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cake-writes · 2 years ago

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A Dutiful Disaster (Part Seven)

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Story Tags/Warnings: Arranged Marriage, Enemies to Lovers, Royalty, Pre-Thor (2011), Smut, Angst, Drama, Slow Burn, Odin’s A+ Parenting, Cis Female Reader (she/her), No Y/N Usage, Second Person POV, POC-inclusive descriptors, Toxic Relationship (lil bit of abuse from both parties - mostly screaming matches with the occasional physical thing but he never like slaps her or anything), Smut, Slut-Shaming, Mommy Issues, Reader has anxiety, 18+

Chapter Warnings: anxiety, reader is super bitchy in this chapter, and so is her letter, oh my gosh you guys they actually talk shit out like MATURE ADULTS

Word Count: 3.8k

Snippet: “I do not wish to be kissed. It’s too great an intimacy for our,” you pause to consider the word, tapping your finger to your chin, “unique situation, wouldn’t you say? We are the furthest thing from lovers.”

“Oh?” Loki sounds amused by your answer – and then he drops his feet back to the floor with purpose, taking advantage of your startled jump to pull you further into his lap where you can feel the hardening length of him against your clothed core. “If not lovers, then what are we?”

“Married,” you gasp, arms clutching around his neck for fear of being dropped – or so you tell yourself.

Master List / Spotify Playlist / Part Six

A/N: And we’re back! This chapter finally ties us in to the prequel one-shot, as well as the argument between Loki and his father in part two. You may need to read them again for a refresher because it’s been a fair few months (in real life) since those were posted. Enjoy :)

You study your husband from above the gold rim of your teacup. It’s suspicious, the certain ease to his demeanour as he discusses today’s breakfast offerings with his servant.

Loki is manipulating you. He must be. It's the only conclusion you can come to.

You haven’t forgotten the nasty things he said about you to his father the day after your wedding. Loki made it crystal clear that he can't stand you, that he finds this sham of a marriage as torturous as you do, to the point that he'd even referred to it as a life sentence – much like your own thoughts on the matter. Yet, it bothers you in a way you can’t quite explain.

What’s worse is that the Allfather thinks you disloyal to the Crown, and you still haven’t been able to figure out why. You’ve been nothing but loyal, the events of last night notwithstanding. It makes you feel uneasy, knowing that the King has tasked Loki with ensuring your loyalty to Asgard, like he actually expects you could ever be a traitor—a proper one, that is.

Even so, you find yourself begrudgingly admiring the way your husband’s dark, glossy hair perfectly accentuates his sharp cheekbones – during which he turns his attention to you.

“Is that acceptable?” Loki questions, just as you take another sip of chrysanthemum tea—your favourite, and all you can think is that it can't be just a coincidence.

You hate how infuriatingly attractive he is. Even now. Especially now, with his pretty green eyes so focused on you, like he actually cares what you have to say.

“That would be lovely,” you answer amicably as you set down your teacup, even though you have no idea what you’ve just agreed to. Something about smoked salmon and capers.

Loki seems to accept your answer, and when he engages once more with his servant, you lose yourself in your thoughts. Two ragged, albeit manicured fingernails tap an anxious rhythm against the side of the porcelain cup in its saucer, each fingertip sounding its own melody.

Tink, tink. Tink, tink.

It worries you how easily Loki plays the part the perfect husband. Sitting here in his chambers is unnerving; you’re just waiting for the other shoe to drop, but he seems perfectly content, like he isn’t at all bothered by the contents of your letter. Nor does he seem to hold any opinion of the events that transpired last night.

For now.

Tink, tink. Tink, tink.

The daylight streaming in through the open windows offers a glimpse of the fine lines near his eyes and the dark circles just beneath. While he always appears as though he’s never been able to get enough sleep, courtesy of his fair skin, you’re starting to think that Loki might have slept about as well as you did last night—in other words, scarcely at all.

Tink, tink. Tink, tink.

You conceal a yawn with your free hand as the servant bows and makes his way to the exit, and then you’re alone with your husband again. That knowledge should set you on edge, but you’re more focused on the rich accoutrements of his sitting room. It’s the first time you’ve been here since that awful argument following the attack; no sign of shattered glass in sight, but then, it has been a week since then.

Tink, tink. Tink, tink.

A vase full of fresh flowers sits upon the entry table. You’d bruised your hip against it that self-same night. How suspicious that the blooms are the colour of plum wine, a deep reddish-purple that makes your heart sing: your colour.

Tink, tink—

You stop tapping the instant you notice him watching you, and snatch up your teacup as if you meant to do so all along. Then you take a larger sip than you intend. The hot tea scalds your tongue, and his lips twitch in silent laughter as you try and fail to pretend it doesn’t.

“What?” you snap irritably.

“How did you sleep?”

“Why act as though you care?”

Visibly amused by your bristly demeanour, Loki retrieves his own tea, his slim fingers pinching the gilded handle with more finesse than you could ever hope to achieve. “I cannot help but wonder, petal, if you haven’t slept a wink. Were you worrying about how this conversation would go?”

You set your teacup down in its saucer with force, the loud clink of fine china resounding through the room. “Considering the events that transpired during our previous one, I’d be a fool not to worry. I expect that you will have me imprisoned the very moment you manage to lull me into a false sense of security.”

He doesn’t bat an eyelash at your vitriol, instead opting to take a sip of his tea. You can scarcely tell what kind of tea it is anymore, what with how he's drowned it in cream and sugar. Some things never change. It’s comforting, in a way.

Your husband savours the too-sweet taste for a moment before he speaks. “I will not have you imprisoned. You have my word.”

You scoff. “I threatened you.”

“Indeed.”

“With a knife.”

“A dagger, actually,” Loki corrects, and when you cut him a withering look, he gives you a shit-eating grin. You hate how stupidly reassuring it is that he’s just as insufferable as ever. Then his expression shifts to something a little more serious, his eyes softening at the corners. “You felt that I posed a threat to your safety, and you acted in self-defence. A sleepless night is punishment enough.”

You don’t buy it. “And my letter?”

“I suspect that you would never have sent it, had your fear not driven you to do so. No one in their right mind would call me—what was it, an animal?—among so many other insults that I cannot even begin to fathom them all, in a letter signed with one’s personal seal. That alone could have landed you in the dungeons, yet you did so with little regard for the consequences.” A puff of laughter escapes him. “You have always had an impulsive streak, darling, but never to that extent.”

He sees right through you. You despise it. “Yes, well—”

“If you truly think me an animal, then I can only imagine that you would indeed feel safer in another part of the palace.” He mentions the request you’d made in your letter so nonchalantly, like the two of you are merely discussing the weather. “Where did you have in mind?”

That does it.

“How—How can you be so calm about all of this?” you sputter. “Forgive me, husband, but I do not trust how willingly you would turn a blind eye to my transgressions!”

The precise manner in how Loki returns his teacup to its saucer betrays him. “Don’t you?”

You glare at him. Something is simmering beneath the surface of his suspiciously mellow exterior, but you can’t quite discern what it is. Not yet.

“If you think that I am calm, darling, then you couldn’t be more wrong—unless, of course, you honestly believe that I have any penchant for forgiveness.” His tone may be cordial, but every single one of his movements is calculated to the nth degree. The tactician.

No, he isn’t calm at all. He’s plotting. You should have known.

“Or is there another reason that you would arm me with more than enough ammunition to have you imprisoned?”

With that single question, the conversation becomes an interrogation. Your palms turn cold and clammy at the knowledge that he very well still could, and when you start to fidget with the white napkin in your lap, the cloth sticks unpleasantly to your skin.

“Is that what you want me to do? Arrest you for a rash, impulsive decision? A crime of passion?”

You can feel your blood pressure rise under his rapid fire, your anxiety and sleep deprivation giving way to anger. “No,” you bite out.

While part of you feels that a life in the dungeons would be infinitely better than one bound to him, your more reckless side likes to push boundaries – to your own detriment. And Loki knows it as well as you do. His mouth sets in a firm line, his expression unreadable.

“Then you do trust me,” he says, tone neutral. “And that, dear girl, is the worst transgression of all.”

You stare at him, disbelieving, before you let out a loud peal of laughter – like he’s just told the funniest joke you’ve ever heard. It just might be. “I trust you, do I? No, husband,” you spit the word like it’s a curse. “I loathe you. If you have mistaken that for trust, then I pity you.”

If your venomous tirade affects him at all, Loki does well to hide it. A prolonged silence falls over the room as he rests his elbows on the table and laces his fingers before him, no less patient with you than he has been for the rest of the morning. He studies you – studies your reaction – studies every single flaw you try so hard to hide, and he says nothing.

You look away first. You always do, when your temper gets the better of you.

Only then does he finally grace you with a response. “I am amenable to your request. Choose whichever chambers you’d like.”

Your eyes snap back to him in shock, only to watch as he procures a small envelope from beneath his place setting. Your letter.

Casually, he extends it out to you between two slim fingers. “I wish to return this to you as well. I refuse to hold something so incriminating over your head. It is neither fair to you, nor to our marriage.”

You stare at it, then at him, stunned into silence by his magnanimity. The Loki you know would never do such a thing. He’d hold onto it for leverage.

Your husband rolls his eyes, almost like he knows what you’re thinking. “If you do not take it, then I will destroy it in a similar manner to the gift you so graciously decided to bestow upon me, after…” he shifts uncomfortably in his chair, then, “after what I did to you that morning.”

He means his own letter – the one you’d returned to him, torn to shreds after he’d all but thrown you into the entry table. The very same entry table upon which those lovely flowers now rest.

You sit up straighter at the memory. It sets you on edge, and though you’re tempted to cower, instead you overcompensate. “Oh? Go on, then.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“It is incredibly cathartic, you know,” you drawl, delicately picking up a biscuit between your thumb and forefinger to examine its intricate design. The sugar granules glimmer in the light. “To destroy one’s heartfelt letter in a fit of anger. Though I must confess,” you hold your head high, smug as can be, “I did not read what you’d written before doing so.”

That doesn’t seem to faze him either. “You say that as if you expect it to surprise me.”

You scrunch your nose at him in annoyance. “Well? Go on. Or will you not follow through on your promises?”

His promise not to harm you. His promise not to touch you. His promise not to lock you away.

Maintaining eye contact, you use your teeth to break off a piece of the biscuit with a crunch.

Your challenge isn't lost on him. “Very well,” Loki sighs. He swiftly opens the letter to pull out the fine stationery upon which you’d so hastily scrawled all manner of insults, after which he makes a point to show it to you, front and back, to prove its authenticity. “I’ll not have you thinking I’ve stowed it away to use against you later on.”

You bat your eyelashes at him. “I see you’ve turned over a new leaf.”

“Charming,” Loki comments dryly, but you don’t miss the humour in his tone – nor in his eyes as he skims them down the page. “I must say, darling, you have quite the talent for castigation. It would be a waste not to read such a heartfelt letter aloud.” His eyes flick back up to yours, then, and you know for a fact that he’s taunting you. “For posterity. You understand.”

Posterity. There is no doubt in your mind that he knows you only wrote it yesterday. You’d even sealed the envelope with the ink still wet, as evidenced by the dark smudges littering the page.

“Stars above,” you grouse. “Get on with it, then, seeing as you are positively chomping at the bit to humiliate me.”

“Humiliate you? No.” Loki holds your gaze, resolute, and for once, you’re inclined to believe him. “I want you to acknowledge exactly what you’ve said of me before we put all of this to rest.”

Of course he does. Gracelessly, you wave a hand at him as if to say go ahead.

Loki clears his throat before he begins to read your letter verbatim, surprisingly in a manner that befits its serious nature. His voice holds not a single shred of mockery.

“To my dear, despicable husband,” he arches an eyebrow at you, “I fear I cannot stand this any longer. My chambers are in such close proximity to yours that I’d sooner return home than sleep here for another night, knowing that a wolf in sheep’s clothing rests his weary head so near to mine.”

Whether he intends it to be or not, it is humiliating to hear what you’ve written become spoken word. All too soon, you feel your face start to flush.

“I find myself ill with the knowledge that the Einherjar would allow such a predator to prowl these halls while I remain entirely defenceless. Nay, it is hardly reassuring to know that not a single soul shall protect me from the animal who would bring me harm, either in his own chambers or in our marital bed.”

When Loki pauses, you immediately recognise the real reason behind this exercise. Though you’d written the letter to be purposefully harsh in order to invoke a reaction, in the light of day, your spiteful words seem to imply something else.

You haven’t just told him of your fears in a general sense, using your marital bed as an example. You’ve alluded to a significantly more heinous act.

“You will not see me become your prey, thrilling though the chase may be to a brutish man with little regard for others. I refuse to become the spoils of a war you’ve so savagely waged upon me and my body for no other reason than your own entertainment.”

No wonder he’d been so angry with you last night. The implication that he would assault you in such a way is bad enough on its own, but there is another layer.

For centuries, the two of you have harboured a forever unspoken secret. Neither of you have acknowledged it outright, but it’s there. You’ve seen each other at the den – the covert, invitation-only club which caters to the niche sexual preferences that both you and Loki seem to share. Namely those that are, and have always been, less than socially acceptable.

“One cannot expect an animal to behave in any way but his basest nature. As a scholar of grey morals, you have always preferred books to people, but a snake, however erudite, is still a snake.”

There, on multiple occasions, your rooms have been next door to each other—through no fault of your own, though you suspect Loki has done it intentionally. After all, what he’s seen of you through the window in between are things that you’d never tell another soul, and you’re sure he relishes in holding that over your head, if not your letter.

But then, you’ve also seen similar of him. His proclivity for consensual non-consent is just one of the great many things you’ve witnessed, time and time again, and you realise, now, that Loki thinks you’ve used that forbidden knowledge against him. He thinks you’ve used it to hurt him in a way that most others could never.

