently pulls her off his lap until she's laying on his mattress and he stares down at her, biting his lip as he takes her in. he can't fucking believe she's really here. she slowly pulls off her top, leaving her in her bra and jeans as she stares up at him with a wry, seductive smile. then she unzips her jeans and slides them off, leaving her in his favorite set of hers - black, lacy, and revealing. she looks utterly stunning and he groans, his hands falling to run over the skin, tracing the lace on her breasts. her cheeks are red as she gazes up at him.

"touch me, richie." she orders and he almost groans as he drags his lips over the valley of her breasts, sucking on the soft flesh and admiring the splashes of budding purple and pink that he's created. her heartbeat is quick under his fingertips and he moves to unclip her bra, kissing her skin as the fabric falls away.

she's slightly cold in his room, and goosebumps appear over her flesh as richie leans to catch a nipple in her mouth, flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud. she lets out a quiet whine that has richie rutting into the mattress next to her, his fingers trailing down to dance at the waistline of her underwear.

and then he's pulling aside her panties, his fingers running up and down her slick folds and making her jump in lust. he can't wait, just like her, and he's rubbing her clit teasingly as she pleads, "chee, please." her eyes are eyes closed in bliss as his finger slips inside her, crooking slightly as he moves it. he presses his lips to the skin of her breast, pumping his finger and then soon adding another, crooking them both in a way that makes her let out guttural moans of pleasure. he marks her breasts with littered pink and red marks, smiling to himself at her figure.

she can't help but swoon as she watches him, his hair in his face slightly until she brushes it back, his fingers curling inside her and making her gasp, pleasure coursing through her body. his thumb softly comes up to rub her neglected clit and she grabs his shoulders to steady herself, the pleasure almost too much.

she's honestly slightly shocked - knowing richie as little as she really does outside of the literal booty calls at two in the morning and the accumulative forty five minutes they'd spent in person, she'd expected him to be... well, good. just good. because there's no way someone so funny, caring, and smart could also be that good in the sheets.

but right now, he's making her see goddamn stars.

"i've been wanting to touch you for so long, sugar." he mutters, eyes raking over her figure as her breath comes in stuttering gasps. she watches him with blown-wide eyes as his demeanor changes right before her, making her fall apart at his fingertips.

"that feel good, honey?" he asks, smirking as she whimpers, clenching around his fingers. "yes, god you feel so good." she utters, making him groan in approval from where he's sat back, watching her face contort in pleasure. she lets out another moan and richie stares at her body, watching his fingers as they fuck into her. he can't take it, then.

"will you sit on my face, doll?" he blurts, and she nearly yelps out as his fingers leave her. it's abrupt, but she's started to notice that this is how he operates - impulsivity is his second nature. and she loves it.

her face burns as she nods, the thought of richie under her making her whimper with anticipation. "yes, richie, please." she moans out again and he's grinning, laying back on the mattress with a wink. "c'mere, need to taste that pretty little pussy." he mutters and she feels herself clench around nothing, desperate for him as she swings a leg around to straddle his head.

immediately, his hands wrap around her thighs, thumbs smoothing over her stretch marks as he stares up at her, eyes glinting with desire. slowly, his finger pulls the seat of her lace panties to the side and his breath hits her bare, throbbing pussy, making her breath hitch. she cards her fingers through his hair and lowers herself slightly, gasping in shock as his tongue darts out to lick a bold stripe up from her entrance to her clit.

"chee," she moans out, tightening her grip in his hair and sending a groan through his body that reverberates and makes her shiver. his lips attach to her clit and fiery pleasure snakes through her body making her legs shake, a moan escaping her lips immediately. he sucks lightly before releasing to swirl his tongue, her moans making richie impossibly harder through his sweats.

"so good, rich." she mutters and he groans, tongue spreading her wet folds and slowly prodding at her entrance, dipping in slowly before pulling out, teasing her.

she can't help but grind down slightly, making richie grip her tightly, tongue sliding into her again and making her yelp. "you taste so good, baby." he mutters lowly before slowly reattaching himself to her heat, her eyes rolling slightly at the sensation as he fucks his tongue into her. one of his hands snakes up to her ass, gripping it tightly and then slapping it, the stinging pleasure making her buck her hips against him, emitting a hiss from her.

"rich, i-" she cuts herself off with a sharp gasp, the pleasure from richie's mouth making it increasingly harder to speak. her toes curl and her head tilts back as his tongue flicks over her clit, teeth grazing it slightly and making her buck.

she's embarrassingly close already, and judging by the way richie's smirking under her, he can tell. "please, please." she mutters, hips rocking on him as his tongue swirls, nipping softly at her clit and making her cry out. "please, make me cum, 'chee." she mutters and his tongue moves quicker, hand slapping her ass again.

and then she's clenching her thighs on either side of him and grinding down as she hits her peak, moaning quietly as she shakes in pleasure on top of him. he rides through her high, lapping at her and pulling away with a grin as she moans his name dejectedly. she's worn out from the best orgasm she's ever had and he gently nudges her so he slides in between her thighs, her back now on the mattress. he kisses her cheek and she keens quietly.

"fuck me, richie." she mutters, eyes still closed. his eyes snap to hers, surprised at the dominance in her voice after how she was two seconds ago.

he moans quietly, kissing her deeply as he ruts against her and relishes in the feeling. he's pulling off his sweats and boxers in record time and then he's pumping himself as he grips her hips, turning her so she's on her stomach, ass propped up slightly. his hand runs over the smooth skin of her ass, snapping the elastic of her panties and making her moan quietly.

then he's lining up her hips with his, pulling aside the lacy seat of her underwear to press against her entrance. he waits a moment as he leans to press a soft kiss to her spine, slowly easing into her. she moans loudly as he eases in, her face pressing against the pillows. she smiles as she smells the scent she'd just recently come to know as his, his cock stretching her and filling her up fully as he buries himself to the hilt inside her.

"so tight, sugar." he mutters and she whimpers, getting antsy as she adjusts to his size. "richie, please, need it so bad." she mutters, bucking her hips back against him in need.

"say that again." he mutters, sounding strangled, and she grins into the sheets. "please fuck me, richie. need it so bad, need to feel you ruin me." she whimpers, chest fluttering in anticipation. his hands grip her hips as he pulls out of her slowly, almost as slowly as he entered, before stopping almost all the way out. she moans loudly in pleasure as he pushes back in, snapping his hips against hers and filling her completely.

she briefly thanks god that his roommate seemed to be out for the night as she moans his name loud enough for the neighbors to hear.

he sets a brutal pace, his cock thick as it fills her up and makes her toes curl. he pushes her hair away from her neck and presses kisses to it as he hits a spot inside her that makes her scream his name. his fingers move to pinch her nipples, rolling them as he fucks into her.

she's completely blissed out at the feeling of him inside her, so glad that he invited her over and that they finally get to touch each other. "rich, oh my god." she emits, eyes squinted shut in complete pleasure.

"fuck, toots, takin' me so well, aren't you?" he asks, hands kneading her ass before slapping her right ass cheek harshly, making her arch her back. at the new angle they both let out a groan and richie knows he'll fucking cum too soon if they stay like this, so without warning he pulls out completely.

y/n whines, breathing heavily as his hands come to flip her around. now on her back, they make eye contact and she bites her lip, pulling him in for a searing kiss that knocks the wind out of both of them. images of richie in his room alone, snaps and late-night face times play through her mind as he grips her and slides her hips down towards him on the mattress and lines himself to her again, pulling her legs up so they're against his chest before pushing in.

he gives no time to adjust to this angle and it makes her moan loudly as he hits a spot deep inside her that pulls her closer and closer to her second orgasm.

his name leaves her cherry lips like a mantra and he can't stop staring at her as he fucks her into the mattress - the way her tits bounce with his brutal pace, the way her face is twisted in pleasure, the way she clenches and spasms around his cock.

one hand grips her breast, rubbing her nipple with his thumb and forefinger as he kisses her again, addicted to her taste as he feels himself coming closer and closer to the edge.

"chee, fuck, right there." she moans out and he groans in pleasure, the feeling of her walls clenching around him making his hips stutter. he keeps his thrusts up, though, as her fingernails rake down his back leaving small trails of burning pleasure in their wake.

her skin is covered with a sheen line of sweat as she looks up at him, hair wild and lips kiss-bruised. "god, don't stop, 'm gonna cum." she mutters and he snaps his hips harder, eager to make her cum so hard all she can think of is his name.

he moves a hand down to rub at her clit and he moans into her neck as she clenches hard around him, her hips bucking spastically. he can tell she's about to cum, and after a hard thrust, she does for the second time, spasming around him and sending waves of pleasure up his body. she's moaning his name, pulling him closer in bliss as she becomes sensitive and god damn it, she's so fucking beautiful.

"please cum, richie." she whispers against his lips, "please." and then at her will, he's spilling into her, hips stuttering as he pushes as deep into her as he can, loving how she clenches in sensitivity around him. he stays inside her for a moment as they breathe, coming down from their highs and eyes closed as they take in what just happened.

"holy shit." he says because yeah, that's like all he can say right now because he just got to fuck y/n and she's kissing his fucking collarbones right now and its making him blush and his heart flutter.

"that was...incredible." she whispers against his skin and he can feel her smile against his skin. it makes him feel all soft inside as he pulls out of her and flops next to her, kissing her forehead.

his fingers flutter over her sensitive core, smiling as he sees how wrecked she is, some cum dripping down her leg. he then soothes over the lace panties, patting her lightly and kissing her red cheek.

"rich?" she asks, making him look up at her. he hums in question, pushing some of her hair back. "can we still watch the movie?"

his heart swells and he grins, kissing her softly. "of course, doll. you're too cute." he says with a wink, making her roll her eyes. he hands her his shirt and then pulls sweats on himself, mumbling "stay here" and padding out to the kitchen to get her water and snacks, then returning minutes later to see her holding his phone in her clutch with a smirk.

"what're you doing?" he asks with a smile, but she shakes her head, making grabby hands for him and the snacks. so he laughs, cuddling up with the girl of his dreams and watching a flick, falling sleep with tangled limbs and a lipstick-stained neck.

and after she leaves the next morning with a kiss and a wink, he checks his phone and smirks to himself as he notices the lock screen she'd apparently made last night while he was making snacks.

a photo of her in his bed, wearing his shirt, a soft smirk on her face, neck littered in budding hickeys and a hand between her thighs next to her black lace panties.

god, she's going to be the absolute death of him.

//tag list: @gabiatthedisco @blisshemmings @simplesammyx @dickology64 @clownsloveyou @emnotm @moon-shine-baby @toziershmozier @daughter-of-the-stars11 @lets-vibe-bro @trashedfortozier @oceandog13 @beauregard-s@finnskindofwoman @kait-tozier @upamongthestarss \\

#richie tozier x reader #richie tozier smut #richie has adhd #losers x reader #losers club x reader

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vannahfanfics · 3 years

Text

The Sacred Art of Hamburger-Making

Category: General Fluff

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Characters: Momo Yaoyorozu, Denki Kaminari, & Hanta Sero

Hey, hey, everybody! This is the second story I wrote for @cuizineco’s Heroes in the Baking zine, which is free to download!

Momo hummed under her breath as she filed her nails, sitting between Hanta and Denki on the common room sofa. The air was filled with clacking and clicking as the two boys feverishly jabbed the buttons and spun the joysticks on their controllers; both of their eyes were fixed on the martial arts video game they were embroiled in. Momo enjoyed the rare instances where they came down to the common room to play; she found something about their competitive energy so invigorating, especially after a hard day’s training.

Just as she had finished buffing her shiny, neatly-trimmed nails, a deep voice boomed from the television to announce with dramatic fervor, “Fatality!” while thick red blood splattered the word across the screen. Hanta jumped up from the couch with a triumphant crow, nearly flinging the controller as he flung his hands into the air, while the defeated Denki melted into the couch cushions with a groan.

“Don’t worry, Denki. You’ll beat him next time,” Momo encouraged with a sweet smile.

“No, he won’t, because he’s a loserrrrr!” Hanta teased while making an L-shape on his forehead with his fingers. Denki stuck out his tongue angrily to his friend before humming thoughtfully.

“Man, we’ve been playing for hours. I’m starving… You know what I could go for right now? A big, greasy, cheesy, American-style hamburger,” he sighed dreamily, salivating at the words alone. Momo perked up, her interest piqued.

“Oh, I’ve never had a hamburger before.”

If they were on a comedy show, one would have heard a record scratch. Denki’s head whipped around to stare at her with owlish eyes for a second before he chuckled magnanimously and slipped his arm around her slim shoulders, his expression melting into one a mixture of pity and mischievousness.

“Momo. Dear. Honey. You’ve never had a hamburger?” the blond asked in a polite but disbelieving voice. Unsure what all the fuss was about, Momo slowly shook her head.

