#I’m never drawing frills again I say until next time
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The dress was fine, just needed lil’ smtn~💝 (A corset. Please give the girl a corset.)
#black leg sanji#sanji#kamabakka sanji#one piece#anniinart#art#traditional art#I inked this with sakura micron 01 if you’re wondering#an inking practice more or less so I outdid the shading lol but it turned out ok#I’m never drawing frills again I say until next time
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Hello everyone!
Another year of Carry On Through The Ages is over and done! We have emotions and exhaustion, but we're so happy that this year had the hype and excitement that it did.
Thank you, from the bottom of our hearts, to all of the AMAZING creators who spent the last several months working away at their historical content!
Thank you also to the hard-working mods: @bazzybelle, @giishu, @palimpsessed, and @xivz . This fest would not have been as successful as it has been without you!
We encourage everyone to look under the page break for all the fics and art. They're all fantastic!
Here is the link to the AO3 Collection: Carry On Through The Ages 2021!
Thank you all, and until next year! 🧡🧡🧡
MONDAY:
1) sun on the sea (T) - @trenchcoat-moth : AO3 // Tumblr
Tensions run high in England, and Malcolm decides it's for the best he sends Baz to live with Fiona, where he'll be safer.
That is, until Baz's ship is attacked.
2) The Words I Long To Say (M) - @bazzybelle : AO3 // Tumblr
Simon Snow was dead.
Baz Pitch was sure of it. Simon had gone away seven years ago to fight a war in the jungle and he hadn't come home.
So, when Simon shows up in Baz's club, investigating a string of brutal murders, all Baz wants to do is hold him close and never let him go.
But these aren't the same boys from 1960 and Baz has a lot of processing to do before he's ready to believe in Simon again.
3) we are slaves to gods, whatever gods are (M) - @wellbelesbian : AO3 // Tumblr
I don’t fully understand what plagues him, but I know it’s bad, and I know it goes deeper than guilt. He didn’t want to kill his father, not really, but we were instructed to do so by Apollo. Cleanse the house of its sins, dispose of a murderer to set things right. It was only right that I join him; he was avenging my mother as much as his. Clearly, Apollo didn’t seem to consider that such an act would make Simon a murderer in his father’s place. It seems I got off fine, but as far as Simon is concerned, the vengeful spirits that once spun and danced on the roof of the palace now hunt him down, determined not to stop until he rids the world of himself.
4) World War II Era Art - @stardustasincocaine : Tumblr
TUESDAY:
1) the art of loving you (E) - @one-more-offbeat-anthem : AO3 // Tumblr
1955. London. Young love.
Forbidden love.
A year ago, starving artist Simon Snow met Baz Pitch, son of a wealthy art patron, at a party, and their days (and nights) together have been a wonderful secret.
But Simon is tired of being a secret and knows it's time for things to end.
(Baz has other ideas.)
2) Reliquary of an Arsonist (T) - @tea-brigade : AO3 // Tumblr
Simon Snow grew up a ward of Watford Abbey, but when his magic manifested in an explosive accident as a child, he became the Abbey’s anchorite—never to leave Watford’s walls, for his own protection. That is, until Abbot David sends him on an important errand…
Basilton Pitch paints portraits for his patron, Lord Grimm. But he’s never forgotten the magic he learned from his mother—nor the men who condemned her to death as a heretic. When Simon arrives and offers Baz a commission from Watford Abbey, he sees his chance to avenge his mother once and for all...and he’s willing to burn down everything in his path to that end.
But it was no coincidence that pulled these two unlikely souls together. Something more sinister is underway at Watford Abbey, and only Simon and Baz can uncover the truth before everything goes up in flames.
3) Westward Son (E) - @aristocratic-otter : AO3 // Tumblr
Simon and Baz have found each other again, but there's nowhere in Brooklyn or Virginia where they can safely be together. So now, they venture the hazards and struggles of the Oregon trail, to perhaps find a little homestead in Oregon of their own.
4) A Way Out (T) - @lying-on-the-sofa : AO3
I frown at him..“You don’t know me.”
He offers his hand. “Simon.”
Simon. I feel the name around in my mind and assign it to his face. Simon. I don’t shake his hand. They’ve still got my arms pinned. “Basilton.”
Simon nods at me. “Now we know each other. Let him go.” Very casually, he takes his other hand from behind his back. A sword, flashing. He leans on it and smiles invitingly. “Let him go.”
This time, they listen.
--
Simon Snow has been trained for years to become a tribute—one of the fighters Athens sends every ninth year into the Minotaur’s labyrinth. He wants to know the way out, if only for Penny’s sake. Luckily for him, Prince Basilton of Crete also wants a way out—off the island, where no one will know he’s the half-brother of the Minotaur.
Unluckily for both of them, they don’t exactly form the most agreeable pair.
WEDNESDAY
1) long is the road the leads me home (G) - @wellbelesbian : AO3 (Version 1) (Version 2) // Tumblr
Baz has a rather unremarkable life, and he's fine with that. Running his late mother's beloved inn with his temperamental aunt, estranged from his father and step-siblings, he's successfully convinced himself that he's better off without attachments.
Then Simon barrels into his life, guns blazing and rapier drawn, and Baz is swept up in dramatic plot he never bargained for.
Worse still, he finds he quite likes the thrill.
2) New Romantics (T) - @ninemagicks : AO3 // Tumblr
Basilton Pitch, twenty-two years old and a famed poet of the Romantic era, has fled to the countryside. In Mummers House, the fabled haunt of literary greats, he sulks himself into oblivion and awaits a sad, disappointing end to his brief years of brilliance. The cause of his downfall? None other than Simon Snow, the so-called “bad boy of English poetry”, breaker of rules and eternal thorn in his side. Baz hopes that Mummers House might mean an escape from London, from Snow and his increasingly virulent popularity... but the rain that comes has other ideas.
3) thnétos (T) - @snowybank : AO3 // Tumblr
thnétos: subject to death, mortal
a retelling of Apollo and Hyacinthus
4) A Medieval AU art piece - @thewriterxj : Tumblr
THURSDAY
1) From Eden (E) - @orange-peony : AO3 // Tumblr
I wonder if his skin is warm or cold to the touch. I tell myself it’s simple curiosity, that I’m an artist and capturing things on paper or canvas is my way to make sense of the world. That drawing him feels so natural, so I should just follow my instincts. Ebb used to say it all the time. Follow your heart. It knows where you’re supposed to go.
I wish I could. I wish I had enough money and freedom to just draw what I want. To paint him in his unattainable beauty. To draw him the way I want to. Naked and vulnerable, raw. Without frills and expensive suits.
Just Baz on paper, my fingers tracing his delicate and beautiful lines with simple charcoal.
2) Slings and Eros (M) - @palimpsessed : AO3 // Tumblr
Young god of love Simonides is tasked by his father, the god of war, to bring about the ruin of a mortal prince to punish his blasphemy. However, once Simonides sees his intended victim, he begins to have misgivings. Prince Tyrannus might have offended the gods with his very existence, but all Simonides can see is how beautiful and lonely he is.
Or, a very loose interpretation of the Eros and Psyche myth.
3) I Don't Want to Set the World on Fire (M) - @knitbelove : AO3 // Tumblr
September 1940: Going back to Watford feels different this year, and not just because England is at the brink of war with Germany and Italy. Penelope seems unsettled by everything, and Agatha is distant, and Baz is … simply not here.
What if Carry On but during the Blitz?? Yeah.
4) A Fool's Oath (M) - @thewriterxj : AO3 // Tumblr
A simple soldier is invited to join the ranks of the royal guard. He and his appointed mage arrive at the royal city to find themselves at the mercy of an unmerciful court. As he struggles to find his place in this foreign environment, he also finds himself entranced by music that only he seems to hear that floats out about the city. He makes an oath to wed whoever makes such beautiful music.
Too bad that person is the crown prince.
FRIDAY
1) Stranger Tides (T) - @tea-brigade & @xivz : AO3 // Tumblr
“If some god shall wreck me in the wine-dark deep, even so I will endure…” Captain Simon Snow of the Chosen One is many things—cunning, handsome, ruthless. Greedy. It’s no surprise that Snow finds a way to piss off the God of the Sea, he always manages to get himself into some type of trouble. This time, however, he’s not the only one who will suffer the consequences. Poseidon promises to not stop his pursuit until Snow and all of his men are dead.
Enter Basilton Pitch—rich, beautiful, mysterious. Suspicious. He offers the crew of the Chosen One a hefty sum to take him back to Europe from the Caribbean. And who is Captain Snow to refuse so much coin? After all, Greek gods aren’t real.
Right?
2) The wayward heir [comic] (M) - @letraspal : AO3 // Tumblr
Like a folk song, our love will be passed on. Simon Snow wants to be an artist. He used to live in Fiesole where he worked in the wool shop of his good friend Ebeneza Petty. He has now chosen to return to his native Florence in order to participate in an art contest hosted by the Pitch family, the most important bankers in all the three continents and Simon’s last chance for an art patronage. No matter how much he hates them.
But being back in Florence also brings back the memories Simon wanted to leave behind : his days as an orphan, the mystery about his mother, and once more being under the inquisitive eyes of his godfather, the new archbishop Davy. The archbishop is very same man who would never forgive him for dropping out the priesthood and ruining his secret plans against the Pitches.
The last thing Simon needed was an unbearably handsome jerk getting him into trouble on his very first day in Florence. How can focus when this man is the most annoying person he has ever met and yet his major source of inspiration.
3) Prohibition Blues (T) - @heyyyandrea : AO3
Simon Snow is a baker and aspiring playwright in Prohibition Era New York City. When he meets a handsome man at Shepherd's speakeasy who is interested in his work, he can't help but think it feels too good to be true.
4) Earth Below & Sky Above (M) - @phoxphyre : AO3 // Tumblr
In the depth of the palace of King Minos of Crete lurks a creature known as the Minotaur.
Baz, prince of Athens and chosen of the god Poseidon, has heard the stories. And now he’s volunteered to come to Crete as one of the annual tributes—to dance with the king’s bulls and fulfill his destiny. He just wants to survive the bulls, protect his people, and go home.
But what if the Minotaur isn’t a monster—but just a boy? And what if instead of slaying him, Baz fell in love with him?
A Carry On retelling of the myth of Theseus and the Minotaur, set in Bronze Age Crete.
5) A 1980s AU Art piece by @stardustasincocaine : Tumblr // Instagram (Slightly NSFW)
#carry on through the ages 2021#carryonthroughtheages2021#carry on through the ages#COTTA 2021#COTTA2021#masterlist#historical fanart#historical fanfiction#historical AU#historical#ancient history au#renaissance au#medieval au#regency AU#pirate AU#highwayman AU#mythology au#classical mythology au#WWII AU#1950s AU#1920s AU#1960s AU#1980s AU#amazing writing#amazing writer#amazing art#amazing artist#simon snow#baz pitch#the simon snow trilogy
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“Be Quiet.” (Rohan Kishibe x Fem Reader)
Warnings: dubcon, degradation/humiliation, fingering, edging, slight spanking, slapping, nsfw
tags: fxm, rohan kishibe x fem reader, dom!rohan x sub!reader, nsfw, smut
Description: When you accidentally disrupt Rohan’s train of thought when drawing his latest manga, he has his own ways of punishing you for doing so.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It had been over a month since you and Rohan last got intimate. Ever since he released his newest manga, he’s choosen to spew out new chapters and volumes left and right like no other mangaka has instead of paying attention to you or really anyone who comes by the Kishibe house.
With all this information, it honestly made you very upset. You were never really the clingy type prior and after dating Rohan, but with all that’s been going on in and outside the home, you couldn’t help but mourn him even though he was in the office right next to your room.
When free, you’d do your best to take him out to dinner or have him hang out with friends like Josuke and Koichi (though of course he’d automatically refuse if Josuke is even slightly mentioned of coming to your hangout). Either way, it didn’t work. You knew he could be the cold type but hearing him repeatedly say no over and over again for weeks finally made you completely hopeless.
It’s now present time, you lie in your bed silently humming to a tune while reading a book. Rohan is of course in his office drawing up god knows what chapter he’s on. You yawn at the thought of taking a nap. You rub at your eyes as you place your book on the nightstand, sighing as you look at the time. He should be coming to bed by now, you think.
You go to remove your shirt, leaving you in a soft pink nightgown with pink shorts under. You have only been sleeping in this gown for a short while, a small voice in the back of your mind telling you to wear it to impress Rohan and possibly make him have other thoughts. Though you’re not sure yourself if pink and small frills is his thing, you wore it anyway to see if anything would or will happen.
You walk over to Rohan’s office, silently opening the door to see what he was doing.
“Rohannie...” you call out in a sweet voice, closing the door behind you. You were probably the only person in the world that was allowed to call your boyfriend that (though he did briefly mention that an old friend of his called him that back in the day).
Rohan looks up from his desk, keeping his face turned away from you. He sighs putting down his pen,
“Be quiet.”
You frown, placing your hands behind your back.
“Did you even knock? Did I allow you to come in?”
You’re taken aback by his sterness, you answer anyway,
“No I just thought-“
“You, “I just thoughtt”, what?”
He’s turned his chair; facing you now and clearly mocking your words and tone. You purse your lips, turning to exit back to your room. You yelp when you feel a hand aggressively pull you back from your wrist, their grip strong. It was Rohan’s hand, you hear the words “Heaven’s Door” before blacking out.
~ Time Skip ~
You wake up, the only thing in sight being the wooden ceilings of your home. You were on the floor, your gown bunched up to your chest and shorts slightly rising up your abdomen.
You couldn’t remember what had happened before you ended up here. You rub at your temple as you try to remember until your thoughts are disrupted by a pair of familiar hands on both sides of your waist. Before you even have time to fully react, you feel your ass resting on Rohan’s lap, his breath ghosting over your face as he goes to rub at your inner thigh.
You moan, your touch depriveness slowly wanting to leave your body. You close your eyes as he moves closer to your sex. Rohan hums, his lips forming into a smirk once he turns his soft rubbing to full on spanking. You gasp at this, immediately opening your eyes to wiggle against him; to let him know you didn’t like this. He only chuckles, keeping a firm grip on your thigh and placing his other hand on your face, caressing your cheek lightly as he speaks,
“Not fun being ripped away from your thoughts, huh? Well, don’t think I’ll stop my actions for you, you dumb slut. I’ll stop when I’m satisfied.” he glides his thumb across your lips, keeping his pointer under your chin. He smirks once again, slapping you across the face.
You squeal, raising your hands up to push him away. He prevents you from doing this by grinding his hardness against you, using your desperateness as a manipulative tactic to not let you get away. You miserably fall for this, resting your arms over his shoulders as you feel your wetness seep through your panties as he continues to make you grind into him.
“Huh...you really are naive. You’re being forced to stay here with me but instead of fighting back, you stay anyway because you don’t want to be alone and haven’t been touched like this by me in weeks. You do anything when you’re desperate, I guess my stand never does lie.”
You ignore his words, wanting him to continue his dry thrusting. He goes on,
“You’re so stupid, you look stupid. Look it here,” he pulls down your gown, revealing your breasts, your nipples hardening as they meet the cool air. He grabs at one, aggressively perking up your nipple with his pointer and middle finger, he looks up at you with hungry eyes, “you’re always flaunting them. Secretely wanting all the guys and girls in all of Morioh to look at them. Quick thinking you only do it for me, you do it for everyone. You’re a whore to everyone and anyone.”
“Stop it, Rohan!”
“For the second time, I’ll stop when I want to!”
Rohan pulls your back against his chest, ripping way the middle of your gown with ease so he can get easier access towards your breasts. He gropes at them harshly as he forcefully puts his lips over yours, preventing you from breathing normally. You mumble loudly, he groans in frustration,
“I should’ve written for you to cooperate. Though I’m too lazy to do that now...I guess I’ll just have to make you like it.” he says as he bites your lip to shush your mumbling. You gasp for air once he finally lets go.
While you to try to collect yourself, he bunches up your panties and shorts to the side and inserts two of his fingers inside you. You whimper at the sudden fullness of your sex. Your fluids already embarrassingly pooling down the base of his fingers. Rohan laughs,
“So you do like it, huh? Already so wet for me even before I even touched you. Let’s see how long I can torture you before you cum. So pathetic...”
He inserts a third finger, your legs shaking more than they ever have now. You do your best to balance yourself over his lap by putting both hands on the handles of his chair. God forbid what’d he do if you collapsed against him.
He begins to pump his fingers in and out of you. You blush at the lewd sounds coming from your pussy, progressively getting louder and wetter as he picks up his pace. You begin to feel sweat drip down from your forehead, tears collecting at your eyes as you recognize the coming of an orgasm. You plead,
“Rohan, please! Please let me cum!”
“What?”
“Please! I’ll do anything!”
“Do anything, huh?”
“Yes!”
“Then how about you learn... how not to disturb me!”
He once again slaps you across the face. You moan at the sensation the pain gives you, cumming all over his crotch area. He snakes an arm around your waist, pushing your sensitive clit down onto his hardness. You hiss at actions, resting your head against his shoulder to avoid focusing on what’s going on beanth you. He raises his fingers up to your mouth,
“Open.”
You oblige, sucking his fingers clean. He pats your jaw, laughing as he goes to poke and fiddle with your lips.
“It’s a shame you’re a little good-for-nothing whore, you look so pretty when you follow my orders.”
He pushes you off his lap, your body making a loud thud once it meets the floor. You kneel in front of him, holding your hand out to unzip his flyer, he stops you,
“Not now, I still have work to do. I can take care of it myself. Besides, those lips don’t deserve to be anywhere near my dick, anyway.”
You keep your eyes low as you pick yourself up. Your legs shaking as you open the door, you look up to see if Rohan is watching you. He isn’t. He’s back to drawing again. You sigh stepping out back to your room.
“Make sure you close the door behind you.” he calls out.
You oblige.
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A/N: Now I usually don’t write these at the end of my scenarios but holy shit! Did you guys like it? This is my first time writing dubcon and I’m kind of proud of myself. Obviously I’m still learning but I think it’s one of the best writings I’ve done in a while. Anyway, if you’re reading this know that both sfw and nsfw scenarios are still available to request! Thanks for reading x
#jojo's bizarre adventure#jojo imagines#jojo x reader#jojo x oc#rohan kishibe#rohan kishibe x reader#jojo part 4#diamond is unbreakable#jojo smut#jjba x y/n#jjba x reader#jjba part 4#jjba smut#oneshot#not sfw#smut#dubcon/noncon#fem reader
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Sam Holland - Don't Tell
A/N & WC - This is not meant to glorify or condone adultery in any way. I do not know Sam, nor do I claim to, this is a work of fiction. This was written before Sam posted about a new girlfriend: no disrespect is meant towards her. I do not believe Sam would do this: it is fictitious. 3.5k.
Warnings - Adultery, explicit smut, unprotected sex, swearing, reader is the other woman, swearing, brief allusions to SA. 18+.
Summary - When Sam booty calls you, you can't deny him, but will sexual satisfaction be enough? Or will you always want from him what you know you can't have?
THIS WASN’T HOW YOU’D PLANNED to spend your Saturday afternoon, but Sam called, and who were you to deny him?
‘Come over at 3.’ He texted you. ‘She’s leaving then.’
No kisses, no emojis, no frills, no sign off, nothing. You’re just a nameless number in his phone. You knew what it meant. You’ve done it plenty of times before, so you know the drill, it’s just not exactly pleasant.
With ample time, you left your house, your new place only a couple of streets over from the Holland household, and you walked as inconspicuously as possible. Your coat wrapped tightly around you, you refused to make eye contact with anyone on the whole walk there.
You know the drill so well by now that you know not to stick to the front of the house, but instead to head around the back—straight into his bedroom window—via the bins. Theoretically, with no one home and Sam in the living room, you could walk in the front door, but his room is safest since she has always refused to enter—’just in case.’
Your heart thuds against your chest while you hold your breath, praying not to be heard downstairs the second your feet land on his floor. You press yourself flat against the wall behind Sam’s door, lips pursed and eyes squeezed shut, every muscle in your body clenched to the maximum. You’ve trained yourself to stay so quiet that the only sounds are your pounding, racing heart and the blood rushing in your ears.
Thankfully, before cramp can override you, you hear the words that give you the all clear.
“Bye, love!” he calls down the driveway, followed by a half hearted air kiss, a deafening crunching on the gravel driveway, and the front door at last clicking shut.
Your body finally relaxes, limbs falling loosely around you while you release one of the longest held breaths you’ve ever had.
You creak open Sam’s bedroom door, ready for him to meet you, and shrug your coat off, throwing it on the floor alongside your converse when you hear him coming upstairs. He gets like this, heavy steps and heaved breaths like they’re a strain on his body, and it usually means he’s extra horny.
“What took so long, lover boy?” you tease, standing scantily clad in his door frame, leaning against the painted wood.
His eyes darken with lust as he approaches you, his shadow from the landing already overpowering.
This isn’t like any sex or ‘relationship’ you’ve ever been in before. It’s risky, and that risk makes it so much hotter. Always leaving the door open just a crack so that the two of you could be found only by those closest to Sam, the chance of being caught together in the street on the off chance you go for drinks; after all, your reputation precedes you. But it’s the adulterous element of your relationship that makes it so fun. The fact that it’s usually after his girlfriend leaves that you’re called over to relieve his not-so-little ‘problem’, the little marks you trail across the hidden parts of his body, occasionally being risky enough to plant one on the juncture of his neck and shoulder just to test the waters.
After being together for over two years, she still refuses to do anything with him. Of course you respect such a thing: if she wants to wait till marriage and is able to resist Sam for that long, props to her. It’s just not always ideal for all party members. Sure, they’ve kissed, a little groping, but by this point, with how little Sam's lass has done with him, he’s immensely riled up.
He really likes his girlfriend, of course he does, and he’s spoken to her about this time and time again, asking why they couldn’t just do something more than a PG-12 touching session. She simply shook her head and smiled every time, “I’m saving myself for marriage, Sammy.” This infuriated him hugely. He’s been with a girl or two (or ten) before her, so is very expectant, but being twenty-two has its burdens. He isn’t anywhere near ready for marriage, but is increasingly sexually frustrated. So after an insane year of getting by with absolutely no action apart from the rare lap dance and make out, he knew he had to do something besides use his own hand to relieve the tension that was making him a complete prick.
He respects his girlfriend enough not to pressure her. Sam isn’t a bad person and so he isn’t going to coerce his girlfriend into sex she doesn’t want, seeing it as utterly immoral, so he did the only thing he could think of, and turned to the girl next door, quite literally. Not that it’s any more moral, but here you are.
As soon as he reaches you, the smirk etched upon his face is perfect, just what you expect, and his hands grip your waist tightly.
“You think you’re so cheeky,” he smirks, and his lips crash onto yours the next moment, his hands spanning your sides. His affection halts as he smacks the side of your ass. “I’ll show you cheeky.”
You don’t let him get another word in before you’re kissing him again, furiously this time, hooking one leg around his waist as the other flies to his neck, your clasp anything but gentle.
You’ve known of the Holland family for a while, living a street away, going to school with the boys and your mother having ‘neighbourhood meetings’ with the family. You, however, had had nothing to do with them, never getting involved in their ordeals, not really.
Keeping a resolutely ‘good girl’ demeanour all through school was difficult, especially when you wanted to rebel so earnestly. The first step was house parties, beginning when you were in year ten, everyone getting shit-faced and ending up giving sloppy hand-jobs in someone’s downstairs loo. That much you weren’t a fan of, so you waited until the end of school, A-Levels secured to be who you wanted to be. Trench coats, docs and chucks at every turn, short shorts and fishnets. Lots of hair dye came next, followed by a ‘scandalous’ collection of piercings, and a significant body count for someone your age, or so conservative old women perceived. Fuck them, your body your choice.
Times changed in a year and a half, though not that much. Mid way through your rebellion, you got a good job, your own place, and became a call girl, essentially. Sam’s call girl only, considering your regrettable soft spot for him.
You couldn’t care less though, even though it’s adulterous, Sam is incredible in bed. He frequently tells you the same.
“I think you’re rubbing off on me,” he murmurs, “even when she was kissing me I could only think of you.” His lips are inches from yours with your breath mingling in the confined space of his doorway as you pant.
He hasn’t touched you yet, or even moved you to the bed. You feel yourself blush a little, scared fractionally by what he’s saying but mostly flattered. At least that’s what you’re telling yourself. It makes you feel like your old self is creeping in again, the girl next door that no one fell for.
“I like it when you get all shy on me, really naïve, shows me you’re a human and not just a sex goddess. My sex goddess.”
You pull his lips to yours with a burning passion, desperate to feel him up against you. Your palms settle this time on Sam's cheeks, angling his face to get the most out of the kiss, and your hold remains resolute so that he can’t pull away easily. This isn’t your dominance though, simply a ploy to hide your flushed cheeks from his prying eyes, the blush that’s been caused by his kind words. You want to keep him here long enough that you can claim the blush is from the breathlessness and the actions of his tongue slipping inside your mouth with an urgency you haven’t felt with him for a while. Is this the day that changes everything?
He backs you to the bed, walking unsteadily, and pushes you down onto the springy mattress. It pitches beneath you as he joins you, sitting by your side, his hand gravitating towards your thigh.
“Hey, what is it?” you ask, a slight hesitant stammer to your words.
“Nothing,” he sulks. “Just dunno how long I can keep doing this.”
His baleful eyes hover over your decolletage, and before you can protest and try to get him to open up about the whole situation, discussing the fact that maybe you should just quit while you’re ahead and come clean (because to be fair, it’s beginning to weight on your conscience too, even though you’ve never met said girlfriend), he kisses you, pinching your nipple through your bra until it forms a pebbled bud.
“Gonna take it all out on you,” he hisses, moving his kisses to your jaw. “All this pent up need from missing your body. God, feel so good beneath me.”