“No ruffian should ever be permitted to walk freely as you do. Until such a time that you do not, for my continued health and wellbeing I have made arrangements to return to my family’s manor.”

Of course he’s bothered by what you’ve implied – albeit unintentionally. And he has every right to be.

“I will only be persuaded to stay if you grant me a new set of chambers as far from yours as possible, for I have no desire to encounter any manner of beast in the wild.” Loki snorts derisively and drops the letter down onto the table between the two of you. “Disrespectfully yours, your dutiful wife.”

There is no laughter to be elicited, now, nor anger, but something else entirely. Loki hides it well, but the implication has clearly gotten under his skin. You can see it in his eyes, and in his posture, how guarded he is as he looks to you for a response.

Thoroughly humbled, you swallow the lump in your throat and focus upon your lap. “I… I did not mean what you’ve understood my words to mean.”

When you glance back up at him, you immediately have to look away again in shame when you find him watching you, jaw set, waiting for a proper apology.

“Of course, that does not matter when they have made such an impact,” you rush to add. “I sincerely apologise for my thoughtlessness. I did not mean to imply that you would do something terrible.”

Silence stretches uncomfortably between the two of you as you begin to pick at the skin around your nails. At the very least, you should have reread your own letter before you sent it. Perhaps then you wouldn’t feel so guilty.

After a prolonged few moments, he asks quietly, “What else could you have possibly meant?”

“I meant to paint a picture of my fears.” You accidentally draw blood from a hangnail, and it stings. “My intent in mentioning our marital bed was to offer an example of one such fear—not that sort of fear, mind, but I fully understand how it could have sounded like an accusation.”

“I see.”

Finally, you muster the courage to look at him again, impassioned because you would never, ever use what you know against him. “You’ve been nothing but a gentleman in that regard, Loki. You respected my wishes on our wedding night. You have asked for my consent during every one of our trysts. Please know that I would never accuse you of anything untoward.”

His eyes search yours for a long time, trying to discern the lie, but there isn’t one. Then he exhales a long, weary sigh and leans back in his chair, the tension visibly lifting from his shoulders. “Norns,” he mutters, dragging a hand down his face. “Yes, I suppose not even you would stoop so low.”

A jab.

You respond with the opposite: a jest. “Ah, but how could you know for certain? What with our—” you clear your throat, nearing ever closer to openly acknowledging the forbidden secret that you both share, “our history?”

It’s the closest either of you have come to doing so. You and Loki have been playing this game for centuries, trying to see who will cave first, but you continue to tiptoe around it.

Just as you predicted, the layered meaning instantly captures his attention. “Our history?” he repeats, as if he doesn't quite believe he's heard you properly, before his lips curl up into that same insufferable grin you so adore. “Oh, do go on, sweet. I’m all ears. What about our history?”

You try to give him a deadpan look, but find it impossible to keep the smile off of your face. “Only that we have never enjoyed each other’s company, you and I. You know that as well as I do.”

It isn't at all the history you’d originally mentioned, and you’re well-aware he recognises that when his voice takes on a note of smooth, persuasive silk. “In what way do you intend for me to take that, darling? Because I suspect that there are many things for a husband and wife to... enjoy.”

His insinuation is absolutely not what you meant, and he knows it, but your heartbeat quickens all the same.

Just in the knick of time, two rapid knocks resound on the door.

“Enter,” Loki calls out, never taking his eyes off of you. Something about the heat within them, however slight, makes you think he isn’t done with you just yet.

You find yourself silently thanking whoever has chosen to interrupt.

The door opens, and another servant pushes a small gold cart into the room, two shelves stacked high with breakfast delights. The spread is much more elaborate than your typical morning meal, and your mouth waters.

“Now, I believe you said I would find this cathartic?”

You glance back over at your husband, only to watch him deftly pluck your letter up from the table. Before you can get a word in edgewise, however, you watch as your stationery sets aflame in the palm of his hand.

It’s an impossible sort of fire, for it doesn't seem to burn his skin.

Magic.

You’ve always loved his magic, even now, loathe as you’d ever be to admit that you find Loki’s mastery of it in any way appealing. He wields his seidr like one might a paintbrush, creating masterful works of art from intricate spells and enchantments.

As the flames burn away your spiteful letter, your eyes follow the curling wisps of smoke as it drifts up, up, up towards the intricately-painted ceiling. Instead of the colourful collection of wildflowers you expect to see upon it, however, you find a field of white daffodils in their place.

A symbol of forgiveness.

In that moment, as you stare at the illusion he’s cast, you realise that your husband will forever be an enigma to you. Perhaps he’s changed in the great many years you've known him, or maybe you've never really known him at all.

Then Loki lazily waves his hand, and the illusion dissipates��as do the singed remains of your letter.

He’s manipulating you. He must be. It’s the only conclusion you can come to, but when you meet his eyes once more – when you see the mischief shining within them, and the softness hidden just beneath – you desperately wish that he wasn’t.

Part Eight

And because I’m a clown, here’s my ko-fi / patreon if you’ve got a buck or two to spare so I can buy a new laptop! Otherwise reblogs and keysmashing in my ask box are more than welcome 🤡🤡🤡 Thanks so much for reading!!!

#loki x reader #loki #loki imagine #loki smut #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki laufeyson #loki odinson

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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 2 years ago

Note

please write under the adoration of aemond's face, his hooked nose, got me whipped

Hello, nonnie!

Being asked to write about Aemond's beautiful face is a breath of fresh air considering some of the absolute filth that has been finding its way into my asks of late, so thank you for this reprieve.

Let's take a moment to look upon this masterpiece, because it truly is a thing of beauty:

I'll start from the top and make my way down...

We'll start with the forehead. Ideal size. Sure it has a lil widdy bit of a scar on it, but at least it's not a great big fuck off megamind fivehead like his older brother. Perfection.

His eyebrows are delicate enough that they're inoffensive. One sits above one of the most gorgeous baby blue eyes you'll ever see in your life. That blue eye conveys more expression than most people are capable of with two. Then there's the left eye - it's a mess, yeah, but surely that is part of his appeal? I doubt so many people would be foaming at the vagina over this man were it not for his eyepatch and subsequent scar. He is not opposed to having you touch it, kiss it, lick it. The fact you accept him exactly as he is would drive him fucking wild. He'd likely stop wearing the patch altogether. And so he should. The man is a stone cold stunner.

His cheekbones are sharp enough to cut yourself on. I am a big fan of bone structure and this guy is packing fucking suitcases of it. God bless this gaunt king.

Now we'll move onto that that Roman/aquiline nose. This thing is gorgeous. If you have a nose of this shape (I do) and have ever felt insecure, I want you to know that you are fucking STUNNING. If you find Ewan/Aemond hot, then you must know that this nose shape absolutely FUCKS. It makes sitting on that beautiful face all the more satisfying as that proud nose of his effectively acts like bunny ears on your clit while he eats your pussy to the fucking bone (making those little "mmmm" noises all the while)

Then we have those full, curved, perfect little meow meow lips. These lips were MADE to be kissed. They are soft as shit and taste amazing. They heighten the sensation of everything he does with his mouth, whether it's sucking your clit like a Dyson vacuum cleaner or latching onto your nips, it will feel AMAZING.

Lastly, we have that chin. GIVE ME THAT FUCKING CHIN, DADDY. It's so pronounced. He has a fucking jawline for days. Imagine him coming up from eating you out and your slick is just dripping off that CHIN. RIP to you. That would be the last thing you'd ever see. You'd die. It would be like looking directly into the face of god. Nobody can survive that.

Anyway, I hope you have enjoyed this. Sorry I got grotty and carried away, but I think you knew I would, otherwise why else are you here? I take in the hungry and depraved and I feed them.

Let's end by taking another close look at this absolute pussy eating champ's visage.

UNF.

#aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond's face #pussy eaters of westeros

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vennilavee · 3 years ago

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2:07 AM

Pairing: geto suguru x reader; satosugu x reader

Summary: it's 2 AM and gojo satoru is breaking into your shared apartment with geto suguru.

Word Count: 1354

Warnings: some smut in the beginning (wet dream), oc is a little mean

a/n: hbd to geto!!

Suguru kisses you deeply, his tongue parting your malleable lips with practiced ease. He knows you’ll always let him in. You can feel him smirk against your lips as his hand cradles your jaw, thumb pressing against your cheekbone.

His other hand slides down your belly, tugging at the loose waistband of your shorts. You hum, rubbing yourself on his thigh lazily. His eyes glint, something mischievous glossy and bright in his irises.

But before you can feel his fingers slide into your wetness-

Your subconscious is cruelly pulled away from your dream as your ears sharpen with the rustling of something coming from the kitchen. Your eyes are heavy as you try to convince yourself that it’s just part of your dream, that Suguru will go back to kissing you…

But he’s fast asleep next to you, an arm wrapped loosely around your waist. His hair is splayed over his pillow in an inky halo and his nose is buried in your neck.

Well, maybe it was just your mind playing tricks on you. You try to convince yourself of it, fantasizing about Suguru’s hands to put yourself back to sleep.

Just as you're on the precipice of tumbling into unconsciousness, you hear another series of noises. This time, it sounds like footsteps and maybe if you were a little more alert, you would be able to recognize the footfall.

Your heart rate spikes as adrenaline fills your lungs. “Suguru,” you mumble, sitting up and shaking his shoulders, “Baby-”

A sharp gasp escapes your lips when the noises become louder as fear begins to seize your heart. Your hands inadvertently begin to shake as Suguru wakes up blearily. He instantly grows more alert the moment he sees the urgency on your face.

“What's wrong, darling?”

You don’t have a chance to answer because he hears it, too. He instantly jumps into action and you follow suit, ignoring his soft instruction to stay behind.

“Someone is in our home, I am not staying behind,” you hiss stubbornly. Suguru only looks at you fondly and despite the potential that your home is being robbed, he pecks your forehead.

The scent that clings to his grey t-shirt comforts you but not more than the vice grip you have around his bicep. Your home isn’t that big, it’s a two bedroom apartment, but it seems to take a lifetime to reach the living room from your bedroom. You can vaguely make out a silhouette in the darkness when you squint without your glasses on (your eyesight is terrible).

“What is that? Is that a person?” you whisper yell, “Is that a person or did you recently purchase a tall cactus?”

Suguru snorts but you can tell that the tension has eased out of his shoulders. You hear a laugh come from the silhouette, a laugh that you would recognize anywhere.

“Satoru decided to pay us a visit,” Suguru says dryly.

“At..two in the morning?!” you nearly shriek, glaring at Satoru harshly when Suguru turns the lights on. The sudden light does absolutely nothing to soothe your adrenaline as your hands shake. Satoru has the gall to laugh at you- and truly, it’s because you look adorable. Glaring at him with squinted eyes and lines of sleep on your cheeks. You cross your arms over your chest and Satoru is shameless when he stares at your skin through the holes of your muscle tank.

Well, it’s Suguru’s muscle tank and now it’s been claimed as yours. Satoru already knows that you’re wearing shorts under the tank (from the numerous times he’s slept over when you three were still all best friends, and nobody was dating or fucking each other).

Satoru glares at Suguru and you, as if you’ve both offended him.

“Sorry ‘bout him, darling,” Suguru murmurs, kissing your hair, “I’ll make us some tea.”

“You look stupid when you can’t see shit,” Satoru says bluntly, “Tell your lil boyfriend to go get your glasses.”

“My lil boyfriend is making your dumbass tea because you broke into our home,” you hiss, poking him in the shoulder harshly. He’s decided to sit at the circular dining table, giving you easy access to bully him physically in the same way that he bullies you verbally.

“Our home?” he nearly screeches, “Since when has it been our home? Did you both move in together? And not tell me? Fuck you both-”

“What is your problem, Satoru? You need to bless us every step of the way with our relationship?”

He looks like he wants to say something, but bites his tongue at the last moment. And truly, you’re just baiting him. You already know what his problem is, and Suguru does, too. You know he’s lonely, missing his friends and feeling strange about not being the central part of your friendships. Both of you have been waiting for him to just come clean, tell you both that he missed his best friends and was afraid of the shift in dynamic. You think there’s something more there, too. You know Gojo Satoru too well by now to not be able to read in between the lines.

Looking over your shoulder, you meet Suguru’s eyes. He nods subtly at you.

When you hand his tea to Satoru, you linger, waiting to see if he has anything more to say. He bites his glossy bottom lip unsurely before looking up at you and muttering a soft thanks. You sigh once more, turning to go fetch your own cup of tea, but he tugs on your hand with his much larger one.

He’s always been warm, but you both know Suguru runs warmer.

So you stand close, allowing his hand to slip out of yours and rest on your thigh innocently. His fingers twitch, as if he wants to squeeze you tightly. But he does nothing, nothing without your and Suguru’s permission.

But you and Suguru have already discussed this, many times. The air shifts just barely, ripe for the taking. And you certainly hope Satoru takes what he wants. It’s uncharacteristic of him not to, after all.

“Are you done being an ass?” you say rudely, threading your hands in his hair and tugging his head backwards. He winces slightly with wide eyes, searching for Suguru in curiosity. Suguru leans against the kitchen counter and sips his tea, shrugging easily with a slight smile.

“You can touch me, you know,” you continue, “You can touch both of us. You just had to ask, honey.”

Satoru’s plush lips part and you can’t resist tracing his bottom lip with your thumb. You call him a silly, stupid boy and he pulls you into his lap immediately, hands squeezing your thighs and your waist as if he cannot believe that it’s 2:30 AM and he is in his best friend’s apartment with his other best friend straddling him.