“Now that’s what I call a got-damn tragedy,” Hanta observed before shoving a handful of potato chips into his mouth. As he munched on the barbecue-flavored crisps, crumbs and powder raining from his lips down onto his tee-shirt, he looked at Denki pointedly. “We have to amend that, don’t we, Denks?”

“We most certainly do,” the blond nodded sagely, pinching his chin and closing his eyes like the picture of a pensive philosopher. “We cannot allow Momo here, our dear friend, our beloved classmate and light of our bleak lives, to remain in such a sorry state. So… To the kitchen!” he announced and jumped up, pointing a finger into the air. “By our hand, we will allow Momo to suffer no longer!”

Are hamburgers really that good? Momo wondered as she followed the two boys to the adjoining kitchen. They probably weren’t, but watching the two tear through the cabinets and refrigerator to gather all the necessary tools and ingredients was so energizing that Momo found herself growing excited. She’d never seen Denki so animated about cooking before; he was all smiles as he pranced around wearing a “Kiss the Cook” apron of All Might in a chef’s hat, so she couldn’t refuse him even if she wanted to.

“All right, Chef Denki,” Momo chuckled as she tied an apple-patterned apron around her waist, “I’m under your tutelage tonight.”

“It’s the only thing he’ll ever tutor you in,” Hanta joked, earning a sharp jab in the ribs from his cohort.

“Anyway,” Denki said and cleared his throat, “pay close attention, Momo. I am going to teach you the sacred art of making hamburgers. First, we have to make the patties.” He took a few packs of ground meat and sliced open the plastic, dumping the stringy pink-red meat into a large aluminum bowl.

“Everyone says they’re down with hamburgers tonight,” Hanta reported, sitting on the counter typing away at his phone.

“Let’s see— with twenty people plus Mr. Aizawa, with an average of two burgers a person, that would be… forty patties,” he rattled off, using his fingers to count as he multiplied in his head. “We should be able to manage that between the three of us. Hanta, would you go ahead and plug in the mini-grill so it’ll be heated up?”

“Sure thing, boss.”

Denki returned his attention to the patiently-waiting Momo.

“Now then. First, you want to make sure your patties are the right consistency, so you mix it with bread crumbs.” Momo watched with raised eyebrows as he took a box of them and dumped some into the bowl. “You want your patties to stick together, obviously, so you add eggs—” he continued as he cracked some open, spilling the golden yolks into the bowl— “and then milk to soften up the meat a little. Finally— and this is the most important part, Momo— you season it to perfection!”

Momo watched in wonder as he added several spices and a dark brown sauce to the mix, saturating the meat in flavor, without even taking measurements. As he was telling her how to mix it up, scrunching the meat and other ingredients together with his hands, she smiled endearingly.

“Wow, you’ve cooked this a lot, huh?”

“Yup! Me and my folks took an overseas trip once to America when I was young, and we loved the hamburgers so much that we got a recipe from one of the locals! It became a staple in my household! Fast food burgers are nice n’ all, but nothing really compares to a good ol’ beefy homemade burger!” Denki grinned widely.

“I think that’s great! Would you like me to get started on another bowl of ground beef, then?”

“Yes, please!”

Under Denki’s careful guidance, Momo added the ingredients one at a time to the bowl. When it came time to combine them, she squealed at the odd sensation of the sticky, gooey meat, fluid sauce and egg, and gritty powder squishing between her fingers. Denki laughed heartily at the disgusted faces she made while mixing up the ground beef, squeaking and shuddering all the while, until it was uniform. In the background, Hanta had been doing other small tasks like chopping lettuce and onions, slicing tomatoes and cheese, and setting out condiments. He finally joined them at the counter, wiping tomato juice off his hands with a dishtowel.

“It’s a messy job,” Denki said as he grabbed a fistful of the meat, “but we’re not done yet! Now it’s time to make the patties.”

“Ooh! My favorite part!” Hanta grinned, grabbing hamburger meat from Momo’s bowl with both hands. “Ya just roll it into a ball, then flatten it into a nice, round patty,” he said while demonstrating the motions. He then walked over to the simmering grill to plop it on the ridged surface. “Then ya grill it until it’s just right, and boom! Nice, tasty, juicy hamburger.”

“Hanta, have you been to America, too?” Momo inquired as she slowly replicated the motion, still cringing at the sliminess of the raw meat.

“Nah. I spent a lot of summer break at Denki’s house, though, and his old man taught me how to make ‘em!” Hanta said as he slapped another patty onto the small grill and closed the lid, filling the air with sizzling and popping. While he waited for the meat to brown, he leaned against the counter and flashed Momo a wink. “I felt kinda honored being included in the Kaminari family tradition of summer cook-outs!”

“You’re my best friend! Of course you would be!” Denki grinned, sauntering over to bump elbows with Hanta. “And, since Momo is our best girl,” he continued while turning around to wink saucily at Momo, “it’s natural that she be included, too!”

“Ah! Stop it; you’re going to make me blush!” Momo cried and, in her momentary embarrassment, slapped her palms to her cheeks. All the blood drained from her face as she realized she was smooshing raw meat and seasoning on her face. She screamed shrilly and ripped her hands away from her face, horrified by the bits of pulverized meat falling from her cheeks. As she raced to the sink, Hanta and Denki fell to the floor howling with laughter. “Stop it! It’s not funny!” she cried as she scraped at her face with a soapy sponge, tossing a glare over her shoulder.

“Actually, it really is, Yaomomo,” Denki snorted as he climbed back up to resume making hamburger patties. Momo just sniffed dourly, thoroughly embarrassed. Then, an evil idea hatched in her mind; stealthily, she filled her cupped hands with ice-cold water and crept up behind Denki. Just as he took notice of her presence, she dumped it down the neck of his shirt. He yelped and his back arched backward as the cold liquid hit his skin.

“Aye, aye, what the hell was that for?!”

“Serves you right!” Hanta laughed, pointing at him and completely unaware that he was the next in Momo’s cross-hairs. “Wha—?” he blinked owlishly as Momo flung a glob of the raw meat at him; it collided with his cheek with a wet slap, slowly sliding down before landing on his tennis shoe. “I guess I deserved that.”

“Hey, you morons! Don’t tell me you’re messing around in the kitchen!” boomed a grouchy voice. Momo turned to see Katsuki stomping in, his hands buried in his cargo pants pockets and his lips stretched in a scowl. His vermillion eyes slowly slid down to the chunk of meat dripping on Hanta’s shoe. “What the hell?! You can’t just waste food like that! Who taught you losers to cook?!”

“Oi! This is my show! Go yell at someone else, Baku-bro!” Denki whined and poked at Katsuki with his foot as he continued to quickly pile up patties on aluminum foil next to Hanta, who returned from cleaning off his face to take the broiled hamburgers off the grill and put them on some buns. Katsuki slapped Denki’s foot away but obediently shambled out of the kitchen to join the rest of their peers, who had been attracted by the savory aroma now clouding the air.

“All right, the guest of honor gets to try first,” Hanta grinned as he presented Momo with a fully dressed hamburger complete with a side of potato chips. As she took the paper plate, she was amazed at the weight of the thing, nearly spilling it all as she hastily recovered from the plate dipping. She set it safely on the counter before looking at it, wondering how the heck to eat it.

“I… With my hands…?”

“Hell yeah, girl! Get in there!” Denki encouraged with an airy laugh. Momo blushed before timidly grabbing the hamburger, grimacing at the juice that leaked onto her fingers when she lightly squeezed it. She craned her neck over the plate as she leaned in for a bite, trying not to drip it all over her clothes. First came the soft bread, then crunchy lettuce and tomato, then melty cheese, and then finally the savory meat. Momo hummed as the robust flavor exploded on her tongue, complemented by all the toppings.

“Well? Amazing or what?” Denki grinned as he sidled up to her, wiggling his golden eyebrows expectantly. Too busy savoring the symphony of flavors on her tongue, Momo only nodded with her eyes fluttering shut. “Woohoo! Atta girl! Look at our Momo, getting messy with a big ol’ hamburger!” Denki laughed as he did a celebratory jig.

“Ehhh? Did I hear Momo eating hamburgers?” Mina said as she poked her head in. Momo was mid-bite, her mouth stretching wide to accommodate the thick patty, and she froze to blink owlishly at the pink girl. “Ahhhh! Look how far you’ve come! Finally embracing the ways of us commoners, eh?”

Instead of replying, Momo just crunched down on the burger, smiling dreamily as the deliciousness once again graced her senses.

She had the answer to her question. Hamburgers were really that good! While the others began to file into the kitchen to claim their meals from Denki and Hanta, Momo savored hers bite by bite until she was finished. When she sheepishly presented her plate to Denki for seconds, he laughed and began fixing it for her. The others had vacated the premises, leaving only the two of them.

“Thanks for sharing this with me, Denki. I had a lot of fun, and it was really good!” she said as he plopped a piece of pale green lettuce atop her patty.

“To be honest, I was a little scared you wouldn’t enjoy it,” he admitted shyly, giving her a side glance as she gasped in shock. “I know you come from a really wealthy family, Momo, and generally… Rich folks don’t think highly of us little guys, you know?”

“I know.” Though Momo’s family was kind and tolerant, that still didn’t mean that she hadn’t seen the uglier side of the bourgeoisie. With a soft smile, she wrung her arms around Denki’s waist and laid her head on his shoulder to squeeze him in a tight hug. “But I consider myself lucky! You guys teach me all kinds of neat and wonderful things, and I get to share things about my life with you all, too. I would never, ever judge you.”

“Yeah, I know,” Denki hummed and gently bonked his head with hers. “Here you go, Momo. I hope you enjoy your seconds.”

“Thanks,” she said as she took the plate. She then grinned roguishly. “To be honest, I might be up for thirds.”

Like the hearty scent of homemade hamburgers wafting around the small kitchen, her and Denki’s laughter filled the air.

Nope. In Momo’s book, nothing really did compare to one of Denki’s hamburgers, and it soon became one of her favorite things to cook with her friends, even out of all the things she learned from them.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

#my hero academia #mha #boku no hero academia #bnha #denki kaminari #kaminari denki #hanta sero #sero hanta #momo yaoyorozu #yaoyorozu momo

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asktheghosthost · 4 years

Note

Ghost Host/ Constance

For the first time in his afterlife, Beauregard didn’t knock before entering the attic. Actually, “entering” is too kind a word. He slammed the door open. Did he feel ashamed about it for a second? Yes, but then the righteous anger he felt came rushing back.

“Ms. Hatchaway!” he bellowed. When she didn’t instantly appear, he prowled through the attic, good eye scanning every shadow and corner. There were too many stacks and piles of junk for her to hide behind.

“Constance! Constance, I demand you come out at on—”

Shing! Thunk!

A hatchet lodged into a portrait frame, mere millimeters from his ear. He couldn’t help glancing aside at it, catching his warped reflection in the well-polished blade.

“You demand?” Her airy voice drifted over from the far side of the room, where her glowing, bright form appeared. Her white gown and veil billowed out behind her as she floated towards him. The bright blue irises of her narrowed eyes were piercing, making her gaze as sharp as her blade. Beau had to admit it was a beautiful effect… for a serial killer.

“Demand,” she repeated. “That’s cute.” She held up her perfectly manicured hand, and her hatchet dislodged and obediently flew to her palm. “You come barging into a lady’s chambers unannounced, and then have the audacity to make demands.” She pouted, her plump, dark blue lower lip out in a hurt expression. “Such a brute. I thought you were a gentleman, Beauregard.”

“I—I am,” he said in a much quieter voice. He even took half a step back, a move that only made her smirk. This really was all just a game to her, he realized. So, he set his jaw into a determined frown and stood up a little straighter. “Constance, I’m here because you physically threatened one of our mortal guests.”

She snorted. “Says who?”

“The teenager who ran out screaming about a witch cutting off his head!” He crossed his arms and leaned forward, but made sure not to get too into her personal space. “The teenager that had a black eye and blood trickling down his cheek. Scares are encouraged, but we draw a strict line at physical harm. You're well aware of that."

She scoffed. "That idiot ran into a beam." With a jerk of her head, she indicated to said support with her chin. Fingering the tip of her blade, she added, "Probably cut himself on an exposed nail." She looked up at him, smiling slyly. "Safety concerns seem like they'd be more your department, Mr. Host."

He closed his eyes and let out a long groan while massaging the bridge of his nose. "Constance..."

"What's wrong, Hosty? Not as sharp..." She whipped up her hatchet, which gave off another shing. "As you used to be?"

With a dramatic little flourish of his wrist, his own hatchet materialized. "If anyone has gotten duller over the decades, dear, it's you."

She raised an eyebrow. "Sure we're not overcompensating for something, Mr. Host?" She jabbed his admittedly smaller and blander blade head with hers.

