#I jus thought the prompt was neat

[telndas]

❛ glad to see you haven’t become food for the vultures. ❜ 

❛ It is good to see you too, Daemos, ❜ Suhani says in a half-hearted huff.

She feels it though, beyond the mirth and deep into her soul. She feels she needs to be put out upon a chair, allowing the vultures and wolves to pick her bones clean until there is nothing left. But even then, she doubts it will happen. Her blood is too rotted, her bones too brittle, even her flesh a moldering state that not even the lowest of insects would feast upon her.

But she looks to Daemosyrâxes now with a kind of relief at finding an old friend, even if he may not see it as such. ( An old face, then. One that has seen her wade through the muck and mire of Ferelden and the Blight altogether. ) It is not often, now that they have all gone their separate ways … To do what they will now that they have the chance to do so. Suhani tries not to dwell on it further.

❛ Half of you seems to be absent, though, ❜ she then says once she settles, her staff digging into the ground to give her more balance where she stands. But she glances around the other as if expecting what she now refers to, only to come up empty. ❛ Where has your Miirik gone off to? Have you been spoiling her further? ❜ A brief smile, amusement flickering across her gaze, but it falters.

@wyrmsire !

[niceyniceyzoozoo]

hiiii if you’re still taking howince hurt/comfort prompts, “come on, let’s get you cleaned up”?

Thank you for sending this! I am literally always taking prompts I love doing little prompts :)

I'm also changing the timeline for the end of the chokes for angst purposes

-

Howard had only returned to pick up the rest of his things and leave his keys behind.

Maybe he'd leave a dramatic note, or a signed headshot. Something that could really be worth some money after he hit it big.

Of course, Jurgen still hadn't disclosed the nature of his special project with Howard yet, but he had put Howard up in a dingy apartment for the past two months, giving him fine whiskey and cheap cigarettes to better "hone his craft."

So clearly, this project was a special one.

Howard crept into the Naboutique, holding the bell over the door still so it couldn't ring.

It was nearly the middle of the night, ten minutes past Vince's preferred time to arrive at any gathering.

Naboo and Bollo would be DJing, and Vince would be preening in front of a crowd.

If he wasn't still on tour with The Black Tubes. Howard hadn't kept up with the news of Vince's new band.

He was surprised to see the main area of the flat just as he had left it.

As Howard was the only one who cleaned, he had imagined it would fall into a state of pure disgust. But everything was neat and tidy, although covered in a noticeable layer of dust.

He had to convince himself not to get the feather duster from the hall cupboard. He was on a mission, after all.

The door to his old room opened slowly, and silently.

And now, this was different.

The room was utter chaos.

Not that Vince was exactly a neat person, but his piles of clothing always had some semblance of organization that only Vince could understand, and Howard's items had never been mixed into the mess.

But not, it was everywhere.

Howard's clothes were strewn about the room, mingling with Vince's clothes all around the floor.

Howard's desk had been upended, as though someone had pushed it over in a fit of anger. His stationary village seemed to have been hit by a hurricane.

Howard noticed scrapbooks, the ones Vince had created to keep their photographs safe, placed on Vince's bed, looking more like a nest than an actual bed, piled with blankets and clothes.

But the greatest shock of all, was on Howard's bed.

Vince was sitting up, perched on his knees, and staring at Howard.

His hair was a state, half of it pulled up into a tiny ponytail that had obviously been in for three days, at least. His roots were more visible than Howard can remember them being, mousy brown like a halo, dissolving into black.

And that's definitely Howard's shirt he's got on, the olive-beige button-down he wore nearly every day at the zoo.

It was misbuttoned, and christy, Vince was thin. His collarbones stuck out more than they should, and his cheekbones were even pointier.

He didn't look well.

He looked dull, and drained, and fucking sad.

Vince squeezed his eyes closed.

"You ain't real. 'm jus' dreamin' again," he mumbled. Howard watched him pinch his own leg.

His eyes opened again, and he seemed shocked to still see Howard lingering in the doorway.

"Um, not. I'm not. I mean, well, I'm not not real." Howard coughed. "I've come to-"

take you with me.

stay here with you forever.

tell you that you're the only thing that truly matters to me.

"collect the rest of my things."

Bushbaby eyes filled with shining tears.

"So that's it, then? You're taking your things and leaving?"

Howard didn't realize he could miss someone so much, until he heard Vince speak. Until he heard his uncharacteristically quiet voice.

He'd forgotten just how lovely Vince's voice was when it slid over his raw emotions.

How had he not felt this ache? This terrible pain in his chest at the mere idea of leaving Vince.

He had done it so easily when he thought Vince didn't care about him.

He had told himself time and time again that he didn't care about Vince, even if it was a complete lie.

And here they are. They care about each other, and they're both hurt, and sad, and how could Howard possibly ever leave?

"No," he cleared his throat, speaking up, his voice ringing through the room. "No. I am going to stay. I am, Vince-" he choked. He choked just like on that stage a lifetime ago.

He felt the crunching of paper, and for fuck's sake. This was the worst possible time to go all stiff and quiet.

But Vince, lovely, perfect, mind-reading Vince, simply stood up from the bed, and wrapped his arms around Howard.

It was everything. His little man holding on with all his strength, his body shaking as he held back his sobs.

Howard was such an idiot.

But he felt himself loosen in Vince's arms, so much so that he was able to return the hug.

"I'm sorry, Vince. I'm so sorry. Please, Little Man, please forgive me."

"'Oward, I'm sorry. 'm sorry I made you leave, that I-I, you thought I didn't care."

And once again, Vince was reading his mind just like Howard had never left.

"I'm staying right here, Vince. I promise." He brought a hand up to stroke through Vince's hair, surprised at the feeling of it.

It was silky smooth the way it was with no product, and it was stiff and immobile.

It was greasy, and knotted, and Vince wasn't taking care of himself with Howard gone.

The eerily clean living room made sense.

Vince was spending his time cooped up in this bedroom, in their bedroom, and he wasn't taking care of himself, because Howard always did that.

Howard made sure he was fed and chided him to pick up after himself. He made sure the laundry was clean and the dishes were put away.

And it's not as though Vince can't bathe himself, he loves primping and getting beautiful.

Clearly, he didn't care.

He didn't care about himself when Howard wasn't there to help him do it.

"Come on, Little Man. Let's get you cleaned up."

[yeetusthymeatus]

Well... im getting kidnapped

It isn't the worst start to a day that I've had but being stuffed in a red sack, tied up like a Sunday roast isn't exactly far off, and after some kicking and a few unsuccessful bites i was in the sack being dragged along the cold tile floor, getting hit by the lift door on the way in and after a brief few moments of jamming out to Kevin Booths set me free, i was tossed in the back of a vehicle as we set off

I couldn't tell you how much time had passed, but enough for the cold and damp to seep through the wet sack, the wind and snow whipping the now bordeux sack, cursing the day people decided open top cars in winter are cool, and why i didn't sleep with more cloths on, but finally we stopped, the sound of the wind changed to... bells? Those tiny bells you find on stockings that your cat always finds a way to take off and play with them in the early hours of the morning as if to remind dawn its time to show its colours

As the jingle came near i was grabbed out the car and dropped on the sidewalk, and after a buzz of a doorbell the bells turned to the sound of hoofs striking the road and a door opening, the sound of snow crunching under someones shoe slowly approaching

They opened the sack, letting me see for the first time where i was, tossed on the pavement in front of a house i didn't recognise, shaking from the cold as the wind hit my bare chest, snowflakes stinging my already numb skin, that's when i saw her, her brown eyes hidden by her mist covered glasses as she quickly dragged me into the house and unceremoniously dumped me in the living room, before in a hurry darting off to the kitchen

The house itself wasn't anything big, just big enough for one, a few Christmas lights draped over the curtain poles, a couch backed up into the corner barely large for two, a small dining room table covered in papers and books with a laptop open playing a video about napoleon backed up to the bar separating the living room and the kitchen where she was frantically searching through drawers, the sound of the kettle being made in the background, a single door going out to a small balcony in the far side of the kitchen

As i try to sit up i see the knots around my my ankles has chewed through the skin, tainting the white rope a light shade of red, as i began to try to untie my hands from behind my back, flopping around like a fish on a boat trying to work some slack into the rope only to have my leg cramp as she walked outside the kitchen with two mugs of hot water and a box of tea bags on a tray

Cursing she set the tray down and yanked the tape off my mouth, smirking lightly from the not so quiet ow that escaped my mouth, slowly loosening the knot around my hand enough for me to grab it

"Go make what you were making in the kitchen, i got it from here" i said as i slowly untied my hands, my countless hours tieing knots in scouts and sailing making it relatively straightforward, as she quietly left through a door i hadn't previously seen, only for her to emerge back into the room with a couple blanket and a small first aid kit i got her as a joke

"Here you go Mr tough guy, do you want me to make you something to eat or am i still too clumsy to handle hot things?", you could almost hear the smirk in her voice as she went back into the kitchen, grabbing some pot noodles to make along the way

"If you have something warm you can make it would be appreciated, but try not to burn yourself this time" i said as i heard a thud and swearing come from the kitchen "How did you hurt yourself this time?"

"Oh shut up.... I knocked the cat water bowl with my foot, that's all", i grabbed the first aid kit and after some disinfecting cream i wrapped my ankles and arms in some gauze and tried to get up to go to the kitchen only to stumble a bit and fall on the couch

I got back up, making sure to support myself off the couch, and i carefully made my way to the kitchen, where i was greeted with the sight of her grabbing a fork and putting it the noodles before turning around to head out again, only to stop in her tracks as i slowly approach and give her a hug, a few errand tears streaming down my face relishing in the warmth of her embrace

She slowly looked up at me, letting me look in those beautiful brown eyes, concern still lingering in them, her hand rubbing my back to ease me, quite ironic after the countless times I've comforted her, but after a while, and a few rumbling sounds from my stomach we went to the couch, where i inhaled my noodles, getting a few drops of the broth trail down my face to her amusement, where we sat in silence, waiting for the other to speak, no one brave enough to make the first move

"So, while i appreciate your company, do you have any idea why you were dropped on my doorstep, during a lockdown no less?"

"I... I don't know, i mean, i can't think of anyone who has the man power to do something like this, or let alone why, i couldn't see there faces but... But they were in an open top ride, and i probably hit my head somewhere but and i heard bells and hooves when they left"

"Hooves, as in horses? I heard them too but i thought it was probably from the documentary, but who would kidnap you and just dump you here?

I mean, it's quite a random place to drop you off, they could have gone a few hundred metres either side and no one would find you till weeks after, so why here, and why ring the bell? "

We sat there in silence, thinking of why it would happen, each question bringing with it five more, she opened her mouth as to say something on a few occasions but never spoke in the end, this went on for what felt like hours, till i went to take a sip from my tea and sneezed at the same time, spraying it all over me as she sat there giggling

"You never learn do you?" she walked into the kitchen and emerged after a few moments with some paper towel handing it over for me to clean up, as she brought the cups and bowls back into the kitchen, and grabbed a few biscuits, only for her to thwack me across the head when she walked back out

"Why did you do that?" i said while rubbing the back of my head

"You small brain monkey, you are still half naked wearing wet clothes, you'll catch a cold at this rate" she threw me the blankets she took out before, and tossed them into my face only to disappear through the doorway snd emerged with an old sweater of mine and a clean tracksuit

"I was wondering where i had left that sweater"

"Well wonder no longer, out these on and give me the wet stuff to wash"

"Right here? Shouldn't i go to a bathroom or something?"

"Through the door to your left, and try not to slip on the floor, it's like ice sometimes"

"Thank you" i went to the bathroom and true enough, you could almost skate on the floor it was that slippery, it would be embracing to fall and get injured, so i tried my best to stay upright by holding on to the sink, but i fell and whacked a glass covering the floor in glass and falling into it

Hearing the noise she ran into the bathroom to check on me, only to sigh and give me a hand up,she brought me into the kitchen under the bright light and with a pair of tweezers started plucking small bits of glass out of my arm and shoulder

"Why do you find new and creative ways of hurting yourself?"

"I don't always get injured"

"The lollipop incident?"

"How was i supposed to know that bard sugar can make stabby things"

"Sandpaper"

"You poked me"

"Recorder"

"Ok yeah, that's on me"

"Mashed potatos, plastic knife, a pen"

"ok ok you have a point"

"Now don't get injured while i grab whatever bandages are left"

I sighed in defeat, as i slowly inspected myself, looking for any other possible injuries, the clean sweatpants are a bit small, but that's to be expected, i was a head taller than her and women's clothes are a pain in the ass in terms of sizes, ill need to thank her properly tomorrow for all this, as she came back into the kitchen and finished bandaging me up while mumbling how stupid i was for getting injured all the time we sat down on the couch, blankets draped over us watching an old Christmas movie

Next morning we woke up on the couch cuddled up, her arms locked around me as if i would disappear if she let go, her drool on my chest as she slept peacefully for once after her recent spell of nightmares, i lied there, feeling relaxed for once, until she moved and jabbed me in the ribs with her elbow, my small groan of pain waking her up, giving me the opening to give her a quick kiss on the head, startling the daylights out of her as she looked in my direction with a surprised expression on her face

"You're actually here, i thought i dreamt the whole thing"

"Yeah im here, why do you ask?"

"I think i know who kidnapped you then"

"what do you mean you know who kidnapped me"

"You remember the old tale of the Christmas lovers?"

"Yeah, you used to groan that it's random nonsense and why do they have to be lovers and you can't just wish for anyone you care about to have them brought to you"

"Well, since March when lockdown started i kept on wishing that for Christmas my gift would be a hug from you..."

"So you think this was..."

"Yeah..."

"that does explain the hooves and the bells... And sleighs are open to the elements... The sack, why i was left here of all places"

*how does the story end? "

"They check the stokings amd there is a key to the others house for him to grab his stuff and move in"

"Did you put up any stocking this year?"

"Not really no"

As i slowly move around and hear my joins crack i notice that there is some Christmas stocking on the table, as i slowly pick it up and put my hand inside i find my wallet and my keys, with a note that said :

Sorry for the ruff treatment, we were very close to falling beginning schedule, we locked you apartment up so you don't have to worry about your stuff getting stolen

Merry Christmas

[words-etched-in-her-skin]

WELL SEEMS LIKE EVERY OF MY HATESEX PROMPTS I SEND IN INSPIRES YOU, AND YOURS INSPIRE ME, SO HERE'S #3

Only a moment after that door opened and her smug words hit your ears, you growl at her and stomp right up to her, kissing her passionately - but a passion that comes from hate. You want to ruin her, leave her unable to move after you're done, make her feel just as desperate for more as you are, make her hate it just as much as you do.

"So needy."

Sal laughs, and you shut her up by slipping your tongue into her mouth. The kiss is ravenous. Bites on both your lips, Sal backing you against the door she's closing with one of her arms - but no. Not today. You're the one to break the kiss and bite her neck, happy her tentacles aren't out yet so you can push her against the wall instead as you suck on her skin and wander lower. And Sal lets you. She could overpower you, if she wanted, and quite easily at that. She doesn't this time, and you hate it. You hate that any control you have is what she lets you have.

"Show me what ye got, lil slut."

Her words alone have your core clench around nothing, but you're too determined to let her have anything of that right now. So you bite the side of her breast as you wander down, not even bothering much - it comes in handy for you that she isn't wearing anything but her pants either - you can bite her hips as you pull them down and glare up at her slightly flushed face, the parted lips and pointy teeth, holding her eyes as you kiss her core, grab her thighs... And feel how utterly wet Sal is.

"Teasing me for being needy, and you're here almost dripping onto the floor."

You utter each word against her clit so she feels your lips moving, stroke your fingers over the slick heat on her inner thighs, chuckling into her... And then you slide two fingers inside of her, moving them relentlessly without giving her a break, something that makes her claw into the wall and into your hair as well while she groans.

"Such a beautiful mess for me."

Even though your words drip with sarcasm, it feels like her inner walls contract against you as she fucking whimpers, and who knew?

"A praise kink?

You were going to have fun with this.

"Be a good girl and spread your legs a bit more."

"Fuck ye."

"No, I'm going to fuck you. If you're good. For. Me."

Every of the last words is accentuated with a pump of your fingers, and as you look up, Sal's teeth are clenched in indecision, her eyes narrowed - but you see her cheeks flushed, her lips wet, and her chest heaving. Finally, she gives in, sliding her feet apart further - and you get up from your knees and tuck your thumb against her clit instead, fucking her a little slower as you lean your body against hers and nuzzle her neck.

"So perfect."

You sigh into her ear, and oh, how she whimpers again this time! How she claws into your back and shivers! Delicious. She would remember this. And she would hate how wet it got her.

Just as wet as she was now, the noises your hand made against her utterly sinful as you fucked her harder and harder, biting her neck, whispering sinful praises into her ear, even swallowing the sarcasm to make it even worse for her. You felt her orgasm approach as her body tensed against you, as she held you even closer and every of her breaths seemed a moan.. then you sucked on her earlobe.

"Sal... Be a good girl and come for me."

Your shirt was torn as her nails raked down her back. Your neck bruised as she bit down on it and screamed into your skin, your hand drenched in her release. It was even more than you'd hoped for as Sal was left panting against you, shivering, holding onto you to keep standing for a while.

"I... hate... Ya."

"I hate you too, my perfect, sweet-"

Sal growls into you and clamps a hand down onto your mouth, pulling back and glaring with clenched teeth as she pushes herself off the wall, using her advantage in size to look down on you while her tentacles slowly come out and already begin wrapping around your thighs and arms - and it seems like your clothes are fucking dissolving under them.

"Neat trick, aye? Don't worry won't harm you."

Your soft sound is swallowed by her hand, and she visibly enjoys the look of both anticipation and the tiny hint of aroused fear - while you both hated and relished the feeling.

As you were lied down on the bed, Sal laughed huskily as she forced your legs apart and ran another tentacle over your dripping core.

"My turn now, lil slut."

I'M ALWAYS HAPPY TO INSPIRE, DEAR.. BUT HOW COULD ONE NOT BE INSPIRED AS WELL WITH THE IMMACULATE THIRST THAT YOU SEND ME DJDKSKSKSKS GODS, FUCK... THANK YOU FOR THAT LITTLE SNIPPET. TOTALLY HAVENT READ IT MULTIPLE TIMES NOW ALL LIKE 🤤🤤😩😩💦💦💦

You hated the needy moan that slipped so easily from your lips.. you hated how badly you wanted her, bucking your hips almost instantly at the feel of her against you. She chuckled, looking over you with a dangerous glint to her eyes. The all encompassing feeling of being her prey - at being captured - her tentacles slowly slithering around you, holding you in place.

"I can smell how much yer enjoyin' this."

"Fuck you, Sal"

"Aye, pretty sure yeh jus' did that, love."

