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holdingforgeneralhugs · 3 years ago

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Bitter Pill to Swallow

Chapter 17 (Chapter Masterlist)

A/N: This (and the next chapter or two) my friends, is what I affectionately call a 'Hinge chapter', the beginning of a turning point in the story if you will. I'm so grateful to everyone who's read and enjoyed this story so far, and I hope you enjoy the rest of the story just as much 💕

"Okay, we're taking the left side. I want the mortar squads hitting 'em hard while the rest of us push forward. Move out."

Valerie gave Dick a quick nod before waving third platoon forward and getting them into formation. Her body thrummed with adrenaline as the company pushed forward, the sound of the exploding mortars ringing in her ears. She spotted Dick stopping and holding up a hand, and she did the same, crouching down and watching, waiting. They started to move again, but as they approached the bridge it suddenly exploded, chunks of wood and stone raining down from the sky.

Valerie stood and dusted herself off once the debris stopped dropping, looking around frantically to make sure she didn't have any casualties. Her heart stopped as she looked ahead and saw both Lew and Dick flat on the ground, surrounded by debris. her feet had her racing towards them before she'd even really registered what she was seeing.

"Oh my god please be alright," she breathed as she fell to her knees beside Dick. ``Please, please be okay." She placed a hand on his arm and shook him gently, sucking in a strangled breath as he opened his eyes and looked up at her in surprise.

"Just a little dusty is all," he chuckled nervously, coughing harshly from the dust tickling his throat, "are you okay Val?" She just nodded, her mind still reeling from the sight of him lying there. Her eyes roved over him once more, and when she spotted a little cut on his hand she took it in her own and examined it without a second thought.

"You should probably get that bandaged," she murmured, swiping her thumb across the back of his hand gently. Dick stared down at their joined hands, his cheeks turning pink at the site of her much smaller hands holding his own, her gentle touch making his skin tingle. His heart gave a funny little jolt as she looked up and her eyes met his. They both lingered for a moment, both wanting to speak but not knowing what to say.

"I'm fine too, thanks so much for asking," Nixon snarked from beside them, dragging himself to his feet and dusting himself off, "now if you two could contain your concern for me for just a minute, we've got a riverto get across."

They jumped apart like they'd been shocked, both scrambling to their feet. "Yes," Dick agreed, clearing his throat awkwardly, "we should go find Sink for orders. Valerie, you and Harry stay put here and keep Easy on alert for any potential movement from the opposite bank."

"Sure thing Dick," Valerie replied. She gave them both a quick nod before walking off down the road and linking up with Harry. Dick's gaze kept being drawn to her as he and Nixon made their way towards the back of the column where Sink would be. His gut gave another funny swoop as he recalled her gentle touch and concerned eyes.

"So....." Nixon started, smirking at Dick in a knowing way, "you wanna tell me what that was all about?"

"Shut up Nix," Dick huffed, not meeting his friends eyes, his mind trying very hard to forget all about Valerie and focus on the task at hand.

⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓

The march into Eindhoven went very similar to the one into Son, just with what seemed to be ten times more people. The streets were packed, and everywhere they went they were stopped by a Dutch citizen pulling them into a hug. Valerie was desperately trying to keep track of her platoon, but between the distractions of the Dutch women and the free beer they were handing around she was having a tough time of it.

"Oh for Chrissakes Tab," she huffed in exasperation as she walked past him, clapping him on the back of the head and forcing him to pull away from the woman on his lap, "You'd think you'd have more sense. Get yourself together and get moving sergeant, and yes that's an order."

"Sure thing Lieutenant," he replied cheekily, giving her a lazy salute. Thankfully he did get up and start moving again, so she continued on and kept an eye out for the men in her own platoon. She stood up on a café table so she could get a better view over the crowd. "Keep moving," she shouted at the group of Easy men lingering around, but her shouts went unheard over the cheering of the crowd. She spotted Dick standing at the slightly less crowded corner of the street, binoculars in hand, so she jumped down off the table and attempted to push her way threw the mass and get over to him.

Valerie sighed in relief as she burst through the thickest part of the crowd and was finally able to breathe again. She looked down at her person to make sure she hadn't lost anything in the crush before glancing around to get her bearings once again. She started making her way over to Dick at the corner, giving Lew and Harry a wave as they joined him from the other side. She was just coming up to the group when two Dutch women danced out of the crowd and threw their arms around Lew and Dick. The incredibly uncomfortable look on Lew's face as he desperately tried to dodge them caused Valerie to chuckle in amusement. Dick however did nothing to stop the woman from planting a firm kiss on his lips.

Valerie faltered mid-step, and ended up stumbling into Dick's side. She looked up apologetically, and then quickly looked away because her eyes were immediately drawn to the pink lipstick stain on his lips. "How are we planning to get out of here?" she asked tersely, looking around at anything and everything to distract herself. She distantly registered that someone had started speaking and she knew she should be paying attention, but the image of Dick kissing that woman and her lipstick on his lips was replaying like some kind broken movie reel in her mind.

"Earth to Valerie?" Lew asked in exasperation, clicking his fingers in front of her eyes, "Dick just said you need to find your sergeants and get them to start moving people out towards the bridges."

"Oh right, yes, I'll get on that" she replied edgily, still unable to look up and meet Dick's eyes. She marched back into the crowd without a backwards glance at any of them, trying to get her mind to focus. Why should it matter to her who Dick kissed anyway? In fact it had absolutely nothing to do with her at all. But then why could she not get the image of it out of her head, and why was it that every time it replayed in her mind she felt something cold and dark gnawing at her chest?

She firmly pushed the feeling down as she shoved her way through the crowd and pulled her platoon together, getting them on the move once again. As she was leading them through the hoard she heard a commotion up ahead, and she started pushing through quicker to see what was happening, worried that someone had gotten into trouble. As she pushed through the final line of bodies she froze, and watched in horror as several Dutch women were thrown to the ground and their hair was roughly shorn off. She looked around at the jeering crowd in disbelief, and then her eyes landed on Dick and Lew standing on the periphery of the crowd and watching it all unfold.

She felt that cold gnawing feeling in her chest again as she looked over at Dick, and that on top of her confusion and disgust at the current events was just too much for her to take. She clenched her fists tightly as her hands began to shake, her finger nails digging into her palms so hard they were sure to leave indentations. She tried her best to reign in her emotions, to remain calm and focus on the objective, but all the feelings that were simmering under the surface were clawing their way up her throat and beginning to boil over. Before she could stop herself she was roughly shoving her way over to the two of them, her narrowed eyes never straying from them for a moment.

"What the hell is going on here? And why aren't you doing anything to stop it?" she snapped, squaring her shoulders and crossing her arms as she came to a stop before them. Her gaze flickered between the two of them expectantly, and it was eventually Dick who broke the silence and gave her an answer.

"They say that these women slept with the Germans, that they were collaborators," he explained carefully. Valerie shook her head and looked away, because she was sure if she didn't she might explode. How could he? How could Dick Winters of all people stand there and watch such brutality?

"And you decided to just take their word, to stand here and watch while they treat these women like crap?" she hissed coldly, her temper flaring, "How can you be so callous? I thought you of all people were better than that."

"What exactly would you have me do?" he asked tiredly, crossing his arms, "We didn't come here to police the Dutch Valerie, it isn't my place to step in and..."

"Well that's a cowards excuse if I ever heard it," Valerie cut in sharply, her eyes narrowing, "you're just standing here and watching it all unfold like it's some kind of amusing sideshow."

Dick shook his head and huffed in disbelief, his jaw clenching. "I'm standing here and doing my actual job," he said tersely, "which is figuring out how to take the next objective without casualties. It is not my place to tell the Dutch how to police themselves."

"Oh I see," Valerie hissed, unable to reign her temper in and frankly unwilling to either, "screw whatever happens to those women so long as you look good in the eyes of the brass." She knew she'd gone too far the second she said it, that she'd cut too deep. But she couldn't, wouldn't back down, not now. She was the one with the high ground here. Nixon's eyes widened in disbelief, looking between the two of them, unsure of what to do with himself or how to escape.

"You don't mean that," Dick replied, his voice dangerously soft. They stared each other down for a tense few moments, confusion and hurt and anger swirling between their gazes like a tempest. Now that Valerie had opened the floodgates she found she was unable to shut them, and in that moment a vindictive little part of her took vicious delight in hurting his feelings.

"I think you'll find I do," she replied icily, "I mean every damn word of it you goddamn coward...."

"That is enough Lieutenant Landry," he snapped, the fury blazing in his eyes masking the hurt hidden underneath, "Now you will take third platoon and wait at the edge of Eindhoven for further instruction."

"As you wish Captain," She drawled, saluting him sarcastically before storming off, huffing furiously. She'd thought that the gnawing in her chest would have sorted itself out following her outburst, but if anything it just felt even worse then, which made her impossibly more furious. She barked orders at her platoon as she walked up to them, snapping harshly at those who were still fraternising with the locals. Without waiting for a response she marched off ahead of them, not even sparing a backwards glance.

She began to cool down slightly as she got further away from the crowds, the gentle breeze fanning over her blazing cheeks. She slowly unclenched her fingers, wincing at the stiffness in them from being curled up so tightly for so long. A distant corner of her mind began to wonder if she'd overreacted, if she'd been too harsh, but she dismissed it quickly.

'He had deserved it,' she told herself resolutely. In that moment her mind once again decided to play the never-ending loop of Dick kissing that woman, and Valerie felt that vicious feeling clawing at her chest once more. She growled and kicked her foot against the gravel, trying to shake the image from her mind. She was only so mad because he was a hypocrite, going around preaching to the men not to fraternise and then going and doing it himself. And how many other women had there been before that one, or after her? Had he been going around enjoying the spoils of war just as the others had? The dark pit that had formed in her chest felt like it was trying to consume her.

'Are you sure you're not just lashing out because you're jealous?' her conscience supplied, and she kicked at the dirt again in outrage at such a ridiculous notion. Jealous? That was completely out of the question. For her to be jealous she would need to have feelings for him, and Valerie absolutely did not have feelings for Dick Winters.

Taglist: @tvserie-s-world @geniedocroe @generousdreamlanddestiny @sunsetmando @cagzzz107 @howunexpectedlyso @alejodi0nysus @sunflowerchuck @now-im-a-belieber @its1000cuts @50svibes @eugene-emt-roe @pennyllane @televisionboy @sparkyluz @ask-you-what-sir @parajumpboots @mads-weasley

#Dick Winters #Valerie Landry #Dick winters x valerie landry #Bitterpilltoswallow #Dick Winters x oc #band of brothers #band of brothers fandom #band of brothers fanfic #hbo band of brothers #bob #holdingforgeneralhugs

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bbygenya · 4 years ago

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cyber sex pt.2 🌪

fandom: demon slayer: kimetsu no yaiba

pairing: modern!sanemi x reader

ratings: m for m(utual mastubation)ature :)

warnings: none

word count: 2787

summary: listening to a popular song, you get a devilish idea for your dear old boyfriend

a/n: ma’am spare some digital coochie for a poor beggar—

also this isn’t that great (its my first kny fic as I mentioned earlier so pls be nice 🥺) read part 1 here!

“Let’s have video sex.”

He pauses for a moment, wondering what to say, how to act. This was out of the blue. “You sure? We don’t ha-”

“Oh my god, shut up,” you sigh, rolling your eyes. “Do you want to get off or what?” you ask, giving him a pointed look through the camera. You can see his cheeks roast a downy pink color as he averts his eyes, but leans back in his chair with a smug look on his face.

“It’s that damn song, isn’t it? You really like listening to freaky shit don’t you [y/n]?”

You open your mouth to say something, but then it closes when you realize that he has a point. Sure, you’d picked the song out of pure coincidence that day, but you can’t deny you do like sexy songs. They make you think of Sanemi, especially the more explicit ones. It wasn’t like you two listened to songs when you had sex, but you do find yourself a little aroused when you listen to the “freaky shit” he’s talking about. So what if you thought about getting off with him over camera a few times after that shared experience? It’s not your fault—your sex drive wasn’t nearly as high before you got with him, and it’s like Sanemi has managed to unlock something in you that you hadn’t known was there, and of course he was proud as hell of being able to do it. Something about corrupting you really got him fired up, and both of you are acutely aware of it.

“Well,” you mumble, suddenly shy. He leans back towards the camera, scooting up in his chair to see you better. Eyelids drooping as he looks you over, admiring how you’d been so bold to blurt out that the two of you should have video sex, yet now you were all shy. It’s cute.

“If you want, I can just come over and fuck you—”

“No! I mean,” you chew at your lip and sigh. “I just don’t know. . . how this works. . .” you admit, toying with the hem of your oversized shirt, avoiding eye contact. Sure, the whole concept of getting off together was nice, but when you really thought about it, you weren’t even sure how to initiate it. Sex in person was easy; there’s kissing, touching—all that. Yet this? You can’t for the life of you figure out how this works. Sanemi is quiet for a moment, and you steal a glance at him to see what he’s so quiet for.

“Well how about this,” he says, a few moments later. You raise a brow, curious. “How about you start by playing with your tits, yeah? Let me see how you touch ‘em when I’m not there with you.” He doesn’t even hesitate, the words coming out of his mouth with ease. As if he’s done this before. You try not to think about that and instead you’re more hyper focused on his words, staring down at your hands.

“Do you want me to take my shirt off?”

“Yeah. You’re not wearing a bra, are you?”

You shyly nod. Of course you weren’t wearing a bra—you’re at home! Hell, you rarely wear bras to begin with; especially with him.

“Okay. Shirt off then.”

You take a moment to regulate your breathing, then your shaky hands reach down, grasping at the hem of your shirt and you start to pull it over your head. In the back of your mind, you can hear the lyrics of the infamous song playing in the back of your mind.

I wanna touch on you,

You see me in my room.

Wish you were here right now,

All of the things I’d do

As you toss your shirt aside, you shake your hair out, running your fingers through it and arching your back subconsciously as you go. From the other side, you hear Sanemi take a shaky breath.

“Fuck, you look so good,” he praises, which of course makes your cheeks redden a little more, but you’re encouraged by this. Literally, all you’ve done was take your shirt off, and he’s already enjoying it.

“You said you wanted me to touch myself right? Play with my tits?” you question, playing coy. It feels so weird, allowing your fingers to brush over your lower stomach, tickling along your ribcage as your eyes watch your boyfriend’s reactions, seeing how the dark violet of his irises darken even more as he stares at you. Enraptured by the little show you’re giving him, even though it’s shy. It’s still undeniably sexy to him, and you can tell he’s enjoying it. Your fingers move a little shakily, from nerves, but you’re emboldened by his intense stare. Emboldened enough to gently grasp at your breasts, squeezing them and letting out a soft groan as you do so. Brushing your thumb over your nipples to tweak them to harden, lips parting as you squeeze your legs together. Having his eyes so intently on you like this is. . . .embarrassing, but oddly arousing. He’s quiet, taking everything in, and you can see how he swallows thickly at the sight. You giggle at this, which causes his eyes to dart up to yours.

“Enjoying the show, Sane?”

“What the fuck do you expect,” he grits, strained. You hum to yourself lightly as you continue to toy with your breasts.

“You should touch yourself too,” your voice is soft, but you figure it would be nice to watch him as well. “I don’t want to be the only one doing anything, I don’t think that’s how it works,” you add with a giggle, pitching into a soft moan as you pinch at your right nipple, pleasure shooting down your spine. They’re hard now, almost painfully so, and you have to cross your legs a little more.

Sanemi moves, cursing under his breath and grabs his phone and laptop, transporting you to somewhere else. You squeak, immediately grabbing your computer and standing, holding it so it only has your face in the frame. “Sanemi! Don’t just wave me around, what if Genya sees?” you yelp, embarrassed. He gives you a hard look. “I’d just have to claw his eyes out myself. No way in hell I’m letting him see you like that, {y/n],” he grumbles, passing through the living room—had he really not been in his room this whole time?—and continues.

“O-oh aniki! He-”

“Don’t fucking talk to me right now Genya I’m fucking busy,” he shuts the dark haired boy down quickly, and you can feel the way Genya wilts in confusion, and you almost laugh. It seems maybe you should move too, and so you decide to move over to your bed, sitting down with your laptop as Sanemi moves about to his bedroom, eager waiting for his return. The little moment of him moving to get more comfortable and private warms your heart—he’s always so protective of people seeing you in such a state honestly it’s kind of cute—and it helps you relax. This wasn’t a big deal. It’s just you and Sanemi; he’ll enjoy whatever you give him when it comes to your body. So you lean back on your pillow, laptop on your chest as you rub your smooth legs together, humming to yourself as he continues. Finally getting to his room, you hear him shut and lock the door, then finally he looks at you again as he moves to sit in a chair he keeps in his room, though sets his laptop on his desk, sitting away from it so you can see him better.

“It’s about time. Were you really gonna let me fuck myself while you sat in the open for people to see?” You taunt, enjoying how he looks at you as if he’d strangle you. Riling him up was so easy.

“Ha ha, you talk a lot of shit about getting seen [y/n]. What, don’t tell me you want someone to see you?” he questions, and your cheeks warm. Honestly, you’ve never really thought about exhibitionism or even voyeurism, yet you can’t help but feel the pit of your stomach twitch at the thought of someone catching you two. The thrill of doing something so lewd is exciting, you realize, and maybe he’s a bit right.

“So? What if I say yeah?” you question, shifting so that you’re sitting up now, moving to where your legs are spread apart as you nestle your laptop between them. On the bed, where he can see you like this. He sucks in a breath, shifting in his chair as he eyes you. His reaction says it all, causing you to smirk. “What? You want someone to see me?” you question, playfully though. You trail your hands down over your thighs, eyes on him as he watches your movements, then you smile at him.

“I didn’t think you’d entertain the idea of someone seeing me like this,” you taunt. He can’t help but glare at you. Of course not, but the idea of showing that you’re his is a different story. Why share what was his and his only? He was serious about you—you were his and his only.

“Panties off,” is all he says, voice full of lead and gravel as he struggles. When you glance at him, you can see the bulge tenting in his jeans and it takes everything in you not to grin.

“Impatient much,” you tsk, though you do as asked. Shifting to grasp at the waistband, you slither the fabric down your creamy legs, tossing them over off the side of your bed. Humming, you part your legs a little more, letting him get a clear view of how wet you’d gotten from just playing with your breasts with his eyes on you. Your hands slip down, closer to your inner thighs to ghost over your heat. From the other side, you can hear a soft fuck, as well as the sound of clothes, rustling.

“Damn, I’m so tempted to just come over and fuck you stupid,” and you’re so tempted to let him, but you frown, glancing at him.

“No. Well, not yet at least,” you’re set on this! You’d worked up to this point and here he was, cock out and stroking it as he watches you with a hazy, hard stare. You shiver a little, though lean your head back against the pillows. Propped up so he can see everything. “Wanna finish first,” you mumble, struggling to hold out for your own self, tempted to just dive your fingers in. But instead, you allow your middle and ring finger to ghost over the dampness of your folds, mewling softly at the motion. You’re sensitive from arousal, and he has a front-row seat to witness all of it.

“Fuck, baby,” he growls, the grip he has on his cock tightening. As he strokes up, his thumb collects the precum beading at the head, slathering it over his shaft a bit sloppily, but his eyes remain trained on your glistening core through the screen. “Look at that slutty pussy. All wet for what? You’re enjoying getting off for me that much?” he taunts, and you whine in the back of your throat from it. Goddamn his dirty mouth. But it’s true; you are enjoying it. There was nothing like being the cause of your boyfriend’s pleasure, and it excites you to be able to do so. “S-Sanemi,” you breathe shakily, fingers getting a little bolder and slipping between your slickness, brushing over your clit jerkily. You twitch, wheezing. Since when were so you damn sensitive?

🌸🌱🌸🌱🌸🌱🌸🌱🌸🌱🌸🌱🌸

“Look at you,” he croons. His voice sounds sweet, but there’s a jagged ruggedness to it. You can hear the faint sound of him jerking off, and when you crane your head a little you can see how his hand grips his swollen cock, tugging at it quickly but at a pace that—hopefully—going to keep himself from cumming too quickly. And honestly, even if he did he’s sure he’d get hard again at the sight of you right now. Legs spread, trying not to overindulge yourself with pleasure despite wanting to. “Your slutty pussy. You want my cock that bad?” he questions, and you moan in response, legs squirming as you try to rub at your nub a little faster. “Goddamn, when we finish I’m coming over to fuck you like you want. Just like you like it,” he huffs. All you can do is nod, closing your eyes and leaning your head back as you speed up. Your fingers move swiftly, the same fingers on your clit moving to slip inside your wet cunt with a squelching noise that’s loud enough for him to hear. Your noises increase in volume, thumb brushing against your clit and pressing against it, then rubs over it again. Trying to match the way you withdraw your fingers and shove them back in. Trying to do it like Sanemi does it, but your fingers are too thin and small to fit all the way. Frustrated, your eyes water as you huff.

“S-sane, I can’t reach,” you pant, whining as you try again and again and fail, but on the bright side you’re giving him quite the show, watching your slick dribble out of you soaked pussy to the point where he feels like he’s about to jump through the screen. You’re too damn sexy like this! Maybe agreeing to this wasn’t a good idea; he doesn’t think he could handle it if you two had to actually do this because one of you wasn't able to see the other. Not that he’s overly attached or anything, but he doesn’t think he could handle this on a regular basis. Hell, he’s barely handling it now. His self control is wavering by the minute, the only thing helping it being his amusement at the fact that your small fingers can’t pleasure you like he can. Like he will, when the two of you finish.

“Needy slut,” his words burn a fire in your loins and you twitch, thumb moving quicker. You withdraw your fingers fully to focus instead on furiously rubbing your clit, figuring he’d come over and finger you properly. You can’t even do it on your own now that you have him. It’s like he knows how to hit those spots perfectly, and it’s entirely unfair that he can do that. “Can’t even fuck yourself without me? Fucking pathetic,” he continues, watching how you abuse your own pearl which excites him further. He’s so close.

And so are you, based on the way your back starts arching. You can feel your bedsheets soaking under your ass from the way you leak, and the wet, sloshing noises continue yet you can’t even feel embarrassed. Right now you’re drowning in pleasure, and Sanemi keeps going, verbally berating you and turning you on in such a way you almost cry out. It’s like he’s there; growling these same words into your ear, into your skin. Burning his possession into you as well as the intensity of his gaze that you can feel as the cord tightens within you, on the verge of snapping as your climax approaches.

He cums first, thick ropes of white painting his hand, dripping onto the floor between where he sits. Ragged breaths escaping his parted lips. He looks away for a moment in his own haze, but then remembers you and jerks his eyes back up to you to watch as you come undone mere moments later, back arching beautifully as you cry out his name, calling for him even as your body trembles with the waves of your orgasm. It’s quite the sight, and he can’t lie—he’s feeling himself harden yet again.

When you come down from your high, you lay on your bed, giggling. Glancing down at the computer screen tiredly, catching Sanemi getting up jerkily to clean his hand, but in the process is zipping his jeans back up and looking around for his shoes. You blink slowly. Where was he going?

“Baby, where are you going?”

“Don’t play dumb [y/n], I’m coming to finish what you started,” he shoots a look at you through the screen and you laugh, laying starfished in bed for a bit longer before reaching down for your laptop, grabbing it and holding it to where you can see him better as he grabs his phone.

“Okay, well hurry up then,” you grin, rolling onto your stomach. He has a key to get in, so you figure you don’t have to get up.

Besides, you think it’s best for you to get into position and wait on him anyway.

-x

#sanemi shinazugawa #kimetsu no yaiba #shinazugawa sanemi #kimetsu no yaiba sanemi #sanemi shinaguzawa x reader #demon slayer fanfic #demon slayer fanfiction #kimetsu no yaiba fanfiction #kimetsu no yaiba fanfic #kny fanfic #kny fanction #spare some coochie #ma'am spare some coochie for a poor beggar

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queen-scribbles · 4 years ago

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A Welcome Distraction

Behold, the second Speaker fic! \o/ Kinda vague bc I don’t know how far down the timeline this would be, but subtle to not-so-subtle Callie/Sebastian pining ahoy. :3

---

Callie was more than a little surprised she hadn’t worn a hole through the shoddy motel carpet with her pacing.

She ran one hand through her hair, tugged a little on the ends before she let go. “Why aren’t they back yet? What’s taking so long?!”

Sebastian looked up from his tablet to glance between her and the clock on the wall. “We’re still well within the time they thought it might take,” he pointed out. “I’m sure they’re fine.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not your sister out there,” Callie muttered, sucking her teeth.

“But they are both my friends,” Sebastian replied, far more graciously than she might have if the tables were turned. “And Liam warned you your estimate was maybe a little optimistic.”

“I know,” she groaned. She flopped back spread eagle on one of the beds, but immediately bounced back to her feet and resumed pacing. “But optimism is what I do. Unless I’m worried about Delia or... someone else I care about. And it’s been over an hour and I really thought they’d be back by now.” She huffed and dropped into the chair across the small table from where Sebastian sat, her knee bouncing. “God, I need a distraction...”

“What would you normally do?” he asked.

“To deal with stress? Clean, go bouldering...” she sighed. “Nothing that’s an option right now.”

Sebastian looked at her for a few seconds more, then tapped a couple spots on the tablet screen and held it out over the table toward her. “Would reading help?”

Callie arched a brow as she took the tablet, trying not to notice how warm the leather cover was from his hands. “You aren’t worried I’ll make fun of your taste in literature?” she teased.

“Oh, I’m fairly sure you will,” Sebastian returned, a glimmer of amusement in his bright green eyes, “but I wouldn’t be much of a gentleman if I didn’t offer.”

“Sweet of you,” she said glibly, fighting back a grin. “Just for that, I’ll keep any potential smart-ass remarks to myself.”

Delia would have fired back with something like ‘Will wonders never cease’. Sebastian just gave a small chuckle and sat back in his chair, that same glimmer of amusement lingering in his eyes. “Sweet of you.”

“Don’t mention it,” she laughed as she looked down at the screen. “Wouldn’t want Delia to think I’m going soft.”

Callie had to bite her lip as she skimmed over the front cover and synopsis of the novel he was currently reading. She definitely would normally have some comments. But she’d promised to keep them to herself and she was a woman of her word. Besides, it wasn’t a bad story, going by the synopsis, just not the sort of thing she’d expect someone like him to enjoy.

Then again... she chided herself, mentally reviewing the past weeks. On second thought it made perfect sense.

After a minute’s evaluation. Callie passed the tablet back with a rueful shake of her head. “It does sound interesting, and I appreciate the offer, but I’m not good at the ‘sitting still’ thing for long even when I’m not being a worrywart” --she nodded toward her still-bouncing knee-- “so I wouldn’t be able to focus. Seems like a waste; ‘specially if you’re actually enjoying it. But thanks.”