He clutched it to his chest protectively, the innuendo either ignored or having gone right over his head. It was hard to tell with Beau sometimes.

"This is the blade of someone hard working," he said. "Rough from years of chopping wood... and a... very unsuccessful attempt at rope."

She rolled her eyes. Leave it to Beau to twist her jab at his manhood into an accidental commentary on classism and whining about his suicide.

"Honest, difficult work," he continued. "Which is obviously why you don't recognize it."

"Excuse me!" She held up her weapon, stopping it right against his Adam's apple. "I worked exceptionally hard to get what I have!"

He looked around the attic, completely ignoring the unwavering hatchet. "I suppose so... Configuring your alibis, the networking through social circles to find your targets, the physical dexterity to decapitate a man... The fact you weren't caught until the very end... It would be admirable if it weren't, well, so heinous. It takes incredible skills at scheming, an intellect not matched by your other murderous cohorts in the mansion."

She dropped her arm in unbridled annoyance, and her hatchet disappeared. "God, you're infuriating." She plopped onto a trunk, and he followed suite across from her, watching her quizzically.

"I get that a lot."

"I was waiting for any excuse to take a swing at you, and I... I can't. I left myself wide open for a crude retort, too." She eyed him expectantly.

He leaned forward, elbows on his skinny knees, thin, long index fingers steepled up against his pale lips. Behind his knuckles, he was smirking. "I do so love subverting expectations."

This was her fault, she thought. She started this by accusing him of not being a gentleman, and now he was going out of his way to be such. Anyone else would have seen the opportunity to snap "... on your back!" when she said she worked hard. Or at least the easy "legs wide open, maybe" which she'd practically offered him on a silver platter. She was used to those insults. She heard them daily, usually from the five wedding portraits around the attic, but sometimes from passerby in the ballroom and halls. They could fuel her anger, give her an excuse to lash out, something she'd wanted when he'd barged in.

He pulled his hands away from his mouth. "I'm sorry I accused you of hurting the boy. I should have known better."

It was as if someone had thrown a bucket of ice water on her, and she practically shivered as she straightened up. "Hm? What do you mean? Everyone knows I'm a homicidal maniac." There was acid in the words.

Chuckling, he shook his head. "Ms. Hatchaway, do you ever wonder why you're not trapped in a portrait like Jack the Ripper, or the arsonist?"

She looked around. "Too many stunning pictures of me to choose from?"

"No." His half-smile was genuine, and she found herself wondering what it looked like before the scarring on his face had weakened part of it. "You're intelligent, calculating. You know murdering for fortune is pointless now."

"No one takes a check from dead people. It's a real bummer because I want a new car. Have you seen some of the vehicles these mortals drive now?" She whistled.

A softer chuckle, this one exhaled through his nostrils. A pity laugh, she thought.

He continued. "And, deep down, I think you realized it was pointless. You're still here, stuck with money you can't spend. But at least you have a home..."

She put her hand to her chest and scoffed. "Full of complete idiots."

"Family... In a bizarre, grotesque way." He shrugged a shoulder. "And with all that in mind, I know there's a part of you, no matter how teeny tiny, that is repentant."

Unconsciously called, the hatchet handle appeared in her grasp, but it morphed back and forth between the weapon and her bridal bouquet. Keeping it on her lap, she tried to inconspicuously wring it in her hands, slowly tearing apart the flowers while simultaneously giving herself a burn on the wood. All the while, she kept steady eye contact with him, lips parted in a thin smile.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

He glanced down at the pieces of petals, his own smile unwavering. "Of course, I could always be wrong. Perhaps I try too hard to see the good in everyone." He stood up, and she worried he'd bump his head on the sloping ceiling. She almost warned him, but stopped herself. He ducked aside in time.

"Have a pleasant evening, Ms. Hatchaway." He bowed, and turned to leave, but stopped, not fully turning back. "I'm due in the library in twenty minutes. I'll be reading short stories aloud... There's plenty of room for anyone who wants to attend. I take requests." With that, he finally left.

She looked at the pile of torn stems and flowers in her lap. Maybe she would take a trip downstairs, not for any particular reason, she told herself. The attic just suddenly felt too cramped, that's all. And maybe... maybe she wanted to hear more of that silky, thoughtful voice that didn't insult and jeer her.

Plus she could probably trick him into reading something filthy out loud, and the prospect of that was hilarious enough to get her to go downstairs. It's what he deserved for trying to make her feel better about herself.

#anonymous #drabble #fan fic #short story #Ghost Host #Constance #ask

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kingofdirtandnothing · 3 years

Text

@polyfacetious big ass Christmas Drabble Extravagaza: Day Fifteen

Peter steps up to the door of the apartment, trying to juggle an arm load of jacket and briefcase, and he’s met with the smell of sweets just on the other side of the door. It’s the warm smell of something sugary, fresh from the oven, wafting in the space between the bottom of the door and the floor.

He shifts his briefcase to his other hand, wrestling his keys free from the pocket of his trousers. Just inside the door, there’s a small table with a bowl on it. The bowl was a wobbly, knobby thing made by one of Owen’s nieces in her pottery class. It has ‘I love you Uncle Owen’ painted around the width of it in a child’s uneven print. Keys and cell phone go in there, and his briefcase is placed underneath the bowl on the shelf designated for it beneath.

There was a place for everything, and everything needed to be put in its place. That was Owen’s doing. (Peter hadn’t exactly been a slob before they moved in together, but his home had never been this tidy. He’d been prone to throwing his jacket over the couch, his wallet and keys wherever they landed.)

The flat was smaller than Peter would like, just a single bedroom, a living space, a kitchen and a bathroom. But it was on a good street, and they could open their windows and listen to the sounds of the ocean nearby. It also was far more expensive than any flat Peter ever kept back in Edinburgh, and nearly half the size.

Owen deserved better, but it was a starting point. You had to get your foot in the door somewhere. The only way you could climb the ladder was by putting your feet on the ground and just getting to it.

Because Peter had a plan. He had a plan that included increasing his salary and his usefulness by at least five percent every year for Mr. Wingrave and his office. Executive Assistant paid better than most of the grunts down on the main floor, but it still wasn’t enough. There was a corner office just waiting for him, all Peter had to do was reach out and take it.

But none of this would be done overnight. Eight months into his plan and everything was on track, but it was hard not to feel frustrated that things weren’t going faster. Peter wanted to be able to buy the both of them the things they deserved. Rolex watches and bespoke suits and a Porsche or two.

Owen would look like a bloody dream behind the wheel of a Porsche. And Peter would give up an obscene amount of money to be able to fuck Owen in the backseat of a Porsche.

Peter slips his overcoat and his suit coat from his shoulders, shaking them out before hanging them on the back of the hook near the front door. He steps into the living room, and even from there, beyond the decent couch and the second hand coffee table, he can see the mess of mixing bowls stacked haphazardly at the edge of their counter space, a leaning mountain of metal and glass and whatever mixture he’d made in them spilled up against the sides.

(The kitchen was why Peter settled for this shoebox of an apartment. Because Owen hadn’t had a strong opinion about any of the places they’d looked at, he’d just shrugged and said he liked them, until he saw this one with its double oven and it’s kitchen island with a marble countertop. Then, he’d stopped and looked around and really taken the place in. So this one it was.)

It looked like Peter wasn’t the only one feeling the frustration today. “Tough day at the office?” He calls out coyly, stepping into the kitchen proper with a finger crooked into the knot of his tie to start working it loose from his throat.

Owen looks up from where he is hunched over a metal mixing bowl, the whisk in his hand still working furiously on the white cream beginning to stiffen in the bowl. Hand made whipped cream. Not a sad day, then. An angry one. Owen wasn’t one who got angry often, and he always took it out on food.

Over the last several months, Peter has learned to read Owen’s moods through the food. Things that were breaded or fried meant that he was looking for comfort. Baking meant he was anxious, and trying to do something with his hands. Sweets meant that he was pissed off. (Peter learned that the hard way, through his own fuck ups. And he learned to hate the taste of strawberry bon bons because of it.) Decadent things, French things, they meant that he was feeling amorous.

Peter fucking loved the days he came home to the likes of duck a l'orange or coq au vin. Those were the days he got to take his sweet lover into the bedroom and fuck him until he was hoarse and shaking with need, until he could peel away all those layers of goodness and kindness with blunt fingertips and sharp nails. Until all that was left was single minded, selfish need.

Owen was gorgeous at any time. There was something effortlessly handsome to him, where Peter felt like he couldn’t catch any eye without a nice suit and plenty of pomade. Owen was handsome in his natural state. And confident about it. There was none of that bullshit false modesty with him, and Peter loved him all the fucking more for it.

“Long day.” Owen huffs out a laugh, self aware enough to know what he looks like with his sweater sleeves pushed up over his elbows and his apron splattered with whipping cream. “That’s all.”

Peter is in a good enough mood that he’s not going to immediately call bullshit on that. So he steps forward instead, and he can see by the widening of Owen’s eyes that he knows what’s coming. “Oh, no. Don’t--come on.” That’s two fingers dipped right into the soft, fluffy whipping cream. “You’ll deflate my cream.”

Those two fingers are lifted to his mouth, and Peter makes a show of closing his lips around the knuckles, sucking them all the way into his mouth until they brush the back of his throat. Owen knew how far he could take things, both in the literal and metaphorical sense. It’s only when both digits are sucked clean, damn fresh whipped cream was lovely, that he speaks. “I’ll do more than that to your cream if you let me.”

Owen laughs, but there’s no denying how dark those already dark eyes are. “You’re a terrible influence, Peter Quint.” No truer words had ever been spoken about him. Peter has been the bad apple out of the bunch since he was in nursery school. After that many years, it did no good to try and run from these things. The truth was the truth.

“I don’t want to be ungrateful.” Owen puts the bowl down, wiping his palms clean on the front of his apron. It never took much pushing to get him to speak his mind. Especially in the privacy of his own kitchen. “I love my job. I love the people I work with, and Tony essentially gives me free reign, outside of his signature dishes.”

“But.” Peter supplies helpfully, already tugging on the long strand of Owen’s apron strings. The knot gives easily to his pressure and slips loose, leaving the blue and white striped fabric to hang loosely around his neck. When Owen doesn’t pick up the dropped line of conversation, Peter pulls the apron up and over his head. And as much as he wants to toss it on the floor, he hangs it on the hook.

A place for everything, and everything in its place. He knows, Owen.

“But it’s not the same. Being an employee with freedom isn’t the same as being your own boss.” Peter knew that chafing very well. Henry Wingrave was a good man. He was a kind man. But a good and kind man holding your leash was still someone with power over you. The dream, the real, honest to God dream, was to have no one holding his leash.

The dream, if Peter was feeling soft enough to put it into words, was to have that corner office. And to use the money from being his own boss to buy Owen his own restaurant. A place where he answered to no one, and the menu reflected whatever mood Owen wanted it to.

Owen nods, guilt written across the weight on his brow. Now, Peter can’t have that. So he does what any man in his position would do. He dips his finger right back into the whipping cream, and then smears a long path of white along Owen’s bottom lip.

“Oh no. Would you look at that. You’ve got a little…” Owen laughs, but it’s high and a little bit nervous, and Peter doesn’t know what he’ll do if he ever stops making Owen nervous. “You’ve been working so hard today. Let me take care of that for you.”

Kissing Owen is always sweet. But that creamy hint of sweetness as he parts the seam of Owen’s lips with his tongue runs right through Peter, giving him an idea. The kiss is slow, and deep, and Owen ends up pinned between Peter and the counter, and that’s right where Peter wants him.

“You look like a man who needs his mind taken off of his work, Mr. Sharma.” Peter’s fingers catch on the metal tab of Owen’s trouser zipper, and the sound of it being pulled down is loud in the quiet between them, punctuated by the breathy jesus that slips from Owen’s lips. “I’ll be more than happy to take care of that for you.”

Peter has no qualms playing Executive Assistant like this. He’d choke on his own tongue before he got on his knees for Henry Wingrave, but it’s as easy as breathing to sink down onto his knees on the tile floor of their kitchen, and watch Owen’s rapidly rising and falling chest through the smudged veil of his lashes.

“Peter-” His name always has weight, on Owen’s tongue. Sometimes it’s exasperated, sometimes it’s irritated. Often, it’s full of fondness. And sometimes, like this, it’s full of breathless wonder. And Peter would set his mother on fire to keep that shaky reverence in Owen’s voice.

“Hand me that bowl, would you?” The button to Owen’s trousers slips neatly from its hold beneath his thumb, and Owen’s brown trousers fold open like the petals of a flower opening up to the sun. His boxers beneath are soft and white, and still smell faintly of the soap they using for washing.