You felt a tentacle constrict around your neck before you even had a chance to quip back, making you moan. A deep growl resonating in Sal's throat as she firmly thrusted the tentacle that had been aimlessly teasing over your core firmly into you. The slickness of it roughly sliding against your walls, swiftly building a profound heat inside you. You moaned even louder as she slid a second into you, filling you almost completely as you stretched deliciously around her.

"Aye, jus' as I thought, yeh are a lil' slut, aren'tcha?"

Thrusting them deeply into you, she relished in the curse that fell from your lips.

"Fuck, Sal.. I hate you so fucking much."

She tightened the grasp around your throat a little more, smirking.

"Aye, but yeh still want me.. don'tcha?"

You gasped as you felt a third apprendage teasing over your other hole - entire body ignited at just the anticipation of it.

"Tell me yeh want me, ya lil' slut."

"Fuck.. you.."

She tightened her grasp again, forcing spots behind your eyes. Growling against your skin before sinking her teeth deeply into your flesh, ripping a prompt cry from your lips.

"Tell me, love... how bad yeh want me to fuck ya right now."

You clawed your nails into the bedsheets below you as you felt the tentacle slide easily into your other opening, filling you in a way that was almost overwhelming. You grit your teeth, cursing at yourself for how much you were enjoying this. At how easily your desire for her dripped from your deliciously filled core.

"Fuck.. fine.. I want you, Sal. And fuck you."

"Nah, rather fuck yeh."

And gods, does she.. all of her appendages moving at once, all in perfect rhyrhm - driving them harder and harder into you in an almost frenzied need. Warm juices gushing out of your core with each indulgent thrust that she gave you .. with each bite that marked your eager flesh.. every growl that escaped from her body only filling you with more desire for her. And you hated her for it.

"Look how fuckin' wet yeh are fer me."

You lost all breath for a second as she tightened the grip on your throat again, chuckling darkly. And you wondered if she could smell how badly this made you want her, if she knew how over the last few nights the mere thought of her made your core ache. She picked up the pace of her thrusts even more, driving them into you at a merciless speed. Forcing a supreme heat like you'd never felt before to sweep over your body. Every cell you owned inhabited by nothing but pure desire for her - by utter need.

"Come fer me, lil' slut."

You don't even remember how swiftly the orgasm came over you... or the next one, or the next.. or how unyielding the heated pressure that spilled so endlessly over your body was.. exquisitely shooting juices from your core. All of you wholy filled, as she compelled every last drop of desire, from your dripping core.

I'm... fjdkskaakskakak...😩😩💦💦💦💦 Gods, Fuck.. I hope you enjoy this, dear! And my thirst thanks you for all of this 🤤🤤🤤 fhdjdkskks fuck

[wintersongstress]

What Remains of a Butterfly

Summary: A glimpse into the after; of where you and Arthur find yourselves after the fall of the Van der Linde gang.  

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Female Reader

Tags: fluff, mild mentions of smut

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: a gift for the lovely and kind-hearted @actuallyhansolo​, though this piece was inspired by a prompt I received in my inbox ages ago. I hope you enjoy ♥ Also a big thank you to @the-halo-of-my-memory​ for being the best beta I could ask for :)

1905 — Gallatin, Montana; 

“Try not to squeeze ‘er with your heels, else the horse’ll canter. You wanna grip her sides with your legs,” calls out Arthur from across the front pasture. A little neigh follows, carrying through the heavenly sigh of the breeze whistling down through the forests and into the valley you called home. Thistle and larkspur waver in its wake, flowing and flawing with streaks and splashes of color, and the hum of bumble bees fills the air. The only intrusion to the symphony of nature’s awakening is the occasional creak of dead wood as your seat on the front porch leans, forwards then backwards.

Overhead, a flock of warblers glide across the sky. Their song, a rising whistle, twittering and sweet, melds with the leathered yet honeyed tone of Arthur’s voice. A gentleness he reserved for one special person laces his rough timbre. Your eyes draw away from your knitting needles at the sound, and the sight that greets you warms your heart.

Your daughter Cora sits astride a chestnut pony, the straw hat covering her head askew. From beneath the floppy brim the early morning sunshine warms her cheeks, revealing the determined twist of her mouth as she heeds her father’s instruction. She hangs onto the reins and her hat, her neat braid bouncing as the horse trots in circles in the grass. Autumn’s hooves below her thud the earth softly, her cinnamon tail flicking and catching the gold of the sun all the while.

A long, satisfied breath fills your lungs. The windsong, calm as a seaside, lulls you into a deep state of bliss as you listen to the harmony it inspires in the surrounding land. Your porch chair rocks as you hum a thoughtful melody, stitching together the tight, blue row of a sock while taking in the splendors of the hour.

From a thousand places in the grass, little gems of dew wink back rainbows in the sunrays. Clouds drift seamlessly along the horizon like the verses of a poem, embellishing a sky flushed the color of a ripe peach. The sunlight has breached the distant snow-patched mountain peaks, its golden warmth lifting the mantle of fog settled deep in the green dark shadows of the valley. The wind rises forever and again, breathing life into the lungs of the cottonwood forest and stirring all that lay deep within wide awake. Woodpeckers flit amongst the treetops in their quest for insects, but all around far and near bird song prevails.

Comforted by the gift of your present, you tug free more yarn from the basket beside you. A hummingbird visits the columbines growing along the side of your homestead as you knit, gone in a flash of bronze. You pause at the boon of its appearance, but your eyes distractedly settle across the way.

Arthur leans on the paddock fence with his elbows propped up as he watches over Cora. A cup of coffee steams in his hand. He raises it and takes a sip, and you note with amusement that only three of his fingers fit through the handle. His fingernails are clean and square against the tin.

In all of your time together you never tired of the way the morning light poured over his tall frame. A heavenly gold illuminates the outlines of his arms and shoulders in his cotton white shirt. His sleeves, rolled humbly up to his elbows, display his tanned forearms, and a pair of dark suspenders divide his strong back handsomely. You never ceased to appreciate how lucky you were to have this view daily, and with each day, your love for Arthur and your family grew tenfold.

After a hearty breakfast of pancakes and eggs, Arthur took your daughter out to the horse pasture to learn how to ride—much at her own insistence and prodding. From a young age Cora shared his deep respect for horses and spent time with the ones you kept every day, grooming, feeding, and bonding with them. In the mornings you washed the dishes together, and afterwards, Cora bolted outside eager to start her lesson.

Today Arthur had lingered in the kitchen once the porch door slammed shut behind her and you were at once alone. The tick of the clock on the floral-papered wall was the only sound for a moment, until Arthur withdrew from the table.

You stood before the washing basin, drying a plate with a dish towel and adding it to a stack on the counter when he slipped his arms around you from behind and held you close. All of your quiet thoughts of the arriving day paused. Together, you breathed in. Your eyes closed. No words were needed between you to speak of the content that settled in your hearts then. He had only hummed a deep sound that passed through you, and began to gently sway you in a dance as you both basked warmly in the window. A jar of amber honey on the sill bloomed light, pouring gold like a waterfall. The birds sang—they always sang in this heavenly place—and you tilted your head back against his broad chest. You melted in his arms when his mouth pressed upon yours and it was a long, blind time before he pulled away.

When the kiss ended his forehead softened against your brow, him stealing a moment to remember you like this. He traced his thumb along the curve of your cheek, a sense of deep wonder speaking through his touch, and you sighed your assent.

In the beginning doubts plagued him. Years before when he knelt before you with a ring amidst a meadow of lupines, his hands held the slightest tremble until you took them into your own, guiding the pale stone down your finger and kissing away his uncertainties. He made promises to do right by you, and he kept every one of them.

In time, he came to believe in the second chance life had granted you both. It made it all the more fortuitous that your first child was a girl.

The embrace in the kitchen was one of beyond number. Arthur was a man of few words but many looks, so you understood his silent language of showing thankfulness. From the careful touch of his hands, moving as if to measure and memorize your importance to him, to the curve of his blooming half-smile, his expression voiced an ineffable gratitude and a disbelief that you shared this life together. His devotion never waned, but the encumbrance of the past did, the fetters that once hindered your steps toward freedom breaking when he built this homestead for you. They shattered forever when you first told him you were pregnant, standing on the porch in the twilight, his arms in their favorite place around you.

When the tingle of his kiss dissipated from your lips, your eyes had been slow to open at last.

“What was that one for?” You murmured in the space between you.

His soft, sage green gaze found yours, and the love in his eyes could not be misunderstood or undervalued. As always, your heart melted like the April snows at the warmth that look bloomed in your chest.

“Nothin’. Jus’…all you do is make me happy,” he confessed, following the gentle ways the angle of the sun fell upon your face.

“Oh you.”

With your heart strings plucked, you turned in the circle of his arms to embrace him. You nuzzled your nose along the endearing divot of his and let the softness of his smile melt against yours once more. The tannic scent of oak and pine and the musk of gun oil seeped into your senses, and you let yourself get carried away and intoxicated with his nearness and the rasp of his beard beneath your touch.

Cora’s prompting from outside tethered Arthur to his promise and he broke away from you with a sigh, although his warm hands slid down your hips longingly before departing.

“Real eager, that one is.”

“You better get to it,” you laughed and made to finish putting away the breakfast dishes. The other chores of the household could wait for an hour, you decided, as you made to rejoin them on the porch with your knitting.

Cats lazed about beside you presently, preening and stretching their legs before turning their watchful golden eyes to the high grasses in search of mice. One of them stalks up to Arthur at his post, weaving between his feet and brushing a white tail against his knee with affection. He reaches down and scratches its neck, the cat lifting itself on its feet to meet him halfway.

Doubtlessly he was smiling beneath his hat, as you were. You could only imagine what the sunlight must be doing to the color of his eyes as the sides crinkle with amusement.

Cora’s pony begins to straighten its gait and walks in a line, causing her to squeal with delight from her saddle.

“Daddy! I’m doing it! I’m doing it!”

“There you go! Keep holdin’ the reins, just like that. Lead ‘em to the left and right to steer.”

“Mama! Look!”

Your joy is instant.

“You’re doing wonderful!” You cheer. Cora giggles, her cheeks dimpling from her contagious glee. The bow laced at the end of her braid flutters like a butterfly’s wings as she rides through the pasture gracefully. The image of her with her gingham neckerchief around her throat, sitting proud in the saddle struck you with familiarity. She looked so natural, so at ease; so much like her father.

They mosey along at a steady pace and Arthur laughs under his breath. “Well, look at that. You’re a natural.”

He was always so patient and attentive with Cora, shushing her cries and soothing her when she was a baby, encouraging her every little step as she grew. Long ago you envisioned how great of a father he could be, despite his own uncertainty and the paucity of his self-worth. It took years for him to believe he deserved any of the happiness you found in each other, but he always wanted to protect it, never wanting to lose what mattered most to him.

Dutch abused the protective nature of Arthur’s heart, channeled it for his own gain and allocated it to his benefit. For years he strove to bring pride to his surrogate father, giving his all. But he knew. Arthur knew before it was too late when he was being used. You were the first to confess the hidden fondness you held for him, and it was the push he needed to start thinking for himself. Much as he tried to convince you of his own lowly opinion of himself, you persisted in your beliefs that he was a good man, deserving of happiness. Regardless of whether or not he found it with you.

Moments like this were the ones you wanted to capture and hold. Because reaching this place was worth every pain you endured, every mistake, and every misfortune if it meant it all led to this moment.

A breeze stirs the porch wind chimes. Their soft notes tinkle, joining the songbirds singing the joy of another sunrise. In the warm blanket of the wind the scent of alfalfa chases up your nose. You close your eyes against it, listening to the earth and the skies and the peals of Cora’s laughter. When it settles you open them again, finding Arthur’s gaze fastened to you from across the prairie. Caught, he smiles to himself bashfully, rubbing the back of his neck while his gaze dips to the slight swell of your belly and the pair of baby socks in your lap.

Warmth floods through you at the remembrance of that same smile earlier this morning, when the first blue light of day came and slipped through the gossamer curtains. Thoughts of Arthur’s mouth—soft and warm with sleep against your bare shoulder—tucks your lip behind your teeth and turns your gaze shy under his. But it lingered all the same.

The way he traced your skin with the lightest drag of his fingertips as you laid side by side in the early dawn light. How his touches led to languid kisses along your neck until he reached the spot that always made you sigh, your hands slipping along the lovely angles of his stubbled jaw to get lost in the soft, golden brown strands of his hair. How you let him lay you below him before he settled over you, the bedsheets catching on the small of his back. The roughness of his palms sliding along the delicate lace of your chemise, raising it all until it bunched around your shoulders. Parting your legs and lifting them around his hips, his calloused thumb drifting between—

“I think horsey is getting tired,” Cora announces, and Arthur snaps his attention back to her. You cross your legs and take a deep breath to compose yourself, returning your thoughts to the chaste exercise of knitting.

“Let’s give her a rest, then.”

Cora pulls up on the reins and Autumn yields.

Arthur dumps the remaining dregs of his coffee and leaves the cup on the fence, swinging his way through the paddock gate. In a few minutes he would be leaving for town, a star pinned to his vest and a promise to return before sundown. It made it all the more precious that he spent this time with her.

He lifts Cora off the saddle, his hands swallowing her tiny waist. She yelps with delight as he spins her around once, twice, exclaiming how proud he is and how fast she is growing up. Her braid and her skirts swing around her small frame until Arthur sets her down, squatting down to her level. With a mellow voice he speaks, encouraging her to thank the animal and explaining how important it is to show your horse you respect them. Cora nods. She reaches out and strokes Autumn’s neck, patting it alongside Arthur until she whickers and leans into the girl’s touch. With a grin, Arthur produces a crumbling oat cake from his satchel and Cora obediently holds out the treat. She laughs when a wet tongue tickles her hand.

They begin to lead the horse into the stable and Arthur squeezes her shoulders, telling her how well she did. Their words fade into the barn, indiscernible from where you sit, but your heart swells with contentment and a great rush of affection floods through you.

The gold band of your wedding ring rests coolly against your finger. You admire the smooth facets of the oval stone, the mounted sapphire twinkling in the light, thinking again of the first time you saw it and the pure happiness it brought as you trace its edges. Long ago and far away were the days of turmoil and gloom, for as dark as the past was is how bright your future together became. For you were safe at last, harbored in the arms of one another, thriving under the roof Arthur built where your family could grow. And it was all more than you could ever dream of.

A butterfly alights the roses growing along the trellis on the side of the house. Orange and black wings dance, flitting among unfolded dark pink petals and seeking the golden centers within. From one, to the next, to the next, the butterfly graces each bloom and delivers the promise of a sweeter future from its visit, leaving your world also a little better from its passage through it.

[tanyawritesstories]

No Time Like The Present | Fives x reader

This is the very first fic I’ve ever posted! Exciting but also nerve wracking. Please leave comments and feedback, I would love constructive criticism or just plain criticism as long as it helps. I got permission to tag @hxldmxdxwn and @smokahuntis​ , professional fic writers and readers to review my first piece. Thank you both for letting me tag you! I hope you enjoy my very first fanfiction!

Warnings: None really, just fluff. Hardcase getting drunk, Fives being a chaotic boi. 

“To the 501st!” The shout from the 6 men could be heard throughout every square foot of 79s. Were they celebrating anything, who knew. Did the boys of the 501st need a reason to celebrate?

“Cn we git anotherr round, (y/n) cyar’ika?” Hardcase slurred. “Only if you stop calling me cyar’ika?” You bargained. Hardcase hummed in thought. “Aight cyare,” he smirked. You cocked an eyebrow at him. Sure his words annoyed you but you couldn’t be mad at the inebriated trooper, you knew he wasn't normally like this.

“Hey, only I can call (y/n) ‘cyare’.” You looked to the right of Hardcase and saw your boyfriend Fives approaching the bar. "S ok Fives, I didn mean anythin m jus tryin a get a drink," Hardcase stumbled over his words. "I'll get your drink, you go back to the booth with the rest," Fives assured. Hardcase slipped off his barstool and nearly fell straight to the floor, luckily Fives managed to catch him before that. "Jesse, come help me with him," Fives called over his shoulder. The trooper in question got out of the booth and made his way to the bar. "C'mon vod, let's sit you down," Jesse said as he took Hardcase's arm and slung it over his shoulders. You and Fives watched as Jesse, with the help of Kix and Echo, managed to get Hardcase to sit down properly.