He swings a leg over to straddle your legs, and begins a ferocious attack on your neck with his teeth. You’ll have fun at work tomorrow, trying to hide them from your co-workers, one of them (on a temp basis, at least) being Sam’s twin. Harry cottoned on pretty easy, and won’t say a word, because he doesn’t want to deal with Sam’s temper when he’s been denied sex for too long. He likes Sam’s girlfriend, sure, but she doesn’t compromise on anything and looks down her nose at the lot of them, so he considers it fair play. And besides, with his track record, he really doesn’t have a leg to stand on.
Unwittingly, your hips buck up to meet his, feeling his throbbing need pressing against your pelvis, only for him to draw his body away from you, a bruising kiss being pressed to your lips the next moment. All in a flurry, your top is pulled down, your chest revealed to him.
“Bloody love your tits,” he purrs, a feral grin contorting his freckled face.
He rolls your pert bud between the rough pads of his fingers, palming at the other breast so as not to neglect it, only swapping when you’re beginning to writhe under him. His grin only increases.
“Sam… please.”
He knows what you want when you whine that way, so he sits up on his shins, and lets you tear his shirt open. Button by button, you watch as every inch of his pale chest is bared to you, his happy trail coaxing you lower.
“Get on with it, then,” he warns, clamping a hand around your hair in order to control your movements. He does this a lot, it’s his main power move. “They’re too damn tight now you’re around.”
You can definitely see that, the denim of his jeans pulled taut around his torso, the waistband of his boxers peeking above. He begins to pluck at your nipples again while you fumble with his buckle and zip, eventually tugging both items of clothing down at once. He stands, his lanky frame just a blur of white and freckles as he removes every last item, prowling back to you on the bed.
You, however, have other ideas, tugging him down with a grip on his shoulders until he’s helpless beneath you. In the time he was distracted with shucking his jeans off at last, you peeled your own shirt off and put your bra right. Sam’s a boob man, always has been, and takes great pleasure in fastening and unfastening your bras as much as he can, nestling into your chest for the time you spend together.
Since your last rodeo, you’ve gained some weight, and filled out a tad more, something Sam seems to notice right about now, especially as your chest hovers just inches from his face.
“Well? Are you gonna stare at them all day or take it off?”
This man… this man has the fucking audacity to lick his lips as one hand works on the hooks at the back of your bra, the other skimming the edges of the cups before it falls into his hands and he flings it across the room, knocking something off his dresser.
As soon as it's out of his way, he seems to forget everything apart from you, his eyes mesmerised by your chest, his mouth gaping a little, his eyes lingering on your hardened nipples for perhaps just a moment too long. You sigh to yourself, letting your knees dig into his navy comforter before your fingers wrap around his hand and place it onto your right breast. You know that, if you let him stare long enough, you’ll get nothing done. You need this release as much as he does. He takes the message, though, and begins kneading the flesh with a need you haven’t seen from him before. You even catch a wolfish grin when your face contorts into a silent ‘o’, overcome with pleasure. He tweaks your one nipple, and leans up to capture the other in his kiss-swollen lips, lavishing kisses around the sensitive area. You can’t help your nails leaving faint scratch marks in their wake over his freckled shoulders, tracing the silhouettes beneath his skin of muscle and bone, finding constellations within the freckles until he’s quaking beneath your delicate touch…
“Why’re you being such a tease?” he whines.
He has a point, you’re grinding down on his clothed cock in tandem with his playing with your boobs, your core hovering over his hard member, but it’s only fair with the stimulation he’s offering you. Just to shut him up, in one swift move you pull his boxers down and reach down to grasp him, stroking a couple of times before inching down, swallowing his aching length into your welcoming, warm walls.
Your moans create a heavenly sympathy, even as you stop for a moment to adjust to his size a little more, placing your hands on his pecs before grinding down on him. His hips begin to move, thrusting upwards and into you, finding a satisfying pace in tandem for you both as you ride him like there’s no tomorrow.
“Baby…” he moans, reaching out with his lips puckered to wrap them around your exposed nipple, suckling viciously, hard enough to hurt just a little.
“Stand up,” you command authoritatively, with a softness to your tone despite.
He grows harder inside of you, barely suppressing a groan, but his plan fails from shock when you bend over, clenching the foot of his bed so tightly your knuckles begin to turn white.
Casting a sensual glance over your shoulder, you bat your lashes and coax him the only way you know how, a wiggle of your bum added to help convince him; “Fuck me, Sammy…”
Your gasp is shrill and loud when he enters your craving core from behind, your knees nearly buckling when a stream of expletives falls from his lips once he grabs your hips, settling there. You’re sure to have hand-shaped imprints there tomorrow, but you don’t care, and apparently neither does Sam as he continues to thrust into you at an inhuman pace.
Breathy moans escape your lips as your nails find purchase in the sheets, now crumpled in your clenched fists. The only thing that fills your ears other than skin slapping against skin is the myriad of colourful words spilling from Sam in a groan, right down your ear.
“y/n… please…” he hums nonsensically, his lips finding their way to your shoulder blade and neck, kissing you, suckling.
He’s such a hypocrite: one rule for him, one rule for you, just because he’s got a girlfriend and is too pussy to break up with her even though his needs aren’t being met. For a brief moment, your body being used for his pleasure—and bringing you simultaneous heavenly satisfaction—you’re able to forget the consequences of your fornications.
They slip your mind once again the second one of his rough hands slowly makes its way down your front, finding your clit as he begins to rub harsh circles on it.
“Fuck…” you cry out, only for the heel of that hand to press into your pelvis, the other snaking around to your neck, applying the faintest pressure. Your walls tighten around him at the double stimulation.
His hips begin to move faster, blissful moans filling the room in symphony as you both near your highs, his tip grazing your special spot on every single thrust.
“C’mon,” he purrs in your ear, “can feel how close you are…” the pressure on your engorged pearl becomes a constant, and your body begins to spasm with unbridled pleasure. “Come.”
You do, and fireworks spark behind your eyes, setting off a train reaction in your brain, your walls clenching and your body collapsing, chest first, onto the edge of the bed. You must’ve cried out at some point, but your scream became but a gasp with his hand snug around your throat.
His thrusts slow, and he aids you onto the bed by your waist, but you roll away from him, aware that he hasn’t climaxed yet. He follows you down as your fingers link around his neck, but he’s not satisfied with that—as the smirk playing on his lips, causing dimples in his freckles, tells you—so he hovers above you on his knees. The hairs on his shins grate against the duvet cover so he shifts, but your hands move from his neck to his cheeks, pulling him closer to tangle your tongues together. His erection teases your wet folds while you’re lost in the movements of your mouths, and before you know it, he’s entering you again, and your hands are getting lost in his dark, silky locks, his one hand roughly kneading your breast. His thrusts recommence at a slower pace than before, his heels digging into the mattress as his groans overpower yours in the otherwise silent room.
“Shit… oh my God—” he hisses.
He begins to move faster, so you tug at his hair, revelling in the praises he offers, eliciting various heavy moans from his preoccupied mouth in between kisses. His warm breath and the resverberation of the moan vibrate across your lips, causing your hips to rock further into his, your legs wrapping around his toned torso to give him better access to your eager core. His movements become deeper as your breathing becomes even more escalated with high pitched moans tearing from your throat each time he hits your g-spot so perfectly. The knock-on effect sends him into an even more euphoric state, and before you know it, he’s groaning your name down your ear, and painting your walls white.
“Yes, Sammy…”
Your nails leave scratch marks all over his back from the sheer height of pleasure you’re experiencing, and that seems to be what sent him over the edge, his cum seeping into you as you milk his cock. He throbs inside you, his pelvis hitting you perfectly as he thrusts lazily while emptying himself. With one final press of his long, skilled thumb and digits over your sensitive nipple and a harsh bite to your pulse point just below your ear, the bundle of lust in your stomach becomes undone as you finish once again.
Before you’re fully recovered, he’s pulling out and leaving you empty as you lie together for a moment on opposite sides of the bed, no contact other than your pinky fingers linked and overlapping in between you. Except… despite the pleasure, you’re not satisfied. Not at all. And you know, in your heart, that this can’t happen again.
“Don’t tell anyone, please.”
“As fucking if,” you mumble.
“You ok?” he asks after a moment.
“Yes, just fine,” you snap, and roll off the bed, beginning to ferret around for your clothes.
“y/n, no…” Sam moves to grapple for you, “why are you leaving?”
“Because I’m done being treated like shit by you. Used as your fuck-toy when you’re too much of a pussy to deal with your girlfriend… I’m done, Sam.”
He’s up and off the bed, shucking his jeans on with great force that causes him to trip back onto the bed as you adjust your top and zip your skirt back up.
“y/n!”
“What!” you bellow right back at him.
He shuffles his feet on the carpet, and moves to speak, but his jaw just hangs open like a fish, nothing coming out.
“Yeah, I’m done here, Sam. Don’t booty-call me again.”
A weary voice from behind you calls out, “Sam?”
Shit.
This is bad. This is very bad. But what can you do? You’re the other woman, he’s the one choosing to commit adultery: why is that your problem? He can deal with his (clearly very angry) girlfriend, so livid she’s shaking, once you’re gone.
“Yeah. Your ‘don’t tell’ plan worked real good, Sammy. Karma’s a bitch,” you spit, spinning on my heels and waltzing out the door.
You mean it: you’re done. At least until he breaks up with her and undoubtedly calls back. You want him, there's no question about that, but you want him all to yourself: and that's a secret you won't tell.
#sam holland#sam holland imagine#sam holland x reader#sam holland fic#sam holland angst#sam holland x y/n#sam holland fluff#sam holland x you#sam holland one shot#sam holland smut#sam holland blurb#sam holland x fem reader#sam holland x f reader#samuel holland
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thane/irikah, sharing a dessert or one falling asleep with their head in the other's lap? your choice lmao
Sunlit Days | Ao3
The sun was a rare sight on Kahje. Once or twice a year, it would manage to make an appearance, but most of the time, the planet was shrouded beneath such heavy cloud cover that it felt like they were trapped in a perpetual night. While drell couldn’t thrive in such conditions, they made due.
Irikah was going to enjoy the sun for what little time she had with it. After all, tomorrow it would be gone again and they would have nothing but the memory of its warmth to tide them over until the next time the sun decided to show itself again. As Irikah made her way down the street, she leaned her head back and allowed the sunlight to wash over her deep blue-and-black scales. A contented smile played on her lips as she took the final turn and the house came into view at the very end of the street.
While Thane hadn’t mentioned taking Kolyat out for the day, that didn’t mean they had stayed home. Today was too beautiful to waste being cooped up inside, after all. Irikah had found herself feeling restless all throughout her shift, while sunlight shone in through the windows. More than once, she had found herself drawn away from her tests so she could let the sunlight fall across her face. She hadn’t even stayed late, knowing that the sun had began its descent in the sky.
“I’m home!” Irikah called as she entered the house, setting her bag down beside the shoes that were haphazardly piled next to the door. As she began shrugging off her coat, she peered through the doorway into the kitchen, expecting her son to come running as soon as he heard her voice. Kolyat was five now, steadily growing more independent, but he was always happy to see her when she got home in the afternoons.
Neither he nor Thane appeared, however. Frowning, Irikah finished shrugging off her coat and hung it beside the door before stepping through into the kitchen. There were a couple of dirty dishes in the sink, and the datapad Kolyat had gotten for his birthday—strictly for games that were supposed to help young drell develop cognition and memory retention—sat abandoned on the counter, still powered on. Irikah shut it off and set it to the side.
It looked like a bomb had gone off in the living room. Half-finished drawings were scattered across the floor and the low table at the center of the room—mostly Kolyat’s work from what Irikah could tell, although she also saw one or two that looked like they might have been done by Thane. He often mixed up red and black, where Kolyat did not, and it was noticeable in their work. As she began tidying up, avoiding stray crayons underfoot, she found herself wondering if they had gotten distracted by the rare sight of the sun, as she had at work. She certainly couldn’t fault them for it, if that was the case.
She carefully set the collected drawings in a neat pile and then glanced around again, for any sign of where they might have gone. Their coats and shoes were still by the front door, and Thane hadn’t left a note in a place she’d immediately have noticed. It was only when a light breeze ran across her frill, and she heard their voices faintly in the distance, that she noticed the door to the backyard had been left ajar. They must not have heard her come home, too caught up in what they were doing out there.
When she eased the door all the way open, she had every intention of immediately announcing her presence, but her voice left her when she noticed what they were doing. Thane had already dressed down for the evening, wearing what he often did when running through his daily meditations and exercises, and Kolyat was dressed similarly. The dark fabric was interwoven with thermal weave that helped maintain one’s body temperature, which was a finicky enough prospect when a drell was sitting still.
Thane was in pose, balancing his foot against his calf, just below the knee. At times, it was easy to mistake him for a statue—his balance never wavered—but right now, he was watching Kolyat attentively as Kolyat attempted to mimic him. And Kolyat—Arashu bless him—wasn’t nearly coordinated enough to do even that without wobbling.
“Your foot is too high,” Thane said patiently. “If you lower it, that will help.”
Kolyat pouted, but did as he was told. While he did still sway just a bit, there was a sharp determination in his eyes as he managed to hold the pose.
“Now, lift your arms up, towards the sun,” Thane instructed before he demonstrated. Although Kolyat hesitated, looking unsure, when Thane gave him an encouraging nod, he was quick to mimic his father. He still wobbled a bit, but he didn’t fall over as Irikah feared he might.
Irikah almost didn’t want to disturb them… only almost, though.
“Well, it looks like you two are having fun,” she said.
This time, when Kolyat nearly tumbled over, Thane caught him with a firm hand against his shoulder. Not that Kolyat seemed to notice—his eyes had lit up at the sight of his mother, and Irikah was quick to scoop him up as soon as he was close enough, spinning him around and kissing his cheek. Kolyat immediately began listing off everything that he and Thane had done while she was at work, although he ran through it so quickly she barely caught most of it. Still, she listened.
Thane approached more slowly and lingered a couple paces away, watching the both of them. His expression was difficult to discern, but there was just the slightest tilt of his head. Irikah recognized that as a sign of fondness. When Thane finally spoke, he did so without raising his voice. “Kolyat, you had a drawing you said you wanted to show your mother.”
Kolyat nodded quickly, his eyes alight as he squirmed out of Irikah’s arms. She set him gently back down on the grass, and he was gone before she could say a word more.
“I just cleaned up after you two,” Irikah sighed, although there wasn’t any actual bite to her voice. It was difficult to be mad at either of them for leaving a mess in the house when it was so nice out here. Thane still looked a little guilty, though.
“I intended to straighten up the house before you got home,” he admitted as he closed the distance between them. When he was close enough, he settled into her arms, pressing his face into her frill. “I fear time got away from us… how was your day, siha?”
“Well enough,” Irikah said, swaying the both of them a little bit in the sun. She closed her eyes and let it wash over her face again. “I kept getting distracted by the sun…”
“Didn’t we all?” Thane asked. “Kolyat could barely sit still all morning… he wanted to be out here.”
Kolyat had only seen the sun once or twice in his life—he had been born in the middle of a very rainy year—so it was little surprise he had been so desperate to enjoy it while he could.
Irikah let out a soft sigh and released Thane, taking hold of his hands and dragging him further into the center of the yard. Thane’s brow pinched, but he followed along after her without complaint. Once they were in the center of the yard, where the sunlight was at its strongest, Irikah settled down in the grass, crossing her legs in front of her. Thane was slow to sit down beside her, glancing back in the direction of the house, watching for Kolyat.
“I noticed that you tried your hand at art again,” Irikah said, reaching out to coax him into laying back with his head in her lap. For a very brief moment, he looked like he was going to protest, but when she began running her fingers along the delicate skin of his frill, he immediately relaxed into her touch. His eyes slid closed.
“Kolyat insisted,” Thane murmured.
Irikah couldn’t help but chuckle. “You spoil him, Thane…”
Thane’s eyes shot open again. “… am I not supposed to do that?”
Quickly, she shook her head. “No, no… it’s fine,” she said reassuringly. “Sweet, even… we should frame some of them. I think they’d look nice in the foyer.”
Silence—a comfortable one—passed between them then. Irikah continued stroking along his frill, and a low, contented hiss left Thane as his eyes slid close again. His breathing evened out within minutes, although it took Irikah a moment to realize that he had fallen asleep. He must have been exhausted… but then, Irikah supposed running around after a five year old all day would that to you.
“Mom!” Kolyat said with no regard for his volume as he hurried out of the house again, clutching the drawing he must have been hunting for. “I found it!”
Irikah hushed him gently, holding a finger to her lips. “You’ll wake your father,” she whispered, before beckoning him closer. “Now, let’s see what you drew.”
#rev's writing again#thane krios#irikah krios#kolyat krios#me when all the krioses appear in a fic: The Gang's All Here#this is the shortest thing i've written in like 2 years#there's probably typos in this but i'm done looking at it!!#anyway bon appetite
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Wade, part Four
Rating: NSFW Length: 2146 Pairing: Male Fishman/Gillman x GN Reader
The finale for the story written for @momolady
xxx
The next few weeks are pure pandemonium as nonhuman beings come out in full force in support of the gillfolk republics. Ancient entities crawl out of the forests and seas, werewolves and vampires and other creatures make their presence known, with the full support and protection of a healthy and growing population of human former hunters who have been operating their support networks for generations.
The transition is rocky at best, with many human politicians calling for their eradication while others make it clear that attempting to do so would be a terrible mistake—not just for humanity, but for the world at large. Many of these beings are magical in nature, and while humanity is not threatened in so many words, it is weightily implied that the wilful culling of the nonhuman population would have a great many varied and equally devastating consequences.
You don’t see Wade for the majority of your vacation as he recovers beneath the waves. Instead, you’re interviewed (and interrogated) by just about every news outlet and television network, along with many other humans who step forward to give their positive testimonials about their experiences with other nonhumans. It doesn’t go as smoothly as you hope. You wake to eggs on your house and your parents’ car windows broken, and more than once you’re called the first of many inventive slurs when you’re recognised in public. You get many nasty phone calls and you get harassed on the street, until your parents express a desire to move away from the coast for your protection.
You’ve just hung up on the third such caller of the day when your cell phone rings again, and you can’t help but heave a sigh before you swipe the green ‘accept’ button on your screen. “I don’t fuck fish,” is the first thing that springs out of your mouth, followed closely by, “they’re gillfolk.”
“Duly noted,” says a familiar voice from the other end of the line, and you fling your mercifully plastic cup clean off the dining table you’re sitting at with the way you spasm in place.
“Wade!”
“Hey, you,” Wade says around a laugh, but it doesn’t linger in his voice for long. “Where are you? We need to talk.”
Shit. “I’m at home,” you say. “I can be there in fifteen minutes.”
“The usual place?”
“The usual place.” You can hardly get the words out before the line goes dead. You take your pepper spray and pocket knife just in case things get hairy before you can make it to the coast, but thankfully your hurried pedaling is uninterrupted and you make it to the beach in record time. You’re still catching your breath by the time you get to the cove, and you almost twist your ankle in your haste to get down to the sand where Wade is waiting, out of sight.
“That was quick,” he mutters as you approach, and you huff as you rest your bike against the rocks. You can’t help but look him over, focusing on the spot where you had last seen a goddamn harpoon sticking out of his side. There’s nothing but puckered white flesh there now, though his scales have yet to regrow over the scar. Still, you can’t help but frown.
“Are you sure you should be up and about? You were run through just a few weeks ago.”
“I’m fine,” says Wade, watching you unblinkingly. “Why? Don’t want me around?”
Your frown turns into a scowl. “I didn’t say that.”
“You left because of me.”
“I left because of me,” you reply, putting such force into the word that you shake with it. “I left because I love you and I couldn’t bear to be a creep and ruin it between us. I left because—”
“You’re damn stupid,” Wade cuts in, closing the distance between you and pressing his lips so hard against yours that it almost hurts. You reel back from the shock and he drags you back in, kissing you over and again until you’re whimpering for mercy against his mouth. “Idiot,” he whispers when he breaks the kiss, cupping your face between his soft, warm hands. “Fucking moron.”
“Keep being romantic. It’s working,” you snort, sniffling when you realise that you’ve started to cry. “So you—?”
“Yes.”
“And I—”
“Left me,” Wade all but gasps, words leaving him as though excised from his throat. “Don’t ever do that again. You can’t do that to me. You can’t.”
“I won’t,” you promise, stroking along the frills between his head fins with your fingertips. “I’ll transfer schools. I’ll—“
“Marry me.”
You choke on your own spit. Wade frets and tuts and pats at your back, though he grins his amusement with his needle sharp teeth when you look up at him like a deer in the headlights. “You’re serious.”
“Deadly.”
“We’re not even dating.”
“I think we just skipped to the good part, what with the kissing and all.”
“You said we needed to talk!”
“We did. I recall the conclusion to that talk being that you were a jackass.”
“You called me an idiot, not a jackass.”
“Semantics. The point is, some things need not be spoken to be understood.”
“That’s not how any of this works.”
“It works however we make it work. I think that’s the point of a relationship: you have to work at it to make it any good.”
“I’m not discussing the philosophy of this with you, Wade.”
“Spoilsport. You said you loved me.”
“Don’t use that against—”
“I’m not. I love you, too.”
You come up short. “You do?”
“I do,” murmurs Wade, shy in a way that you have never seen before. “I have for a very long time.”
“Since when?” you ask, and you can’t help but smile when Wade wraps his arms around your waist as though he’s always done so.
“Since you first let me take you diving,” he says, spreading his fingers and letting them wander up and down your back.
“That long? I had braces then!”
“You weren’t any less beautiful.” His eyes crease with mischief, and you know you’re going to be prickled like a child poking a bear. “I kind of miss them, actually. They were shiny.”
“Are you a gillman or a magpie?” you snort, though you can feel your face growing hot.
Wade only grins. “Your turn,” he says. “When did you know you loved me?”
You huff, having to look away from his self-satisfied expression. “During one of your business trips in sophomore year. I was so gross, writing you sappy text messages and never sending them.”
“That’s years after I fell in love with you,” says Wade, and you can hear his pout in his voice. “Was I that obnoxious?”
“Yes.”
“And you still love me?”
“Yes. Gods help me, I do.”
Wade laughs and kisses you again, gently this time, pressing his lips to yours in several soft smooches and pecks. You can’t help but sigh and coo at his attentions, melting against him and sighing when his tongue slips past your lips. You don’t dare return the favour, with all his sharp, pointed teeth, but he kisses you so thoroughly that it doesn’t matter, until it suddenly does. “Have you done this before?” you ask, and know the answer immediately when Wade ducks his head with guilt.
“A few times.”
“Wade.”
“A few dozen,” he corrects, wincing when you jab a finger in his uninjured side. “But never further. I wanted my first mating to be with you. Though that doesn’t mean I haven’t used my hand for relief whenever I thought about y—”
“Wade!” you squawk, elbowing him in the ribs.
He coughs and laughs, rubbing his side and grinning down at you. When had he gotten so tall and broad? You’re lamenting your own lack of muscle when Wade scoops you up into his arms, ignoring your various noises of shock and embarrassment as he carries you to a more secluded part of the cove. You can feel your face flaming when you realise that he’s aiming for privacy, but when he leans in to kiss you after setting your back against rocks worn smooth by waves, you wrap your arms around his neck to keep him close.
Wade makes quick work of the clothing you wear below the waist, and you briefly wonder where he’d gotten practice with that before your thoughts disappear in the wake of his fingers teasing you. He’s careful with his claws so that he doesn’t hurt you, but that just makes every twist of his wrist all the more maddening, until you’re squirming and writhing against the rocks with Wade standing between your legs.
“I knew you’d like that,” he whispers, almost a purr, and you have to fight the urge to swat him or hide.
“Shut up,” you beg, breathless and moaning as Wade teases you to dripping.
“No,” Wade cheekily replies, taking his hand from you to bring up between you both. You’re mortified to see strings of your fluids clinging to his fingers, and even further embarrassed to watch him slip his tongue out to lick them clean, bright pink eyes burning into yours.
“I’m gonna die,” you say, covering your burning face with your hands for some relief.
“You’re going to come close to it by the time I’m done with you,” Wade rumbles, kneeling in the sand and lifting you up so that both of your legs hook over his broad shoulders.
“Wade!” you meep, but he only chuckles, tongue snaking out of his mouth to tease your most sensitive places. You squeak when he finds your entrance and Wade splutters against you, earning himself a soft smack to the top of his head. “Don’t laugh during this!”
“I can’t help that you’re cute,” Wade protests, burying his face against the insides of your thighs and returning to his task with renewed enthusiasm. You whimper and mewl as he works you open, squirming on his tongue and shivering as his dangerous teeth brush tenderly against your skin. You almost choke when he draws away a sizzling eternity later, apparently satisfied with his work.
“Wade…”
“My pearl,” he murmurs, and you find yourself held aloft in his powerful grasp when he stands, thighs hooked over his muscular forearms. Between you is his prick, deep blue at the base and a vivid purple at the tip, with bumps and ribs that grind against you and make you shiver from head to curling toe. “I’ll make you weep for me around this cock.”
“Don’t say that,” you manage to whimper, feeling his slippery pre-cum slick up your entrance before he starts to push in. “Wade!”
“Say my name,” he rumbles back, voice straining at the edges. “Say my name forever, you precious, precious thing.”
“Stop talking,” you whine, embarrassed and aroused as warm butterflies flutter in your stomach.
Wade chuckles, burying his face against the side of your neck. “You picked the wrong man.”
You curse and writhe as he pushes inside of you with slow, steady thrusts, clinging to his shoulders and biceps whenever the sensations are too much. “I’m going to die,” you gasp, tears in your eyes. “It’s too much.”
“It’s not enough,” Wade growls, teeth grazing along your throat. “So many years I’ve hungered, so many years I’ve yearned.” He surges up into you at the word, and you’re mortified when you wail into the briny air. Wade rocks his hips up into you, hands splayed across your ass, thumbs spreading you open to take him deeper. You whimper and clutch him as tightly as you dare, feeling your breaths mingle as your nerves come alight like a pyrotechnic display.
He moves inside of you like you were made for each other, fitting inside you again and again as you cry out and shake apart. When you come, it’s with his name on your lips and his teeth around your neck, his fins rustling as he empties himself inside of you with a few final, reckless thrusts. “Don’t drop me,” you pant, blunt human nails digging into Wade’s scales. “I can’t feel my legs.”