Sebastian nodded, smiling faintly at her rambling--had he figured out she was a nervous talker, too? Probably, he was a detective and all--and took the tablet back. “You’re welcome.”

“Maybe I’ll read it some other time,” Callie said as she pushed back to her feet and resumed pacing. “If that’s okay, I mean. Just right now I’m more needing to do something-” She froze midsentence, prompting a mildly concerned look from Sebastian, and then lunged for her scuffed pink and orange duffel bag. She could feel him watching her rifle through the pockets, even if he didn’t ask the expected ‘Everything okay?’

Her fingers finally brushed against what she’d been hoping for squished at the bottom of an inner pocket. She scooped it out with a triumphant, “I do have some!”

“Some what?”

“This.” She turned to exhibit her handful of dark green and black embroidery-weight thread, squished and slightly pilled from the time spent in a pocket. “Wouldn’t be my first choice of colors--prob’ly why they’re what’s left--but it’s better than nothin’.” She plunked back in the chair she’d vacated, folding her legs up crisscross under herself. “Been so long since I’ve needed that duffel I forgot it was in there.”

Sebastian watched her as she straightened out the thread and picked off the worst of the pilling without saying a word. Despite his silence, Callie still felt the need to explain herself.

“Macrame,” she said, laying the threads next to each other as she smoothed the kinks. “Y’know, little knotted bracelets. I like making ‘em ‘cause they’re real quick to do once you know the knots well enough, so it doesn’t take a lot of time. But it’s something to keep my hands busy when I need it. Like now.”

“Mm.” He nodded. “Glad you have something.” And he turned his attention back to the tablet screen, pulling up his marked page.

Callie huffed a laugh through her nose. “Yeah, me, too.” She picked up the thread and slid her fingers down the length to measure. “Hey, Sebastian? Can I, um, borrow your wrist a sec?”

He glanced up, brow arched as he drawled, “Why?”

“I wanna do this bracelet for Li; he’ll like the colors even if I don’t, but I need to make sure it’s at least roughly guy-sized, and you’re the only one I’ve got.” Her ears warmed. “Not that I- never mind.” She shook her head. Best to at least try keeping the foot in mouth comments to a minimum. For all the luck she usually had in that area...

After only a moment’s hesitation, Sebastian held out his arm across the table. “Go ahead.”

“Thanks, I’ll be gentle,” she joked, and caught the smile that flashed across his face. The heat in her ears spread down the back of her neck as she leaned over to try and get a rough measurement without too much physical contact. Wouldn’t want him noticing how warm she suddenly was.

Her thumb did brush the inside of his wrist, despite her efforts(complete accident, her hand to God). They both flinched at the light contact, and Callie was surprised to find Sebastian’s pulse nearly as fast as her own. She didn’t comment on it, of course. Just hastily finished measuring and sat back blushing even hotter than when she started.

“All done. Thanks,” she mumbled, staring at the thread intently as she twisted then folded it to make the starting loop and knot.

“Welcome,” Sebastian murmured, withdrawing his arm slowly, his attention already back on his book.

Silence descended between them, and it wasn’t only worry over Delia Callie needed distracting from as she pinned down the looped end and started tying knots. She had to redo three separate parts of her intended pattern, and try as she might, she couldn’t entirely convince herself that was solely thanks to being rusty. (Her gaze and thoughts repeatedly wandering a few feet to her left probably contributed. Alright, definitely contributed.)

The click of a keycard through the lock was a relief for more than one reason, and Delia and Liam being back safe wasn’t even top of the list. She was just tying off the bracelet, and knew right where her attention would have gone with it completed.

“Glad you’re okay,” Callie smiled brightly, glad to have something new to focus on as she stood and slipped the finished bracelet in her pocket. She’d give it to Liam later.

“And I’m glad you didn’t drive Sebastian crazy or drill yourself into the ground worrying,” Delia returned with a smirk as she plunked her backpack on the bed. “I know how you can be, Cal.”

Callie laughed and forcefully repressed the urge to let her gaze drift where it had already gone several times over the last few minutes. “Well, you know. It’s just a matter of finding the right distraction.” Despite her efforts, her eyes flicked his direction for the briefest second.

Delia’s smirk had widened when she looked back. “Do we need to knock first in the future, Cal?”

“Delia!” She smacked her arm. “Get your mind out of the gutter. I found thread to make another bracelet; it was nothing like... like that.” God, she was going red just thinking about it, damn her sister. “The most forward thing that happened was he offered to let me read his book. And that’s not a euphemism,” she added hastily in a hissed undertone, seeing the look in her sister’s eyes.

“You sure?” Delia grinned.

“Should we talk about what we found?” Liam interjected before Callie had a chance to retort. Or strangle Delia, which was an option she was giving serious consideration.

“Yes, sounds good,” Callie said, more than happy for the change in subject. No matter what it was, good or bad, if it kept her from saying something embarrassing, it was a very welcome distraction.

But nothing could distract her from the fact Sebastian kept glancing her way through the ensuing conversation. Or the little curl of warmth that realization had growing in her gut.

And maybe, on second thought, distraction was the last thing she wanted.

#queens fic #callie cole #sebastian wynric #delia cole #liam cowles #speaker game #god i hope i got sebastian right

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livesincerely · 4 years ago

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Hey there! I just found you blog yesterday and binge read all your stuff, it is AMAZING!!! I really really really like it! I can't wait to read the tie fic, its going to be awesome! They way you write Jack *chef's kiss* perfection! Do you think you could write some more canon era or possessive Jack stuff? (I mean hey if you want to combine both I would never stop you lol) Its totally fine if not. Have an awesome day!

Wow, thank you so much!! I’m glad you’re enjoying my fics, and hey, I ALWAYS welcome another convert to the possessive Jack team 😉

I wrote you something that’s canon era and has tons of possessive Jack! I hope you enjoy it!! 😊

(Rated E, by the way)

00000

Davey’s just finalizing the meeting plans when Jack sidles up next to him and wraps an arm around his waist.

“Jack!” he says, turning towards him. “This is Fisher, he’s with the Newsies over in East Queens. We’re working on plans to shore up their emergency funds; can I borrow Racer and Specs tomorrow? I think we can hash out a few... Jack?”

Davey trails off uncertainly. Jack and Fisher are looking at each other—staring each other down, really. Jack’s jaw is clenched and Fisher’s expression has turned assessing, a crease forming between his eyebrows.

“You’re making plans to meet with Queens?” Jack’s question is directed at Davey but he doesn’t look at him, still pinning Fisher with a steely stare. “Gonna spend some quality time workin’ with Fishy here?”

“Yes?” Davey answers cautiously, not sure what to make of the thinly-veiled hostility in Jack’s voice. “Queens is having a couple of issues that he thought I could help out with. The next union meeting isn’t until later this month, but I figured we could just go ahead and start working on a—“

“Oh, I’m sure you’re just tryin’ to be helpful, sweetheart,” Jack says, his fingers curling around Davey’s hip. “But Fisher here is definitely hopin’ for something more than an analysis of his finances. There ain’t nothin’ friendly ‘bout the way he’s been staring at your ass whenever your back is turned.”

Davey blinks, completely caught off guard. He waits for Fisher to laugh off the accusation, but instead he simply shrugs.

“Can’t blame a guy for tryin’.”

Jack’s face splits into something that could be a smile, but looks more like a wolf baring its teeth.

“‘Course not,” Jack says, in a tone of voice that says he absolutely plans to blame Fisher for trying, “but I’m sure you understand why I had’ta set ya straight?”

“Of course,” Fisher says. He nods to Jack, then looks back to Davey, his expression a little sheepish. “We really could use some help with the money stuff though—I wasn’t makin’ that part up.”

Jack considers him, then his expression finally begins to thaw. He turns to Davey and asks, “You made plans to meet tomorrow?”

Davey’s still so stunned by the revelation that Fisher was flirting with him that it takes him a moment to respond. “Yeah, at the Queens complex at 7.”

“Well, feel free to drag Race and Specs along if you think you’ll need ‘em,” Jack says. “Racer’ll bitch about missing poker night but he’ll live.”

Davey clears his throat. “Yeah, sounds good.”

“Good. Then if you’re all finished”—Jack starts gently tugging Davey away—“we should start headin’ back. It’s getting late.”

Jack gives Fisher a perfunctory nod. “Fisher.”

“Kelly,” Fisher says, chagrined.

Davey bites back his first instinct, which is to tell Fisher that it was nice to meet him, because he’s not sure if it’s true and because he doubts Jack will appreciate the sentiment. He settles for a small wave goodbye, then lets Jack lead him out, a hand splayed against the small of his back.

They make it about four blocks. Then Jack hooks his fingers around one of Davey’s suspenders and drags him into an empty, darkened alleyway.

Jack utterly blindsides him, slanting their mouths together in a bruising, frantic, domineering inferno of a kiss. He shoves Davey up against the alley wall, cups a hand around the back of his head and bites at his lower lip, and Davey’s barely aware of grabbing at Jack’s shoulders and returning the kiss until he already is, a moan building in the back of his throat.

“I take my eyes off you for one second,” Jack eventually says, coaxing Davey to wrap a leg around his thigh, then pressing a hand to Davey’s tailbone so he can grind their hips together. “For one fucking second and the next thing I know some fucker from Queens is trying to slither into your good graces.”

“I didn’t realize,” Davey says, rolling his body against Jack’s, his hands fisted in the front of Jack shirt. “I didn’t even notice—“

“Whip smart and goddamn gorgeous,” Jack rasps out. He plunders Davey’s mouth like he’s got something to prove, his grip like iron around Davey’s waist. “Of course they all wanna piece of ya.”

He licks back into Davey mouth, then continues, “But the fucking gall of that bastard, tryin’ to flirt with ya when I’m right there, just a few feet away—“

“Maybe—“ Davey groans after a particularly heady thrust of Jack’s hips. “—Maybe he didn’t know?”

Jack leans back the barest amount. In the dim light Davey can just make out his eyes, simmering with heat and hunger. “Then I guess I gotta make sure they know.”

Jack reaches up and turns Davey’s head to the side, then starts working a bruise just underneath Davey’s jaw, too high to be hidden by any of his shirts.

“Jack,” Davey says, or maybe pleads, as he realizes Jack’s intention. “Jack, it’s—oh, fuck, Jack—it’s fine, you’re mine and I’m yours, you don’t have to stake your claim—“

“Clearly I fucking do,” Jack says, and there��s the pleasure-pain of Jack’s teeth scraping along the tendon in Davey’s neck. He shivers at the sensation. “‘Cause some of these bastards don’t seem to have gotten the memo.”

“Jack” Davey whines, but he’s breathless and panting, his voice threaded with need. “You are... the worst.”

He pushes at Jack’s shoulders in half-hearted protest. Jack growls in response, pressing Davey harder into the brick of the alley and nipping even more viciously at his throat, and Davey’s helpless to do anything but melt into him with a gasping sigh, tilting his head further to give Jack more access.

Jack bites at Davey’s neck one last time, then crushes their mouths together again. They kiss and kiss and kiss, until Davey can’t tell which moans are his and which ones are Jack’s, bodies moving together in delicious friction.

“I want to touch you,” Jack murmurs, fingers dancing against Davey’s belt buckle. “Can I touch you?”

It’s a dangerous idea, but Davey’s too far gone to care. “Yeah.”

Jack has his hand shoved down the front of Davey’s slacks in an instant and Davey can’t help a whimper, thrusting into Jack’s fist.

“Fuck, Jack,” he manages to say. “I’m not gonna—“

“Mine,” Jack whispers, lips brushing against the shell of Davey’s ear. “You’re mine.”

Davey barely manages to choke back a cry, shuddering and trembling as he comes down from his high. He’s faintly aware of Jack’s eyes on him, of Jack rutting desperately against his thigh before following him over the edge.

Jack pulls him in for another kiss, slow and loving. Then finally, they separate. Jack expression is a masterwork in self-satisfaction—all smug vindication and possessive pleasure. Davey rolls his eyes but loops his arms around Jack’s shoulders to keep him close.

“I hate you,” Davey complains, letting his head fall back against the bricks behind him. “I can’t believe we have to walk back to Manhattan like this.”

“Stop flirting with other people and I won’t have to wreck you in any more alleyways,” Jack says.

“I wasn’t flirting—!” Davey starts, hotly. Jack interrupts him with a chuckle.

“I know, Davey,” Jack says. “I’m just kiddin’, I know you wouldn’t do that to me.” His thumb grazes over what must be a massive hickey on Davey’s neck—Davey already dreads having to explain it away. “Do me a favor and make sure Fishy gets a good look at this tomorrow, yeah?”

“Jealous bastard,” Davey says fondly. “You’re such an asshole.”

“Hey, he’s the one gettin ideas in his head! I’m just makin’ sure we’s all on the same page.”

“Uh huh,” Davey says, unimpressed. “Sure. By the way, you’re the one that gets to come up with an explanation when my parents ask me why it looks like I’ve been strangled.”

“Aw, Dave!”

#newsies #javid #jack kelly #davey jacobs #*ask #*editor's note #*the writing desk #god possessive jack/oblivious davey is my bread and butter #this one has a side of jealous jack as well!#im sorry for nothing #except that tumblr wouldnt let me put in a read more so sorry if you had to scroll #thank you for the ask blessings on your house!!#lol this is going on ao3 shortly but first i have to think of a title

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surveys-at-your-service · 3 years ago

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Survey #391

“if you wanna soar with vultures, you’ll have to swallow crow”

Have you ever been to Australia? No. I want to visit a friend there, but honestly, Australia scares me too much lmao. That place is like, the Hard mode in life. Who was the last person you know to have a birthday? My sister's husband just had his. Are you wearing a necklace? If so, describe it. No. Do you know anyone who is left-handed? My best fren. Ever wear out a CD? What was it? Haha, yeah... I caused a few scratches on Ozzy's Black Rain, as well as one more of his, where the album name is surprisingly evading me. What’s your favorite card game? Magic: The Gathering. What’s your favorite fast food meal? Burgers or chicken tenders are usually my go-to, depending on the place. Where is the best restaurant you’ve ever eaten in at? The Cheesecake Factory. @_@ Lamb chops or pork chops? I've actually never tried lamb chops before, but I've always thought they look yummy. If you HAD to pick ONE song to listen to for the rest of your life, and that would be the only song you ever heard, what would it be? "Life Won't Wait" by Ozzy Osbourne, probably. It's very motivating. Ever heard of Shinedown? Yeah, I like 'em. They're one of Dad's faves. What size is your bed? Queen. What is the first meal you remember eating? Hell if I know. What was the first movie you ever saw? I also don't remember. What percentile of your class were you in? The top. Can you name every place you’ve ever had sex? I probably could, but I'm not going to. What forms of birth control have you used? The pill and also just not having a sex life lmao. Do you use sponges or dishcloths when doing the dishes? A sponge. What’s your favorite song on the top twenty right now? I have zero clue what's in the top twenty. Ever punched a wall? No. What was the last bug you killed and what did you use? An ant in the house. My fingers. Ever get pulled over by the cops and get away without a ticket? I've never been pulled over. What was your first legal alcoholic drink? A margarita, I think? What’s the most expensive things your parents ever bought you? Probably this laptop. What’s the most expensive thing you’ve bought? My snake. Or my most recent tattoo, idr. What is your favorite cover song? I think Disturbed's "Sound of Silence" is unbeatable as a cover. Well, or Johnny Cash's "Hurt." Both SLAUGHTER the originals. Did you ever drop out of school? College, three times. Ever raise a child that wasn’t your own for more than 3 months? No. Strangest medical procedure ever performed on you? Considering the location, having a pilonidal cyst drained by pushing on it. Jesus FUCKING Christ it hurt so goddamn bad. Does the place you work have music playing? What sort? I don’t have a job. Do you use Windows, Mac, Linux, or something else entirely? Windows. Do you cut tags out of clothing so they don’t itch and bother you? Yes. How many times a year do you go on vacation? Zero, generally. What is your favorite time period in history to learn about? The Holocaust. What’s the saddest report you have ever seen on the news? *shrug* I don't watch the news. In your honest opinion, what is the scariest sea creature you know? Putting aside my illogical fear of whale sharks, probably giant squid. Like no thank u. What superpower do you think would be the most handy in times of trouble? Teleportation. Do you believe there is just one love for everyone, or…? No. There are WAY too many people in the world for that. Plus, you're talking to a person who has been in love with two different individuals, and both were perfectly valid feelings. Why are you best friends with your best friend? She's just simply amazing. Strong, funny, intelligent, caring, supportive, loyal... She's, again, amazing. Do you world peace is truly a possibility in the future? Realistically, no. But it's nice to imagine. Pretend you are a really good cook, what meal would you make? *shrug* It would depend on what I wanted to eat. What do you think of when you look at the stars? Just the vastness of everything, and I wonder what it's like up there in outer space. If a turtle doesn’t have a shell, is he homeless or naked? Dead? Their shells are part of their actual skeletal structure. What’s one thing you feel you must do in your life before it ends? Just... feel like I did something. What Disney princess are you most like? Personality-wise, I mean. Maybe Belle? To be totally honest, I don't really remember the details of most of their personalities. What do you think is the most important thing in this life is? Love. Do you use any acne medication? Not anymore. Have you ever tried to learn another language? How did it go? I took Latin for one semester, and it was hard as FUCK. I quickly changed to German next semester and did that for all four available classes. Do you still have a landline phone in your home? No. Throughout a typical week, which places are you likely to go? I go to the TMS therapy office every weekday, and I might ride with my mom to pick up groceries or something. How often do you use your webcam, if you even have one that is? Never anymore because my mic doesn't work on this laptop, so there's no reason to. Do you have a lock number or pattern for your phone? Neither, actually. What was the last thing you bought from a liquor store? Mom bought a nice bottle of some pink lemonade Smirnoff the other day for us to try, but she left it at my sister's. ;-; It looked soooo good. Is there any cereal in your house? What kind? Yeah. Mom got some Honey Nut Cheerios and Reese's Puffs. What's the most number of people you've ever lived with? Excluding myself, I wanna say five. Do you celebrate St. Patrick's Day? No. Do you have any pets? How long have you had them? I've had Venus forrrr... I want to say four years, and Roman for two, I think. What's your favourite kind of cheese? American. Have you danced in the rain? No. Who is your favorite person to text? Sara. What’s your favorite brand of jeans? I haven't worn jeans in many years. Do you enjoy Mario games? Not especially. Mario Kart is fun, though. What’s your favorite online game? World of Warcraft. Have you ever been hit with a ball in gym class? Yes. That shit hurts. Who was last to cook for you? My mom. Would you ever wish to explore a cave? YES!!!!! You see the person you fell hardest for. What do you do? Freeze, physically and mentally. Have you ever ridden in a car with someone who was high? Yes, because I was afraid to say no. Did you ever date the last person you kissed? Yes. Have you ever held a snake? Plenty of times. How often do you have friends over to your house? Never. Have you ever had a boss who acted unprofessionally? No. Who was the last person who cried around you? Why did they start crying? Was it unexpected? My mom, because she always feels unwanted at Ashley's house. It wasn't unexpected, honestly. She cries a lot in the car when she leaves my sister's house, honestly. It's heartbreaking. Do you have any exercises you do everyday? No. :/ Are you more of a dog or cat person? I'm a cat person. That only becomes more apparent with time, really. Have you ever had a dream of stabbing someone? I probably have, given I've had nightmares of strangling someone, punching and slapping people... all kinds of stuff. My nightmares are so fucking violent and I hate it. Would you ever have a bird as a pet? No. Have you ever had to speak at a funeral? No. Do you know someone who’s been cremated? My dog, as well as my younger sister's old pup. And Mom's. What is your favorite animated movie? The Lion King. Did your grandparents teach you anything? To not be horrendously old-fashioned and to never have kids, yes. Congrats, Grandma, I took both things to heart. Do you want/have a Bachelor's degree? No. Are you into superheroes? Who's your favourite? Not massively, no. I like Deadpool (yeah, yeah, antihero, whatever) and Spider-Man. Have you ever played Cards Against Humanity? Did you like it? Yes to both. Have you ever played a drinking game? Which ones? I don't think so. Did you ever play Neopets when you were younger? Yes, I LOVED them. Sometimes I'm still tempted to make a new account, I shit you not, lol. Have you ever been to Mexico? No. Have your parents ever worked in medicine? My mom was a pharmacy technician or some title like that for a long time. Is there anything unusual about your house? I don't think so? How many serious relationships have you been in? Two. Do you listen to Rise Against? I only know "Re-education (Through Labor)," but I LOVE that song. When was the last time you congratulated someone? It was probably something on Facebook, but idr. Have you ever taken care of a newborn baby? Go no, I could never. How old were you when you got your ears pierced? I don't remember my age, but old enough where I did it of my own volition. Do you snore when you sleep? No. Surprising for someone with sleep apnea as horrendous as mine. What was the last type of burger you ate? I had a McDouble from McDonald's a few nights ago.

#survey #surveys #random questions #lyrics: ''queen for queen'' by motionless in white

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tomiyeee · 4 years ago

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2, 5, 7, 13, 17, and 20 (you gave me so many lol)

under cut cuz it’s long(er than usual)

2) What do you like most about the series?

hm. if im honest, im not entirely sure! i think at least part of what got me hooked and why the series has remained so entertaining for me is just the sheer ridiculousness of it. the faces and animations, the whole concept of an ancient alien race whose society revolves around racing cars...it’s great! i don’t mean this in a bad way or that i dont take any fan content seriously, i just find it amusing looking at my content of it and thinking “man. this from a kids’ show about cars.” makes it much easier to enjoy what i make and not take it all too seriously. im just here to have fun!

5) Favorite & least favorite car(s)?

mm i answered already but i realize those were only acceleracers cars sooo…

fav: markie’s stingray..i always say this but it’s vanilla flavored..it’s so pretty

least fav: gosh all these cars are so ugly it’s hard to pick just one...i’ll just go by teams lol

wave rippers - alec’s truck is so bulky and ugly and boring *graffiti’s on it in vr chat*

street breed - side draft is such a stupid name

road beasts - moto-crossed. what the fuck?

dune ratz - kadeem i love you but...sir ur car…

scorchers - red baron. the fucking. driver has to bend over just to see out the vehicle, how is this a car

7) Favorite scene or line?

vert house scene in BP. i’ve probably watched/listened to BP at least twice as many times as any of the other movies. nolo isn’t in this scene but i like vert too and he looked cute and had nice voice acting so it’s in second place. what can i say, i cant stand action and eating lunch in the cafeteria and talking to ur dad at home is about as far from action as you can get :)

13) What ships do you like (if any)?

i have them all listed on my blog but i wanna talk about some of em that have been on my mind a lot anyway:

vertnolo - tbh i can’t see either of them being very romantic, esp with each other. they aren’t so much boyfriends as they are just friends who like to kiss lol. this ship is almost purely self-indulgence which im a little embarrassed about sometimes but hghhh. i love vert and i love nolo and instead of loving both of them individually, why not love two boys with one ship? :)

banjee/kadeem - they had very cute exchanges in world race and i would’ve loved to see more of them!

banjee/ez/skeet - damn banjee how come i let you have two boyfriends AND a girlfriend? they seem to be canonically very good friends, and i love the idea of the three of them getting into trouble together...or rather banj/ez getting into trouble and skeet being reluctantly dragged along. he seems the least willing to break rules but they are all ride or die for each other

tork/tone - this may not have worked out in canon and there’s not much to work off of there anyway in terms of dynamic so i don’t draw it much, but rival team leaders are always an interesting ship in my experience lol. plus they both desperately needed some character development so hey they have that in common!

dad wheeler/tezla/gelorum - the dilf/gilf/milf dynamic. they are all exes.

lani/vert and karma/nolo - platonically, they both feel like they have a sibling-like dynamic and their aesthetics fit together very nicely. vert and lani have some stuff in common and get along fairly well and karma seems to look after nolo quite a bit. i don’t have a lot of solid ideas for either of them, but seeing/thinking about them interacting makes me really happy :D

17) If you could design a realm of your own what sort of theme would it have?

well i’ve already answered for my flower/forest/fairy-themed aesthetic and fish and stars are already taken...what other aesthetics do i have..?

this is very vague but i really like seeing vibrant pink color palettes. im better at designing stuff thru drawing than text but i dont feel like drawing rn so ig just something that looks like either this warm pink sort of palette or this purple-ish one. like a sort of..sunset realm? not sure about the track or obstacles, i just want it to be pink and pretty. ooh or a crystalline realm!! maybe even combine the two!

20) What would you like to see/have seen in a continuation?

i want the drivers to beat the shit out of tezla. i really loved the parts of ult race where the two teams worked together and made amends, but it’s sad that we didn’t get to see much of that dynamic until the very end, especially since it’s kinda drowned out by all the action (i get it’s the finale, but also...i hate action). i would love to have seen more of those new relationships and how they would work out in different situations. like more of what we got to see of the characters’ interactions throughout the series, only this time its without them all being ~2 secs away from strangling each other.

the characters working together and building completely new dynamics between each other as the series progresses..maybe certain characters become unexpected but very good friends whose personalities complement each other in unexpected ways! maybe there are new conflicts that arise between the characters that stem from their personalities/backgrounds/etc. themselves rather than some arbitrary team rivalry! ooohh there’s just so much potential here!!

#ask #hw #ask game

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apparentlynotreallyfinnish · 5 years ago

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Experiments - Part 8

If you want to start from the beginning:

Experiments on Ao3

---

Link hopped down from the counter and took Rhett’s hand, intertwining their fingers. Rhett followed him into the middle room, unabashedly staring at Link’s ass swaying in his tight jeans.

“There’s um…” Link said with an uncertain chuckle. Rhett turned to look at their nap corner and let out a low whistle.

“Wow. Christy really went above and beyond.”

The bed was made with new, cream-colored sheets that shone in the soft lamplight filtering through the thin linen curtain. There was a new, fluffy blanket neatly folded at the foot of the bed and a few plump pillows thrown on top of the old ones. The shelf over the head of the bed, where they usually kept their phones—or in Link’s case, his glasses—was filled with chunky candles.

A small basket was tucked between the pillows. Rhett reached for it and curiously rummaged through the contents. A lighter, two types of lube, one of them flavored—what does she expect us to do with that?!—condoms, tissues, and a Gatorade.

Rhett burst into laughter and picked up the bottle.

“Really? Does she think we’re gonna need this?”

Link shrugged and smiled sheepishly. “I think it’s a joke,” he said. Rhett shook his head, still laughing and set the basket on the floor next to the bed. He eyed the row of candles.

“Do you wanna light those or is that gonna be a fire hazard?” he asked, rubbing his beard.

“I don’t know. Isn’t that a bit too…?”

“Too what?”

“Romantic?” Link blurted out, blushing.