"Are you sure you want to give him another drink?" You questioned. "Just fill some shot glasses with water, he'll never know the difference," your boyfriend told you. You chuckled. "I'm surprised you're not drinking more." Fives leaned his elbows on the bar top. "Normally I would but I plan on taking someone home to my bed tonight and it's not easy when completely sloshed." "Yes, I know full well how you perform when drunk," you teased. Fives smirked mischievously, "Keep mocking me like that and I might sober up completely." You shot him a wink before walking to another part of the bar to help a customer. Once you got him a drink, you filled a few shot glasses with water and returned to Fives. "As per request for your extremely intoxicated brethren," you said as you sat the glasses down. "Thank you, cyare." You crossed your arms and leaned on the bar, "So, are you gonna tell me these plans that involve you, me, and your bed?" Fives stood up and took the glasses in his hands. "Control yourself, (y/n). We're in public," he joked, turning and making his way back to his booth. You gaped at his back as he walked away. “That’s rich coming from you trooper!” You called after him. Fives merely turned around and blew you a kiss.

~~~~

It had been a couple hours and the nightlife was still going strong. Echo and Dogma had volunteered to take Hardcase back to the barracks so Jesse, Kix, and Fives could have fun without having to watch him. After spending much time with his brothers, Fives had resorted to bugging you at the bar as your shift was nearing an end.

“Can’t you just leave 15 minutes early?” Your boyfriend whined. “No, Avi will be here soon to take my place, you can wait.” You finished making a drink and slid it to a customer a few seats down. “But I don’t want to wait that long." Fives rested his head in one hand while the other toyed with a little skewer that had held the fruit in the last drink you gave him. You moved to the opposite side of the bar and Fives couldn’t help but stare at you as you made another drink.

An idea popped into his head and a smug grin formed on his face as he thought about it. He put the skewer in between his thumb and index finger and used his other index finger to flick the skewer in your direction. He had planned on hitting you in the shoulder to get your attention but you moved at the last second, the tiny skewer hitting a clone officer in the chest. Fives’ eyes widened and he pretended to be looking at a drink menu to avoid suspicion. He continued to stare at the menu like it was the most interesting thing in the room until he noticed you had come to stand in front of him once again.

“How much time have I got?” He looked at the clock. “Ten minutes,” he answered. You sighed, couldn’t the time go any faster? Fives was just about to ask you for another drink when a new song started playing. He knew this song, it was one of his favorites! He looked around, taking note of the other two bartenders also working with you. “(Y/n) come dance with me.” You tilted your head to the side, “Babe, can’t you wait nine minutes?” “No I can’t, I like this song,” he protested. “I’m sure it’ll play again later.” He leaned halfway over the bar. “But I want to dance with you right now,” he pouted. You put your hands on the edge of the bar and locked eyes with your desperate boyfriend. “Fives, I’d love to dance with you but-“ “Good! No time like the present!” He exclaimed.

Before you could do anything, Fives had grabbed under your arms, lifted you up, and dragged you over the bar top. “Fives!” You yelped. You grabbed onto his shoulders to stabilize yourself as he pulled you, unknowingly knocking over a couple people’s drinks with your feet. He moved one arm to support your upper back and the other arm under your knees as you slid the rest of the way into his arms. He proceeded to carry you to the dance floor as several angry clones shouted from behind him. “I think they’re mad that you spilled their drinks,” you said as Fives set you down on your feet. “Nah, they’re just mad I get to have you and they don’t.” You shook your head in amusement and put your arms around his neck. “Without you my life would be so incredibly boring,” you disclosed. Fives put his hands on your hips and nudged you closer to him. “Are you saying I’m the best boyfriend you’ve ever had?” “I’m saying you’re the best boyfriend in the galaxy,” you said, pecking a kiss on his nose. “I am honored and flattered, my dear,” he said as he squeezed your hips and began swaying you both with the music. You laid your head on his chest and sighed contently, a smile automatically coming to your face. Fives smiled at your loving gesture and moved his hands to the middle of your back, placing a kiss to the top of your head.

The two of you swayed slowly to the next few songs, each of you enjoying the other's embrace. You lifted your head, your faces only centimeters from each other, “I love you, Fives.” “I love you too, (y/n),” he said with a smile. You stared lovingly into each other’s eyes before you both moved at the same time and your lips connected in a sweet and loving kiss. You hummed happily against his lips and he moved his hand to the back of your neck, deepening the connection. You could feel some of the unruly hairs of his usually neat beard tickling your chin and you giggled, prompting Fives to break away. “What’s so funny?” He asked, moving his hand to your cheek. “Oh nothing. My shift is probably over now, huh?” “Yes, I think it is. Go clock out and meet me by the door,” he kissed your forehead before letting you go to clock out and gather your things.

You met him by the door as you slung a bag over your shoulder. Fives pushed himself off the wall he was leaning on. “You ready to go?” “Yes, where are we off to?” Fives offered you his arm and you linked your arm with his. “I don’t know about you,” Fives said as you exited the club with him, “But I got a celebration invitation from my bed, I believe it sent one to you as well.” You both stopped at the platform to wait for transportation and you stepped in front of Fives. “Hmm, I never got any invitation,” you stated. “Then maybe you need a password to get in,” he challenged playfully, taking a step towards you. “Would that password happen to be CT-5555?” You questioned, also taking a step closer. “Yes, it is,” he concluded. Your lips clashed with the Arc troopers once again in a passionate kiss that held promises of more than just dancing.

[sushiandstarlight]

Cookies: Chapters 5 and 6

Chapter 6 includes today’s prompt, submitted by @hellandholywater, “flustered.”

Chapters 1-3 / Chapter 4 

Previous Story in the Series: Of All The Beds In All The Hotels In All The World

Read this chapter on AO3

Rating: G, soft PG

It took over an hour for tea and conversation to run dry. Gladys cleared the cups and bid her goodnight- “bright and early, Crowley, and that means 6am not 10!”- leaving them alone in the firelight.

“Do you suppose we have to get up that early to sneak up on the butter?”

Aziraphale snorted, “Maybe you have to milk the cows first.”

“You- you don't think that's really the case? I signed up for cookies, not cows.”

“I can't recall seeing a cow here last time, but maybe she's got one. You never know.”

“Be serious.”

“I think there's probably just a whole lot to do, darling. Shall we go to bed?”

“Yeah, I suppose so. I'll be cranky at 6am regardless, but might as well not make it worse.”

“I think that was a sentence.”

Crowley stuck out his tongue at him then rose and offered him his hand. Aziraphale took it and followed him up the stairs and to the room they had been instructed was theirs. Crowley thought, for sure, that Aziraphale had forgotten his promises earlier. He'd seemed so calm about being downstairs the whole time and even offering to go to bed was a choice about sleeping, he didn't seem rushed.

So he was shocked when he found himself pressed against the inside of the door as soon as it clicked shut. He had just enough presence of mind to turn the lock before he got lost in Aziraphale's kisses and the paths of his strong, warm hands.

“Promise is a promise, it's time to warm up my serpent,” Aziraphale smirked at him knowingly, “tea on the inside, that's not enough.”

“That's not the only hot thing I want on the inside.”

Aziraphale bit his lip and pulled him back towards the, frankly absurdly large, honeymoon suite bed.

-

Crowley was in a soft, cozy place. It smelled of him and Aziraphale. That's all that mattered, really. The rest of the world could sod off and he would be none the sadder for it if he could stay right here.

Except Aziraphale, who had been pressed all along his back, was pulling away. Crowley shot a hand out, under the blankets, and clutched his- still naked, hmm- hip.

“Nuh, where'ya'goin'?” He hadn't decided if this was emergency enough to open his eyes. He hoped it wasn't. Aziraphale chuckled and pressed back against him, kissing his jaw and sneaking a hand back around his waist.

“I smell warm sugar.”

The words didn't exactly make sense. But, that was okay, Aziraphale was wrapped back around him and that's all that mattered. Crowley started to drift back off.

“I'm going to investigate. Maybe get some coffee."

“n'coffee,” Crowley whined, “jus' more sleep.” He hadn't let go of the angel's hip.

“You can sleep. I'll be back to wake you up at 6.”

“But you're warm. You'll take it with you.”

“I'll bring it back, later.”

“You love baked things more than me.” It was a last ditch effort and he knew it. He put the full force of his pout into his words. Or, well, he tried. He was still half-asleep.

“Sometimes.”

“Hey!”

“I'm joking, dear. But, really, you sleep some more. I'll be back.”

Crowley could feel himself drifting again, half against his will. Aziraphale pulled away and a moment later more weight settled over him, pressing him firmer into the mattress. He sighed softly and let sleep take him again.

-

An indeterminate amount of time later he woke. Rolling over he checked his phone: 5:37am. He could lay here and luxuriate for a while longer. That held it's advantages, not the least of which was that Aziraphale would be back and he could try to tempt him back into bed for a cuddle. Odds were, though, the angel would not be moved. He might as well get up now and save the disappointment.

Pulling back the covers he realized there were more than there were last night. Aziraphale had added another before he left. Crowley's heart did a funny little flip. His angel loved him, cared for him. He wanted to go on being cared for this way the rest of his days while working to return that care with everything he had. He smoothed the blanket with his fingers, deep in mushy thoughts.

When he finally did manage to get up, he dressed quickly in tight, dark wash jeans and a buttery soft black v-neck jumper. Stopping of in their bathroom, he tried to do something with his hair. After a couple swipes of his fingers he realized there was no helping it. He went to his bag and pulled out a grey scarf, wrapping it around his head and tying it off at the top. This would probably be best anyway, he decided, with sugar and flour being tossed up everywhere. He paused a moment over the cosmetics bag he had packed and then gave himself a flourish: a little bit of mascara and eyeliner. Slipping on his sunglasses, he meandered downstairs.

-

Crowley was halfway down the stairs when he noticed the strange lights coming from the sun room. He detoured there instead of going straight for the kitchen, even though the smell of strong, dark coffee was nearly intoxicating.

He couldn't be sure that there wasn't a Christmas tree standing in the room the night before. He had come by the sun room, but he hadn't gone in it. It was possible the tree was off along with all the other lights. He wracked his mind to remember, but he couldn't.

There was a tree now, though, decked out in soft white lights. No ornaments to be seen, although there were boxes sitting around with “Christmas” written on them in neat, curly handwriting. He shrugged, turning and following the smell of the coffee through the foyer, past the front desk. He was nearly to the kitchen when he heard Aziraphale's soft, deprecating chuckle. He hadn't heard that noise in a while, having worked to bolster the angel's confidence over the last few months. He had every reason to be happy, proud even, of who he was and what he had accomplished with his time. The sound was followed by a happy sigh.

“You really do love him, don't you?” It was Gladys speaking in a gentle way that she never really used with Crowley.

“I really, really do.” Aziraphale's voice was hushed and reverent, as if speaking of something holy or precious. Crowley's heart melted into some kind of syrup. He could feel a dopey look spread across his face.

“Then it will all work out just fine, you'll see.”

Crowley strode in as Gladys was patting Aziraphale's hand. He crossed the room and hugged the angel from behind, kissing the side of his forehead.

“It's going to be fine, is it?”

“How,” he felt Aziraphale flinch under his touch, “how much did you hear?”

“More secrets?”

“Christmas secrets.”

“Ah, those are the okay ones.”

“You'll enjoy your gift more if it's a surprise.”

“So you don't want to know that I heard everything?” Crowley smirked over his head at Gladys who frowned at him, for some reason, “okay, okay, I just heard that you love me. That's all. That's not a secret, is it?”

Aziraphale took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“Hey,” Crowley leaned over his shoulder so he could see his face, “no need to get all flustered. I was only messing with you.”

“I know.”

“I'm sorry.”

“It's okay.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I'm sure. Sorry I got all worked up,” he placed a palm on Crowley's cheek and pulled him in for a quick kiss, “Really, I'm alright.” He smiled. It was still a little nervous around the edges.

“I see there's a tree in the sun room now. That wasn't there last night.” He handed it out as a distraction for all, sprawling in the chair next to Aziraphale's. Gladys handed him a cup of coffee and he nodded gratefully.

“Yes, Aziraphale went out and chopped it down this morning, if you'll believe it!”

Crowley looked at Aziraphale who made a pulling down motion with his hand.

“Uh huh, well that was nice of him.”

“Wasn't it? I was lamenting that I hadn't had time to put one up and then in he comes with that one. Put the lights on, too.” She winked at Aziraphale who waved her off, “I might be hoping he'll help with the ornaments, but I don't want to take advantage.”

“I would love to, Gladys, truly. I'll get started on it now if I can have a cup of coffee to go.”

Gladys turned around to fix his cup and Crowley took the opportunity to drop his glasses down his nose and wink at Aziraphale. Pink bloomed over his cheeks as his eyes widened.

“You're beautiful, darling, I like it.” He sounded a little bit breathless and it made goosebumps break out and spread down Crowley's spine.

He made sure the glasses were back up when Gladys turned back around, handing a mug to Aziraphale. Crowley could see marshmallows bobbing in the milky coffee.

“I'm going to borrow Crowley for a minute, if that's okay?”

“Oh, alright, but only a minute. It's almost half past six now.”

“I'll send him back in a giffy!” Aziraphale drug Crowley from the room by his wrist. He carefully placed his coffee on a table outside the door and pulled the demon in, kissing him hot and open until they were both panting and then he stepped back.

“You can't just spring that on me, dear,” Aziraphale licked his lips and patted down his clothes before retrieving his mug, “Not when I know I can't have you again until tonight. Off you go, cookies for orphans to bake.” He made a shooing motion.

“Off I go,” Crowley replied, dazedly, touching his bottom lip as he turned back towards the kitchen.

Chapter 7 is up!

[jaibhagwan]

Caryl prompt: Christmas in July

It was the hottest month of the year. Even though it was still fairly early in the day and the sun had not quite reached its peak, the temperature was already damn near sweltering. The sweat seemed to be pouring off Daryl in buckets as he was cutting down the tree. He cursed to himself when his hand almost slipped on the saw. He was miserable. 

“Seems like such a waste,” he stated when he finished and the tree came crashing down.  

“It’ll be worth it,” Carol asserted as a pungent, pine-scented cloud wafted pleasantly in the air. “You’ll see.”

“If you say so.”

“We were on the run all winter. There was no time to celebrate then.”

“It’s a stupid holiday. Some fat guy slides down the chimney to leave presents?” Daryl scoffed. “Not in my neighborhood.”

“Sounds like someone’s jealous.”

“Pfft.”

“Well, you're entitled to your opinion, but you didn’t have to come all the way out here to complain about it,” she said in a frustrated tone as she bent to help him lift the tree onto the back of the truck. “Glenn offered to help me.”

Daryl narrowed his eyes at her as he tried to shake off his irritation. It hadn’t been his intention to act like an ass, but the humidity had gotten the best of him. “Why’s it so important to you?”

“It was Sophia’s favorite holiday.”

Daryl swallowed the lump that quickly formed in his throat and wished he had just kept his damn mouth shut.

“And with everything that happened for us to find this place,” Carol continued, ”I just thought it would be a nice way to celebrate. It’s not about the presents really. It’s about the giving.”

"M'sorry. Guess I never really thought too much about it. Maybe the kids could use a treat.”

“Well, Daryl,” she said, climbing into the driver’s seat, “when it comes to Christmas, it’s exactly the thought that counts.”

Daryl closed the door behind her and made his way to the other side of the cab, watching her curiously from the passenger seat as she drove them back up the road to the prison with unfaltering determination.

After Daryl hammered a few pieces of scrap wood to the base of the tree, he stood it in the corner of the vestibule. “This where you want it?” he asked Carol, trying to be more helpful.

“Yes, it’s perfect.”

He smiled. “What else you need for this special occasion?”

“Beth and the kids are making decorations to hang on the tree. You could help them if you want to. Have you ever made a paper snowflake?”

Daryl shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“Snowflakes are easy. I‘ll show you!” cried Molly.

Before he could object, Daryl found himself sitting at the table taking lessons from the seven-year-old. He watched as the girl folded the construction paper a few times then made some clumsy incisions.

“Huh,” Daryl said with surprise when she unfolded the paper to reveal the crudely cut snowflake. “Will you look at that? S’pretty neat. I feel cooler already jus’ lookin’ at it.”

Molly beamed at him with bright, excited eyes. 

“You want help hangin’ it on the tree?” he asked her.

“Yes, please.”

“Alright,” he said, turning around. “Hop on.”

The girl climbed eagerly onto his back, and then Daryl carried her piggyback style to the tree.

“It looks just like a winter wonderland!” she exclaimed after she stuck it on an empty branch.

“Sure does,” he agreed, putting her down. “It feel like Christmas yet?”

“Well,” she said, pondering his question, “it could use a little more.”

“Hmm."

“I’m gonna make a star for the top,” she said, running back to the table.

Daryl quietly slipped out of the cell block. Carol was busy chatting and helping Beth make a garland, he thought she hadn’t even noticed. When he returned an hour later, he held his hands behind his back. 

“Where did you run off to?” Carol inquired as she approached him, trying to get a peek at what he was hiding. “Molly was disappointed you weren’t there to help her hang her star. I think she has a crush on you.”

“Pfft,” Daryl said, blushing. “Thought about what you said.” Bringing his hands forward, he revealed the lopsided wreath he had made. The base was formed from a wire coat hanger that he hadn’t quite been able to bend into a circle. “I figure, why settle for paper decorations when you could have the real deal.”

“It’s lovely,” Carol beamed, accepting the gift. 

“Don’t lie,” he snickered. “That’s gotta be the ugliest wreath I’ve ever seen. But I figured you might like it anyway.”

She giggled. “Well, I barely noticed. And like I said, it’s the thought that counts.”

[that-70s-page]

Fluff request

Roger Taylor x Reader

Warnings: None! Wholesome fluff for all ages ♥️

Words: ~1.5 

I got carried away, my apologies ;)

Prompts:

3: It’s too early to get out of bed

11: I wish I could kiss you all day

A/N: I was listening to really loud music while writing this so it might be incoherent blabbering, but enjoy the clingy Rog fluff! ♥️

“Rog love, move your arm, your trapping me,” you groan into your pillow, squinting slightly against the pale morning light that filters through the half-drawn blinds of his bedroom window.

He grunts and makes no effort to move, instead curling his arm around your waist even tighter. You sigh and turn your head to glance at the clock on his bedside table, the second hand ticking slowly to the right, making soft clicks that break the relaxed silence that fills Roger’s small bedroom.

The clock reads 6:24 am, and you stifle a moan of protest at having to get up so early. The boys have a flight to catch at 8:30, and the drive to the airport usually takes about an hour and a half, so you and Roger are already behind schedule.

“Shit,” you mutter, throwing off the thick quilt that has you trapped to the bed.

“Roger, hon, you need to get up, we’re going to be late.”

No response.

“Roger, c’mon. Up and at ‘em, we needed to leave twenty minutes ago.”

Still nothing.

“Roger Taylor, wake up this instant, or I’ll smother you with your own bloody pillow.”

“That would be hot,” comes a muted reply, earning an exasperated snort from you as you roughly pull the pillow from underneath his head.

He whines in objection but you ignore him, pulling the quilt down the rest of the way and exposing his almost naked form, sprawled across the bed with one arm still draped over your midsection.