Owen hands the bowl down to him with shaking hands, and Peter stops him with the bowl still over his head. “Get a little.” It’s an order, no matter how quiet his voice is. Peter puts the bowl down on the floor next to his knees and takes hold of Owen’s wrist, feeling the wild thrumming of his pulse beneath his fingers.

“I always liked a little salt with my sweet.” Owen’s breath catches before Peter ever parts his lips to take Owen’s cream slick finger into his mouth, and the sound that leaves him when Peter’s tongue curls against the digit is explosive, like he’s been punched right in the gut.

Slowly, Peter licks every trace of sweetness away, until he’s left with the taste of Owen’s skin against the roof of his mouth. He suctions his cheeks in, keeping that pressure until Owen’s finger slips free from his lips with an obscene pop.

Peter grins, smug as the cat in the cream, and makes a pointed look between the bowl and the oh so tempting vee of Owen’s open trousers.

“Now...where else could I use this stuff on?”

#ch: peter quint #polyfacetious | owen #v: expats row #queued #carlota's christmas drabbles

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gallantgautier · 4 years

Text

Not With A Bang

“U-um... Sylvain?”

He doesn’t hear the voice at first, difficult to really, the market is bustling today. A week ago, he might have seen it as an opportunity, scan the crowd for a pretty girl with a pretty smile. Today though, he scans a stall full of fruit, red apples not as shiny as they had been by virtue of the season now, lifting one to inspect, memory guiding his hand to idly rub his elbow that had smacked against the wooden pole as he had whirled around that day.

“Sylvain?” And this time, he hears her. His best smile is ready to go, as always, a hey cutie right there on his lips, but it catches in his throat. He’s used to seeing upset young ladies, but that usually comes after he’s taken them on a date. He vaguely knows this one, but he’s not sure they’ve ever spoken. Hands that wring her skirt seem out of place, surely, nothing he’s done lately has been that bad.

“Hey,” he starts, gentle, because something is clearly very wrong, and usually he’s the last person only passing acquaintances would come to for help, “what’s wrong? Can I-”

“It’s Felix,” she starts, and the world stops.

She’s still talking, but all he manages to pick out are “Thoron” and “misfire” and “infirmary.” The apple falls to the ground with a soft thud he can’t hear over the roaring in his ears, feet carrying him in a desperate flight from the market back into the monastery grounds.

No. No no no no.

He doesn’t hear the yells of protest as he barrels by anyone in his way, not even his own bellow of “Move!” as he shoves a startled student aside, pays no attention to the poor boy’s cry of alarm. Sylvain doesn’t even have the passing thought of apologising later.

He’s been here before, taken the same stairs two at a time with no consideration for the pounding in his chest. He’s been here before, bursting through the infirmary doors to be halted with hands on his shoulders and clipped commands of “Master Gautier, please!” He’s been here before, but last time they let him pass with only warnings of “lower your voice! We have other patients!”

This time, they grip tight, pull him back and away and no! They have to let him through, let him past, let him see and-

“Master Gautier, you have to stay back. Please, we need to stabilise him.”

Stabilise? Just how bad is it...?

“I understand, master Gautier, but you have to wait outside. We need to- No, master Gautier, you can’t right now. Lower your voice and wait outside, or I’ll have one of the knights remove you.”

He hadn’t even noticed he was shouting.

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

Time doesn’t even register. A minute could have felt like hours. He knows, at least, that it wasn’t hours that felt like a minute. If he’d given any thought to being humorous, he’d be surprised there’s still hair on his head and nails at the end of his fingers.

At least he can feel the dull ache in his knuckles, where his fist connected with the wall. He doesn’t care enough to ask a healer about it.

It could be nightfall by the time a nurse fetches him with a solemn downturn of her eyes, but she says “He’s stable, for now,” so the worst of his fears takes a back seat for the time being. She leads him inside slowly, and it’s all he can do not to scream at her to hurry up.

But the sight that meets him holds him in place, freezes his blood in his veins. Even the mountainside from so long ago never left him this cold.

This... Has to be someone else. Someone is playing some cruel joke on him, because of all people, Felix can’t ever get hurt this badly. Someone so strong, so attentive, could never look so fragile. He can’t bare to look, at the bandages that cover the worst, at the burnt, puckered skin peeking out from the gaps that suggests far, far worse.

But, Sylvain knows the cut of those cheekbones better than the lines of his own palm, knows the sweep of those lashes from before they began to haunt his dreams every night. He knows the fall of that hair, that his fingers ran through only once but can still recall how it flowed against his skin as though he does it every day.

“We’ve done all we can for now, but it could be days before he wakes,” the nurse sounds far away in his ears, even as she stands close enough to take him by the elbow, guide him into the chair that he crumples into at the right side of the bed, “he’s in the Goddess’ hands now.”

He nods only once, reaching to take Felix’s wrist, fingers curling around it as though it might shatter if he grips any harder. The only pressure he allows is with two fingers against his pulse. It thuds, stops for a moment, and he breathes once it starts again.

Sylvain barely registers the voice of the nurse, a soft “I’ll give you some space,” and is followed by the quiet scrape of the curtain sliding closed.

In the Goddess’s hands, huh?

He’d hate that.

A sigh shakes out of him, fingers lingering, reluctant to let go, and Sylvain shuffles out of the chair to drop to his knees on the floor. Elbows braced on the mattress, hands clasped together, he rests his forehead upon his interlaced fingers.

“Goddess,” he chokes out, “I know I’m not your most pious, and... I probably don’t do this enough for you to hear me. But... That just means I’ve never asked you for anything, right?

“And... I probably don’t deserve anything from you either. But I swear, I’ll never ask you for anything ever again, no matter how long I live. Please, just... Don’t take him away from me.” His voice cracks around the words, splinters on the edges of a shuddering inhale, but he presses on. “Don’t let the last time I spoke to him be a stupid fight. Don’t make him break his promise. Please, I...”

On the exhale, he shatters, grabbing again at a motionless arm, pressing his damp cheek against it, barely muffling his heaving sobs against the flimsy, standard issue blanket.

“Please don’t leave me, Felix.”

#ic #Thoron Incident fallout #ha....#haha...#this took me way longer to write than it looks like #(because I wrote the majority yesterday ghjkds)

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revisionaryhistory · 4 years

Text

Three Days ~ 17

This one makes me smile. Hope it does you too.

~*~Sebastian~*~

After books came picture hanging. Mom led the way and picked precisely where everything went. Emma handed me picture hangers, kept up with the level, and took the hammer while I placed pictures. I wasn't at all subtle with the way my fingers ran over hers as I took a nail. She wasn't exactly subtle with how close she stood to me. If I wasn't acutely aware of her, I would have bumped into her several more times than I intentionally did. And strangely enough when I did accidentally on purpose brush against her, she was there to greet me with a hand on my back so I didn't step on her or on my arm so I didn't turn into her. Hard to know which I liked best. Probably the hand on my back because she was closer and I could brush against her in ways that pleased me. Back at the linen closet I thought I'd done good hiding my reaction when she drug her hand across my back. Her fingers trailed around my side, barely crossing over to my stomach before drifting away. Innocent enough in a maddening way. I mean how could she know the patch of skin on my left side right on the curve where side meets stomach and even with my navel is in my top three erogenous zones. Right now, with her targeting that spot its zoomed up to number one. I'm left with the conclusion that Emma knows, or at least suspects, exactly what she's doing to me.

While Emma and I succeeded in an exercise in subtle physical flirting mom wanted to talk. Most of the conversation was about food. Part of this was mom checking out if there was anything Emma didn't like so she could adjust dinner. Apparently, mom had stocked up at the grocery yesterday. The same one I'd been lost in. Or maybe I'd been found.

Mom asked if Emma could cook. Emma looked embarrassed, "Yes, but a lot of southern food."

I heard "just a teacher." I couldn't leave at alone. "The food we were getting in Atlanta was amazing. Muss and Turners was amazing a we all loved the Varsity. Not exactly southern, but in the south. What's your favorite home cooked meal?"

Emma licked her lips like she was tasting her thoughts. I wanted to taste them too. Her lips, not her thoughts. "Chicken fried steaks with biscuits and gravy, green beans, and potatoes. Breakfast was often fresh biscuits with homemade jelly. Apple, raspberry, or blackberry. Catfish with hash browns and roast vegetables.

I heard my stomach growl and put my hand on my stomach, "You're making me hungry. All sounds so good."

Mom smiled at me, but talked to Emma, "You'll have to cook for him."

I glared at mom then laughed. "She worries about me."

Emma poked my stomach, "That's what mom's do. You can't cook, can you?"

I grabbed the poking finger, holding onto her hand. "Enough to survive."

"New York has a lot of take out."

"Thank you!" I stuck my tongue out at my mom like the child I was.

We finished in the master bedroom upstairs and at the other end of the house from the family room. We headed back downstairs and Anthony yelled for me. He wanted help in the office. Mom and Emma went on without me.

When we were done, I could hear mom in the kitchen and assumed Emma was with her. I walked into the room to find I was wrong. I spun in a circle looking for her. "Where'd Emma go?"

"Out on the deck." Mom motioned to the backyard. "Dinner will be a while yet. Go enjoy the view."

I kissed her cheek and went out the door.

Emma was standing with her hands on the deck railing. She'd pulled her hair out of the pony tail. There was just enough of a breeze where I could see a few strands move. I wanted my fingers there. I also wanted to put my hands on her shoulders, run them over the curve of her waist, and wrap my arms around her stomach. Then I could bury my face in her hair and move it aside to kiss along her neck.

Not that I've been thinking about it. At all.

I made enough noise to not scare her again. I ran my hands from her elbows to her hands and laced my fingers with hers.

Emma leaned back against my chest, "Hey there."

This was going well. I turned my head to bury my nose in her hair, "I thought I'd lost you."

She shook her head slightly, “I walked by the window and saw the deck and the view.” She nodded out toward where there was a split in the tree line. The sun was setting perfectly in the gap behind a line of mountains in the distance.

Not paying attention to the sky I mumbled, “Beautiful.”

“You can’t see the sky.”

“What I see is beautiful.” I pulled her a little to the side and looked at her profile with a smile.

Emma turned her head to meet my eyes and squeezed my fingers. I watched her eyes shift from my eyes to my mouth and back again. Before the moment could become awkward, Emma let go of my hands and turned around. I took a step forward, backing her against the railing, and pressing impossibly close to her. I let go of the rail when her arms tightened around my waist. I folded around her and let out a breath.

This is what I'd been craving all day. It had been a good day for hugs, but this was different. Standing her holding her was .... I don't know. Lots of things. Warm. Calm. Exciting. I liked the feel of her this close to me. Her body pressed against mine where I could feel her breathe. Her breathing wasn't normal. Neither was mine.

"Am I reading things wrong?"

I relaxed my hold and pulled my head back, "What?" I heard what she said, but wasn't sure what she meant. My eyebrows were knitted together.

She looked up at me, "We always touch. There's never a time we're not touching. But..." She was considering her words. "We've never kissed."

Her simple statement didn't blame me. "We've" never kissed. I took the responsibility on anyway. Standing here looking in her amazing green eyes I wasn't the least bit concerned about answering the unasked question. Why? Thinking back to our earlier conversation I realized she was being brave to ask and now it was my turn to be brave enough to answer. At least for right now we were ok with being vulnerable and scared together. That's a good start.

I smiled and pushed her hair behind her ear, letting my fingers pull through to the end. So silky. I took a strand between my fingers, twirling and pulling down the length as I talked. "You're not reading anything wrong."

I closed my eyes and took a breath to center myself. When I opened my eyes Emma was looking at me like she adored me. Wow. I shook my head and my shoulders dropped. "I told you I get anxious and overthink things." She nodded with a soft smile and rubbed her thumb on the skin right above my jeans. No idea how her hand got under my shirt. Also, don't give a fuck. "I wanted to kiss you at the grocery, but fifteen minutes in was to soon unless I wanted you to think I was just out to get laid." I crinkled up my face and shook my head a little, which made Emma smile. Good. Because this conversation is kind of ridiculous and easily ended if grabbed her right now and kissed her. Like I wanted to. But, she deserved an answer to her question.

"When I’m in character and kiss someone there’s a detachment. The characters are interacting, so while I am physically kissing there’s not the emotional part. My character feels it, not me. I want a good first kiss with you. I want that anticipation, the hit of adrenaline, the falling into it. The storm screwed up the good night kiss when I took you home. Then the overthinking started. I keep looking for the perfect moment. I only find it about thirty seconds after it's passed. I'm stuck in this endless loop of wanting to kiss you, wanting to find the perfect moment, and watching it go by." I hoped my voice didn't sound as frantic as I felt. Might as well lay it all out there. "And now I'm afraid I won't be able to stop."

She tilted her head, "Stop looking for the perfect moment?"

I shook my head very slowly, "Stop kissing you. Until we're naked and exhausted." Fuck, that hurt.