Suguru kisses his cheek and Satoru turns to capture Suguru’s lips with his own.

It’s a tight fit with the three of you in bed, and Satoru debates whether he should leave or not. But Suguru stops that train of thought immediately when he takes one look at Satoru’s hesitant eyes.

You’re draped over Suguru’s chest as your breaths begin to even out, your hand lax around his waist. He holds you gingerly against him so as to not jostle you and he kisses the crown of your head. It’s a moment that Satoru feels like he should avert his eyes from, but he can’t help it. He can’t help but be drawn to it and you both know it.

“You can stay,” Suguru says easily, “You should stay.”

“There’s no space,” Satoru says stubbornly.

“There’s always space, Satoru,” he replies, “Come here.”

You turn your head to meet his eyes and Satoru gets an eyeful of your chest. He doesn’t bother looking away. You grumble at him, demanding to know why the lights were still on when you were so tired.

“Come here, Satoru,” you demand softly, but firmly, “Come to bed.”

And so he does, with Suguru tucked in between you and Satoru.

tags: @kentobean @aeanya

#geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #satosugu x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x reader

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problematicfavesareproblematic · 4 years ago

Text

Drinking Up This Sweet Decadence

George Luz x Reader One shot

Warnings: SMUT!, dom/sub under and overtones, George is an immature toddler but he’s *YOUR* IMMATURE TODDLER, shit attempts at humor, reader goes a lil overboard with scratching, George gets a lil stupid post-sexy time but it’s vv cute, no discussion of safewords/boundaries so I guess the dom/sub stuff isn’t well negotiated but whatevah.

Summary: George decides to be a pouty lil jealous boy and reader is having none of it

Title comes from Good Enough by Evanescence

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Hey, Y/N- your back feeling okay?”

Both you and Dick raise your heads from the map you’d splayed across the table in the Paratrooper- usurped pub, giving each other a quick look before you finally look at Nixon.

“Uh….yeah, Lewis,” you narrow your eyes at the smirking man. “Why do you ask?”

Nix shrugs and pulls a face. “Just curious if you could feel the daggers George Luz has been shooting your way.”

Furrowing your brows, you twist in your seat to look out at the sea of soldiers, frowning when you see exactly what Nixon was talking about.

George Luz was glaring at you, a deep frown of his own twisting his handsome face as you made eye contact with him.

A consummate goof, you weren’t unaccustomed to seeing the man pulling a face at you every now and again. More often than not, he’d do it when he felt that you were too hyper-focused on something- or if you became overly concerned and contemplative over a minute detail of whatever intel Nixon had most recently given you. He never failed to pull you from your darker thoughts, something that you had come to rely on despite your initial resistance to becoming his friend.

But right now- this wasn’t George pulling a bit. Oh no, this was a genuine expression of upset.

Just as you opened parted your lips to mouth a question at him, he turned his glower to the beer in front of him, pointedly making conversation with Malarkey, Skip, and Alex.

“What’s that about?” Dick asked from your side.

Turning back around, you shake your head and shrug. “No idea. Probably just had too much to drink and zoning out? I don’t know- the day I can explain why any of these Neanderthals do what they do is the day Hitler shaves off his mustache and admits he’s been a bit over the top with this whole affair.”

“Is it something you need to, uh, deal with?”

You shake your head again, giving Nix a quick grin. “Nah, this is more important. Besides,” you shoot one more look over your shoulder before turning back. “Whatever it is, he’ll probably be over it come morning.”

With a nod, Nix refocuses on the map and takes a swig from his flask.

“Okay, so the DZ is going to be in these fields, over here….”

Turns out, Luz wasn’t over it by morning.

Nor was he over it that afternoon, evening, or the two next days.

Like some playground tiff gone personal, he was ignoring you. Not just ignoring you, but full-on pretending that you didn’t exist. If you walked into a room, he walked out. If you said his name, he lost his ability to hear and continued with whatever he was doing. When he made eye contact with you, he would immediately look away.

You should’ve known that this was an inherent risk when you started falling in love with someone who was such a child- that they would carry their immaturity into all aspects of their life. So here you were, in a battle of wits with an oversized toddler and two weeks away from D-Day.

And you were pissed.

You hadn’t done anything to warrant this sort of reaction from him- just three days ago you’d been having to scold him for getting too handsy in front of your commanding officers, the both of you biting back laughter when he’d made a whole show of pouting and whimpering like a wounded puppy. Things had been good- great even. You had no idea what sparked this drastic shift in behavior.

But that didn’t mean you weren’t determined to find out.

You’d heard from Joe Toye that Luz was ‘moping like a goddamn kid’ in their shared cabin, having declined Joe’s offer to go out to the bar tonight. Having been on your way to go on a short run, you decided that now was as good a time as any to get to the bottom of your lover’s temper tantrum. Whether he wanted to or not.

Opening the wooden door, you rolled your eyes when he instantly shifted his gaze to the wall opposite his bed. He was leaning against the headboard, arms crossed over his chest and his legs stretched in front of him on the unmade sheets- looking for all the world a bratty teenager whose mother had sent them to their room to think about what they’d just done.

“Fancy meeting you here, Sweetheart!”

He blinked defiantly as he petulantly continued to stare at the wall. That was fine, you were willing to work for it a little bit.

“Last time I saw someone pull the silent treatment, I think I was still in elementary school,” you continue as you walk over to his bed, using your hip to shove his legs to the side so you could perch on the side of the mattress beside him. “I’ve got to say- your commitment to being difficult is admirable. Three days is a long time in Luz-years, isn’t it?”

You tilt your head to the side and give him an amused smile, batting your eyes at him as you nudge your knee against his hip.

“What’s got you so cross, huh?”

George, still purposefully looking over your shoulder, said nothing. You frown at that, your amusement at his upset dwindling rapidly into genuine frustration. Being in love with George Luz- being friends with George Luz- lent itself to aggravation enough as it was, his jokes and near-constant wisecracks were destined to get on your nerves at some point. Sometimes you wondered if that truly was the point.

But this….whatever this was had you on edge for an entirely different reason. Even with all of his other quirks and habits, this felt especially childish. the time allotted for any sort of long-term comical event had long since passed, and with the days of the company’s time in England whittling down to near single digits, you had no patience for this silent treatment.

Which is probably why George looked so shocked when you lightly (but effectively) slapped his cheek in order to regain his attention.

“Hey,” you said again, voice much sharper than it had been before. “What’s the matter with you? What gives?”

George looks at you with wide eyes, one of his hands coming up to rub against his pinkening cheek dumbly. When he doesn’t respond quickly enough for your liking, you swing a leg over his hips and straddle his lap, bracing your hands on either side of the wall he’s leaning against to effectively box him in.

“George, why are you being weird with me?”

His brown eyes shift down to look at the collar of your PT shirt, the stretched-out fabric pulling to one side and revealing the paler skin of your collarbone. He suddenly looks incredibly young, something that hits you like a fist to the chest. As he swallows, you whisper his name again- concern starting to smooth the jagged edges of your agitation.

Clearing his throat, George looks down and to the side as you feel his free hand come to lightly rest on the bare skin of your thigh, touching the skin like he fears it will cut him somehow.

“It’s nothing, Y/N,” he says without conviction, almost like he knows you can hear that he’s lying before he even gives it a try. “‘M not being weird—”

“George.”

This time he actually meets your gaze, his brows furrowing at the expression of worry you know your face has pulled itself into. Despite the fact that- not ten seconds ago- he’d been giving you the cold shoulder, George moves the hand that had been rubbing at his cheek to your face so his thumb can smooth the tension between your eyes. The way he did it almost seemed unconscious, the sweetness of the action not lost on you.

So why had he been so distressed?

“Talk to me,” you say quietly, leaning your head into his touch. “Please.”

You allow your eyes to drift closed as he cups your cheek, the curve of his palm bending around your cheekbone as if it was made to hold it.

“You’re too good for me.”

Opening your eyes quickly, you feel yourself frown at the statement. At first you think he’s joking, but you can tell by the grim smile on his handsome face that he is being painfully sincere. You quickly take his face in your hands and look at him incredulously, hating the look of defeat on his face.

“What in the hell are you talking about?” you have to work to keep from sounding too exasperated, a new wave of frustration beginning to crest in your chest. “What on earth makes you think that?”

When he doesn’t reply, you shake your head and narrow your eyes. “No, Luz- you don’t get to say something like that and then not elaborate. I never thought I’d ever have to demand this but goddamnit, George, I need you to talk to me!”

Clenching his jaw, he twists his mouth from side to side before smirking ruefully.

“Seeing you and Nixon just….you’re too smart for a dumbass like me. You’re pretty and sharp and too fuckin’ brainy to waste your time with some nobody who’s probably not even gonna make it past D-Day…..a girl like you could have anybody, and I like you too goddamn much to keep you from—”

“Shut up.”

His eyebrows shoot up at the venom in your voice. Tears prickle at your eyes as you think about all that he’s said, all that he’s been thinking for the past two days while he ignored you and allowed this to fester in his head while you were none the wiser. It hurt, his words physically caused you pain. It broke your heart to think that he thought so little of himself and was so thoroughly unconvinced of your unwavering devotion to him.

Did he really think that, by ignoring you long enough, that you’d just move on to a more appropriate man? Someone more ‘deserving’ or ‘worthy’ of you?

You’re a goddamned idiot, George Luz.

You must’ve spoken the last part aloud, because abruptly he physically startles and pouts at you like an offended child. Too lost in your anger to find any humor in his reaction, you bite the inside of your cheek and glare at him.

“I don’t want a Lewis Nixon! My entire life, I’ve been told that I’m supposed to marry a man like him- someone who went to an overpriced school and drinks overpriced wine and has perfect posture and perfect hair and the best fake charm money could buy,” you know your voice has gone shrill, but you’re too angry to care right now.

“And yeah, maybe that type of man could buy me a nice house with nice cars and give me heaps of rich, fat babies who have pretentious names that they can’t even pronounce until they’re eight or nine- but guess what, George?”

You slide your hands into his hair and grab fistfuls of it so he can’t look away from you even if he tried. Tears have been dripping down your cheeks for a while now, your throat growing tighter and tighter with each word you speak but you don’t dare stop. You need him to know how you feel, you have to clear any signs of doubt from his thick, perfect head.

“He wouldn’t love me. Men like that are hollow and selfish- they only know how to want and take. They’d rather I sat quietly and smiled and gave them heirs than ask me about what I want. He would want me to be good and proper, he’d never care about me- not like you do.”

Sniffing, you relax your grip on his hair and slide your hands down until they rest on his chest, barking out a rueful scoff as you let your eyes take in the pain on his face. “If you don’t want me any more, that’s fine. But don’t you dare ever try to break up with me for me again. Because as far as I’m concerned, you’re the love of my life, George Luz.”

It’s quiet, the only sound that of your occasional sniff and the creak of the bed as he sits up a bit straighter. You’re about to plead for him to say something when he suddenly surges forward to kiss you soundly on the lips, pressing his mouth onto yours so strongly you find yourself being bent backward. His hands, hot and sure, splay themselves on your back- one pressing between your shoulder blades while the other at the base of your spine anchors you in his lap so you don’t fall.

There’s a desperation in this kiss, you can feel it in the harshness of his breathing and the determined tension of his hold on you. As you pull back to catch your breath, George doesn’t let you go far.

“Do you mean that, Y/N?” he’s asking, words hot and heavy on your lips as he keeps his forehead pressed to yours. “Please tell me you aren’t just saying that because I—”

“I mean it.”

You capture his mouth with yours before he can ask anything further, having made the decision to show him just how serious you were being. He whimpers into your mouth as you yank at the shoulders of his shirt aggressively- too focused on baring his skin to your greedy hands to think about the scolding he’ll get if you tear the fabric at all. From the way he’s fisting the hem of your own shirt, you think he’s on a similar wavelength.

Sex with George was unlike anything you had experienced before. Never before had you had a partner be so wonderfully jovial about such intimacies- all of your previous experiences had led you to believe that it was meant to be a serious and choreographed affair, a misconception that always left you too anxious to ever derive any true pleasure from the act.

But with George…. you had learned to relax enough to realize that there was no right or wrong way to do it. If anything, the fumbles and mistakes had taught you that sex could actually be fun.

This was the first time he’d ever shown any sort of desperation or determination during foreplay, the first time you’d gotten any sense of urgency from him.

You couldn’t fault him, however….not when you felt it too.

By the time you’ve stripped each other of your respective shirts, you can’t help but grind yourself into him. George, eyes wide and staring, dips his head down to watch the way you roll your lower half against his, eyes following a path up and down your sternum with each gyration like a man entranced. You feel heat flood your face at the open gaping, your hands once again gripping the strands of his hair to pull his head up and back.

His hiss fills you with some dark, carnal sense of pride. Especially when you see the glazed look in his eyes as you smirk at him.

“What’s wrong, Georgie?” you murmur, brushing your nose with his while his hands slide up and down your spine like they’re lost. “Have I shocked you? Are you still jealous?”

“‘M not jealous,” he insists, his blunt fingernails digging into the skin of your hips as your nipples brush across his chest unexpectedly. “Just want you….”

You kiss him again for that, gently scratching at the shorter hairs at the base of his neck as you pull back again. “You have me right now, Sweetheart.”

You know that he is aware that you’re teasing him- something he’d normally retaliate in kind. But right now, he’s too drunk on something headier than normal to match your energy. It’s something you can relate to, the unfamiliar burn of dominance singing your veins like wildfire.

“Are you reassured yet? What more can I do to make it clear that you’re mine?”

Blinking slowly, George gives his head a gentle shake. “N-Nothing….please-”

Slipping one hand from his hair, you trace your fingertips over his lips and marvel at how soft and swollen they’ve become.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No.”