He curls his legs up against his chest to try and salvage some of the warmth from the thick covers, and you tug his arm off of your stomach, freeing yourself from his tight grasp. You clamber over to his side of the bed until you are on top of him, placing your arms on either side of his head to hold yourself up, and frown disapprovingly down at him.

“Roger. Wake up.”

“Mmm.”

“Now.”

“Jus’ a bit longer, love. We’ll be fine.”

“We will not, the flight leaves in less than two hours, and we still need to get ready. Now move your ass, or I’ll do it for you.”

“It’s too early to get out of bed,” he murmurs, voice barely audible due to the fact that he is laying practically face first on the mattress.

You lean down until your eyelashes brush against his cheek, and you begin to blink rapidly in attempt to tickle him awake. He smiles against the sheets and opens his eyes, turning his face towards yours.

“G’morning, darling. Do you have any idea how incredible your hair looks right now?” he teases, knowing how much you hate your bedhead. 

You scoff and sit back on your ankles, pulling away from his outstretched arms as he attempts to gather you into a warm hug.

“Hey, come back!” he complains, his voice raspy and soft from sleep, and you can’t resist his needy pleas.

You lean forwards again, lips fluttering into a smile as you brush them against his cheek, laying down on his bare chest.

“Lovie, we really do need to go.”

“Not until I get a kiss.”

“Alright, but only if you promise to get out of bed and put some clothes on. We can brush teeth and organize our kits at the hotel, m’kay?” you suggest, brushing a clump of blond hair out of his eyes.

“I can work with that,” he replies, leaning in to trap your lips in a soft but eager kiss, his breath warm against your face.

You return the kiss and you feel him sigh contently against your lips, his large eyes fluttering shut and his hands wrapping around your waist. His thumbs rub slow, methodical circles against your hip bones in perfect time with the small clock beside you that is telling you with each passing minute to get out of bed. 

But who would want to disrupt such a perfect moment? It’s as though the two of you are trapped in your own little bubble of contentedness, and no one could ever break you apart. You pull away from the kiss right before Roger has the chance to deepen it, and he whines softly at the loss of contact, leaning his head up to try and coax you back towards his lips.

You give him a knowing smile and put a finger over his lips to stop him, causing Roger to squint his eyes in reproach. 

“One kiss. Now you get dressed,” you remind him, easing yourself off of his torso and onto the carpeted floor of his bedroom.

He huffs a complaint but rolls out of bed with a long yawn and shuffles to the closet to find a shirt. You slip into a comfortable dress and make your way to the bathroom to run a brush through your hair, frowning at your disheveled appearance when it greets you in the dull mirror.

Roger’s foggy outline appears behind you in the mirror, and you smile at his equally scruffy appearance, though much more flattering than your own. His hair sticks up in tufts, but he pulls it off almost effortlessly, looking as though he spent hours teasing and styling it instead of simply waking up. 

He has put on a flowery orange button up and black flared jeans, and it reminds you of the time the band spent at Ridge Farm, when Roger would wear that shirt frequently. 

He wraps his arms around you from behind and tucks his nose in the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent as you continue trying to tame your messy hair. 

He begins to kiss your neck and shoulders, which is thoroughly distracting your efforts at detangling your hair and you attempt to squirm away from him, but he holds you tightly by the waist, fingers pressing delicately but firmly into your hip bones as he continues his ministrations.

“Rog, it’s incredibly difficult to get anything done with another person attached to you.”

“Mmm, sorry love, couldn’t help it,” he responds, lips twitching into a smirk against the skin above your collarbone.

“Let go for just a minute, then I’m all yours,” you smile fondly at him through the mirror, smoothing the rest of your hair out with your hands.

Roger buries his head into the back of your hair and you let out an exasperated sigh, giving up any hopes of keeping it neat.

“You’re always mine. Always will be.”

“That’s sweet, love, and as much as I want to stay here and be with you all day, Fred will bloody kill us both if you’re late.”

Roger pouts and finally loosens his grip on your waist, although he keeps his head planted firmly on your shoulder, and you give his arm a reassuring squeeze.

He brings a hand up to your face and gently tilts it towards his own, leaning forwards to capture your lips into another kiss, this one more needy and passionate than the first. You turn your body around so that you are facing him, never breaking contact, and kiss him back fiercely, all concerns about reaching the airport lost amongst the searing feeling of his lips on yours.

It never gets old with Roger; the kisses never become meaningless, his embrace never loses its appeal, the moments never cease to be full of wonder and that spinning, stomach-flipping, world-turning effect he has on you never shows any signs of slowing or stopping.

You open your mouth to allow Roger to slip his tongue past your teeth, melting under his touch, and you feel his breathing start to increase with each motion of your lips. You tap his chest lightly and pull away, your nose brushing against his as he stares down at you in confusion, irises blown wide with lust.

“I could kiss you all day,” he breathes, eyelids fluttering as he gazes down at you with a look of complete adoration.

You return his affectionate stare for a few moments before breaking away and stepping out of his reach, making sure that he can't distract you with another flurry of kisses. 

“But then we'd never make it to the airport,” you respond, voice slightly unsteady from trying to regain your composure.

“That’s the point, lovie,” he whispers, puffy pink lips curling into a gentle smile.

“Roger, I love you, but we need to leave now. As your responsible girlfriend, I’m in charge of getting you where you need to be on time, and you kissing me is making me do a right shit job.”

“Alright, fine, I’ll try to keep my hands off of you until we reach the hotel,” he gives you a mock look of disappointment, but his eyes twinkle with warmth.

“Thank you, I’m sure you’ll be able to manage five hours without me,” you smirk, grabbing your coat and bag from beside the door.

“Right, I’ll just have to make up for all the lost time tonight,” he smirks back, pinching your hip suggestively as he glides past you to pick up the other luggage.

You blush at the thought, and pray to yourself that the flight goes smoothly and you reach the hotel with time to spare so you and Roger can finally have some time alone.

Hope you liked it, @roger-taylors-drums <3

[nightowlfandom]

Yandere! Jeon Jungkook Smut- Until I Can’t anymore.

REQUEST FROM PROMPT LIST- RIGHT HERE! 

31- You need to be taught a lesson.

40- I think you’re wonderful...those horrible people you’ve dated...they don’t deserve you

48- You deserve better...someone who cares about you

I am so sorry I didn’t get to this sooner, but I have like more than 10 other requests waiting to be finished, including ones I might have to start over...but you didn’t come here to hear me complain you can’t for smuuut

I also changed this request up a little! hope you don’t mind!

EDIT FROM FUTURE AUTHOR-CHAN-....I FORGOT AN ENTIRE ASS PROMPT FBGIEGBOIEWGEW IM SO SORRY

Also I’m really playing on the yandere thing soooo ya also trigger warning there will be slightly dark themes like almost getting abused and getting bullied please proceed with caution if those are tough subjects for you.

Leggo!!

...

For the past few weeks you had felt like someone was watching you, maybe it was paranoia or maybe you were onto something, you had no clue. it seemed as if lately you had to be more and more on guard but you didn’t know for sure. You felt an...uneasiness.

“Hey!” you were walking down the street when a familiar sounding voice caught your attention. You saw Jungkook jogging to catch up to you. “I was wondering when I’d see you again.”

“Hi Jungkook!” you cheer happily. “I haven’t talked to you in a bit. What’s new popstar?” you teased. 

“Oh stop.” he chuckled. “I’m more interested in you, lovely.” he winked, making you heat up a bit. “How are you today beautiful?”

“Better now that you’re here.” you said shyly. You may or may not have had a small crush on Jungkook. 

“Hm I’m glad.” he smirked. “Excuse me for seeming sudden but I’d love to take you somewhere.”

Your heart fell, you really couldn’t bring yourself to reject him, but you had a good reason for it.

“Jungkook...I-” you began. You stopped yourself when Jungkook tilted his head to the side like a puppy, his lips were on the verge of forming into a frown. “I’d love to.” you sighed, giving in. Guilt flooded your chest.

“Great!” Jungkook smiled. “I’ll cook for you, make you something real nice while we spend time together.” he grabbed both your hands. 

“Sounds fun.” you chuckled, slowly feeling that guilt fade. “I’m looking forward to it.”

Jungkook smiled, but he noticed your hesitation at first. He was afraid that he had come on to strong, then again...knowing you, there was more at hand. He knew that something was eating at you and if he knew you like he thought he did, it had something to do with a certain other man who had been causing you trouble, but that was just him thinking about it.

“I’ll pick you up tonight, babe.” Jungkook winked. “Until then, wear something super pretty for me. Won’t you?”

You felt your face heat up again and you looked down at your shoes. “I’ll try to.” 

“Perfect. Well I won’t keep you too long, you should get back to shopping. That jacket you were looking at just went on sale.” he smiled lightly, turning around.

The jacket you wanted went on sale?!! Awesome!.

“Wait a sec...Jungkook how did you know I wanted a-” you turned around to find him gone from your sight. “Weird...” you trailed off. “Might as well hurry up so I can get ready.”

...

“Hello there beautiful.” Jungkook was at your door, dressed nicely. “Perfect as always.” he chuckled. Okay it was the first time in awhile you had worn a skirt bu the didn’t need to stroke your ego that much.

“Oh hush.” you felt your face heat up. “I look a mess.”

Jungkook slipped his fingers under your chin and made you look up. “Never.”

“..O-okay.” you mumbled shyly.

“You ready to go?” Jungkook chuckled. “I plan on making the best food you’ve ever tasted so I hope you’re hungry.” He grabbed your hand.

“Yeah, hope you know I’m a real critic when it comes to good food.” you joked.

“Oh now I really have to step it up.” he replied, winking. You felt your face heat up again. Jungkook thought it was so cute, he admired your shyness. It was no wonder why he took such a deep interest in you. “Y/N...is something bothering you?”

“Hm? Oh no! I’m just..thinking.” you smiled. “Come on, let’s go.” you grabbed his hand.

Jungkook’s apartment was very clean and neat. His place was exactly as you pictured it. Not that you pictured it before...

“Have a seat! Make yourself at home.” he ventured into the kitchen.

“Actually...if you want I could help you cook. It’ll go by faster and we can talk and stuff.” you suggested. 

“Y-Yeah, that sounds like a good idea.” Jungkook replied, his smile widening. Just hearing you say he wanted you two to cook together made him even happier. “You can put your jacket on the couch and join me in the kitchen.”

You two began on dinner. Both your and Jungkook’s heart were racing. It was almost like you were a couple! Jungkook watched you giggle at one of his 5-star jokes. He watched you cut some vegetables, almost like a pro. He wanted to cook with you more.

“Kookie?” your melodic voice caught his attention. ‘All done.” you said after you caught his attention again. You gave him a nickname! He wanted to hear it all the time from you. 

“Perfect.” he smiled. “We just have to do that and then everything is finished.” 

“Cool.” you turned towards him. “Hey..you got a little...” you tried to tell Jungkook something was on his face.

“Hm?” Jungkook looked confused.

“Here. Let me get it.” you reached out your hand to wipe his face. You could have sworn you saw him lean into your hand a little all you wiped his face. His face was so cute that you could just-

You stood on your toes and gave Jungkook a little peck, not even half a second of your lips against his. It however, felt like a million years to Jungkook. His heart was racing and his brain went haywire feeling your lips on his.

“Oh my gosh I’m sorry I was ju-” Jungkook gently grabbed each side of your face and kissed you himself. This time longer. You almost melted into him. You instantly pulled back when you realized you had began to entangle your fingers in his hair. 

“I’m sorry! What that too sudden?” Jungkook asked, afraid he had did something wrong. You instantly shook your head, a breathless smile on your face.

“No....it’s just I didn’t want you to burn the food.” you replied, making Jungkook turn around to flicker the stove off. You touched your lips a little...woah...just wow.

....

“So what did you think?” Jungkook asked you after you took your last bite.

“I take back what I said about you burning the food.” you chuckled. “Absolutely amazing.”

“It was better because you were in the kitchen with me...I’d say we make a pretty good team.” he winked. “Y/N...can I ask you something?”

“Sure!” you looked at him with bright eyes. 

“...What do you think of me?” he suddenly asked.

“You’re great!” you replied without hesitation. “Absolutely amazing.”

“Y/N...I want to know your feelings for me.” Jungkook sighed. “Because mine for you are very strong.”

“What?” you were lowkey confused.

“I love you Y/N...ever since we’ve met.” Jungkook finally confessed, feeling the biggest weight off his shoulders. “I don’t just love you Y/N...I’m in love with you-” he was cut off by your phone ringing. You looked down and groaned loudly.

“Oh come on...” you sighed. “Jungkook I’m sorry, I swear I’m listening to you.” you grabbed your phone. You had let it ring then found you got a voicemail. You looked at Jungkook with fear in your eyes. “I’ll listen to it later.”

“Who is it?” Jungkook asked. 

“Someone who I really didn’t want to think about today.” you shook your head. “It’s...very hard to explain.”

Jungkook nodded thoughtfully, even though he already knew (through extensive research) the name of the miserable punk you were about to say. Jungkook listened as you ranted about your shit stain of a boyfriend that you wanted to get rid of. Checking out other girls, talking shit about your friends, insulting your career choices.

“He even-” you stopped yourself.

“He even what?” Jungkook asked, raising an eyebrow. You shook your head. “Y/N”

“He began having his friends call me too...to tell me to forgive him and how I’d be lucky if he even took me back.”

“Y/N....is he bothering you.?” Jungkook asked seriously. “Tell me the truth.”

“...Yeah.” you finally said. “He won’t leave me alone even after I told him to jump off a cliff and die.” you looked down at your wrists. “I was so distraught that I almost didn’t show up tonight.”

“Y/N, You deserve better...someone who cares about you.” he made you look at him. “Someone who...”he scooted closer to you.

“Jungkook, you deserve better than someone who can’t even face their own problems.” you said honestly. You didn’t want Jungkook to think you were weak and couldn’t just punch Y/BF/N in the balls and walk off. 

“I think you’re wonderful...those horrible people you’ve dated, they don’t deserve you...” Jungkook couldn’t tame the rage building up in his chest. He had the urge to...hurt someone. Not you of course, you were the love of his life...but anyone else in close range that looked like a threat wasn’t safe.

 “ He still thinks that I want to be with him but I swear I don’t...I...like you too Jungkook.”B-but you probably wouldn’t -”

“Don’t finish that sentence my love.”Jungkook’s voice got deeper. Damn, it was weird when he talked like that...but somehow you liked it. “Would you like to be mine?” 

“Uh...me?’ your jaw sort of dropped.

“Uh yes, you’re the only person in this room Y/N.” you looked at him. You had no idea what you saw, but you swore that you saw his eyes flicker, shine, or something. “I’ll treat you so good, like you deserve.” he kissed your cheek. “What do you say?” Jungkook wouldn’t jump to the part where he told you he what he would do to anyone who dare tried to cross you or him as a couple.

Jungkook kissed your lips, caressing the sides of your face. His lips were soft, but...still rough? How would you explain it? You slowly felt yourself fell back. You caught yourself on your elbows but still easing back. Jungkook slowly crawled over you. Your resolve to run away in shock was weakening.

“Jungkook t-this is moving really fast” you shook at Jungkook trailed his mouth down your neck. “Not that I’m not okay with this because I am I promise but.... I’m lowkey kinda of inexperienced.”

Jungkook laughed, still trailing down your neck with his lips. “Then I’ll take the lead, but I’d prefer we not do this on the floor.” he chuckled. “Sooo..up you go!” 

“Wh-AAH!” before you knew it, you were in Jungkook’s arms and were being carried off somewhere into his apartment. Jungkook carried you to his bedroom, a smirk on his face and he threw you onto the bed. (Dude what is it with me and throwing people.) His bed was a plush surface, almost bouncy.

Jungkook crawled over your body, beginning to rid himself of his shirt. “May I?” he asked, playing with the hem of your shirt.

Shyly, you lifted your arms over your head and Jungkook wasted no time in yanking your shirt over your head. His lips found your collarbone. Jungkook fought the urge to leave marks and bruises all along your skin, but the urge won.

“Mmff-” Jungkook tangles his hand in your hair while his free arm wrapped around your waist. You had helped him ease off your skirt. Jungkook furiously unbuckled his belt, almost growling in a haste. He hiked his knee up between your legs, gently grazing you. 

‘J-jungkook.” your legs shook in anticipation. You were taken aback when Jungkook suddenly pushed aside your panties. Useless lace shitty bullshit. Jungkook smiled.

“Stay with me from now on. Don’t leave me, don’t go anywhere without me.” he urged, positioning himself at your entrance. “Are you...ready?”

You shyly nodded. Jungkook had his hands on either side of your head. 

“I’ll be gentle...I promise.”

.....

“Well today is a nice day do do something!” you commented. “What do you feel like doing today?”

“I don’t know. Would would you like to do today, beautiful?” he asked.

You were at your house with Jungkook. He had come over bright and early, but now you two were bored.

“Hm...what abo-”

You suddenly heard a weird banging on the door, followed by someone calling your name. 

“Y/N! You open this door!” 

“....A visitor I’m assuming?” Jungkook joked, but his facial expression showed that he was growing agitated and annoyed with whoever was knocking.

“Jungkook I don’t think you should get that door.” you warned. 

“Hm, why not. It’s rude not to let a guest in!”Jungkook sounded delighted, it was almost scary. Jungkook opened the front door and Y/BF/N stormed in, looking absolutely pissed.

“So this is how you treat your boyfriend? I have to hear from my friends that you’re getting chummy with some pretty boy!”

“Ex-boyfriend.” you corrected. “We talked about this.”

“Shut up!” Y/BF/N barked at you. “This is the punk you leave me for?!?” he motioned to Jungkook who looked very nonchalant.

“Looking at you, I would say it’s quite the upgrade.” Jungkook said smugly. “You must be Y/BF/N.” he said tiredly.”You have been an issue in Y/N’s life for a while now.”

“Fuck off pretty boy, Y/N, you’re coming with me.”

“I suggest you not do that.” Jungkook warned. “You just might regret it.”

“And but what are you gonna do about it. She’s my property and I can do or say whatever I fucking want to her. “ Y/BF/N towered over Jungkook. Surprisingly Jungkook looked far from frightened, in fact he looked almost like he found this funny. He suddenly yawned as if this conversation bore him.

Suddenly Jungkook burst into a fit of laughter. Correction, he did find this funny.

“Ahh I didn’t want to get my hands dirty.” he shook his head. “But you leave me no choice.” Jungkook suddenly turned towards you. 

“My love...turn around and close your eyes. It would be such a shame if...you witnessed.” he chuckled. Wait when did his voice start sounding like that? “Y/N? Beautiful, I would insist you listen to me it would be better if your pretty eyes weren’t exposed to such violence..” he raised an eyebrow at you. “Especially for what’s in store for this pest.”

When you didn’t move Y/BF/N laughed out loud.

“Just what the fuck do you plan on do- ARGGHHH” You were caught of guard when Jungkook grabbed Y/BF/N’s arm and in one swift move broke his arm. Jungkook punched Y/BF/N right in the nose, most likely breaking it. Jungkook grabbed his wrist and snapped it in the opposite direction.

“How dare you even think of trying to taint and harm living, breathing perfection.” he growled, pushing your now frightened ex to the ground. By this time you had followed Jungkook’s instructions and turned away from the scene, covering your eyes. You squinted your eyes shut, only hearing Jungkook’s punches land onto Y/BF/N.

“Y/N you’d better help me!” Y/BF/N barked. 

Jungkook stomped on Y/BF/N’s shoulder, most likely dislocating it. “She’s my princess now.” stomp “She isn’t going to worry about your abuse or your worthless ass anymore.” he spat. stomp. Stomp...another stomp “I fucking warned you, you piece of SHIT! People like you infuriate me.” 

You had never heard Jungkook so violent before, it scared you. You didn’t even realize your breath had begun to pick up.