Without saying a word Emma let go of my waist and started to turn around. Shit. I’d read things wrong and gone too far, "Em’."

Emma looked at me over her shoulder as she turned. Her green eyes sparkled, "Shh."

Emma sushed me! I almost laughed. She turned back to watch the sunset, catching my hands, tangling our fingers, and wrapping our arms around her. My hands were on the inside, next her body. One of our joined hands went low, close to her hip. The other tucked up under her breast. I was now sure I hadn't gone too far. I relaxed and moved my thumb just enough to feel the weight of her breast then moved no more than an inch back and forth. I don’t know where she’s going with this, but I wanted to make sure she knew I was with her. The beat of my heart picked up and I felt her breath catch.

“I love sunsets. Love being on a west coast to watch the sun sink into the water. I could chase that forever. Everyone always talks about the bright yellow, orange, and red sinking below the horizon, but I love the pink purple sky that gets left behind. Like after something has taken your breath away. Releasing that breath and letting the moment sink in. Letting the emotions and beauty become part of you. The afterglow.” She laid her head back on my shoulder, where I sure she could hear my heart beating and feel the escalation in my breathing. “That is my favorite color and this is the perfect time of night.”

I used our joined hands on her hip to turn her to face me again. I let go of her other hand and brought it to her face, “Perfect." Emma’s face fit perfectly in my palm. I ran my thumb across her lip before moving closer.

The first touch was a gentle press of lips, parted a fraction to barely fit together. Soft and chaste. I felt the rush of adrenaline as it spiked my blood. Her lips were as soft as I'd imagined them. It was the third or fourth kiss before I ventured a taste. I licked her upper lip barely reaching between them. Before I left her mouth her tongue ran over mine.

I pulled back enough to see the glazed over look in her eyes, I knew mine were the same. I licked my lips, tasting her there. I couldn’t remember anything ever tasting as sweet. My hand moved from her face to cup the back of her neck to pull her in closer. I felt Emma's fingers dig into my shoulders the second before our mouths met.

I could see her face behind my closed eyes. So beautiful. The moment intensified and I deepened the kiss.

I heard her make a quiet moan then thought it might have been me.

#Sebastian Stan #sebastian stan fanfiction #fanfiction

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alltheworldsinmyhead · 5 years

Photo

FLORIAN THE FOOL

ao3

Time flies and it does not wait for anyone. But theirs are years well-lives, so Gendry supposes it's all right, in the end // Gendry gets to watch his Arya grow old with him. It feels like a blessing.

gendry’s pov of the white fawn

Clearing the air, I breathed in the smoke

Maybe you ran with the wolves and refused to settle down

Maybe I've stormed out of every single room in this town

Threw out our cloaks and our daggers because it's morning now

It's brighter now

I once believed love would be burnin' red

But it's golden

Like daylight

- Daylight, Taylor Swift

***

Sometimes, when it’s raining outside and the kids are deep asleep, curled on top of one another like a litter of pups, Gendry takes Arya’s hand and they dance slowly in the middle of the room, swaddled in darkness. Nothing fancy – mostly, they just sway side-to-side, her cheek leaning on his chest and his chin resting on the top of her head.

It’s very quiet between them.

This always reminds him of kneeling on the cold, soft mud in front her, underneath Raventree, when they were told to ask gods to bless their marriage. He did not believe in gods then and he does not believe in them now; Old or New or Red, they don’t seem to listen to mortals’ wishes at all. But despite that, he bowed his head dutifully and, against everything, did ask for one thing and one thing only-

Let me love this woman right, please. Just let me love her like she is supposed to be loved.

It is a prayer, but it’s also more than that; it is a promise.

Arya, with her hair chopped short and desperate eyes, trying to convince him she is a boy.

Arya, bow in her hands, swift and nimble on her feet, running through the woods like a fawn.

Arya in yellow silks and with flowers on her head, so young and so fucking gorgeous it hurt. Arya, saying she is his, claiming him as hers.

Arya hovering above him, her eyes shining in the dark.

Arya on her back, face all red, hair stuck to her forehead and crying in pain, her hand clasping his so hard that bruises form on his fingers.

Arya, ankle-deep in cold, cold river, holding Ben under his armpits and lowering him into the water and raising him up over and over again as he wiggles in her grip, giggling.

Let me love her like she deserves to be loved.

Jory only falls asleep if someone sings to him and it takes them way too much time to figure it out, probably because none of them have any fucking idea what they’re even doing and so the thought of ever trying lullabies have somehow never occurred to either.

But one yet another sleepless night, Arya, more tired than sane really, lays their screaming, screeching baby on the bed between them and begins to rub comforting circles on his belly with her eyes closed as she opens her mouth.

Six maids in a pool

They're of noble blood

One Fool, but great, on the shore

He'd seen that flower full of love

"She'll be in my garden" - he'd sworn

And then there is a sudden silence, blissful silence except for Arya’s low, rough voice and the sound of crickets outside as Jory’s eyelids flutter and shut. Soon enough, he’s deep asleep, clutching Gendry’s index finger with one of his tiny fists.

They stay frozen, afraid to move, to even breathe, in case the baby will wake up, but it does not happen and Gendry slowly tears his gaze away from Jory, so relieved and overjoyed, about to just pull Arya against his chest and kiss her senseless-

But Arya looks down, still like a lake, tears rolling down her cheeks one by one.

‘’Arry.’’ – he whispers hopeless, at loss of what to do. His heart beats so loudly in his chest that he’s sure she must hear it.

‘’It was- it was Sansa’s favorite.’’ – she lets out with a shaky breath, hunching over and hiding her face in her hands. – ‘’Florian The Fool and Jonquil.’’

Slowly, so, so slowly, Gendry grabs her wrists and lowers her hands down and cups her face, wiping tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. She’s so skinny, so sad lately, worn to the bone.

‘’It’s just so hard now.’’ – she admits quietly.

He’s about to say I know, but bites on his tongue before those words escape from his mouth. No, he doesn’t. He does not know much really. He leaves on the first light and comes home late, and Arya stays, day and night, hissing in pain every time she nurses and lulling crying Jory in her arms for hours, over and over again. The girl who wanted adventure and thrill, stuck in one place like a caged bird.

Staring into Arya’s weary, gleam-less gray eyes, Gendry really, truly hates himself for the first time in his life.

He does not know how to make it better. So, instead, he does the only thing that comes into his mind; he kisses her forehead and tells her that she can go to sleep and he will watch Jory. This night and all the other nights. And he will learn all the songs under the sun, if that’s what their baby wants. Behold, Gendry The Fool.

This earns him a smile. Small and barely-there.. but it’s a beginning.

In the morning light, she is a statue carved out of marble.

Sitting on the threshold, barefoot and with her hair loose, she looks so fragile. Bird-boned. If she was a metal, she would require goldsmith’s nimble fingers to form, not brute strength of a blacksmith.

And yet, she hears his footsteps, she turns around to look at him and moves a little to the left to make place for him. And, when he sits down, she rests her head on his shoulder as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do and he wraps his arm around her-

And yet, despite all, they just fit. They work.

She places his hand on her swollen belly so he could feel their babe kicking underneath his fingers, oh gods, he never wants to move from this threshold ever again. He tries to imagine sitting here with another woman, sharing his life with another woman and it just leaves a foul taste in his mouth.

He is hers. Simple as that.

Duncan is so small in Gendry’s hands, barely bigger than a loaf of bread and looking so delicate. Born a moon too early, he came out of Arya’s womb pale and unmoving and Gendry has never been more afraid in his life than in those few seconds stretched into infinity, looking into Arya’s wide wild eyes and waiting for their second son to take his first breath and start to cry. He’s fine now, maybe still a bit too light, but that’s okay – Gendry can keep him safe and warm in his arms as long as it takes for his to gain strength on his own, as long as he needs it. Even if it’s forever. It doesn’t matter.

Jory is so curious about his baby brother that it’s almost comical. He peaks at Duncan napping on Arya’s breast and then gently, very gently, pats his chubby cheek.

‘’Soft.’’ – he grins up at Arya and she laughs.

‘’Yeah, babies are like that. All soft and nice. Do you want to give him a kiss?’’

Jory seems to be thinking about it for a while, a tiny wrinkle appearing between his brows from concentration. It smoothes down when he leans to press a peck on Duncan’s dark head.

‘’Love him.’’ – he babbles with a toothy smile and Gendry can swear that there actual tears in Arya’s eyes, no matter that she would deny it.

‘’Wish I could give ‘em a name.’’ – he says quietly, watching as older boys snore in unison, both of them holding each of Ollie’s tiny fists.

Arya reaches out above their sleeping children and puts her little hand on his cheek. Her eyes are shining in the darkness like twin stars and yes, indeed, Gendry wishes for a name other than Waters more than he has ever wished for anything, but that’s not the only thing he desires. He wishes for a featherbed for Arya; for her to be less tired; for her hands to remain soft. He can’t give her comfort the same way he can’t offer any of the three sons he has with a noble-born woman anything more than a hut on the hill, a few goats and a small workshop in the Maidenpool.

‘’They have a father who loves them, a father who they can be proud of. That’s more important than any name could ever be.’’

Gendry thinks it’s very lady-like of her to say so. But, after all, she gave up her name for him, so maybe he could trust her on this matter.

Sometimes he dreams of Arya in Winterfell; Arya all highborn in Northern furs, a silver crown on her dark hair and cheeks painted pink from frost. He dreams of wolves surrounding her, howling for her in the woods, bowing their heads for her when she passes through the pack of them as if she was their queen.

Wolf dreams, she tells him shortly one time when he wakes up in the morning to find her sitting in the bed still deep asleep and biting on her lip hard enough that it bleeds, her hands all scratched by her own nails. He doesn’t ask for more explanation. It’s scary enough, to think what she might have become, how high she might have risen had she not she chosen him.

Beric arrives one evening, seated on a fine black mare that makes boys gasp in awe and nervously elbow each other until Jory asks very politely – let it never be said that Gendry raises his son as wildlings, thank you very much – if they can maybe, just maybe, feed her an apple. As horse happily munches, absolutely not paying any attention to three little creatures combing her tail and patting her sides, Arya hoists baby Ben on her hip and talks with Beric outside as Gendry goes to fetch cheese and milk.

On his way back, he stops on the threshold and grins involuntarily. Gods, his wife is just so fucking pretty, more beautiful with every passing year. No one would call her a dirty boyish urchin now, with her long dark locks cascading down her back and a blush on her sweet face. She sways delicately, side-to-side, as the child in her arms dozes off, his head resting on her shoulder.

Gendry very briefly wonders if he could possibly persuade her to have yet another babe. A daughter this time, a little Arya, gifted with her mother’s effortless grace and devious gleam in grey eyes. From their sons, Ollie is the only one brown-headed and also the only one alike to Arya in any physical regard; Jory and Duncan are both copies of him, taller than they should be at their age and growing out of every pair of shoes more rapidly than Gendry can supply them.

‘’Your brother would take you. All of you.’’

Beric’s voice is like a cold shower, briefly, just before it turns into a cold fury brewing in Gendry’s gut.

‘’Why would I ever take my sons to Winterfell?’’

‘’They could have a future there.’’

Gendry doesn’t mean to eavesdrop. If Lord Beric All-Mighty Dondarrion wants to say that he cannot damn support for his own family, he can fucken say it to his face. But he remains inside the house, hidden in shadows and frozen in place. Listening.

Arya laughs, both softly and bitterly somehow.

‘’What kind of future? Bein’ treated as bastards, even though they’re not? Bein’ treated as baseborn and worse for that, even tho they don’t deserve it? ‘’

‘’Your brother has no heirs, he could use three healthy, strong boys. Do you want your ancestral seat in the hands of some other house? For Starks to die out?’’

Gendry’s fist clench. That’s a low blow and Beric bloody knows it, probably that’s why he does not look Arya in the eyes.

He never let it go. He rode with smallfolk, wined and dined and shat with them, but he never forgave himself for letting highborn girl under his care to be defiled by a bastard blacksmith, knight or not.

Nearly killed me when I refused to ride North with them, sulked through the wedding and acted all high and honorable, and now he tries to take a wife from her husband and children from their father.

‘’Rickon married Shireen Baratheon; if Bran will die childless, Rick’s second son will hold Winterfell. If not, Sansa’s child will. Heard she has a boy now.’’

‘’It’s your sons’ right.’’ Beric’s voice turns sharp. ‘’Hope you know what you’re depriving them of.’’

There is silence ringing in Gendry’s ears for a moment. He inhales, deeply, and is just about to move, to bash Lightning Lord’s skull in, when-

‘’Oh, I know full well.”

Ours is the fury. For the first time, he thinks Arya would make a fine Lady Baratheon; there is so much anger radiating from her that he half-expects for the sky to part and send down thunderbolts.