With high color in his cheeks, George doesn’t even attempt to hide the desperation in his voice as he groans under your touch. “‘M sorry….I’m sorry, Sugar. Just, just don’t stop. Please.”

Well, who are you to deny a request like that?

When you kiss him this time, you do it more carefully and with less anger, gently allowing the kiss to deepen as one of his strong arms locks around your waist and the other hand trails up your stomach to rest between your breasts. You trail your fingers everywhere you can, up his arms and down his chest and around his back where you can feel each breath he takes beneath your palms.

As your thighs begin to shake, you tilt your head so your lips separate from his with a soft sound.

“I need you inside of me,” you whisper, reaching down to where he’s grown hard for you and cupping him through his pants. “Can I have you inside me, George?”

“Yeah,” he nods, his words more an exhale than anything else. “Yessss….”

Clumsily, you and he work to pull his trousers and briefs down to his upper thighs, with him taking the initiative to push them down further as you carefully use his precum to slick his cock while you stroke him. He nips at your breasts as you do so, resting his forehead on your breastbone and mouthing at whatever skin he can. Burying your face in his hair, you sigh contentedly as he slides his hand down the back of your PT shorts to brush at the wet petals of your sex with a deep groan.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispers, the air from his words chilling the spit-slicked marks he’d been sucking on the tops of your breasts and sending goosebumps shaking down your body. “Fuck, Baby-”

He cuts himself off with another deep groan when you reach behind yourself to pull his hand away so you can divest yourself of your remaining clothes. You can’t help but smile at the sound.

“Why the long face, Sweetheart? Not ten minutes ago, you were ready to have me leave you for Lewis Nixon—”

“I’m sorry,” he all but blurts out, eyes trained on your naked body as you finally kick your legs free of the cotton shorts and underwear before crawling back into his lap. “I’m sorry, Y/N….”

His apologetic tone only fuels the dark burn that’s taken up residence in your lower belly, and you decide that you want to hear more of it.

“Say it again,” you demand, cupping your hand around the back of his neck while the other resumes its rhythm between his legs.

“I’m sorry,” he says quickly, his eyes falling shut as you tighten your grip on him. His cock is hard and hot in your hand, and when you pause to tease the head of it with your thumb you can feel his racing pulse against your palm.

“Tell me what you’re sorry for,” you nearly snarl, inhaling the gasp that escapes his lips as you nestle him in between your lower lips. “Tell me, and I might even let you cum inside of me.”

His hands have come to grip your ass, holding onto the soft flesh tightly as you rub yourself on his cock in a lewd echo of what you’d been doing earlier. The muscles in your thighs have begun to ache with fatigue, but you are too stubborn to stop torturing him.

“I’m sorry I ignored you!” George’s voice has taken on a keening quality- something you find deliriously attractive. “‘M sorry I- shit!- that I didn’t talk ‘bout this, that I t-tried to tell you what to do! I...I- goddamn it, just fuckin’ do something, please!”

You cut off his pleas with a kiss, quickly guiding him inside of you. You both break the kiss when he bottoms out- a curse being punched out of him while you release a whimper into the air above your heads. All of this had gotten you more aroused than you had initially realized, your body stilling as you struggle to control your breathing after the tip of his cock hits a spot inside of you that threatens to send you over the precipice prematurely.

“You okay, Sugar?” George asks, the waiver in his voice telling you that this might be a quicker romp than either of you had been hoping for. “You alright?”

You nod, your walls tightening around him as you lower your head to press your forehead to his.

“Yeah, yeah….just gimme a sec.”

Your stomach is trembling with arousal, and you know that your face is scrunched up unattractively as you force yourself to breathe through it.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?” you whisper tensely.

“I know you’re workin’ through something right now,” his voice is just breathy as yours, his hands nearly shaking as they clutch your hips. “But if you don’t move soon, I think I’m gonna lose my fuckin’ mind.”

You can’t help but laugh at that, the sound turning into a harmonizing moan with his from the way it moves your body. With a nod, you slot your nose with his.

“Sure, sure. I’ll get- oh!- righ’ on that.”

As you roll your hips, your hands claw at whatever parts of him you can find, your jaw-dropping open with a gasp as the powerful sensation of fullness threatens to rob you of air.

“Feels good….fuck, you feel good!”

You’re only dimly aware of his praise, too lost in chasing the blissful heat threatening to burn you alive. You know that he’s talking to you still, that he’s being unbearably sweet and endearing and sincere but you can barely hear him over the screams from your mind that are telling you to move, move, move.

His lips are at your neck, your head lolling back as you rut against him like some depraved and wanton degenerate from a crappy erotic novel but it feels too good for you to be embarrassed.

“I’m gonna cum,” you choke out, his pubic bone hitting your clit in just the right way. “George—!”

A white-hot bolt of lightning hits you before you can even ask him how close he is, your body shaking almost violently as you refuse to stop riding him. It’s only when you hear him curse that you know he’s tumbled over the cliff right after you, his strong arms locking around you and holding you to him while you hunch out the remainder of your orgasm atop him.

By the time you sag against him, your throat is dry from your heavy breathing and your mind is basically gone- the sweat on your skin growing cold in the already chilly air of Alberborne. As George clumsily slides down the bed enough to lay flat on his back, you can do nothing more than rest heavily atop of him like the world’s least effective blanket.

His pulse is as fast as a hummingbird's wings as it beats beneath your lips, your tongue darting out to lick at the sweat from his skin as you nuzzle your face into the curve of your neck. As feeling slowly returns to your limbs, you carefully feel around for the bunched-up blankets at the foot of the bed and kick them up your legs until you can grasp them in your hands. As you successfully cover the both of you up to your hips, George blindly fumbles around with his hand until he finds your neck and starts to brush up and away the hair that’s gotten sweat-stuck there.

Neither of you speak, only a few grunts and groans exchanged as he carefully reaches between your bodies to help maneuver his softening cock from between your legs. You feel sated, so deeply sated that it takes you a few moments to remember that you hadn’t been exactly gentle with him while seeking your release.

With a little tremor in your bones, you brace one hand on his chest and push yourself up so you can look down at him, feeling a mix of shyness and guilt at the sight of the red lines your nails had drawn across his torso. With careful fingers, you touch one of the raised pink marks you’d left along his collarbone and follow it up his neck before you hesitantly make eye contact with George, ready for him to hate you for being so aggressive and dominating.

Instead, you find the dumbest grin stretching across his face- his eyes closed softly as he catches his breath. He must have felt you looking at him, because he licks his lips and lets out a breathy chuckle.

“Ho-ly shit,” his eyes are soft and somewhat unfocused still when they open. “I think I’m in love.”

You frown slightly at that, his reaction not at all what you’d been mentally preparing for. Gaping stupidly for a moment, you sigh loudly and tilt your head to the side. “But I just- even after I….why?!”

Upon hearing the distress in your voice, he shakes his head quickly and blinks through his haze enough to meet your gaze more intentionally. His smile unwavering, he raises his eyebrows with another laugh.

“I don’t think I’ve cum that hard in my entire life, that’s why! Jesus, Sugar- I’m fuckin’ dizzy even now….”

Still confused and unsure, you clear your throat and look at him incredulously. “Really? You….liked it? Are you sure—?”

“Liked it?!” George barks, shooting an equally incredulous look your way. “Y/N, i’m not sure if you were here the whole time, but I fucking blacked out, I liked it so much!”

You feel a smile curling on your lips, his words confusing you but in no way were they insincere. “Even after I, you know, scratched the hell out of you?”

He nods enthusiastically, and you can’t help the giggle that escapes your chest as you run your hands through his hair and curl down so your face is closer to his.

“And when I slapped you? Made you say ‘sorry’—?”

“Are you kidding me- that was my favorite part!”

Before you can ask anything else, George reaches up to bring your face down to his so he can kiss you, grinning at the shocked stillness of your lips as you wrap your head around what he’s insisting.

He liked it. He doesn’t hate me for it.

And, now that you felt that you could be honest to yourself, you’d like it, too. A lot.

You pull back before he can deepen the kiss, taking his face in your hands and furrowing your brows.

“I mean what I said, George Luz,” you say sternly, a sharp contrast to the gentle touches you’re swiping across his cheeks and jaw. “I want you. I love you. Don’t do that to me again.”

He scoffs at that. “How can I not? Now that I know that this is what you do when you’re angry, I may never talk to you again!”

You shake your head. “Unbelievable. Has it not occurred to you that you could just ask nicely? I’m sure I can figure out something to be mad at you for….”

“Careful, Baby,” he warns teasingly, bringing a finger up to tap at your nose with faux seriousness. “Keep this up, and I’m gonna have to marry you before long.”

Catching his wrist before he can touch your nose again, you smirk and roll your eyes. As you pin his wrist beside his head, you lower your face so your lips are just a hair’s breadth above his.

“Oh, Sweetheart- don’t tempt me with a good time.”

You squeal as he quickly rolls you beneath him, the both of you erupting in laughter as he peppers kisses all across your face and neck.

“Oh well,” George sighs as he nibbles at the soft underside of your jaw. “Never say I didn’t warn you.”

~ ~ ~

Taglist: @mrseasycompany @itswormtrain @mrsalwayswrite @happyveday @sunsetmando @ricksmorty @liebgotttme

#band of brothers x reader #band of brothers imagines #george luz x reader #george luz imagines #problematicfavesareproblematic

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kyber-queen · 4 years ago

Text

All Laid Bare (Crosshair x Reader)

Summary: Mechanic!reader is asked to accompany the bad batch on a mission. Reader’s been on a few dates w Crosshair, but we get a lil bit more ~emotional intimacy~ in this mission in addition to some physical intimacy. You can read this as a continuation of the Got Our Wires Crossed/Shot in the Dark universe, or as a stand-alone!!

Rating: Everyone

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Crosshair’s a lil insecure, mentions of the regs being assholes, a few kithes

Author’s Note: I actually had a tricky time writing this on e, but I hope the result is worth it!! Enjoy!! Thanks to @porgnugget for requesting this!!

***

“Let me get this straight, you want me to what?”

Hunter grinned slightly at your bewilderment.

“We want you to come with us. We need a mechanic, and you’re the best one here. All you need to do is repair the ship once it lands—the entrance atmosphere is pretty caustic, and according to Tech’s calculations, we won’t be able to make the hyperspace jump back without some pretty significant repairs. You in?”

Hunter stared you down expectantly.

Were you even allowed to say no? Hunter was your commanding officer, and you didn’t usually have much of a choice when it came to direct orders. You shook your head with exasperation—you were pretty sure this was at least three different kinds of illegal. This mission was light years above your clearance level, you were about to be a civilian in a war zone, and last time you checked, targeting an outpost of the technically neutral banking clan was a war crime.

You pointed all of this out to Hunter, who merely replied with, “All in a typical mission, right boys?”

Wrecker gave a grunt of assent from his seat on the Havoc Marauder. Your eyes flicked over to Tech and Crosshair, the former inspecting your work on the control panel and the latter trying his very best to look preoccupied. You caught his eye as he attempted to sneak a glance at you. Your lips tilted into a half smile and his features softened a bit in response.

“Tech—you said the atmosphere’s gonna damage the ship? There’s no way for you to fix it yourselves? You can comm me from the base and I can walk you through it,”.

Tech looked up from his datapad.

“The comms’ll be down. The entrance atmosphere of this moon resembles an asteroid field—floating debris makes the signal intermittent at best. We’re guaranteed to take at least a few hits to the Marauder while entering, and I can’t do all the repair work alone,”.

You nodded, resigning yourself to your fate. They’re lucky you love them. “I’m in. What’s the plan again?”

***

Hunter thought he had prepared everything down to the tiniest detail. Tech had estimated the ship damage and repair time, Crosshair had stocked the arsenal, and Wrecker had ensured they had enough explosives to blow the outpost sky high. It was droid-manned, so there were no qualms about civvie casualties, either. The mission was simple—get in, secure the Separatist account codes, and destroy the evidence. These codes were necessary for the Republic’s effort to implant a digital siege on Separatist resources. Hunter was sure that after his team’s extensive planning, the mission would go off without a hitch—that is, until his di’kut of a brother ended up a few minutes away from contracting heat stroke.

“Cross, take your damn armor off before you pass out,” Hunter grumbled. Repairs were projected to take at least another hour, and the jungle planet’s climate was dangerously hot and humid. The rest of his brothers had shed their armor hours ago, with Wrecker using his vibroknife to shear off the sleeves of his blacks. How exactly he planned to reattach them once he redonned his armor was another story.

Crosshair didn’t bother to respond, huffing from his seat against the hull and drumming his fingertips across his helmet in his lap. He spared a glance at you, studying the focus in your gaze as you mended the ship.

You looked up from the engine reactor—the ship had taken a hit right to the engine room from a massive chunk of debris. The planet’s heat was all-consuming and you made a note to work quickly, although you needed to wait a minimum of an hour for the hull sealant to set. You took inventory of the group—their armor decorated the ship in piles, and they had consumed nearly half the water supply they had brought with. You noticed that Crosshair still wore his plastoid. That could not be comfortable—plastoid tended to trap warmth exceptionally well, creating a heating system that worked wonders for the cold but turned stifling in the heat. He looked ill. His face was pallid, and sweat rolled along his cheekbones in large droplets. Your hands stilled, your work forgotten.

“Cross, you’re sweating,”. Your brows furrowed in concern.

“It’s a jungle,” Crosshair replied sarcastically.

“Take the plastoid off, might help,” You grumbled, preparing to turn back to your work. If he was still able to snark, he couldn’t be too far gone.

Wrecker jumped in.