“Oh, don’t you mean cinematic?” Rhett asked with a wink but continued. “I think it would be nice. The ceiling light is kinda annoyingly bright.”

It was true, but not the reason why Rhett suggested lighting the candles. It probably wouldn’t have occurred to him on his own, but now that the candles were here, fucking Link in candlelight sounded more than appealing.

“Okay, I’ll light ‘em,” Link said, reaching for the lighter. Rhett grabbed it before he could. “Tsk, tsk. No fire-starting objects for you.” He climbed on the bed and lit the candles as Link mumbled something about Rhett being ridiculous.

When Rhett was done and the room was bathed in a soft, flickering light, Rhett sat on the bed, with his back against the wall and beckoned Link over with a crooked finger. Link was already crawling towards him and settled on Rhett’s lap, straddling his thighs. His arms wrapped around Rhett’s shoulders and he dove into a kiss so fast that Rhett’s head thumped against the wall. They giggled into each other's mouths but kept going.

Now that they were kissing, Rhett realized he never wanted to stop. Link’s mouth was warm and responsive and his tongue did things Rhett could have never even attempted with his own. It didn’t take long for both of them to be breathless and impossibly hard.

Rhett’s hands were under Link’s shirt, climbing up to feel the ripple of his muscled back as he moved against Rhett. Link’s hips tilted and swirled and rubbed them together. The sweet friction dulled by their jeans was the worst tease Rhett had encountered in years. He needed to feel Link, feel his skin against his own—warm and slippery and real—but he couldn’t stop kissing him long enough to undress.

“You look so fucking hot in this shirt,” Link muttered against Rhett’s lips—words partially muffled by Rhett’s inability to stop kissing him—and started popping open the buttons. His hands were trembling as he fumbled against Rhett’s heaving stomach, too close to Rhett’s aching cock not to be touching him there. Rhett bucked against him and groaned a needy “get it off!”

Link pried their lips apart, trying to concentrate on the buttons, but Rhett kept reaching to suck and lick Link’s neck, distracting him. A button ripped off and pinged somewhere on the floor. Rhett couldn’t have cared less because the shirt was finally open and Link’s soft hands were rubbing up and down his chest and stomach and tickling his sides.

Rhett squirmed under Link’s exploration, eyes screwed closed, mouth open to draw in quick breaths.

“I need more. Need to feel you,” Rhett mumbled and reached blindly for the hem of Link’s t-shirt. “Off,” he pleaded, yanking on it. Link lifted his hands and twisted and turned as Rhett tried to pull the shirt over his head. It caught on Link’s glasses, whipping them off and onto the bed.

“Shit,” Link gasped, reaching for them, but Rhett snatched them and set them on the shelf above.

“Wanna see those pretty eyes when I fuck you,” Rhett said, trying to ignore the tremble in his voice. Link made a desperate throaty sound, surging down to kiss him fiercely.

There was a short scrimmage over who got to open the other one’s fly first. Link won and dragged down both Rhett’s jeans and his underwear low enough to fish out Rhett’s touch-starved cock. The waistband of Rhett’s boxer briefs dug in uncomfortably to the root of his dick, but he barely noticed, because Link had spit on his hands and was double-fisting Rhett with slow, tight strokes that sent jolts of pleasure all the way down to his toes. Rhett’s head fell back and he let out a rumbling groan, rolling his hips to fuck himself into Link’s magical touch.

But it wasn’t Link’s fists he’d come here to fuck. Even though it pained him, he pulled Link’s hands away from his dick. Link let out an annoyed huff and reached for him again, but Rhett gently slapped his hands away.

“No, baby, it’s your turn,” he murmured and pushed Link off of his lap. Link fell backwards on the bed and started fumbling at the buttons of his jeans. Rhett hopped out of the bed, shrugged off his open shirt and peeled off his pants.

Link had gotten his jeans open and was on his back, shimmying out of them when Rhett leaned over to help. Link’s swollen cock smacked against his navel as his underwear slipped down his legs and Rhett’s mouth watered. Link’s clothes joined the pile with Rhett’s on the floor, and Rhett crawled on top of him.

Link’s breathing was fast and shallow and he was staring up at Rhett with wide eyes. Warmth filled Rhett’s chest and he brushed off a stray curl of hair from Link’s forehead before ducking down to kiss his neck. Link’s head fell to the side, revealing more taut skin for Rhett to nibble on. He could feel the vibrations of Link’s moans on his lips.

“Feels good.” Link’s voice rumbled from above. His hands were trailing along Rhett’s back, fingers caressing the length of his spine and finally, digging into his waist to pull them closer. Rhett sunk his teeth into Link’s shoulder and rolled his hips against Link’s. Link cried out as Rhett’s wet cockhead rubbed along his hard shaft. Link’s cock was like an iron rod straight from the furnace, it felt almost too hot against Rhett’s skin.

“Holy fuck,” Rhett muttered against Link’s neck as his vision blurred from the pleasure.

“Do that again,” Link begged, squirming under Rhett, trying desperately to replicate his move. Rhett gladly obeyed, slowly rocking his hardness against Link’s. Link whimpered with every roll of Rhett’s hips. Rhett spread his wetness over Link’s cock and for a few sweet moments, they enjoyed the delicious friction created by their cocks sliding against each other.

Rhett got lost in the motion, burning pleasure filling his gut. He could easily come like this, he realized just in time and eased off. Link let out a disappointed whine. His hands left Rhett’s waist and dipped down to squeeze his ass—hard.

“Hands off,” Rhett ordered playfully. “Yours is the one getting ravaged tonight.”

Link ignored Rhett and kept kneading his ass, a teasing smirk ghosting on his lips.

“Oh, is that how you wanna play this?” Rhett said and then he was moving. Link yelped and giggled as Rhett grabbed his hands with a growl and pushed them over Link’s head. Without much effort, he held onto Link’s wrists with one hand, pressing them against the mattress. They were almost nose to nose when he saw Link’s eyes glazing over and felt the air escaping his lungs.

“Oh.” Rhett’s lips quirked into a wicked grin. “Is this what you like? You want me to manhandle you? Makes sense. You did always love wrestling with me…”

Link’s face turned crimson and he moaned out a humiliated, whimpery “please”. Grinning, Rhett snaked his other hand between their bodies. He wrapped his fingers around Link’s shaft and squeezed. Link’s hips rose to his touch and in a fit of blinding lust Rhett flipped him over. Even though Rhett had let go of his hands, Link didn’t move them, he just pressed his face against the sheets and trembled beneath Rhett’s rough hands.

Rhett rose up to straddle Link’s thighs and stared greedily at his bare bottom.

“Let’s get that rump up, shall we?” He dug an arm under Link’s hips and lifted his ass up, settling him onto his knees, face still pressed against the bed. Link was breathing hard enough for Rhett to hear it, but he didn’t move from the position Rhett had arranged him in. Heat pooled into Rhett’s gut as he stepped down from the bed, grabbed the lube bottle from the basket and returned to admire Link’s perfectly pert little ass.

“Isn’t that a pretty sight?” Rhett muttered, voice rough with want. He reached to stroke Link’s lower back, making Link jerk at the sudden touch.

“Rhett,” Link moaned against the sheets. Rhett’s hand moved to his ass and squeezed. He let out an appreciative hum when he got a glimpse of Link’s rosy-colored, clean-shaven pucker. Does he always wax his ass or did he do that just for me?

Rhett’s cock was throbbing and he gave it a few slow strokes before squeezing himself hard, hoping to calm his raging erection at least a little. He wasn’t about to blow his load before he got onto the field.

“I really should’ve made you put a plug in before coming tonight. Coulda just popped that off and go straight into fucking you hard.” The thought made Rhett’s cock leak and smear pre-cum onto his thigh.

“Rhett.” Link’s voice came again, smaller this time and somehow strangled.

Rhett’s lust cleared at the strange cadence of Link’s voice. Now that he wasn’t so single-mindedly concentrated on getting inside that sweet ass, Rhett realized that Link’s thighs were shaking.

“Link?” he asked tentatively. There was no answer.

Rhett leaned over him, propping his knee on the bed and touching Link’s back lightly. “You okay?”

Link turned his head, facing away from Rhett. Worry pressed down on Rhett’s chest and he pulled his hand away. But that seemed to be the wrong move because Link let out a hurt whimper and tucked his knees against his chest and turned onto his side.

Rhett got down on the bed next to Link, inched closer to him until they were front to back and wrapped his arm around Link’s chest.

“Hey, bo. What happened? Did I hurt you?” Rhett asked, desperately hoping for a no. He caressed Link’s arm with his fingertips and waited with his heart in his throat.

Slowly, Link relaxed into Rhett’s touch and let Rhett gently coax him around.

“No, you didn’t.” Link’s small voice finally put Rhett out of his misery and he let out a relieved breath. But Link’s eyes were still screwed closed and he wrapped his arms around Rhett, clinging onto him, hiding his face onto the crook of Rhett’s neck.

“I’m sorry if I got carried away,” Rhett said quietly and held him tightly.

“No, it was—” Link sighed against Rhett’s skin. His breathing was slowing down. “You did everything right. It was like straight out of one of my fantasies. I just…”

“Tell me,” Rhett pleaded, slowly petting Link’s hair.

“I freaked out. I’m not… I don’t even know if— Damn it! It’s stupid.” Link fell silent for a beat. Rhett let him take a moment and just kept threading his fingers through Link’s hair to soothe him.

“Are you just faking this?” Link finally asked so quietly, Rhett almost missed it.

“What?”

Link burrowed deeper into Rhett’s embrace and let out a shaky breath.

“I’m worried that you don’t actually want me. That you’re just acting because I asked you to do this for me.”

“I—” Rhett started. He paused to nudge Link out of his hiding place. When the blue eyes were watching him warily, Rhett continued:

“Link, I want you. You asked me if I was into guys. And honestly, I still don’t have an answer for that, but what I do know… I am into you.”

Link bit his lip. He still didn’t seem convinced so Rhett gently pushed him onto his back and propped up on his elbow. Link’s body stretched out next to Rhett, lean and taut, skin colored warm orange by the candlelight. He was a masterpiece of hard angles and soft curves, and Rhett had to take a shuddering breath before he could continue talking. Link was staring up at him, studying Rhett’s features, trying to read if he was serious.

“You are…” Rhett whispered and started at Link’s jawline, caressing it with his fingertips before curving down to his neck, etching along his clavicles and then down, down, down, all the way to the trail of soft hair guiding him between Link’s legs. Rhett made a note of Link’s arm hair raising into goosebumps. Link took a shaky breath as his whole body quivered under Rhett’s wandering touch.

“…a gift. I mean, Jesus fucking Christ, this body of yours is a gift and I still can’t believe you’ve given me the chance— That you trust me enough to let me experience it like this. That I get to touch you like this—” Rhett’s fingers wrapped around Link’s shaft and stroked slowly. Link’s mouth opened to a silent moan and his back arched off the bed. Rhett licked his lips, feeling the need that had plagued him for days.

“I got to taste you. Got to make you come. And that was… Fuck, I’ll never stop thinking about that. Everything about that is permanently etched in my memory. How you felt on my tongue, silky smooth and soft and hard and filling me so fucking perfectly. How you touched me to guide me—so adorably nervous and still somehow determined to take what you needed from me. The way you sounded when you came. God. I’ll take that sound to the grave with me.”

The small—almost shy—smile Link gave Rhett made something in his chest flutter. He ducked down to kiss along the same path his fingers had traveled. Link’s chest heaved under his lips and Rhett stopped to slowly lick and suck on his nipple, reveling in the noises his mouth was capable of pulling from Link. The softness of Link’s belly invited Rhett to nuzzle into it and he breathed in the faint tropical scent of his body wash.

“Mmmh. I want this. I might even want this more than you do,” Rhett muttered against Link’s warm skin as he nibbled his way down to the base of his cock. Rhett’s stomach clenched as the thought occurred to him. This was like research for Link. Something he’d decided he wanted to experience once and then he’d be done with it. Done with Rhett. Rhett tried to ignore the pain stabbing at his chest as he wrapped his lips around the head of Link’s cock and swirled his tongue around it, tasting the pre-cum.

“Rhett,” Link gasped, fingers already tangling into Rhett’s hair. Rhett backed up an inch, freeing his mouth.

“Shhh, let me take care of you. Let me make sure you’ll remember this with fondness.”

Link had no time to answer in words, only in pleasured moans, as Rhett dove to suck on his dripping cock. He took his time, palm gently placed on Link’s stomach to feel his abs tighten and release. Rhett closed his eyes and concentrated on the feel of Link inside his mouth. His softness against Rhett’s tongue. The taste of him that still made Rhett dizzy and aching. It was like someone had turned sex and lust and joy into something tangible and glazed Link’s dick with it. Rhett salivated as the taste coated his tongue and he dove further and further until his nose brushed against the hairs at the base of Link’s cock. Link’s hips trembled as he clearly fought the need to thrust deeper into Rhett’s throat.

Rhett released him with slow, soft kisses and waited for Link to lift his head and peek down at him to see why he’d stopped. When he did, Rhett slipped two fingers into his mouth and pulled them out dripping with saliva. Link’s eyes widened as he reached for a pillow to tuck under his lower back and Rhett pushed Link’s legs wider apart for better access.

“There you are,” he murmured and circled Link’s rim with the pads of his slicked-up fingers. Link’s legs twitched at the soft touch and he let out a small gasp. Rhett peppered sweet kisses along the inside of Link’s thigh and kept teasing Link with his fingers. He was soon glistening-wet and looked almost good enough to eat. Link’s breath quickened audibly and his hips started shifting, rolling against Rhett’s exploring fingers.

“Come on,” he finally moaned. “Need you in me.”

Rhett smiled and bit his lip not to laugh from sheer happiness. The elation he felt as he slowly pushed one finger inside Link’s ass made him light-headed.

“This okay?” Rhett asked and got a firm nod as a reply before Link’s head thudded back against the sheets. Slowly, Rhett moved deeper, coaxing Link to relax both with small rubbing motions he hoped would feel pleasant and a litany of encouragement whispered against Link’s thigh, where he’d laid his head down.

“You feel amazing.”

“You’re so fucking beautiful.”

“Come on, baby, moan for me. Tell me when it’s good.”

Link was tight—tighter than anything Rhett had ever experienced and he couldn’t help but let worry flash across his mind. What if this doesn’t work? What if I hurt him? What if he hates it? He tried to push away his fears and concentrate on studying how Link’s body responded to him. Link was panting and moving his hips in needy rolls. There was the odd curse word, but mostly, he didn’t speak much.

It took a little while and a good amount of lube, but eventually, Rhett was fucking Link with two fingers. He’d found a spot that seemed to elicit more enthusiastic wriggling and nodding and soft, little yeahs repeated under Link’s breath. Rhett was so intensely fixated on gathering more and more of those little breathy begs and pleas, that when Link suddenly spoke, he startled.

“I gotta tell you something,” Link said, voice hoarse. Rhett’s heart missed a beat and all of his worries jumped back onto the center stage of his mind.

“Yeah?” he asked tentatively.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed—” Link groaned and took a deep breath. “But your fingers are inside my ass.”

As relief flushed through him, Rhett burst into a belly-wobbling laughter. Link was smirking at the ceiling with his eyes closed.

“Well, would you look at that. How did this happen?” Rhett said, feigning surprise and giving Link’s thigh a playful nibble that made him squeak and shiver.

“And you know what?” Link said, arching his back and pressing harder against Rhett’s fingers, effectively fucking himself onto them.

“What?”

“It feels fucking amazing.”

Rhett’s face flushed hot and he pressed it against Link’s leg, smiling like an idiot.

“Yeah?” he confirmed.

“Oh, yeah.”

The need to kiss Link took over so suddenly it left Rhett faint and aching. All Rhett could think about was getting his lips on Link’s. He crawled up the bed, fingers still firmly lodged inside Link, pulling Link closer. Thankfully, Link caught on quickly and pulled Rhett in with both hands.

It was the kind of kiss that starts slow and turns urgent. They burned bright against each other, heads in the clouds and minds comfortably numb to anything else than each other.

Their arms tangled as Link found his way between Rhett’s legs and stroked his forgotten cock back to life. They breathed in each other’s thirst and somehow, without them really trying, their bodies slotted together and started moving in sync, grinding against each other.

“I want you so bad,” Link mumbled against Rhett’s lips. Rhett was sucking on Link’s bottom lip and only let go of it to whisper back, “me too.” His unoccupied hand groped around the bed for the lube he’d left behind when he’d rushed to kiss Link.

“What are you doing?” Link whined when Rhett’s fruitless search made his fingers slip out of Link.

“Need to add lube,” Rhett murmured and kissed him gently in apology.

“No more fingers,” Link gasped and pulled Rhett on top of himself. “Fuck me.”

Of course, Rhett had known that this was the next step. He wasn’t that stupid. This is where this whole night had been aiming for. But when Link said those words, it actually hit him.

He was about to have sex with Link—with his best friend. The man he’d grown up with. The man he’d shared his family and his work and his creativity with. The man who’d moved across the country with him. The man he’d cried and laughed and fought with. And now, they would share this too.

He stared down at Link’s lust-filled, half-lidded eyes in awe, fighting the wave of panic crashing over him.

“O-okay,” he stammered and tried to climb out of the bed. Link clung to him.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he growled, eyes almost entirely black and so striking Rhett’s stomach lurched and his hand started to tremble.

“We need a—” Rhett muttered, blushing and feeling like an awkward teenager at his first hook-up.

“We don’t need a condom. Despite what the fanfic writers dream up, I ain’t getting pregnant. Just fuck me.”

“But what about…?” Rhett asked, feeling even more awkward.

“I’m clean. You?”

“Yeah.”

“Good,” Link groaned, writhing under Rhett in a way that made his dick really fucking happy. “Now stop stalling and stick that thick dick inside me.”

“So crude,” Rhett murmured, smiling to hide his nerves. He’d finally found the lube and was on his knees between Link’s legs, slathering his dick with it, ignoring the shaking of his hands and thighs.

“Gonna go slow,” he said as he pressed his cock against the rim of Link’s asshole.

“No. Just do it. Like a band-aid,” Link panted and rolled his hips against Rhett.

Rhett huffed out a laugh at his impatience and shook his head. “You’re so fucking tight, bo. I don’t think I could do that even if I wanted to.”

Link let out an annoyed whine and huffed, “well, do your best.”

That Rhett could do. He guided his cock in with one hand and held onto Link’s waist with the other. It took more force than he’d expected to penetrate him, and when the head of his cock finally slipped inside Link’s tight, wet heat they both gasped out a solemn “fuck”. Rhett’s gaze whipped to Link’s face and he found Link’s eyes twinkling with mirth like he imagined his were as well.

“Like I said, kind of a tight fit,” Rhett husked, smiling. Link’s eyes fluttered closed and he nodded emphatically.

“You good?” Rhett asked, before going deeper.

“We’re still good,” Link replied with a lopsided grin. He was no longer pressing against Rhett, though, which told Rhett that he was at least a little bit affected by the increase in size.

Rhett stared at Link’s face as his dick sunk further in. Link’s eyebrows were furrowed and his lips were parted, his bottom lip quivering faintly with every breath. Rhett moved his hand on Link’s stomach and slowly rubbed it to ease the tension as he thrust into Link’s impossible tightness.

“Doing so good, baby. A little more. Can you relax for me, just a little bit.”

Link let out a small pained huff and reached for Rhett.

“Hold me,” he pleaded, voice small and strained.

Rhett leaned over and took Link’s hand, pressing it against the mattress next to his head, their fingers intertwined. He balanced himself on his elbow, settling chest to chest with Link who wrapped his legs around Rhett’s body. Their breathing synced and Rhett pressed a soft kiss onto Link’s jawline.

“Open your eyes,” he whispered, voice heavy with emotion. “I wanna see those baby blues.”

Link’s eyes opened slowly. Rhett waited for his eyes to focus on him and smiled. Then he pressed himself all the way inside. Link’s mouth opened to a moan and Rhett swallowed down a growl of pleasure. He was totally enveloped by a tight silken heat. Link’s heat.

They stared at each other for a beat, breathing heavy, eyes wide and amazed.

“I know I’ve never done this before, but I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to move,” Link muttered, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Rhett huffed out a laugh.

“Smartass,” he whispered, smiling and started to move. It was slow and measured, only small movements at first—partly because he didn’t want to hurt Link and partly because he was afraid he was gonna come at any second. But little by little, Link relaxed under him. The tension left his body and the Link that remained was a moaning, boneless mess under Rhett. Rhett was delighted to find that when Link got going, he got verbal.

“Oh, god, yes,” he moaned. “Just like that. Fuck, right there. You’re so big. Gonna rip me in half with that thick cock. Feels so good... Baby, oh god, baby! More. Kiss me. Fuck me. Harder. Need it. Wanna be sore tomorrow. Rhett, please!”

Rhett couldn’t have gotten a word in even if he’d tried. But he didn’t mind. He listened to Link babble in ecstasy and fought his impending orgasm. He needed this to go on forever. He wanted to be inside Link forever. He belonged there. The realization burned inside his heart and made him feel weak, made him feel bittersweet. They were always meant to do this.

Eventually, Link lost his ability to form words. He just whimpered against Rhett’s open mouth. They were nose to nose, rocking into each other. Hands tangled in hair and cupping cheeks and caressing toned arms. Rhett had found a rhythm and an angle that pushed the air out of Link’s lungs with every thrust.

“Oh, god, Rhett. You’re gonna make me come!” Link gasped.

“Please, I’m so close. I need to—” Rhett moaned at the same time.

“Yes! Fuck, yes, please. Fill me up. Mark me. Make me yours,” Link groaned, rolling his hips desperately against Rhett.

“You’re mine?” Rhett choked out and pressed his forehead against Link’s. Link’s eyes opened and he stared straight into Rhett’s soul as he started to pump cum between their stomachs.

“I’m yours. I’m yours. I’m yours. I’m yours…” Link chanted, almost sobbing, with every twitch of his body, with every spurt of sticky wetness spreading between them.

Rhett came with a desperate growl. Link’s orgasm squeezed him over and over and over again, making his toes curl, his thighs tremble and his vision swim with stars. Rhett pressed his lips against Link’s and kissed him hard, drinking up the last of his pleasured whimpers.

They shivered in each other’s arms, sweat and cum gluing their bodies together. The candlelight made the shadows on Link’s face flicker ethereal. Rhett stared at him as their breathing slowly returned to normal.

The crooked smile. The sharp jawline. The long, inky-black eyelashes. The lips he’d kissed raw. The soft pink in his cheeks. The salt-and-pepper hair sticking this way and that.

I love him.

I’m in love with him.

I need to get out of here. Now!

#Appa writes fic #rhink #rhink fic #experiments fic #part 8 #and I thought this was gonna be a six parter #ha!#ns*w

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unicyclehippo · 5 years ago

Note

beaujester star wars au..... beau is a cocky rebellion pilot that’s a little Too good at dodging and firing shots, and jester is a princess-turned-junior senator-turned rebellion supporter. they are both force sensitive and kiss

The star base has been overrun by decorations and muted music, louder toward the centre of the hanger and half-volume at the edges, where a few hand-picked individuals - volunteers, probably - are keeping an eye on the alerts still. Colourful lights spin over the ceiling in programmed patterns that put Beau in mind of the star maps she reads on a daily basis, and the longer she looks, the more she starts to think they actually are star maps. Blown out to make ‘em look all pretty, though. That’s what decorating on a tight budget looks like, though.

She’s leaning against the landing gear of her fighter, largely hidden by the shadows of her wings, and doing her utmost to strike a balance between looking incredibly cool but incredibly unapproachable whenever anyone looks her way. It’s hard, and she’s pretty sure she just looks injured, but no one has come over to talk to her and that’s a win in her book. No one, that is, save for Fjord.

Fjord Tusktooth - tall, green, surprisingly lean for an orc, tusked as the name suggests and a damn good pilot, her Captain actually - sidles over, arms raised over his head as he steps through the dancing crowd. He tries his best not to let the drinks spill but he’s licking what looks like jet oil off his hand when he reaches her.

‘That better not be mine, Cap.’

He rolls his eyes. ‘Can humans drink strick-oil?’

‘No.’

‘Then it’s not yours, is it? What’s wrong with your face?’

‘What? Nothing! Give me that.’

It doesn’t smell like a drink; it smells like it’ll strip her innards of anything and everything useful and replace them with alcohol. Luckily, that’s exactly how she likes her drinks. Taking it from him, she flings it back, feels it burn all the way down. It hits her system like a punch to the face from a nydak.

‘Good?’

‘Fuckin’ awful,’ she rasps. ‘Cheers.’

He laughs. Settles into place beside her, sipping at the thick oil drink. ‘So. Any reason you’re all the way over here instead of letting all of these lov-erly ladies lavish you with attention?’ He waggles his brows as he asks and grins, very much aware that he’s the only one who can get away with asking her these kinds of questions as baldly as he does. Mostly because he manages to ask in a way that doesn’t make her wanna use him for shooting practice. And a little because he’s her superior officer. ‘I’ve turned down two proposals on your behalf - you’re welcome.’

‘Huh? What? Who?’

He points them out subtly - one a dusty pink alien clad in white and gold, with about a half dozen tentacles drifting around her head like a mane, the other a waist-high, bearded lady who winks right at Beau when she sees her watching.

‘That’s kinda my call, isn’t it?’

‘They offered two nerfs for you -’

‘Like, both of them together? That’s hot.’

‘What? No - Beau,’ he laughs. ‘The point is that you should know your worth.’ His face goes carefully blank as he tries, very obviously, not to smile. ‘Three nerfs.’

Beau snorts. ‘Shut up. I’m going to get another drink. See if you can get them to bid higher for my hand, yeah? Remind them that I lead Team Two today. Integral to the battle. Integral.’ He salutes and she pushes off the wall, walks toward the party just long enough for his eyes to slide away from her. She steps sideways into the corridor and ducks out of sight, breath coming out in a gust.

Tyr-Mannou Star Base is built deep in the asteroid that orbits the planet, hidden from prying eyes and ears by the layered rock. Beau hadn’t been listening a hundred per cent when it was explained but something about the metals in the area, and in this planet, seemed to provide a buffer - mild, temporary - to long-distance scanning and surveillance. And at this point - haggard, hurting - the rebels will take any buffer at all.

It’s good for the rebellion, to be buried in the asteroid.

It’s hard to find fresh air, though, and Beau pulls at the collar of her jumpsuit, unzipping it until she doesn’t feel like she’s being strangled.

Moving farther from the party, down the corridor and just away, Beau lets her feet carry her aimlessly at first - listening to the sound of her boots on the metal, echoing in the tin-can corridors, hiding briefly from the passing technicians who don’t seem to notice her in the various shadowed niches she finds. And then less aimlessly, until she realises she is headed directly for the command station.