“And you think I can?” Wade grunts, though he obligingly lowers you onto the sand with care as he kneels down. “Give me a minute and I’ll do it again.”
“You really do want to kill me,” you groan, resting your face against Wade’s shoulder with a sigh.
“No,” Wade rumbles in reply, gurgling softly with pleasure. “But I do really want to marry you. You can carry my eggs and we can have little bubblers nipping at our heels.”
“I can what?!”
“I was joking. Surrealist comedy. Have you ever heard of it?”
“I take it back. I hate you.”
“You love me.”
“I do,” you sigh, feeling Wade smile against the top of your head. “Gods help me, I do.”
#exophilia#exophlia fic#monster romance#monster boyfriend#monster lemon#fishman#fishman boyfriend#gillman#gillman boyfriend#Wade#my work
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Chan’s Studio - Cat Boy Felix
Felix was bored. Bored and horny, he wanted Chan to get back already.
They had to hide it from the group. After all imagine the scandal that would break out if anyone knew Chan and Felix were dating, and had been for almost 7 months. It was hard but they made do, Felix sneaking into Chans studio and them sharing a bed at night.
Finally Felix couldn't take it, he knew that Chan would be holed up in his studio stuck messing around with tunes until something fit. Very stressful work for him but he always pulled it off. Well tonight Felix planned to help out with the stress. They had done it a few times before and Felix knew that Chan still had the stuff left from last time.
Walking out towards the entrance he was stopped by Seungmin. "Where you off too". "Not sneaking out to a girl I hope, " he teased. Not necessarily a girl but close enough Felix thought. "Aah I'm out to check on Chan, he works too hard and should have a rest" It was true after all, no need to lie.
He sat fidgeting in the cab as he was driven to the studio. He hoped Chan wouldn't get too mad with him being out at 11:40pm. Regardless he had made up his mind and Felix was stubborn. Slipping out of the cab making sure to pay he raced inside, out of the cold night air. Slipping into Chan's studio he noticed he was out currently, although he had left his work open on the computer so he was going to be back soon.
Slipping the outfit out of the drawer where it has been stored after last time Felix slipped it on. Lace and frills sliding over his pale skin, having previously dropped his clothes to the ground. Finally the cat ears made an appearance. Chan enjoyed them, maybe a little too much at times.
He was just in time sitting down on Chan's chair just as he entered again. "Felix, what are you doing here,' Chan startled by Felix’s presence jumped back against the door. Fortunately for Felix it had been closed behind Chan so no one else could see inside.
‘I know how hard you have been working lately and decided that, maybe it was time for me to help relieve some stress.’
Felix stood up, summoning all his confidence, after all he was standing in front of Chan naked apart from skimpy lingerie and cat ears. ‘Come on you know I can help’ he pleaded with Chan. That pushed him over the edge. Felix could see the lust in Chan’s eyes as he strode forward. Felix was pushed against the wall, Chan's rough hands grasping his forearms. He could feel his breath as he stared down his body. ‘Ugh Felix you know what this outfit does to me’
Of course Felix did. Especially after last time he wore it. Who knew Chan would love it so much. And that was exactly why he wore it, he knew Chan would never be able to say no to him in that outfit.
Chan slipped one of his hands down, just far enough to tease the edge of his lingerie. ‘ You sure kitty’ he asked, nibbling at his lip like usual.
‘Just fuck me already, please.’
His voice came out as a whimper. Felix just wanted to feel Chan’s fingers buried inside him,, or better yet his thick dick. He shoved himself at Chan impatiently, unwilling to wait any longer. ‘Your impatient today kitty’ Chan whispered in his ears, smoothly sliding two of his fingers into Felix’s hole. Felix gasped, Chan’s fingers filling him up so nicely. ‘That’s it kitty, fuck yourself on my fingers, let me take care of you now.’
Chan slipped another finger inside Felix stretching him out, while Felix started to grind his hips down needing the sensations it provided.
“Need more,” Felix begs, reaching out to press his lips against Chan’s. Pulling away for a second to finish his sentence, “want you inside, Daddy, please” before capturing Chan’s lips again.
Chan couldn’t wait any longer. Grabbing the cherry lube in one hand he spread it along his dick until he was sure it was covered. Thrusting inside Felix, Chan let out a moan. “Oh kitty, your soo tight, a perfect kittycat for me.”
Chan couldn’t last much longer. He grabbed Felix’s cock giving it a rub for him. “Please Chan, cum in me” Felix begged, arching up into Chan. That was all it took for Chan to cum, pumping Felix’s ass full of his cum while Felix came into Chan’s hand.
“Did my little kitty like that, enjoy being fucked by daddy,” Chan whispered leaning right into Felix. “Do you enjoy being full of my cum.”
Chan grabbed a butt plug from out of the draw, small enough for Felix to take it comfortably while big enough to keep his cum in. “Come on kitty lets plug you up, keep you nice and full.”
Chan slid his cock out of Felix’s ass before swiftly replacing it with the butt plug. “Come on babe, time to get you home” sweeping Felix’s body up in his arms Chan grabbed a blanket to cover Felix’s mostly naked body. Pulling off the cat ears and grabbing his pants to put back on Chan walked out of the studio. Felix was so tired he had fallen asleep in Chan’s arms, snuggled up like the cute kitty he was.
Somehow they made it back to the dorms, Chan walking into his room laying Felix down on the bed, “wait here babe I will get a cloth to clean you up under there” Chan whispered to Felix unsure if he was still awake or not. Making his way back to his room with the warm cloth Chan cleaned up Felix and himself before wrapping them both in blankets.
The next morning they woke together, Felix groaned as he realized he still had the buttplug fit inside. “Ahh Chan, we should probably have a shower, don’t you think. "
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Happy InuKag Week 2020, Day 6! It’s been literal years, but here’s finally Part 2 of The Problem With Thinking, my Inuyasha High School AU. Lots of love going out to @coquinespike for all the encouragement. Thanks for your patience! It’d probably be better to reread Part 1 (no big edits, but because it’s been SO LONG) but honestly it’s not a huge deal if you don’t. Lots of fluff. I’m sorry I can only offer the same bland AU over and over. Please forgive me and leave comments in the notes anyways?
So the fight was officially over and now they stood there holding each other. It was so intimate that it made the tips of his ears feel hot with embarrassment. Hard to believe that just this morning he was still avoiding her, yet now she was practically molded up against him, and there wasn’t a single part of him that wanted her to move away.
He was hyper aware that Kagome was so very close—closer than she’d ever been before. It was new territory. With their reconciliation, the bridge he thought he’d burn reassembled itself anew, and they’d crossed a line somewhere. What line, he couldn’t be sure.
A new burning filled Inuyasha’s chest, a fire that wanted to engulf her entirely. He’d missed her so much, and being away from her had drained him like a dying battery. He’d felt so tired, so void of any energy or drive, so… lonely. Now she was here, right here, and his whole body was thrumming with the desire to grab her tightly and hold on, to bask in her warm presence like a spring field finally coming out of winter’s harsh cold.
He saw the same look of longing reflected in her eyes. They were magnets kept apart until now.
He forced himself to speak, though his heavy tongue and heart protested the words as he spoke, “I should get you home.”
The sky was getting darker by the second. Her house was just down the street, but he’d worry too much if he let her go by herself. Besides, it was an excuse to stay by her side for a while longer.
“Are you trying to get rid of me?”she asked with a hurt tone.
“What? No!” Inuyasha yelped. The opposite! He coughed and looked off to the side. There was no decent way to explain how he was afraid that the more she stayed by him, the harder it would become to let her go even though they only lived a block apart. He’d cut her off so thoroughly from his life, and now he realized it was like denying himself oxygen. How had he survived?
“Inuyasha?” She gripped his hands again to pull him from his thoughts.
“Huh?” he noised dumbly.
“C-can I…” Kagome wracked her short-circuiting brain for an excuse, any excuse to stay longer. “I don’t want to go home looking like this.”
“What?” You look fine, he thought.
She bit her lip. “Since my face is all puffy and my eyes are red. I don’t want Mama or Jii-chan to worry.”
“O-oh. You… Do you want to come up?” His eyes suddenly opened wide. “Not if you’re uncomfortable with that! I could get you a… wet towel or something.”
“It's okay. I’m fine with going up.” Kagome fought a blush.
“Are you sure?”
She nodded firmly, if only to keep from jumping up and down in glee. Success! How obvious would that be?
He replied with a stiff nod back. He swiftly turned around, dropping one hand from her grip but holding on with the other to lead her into the building. Their palms and fingers felt as if they’d fused together like hot glass. It was weird to imagine they’d have to come apart anytime soon.
As they walked past the metal gate and into the complex, Kagome’s eyes wandered to drink in the unfamiliar territory, but also to keep occupied. There was a tension in the air—some shy but persistent heat that sealed their mouths shut. Inuyasha was looking straight ahead avoiding looking at her, but she couldn’t bring herself to do much differently than him. The fact loomed upon them: they were going to be in his apartment… alone. It was very new for them, and they’d only just gotten their problems solved. Her heart raced. She’d just found out she was in love with him. Maybe asking to come up was a bad idea.
Before she could think else of it, Inuyasha finished turning the key to his door. It opened with a small push, sending her stomach to do a cartwheel. The darkness inside fed her curiosity despite her nerves. She followed him in as the lights flickered on. Humble. Quiet.
It’s not like he has anyone to greet, she remembered. There weren’t decorations or frills—just the basic necessities.
Kagome removed her shoes, noticing how awkward it felt to do so with one free hand. Still, she had no intention of letting go.
“Uh, the… bathroom is over there.” Inuyasha gave a directional head gesture that had his ears twitch. “Is there anything you need?”
Her eyes dropped down to their locked hands. With a strange sense of concentration, she loosened her grip—at least she thought she did. It didn’t budge.
“Oh.” Inuyasha noticed the problem.
A voice yelled in his head. You’re an idiot. You can’t follow her in there! Let go!
With the care and hesitation of unwrapping a bandage, he moved his fingers to uncurl from hers. It felt like pulling apart linked chains. Their palms slid past each other, fingers sweeping to the tips. He would have let it go, but the slightest hint of uncertain, lingering pressure from Kagome had him stop in his tracks.
They froze. His eyes flickered to her blushing face, and he felt her fingertips squeeze his.
“In—“
The next second he yanked her close—his earlier desire to do so finally sated. He grasped the back of her head while his other hand wrapped around her wrist. Her contact against him felt like finally gulping air after drowning.
“Inuyasha?” the girl gasped.
Shit. He’d acted on instinct when he grabbed her. He had no idea what to say, and he felt the embarrassment bubble fast to the surface. She felt nice though, and he couldn’t deny that.
Kagome’s face pressed against Inuyasha’s chest, her mind drawing blanks as her cheek felt the heat of his skin beneath his T-shirt. His heart was racing, just like hers. It was reassuring.
“Sorry,” he mumbled. He shifted the hand in her hair, letting the smell of lavender shampoo and Kagome’s natural scent fill his home.
Kagome’s free hand came up to hold him back gently, and she realized she’d been aching to do this since she laid eyes on him: to hold him in her arms, to pour out her affection, to be close.
“It’s fine,” she whispered, running her palm soothingly up and down a short length.
Inuyasha reflexively pushed her closer in an attempt to keep from shivering at her touch.
Her heart was still beating rapidly. How else was she supposed to feel when the boy she loved was hugging her so sweetly? It took a while, but after a few moments of silence, Kagome relaxed enough to speak.
“Inuyasha?” She squeezed him a little, somehow already comfortable with touching him so intimately. Funny, but it just felt right being close to him.
“Hm?”
She allowed herself to sink against his body, letting him hold up more of her weight. “Have you been doing all your homework?” It was a familiar question, bringing a sense of normalcy back to their dynamic.
“Uh…” he hesitated.
“Inuyasha…”
“I’ve been doing enough,” he responded vaguely. It was the truth, but he knew she wouldn’t like the answer.
Kagome clicked her tongue in disapproval. “That sounds like you’ve been slacking…”
“I got lazy without your naggin’.” Lazy. Frustrated. Uninspired. Angry. Depressed. Who was he kidding? When he wasn’t moping around he was trying his best not to punch walls.
The girl sighed. “I’ve been distracted too, so I’m not one to talk… Though I’m going to blame that on you.”
He scoffed, but the sound was soft. “You gettin’ all worked up over me…” Never mind that he’d been the same.
She poked him in the shoulder blade and dug her finger into it as a small jab. “Don’t be a jerk. I missed you a lot, dummy. I wouldn’t be here otherwise, looking like a total mess.”
In seriousness, he apologized. “I’m sorry.”
The sincerity of it brought tears rushing to her eyes so quickly she was defenseless against them. She was completely caught off guard, but if he was going to be that honest then she’d follow suit.
“Don’t do that to me again,” she had to whisper in a rush to keep her voice from faltering. If it sounded like a plea instead of a reprimand, there was nothing she could do about it.
“I won’t,” he swore. “I… please don’t cry Kagome. I can’t stand it. You know that. I don’t know what to do.”
“Just don’t be an idiot again.”
He held his tongue and let her calm down. His hand kept rubbing soothing circles against her back.
“Were you eating properly?” She finally sniffled with a frown.
“I ate. Not what you’d call ‘properly’ though.”
“You can’t just have three packs of ramen when you get home from school.”
“I can and definitely did.”
Again, she sighed. “We should go to the grocery store together. And I need to teach you how to actually cook.”
“I can fend for myself fine,” he retorted. After a beat he added, “But if you want to come over and make food, I’m not going to stop you.”
“I’d cook for you everyday if only to keep you from high blood pressure.” She pulled away in time to catch the shock on his face, and realized then that her words sounded like a proposal, like she could commit to taking care of him for the rest of her life. She felt mortified. It was too close to a confession!
“You would?” Inuyasha felt embarrassment splash him in the face like cold water.
“No! I mean, yes, but I didn’t mean that I… you… you know? I just want you to eat balanced meals! That’s all I meant, okay?”
Normally he would retort her sweet sentiment with something brash. He was marvelously good at ruining the moment. Instead he was frozen, looking at the girl in front of him with affection seizing his whole being like lightning, strong and inescapable. He was helpless as it coursed through every nerve in his body.
His silence had Kagome fidgeting.
“Inuyasha?”
He couldn’t move. He opened his mouth and closed it repeatedly, no words forming whatsoever like a dumb fish gaping for food. The idea of Kagome cooking him a meal… of her setting down plates, of her coming home to him… every day for the rest of his life…
The girl’s cheeks flared indignantly at his lack of response; heart thrumming nervously because it wasn’t a true confession, but it had the tone of something so much more—something akin to promising forever. She couldn’t take his surprised expression locked onto her so intensely, so she shoved her face into his shirt to avoid his gaze. Her hands gripped at his sleeves. She shook his arms hoping for a reaction and cried out, “Don’t just stand there staring at me! You have to say something, you dummy!”
He really should say something, he knew, but nothing was coming to his head. Nothing except Kagome, over and over again. Her in his kitchen, her walking down the road by his side, her eating meals with him everyday… When she told him to let her stay by his side, Inuyasha didn’t consider the actual depth of it. He’d simply taken it at face value. If she wanted to be around him, she’d decide that. The thought of her being there for him daily triggered something heavy to lock itself into place. It felt like she’d smacked an old machine and the gears finally fit themselves together. The realization came to him then.
He was in love with her.
Kagome felt his hold on her slacken. “Inuyasha?” she tried again, with a miserable tone to her voice. She was still mortified.
He released his steady hold on her wrist. Then he pried her hand gently away from his shirt, slowly easing his fingers between hers. The action was enough to get her to pull herself back. He’d never been very tender before.
His gaze was molten hot against hers, burning maybe, but she was caught in it like sweet, sticky honey. Her chest panged with how much she loved him. Couldn’t she just… reach up and show him? She tightened her fingers entwined with his. God, that felt so right. Her hand belonged in his.
“Kagome…” Her name was meant for his mouth.
Oh, he was so attractive, and she’d missed him so much. If she could somehow wrap herself up in him she would. His tentative grip firmed, lifting her hand closer. Her eyelids lowered while the rest of her body tilted up, up, and towards him.
Inuyasha was enamored. His entire world was swirling around Kagome as if she was the center of the universe. She very well might be, with him caught in her gravitational pull. He closed his eyes and saw black—and then he saw a star; faint and twinkling behind his eyelids, like the uncertain pressure lingering sweetly against his lips.
Then it was gone.
Slightly dazed, he opened his eyes to a blushing Kagome shying back from her kiss. Damn if he didn’t want to pull her to him again. A ‘wait, come back,’ on the edge of his tongue.
As if asking for permission, Kagome tugged at his sleeve and steadied her gaze on his mouth. He wanted to smile at her obvious signals, but a prick of paranoia had him stop her from moving towards him.
“Wait…” He watched as her courage was drained from her face and tried quickly to assure her. “It’s not that I don’t want to, I… I didn’t mean for this to happen when I asked you up, you know.”
“I know that,” she responded earnestly.
“Right…” he turned to look at the floor, trying to sift through his clouding thoughts gathering and darkening like a storm.
“So what’s the problem?”
“I mean, you know. That stuff,”
“The ‘stuff’ that people who don’t know anything say?” she asked.
“Well they ain’t that off if we keep at it,” he replied dryly, but there was a blush on his face. He’s just been kissed by Kagome Higurashi, the most beautiful, wonderful girl in the world. She would’ve done it again if he hadn’t held her back.
“Look, I don’t care. This is what I want. Do you…” she bit her lip unsurely and his knees almost buckled in, “Do you want this?”
Do you want me? Her eyes, clear and bright as a mid-summer day, seemed to ask him.
“Of course I do…” he confessed. There was more he wanted to say on the matter, or rather, more doubts that wouldn’t stop surfacing, but in the next moment Kagome had her mouth back on his, pushing his thoughts down to drown. He let them die there. Instead he let his world become so full of her that nothing else fit, and he’d never felt more put together than he was now, overflowing with her.
Kissing Inuyasha was something she’d dreamt about a lot lately, but not a fantasy she’d thought would come to fruition. It was different than she’d imagined, her body awkwardly stiff yet her heart soaring.
Attached, was the first word that came to Kagome’s mind.
That was how people described how Kagome felt about Inuyasha. She was fond of him. She had a soft spot for him. She was irrevocably and inexplicably attached to him. Now that they were kissing, she uncovered a new sense of meaning to that word. She’d been so attached to him that his absence felt like pulling her seams apart. Kissing him now was sewing them back together, but she still wanted to be closer. She stretched up on her feet higher, pressing her lips harder against his. Her goal was more, but of what, she wasn’t sure. More Inuyasha, somehow, in any and every capacity seemed to be the only answer. Her hands moved up his arms, slowly feeling the worn fabric of his shirt beneath her palms. Her cheeks flared with a new blush feeling the muscles beneath. She wasn’t just attached; she was attracted; she was in love. She loved him so much that it burned from her lungs to her lips.
Their mouths parted, and he huffed her name into the hot air between them. It was a match that set her ablaze. She intended to engulf him, so she kissed him harder. She wrapped her arms around the boy’s neck and drew him in close to her, wobbling between standing on her toes and back onto her heels.
Sensing her imbalance, Inuyasha tugged her by the waist to steady them both, but it had searing consequences as her body pressed into his. He heard her react with a sharp inhale and he hissed in response to her. So this is what happened when you got close to the sun, huh? He wasn’t melting, but he was burning everywhere they touched, and she scorched her way through him like a wildfire. They were moving so quickly his mind was whirling.
Kagome tilted her head, and Inuyasha felt the foreign sensation of her wet tongue swiping against his lip.
“Holy shit,” he cursed, and Kagome immediately pulled back startled.
“Sorry! I don’t—”
“No, it’s fine,” he muttered with winded effort. He took a moment to breathe, noticing Kagome’s chest similarly took deep rises and falls. The reality of what had just occurred between them settled in his mind. He wasn’t sure what to do next, but he wanted to continue.
“Was I… Did I go too fast or do something wrong?” She sounded so out of breath that his head spun.
“’Course you did nothing wrong,” he whined, putting his face in his hand and closing his eyes. He was more turned on than he’d ever imagined possible, and it was making him dizzy. “Just surprised me there.”
“Oh,” Kagome finally squeaked in response. She self-consciously folded in one herself.
He peaked through his fingers at the girl only to see her looking shyly down at the ground. Her kissed lips were set in a puffy little pout and her cheeks were a warm pink. Inuyasha groaned. She was beautiful and he was such a sap for her.
He was devastatingly in love with her. And he kissed her! And she kissed him back! And more!
He was having a hard time believing this was real.
“Maybe we did go kinda fast,” he admitted. He just couldn’t wrap his head around this whole thing. When did his life make a 180? Was he dreaming? When did his dreams ever get this good?
“Sorry,” Kagome mumbled.
Inuyasha sighed and lowered his hand. “Quit apologizing.” He tucked his finger under her chin to get him to look at her, but found the vulnerability behind her eyes almost too much to bear. He swallowed to fight the blush staining his face. “Just… gimme a sec, okay?”
Kagome nodded into his hand. He moved his face forward and pressed his forehead against hers, feeling her heat radiate against his skin. She was too much for him, he knew. He closed his eyes and tried to calm himself down—mind and body. He felt Kagome do the same, slowly relaxing into regular breaths.
This is real…
Delicately shifting, he pressed his lips to hers again, feeling her seize and then press into him. The awkwardness set back in, but they pushed through it and felt it out until it slowly melted away. He felt her exhales as sweet, warm puffs of air. They stayed like that for a while until Inuyasha took his hand and slid it to hold her cheek. He opened his mouth slightly and tilted his head to deepen their kiss. Kagome followed suit, letting him set the pace. They kept going, pushing lips together, adjusting, readjusting, and getting comfortable.
He felt her adorable eager little jump as he pulled her face closer, her hand coming up to grasp his shirt in a steadying motion. It was a swift pump to his ego to know she wanted this and was probably holding back.
He was getting turned on all over again, but it wasn’t as sudden as before. He took his time adjusting to each step forward, but Kagome didn’t make it all that easy with little gasps and the sweetest taste he’d ever experienced.
He’d always thought kissing was a gross concept. He wasn’t keen on saliva or using tongues, but the instant he felt hers on his lips he was convinced it was more than okay. Sure, it shocked him, but it felt good. Too good, at that moment, but now… Now he enjoyed the slight pressure of her sucking on his bottom lip, and the tease of her teeth as she did so. He enjoyed doing the same, shocking sensations prickling his spine with each new discovery. She was infinitely patient and understanding, letting him set their pace, and following suit.
Tentatively, Inuyasha sucked in a breath and dared to sweep his tongue against Kagome’s lips. He felt her eagerly part her mouth, inviting him to try again. This time he had taken the lead, but tremors still passed through his body as he tasted her, yet he was determined for more. She moved her arms up to wrap around his neck and pull him down. She must have been standing on her toes for a long time, he remembered. Kagome was petite, and he was over a foot taller if he stood up straight.
Ideas flash in his mind—making out on the floor, on a couch, him lifting her up to the counter… Oh damn. So much for calming down.
He grabbed her hips and moved her back just a bit, away from his lower body. It was achingly difficult to do so, since every part of him was screaming for contact with her.
She broke their kiss with a gasp.
“I should maybe think about getting home soon.”
A little more than dazed, Inuyasha did his best to recalibrate his brain. He felt the blood slowly making its way back there, but for now all his thoughts were hazy. Kagome. Home. Her house.
“Right…”
“And I should also still wash up my face.”
“Right…”
She giggled then, likely because he was still in a hormone-induced stupor. “I’ll be right back,” she assured him with a quick kiss to his cheek that left him feeling tingly. Then she was off to his bathroom.
As the door clicked shut and the buzzing sound of the restroom light came on, Inuyasha blinked himself back to reality. And it hit him hard enough that he had to sit down. He replayed the whole night in his head, wondering how the hell he’d gotten to this point. It was another miserable Friday punctuating a shitty week of dodging her at school. He got home feeling like garbage, only appreciating the weekend as a reprieve from having Kagome’s scent peppered in the air of the hallways and classrooms. His apartment was the one place he could lock himself away and not be haunted by her. But then the buzz came from the gate, and then her broken voice pleaded through the phone.
He came down just to end it once and for all. No more texts. He’d just have to scare her off and be done with it, but she was stubborn. She’d never let him push her around, so why did he expect her to let him push her away without a fight? She clung to him, dug into him, broke his resolve with her sad and angry tears. She’d missed him too. What did he do to deserve her?
A whine pushed its way past his throat, just in time for Kagome to walk out of the bathroom and shoot him a concerned look.
“You okay?”
It was weird, seeing her in his apartment like this, so casually as if she belonged there. She did, as far as he was concerned.
Filled with a new sense of determination and longing, he stood up resolutely and made his way to her. Before she could ask another question, he scooped her up in his arms and kissed her fully on the mouth. She gave an initial squeak of shock, but quickly accepted the new position, once again putting her arms around him.
“I missed you,” he admitted quickly before his unfounded resolve melted away.
“I just washed my face,” she teased as he lowered her back to her feet.
Incredulous he stammered, “That’s not what I—!”
“I know,” she interrupted. Kagome smiled, and Inuyasha’s annoyance vanished. “You don’t have to miss me anymore.”
#inukag week 2020#inukag week#inuyasha#kagome higurashi#inukag#high school au#jelly art#jelly fic#justafewsmallsteps
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Fishing Trip
In which Slender takes Jeff on a fishing trip. Some cheesy father-son bonding ft angsty teen Jeff and just some good old fashioned SlenderDad fluff because I haven’t written any in a long time. Word count: 3603
Jeff did not want to wake up.
It was far too early, his room wasn't even bright yet, and he could barely keep his eyes open. He groaned and rolled over, curling up and burying his face in his pillow.
"Jeff, come on." A deep voice said behind him. He groaned louder.
"It's too earlyyyy..." He whined. "Lemme sleep!"