“Yeah, Cross, take the armor off,”. Realization flooded Wrecker’s face “Ah, or are you all shy because—”

Hunter gave Wrecker a sharp nudge, cutting him off with an intense look. He then caught your eye, and nodded towards the exit. You raised an eyebrow, setting down your tools and rising from your seated position.

“Tech, can you finish up that last hull section? I need some fresh air,”.

Tech nodded in assent as you followed Hunter out of the Marauder. You began your inquisition as soon as the two of you were out the door.

“Cross looks like he’s about to keel over. It’s hot as hell—why does he still have his armor on? Is something wrong?” You questioned. You cocked your head, crossing your arms over your chest.

Hunter sighed, shaking his head.

“Have you two…”

“Have we what?” You searched Hunter’s face, confused.

Hunter cleared his throat.

“Have you seen him without the armor, yet?”

You huffed, your cheeks growing warm.

“No, I haven’t, but I don’t understand why that would be important now,”.

Hunter shifted his weight to his other hip, tapping nervously on his vambrace.

“I know my brother, and, uh, he had it rough growing up. We all did, but him especially. The regs were…”

Hunter trailed off, and you furrowed your brows.

“The regs were…” You prompted.

Hunter shook his head, seemingly brushing away old memories.

“To cut a long story short, Cross was always skinnier than the others. They gave him shit for it, we dished it back, but it was tough for him. The armor…evened the playing field, I guess? He’s always been fine around us, but with you…” He trailed off yet again.

Oh. Oh.

You nodded in understanding. If it weren’t for the sincerity in Hunter’s tone, you’d have half a mind to believe he was joking—Crosshair was confident, cocky at times. It was unlike him to display anything other than the silent bravado you had come to know and trust. You sighed.

“I’ll talk to him—it’s gonna be an hour or so until the hull sealant is fully dry. Thank you, Hunter,”.

Hunter furrowed his brow—his brother wasn’t typically one for conversation, but he figured it wasn’t his place to say much more. Hunter nodded sharply, and you followed him back into the Marauder.

Tech glanced up from his datapad.

“Sealant’s been applied. We’ll be ready to move out in an hour”

You nodded. Crosshair rose from his seat as you settled against the Havoc Marauder’s undamaged wall. He made his way to the door.

“Where are you going?” Wrecker grumbled.

“Out,” Crosshair replied, not even bothering to look back.

You exchanged a look with Hunter, rising from your seat. He shook his head slightly. You settled back against the wall, resting your head against the durasteel and closing your eyes.

***

Thirty minutes later, and Crosshair was nowhere to be found. Your brow furrowed—what if he had gotten into trouble? His brothers didn’t seem particularly concerned, but then again, they all had weapons to clean and mission tactics to mull over. You were stuck with only your mind and its waterfall of thoughts.

“I’m gonna go look for Cross. Be back soon,”.

Hunter nodded in response to your statement, and with his approval, you headed out the door.

Without the ship’s coolant system, the planet’s humidity quickly overwhelmed you. You yanked your arms out of the sleeves of your flightsuit, tying them around your waist. You swept a stray hair from your forehead—where was he? You decided to circle the clearing you had landed in before attempting to brave the tall trees and thick vegetation, both of which could be home to creatures you dared not disturb.

You didn’t have to walk far to find the sniper—he had settled against the other side of the Marauder’s external hull, his plastoid as well as the top half of his blacks in a pile at his feet. Your eyes glanced over his skin, tanned and scarred from battle. His shoulders flexed as he scrubbed the barrel of his rifle. Your face flushed.

“Crosshair?”

He looked up from his rifle sharply. You took a step back, not wanting to alarm him. His features relaxed slightly once he realized it was, in fact, you and not some jungle beast. The state of relaxation didn’t last long.

Crosshair glanced at the pile of armor at his feet and then back to you. You smiled gently—was that pity in your expression? He shrugged in on himself.

“Need something?” He grumbled. He reached for his blacks, pulling them over his head.

You watched as he yanked the fabric over his torso, your eyes training in on the sliver of scarred skin that peeked out from the hem of his top. Crosshair stared at you expectantly. You blinked.

“Just wanted to check on you,” you answered honestly. “I was worried you had keeled over in the bushes or something,”. You lightened your tone, hoping to lighten the mood as well.

“Consider me checked on,” Crosshair replied flippantly, looking back down at the rifle in his hands before fiddling with the sights. He had put up his walls again.

You sighed and walked over to where he was seated against the Marauder. You slid down the durasteel until you had settled yourself a foot or so away from Crosshair’s position. You looked out at the jungle for a moment before turning to face the marksman.

He was a man of few words—you knew this. He wouldn’t be one for a long-winded, emotional conversation. You figured you might as well just spit it out.

“You know I think you’re attractive, right?”

Crosshair looked up from the rifle. His brow furrowed.

“I like you—all of you—if I didn’t, I don’t think…” you trailed off with a nervous laugh. Words failed you.

You searched his face. His features were inscrutable.

Should you speak again? You felt a need to fill the silence, but you worried your words were straining the tension rather than alleviating it.

Before you could utter another bumbling sentence, Crosshair lifted a hand from his rifle to your cheek, pressing a hasty kiss against your parted lips.

If his goal was to shut you up, he succeeded. You stared wide-eyed at the sniper, the beginnings of a grin tugging at the corners of your lips.

“Was that okay?”

You nodded. You pulled him back in with a smile.

You kissed him slowly this time, his lips surprisingly soft against yours. He hummed as your hand traveled upwards to stroke his jaw, your other remaining firmly fisted in his blacks. You brushed your lips against his once more before pulling away to press a series of kisses in a line from the corner of his mouth to below his ear.

“Thank you,” he murmured, tilting his chin upward with a sigh as he melted into your touch.

You broke away to meet his eyes, and allowed both your hands to slide down to rest at his chest.

He didn’t need to say any more.

He pulled you into one last kiss—one that made your spine tingle as his skilled fingers found their way to the nape of your neck. You made a mental note to explore more of this later. For now, you had a mission to complete. You rose from your seat, brushing off your legs.

“Sealant should be dry soon—we should get back,”.

Crosshair nodded in response.

You tossed a final glance over your shoulder as Crosshair followed you back to the ship, his silhouette highlighted by the setting jungle sun. He stood taller without the weight of his armor, you noticed. You smiled.

#crosshair #clone trooper crosshair #crosshair x reader #the bad batch #clone force 99 #sergeant hunter #clone trooper wrecker #clone trooper tech #clone trooper x reader #crosshair x you #my fic

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ohheyitsokay · 4 years ago

Note

congrats you angel, you deserve all the love and praise for your writing bc holy shit you’re so talented!!! for the soulmate au celebration, i’m thinking either javi or jack (your choice bc i can’t choose) with the soulmate goose of enforcement au 💕 ik it’s a bizarre au but the potential for chaos is insane 😂 anyways ily and i hope you’re having a great day honey

...not me, having JUST reread your javi/jack fic, considering both... definitely me

Anyway, thank you, jj, you absolute gem of a human. I swear I had to turn up the fan reading this I got so flustered. I hope you have a great day too! And I hope you enjoy- I had to do a little research, and made it shorter than I wanted to, so hopefully it fills your chaos cup still! (You'll understand, and hopefully forgive my delay when you see what's under the cut :) )

wordcount: 2.5k

warnings: strong language, lil angst with happy endings all around. mild menace meeting menace shenanigans

Okay this is written as pt 1 Jav, pt 1 Jack, pt 2 Jav, pt 2 Jack, bonus pt 3. If you’re only in it for one of the boys, it makes reading a bit weird, but I liked the format for the whole thing. Sorry!

Javier wanted to hit it with a bat. Or a car. Or anything. All that mattered is that maybe then it would leave him the fuck alone. Of all the stupid, infuriating, ridiculous guides the universe could have given him to find his other half, he was sure this was the worst. Rumor was, he couldn't even kill it if he tried.

It's not that he didn't want to find his soulmate, but he... well, he didn't want to find his soulmate.

There were all sorts of excuses to spout - work, obviously a priority, inconvenience, not wanting to give up his way of life. Not to mention following a damn goose was an impossible task, plus the fact that the stupid thing didn't even like him.

It would appear seemingly at random, honking insistently or flapping erratically, and then be gone before anyone else could bat an eye. To say that he had become increasingly irritated would have been a huge understatement.

The truth of it was that Javier was afraid. No one in the world liked to feel like they were being controlled. People liked to know what was going on, and this just didn't fit the bill. He didn't like that he didn't know you, couldn't be chosen, by you.

His life was already complicated enough - messy enough - that a soulmate would only make it worse. He had made it this long, this far without needing one, so he was fine without, thank you very much. Even to himself, his lie sounded okay.

It was hard to face, the idea that there was someone out there, a relationship that he couldn't have control over. And someone who would love him unconditionally? Terrifying.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t allowed to do nothing, because it seemed like every direction he turned there was a goose from hell wreaking havoc on his life.

They had reached an impasse - glowering at each other as it had planted itself in front of his door. Little feet pacing angrily, unreasonably long neck, all of it was just begging to be kicked. Except, for all he was a seasoned DEA agent, Javier was almost afraid the thing could go a few rounds with him. Feet shuffling uneasily, his hand twitched for his gun, even though he knew he couldn’t, wouldn’t shoot.

It was stupid to have a staring contest with a goose. And even more stupid that the goose won .

Javier turned away, spitting spanish curses in a stream that would make his mama smack him. Maybe it wasn't too late to find a hookup he could use to crash, he was thinking, and that thought was apparently the final straw. The goose reappeared in front of him.

Hissing.

More curses, a quick turn on his heel. This time, it didn't move in front of him, it left a sharp peck on his calf, before dodging his kick.

It was herding him, against his will, to you.

When he saw the goose, Jack thought he was delirious. The Statesman lab must've screwed something up because he'd seen that horrible, wonderful, stupid goose once before, in another life.

And he never, ever thought he'd see it again.

He did a lot of thinking, that night and the next day and the next. Strangely, he did a lot of feeling, too, noticing how light his shoulders felt, how kind the ache on his heart had become. He visited their grave, pressed his forehead to the headstone, and breathed some deep breaths.

And when he saw the goose again, he lassoed it.

It wouldn't have died even if it was powered up, but he didn't take the chance, determination and longing filling his being like blood, pumping through his heart to each and every part of him.

Miracle of miracles, it let him, with all the glare a bird could give. Knees only making small pops, Jack settled on his heels, looking at it sternly.

"Can you take me to them?"

The expression on it's tiny, smug face didn't change, but it also didn't disappear to free itself, so he waited.

And he waited. And waited. And eventually, watching it with half an eye, he grabbed a doughnut and offered it to the stupid soulmate goose god.

It considered the doughnut, pecked it as Jack yanked his fingers out of reach, and apparently accepted. After it was finished, it began to tug him along, waddling on its makeshift leash as Jack's heart leapt into his throat. He grabbed the bag of doughnuts and his hat before getting dragged along, to you.

At his very core, Javier was a man driven by his personal sense of justice. Being herded by an immortal goose of mischief was unfair, it made no sense that he had to find you, somehow needed more, and wasn't allowed to choose. It pecked and honked and bullied him all the way to a crowded bar, which was a perfect example.

Just as he was thinking, trying to convince himself he would've come here on his own, it disappeared again and he sighed.

He needed a drink. And, he needed to make some of his own goddamn decisions. Defiance and determination, he told himself. Not stubbornness. There was nothing to prove, it was just defiance and determination, to take his fate into his own hands and make his own choices. And if he was going to do that, he wanted to look for someone who wasn't an informant or a one night stand. His gut was looking for someone he could pull to his side and to show the universe that the goose was right to give up on him.

You were a perfect fit. Slightly disgruntled for whatever reason, even through the crowd he could see the faint, telltale wrinkles of someone just as... determined as he was. Shoulders held the same defiance he was so proud of, and he would be lying if he wasn't physically drawn to you as well. The inconsistent lighting could make anyone look good if you wanted it enough, but you... were something else.

There was a line of pink neon reflection from the top of your ear, across your cheekbone, and just grazing the line of your upper lip as you looked thoughtfully at something he couldn't see. Javier thought he wouldn't mind tracing that path with his fingers, and then maybe his own mouth, and his feet were already carrying him to you to look for an open door. The rest of your form came into view, and Javier noticed the bass of the music was turned up a little bit more than necessary- he could feel it thumping in his bones.

Talking to you went smoother than maybe it ever had before. You seemed resigned, at first, which was a reaction that caught him off guard, and that combined with the weariness of his week, making him unusually candid. In turn, you opened up to him like a flower turning towards the sun, fun and thoughtful and refreshing.

He liked the way you laughed when his lines came out a little awkwardly - open and appreciative, and it made his chest puff out a little. He liked the way you spoke, too. There was kindness and romance in your soul, just whispering at the edges of the words, and while he didn’t pick up on that, per se, they made him feel special, handsome, worthy, but also trusted and comfortable and safe. Neither of you noticed at first, that you had shuffled into a quiet corner of the bar, that his body had moved close, a gentle shield boxing the two of you into your own little world.

When the question came - what brought you here, anyway? - he found himself answering honestly about half being led by his guide, then wanting to make his own path. His confidence faltered at your quiet laugh. His heart ached. A glance at the clock told him it had been two hours since he'd found you, and already he wanted to... choose you. To have you choose him.

He felt stupid that he had confessed so soon, but...

Oh, you were kissing him. There were hands shooting off sparks into his soul against his chest and his jaw and you were kissing him. Javier kissed you back.

When you pulled away, his mouth chased yours, not ready to give up the contact so soon, but you stopped him, laughing again.

"I have a confession," you whispered, and he paused.