‘’I deprive them of ever watching their father killed in a godsdamned game of thrones. No one will chop Gendry’s head off for a secret. No one will betray me and slit my throat. ‘’ she states, her voice unwavering. - ‘’If I die on them, it will be in childbirth. If Gendry does, it will be from the plague. These are honest deaths, the ones that don’t scar. Don’t teach me how to love my own children, Beric, or how to take care of them. I gave them the freedom to be who they want to be. And if I will ever bear a daughter, she will be freer than I ever was.’’

Guilt, heavy like a stone, punches him in the gut.

All those years and I’m still underestimating you, love.

Beric gifts them their fine black mare when he leaves the next morning, against their protests. Gendry wants to sell her – it’s suspicious for people like them to have a horse like that – but boys plead and plead for hours and Arya glances at the mare fondly, and Gendry is reminded how she used to ride faster than wind, hair unbound and no saddle needed. Freedom incarnate.

His wife calls the horse Wintersong.

Alysanne is born nine moons later.

Against his stupid, silent wishes, their children grow up quicker than a blink. He longs for bare feet and joyous shrieks, for mud fights and hurts that could be healed by kisses. What he gets now is to see them all go their own way and seven hells, it hurts so much.

Benjen is the first one to go, stolen away at just nine by Lord fucking Dayne, to squire for him and then to be knighted. And Gendry knows, somewhere in the more rational part of him, that this is a good thing, that Ben would be happy doing what he was so clearly made to do. Ned is an honorable man and he will take good care of the boy, and one day Ben will be a great knight. They would sing songs of him. Still, this knowledge does nothing to soothe his sorrows. Bloody Starfall is too far away to travel and, as he hugs Ben’s scrawny frame, the realization that it might be the last time he does that takes his breath away.

I will never see him practicing with wooden swords in the woods again. I won’t see as he grows up.

Is there ever a bitter moment for a father, he thinks, clutching Alysanne’s hand as she waves her brother goodbye. – then when he gives his child away and they are not his anymore?

The first night after his son’s departure, Arya weeps from dusk till dawn, clinging to him in desperation until exhaustion pulls her under. Next morning she’s calm and collected again, moving on as if nothing happened, but this is the first time that Gendry looks at his wife and thinks she’s getting older.

Jory’s next; always the responsible one, he quietly and slowly explains to them one afternoon how he will finish his apprenticeship soon and would like to stay in Maidenpool and marry his carpentry master’s youngest daughter. Gendry knows the girl – pretty lass named Joy, fox-like and with hair kissed by the fire. He had no idea that Jory fancies her thou, although it is possible he might be the only one oblivious, as Arya doesn’t even try to look surprised.

(Stupid. – she tells him in the evening, shaking her head. – During the fair last year all he did was look at her, all moony, too afraid to ask her to dance. Didn’t you notice that?

Well. He didn’t.

Arya sighs heavily, resting her head on her hand and glancing at him from underneath her lashes.

Remind me why I married you?

He leans down, resting his forehead against hers. His hand sneaks underneath her skirts to rest on her bare tight and he watches as grin blooms on her face.

Don’t complain, m’lady.)

Duncan doesn’t ever really leave, which Gendry cherishes. Even as a kid, Duncan loved coming over to forge the most, begged Gendry to teach him blacksmithing ever since he was maybe six. As a man grown, his second son is his mirror copy; his body made to hammer metal into obedience and temper it into strength. He’s good at that, very good in fact. Steel sang for Gendry for most of his life – and it sings for Duncan too, even more beautifully. Girls from the whole town come over to watch him work and even Gendry is not as blind as not to see that the boy enjoys their attention.

He would be lying if he said it does not worry him, the thoughts of his own father and bastards swimming in his head until one day Duncan sets the hammer down and turns to him, blushing like a maiden.

‘’Dad.’’

‘’Hmm?’’

‘’Well. There is this girl- we, I mean, she… you know…‘’

Ha. There is always a girl.

‘’Are you going to marry her?’’

Duncan’s ears turn red.

‘’Yes.’’

Gendry stays quiet for a moment, before deciding that it certain things just don’t matter as much as he used to think they do.

Slowly, he eases his scowl into a smile.

‘’Congratulations, then.’’

Olllie… Ollie is a burden too heavy to bear.

(Arya screamed for hours, howled like a wolf with the limp body of their son clutched to her chest. No words, just raw ache of a wounded animal, not letting anyone come near. Alys hid in the cupboard, curled in a little ball with her hands pressed to her ears and crying in terror until Jory carried her away, hushing Duncan and Ben out.

Spring fever has a smell, sweet and disgusting. It always comes too late, when there is nothing that can be done anymore, clinging to hair and skin for weeks. No one can wash it off. In a way, Arya was right – death from plague never really scars. The wound that it leaves simply doesn’t ever close.

Ollie was so small, gasping for breath. He still had all his milk teeth, he still loved for Gendry to toss him up in the air, he still would ask Arya to tell him stories every evening and kiss his forehead goodnight.

So small.)

Sometimes he wonders – if they lived in a castle, maybe a maester could heal him, maybe he still would be alive. He wonders if Arya wonders about it too, but decides to keep silent.

They don’t talk about Ollie, none of them.

Alys runs away two moons before her five and tenth name day, surprising no one. Gendry guesses he got his wish; she is her mother’s daughter, truly. He watches, sad and resigned, as his wife tries and fails to hide her quiet glee as she reads him the letter Alys left. He just hears some phrases, here and there: mummer’s troupe, tightrope, adventure, being an acrobat and a boy, there is always a fucking boy.

And just like that, there is two of them again.

When they were younger, they used to be more desperate for each other, more hungry. Gendry supposes it makes sense - he was less sure of her then. Not in a way he doubted she loved him, he always knew she loved him, cared for him. It was more like he was living without ever exhaling, holding his breath and waiting until someone will take her away from him, because surely someone will?

Lady Arya, the Northern Princess on his lap, her eyes shut closed and mouth opened in pleasure, moaning his name and digging her nails in his shoulders.

It was just too good to be true.

He was so careful, not to get used to any of it. From his experience, Gods delight in taking things mortals take for granted. And his family already feels fragile enough; no matter how solid the walls are, they built them on quicksand. Everything is perishable and he can never forget that. But the older he gets, more and more of this burning anxiety disappears from his bones, evaporating in the thin early-morning mist outside when he wakes up in her warm arms and she sleeps like breast milk and dreams.

He still memorizes as much as he can though. Just in case one day memories would be the only thing he has left.

The identical shade of blue of his sons’ eyes. Alys’ breathy laughter. And Arya, Arya, Arya.

Years made her sweeter, softer. When they were freshly married, she used to order him around in bed, half-starved for his touch and half-ashamed for being so needy. They would go hard and fast, his fingers leaving bruises on her hips and her teeth leaving bite marks on his neck. He would be lying if he said he did not enjoy that, but now it’s even better. -now, when they make love, it’s slow and gentle, and everything they never thought they could be. She unravels underneath him, letting him pleasure her and worship her until she’s boneless and pliant, laughing breathlessly when his beard scratches her belly. She used to be slim and skinny, his wolf maiden, taut like a bowstring about to break, with lean muscles dancing underneath her pale skin. Now, there are traces of their children all over her body. They are written in the silver threads in her hair and in a blue spider web of veins on her breasts and faint marks on her belly where it stretched to accommodate growing babies, each of them.

It makes him stupid every time, looking at all those. Stupid and drunk on a feeling he does not even know how to describe.

Time flies and he can never get enough of her, of how it feels to be buried in her, of her hair in between his fingers and her nose bumping his and the way she bites on her lips when she peaks. The taste of her, the sight of her, the sound of her – she drives him mad and he sometimes wonders if he was put on this Earth just for this one purpose, to love this woman until he dies.

Because Gendry loves his lady Arya, like a fool and with all of him. This one thing never changes, even when they grow older and softer and weaker, and their hearts beat slower than they used to. Even when she is no longer dark-haired and he is no longer strong like an ox.

He can no longer carry her through the door, but he can still hold her hand as they watch the sunrise together. And maybe she does not water dance anymore, but, when she brushes her lips against his knuckles, this wicked gleam still burns in her eyes.

He loves her. The best he can. And as it seems to be enough for her - well, he trusts her enough to find solace in that.

#gendrya #gendry x arya #gendrya fanfiction #gendrya fic #gendrya au #got fanfiction #asoiaf fanficiton

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johncherrystone · 5 years

Text

The Harvest Festival catches Molly and the rest of them off-guard, as they trudge back from another contracted manhunt to a town full of merchants and music and spirit. The streets are full with small carts selling trinkets and taverns opening their windows to sell directly onto the street. They all agree to spare a day, maybe a night, and enjoy it. They deserve it, after all.

And so Molly watches his motley crew disperse into the fray, losing Jester to dancers in the center of the square, and Beau to some competition of strength, and Nott likely to pick some pockets. Even Caleb seems to enjoy himself after sampling a few ales and coming across a small book vendor. He stands beside Molly, quietly turning the pages of a new treasure.

Molly is nursing a slight buzz and, watching the festivities around him, reveling in it. This is exactly his element.

He watches as Jester breaks away from the crowd of dancers, all eager bumbling energy, and heads over to them. Her face is split into a huge grin, and she bows exaggeratedly, holding out her hand. Molly almost reaches his own hand out to accept, before realizing that she’s asking Caleb, beside him.

Caleb’s cheeks are flushed, either from the invitation or the libations, Molly isn’t sure. His Adam’s apple bobs a bit as he swallows, and Molly’s eyes lap up the motion eagerly. And then he inclines his head slightly, placing his hand in Jester’s. She cheers triumphantly, just as surprised as Molly, and leads him off.

The two of them begin with a quicker version of a waltz, trying to match the fast tempo of the festival music. Though out of earshot, Molly watches Caleb’s mouth move, lips quirked in a shy smile, likely giving Jester instructions as he leads them. She is laughing, and he can imagine the jerky compliment she gives him, Oh, Caleb, you’re such a good dancer, you should dance more often with us. Molly wishes that he could be the one complimenting him, feeling one of Caleb’s hands press firmly into the small of his back as he lets himself be led.

But still, to even be able to see this—Caleb dancing, smiling, enjoying himself… He could not have gotten this months ago. This is a treat in itself.

We’ve really come so far, he thinks, resting his chin on his palm and watching. Another scan along the crowd reveals Fjord, rubbing Beau’s shoulders as she is locked in an arm wrestling match. Yasha, a couple stalls away, picking through a selection of delicate glass flowers with a small grin. And Nott—

“Molly,” a voice croaks beside him.

He jumps, glancing down and grinning. “There you are, my friend.”

Nott stands straighter, adjusting the porcelain mask on her face. “I was wondering—would you like to dance?”

Molly pushes off of the wall he had been leaning against, extending her a hand. “Of course I would; do you even need to ask? You can even stand on my feet if you’d like.”

Nott’s eyes narrow, and he can imagine the face she must be making under the mask—nose scrunched, faintest bit of teeth peeking out between her lips.

“I don’t think so,” she says, taking his hand anyways and tugging him into the crowd with a bit more force than necessary.

The band starts up another song, this one even faster than the last, and Molly finds the drinks to have muddled his nerves just enough to lose a step or two in the dance. Nott, fortunately, seems to know what she’s doing—or at least be confident enough in her missteps. She grips his hands in hers, nails nearly digging in, and expertly weaves them through the other couples. Her steps are hurried, and short, and he almost feels as though they are attempting to escape.

He opens his mouth. “Slow down, love, it’s just a dance—“

“I am dancing,” she says, matter-of-factly. “You just need to let me lead.”

His breath escapes him in a laugh. “Well, alright, then.” He makes an apologetic face at a man whose shoulder he just bumped, and turns back to her. “I am larger than you, though, try to lead with care.”

She nods and the steps quicken once more, leaving him stumbling backwards as she peeks around his elbow to guide.

He glances behind him and spots Jester’s familiar blue through the madness, and then she disappears behind another dancer, dragging Caleb with her. Then, he sees a scruff of auburn hair a few feet closer, before it vanishes. Then, a glimpse of a horn, just a few feet away.

The song ends just as he turns back to Nott, mouth open in question, but she gives a sharp tug to his wrist.

“And, spin!” she instructs, pulling him off balance and sending him stumbling toward the right.

His chest slams into another, knocking the wind out of him for a moment. His hands scramble for purchase on the person in front of him, gripping tightly into a pair of sleeves. “Sorry—“ he starts, and stops at the sight of Caleb in front of him, looking equally surprised.

“Oh, dear!” Jester yelps, peeking out from behind Caleb. “We are supposed to switch partners, I guess?”