The voice behind him sighed and yanked off his blankets. Jeff rolled over and glared at them. They were tall, with snow-white skin and absolutely no face. Slender. The eldritch monster that had taken Jeff in and insisted on calling himself 'father'. Jeff had vowed he'd never look at Slender as a dad like everyone else here did.
"Come on Jeffery, it'll be fun. It'll just be the two of us, you'll enjoy it." Slender insisted. Jeff glared at him.
"I'm not going fucking fishing." He snarled. Yes, fishing. Slender wanted to take him fishing, like a father and son would do. Disgusting. He wanted to be Jeff's dad so bad it was embarrassing.
"Watch your language young man." Slender replied, placing Jeff's clothes, neatly folded, on the bed using a black tendril. "Now get dressed. I'm making breakfast before we go and packing lunch. Is there anything specific you'd like?"
"Sleep." Jeff grunted back as he rolled over again. Slender sighed.
"Just get dressed." He murmured. "It's to be a warm day too, you know. You'll enjoy it." He added as he left the room. Jeff huffed and curled up again. Finally, some peace and quiet.
His bed abruptly creaked and shifted as another weight climbed onto it. Something nudged his back and he whined. "Smiiile…" he swatted at his pet hellhound. "C'mon dude, I'm tryna sleep."
Smile growled and grabbed Jeff's shirt in his mouth, yanking him into his back. Before the poor boy could do anything, Smile dropped his hoodie right onto his face. Jeff yanked it off and glared at him.
"Oh c'mon, you're in on this too?!"
"Rrr."
"Like hell I care about Slender wanting to spend time with me!"
"Rrrff!"
"So what if I hurt his feelings? I'm not his kid…" Jeff huffed. Smile glared at him sternly. He woofed quietly and climbed off the bed, wandering towards the door. Jeff sat up and watched him turn the handle with his mouth, then leave the room.
...fucking hell that dog knew how to guilt trip him.
Jeff reluctantly dragged himself downstairs after throwing on the ripped jeans, t-shirt and hoodie Slender had picked out for him. Nobody was around...nobody was even awake! With a sigh, Jeff shoved open the kitchen door. He was greeted by the sound of the radio playing, the smell of bacon, and the sight of Smile dog eating from his bowl.
Slender looked up from the stove and over at Jeff. He was wearing an orange button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows and beige trousers. It was actually kind of odd seeing Slender outside his usual suit. He was also wearing a pink, frilled cooking apron. Because of course he was.
"Ah! There you are Jeffery." Slender greeted. "Sit down, breakfast is nearly ready."
Jeff grunted and sat down. A tendril reached over to the table and sat a mug in front of him. A mug topped with whipped cream, cocoa powder and marshmallows. He blinked. He grabbed the mug quickly and took a careful sip, getting whipped cream on his nose in the process. He was greeted by the taste of sweet hot chocolate. He pulled away and grinned. Slender's hot chocolate was the best he knew.
He'd already drank down half the mug by the time Slender served up breakfast. He'd made...everything. Two fried eggs, three sausages, four strips of bacon- how was Jeff supposed to eat all of that? He looked up as Slender placed two more plates in front of him. One stacked with slices of toast, and the other with a single croissant.
"Eat up now. This is supposed to keep you going for the next nine hours."
Jeff blinked. "Nine hours?!" He exclaimed. Slender nodded. "You're gonna starve me!"
"That's why I made all of this." Slender gestured to the food in front of Jeff. "Now eat up."
Jeff didn't need to be told twice. Luckily for Slender, the boy was already starving, and Jeff had a knack for eating way more than his body should be capable of holding. By the time Slender had finished packing lunch for later on, Jeff had (nearly) eaten everything, and downed all of his hot chocolate. Slender put their lunches away in a large bag he was bringing with him, along with some bottles of water and a couple of capri-suns. As a treat. He zipped up the bag and looked at Jeff.
"Are you finished?" He asked. Jeff grabbed his croissant and bit into it before nodding.
"Yep!" He stood up and smiled. "Your cooking is awesome man."
Slender seemed to smile. "Well thank you, Jeffery." He said. "I'm glad you enjoyed it, now," he took off his apron and slung the bag over his shoulder. He then moved over to the fridge and pulled out a somewhat big plastic box. He closed the fridge again and turned to look at the boy. ‘’Can I ask you to carry the fishing rods?’’
Jeff shrugged. ‘’I guess-’’ he replied almost-reluctantly. Slender chuckled a bit as Jeff followed him out of the room and to the front hall where he’d left the two fishing rods they were going to be bringing. Jeff took one in each hand, finding they were surprisingly light. Slender looked at him and adjusted his bags.
‘’Ready to go?’’
‘’Mmph.’’
The two of them walked through the woods. It was a bright, warm morning, and the woods were beautiful. Unfortunately, Jeff couldn’t fully enjoy it. He was tired. ‘’Why do we have to get up so early?’’ he groaned.
‘’Because, it’s most peaceful in the morning. And it means we can get back by early evening, so you’ll have more time to sleep.’’ Slender replied. ‘’You’ll be tired Jeffery, I can assure you that.’’
Jeff groaned again. ‘’Why? Isn’t fishing just- sitting around?’’ he glared up at the tall faceless entity. ‘’Why’re you even bringing me fishing? It’s boring!’’
‘’I take everyone fishing, Jeff. Whenever someone joins the household I make an effort to take them with me so we’ll establish a bond. It’s one on one communication, and it helps me understand them better.’’ he looked down at Jeff. ‘’And I want you to feel comfortable with me.’’ Jeff stared at him for a moment then looked down, muttering something to himself. Slender looked away and hummed. ‘’That and I get lonely out on the lake all day.’’
‘’Oh c’mon!’’ Jeff huffed. Slender laughed gently at the boy.
‘’You’ll have fun, I promise.’’ he said. Jeff grunted.
‘’Where are we even going anyway?’’ he asked. Slender didn’t answer, just hummed and stepped over a bush. Jeff waded through it and looked around. There was a large lake bordered with tall evergreens. Jeff watched as Slender walked over and extended a few tendrils. They dragged a large wooden boat out of the bushes and set it by the edge of the water. He turned and looked at Jeff.
‘’Come on, get in. I'll push the boat in for you.’’ Slender called calmly. Jeff walked over and climbed awkwardly into the boat. He set the fishing rods down and Slender placed down the bags, then pushed the boat gently into the water. Jeff wobbled a bit as the boat rocked. It didn’t help that Slender then just casually stepped into the boat, making it rock even more. He calmly sat down, as elegant as ever. The boat floated out toward the center of the lake and Slender picked up one of the rods. "See? Not so bad."
Jeff looked around the place. This lake seemed so...calm, so perfect. "Where'd this place come from?" He asked. Slender arched a brow.
"Well I'm assuming it formed via natural means." He replied. Oh. Jeff was half expecting Slender to say he created the lake or something. It wouldn't surprise him by now. "Here you go. I put the lure on for you." Slender held out the fishing rod. On the hook was a colourful plastic fish. Jeff took it and squinted at the lure.
"Does that thing actually attract fish?"
"Hm? Yes. They assume it's food because of the bright colours."
"Man, fish are dumb huh?"
Slender laughed a bit. ‘’I suppose they’re smart in other means.’’ he murmured. ‘’Now, you’ve never been fishing before, correct?’’
‘’Uh- yeah.’’
‘’Then I get to teach you how to cast your line.’’ Slender sounded quite happy with himself. ‘’You draw your rod back like this,’’ he threw the rod back over his shoulder. ‘’Then just throw it out!’’ he threw his arms forward, the line throwing itself off across the lake. He turned to Jeff and seemed to smile. ‘’Now you try.’’
Jeff turned to the water and inhaled deeply, like he was mentally preparing himself for something big. He threw back the rod, then lunged his arms forward. The line tossed itself across the lake, though it went nowhere near as far as Slender’s.
‘’Good job!’’ Slender reached over and patted Jeff’s head. He tensed up, and by the time he’d relaxed and realised it was only more of Slender’s unsolicited affection, the hand had pulled away. He glanced at Slender.
‘’...it was a shitty cast.’’ he murmured, looking back at the lake. Surprisingly, Slender didn’t scold him for the language. Instead he shook his head.
‘’It was a fine cast,’’ he said. ‘’Now, to reel it back you just wind back the reel. See?’’ he demonstrated with his own rod, winding back the fishing line. Jeff nodded and did the same until the line had come back to him. He looked to Slender for approval. When he nodded, Jeff smiled a bit before casting out again. ‘’Are you having fun?’’ Slender asked, sounding a little smug. Jeff’s smile abruptly dropped.
‘’Wha-? N-No, course not.’’ the teen avoided his eyes, or lack thereof. Slender chuckled gently.
‘’My apologies, I shouldn’t have assumed such a thing.’’ he said, turning away from him. Jeff glanced at him for a second before looking away, embarrassed. It was silent for a while before Jeff glanced at him again.
"Hey uh- Slender...can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
He frowned at the water, unsure of how to phrase his question. "Why...do you even care about me?" It was a question he'd been wanting to ask for a while. Slender turned to him. "I'm rude and get on your nerves- I'm not a good kid like the others…"
"Jeff-"
"Like- like Ben right? Ben is perfect, he's polite, he's smart, everyone likes him! Then there's Sally- she's a cute little girl and she calls you dad- they all call you dad and I just-" he sighed, frustrated. "I dunno...I'm just- a problem. The kid that causes trouble. You don’t wanna keep me around."
Slender shifted and turned to him. He placed his hand on Jeff's shoulder, squeezing it. "Jeffery…" he said gently. "You're not a bad child. You are not a problem. You cause trouble, yes, but you're a teenager. I'd be worried if you weren't causing trouble." His voice was soft, loving. "You're full of potential. You're still young, and I know you only need someone to nurture it. You're a young boy, you should be having fun with friends and causing mischief. Not...sleeping under bridges and wandering neighborhoods at night." His voice dropped at that last part, his gaze resting on him for a long, long moment. The hand withdrew and Slender looked away. "I just want to see you in a home where you feel safe...that's all."
Jeff stared at him. It didn't make sense to him how Slender, this...thing, this creature, this kind kind person...cared for him. He hadn't done anything to deserve the kindness. He was a murderer, a kid his parents didn't want and couldn't love. A freak. But Slender...still wanted to keep him safe? See him...having fun, being a kid?
"Why is it your business?"
"Hm?"
"Why's my safety and happiness important to you?" Jeff looked up at him. "Why am I so special?"
Slender stared at him for a long moment, then sighed. He pat Jeff's head. "You're an extraordinary boy. You're going to do great things, I can sense it from you."
"Why? Is that another of your magic powers?" Jeff asked. Slender looked like he might have smiled, if he had a face.
"Perhaps," he replied. "Or maybe I can see the future. Who's to say?"
Jeff brightened up considerably over the course of the next hour. He was still tired, yes, but Slender's voice was calming to listen to, and the air on the lake was warm and carried the scent of the woods with it. He was fun to talk to as well- Slender was good with witty replies and quick on the mark. He always seemed to know how to reply to Jeff, no matter what he said or talked about.
‘’Yeah but like- it’s so much more than that! The story was going on in real time, as you yourself got older The Undertaker was too, like-!’’ Jeff’s excited rambling was cut off by his line getting tugged. His head snapped to his bobber out on the lake. It was silent for a second, then it got yanked down below the water. He gasped. ‘’Is that a bite?!’’
‘’Looks like it!’’
‘’Shit-! What do I-’’ he glanced at his rod and at the reel. He started winding it, tugging his catch back with some effort.
‘’There you go, almost got it!’’ Slender called encouragingly. Jeff grunted and yanked his rod back, pulling the fish out of the water. He stared at the end of his line, where the fish hung, thrashing wildly. Slender clapped from where he sat across from him. ‘’Great job, Jeffery!’’ he chirped. ‘’It’s not often people get it first try.’’
‘’It’s not?’’ Jeff looked at him, surprised. Slender reached over and grabbed the fish, which had gone still, and pulled it off the hook. He nodded as he opened the cooler he’d brought with him and put the fish in before closing it. ‘’So like- I’m...good at fishing…?’’
Slender nodded again and sat back again. ‘’Seems so.’’ he said. ‘’That was a big one too. Good job.’’
Jeff smiled. ‘’Oh cool!’’ he bounced his legs happily. Slender reached over and took his rod from him, putting more bait on the hook for him. ‘’Wait- what’re we even gonna do with the fish?’’
‘’Eat it.’’ Slender replied. ‘’I brought some supplies to make a fire, and I’m going to smoke the fish. Does that sound nice?’’ he asked. Jeff nodded. ‘’I could teach you how, if you’d like. Then you could catch and eat fish all by yourself.’’
Jeff blinked. ‘’Really?’’ he asked, surprised. ‘’You’d do that?’’
Slender nodded. ‘’Means you can feed yourself. I can even teach you how to gut and fillet a fish, if you want that.’’
‘’You would?!’’ Jeff said a little louder than he meant to. He cleared his throat awkwardly and glanced away. ‘’I’d...love that, yeah. Sounds- cool. Or whatever.’’
Slender chuckled and pat the boy’s head again. ‘’Cool.’’ he said simply. Jeff looked up at him and grinned.
‘’Dude...never say that again.’’
The day seemed to fly by on that tiny boat. Slender seemed to be a much more skilled fisherman, as he caught way more fish than Jeff did, but the boy didn’t even notice. Every time he caught a fish he was met with praise and compliments that made him shake his hands with glee. By the time they got to lunch Jeff’s grouchiness had disappeared, replaced with excitement and talkativeness, and by evening he was calm and relaxed. Content to just quietly chat between the two of them.
‘’So how old are you again?’’ Jeff’s focus had turned to asking Slender questions about himself. It had started with just him, what he liked and why he liked them, but now he was turning to actually asking where the faceless creature had come from.
‘’Somewhere around four hundred.’’ Slender replied. ‘’I’m afraid I don’t have the exact year...age wasn’t exactly something we kept track of when I was young.’’
‘’We?’’
‘’My family. You’ve met Splendor, and I told you about Trender, yes?’’
‘’Yeah.’’ Jeff nodded, remembering Slender’s jolly sibling. How the two were related he had no idea. Splendor was full of so much energy and joy- not to mention he had a face. ‘’Damn...four hundred…’’ he frowned. ‘’You’ve seen some shit, huh?’’
Slender nodded. ‘’Plenty. Maybe a little too much.’’ he replied with a small laugh. Jeff smiled. ‘’Splendor is much younger though. He’s around two hundred and fifty.’’
‘’Gee, he’s practically a fetus.’’ Jeff replied sarcastically. Slender laughed and glanced up at the darkening sky.
‘’I think that’s enough for the day. What do you think?’’
‘’Huh?’’ Jeff glanced out at his line. ‘’Uhh...yeah. I think I’m good.’’ he reeled his line back in, and Slender did the same. They rowed the boat back to the shore and Slender climbed out of the boat. Jeff hopped out, shaking himself off. He grinned a bit as he watched Slender pull out the cooler and walk over to another part of the shore, taking a seat by some bushes. Jeff followed after him and set his fishing rod down. He dropped down beside him, folding his legs and watching Slender set things up. He pulled a large wooden cutting board from his bag and set it down, then took out one of the fish he’d caught from the cooler.
He grabbed a knife from the bag and looked at Jeff. ‘’You want to know how to prep the fish?’’ he asked. The boy nodded. ‘’Watch me then.’’ he turned back to the fish. Jeff watched as Slender chopped off the head, then the tail. Like an expert, he pulled out the spine and big bones, then cut the meat in half. Jeff watched him as he took off the skin, then picked out any smaller bones. He looked at the boy, seemingly pleased with himself. ‘’And that’s how it’s done.’’ he said. He held out the knife. ‘’Do you want to try it yourself?’’
Jeff looked down at the knife. ‘’You’re...giving me a knife?’’
Slender nodded. ‘’Yes.’’
‘’...on purpose?’’
‘’On purpose, yes.’’
Jeff grinned and took the knife. Slender took out another fish and slid the cutting board over to the boy. ‘’Now start with the head. Then you can pull out the spine with it.’’ he said. Jeff nodded and started sawing at the fish’s neck. He grunted, struggling to get through the bone for a few moments before the knife got through, beheading his catch. He pulled the head away, dragging the spine with it. Jeff looked up at Slender, smiling.
‘’Did I do it right?’’ he asked. Slender nodded. The boy grinned wider. ‘’What’s the next step?’’
Slender pulled a plastic bag out and put the unused fish parts into it. ‘’You’ll be taking out the guts.’’ he replied.
‘’Oh hell yeah!’’ Jeff looked down excitedly, twirling the knife in his hands. Slender laughed.
‘’Slice open the fish’s stomach and just pull them out. It’s messy work. Do you want gl-’’ he stopped when he realised Jeff had already done as he was told and was tugging out bloody guts with his bare hands. The boy looked up at him, confused, and Slender laughed again. ‘’Or you can use your bare hands. That works too.’’ he said, patting Jeff’s head.
Jeff laughed and shook his head, long black hair falling into his face. Slender pushed it back behind his shoulder and hummed. ‘’What’s next?’’ Jeff asked.
‘’Wash your hands. Then cut off the fins.’’ Slender said snarkily. Jeff laughed again.
Preparing the fish was more fun than Jeff thought it would be. He was already skilled with a knife, and cutting something up felt good. Not to mention Slender’s constant praises and compliments. Jeff ended up preparing three fish, while Slender did two. While Jeff put away the parts they wouldn’t eat and washed his hands, Slender set up the fire and set the fish down to smoke. He sat back and looked up at the evening sky. Jeff scooted over to him, then lay back on the ground. He sighed tiredly and Slender turned to look at him.
‘’So was it bad?’’
‘’Huh?’’ Jeff opened his eyes and looked up at Slender, confused.
‘’Fishing. You said you didn’t want to come.’’ the faceless monster tilted his head. ‘’Was it boring?’’
‘’Well- no-’’
‘’Did you enjoy catching fish?’’
‘’...I guess…’’
‘’So...you enjoyed yourself?’’
Jeff looked up at him then sighed. ‘’...yeah. I guess I did,’’ he looked away. ‘’Maybe I’d do it again…’’ he mumbled to himself. Slender chuckled and patted the boy’s head again.
‘’I won’t force you,’’ he replied softly. ‘’But I did have fun. Nobody else in the house really enjoys fishing, except maybe Cody, Tim and EJ, and they prefer to go with each other rather than me.’’
Jeff looked up at him, then smiled. ‘’Fine. I’ll be your fishing buddy.’’ he replied, pretending to sound reluctant. ‘’But only if you make that great breakfast again!’’
Slender laughed. ‘’I think I can do that.’’
#creepypasta#creepypasta fanfiction#creepypasta fanfic#slenderman#jeff the killer#jeffery woods#jtk#slenderdad#slender mansion#creepypasta jtk#writing#creepypasta hc#creepypasta hcs
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The original ask for this was accidentally deleted so here it is in a post. The ask was along the lines of: Jin meeting reader when they start a conversation with him out of the blue. They go from friend, to FWB, to a relationship. Can be NSFW. I believe the asker was @slobbynblobby
This ended up way longer than I had thought because I went with a weird format that isn’t really a fic but also isn’t really headcanons? So I hope that’s cool. Hope you enjoy. <3
TW: Alcohol, nsfw, drunk sex
WC: 4,200+
Jin x [F!] Reader Developing Relationship
First Meeting
Jin isn’t one to strike up a conversation with strangers in public. If he could help it he would actually avoid speaking in public at all. His tic makes it particularly difficult for him to communicate with anyone who doesn’t know him well enough and can often times embarrass him in public, so he’d rather just keep his mouth shut.
However he won’t be outright cold to anyone out and about who tries to talk to him. He’ll do his best to give lost strangers directions, he’ll excuse himself if he bumps someone, he’ll thank the person at the checkout counter. He’s not a dick. If anything he can just come off as curt as he tries to keep his ticing to an unoffensive minimum.
When you sit next to him on the late night train he gives a polite bob of his head but that’s about it. It was never a problem for him if he was brusque in a public setting because no one expected much more. But you sat for a while, fiddling with the end of your shirt and letting your eyes wander around the train. Being late it wasn’t as packed as usual but everyone was still seated close together. Idly you two bump knees.
Jin draws his knees in closer, eyes shifting over to see if he’d bothered you. He was surprised when you were looking right back at him. Your nose twitched in a way that Jin thought was cute but could have possibly been an indication of disgust. His eyes quickly shifted away and he mumbled a short, “Sorry.”
You give a small smirk. “Never apologize mister, it’s a sign of weakness.” He’s a little taken aback by the response, unsure of what to say to that. “I take it you’ve never heard of John Wayne huh?” He simply shook his head no and your nose gave another one of those cute twitches. “He’s an American actor form the 1940s. He was in a bunch of these cool western films, ya know the ones about cowboys? And he always plays these tough guys who say cool shit like, ‘Courage is being scared to death, but saddling up anyway.’” You’d struck your best tough guy face and put on a drawl, making Jin chuckle lightly. A little smile plays on your face too. You like his laugh and wanna hear more.
You chat for so long Jin is actually surprised when the train comes to a halt and you start to grab your things. “Sorry, my stop. It was nice talking to you. Maybe I’ll see you again.” All he can get out is a pretty lame, “Oh, bye.” before you’re gone. In the silence you left him in he’s not sure how to feel. One part of him is glad that he’d gotten through a pretty normal conversation with a perfect stranger on the train. He felt normal which was refreshing. But another part of him wanted to kick himself for not getting your number or at least your name.
Second Meeting
Jin wouldn’t want to outright admit that he was looking for you but he would say he ended up on that particular train more often than he would have before. The week passes by without a sighting and he comes close to giving up, he’s really starting to feel a little creepy. But that Friday night just before the train was about to depart you slide through the doors before they could close with a relieved sigh. Jin could feel his heart in his throat. Would you even remember him let alone sit by him again? Maybe you were just being polite that night.
Sure enough when you recognize the cute blonde guy you’d chatted up just last week sitting in the same spot he’d been in before you don’t hesitate to flop down in the space next to him. “Hey there, good to see you again. I realized I didn’t introduce myself before I got off last time and felt so rude. Especially after you let me talk your ear off. I’m y/n!” Jin really couldn’t believe his luck. “I’m Jin.” “No I’m not!” He flinched slightly at his outburst. Last time he saw you he had been doing well for a while but things tended to change fast with him. Once again Jin noticed your nose crinkle a bit but you ignored his outburst. “Jin, I like that name. It suits you.”
Just like last time you spend the whole ride chatting. Jin doesn’t let on that he’d come to take this train every night since you met just to see you but you reveal to him that you work the late shift at a bar in Kamino Ward So you always take this train back home on the weekends. He decides that makes sense for you, the kinda girl who starts a conversation with a stranger on the train, to work at a bar. “Why do you take this train?” Obviously he doesn’t want to tell you what his business in that part of the city is so he settles on saying he also works in the area but takes the late train home because he likes to hang out at the bar after work.
This time when you get up to leave he’s a little more ready, It’s the same stop you got off at last time. “It was nice talking again Jin! You should come by my bar some time. I’ll buy you a drink. I work tomorrow night if you’re interested.” With a little wave he watches you hop off the train. He can’t help but smile the whole way back to his shitty motel. Sure he hadn’t manned up enough to ask for your number yet, but at least now he didn’t have to feel like a stalker.
Becoming Friends
The night after your second meeting Jin had decided to come and meet you at the bar. He was glad when he realized it was more of a small dive and not one of the clubs with a thrumming bass. This definitely suited him better. Though it was still a Saturday night and the place was kind of packed he was able to find a seat at the end of the bar. When you noticed him you couldn’t help but be excited. “You came!” You made your way to him, cutting your conversation short with another man. You being so excited to see him and the dirty look the guy shot him went to Jin’s head juuuuust a little bit if he was being honest.
“Okay, okay let me think. I’m so good at guessing what people like to drink so don’t tell me okay!” He gives a short nod, “Alright impress me.” You stand back and act like you’re framing him up in a camera shot while he makes goofy poses. “Mhm, yeah, that’s good, yup. Okay! I got it!” You throw open one of the coolers and pull out the cheapest beer you got before cracking it open and placing it in front of him. “Oh, you are good.” “Whaddaya think I’m cheap?” You giggle and shrug, “Not cheap, just not one for frills, beer is beer.” This time when your nose wrinkles he realized it for what it was, a little tic of your own.
Jin ends up at the bar with you every weekend and every time he comes you’re just as excited as the first. What had started off as a chance meeting on the train turned into a friendship. He loved to watch you work, effortlessly juggling social situations in a way he couldn’t imagine doing. You really were a people person and he just really liked that about you.
Though his favorite part of the weekend really had to be when the two of you walked to the train together. It was strangely intimate to share such a casual routine with you. And he was glad he could. He really didn’t like the thought of you making the walk to the train on your own that late at night in that part of the city. He knew you could take care of yourself, he’d seen you break up plenty of bar altercations, but he also knew what kind of threats stalked these streets and with your friendly nature he worries someone might lure you in.
The biggest thing Jin noticed once he spent more time with you is just how damn friendly you could be. You were downright kind in a way he didn’t often see. You were the kind of girl who’d give a bum your last dollar, your last cigarette, and ask about their day. It always took him aback that in a world like this someone as sweet as you could exist.
FWB
Jin knew he was attracted to you. He knew as soon as he met you. Though if he was being more honest he’d say it wasn’t as much an attraction as it was a crush. You were funny, smart, beautiful, sweet, the whole package really. and he knows he’s not the only one interested. Plenty of other men at the bar vied for your attention, leaving large tips and their phone numbers or leaning over the bar just to get closer to you. It made him glad you never really drank at work. He didn’t want anyone to try and take advantage.
That’s why he was shocked to see you downing shots with one of your other regulars when he entered the bar one Sunday night. You frantically gesture for him to come join you and the small group of regulars at that end of the bar, opposite where he’d normally sit. He approached shyly. He knew some faces and some names but never chose to interact much with other customers, much preferring your company. But you happily introduced him to the group before revealing it was one of the patron’s birthdays. Later you two would remember this as the night that Jin met party y/n.