“You have ten seconds to get up, and get out of my sight.” you heard him. “TEN...NINE...or so you want me to kill you next.”

kill, DID HE JUST SAY KILL!??!!

“Y/N?” Jungkook’s voice suddenly went soft. You heard his footsteps approach you. “Y/N it’s okay.” you felt his arms wrap around you. “You don’t have to worry about him anymore.” 

You turned around and opened your eyes, looking up at him. You didn’t dare look at Y/BF/N barely moving body. You only knew he was still conscious because of his pained groans. You looked up at Jungkook who didn’t have a scratch on him. You couldn’t help but bury your head into his chest. 

You cracked your eyes open to see Y/BF/N getting up. He had anger in his eyes but that quickly turned into him cowering like a little bitch when Jungkook turned back towards him, fury in his eyes.

“You know what Y/N?...You aren’t...w-worth it. H-have fun with your downgrade.” he suddenly began limping. “Don’t come crawling back to me when he turns out to be nothing but a-” he coughed. “But a hack.” he walked off. “

“Good luck with that.” Jungkook rolled his eyes. “He had better hope that’s the last we see him.” he mumbled. You were still surprised by what you saw. Jungkook must have noticed this because his face slightly fell.

“Do you still want to be with me?” he asked. You looked up at Jungkook. “I promise you, I would never act like that towards you. I wouldn’t never hurt you. I’d go to great lengths to protect you no matter what. D-don’t look at me and be scared of me. P-please?” Jungkook whispered. You were confused, maybe a bit weirded out but you still weren’t afraid of Jungkook, even if you did just see him take out a guy who legit worked out every day.

“Y-yes.” you answered without another word. You looked up at him. “Y-yes I still want to be with you.”

Jungkook sighed with relief. He would protect you, keep you from anything that even posed a potential threat to you. He’d go through great lengths to keep bad things from happened, even if it meant he had to hide things from you to do it...even if it meant..

“Now that that’s over.”Jungkook sighed. “Why don’t we just stay in and order takeout.” 

(If I was allowed to, I’d make my Yandere requests a lot more sadistic...but until someone asks for that then...eh)

[honestsycrets]

His Fuck

❛ pairing | modern!hvit x reader

❛ type | oneshot

❛ summary | reader catches hvitserk talking pretty to another girl. when she runs away, he suprisingly follows.

❛  warnings | fuck buddies, open relationships (kinda), jealousy, chasing, bad hvit, fuckboy hvit

❛ sy’s notes | written for @geekandbooknerd (its not letting me tag her)’s man crush may. @cris101071 wasn’t able to do a few prompts this go around so I added them into mine after talking to her about a confusion I had. 

❛ prompts | “Did you mean the things you said?” + “We’re… just friends.” + “Youre so hot when youre mad” + “It was you the whole time” + “I still remember how you taste”

Your flats hit the fake, beige tile of the floors of your university hard. Clicking up from the first floor to the steps, you might have heard the squick of his boots in hot pursuit. In situations like this, you’re that much more grateful for the elastic strap across your foot. However, the only thought on your mind were the words. Those god awful words that made your stomach churn into a wretched despair.

We’re just friends, he said. Your eyes squeeze together, shutting in the tears. You don’t want them to wet those cute little falsies that your brother had bought you for your birthday or run the slick eyeliner that flicked off your eyelid.

“Baby girl-- come back,” he’s undoubtedly skidding to a stop just at the base of the staircase, trying to find the sight of your cute dark red skirt puffing in the wind you caused by running up the stairs. “Son of a bitch.”

His voice is breathless. Perhaps he was chasing you since the incident at the student union where you had seen him. You breach the base of the forth floor, flinging the door separating the stairs from a placid, wide hallway. Instead of walking down another flight of stairs, you turn into the bathroom on your heels. The back of your feet are raw with the friction of the back of the flat grinding, skin sloughed off and likely raw. They’re ready to blister.

It’s one of your last concerns. First and foremost, you take a napkin from the dispenser and urge it against your eyelids, drying up the tears over your cheeks, lightly dusted with a champagne highlighter to compliment your make up.

As you stand over the countertop with sectioned off sinks, you remind yourself over and over. He’s just a boy. There are plenty of boys in the world. That one-- that one just felt like he was yours.  There’s a sudden woosh of air behind you. A loud squeak marks someone else coming in. You tense, rationalizing that it could not have been who you thought it was. This was the girl’s bathroom.

With a rush of pressure, you’re suddenly pinned between the bathroom countertop and some hips. A male, you realize. If not by the musculature, by the sensation of his cock behind lazy joggers, hardening against your silk panties. Then you remember-- Hvitserk has no shame.

“Shit, I fuckin’ forgot. You’re hot when you’re mad.” Hvitserk slurs the words, thick with his heavy accent. He leans forward against your back, his breath hot on your neck. Hvitserk’s muscular arms turn around your waist, slipping into your panties past your cute miniskirt. He palms your cunt, massaging with his whole palm.

“Stop--”

“You still mad at me baby?” he says as if it wasn’t just a few minutes ago. Fifteen, at the most. He acts as if the incident happened a month off! He glides his fingers into your folds, digits massaging until you become soaked for him. His cock grinds into your ass, rocking between the crack. Your hand drops to his thick wrist, stopping him where he is. Despite the pleasure shooting up from his fingers, you’re still upset with him.

“Why don’t you go with her?” You say, realizing that his fingers could very well be wet with the pleasure of another woman. And the other women he had before he came to you. Hvitserk bites back the grimace on his lips. Not exactly what he wanted to hear after he ditched the girl for you. “I’m just a ‘side dish,’ aren’t I?”

So maybe he said that.

“I didn’ mean that.” Hvitserk husks in your ear, thick with his foreign tongue. Since he came here, you had been his top fuck. He had twins, that cute little mixed Arab girl with a gorgeous face and a deliciously plump body, the Mexican girl he mostly… could never understand-- and you.

“Did you mean the things you said?” you ask while tightening your hand on his wrist.

“Jus’ a little fuck baby. She’s nothin’ special. It was you the whole time.”

Even as he says that, you have a hard time believing it. It could be the exact same thing that he told Alejandra or Samia and… Hvitserk’s lips connect with the side of your neck, puffing his words in barely so much as a moan. You exult in his next words, damning yourself for doing so.

“I still remember how you taste.” His fingers sway over your cunt once again, letting so much as his middle finger dip into your sweet hole. You gasp out once he pushes fully to the last knuckle, flicking his finger forward and back.

“Hvitserk…”

He has you. He knows it. He can just feel it. Hvitserk stretches you around his fingers once more, looking over his shoulder. No one is around. No one would be around. They would all be at the game, even those useless ass university guards. He withdraws his fingers, turning you around and lifting you up onto the black countertop. Hvitserk knocks open your legs, dragging your hips to the edge. With your back against the cold mirror, you support yourself from sliding off by pushing your hand across the pocky surface of the wall.

“Spread them.” Hvitserk commands while getting down onto his knees. The floor is filthy. So what? He wasn’t going to worry about it when he had some Grade A pussy looking to be harvested. His hand snakes into his joggers, delighting in his victory when you shyly part your legs. His cock twitches in the cool air, and playfully he gives it a sparse few jerks before leaning in.

His fingers hook at the side of your panties, dragging them over your ass and down your smooth legs. He could care less where they ended up after that. For the time being, he’s been forgiven. It won’t last, he knows, but he’ll take it for now. One of his hands snake around the root of his cock, jerking himself lazily to maintain his arousal.

Hvitserk’s mouth is on you in seconds, his familiar loud slurping leaves your eyes tight. It’s familiar, the way he eats of you, wet kisses encompassing the outside of your cunt up until he finds your clit, hidden away like the little prize it was. You flinch, expecting the worship of a prince toward his princess, but Hvitserk suckles it between your lips. Then, with a swish of his teeth, he gives a playful nip to your skin.

Your knees knock together against his head, finding you can’t stop him from doing just what he wants. Deliciously pointless. To your relief, his tongue sways its way back down your core. Despite your face now grinding up against his, he slips the tip of his tongue against your entrance and glances up, hoping to catch the range of emotion spreading across your face.

“Please--” You find yourself aching with your need to cum over his face, nudging him with your needy legs back up. Hvitserk lifts his head, a few stray pieces of his honey coloured hair having fallen out of his bun in his run. A hand leaves the wall and you pull him forward by his bun. “Finish me off.”

Your whining reaches his ears. He lifts his head, rolling his wet lips into his mouth as if he had just eaten a delicious popsicle. Then turning his head, he nips your inner thighs.

“Lemme finish eatin’.” He commands, licking his way up your core. He deliberately avoids your clit, and you whine, kicking off the panties hanging from your ankle. A wily hiss falls from your lips. Not good enough--

“Then… then finger fuck me.”

Fuck, Hvitserk’s hips rut into the nothingness of air. If only there were two of you, that would be perfect. To quell your complaints, he coats a finger in your slick, rolling to coat it. It glides smoothly inside your walls-- and to hell with whatever women he had before. For now, right here, he was yours.

He presses them deep, curling them as he beckons them back out. Your feel yourself tightening, denying yourself the jerking motion that you so desire. Everything is throbbing from your toes to your fingers, but most of all, your core clenches. A wet gush spills from your cunt and greedy Hvitserk follows the source, licking over your entrance and his own moistened fingers for every last drop.

“More--” He lifts his hand from his cock toward your clit, grinding his thumb over your clit over and over until your eyes are seeing nothing at all. Not the nasty stalls or the little girl with a poofy ponytail that peeps and dashes away. Only the motion of his thumb massaging you to a finish, blinded by a hard force and a familiar tinkle of fluids dribbling between your cheeks. He draws his fingers out when you come to your right mind, focused upon the light drip of fluid over the countertop.

“Fuckin’ shit.” Hvitserk mumbles, popping his drenched fingers free. His neat bun is wrecked by your pawing motion at his head. Strands of his long hair flop down his back. Hvitserk staggers to stand, nudging you with the underside of his shaft. He grasps the root, slapping your oversensitive cunt with his arousal.

“Think you can take more?”

You nod, shifting off the countertop and turning around. Hvitserk lazily grips your hip with one hand, bending his knees so that he might have a perfect thrust. He pumps himself forward in one smooth thrust.

“Ngh,” you gasp, turning your head up to him. “As long as its you.”

“Tha’s what I like to hear.”

Because after all, Hvitserk didn’t share.

@two-unbeatable-beaters, @igetcarriedawaywithyou, @kylobien, @titty-teetee, @breathlessouls, @nejijjeoroo, @bcat1291, @readsalot73, @mslothbrok (no mix), @romanchronicles, @captstefanbrandt, @ailucascen, @michaeliskindahot, @naaladareia, @cbouvier23, @the-geeky-engineer, @dorned, @lisinfleur, @tephi101, @akamaiden, @ethereallysimple, @venusloviing, @happylittlepuppydog, @beyond-the-ashes, @slutforrpg, @hipsternoionlylikeunicorns, @mixedwiththemoon, @sparklemichele, @alicedopey, @lif3snotouttogetyou, @rubyquartzshades, @noregretsandyeteveryregret, @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol, @deathbyarabbit, @unacceptabletatertots, @beyond-the-ashes (no sig), @babypink224221, @titty-teetee, @ivarandersen, @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla, @moose-squirrel-asstiel, @icarus-fell-in-spring, @piebytheocean, @strangunddurm,, @rekdreams247, @justacrush, @ivarswonderlust, @peachesnpisces, @elenawrit, @equalstrashflavoredtrash, @roxxck, @dylanowhyyien, @ilvebeenabad, @vikingsmania, @huntingbears, @my-little-wolfe, @seize-the-droid, @moondustmemories, @colourmeinblue, @ilvebeenabad, @queenmissfit,  @hallowed-heathen, @neeadinghugs, @mblaqgi, , @triumphantreturnofpies, @dmv49, @attorneyl, @iconicvaleria-blog, @lovelynerdytraveler, @tierneygonzalez, @zabee113, @meganjudee, @sdcyumyum, @ms-allenbrown, @pancake-blonde, @ivarswickedqueen, @starkiddreamer, @austenkingmylady,@pinkrockstar19, @jeowjungkook, @end-of-night, @yaminax-kuss-a , @gruffle1, @arses21434@natalie-rdr, @tempt-ress, @thevikingsheaux, @poisonedjoinery, @smokealone, @chewythecatus, @laughinglikenialler, @lefrenchfrye, @mybarnesmyhero, @vengefulflange, @imcreepininyourheartbabe, @therealmrshale, @that-goodgirl, @supernaturalvikingwhore, @athroatfullofglass, @x-valhalla @dreaming-of-never-neverland @igetcarriedawaywithyou, @kylobien, @titty-teetee, @breathlessouls, @nejijjeoroo, @bcat1291, @readsalot73, @mslothbrok, @captstefanbrandt, @ailucascen, @michaeliskindahot, @cbouvier23, @naaladareia, @cbouvier23, @the-geeky-engineer, @lisinfleur,  @tephi101, @akamaiden, @ethereallysimple, @venusloviing, @happylittlepuppydog, @beyond-the-ashes, @slutforrpg, @sparklemichele, @alicedopey, @lif3snotouttogetyou, @noregretsandyeteveryregret, @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol, @deathbyarabbit, @unacceptabletatertots, @beyond-the-ashes (no sig), @babypink224221, @ivarandersen, @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla, @moose-squirrel-asstiel, @icarus-fell-in-spring, @end-of-night, @gruffle1, @lol-haha-joke @arses21434,  @smileyparrots, @miss-artemis-wild, @two-unbeatable-beaters, @wonderwoman292, @wish-i-was-a-mermaid, @killerb00sdeath, @heartbeats-wildly, @boo20017, @acacheofstrange, @shaelyn102,  @smokealone, @shaelyn102 @laketaj24, @peaceisadirtyword, @ly--canthrope @cris101071 @daughterofthenight117 @unassumingviking @ladyofsoa, @inforapound @winchesterwife27

[hecohansen31]

Little Love Notes

Outpost! Michael + Reader

A/N: Hello, there lovelies!

Just wanted to thank y’all for being awesome and the nicest to me lately, I know that sadly I am a bit “emotionally constipated”, but I really appreciate y’all, you are the most precious thing ever and I appreciate your love and feedback, so as always... LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK!

Mostly because I am extremely inexperinced in the “smut aerea” so, please let me know what you think about it: if you think it sucks or it doesn’t, or anything else... please, it will help me be better for the newest ideas and drabbles I have in mind!

And after this, I hope that you will enjoy it, so I will leave you to reading!

SUMMARY: You have grown accostumed to leaving little cute notes on your boss’ desk, and this got you fired, as soon as Mr Langdon discovered the identity of his secret admirer... but appreantly it does’t end here...

WORDS: 4,5 K

WARNINGS: Rough (Unprotected: guys... please don’t do it withouth a condom, it does not only protect from unwanted pregnancies, but also it is against STDs) Sex (with things such as spanking and a lot of rough handling), Oral Sec (Female Receiving), Semi-Public Sex (Reader is on the phone at a certain point). “Sir” Kink, but generally BDSM relationship going on!

She was Mr Langdon’s favorite at the office, since you were neat, clean and completely scared of him.

Enough, not only to be extremely polite with him, but also she was extremely formal in every approach to the point that her friend, Gallant, joked that she would one day bow down to him, as a way to salute him, since once she had accidentally saluted him, in the old military way.

But she had done one thing which would have been considered highly unprofessional if Langdon ever found out: she had sent him little love notes.

They hadn’t meant to be love notes, she had just thought he needed something that would comfort him, after the loss of his foster mother, Mrs Mead, which had taken a terrible toll on him since not only he had been not as evil as he usually was to everyone but he had taken a work leave.

As one of the few people he trusted she had felt the need to cheer him up a little, and since she couldn’t do nothing face-to-face with him (he had almost fired Coco when she had given him her condolences) she had left a few sweet and encouraging notes, not the type you found in self-help books, but the one that might have been useful, because she felt them deeply.

She had been sure he would have either dismissed it as a silly joke or thrown it in the bin, but instead he had left a similar note on his desk (which she had found when she had gone to drop another one) with a “thank you” and a “😊” near it, which had actually shocked her, but she had been happy that he somehow had appreciated her note and that it had helped him.

She had started leaving more notes, always being careful, making sure nobody recognized her, meanwhile she dropped the notes off, usually doing it during the lunch break, and strangely she had always gotten responses from Mr Langdon, who had been growing more cheeky the more they shared notes.

This prompted her to feel more and more confident in herself and it was just a question of time before she made a mistake.

Which she did after two months of successfully avoiding getting caught, with a rookie mistake.

All the notes had been handwritten since Langdon didn’t know her handwriting (she wrote everything with her computer), but the  she had had to write down Gallant’s “happy birthday” note, passing it even to her boss (Langdon had actually sweetened after her notes) and she hadn’t realized that it showcased perfectly her elegant handwriting.

She had just gone home and thought about the new note to write him.

The following day, she had realized the mistake, but only when he had shown her the “birthday note” and “her notes”, after he had called her in his office.

She had almost fainted, not helped by the fact that Langdon stared at her as if he had wanted to burn holes through her body.

-I can explain…- she had just mumbled, blabbing a bit and looking at him as if asking for pity, which he wouldn’t give, because his eyes were again on the notes, the handwriting in common, they were so disinterested that she should have predicted what had come next.

-You don’t need to, Mrs (L/N)- and she almost breathed out a long, relieved breath -… you are fired-.

She had wanted to protest but it was as if her windpipe had been clogged and she couldn’t emit any kind of noise and she still couldn’t talk, although tears streamed down her face and Gallant immediately asked what was wrong, if he could do anything for her, but she just shook her head and she had basically run away from the building.

At home it hadn’t felt better.

She had started thinking about how not only she was unemployed but she had been fired, which would make it extremely hard for her to get another job after what had happened.

Even more if Langdon decided to make her life a living hell and share the news that she didn’t understand the professional boundaries.

What she didn’t know was that a month after she would be in a new and cooler job.

And the funniest thing, which she didn’t understand at all, was the fact that her newest boss didn’t know about her being fired, since Langdon had actually been the one who suggested and wrote a recommendation note about her to her new boss.

When she had been asked why she chose to change the job she hadn’t known what to do, except blatantly lie her way through the rest of the interview.

And she tried to forget about the entire note thing, till Gallant proposed a dinner with her ex-colleagues, and to kill two bird with one stone she also proposed to go to her ex-office and collect the few things she had left behind.

She knew that Gallant would have gladly done it for her, but she wanted to have some kind of closure.

And maybe met with Langdon.

He scared her less now that she didn’t answer to him and she was actually curious to know why he had recommended her.

But when she felt him walking in on her arranging her things in a paper box, swiftly and even more swiftly feeling his intoxicating perfume coming from behind her...

She had turned around only after he coughed to make his presence known, doing it slowly and controlling her moves in order for her to turn around again if he glared at her, but he just looked surprised.

He didn’t expect her, there.

-I am just getting my last things, Gallant told me I had your permission…- she started blabbing, but he stopped at her, smiling meekly, which surprised her, since it seemed genuine for the first time in for ever.

-… I know about it, actually… Gallant has told me…- but he wasn’t expecting her to show up right to his face, and she didn’t know if he was still angry for the notes or he was just surprised -… we need to talk-.

They did indeed, but she wasn’t feeling in the mood, all her curiosity had gone to waste for her anxiety.

-I actually have a dinner in thirty minutes, and Gallant is waiting for me…- which was true, but she was sure that she could have made time for Langdon, she always made it possible for him to have a little bit of her time, no matter what she was doing, no matter how she felt, because she cared for him and was scared of him like he was the freaking devil.