“My guide led me here, too. I thought when it gave up on me when I saw you,” your next kiss was more chaste, “I think we got tricked.” Noticing he liked the feel of you in his arms, even if he didn’t remember pulling you there, he tightened his hold.

Javier felt light, understanding your laughter, and blissfully unafraid. “No,” he said, knowing already you’d understand him.

“I chose you.”

Jack was running out of doughnuts. It was easier, safer to have the dumb bird half hog-tied, but he still didn’t feel any closer to you, just halfway across town. He dug in his boots and sunk onto a bench, yanking the goose to a stop, too annoyed to beg for a break.

He wasn’t giving up and running away, absolutely not, he was just... running out of options. Or, doughnuts. And breath. If this pace kept up, he wouldn’t be able to tell you all the things he had planned out in his head.

Eyelids closing against the southern sun, he let out a long, slow sigh. His heart was still racing, and he wondered if he was really as ready as he wanted to be, to meet his next soulmate. A sturdier inhale grounded him. He was ready, he knew he was. Whoever you were, you had to have the patience of a saint - it would be alright, he just needed a breath. The ground under his boots was sturdy, the breeze over his skin cooling, and the goose was mercifully quiet.

“That’s one strange lookin dog you have there, cowboy,” The voice was teasing, but not malicious, and he grinned, eyes still closed.

“She’s a purebred,” he replied, and he heard a huff of laughter like the first few notes of music. Waiting for your footsteps to carry you away, he savored the moment, feeling silly as he hoped his soulmate would like to laugh as much as he did.

There was a weight on the other side of the bench, and he wondered at it, as you said, “Want to talk about it?” His smile was softer, this time, intrigued by the moment, but not wanting to be tempted into flirting, not when his soulmate was on the horizon.

“Nothin to tell,” he replied, feeling suddenly strange. Jack opened his eyes, looking at the rope in his hands, feeling the fibers run through his fingers. “Just a free range chicken... taking a break from tryin to chase down my second soulmate.” He winced, definitely not wanting to look at you, after the second had slipped out.

It wasn’t judging, though, the voice that said, “You seem like you want to talk about it.”

For once in his life, Jack didn’t know what to say, slipping off his hat to run his fingers through his hair before replacing it. He heard your half-laugh again, and it felt refreshing, like sweet tea on a southern summer day.

“Okay,” you said, and he heard amusement this time, like you had something to say, some thought you were chewing on.

Then, there was that terrible honk of the goose, not from his feet, but from where, assumedly, you were. Snapping his gaze to the other side of his bench, he saw a sight for sore eyes, half backlit, glowing like something he never thought he’d see.

There was an indignant goose in a cage at your ankles, now making grumbling bird noises in indignant conversation with the one at the end of his lasso.

“I thought you were never gonna look at me,” Your arm was across the back of the bench as you grinned at dynamite smile at him.

Jack returned it, feeling bashful and eager, dropping the rope to grab your closest hand.

“I promise I aint making that mistake again, sugar.”

bonus ending:

Jack was clinging to your hand, grinning like a fool as you introduced yourselves, when another movement caught his eye. There was a man, walking up behind you, a resigned look on his face. Whiskey’s hackles should have been all the way up, yanking you into his arms at the way this man was approaching you, but instead he was dumbfounded for the second time that day.

He was backlit, too, with shoulders that carried as much weight as the man in his mirror every morning, and he could see the shape of a gun as he knelt next to his soulmate. The stranger’s eyes when they looked at you... were as adoring as he was sure his must have been, a moment before, and he was familiar with you, like you’d known each other before now. Jack wanted to swallow, but his heart felt like it was in his throat, beating like he’d gone a round with a bull at the rodeo.

“This is probably a lot,” Javier said, taking you other hand and quirking an eyebrow. The geese made some loud, obnoxious noises and he looked at them appreciatively. “I wish I had thought of that,” he gestured at the lasso, and you smiled at him.

“This is Javier,” you said, and you let go of them both to stand up and brush yourself off. Warm hands and strong grips were exchanged, and you watched them curiously as they shook, murmuring names and titles again. They were sizing each other up, certainly, but you felt a rush of relief as you saw a familiar spark of attraction in Javi’s eyes.

“You got any more surprises for us, then?” you looked up at the cowboy, confused, only to realize he wasn’t talking to you. The goose in your cage was free halfway down the walk, the one in the lasso hissed. The poor man had been an RV in an earthquake and come out the other side overwhelmed and happy, of all things, but there wasn’t much more he could handle. To your surprise, he grabbed a crumbled paper bag and tossed the contents to the bird, before it gave a final honk, and waddled after it’s friend.

“I guess that’s a no,” you said, suddenly shy at the fullness in your heart.

“That’s alright,” Jack picked up his lasso, before looking at you and Javier, his eyes happy, and glinting with something stronger. “I think this is more than enough.”

And you agreed.

taglist:

@fangirl-316 @scribbledghost @writeforfandoms @beautyagegoodnesssize @princess76179

for whiskey:

@0celestialbitch0

#why am I like this #did this get away from me?#yes #absolutely #soulmate requests #soulmate goose of enforcement #Javier Peña x reader #jack daniels x reader #agent whiskey x reader #jack x you x javier #i guess thats a thing now #on this blog #don't ask me to write a part two or i swear #i'll probably do it #maybe i don't know people #also im a touch delirious sorry if this is as much of a fever dream for you as it is for me

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moonlit-han · 5 years ago

Text

a sweet ride ↠ yang jeongin

genre: bad boy!jeongin, high school au, fluff word count: 3.5k warnings: swearing, mention of smoking & underage alcohol consumption, almost suggestive request: yes (yangomangos, prompt included: “Don’t cry.”) a/n: this one’s for the jeongin enthusiasts~

✧ masterlist & tag list info in bio ✧

↠↞

every morning as you wait outside your high school for classes to start

you hear the thunder of his motorcycle

it’s loud, mildly obnoxious, and occasionally spits out fumes

but you don’t care

you actually like the sound of the bike and how the vibrations rumble in ur chest

it’s a sleek black and built almost entirely by him: old chassis, long handle bars, and a satisfying growl as the engine ignites

if you stand too close when he pulls up in the parking lot in the morning, you can feel the vibrations coming through the pavement

(your mum would probably lock you in a tower only a knight could enter if she ever found out you’d been on a motorcycle

…..not that you’d been on one

yet (ﾟ▽ﾟ｀*)? )

the owner of that motorcycle is your high school’s one and only bad boy

♡･｡.:*.ﾟyang jeongin ﾟ.*:.｡･♡

(but please call him “I.N.” because he’s actually out of the preppy, popular crowd ( ｀^´ ) )

he could ride that motorcycle straight through your heart and you wouldn’t care

okay maybe not your heart bc that would hurt (˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ )

but definitely through your bedroom

that would be

f i n e (⊙‿⊙✿)

……….

all your friends cover their ears and turn away when jeongin pulls up

there isn’t a rule against a senior having a motorcycle and riding it to school

there are people who drive cars to school and that’s fine

he has a license and always wears a helmet

and he wears a thick leather jacket and heavy, black boots

(you’ve seen those boots

they look like they could stomp through concrete or smth)

there is no way he wouldn’t be safe

well, besides the fact that he rides a motorcycle

but you, still not caring, just kinda stare as he rides into the parking area in front of the school

he always does this cool lil swing into his designated “motorcycles only” spot

and then takes off his helmet

to do that fucking hair shake that you always see in movies

that can only mean “hot guy on a motorcycle”

fucking hell

oh and he then runs his fingers through his black hair

to make it appropriately ~windswept~

and, yes, he looks way too god damn hot

unnecessarily so in your humble opinion (๑`^´๑)

you almost flip your shit every morning just bc of him

he’s handsome like a fucking movie star

angled cheekbones, a defined nose and chin, a jawline so sharp it could ki— it could seriously hurt you

and don’t even start on his eyes

jeongin’s eyes are so dark you often wonder if they’re actually brown

if he looks at you in the halls, you immediately get the sense he could somehow see into your soul

and, judging by the dark aura he has, probably can

jeongin isn’t particularly horrible or anything, but he’s known throughout the school to, honestly, not give a flying fuck

about anything

he’s….a little chaotic

for example, he flouts any rule he doesn’t like

and he talks back if a teacher says something he doesn’t agree with

(this has lead to some very heated discussions in class

although, you were actually inclined to agree with him most of the time, since he usually brings up some good points and such

(it’s generally a good idea, you’ve mused on a regular basis, to treat people like human beings and not like machines only in existence to produce goods and perform services to a select few)

most of your classes are with him

and he’s really smart

like the kind of smart where he barely does any work but still passes the class with an A

i mean, who said he could do that??!!?!

who allowed such sorcery

heCk

and you know he’s passed all his courses

he may or may not occasionally smoke or drink behind the school but you know for a fact there are people who do much worse and nobody says anything about them

maybe it’s the leather

and the moodiness

but um;;;;; that’s kinda hot, you know?

you’re not really sure why people think he’s the “bad boy”...

you’ve never seen or heard him be mean or rude to anyone, so how bad can he be?

okay okay yes you’ve seen the knife hilts poking out of his boots

but who the fuck cares?!! ( • ̀ω•́ )

it’s not like he’s ever pulled them on anyone

that you know of

.............

and you’re pretty sure he knows you kinda watch him, too

bc one day he parked his bike facing the school instead of away

and you were just ~there~ as usual

but feeling very alone and exposed

since your dumbass friends had all decided to abandon you in your hour of need by walking away just before he rode up

and then, like a herd of sheep, they all turned to watch you as he did

ahahah friends? what are they?! nah don’t need them;;;

so there you were standing out on the pavement

very obviously looking at him

w e l p Σ(☉‿☉✿)Σ(☉‿☉✿)Σ(☉‿☉✿)

but, of course, he just had to look up

and this lil shit winked at you

actually winked

EXCUSE ME YANG JEONGIN

W H A T

;;;;;;;;;;;;

your friends teased you all day

“ooooh look it’s lover boy”

“shut up shut up shut up”

“but he just lookeD AT YOU”

“you’re lying”

“Y/N YOU FOOL”

“HHHHHHHH”

and it only gets worse from there (....um, you sure about that y/n?)

now whenever jeongin arrives in the mornings

he makes a point at looking over at you

you don’t always notice, unfortunately

and he ends up with a sad lil smile on his face bc he knows you’re having fun with your friends

but fuck!!!!

you’re just so!!! cute!!!!!

how can he not notice you??!!!

especially when you’re in all of his classes

and obviously watch for his motorcycle every morning

it makes him feel kinda cool, tbh

he’s also noticed that you like strawberries

a l o t (≧◡≦)

as in, your backpack is a strawberry

you have strawberry pins on said strawberry backpack

your raincoat has a pattern of strawberries on it

your pencil case may or may not be a lil cat eating, yes, a strawberry

jeongin being the smooth guy (he thinks) he is

gets you a strawberry sweetbread

and is all excited to give it to you

so after class on friday, he decides today’s his chance

(also, the sweetbread isn’t gonna last forever alfdjghafkgj)

aaaand you both try to walk out the door at the same time

which doesn’t work

but WOW YOU’RE NOW REALLY CLOSE TO HIM

jeongin: *vibrates*

ACTUALLY TOUCHING SHOULDERS

WHAT

…..fuck (￢_￢;)

and since when do you smell really good, too?? alkjhsjfghajhf

jeongin’s just a little overwhelmed, you know?

ANyWaY;;;;;;

y/n, blushing furiously: “oh my god sorry”

jeongin, spluttering: “no, no after you”

((oh wow his voice dropped since the last time you saw him

how is that even possible??? guys….))

after a couple tries back and forth through the doorway

(your teacher’s trying not to laugh in the background)

you finally both make it out of the classroom

and you start to speed walk away since your friends are waiting so you all can hang out

“hey, y/n!” comes down the hall after you

ALSDJHADJFLHG what ;;

you turn around quickly to find jeongin standing right behind you

“um, so i noticed you really like strawberries”

e x c u s e m e (O_O);;;

first of all:

yang jeongin—your school’s super hot bad boy, the guy you’re only a little obsessed with bc he rides a motorcycle, the inexplicably brilliant student, and total badass—just spoke to you

WHAT

((really, Y/N?? r e a l l y?????))

second of all:

he’s holding something wrapped in absolutely adorable cat (and strawberry) wrapping paper

that’s completely against his aesthetic

but matches yours to a tee ( ◡‿◡ ♡)

huh….

“y/n?” *holds out package*

you have to mentally shake yourself a little

but you’re back now

hhhHHHH

“me?”

“Yeah, I got you this. I hope you like it.” (●´ω｀●)

“thanks?” you say a bit lamely

you take the package and get a whiff of sweetbread

s w e e t b r e a d!!!! (*♡∀♡)

ajfhakljfhgjdsfgh your fav

you’d half expected jeongin to blast on outta there asap

but now he’s just standing in front of you, just kinda shifting back and forth

wait…is he nervous??

you slowly unwrap the package, careful not to damage the wrapping paper

(you are so going to reuse it or hang it on the wall or something ajdsdjfg)

and inside is a rounded sweetbread with strawberries delicately placed on top amongst swirls of pink icing

you gasp quietly

fucking hell it’s the cutest thing you’ve ever seen

jeongin’s just watching you, a small smiling spreading across his face

(which you don’t notice bc b r e a d)

you take a small bite of the treat and

。*:゜♡ヽ(*’∀’*)/♡゜:。*。

IT’S SOOOOO GOOD!!!!

you take another bite before looking up at jeongin and you finally see his smile

( ◡‿◡ ♡) (♡‿♡) (*♡∀♡)

it’s actually the best thing you’ve ever seen

there’s so much genuine happiness, and just a hint of mischievous mirth, in his smile

you feel like you’re looking into the sun, it’s so bright

why did jeongin, of all people get you, of all people, a sweetbread?

jeongin, completely unable to look cool anymore and shifting back and forth on the balls of his feet: “is it good?”