Needless to say you all got pretty trashed, buying the birthday boy, Jin, and yourself shots. By the end of the night you had a hard enough time closing up the bar on your own Jin jumped in to help put up chairs and mop while you focused heavily on counting the till and pulling the money you spent past your comp tab out of your tips.
It really wasn’t until you two had gotten on the train that you both realized how drunk you were. You head lolled onto his shoulder as you two tried to quell fits of giggles, much to the annoyance of the other passengers. When your stop rolled around you both agreed it’d be safest if Jin walked you home.
At first it didn’t really hit you but the closer you got to home the more you started to think. Should you invite him in? You looked at Jin from the corner of you eye. He wasn’t the only one with a crush. You knew you wanted to invite him in and you were just drunk enough to take the leap. But then how clean was your apartment right now? Did you leave you underwear from this morning on the floor? Is your makeup all over the bathroom counter? All these thoughts abandoned ship however when you reached your door. Jin shifted from foot to foot awkwardly while you fumbled with your keys. Finally you got them in the lock and opened the door. Moment of truth. “You wanna come in?”
You two were barely through the door when your lips found his. Neither of you was sure who’d leaned in first and neither of you cared. In an instant your hands were all over each other. Groping, caressing, feeling it seemed neither of you could get enough. Your nails raked through his hair and his strong hands had found their way under the hem of your shirt to grab your waist. The feeling of his hands on your bare skin is all it took to finally get the two of you out of the entryway and stumbling towards your room.
You both laughed lightly as you guided him by the hand through your dark apartment, tripping over nothing and bumping into walls and each other. When you two finally reach your room he’s pleasantly surprised by the way you push him down onto the bed and climb on top of him. He’s almost thankful for his inebriated state and the confidence it gave him. While your lips pressed to his neck, kissing and nipping, his hands found their way to your ass, giving a firm squeeze.
Both you and Jin eagerly shucked off each other’s clothing. Once you were naked and laying below Jin you couldn’t help but feel just a little shy, cheeks tinting pink. He let his hands glide along the length of your body before they found your hips and squeezed. “You’re so beautiful.” “I’m gonna fuck you so good.” Your lower lip caught between your teeth as Jin lowered his head to start kissing down your stomach, the tickle of his scruff making you giggle.
Jin settled himself between your legs, his broad shoulders keeping them spread for him. Just before his lips found the spot where you wanted them most he took a detour to nip playfully at your inner thigh. You gave a little yelp your toes curling as you giggled again. “Jin! Don’t tease me.” Not wanting to leave a pretty girl waiting he finally let his tongue lave up the length of your wet cunt, just to get a taste of you. His tongue found it’s way to your clit, circling around the sensitive bud in a way that made you moan. Your head fell back onto your pillow as your thighs squeezed to trap Jin’s head. Not that he minded. His large calloused fingers probed shyly at your entrance, feeling how wet you are from his treatment. He pulled back just long enough to press his fingers to your mouth. You part plush lips to take his fingers in and suck on them. He moaned, the feeling sending a shock though his system. He loved how you looked right then, eyes glazed with lust and his fingers in your mouth. He slowly thrust them in and out, letting you get them nice and prepped before he couldn’t wait any more. “Good girl.” “You’re such a slut.” Eagerly Jin returned to his spot between your thighs. He gave himself the privilege of watching one of his fingers enter your tight pussy. Even though it was only his fingers he couldn’t stop the satisfied sigh that fell form his lips before he went back to your clit.
Jin made sure you were well and satisfied before finally standing and pulling you to the edge of the bed. He gave his achingly hard dick a few stroked before slowly pushing it inside you. “Oh fuck!” The way your thighs quivered and your voice hitched was enough to drive him crazy. He wanted nothing more than to pound into you but he held it together. He wanted you to enjoy it as much as him. He locked eyes with you and let his hands cup your face. He thrust slow and hard, groaning softly. “You feel so fucking good, y/n.” “I wanna make you scream for me.” Jin’s cock stretched you so good you could only reply in small whimpers and moans. Your hand found the back of Jin’s head pulling him so close your foreheads touch before you lock lips in a heated kiss.
When you finally adjust your legs wrap tightly around his hips and you press yourself farther into him. Jin gladly takes the cue and his hips begin to move at a brutal pace. The first hard thrust arches your back and rips a loud moan from you. He sits up, one hand pinning your hips to the bed and the other rubbing unrelenting circles on your clit. You’ve only just started and you can already feel an intense orgasm rippling through your body, making your legs tremble. The feeling of your pussy clenching around him only spurred Jin on further.
The next morning Jin’s head was pounding. He squinted against the harsh light of the sun and buried his face into your chest. ‘... Wait...’ He shot up with a small gasp before looking around the room. It took him a moment to remember exactly what happened last night but the pieces slowly clicked together. He looked down at your still naked form, snoring softly next to him. He slowly lowered himself back down, laying on his side. He brushed your hair out of your face and took in your sleeping face.
After that night you two had an admittedly awkward morning. You made coffee and some greasy breakfast food to quell your monster hangovers but you couldn’t ignore what had happened the night before. You also couldn’t ignore the lingering touches and eye contact between you two. Finally after eating and getting a few cups of coffee down Jin trapped you between his body and the kitchen counter. His fingers raked through your hair before cupping your cheek. Any resolve you had to not do this again was quickly replaced by need as you pull Jin in for a deep kiss.
It would go on like this for the next 3 months. Stumbling back to your apartment on drunken nights, stealing kisses in alleyways, playful pinches and squeezes. You two had both tried to stop what was happening but you just couldn’t keep your hands off of each other after that first night. You’d both agreed to enjoy whatever this casual sexual relationship was for now. You were having fun and there was no reason to read too much into it.
Relationship
“Hey Jin you going to see your girlfriend? When do we get to meet her?” Toga’s questions threw him through a loop. ‘Girlfriend.’ The word made him nervous but excited. And well at this point he really wouldn’t say that you weren’t his girlfriend. Neither of you was really sure when it happened, but it just dawned on you both one day that things had just gotten more serious. Nights of stumbling back to your apartment to hook up turned slowly into walking home hand in hand to watch a movie on the couch. You now cooked more meals together instead of just breakfast. Hot, passionate kisses turned to slow, sweet smooches. In the end though neither of you minded all that much. It was nice. Comfortable. “Yeah I am.” “You’ll never meet her!”
That night when Jin met you at the bar he found it hard to keep his heartbeat steady. That word just wouldn’t leave his mind, ‘girlfriend.’ You crack open a beer and place it in front of him before leaning over the bar to press a chaste kiss to his lips. It had become more common for you to greet him with little kisses and sweet hugs. That had to mean you felt the same right? You were both on the same page?
At the end of the night it took all of Jin’s courage. But once the bar was closed down and you two was sharing one last beer in the dim light he decided now was the best time. “Y/n, you know how I feel about you right?” Your nose crinkled in the way he loved and your cheeks flushed. “I think I have a pretty good idea...” Jin nodded, “Good because I want us to be on the same page. I want you to be my girlfriend.” God that word made your heart flutter. You wrap your arms around his neck and lean in for a sweet kiss. “Mmh, I like the sound of that.”
Dating Jin most days was like a dream. He was handsome, funny, and loving. He wanted nothing more than to make you happy and you wanted to do the same for him. In a lot of ways he surprised you. A healthy and loving relationship wasn’t an easy find these days. That being said you knew Jin had his problems, you did too. No one was perfect. You two had a long discussion about what exactly to do when Jin had one of his episodes and that’s when he showed you his mask. If he was going to be with you he wanted to be honest. Finding out about the League was a hard pill to swallow but one you were willing to take. You had your own issues with the way this superhuman society was canted and you could understand why Jin did what he did. But it made you worry for him, not just for his physical safety but his emotional wellbeing too.
Jin had decided that the best way to make you feel better about the situation would be to introduce you to the league. They had really become his family and so had you. He figured if you could see firsthand what kind of support he had it’d put you at ease. So that’s how you ended up hanging out in an abandoned bar with some of Japan’s most wanted criminals. It was a little uncomfortable at first but the setting was familiar to you. Your attitude quickly put everyone at ease, and seeing Jin so happy definitely helped.
Toga was probably the quickest to take to you. She was a romantic after all and she really felt that you and Jin were a perfect match. And you were so cute too! A little fact that didn’t escape Dabi’s attention. He made sure to give Jin a good clap on the back for that though he otherwise seemed uninterested in you. The others regarded you politely but with apprehension. Jin could be a little too trusting for a villain sometimes. Though no one would deny that you were a very cute couple, other than a disgruntled Shigaraki who’d only really agreed to this so Toga would stop asking.
After the first meeting Jin’s life fell into a kind of weird harmony. He moved out of his shitty motel and into your small apartment. He liked not hiding anything from you and feeling completely accepted for who he was. He knew his life would never be normal or peaceful but this was fulfilling, and that’s all a guy like him could ever ask for.
#jin bubaigawara#jin bubaigawara x reader#twice#twice x reader#twice bnha#bnha imagines#bnha headcanons#bnha scenarios
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A Silmarillion fanfic for @finweanladiesweek
Summary: Findis has a sister willing to go to great trouble including committing fashion crimes to ease her nervousness on her wedding day.
Wordcount: ~1,700 words; Rating: General audiences
Some keywords: family, humour, Years of the Trees
AO3 link
*
Lace of flowers and laughter of sisters
'Flowers for the sweet princess Findis on her happy day!' Írimë cries out as soon as Findis opens the door, shoving a huge bouquet into Findis' arms.
Findis cannot help but laugh and take the bouquet. The stems of the flowers scratch her bare arms. She is still in her nightdress. 'You are early', she says, letting Írimë in. 'Mother isn't even here yet.'
'She'll arrive when she does. I know that you'll be nervous so I've come to make you laugh', Írimë says, laying down her a bundle of clothing on a chair – her dress, no doubt. She is still in her dressing gown. 'In the meanwhile, we can have breakfast. I asked for some to be sent here. Enough for mother, too.'
'Thank you, that's very thoughtful of you. Alarca is not joining us, then?' Findis would happily welcome Írimë's wife to join in her wedding morning preparations. Alarca and Írimë married young while Findis herself is certainly not marrying young. She and Alarca have had years to become like sisters, too.
'No, she's helping Nolvo and Anairë with their young terrors, no doubt persuading Írissë into her dress while Nolvo and Anairë run circles after Arakáno. You know how much she likes them.'
'I do, and I see why. Írissë and Arakáno are adorable.' Findis sets the vase she found for the flowers on a table by the window and goes to look for her dressing gown, flung carelessly somewhere by Vórimo when he'd come to say her goodnight last night and one goodnight kiss had led to several, and a few wandering hands too.
Findis blushes as she picks the dressing gown from the floor by the door as discreetly as she can. It's a wonder Írimë hasn't noticed and made fun of her yet.
Írimë appears to be busy peering out the window, hands on her hips, her own bright purple dressing gown a lively shadow in the golden light pouring in. 'It looks like good weather', she announces. 'Barely any clouds. Even Manwë is glad that you're finally getting married.'
'Írimë!' Findis huffs, then laughs. 'You promised you wouldn't tease me about it any more. It is hardly my fault that I didn't happen to meet the one who is right for me before I was already past my youth.'
'I'm sorry, I'm sorry.' Írimë spreads her arms. 'I did promise. And I am here to serve you, dear sister, on this most happy day.' She executes a perfect yet also, somehow, ridiculous bow. 'I do mean to put you in a better mood, not to add your nervousness.'
She comes over to fuss with the flowers, rearranging them in the vase. 'I still find it strange, by the way', she says to Findis over her shoulder, 'that you were so nervous at your engagement feast and now about saying your marriage vows even though you perform before audiences every week.'
'True, I am not nervous when I am performing. But today is not a performance of music.' Findis sits down on the long blue settee that is the most comfortable piece of furniture in her sitting room.
There are butterflies in her stomach, and they are much less lovely there than among flowers. She does not know whether she can eat the breakfast when it arrives.
'You could treat it as a performance of sorts', Írimë suggests, sitting down next to Findis.
'Wouldn't that cheapen it?'
'I don't think anything can cheapen what you and Vórimo have.' Írimë knocks her shoulder into Findis's. 'It will all be well. It is a happy occasion for you – to everyone else besides you two, even, since neither of you appear to have left behind any spurned would-be lovers – and the part that takes part before a crowd of people is only a formality, anyway.'
Findis leans on her sister a little. 'I only wish I'd been able to persuade father not to invite half of Tirion and half of Valmar, and a good number of people from Taniquetil too.'
'There are no words yet invented that could persuade him not to throw a grand party for every one of his children and grandchildren who gets married. He loves happy gatherings like this more than anything else in life, I think sometimes.'
Findis smiles. 'Indeed, and that says no bad thing about him.'
'Hmm. Quite.'
They sit in silence, waiting for breakfast to be brought.
When it is, they carry it to the table by the window and just as they sit down to eat, their mother slips in the door. 'Good morning, girls!'
Lalwen and Findis roll their eyes at each other. They have not been girls for a long time.
'Good morning, mother', says Findis and gets up to get a hug and kiss from her mother, an inescapable and rather dear ritual.
'Findis is nervous', Írimë says baldly as soon as they have all sat down again. 'So perhaps we should talk of other things than her getting married today.'
They do. About Írimë's new horse, about little Írissë's refusal to wear anything but white and the amount of laundry that that refusal results in, about the song Findis and her mother have been composing together but did not quite manage to finish before Findis' wedding and imminent departure for Valmar.
'We can continue our collaboration by letter', Indis suggests.
Findis laughs and protests. 'You know what happens every time that we try that. We end up with two versions of the same song because both of us are too impatient to wait for the other's contributions.'
'That is true', Indis admits. 'Well, the song will keep until you return here or we meet on Taniquetil for a festival.'
Time passes strangely during the breakfast as it tends to do when one both dreads and looks forward to something, and soon it is time to dress. Indis slips into her glorious yet stately dress quickly and comes to lace Findis into hers, a confection of golden satin and lace, a mix of Vanyarin and Noldorin styles.
Findis smooths down the skirt, a little self-conscious of the dress that is bigger and showier than she usually wears. She turns around to ask Írimë, who has not seen her wedding dress before, what she thinks.
'What are you wearing!' she finds herself gasping in horror instead. By her side, Indis wheezes in laughter, bent almost in two, tears in her eyes.
Írimë is dressed already, her dress apparently simple enough to get into that she managed it on her own. But that is the only simple thing about it – it is an assault on the eyes in every other way.
Írimë grins, hands on her hips, happy as a clam in the monstrosity of a dress that combines bright orange and mint green. Strangely, both are colours that on their own look lovely on Írimë. Not at all strangely, they look horrible worn together.
And there are ruffles, and frills, and ribbons, far too much of all of them, dozen-fold compared to what Írimë, usually an impeccable dresser, tends to wear.
'Who made that for you?' Findis asks when Írimë gives a little twirl, all the better to draw attention to the clashing, supernumerary details of her horrible garment. 'What seamstress deigned to sew that for you, and what madwoman designed it?'
She does not know whether to laugh or cry.
'Do you not like it, sister? It is very special.' Írimë preens even more.
'So special as to cause blindness', their mother wheezes out before collapsing in a chair in laughter.
Findis approaches Írimë. 'Do you – do you like it?' she asks hesitantly.
Írimë smiles. 'Only because it made you forget your nervousness for a while.' She begins undressing herself. Still confused, Findis helps.
Írimë pulls another dress out of the folds of the linen fabric she'd brought the horrible dress wrapped in. Findis helps with that, too, and soon Írimë is wearing a lovely dress that is mint green but, significantly, not orange, and has no ruffles or frills whatsoever.
'Very nice', complements their mother who has finally recovered from her fit of laughter.
'A great improvement', Findis agrees. She cannot help laughing. 'The way your mind works, Írimë, to come up with surprising me with such a horror of a dress! And it is rather a waste of fabric and work, too.'
'There! I told you, mother, I was going to make her laugh on her wedding day.' Írimë grins and adds, 'Do not worry, Findis, the fabric and the work of the seamstress are not wasted. I intend on wearing the dress to the next party honouring Fëanáro or one of his brood.'
'You wouldn't', Findis says with half reproach and half laughter on her tongue, but she isn't quite sure what her sister is capable of.
'Hmm', says Írimë. 'I just might. But now! Look at you, sister.' She circles around Findis, making approving noises while Indis smiles fondly, looking at the both of them.
'You are a lovely sight, Findis', she says.
Findis does like her wedding dress, even if it is ostentatious. Eärwen made the lace for it, lace of golden flowers overlaid on lighter golden satin of silk. It has a long train of lace, too, the work of many skilled hands.
'You glow', Írimë declares at the end of her perusal. 'All of you. The dress goes very well together with your skin and hair.'
'Your hair does shine too, darling', Indis agrees.
'Never as much as yours.' Findis touches her hair, a little self-conscious about it. It is neither golden like her mother, Írimë and Arafinwë's nor very dark like Fëanáro and Nolofinwë's, but brown, a mix of her parents like her name.
'I am certain that your radiance will blind Vórimo, or at the very least strike him dumb, and not in the way that my other dress would have struck Alarca.' Írimë takes Findis's hand, and Indis the other. 'Let us take you to your eagerly awaiting beloved so you two can get married at last.'
They do, and Findis' cheeks hurt from how much she smiles that day.
#and now finally I'm off to bed...#finweanladiesweek#silmarillion fanfiction#tolkien fanfiction#findis#lalwen#indis#my fics#elesianne's fics#lace of flowers
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Naughty or nice?
Based on this: “Thor dressed up as Santa for the Avengers Christmas party. Sitting upon a throne of candy canes and gum drops he calls out your name. It was your turn to sit on the God of Thunder's lap. Imagine him whispering in your ear asking if you were going to be naughty or nice for him later that night. Feeling disgusted you excuse yourself from the party to return to your apartment only to find him waiting for you.” requested by anonymous
Warnings: noncon sex (fingers, intercourse)
Note: Okay, so I’ll be working on holiday drabbles over the next few days. I haven’t too many atm but hopefully one or two a day if I can manage!
Hope y’all enjoy. Like and/or reblog!! <3 Reblogs really help especially since I haven’t been getting many.
Tony’s parties were always extravagant. Over the top but elegant. This year’s theme was winter wonderland. Cliche but classy. Wear something sparkly, the invitation said. Of course, sequins were the look for the night but you opted for blue-silver dress with long sleeves and a skirt to your knees. Elegant, like Taylor before Burton. Your sparkle was a silver necklace with a single sapphire.
When you entered, it was a swarm of sheen and shine. Tony wore a dark red suit with a sequined gold tie, Steve had managed a glittery blue tie with his grey suit, and Bucky looked dour amongst the bunch with a string of tinsel around his neck, no doubt forcefully slung over his head. The women were only too content to show off their sequined gowns and bright frills.
Thor stuck out like a sore thumb. A santa hat of sequins and a full-out costume as he sat on the faux-snow throne at the front of the room. Loki frowned as he held a pair of elf ears and argued with his boisterous brother. Tony looked on with amusement as others tried to ignore the bickering.
You neared, hesitant, eager to greet your host before you found a flute of champagne to hide behind. Tony was chuckling as you came closer and you could hear the Asgardians’ voices above the jazzy seasonal tunes and refined din. Loki tossed the ears at Thor’s chest.
“Brother, you demean me!” He accused. “For the last time, I am not your sidekick.”
“Oh, brother, don’t be so dramatic. It is theatre. I am the god of Christmas--”
“Santa Claus,” Tony intoned.
“Yes, this San-ta Cloos,” Thor mimicked, “And you are my loyal helper. The true hero of the night.” Loki fumed and Thor turned to reach over the arm of the chair. “Fine, you don’t have to be an elf. How about...a deer!”
Thor pulled forth a headband with antlers and offered it up. You stopped beside Tony who was shaking in silent laughter. You nudged him and he glanced over at you, his face red with restrained mirth.
“Who’s idea was this?” You asked.
“Well, I was just going to hire a mall santa but...Thor insisted.” Tony explained. “Though I don’t think he discussed it with his brother first.”
“Clearly,” You eyed the brothers as Loki snatched the antlers and snapped them in half. “Were you intending on keeping this place in one piece?”
“Worse things have occurred here than sibling rivalries.”
“I think you underestimate them,” You shook your head and turned to him. He was still rapt by the scene. “This is really fabulous...for now.”
“Thanks, but it wasn’t me.” He shrugged. “I think if I took credit Pepper may just reenact this little show with me tonight.”
“Well, I’ll let her know--”
Tony raised his hand and pointed to the brothers. Thor had stood and Loki was right before him. Thor reached out and placed the ears over Loki’s and his wrists were seized by the black-haired Asgardian.
They struggled for a moment, Loki’s dark haired was mussed as he wrestled with his brother, and the scuffle last only a moment before he snaked out and took the ears with him. He whipped them at his brother who caught them with one hand and spun on his heel. Loki cursed under his breath as he stormed away and Thor boomed with laughter.
“Never an occasion without a tantrum,” Thor pronounced as he turned to Tony. His eyes found you beside the billionaire and his smile grew. “Ah, my lady, you’ve arrived.” He sat in the snowy throne, his thick arms draped over it.
“Thor,” You greeted reticently.
“Santa Close,” He corrected and you squinted at his peculiar pronunciation. Tony chuckled again. “Tony has declared me the king of the party.”
“Alright, I really don’t know where he’s coming up with this stuff but...I’m gonna find Pepper before he drives me crazy, too.” Tony excused himself with a twitch of his brow. “Santa.”
You watched Tony go and wondered if you could slip away with him. Thor was boisterous tonight, more so than his usual fervour, and you were quite ready to contend with it alone. “Um, I should--”
“You should come sit on Santa’s lap!” Thor declared and you looked back to him in shock. “Tell me what you want this year?”
“Okay, Thor,” You laughed, “You’re really taking this seriously.”
“Yes, I have a list,” He tapped his head. “Lady Natasha wants a new knife, she showed me how dull her old one was. And Steve wants a nice pair of shoes, very practical. His friend with the arm wanted me to leave him alone and that was an easy enough gift to give.”
You blinked at him. Wondering at how disastrous this evening had been so far. You weren’t exactly late and it seemed you’d missed all the fun. “Well, Thor, what I want for Christmas--” He shook his head.
“You have to sit in my lap and tell me,” He insisted as he rubbed the red velvet across his thigh. “I understand this is Midgardian tradition.”
“For children,” You scoffed.
“Well, my lady, we are still young. So sit.” He slapped his thigh and beckoned you close with his other hand.
You glanced around and saw how so many guests were avoiding Thor’s gaze. Bucky frowned as he peeked over and a glimmer of pity shone in his eyes. Steve looked over in kind and quickly grabbed him to draw back his attention.
“Alright, but then I’ve got to go say hi to everyone, I’ve only just got here.” You relented and stepped closer to the bottom of the chair.
“Very well,” He allowed and held his hand out. “But you cannot start the evening without first greeting Santa.”
He tugged you up onto the step below his throne and between his legs. He guided you as you turned and released you. He swiftly grabbed your waist and swept you up onto his leg. You grabbed his shoulder to steady yourself.
“So, my lady, what do you want for Christmas?” His hand rested on your lower back, tenuously close to your ass.
“Um,” You looked around, suddenly hyper aware of the room full of guests. “Thor, this is silly, I’m gonna--”
You tried to slip out of his lap but he snaked his arm around and clung to your hip. He took your chin with his other hand and made you look at him. “Tell me what you want?”
Your eyes rounded and you felt your skin burning. You stuttered before you could even find your breath. “Uhhhh, um,” You licked your lips as you thought, your mouth suddenly dry. He focused on your tongue and you pressed your mouth shut. Finally you found your voice. “A vacation.”
“Vacation?” He repeated as he tilted his head.
“Yes, I uh, wanna go away for a while. Take a break from work.” You explained nervously as you moved your clutch onto your lap and played with the embroidered flap.
“Well, my lady, you surely deserve a respite,” His arm fell slightly and his hand returned to your back. He leaned forward and his fingers crawled down until he was cupping your ass. “But are you going to be nice or naughty?” You gasped. “As I understand, only nice girls get what they want.”
You stared at him and trembled just slightly. He squeezed your ass as he felt you waver and you pushed yourself off of him. You nearly stumbled as you landed on your heels painfully and clattered down the step. He let you go without a fight but his fingers longingly trailed your arm as you detached.
“Sorry, I should--” You turned back to him as you righted yourself. “I gotta say hi to Nat before she takes out that knife again, yeah?”
Your feet twisted together clumsily as you fled. Thor said nothing but you could feel him watching you as you dove into the crowd. You were lost at first, Nat’s red head not visibly until you were on the other side of the room. You leaned on the wall as you tried to clear your head.
Were you being stupid? Did you overreact? You looked across the room to where Thor sat at a vantage across the whole din. He looked back at you and grinned. Was he really looking at you? You peered back to Nat and Wanda and pushed yourself from the wall.
You grabbed a drink from a server as he passed and wove between the couples and groups that chattered. Forget it. It was done with. All in your head. Nothing. Your own anxiety fueling your fretful imagination. Have a drink with your friends and you wouldn’t care so much.
-
At the end of the night, you barely recalled its beginning. Three glasses of champagne kept you in a festive spirit. Thor remained a speck in your vision, looming in your peripherals. But it grew easier to ignore him. Easy enough to chalk it up to your social awkwardness.
You left with a final goodbye to your hosts and wrapped yourself in your jacket as you headed out onto the chilly city street. Tony had hired cars lined up for guests, both inebriated and not. Always mindful, always thinking a step ahead.
You slid into one and gave your address, a tip for the comped driver. The drive was relaxing and lulled your champagne hazed mind. You were almost dozing in the backseat as the car pulled up to your building. You thank the driver one last time and were once more awakened by the winter air.
The elevator ride was slow. Or so it seemed. You stepped off and dragged your feet down the hall to your door. You unlocked the door and entered with a yawn. You kicked off your heels with a sigh, happy to be ride of the torturous arches. You just wanted to sleep.