But now, that she didn’t have to endure his government of terror and torture, she felt free to deny him any kind of request he had, even more since he acted like a dick about what had happened with the notes.

It might have been highly unprofessional, but she didn’t think it was worth being fired, mostly when he appreciated the notes.

She was thinking this and turning around to her box, when he pulled out his hand, to latch it with hers, squeezing her in a position nearer to him, getting her to almost screech out at the sudden move, but luckily she kept the scream inside at last, just glaring down at the entire manhandling which had been going on.

-Please, let my arm go- she mumbled, asking without any intention to wait for his answer, tugging on it immediately and the grip didn’t loosen.

-It’ll take just five minutes of your time and I will give you some answer I  know you are looking for- he proposed to her, meanwhile loosening his grip, but it was still too firm for her to get away from it, so she just huffed out a breath and nodded.

-And you are going to leave my wrist in peace- she also added, making him smirk, before immediately leaving her wrist, nodding at her command.

But he kept himself close to her, almost making her breath the same air that came out of his luscious lips (she hadn’t thought about those lips, when he had talked to her… nooo…).

-I just wanted to start with saying I am sorry for firing you, it was one of the worst working choice I have ever made-.

And her eyes widened enough that he seemed to understand her disbelief and added an “I am serious”.

-… oh… ehm… my notes were extremely unprofessional- she honestly didn’t think it, but she felt like if she told him the truth, this miracle would disappear.

Because not only he hadn’t apologized to anybody, in the time she had worked for him, but he also didn’t feel regret for treating his employees badly, so either he had gone straight up crazy or he had genuinely developed regret, in her absence.

-I found them extremely cute…- his voice again told the truth, and again she was left surprised by what he had said in the span of two minutes -… and I overreacted, thinking it might have been some kind of twisted way to make fun of me… “oh look at the boss being all cute and everything…”, but I knew you better than that and I should have thought you were  jus trying to be a nice person-.

Which she wasn’t, but the fact that he had actually said it, made her gain an immediate shot of confidence.

-… I haven’t had many genuine people around, if I can say the truth, so maybe I might have not thought about the fact that you just wanted to comfort me, for which I am very thankful-.

She swore she was either hallucinating or five minutes from fainting.

-It isn’t so bad…- she managed to spit out -… all is forgiven, Mr Langdon-.

-It’s Michael, since we are not colleague anymore- and then he was again too closer, but this time he didn’t retreat and he growled the following words right into her mouth -… and let me tell you I am very happy we aren’t, so I can do this-.

And he kissed her.

He kissed her, holding her tight under him, an hand behind her back and one behind her neck, holding her close and gently dipping her down, meanwhile his lips traced hers gently, asking for permission with his tongue to enter her in a much more chaste way than the one that her core suddenly craved, since it had opened for him from the moment he had firstly grabbed her.

And this is what got her to open her eyes and throw him away, off of herself, trying to realize when she had actually closed.

Immediately her back hit her old desk and she  mumbled a pained moan, meanwhile he was thrown just a few centimeters away, but he looked much more shocked by her rejection than actually the fact that she had managed to move him away, touching the place where she had pushed and just looking at her as if it was the first time it  had happened.

Which was not that hard to believe.

Since he was so dreamy and damnably attractive with his elegant posture and his perfect fashion sense.

And she was pretty sure that she wouldn’t have resisted him either, if he had a gently explained his crush for her and not been an emotionally constipated asshole.

-… so after three years of me working for you, you fired me to have a chance to kiss me? – she didn’t want to sound that smug, but she just got her boss to admit not only he was sorry, but that he somehow liked a lowly nobody like her, because it wasn’t just a trying kiss… from the way he seemed greatly affected by it, it might have been a “kiss which had finally happened”.

-Not just for a kiss- he matched her teasing tone, although his azure eyes didn’t dare to meet her -… and I somehow got you back on your feet didn’t I? -.

Which he did, since this meant that he had actually made her new boss hire her, alongside hiding the fact that he had fired her.

-… maybe...- she left her thoughts pending on whether to drag this out with teasing or jump into his arms, before turning around to get the box in her hands, wanting to leave him hanging there dry and unhappy, exactly how she had felt at his rude words -… and now if you excuse me, I have a dinner to attend-

And she made exactly two steps before he corned her between the desk and his body, pushing himself into her, and she was extremely thankful that she had actually worn a skirt, so he just had to push it up and pull down her stockings and panties all together, leaving her naked for the air and his hands.

Her box fell down and she was pretty sure that her treasured shell-box had been destroyed but she honestly didn’t care, when Langdon’s… Michael’s body was pressed right into her, making her feel every inch of the manhood her previous colleagues gossiped about… and it was so much more than they would expect .

-Don’t even think about it- he mumbled into her ear, meanwhile his hands spread her thighs apart, caressing them gently, before slapping one harshly at her useless try to resist his order -… I finally got you where I wanted you so… let me at least explain-.

-First, you try to bribe me with work offers and now you try with your dick, oh I am so glad I got fired! – she mumbled, and he slammed her decidedly unkindly on her desk, grabbing an hold of her hair, clearly telling her to shut up.

-I liked you more when you were a scared little mouse, following all my orders- he mumbled, meanwhile his fingers caressed her outer lips, the one down there, meanwhile her others were smeared with blood, since she had cut them with her teeth during his push -Can’t you go back to that, Mrs (L/N)? –.

He was a kinky bastard as he was rumored to be, she shouldn’t have been surprised, really…

But she just nodded at his request, not daring to turn around, meanwhile he caressed her, pushing himself more internally, still teasing her, but also making sure she knew where this would be going, meanwhile his lips laid kisses on her exposed neck and his free hand, fooled around with her shirt, groping her over it.

-… I need words, Mrs (L/N)- and right now when she felt the words coming at her, he remembered her something else -… and call me, sir, lovely-.

And he slapped her core, getting an even higher pitched scream and she was thankful that she had actually saw the cleaning lady get out when she walked in, she had in fact left her keys for her to close everything, because the noises were so loud and definitely explicit.

-… yes, sir- she mumbled, trying not to think of the pain she felt in her head and the pleasure she instead felt in her nether regions.

-Yes, sir… what? Speak up, Mrs (L/N)…- she felt the smirk forming on her neck before the new slap at her cunt -…you were always so good with words-.

-I will follow your orders, Sir- she repeated slowly, feeling deep waves of pleasure crash into her as Michael slipped a finger in her core after her confession, laying a mark on her, as if to say he say he owned her, inside and out.

-Better- he mumbled, meanwhile his finger slipped out of her and went back inside, but his head retreated from her shoulder, its warmth leaving her, and she tried to turn around, but he kept her hips linked to the table with a tight grip -… don’t turn around, sweetie, I am just going to give you a surprise reward-.

And she didn’t understand what he meant till she felt something even more wet than her folds and rough on her hole, caressing it, without dipping inside, till she let out her first moan, again loudly, finally getting him to intensify the entire thing with probing inside her with his tongue, meanwhile his fingers caressed the sensitive bundle of nerves.

She gripped extremely tightly the edges of the desk, pushing down a few papers, meanwhile she felt herself go through what could only be described as a mystical experience.

She felt the tell-tale first in her stomach tighten and relax and tighten again and…

-Michael! – she protested as he slipped out of her, pushing himself away just to come closer and slap her ass, enough that it freed her of any even feelings of her impeding climax, making her cry out at her own mistake, this time a “sir” escaping her lips.

-Much better, sweetheart, but I would much rather know if you feel as heavenly, as you taste- and he ripped himself off of her, just enough time for him to lower his pants and get his manhood out, making her taste it, just pressing it against her opening, gently caressing her with it, meanwhile he pulled her hair to get her to crane her neck back at him to give her a messy kiss on the lips, making her taste herself.

And he entered her.

She let out a huge huff, feeling him smirk against her, and before she could reprimand him for the low blow he started moving.

Fast enough that she totally missed her grip on the desk, being just pushed against it, without no control on the movement, just being thrown against as a doll, and the fact that she enjoyed it was a bit strange, but she honestly didn’t care, not when Michael hit her perfectly with each movement of hips, meanwhile he smeared saliva on her neck, trying to bite her and when he did, she let out a moan which barely covered the drill of her phone, adverting her that somebody was calling her.

They both stilled, almost as if they had been caught, letting the drill replace the luxurious sound of flesh slapping on flesh.

Her phone was on her bag, next to her, and all she had to was bend down and get it.

It would have been an easy thing…

… without a cock in your cunt…

She looked back at Michael, who seemed almost as taken aback as her, but swiftly smirked  at her, devilishly, meanwhile he exited her and made a gesture which meant she better get the call.

She just rolled her eyes, annoyed by what the hell he was plotting and also for the fact that she was feeling extremely empty.

It was Gallant and as she got a good look at her screen through teary eyes, she understood why: she had said it would take her five minutes to collect her things and she had been with Michael for twenty minutes straight, but worst of all as she made to answer Gallant, Michael’s re-entered her, making her moan straight in the phone.

She honestly was traumatized of what Gallant might think.

-Don’t give us out, sweetheart- mumbled Michael in her ear, before gently kissing it, and keeping up a fast-paced pace, thrusting her against the desk and if the moaning hadn’t given her out, the thrust of her skin against metal would absolutely reveal she was fucking her ex-boss.

-… (Y/N)? – asked Gallant, he seemed confused but he gave her the chance to explain it with her words -… what’s taking you so long? -.

“Michael being an asshole and not letting me cum” but she refused to say it to her best friend and ex-colleague, who still worked with Michael, not wanting to put that image in his head, alongside spread rumor about being fired just so that her boss could fuck her.

-Oh… I just caught Mr Langdon and we ended up talking…- she knew that in between saying this entire phrase her voice had broken down and raised up at least five times, enough that one might ask if she had developed a cough -… I am sorry, I will be down in five minutes-.

Because again she felt a tightness in her stomach and this time she hoped Michael wouldn’t pull any kind of stunt.

-Oh, perfect- Gallant’s voice wasn’t as giggly as it was before the mention of Langdon, maybe he was worried  that he had again made her cry, but she was just thankful she could end that embarrassing conversation and stop biting her lip to keep any sinful sounds in -…but what were those noises? -.

She rolled her eyes more out of annoyance than pleasure, although what was going in her nether regions was indeed very pleasurable, since Michael had started caressing her pleasure pearl, which was perfect erect in his grasp.

-… I just knocked something accidentally to get the phone, you know… silly me- she mumbled, meanwhile Michael slapped her ass, making her yelp and she turned around to glare at him, meanwhile she held the phone so tight in her hand that she was sure by the end of this she would need a new one.

She whispered to him, about either quitting or just getting over with it.

Big mistake…

He bend her even more over on the table and she was now crunched painfully completely with the desk hitting her stomach, but the pain didn’t matter when she felt him hit a spot which had never been hit either by her finger and any other man, none that there had been some as experienced as him, who seemed to know her body more than her.

-Don’t tell me what to do- this time there was no pet name and she accidentally let the phone tumble down, unable to oeld it.

But at least this got her to only focus on her pleasure, building slowly and this time she knew what she had to do before anything else happened.

-Please, sir, let me cum- she whispered it and she thought he hadn’t heard her till he just laughed sarcastically at her plead.

-Maybe if I can hear you, I will let you cum-.

-PL…Ease… Sir… Let ME… CUM! – she tried again, gaining all the breathing she owned and feeling her lungs burn because of the strain, but by the way the caresses on her clit turned into harsh and quick slaps she knew that she had done well, enough to hear an animalistic growl:

-Then do it-.

And sweetly she felt her legs give out under the utter pressure of pleasure, moving liquidly from her stomach to her core and there, it became butterflies of true pleasure between her legs and she …

… she blacked out for a minute, still shocked by the intensity of what was going through her.

She just felt two arms steadying her from behind to avoid her falling without elegance on the desk, meanwhile he exited her, getting a moan of annoyance from her, but he made it all up by actually caressing her thighs gently, without no intention to arouse her (not that he would need it), but to relax her sore muscles, meanwhile his other hand searched for something on her desk.

She didn’t understand what it was till she felt him try to clean her down there with a tissue, collecting their mixed releases, the proof that she hadn’t be the only one to enjoy it and she was secretly thankful for being on the pill, and hoped that Michael was as clean-polished inside as he was outside…

He had gone back to his boss persona, although a blush coated his cheeks (she didn’t understand if it was from the physical activity or anything else), when she turned around to lean her sore back against the deck, searching for some relief, meanwhile he distanced himself a bit to let her oversensitive skin breath, but keeping up what he was doing with the hand cleaning her, till he was satisfied and gently slipped her panties back on, meanwhile helping her tuck the shirt in her skirt.

He had a gentleness to him that she hadn’t expect, but she appreciated it still.

And was particularly starstruck when he kissed her gently on the lips, caressing her almost lovingly and reverently and when they broke apart he looked at her as if it hurt to distance himself from her:

-Don’t you have a dinner to wander off with? – he mumbled at her, looking down at his polished shoes, but she gripped his face, making him look up at her; was he seriously being all shy after he had taken her like a whore.?

-After that stunt I don’t think I can stay still on my legs- and she caressed his cheek much more to adapt herself to the fact that it was all real, that it had all happened.

-I am pretty sure that all you have to do at a dinner is stay sit- he mumbled, using again his teasing tone, but with no fire to it, just kindness and willingness to make her laugh, meanwhile he caressed her aching back, all because of him.

-… I don’t think I can do also that- she replied, already feeling the burn of his previous slaps and the way he had roughly abused her poor back, now that all the pleasure had subsided -… I am probably going back home and get a good bath-.

He nodded and turned around, to let her do that, but she just gripped his jacket and kept him there.

-… and after all I have just gone through, I think I deserve at least a bath- which was a clear invite to follow her back home -… you can draw one for us, meanwhile I write a note-.

This almost got him to giggle and she thought it was the nicest thing she had ever seen and she wanted to see more.

-Ehm… that is very… very tempting- he mumbled almost thinking about it, before picking her up full bridal style, getting a screech both for the sudden move and for the aching muscles in her body -… that note better be good-.

-Oh let me tell you how it starts… - and she smirked looking up at him -… “dearest Mr Langdon, you are a dick but yoa have an even bigger…”-.

She couldn’t finish the sentence because he had pushed her up his shoulder in a much less elegant way, before delivering a sound slap to her ass, getting a very loud pained moan from her, before uttering a “these brats never learn”.

Maybe she was glad shehad been fired for those stupid notes.

---

Gallant kept on shouting for his best friend on the phone, he had been already confused because his friend sounded stressed and pained on the phone.

Which he understood since she had to talk with her boss, but also that seemed a bit exaggerated but then he heard something, something which made him understand pretty clear that his best friend wasn’t in immediate danger.

“PL…Ease… Sir… Let ME… CUM!”.

Apparently, at least, somebody would get lucky tonight.

----

I hope you enjoyed it, lovelies!

This piece was so out of my comfort-zone, so please if you leave any kid of feedback I would be extremely grateful, because it would mean that you appreciate my creations and thye don’t go to waste!

Also tagging @so-langdon  since she told me she was interested into reading this! (if you want to be tagged too, let me know through a message or an ask).

Love you, lovelies!

-Heco Hansen.

[salty-star-child]

Tell Me Lies, Tell Me Lies

[so my brain is torturing me for three reasons. Reason 1: I’m obscenely late with the last four Michael Guerin Week fics. Reason 2: I’m have the very last prompt finished, but my brain decided I need to do a complete overhaul of the other three so they’ll be even later if I wait. Reason 3: I’m posting out of order because fuck it. oops.]

read on ao3

             Max was dead.

             Really, truly, can’t-wake-him-up-but-try-it-anyway dead.

             Michael can’t sleep anymore. Not without seeing his mother behind glass in a building about to explode, and Noah and Max facing off in the hallway in front of her. His mom’s words echo in his head, a constant stream of ‘I love you’s, a stark contrast to Michael’s desperate begging to Max that he needs to get the hell out before everything goes kaboom. But Max always ignores him (or maybe he could never hear Michael in the first place). Then Max would defeat Noah and turn to Michael with a smile.

             That’s where everything always goes up in smoke. The detonation has reached zero, the building shakes and Michael’s ears ring, and everything is too warm and numb. Michael always survives the explosion, for no reason other than it’s a nightmare. He’d pick himself up off the ground and the first thing he really sees is Max. Lifeless and prone among the wreckage, next to his mother, like he’d been one of the prisoners the entire time.

             So, yeah, Michael can’t sleep. Sue him.

             Instead, he decided to do what he always does: drink and forget.

             He made sure to come during the usual rush because Maria wants to talk, which is the last thing Michael wanted to do. He just wanted to get drunk, flirt a little some other guy’s girl and have a reason to fight after the guy throws the first punch. It’s Michael’s MO.

             He downed three tequila shots, a couple glasses of whiskey neat, six beers, and a raspberry lemon drop cocktail by the time Sheriff Valenti arrived to escort him and the tourists he’d fought with out of the bar. Michael has a split lip, his nose is bleeding, his knuckles bruised, and he can still taste blood in his mouth no matter how much he spits. He may or may not have bit his tongue at some point. The other guys look about as well off as he is. He knew for a fact he broke one of their noses—he’d made a smartass comment about it when he’d heard the crunch and groan.

             Michael’s the only one thrown in the drunk tank though; another drunk and disorderly on the books. The tourists aren’t nearly as fucked up as he is and instead pay a sizeable fine. The sheriff is clearly disappointed in him. He’d managed to stay out of the tank for long enough that she’d hoped meant he got his act together. The sheriff’s lecture is brief and stiff.

             It reminded him of Max.

             The sheriff largely ignores him after her lecture, tells him to sleep he’ll have to sleep off the alcohol unless he has someone else that she can call, because Max and Isobel aren’t around to take him home. She, like everyone else in town, believe Max is off helping Isobel through the devastating and sudden loss of her husband. Isobel suggested the cover and Michael had rolled with it, because it meant getting Max back…somehow. He needed to believe they could and if the damn cover story helped him do that, so be it.