The room isn’t dark, not ever, but it is running on a skeleton crew who look up suspiciously at her entry, relaxing when they recognise her face - or, more likely, the badge affixed to her shoulder.

‘Lionette.’

‘Commander.’

‘Shouldn’t you be at the party? I heard your squad was receiving a commendation.’

‘We are. Did, Commander.’

Commander Dairon - a hard-ass and a legend in the fighter crews for the Battle of Sotheirrik in which they led the harrying of a military convoy for two fucking weeks - looks her over with a cool eye before nodding. ‘Made an appearance at least, I hope?’

‘Sure did.’

‘Good. Get some rest, Lionette. There will be plenty of work come morning.’ The Commander reaches out a gloved hand. Rests it on Beau’s shoulder for a moment, squeezes. ‘Enjoy these moments when you can,’ they tell her quietly, and it has a tinge of an order to it. But just a tinge.

‘Yessir.’

‘Good. Now,’ they say, eyes glittering, ‘Fuck off.’

Beau barks a laugh. Salutes her Commander lazily and continues on, onwards toward the view that had been calling her.

The command station sits closest to the surface of the asteroid and it is here, only here, that one can see the view that they are risking everything to protect. The field of stars and asteroids, glinting as they catch the light of Tyr-Mannou’s sun. The purple-blue of Tyr-Mannou’s surface, the deep deep green almost black of its seas. The layer of clouds that cloak portions of the landmasses and oceans alike, drifting. Beau leans up against the window, hands curling over the rail, and watches a storm brew.

She feels Jester’s presence before she sees her. A flicker of something at the edge of her awareness, far beyond that which her awareness should rightfully cover. She hears the hiss of the gas as the doors slide open and turning, beau watches a green-cloaked figure step down from the corridor. Jester exchanges a few words with Commander Dairon but Beau can feel it - the focus of her attention like a taut string between them, and she already knows Jester is about to look up, feeling her intent like a thrum, a plucked note on that string.

Jester looks up. Dark, dark eyes in a smiling face.

‘Ambassador Lavorre, this is one of our finest pilots.’

‘Beauregard,’ Jester interrupts Dairon’s introduction.

Beau tries not to shiver. No one says her name the way this girl does, like they’re sharing a private joke.

‘Princess,’ Beau returns, and she’s aiming for calm and cool, something to suit her new title of the best fucking pilot of the rebellion, but damn if it doesn’t come out reverent.

Commander Dairon’s brows are at their hairline now and out of the corner of her eye Beau sees them mouth, ‘Okay,’ and they take their seat, turning away.

‘How are you?’ Jester asks. It’s as nice to hear as it is weird. ‘I was told that you and your squad took on the main fleet today?’

Beau snorts. ‘Fuck no. I mean - uh,’

‘I’m not a Princess anymore,’ Jester teases, though her smile flickers at the reminder. ‘You don’t have to not swear around me.’

‘Oh, you’ll regret saying that. I swear every second word now. Habit. Us pilots are a rough and rowdy lot.’

Jester just laughs. ‘May I join you?’

‘Join - yeah, sure. Of course.’

Beau presses back until her back hits the rail, her spine and shoulders the cool glass. She grips the rail. Gulps. The weight of Jester’s attention, the force of her presence, feels like a real and tangible thing and Beau is finding it hard to concentrate the closer she comes - until she is right at her side and then the weight of it, the distraction, all falls away and Beau feels like the headache that has been pressing at her for the last few hours has lifted and she is seeing entirely clearly again.

Jester holds out her hand, straight out as if to shake Beau’s.

Beau slides her bare hand into Jester’s, tries not to shiver at the chill of her skin. Turns it and lifts it to her lips, brushes a kiss over sharp knuckles.

‘Introducing the First Madrick of Kar-Marodah, Thoreau Lionette, and the First Madrise,’

The Hall is as large as four grav-barret courts, Beau is sure of that. And it’s all made of grand, sweeping lines that she can’t quite follow. She cranes her head to try and follow one to its end but it meets with another three lines and Beau is dizzy with it; a large hand sets heavy on the top of her skull and stops her turning and twisting and Beau, nine years old and well acquainted with her fathers displeasure, falls still.

‘Be still, Beauregard. We are here to make a good impression on the Laveesh Embassy and that won’t happen,’ he reminds her, ‘if you are swinging all over the place like some common nerf-herder.’ His flat green eyes narrow. ‘Understood?’

‘Yes.’

‘Yes sir.’

‘I’d prefer Captain,’ she dares tell him, sure that he won’t reprimand her too terribly in front of an audience, and the chance to see his eye twitch is too good to pass up. She doesn’t press too far, feeling the first flutters of her danger sense. ‘Yes sir.’

‘Come along. They’re waiting.’

His fingers are clawed into her shoulder as he moves them strategically around the room. Smiling and making small talk with the various important boring folk in the chamber, and Beau is waist-height to most of them so it’s not her fault that she’s more interested in what they’re wearing on their feet and if they have anything on their belts.

She finds two strange cards that have no writing on them that she recognises, which she returns, disappointed, and a ring on the floor, which she pockets. It feels cold and warm all at once, and as she drags her finger around the inside whorl of the ring, she feels very strange all of a sudden. As if she had done that exact thing a hundred, a thousand times over with this very ring.

‘Ah, Madrick Lionette, how wonderful,’ comes a voice, finally, that drags Beau’s eyes from the mosaic floor. The woman - the alien - the alien woman in front of Beau is beautiful in a way she has never seen before, all vibrant red skin and curves and gold gold gold and Beau feels her jaw drop. She didn’t know that women could look like this.

She’s still staring when she hears her own name, and feels her father shake her shoulder.

‘Beauregard,’ she blurts out. ‘Hello.’ The sigh from above tells her that she did that all wrong. Face flushing, ears burning, Beau trawls through her memory and tries again. ‘I’m - It’s a pleasure to meet you, Queen Lavorre. I am Beauregard Lionette, scion of the Madrick Lionette.’

‘Oh!’ The Queen laughs, not meanly at all but seemingly delighted. ‘How polite! It is my pleasure to meet you, Young Beauregard.’ She laughs again when Beau stammers through a thank you. ‘Have you had a chance to meet my daughter? You’re about the same age and she’s force sensitive too -’

‘Beauregard is not,’ her father tells the Queen flatly. ‘We had high hopes, but...it was not to be.’ He coats the words with the displeasure Beauregard hates; feels it pressing into her skin like his clawed fingers. It’s her fault she’s not force sensitive. She’s known that for a long time now. For as long as she can remember.

There is a moment of silence, then, ‘Well. Jester? Where have you gone, my darling?’

Like a flicker of fish in the pool back home, and with the same warmth of the sun-soaked tiles against Beau’s chest and belly as she lays at the side, hand plunged into the waters to try and catch one of those crafty fish, Beau sees her. A girl, around her own age as promised, and dressed all in pretty robes. She is muddy to the knees, the dress heavy around her feet and dripping the purpled soil in a thick trail behind her.

‘Jester? What have you gotten into?’

‘The mud. Obviously,’ the girl adds, though the Obviously was already clear from her tone. Her curls are riotous about her face, and she wears a great big smile, though it slips momentarily as she twists something between her fingers.

‘Are you alright?’ Beau blurts.

‘Beauregard,’

‘Oh yes,’ Jester tells her, and smiles with all the brilliance she can muster in her round, round cheeks and dark eyes. It’s... a lot.

Beau still feels an undercurrent. Cold water around her fingers. ‘I don’t believe you.’

‘Beauregard! Don’t be a pest!’

Jester stares for a moment, then laughs. Shoves her hand toward Beau. ‘Hello, pest. I’m Jester.’

Beau takes it. Blanks for a moment over what is proper and finally bows, kissing it clumsily. As she stands upright, she notes the rings - one on each finger. Except for,

‘Are you missing a ring?’

‘Oh, Jester,’

‘It was an accident,’ Jester tells her mother immediately, complete with trembling lip and abject sorrow. Though, Beau notes, no seeming anxiety for her mother’s reaction.

She reaches down into her pocket. Rubs her thumb over the heavy ring. Is struck, momentarily, by the urge to keep it. It’s beautiful, she found it.

It’s Jester’s.

She didn’t see a name on it, but she knows it as certainly as she knows she’ll have blisters in the morning from these awful shiny boots.

‘Come along, Beauregard,’ her father says, and begins to draw away from the Queen and her daughter.

Beau shakes out from his hold and steps forward, holds out both her closed hands toward Jester. If she can guess which one the ring is in, Beau decides in nine-year old logic, then she can have it back. If not, Beau will get to keep it.

They’re seventeen and the Madrick has called the meeting this time. The Queen - The Planetless Queen, Beau has heard her called behind her back, and she owns several bruises and one cracked knuckle for putting upstarts back in their places by force. The Queen has disappeared into the war room and Beau isn’t surprised to find that Jester has found her, even hidden away in the engineering core as she is.

‘Still on with this plan, then?’ Jester asks her, peering up from beneath the suspended chassis to where Beau is hanging, fixing the wiring. ‘Becoming a pilot?’

‘Why? You think I can’t hack it?’

‘What? No. Of course you can!’

‘Then why wouldn’t I be?’

Jester is quiet for a long time, long enough for Beau to almost forget the question. She winches herself down from her position and before she can fully reclaim her feet, Jester is in front of her and her hands press against Beau’s cheeks and she’s kissing her. Kissing her, with the engineering teams buzzing around outside, and the smell of jet-oil and soldering thick in the air.

‘I’ll miss you,’ she says. Simple words, but the feelings that slam hard into Beau’s stomach are far from simple.

‘Jes - ‘

‘I’m sorry,’

‘You can’t -’ Beau scrambles up onto her feet. Hooks a grease-stained hand onto the perfect sleeve of the newly minted Junior Ambassador, pulling her deeper into the corner. ‘My father -’

‘He’s busy, he didn’t see,’

‘He owns these people,’ Beau hisses, glances back over her shoulder. But no one seems to have seen. ‘If I’m going to get into the Academy, he can’t - he can’t know that I’m - with you,’

‘Why not? What’s wrong with me?’

‘Nothing! Everything!’

‘Oh, how very flattering,’

‘That’s not what I meant and you know it, Jes,’

‘Well you do one thing and then say a lot of other nonsense, Beau, so forgive me if I’m a little confused!’ Jester is a sight and a half, eyes flashing with unbridled fury. She’s a good inch or two shorter than Beau but with them both straining to hiss-yell at one another, their noses are almost touching.

‘You’re hot when you’re angry.’

‘Oh shut up.’

Beau grins. The grin fades into something softer, something adoring. She reaches up. Is careful that, when she brushes a curl back, the grease-stained finger doesn’t touch Jester’s cheek. ‘Did you come here to ask me that? If I still wanna be a pilot, all I’ve ever wanted to do since I was five?’

Jester’s eyes drop.

Beau wipes her hand off on her jumpsuit. Crooks a finger under her chin. ‘Or did you come to ask me not to go?’

For a little while, Beau thinks Jester won’t answer. Then her eyes shift, harden, and Beau is reminded of those months after the destruction of her planet. When the pain had threatened to overflow and so Jester had locked it down, hard and tight enough to become coal, something that would let her burn and burn and burn with fury for ages to come.

‘What you want to do, it’s important. More important than me.’

Beau can’t disagree. The simple fact is that the war is more important than everything. Any one person. She opens her mouth to argue anyway, because - because this is Jester.

‘I came to tell you to be safe.’ And then Jester is reaching into her pocket and she removes something from it. Small and round and familiar, the golden band with the touch of emerald studded along it. The ring they have passed to one another at every meeting. A keep-safe. A talisman. ‘I want this back,’ she tells Beau, and presses it into her palm. Beau closes her hand around it, and Jester’s hand. Kisses the back of it.

‘Be safe. Please - I don’t want - I can’t lose you as well.’

‘As you command,’ Beau whispers. ‘Princess.’

The fight is coming quickly into its sixth hour. Beau’s jumpsuit is slick with sweat, her hands are basically swimming in her gloves, and she can barely fucking see with the sweat dripping, stinging in her eyes. There’s nothing she can do about that right now, though, and she yanks hard on her controls as another volley of bolts burst into the space where she just was.

‘Blue-XP, what’s your status?’

‘Got a bruiser on my tail, Cap,’ she gasps, and pulls hard, swivelling overhead of the TIE fighter, letting it zoom ahead. ‘Coming in hot on the zero.’

Whatever reply Fjord might have for her is lost in a crackle of energy and a blur as Beau reacts to something she feels before she sees - another TIE, bursting out from fucking nowhere to pinch her between the two of them.

Beau swears and books it, zipping in and out of the carcass of the long-dead transporter, her small fighter tackling the corners like a champ and her memory of the interior bursting into sharp relief as adrenaline and luck slam hard into her. She doesn’t let herself think, just slams into the controls in a way that might have made her wince if she had time to feel anything at all over the fear and fury.

One TIE bursts into flame, utterly silent in the vacuum. The other is hot on her tail still - the hunter becomes the hunted, piece of motherfucking shit Empire dogs - and then Beau is lifting a prayer to old, dead planets and touching a finger to the ring of heavy metal that hands around her neck and spinning her fighter around to face the TIE dead on. Spins around the bolts that come her way and - between one breath and the next she fires. Bolts away without even needing to look back.

It hit. She knew it before she saw the impact.

They stand in front of the star field now, in a quiet command station far from a party celebrating a truly minor battle. The war rages on all around them, in every direction, and will for years to come. But for now, there are drinks and lights and dancing, and everyone will pretend that it is enough.

With distant stars as their lights, and the beep of alerts and reminders as their music, Beauregard and Jester dance like they have been dancing together for decades. Like it hasn’t been almost five years since they’ve seen one another.

‘Most daring pilot in the ninth sector,’ Jester murmurs, cheek resting on Beau’s shoulder. Her words rumble up through her chest to the top of her head, where Beau’s cheek rests in turn against soft curls. ‘That’s what I’ve heard. You’re fast becoming a legend.’

‘Me? Maybe. But you faced down a legion of Kryn soldiers and got them to turn tail - yes or no?’ From the flush on Jester’s face, Beau knows her answer. She whistles, low and quiet. ‘Damn, Jes.’

‘That won’t be remembered. No one remembers the ambassadors - you’re not supposed to remember us. The fighters are the cool ones.’

‘I’ll remember you,’ Beau shrugs.

They sway together, a slow side-to-side.

‘I’ve got a present for you,’ Beau tells her. Jester’s smile is warm against her skin, even through the jumpsuit.

‘Oh really?’

‘Yeah.’

‘It wouldn’t happen to be a ring, would it?’

‘What - how did you know?’

Jester hums, trying to hide a laugh. The laugh actually does fade when Beau lets her go - just for a moment, just long enough to unclasp the chain - and tugs the ring off from around her neck. She clasps it in her hand and Beau is close enough to feel the ripple of it - the energy that swirls around this shared ring, no doubt full of the fear and thrilling adrenaline of the fight, hopefully filled with the memory of all those nights she spent in her cabin, missing Jester.

Jester’s breath hitches. She blinks a few times, blinking open dark eyes, and then turns in the cradle of Beau’s arms. Lifts her hair, as she offers the chain to Beau. ‘Do it up for me?’

‘Y-yeah. Yeah, sure.’ Beau takes it with suddenly clumsy fingers. Can’t resist brushing her thumb over the knob of Jester’s spine, the soft hair at her hairline. It takes a moment for her to work the clasp but finally it clicks closed and she lets her hands fall to either side, to Jester’s shoulders, and leans forward until she can kiss where she had touched. Lips pressed to the vulnerable space there. ‘I want that back,’ she whispers. ‘Sooner than five years, if you can manage.’

Jester twists back to face her. ‘Shouldn’t I get to keep it for five years? You did.’

‘That’s not how the game works.’

‘I’ll let you see it,’

‘We trade it, Jes. That’s how the game works.’

‘That’s how it has historically worked. I might suggest a change in rules,’ she says, in her most Ambassadorial tones, and Beau fights a laugh. ‘I had two dozen Kryn warships fleeing before me, Beauregard, I think I can get you to change your mind.’

‘You try your best, Princess. I’m sure I’ll enjoy it.’

#cr tag #prompt fill #tagging my stories #i dont rly know shit or jack all abt star wars #beaujester

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artificialqueens · 5 years ago

Text

Blue Neighborhood Series: THE QUIET + DKLA (Jackie-centric) - Mac

AN: Thanks a million for the feedback on this series! It truly means the world to me. Thank you so much, guys. I hope you enjoy this part as much as the previous ones. As always, thanks to the incredible Meggie for putting up with me and beta-ing this work, she is a superstar, send her some love!

Summary: Jackie is doing her best to keep her head above water. But with a stressful home life and a stressful school life, the walls feel like they are closing in.

Jackie was a social floater. She could twist her skin into whatever people wanted her to be. Most of the time they just wanted her to be quiet, sit back and listen to their problems. Which Jackie was fine with. It meant no one was asking about hers.

Jackie’s family life was… complicated to say the least.

Her father and mother both knew she was gay.

But they pretended like they didn’t.

Where they would pester her older brother about girls every chance they got, they sat stone-faced when she mentioned she was taking Gigi to Homecoming. Well, not completely stone-faced. Her father coughed.

Jackie had given up the chance of exploring her sexuality in high school. Content to let bygones be bygones until college. That’s when she would really get to shine. Away from judgment from her peers and parents and teachers. She would be free then.

For now though, she was standing outside Gigi’s door. The younger girl appeared a moment later, long blonde hair up in a high ponytail clad in flared jeans with a crop top that definitely wasn’t up to dress code. Jackie rolled her eyes internally, knowing that there was virtually no way Gigi would get called out on it. She supposed there were just perks to being the skinny white femme of everyone’s dreams.

The two walked in relative silence over to Brita’s house.

Then they walked in relative screaming to school. Brita was going on and on and on about how horrified she was to hear the news and how terrible it was that Jan thought she couldn’t share the sordid details of her personal life with her friends.

Gigi didn’t comment much, other than a small nod of agreement here and there. Jackie just steamed quietly to herself.

She had her own thoughts about the whole endeavor. Which she happily kept to herself, thank you very much. It wasn’t any of their business if Jan was gay. It wasn’t any of their business if she was getting it on with the captain of the varsity basketball team.

Yes, they had been friends since childhood and yes, Jan had been there when Jackie came out, and yes Jackie had told Jan every possible detail about her life because she trusted her. And no, that kind of trust wasn’t easy to come by.

So maybe Jackie was a little confused. A little hurt even.

That must be why she felt so weird.

“Have you seen her at all this week?” Jackie asked, knowing the answer hadn’t changed.

Gigi gave her a weak smile. “Not since Wednesday, no.”

“Is she okay?” Brita asked.

Jackie rolled her eyes. “Well, considering she had the flu last year and came to school anyway to protect her perfect attendance record, I think it’s safe to say no.”

Gigi spoke softly, calmly. “Jacks, I know you’re stressed with the whole Jan thing, but—”

“I’m just tired.” Jackie cut her off. “It has nothing to do with her. I just didn’t sleep well last night.”

Brita and Gigi dropped the subject for now, but Jackie could see on their faces that they didn’t believe her.

Jackie bid her friends adieu at their lockers and headed up the stairs to her own. She tried to shake the feeling of unease that accompanied her, but it wouldn’t dissipate. It sat in her gut and ate at her through the morning. Her classes passed in a haze. At times it felt like she wasn’t even real.

The pit in her stomach only grew as the bell for lunch sounded.

She headed toward the art room, hoping to find some sort of mental reprieve from the strange feeling.

She had no such luck.

Nicky and Crystal were flirt-fighting again. Or at least that was the term Heidi had given it. Nicky would pick something, anything to complain about, and Crystal would evidently rise to the bait and the two would bicker and one of two things would happen. Either they would eventually fall into a fit of giggles, or one of them would say something a little too flirtatious and they both would look away and poorly hide goofy smiles.

It was so sweet it was sickening at times.

Heidi was torturing Aiden by recounting her date with Jacob the other night, going on about how it’s only been three months but she really thinks he’s the one. Normally, Jackie would sit back and laugh. Watch as Crystal and Nicky danced around each other. Watch as Aiden got closer and closer to strangling Heidi with every word.

But today, today she felt like she was drowning. Usually, the art room was too warm in a good way. Cozy even. The breeze from the propped door offering a bit of relief from the stale air. But today it just felt stifling.

Jackie sat and ate in silence, letting her thoughts ruminate over the events of the past few days. The infamous picture. Jan’s weird behavior. Jackie’s weird feelings about Jan’s weird behavior.

“Are you okay, Jackie?”

“Hmm?” Jackie looked up at the sound of her name.

Nicky smiled softly, “I asked if you were okay. You seem quieter than usually.”

“Is it Jan?” Crystal chimed in.

Jackie scoffed, “Why does everyone keep asking me that? Why would Jan have anything to do with—”

“Because you’re in love with her,” Crystal answered simply.

Jackie’s stomach lurched.

Oh fuck.

“I’m not—”

Heidi cut her off, shouting from the other side of the room. “No, girl, don’t lie. You’ve been head over heels for Jan since we could talk.”

Jackie’s brain was still trying to compute. The pit in her stomach felt like it had swallowed her whole and her heart was beating a mile a minute. Suddenly she couldn’t breathe.“But I’m not… not in love with her.”

Her shock must have been apparent, because her friends’ expressions shifted suddenly from condescending to shocked.

“I thought you knew,” Crystal spoke quietly.

“How do you not know you’re in love with someone?” Aiden whispered.

“You’d be surprised,” Heidi murmured back in response.

Crystal elbowed Heidi in the ribs.

“Hey! I didn’t ask-”

“Shut up!” Crystal whisper-shouted. “Clearly she’s going through something and you wanna talk about—”

Jackie didn’t hear the rest of Crystal’s statement; she was too busy focusing on her feet hitting the ground as she ran out of the art room, down the hallway, and through the double doors at the end to gulp the outside air.

It didn’t help.

She still felt sick.

Love.

What a tricky little word.

Farsi has over 80 different ways to say love.

Eighty different ways in a language she had been speaking since birth, and yet Jackie couldn’t wrap her head around a single one that encompassed how she felt about Jan.

Love seemed too pedestrian. Too cliché. Too plain.

Maybe that’s why it never occurred to Jackie that such a simple sounding word could be related to Jan.

Jan wasn’t cliché or plain, the opposite actually.

But Jackie… Jackie was simple. She was cliché. So cliché in fact that she had apparently fallen for her straight best friend like the stupid lesbian stereotype she so tried to keep herself from becoming.

So she guessed it made sense.

Jackie shook her head to clear it. And when that didn’t work, she found her eyes searching her surroundings for anything else to focus on. Her gaze landed on two familiar faces in the distance.

Dahlia and Bryce sat close together under the bleachers. Jackie went to turn away, to shield her eyes from whatever shenanigans they were getting up to, when she noticed the open books in their laps.

Dahlia was pointing to a paragraph and talking with her hands. Bryce nodded along. He said something Jackie couldn’t make out and Dahlia nodded excitedly. She continued pointing out different sections of the textbook and Bryce went on to ask questions.

It looked like she was… tutoring him.

Huh.

Jackie couldn’t help her morbid curiosity, so she approached the two as quietly as she could. She ducked under the bleachers and inched ever closer to the pair until she could make out what they were saying.

“So, what you’re saying is I’m stupid and all I had to do was flip the fraction?” Bryce asked.

“Exactly,” Dahlia said.

Bryce chuckled and tried to sound offended, “Hey, you weren’t supposed to agree with that first part!”

Dahlia shook her head and barely hid a smile. “It ain’t about agreeing, it’s just facts. You pretty stupid. You lucky I’m not.”

“I really am,” Bryce said genuinely. Dahlia looked up to meet his eyes and Jackie could see something brimming under the surface. “I feel like I don’t thank you enough for this. But I really appreciate it.”

Dahlia broke eye contact with him and waved her hand as if to break the tension, “Yeah, yeah, I heard it before, you wanna impress your girl.”

So that’s what this was about. He wanted to be good enough for Jan.

And dammit if that thought didn’t hit Jackie in the chest. She knew the feeling.

Bryce sighed and ran his hand through his unkempt hair. “She’s really fucking pissed at me right now.”

“I would be too.” Dahlia nodded. “If you were my mans and I saw you comin’ back from somewhere with the school slut, I wouldn’t be too happy either.”

Bryce winced at her words. “Don’t say that.”

Dahlia gave a bitter laugh. “It’s true. They see you coming from the bleachers with the whole football team and assume you sleeping with ‘em.”

Jackie tried to inch closer but completely missed the giant tree branch right in front of her. She caught her foot on it, which caused her to trip and fall, letting out a curse as she hit the rough ground.

Dahlia and Bryce looked over at her with wide eyes and had the decency to even look a bit guilty. Dahlia was the first to come back to herself, snatching up her backpack and practically sprinting back into the school building.

Bryce lingered and offered a hand to help Jackie up, which she took gratefully.

The two stared at each other a moment. It seemed like Bryce wanted to say something, but he ultimately shook his head and settled for, “Hey, Jackie.”

“Hey, Bryce,” Jackie said.

Bryce coughed to try and break the sudden awkward tension and motioned to the still open text book behind him. “I’m not cheating on her.”

“I know,” Jackie said simply.

She never thought he would. Bryce wasn’t cheating. Didn’t have the brain power to cope with the guilt that came with cheating.

“Dahlia and I were—”

Jackie cut him off, “Studying, I know. I saw.”

“Can you tell her? Jan?” he asked, a hint of desperation creeping into his words. “I’ve been trying to call her but she won’t answer.”

Jackie shook her head. “She’s not answering me either.”

Bryce looked shocked. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Jackie said simply, suddenly fighting back tears.

“But you guys are…” He trailed off.

Yeah. Jackie wanted to say. Yeah, they were. And they had been that way for so long that now, now that they weren’t, she didn’t know what to do or think or how to breathe.

Bryce just stood there. Looking at her.

Jackie just stood there. Looking back.

Until he rallied the courage to ask what she knew he had wanted to ask since they had locked eyes.

“You think it’s her? In the picture?” Bryce asked.

Jackie nearly screamed.

“No,” she answered truthfully.

She didn’t think it was Jan. Hadn’t even considered the possibility that it could be Jan until Wednesday. And even then, Jackie still couldn’t wrap her mind around it because Jan was straight. And Jan was Jan.

But even still, Jackie couldn’t stop her mind from running away with the alternative. The alternative being that it was Jan in the picture.

And that alternative made Jackie’s stomach twist up like a balloon animal.

“Me either,” Bryce spoke softly, pulling Jackie from her thoughts.

The two sat in relative silence for a few more moments before Jackie mentioned that they probably should be heading back.

Practice after school went about as well as expected, with Jackie, Brita, Gigi, and the rest of the seniors taking turns leading the team through exercises and routines. Jackie couldn’t help but pick up on the feeling of defeat. They had already been pushing their luck with one flyer down and no coach, but now that Jan wasn’t there it just felt hopeless.