You dug your phone out of your clutch and flicked on the flashlight. You shone it ahead of you as you crept through your dark apartment. You were too lazy, too tired to flip the lights on. You were just going to get out of your clown suit and fall into bed.
Your bedroom was full of shadows. You passed the open door and set your phone on the night table to let it shine up at the ceiling and illuminate the space. You reached back to unzip your dress and struggled to bend your arm at such and angle. As you brought your arms up over your head to push down the zipper, a large hand caught yours.
You tried to scream but another hand clapped over your mouth. A long shush filled your ears as a warm body pressed against your back. “My lady, you needn’t be afraid.” Thor’s voice was low, sultry, “I only mean to help you.”
He parted just slightly, the heat of his body still radiated around you. He tugged down your zipped in a single swipe and the fabric loosened around you. You held it up against your chest as he kept his hand over your mouth. Your voice was smothered by his palm and you pulled at his hand.
“You didn’t answer my question?” He shoved his other hand beneath your chest and snaked around to your stomach. “Have you been naughty or nice?”
His hand slipped down to your neck and you kept yours on it. “Thor, what are you--?”
“I think you’re a naughty girl.” His hand drifted lower, just over the top of your panties. He played with the lacy elastic. “Aren’t you?”
“Thor,” You warned and his other hand slid from under yours and tugged at the top of your dress. “Stop.”
“You said you need a break…” He purred and moved his hips against you. You could feel his arousal through your skirt. “I can help you relax.”
“I think you misunderstood me.” You clung to your dress as he tried to push it down. “Please--”
“Don’t act so innocent,” He snarled as his fingers edged under the top of your panties.
He turned you, the light of your phone gave a sinister dim to the room. You tried to resist him but he was too strong. He almost had you off your feet as he pressed your legs against the bed.
“Naughty or nice?” He asked again.
“Get off of me,” You whined. “Thor!”
He stopped pulling at your dress and wrapped his arm around your middle. He lifted you and brought his knee up between your legs. He climbed up onto the bed with you in his grasp and fell onto you, pinning you beneath his body. Your legs hung over the edge as his other hand felt around your vee.
You were crushed beneath him as he kept your legs apart with his knee. He pushed his fingers between your lip and pressed on your clit with his index and middle finger. You squirmed and whimpered. You could barely breathe against his weight.
He dragged his fingers up and down your folds and circled your clit, over and over. The shame mingled with your unwanted arousal. You grabbed at the blankets, unable to move yourself from beneath him.
The heat gathered with your juices and he groaned as he felt it. As he spread around your entrance and shoved his fingers inside. They were so thick, it hurt. Even with your bodies response, it was too much. He pulled out and pushed back in. Slow at first, he kept his palm against your bud.
You quickly unravelled. You whined as you tried to resist the surge within you. You writhed beneath him, unsure if you were working against him or with him. You buried your face in the blanket as your breath picked up and you gasped. He worked his fingers faster and you shuddered as the waves washed over you.
You went still as you came; ashamed and trapped. He ground his crotch against you as your pussy clenched around his fingers. He slowly drew his fingers out of you and lifted himself slightly to free his arm from under you. He brought his hand around as he grabbed your chin and squeezed your jaw. He forced his fingers past your lips, the taste of your cum sweet on your tongue.
He reached down with his other hand and pulled up your skirt. It wrinkled around your hips as he revealed your skimpy black thong. He tugged on it and groaned. His hand fumbled between you and you grabbed the hand in your mouth as you realized what he was doing.
You felt the tip of his cock as he pulled it free of his pants. Your fingers clawed at the furry cuff of his jacket, the realization that he still wore the costume chilled you. He brought his other leg between yours and spread them further. He dragged his cock along your ass and down the line of your thong.
He hooked his fingers under the sheer fabric and pulled them aside. He used his thumb to guide himself to your entrance. You slapped his hand desperately and protested around his fingers. You bit down as hard as you could. He flinched but didn’t withdraw his fingers, only pushed them deeper until you gagged.
His tip stretched you as he entered you. He paused as if to let you adjust and you tried to kick your legs around him. The movement coaxed him deeper. He was thick and your walls strained against him. He didn’t stop this time. He slid inside until you were sure you couldn’t take anymore, but there was more. When he bottomed out, you were weak and he held your head in your hand as you lost all strength.
“You are a naughty girl,” He growled as he nuzzled your hair.
He pulled back and thrust. He jolted your body and wiggled his hips as he splendoured in your warmth. He repeated the motion, each time jerking your body as you gagged noisily on his fingers. His other hand snaked under you and groped your tits, pinching sharply through dress and bra. The velvet of his coat rubbed your bare back and caught on your open zipper.
Soon, the whole bed shook with him. You mewled as you felt your core begin to bloom. You knew he felt it too as he sped up and his cock slid in and out smoothly. He drew his fingers from your mouth and gripped your neck instead.
He forced your back to arch as he lifted himself to his knees, your legs propped open around them. He slapped your ass with his free hand as he rutted against you, his groans filled the air and he gripped your hip roughly. You latched onto the wrinkled blanket as your thighs buzzed and your climax rose sharply.
You came with a squeak, his hand still at your throat as he contorted your body. The pathetic sound only encouraged him and he fucked you faster and faster. It hurt but felt so good. You orgasmed again with a hiss, ashamed of your reaction to his intrusion.
He let go of your neck and pushed your head down into the mattress. He grabbed the back of your thong and snapped it with a yank. He freed it with another and held you down by your head as he pounded into. His groans grew louder and louder until he was roaring.
The pleasured cries were muffled as he slammed into you so sharply you yelped. He spasmed and his thrust turned uneven. He slowed and you felt the flood inside of you. He pulled his hand away from your head and leaned back, his cock still in you as he panted.
You turned your head to peek back at him. He held your thong to his face as he caught his breath, inhaling the scent of it. You closed your eyes and shakily reached up to try to drag yourself off of him. He caught your hips, the thong pressed against your skin.
“Ah ah,” He warned as he pulled you back to your limit. “Naughty girls must learn to be nice.”
#dark!thor#ho-liday drabbles#drabble#thor#dark!fic#dark fic#mcu#marvel#holiday#seasonal#festive#dark thor#one shot#fic
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let us waltz for the dead - three
part one - part two
- - - - -
They say never to trust the devil's silver tongue.
To do so is to sign away your soul.
They say not to wander alone.
To do so is to never be seen again.
- - -
The scream echoes out in the corridor, piercing loud and harsh and cruel until, abruptly it dies.
It dies, and Geralt is rigid, his eyes fixed on the bloody glass.
He blinks.
It's still there.
Slowly, he pushes himself to his feet. There's an ache, low. A memory.
A memory that's not entirely unwelcome.
The hallway is silent now, and so, he doesn't feel quite as much guilt when he takes the time to pull on his trousers and undershirt before he heads for the door. After all, the notion of facing his death unclothed is not one he finds appealing.
He isn't entirely certain what he expects when he opens the door - a grisly scene, perhaps, or even a rat on the floor, startling some maid.
He was not expecting to see merely Renfri, standing rigid a few feet away from his door, her eyes wide and haunted.
"Renfri?" he says, his voice rough with sleep. She seems not to hear at first. Geralt frowns, turning his head to follow her gaze down the hall...
... down to the mirror mounted on the wall at the far end.
Geralt's frown deepens.
Of all the people he would imagine to be afraid of their reflection, Renfri would never rank among them. Really, he wouldn't have imagined Renfri as afraid of anything, and yet, here she is, staring down the length of the hall as though it's done her harm.
"Are you okay?" Geralt asks, almost hesitant. He feels as though he's missing something here.
This time, Renfri starts, turning to look at him with eyes that quickly go bright with a forced smile. "Yeah," she says, almost breathless in her haste to reassure him. "Just got startled by my reflection, that's all. Happens a lot." She waves away his dubious glance. "I came to see if you were up yet. Breakfast is ready downstairs."
Geralt is quiet at first, his gaze still skeptical, but Renfri doesn't seem to care, her eyes already drawn back to the mirror at the end of the hall, as if she doesn't quite trust that it's merely her reflection in the glass, nothing more. "Thank you," he says. "I'll be down soon."
Renfri nods; it can't be just his imagination that says she looks almost relieved to be dismissed. She turns on her heel to head back down the hall for the stairwell, and Geralt stands in the doorway, looking after her until she starts the descent.
He turns to look toward the mirror then.
His face gazes back at him.
He hadn't seen his reflection's head turn.
- - -
Maybe ten minutes pass before Geralt heads downstairs, having retreated into his room to dress. He'd spared no attention to the mirror on the vanity.
The first floor is dimly lit, only a few candles lit on shelves and counters; even the fire flickering in the hearth seems dull. It's odd, disconcerting, but Geralt gives it scarcely any thought. He's growing accustomed to the strange ways of the Black Dog.
Renfri stands behind the bar, polishing a glass decanter. She lifts her head when Geralt approaches, and the smile she gives is pasted on. "Breakfast on the house," she says by way of greeting, nodding toward the platter on the bartop. It's a pleasant little spread, breakfast meats and breads and eggs. "No need to thank me. Don't see much point in charging you for food when you've no other options."
"Thank you," Geralt says as he takes his usual seat, drawing the platter closer to himself. He watches Renfri through the corner of his eye as he takes his first bite, watches her hands move with near-mechanical precision.
She moves like one who's seeking diversion.
Silence passes between them for one, three, five minutes at the least, silence apart from the storm still raging against the tavern walls. The winds sound less violent today, and it seems to Geralt that the rains are calmer, too. He says at much when the quiet grows too oppressive, immediately startled when Renfri jumps as though shot.
The decanter falls from her hands.
It shatters on the floor behind the bar, glass spraying like blood from a wound.
Geralt winces as the shards clink to the ground.
"Are you - "
"Fine," Renfri says, her voice panicked. She backs away from the corpse of the decanter, and Geralt knows he's not imagining the haunted look in her eyes. "Sorry. Just got... startled. That's all."
Geralt watches her, worried. Something is not right.
Renfri is motionless, gaze on the floor - no doubt on the shrapnel, though Geralt cannot see.
"Let me help clean it up," he says, breaking the silence far more gently this time.
His words seem to jar Renfri from her shaky reverie, but she shakes her head, glancing up with eyes that plead for help and a face that demands isolation. "No," she says, though Geralt can sense the pain the denial causes her. "No, you're a guest. I'll take care of it."
Geralt is quiet.
Renfri's gaze falls once more.
He watches as she lifts a hand, brushing it across her temple as though to wipe away an impending ache.
"I'll take care of it," she repeats, softer now - soft and faint.
She turns away.
"Just... enjoy your meal."
Geralt watches as the woman slips around the counter, as she walks through the doorway he can only guess leads to the kitchen.
Though he sits, still and waiting, Renfri doesn't return.
He finishes his breakfast in silence.
- - -
The rain has lapsed into temporary quiet by the time he retreats upstairs.
His eyes are on the floor as he climbs the stairs, but the sound of movement in the hallway draws his gaze up once more.
Geralt stops.
There's a young woman standing at the end of the hall, dust rag in hand. Her back is turned, but Geralt can make out brown hair beneath the frilled headband typical of a maid. Her servant's dress is plain, but even at this distance, it looks tattered at the hems; the white trim is faded.
He stands at the top of the stairs for a beat, taken aback by the presence of yet another in this strange tavern, watching the maid clean the surface of the mirror hanging on the wall.
A good thirty seconds passes before the maid seems to glimpse his reflection, and she jumps, whirling to face him.
The rag falls to the floor.
She appears shocked.
"I didn't mean to scare you," Geralt says quickly, his voice unwilling to work at first. "I'm sorry."
The girl simply stares, though her shoulders slump back into relaxation.
"I didn't realize there was anyone else here," he goes on, though it sounds idiotic even to his own ears. Of course a functioning tavern and inn would have a maid, even if the Black Dog is far from normal.
The maid tips her head to one side, and the smile she gives is forced.
It's almost worrying.
Geralt's words are softer when he speaks next. "I was just coming to get my coat from my room," he says, uncertain how to interpret the maid's silence. "Am I in your way?"
The maid shakes her head, stooping quickly to pick up the rag that had fallen at her feet. She wraps her fingers tightly into the old fabric; the fidgeting doesn't escape Geralt's notice, but he knows better than to breathe a word.
Geralt clears his throat.
Something is off.
"I apologize," he repeats, taking the few steps toward his door, though his sidelong gaze remains on the maid at the end of the hall.
He knows he doesn't imagine the way she tenses.
Geralt hesitates with his hand on the doorknob.
The maid turns away, back to the mirror.
Geralt has no idea what to make of it.
He slips into his room, heading straight for where his coat's hung up on the corner of the washroom door.
He spares only a brief glance to the mirror.
It is just the same as before.
The maid is gone when he leaves his room.
It's only as he shrugs his coat on and descends the staircase that he realizes he hadn't heard footsteps down the hall.
- - -
The rain is still at a pause by the time Geralt steps out from beneath the tavern's awning. The air smells heavy, almost cloyingly sweet with the aftermath of the rain, but beneath it all is the stink of mud and hay from the stable. Geralt wrinkles his nose with mild disdain, though he breathes in deep regardless.
Somehow, even the moist air is more pleasant than that of the Black Dog.
The stable interior is quiet when he pushes open one of the heavy wooden doors, leaving it open for the overcast glow to spread inside. Roach lifts her head from where she'd been nibbling at the hay, turning bright eyes and pricked ears his way. "Hello, Roach," he greets, his tone soft.
His mare nickers, returning her attention to her meal immediately.
"No gratitude," Geralt muses, crossing the stable floor to approach her stall. Beneath his feet, the old floorboards creak and groan, louder than he remembers from before. He pauses when one splinters under his weight, looking down.
The floor is solid enough, built on firm earth.
The rain must be damaging the wood, he reasons.
Before he can give the splintering wood any further thought, a loud, echoing snort demands his attention.
Geralt lifts his head.
The huge black stallion is all but glowering at him from the stall across the corridor.
... The stall across the corridor.
"Why, oh, why, do they keep moving you?" Geralt asks aloud, turning to lean his back against Roach's stall door. He folds his arms across his chest as he holds the bastard's cruel gaze, surprised to realize he's, well, smug. "Wait a minute... I think I know."
As if he knows what Geralt plans to say, the stallion stamps a hoof, heavy enough that Geralt hears wood cracking yet again. The stallion's head is bobbing now, nostrils flared wide as he stares Geralt down.
"I think it's because you're a biter," Geralt says, distantly aware that he should feel foolish for talking like this to a horse. "I think it's because you're an evil fucker - crazy, to boot."
The horse screams.
Geralt flinches in spite of himself when the stallion rears partway, when those feathered hooves slam down hard enough for the crack of wood to echo loud.
He knows he's imagining the way the floor beneath him feels as though it shifts, nearly gives.
"Never were taught manners, were you?" he asks aloud, watching with growing disbelief as the stallion's thrashing only increases - head tossing, hooves pounding, haunches bucking. Foam sprays from bared teeth, and the whites of the devil's eyes flash bright as he screams.
At his back, he hears Roach snort, and he looks over his shoulder to his mare, who has turned to face the goings-on. Pushing aside his newfound trepidation with some unease, he tears his attention from the manic stallion. "Is he this mean when you're alone?" he asks her, turning fully to run a hand down her brow.
Roach nickers once more, shoving her head into his palm.
Geralt croons to her, low, reaching into his coat pocket for one of the carrots he always carries. She eats it from his hand with the ferocity of a starving hound, even though Geralt knows damn well she's been eating nearly nonstop. "Greedy," he murmurs, continuing to stroke her brow.
Roach snorts in reply.
"I know," he sighs, tipping his head to rest against the mare's own. She draws back to nose into his hair; he endures it with a weary smile. "The rain's stopped for now, but knowing our luck, it would storm all the harder the moment we decided to leave. Besides, the roads are no doubt washed out in the lowlands.... no point in leaving yet."
Something changes.
It takes him a second to place.
The stallion has gone silent.
Geralt looks back over his shoulder.
The stallion is simply... standing.
Standing, head held high, eyes black and brutal and cold, ribs heaving with every roaring breath.
Anxious distrust coils tight and wicked in Geralt's chest.
He knows, more truly than he thinks he's ever known a thing, that he needs to leave.
"Not normal," he says, low. "You're not normal."
The stallion doesn't react.
- - -
Geralt spends another few minutes in the stable.
He doesn't last any longer than the time it takes to brush the straw from Roach's coat. He can't stand the stallion's presence any longer.
He pauses as he walks from the stable's heavy double doors, taking the time to give the area a more proper onceover now that the rain has ceased for the time being. In the half-light of the overcast day, the area seems less immediately ominous.
The forest encroaches quite near to the property, thick trees growing from the wet earth as near as three feet from the stable's outer walls. The clearing directly in front of the tavern is large enough to support two or three carriages at once, if angled correctly, but even still, it manages to feel almost claustrophobic, sheltered from the narrow trail going through the woods... the trail that, even from here, Geralt can see is virtually nothing but murky water and mud.
He can't begin to fathom what the trail is like in the lower points.
Geralt sighs, turning for the tavern's main door once again. He pauses beneath the awning, his hand on the knob, however - for his attention is caught by a small wooden sign, staked into the landscaping at the opposite corner of the building.
"Gardens," it reads, quite simply, beneath a carved rose. An arrow points around the building, following a narrow path he notices now that he's not seeking shelter from the dark of night or unbearable rain.
A bit of exploration never hurt.
So, deciding there's no true harm in taking advantage of the temporary lull in the storm, Geralt turns from the door, following the path.
It's paved in cobblestone just like the area beneath the awning, wide enough for a single person to move comfortably alongside the tavern's edge. Small shrubs are planted along the path's edge, and though the leaves are water-bowed, Geralt can imagine them to be quite beautiful when not half-drowned.
Behind the tavern, the path opens up into a large area - a cobblestone courtyard of sorts, nearly half the size of the tavern's bulk, stretching out toward the forest. Geralt pauses at the path's end, gazing about.
From the path's end, the shrubs are replaced by a low stone wall that wraps around the courtyard's perimeter, waist-high. At the far end, the wall is broken by a wrought-iron gate with an arch that peaks merely a foot higher than the wall, one that - judging from the ivy reaching from the wall to coil among the bars - hasn't been opened in quite some time. Geralt can see the cobblestone paving continues through the gate, leading out into the forest.
Two stone benches sit on opposite sides of the courtyard, facing eachother. Geralt's gaze lingers on the one closest to himself. It feels... almost lonely.
In the center of the courtyard are two identical plots of earth, split down the center by the paving that leads toward the gate. Rose bushes grow tall and nearly wild in each plot, blood red blooms and earth-green leaves beaded with raindrops. Growing closer to the rich soil are smaller plants - pansies, ivies, exotic grasses of which Geralt doesn't know the name.
Geralt tips his head to the side, his gaze following the path a particularly adventurous ivy frond takes - creeping from its bed, stretching out across the cobblestone to climb up the wall. It is this frond that weaves itself among the wrought-iron bars.
He doesn't quite know why this plant in particular catches his interest, nor why it holds it so firmly.
It is movement that finally snaps him from his botanical reverie.
Wolf-gold eyes snapping up sharply, he goes still when he sees what had caught his attention.
Standing on the low stone wall is a black dog.
It's a massive brute, for all that it looks like a hunting hound - closer to a wolf in stature - with thick fur that grows longest in a ruff about its neck.
Bear hunter, Geralt realizes distantly.
The dog is motionless where it stands, gaze locked on Geralt's own.
Its eyes are dark, nearly the black of its fur.
As Geralt watches, its lips curl.
He feels, more than he hears, the growl - feels it vibrate deep beneath his ribs, between his lungs.
Feels it in the air all around him.
Feels the way the plants between he and the hound seem to draw away.
Just as Geralt recognizes the feeling growing in his chest as <i>fear,</i> the growl stops short.
The hound goes silent.
Its gaze has shifted now, moved to something behind Geralt, up higher on the tavern's wall.
Geralt turns his head, starts in surprise when he sees the maid from earlier standing at a window on the second floor. Her eyes... though they're not turned to him, they look - feel - cold.
When he looks back, the hound is gone.
He stands there, quiet.
He doesn't know why he's surprised to find the maid gone, too, when he looks back up at the window.
- - -
Geralt isn't entirely certain what possesses him to approach the wrought-iron gate, apart from curiosity.
He treads carefully over the sprawling ivy fronds, stopping in front of the gate to peer toward the forest beyond. He sees no sign of the black dog, though that's not necessarily a surprise; hounds can run at quite the clip when they're in the mind, he knows. Wonder where the brute came from, he muses idly, turning his gaze to the stone wall itself. The dog would have had to hop up from the ground on the other side, which... Geralt leans forward enough to give the mud a closer look.
Odd.
No pawprints.
Before he can dwell on this too long, the distant sound of wind chimes draws his attention away. Geralt looks toward the trees once more.
The forest's edge sits back a short ways from the garden's edge, the earth rising in a slow, gradual arch to peak in a knoll atop which the trees sit. Even though the tree cover is dense, the trunks all close together, Geralt can tell that the ground beyond is uneven, too, all rolling hills that make it even more difficult to see beyond the dark of the treeline.
The cobblestone path beneath the gate leads off into the trees, disappearing from sight over the crest of the nearest knoll. Curiosity nags at the back of his mind, and he hesitates at first, looking down to the ivy growing thick and winding among the bars of the gate. It feels wrong to disturb the plant that clearly invested so much time in its growth...
"No one here to see," Geralt muses aloud, heaving a sigh as he swings first one leg, then the other, up and over the wall. It's just low enough that he has little difficulty.
Well. No one apart from the maid, if she's still there.
He pushes the thought aside, straightening up and heading along the path... privately shocked at how much darker his world becomes once he's beneath the cover of the trees, tall and imposing around him. They're just trees. Nothing more. Regardless, he cannot shake the feeling of being watched.
The wind chimes seem to be off to the left a ways once he passes the crest of the knoll, but the path continues straight. Geralt pauses, frowning off into the shadows. The brush is flattened and cleared aside, almost like an animal's hunting trail, leading toward the source of the noise. A look ahead along the paved path shows that it only leads farther into the woods; curiosity nags at him, but he doesn't fancy getting caught out here when the storm resumes.
Decision made, he turns off the cobblestone, following the downtrodden brush where it leads off into the woods. Much to his relief, he only has to go a short ways before the source of the sound comes into view. At the crest of another knoll is a massive oak tree, its roots rising high from the ground to create a tangled knot above the muddy earth. There's a hollow of sorts beneath the trunk where it grows at an angle, the roots splayed enough to bare the vulnerable underside.
Even without the rest, the tree on its own would be an imposing sight, but Geralt's attention is drawn by something else.
The limbs of the tree are adorned with wind chimes of every variety - simple metal rods, small silver-plated shapes, even some jewels hanging among the more ornate arrangements. There are simple shapes crafted of sticks and twine; there are small animal skulls hanging from lengths of beaded string; there are larger bones dangling closer to the trunk.
Geralt's stomach twists when he sees scraps of decaying flesh and matted fur still clinging to some of the larger bones - ribs and femurs and the like, no doubt. Animals, at least. Poor things.
His gaze moves down, down to the hollow at the base of the tree - the hollow beneath the gnarled roots. His confusion only grows when he sees that the oddities do not stop in the branches of the oak.
What looks to be a dog's skull rests in the damp earth, the brow painted over with streaks of mud in the shape of a cross. Its maw is propped open by a short stick through the mouth, keeping sharp teeth bared. Geralt frowns when he notices the two front canines are missing, frowns harder when he sees the arrangement of stick-and-twine figures around the skull, laid there in the earth. Some are merely geometric, squares and triangles and diamonds, but others are crudely fashioned in the shape of nondescript animals - spine, legs, neck, head, tail. Others, still, are human.
Geralt steps closer, crouching low in front of the strange shrine - for, he realizes now, that is what he has found. A shrine, an altar... a memorial. "Who are you for?" he asks the hollow eyesockets of the hound.
Only the wind chimes answer him.
- - -
He loses track of time, kneeling there before the oak tree shrine. The air feels still, dead.
Alone.
It's only when Geralt feels raindrops patter onto his head and shoulders that he finally straightens, peering up through the thick canopy. The sky has gone dark, nearly black. The storm is returning, and judging from how black the woods around him have become, it will be worse this time around.
"Great," he sighs aloud, turning to head back to the tavern with his head ducked low. Not for the first time, he wishes his coat had a hood. It would make this whole ordeal a sight easier.
Though he keeps an eye out for any sign of the black hound, the walk back is uneventful.
By the time he makes it back beneath the shelter of the awning at the front of the tavern, the rain is heavier, beating down on his shoulders and bowed head. Grimacing as he pushes open the door, he stops on the mat just inside, letting the worst of the rain drip back off of him before he ruins the wood.
Geralt doesn't realize there had been talking until, without notice, the tavern falls quiet. He lifts his gaze from the floor, pausing when he sees Renfri and Nivellen standing behind the bar. Renfri is reclining against the counter itself as Nivellen wipes a tankard clean, but they've both gone still, looking at him.
For a wild, brief moment, Geralt feels as though he's intruding.
"See the rain caught you," Renfri says, breaking the strange little silence. "Out visiting your horse?"
He shakes his head, clearing his throat as he approaches the bar. Nivellen gives him a pointed look, his gaze going from Geralt's face to one of the stools - one that, Geralt sees, is a couple of feet down from Nivellen himself. Alright, then.
As Geralt sits down - directly in front of the both of them - he turns his gaze on Renfri, ignoring Nivellen's irritated frown. "For a minute. Went for a little walk after, until the rain started up again. The gardens at the back - they're beautiful."
Something flickers in Renfri's eyes, and she looks toward the stairwell door. Before Geralt can follow her gaze, she's turning back to him. "Yeah, they're impressive. Can't take any credit for them, though. Have to talk to Holly for that."
Geralt feels, more than sees, Nivellen go tense, just at the edges of his vision. "Renfri - "
"Not that she does much talking nowadays," Renfri goes on, speaking louder over Nivellen, her glare harsh.