“OH MY GOD YES!!!”

and then you do something you never thought you’d do

ever

in the whole world ever

you throw your arms around yang jeongin’s neck

and give him a really big hug

his arms come up and around you to hug you back almost immediately,

which you were expecting even less than your own actions

but his hug is wonderful, even if he’s holding you like fine china

in a moment, you remember yourself and quickly step back

jeongin is blushing so much that he looks like a strawberry

(so good you just wanna eat him up (◕‿◕))

((y/n pls,,,,, not here....))

and you know you’re blushing just as much

you splutter an apology and run off down the hallway

and because you’re running off,

you don’t notice that jeongin is staring after

like a lovesick puppy (◕︵◕)

your friends are all over you about the sweetbread

bc they love it too

but you just say that you forgot you’d brought it with you that day

for some reason, you didn’t want to tell about your encounter with jeongin

when you get home, you savor the sweetbread,

remembering the warmth of jeongin’s smile~

the next friday, you’re outside at the picnic tables during lunch

it’s an absolutely beautiful day, with a light breeze~ (⌒ω⌒)

against the better judgement and fervent suggestions of your friends

you decide that it’s a great idea to get on top of one the tables

and dance

why?

someone had started playing ABBA’s “Dancing Queen”

no one can resist that song

so you’re having the time of your life

just dancing around on the table that your friends have since vacated bc they

a) don’t want to get kicked in the head, and

b) feel quite embarrassed to associate with you while you’re like this

......traitors (๑`^´๑)

and as anyone with an ounce of sense does when dancing to ABBA

you occasionally close your eyes in happiness

and suddenly you’ve stepped into air

your heart lurches and your eyes fly open

and your mind goes completely blank with panic

but you never reach the ground

you’re now surrounded by the smell of leather, metal, and.....

boy

someone had saved you from falling

the arms holding you are strong and well-muscled

and, surprisingly, comfortable

“i’ve got you,” a voice murmurs

you look up into the face of none other than jeongin

(⊙__⊙✿)

welp

you think to yourself “what... i thought he didn’t care about people??”

((nope y/n, he cares about YOU bc you’re the cutest and so lovely))

he smirks down at you, then sets you back down on the ground

“try to be more careful. okay, y/n?” he says, smoothing a wayward piece of your hair, then just walks off

you blush

(this seems to be becoming a common occurrence with jeongin)

and just stand there, dumbfounded

as jeongin saunters away to sit under a tree at the far end of the lawn

it’s a good saunter, and the tight, black skinny jeans only help (⊙ __ ⊙);;;;

your friends rush you, asking if you’re okay and asking what was up with jeongin

you say that you have no idea

......although, that’s not entirely true

since you now have a sneaking suspicion that *gasp* jeongin might have a crush on you?

maybe??

(hopefully!! (ﾟ▽ﾟ｀*)?)

your friends just continue dithering as you stare at jeongin, who’s watching you right back

he winks

ALKJSDHGAKLDJFGADJKFGBADJF

you really wish he’d stop doing that bc it’s making your heart pound like a herd of horses and now yOu CAn’t EveN THinK

FUCK!!

later that day as school’s letting out

jeongin comes up to you, leather jacket slung over his shoulder

he’s got on a black t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up a couple times

and ooooooh my

you’d never noticed before

(well, besides during lunch when he caught you)

but yang jeongin has really nice arms

and pecs (⊙‿⊙)

and now you’re staring (oh fuck,,,,, not again)

“uh;;;; hi, jeongin!” you manage to squeak out alkdjfhsldjf

“hey, i was wondering if you wanted a ride”

eXCusE Me wHAt??? ∑(ﾟﾛﾟ〃)

“on the motorcycle. i have an extra helmet, since my sister sometimes rides with me”

O H

your mouth takes control before you even have time to think

“sure! i’d love to!!”

a minute later, you’re standing in front of that sleek, black motorcycle that you’ve admired for months

the young man riding it helps the matter quite a lot, too

there’s even this little carrier container on the back of the bike that he puts his (small) backpack into

he reaches out for yours and stows it

then, jeongin hands you a helmet with lime green racing stripes on its sides

you briefly wonder if his sister is anything like him

probably

“have you ever ridden a motorcycle before?” jeongin asks

you shake your head, unable to speak bc you’re so excited and also kinda nervous

your mom’s words fly through your head

don’t you dare get on a motorcycle, y/n. ever. don’t you dare! they’re too dangerous by half and— well, if i ever find out you’ve been on one, you won’t be allowed out of the house, except for going to school, for a month. you mark my words, y/n! (; ･`д･´)

you promptly ignore her voice in your head and slid the helmet down over your head

the world suddenly becomes slightly more vibrantly colored as the visor shields your eyes

jeongin had swung his long legs over the bike, straddling it with his feet still on the ground

“so, the important thing is to stay in line with me. what i mean is that if i lean to one side or the other, you’ve gotta lean with me. otherwise, we’ll fall over and that really wouldn’t be good. just hold on tight to my waist and, sorry i don’t mean to sound rude, but please don’t scream.”

jeongin looks only a little rueful as he says that

but you don’t blame him

you wouldn’t want someone screaming in your ears as you tried to concentrate either

“okay, right. lean with you. hold on tight,” you say

jeongin sits down, one foot still on the ground, and pats the seat behind him

“come on! take a seat—i promise you’ll be fine, y/n”

tentatively, you clamber onto the motorcycle behind jeongin

and wrap your arms around his waist

you can feel . . .

holy shit his abs feel like a fucking washboard

ExCuSE mE?????!!!! (＠_＠)

heCk

((y/n, pls. calm down;;; we know he’s got muscles))

so um,,,, yeah

it’s really actually quite comfy to lean against his back

but then hen he lays his hands over yours

and looking back over his shoulder says, “ready, babe?

B A B E

HHHHHHHHHHHH

***y/n has officially malfunctioned***

damn tho

this boy is bold as fuck

wow

you’re not exactly complaining

bc you now know that you like being called “babe”

it makes you feel special (✿◠‿◠)

and you like how it sounds coming from jeongin

you can tell jeongin is grinning under his helmet

“yep, i’m ready,” you manage to say

and then you feel and hear the thunder of the engine igniting

it’s exhilarating and you hadn’t even started moving yet

jeongin yells over the engine “hold on!”

in one smooth motion he kicks the kickstand up, brought his foot off the ground, released the brake and clutch

and then...

and then you feel like you’re flying

even though you’re not going 70 mph (113 kph)

the wind tears at your clothes

making you feel freer than you’d ever felt before~

you thought you’d guessed what it would feel like to ride on a motorcycle

but even your wildest imaginings couldn’t come close to reality

you hold on tightly to jeongin’s waist, feeling every shift of his body as he guides the motorcycle along the roads surrounding your school

all too soon you find yourself back in the parking lot of your high school

you don’t release your hold on jeongin until after he’s shut off the engine

jeongin takes off his helmet, shaking his hair as usual, and hangs it on a handlebar

then he turns on the seat

you lean back

but jeongin reaches out and gently removes your helmet to place it on the seat between the two of you

even without touching it, you could feel that your hair was mussed

so you shake out your hair, too

and immediately understand why jeongin does it

you feel strangely powerful and a bit sexy

it’s a fun, new feeling

jeongin smiles like you’re the loveliest flower he’s ever seen

and, for the second time that day, tucks a strand of hair behind your ear

“how was it?” he asks, a look of concern on his face

you beam, feeling infinitely more at ease around jeongin

“amaaaaazing!”

“yeah? oh, don’t cry, y/n”

“what? oh” you realize that you are, indeed, crying

you wipe the tears from your face

after all, they’re just tears of happiness

“jeongin, it was incredible, oh my god. can we do it again? please?”

he laughs, throwing his head back

and you glimpse the dimple at the base of his throat

“maybe another day, babe” jeongin concedes

you pout

“oh, okay. thank you”

there’s a look in jeongin’s eyes that you can’t quite place

is it sadness? fondness? desire?

he exhales, then the corner of his mouth quirks up

you feel the warmth of his fingers caress your cheek

“y/n, may i kiss you?”

***yet again, we regret to inform you that y/n has malfunctioned***

what the ever loving flipping fuck

d— did jeongin just,,,,

did he?

ALKJHGALKJFHG;AKLHFGAKLJGHKAJH

“i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable” jeongin says in a rush, dropping his hand

shit.

SHIT!

“no no no!! it’s fine, yes. please. that’s fine. that would be— that would nice. yes, very nice.”

wow you sounded almost hysterical

“good,” jeongin says simply

and leans in to softly press his lips to yours

you immediately kiss him back

and feel him smile against your mouth

just a moment later, he draws back, respectful, a question in his eyes

you chase his lips, not wanting to waste the precious opportunity to actually be kissing the yang jeongin!!

his hands come up to cup your neck

and you rest your palm against his chest, feeling the trembling beat of his heart

he tastes like like elderberry and cinnamon and clove all wrapped into one intoxicating milieu

you could kiss him for days and never tire

after what seems like hours, you break apart

“y/n,” jeongin begins

“oh just shut up and keep kissing me,” you say without hesitation, surprised at your own boldness (again)

it seemed that was becoming a habit around jeongin, too

he doesn’t bother responding

and, instead, kisses you until you’re breathless

again, you feel like you were flying

* . ∗ ̥ ⋆ ݃ *♡٩( ｡⌒▽⌒｡)۶♡* ݃ ⋆ ̥∗ . *

347 notes · View notes

spiltscribbles · 4 years ago

Note

Oooh! Prompts! Remus and Sirius moving in together please! 💛

Notes: Thank you SO SO much gorgeous<3 I’m like kinda embarrassed that this is kinda shit, especially because you’re writing is so fucking gorgeous, so I’m sorry.

A Reblog Is Worth A Thousand Stars | Send Me A Prompt

“YOU!”

With a start that almost makes him drop the vase in his hands, Sirius turns around to find his surly looking boyfriend glaring daggers straight at him, lips pursed and nose wrinkled ever so fetchingly. “Me?”

“You!”

“ Is this a Muggle game of semantics or something Moons, because for the life of me I’m not following.”

Remus’s glower only deepens, radiating a distinct sort of disapproval that could only ever be honed in by years of prefectness. “You thief!” He squawks, hands perched on his hips, and mouth twisted up mutinously.

“Is this the part where you say I stole your heart?” Sirius goads with a cocked brow, resuming their unpacking. “Because love, that line gets old after the millionth recital, but I do appreciate the spirit.”

“Wha? Na—no that is not what I was going to say you egotistical prick!” Remus scoffs— just a bit flustered with a dusting of pink touching the tops of his sharp cheekbones. “You ate the last spring role!” He accuses emphatically, almost tripping over the over a dozen boxes that are strewn across their newly furnished living room. Sirius can’t help but be endeared by Remus and his everythingness.

“Yes, yes I did Wise Guy,” He confirms distractedly. “I also dipped it into some spicy mustard and drank a bottle of water while I was at it… Your point being?”

“My point you utter berk is that it was mine! I called dibs!”

“I remember no such thing,” Sirius sniffs haughtily, moving to rearrange the photographs on their mantel. (And yeah, it’s still fucking insane to him that he’s become so domestic that he’s got a mantel over the fireplace that the man he loves more than any other had insisted was absolutely crucial to have if they were to move in together—probably for really romantical love making sessions in front of it’s flames with the bliss of no worries of anyone barging in on them, or griping if they were being to loud—Which by the way, James honestly had no right in complaining about considering his track record with his and Lily’s on again, off again mating ritual.

“Liar!" Sirius honestly wouldn’t be surprised if Remus started stomping his feet right about now, and pouting up a storm if the childishly cross expression on his pretty face is anything to go by. (And honestly how could one man be so adorable and sexy all at once.) “You were finishing up the shrimp tempura— because you are a posh idiot without any tastebuds— , and I said that I’ll be right back to get some of the boxes in the spare room, and to save it for me! And then I come here, and I find this! This breach of all we’ve built together!”

Sirius barely conceals his snort. “Is that right? The foundations of our whole, entire bloody relationship? And right after this afternoon, when I made you—“

Two spots of color blotch high on Remus’s cheeks and he cuts him off before Sirius can completely recount the frankly remarkable romp they had just finished with before deciding they needed some nourishment before getting back to unpacking. “Don’t you try to change the subject you stealing stealer who steals!”

“That insult leaves something to be desired Moonbeam.”

“You’re a prick.”

“And you wound me!” Sirius mock sobs, slamming his fist against his chest and swinging back his arm against his forehead. “A plague on you, and your family! And another on your family’s cow.”

Remus’s face morphs into his painfully unimpressed expression, (Hint, it’s very, very flat). “I’ll take your intentional dodge as an admission,” He scoffs, arms crossed tight against his chest.

“I admit nothing!” Sirius shouts in an overdone accent that would better fit the set of Downton Abbey. “Nothing Lupin!”

Remus rolls his eyes at Sirius’s hyperbolic attitude, and okay. Yes. Perhaps Sirius remembers a similar conversation akin to what Remus had described occurring only ten minutes prior. But to be quite honest, Sirius was hardly listening. Remus’s got on one of Sirius’s oversized t-shirts, a pair of boxer-briefs, and nothing else. So yeah, he should definitely not be expected to be paying anything any mind while his beyond gorgeous boyfriend is sitting there, impossibly long legs put out for display, and one perfectly alabaster shoulder bare where the shirt has slipped right off, effectively derailing Sirius's thoughts to how he’d teasingly kissed across his collar bone just earlier that night, nibbling on the hinge of his jaw while Remus had been writhing beneath him. so Really and truly, he should’ve never been expected to remember anything— let alone something as trivial as dibs— if his utterly perfect partner is right there for the taking, a determined dent between his brows, and intermittently rinsing his hand through his disheveled locks of hair like spun gold, excited over the prospect of fixing up this flat that is now their home.