Nott dashes over to her, grabbing her hands, the two of them already backpedaling away. “Yes, you know the rules, if you bump into someone you have to kill them or switch partners, and we wouldn’t want to kill them—“

Caleb finally tears his gaze from Molly. “I don’t think that is how it works,” he says softly.

The band picks up again, a new song, slower than the previous two.

“Oh, well, song is starting, got to go,” Jester adds, and the two of them disappear into the crowd.

Molly feels a dreadful flush starting to form on his cheeks as the reality of the situation sinks in, and he does his best to avoid looking back at Caleb for a moment. Were this anyone else, he would feel the smooth flirtation on the tip of his tongue already, the gentle teasing. But this is Caleb, and no words come to mind. At least, no words that seem right. The cheap flirtations simply wouldn’t be enough for this.

Another couple, already beginning to move with this new song, bumps into them, and it jostles him out of his thoughts. He glances back at Caleb, removing his hands from Caleb’s sleeves, apology already on his tongue.

“I’m—“

“Mollymauk. Would you like to dance?”

Molly’s mouth snaps shut at the earnest, albeit terribly embarrassed, expression on Caleb’s face. Caleb glances down at the space between them, and Molly realizes he has a hand extended in offering.

Molly blinks at the hand. One of Caleb’s hands, that he has longed to touch for so long, palm open and ready for the taking. It seems entirely too good to be true, and for a moment, he almost doesn’t think it is.

Caleb swallows, hand dropping an inch, but before he can let it fall, Molly reaches up and takes it. He squeezes it, positioning it to his left.

“Well, I reckon you’d be a much better teacher than Nott,” he says, and a breath of laughter escapes Caleb’s lips.

“I have been trying to teach her, but she is not as good a learner of dance as she is one of magic,” he informs Molly, sliding a hand behind Molly’s back and beginning to step along with the beat.

#mollymauk tealeaf #caleb widogast #widomauk #critical role #cr #so has everyone seen tangled? lol #listen....#i just think they're neat #and soft #i am like two episodes away from THE THING #so let me have some happiness for now #my writing #this is also part of the longer thing i'm writing #like the last drabble was #but yeah i thought it was cute on its own #so here we are

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honeyyvee · 5 years

Text

One Kiss: Chapter 2

Rating: Teen

Genre: Romance

Summary: When your best friend Min Yoonji offers herself to teach you how to kiss, the only approapriate reaction is (gay) panic.

Pairing: Min Yoonji(Genderbend! Yoongi)/ female reader

Words: 2.4k

Warnings: Consumption of alcohol. Coarse language.

Notes: Edited: on July 2, 2019.

← Prev Ch

. . . "You did what? " Yoonji raised her eyebrows. "Please, don't laugh." You pleaded, even though you were holding back a laugh of your own. "Poor boy, he must've been so preoccupied." You fiddled with your keys to avoid Yoonji's gaze. Your bag fell on the couch with a thud and you followed suit. A heavy sigh left your lips. "Kinda... he didn't talk much for the rest of the movie. I think I made him self-conscious." You bit your lip. "You think?" Yoonji lifted a brow, the hint of a smile on her lips. "Honestly, Y/N, I don't understand..." She ventured into the kitchen. Yoonji rummaged through the contents of the fridge, but her muffled voice drifted into the living room still. "You whine about wanting to kiss the guy and then blow your one chance to do it."

You sighed for dramatic effect. "I wasn't ready… I was too nervous and didn’t want to mess it up. "

You picked at your nails and bit your lip wondering if Yoonji would repeat her offer of the other day. The bait was there, but would she take it?

The answer was no .

Yoonji came back from the fridge with a carton juice and an amused expression on her face. “You need to lighten the fuck up.” She popped her lips on the ‘p’ for emphasis. “It’s just a kiss.” "Maybe I could lighten up if I practiced a bit first…” You pouted.

Yoonji hummed, plopped herself next to you on the couch. She took a sip of her apple juice, uninterested. “I think we’ve had this conversation before.”

Fuck it , you decided. You would bring up the kissing teaching offer directly, pride be damned.

“A little practice could really help… Does your teaching offer still stand?" You bit your lip in expectation. There were only two possible answers leading to two possible outcomes. You weren’t sure what to expect of a yes, even if you kept pushing for one. "That was a joke." Yoonji looked at you with the most serious of expressions. You averted your gaze, shrugging. "Yeah... is it that bad of an idea though?" Yoonji seemed to contemplate your question as she sipped the last of her apple juice. The crushing of the carton in her hand startled you. "Well, you said it yourself: it makes zero sense to practice with me for your first kiss. It wouldn't be your first then."

You fumbled with the right words to convince her. An if it’s you it wouldn’t matter, hung from the tip of your tongue, but it was interrupted by Yoonji getting up from the couch.

"Anyways, I have to wrap up this sound project. I'll get on it, so please don't interrupt... unless there's a fire or something." "Aye, aye, Captain." You acquiesced.

And so Yoonji wordlessly fled into her ‘study’. Just as she was disappearing behind the door your brain came with a last attempt at changing her mind. "Have you eaten anything yet?" When her only response was a disgruntled mumble of I'll microwave some noodles or whatever , you set your mind to ordering some chinese takeout. Someone had to be the responsible one out of you two (and maybe some food would get Yoonji in the mood to giving in into your request). A call and 30 minutes later your food had arrived and you couldn't be happier. With a skip to your step you went to knock on Yoonji's door ignoring her earlier threats about interrupting. A grin spread across your lips as you rapped on her door. "Yoons, the kitchen is on fire." The expected threat came muffled from behind the door. "It better be, or else I'm beating your ass." A giggle escaped your mouth. "Ooh, kinky. Spank me, master!" The door opened to reveal a disgruntled Yoonji. "You're such a dumbass." "A dumbass that is feeding you, be grateful." You jabbed.

Her droopy eyes widened a bit at this. "Is it chinese?"

“Of course.” You led her to the table where everything was set.

Yoonji took a box and examined its contents, it was her favorite. She took a whiff of the delicious smell and sighed in delight. “God… thank you.” The grin on your face grew bigger. "You're welcome."

Both of you sat and got to eat in comfortable silence, until you decided to bring up an important matter. "By the way, Namjoon told me to ask you if you're coming to next weekend's party. Since you don't answer his texts or pick up his calls." Yoonji looked up from her noodles, uninterested, and gave her blunt answer. "Can't. Too busy. Hate people." You sprung from your seat in indignation. "Oh, come on Yoons! It's my surprise birthday party, are you seriously not going?" Yoonji raised her brows. "Surprise?" You smiled and shrugged. "Yeah, Joon kinda messed up that part." “No surprise there.”

You batted your eyelashes. “So… you’ll go?”

Yoonji sighed, playing around with her noodles. “I don’t know…”

You reached for her hand across the table to capture her attention. “Yoons, come on… please. Don’t be a party pooper.” You stared into her eyes. “It’s my birthday and I want you to be there.”

Yoonji averted her eyes and wrinkled her nose, something she did when she was embarrassed by too much physical contact. “Alright… “

You jumped in glee and hurried to the other side of the table to envelop her in a warm embrace. She stood still in your embrace, merely patting your elbows in return to your enthusiastic response. Her petite body was soft against yours, and the vanilla fragrance of her midnight locks of hair was pure bliss. You let go of her warmth reluctantly, but smiled at her. Even if it was because of your birthday, it was a big deal that Yoonji agreed to go to the party even when she was stacked with projects and things to do.

You squeezed her arm. “I’ll tell Joon to get your favorite beer, we’ll have lots of fun and you’ll have a most deserved break.” Yoonji smiled softly, nodded and soon enough returned to the darkness of her cave. You went to bed that night trying to not think much about Yoonji’s smile, or her haunting vanilla fragrance.

Days went by without much news of Jungkook except for his confirmation about attending your birthday party. Surprisingly though, Jungkook wasn’t much present in your mind lately. You barely remembered he was invited; you even wondered why he would tell you about his attendance given that it was supposed to be a ‘surprise’ party. Well, it didn't matter much anyway. Your surprise party had lost the element of surprise long ago.

You didn’t see much of Yoonji either, you would usually return from your lecture to find her asleep on her desk. Today was no exception, as you looked over at her from the entrance of her room, lips slightly parted and raven black locks sprawled all over her desk, you wondered if the petite girl got any sleep besides this brief moments of napping. More than once you found yourself lost, staring at her like this for minutes. The idea of moving Yoonji to her bed always weighing on your mind. Your instinct of self-preservation won each and every time though. If these were the only moments of sleep she got in the day you didn’t want to risk taking that away from her by trying to move her to a more comfortable position.

The most you could do for your night owl of a friend was preparing a hot pot of coffee as soon as you got home. The aroma was the only thing on earth capable of summoning Yoonji from the depths of her cave willingly. She was getting thinner by the days, surviving on black coffee and instant noodles. A sigh escaped your lips as you lightly clicked the door shut and moved to the kitchen, to prepare her a pot of hot energizing coffee and something decent for the both of you to eat. You decided on some veggie stir fry and noodles and put your hands to work.

A half an hour or so you were setting the table up, when a raspy voice piped in. “What’s on today’s menu?”

You puffed your chest out in pride as you showed her your creations. “Well, I made some coffee for you, and for dinner I prepared some noodles with a side of veggie stir fry.”

Yoonji didn't look too impressed though, as she scrunched her nose.“Coffee with stir fry and noodles? That sounds disgusting.”

You glared at her, a retort on the tip of your tongue as she smirked and interrupted your fuming, holding a single finger in the air. Yoonji went to one of the cabinets to get something. As she turned, she waved a bottle of red wine around, an adorable gummy smile plastered on her face. “I think I'll have this instead.”

You opened and closed your mouth like a fish out of the water. “I was gonna suggest coke, but yeah go ahead. The rich always humiliating the poor.”

Yoonji laughed at this, and you watched as her eyes disappeared with a smile of your own.

“Since you were so generous as to prepare dinner, I'm sharing.”

You took a seat and watched as she uncorked the bottle, and served both of you you on plastic cups. So much for a fancy dinner...

“We really need to buy some actual dishware.” You mumbled.

Yoonji snorted as she gave you your cup. “What are you talking about, this is our dishware.”

You snickered as you earnestly took a sip of your wine. Both of you ate in comfortable silence after that, enjoying the dinner you prepared with care. It was a couple of cups of wine later that you came up with a question that you carelessly blurted out that very same moment. "Who was your first kiss?"

Yoonji was slurping away at the last of her noodles when you asked. Her motions stopped for a second as she gave you a look that could only qualify as a glare. It lasted a second or so, as she resumed eating as if you hadn't uttered a thing. Had you been a little more smart you would’ve ignored what you said too and not prodded further, but alas you were already a little bit more than tipsy, and terribly curious. "No kiss and tell, huh? Alright, I respect that".

Yoonji grunted. You prodded further. "Let me rephrase that then, how was your first kiss?"

The brunette stabbed a piece of broccoli. "It was okay."

You waited for anything juicer than an okay only to be disappointed, as expected. Yoonji shrugged. "As much as you can expect for a first kiss."

Talk about an underwhelming response. So far, you trying to get Yoonji to open up to you was not going so well. Was it really so wrong to want to know your friend more intimately? There was a barrier Yoonji always put around you that bothered you to an end, you had known each other long enough to be able to trust the other, so why wouldn't Yoonji trust you? You took another sip of your wine. You wouldn't give up so easily. "How old were you?" Yoonji took a bite of a piece of carrot. “Eleven."

Eleven?! At eleven the most physical contact you would get from any of your classmates or friends were fistbumps."Cool." You mumbled.

Something flashed through Yoonji's eyes. Her expression turned into a scary frown that pierced through your soul. "Not cool. I was too young, didn't even know what I was doing. It was stolen from me by an older girl, my babysitter. Who was supposed to take care of me, and instead took advantage of me. I was really confused, I didn't understood what was happening at all at the time. " You flinched at her tone. "Sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable by bringing up unpleasant memories."

You fucked up. You fucked up. Damn, you fucked up. "Not your fault." Yoonji dismissed, getting up from her seat with her plate in hand. "But please, don't ask again."

When Yoonji disappeared behind her door, a nauseous feeling of guilt settled in your gut. The feeling of doing wrong; you took your curiosity too far and crossed a line. There was something about the way Yoonji bristled at your questions of her first kiss that told you her uncomfortableness about talking about it went deeper than just a ‘stolen kiss’. You would never know about it though. Since that night Yoonji's walls went up another mile or so, and you wouldn't dare try to get past them again. Whatever she wanted to share with you, she would do out of her own will, you reasoned. More probably though (and the thought saddened you) she wouldn't share a thing with you.