Jackie asked her mother later that night if they were coming to regionals.

Her father coughed and her mother danced around the word ‘no’ for half an hour or so.

Jackie just rolled her eyes at her mother’s antics. Taarof, the Persian word and Iranian principle of not saying what you truly mean, but the group understanding what is actually being expressed. Her mother meant no, but she never said it outright.

By the time Jackie finished dinner and her homework, it was nearly midnight. She sighed at her clock and willed that it would turn back. Willed that it would turn so far back that it would undo whatever weird spell she seemed to be under.

She had no such luck as the clock ticked on and on, and Jackie’s mind only got more cluttered. After twenty minutes of staring at her ceiling and praying that her mind would empty, Jackie gave in. She grabbed her car keys from the kitchen counter and left her house without a second thought.

Jackie got in her car and just sat for a moment. She stared at the radio and the steering wheel and when she blinked, she was outside Jan’s house, not remembering having driven the short distance across the street.

It was raining, Jackie noted after a minute, pretty hard actually, and if Jackie were in her right mind, she would worry about how her tires really needed replacing because she kept hydroplaning. But Jackie clearly wasn’t in her right mind because before she could think too hard, she was calling Jan.

The younger girl finally picked up after the third call.

“Come outside,” Jackie said firmly.

Jan sighed, and it spoke volumes. “Jacks-”

“Please.” Jackie startled herself with how broken her own voice sounded.

She heard Jan inhale slightly on the other end before she hung up.

Not a moment later, the blonde’s head appeared, and she ran from her front door to Jackie’s car, holding the back of her jacket up to shield herself from the rain. She threw open Jackie’s car door and settled down in the passenger seat. If it were any other day, Jackie would lament about her seats getting ruined, but with Jan sitting beside her, hair thrown up in a messy bun with no makeup and not a trace of a smile on her face, Jackie really couldn’t give a damn about her seats.

Jan sat in her passenger seat and just looked at her for a moment, taking her in almost.

“Hey,” Jan said finally.

Jackie’s heart hammered in her chest, as it normally did when Jan was around. Only now she recognized the pounding for what it truly was.

“Hey.”

I love you. Jackie thought.

Jan sighed and broke eye contact.“I’m sorry everything has been so crazy recently.” She looked back over to Jackie. “I’ve just not been feeling well, but I promise I’ll be back soon, and the team has my full attention and I—”

Jackie stopped her, “You don’t have to explain anything, okay?”

I love you. Jackie thought.

Jan nodded and opened her mouth to speak, but Jackie cut her off again.

“But don’t lie to me and act like everything’s fine.”.

Jan looked down at her feet on the floorboards, then to the window where the rain was making patterns on the glass.

Jackie didn’t know what else to say. So she just drove.

She drove and drove and drove and let her hands and feet do the thinking. Traffic was light, the rain was heavy, and the silence in the car was loud. They passed stores they used to spend all day window shopping at, houses of their classmates that they didn’t talk to now, the old library they never got any studying done at, the roller rink where Jan broke her arm, the neighborhood basketball courts they used to lay on until the sun disappeared and the ground got too cold.

They drove for so long that Jackie surprised even herself when she came to a stop.

She looked up and realized she was in their school parking lot. It was empty, save for the lone golf cart in the far parking space.

Jackie unbuckled her seatbelt, driven by some force that she couldn’t all together name. She opened her car door as the wind and rain beat against it.

“What are you—”

Jackie didn’t wait to hear the rest of Jan’s question, instead focusing on her steps, careful and measured as she got a good distance away from her car before letting her mind shut down and her body recoil as she let out a long and impossibly high scream.

The storm around her did a good job at mostly covering the intensity of her voice, but Jan still heard and came running at the sound.

“Jacks, are you okay?” Jan had to practically shout to be heard over the storm.

Jackie shook her head. “No,” she answered as honestly as she was able. “But that felt damn good.”

Jan looked at her concerned. “You can’t do that you’re gonna—”

Jackie cut her off with another ear-shattering scream.

Jan’s entire body winced at the sound, but Jackie could see something in her eyes simmering just under the surface. A fire. Envy almost.

“C’mon, give it a try,” Jackie yelled over the thunder crashing closer than before.

Jan shook her head. “I’m not gonna—”

Jackie screamed again. This time feeling her throat constrict and the sound fighting to get out. She sounded crazy. Broken and insane but Jackie swore she had never felt more alive than she did right now.

“Jackie!” Jan scolded.

Jackie just screamed again, louder, and couldn’t help the manic smile from spreading across her face. For the first time since they had known each other, Jackie felt her chest lighten in Jan’s presence. She felt a weight being lifted like she could finally breathe.

Jackie looked over to Jan who still looked hesitant, but after a firm nod from Jackie, Jan let out her own scream. It wasn’t nearly loud enough in Jackie’s opinion. And she said as such.

“Louder! You’re a singer you can do better!”

Jan shook her head and Jackie could barely make out a bitter laugh Jan gave at the notion. Jackie just shrugged and opened her mouth to yell again, when Jan stopped her with a hand. “Fine, I’ll do it. Just give me a second!”

Jackie mimed looking at a watch that didn’t exist and Jan bit her cheek to hide a smile.

Jan let out another scream, louder this time, a bit more unhinged.

It still wasn’t right.

Jackie walked closer to Jan so that she didn’t have to shout as loudly as before. “Everything that’s happened,” Jackie said, breathing heavily, “everything that’s made you fucking crazy, this week or your whole life, channel it. Right now. Let it out.”

Jan nodded her head in understanding.

Then she let out a scream so loud, Jackie swore the lights at the football stadium should have popped. She let out a scream so powerful Jackie was surprised she wasn’t knocked back by the force. She let out a scream so guttural that Jackie’s heart nearly broke in two at the sound.

Jan looked up at Jackie with wide eyes, shocked by her own pain almost.

Jackie just beamed at her. “That’s more like it,” she chuckled.

After the initial shock passed, Jan could stop from falling into a fit of laughter. Jackie couldn’t help but do the same.

They spent an immeasurable amount of time laughing and jumping around like idiots in the rain until a flash of lightning struck a bit too close for comfort. They screamed at the proximity and bolted to the car, still laughing and out of breath.

They collapsed in the seats and fell into another round of giggles until their stomachs tired and their jaws ached.

Jackie looked over at Jan, with her head thrown back against the car seat, mouth upturned for the first time in what felt like ages, and Jackie’s heart soared in her chest.

And for a brief second, Jackie thought that maybe, just maybe, everything was going to turn out fine.

#rpdr fanfiction #jackie cox #jan sport #gigi goode #brita filter #nicky doll #crystal methyd #high school au #cisgirl au #lesbian au #angst #hurt/comfort #blue neighborhood series #the quiet + dkla #mac #s12

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wellthatsonewaytofuckyourself · 5 years ago

Text

hold on to me (cause i’m a little unsteady)

A/N: so after a long period of relative radio silence on my part, I wrote some saucy and soft Remile goodness! Enjoy!

Warnings: gentle dom Emile, mildly bratty sub Remy, trans Remy, fem terms to describe a transman’s genitals, light dom/sub, light bondage (ish), kissing, hickeys, eating out, fingering, praise kink, hair-pulling, teasing, emotional sex, getting overwhelmed, crying, mild self-confidence issues, kink negotiation (sorta), riding

Remy still isn’t sure how he ended up so lucky, so in love. It almost seems like a dream- or more accurately, Emile is a dream, with the way he’s above him now, practically kissing the air from his lungs and one hand slowly but surely inching its way beneath Remy’s shirt. His movements are gentle and methodic, and nothing like Remy’s frantic tugging at his shirt, cardigan, tie, hair- really anywhere he could try and tug Emile closer, closer, more, more-

“Relax, sweetheart, I’m not going anywhere,” Emile says with an airy chuckle as he (much to Remy’s chagrin) pulls away from the kiss.

“Gurl, I am going to lose my ever-loving mind if your cock isn’t buried inside me within the within the next few minutes,” Remy says, trying to sound demanding, but it comes out as more of a petulant whine (and Emile pressing nipping kisses to his neck certainly doesn’t help that either).

“Mmm… I was hoping to taste you first, but if that’s what you want-” Remy cuts him off with a soft moan, tugging Emile away from his neck to kiss him frantically.

“Fuck- yes, please!” Remy begs after he pulls away. Emile giggles, which has no right sending shivers down Remy’s spine, but it does all the same, and he helps Remy out of his shirt before continuing. He kisses at Remy’s neck again, trailing them down lower until he can suck a mark into where Remy’s neck meets his collarbone. Remy all but wails at this, hands going to tangle in Emile’s hair. Emile pulls away from his collarbone with a slick pop, and he gently removes Remy’s hands from his hair. He takes Remy’s wrists and pins them to either side of his head, and Emile looming over him causes Remy’s breath to catch in his throat.

“Keep them there for me?” Emile asks, his voice soft, but it has the firmness of an order. Remy nods, hands gripping the pillow beneath his head.

“Good boy,” Emile murmurs, causing Remy to shiver at the praise. Emile steals a quick kiss before moving down Remy’s body, taking a moment to lavish kisses to the scars on his chest before he reaches the waistline of Remy’s sweatpants. He tugs down his sweatpants and boxers in one movement, revealing his slick cunt. Emile pulls off his sweatpants and boxers completely, leaving Remy completely naked whlie Emile, although a little rumpled, is still completely clothed. And fuck if that doesn’t do things to Remy.

“Em, babes- please!” Remy gasps out when Emile doesn’t do anything right away. Emile giggles again (damn that giggle), and he ducks his head down to teasingly drag his tongue through his folds and up to his clit. Remy involuntarily bucks his hips forwards with a groan, and Emile pins his hips to the bed with a smirk. Remy opens his mouth to ask what the smug look was about, but all that comes out is a mewl due to Emile suddenly taking his clit into his mouth and sucking firmly. Remy’s hips try to cant up, but Emile’s hands keep him pinned down. Emile releases Remy’s clit after a moment or two so his mouth can move down to Remy’s pussy. His tongue laps across the opening a few times before it delves in, wriggling and causing Remy to squirm and cry out.

Before Remy is really aware of what he’s doing, his hands shoot down so that his fingers can bury themselves in Emile’s curly locks. He tugs at them, trying to get Emile’s tongue deeper, when he suddenly realizes his mistake, and his hands fly out of Emile’s hair like he’s been burned. Emile pulls away, mouth and chin shiny with his spit and Remy’s slick.

“Am I going to have to tie you down, baby?” Emile jokes, but his eyes widen when Remy moans at the words. His expression grows into a smirk, and he lets out a chuckle.

“Let’s save that for a different time… I wanna make sure we set proper limits,” Emile says, and Remy nods in response, hands going back to grip at the pillow. Seeming satisfied with Remy’s response, he lowers himself back down to tease his tongue along Remy’s clit. Remy lets out a wordless whine, head dropping back as he writhes against Emile’s grip. Emile’s tongue teases for a few moments more, until he fully took Remy’s clit into his mouth again. He sucks vigorously, the sloppy, wet sounds sending pleasure rocketing through Remy’s veins. He’s so lost in the sensation that he hadn’t even realized Emile had moved one of his hands until his fingers were teasing at his entrance.

“Oh god, yes, please- want your fingers!” Remy pleads, hands clenching the pillow tighter. Emile obliges, and slips one finger into Remy with little resistance, considering how worked up he had gotten. He pumps it in and out slowly, contrasting with the intense attention he’s giving Remy’s clit. He gradually ramps up the pace, eventually adding a second finger.

Remy suddenly cries out when a bolt of pleasure rockets up his spine, and it takes all of his willpower to keep his hands gripping the pillow. Emile pulls away to chuckle and meet Remy’s gaze. He presses his fingers in deeper, right against Remy’s g-spot, and Remy finds himself fighting Emile’s grip again, trying to get more sensation as he moans unabashedly.

“Do you have any idea how hot you sound? How gorgeous you look, all laid out for me? My good boy,” Emile murmurs, thrusting his fingers again.

“F-fuck, Em!” Remy moans, voice coming out mildly strangled- both from the praise and Emile’s fingers.

“And you taste exquisite,” Emile says, nearly purring as he lowers himself to lap at Remy’s clit again. He sucks it into his mouth once more, and between that and his fingers thrusting faster, Remy could feel his orgasm rapidly approaching.

“Nngh- fuck, Em, Emile, please- I’m so close!” Remy cries out, fingers digging into the pillow and eyes squeezing shut. When he opens them again, Emile is gazing up at him, a blazing, passionate fire in his eyes, and that is what does Remy in. He comes around Emile’s fingers with a drawn out moan of his name, his whole body trembling. He vaguely registers Emile pulling his fingers free (and if Remy let out a whimper because of it, that was his business), and he crawls up to first kiss his cheek, then peck a quick kiss to his lips.

“How are you feeling, baby?” Emile asks, running the fingers of his clean hand through Remy’s hair.

“Hun, I told you that I want your cock inside me and one mind-blowing orgasm isn’t gonna change that,” Remy huffs. Emile laughs and kisses Remy again, this time longer, deeper, and messier as Remy tastes himself on Emile’s tongue.

“Lemme get undressed so you can catch your breath, okay sweetheart?” Emile says with a giggle, clambering off of Remy and loosening his tie further. Once the tie is off, then comes the cardigan, his white button down- and soon enough, Emile is in his naked glory, and Remy shamelessly lets his eyes travel up and down Emile’s body. Emile flushes at the attention, but grins and makes his way back to the bed. He lays himself over Remy once more, kissing him softly but still deep and dirty at the same time. Remy moans into Emile’s mouth, subtly grinding his hips up into Emile’s.

“Easy, baby, gotta grab a condom first,” Emile murmurs against his lips, leaning over to their bedside table and blindly fumbling in the drawer until he grabs a condom with a victorious sound. He sits up and tears the packet open, then rolls the condom on. He lays over Remy once more, one hand braced next to Remy’s head while the other helps guide his cock to Remy’s slick folds.

“Emile!” Remy gasps out.

“Are you ready for me, sweetheart?” Emile asks, teasingly rocking his hips forwards so that the head of his cock just barely dips in before trailing back out.

“Nngh- yes, please!” Remy groans, hips involuntarily jerking up. Emile chuckles, and with that, pushes his cock in. He goes slow, but there is little resistance as he slides home, Remy feeling so full and body shuddering as Emile’s length fits inside him so perfectly.

“G-god, Remy! You feel so good around me, so hot and wet and perfect,” Emile groans out, leaning down to capture Remy’s lips with his own as he slowly rolls his hips. Remy moans into the kiss, hands scrabbling at Emile’s hair, shoulders, back, impossibly trying to draw him in closer.

“You really are handsy today, aren’t you?” Emile chuckles when he breaks the kiss. Remy smirks, rolling his hips up into Emile’s thrusts.

“Maybe you should do something about it,” he says cheekily. Emile giggles and takes Remy’s hands in his own, gently intertwining their fingers together and pressing his hands to the pillow on either side of his head.

“How’s this work for you, baby?” Emile murmurs.

“Mmm, it’s almost perfect, but weren’t you doing something? Specifically me?” Remy huffs, squirming his hips to try and get Emile deeper.

“Pushy,” Emile teases, slowly pulling out to the tip before slamming in again, causing Remy to arch and cry out. Emile attaches his lips to Remy’s neck as he slowly builds up the pace, leaving Remy a babbling, moaning mess.

“Ungh- Em, Emile!” Remy cries out when Emile sucks a particularly dark mark into his skin. Emile shows some mercy on his neck, and pulls away to look Remy in the eyes, the heat in his gaze almost overwhelming.

“God, I love the sound of your voice, the way you scream my name- my good boy,” Emile gasps out, sounding about as wrecked as Remy feels. It’s almost too much- with Emile on top of him, pinning him down with his hands and his gaze, and with him deep inside of Remy, praising him all the while- and suddenly Remy is aware of tears gathering in his eyes… maybe it was too much. He doesn’t really want Emile to stop, but something was- he couldn’t place it, but-

“Remy? Sweetheart, talk to me,” Emile says, concern in his eyes as he lets go of one of Remy’s hands to brush a tear away.

“I- I just got a little overwhelmed, that’s all,” Remy says, beginning to full-on cry despite his assurances to Emile.

“Was it me pinning you down? I knew we should’ve waited until we talked it out more…” Emile trails off, looking guilty.

“No! It was good, at first. I- I think it just became too much when y-you were looking at me, and uh… complimenting me,” Remy admits, cheeks tinging pink with embarrassment. Concern mixes with the guilt in Emile’s expression, and he gently brushes a thumb across Emile’s cheek. Despite the confusing mess of emotions, Remy feels a jolt of arousal at the simple touch.

“Sweetheart… you aren’t being mean to my boyfriend, are you?” Emile asks, raising an eyebrow. Remy sighs and rolls his eyes.

“Babes, I know I can be an insecure bitch sometimes, but I like it when you- you say nice things about me. You know I have a praise kink, you use it against me constantly,” Remy teases.

“I do not! And you’re not a bitch,” Emile protests.

“You do, and you’re right- I’m your bitch,” Remy says in a near purr.

“Remy,” Emile admonishes, but flushes all the same.

“It’s true! I like being yours, now stop beating yourself up for making me cry. I just had too much of a good thing,” Remy says with a wink. Emile huffs out a laugh, and Remy admires his blush growing deeper.

“Do you want to keep going? It’s okay if you want to stop, but if you’re up for continuing, I think we should try something different,” Emile suggests, peaking Remy’s interest.

“I definitely want to keep going… what do you have in mind?” Remy asks, eyebrow raised.

“Do you think it would help if you could set the pace?” Emile asks, and Remy shivers.

“You- you mean like riding you?” he gasps out. Emile doesn’t reply at first, instead shifting to wrap his arms around Remy’s waist and rolling them over- his cock staying firmly buried in Remy, but the angle shifts slightly and causes Remy to let out a long drawn-out moan.

“Something like that,” Emile says, voice low and sending shivers down Remy’s spine.

“Ohhhh- fuck, Emile,” Remy gasps out, shifting so that he’s more or less sitting up in Emile’s lap.

“I’m hoping you’ll get to that, yes,” Emile teases. Remy huffs out a mildly irritated breath, bracing his hands on Emile’s chest and rising his hips up before bringing them down again. Emile thrusts up to meet him with a moan, hands flying up to grip at Remy’s hips.

“Oh- sh-shoot, sorry, is that okay?” Emile asks breathily, hands loosening their grip slightly.

“You can grab at me, babes… you’re gonna need something to hold on to,” Remy replies with a grin, lifting his hips up again and then slamming them down, setting a brutal pace. Emile’s hips snap up to meet each thrust, nails digging in at Remy’s hips as he holds on for dear life.

“Ohhhh, baby, Remy! I’m so close, you feel so good, so hot-” Emile cries out, sentence cutting off with a moan. Remy lets out a groan, leaning down to kiss Emile, letting him buck his hips up into Remy. Emile moans into his mouth, thrusting faster as he let one hand release his hip and trail down to his clit. He rubs at it firmly, causing Remy to break away from the kiss and cry out as he comes around Emile. The feeling of Remy pulsing and shuddering around him, combined with a few sharp thrusts up, draws out Emile’s orgasm as well. He moans out Remy’s name, rolling his hips up to help both of them along. Remy all but collapses against Emile’s chest, moaning softly.

“Fucking hell… should’ve ridden you sooner,” Remy huffs out, breathless.

“It looked like you were enjoying yourself… maybe I should give it a try once your strap-on comes in,” Emile hums thoughtfully, running a hand through Remy’s slightly sweaty hair. A low whimper escapes Remy’s throat against his will.

“Gurl, you’re gonna kill me at this rate… you can’t just say things like that without giving me a chance to catch my breath before you work me up again,” Remy whines. Emile chuckles, pressing a kiss to Remy’s hair.

“Sorry, sweetheart. As fun as it would be to go again, you tired me out pretty good! Now, do you think you could get off of me so I can get rid of this condom, clean us both up a little bit, and cuddle you properly?” Emile asks. Remy groans dramatically, but he pushes himself up off of Emile’s chest, and lets out a soft moan as he rises up and lets Emile slip out of him. He flops over to the other side of Emile, causing his boyfriend to giggle at his dramatics. He presses a soft kiss to Remy’s cheek before getting up.

“I’ll be right back, okay Remy?” he asks softly.

“M’kay. Love you,” Remy replies with a yawn. Emile chuckles, then leans down to kiss Remy, this time on the mouth.

“Love you too.”

#not safe for sanders #remile smut #gentle dom emile #sub remy #trans remy #sage writes

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elsaclack · 5 years ago

Text

the smell of coffee runs through my veins

or,

five times jake smells like fresh coffee grounds (and one time he doesn’t)

hi @winnietherpooh!!! so i wasn’t originally your assigned writer for the @b99fandomevents summer 2019 fic exchange, but they unfortunately had to drop out due to some unforeseen circumstances, so i stepped in!! i loved all of your ideas, but i decided to go with a jake/amy coffee shop au (with a liiiiiiiittle bit of jake/rosa friendship thrown in for good measure). it’s also the first time i’ve successfully finished a 5 times fic ahhh!!! i hope you like it!!!

He smells like fresh coffee grounds.

She isn’t sure what to do with that, at first. She just honestly wasn’t that into coffee. It always played the role of a last-resource fuel to keep her awake when all else failed - never something to be independently enjoyed in an otherwise leisurely setting.

It makes sense, then, that she falls in love with a man who loves coffee.

He smells like fresh coffee grounds on the morning she meets him, looking haggard and disheveled at five in the morning, the stains on his flannel shirt just visible in the early morning light. Shattered glass litters the sidewalk just outside of his coffee shop’s door, catching the flickering street lights above them like urban diamonds forgotten in the rough. There’s another man, a shorter, older-looking man, pacing back and forth in the street just beyond the curb, looking more like a worried first-time father outside of a delivery room than a man whose place of business was robbed overnight.

Rosa is busy examining the busted windowpane in the door, so Amy turns to the shop-owner - whose stained flannel shirt smells like fresh coffee grounds despite him not even entering the store yet that morning.

“My name is Detective Santiago, and I’ll be the lead detective on this case.”

He shakes her hand and manages to flash a smile - albeit a shaky one. “I’m Jake,” he says, “Jake Peralta.”

His hand is warm, and when she pulls her hand back to her side, the faintest scent of coffee grounds wafts toward her.

It’s a B&E - security cameras from the flower shop across the alley caught images of three perps hauling off through the back door with armfuls of merchandise and a particularly heavy-looking espresso machine - and within four hours Amy and Rosa are cuffing all three and calling in assistance to recover the merchandise from an apartment in the Bronx. The espresso machine is toast - apparently they dropped it three times in their attempt to escape unseen - but other than the general stench of cigarettes clinging to the merchandise, everything else is relatively unscathed.

The open sign hanging in the shop window is turned off, the front door is locked, but Amy manages to spot Jake through the window inside the shop as she approaches. He darts to the door immediately to let her in, looking anxious and hopeful in a way that makes her stomach bottom out despite her best efforts to remain unaffected. He up and hugs her when she tells him they solved it - and it’s like the scent of fine Colombian coffee has come to life and enveloped her fully.

(She wonders, briefly, if this is the kind of sensation Manny gets when he talks about food being so good that it’s all-consuming.)

“Do you like coffee?” he asks once they’ve parted.

“I love it,” she hears herself say.

His grin is brilliant, nearly blinding, and he trips over his own shoelaces as he quickly backs away from her. “Great,” he says as he rounds the far end of the front counter. “This one’s on the house. In fact, all of ‘em are. Forever.”

“Oh - you’re very generous, but I can’t accept -”

“Sure, you can,” he interrupts loudly. “Your money’s no good here, detective.”

She stares for a beat, biting the inside of her cheek to tamp down her smile. “It’s, uh, Amy,” she finally says - and some of the frenetic energy that overtook him moments earlier seems to dissipate, if only slightly.

“Amy,” he repeats, voice low and warm in a way that sends a thrill down her spine.

He smells like fresh coffee grounds every morning she returns - which is often, for a person who doesn’t drink coffee. The windowpane is replaced after a few days and the shop is reopened for business, and every morning she stops by on her way to work, he greets her loudly by name and introduces her to every other customer in the shop as the detective who saved the store.

“I’m just sorry I couldn’t save the espresso machine,” she says on the fourth morning, pointing up to the chalk-written menu hanging behind the counter - at the COMING SOON written over the line that advertised espressos before.

“It’s fine, it’s why I’ve got insurance,” he shrugs. “New machine should be here by Thursday of next week, which means we’ll have it up and running for the Friday morning rush. Here, try this one - I added a couple of shots of cinnamon. I think you’re gonna really like it.”

(She does.)

Charles, Jake’s cook, takes a shining to Amy right away - in addition to the free coffee, she often finds herself juggling several pastry bags on her walk to her car. Some are certainly better than others; while Jake seems to be learning about what Amy likes and dislikes and customizing her drink accordingly, Charles tends to be a far more adventurous eater and seizes any opportunity to expand Amy’s palate.

“It’s a poppy seed bagel with a wasabi-infused cream cheese, drizzled with a caramelized citrus simple syrup,” he tells her proudly one morning while loading the bagel into a pastry bag. He’s pressed up against the edge of the counter, leaning toward Amy as he speaks; it’s how he misses Jake’s exaggerated gag from by the register, earning a nervous laugh from Amy. “I know the flavors don’t sound like they’ll go together, but trust me, it’s delicious. You’ll love it.”

(She doesn’t.)

“You can tell him you hate it, y’know,” Jake tells her after Charles walks away.

She shoots him a look as she straightens her blazer. “I don’t wanna break his heart,” she sighs, and he nods in understanding. “Besides, not everything he gives me is inedible. I like poppy seed bagels. And the citrus stuff actually sounded kind of good -”

“It’s really adorable that you’re trying to be gentle with him, but I hired him to make, like, blueberry scones and chocolate chip muffins. Stuff that normal people want to eat when they go to a coffee shop. If you don’t nip this in the bud, he’s gonna want to try to sell that stuff again and I’m not about to have that fight for the fourth time -”

“Alright, alright,” she interrupts, briefly raising both hands in defeat before snatching her briefcase, the pastry bag, and the to-go cup of coffee from the counter. “I’ll tell him the next time I’m in.”

“So, tomorrow,” Jake says.

Heat drips from the tips of her ears, but there is no judgement or derision in his expression - just expectancy, as if her presence is a given. “Actually, it’s - tomorrow is, um, my day off,” she stammers, “so I don’t know if -”

“Oh.” She’s fairly certain there’s disappointment in his voice - his shoulders definitely dropped, his gaze definitely lowered to the countertop between them. “Sorry, that was presumptuous -”

“No, no, it’s - I mean, I’ve been in here every other morning this week, so -”

“Well, uh, hey, have a good day off -”

“I might still -”

“You don’t have to -”

“I’ll be here.”