             He’s half-conscious still when he heard the sheriff talking on the phone, and a tinny, slightly distorted, version of Maria’s voice coming through it. Great. She did not sound too pleased with him. She was definitely leaving him here for the night. He doesn’t really register the meanings of the words that are being spoken until the sheriff glanced over at him, confused and intrigued, and Michael catches the name.

             Alex.

             That got through his drunk addled mind, fog lifting just enough for the pleasant anticipation of seeing Alex to be squashed by the dread of seeing Alex. Michael was at his lowest, surliest, ugliest…he didn’t want the other man to see him like this. He wanted him to see him at his best, or at least better than this.

             The call with Maria ends, but Sheriff Valenti doesn’t put down the phone. Instead she started dialing another number and Michael feels his stomach twist with the need to throw up. He dry heaves, trying desperately not to throw up on the floor of the drunk tank.

             A trash can was thrusted under his nose. He doesn’t think twice about gripping the sides and letting the mix of alcohol and bile burn the back of his throat. His eyes water and nose stings. He retches, and retches, until there’s nothing more to expel. He used the back of his hand to wipe at his mouth.

             “Two calls? I thought criminals only got the one,” Michael said weakly, attempting a smirk. The sheriff raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

             “All I had to do was say you were drunk before Captain Manes said he’d on his way,” she said. Her voice was that careful kind of emotionless that makes Michael suspicious. He can’t tell if her lack of further questioning sets him at ease or pushes him to the edge.

             It seemed she was waiting for him to respond, and he was waiting for her to just ask her goddamn question. The result was sitting in a tense silence. Michael decided to lay back on the bench and covered his eyes with his arm. One of many avoidance tactics he’d learned over the years.

             Then, before Michael could realize time was still passing, Alex was there. Alex was there, with a gentle hand pushing sweaty curls back from his forehead and helping him sit up. His vision was spotted as he reorients himself. He pushed himself to his feet, unsteady but upright, and avoided Alex’s worried gaze. Alex’s hand never leaves his shoulder, acting as a guide and reassurance. The hand feels cool to his overheated skin, even through the fabric of his shirt.

             “C’mon, Guerin,” Alex mumbled into his ear. “Let’s get you to the car.”

             Michael insisted on walking on his own two feet, that he’s fine, but Alex and Sheriff Valenti hover anyway. It annoyed him and he told them as much. Alex had snarked back, the words going in one ear and out the other, but the general meaning of suck it up ringing loud and clear. His foot ends up slipping while he pulled himself into the passenger seat, and he fell backwards into Alex. A grunt and sharp intake of breath was enough to even let a drunk Michael know he’d hurt the airman. No doubt the sudden additional weight put too much pressure on the prosthetic.

             But Alex doesn’t say anything about the pain. Neither does Sheriff Valenti as she helps adjust most of Michael’s weight off Alex and into the seat. Alex started to try to buckle him in, but he tugged the belt out of his hands and mumbled that he’d do it himself. The other man sighed but nodded and made sure all limbs were inside the vehicle and away from the door so he could shut it firmly.

             The window was rolled up, which made the conversation the sheriff started muffled and mostly incomprehensible, but she dismissed something which made Alex’s shoulders drop in relief. Michael hadn’t even really noticed how tense the man had been until he’d relaxed.

             Alex got in the car, buckled up, and drove out of the small parking lot without a word. The radio wasn’t even on to fill the heavy air between them. It was a deliberate choice, Michael knew, because Alex loved listening to music and letting it fill the silence. This was stifling, suffocating in a way to induce conversation. He hated that it worked, because he rolled his head to the side to look at the airman’s profile as he pleaded:

             “Tell me that you hate me.”

             Alex glanced at him two, three times, trying to get a good look at Michael’s face and keep his eyes on the road at the same time.

             “What? No, Guerin,” he said incredulously. “Hate is…the exact opposite of how I feel about you. I’m angry and upset with you, but—I don’t think I could ever hate you.”

             “Why? You should,” Michael grumbled, looking down at his should-be-scarred hand. “How many times’ve I lied to you? Pushed you away jus’ as much as you walked ‘n I never—I never thought about tryin’ to follow…”

             “Guerin,” Alex sighed. His voice was sad, defeated.

             Michael hated it.

             “’n I said we’d talk ‘n stuff, made you wait but then I ditched ya. I went and kissed your best friend. You should hate me. Why can’t you just hate me?”

             “Because I love you, Michael,” Alex answered, voice still sad and defeated but with a confidence behind the words that took Michael by surprise. “I would’ve preferred you to be sober when I said it, but I think you really need to hear it right now. I don’t care how you think I should feel about you because I know how I feel about you. I don’t hate you, not for pushing me away. Not for lying. Not for leaving me waiting all damn day, and not even for Maria.

             “We both make mistakes. We’re only people—we aren’t faultless, or perfect. Maria’s my best friend, and she’s wonderful, and I can see why anyone attracted to women would be attracted to her. I don’t hate you for it. Just…angry and hurt.”

             “You really should hate me…because that was the point.”

             That has Alex pulling over to the side of the road and putting the car in park. He doesn’t turn to look at Michael, just stares ahead, but his hands are still on the wheel and his knuckles are turning a bright white. He’s quiet, waiting.

             “I really do like her, ‘m attracted and stuff, but…I also knew it’d hurt you. I was so fucked up and broken and empty that night, everything was just too much, and…and all I could think about was Caulfield ‘n you ‘n some shit Max said when he decided to heal my fucking hand…everything just hurt, and all I could think about was making you hurt too. How fucked up is that, right? I love you so much and all I could think about was what was going to hit you the hardest and make you feel the way I was feelin’.”

             Michael isn’t sure when he started crying, just knew that he was. Alex, however, has his eyes squeezed shut, mouth in a firm, thin line, and jaw clenched. He’s taking deep breaths, and they’re both shaking.

             “Yell at me, hit me. Something, anything,” Michael whispered into the air, voice rough and cracking. “Tell me you hate me, please, just—say that you hate me. Just, just lie ‘n say you do, I don’t care…I don’t care if it’s a lie.”

             Alex doesn’t say anything at all, just turns the car off and unbuckles his seat belt. He opened the door and walked around the front of the car to open Michael’s too. He doesn’t look at Michael as he gestures for him to get out and follow him into the desert. Honestly, he probably shouldn’t. But it’s Alex, so he followed. Only once they’re surrounded by nothing, the car a long way off and barely in view, does the airman turn and look at him.

             “We’re going to scream, same time, at the universe,” he said with such finality. “The world is cruel, and so are people, and life’s not fair. Sometimes, you just gotta scream about it and let it all out on the universe so you don’t let it out on the people who love you.”

             Michael eyed him warily but nodded anyway.

             Three…two…one—

             They scream. They scream until their lungs hurt, scream some more until their voices are hoarse and throats sore. They scream; about Max, about Jesse, about psycho alien serial killers, about faulty Wi-Fi, about misplaced car parts, about forgetting to get another box of his favorite cereal. They scream until they’re a hysterical mess of giggles, serious frustrations dwindling to minor annoyances and trying to see who could think of the silliest reason to scream at the universe.

             By the time they finish screaming, drawing in heavy breaths and holding their sides, Michael is feeling much less intoxicated. Still in no shape to drive or make any thought out decisions, but in enough control of himself again that he’s aware and here and, more importantly, able to stand on his own two feet without the world spinning out from underneath him. Which is good, because Alex is starting to very noticeably favor one leg over the other. But Alex is as stubborn as he is and denies the offered help (though he doesn’t complain when Michael helps him anyway).

             The walk back to the car is slow—he kept his eyes on the stars, using his peripherals to watch for any increased pain in Alex’s micro expressions. While screaming had certainly relaxed him, it made him no less frustrated or confused. The airman’s quiet presence soothed his tumultuous emotions as much as it furthered his frustration.

             Because Alex should hate him. But he doesn’t.

             When Michael finally gets back to the airstream and he’s laid back on the small bed, he tells himself that he doesn’t believe Alex. He tells himself that Alex really does hate him. He lets his lies become a lullaby for hours until eventually his eyes are too tired to stay open.

             He fell asleep and entered the same nightmare he’d been having since Max died. Only, there’s a new addition.

             Alex is there, behind glass the way his mother is, and his voice overlaps hers as the countdown begins.

             I love you.

             But you’re mine!

             I love you.

             You’re a miserable liar, Guerin

             I love you.

             Noah. Max. Kaboom!

             Michael jerked awake, shaking and gasping. He can feel the dried tear tracks on his cheeks. His chest and lungs burned. Alex had been right after all; he really was a miserable liar.

[redeyedryu]

Cross Dimensional Problems

Chapter 2 - Hmmm... | [Ao3]  | 1 | x |  » |

Hey look! Another chapter! And it hasn't even been a day! Amazing, I know. Who knows when the next one'll come though.

Summary:  What if I told you that your whole existence is nothing more than a creation meant to entertain people?

What if I told you that you're not even the original, that you're just some recolored imitation?

So. This is apparently a thing that's happening. And you’re pretty sure it really is because those slaps to the face didn't exactly feel pleasant. Neither did the pinches. Your company is probably questioning your state of mind after that display and honestly? That's fair because you're currently doing the same thing.

The proverbial “they” say you can't feel pain in a dream but what if your brain is just really good at playing pretend? It'd make more sense than this—sitting on a thread bare, obnoxious green sofa that doesn't make you think of a very certain event in a very certain game. The skeletons kind of drive that point hard enough, you don't need more reminders, thank you.

Someone clears their …throat? Whatever, the sound is made and it draws your attention, your eyes drifting to one skeleton in particular out of the three—the Classic™ one.

“heya,” he says and oh boy, that is a really deep voice. Very nice, very rumbly. You could listen to it for hours, you think. “what’re uh… what’re ya doin’ down here, bud?”

You purse your lips and squint your eyes, fingers pinching and pulling and scratching at the suede fabric of the couch you are sat on. It’s wedged off to the side of the safety hazard that is the sparking boiler-thing, just near enough for you to have dazedly stumbled over to.

“Hallucinating, I think,” you eventually reply as you continue to fidget. The fingers of one hand slip and you accidentally stab the side of your thigh with a particularly sharp nail. You don't so much as react to the stabbing pain. “Or maybe I'm actually having some kind of mental break?”

You watch (see: blatantly ogle) as the skeleton’s expression shifts, his sockets pinching as his brow furrows, as that perpetual grin of his dips at the corners. He pulls his shoulders in a shrug, that iconic blue hoodie of his bunching and creasing with the motion.

You never did get around to ordering one of those. Too bad, it looks really comfy.

“gonna be honest, kid,” that deep, soothing bass breaks through the wandering of your mind. “wasn't expecting to see a human down here.”

“Didn’t really expect to be down here,” you shoot back. You let loose a heavy sigh, pushing air through your nose as you slouch and violently throw yourself back against the couch. Your arms flail as you rant, “There’re bags of popato chisps and Grillby’s takeout bags and talking skeletons and couches from video games and nothing is making any sense! ” An arm lays across your face, shielding your eyes, as the opposite lays bent above your head.

There’s an awkward stretch of silence, though you're pretty sure you hear the ruffling of fabric, the sktch of someone’s shoes coasting along the filthy floor. And then,

“uh… what?”

Your arms shoot up, fingers splayed, and you glare at the ceiling as you shout,” Video games, Sans! Video games!!” You pull yourself back into a proper seated position and meet the eyes (eye sockets??) of the vanilla bean. Oh. Huh. He’s doing that pitch black eye socket thing. Looks like the edgy bastard behind him is doing it too. Maybe the tall one is as well. You can't tell with Papyrus types--sometimes they have eyelights, sometimes they don't. Oh well.

“What?” Your brows furrow and you purse your lips as you tell them to, “Stop doing that eye-thing at me.”

They don't listen, of course. Just continue to creepily, silently stare at you.

“Stop it!” you demand, and in an effort to get them to cease and desist, bring your hands together in a rather forceful clap. You have to bite your lip to keep from laughing at the way they jolt at the noise.

Sans clears his non-existent throat again, then he shuffles in place, before finally, “how’d ya know my name, kid?”

You quirk a brow.

“What? You're telling me most people wouldn't recognize the brother of monsterkind’s mascot?” Hey, look at that, he really does sweat blue magic. Neat. “Aren't there only like two skeletons in all of existence? Your alternate copies don't count.”

Op. Maybe that was the wrong thing to say ‘cause the voided eye sockets are back again.

“Hey, no! You stop that!” You snap your fingers several times in quick succession and thankfully, it seems to work.

”I mean… Y’all are on the surface, right? This is a post-pacifist ending timeline, right? It usually is in these kind of scenarios.”

And before the sweating Sans so much as squeaks, you hear a rumbling growl, see a blur of reds and black, and then you’re being pinned to the sofa. Underfell Sans is literally right up in your grill, his snarling, sharp-toothed face mere inches from yours.

“th’ fuck kinda shit’re you spoutin’, ya sack a’ shit?”

Oh. This is awkward. Not to mention uncomfortable. He’s practically kabedon’d you, arms on either side of your head, a sneakered foot precariously positioned between your legs.

Kinky.

His voice is pretty nice, too; a deep bass like his vanilla counterpart, though there’s an edge to it that the blue-clad skeleton’s clearly lacks. You think you could listen to this guy's voice for hours too.

You sink into the couch a bit, entirely unimpressed, and shift your weight to the side, bringing up a hand to push against his arm, and slide to the side, out from under him. Your nonchalance seems to catch him off guard as he just stares, befuddled, as you casually extricate yourself, resettling against the arm of the couch.

“C’mon,” you start, gaze shifting from Underfell, to Undertale, to Underswap, “you're smarter than that. You can pick up on the context clues, can't you?”

“the machine…” Your gaze shifts back to the tall, lanky skeleton still standing towards the back as he speaks. His voice is definitely somewhere in the tenor range, though it’s a bit raspy. It's nice, but nowhere near as smooth, broadcasting quality as Sans's is. “you're from an alternate timeline.”

He sounds so convinced, so sure of his deduction. You? Not so much.

“Mmm… something like that? I guess?”

The edgy skeleton beside you shifts, lowers his arms from the couch and instead just… lets himself flop into the cushions. The action causes you to jostle slightly.

“whadda ya mean, ‘summin’ like that’?” he all but growls, scowling at you.

“I mean what I mean. It's something like that but not quite? Because uh…” You drag your eyes from one skeleton to the next and then back again before shifting your gaze to the left and right. Man, this place is an absolute pigsty. “Because hmmm….”

Sans, the Classic™ one, chooses that moment to re-engage with the conversation. He lets loose a world weary sigh and plops onto the other end of the couch, sandwiching his Underfell variant between the two of you.

“‘hmmm’?” he prompts.

“Yes, hmmm,” you respond, face scrunching up in thought. Well, the cat’s pretty much out of the bag (not that it was ever really in one to begin with) so. What’ve you got to lose?

“It's a game,” you begin and you don't miss the way they all seem to snap to attention. “Undertale, by the way. That's what it's called. Came out a few years ago. Actually just had its what… fourth anniversary the other week?”

Underswap Papyrus, likely envious of everyone else sitting but him, comes over to the couch and props himself against the opposite arm. “so… what. we’re just a buncha video game characters to you?” He appears to be frowning as he fishes a honey sucker from his hoodie pouch pocket and wedges the treat between his teeth.

“Mmmmmmm… no. Not exactly. Sans—the original one—” and you point to the blue-clad skeleton, “is technically the only video game character. Which by the way, congratulations on making it into Smash, even if it’s just as a costume.”

Sans’s expression twists in confusion, a bead of sweat dripping down the side of his skull as he responds, voice slightly higher pitched, “…thanks?” He has no idea what you’re talking about.

“You’re welcome. But as I was saying, Sans is the original, the main branch, as I’m sure you’re all familiar with that particular analogy. You,” and you point to the Papyrus, who quirks a brow, “and you,” you point to the scowling, sharp-toothed Sans whose scowl only tightens in response, “are from AUs—Alternate Universes created by fans curious about different takes on canon. Underswap and Underfell, respectively.”

It occurs to you, then, that maybe you should go at this a little lighter, maybe don’t be so blunt about everything… but. Well… you don’t really know how else to lay this down. You’ll apologize about any existential crises you induce later, you guess—asking for forgiveness over permission and all that. Besides, it’s not like you asked for this situation to unfold, either; it’s not like you know what the hell is going on. You’re pretty much in the same boat as these jokers.

The skeleton seated beside you growls (he likes to do that a lot, doesn’t he?) and twists to face you, the little lights in his eye sockets burning red hot.

“s’what? we’re s’posed t’believe yer a human from sum kinna reality where we ain’t even real? jus’ summin made up fer yer own sick entertainment?”

You recoil at the sheer animosity in his voice, back sinking into the worn padding of the couch’s arm. It’s a miracle you don’t just tumble over the side of the thing, honestly, with how far you pull away.

“Uh… I mean. No? You’re free to believe whatever you want but it’s not like I just decided to break into some random dingy basement in my lounge clothes for shits and giggles.”

He just stares at you, his scowl tightening, his sockets creasing and his face just absolutely scrunching in anger before he’s just. Gone. Poof! Shortcutted right the fuck outta here.

Well.

That was a thing that happened.

You can empathize with the guy to a certain degree but well. You don’t exactly want to spend too much energy thinking about things. Not right now. Like a lot of things in your life, you’ll deal with it later.

Brushing that exchange aside, you find yourself releasing a lot of pent up tension you hadn’t realized you were holding onto (in your shoulders, your neck, back, even your jaw ) and address the two remaining skeletons still sat with you. Sans doesn’t appear to be sweating anymore, though he does look like he’s thinking something over. Underswap Papyrus is much the same, though he’s taken to fiddling with the stick of his honey sucker.

“So hey,” you start, effectively drawing their attention, “got any popato chisps?”

You want to know if they taste any different from regular potato chips.

[silenthillmutual]

pride week - day 5 - AU free-for-all so this AU is a crossover because when i first looked at the prompt i was like half-asleep and thought it said crossover. whoops.

--

He’s coming to the conclusion that Kiyotaka’s family is just fucking weird. He’s still not exactly sure what their relationship status is, since they’ve only been on like two and a half dates that might have not even been dates and nothing between them seems to have actually changed - but even speaking as a best friend, it was just really fucking bizarre