Dear Merlin above does Sirius love this bloke with every fiber of his being.

“Well,” he relents, swaggering up closer to Remus so that they’re standing only inches apart. “Even if I did remember that such a discussion had taken place how you’ve described it—“

“It did, and you know it Black!” He harrumphs, using Sirius’s surname just to get a rise out of him.

“Well, there’s nothing we can do about it now love, is There?.”

Sirius’s sure that he’s won the argument and they could just move on, until he catches the glint in Remus’s impossibly luminous eyes—a glint that always means trouble, a glint that’s never failed to make each one of Sirius’s nerve endings go ablaze.

“Is that right?”

“I reckon it is Moonbeam,” he leers, is momentarily distracted by the downright angelic smile Remus casts his way right then, but suddenly, an onslaught of fingers are piercing into his ribs, wiggling and tickling him into submission.

“Say you’re sorry!” Remus demands, an effortless grin of his own swept across his lovely face, brighter than the morning sun. And yeah, maybe Sirius should just admit that it was his bad, apologize a thousand times over in the form of lingering kisses and caressing hands.… But the thing is, Sirius’s stubbornness has always been too rigid for his own good, and he’s always loved prodding at Remus till He just went off like the world’s most darling firecrackers.

“Never you absolute wanker!”

“I won’t relent till you profess an apology to my satisfaction,” Remus scoffs— a playful giggle lilting his overly formal words.

“And I won’t surrender!” He parries with a leer. Sirius tickles back harder, and Remus shimmies around so much that He ends up jabbing him in the eye, ramming straight into his chest, and effectively sprawling them—all long limbs and crooked angles—onto the wooden floorboards.

“Just say you’re sorry!” He insists, strangled laughter starting to gargle his words while Sirius just gazes down at him, mercilessly besotted.

“”S not my fault you didn’t take it with you Lupin, i’ve committed no grievance.”

“Oh come off it pretty boy.”

“Oy! I’m ruggedly handsome you arse!”

“Testy, testy.”

“You’re the pretty one.”

“Oh suck my cock.”

“Been there done that.”

Remus seems to be fighting down another laugh before he knees him lightly in the abdomen enough that Sirius tenses, giving Remus the chance to switch their positions once again, so that He’s back on top.

“My have the tables turned,” He taunts with one of his most dazzling smiles, dimples in full effect, and crinkles around his pretty sea glass eyes.

“I like how you think I’m at all opposed to this position,” Sirius says with a pixilated gleam, arching back enough so that their cotton clad dicks buck up against each other.

“Perv!” Remus scolds, smacking his chest playfully. “Now admit that I won!”

“Never!”

Somehow, amidst all the thrashing bodies and choked peals of laughter, Sirius flips him over— slight body beneath his own, with Remus’s wrists pinned over his head and his legs wrapped around Sirius’s waste.

“Now, now Monsieur Moony, I reckon that spring has rolled into winter for you,” Sirius most definitely does not laugh raucously at his own pun.

“That’s not even the direction that the seasons go in,” Remus frowns, nose wrinkled indelicately, a tell Sirius’s picked up on whenever He’s mad over an outcome.

“You still lost though,” Sirius barbs with no real bite, pecking a quick kiss to his lips in solace.

“You’re awful, and I’m breaking up with you,” Remus sniffs in turn—wiggling underneath him to try and get loose.

“Oh, you love me really.” Sirius preens like the cat who’s caught the canary— the world’s most beautiful and brilliant and ruffled canary that is.

“Lies and slander!” Remus waggles his tongue between his teeth, and Sirius dips down to bite it teasingly.

“Hmm, now isn’t this cute,” the pair scramble away from each other, utterly stunned once spotting Lily of all people, gaze twinkling and lips set into a firm smirk, eyeing them while leisurely lounging against the door frame.

“You two really can’t keep yr sodding hands off of each other, can you?”

Remus completely reddens, totally flustered, while Sirius only follies back a smug sort of grin at the force of nature that is Lily Evans, his practical sister-in-law, remus’s best friend, and all around genius.

“How long have you been watching Red dearest,” Sirius asks wryly, making it so now Lily’s the one who’s flushing..

“I hate you Black.” She says shortly, and Sirius’s beam doesn’t falter. “Re, as your spiritual older sister—“

“You’re barely a month older Lils,” Remus interjects, but Lily just goes on as if he hadn’t.

“I think it’s my job to remind you that he’s not the only bloke in London with a decent shoulder to waste ratio and nice hair. We can snag you someone with a bit of brains even.”

Sirius tosses her a V shaped salute, and Lily sticks her tongue out in retaliation, but for his part, Remus only tries to cut through the tension with one of his friendlier grins, though it just comes out as an awkward grimace. “I forgot that you’re dropping off the boxes tonight.”

“Evidently Ace,” she snorts, strutting further into the apartment and setting down the box of photos Remus had asked her to bring over from their old place. “Far too busy snogging with the boy who single handedly received the most detentions in Hogwarts history, while also, somehow— by the grace of God— threatened our stances as top of the class.”

“Oy Evans, can’t take all the credit for myself. Jem was my better half, till he moved on to the likes of you.”

Lily ignores him, save for the way her pretty face gets a bit scrunched out of irritation. “Ace, I ask you, what would McGonagall say if she saw her favorite prefect gallivanting around with such a delinquent.

Remus lets out one of his rare and beautiful laughs, something that feels buoyant and is really more breath than sound, but is still so vibrant and splendid and it never fails to thrust Sirius back to the Hogwarts Express, where he and Remus had first met as a couple of wide eyed eleven year olds, and all the contradicting emotions Remus had provoked upon first sight. Wonder, and confusion. Intrigue, and diffidence. Wanting, and fear. It’s an attribute of Remus's that Sirius will never not be amazed by.

“Ah, Minnie my love, how I do miss her so, now where were we Moonbeam?”

“I’m still standing here Black,” Lily reproves with a scoff.

“I think it was about here,” Sirius continues, dipping down to kiss at Remus’s protruding collar bones.

“Settle down mutt,” Remus rebukes with no real heat, a gentle hand carding through Sirius’s hair.

“God, you two are already an old married couple.”

“You really do know the best moments to interrupt sweetheart.” Sirius snipes with a playful roll to his eyes, his hand discretely resting over the small of Remus’s back.

“And you have no decency, corrupting Remus the way that you do.”

“Okay first, I take fucking offense, you know better than me that Moony here was the mastermind behind most of our delightful pranks.”

“You mean your childish inconveniences you plagued on the unsuspecting public?”

“And secondly, we didn’t even get to the fun, currupting part because of your oh so lovely interruption.” Sirius retorts moodily, though he soon suspects the joke was a wrong play to make when Lily’s smile suddenly goes predatory and sHe flips back a lock of her wind blown curls, ready to pounce.

“Well perhaps I just stopped by to make sure you weren’t further defiling my dear Remus. But I guess that giant love bite on your neck proves that I’m too late.”

Sirius can’t help the chuckle that pours out of his lips at her needled observation, smacking a hand to conceal the hickey sHe’s taunting him about, knowing exactly where it is, it’s been a topic of teasing all morning long from a smug Sirius to a properly indignant Remus.

“He-he just marks easily,” Remus pipes out, cheeks completely infused red and worrying on his bottom lip. Sirius suspects that Lily just knew that the one chink in his armor is prodding at Remus’s less than poised acts.

Lily rolls her eyes in a way that convinces Sirius that sHe doesn’t believe it for a second. “Whatever you say oh Saint Remus,” sHe smirks with no more argument. “but pray tell, are you guys about done swapping spit around me? Or is that going to forever be a regular occurrence in the Remus and Sirius show?”

“Now I’d reckon that’ll get a sold out crowd every night, don’t you?” Sirius asks, directing his question at the pair of of them while taking Remus’s hand, and pushing him even closer— just always preferring to have some sort of contact with him.

“Oh put a sock in it,” Remus harrumphs, finally starting to return to his normal coloring in the midst of Lily’s unrestrained cackles.

“Aw, don’t be shy love, it’s only the truth.”

Remus presses the pads of his fingers to Sirius’s lips and glares at him for good measure, “Some things are better left for private.”

“Hah,” Lily scoffs, weight slung to her left hip. “As if I don’t get a front row seat every time you two are within even in a ten foot radius of each other—OH hey, I know that look Ace! The one eyed squint, and the teeth. Well your “I’m about to kill my gorgeous best friend,” look has no place here, i’ll see my way out now. Just promise not to christen every room in this place, kay? We’d all like to visit without the residual specs haunting us! And I know how moody you get without your daily dose of my scintillating company.”

Sirius thinks that Remus’s trying to skewer a whole in the spot where Lily was just standing, if the terribly cross look on his face says anything. It’s precious, Sirius can’t help but snicker.

“Don’t laugh at me! I’m your boyfriend for Merlin’s sake! You’re s’pose to be on my side!”

“I wasn’t laughing at you Moons,” he kisses the fingers Remus has still got on his mouth, mock consolatory. “Just incredibly turned on.”

That dent between Remus’s brows is back again for a moment, but then his beauteous features smoothen out and He just pecks a quick kiss to Sirius’s lips before rifling through the box Lily brought over, muttering a light,”Whatever,” as He does so.

There’s a quick wrapping to the window, and Sirius glances over to find his owl— Odysseus— with a bundle of letters attached to his left leg. By rote, Sirius feeds him some of the pellets they keep there for convenience, and unwinds the bundle of parchments, beginning to shuffle through them.

There’s a copy of the Nightly prophet with the murder of another Muggle family splattered all over the front cover in a sickeningly gauche manner, a free trial subscription to the Quibbler with a reading for Scorpios in the month of October, a letter from Peter about his mum and sisters driving him up the rails, an invitation from Marlene for he and Remus to come out to dinner with them for Dorcas’s Birthday, and a ominous letter from James of all paper that simply says a gift for Moony.

Bewildered to why he hadn’t just sent it along with Lily, Sirius tares off the attached photograph only to find something truly, horrendously vile. a photograph of himself. One that was definitely taken fifth year— Sirius’s worst year where he absolutely could not stand being around his family for a moment longer, and James was getting more settled with his studies, an Remus was dating that prefect prick from Ravenclaw and was exceedingly elusive from Marauders nights out. This was so obviously taken on one of those aforementioned nights out that it’s comical. Sirius’s hair is as long as it’s ever been— touching the tops of his shoulders— and he’s chugging down a fruity, pink concoction— the type that Rosmerta was always cooking up for them— hand over fist, and he’s got on puppy ears and a fake nose. In layman’s terms he looks like a complete and total pillock. Drunk off his ass so much so that you can see the stars in his eyes even through the clunky glasses he had stolen from James— convinced that he was sporting them for purely esthetic reasons and not because the knob is actually as blind as a bloody bat— and his finger is pointed and mouth is open in the way it always is when he’s ranting about something or the other.

It’s perhaps the only photograph in history where Sirius isn’t looking his typical, jaw dropping gorgeous self.

There’s about a thousand different retorts he wants to scribble on a spare parchment and shoot right back to James— ranging from nasty to downright despicable— but then he catches the familiar peal of laughter coming from behind him. He’s not surprised when he sees Remus—beautiful, ingenuous, perfect Remus who’s physically incapable of taking a photograph less than effortlessly lovely, even while pissed— peering over his shoulder in utter amusement.

“Oh My God I need to ask James to send me one of the hundreds of copies he surely has.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Sirius retorts darkly.

“I’ll use an enlarging charm and hang it up above the mantel, for prosperity. The one time Sirius looks the way he acts,” he moves his hand over an invisible marquee and looks so damn smug that Sirius could kiss him, and in fact, that’s exactly what he does.

“I hate him,” is all he says afterwards, once he’s pulled away.

“I can’t believe that’s you!” Remus continues with eyes full of mirth.

“I want to banish him, no. No I want to banish all of them. All of our friends, we can make knew ones Moons. I mean look at us! We’re a catch!” He tosses the letters onto the newly acquired sofa as if they have personally affronted him and all he stands for.

“ Oh brilliant idea love.”

“That sounds like your sarcastic voice Moons.”

“No, you’ve got my full support. this’s our castle Pads, we can banish whom ever we like,” Remus balances on his tiptoes, and smacks an exasperated kiss onto his cheek. Sirius can barely contain the glee that’s dancing in his eyes at the thought of this being their own personal castle— a fortress just for the pair of them to escape within— causing another swell of fondness to pound in his chest.

“Well maybe we can give’m another chance,” he relents, melting into how Remus’s locked his arms around his neck, and is smiling up at him with all the love in the world shining unadulteratedly in his lovely eyes. “I mean they did help us move all those boxes and all.”

Remus hums his agreement while he presses his forehead against his own, endlessly endeared.

“What a generous king,” He goads, words hugged with fondness.

“Ooo, I like that, call me that in bed and I might bless you with my royal sector.”

Remus thumps his nose, “Your more tolerable when you don’t speak and just stand there being pretty.”

“Aw, you think I’m pretty Moonykins?”

Remus shakes his head ruefully, the smile on his face one that Sirius knows well— one that means he’s reluctantly endeared. “Dork.”

“Plonker.”

There lips meet for another kiss and it feels like all the resplendence in the galaxy being distilled between just the two of them.

#Wolfstar #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #marauders #spilt ink #sugarplums #kattlupin #so totally completely fluff #RIP #life's been total shit this week #so I guess this is a thing #I'm sorry sweets

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