He pauses, a crease appearing between his brows. “Are you sure?”

“I’ll be here,” she repeats, “but maybe not ‘til after the morning rush.”

He smiles, the dimples in his cheek flashing. “I’ll see you then,” he says with a two-fingered salute.

He smells like fresh coffee grounds at the end of the day, battle-worn and weary but smiling and groaning in all the right places as she recounts her harrowing arrest of a man with a bag of human ears on the subway earlier that day. The hysteria of it all had taken up most of her day - she was only able to break away from paperwork at eight o’clock this evening, putting her on the coffee shop’s front stoop at precisely nine-oh-three, three minutes after closing.

Which of course didn’t stop Jake from holding the door open for her as he insisted she come inside. It turns out he had quite the day as well - his afternoon barista called in sick, leaving him with a sixteen-hour workday she unwittingly extended. “Stop apologizing,” he tells her as he passes her a mug full of steaming decaf coffee. “This isn’t work.”

His eyes are bloodshot and his eyelids seem to stick together every time he blinks, but he’s awake, he’s invested in her story, and there’s something a little different about the way he smells tonight - like the fresh coffee ground scent infused in his very atoms has blended with something spicier, something tangier. He’s slouching in his seat, legs splayed out wildly beneath the table, and even with one leg bouncing he’s practically emanating exhaustion.

“I should go,” Amy says for the third time. “You’re practically falling asleep over there.”

“You don’t have to,” he says, voice quiet and worn. “I think I have some stuff here to help me stay awake.”

She laughs, and he grins, eyes twinkling in the low light. “You’ve had a really long day, Jake.”

“So have you,” he reminds her, tone taking on the faintest edge of a disgruntled toddler refusing to nap. “You don’t see me trying to kick you out.”

“I don’t have to be at work at five in the morning,” she reminds him, and he rolls his eyes, a strangled grunt escaping his throat. “You really, really should go get some sleep.”

“I don’t wanna,” he mumbles, crossing his arms a little tighter over his chest. “This’s been the best part of my day. I don’t want it to end.”

“I’m the best part of your day?” she asks skeptically, ignoring the now-familiar thrill in the pit of her stomach to focus on the blush igniting in his cheeks. “I didn’t know you loved me so much, Peralta.”

“Whatever,” he grumbles, “I had a bunch of, like, snooty soccer moms come in and bitch me out because I didn’t make their mocha chai lattes with extra whip and extra sprinkles at the exact right temperature, and then they all blasted the shop with one-star reviews on Yelp,” he leans forward to bury his face in his hands. “And then Daisy called out sick, and Charles tried to crucify me over some oregano or something. Today sucked, and you’re, like, super nice, and I like talking to you because you don’t yell at me about coffee or oregano.”

It’s quiet for a beat - and then Amy finds herself leaning forward, her fingers closing over his left forearm. His skin his just as warm as she remembers; his eyes liquid and piercing as he peers at her through his fingers. “I’m sorry today sucked,” she murmurs sincerely. “D’you want me to track all of those soccer moms down and arrest them for disorderly conduct?”

He snorts and drops his hands to the table, and she quickly retracts her hand. “Maybe,” he says with a pseudo-thoughtful nod. He studies her face for a moment, his gaze darting over her face as she pulls a long drink from her coffee. “Thanks, Ames,” he says softy.

It’s quiet enough that she almost misses it, but he holds her gaze when she meets his eyes. “For what?” she asks.

He shrugs. “Being you. You just - you always know what to say.”

“Well that’s definitely not true, but - you’re welcome.”

He hugs her right outside the coffee shop, and she hugs him back - he’s warm and soft in that unique half-asleep way, and she curls her fingers into the loose folds of his flannel shirt, fighting back the urge to squeeze him to her as hard as she can. He’s slow to pull away, slow to retreat; it’s not until he’s a good ten feet away that he finally raises his hand in farewell, nearly tripping over a stray cafe table from the bistro next door to the shop before turning his back and walking away in earnest.

She can still smell that spicy, tangy something wafting off of her blazer when she gets home.

He smells like fresh coffee grounds when Amy finally convinces Rosa to come back to the coffee shop with her - a good four months after the case officially ended. By then Jake’s perfected Amy’s entirely unique order and has had it added to the menu; The Santiago Special now graces the bottom of the left hand side of the chalkboard, written in Daisy’s perfect looping scrawl.

“Detective Diaz!” Jake leans across the counter to shake Rosa’s hand as they approach, looking every bit as thrilled as Amy hoped he would be. “Welcome back! It’s good to see you again, how have you been?”

“Fine.” Rosa grunts, already scanning the menu over Jake’s head. “What d’you recommend?”

“Well, what do you like?”

“Coffee.”

It’s silent for a beat - and then Jake seems to realize she won’t be expanding any further. “I can respect that.” he says, casting beneath the counter for the already-opened bags of coffee grounds they keep stored there. “Sweet or savory?”

She ponders it a moment, lips pursing slightly. “Sweet.” she finally says.

“You got it. Regular for you, Ames?”

“Obviously.”

He flashes her a grin over the countertop before setting about working, and Rosa leans against the edge of the counter, seemingly taking in the rest of the shop. “It’s nice,” she finally says as she returns her attention to Amy’s face. “I can see why you like it so much. Is all of this artwork local?”

“The paintings are,” Jake confirms as he measures out coffee grounds. “The photography isn’t. A lot of those are stock photos that came with the frames - I just needed to fill empty space when I first moved in here, but I didn’t have the budget for legitimate photography. I’ve been meaning to take them down, but I haven’t gotten around to it yet.”

“There’s a farmer’s market not too far from here that sometimes has a photographer selling in a booth,” says Rosa. “She’s pretty good. You should check her out.”

“You go to a farmer’s market?” Amy asks incredulously.

Jake snorts as Rosa rolls her eyes. “I’ll definitely check her out. Are there any painters there? Like, murialists, I should say?”

Rosa frowns thoughtfully. “I don’t know,” she says. “I mean I’ve seen some people selling paintings, but I’ve never stopped and asked. I usually go for the fruit, the locally sourced honey, and the pottery.”

“You’re into pottery?”

“No.”

Jake pauses, a peculiar grin on his face. “Aren’t you partners? Shouldn’t you guys know, like, everything about each other? Or did the cop movies lie to me about that, too?”

“Well up until about sixty seconds ago, I thought we did know everything about each other,” Amy sniffs. Slowly, Rosa shakes her head, eyes never leaving the corner of the menu board. “Is your name even Rosa?”

Rosa turns her head, holding Amy’s gaze. “No. It’s Emily Goldfinch.”

“Oh, ha-ha, very funny.”

“I’m not kidding.” Before Amy can get another word in, Rosa returns her attention to Jake. “Are you thinking of putting a mural on that wall?”

“Yeah, but I really want to find a local artist who won’t charge out the ass for it, y’know?”

“Amy paints.”

“Wha- I don’t - I mean -”

Amy splutters as they both turn to look at her. “You paint?” Jake asks, the corners of his lips quirked upwards.

“I mean I - I sort of - I’m not that good -”

“She’s excellent,” Rosa interrupts, “I’ve seen some of her stuff. I think it would fit in with the vibe you’ve got going in here.”

“Well, I’d probably pay out the ass for you to paint a mural in here,” Jake says, abandoning the coffee grounds to plant both hands on the counter. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, of course, but I’d love to talk to you about it.”

“Um - I mean -”

“Take some time to think about it,” he says, moving to resume making their coffees. “I’ll ask again later.”

Amy’s still staring when Jake slides their cups across the counter - on Amy’s sleeve, he’s written Ames, and on Rosa’s, he’s written Emily??

“I like him.” Rosa says once they’re back in Amy’s car. “He’s funny. You should paint the mural.”

“I don’t know if I’m good enough to paint an entire mural,” she mutters, tucking her cup into her cupholder and starting the car.

“You won’t ever know until you try. And I think that this is the place where you should really try.”

There’s something significant to Rosa’s tone, something meaningful in the slant of her head and the angle of her brows, but there’s traffic coming, and they’re three minutes late coming back from their break, so Amy just heaves a sigh as she pulls out of her parking spot.

He smells like fresh coffee grounds when he hands her a shirt with the shop’s logo on it - a simple, minimalist drawing of a coffee mug on a plate in side profile, thin white lines against dark blue material - and he’s grinning like a fool when she pulls it on over her ratty painting clothes.

“You’re officially on payroll,” he declares, dragging a table backward to make more room. “Welcome aboard.”

“Thank god, I was really struggling to make ends meet.”

He laughs outright at that, pausing halfway through dragging two chairs away. “Please,” he says once he’s recovered, “you probably have, like, eight savings accounts.”

“I have one, thank you very much.”

He’s still chortling as he drags the last table away - leaving an empty stretch of wall sprawled before her, a slate-grey canvas that stretches from floor to ceiling. She’s got sketches taped around the outer edges of her work space and a respectable collection of paints and brushes clustered together on the floor to her left; from the corner of her eye she sees Jake draw even with her to her right as she studies the space, staring at the wall as well. “It’s gonna look great,” he assures her.

“I just feel bad that you have to be closed for two full days.” she says as she turns toward him. “That’s a lot of money you’re losing out on.”

“I’d rather miss out on two days of business and have an incredible piece of artwork done by an incredible person than be open for one more day with lame stock photos on the wall.” he says earnestly, and the tips of her ears burn. “This is gonna bring more people in, Ames. We’ll make our money back in a week.”

“What if the painting sucks?”

“We paint over it with the stuff I have in storage and you start over.”

“That’s another day wasted, though.”

“What are you talking about? I don’t have to deal with any annoying Brooklyn hipsters and I get to hang out with you. That’s not what I’d call a wasted day.”

She bites the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling too broadly as she turns back toward the wall. “I’ve never done anything like this before.” she reminds him, voice small.

He touches her shoulder, fingers curving over the upper ridge and squeezing as his thumb sweeps down her arm several times. “It’s gonna look great.” he says again. “I’m really, really excited.”

He retreats to a chair dragged to the opposite wall and sits, and Amy inhales deeply, praying he can’t read her nerves despite her shaking hands. It’s a painting, Amy, she reminds herself. Relax.

The first touch of paint to the wall is agonizing, but a split-second later she’s liberated; Jake kicks on music over the shop’s speakers from his phone and she’s back in the groove, like she never left her last college painting class. She pauses only occasionally over the next several hours - for bathroom breaks and lunch and once, briefly, when paint dripped into her coffee - and by the end of the day she’s studying a nearly-completed mural, taking notes on her sketch for areas that need touch-ups when she comes back tomorrow.

“Okay,” Amy says, folding her sketch and tucking it into her pocket with one hand while tucking her pencil behind her ear with the other. “It’s not all-the-way done yet, but it’s mostly done. I just need to do a couple of touch-ups in some spots once the paint is dry, but that’ll take less than an hour tomorrow. What do you think?”

Jake’s silent, an unreadable expression on his face, when Amy turns toward him. He seems almost winded as he slowly stands; his eyes follow each line of the mural, sweeping up and over and down and up again. It’s pretty abstract, considering her penchant for still-lifes, more of an explosion of muted pastels in sharp geometric shapes that fade back into the grey of the wall along the outermost edges. “I love it,” he breathes.

There isn’t a single modicum of insincerity about him, so she tamps down a smile and turns back toward the mural. “I wanted it to feel like Brooklyn, and like the shop itself, which is why it’s kind of modern-looking and has a lot of sharp edges and clean lines, but...I also wanted it to feel the way that I feel when I’m here. Which is why I used pastels.”

From the corner of her eye, she sees him draw up even with her; he’s no longer looking at the mural. “What’s important about pastels?” he murmurs.

“Well, they’re - they’re soft. Cool, but not cold - they’re refreshing, like an oasis. It’s like an unexpected bright spot in the midst of a lot of sameness. They’re sweet, and calming, and - and I just - I really, really, really like them.”

She can’t bring herself to look him in the eye, but she can hear his sharp intake of breath. Tension radiates off of him in waves, and it’s suddenly near-impossible to draw a breath. “I love it,” he repeats, softer than before, and the too-familiar thrill bottoming out in her belly feels like the opening of a bottomless cavern and the smell of coffee grounds grows stronger as he leans closer -

A sharp knock on the window behind her has them both jumping backwards - an unfamiliar face is pressed against the glass, peering inside. “Are you open?” she asks as she jiggles the locked doorknob.

“No.” Jake says back loudly, stepping around Amy to point to the darkened open sign. Amy watches him go, one hand over her heart, the other pressed to her suddenly burning cheek. “We’re not open again until day after tomorrow.”

“Can I get a coffee to go, then?”

“What? No, we’re closed. We’re not making coffee today.”

“There are two of you in there, why can’t one of you make me a coffee?”

“Because we’re closed and we don’t have any coffee to make today. Come back on Tuesday and we’ll have some for you.”

“This is ridiculous, I thought this place was supposed to have good service!”

“It does. When it’s open.”

The would-be customer rolls her eyes and storms off, shouting obscenities and promises to drink only Starbucks moving forward as she goes, and Jake watches her go with his hands on his hips. “There goes another one-star review. You see what I deal with every day?” he mutters as he turns back to Amy.

“Well, at least your place has a reputation for good service,” she tries.

“Oh, you and your silver linings,” he says with an affectionate smile.

The heat still burning in the tips of her ears has spilled down to her cheeks now; slowly, eyes never leaving his face, she steps backwards. “I should - I should let you go -”

“Right, yeah, it’s nine,” he murmurs, glancing at the clock above the front door to confirm. “I’ll, uh, walk you to your car?”

“You’re parked way further away, I should be offering to walk you to your car.”

They both laugh, Amy’s filtered with nerves, and in the dim lighting she can see his throat moving as he swallows. “Maybe - maybe I could walk you to your car, and then you can give me a ride to mine?”

“That’s fair,” she concedes with a nod.

They’re in the front seat of her car ten minutes later, parked behind his beat up old Mustang four blocks away from the shop. He’s in the midst of recounting an exchange not unlike the one they just had with another customer, imitating a high-pitched Long Island accent perfectly with a comically distorted face, a smile twitching across his face with each new peal of laughter from Amy. The tension from earlier has not dissipated, but she finds she doesn’t mind it here - not with him sitting so close, smelling so good, smiling at her like that.

“It’s late,” he finally sighs, patting his palms against his thighs.

It’s not, not really. She’s off tomorrow. “A little,” she murmurs, hoping her reluctance to leave isn’t as evident in her voice as it feels.

He smiles, warm and affectionate, and lets his head fall back against the seat. “The mural is really beautiful,” he says softly. “I can’t wait to see it again tomorrow.”

It’s hard to tell with what limited light is spilling into the cab of her car, but she’s fairly certain he’s looking at her lips; she swallows thickly, and his eyes dart back up to meet hers. “Me either,” she whispers.

She’s not sure if it’s him, or her, or the gravitational pull tugging at her very heart, but the next thing she knows is his lips on hers and his fingers in her hair. He tastes like cocoa and indulgence, like every sweet thing in her life; he sighs against her and shifts closer, and the familiar scent of fresh coffee grounds envelopes her every sense.

He smells like soap, like clean earth, like fresh rain falling on grass and trees, like something spicy and tangy. He’s awake when she opens her eyes - he’s been watching her sleep, she realizes with a touch of embarrassment.

The look of awe-struck wonder in his eyes doesn’t allow the embarrassment to last for long.

“Hi,” he murmurs as she shifts her head on her pillow to look at him more directly.

She laughs and he flushes pink, head dropping down just far enough that the still-damp curls at his hairline brush against her arm. She bites down on the inside of her cheek to keep from reaching out to touch his hair - before realizing that she can do that now, probably.

So she does.

He lifts his head just slightly the moment she cards her fingers through, and his expression is so soft and so affectionate she’s certain her knees would have given out from under her were she standing. “You smell different,” she whispers.

“Different...bad different?”

“No, good. But different. You usually smell like coffee.”

“Well, I typically try not to bathe in it,” he mutters, and his fingers gently close over her elbow bent up against the mattress. “But it’s hard not to smell like coffee all the time when you own a coffee shop.”

“Hey, I’m not complaining,” she says, grinning as she ruffles his hair. “I’ve actually always loved the way coffee smelled, even if the taste is kind of so-so.”

He furrows his brow, and a split-second later she feels her stomach bottom out. “The taste is kind of so-so?” he repeats, and she retracts her hand to pull his comforter up over her head. “Amy, do you not like coffee?”

There’s laughter in his voice and the mattress beneath them is quaking, and she lets out a groan she’s sure is comically muffled on the other side of the comforter. “I’m - it’s not that I don’t like it, it’s just - before we met, I never really - I mean I did, but only when I was, like, on the verge of passing out asleep at work - I just never really -”

“You said - on the day we met - that you love coffee.”

She flips the comforter down with enough force to bounce them both slightly, earning another volley of giggles from Jake. “Well, I do now!” she half-shouts.

“But you didn’t then?”

“What was I supposed to do? You were really cute and you were being so sweet and I had no idea we’d - that you and I would -”

“Oh, my god, you are so cute when you’re all flustered,” he interrupts, lightly poking her upper arm before curling his fingers around her bicep in earnest. “I’m really glad you lied about liking coffee.”

She rolls her eyes, but can’t fight back the smile spreading across her face. “Me, too. Even though I have a feeling I’ll never live it down.”

“You definitely won’t.”

He leans down before she can retort, and his lips are as soft and warm as they were the night before. His kiss is warm and sweet, thorough and electric, and before long she forgets her embarrassment and instead focuses only on the way his hair feels thick and soft between her fingers.

She’s practically panting by the time he pulls away, her eyelids fluttering open to find him looking down at her with an undeniably satisfied expression on his face, his kiss-bruised lips parted as his own chest heaves. “So glad you lied,” he murmurs before leaning down to quickly nip at her chin.

“I need to take a shower before we go back to the shop,” she says as he rolls out of bed and arches his back. “Do you mind if I use your stuff?”

“Do I mind if you smell like me for the rest of the day? Uh, no,” he winks cheekily as she rolls her eyes. “Towels are in the cabinet to the right of the toilet. I’m gonna make a breakfast run while you’re in there - muffins okay?”

“As long as Charles didn’t make them.”

He laughs as he tugs his shirt on, eyes twinkling with mirth. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t get within a city block of them,” he assures her as she sits up in bed. “Can I get you something other than coffee to drink? Like maybe tea or apple juice?”

Despite his obvious joking tone, she senses the note of sincerity beneath the question - like if she really wanted something other than coffee, he’d take no personal offense. And it’s like all of a sudden, every insecurity of his is laid out bare before her - and she knows he’s not only asking about coffee. “I want coffee,” she assures him, pouring every ounce of conviction into the words. “I’ve been wanting coffee for a long time now.”

He smiles, small and shy, and steps toward the bed to kiss her soundly once more. “You’ve only been up for five minutes,” he murmurs against her lips.

She smacks his shoulders and he laughs, recoiling backwards. “Go get breakfast and I’ll shower and then we can go straight to the shop to finish this mural up. I want to be done before ten.”

“You have other plans today?”

“Yeah, I’m spending the whole day with you, and I’d rather not fight self-entitled hipsters through the shop windows.”

“Fair enough!” he shouts through a broad grin, yanking his jeans up his legs and bounding out the bedroom door. “I’ll be right back!”

It isn’t until well after the front door has slammed shut, after the water has begun pouring out of his showerhead and the steam has enveloped her body, that the scent wafting off of her own skin reaches her consciousness -

She smells like fresh coffee grounds.

#b99 summer 2019 fic exchange #b99fandomevents #my b99 fics #b99 #jake x amy #winnietherpooh #peraltiago #peraltiago fanfiction

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thelastspeecher · 5 years ago

Text

Something we discussed on the Discord a while ago was a new scenario for my Superhero/villain AU: Emmett has an ability that is derived from Ma McGucket’s side of the family, and that family catches wind of it and decides to recruit him. Ma McGucket is estranged from her family, for good reason, as evidenced by the fact that they decide to recruit Emmett by kidnapping him. Luckily, a non-powered kid in the family decides to help Emmett escape. And basically, here’s how that goes. Enjoy.

——————————————————————————————

“Psst!” At the hiss, Emmett looked up. Speaking through the window in the door was one of the kids in the family that had kidnapped him. Willis. Since they were close in age, Willis was often sent to bring him his meals. They’d gotten to know each other well, or at least as well as they could, given that Emmett was locked in a room. Willis unlocked the door and entered, the first time he’d done so.

Huh. Gettin’ a closer look at him, he looks a lot like Grannie Gucket, but with dark hair. Emmett remained silent, waiting for the other boy to speak first, just like his dad had taught him.

“Wait for the other person to speak first if they seem like they want you to talk first. It gives you more power when they eventually cave.” After a few moments, Willis cleared his throat.

“I’m- I’m here to break you out,” he said. Emmett frowned.

“Really.”

“Yes.”

“Sure, you are,” Emmett scoffed. “We might have talked, but that don’t mean I’ll just believe you when you say-” Willis scurried forward and removed the power dampening shackles on Emmett’s ankles. “Never mind.”

They wouldn’t want me to have access to my powers, even if they were trying to win my loyalty. Emmett rubbed his freed ankles, scowling slightly at his irritated skin. Great. Of course the shackles would make my eczema flare up.

“I can’t stand by and let this happen anymore,” Willis said quietly. “My family’s done a lotta shady things, but this is the worst. Kidnapping a nephew?”

“Wait, wait.” Emmett sat up straighter. “Nephew?”

“Well, I don’t know the exact relation, but-”

“Yer sayin’ I’m related to y’all?”

“Through yer grandma.”

“Through-” Emmett closed his eyes. “What’s yer last name?”

“Turner.”

“That’s- that’s my grannie’s maiden name.” Emmett put his head in his hands. “Now I get it. Now I get why they kept tellin’ me to join ‘em. Grannie told me that her fam’ly was rich in telepaths ‘n psychics, that my power came through her. Shoot.”

“Yeah. Um…” Willis looked over his shoulder at the opened door. “We- we should get outta here before anyone realizes I’m missing.” Willis helped Emmett to his feet.

“We?” Emmett asked. Willis nodded.

“I’m leavin’, too. I’m sick of bein’ treated poorly ‘cause I’m a normie.” Willis looked at the door again. “C’mon. I know a secret way out.”

-----

Emmett and Willis exited the building as quietly as they could, climbing out a window and jumping down to the sidewalk below.

“So…where are we?” Emmett asked.

“Nashville.”

“Nashville?” Emmett squeaked.

“Yeah. Is that- is that a problem?” Willis asked timidly. Emmett rubbed his face.

“I mean, I don’t know anyone in Nashville. My folks live on the West Coast, and my ma’s fam’ly lives in Arkansas. I don’t know what-” Emmett cut himself off as he felt the familiar sensation of hairs standing on the back of his neck, like someone was watching him.

“Why’d you stop talkin’?” Willis asked. Emmett looked around, but couldn’t see anyone. Before he could say anything, he heard a voice shout his name.

“Emmett!” Emmett and Willis spun around. An extremely tall man rushed over, scooping Emmett into an intense hug. “Thank the Lord.” Emmett buried his face in his uncle’s chest.

“Uncle Basstian.”

“Yup.” After a moment, Basstian held Emmett at arm’s length. Worry etched his face. “You look better than I thought ya might, but not nearly as well as I’d like.” Basstian embraced Emmett again. “It’ll be fine. Ma ‘ll fill ya up with some good ole fashioned southern comfort food, you’ll get some sleep, and we’ll take care of whoever did this to ya. No one messes with the McGuckets.”

“Uncle Basstian, how’d you know I was here?” Emmett asked. Basstian’s face hardened.

“Ma wondered if her fam’ly had somethin’ to do with ya disappearin’. Yer power is the exact kind that they like, after all. She wanted someone to come here to check, just in case, and I offered to go ‘cause I’m least likely to get caught. Everyone else is patrollin’ the more likely places.” Basstian broke off the hug. He looked Emmett up and down again. “She’ll be fit to fry when she gets told her folks did take ya.”

“Um…” a small voice said. Basstian looked over at Willis, who was shrinking away from him, visibly terrified.

“Willis, don’t worry, this is my uncle,” Emmett said quickly. Willis grimaced. “What’s wrong?”

“He’s- he’s a McGucket.”

“Uh, yeah. So am I.”

“But you’ve got a Turner power.”

“No, I don’t. I’ve got my own power. Look, you can trust Basstian. He’s my fav’rite uncle.”

“Aw, shucks,” Basstian rumbled. He ruffled Emmett’s hair. “Yer just sayin’ that ‘cause I’m the only one left in the fam’ly taller ‘n ya.” Basstian looked at Willis. His voice softened. “Willis, was it?” Willis nodded. “I came here to rescue Emmett, but if you need rescuin’, too, I’ll do just that. Is that what ya want?” After a moment, Willis nodded. “Good. Both of ya hold my hands and I’ll turn us invisible.”

“How are we gonna get to safety, though?” Emmett asked. “You can’t fly.” Basstian grinned.

“That’s a good thing, kidlet. They know there’s flyers in the fam’ly. So we’ll be takin’ my car. They won’t even glance at my beater.”

-----

“Hey, kidlet.” Hands gently shook Emmett. He opened his eyes blearily and yawned. Basstian smiled at him. “We’re here.” Emmett looked out the window. Relief washed over him at the familiar sight of the McGucket farmhouse. The drive from Nashville to Gumption wasn’t too long, at least, not by McGucket standards, but Emmett had fallen asleep quickly.

“Sorry I passed out,” Emmett said softly. Basstian shrugged.

“No problem. Yer lil friend was actually nice to converse with. He’s a sweet kid.” Basstian looked at Willis, who was sitting in the back seat. “I think you’ll like the rest of the fam’ly, Willis.” Willis smiled weakly.

“If they’re like you, Mr. Basstian, maybe.”

“Just call me Basstian, okay?” Basstian opened his door. He paused. “And, uh, be prepared. The rest of the fam’ly is nice like me, but not quiet like me. And since I was too busy leavin’ to call ahead, it’s goin’ to be chaos when I walk through the door with Emmett.” Basstian chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Actually, if ya want, you can stay in here until folks have calmed down a bit.”

“No, I’ll- I can handle it,” Willis said.

“Okay. Don’t be afraid to ask me to take ya outside or somethin’ if it gets to be too much, though,” Basstian said. Willis nodded. Basstian looked at Emmett. “Well, time to face the music.” Emmett nodded eagerly. They all got out of the truck and Emmett and Willis followed Basstian to the door.

“Who all is here right now?” Emmett asked.