The feeling of intruding is back, more intense than before. Geralt looks between the two, between the stubborn edge in Renfri's eyes and the exasperated frustration in Nivellen's own.
He isn't surprised in the slightest when it's Nivellen who gives in, shaking his head and going back to wiping off the tankard that had been neglected in his hands.
Renfri gives a satisfied sigh, turning to face Geralt properly, her arms folded on the counter as she leans closer to say in an undertone, "Don't mind him. I don't know if he's ever woken up on the right side of the bed."
Geralt huffs out a single, quiet laugh. "That path," he says, jerking his chin to indicate the back of the tavern, "the one that goes out through the woods? Where does it lead?"
"The one from the gardens leads to the hunting grounds," she replies. "Bit of a long walk, though, and it's a winding trail. Don't think anybody ever actually used it, to be entirely honest. Guess you haven't seen it, but there's a wider path going from the rear of the stable. Heads the same way, and it's just dirt, but it's a quicker journey."
"Maybe because it's meant for horseback," Nivellen mutters.
Geralt sees Renfri's body jerk, and he hears Nivellen curse, sidestepping from the foot the woman no doubt sent flying to his knee.
"Like I said," Renfri says with a sigh, "wrong side of the bed."
Geralt likes her.
He thinks, as his gaze drops a little lower, taking in the low neckline of her blouse, maybe he would like her a little more, if Jaskier wasn't lurking somewhere in the tavern.
When he looks back up, Renfri is giving him a slow, sly grin, but she shakes her head. Geralt merely shrugs, another quiet laugh escaping. She's an odd one, but... in a good way. "There's an oak tree," he says aloud, changing the subject with customary ease, "off the path out in the woods - "
Nivellen goes still, and Renfri's face shutters off immediately.
Geralt is nothing but bewildered. "... You know the one, I take it?"
"The one covered in all sorts of chimes and pendants and pagan things?" Nivellen grouses. Geralt blinks.
"I hadn't placed them as pagan, but - "
"All that stuff is set there by troublemakers," Renfri interjects, and she pushes herself back upright, the moment of easy companionship between her and Geralt gone in a flash. "People just going through the forest. They see things left by others, decide, 'what the hell?' Just kids, no doubt. No point in paying it any mind."
"People come through these woods often?" Geralt asks dryly, no longer trying to conceal his disbelief. He can't imagine their reactions would truly be this strong if it was merely an issue of trespassers. "I didn't see another house or village or farm on the way through - this tavern is the first thing I came across for miles."
"People travel quite the long way to make trouble sometimes," Nivellen says, and there's a harsh edge to his tone, one that brooks no further argument.
Geralt frowns.
Something - many things - are not right.
There's quiet between them for a moment, Renfri's eyes averted, Geralt's on the cloth in Nivellen's hand.
It's Renfri who breaks the silence, turning away and clapping her hand down on the bar loud enough to make both men jump. "Why don't you head back up and pass the time to dinner?" she says, her voice too loud for the topic. "Not much point in sitting around and talking all day, I don't imagine."
Geralt knows a dismissal when he hears one.
"I'll see you again soon enough, I'm sure," he says as he stands. Renfri simply nods, her gaze already sliding away; Nivellen ignores him entirely.
Unable to shake his unease, Geralt retreats back upstairs.
- - -
He no longer has the energy to be surprised when he finds his mirror intact, untouched.
He is, however, surprised to find a small, leatherbound black book sitting on his bed, atop a heavy black cloak. There's a pencil, quill pen and inkwell laid beside them.
Geralt stands beside his bed for a few seconds in silence, taking in the odd little gift. Jaskier, perhaps. He can't imagine Renfri would have done this, and he knows better than to think Nivellen ever would.
Finally, he picks up the book, running idle fingers over the uneven surface. When he opens it, he's met with a small note scrawled in clumsy ink on the first page.
Stay in your room at night, no matter what you hear.
Geralt's frown deepens, and he turns the page. It, and all the ones beyond, are blank, made of heavy, good quality paper; meant for an artist, no doubt. He's never considered himself much of one, and he wonders what about him made Jaskier believe this to be a fitting gift, but he isn't about to turn it down.
He sets the book aside, lifting the cloak that was laying beneath it. It's thick and heavy, clearly meant to withstand cold temperatures and inclement weather, and - he notices with no small amount of pleasure - it has a hood.
He'll have to thank Jaskier later.
No sooner does this thought cross his mind than he realizes he's counting on seeing the strange little thing downstairs tonight.
It's only been two nights, and he's already got you enamored. Pathetic.
Geralt sighs, crossing the room to hang the cloak up on the rack beside the dresser. He spares himself the briefest of glances in the healed mirror, frowning when he sees how haggard he looks. His hair is still damp and matted from the rain, and there are circles beneath his eyes, all the more pronounced on his pale skin. For all that he enjoys Jaskier's company, it's clear it's been taking its toll on him. Perhaps a little more rest might be in order... or, he muses, running his fingers through his hair and grimacing when he feels a knot in the strands, a damn bath.
He opens the washroom door, looking toward the claw-footed tub tucked away against the wall. Although the washbasin in the counter has a working faucet, he sees nothing of the sort near the tub. He'll have to find somebody to draw him the water, no doubt, and he hasn't the faintest clue where to find the maid from earlier. Nivellen would just as soon kick him out, and Renfri, well...
Geralt can't help but feel as though he's irritated her somehow.
Resigning himself to remaining unwashed for at least another day, he turns away. If Jaskier gave him the sketchbook and media, he likely expects Geralt to make use of them. A glance at the ornate clock sitting on the windowsill shows he still has an hour or so to waste away before dinnertime.
With a sigh, Geralt settles down against his headboard, reaches for the book and quill, and sets to idle work.
- - -
By the time Geralt sets it all aside to head downstairs, he's finished what he thinks is a respectable sketch of the black hound he'd seen out in the gardens. It's no great work of art, that much is certain, but he takes some private pleasure in the finished product.
There's a minute part of him that hopes Jaskier will be... what? Proud? He scoffs at himself as he heads downstairs, pushing the thought aside. Jaskier may not even be in the tavern's lobby, he reminds himself, and he lifts his head, looking for Renfri in her usual post behind the bar, ready to serve him a meal of one sort or another.
Instead, he sees Jaskier.
Geralt stops short, momentarily taken aback.
The young man is sitting at the bar, his back turned; Geralt can see a glass of what he thinks is brandy in his hand, if Jaskier's constant remarks are any indication. He's dressed the same as each night before, and barefoot like always, too.
Pushing aside his bewilderment, Geralt slips easily back into the strange, half-dazed headspace even Jaskier's presence seems to put him in. "Wasn't expecting to see you here," he says aloud, breaking the peaceful quiet of the room. Jaskier turns to look over his shoulder, and his face brightens with a smile that makes Geralt's heart warm. "Here for dinner?"
"Mostly here to drink," Jaskier replies with a laugh, nodding for Geralt to join him. Geralt does without hesitation, though he comes to stand behind Jaskier, the brush of his hands on the young man's waist tentative at first. Only when Jaskier leans back to rest his weight on Geralt's chest does Geralt hold him properly, gripping his waist firmly, but no less gentle. "Yourself?"
"Well," Geralt starts, resting his face in the unruly brown locks at the back of Jaskier's head and breathing in deep, "I had planned on food."
Jaskier makes a gesture, and Geralt reluctantly lifts his head, though he sets his chin atop the little thing's head, finding himself entirely unwilling to move away at all. Only now does he notice the platter of roast meats and cheese; it looks as though it's already been picked through. "Help yourself," he says, but even as he speaks, he's picking up a little piece of chicken, holding it back for Geralt to take.
Geralt only just manages to resist the - frankly absurd - urge to eat it straight from his fingers, instead freeing a hand to take it the normal way. The chicken is impossibly tender, its juices bursting onto his tongue with flavor that makes Geralt nearly melt as he realizes just how hungry he truly is. "I know better than to guess Nivellen is the one cooking all of this," he remarks, soft and wry.
Jaskier laughs, leaning his head back to rest it against Geralt's shoulder as he picks up another piece, pork this time. "That bastard wouldn't know good food if it bit him in the ass," he replies, watching with rapt blue eyes as Geralt takes the morsel. "He knows his way around a bar, but that's about as far as his talents go."
"What about you?" Geralt asks, deciding to leave one hand free for the sake of eating and wrapping his other arm more firmly around Jaskier's waist. He feels the younger man shiver when his hand slides across his chest; something stirring low in his groin, he holds him more firmly to his chest, taking courage from the way they're alone. "What are your talents, apart from those I've experienced myself?"
The strange little thing merely shrugs, taking another sip of his drink. His head is still thrown back onto Geralt's shoulder, and those eyes haven't left Geralt's own once. "If you're asking whether or not I work here," he says as he lowers the glass, turning his head enough to nose against the side of Geralt's neck, "the answer is no. Not anymore. I prefer to keep my talents to myself these days. Surely you understand."
Geralt gives a hum of acknowledgement, far too distracted by the feeling of Jaskier's lips moving against his skin to pay much attention to his words. While the other man is distracted, he reaches for the glass of brandy sitting neglected on the bartop, taking a drink of his own and wincing immediately - mixed in with the liquor's taste is something else, something coppery, something almost like -
"Geralt," Jaskier says, drawing him back from - from... what was he worried about? "Geralt, look at me."
Blinking the strange haze from his eyes and feeling nothing but confusion when it doesn't clear he obeys.
The glass is empty, in Jaskier's hand. Jaskier's eyes are on his own, and Jaskier's mouth -
Blood, dripping from the lips that are shaping themselves around his name.
Geralt flinches, almost recoils.
He blinks again.
The blood is gone.
The blood is gone, and so is the - the...
There was something on the counter, just before... he remembers...
"Geralt," comes the blue-eyed man's voice again.
It takes more effort than it should to drag his gaze from the empty bartop back to Jaskier's face.
He doesn't look... worried, no, not really. More... pleased.
He blinks.
Jaskier looks concerned.
There's a shadow at the edges of his vision, off to the side.
He knows better than to look.
"Geralt, focus, can't you?" Jaskier is saying, and now he's laughing, nudging Geralt's ribs with his elbow.
Geralt pauses, huffs out a breath with the impact.
He must have zoned out for a second there.
"I'm plenty focused," he says aloud, closing his hand around the other man's arm when Jaskier goes to elbow him again. It's easy enough to trap that arm against Jaskier's side, to run his other hand up along the little thing's stomach, his chest, his neck... to fit his fingers around the base of Jaskier's throat. The pressure is light, teasing, barely even there, but his intent is clear. "I didn't realize assault was acceptable now."
Jaskier gives a sound that's almost like a purr, leaning his head back farther. It's as good an invitation as anything. Geralt leans down, noses into the side of Jaskier's neck as he squeezes his throat properly, thumb and forefinger pressing firm into the flesh on either side. "Didn't realize ignoring me was, either," Jaskier murmurs, but his voice is ragged, breathless already.
The moan he lets out when Geralt pulls his arms back to pin them against his lower back sends a rush of lust through Geralt's veins. Jaskier's fingers curl into fists between them, brushing against the bulge of Geralt's shaft through his trousers; with the same energy as if he's made an incredible discovery, Jaskier shifts to palm him, awkward angle be damned. The pressure of the heel of his hand makes Geralt's breath catch, and he sets his teeth to the side of the pretty little thing's neck, murmuring, "Didn't realize this counts as ignoring you."
- - -
Geralt is certain he's never seen a creature more beautiful than Jaskier is right now, pinned with his back to the wall, Geralt's hand firm around his throat as he works one thigh between the younger man's own. Jaskier is panting, both hands clenched tight in the fabric of Geralt's undershirt; his eyes are glassy, dazed, so fucking needy it makes Geralt ache.
"Gorgeous," he breathes out, surprised by how deep and rough his voice has gone; he leans in to fit his teeth against Jaskier's collarbone, bared by the way his chemise is undone and pulled aside. Jaskier's hips buck onto the muscle of his thigh, and he whines aloud when Geralt bites down, tastes blood beneath his tongue. He licks over the beading little wounds, drinks in Jaskier's moan like a dying man. "God, the sounds you make - "
" - would be a lot - a lot louder if you'd get on with things," Jaskier spits out, and there's just enough malice in his tone to make Geralt falter, but the little thing's hips are rolling steadily, grinding his cock along the length of Geralt's thigh, so he chalks it up to impatience and nothing more. Customary, honestly, he doesn't know why he's surprised.
Geralt draws back just enough to make Jaskier whimper with the loss, squeezing his throat one last time before he lets go. "Bed," he tells him lowly, fumbling with the fastenings of his own shirt as he backs off. Jaskier all but falls away from the wall, sucking in a gasp of air now that he's truly able, but he doesn't listen at all, instead pressing right up against Geralt and craning to capture his lips in a kiss that tastes of brandy and blood and -
- don't you dare leave -
- leave, run, get the fuck out -
- don't you fucking dare -
- of brandy and desperation.
The groan Geralt gives almost aches as it starts in his chest, and he gives up on his undershirt, finding a grip on Jaskier's waist as he backs them both toward the bed. He feels hazy, his world almost spinning, though he's got no clue why. When the edge of the bed bumps into the backs of his knees, he drops back, pulling Jaskier after him into his lap, unwilling to break from the kiss for more than the second it takes to make sure their teeth don't clash as he settles back. Jaskier is just as eager as always, nearly clawing at his chest in his attempts to get the undershirt out of the way, and Geralt hisses when nails bite into his bare skin.
"Easy, darling - "
And then, just as quick as he'd pounced, Jaskier withdraws, and there's such hate in his tone when he says, "Don't fucking call me that," that Geralt gets whiplash.
Right. He'd forgotten.
He gentles his hands on the little thing's waist, smoothing them up under the fabric of his chemise to trace along the bare skin beneath, watching as Jaskier shivers despite his tension, his eyes going glossy. "I forgot," Geralt murmurs, leaning in to breathe the words against Jaskier's lips. "Forgive me, sweet thing, I truly didn't mean to."
Jaskier draws in a breath, and Geralt feels him tremble again. The younger man is leaning closer, seeming entirely unconscious of it, too; when he gives in, when he seals his lips to Geralt's own with a low and reedy moan, Geralt knows he has been forgiven. He lets his grip go firm again, guiding Jaskier to lay back flat on his back with as much grace as he can manage when he refuses to break away.
The other man arches into him when Geralt settles above him, moans aloud into their kiss when Geralt runs his hands back up beneath his chemise to swipe a thumb across one nipple, to rake his nails lightly down planes of quivering muscle and heated flesh. When Geralt's fingers reach lower, palming Jaskier through his undone trousers, Jaskier bucks, keens aloud, nearly sobs his name.
Geralt breaks from the kiss to trail his parted lips down along the length of Jaskier's throat, sucking his fresh mark atop the ghosts of bruises from the nights before. Jaskier whimpers and whines so prettily with each kiss, splays his legs wide when Geralt pulls his trousers down enough to work two fingers inside him, and something in Geralt snarls with desire when he feels how wet he is even now, how much of his seed still lingers in Jaskier's slender frame.
"So fucking beautiful," he breathes out against his skin, crooking his fingers up as even as he splays them wide. It takes a second try before his fingertips brush over the nerves inside Jaskier, but he knows damn well when he succeeds, because the younger man arches from the sheets with a moan far too loud for the tavern, both hands flying up to tangle tightly into Geralt's hair. "God, look at you, you're so fucking beautiful..."
Jaskier's voice is cracked and broken, but there's still enough of his spirit, his fiery, impatient spirit, to make Geralt laugh, low. "Be more beautiful with your cock inside me, Geralt, please, I don't need anything more, I can take you now - "
It's the desperation in his tone that makes Geralt cave, though he so truly wants to lay Jaskier out one night, worship his body as he deserves. Geralt murmurs something in reassurance, withdraws his fingers even though it makes Jaskier whine. "Easy," he tells him softly, drawing back just enough to get his trousers undone and off. He isn't surprised in the slightest when Jaskier just about ignores him, already hooking his thighs up around Geralt's waist even before Geralt begins to press inside. "Easy, love, relax..."
But Jaskier is moaning aloud, his fingers weaving tightly into Geralt's hair once again to pull him down for another wet and messy kiss, and he's already rocking back even though Geralt's barely got the head of his shaft inside him, and, fuck, he feels amazing, wet and hot and tight, and -
Geralt gives up on thinking.
He knows there's not much point.
- - -
Afterwards, they lay together, Jaskier held close with his back flush to Geralt's chest, Geralt's arm tight about his waist. They're both nude, only the blankets drawn up around their waists keeping them covered. Geralt's face is pressed lightly to the back of Jaskier's neck, and he alternates between simply resting and leaving gentle kisses there, reveling in the quiet, breathy laughs he earns each time.
It's as Geralt traces idle patterns onto Jaskier's bare stomach that he remembers. "Oh," he mumbles, his voice hoarse with exertion. "Thank you, by the way."
Jaskier gives an inquiring hum.
"The gifts you left me," Geralt clarifies, heaving a sigh as he settles more comfortably into place and closes his eyes.
"What gifts?"
He pauses then, frowning.
"You weren't the one who left them?"
Jaskier shakes his head, the motion made clumsy by their position. "What were they?"
Geralt could simply be imagining it, weary as he is, but he thinks he hears a hint of tension in his tone. "The cloak hanging over there," he replies, gesturing vaguely with his hand, "and a little art book."
Though his eyes are still closed, he can feel Jaskier lift his head, no doubt to look over at the cloak.
He can definitely feel Jaskier go rigid.
"Burn it," he says abruptly, and there's no trace of kindness in his voice. "Immediately."
Geralt frowns, leaning back enough to open his eyes. Jaskier is pulling away from him, sitting upright. He's gone incredibly tense, and Geralt thinks he's never seen him look so distraught. "Jaskier," he says, reaching for his waist again. "What's wrong?"
When Jaskier strikes his hand away, Geralt freezes, torn between confusion and hurt. "Burn it," he repeats firmly. Jaskier pulls away entirely then, standing up and starting to redress. Geralt sits up to watch, clueless as to how he's meant to react. "I mean it. I won't speak to you until it's gone."
"Jaskier," he tries, moving to the edge of the bed, though he doesn't make another attempt to reach after the younger man. "Jaskier, it's merely a cloak, what's - "
Jaskier laughs, sharp and bitter, as he tugs his chemise back over his head and turns to leave. "Don't concern yourself with why. Just do as I say."
As he yanks open the door and slips out into the hallway, Geralt sees blood matting the back of his hair, bone bared white and clear in the dim flash of lightning.
He blinks.
As he yanks open the door and slips out into the hallway, Geralt sees his hand come up to his face as if swiping away tears, though the motion is soon aborted.
The door shuts with a heavy click.
Geralt sits alone.
The floor is cold beneath his bare feet.
- - -
Geralt can't remember falling asleep when he rouses, at first unsure what awakened him at all.
He lays there, still and alone, painfully aware of the empty space beside him, of the empty space in his arms.
With a sigh, he rolls onto his back, gazing up at the canopy overhead. There is no moonlight tonight, but lightning flashes often, thunder rolling deep and cruel just overhead.
It's because of the thunder that he doesn't hear the snarling until it grows louder still.
Geralt pushes himself upright in a hurry, staring toward the door. There's a light on in the hallway, just as always; he can see it through the crack beneath the door... but it's not all he can see. There's shadows, too, shadows that can't quite make up their mind what they want to be, drifting and curling as if they're alive.
Lightning illuminates the room, and, for an instant, the shadows disappear.
For an instant, the shadows are at the corners of his eye, twisting within the mirror, gone when he looks.
The snarling continues.
The shadows beneath the door have taken shape when his attention returns - four identical narrow columns, blocking out the light in a row.
Slowly, Geralt stands.
He picks his trousers and undershirt up off the floor, pulling them on almost in a dream.
He crosses the room to the coatrack, and now it feels as though the snarling is within his bones themselves, as if it's rattling against his ribs, screaming to be freed.
Even the warmth of the heavy cloak about his frame does nothing to abate the dread.
He moves slowly to the door.
When his fingers brush the doorknob, all goes still.
He glances down.
The shadows are gone.
Geralt breathes in once, opens the door.
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Critical Role: Winning
(Read on AO3)
Rating: Gen
Summary: “Perfect! We-ell, Caduceus and I are done for the day, and I’m really sweaty because moving stone is pre-tty hard work, I bet I smell like Caleb-” She paused to wrinkle her nose, and Beau smirked obligingly “-and it’s been a while since we fought anything, so before I wash up I wanted to ask you to spar with me!”
Well, that settled it. It ran against her core principles to pass up an opportunity to punch something with no strings attached.
Beau and Jester spar. Things get complicated.
Wordcount: 2644
A/N: Sometimes you start thinking about the low amount of gen tickle fics with girls in them, and then you wonder why it feels weird to think about, and then you get really determined to write one, and then… well, here we are ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
“Beau! Beau! Oh, Booo-eau~”
There was only one person who called - no, sang - her name with that particular sliding flourish, so Jester’s energetic entrance through the doorway of their shared bedroom met Beau with all the surprise of - well, Jester. She was a bombshell, sure, but the kind that worked so well every time that you started looking forward to hearing the explosion. “‘Sup.”
Jester’s legs, the warm blue of her skin spotted with dirt and paint, sent her frilled skirt fluttering as they danced in concert over to Beau’s bedside. “Beau, are you busy?”
Beau looked up at Jester’s eager smile and then down, somewhat guiltily, at her notes. She’d tasked herself with looking through every bit of information on the Empire and Asarius, drawing connections, anything that could get the attention of the Bright Queen without putting Empire citizens at risk. They needed to prove that their usefulness didn’t start and end with the beacon, and - well, Beau wasn’t great outside a fight but at least she was paying attention most of the time. She could find something, if she spent enough time on it.
But if that meant saying no to Jester - “Uh, no?”
“Perfect! We-ell, Caduceus and I are done for the day, and I’m really sweaty because moving stone is pre-tty hard work, I bet I smell like Caleb-” She paused to wrinkle her nose, and Beau smirked obligingly “-and it’s been a while since we fought anything, so before I wash up I wanted to ask you to spar with me!”
Well, that settled it. It ran against her core principles to pass up an opportunity to punch something with no strings attached. “Hell yeah, let’s do it! Just - give me a sec, didn’t think I’d be fighting anyone today.”
The week of relative calm in Xhorhas had left nearly all of them in a perpetual state of undress, armor and battle accoutrements stowed away for the first time in months - the last time she’d gone this long without her arm wrappings was probably before the Cobalt Soul, back in Kamordah. She’d still been braced for battle, back then, but an entirely different kind, respectable dresses and forcefully detangled hair and why can’t you just be normal, Beauregard, why can’t you behave-
“Come on, Beau! It’s time for blood.”
Jester’s attempt at a threatening rasp was punctuated with a giggle, audible all the way at the bottom of the staircase, and it made Beau smile just to hear her. She jammed the cloth tail of her wrappings into place and headed for the training room.
Jester was bouncing on the balls of her feet in the scattered sand, already clutching her holy symbol in one hand. “Okay, let’s do this - I have so many cool spells now, this is going to be great-”
Beau abruptly flashed through the worst case scenario. “Hey, Jes?”
“Yeah?”
“Just - don’t turn me into an owl, okay? Or any animal, really, we’re sparring, but especially not an owl. Damage only.”
“Aw, Beau, you’d be such a cute owl!” Jester held up her fingers at right angles, posing them to frame Beau’s face like she was already planning a drawing. Beau rolled her eyes and didn’t even bother with squaring up, lunging straight towards her opponent with fists coiled.
Jester stumbled back, laughing even as she clutched her side. “Whoa, you hit even harder now!” Beau was ready to go in for another hit, but Jester was already recovering - she watched as her friend’s smile compressed from mirthful to confident, eyes narrowing in concentration, and wasn’t Jester just beautiful when she was focused like that - and Beau darted back just in time to avoid a fistful of crackling energy.
The spell fizzled in Jester’s palm and Beau closed the gap between them, but her next two punches were met with the solid metal wall of Jester’s shield. She dropped and swung her staff at Jester’s legs instead, forcing her to one knee, but as the shield came down there was a flare of pink behind it and Beau’s entire body lit up with pain as the glow enveloped her and sent her flailing back. “Ow, ow, fucking magic-”
She only felt a little bad about using her lightning gloves. And then not bad at all, because Jester returned the favor by lighting her on fucking radiant fire.
Time for a finishing move, then, before Jes picked her off at a distance (one more time, for good measure: fucking magic). Beau sprinted in, low to the ground. One foot toeing into the sand, she looped around to Jester’s exposed side and landed a flurry of blows followed up by a textbook Stunning Strike - fingers jabbed into meaty flesh, her qi pulsing and overwhelming her opponent’s, the enemy’s muscles locking up and starting to shake.
Six seconds of victory it was.
“Ha!” She straightened up, spun around in adrenaline-fueled celebration and pumped her fists triumphantly to an imaginary crowd. In battle, she would have continued whaling on her victim - in sparring, it was the end of the match and an opportune time to gloat. “The monk takes it again! One, two, three-”
Something collided with her back.
Beau’s first thought as she ate dirt, unsurprisingly, was that sand tasted really bad. She followed it quickly with a near-paralyzing dose of panic - Jester shouldn’t have been able to move yet, so who had tackled her? Why had she turned her back in a fight?
Delighted laughter rang out over her head, and some of the tension crept involuntarily from her limbs upon recognizing the owner of the mirth. “Jester? How-”
“I tricked you!” she crowed, feet planted firmly on either side of Beau’s butt. “I just pretended to be stunned and you fell for it and now you’re going to lo-ose!”
Hearing that the game was still on, Beau’s heart rocketed back into her throat and she was instantly trying to crawl her way out from under Jester before she could take a spell to the back of the head. Jester was almost unbelievably heavy for her size, having a lot of muscle, but she was terrible at executing a proper pin and Beau could feel her start to topple as she started to lever herself up on her elbows. “Not yet, Jes!”