The other sections of the bake sale that did not have an entire bottle’s worth of food coloring dumped into the mix did exceedingly well, letting them schedule trips to meet up and hang out with the GSAs from other colelges in the area. It was a neat little idea Makoto and Kiyotaka had come up with on their own time that also kinda made Mondo want to punch himself in the face. 

It mostly just starts with this: he thinks he has competition.

The reason he thinks this is because Leon tells him he does. They’re meeting with MU in a bowling alley that’s somewhere in between both schools and while it’s not the only GSA in the area, it is the only one available or interested in reaching out to them. And the gaggle of students who pick to play against them in a four-on-four match just happens to consist of three rough looking boys and one chick.

Striek one. It’s not exactly a secret that Taka has a type, and that type is punks. (Well, and Makoto; but he’s everybody’s type, so he doesn’t count.) He’s never said out loud that he finds that kinda thing appealing, but Hifumi’s Halloween Theme suggestion, “Book of Eibon” (which earned him the group name moniker Anime Trash) really took. People dressed as whatever they found most attractive - or in Hifumi’s and Chihiro’s cases, the kind of aesthetic they really dug.

Hifumi’s magical girl outfit was absolutely outstanding. They really did have to give him that.

...where was he? Right. Taka had shown up to the party in all secondhand clothes, studded belt and motorcycle boots and fake piercings, pleather jacket over an embroidered white vest covered in safety pins. It sure as shit left an impression.

And it was such a goddamn come-on. he’d thought before then that Taka’s staring was judgmental and had a hard time stringing two words together at the implication that he was staring because he was attracted to Mondo.

Not that Mondo was the only punk in the group. Tanaka flushed and tried to hide beneath his scarf, realizing too late he didn’t have it included in the regal get-up he came dressed in. And Leon said to Mondo, “If I wasn’t straight, I’d so hit that.”

Leon figured out pretty quickly that he wasn’t straight, and also that Taka was way off limits. 

Mondo’s been trying to figure out how to take a more direct approach, since Taka’s misconstrued all his flirting as friendliness. Which - okay, yeah. He’s kind of learned along the way that he might also be in love with the guy platonically, too. he is the best friend, in terms of quality, that Mondo’s ever had, and he doesn’t plan on that shit changing just ‘cause he wants to add hand-holding into the mix. 

So strike two is this: Ishimaru seems to actually know the guy in too much purple who practically launches himself at him. They embrace in a tight hug, and that smug asshole has his hairstyle too. Rude. Utterly, unbelievably rude. 

The guy introduces himself as Josuke. He looks like he might be a couple years older than them, with pretty blue eyes. He’s the president of the MU GSA, which he does not hesitate to tell Kiyotaka, “I love what you did with the name, dude. Very kewl.”

Kewl. Like he’s fucking twelve and it’s the nineties.

Taka blushes like he does when he’s embarrassed or flattered and it takes a lot for Mondo not to slug the guy. He’s really only distracted from Kiyotaka’s refusal of the credit by the guy with the little ponytail and two-toned grey hair saying to him “Hey, man, nice mods,” referring to his jacket.

He’s kind of forgotten about it. He doesn’t wear the longer coat he had in high school anymore because yeah, he’s not in high school anymore, thank you very much Daiya. “Uh, thanks,” he says, but the shorter one with the kinda silvery blonde hair is smirking at it, mouthing the words Crazy Diamonds under his breath. Like it’s some kind of joke.

“I’m Okuyasu,” he says, and nudges the blonde so hard the guy almost falls over. “Shit, sorry - this is Koichi.” 

“Right,” he says, not liking the look of private joking between the two of them. “I’m Mondo.”

“I’m Leon,” Leon all but shouts, almost crawling on Mondo’s back to extend his hand to the two boys and - of course, of fucking course - the girl with the knee-length black hair. “And you are?”

“Yukako,” she says, and Mondo’s never before heard someone say their own name with such deep and intense hatred. 

There’s not a single thing about these people he trusts. The guys might seem nice, but he’s always hated the feeling that people are laughing at him. And that girl? She looks like she’s ready to commit murder. 

At least the jackass in the purple-and-yellow shirt is done taking up Kiyotaka’s time, only that Kiyotaka looks kind of embarrassed now. He’s not sure if that’s better or worse than his flustered face. But he punches in their names on the board to distract himself, and Josuke comes up to Mondo and sits so close their knees are touching. “So,” he says, “You’re his kyoudai, huh?”

“Kyoudai?” Okuyasu says. “Man, how come we can’t get cool nicknames like that?”

“Yes, please start calling each other bro. That won’t get irritating at all,” Yukako snipes from where she’s sitting. 

“Yukako, come on,” Koichi says, turning to look back at her. “You promised you’d be nice today.”

She looks torn, but sighs, and Mondo thinks he hears her mutter “Only for you.” 

“Dude,” Leon says, “You gotta teach me.” 

--

One thing Mondo can say about the kids from MU is that, except for Yukako, they suck at bowling. And that does make him feel a little better, if only in a shallow way. 

It’s kind of irritating, and that irritation must be obvious to everyone involved, because Kiyotaka has tried his best to keep Mondo and Josuke separated. Leon’s pretty chill, and Makoto can make friends with everyone, but it just seems strange to Mondo that he spent so long trying to get on friendly terms with Taka only for some other guy - a complete stranger from a different school to just undermine that -

Makoto pats his shoulder, like the way you’d pet a dog to soothe it. “Calm down, Mondo,” he says. “He’s just being friendly.”

Maybe he is. Mondo can accept that there exists, somewhere, a possibility that Josuke is just a nice guy, like a punk version of Makoto, but he’s gotten so deep in his own sense of insecurity and paranoia that every time Josuke so much as talks at him or is friendly with Kiyotaka...

Well, it feels like he’s being mocked.

He might be a little jealous.

And when Taka leaves to head out to the bathroom, he might call Josuke’s hair stupid. 

Koichi, for whatever that’s worth, and Okuyasu and he goddamn swear Yukako’s hair all jump in to restrain Josuke from throwing punches. Leon slaps his arm at the same time Makoto smacks his head, both of them shouting some variant of “You have the same hair!” and the end result is the five of them tell the two of them to go resolve their differences by the snack bar, and work something out fast before Taka comes back and panics. 

“I don’t get what your issue with me is,” Josuke says, hands in the air. “We picked this group to go up against because Taka said you were cool. Now you’re just acting like Rohan used to, and I didn’t even burn your house down!”

Confusion mixes with anger as he says, with feeling, “What?!”

“Never mind!” Josuke snaps. “Just - whatever your problem with me is, just say it, man. Quit giving me dirty looks. It’s making Kiyo upset.”

KIYO?! Mondo hits the counter with a little too much force and says “That’s my goddamn problem!” And before Josuke can give him some other ridiculous pet name he says “We’re like - we’re - we’re kind of - !” Jesus. Jesus Christ, why can’t he just get the fuckin’ words out? “I’m inta him!”

“Yeah, and?” Josuke asks.

“And you’re fuckin’ flirting with him! Of course I got a damn issue with you!” Josuke looks blindsided for a couple seconds, and then he bursts into laughter. “And then you go an’ do this shit, shovin’ it in my face!”

“Dude!” Josuke has the audacity to put his hand on Mondo’s shoulder, ignoring every time Mondo tries to throw it off. For someone as thin as Josuke looks, he’s unfairly strong. “Dude. I am not flirting with him. That’s so gross.” 

Two-faced bastard! “You got a fuckin’ problem with my friend?!” 

“Dude. He’s my cousin.”

“Yer - what?” Mondo blinks, all his pent up energy dissipating in the shock. “Then - then what the fuck were you sayin’ ta him to make ‘im blush?”

“I’m teasing him about you, ya dweeb.” He snorts. “God. No. I’m not flirting with my fuckin’ cousin. And even if we weren’t related, I’m not gonna hit on some guy in front of my boyfriends.”

“Oh.” He’s...totally deflated now. And feels like an asshole. “Uh...” Great. “I’m sorry fer bein’ such an asshole,” he grumbles.

Josuke lets it slide rather easily, shrugging it off. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve had worse interactions.” 

Mondo still rubs the back of his head, anxiously, and he’s still not all that comfortable with Josuke’s smirk. “Gotta say,” he admits, “I never woulda thought the two of you were related. Ya don’t exactly look alike.” 

Josuke shoves his hands in his pockets and leans back against the counter. “Well, it’s not by blood or anything. His dad married my ne- uh, I mean, my uncle -” Was he just going to say nephew? “But we take family very seriously, and we’re...kind of a large family.” 

For a second, he looks almost depressed by his own statement, eyes kind of foggy, lips pulled down and staring at his boyfriends with some kind of intense anxiety. He sighs, and slaps Mondo on the back. “Let’s just get back to the game, ‘kay? I think Taka’ll be happier when we get along.” 

He feels like he missed something, but says “Sure, okay,” following Josuke back to their seats. 

Whatever it is that’s on his mind, it’s either passed or he’s hidden it by the time they’ve reached their friends. Josuke reacts to Kiyotaka’s suspicious glare by ruffling his hair. “So, Kiyo -”

“Don’t call me that,” he groans. 

And Josuke ignores him. “A former delinquent with a bad temper, huh? I bet your stepdad’s gonna love that.” 

Kiyotaka lets out a scream, and drops the bowling ball to the floor. Mondo tries to pretend he doesn’t see something faintly pink and blue grabbing it just before it hits the ground.

[popatochisssp]

Make Your Mark, 1/10

Series: Undertale Relationship(s): Sans/Reader, Sans & Papyrus Chapter Warnings: none

AO3 Link

In a world where soulmates exist, monsters and humans have one thing in common: the first time two soulmates touch, a mark randomly appears somewhere--anywhere-- on their bodies to represent their match.

It still doesn't make relationships easier...but maybe it does make them a little more interesting!

“DON’T YOU BEND SPACE-TIME ON ME, SANS! AND FAR LESS LIKELY, DON’T YOU DARE RUN EITHER!”

Sans was certainly not considering anything so childish…not the least because Papyrus was too fast for him and had already caught him by the hood of his jacket.

Still, he did keep trying to pull away, awkwardly batting at his brother’s hand trying to make him let go.

“c’mon, Pap,” he pleaded, “it’s fine, just leave it…”

Papyrus wasn’t having any of it. “IT’S BEEN AT LEAST TWO MONTHS,” he snapped, tugging harder and nearly yanking Sans right off his mattress. “THIS THING IS FILTHY AND I’M GOING TO WASH IT. ACCEPT YOUR FATE!”

To go hoodie-less? For as much as an hour? Maybe more?

“death before dishonor,” Sans said, and proceeded to go limp—a sudden dead-weight that made Papyrus stagger forward a step if his sputtering was any indication.

“OH MY GOD, SANS, ARE YOU REALLY THIS CHILDISH?” he demanded. “I COMPLETELY BELIEVE THAT YOU ARE, BUT I WANT YOU TO THINK LONG AND HARD ABOUT THE KIND OF PERSON YOU’RE BEING RIGHT NOW!”

“heheheh… that’s what sh—”

“IF YOU SAY ‘THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID,’ SANS, I SWEAR, I’M GOING TO—”

Whatever he was going to threaten, Sans never found out.

Papyrus gasped and suddenly, Sans was facedown on the bed, unceremoniously dropped like a sack of potatoes.

Confused, Sans tried to sit up and turn to see what caused that reaction, only for Papyrus to catch him by the shoulders and keep him turned around.

“uhhh…Papyrus?” he asked a little helplessly. “what—”

“SHUT UP!” Papyrus exclaimed. “OH MY GOD??? SANS! WHEN DID THIS HAPPEN?! WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME?!”

Sans frowned, confusion mounting. “be…cause…i have no idea what you’re talkin’ about…?”

He knows his brother pretty well by now and he can physically feel Papyrus’ look of disbelief from behind him.

“YOU MEAN YOU HAVEN’T EVEN SEEN IT?!”

“…no?” Sans laughed. “what, did i lay in somethin’? big, terrible stain that i definitely need to take off my hoodie for, or…?”

Papyrus tsk-ed. “FORGET YOUR FITLHY HOODIE, SANS, THIS IS MORE IMPORTANT!”

Before the shock could even set in—the eternal neat-freak that was Papyrus so swiftly brushing off the dirty jacket Sans had been wearing for two and a half months— Sans heard the unmistakable click of a photo and a phone being shoved in his face.

It took Sans an embarrassingly long time to realize what he was looking at.

His own vertebrae, a little blurry from the lightning speed at which Papyrus had taken the picture, but not unidentifiably so.

And right there, swooping and twisting across his C7 innocent as can be, is an infinity symbol.

His soulmark.

“wh…”

He tries to form a sentence, even just a single word, but finds himself…utterly speechless.

Sans never thought…

Sure, soulmates were a thing, people found them all the time, but he wasn’t… he didn’t…

He suddenly realizes that he never thought he’d be one of them. He has no plan for this; not even a reaction.

As always, Papyrus seemed ready to bail him out.

“CAN YOU THINK OF WHEN IT MIGHT’VE HAPPENED?” he asks.

Slowly, still staring at the picture, Sans shakes his head.

No, he has no idea.

He can’t remember touching anyone new in months and even then…in such a weird spot, the mark could’ve showed up years ago and he’d have been none the wiser.

He wavers on the edge of defeatism for a moment—of course, this is more like it, a soulmate he had only to never know them, opportunity snatched away right in front of him once again, just like always—but Papyrus asks another question.

“WHAT ABOUT THE MARK?” he prompts. “DOES IT…REMIND YOU OF ANYONE? CAN YOU THINK OF WHO IT MIGHT BE FOR?”

And, oh…

Oh…

He can.

There is someone, somebody that comes to mind right away—a beautiful laugh and warm eyes and a feeling of hope that’s been painfully elusive until…

“yeah,” he says out loud. “i think…i think maybe……”

There’s really only one person in his skull when Sans even dares to think about ‘forever.’

And you’re just a shortcut away.

-

You startle pretty badly when Sans suddenly appears in your living room.

“Sans!” you snap at him, protectively holding your bowl to your chest. “Don’t do that, I almost spilled my popcorn!”

It gives you pause when the pun you’re expecting just…doesn’t come. You take a closer look at the skeleton standing before you and frown.

Sans looks tense, to say the least. His shoulders are stiff and his permanent grin is tight and the lights in his eye-sockets won’t quite meet your gaze.

“…Sans?” you try, a little more gently. “Are you… is everything okay?”

“uh. yeah,” he says. “yeah, it’s…m’fine…”

“You don’t sound fine.”

You set your popcorn aside and get up, walking over to him.

“Seriously,” you insist, “what’s up? You know you can talk to me, right? We’re friends.”

And nothing more. No matter what you…

That's not important.

“…yeah. yeah, i know.”

Sans finally looks at you and you spare half a second to feel self-conscious—you weren’t planning on seeing anybody today and you’re only dressed for a solo movie-marathon, in sweats and as minimally groomed as you’ve ever been—but if something’s wrong, you know that doesn’t matter either.

Sans’ eye-lights shrink a little. “i, uh…i……found somethin’…today…jus’ now, actually, heheh…”

That’s…much too vague for you to work with. “Yeah…?” you prompt.

And he says the words that make your heartbeat stutter.

“a soulmark.”

………oh.

You’d known, in the back of your mind, that…this…was only a matter of time. In the few short years since monsters hit the surface, people were finding their matches all the time, and somebody like Sans… funny and kind and effortlessly charming… Of course he had a soulmate out there for him, even if…

Even if it wasn’t you, the way he was yours.

You’d been quietly devastated when you found your mark and went days, weeks, months without hearing a single thing from the skeleton you knew it’d come from. Mismatches were rare, but they happened and…you’d done your best to make peace with the fact that you were one such unlucky case.

Your skin still feels unaccountably hot right where you know your soulmark to be and your heart aches a little in your chest.

“O-oh,” you manage to get out, sounding mostly normal, “that’s great! Who, uh…who are they? Do I know them?”

Sans’ grin inexplicably goes a little crooked, sweat starting to bead along his skull.

“shit, i hope so,” he mutters. Then louder, “actually, i…i think i probably musta had it…awhile? it’s…um…hard to look at…”

You frown again. “Is it really that bad?”

“heheheheheh…no, it’s, y’know, it’s literally hard to look at. ’less if i were an owl or somethin’, i guess.”

Sans turns, putting his back to you and tugging his hood down a little further and you get what he means.

The bright little infinity stamped on the knobby vertebra of his neck is beautiful.

You’re already jealous.

You remember his words, ‘i hope so,’ and think you know why he’s here: he wants your help figuring out who his soulmate might be because maybe you know them, and that hurts like hell, but you’re going to give it to him.

If nothing else, Sans is your friend and he deserves to be happy.

“Okay… alright, um…do you have any leads?” you ask.

“yeah.”

“………” Sans doesn’t say anything else, though, just staring at you. “And…?”

“and i’m here.”

Duh, you can see that—but how are you supposed to help if he doesn’t tell you anything?

You don’t realize what he’s saying until he starts to squirm under your gaze, sweating even worse than before and backtracking.

“i…! i mean! i don’t…s’not like i know for sure, uhh…i just…maybe you don’t, actually…an’ that’s fine, ‘cause i still…! even if you don’t, uh…have one, you’re my…we’re pals, obviously, an’ i like that, i like it a lot, i just kinda hoped maybe…maybe………”

Your heart does more than stutter when it dawns on you. It actually feels like it full-on stops, just for a second.

Your voice is hushed and tight with hope and disbelief as you say, “You think it’s me…?”

Sans swallows audibly and you still have no idea how that works, but then he says, “i hope it’s you,” and your face begins to feel very warm.

It’s nothing compared to your soulmark though, which is definitely starting to feel like it’s actually on fire.

“it’s…really okay if it’s…not the same for, for you,” Sans says, even as an unmistakably dejected look comes over his skull. “i just…y’know, i couldn’t think of anybody else it’d be, an’ you…you deserve to know that you, uh…that you’re………”

His cheekbones start to color an embarrassed blue.

“heheheh, may’ve jumped the gun a little on this one,” he admits. “i’ll just—”

“No!”

Sans’ eye-sockets go wide at your outburst and you hasten to clarify.

“You didn’t, it’s not, you’re…!” Your emotions feel like a flood, too strong to weather, and you find yourself floundering for words.

But you can’t just not say anything, you need to make Sans understand, and there’s only one way you can think of.

You grab the waistband of your sweatpants and start to tug them down.

You didn’t think Sans’ sockets could go any wider, but they do.

He says your name, sounding kind of alarmed and a lot flustered, but you cut him off.

“No, shut up, it’s, just look!”

You don’t pull your pants down far—just enough to expose the modest little shooting star that Sans unwittingly marked you with, streaking across your rear in cyan-blue.

His eye-lights disappear entirely when he spots it.

There’s dead silence for only a few seconds, and then…

“…heheheh…hahahahahaha, i was expectin’ a full moon, not a star.”

You resist the urge to sigh.

Yeeep…

Even as you jerk your pants back up, you have to press your lips together to keep from smiling while Sans’ grin gets brighter and broader.

“gotta say, that really eclipses my reveal, doesn’t it?” He snickers a little. “little relieved, though, comin’ over here like i did, thought you’d think i was a lunar somethin’.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say, “get ‘em all out now.”

“oh, don’t worry,” Sans assures you, “this’ll be a quick phase, i won’t get too cheeky.”

You huff and storm over to your couch, mostly to hide the fact that you’re definitely smiling.

“This is how I knew it was yours,” you say, plopping down and scooping up your popcorn bowl. “Endless pun potential.”

You pointedly don’t jump when Sans appears right beside you, but the sassy comment you were gearing up to make dies on your tongue when you look at him.

His expression is so…soft, so warm. One of his hands is rubbing idly at the back of his neck and all he says to you is, “yeah. endless.”

Oh…oh, hell.

Face feeling hot again, you whip towards the TV and wordlessly cue up the movie you were going to watch before Sans wandered in and turned your whole day upside down and put this stupid fluttering feeling in your stomach.

Sans shamelessly shovels some of your popcorn into his mouth and asks, “wha’are we wa’in’?”

“A movie,” you reply flatly.

Thankfully, he swallows before speaking this time. “no way, i love those, how’d you know?”

You decide not to dignify that with a response.

“aw, c’mon,” he says, smiling wide and nudging you in the ribs, “you’re not still mad about the punnin’, are ya’? i don’t want ya’ to be mad on our first date ‘cause you were the butt of the joke for awhile.”

“…Pfft!”

Your poker-face shatters and you burst out laughing.

You don’t resist when Sans throws an arm around you and tugs you to his side, or protest when he blatantly shifts the popcorn to his lap instead of yours.

Your first date with your soulmate…

You think you can put up with a lot for that.

UT!Papyrus | US!Sans | US!Papyrus | UF!Sans | UF!Papyrus | SF!Sans | SF!Papyrus | HT!Sans | HT!Papyrus