“A decent number of people. Yer grandparents, Violynn, Harper, yer pa. Yer ma and siblin’s are still in Oregon, though, with Fidds ‘n Ford. Lute’s in California, doin’ some searchin’ there. He’ll be happy to come home.” Basstian pushed the door open. Hushed voices came from the kitchen and living room.

“Is that Basstian?” a voice asked. Emmett recognized it as belong to Violynn.

“I’ll check,” said a second voice, resigned and weary. Emmett’s heart leapt to his throat.

Dad! Footsteps sounded. Stan cleared the corner and walked into the hall leading from the front door. He froze at the sight of Emmett.

“Emmett,” Stan croaked in a strangled voice. Emmett let out a loud sob and ran to his father, wrapping his arms around Stan in a tight hug. “Oh, sport, we’ve been- you’re-” Stan broke off the hug to look at Emmett more closely. He searched Emmett’s face. “Sweet Moses, we’ve been worried. Are you all right?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Whoever took you wasn’t feeding you enough.”

“Dad.”

“Don’t worry, your ma and grandma will fill you out again.”

“Dad, stop talking, I just wanna hug you,” Emmett said, his voice thick with tears. Tears sprang to the corners of Stan’s eyes.

“Sure thing, kiddo.” He embraced Emmett tightly.

“Was that Emmett?” a voice said from the living room.

“Yep,” Stan replied. There was a sound like a heard of stampeding elephants. Emmett and Stan were quickly surrounded by the McGuckets currently at the farmhouse. The McGuckets fussed and cooed over Emmett, stroking his hair, talking over each other at him, and hugging him when Stan finally let go.

“Yer skin ‘n bones!” Ma McGucket gasped. She pinched Emmett’s cheek. “Poor thing. I’ll get yer fav’rite food goin’ right away, okay?”

“Grannie, ordering pizza honestly sounds just as good as a homecooked meal right now.”

“There’s nowhere in town that makes pizza.” Ma McGucket chewed her lip. “I’ll fly to the closest Pizza Hut and get ya whatever ya want.”

“Sally, give him a second to think ‘fore ya fly off to a dif’rent town,” Pa McGucket chided. “Matter of fact, he don’t just need time, he needs some space, too. Everyone, back off a bit. Let him breathe.” Reluctantly, the McGuckets moved away. Pa McGucket looked over at Basstian, who was still by the front door. “Basstian, you found him, didn’t- well, howdy there.” Willis, partially hidden behind Basstian, let out a small squeak.

“I see ya picked up a stray, lil brother,” Harper drawled.

“That’s Willis,” Emmett said. “He helped me escape.”

“Well, shucks, that earns him lifetime membership to the McGucket fam’ly, then,” Pa McGucket said jovially. Willis ducked his head shyly. Ma McGucket, who had gone stock still at the sight of Willis, straightened her back and strode over.

“Willis, yer a Turner, aren’t ya?” she asked calmly. Willis nodded. Ma McGucket’s gaze turned steely. “I figured, since ya look like one and I sent Basstian to check on the Turners. I can’t-” Ma McGucket shook her head. “I thought maybe my folks were responsible, but I hoped they weren’t. I hoped that they had some shred of humanity, that they wouldn’t kidnap a boy of their own blood. But of course they did. Emmett’s got a new power, one that they’d want in their arsenal.”

“I’m sorry,” Willis mumbled.

“Oh, hon, don’t apologize,” Ma McGucket said. “It ain’t yer fault what yer fam’ly does. We won’t hold it against ya, no more ‘n my children ‘n husband would hold what they did against me.”

“So it was your family that kidnapped my only son?” Stan growled. Emmett looked at his father. The expression of pure rage was one he hadn’t seen since Emily was mistreated at school after she transitioned.

“Yes.” Ma McGucket clasped her hands. Her voice was steady, her face calm. “They’ll pay.”

“Damn straight they’ll pay,” Stan spat out. His hair was beginning to smoke. “No one messes with a Pines.”

“No one messes with a McGucket, either,” Pa McGucket said firmly. “I’ll go ring up the rest of the folks. Round up a good ole fashioned angry mob.”

“You’ve got my mom’s number, right?” Stan asked. Pa McGucket nodded. “Mind calling her for me? She’ll be able to contact anyone in my family who could help in a brawl.”

“Why don’t you call her?” Harper asked. Stan glared at him. “…Yer son was just rescued from kidnappin’. Right.” Harper cleared his throat. “I’ll, uh, I’ll call up Lute. Violynn, you wanna call Angie?” Violynn nodded. The McGuckets dissipated, most of them going to other rooms to make phone calls, with the exception of Ma McGucket, who went to the kitchen. A few moments after, pots and pans began to clatter.

“They cleared out fast,” Stan muttered. He brushed Emmett’s shoulders. “You need some new clothes. I’ll raid Basstian’s closet.”

“No need,” Basstian said quickly. “I’ll grab him some stuff m’self.” Basstian ruffled Willis’s hair. “Don’t worry, kidlet, Stan might look scary, but he’s a reg’lar teddy bear inside. And he’s not nearly as loud as my siblin’s.” Basstian walked away, whistling idly. Willis, still standing by the door, wrung his hands.

“You all right there, kid?” Stan called.

“Yeah, just, uh…” Willis rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know what to do,” he said in a small voice. Emmett glanced at his father. Stan nodded slowly.

“Been there.”

“Really?” Willis muttered. “Doubt it.”

“I didn’t run away when I was a kid, but I did get kicked out. It sucks. But you’re a couple steps ahead of where I was when I was in your shoes. You’ve got a bed, a roof over your head, food. You can figure out what to do later. After you’ve eaten something and slept.” Emmett smiled.

Dad likes to pretend he’s got a heart of stone, even around his own kids. But like Uncle Basstian said, he’s a softie. Especially for kids from difficult situations. Stan beckoned Willis over.

“C’mon, kid. There’s TV to watch.”

“I…okay.” Willis walked over to Stan and Emmett. “What- what kind of TV?”

“Whatever Emmett wants to watch.”

“…Ducktective?” Emmett suggested. Stan ruffled Emmett’s hair.

“Good choice, sport. That’s a quality show. Let’s go watch a stupid duck solve some crimes.”

#no title bc I suck at titling things lmao #anyways this isn't any of the prompts I have in my inbox #and it's not particularly lighthearted or sweet #but I've been meaning to sit down and write it for a while. so I wrote it #Superhero/villain AU #Emmett McGucket #Basstian McGucket #McGucket Family #(not bothering to tag them all there are too many and I am tired)#Stanley Pines #ficlet #my writing #speecher speaks

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askmyboys · 5 years ago

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Louie

Real Name: Its something that cant be said around humans otherwise it hurts their ears (it basically sounds like static mixed with a high pitched noise, it can be damaging to the ears if not careful) | Human Name: Louie | Nickname: He really only has one nickname n that's Lou, sometimes he won't mind being called Louis either though | Gender: Male | Age: N/A- there's really no traces of how old he REALLY is, he's not even sure he remembers himself- | Sexuality: Pansexual | Species/Race: Demon | Height: 6'9" (he's a sizeshifter tho) | Hair Color: Umber Brown (his hair is SUPER messy and dirty looking, sometimes he'll wear a hat like a fedora or something to keep it covered, not like he gives a shit if someone comments on it tho) | Eye Color: Desire Red | Appearance: He'll sometimes wear suits out in public, albeit ALL his clothing is dirty, dingy, and dusty- he just doesn't give a shit about hygiene in general, but he's not too picky with clothes, it just depends on his mood, usually its suits, sometimes its more of a punk-like look, sometimes its just tank tops and boxers, he doesnt. give. a. s h i t- dont test this demon buddy, he'll take ALL his clothes off, he'll go out naked, fuckin public indecency his ass- your lil human laws don't apply to him- He's vERY chumby, got that chub going- big soft boy- His entire fingers ARE the claws, long sharp claws- he also of course has sharp bear trap teeth, his canines both top and bottom are a bit longer than the rest of his teeth of course, his ears are also pointed and he's got a few piercings in there as well and you know he's got the short boxed beard. | Personality: He's just a really carefree, lazy, laid back kinda demon dude- I won't say there isn't ANYTHING that won't piss him off or make him sad, bc you know there's ALWAYS something out there BUT- he just doesn't care, he takes compliments in the form of insults, if ya actually compliment him- well he dont expect that but eh your free to do so, either way it dont make him much different, I wont deny- he's got that SUPER big fuck energy, he be fuckin- he does make a LOTTA sexual innuendos, like a l o t of them- he's got that big chaotic evil fuck energy, dont give a shit what gender or whoever you are- you can want to be perceived as a threat- if he likes you he gon f l i r t- in fact someone wanting to be a threat- now thats hot, he's like a cat mixed in with a dog almost, can be very lazy one moment and he's up and going the next, will eat ALL your food and drink all your drinks even tho he legit doesn't need too and then HE'LL call YOU a bitch for not having anymore food or drinks. Big Bastard, I don't know if I'd say he's REALLY evil n shit, he does love to cause trouble, scare some people- but for murdering people n torture and doing all that? Bah, that's a bit TOO much work for him, now if he HAD too? Oh absolutely, he could and WOULD murder if it was necessary- but nah the most yer gon get outta him is scares, him causing trouble around your house or depleting your food and drink supplies too quickly (tl;dr: Carefree, lazy, laid back- he's ALMOST impossible to piss off or make sad, too many gross sexual innuendos, big bastard, chaotic evil fuck energy, can and WILL flirt with you, like a dog/cat mix one minute lazing around the next minute he's ready to go n bother people, hide your food and drinks if you wanna survive otherwise your gon be fucked ....n-not literally- I mean unless you'd want too, he's gross and smelly and will NOT take a bath, he wants to s m e l l like death and any other horrible things so fuck u) | Side Facts: This character is the death of me, he's broken the fourth wall which I wouldn't deny he could probably do and strangled me to death with his bare claw hands- I just genuinely wanted a gross, bit too sexual demon character for some reason but listen, he might be a monster but he's not a MONSTER and by that I mean if you dont wanna do the "fun stuff" in that regard he'll respect that, consent matters- he might be a creep and every horrible word in the world combined but he's not like THAT, he DOES have standards like THAT anyways. If ya don't wanna do that fun stuff at LEAST go out n scare some people shitless with him, or help him bother some humans- or if he's feeling particularly lazy, he'll crash at your place n just, well, bother YOU instead- and he'll probs try to scare ya once or twice too but eh that's to be expected- I will say- he's DEFINITELY a deal maker-like demon, he DOES make deals n stuff from time to time- he DOES enjoy doing it every so often, bc most of the time he gains ownership of someone's soul every now and then but other than that, its still a lotta work- like he doesn't wanna do it all the time, besides who's gonna care that he ain't making deals like he's supposed to. He actually doesn't stay in hell too often, its MOSTLY bc of preference for the living world, humans are there and their MUCH more easy and fun to mess with than other demons (other demons h a t e him, their disgusted by him which to him? ....G o o d, die mad about it then babe~) Satan and him tho- now Satan albeit he does NOT like the smell at all he hides that bc of Lou's personality, he can v i b e with him on the carefree n laid back part for sure ....justpleaseLouisastheliteralrulerofhellIamgoingtobegyoutopleasetakeabathorsomething...) He likes Satan much more than he thought he would, for the literal ruler of hell that dude's pretty chill- ....ok come on let's be honest here, you know as well as I have Louie has absolutely flirted with Satan once or twice, hell- he's flirted with MANY demons before- needless to say not uh many of em liked it which hey I mean its not the response he really wanted nor expected but pissing off a demon can be fun plus they can be REALLY violent ...he may or may not be a masochist and a bit of a sadist even? oh and uh before my dumbass forgets, he's got some powers aside from sizeshifting, he can shapeshift into a few things, mimic other's voices, or even like disappear really quickly- that's only if he needs to get out of situations or make it seem like a person's c r a z y maybe- just maybe but shh, etc- a few other things- you know how demons are- that's good enough for now I guess? I HAD more stuff to say bout him but I genuinely forgot- whoops- but if I think of it dont worry- ye'll know

#my oc #new oc #demon oc #Louie #he's such a disgusting filthy bastard #but im proud and ashamed of myself for his creation too #oh and lemme say right now #his height and eye color is absolutely intentional

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stereksecretsanta · 6 years ago

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Merry Christmas, @everchanginginks!

AN: My very first Sterek fic and my first published proper fanfic in like four years! Very exciting. This is a Sterek Secret Santa 2k18 gift for the incomparable everchanginginks, so I hope I have done everything she could ever want in this.

Within: Fluff, There Was Only One Bed, friends to lovers, and magic!Stiles, which is 4/5 of the prompts I was given! If I had 10k to work with I could have encompassed the fifth of enemies to lovers, but we do what we can. I'm already WELL OVER the 5k limit I am so sorry SSS it just happened like that orz

Read on AO3

******

Wędrowiec

Hey -SS

What -DH

What’s your address. The loft. -SS

Why do you need it -DH

Well I can’t just ask the postal service “hey what zip code are Derek Hale’s eyebrows” -SS

I mean I could but it wouldn’t get me anywhere -SS

Why do you need it -DH

I’m going to be in Michigan for Christmas so I can’t be there on the 25th to give you your present so I wanted to send it to you, if you must know -SS

You don’t have to get me anything -DH

Well you embarrassed me by getting me a way-too-nice present last year so yeah I actually kind of do. We have spending limits for a reason!!!!!!!!!!!!! -SS

That wasn’t a Christmas gift, and your laptop was nearing meltdown. We need you technologically capable to keep the packs safe and up to date. It was a necessity. It just happened to be around Christmas -DH

My Christmas gift was within the spending limits. That was the laptop case. -DH

Why are you going to Michigan? -DH

My mom’s family wants to see us again, apparently they’ve gotten over the spat happened between my uncles and my dad and they want us all together -SS

Really I think it’s because they figure it’s my grandfather’s last Christmas so they want us to pretend that everything’s fine for his sake -SS

I’m sorry to hear that -DH

Oh I don’t really give a fuck it’s just free food and free gossip about my cousins as far as I’m concerned -SS

I’ll just be bored to tears because they don’t have any fuckin technology. Just a frozen ass lake and a frozen ass town in a frozen ass state. How do they survive in a house with NO WIFI?!??!?!! -SS

Guess you’ll just have to die, then -DH

The typing indicator went up for a few seconds before a full half a minute’s pause, then Derek’s ringtone played as Stiles was now calling him. It was Derek’s preferred method of communication anyway, tone was completely lacking over text and he kind of needed some sort of cue to figure out what people meant.

“That was a fffucking meme you’re so full of shit when you pretend not to know what I’m talking about!!!” Stiles was trying to sound some form of mad, but there was way too much of a smile in his voice. “So full of shit. Fuck you.” Stiles’ verbiage towards Derek had gotten crasser and somehow even more confrontational since he’d gone off to college, but paradoxically more affectionate.

“Mhmm.” Derek didn’t give him much to go off of, but figured that Stiles had something else to talk about with him rather than just to whine about his alleged meme knowledge. Honestly, he’d just heard Isaac say it once and it garnered a positive reaction from others, so he filed it away for later use.

That wasn’t exactly what Stiles was hoping for, but he wasn’t going to let something as trivial as Derek’s resistance to banter stop him from talking. “So what are your plans for Christmas?” He still hadn’t gotten that address out of him, but if Derek had plans to be somewhere, he wanted to find out what.

“Nothing.”

Stiles stopped in his pace around his room, “Wait, nothing? What about Cora ‘n Erica ‘n Boyd ‘n Isaac ‘n Scott?” he listed off the people Derek was close enough to be around without too much annoyance in either direction.

“Cora’s down in Peru with her old pack, she’s pretty excited for their plans there, and it didn’t come with an invite, I figured I’d let her be. It’s…” He trailed off, grateful that Stiles held his tongue so he could find his words. “We’re siblings, but those six years of thinking the other dead and her pack being hundreds of miles away, we’re just not that close. I’ll call her on Christmas and I’ve sent her a couple things, it’s enough. Boyd and Erica are visiting Boyd’s grandmother in South Carolina, since his mom got a nice Christmas bonus in her paycheck.”

“Christmas bonus, huh.” Stiles’ tone was completely not buying the story.

“Christmas bonus.” Derek reaffirmed, not addressing Stiles’ suspicions in the least. It’s not that he was wrong, but Boyd was the hardest to convince to accept his financial support, so he had to resort to more sneaky measures to help him out. “And Scott and Isaac are with Ms. McCall.”

“Which also didn’t come with an invite.” Stiles filled the blank for him. It prickled at him that everyone just forgot Derek, even the ones staying in the area. “Hell, man, if I knew you got fucked over like that I’d have stayed, screw the free food ‘n everything, but we already said we’d go. I could have made you watch all of the Christmas movies that you missed out on living under a rock. And my famous hot chocolate.”

“Your famous hot chocolate, which is powdered hot chocolate mix made with whole milk, a Lindt truffle at the bottom, and a half a can of whipped cream?”

Stiles glared at the phone like the screen had personally insulted him, his ancestors, and the entirety of the Power Rangers all in one sentence. “Who told you.”

Derek was smiling despite the topic being how alone he was on the holiday. “Lydia warned me of the sugarbomb.”

“Traitor.” Stiles had an idea in his head. “Hey…..I’m gonna be bored as hell over in Michigan, and it won’t be much fun without technology, you wanna come with? You can convince them that I actually have friends and you won’t be listening to the pipes clanging in that loft all by yourself.”

“I couldn’t impose on-“

“Fuck that, they’re my family and they barely like me anyway, they’ll love you and that way I’ll at least have someone I can talk to aside from my dad, who’ll probably be bickering with my uncles, and my grandfather, who mostly speaks Polish and is about as social as a wombat.”

Derek squinted at the simile. He had to ask, even if it was stupid. “How social are wombats, exactly?”

“Hell if I know.”

Derek thought for a moment. It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to at least have somewhere to go instead of staring at empty walls. “Check with them if they’re alright with you bringing someone you want to kill half the time, and if they say yes, I’ll pay my way and get a hotel.”

“No, no no, you’re staying in the house. They have a pretty big house, they got it decades and decades ago and it’s right on the lake, it’s really nice. I haven’t been there since I was…” Stiles counted on his fingers for a few seconds before giving up and ballparking it. “…Like twelve but yeah. I’ll tell ‘em I’m bringing a friend, I’m sure they’ll be fine with it. Should be grateful my fine ass will even be showing up at all.”

Derek rolled his eyes only part of the way. “See what they say, but don’t push. I won’t die if I’m on my own for Christmas.”

“Yeah but I might if I’m bored for too long out there.”

“I guess harassing me is entertainment.” He could concede that as Stiles’ motivation, it was easier than accepting a invitation offered out of guilt to bother his family by intruding on their Christmas

“Ever since I trespassed on your property, it’s been my favorite pastime.”

“Talk to you later, Stiles.” Derek wanted the conversation over before Stiles got too wrapped up in the parley and didn’t start asking, which was a basic courtesy before bringing someone they didn’t even know all the way there to stay in their house and eat their food and intrude on their family Christmas. He didn’t have high hopes, but even just the offer was enough to make him feel a little less alone.

*~*

Stiles was still blinking in shock at being awake at the ungodly hour that he was awake at, sitting in San Francisco Airport, when his father put a coffee in his hand. John was making something that was as close to small talk as Derek could get as they waited for the plane at the gate. How the both of them could stand to be so conscious before 7am was beyond him. How dare they. Didn’t they know that 5:55 am was a fake time of day and that being awoken at 3 in the morning was tantamount to a Geneva convention violation?!?

“Nhghhhgngh.” Stiles mumbled in response, shaking hands lifting the cup to his face and putting all of his faith in muscle memory to navigate the rest of it. It worked well enough, liquid went down the right tube and not down his shirt.

“C’mon, get that down so you can cram Dramamine in your face and when you wake up we’ll be in O’Hare.” John’s tone of voice was surprisingly warm and sincere despite a sentence which could easily be condescending. Maybe it was the whole Christmas spirit getting through to him, or maybe it was that Stiles was way too groggy to backsass him at this hour of the day and he was enjoying it as much as he could.

They got Stiles upright enough to get him on the plane and negotiated seating, Derek wanted on the aisle for easy escape from a compacted tube full of a ton of people and noise and smells and recycled air, which John couldn’t fault him for, and given that Stiles was going to be unconscious shortly, it was better he was on the window, so Stiles was next to Derek on the two seat side and John across the aisle from them.

Derek figured Stiles would just curl up on the window and fall asleep and he could read on his tablet in peace, so it was a mild surprise that Stiles, buckled in and half gone already, leaned on his shoulder and nuzzled in, breathing steadied and as comfortable as anything.

John leaned over to check on his son, and though wildly perplexed, he leaned back and decided that as long as Derek wasn’t strangling his kid for touching him, it was fine by him.

*~*

The arrival to Gerald Ford Airport in Michigan was, to say the least, a wakeup call for the youngest of the trio’d travelers.

“Jesus fucking Christ, oh my god, why is it so cold?” He asked as the pilot announced that the temperature in Grand Rapids was a balmy twenty-five with flurries all day. Barbaric.

“Stiles, you know it’s gonna be like, ten degrees and windstorms in Michigan the whole week, right?” Derek’s eyebrow rose at the double hoodies and vest Stiles was sporting, that Stiles had not taken out anything warmer from his luggage. That wouldn’t be nearly enough for wind straight from Canada’s frozen wastelands. Derek had done his research into where he’d be heading before packing his luggage, you know, like an adult.

“This is what I got!” Stiles shrugged, a California native that did his schooling in D.C. and Virginia, where neither place got REAL snow on the regular.

“Well, as it turns out, I expected as much.” Derek pulled out his carry-on duffle and extracted three coats, one light brown, one navy, and one black. He handed the brown to John in the middle of their row, and the navy across to Stiles. “Figured you guys wouldn’t have remembered how cold it gets in real northern places.” He said as he shrugged the black coat on himself, a slave to aesthetics.

“Hell, Derek, you didn’t have to…“ John did have a halfway warm enough coat, it wasn’t- oh, it was actually pretty nice. “How much was this?” He’d be really weirded out if Derek was dropping stacks on him and his son, he was already confused at the gift of a laptop the previous year, it’s not like he couldn’t afford a laptop for his son. He couldn’t have afforded the one Derek got him, but he didn’t want to be upstaged in taking care of Stiles. The other kids could take advantage of Derek’s money all they wanted, but the Stilinskis had pride. They didn’t accept charity from rich boy werewolves.

“Not nearly enough for either of you to worry about it.” Derek said, sliding his sunglasses on and leaning back, not interested in carrying on the conversation any longer.

John, unable to turn down the gift but weirded out by Derek both anticipating this need at all, actually going to the trouble to getting these, and sacrificing space in his carry on to bring them on the plane all for this specific scene along with buying him gifts, pulled it on all the same. What a fucking drama queen. “Thanks, Derek.”

Stiles had rolled his eyes at yet another extravagant present from Derek that was way too much to accept but he was trapped by it, since he did desperately need it and couldn’t say no. Well, he’d saved Derek from being the saddest bastard in all of California on Christmas, so maybe this was recompense. “It’s not like I can’t warm myself up.” He grumbled. Heat spells were elementary on the roster of the things any spark worth his salt would know. And Stiles was the saltiest of all.

“Yeah, Stiles, go ahead and slightly set yourself on fire through the whole week.” Derek’s deadpan delivery could easily be mistaken for sincerity, which did well enough to disguise the fact that he was actually really impressed that Stiles had been getting far enough with his magic to do some interesting and sometimes even useful things. “You’ll be our Yule Log. Very seasonal self-immolation.”

John expected Stiles to look pissed at that level of smack-talk, but Stiles looked oddly gratified by the response, like getting Derek to make fun of him was his goal all along.

“Such a good alpha provider, takes such good care of us. Thaaaank you Dereeeek.”

There might have been just a twitch of a smile at the corner of Derek’s mouth, but it could have just been a trick of the lights as cabin prepared for landing.

*~*

Stiles was giving Derek a rundown of the family members he’d have to keep straight while there, cousins and uncles and aunts and people that were peripheral to the family but close enough to be considered part of the group, the bits and pieces of them that he’d pulled together. He hadn’t seen them in a decade, so much of what he knew was informed by Facebook posts and a few Instagram bits that let him know who was who and look at least a little less like he didn’t remember jack shit about his cousins. Which he did, just they were also around 8-14 so it’s been a while, alright? Some of ‘em had gone to college, some of ‘em got jobs, hell, one of ‘em was married with a kid. Wild.

“Shortlist of the important family to know: Nelia, grandpa’s wife. My grandmother died a few years after my mom, but Nelia’s a pretty nice woman, she’s got a really thick accent so if you don’t understand what she’s saying you can ask one of us to translate, we all speak Polish to some degree.”

“I don’t.” John added, at the driver’s seat of the rented car. Derek would rent a car in town, they figured that arriving together would be easier, and then no one was alone for the ride from the airport to the family house.

“Well, Dad doesn’t, but there you go, you and him can be awkward together when we talk shit about you guys, it’ll be great.” Stiles was in the passenger seat, texting people at lightning speed about how this was going to be the most hilarious week of his life and it was all because Derek was going to have to be exposed to a TRADITIONAL FAMILY CHRISTMAS. Did you pack Benadryl? -ER

Why? -SS

For when he breaks out in hives from people expressing genuine emotion around him -ER

“Then there’s Grandpa, I call him the Polish term for it, Dziadek, you’re probably best off with Mr. Gajos. I think I’ve heard a grand total of ten words out of him my whole life, so you don’t have to worry much about him.”

Derek’s eyes were fixed on something in the distance, and casually added, “He’s who you’re named after, right?”

Stiles went stiff and turned around to look at Derek. “Who told you.” Much less humorous than the previous inquisition about the hot chocolate, he seemed properly displeased about it.

Derek only mildly smiled and made no other answer. Stiles made an aggravated noise but wasn’t going to try and interrogate Derek. He continued his familial explanation but sounded much more irritated at everyone in it. “Then there are my cousins, there are a bunch and some new ones I’ve never met, but you pretty much only have to know Nika, who’s two years older than me. She’s the only one that sort of kept in touch and therefore the only one I care about. The uncles are …well you don’t care, and I bet they won’t mess with you much. Now, the whole drama with them, Dad, if you wanna take the lead on explaining why we haven’t talked to ‘em in over a decade.”

John gave Stiles a meaningful glance, but didn’t explain it. “Well, after Claudia died, I had a hard time of it for a while. They thought that I should have handled her, and Stiles, differently than I did.” Derek realized the glance was begging Stiles not to ask John to air his most closely guarded shames right in front of Derek, who signed up for a little getaway and not to hear all their most private secrets.

“They were firm believers that ADHD was cured by beatings and were annoyed that I was a bit of a holy terror.” Stiles translated.

John grimaced a little. “They wanted to take Stiles in, raise him properly. I admit I wasn’t perfect. They weren’t right to say it, but I understand why they did.”