A couple of days later weekend came, and the day of your birthday party arrived. By then you had made peace with the thought that Yoonji would probably never open up to you about her personal life, and it was okay . Your curiosity was not more important than the balance and comfortable harmony of coexistence that both of you had, and that wascool . Your blooming feelings for your roommate needed to be suffocated and put to rest forever , and that was… chill . Ok . No problem there. You had done so once, and you could surely do it again.

Except you wouldn't , as you would come to learn later.

When Yoonji and you arrived that Saturday at Joon’s and Hoseok’s place, and a copious amount of birthday shots of vodka later, Hoseok decided it was a good idea to play spin the bottle. And you decided it was good as anytime to say, fuck it , and get your first kiss in a party game. Because if Yoonji wouldn’t teach you, and you couldn’t go for it with Jeon, sober, then lady luck may as well help you. So when it was your turn to spin and your little circle went wild chanting your name, the last you expected to see was Yoonji stepping into the circle just as the bottle stopped .

There were gasps, as the chants rose above the music again. “Kiss her! Kiss her! Kiss her!”

Your body acted on its own as your mind drowned out the noise and crawled into the centre on all fours, with a nerve one can only gain from liquid courage. Your heart jumped to your throat as you were face to face with your fated person. It was just a drunk, party kiss.... it meant nothing, right? It briefly occured to you that the other person might not think the same, but shrugged it off in your alcohol buzzed state. Fuck it , it’s just a kiss, you soothed yourself …

And plunged in.

→

#btsguild #armyofwriters #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi fanfiction #bts fanfiction #min yoonji #vee writes

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arnavsinghraizada · 6 years

Text

Of Missed Calls and Makeup Sex

I mean if the title isn’t enough of a giveaway, this is SMUT, NSFW :)

Their kiss was frantic, desperate, with hands wandering and fabric being pulled at. The heat of her mouth on him after these long days was a surreal experience, anchoring him to this moment with her. Arnav had never needed anything more than to have her than he did at that moment.

He supposed it wouldn’t have been any different, not with the time they had spent apart and the argument they’d broken into before he had left.

The business had been keeping him at the office for longer hours as it was, and now it took him from the country? She hadn’t been pleased and once he had managed to cool off, by that time stowed away in business class, he couldn’t fault her for it. Khushi had surprised him this time, sending curt check-in text messages of all things, but never once giving him the pleasure of hearing her voice. Maybe she had known that that would have been the end of it, and her anger would have faded as soon as they spoke to each other.

Arnav had tried calling her himself, but to no avail, and when she finally attempted to return his phone calls, he had decided he wasn’t in the mood to speak to her either. And round and round it had gone until finally the 3-day trip had passed and the day of his return had arrived. There was a collection of miniature conversations stored on his phone, repeated daily.

‘Have you eaten?’

‘Yes.’

‘Have you taken your medication?’

‘Yes.’

‘Take care of yourself.’

‘I will. You too.’

And that would be that. Every day without fail he would get a message at noon and then again in the evening for dinner. Part of him wanted to text back, asking why she was still awake at what was past midnight for her just to ask if he had eaten. A larger part knew that this was how she showed him that she loved him, this was how she cared about him.

They both spent so long lamenting about the other’s ego, but the truth of the matter was that, despite the fact that she wasn’t willing to apologize first and he wasn’t willing to apologize through a text message, her concern was humbling. Nightly, his fingers had hovered over the keys, aching to punch out the three words that resonated through his entire being when he thought of her, but it had felt wrong. Wrong to send her a message saying something that she deserved to hear when he was holding her in his arms, so close that he could no longer tell where she ended and he began.

And now he stood here in front of her, lips moulded to hers, her arms clinging to his shoulders, hands delving into his hair. His every sense was in overdrive, hyper-aware of every low moan, every fleeting caress. Khushi pulled away for a moment, breathing heavily as she rested her forehead against his.

“You didn’t miss me at all, did you?” She whispered in an accusatory voice, opening her eyes to fix him with the full force of her stare. Even now, years after meeting her, marrying her, the beauty of her eyes could still take his breath away.

“Are you crazy?” Arnav breathed, pulling her closer against him so every inch of her was pressed against him, “does it feel like I didn’t miss you?”

He wondered how she could still find it within herself to blush when she had been practically mauling him all of 30 seconds earlier. He told her so too, resulting in an affronted gasp and a half-hearted swat at his chest.

“For someone who missed me so much, you sure did fine without speaking to me,” Khushi muttered under her breath, even as her head came down to rest on his shoulder.

“I did call you,” Arnav pointed out, smiling when he felt her entire body tense up at the reminder, “multiple times.”

She moved away slightly to glance up at him with a frown on her face and he knew she was about to point out his own ignoring of her phone calls. Deciding that he really hadn’t factored a second mini argument with his wife into his makeup sex plan, Arnav quickly spoke the words he had been stewing over the entire flight home.

“I’m sorry, Khushi.”

She blinked, looking momentarily surprised at the lack of prodding she’d had to do to get the words out of him.

“You’re - oh. Well… I’m sorry too, Arnavji.” Her taken aback expression had faded about halfway through her statement, to be replaced with a guilty expression. In the spirit of being privately honest, he couldn’t understand why he was getting an apology at all.

“Khushi, don’t call me Arnavji, not now, at least.” He whispered, taking a step closer to her and wrapping his arms around her, caging her to him.

“Now?” Her hands rested on his arms, eyes widening when he lowered his head to hers, brushing his lips over hers slowly.

“Yes, now.” His lips had moved to trace a path down her jaw. He could feel her nails digging into the flesh of his forearms when he pressed his lips into the softness of her cheek.

“Not when I’m about to make love to you.”

He was laughing when he kissed her, catching her gasp in his mouth as her fists banged on his arms in reprimand before she decided she would let him get away with his audacity just this once. Khushi wound her arms around his neck, stretching onto her tiptoes to press her body against his even as she pulled his head lower to give herself better access.

She pulled her lips away from him, gasping as he traced a scorching trail of fire down her throat, her skin tingling wherever he kissed her. His hands moved from her waist to tug impatiently at the bodice of her kurta and she gave a breathless laugh at his struggles, taking one of his hands into hers and leading it to her back.

“You’d think that after all these years you’d get the hang of it.”

She was glad he couldn’t see her face then, not with his lips glued to her collarbone the way they were, because she was sure her cheeks were flaming.

“I’m not above ripping it off entirely,” Arnav growled and Khushi arched into him when his fingers unzipped her kurta, tugging her dori loose and tracing lines up and down her spine.

The pressure of his body against hers was the only thing holding her kurta up and Arnav found that he had entirely too many clothes on for his taste. He took her hands in his, nuzzling her neck affectionately, and placed them on his shirt.

“Be my guest,” he whispered in her ear, delighting in the shiver that went through her at the words.

Her fingers were slow, hesitant at first before his lips resumed their ministrations. They sped up then, tugging on the buttons until they came free, pushing the fabric from his shoulders with an impatient moan.

That one sound was enough to push him over the edge. Gathering his wife up into his arms, Arnav made his way over to the bed, a surge of possessiveness taking hold of him when she clung to him, eyes bright, cheeks rosy, and with her clothing half falling off of her. This was his wife, the love of his life and no argument would change that or the overwhelming amount of love he had in his heart for this woman.

He lowered her onto the bed, resting on his elbows over her. Brushing her hair out of her face, he kissed her softly, hoping every ounce of sheer adoration he felt for her was conveyed in the motion. She moved her hands to cup his face, stroking his stubbled cheeks, before moving to trace the sharp line of his jaw, lower to outline the shape of his Adam's apple, lower still to stroke over his chest.

“Arnav, I -” she began softly, her eyes fixed on a point somewhere around his throat as her face flooded with colour.

“I know,” he whispered, rubbing his nose against hers with a soft smile, “I love you too.”

It felt like hours had passed as he simply lay there taking in the beauty that was Khushi Kumari Gupta Singh Raizada. It was hard to recall who started it, exactly, but soon they were caught up in a frenzy of heated caresses. He couldn’t remember when he had taken her kurta off, but the feeling of her skin under his hands was certainly evidence enough that it was gone. His hands surged lower, tracing the waistband of her pants, hooking his thumbs in and pulling downwards.

It was a testament to their years together that she only paused in her exploration of him long enough to lift her hips so he could ease her pants off of them. His hands roved over her exposed flesh, lowering his head so his lips could mirror their path, wreaking havoc on her senses. He trailed one hand down her stomach, revelling in the way her muscles clenched under his feather-light touch, before letting his hand move lower, his fingers delving into the slick heat of her. She arched up off the bed, his name slipping from her lips in a desperate cry. Her hand curled around his wrist tightly, fingers quivering against his pulse.

He pressed the pad of his thumb against her and she gasped, throwing her head back with a low moan when he repeated the motion. She writhed in his grip as his fingers rubbed against her, a tidal wave of a familiar fire building within her with every movement. She could have screamed when he pulled his hand away at the last minute.

Her frustration must have been evident on her face because he laughed before kissing her lips softly, then her chin, then her neck. Her breath caught in her throat when his mouth moved lower still, his tongue tracing slow circles over her heated skin. Khushi’s hands moved into his hair, tugging on the strands.

His mouth paused at her stomach for a moment and he grinned rakishly up at her before his lips resumed his fingers’ previous ministrations. She gave a strangled shriek, head falling back. His tongue was doing something, something her hazy mind couldn’t begin to fathom, but it was driving her crazy.

His name was spilling from her lips like the most ardent of prayers, like a steady loop in her head. Arnav. Arnav. Arnav. He was all she could feel, all she knew. She could feel that bubble within her building again, feel the fire spreading from her core to every inch of her body and just when she thought she would die if he didn’t give her what she needed, he flicked his tongue against her.

She could have sworn she saw stars at that moment. The tension ebbed out of her body, leaving her feeling light as a feather, drifting aimlessly. When she came back to earth, finally opening her eyes, she was panting and Arnav was leaning over her again with a smug smirk on his face.

She would wipe that smirk off of his face.

Her hands moved to his belt, hovering for the slightest of seconds before she tugged it open, her fingers undoing his zipper and slipping inside to wrap her hand around him. It was a heady feeling to have that kind of power over him. The kind where she could make him look like that, sound like that. She shifted, moving her fingers along his length lightly. Gasping when his hand clamped down over hers, her eyes flew up to meet his, something within her flaring to life at the fierceness in his eyes.

“Don’t tease me. Not tonight.”

Part of her wanted to point out that he had done exactly that to her, but a larger part of her urged her to be silent. She pulled her hand out from under her husband’s with a small, impish grin. Moving so her arms were wrapped around his neck again, she tugged him closer to whisper in his ear.

“Stop me.”

He made a sound that sounded suspiciously like a growl before he shifted, his hands moving to his pants, pulling them off with an impatient snarl. She hadn’t even registered the loss of his body over hers before he was back, pressing every muscle into her body. His hardness pressed against the heat of her, and her legs spread further apart on instinct, drawing him between her thighs as she pulled her calves up to rest against his lower back.

He paused for a moment, his eyes glinting in the darkness as he stared down her, and she knew what he was going to ask before he had even opened his mouth.

“Are you -”

“I want you.” She whispered, pouring all of her love, all of the trust she had in him into those three words.

Something flashed in her husband’s eyes, and she knew then that he had understood the unspoken feelings behind her declaration. Arnav’s mouth sealed over hers with a low groan and she moaned when he slipped inside of her, her hands fisting in his hair. He had only been gone for three days and yet she felt she had been reunited with him after years apart, clinging to him, pulling him closer. He moved inside of her, pulling back only to push forwards again, his movements increasing in force and pace as his name tore from her throat, louder and pleading for something she couldn’t put words to. She wouldn’t pretend that the sound of her own name on his lips, harsh and primal sounding, didn’t do something to her, didn’t make her feel like she was the most powerful woman alive.

One of his hands locked on the headboard, hers clutching his shoulder blades, while the other stroked her centre again as he moved inside of her. It felt like she had been craving release for hours of blissful torment when it finally came, taking her breath away as her body tightened around him. He joined her then, her name tearing from his throat in a fierce snarl as he stilled within her.

Arnav dropped down on top of her for a moment, exhaling in a gust as he placed a single chaste kiss on the heated flesh of her neck, before rolling away to lie beside her, pulling her into his arms so she was lying across him.

“I love you,” she whispered, hiding her face in his chest as his hands stroked over her hair.

Lowering his head, he pressed his lips to the crown of her head, squeezing her tighter to him for a moment.

“I love you too.”

It was hard to believe that there had been a time when he hadn’t realized that it would always be Khushi. No matter how many times they fought, no matter how many times they tried to go their separate directions, they always found their way back to each other.

But now when he held her in his arms like this, there was no doubt about it. She was his past, his present, and every moment of his future.

She was everything.

#IPKKND #arshi #iss pyaar ko kya naam doon #arshi ff #ipkknd ff #mine #my writing #arnav singh raizada #khushi kumari gupta

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