Derek could connect the dots laid out before him. They saw John as a useless drunk and Stiles as a neglected brat and thought they could do better. “So now you’re talking again?” He asked, desperate to save John from further agonies.

“Enough that they didn’t threaten to play family politics chess and try to make Stiles’ grandparents chose which children they liked better this year.”

“We did alright on our own.” Stiles declared with a defiant smile, clearly not about to entertain the notion of understanding their position whatsoever.

It was hard for Derek to wrap his head around a family fracturing so easily like that, Hale lines ran so deep that even someone as gone as Peter could find his way back in Derek’s heart if he worked for it. To cut someone off so cleanly on either side was alien to him. But it wasn’t his family, and frankly none of his business anyway.

*~*

They stood outside of a surprisingly expansive house on the edge of Silver Lake on the western side of the Michigan mitten, the gray sky above their heads threatening to dump yet more snow on them as they waited for someone to reach the door. Derek could hear a collection of heartbeats and voices within. Two of them old, one arrhythmic. A couple more adults, a few younger voices, a decent family gathering. There was apple, rum, cinnamon, nutmeg in the air, someone made mulled cider. It was only the 22nd, this was just a small contingent perhaps, or at least not held to the same importance as Christmas Eve.

The door opened, and a short, stout woman with steel curls and a smile that felt like home stood in the doorway to welcome them. “Mieczyslaaaw!“ She reached forward and pulled him down to kiss both of his cheeks and hug him tightly. She hadn’t seen him since they all attended the funeral of their grandmother. As a longtime family friend in the area, it was an easy transition for the family to absorb Nelia in the fold. “Oh, my sweet child. Look at you, how you’ve grown. My love.” She ushered him inside to embrace John as well, but paused a little in surprise when she saw Derek. “Nelia, this is my friend Derek.” Stiles said, looking almost proud to bring home such a fine friend to his step-grandmother. Almost as if he was proving to everyone that he wasn’t a complete social pariah, that he had people who liked him enough to come all the way out to Michigan with him. Nelia looked surprised at the man before her, but to her credit recovered quickly, holding a hand out for him to shake. “So nice to meet you, Derek. Please, come in.” For all of Stiles’ warning of an accent, it really wasn’t that bad. Clearly not her first language, but perfectly understandable. Though Derek had taught himself Polish when you are very rich you have a fair bit of time on your hands, he knew that he could only tell Stiles that he could speak it once, and he was saving that card for later. Unless Nelia was struggling on something, he’d keep his fluency to himself. She pulled him in with a hand on his shoulder as well, closing the door to the cold.

The house was warm and alive, a strong furnace and people comfortable staying there. Derek was able to pick up on more than the others and could hear a side conversation between two men.

“Your other grandson and John are here.” An adult man, a husky voice, probably a smoker, speaking quietly in a distant room. There were footsteps coming towards the Stilinskis and Derek at the door, but the voice stayed put. Whoever was talking wasn’t moving a muscle to meet them.

“Good! Good. I want to see them. It’s been too long.” The responding voice was hoarse, stilted slightly, and far older. It almost reminded Derek of Vito Corleone, a man assured of his position as patriarch.Who wouldn’t have his opinion questioned.

"It’s a disgrace.”

"I have tolerated the insult of your war against them long enough. Silence.” An authoritative end to a conversation, before a creak of wheels coming toward them.

Stiles was going through family, stiff handshakes with the assorted uncles, trying to communicate through grip and direct eye contact that he knew precisely what they said about him and his dad, and that given the opportunity, he’d fight them. He then had to give hugs of varying sincerity with the cousins. The ones he knew from his childhood he could embrace with genuine emotion, the ones he’d never met was more of an uncomfortable formality, performed for the sake of appearances. Once finished, he saw his grandfather for the first time in years. It was a lance through his heart to see the once tall man reduced to a withered shadow in a wheelchair. “Hi Dziadek.” He said, bending down to put an arm around him.

“Oh, Mischief.” The older man put shaking hands around Stiles’ face. “You look so much like Claudia.”

Stiles nodded sadly as his grandfather patted his face and let him return to full height again. Mentions of his mother didn’t hurt as much as they used to, but he didn’t remember her face as much as the others did, it seemed. When he looked in the mirror, he didn’t see a ghost looking out like the others could.

Derek was awkwardly explaining who he was to some people there who also seemed confused, when the cousin he saw Nelia talking to earlier took his arm. “Derek, we were under the impression when Stiles said he was bringing a friend that you’d be a girlfriend.” She finally explained outright.

Derek blinked a few times and was grateful for all the years of keeping a straight face under pressure to now not give any sign of a reaction. He put his thoughts into a response after a moment’s recovery. “That does explain why Nelia was confused. I’m just a friend who didn’t have plans for Christmas and Stiles offered. If it’s a problem at all I could absolutely stay some-“

“Oh, no, staying here is fine.” The girl saved him from talking. “I’m Nika, by the way.” She fixed him with an odd look that he’d seen sometimes in Stiles, a sort of curious, searching look that a raptor might give while wondering if something was prey or a toy. “Just that originally, when you were a girlfriend, you’d have been staying in my room and Stiles was with my brother. But that’s clearly not going to be a thing. So you and my brother will be switching, so you’re with Stiles and my brother’s with me. He had to go move his stuff. You and Stiles should come up and see the room, I think we have some things to discuss.”

She was tossing around so many red flags in Derek’s head she could be a one person color guard. He didn’t know what the hell she was, but there was something very very very wrong with this whole situation. He might not have an intuitive evil detector like Stiles’ spidey sense, but he had a healthy dose of paranoia, and it was telling him that there was all kinds of trouble about to occur. Maybe she was going to ritually sacrifice them up there. Maybe this was the Polish Get Out. Wyjść. It was a little catchy.

The adults had started passing around drinks and returned to their original conversations, and Nika made some excuse about room arrangements and putting luggage up to drag Stiles away from the grandparents glad to be reunited with their prodigal grandson.

Stiles peeled away from them and caught the Am I Going To Be Flayed Alive look in Derek’s big green stupidly pretty eyes and almost laughed. “Relax, Ice Man, you’re fine.” He clapped him on the shoulder as they went outside to get the suitcases from the car. “It’s Nika. She’s my absolute fave cousin, and if something happened to her or she meant any kind of ill will, I’d know. Trust me. She’s fine.”

Nika lead them upstairs to a small room with a full size bed, dark blue walls, no decorations but a nightstand and rug. Hadn’t been lived in for months, given the dead air in the room. “So, Stiles. How about you tell me when your spark woke, and why you brought a werewolf all the way over here.”

Stiles choked on either air or an immediate response, either way he sounded like an ostrich getting throttled. Derek wasn’t making out much better mentally, but he only raised his eyebrows.

Nika smiled as she sat on the bed. “Come on, Stiles, where’d you think you got the gift from? Aunt Claudia never used her talents much, but she was one of us.” She picked up the candle on the nightstand and blew on the wick, a flame lighting to fill the room with some warmth. “I’ve never met a werewolf before, but you were sensing shit like Legolas out there, Derek, it wasn’t too subtle, and a set of ears and or nose like that, out of Beacon Hills aka Werewolf Wonderland?”

“More like nightmareland.” Stiles snorted. “So, holy shit, like five revelations at once and I wanna come back to like….all of them, but…uh….how many of ‘em know, downstairs?!” He asked, shocking Derek by asking an actually relevant, useful question.

“The three brothers know their mother and their sister were “”””out there”””” and that you’re insane and I’m a lost cause. Dziadek knew that Babcia was a superstitious woman and that the wild comes through sometimes. Oh, sorry Derek, Dziadek and Babcia are grandfather and grandmother respectively.” Nika explained. “Babcia did small things, mostly stuff with herbs and intent, like thumping a car engine and telling it to run, or aggressively sweeping bad energy out of the house, or putting bundles above doorways to keep evil intent out. Even the mistletoe around the house was hers.” She set the candle back onto the nightstand, the fire flickering with the movement. “Werewolves are very family oriented, in general, it’s unusual to break away from the family to join another entirely alien one for a holiday like Christmas. I’m just curious.”

“He’s way too nice and let his pack totally forget about him.” Stiles wasn’t remotely afraid of being as bitter about it as Derek tried to deny that he felt.

Nika digested the statement for a moment and gave them a vague smile. “Maybe not all of them.” She got up and left the room as if that would give her the last word. Clearly, she didn’t recall from her childhood who Stiles was, as he followed her as quickly as his gazelle legs could with an indignant “WHAT DOES THAT MEAN!?”

*~*

Stiles had been so wrapped up in realizing that there was a whole family history of witchery that he’d completely missed out on the fact that Derek and him were actually now supposed to share a bed until it was one in the morning and he finally arrived in the room. To find Derek sitting on his suitcase reading. “Hey, thought you came up here a while ago.”

“I did, but…” Derek half winced and locked his tablet. “We only got the one bed, and..”

“Bro, you used to live in the burned-out husk of your family’s old house I am not about to buy that you’re such a snob that you can’t share a bed for a few nights.” Stiles yanked his shirt off and tossed it in the vague direction of his suitcase. “It’s just a few nights and I even have sleep pants if you wanna go all no homo on me.”

“What? No, n- that’s not what I mean.”

“Then what do you mean.” The belt careened through the air in an ark as Stiles continued the process.

Derek was going to have to talk quickly if he wanted to get out anything. “I can’t sleep next to people.”

“What? Why?” Stiles paused, button of his jeans undone.

Derek was looking at a particularly fascinating piece of lint on the ground. “Just never works out right. I didn’t want to just disappear on you, so I was waiting for you to get back before I went to find a hotel or crash on the couch.”

“No, why. I wanna know why.”

Derek contemplated crawling out of the window to escape Stiles’ eyes, which even in the low light of the room burned into his skull. “I just can’t, alright?”

“Nope. Not alright. Fess up.”

“I’m a sleep cuddler.” Derek said it so quickly and refused to look up no matter what Stiles did.

Stiles was quiet for a few odd moments while he had a face odyssey. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Derek could feel the blush on his face and was actively willing it to go away forever. “Ever since I was a kid, if there’s someone next to me I always end up wrapped around ‘em. It’s not conscious, it just happens. So.”

“Jesus tittyfuckin’ Christ, Derek I thought it was something serious. I’m not gonna die if you give me a lil hug. Don’t be so dramatic.” Stiles finally flung his jeans off and crawled under the covers, the little tone of his phone plugging in to charge playing as he settled in. “G’night, Der.” He mumbled sleepily.

Derek had no choice. If Stiles told anyone about this, they’d never find his body. Whose body would go missing was up for debate.

*~*

Derek was a filthy liar when he tried to say it didn’t work out, and he knew it. He slept better than he had in months that night. When he awoke, Stiles was playing some mobile game, and Derek was spooning him pretty hardcore, legs tangled and an arm over his stomach. He moved away the instant he came to consciousness again. “Sorry.” He mumbled, only the ghosts of vowels in the slurred word.

“Hell, if it was a problem I’d have crawled out, but uh, you don’t get too much sleep and seeing as you knocked out for a solid nine hours there, I thought it best to let you wake up on your own.” Stiles was all nonchalance, but Derek could hear something like omission from his words. It’s not that he was wrong, it was just adjacent to the truth.

“Who told you I don’t sleep?”

“The fact that you text me back about Edda translations at three in the morning on Tuesday nights tells me that you’re not sleeping much. Now c’mon, we missed the breakfast train but if we make puppy eyes at Nelia enough she’ll probably cave and feed us. Or smack us lightly and call us lazy. One of the two.”

*~*

“Stiles, your friend is so handsome, how does he not have a girlfriend?” Nelia asked, perfectly comfortable to talk all kinds of terrible things as Derek was helping fold pierogi with Nika and Stiles. “He’d make a fine husband. He should find a good wife.”

Stiles gawked for a second, and had no clue how to respond. This would in no way stop him from doing so anyway. “He’s had a difficult time for a while, he’s helping his family right now, college, supporting them.” Stiles’ Polish was pretty rusty, he hadn’t been practicing much in the last several years.

“He has children?”

“No. Not exactly. More friends that he kind of brought inside because no one was helping them right.”

“Hmm. Nika, he’s handsome, isn’t he?”

Nika did not want to get dragged into this conversation. “Very, but it isn’t nice to talk about people in front of them.”

Nelia went to check on the uncles as they were all apparently having a slight discussion with John on the front lawn and was fully prepared to drag each of them back in by their ear and give them a firm education on the meaning of Christmas. This of course left the cousins and Derek all alone in the kitchen, the others of the family dispersed for their individual amusements.

“So, Stiles, are you…..and Derek….?”

Stiles blinked, sealing the dough around the potato and onion. “Are we what”

“Boyfriends.” She said it like it wasn’t kind of a bombshell of a word to utter.

“Nooo.” Flour and bits of dough scattered as he waved his hands to emphasize how NO that was. Absolutely not. Had she even seen Derek? He was so out of his league it physically and emotionally pained him. “ No. We’re just friends. Truly.”

“Okay, okay, I was just wondering. I wasn’t going to tell anyone.”

“I’m not gay.”

“I didn’t ask if you were.”

“You were asking a little bit.”

“But I wasn’t.”

“Derek’s also not gay”

“I wasn’t asking!”

“But he does have terrible….choice in women. Every time he gets a girlfriend she tries to kill us.”

That was enough of that. Derek had developed some thick skin about the litany of traumas he’d incurred and would give Stiles a little leave to talk shit about Jennifer, but that was taking it a little more casually than he’d like. “That’s a little mean, Stiles.” He said in perfect Polish.

Stiles turned so many colors that there was a risk he might burst a blood vessel. He fled before anyone could grab hold of him and make him accountable for his actions. Nika at least muttered an apology before scurrying off.

Derek wondered if his deep-seated need to be dramatic may contrasting with his desire to not be such a colossal dick to people he actually liked.

*~*

Stiles successfully avoided Derek by busying himself with everything possible for the rest of the day, but of course, after the day, must come the night, and thus the sleep. In the same bed. With the guy he brutally insulted and exposed just hours ago. Fuck.

Maybe if Derek was already asleep he could just curl up in the closet and evaporate entirely before anyone noticed he existed. Fuck. Why did this have to happen. Why did he have to open his big stupid mouth and say the stupidest thing that he’d ever uttered in his life.

He didn’t see light coming from under the door as he went, but knew that Derek would wake up if the doorknob made even the slightest sound. He rubbed his hands enough to warm the bony fingers and waved his hand slowly around the doorframe, collecting the sound from that space before snatching it all. Just long enough to open it silently.

When he saw Derek sitting up in bed with just the candle on the nightstand and his tablet in hand, Stiles had half a thought to make a run for it. But Derek had already looked up with a raised eyebrow. There was no escaping.

“How’d you do that that quietly?” Derek asked, not addressing the parade of elephants doing the merengue in the room.

“I, uh, didn’t want to wake you up. So I just took the sound away from it.” Stiles answered, stepping inside and looking pointedly away from anywhere near the bed.

Derek locked his tablet and set it aside. “That’s pretty impressive.” Was all he said in reply, but it was gushing praise given who it was coming from.

Stiles couldn’t stand it anymore. “Derek I am so sorry I said that, I never should have even thought it, I just-“ his words were running on top of each other and he felt like King Trashbag of the proud nation of Shitfriendia.

“Relax.”

Stiles hated being told to relax by anyone, but he had to be very nice to Derek for the rest of their concurrent lives and there was something so calm about the way Derek said it that made it less insulting. He hazarded a glance up, but Derek wasn’t wearing a shirt and even in the low light of the room he could see chest hair and he had to look away immediately or he might die.

“You have a family member who understands you on a level none of the rest of us do. She’s becoming a fast friend and you’re very comfortable with her. It wasn’t the nicest thing to say,” and it was pretty damn private, but Derek was trying to make Stiles feel better so he wouldn’t bring it up, “but I know you didn’t mean to hurt me by it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted.” This was probably the most adult conversation that either of them had ever engaged in, it was frankly shocking. Derek had called Boyd to help process his emotions and figure out what to say in a way that was a little more level headed than he might have done on his own.

Stiles nodded, knowing that Derek wouldn’t appreciate further self-flagellation from him and that he just would have to accept being a terrible person for the rest of his life. When he crawled into bed, he lied awake, staring at the wall across from his face and mulled it over and over. He could hear Derek’s breathing settle as he fell asleep, and an hour later a couple wiggles and there was a nose pressing against his neck and a hand over his stomach. Stiles sighed at the warm heat against him, and finally could fall asleep.

*~*

Nelia checked the codfish in the oven, monitoring the temperature carefully. “Still not ready. Mieczyslaw, could you help set the table, please?” She asked, setting some rolled napkins and a handful of forks onto the table.

It was Christmas Eve, and the whole family was sitting down soon for Wigilia, the main feast. Usually eaten before going to Midnight Mass, beginning at around eleven and finishing at midnight proper. Despite its importance, the grandparents had not gone since the grandfather had been confined to his wheelchair and their local church loved its beautiful stone steps so much. As a religious building that was remarkably old, it was exempt from the ADA act requiring public buildings to be wheelchair accessible.

They still held the meal, though Nelia and the older Mieczyslaw went to bed and the others of the family were encouraged to go and say their prayers for them. The young children were kept at home with the grandparents to watch them and make sure no one got out of their bed to try and catch Santa Claus.

Stiles was carrying various accoutrements from the fridge and counters to the table, and counted the place settings. Exactly enough for everyone, though this alerted him. “Wait, Nelia, we’re missing one. The spot for the wanderer.”

In many other cultures, an empty place setting at a family meal might be in remembrance of someone who had passed, or who could not be present at the table due to extenuating circumstances. It meant that something was missing, and some wanted to honor that with a missing place for them at the table. However, in Polish tradition at Wigilia, there is an empty place setting for an unexpected guest, or wanderer. A wędrowiec.

Nelia gave Stiles a meaningful look, one that he couldn’t decipher. He was so used to these kinds of looks being paired with massive eyebrows and kaleidoscope green eyes that trying to do it for other people was more difficult. “Think on it.” She said, slicing challah bread into a basket and wrapping the napkin over it to keep them warm.

Stiles puzzled and puzzled til his puzzler was sore, then it dawned on him. He wondered why it hadn’t before. “Derek.”

Nelia chuckled as she started slicing a loaf of challah bread. “Such a smart boy you are, Mieczyslaw.” Bringing a friend who had nowhere else to go so soon beforehand was certainly an unexpected traveler, though she didn’t know that Derek had been a wanderer for much longer than just that winter.

*~*

As John wasn’t Catholic, Stiles hadn’t even been Confirmed, and Derek didn’t want to go without Stiles, they all hung back while the others went off to the Midnight Mass. Since they knew that with kiddos younger than eight, Christmas begins absurdly early for everyone, they went to bed after seeing everyone off for the church about 20 minutes from the house.

Stiles lied awake, waiting for Derek to properly fall asleep so he’d get that heavy warm weight against him, that even though it’d only been a few nights, he found it hard to fall asleep without that. He loved the excuse they both got for it, this unconscious habit, but he hoped, he wished that Derek wasn’t regretting that he woke up with an armful of Stiles.

But he didn’t. He lay there for a few hours before getting out of bed and leaving the room. Stiles thought he was going to the bathroom or something, but after ten whole awful minutes of not having Derek next to him, he had to investigate. Checking his phone, the screen said 11:57PM. The whole gang of adults would be out at Mass for a while yet, the service had barely just started and apparently the priest loved his speechifying when the whole congregation was actually there for once during the year as his captive audience.

Stiles crept downstairs looking for his friend, finding Derek in the kitchen, watching a mug rotate in the microwave. “Couldn’t sleep?” he asked.

Derek glanced up. He’d heard Stiles coming down, but he didn’t really see the need to react beforehand. It’s not like his mom had caught him with his hand in the cookie jar or anything. “Kind of. And I wanted to set out some of the things I got for the kids who don’t have as much money as the others. Went out when you were trying to avoid me with their parents to make sure none of the kids felt left out.”

“Santa’s Lil Helper, huh?”

Derek pondered it. “A little. And it’s a Hale tradition. Or more, it’s a Derek Hale tradition, since I’m pretty much the one who spearheaded it.”

“What did your family used to do for Christmas?” They were speaking in hushed tones so as not to wake anyone up, but in the warm light of the kitchen Christmas lights, and the soft look of Derek in a beat-up tee and plaid sweatpants, he felt sentimental enough to ask.

“Christmas was always a little funny in the Hale house.” Derek admitted, stopping the microwave a moment before the chime would go off. “We didn’t do Santa Claus.”

“Did you do Santa Claws?” Stiles mimed some claws and fangs, knowing he’d earn an eyeroll at best.

Derek did not disappoint. “No, just a couple presents from Mom and Dad, and aunts and uncles would be later. They didn’t want us getting spoiled or thinking Santa loved us more because he gave us all kinds of stuff. But we didn’t open anything until at least noon.”

“Parents liked their sleep?” Stiles definitely remembered a firm ALL PRESENTS WILL BE REPLACED WITH CHORES AND BRUSSELS SPROUTS IF THIS DOOR IS OPENED BEFORE 8:00 AM rule on Christmas morning. Of course, Stiles was jumping on his bed with excitement at five in the morning, anyway.

Derek shook his head, and his phone started vibrating in his pocket. Stiles squinted, who would be calling Derek at midnight? Moreover, why was Derek actually taking the call??

He stepped outside onto the porch, little snow drifts from their actual white Christmas shuffling aside for him with his mug. Stiles saw the bag of Lindt truffles and a little chocolate powder dust on the counter- that sonuvabitch made HIS secret recipe. Wait. WHAT.

Derek stepped back in a few minutes later with half a smile on his face.

“Who was that?” Stiles had to ask.

“Cora.”

“What’d she want?”

Derek looked mildly embarrassed. “As of,” he looked at his watch, which read 12:08AM “…five minutes ago, I’m thirty years old.”

Stiles’ jaw dropped just a bit as his mind whirled. “It’s your birthday!?” he hissed, needing to aggressively shout but not able to wake the kids.

Derek almost winced. “Yeah.”

“Well….happy birthday!” Shit. Shit shit shit. HE’D KNOWN DEREK FOR EIGHT YEARS AND HE NEVER KNEW THIS WAS HIS BIRTHDAY. Stiles had to go find his King Trashbag of Shitfriendia crown again and sit on his dumpster pile.

“I don’t like people knowing. It’s an awkward day to have a birthday.” Derek sipped his cocoa, clearly uncomfortable.

Stiles didn’t know how to deal with this. “So…is that why you guys didn’t do Christmas until the afternoon?” He felt like he was playing minesweeper, except he didn’t get to see the warning numbers.

“Yeah.” He looked down into the mug, it was easier to talk about things if he didn’t have to watch the face journey of sympathy on people’s faces when he talked about his family. But he missed them on his birthday especially, and he wanted to talk about it. And out of anyone, he wanted to talk to Stiles about it. He knew, at least to some degree, the feeling of empty spaces in your memories. “My mom used to wake me up at 12:03 to tell me happy birthday and bring me in the kitchen. She’d have a present on there that was a birthday present only. From her. She was the alpha, so it was…pretty much impossible to actually ever get her alone. Always busy with the whole pack, worrying about everyone else, worrying about…” He trailed off. Christmas was always such a hectic time for everyone, so much noise and stress and busy rushing everywhere. “So it was nice, to have that little moment with just her.”

Silence fell between them for a few moments. Stiles didn’t know what to do with himself. Then he realized; his present to Derek was bizarrely perfect. “Hold on. Hold right here.” He stole up to his room and came back down with a wrapped present, the tape shoddily put on. He thrust the box out to Derek, looking way too happy with himself. “Happy birthday, big guy.”

Derek looked between Stiles and the box a few times, but took it and quietly unstuck the tape to slide the box out and open it. “You fucking dick.” He laughed as he pulled out a sweater that said “BIRTHDAY BOY” on it, with a hideous looking Jesus. A true ugly Christmas sweater, with a bday twist.

Stiles was grinning like a loon as Derek pulled the sweater on over his tee, that amused glint in Derek’s eyes where Stiles’ idiot sense of humor hit him perfectly. He picked up his mug again, and felt that it’d turned cold. “Can I get a warm-up?”

Stiles could have just poked the mug in Derek’s hands, or even just pointed at it. But Stiles wrapped his hands around it, his hands glowing a little as the liquid heated within, and Derek’s cold hand too.

Derek’s eyebrow quirked slightly. “Thanks.” He took a sip. “Can y’do whipped cream too?”

Stiles stifled a snorted laugh poorly, but didn’t step back away.

Derek set the mug back onto the table and looked at Stiles for another quiet moment, this one much less tense. Without looking up, he broke the silence with “I swear to God if there’s mistletoe up there right n-mmf!”

Stiles had closed the gap to kiss him, his hands holding Derek’s face as he nearly crushed their noses together. They eventually managed to tilt their heads properly so it was less of a frantic smush and more of a proper kiss.

When they finally broke so Stiles could breathe, Derek had a smile on his face, one that didn’t leave in half a second. “So, is there any?”

Stiles was able to stifle that stupid laugh better. “C’mon, lets get those presents out there for them. They’ll be back eventually.”

They put some Christmas movies on the TV as they sorted the presents into neat piles for each family so everyone could sit with their group. They were on the couch, writing out the tags on each one, making sure that the way all the Santas were written exactly the same and all of the names were spelled exactly correct. Stealing kisses every once in a while devolved slowly over the course of one of the Rankin and Bass animated movies to Stiles pressing Derek into the couch, making out like a couple of teenagers with the Christmas spirit in them.

John was trudging downstairs to see if Santa had left any of those shortbread cookies, but heard something odd from the family room. He was about to investigate, but heard something that sounded very distinctly like a Stiles happy noise, and decided to have a coughing fit and remind those two that they were not only not alone in this abode, but that the assorted parents and cousins would be returning soon and unless Stiles wanted to come out to the family in the most aggressive way possible, they better take it upstairs.

Derek managed to blush harder than Stiles did, but both had received the message, and put away the tags and pens before retreating to their room sheepishly. But they knew that John had probably seen this coming, and wasn’t going to judge them for it.

When they crawled into bed, Stiles didn’t have to wait to feel that arm around him, the press of heat against him, safe and warm. Derek kissed the back of his neck, and he could feel the smile against his skin.

Derek heard the family come back from the Midnight Mass downstairs, doing their best to tiptoe through and not wake up anyone.

“Ah ah ah! Mistletoe!” one of the aunts cooed, before a smack of a kiss.

“Who puts mistletoe in the middle of the kitchen.” Grumbled someone who was not getting themselves a Christmas kiss, bah humbug and all that.

The last voice was Nika. “Babcia always said there’s magic in a kitchen.”

#everchanginginks #stereksanta18 #*fic18 #*gifts18

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