“No, no! Stay there!” Hands scrabbled at Beau’s shoulders, over the back of her head, but she shook them off and kept trying to unseat Jester. She wasn’t even bleeding that much yet, she could definitely still win this.
Her can-do attitude lasted all of ten seconds, until Jester panicked and started fucking tickling her.
She didn’t even notice the fingers jamming in under her arms, they were just all of a sudden there and wiggling and utterly disarming. All the breath in her lungs whooshed out in an unbidden shriek as her main priority shifted to making it stop. Her entire torso dropped to the floor as her arms gave out, rendering every syllable of protest a strangled mess. “AHA! Je-Jehehes, nohot fair! Nohoho!”
Jester settled back onto her perch as if she’d never left it, her obvious glee mixing with Beau’s own. “Oh, Beau, you’re so ticklish!”
“Am nohohot! Fahaha-” She couldn’t even get a good swear out, and the inability to vent her frustration made the whole thing even worse. “Stop, stohohop-”
“Are you going to surrender?” Jester asked imperiously, the last word lilting in her accent. She sounded formidable for a single instant before dropping right back down into ‘excited puppy’ territory. “Say that I win; say it!”
“Never!” Beau grunted. She was sure that Dairon would have been able to quiet her mind and break free by now, but that seemed pitifully out of reach for her - still, by some miracle of painful contortion, she finally managed to grab one of Jester’s hands and squeeze it painfully enough to elicit a yelp. “I - ha, ha - Jes, we said damage spells only.”
“Well, tech-ni-cally this isn’t a spell,” Jester teased. Her free hand was still mercilessly tickling Beau’s right armpit, and it felt like the feedback from her gloves but a thousand times worse. Beau could barely keep her grip on the single hand she’d captured, and as Jester started poking randomly at her ribs her resolve weakened even further. “It’s like what you do!” Her voice pitched deep in a poor imitation of Beau’s. “Look at me, I’m a monk and I poke people and break all their muscles!”
Beau was laughing too hard to even begin arguing that point. She tried to dredge up some determination, anger, anything, but all of it was leaking out of her along with the contents of her lungs. Jester’s other hand slipped free as Beau spasmed at yet another attack on her armpit, and now she was once again being assaulted from both sides. “Jes! Jehehes - nohoho! - Jes, please-”
“You have to give up,” Jester cooed, sacrificing one of her hands to pat Beau on the shoulder in a mockery of soothing. “You’re too ticklish. Cootchie cootchie coo!”
Nope. Nope, no, absolutely not. Beau folded under the saccharine teasing like an undercooked piece of pocket bacon. “No! Nononoho-” Jester’s evil fingers backed off a little, and with her last shred of dignity Beau was able to wheeze out, “I fucking surrender, geeheez, just - ha - just lemme up and never say that again.”
Jester was off her back almost immediately. Beau could hear her boots clomping around in a victory dance, but her absorption of her loss was sound-only as she let herself face-plant into the sand. She inhaled a little sand, sure, but at this point she was pretty sure she deserved it.
“Beau? Oh no, are you okay?” Strong hands grabbed her shoulder and rolled her over. “Let me just - ooh, no, I don’t have any healing spells prepared - I’ll go get Caduceus.” She sucked in a breath. “CADU-”
Beau reached up blindly, clapping a hand over her mouth, and wearily shoved herself into something approximating a seated position. “No, no, I’m fine, Jester, I just - wow, that was really stupid of me.”
She pulled her hand back, using it to scrub sand off her own face, and revealed Jester’s lips wreathed in a perfect O of concern. “Beau, don’t - stop that!”
“Huh? It’s fine, I gotta learn from my mistakes-”
“Beau!”
She looked up at Jester again, then followed her horrified expression down to her other hand. It was ground into the sand hard enough that little specks of blood were welling up in its wake. “Oh.”
Jester’s shield dropped with a thud. In a flurry of skirts she was sitting knee to knee with Beau, cradling her bloodied knuckles in dirt-stained hands.
Beau looked down at her hands, listlessly cataloging the wet glisten of her wounds. It was easier than looking Jester in the eyes. There was a reason that you sat side-to-side with people when you were having difficult conversations with them, but she suspected that Jester hadn’t had enough of them to know.
“Beau,” Jester said, dangerously soft. “Beau, why did you do that?”
“Uh.” There was something glittery in her eyelashes - probably the sand. She used the wraps on her free hand to scrub it away. Opened her mouth, closed it again, and then started dabbing at the blood on her other hand.
She could tell Jester was trying to sit patiently, but the whump-whump-whump of her tail slapping agitatedly against the sand behind her was easy to hear and made Beau crack a smile despite herself. “Sorry, Jes, I shouldn’t be a sore loser. It’s been a while since I lost a fight, though, but I guess I haven’t fought alone in a while.”
I want to make sure I can protect you guys, and it pisses me off that I might make a mistake and lose one of you, she didn’t say.
Jester didn’t say anything until Beau looked up at her, and then she smiled wide enough that it almost masked the uncertainty in her dark eyes. “Oh, Beau, it’s okay! You don’t have to fight alone, ever, because we’re going to be there!”
Her hands were cupped around both of Beau’s now, protective, squeezing tightly. Beau twisted their pinkies together and smiled back at her, hoping there wasn’t any blood on her teeth.
Jester’s smile grew impossibly wider. On anyone else it would have looked insane, but somehow it just made her look even sweeter. “And now we know that you have a really nice laugh, so that’s also good!”
It took all of Beau’s willpower and probably a few monk skills to keep her from going bright red. “Uh… sure.”
She watched cautiously as Jester’s eyes shifted to the side, her bottom lip disappearing between her teeth. “Beau, I know you’re mad at me… but I really don’t want you to be sad… would it make you even madder if I tickled you again, just a little bit to make you smile again, and then I’ll go get Caduceus and he’ll heal you?”
What was that first part again? Thinking while holding hands with Jester was hard enough. “You think…” Beau started slowly, “that I’m mad at you? Why?”
Jester’s lip chewing intensified, and now it was Beau’s turn to try and catch her gaze. “We-ell, because I played a trick on you and pretended to be stunned…and I forgot to prepare healing spells before I asked you to spar and if Caduceus doesn’t have them then we’ll just be like this until we go to sleep… and I’ve been really busy with Caduceus and we haven’t been hanging out as much… so I wanted to spar with you even though I knew you were probably busy…”
Jester was shrinking in on herself as she spoke, fingers sliding away from Beau’s, and Beau must have made some kind of noise at that because Jester’s eyes leapt to hers and all of a sudden, like an illusion had just been cast, her friend was back to normal. “But if you’re not mad at me then we don’t have to worry about it at all, it’s totally fine, and I’m just going to go get Caduceus now, okay?”
She made to get up, but Beau was already grabbing her hands and tugging her back into their little knee-triangle - rhombus? - of sadness. “Hey. Hey, Jes?”
Jester’s hands were shaking, just a little. “Yes, Beau?”
Finally, finally, their eyes met. “You know I love your tricks, right? I wouldn’t be mad - and none of the other stuff is your fault, that’s just - that’s just you, Jes, you like fighting and creating things and making people feel like they’re at home - if you told me that you were feeling that way I would have told you days ago that I wasn’t mad at you. You know you can tell me this stuff, right? I could never just be mad at you.”
They sat, stone still and heavy with how hard they were both trying to be enough for each other, and then Jester pulled her hands away and in the same movement lunged at Beau to wrap her up in a hug.
And quietly, against her shoulder - “But Beau, I don’t want you to be mad at yourself either, okay?”
Beau winced a little, her ribs definitely feeling the aftereffects of being sat on by a tiefling, but she squeezed Jester back just as tight.
“Hey, Jessie, tell you what. Before we go find Cad, let’s have a round two. No spells and no fists.”
Jester giggled, her tail swishing excitedly against Beau’s knee. “A tickle fight?”
“To the death,” Beau deadpanned. “Gotta get my revenge in somehow.”
And if she was blushing again, it was definitely determination to win and not because she was thinking about pinning Jester down and-
Yeah. Winning.
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As shown by a previous post of myself (@dannixy), a group chat was created of a few parrlyn writers. Together, we are cooperating in writing a (very big) set of AUS and will, hopefully, be posting unscheduled updates contributing to the tag: #Parrlyn AU Multiverse
Or, in some wise words:
SO GET YOUR BEAUTIFUL QUEEN ASSES READY FOR A PARRLYN OVERLOAD
Everyone involved in this project will be linked just below:
@thenameisnoone @little-bit-lost-and-found @sarahzarahh @all-my-love-cathy @politics-notmything @toomanyfamdom @dannixy
--
TRIGGER WARNING:
- sex, porn, flirting, nudity, my bad spelling smh
--
"So you're Katherine's cousin?" Parr asks, tilting her head to the side and taking a sip of the wine that had been set out on the table. The restaurant was lovely; the most exquisite decor and the food was supposedly the best in town. It was atmospheric to say the least - with the quiet chatter and the dimmed lights and the candles. A perfect first date.
"Yeah- she told you 'bout me?" The girl across from her, Anne, asked, cocking a brow. Though the girl was well dressed in her striped green, black and white jumpsuit, from a first glance she was definitely not well spoken.
"Many things, yes. All good though, for the most part anyway." Catherine smiles, charmingly, tilting her head and allowing a curl to bounce over her shoulder. "You clean up well for someone who can't use a toaster without burning whatever is inside it."
"I could say the same for you- you- you scholar-" Anne tries, rolling her eyes playfully, thumbing with the napkin in front of her.
Parr tilts her head, watching her with a careful gaze. Her eye glints. "I always tend to ask for another spare napkin on the table if I ever eat out."
"From what I've been told, you're pretty gay for women so-"
"Oh shush. I'm no stranger to that but I always make little birds out of the napkins. They're cute and I always leave a tip with them." She smiles, turning her focus to her own napkin. "Would you like to know how to make one?"
"Have a few more glasses of wine and then I'd like to see you show me." Anne tries, eyebrows raising teasingly and running her finger gingerly over the rim of her glass.
"By the time I've had a few more glasses of wine." she begins to flirt, lips curling into a smile. "We'll be on our way home."
"'We'll'? You're planning on taking me home with you? I'm touched, I really am but Kitty's got it wrong, I'm not actually homeless." Anne shakes her head, shrugging and leaning back in her hair, hand leaving her wine and moving to her neck to fiddle with the black choker that resided there. Catherine couldn't help but stare at her exposed skin: her shoulders only interrupted by a thin strap, protruding collarbones casting silky shadows and Parr longed for the thought of laying a hickey just there-
"Really? I couldn't tell." She lies, blatantly. Though she had her own nonchalant tone, she was truly trying her hardest not to smile. She was pretty, like Howard had told her; less pretty and more gorgeous. What her friend had failed to mention was that her cousin was practically a goddess, apparently.
"Wow," Anne scoffs, rolling her eyes once more, before making a show of raking her view down her body "Rich coming from you, if I do say so myself."
"I'll have you find, to your astonishment apparently, that I have received many compliments on my dress, this evening, none of which have been from you." Parr notes aloud. She had been wearing a light blue dress with a sweetheart neckline, not frilled but smooth. Not skin-tight but the bodice seemed to hug her curves just right to do them justice. Her skirt, however, unfurled in waves around her thighs, flowing down to the space just above her knee. It swayed as she walked and she felt elegant doing so, poised and prepared for any possible obstacle that tonight would throw at her. Over her shoulders, though, draped a thin cardigan, definitely unfit for the coldness outside, but judging on the fact that Anne was cloaked in the thinnest paper-ish material that there was, she didn't think herself foolish to be inappropriately dressed. It wasn't that Anne was cheap, or even looked it- her jumpsuit was just thin. If she stared hard enough, she could see her-
"My eyes are up here, babes." Anne's shit-eating grin stretched miles across her face. Was she getting some kind of satisfaction out of this?
"I was only enjoying the view." She counters, raising her glass to her lips again to stop herself from letting out a childish grin. Parr couldn't remember the last time she had continuously flirted with someone, let alone a person that she had just met. It felt nice to finally have some chemistry to get her going, if you would.
"And yet if I did the same, I would be reprimanded?"
"That's the biggest word I've heard you say all night."
"Yeah. I read." She snorts, one shoulder shrugging, fingers twitching to twiddle with the fork in front of her.
Catherine draws her brows together. "Where's the waiter, anyway? Surely we should have been at least served starters by now."
"And we were!" Anne admits, eyes lighting up. "And I did try and save some for you- but you were running late and I didn't want it to go to waste if it was cold…"
"Really? Are you kidding me?" She pinches the bridge of her nose, shaking her head.
"Hey- if you keep frowning like that, the wind'll change and you'll stay that way."
"If I'm spending more time with you, it wouldn't need to be any different, I shouldn't think." She teases, closing her eyes momentarily to guage her reaction, and- her contact was sitting uncomfortably on her eye. When in doubt, blink until it magically gets fixed.
"You alright? You're almost crying…- if you're that upset about the starter I can just order another-" she looks genuinely concerned, and reaches to grab Parr's hand over the table. Catherine happily allows her hand to be taken by the girl in green.
"Of course not-!" She says, perhaps a little bit louder than she should've, and then stares around her, paranoid that people were looking. They weren't, for reference. After, though, she lowers her voice. "Of course not- my contact's just moving around-"
"Contacts? You wear glasses." Anne says, an accusatory statement.
"I figured that wearing my glasses weren't the way to go, when attempting to look pretty." Cathy shrugs, hand moving to fiddle with a golden necklace that had previously been resting against her chest.
"What kind of frames do you have?" She asks, suddenly, slightly startling Parr from her soft stupor.
"Plain black. Classic nerd glasses."
"So you're telling me that you could've come looking like a sexy librarian?" Anne cocks an eyebrow, looking at Parr from beneath her lashes with a disapproving countenance. "And you didn't?"
The wine got caught in Catherine's throat, causing her to almost splatter it absolutely everywhere. Her cheeks burned ruby, flushing and suddenly her entire body was hot, the whole restaurant seemed a bit too close for comfort.
"I think you've been watching too much porn." She remarks, having recovered and taken in more wine. Anne's smug smirk drops from her face, reaction completely priceless. It was a moment Catherine wanted to pause and live in just for a few more seconds, few more minutes: from what she could tell, Boleyn didn't get out-witted very often - and when she did, she had no idea what to do with herself. "What's wrong, Annie? Cat got your tongue?"
"Only your cat, I'd hope."
"Oh how bold of you."
A comfortable silence seems to pass over them, hands still connected over the table, grasping onto one another with no intent of releasing them.
"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Anne breaks the gap, squeezing her fingers and downing the last of her wine, upon spying Cathy's empty glass.
"Let's go."
--
Anne had been giggling the whole way back to Catherine's house, giddy, and even as they stumbled up the steps she was euphoric. Her ripples of laughter only stopped when they had reached the bedroom, having already kicked off her shoes, there was hardly a moment wasted before Anne was pressed into the wall next to the door.
Cathy had elevated her, Anne's legs wrapping around her hips, falling naturally into place as much as they could, hooked and secure as Parr's hands found her thighs. She kissed her softly at first, their first binding of intimacy short and sweet and, completely insane, she might add later. Quick dabs of kisses planted across the Boleyn girl's cheek, only to be met with a teasing grin as she finally reached her lips.
Parr moves one hand to cup her jaw, never allowing her gaze to shift from her mouth and her thumb grazing across her lips, lips painted scarlet to perfection. The perfect arch of a cupid's bow and she was sure that it was impossible to be so beautiful. She just grins once more before finally kissing her; it was warm and she just knew that she was about to be covered in her lipstick, not that she cared. If Catherine woke up with her entire body covered in Anne's red lipstick, she would be over the moon.
Their lips moved in sync against each other, never quite at rest and it was a entirely different atmosphere when Cathy pulled away from her this time- it felt like a whole different universe. She chews on her bottom lip, lips curling mischievously as she pulls Anne off of the wall, fingers sliding across valleys of smooth skin to find the zipper at the back of her jumpsuit.
She left a gentle kiss against her shoulder, ever so brief before helping her lover out of her clothes, leaving her practically bare and exposed to her. But as Cathy's hands find her waist again, she shakes her head and Anne grins.
"You're not getting away that easy." Bolelyn smirks, waggling a finger teasingly and allowing it to trance down her partner's face and neck and body. And, imminently, places she had not before imagined.
--
Cathy had awoken rather early, not by anything in particular, just naturally awakening with the softest smile playing across her lips. In front of her, lays Anne Boleyn, the sheer covers falling and resting over her hip, leaving exposed her back and shoulder blades.
She smiles, arm reaching out, pulling herself closer to the Boleyn girl and wrapping itself around her, snug. Catherine buries her face in the crook of her neck, gently kissing the area and using her spare hand to move her hair, having been resting on her elbow.
Anne's neck, however, was practically red-raw and turning purple in places, all over her shoulder and collarbone and she dared not check anywhere else in the girl's slumber. It was a lot more than she remembered leaving, just put it that way. That didn't stop her from gently covering her skin in kisses to wake her up.
It took a bit longer than expected, but eventually the sleeping goddess' eyes cracked open, smiling and leaning back into Catherine's embrace.
"Good morning~" Parr hums into her neck, giving her one last kiss before pulling away. Anne, who had previously been facing away from her, turned around and pushed her face into her lover's chest, shaking her head tiredly. "You still tired, my love?"
"I suspected you'd be a top but I didn't think you'd be that good." Anne admits, and Cathy realised she was hiding the humiliation, not just her face. Her arm still rested around the Boleyn girl's waist, holding her softly in place.
"And you don't think I thought the same? I can't remember the last time I was topped and genuinely enjoyed it." Catherine sighs, closing her eyes softly as the other girls arm wraps over her.
Anne lets out a small laugh, voice still low and drawling and sleepy, before yawning and bringing her face away so that she could look at Cathy.
"I'm glad that I finally listened to Kitty and took you on a date." The gremlin speaks decidedly, a smile spreading across her lips as Catherine meets her eyes before kissing her softly and slowly. "You're rather affectionate, huh?"
Catherine recoils slightly, many alarms sounding in her head. She was just someone Anne had slept with, not a partner or a girlfriend or anyone that would get affectionate.
"Yea- yeah-" She gulps, time seeming to slow. Her eyes dart across her face rapidly, frantically searching for a sign of displeasure, discomfort, annoyance. She found nothing, though. The only thing she was sure of was Anne closing the gap she had created between them, and running her fingers to draw playful drawings across Parr's exposed back.
"So… how would you feel about a second date?"
#Parrlyn AU Multiverse#catherine parr x anne boleyn#parr x boleyn#boleyn x parr#parrlyn#parrleyn#anne boleyn x catherine parr#catherine x anne#catherine parr#anne x catherine#six fandom#six fanfiction#six the musical#six#six fanfic#Tiefs are real and valid
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pretty in pink | shownu [mx]
[GENRE] smut, fluff
[COUNT] 4k+
[PAIRING] fem. reader x Shownu
[WARNINGS] dom. Shownu, unprotected sex, public sex/sex in a public place, cream pie, oral (f. receiving), fingering, overstimulation, spanking, daddy kink, dirty talk, mirror play?, lingerie
[AU] sugar daddy au
[A/N] as requested by anon however it is completely self indulgent, I adore this concept and had so much fun writing it!
Shownu had been the one to suggest spending some quality time together, quietly and casually mentioning it over a dinner date slotted into his crammed schedule. It had come as a pleasant surprise, the mere thought of spending alone time with him, without the pressures of work or expectancy looming overhead, sounded almost too good to be true. In fact you half expected him to cancel last minute, even as you waited to be picked up, basking in the late afternoon sun.
His car pulls up outside, a flashy sports model that looks dangerously small and sounds deafeningly loud and waits for you to hop in. You smile excitedly and peck him on the cheek, admiring his less formal, casual attire to fit the weather. Always the gentleman, he asks how you are, how your day’s been, how your work is going and you happily provide answers, chatting away over the music.
You’d only known him for a year, casually dating at first in exchange for lavish gifts, holidays and covered bills. But something was different about Shownu; he seemed almost too genuine and too doting to fit the stereotypical sugar daddy role, drawing you in no longer with his money and promise of expensive things, but with his debonair and charm.
You pull up into one of the country’s most prestigious and luxury high streets, your eyes bulging with unrestrained excitement as you ogle all the flashy signs and colourful displays. He lets you have free reign and let’s you decide on where to go, completely indulging in your every wish. He never says no and instead prefers to hang back and watch your face light up, a small smile tugging at the corners of his usually stoic lips.
In more ways than one he’s grown incredibly fond of you and has made a conscious effort to spend more time together. Not just to fulfil a quota or to meet the criteria of a prior agreed contract, but to get to know you better. He now leaves trivial tasks in the hands of his assistant and cancels unimportant meetings all in the hope of putting that time to better use with you. It’s awfully telling, the way you look at him when you think he isn’t watching, accompanied by your bold advances and displays of affection in the past few months. A little nagging voice at the back of his mind warns him that it could just be his imagination, that it’s all act in order to gain a bigger allowance but the reason in his heart tells him otherwise.
He carries half of your bags on one arm and you on the other, your warm palm absently caressing his bicep. You struggle to hold your half of the load, their awkward shapes making them hard to carry.
“You should just give them to me, I don’t mind holding them,” Shownu suggests, tucking his sunglasses into his shirt, flashing his toned chest beneath the fabric.
“No,” you refuse, teetering awkwardly into the next shop, sighing when you’re met with the relieving blast of cool air. “You’re my man, not my slave. I’m more than capable.” You blush as you realise all too late your little slip up, fanning yourself even harder when he raises his eyebrows in playful question. “I mean–”
“I know what you meant, baby,” he laughs and follows you to the store concierge where you dump all your bags behind a screen, granting you a hassle-free shopping experience.
The store is lowly lit, black glossy floors and dark walls accentuating the gaudy and brilliant items on display. It’s empty at this time of day, giving you all the space and time you need to carefully pick something out. Shownu looks highly unbothered at being surrounded by lingerie – something many other supposed men you’d been with had freaked out about – and even picks out a few he likes for you to try on.
Having chosen your favourite picks, you clutch your little selection of knickers and tot over to the dressing room, Shownu hot on your heels.
“I should get you one of those,” he smirks, pointing to a discreet shelf stacked with sex toys. “For when you’re missing me.”
You swat his hand down and stare at him incredulously, the tips of your ears flaming hot. “No!” You whisper fiercely out of embarrassment, though there is a little truth to his suggestion. Often times you’ve been desperate; lonely in the small hours of the night with nothing but lewd thoughts and your fingers, Shownu’s name tumbling past your lips as you work yourself to release, wishing you had more. Perhaps it wasn’t such a bad idea.
The store clerk leads you to the lavish dressing rooms, directing you to the biggest and most discreet. It only has one spacious stall, all dark woods and mahogany with gold accents, decorated with potted flowers and fairy lights. A plush loveseat is positioned opposite, allowing Shownu to rest his feet while you try on your picks. She leaves and shuts the door behind her, leaving just the two you alone.
“I like the yellow one,” Shownu suggests, spreading his legs wide as he sits back on the cushions. “Try that one on first.”
You shrug and disappear behind the heavy black curtain, laying out all the sets on the rail. The yellow one is quite eye catching, you think, deep mustard accented with a white trim. Your next pick is a cute pastel pink set with suspenders and stockings to match and the last one is a deep emerald and black cami suspender.
You shuffle around while you undress, your toes peeking out from the bottom of the stall. The bra is a size too small but the overall colour is extremely flattering. You twirl around in front of the wall mirror, admiring the way the colour makes your skin glow. “Nice choice,” you call out, smiling at your reflection.
“Do I get the pleasure of seeing?”
You push past the curtain, sudden shyness making you draw into yourself. Despite your brief time as a model and your arrangement with Shownu, you’re actually quite a diffident girl. You’d lacked the definite confidence your peers and competitors had and it had taken a while for you to get comfortable with him. It was never personal, never the fault of others, but rather a result of years of self-doubt and second guessing yourself. If anything, Shownu had brought out the best in you.
He hums in clear approval and motions for you to spin around to give him a full view. “You look gorgeous, baby. I love it.”
You’re suddenly aware of how intimate the setting is and the stark contrast between your near naked body and his fully clothed frame. You lean against the frame of the stall in a provocative way, his words boosting your confidence and making your heart flutter. His eyes darken and roam the planes of your body, his jaw drawing taught. A frisson of excitement ripples along your skin, your hair standing on end in response to his lingering gaze.
“I think you should try the others,” he clears his throat and sits forward, trying to hide his evident excitement growing beneath his jeans.
You nod in agreement and disappear once again behind the curtain to try on the cami suspender. It fits much better, tightly hugging your curves and accentuating your favourite features. You tug on the stockings and fasten the suspender clips to complete the look, stepping out more confidently this time.
A low groan sounds at the back of Shownu’s throat, his chest falling heavier with his laboured breathing. His eyes are hungry, almost starved and he shifts eagerly on the chair. “This one...”
“I like this one,” you smile, running your hands over the satin fabric and along your curves, drawing his attention to where you want it most. You saunter over to him, standing in between his legs, inviting his touch.
He almost looks relieved, his mouth hanging open in awe at your beauty. “Baby,” he whispers, his hands finding your waist, hurriedly tugging you down onto his lap. You sigh as his hands trail along your thighs, catching on the frills and lace, desperate to touch your skin. “You look so fucking good. I don’t think I can wait until we get home.”
His confession has your thighs tightening in anticipation, the mere thought of getting up to no good in a place where you can get caught is enough to make your core throb. Your breath catches in your throat, a little whine escaping as he presses kisses to the column of your neck, your back arching to offer him more skin. His calloused palm tugs at your garments, eager to remove the barrier between him and your skin.
“Shownu,” you sigh half-heartedly in poor effort to make him stop. But in all honestly, the whole situation is terrifyingly new and although it’s not usually something you’d go for, your curiosity – and arousal – get the better of you.
He pulls down one strap with his teeth, nipping along your shoulder and sucking marks into your skin you know will show up tomorrow. Your heart skips a beat at the intimate and personal action; you’d slept with Shownu a few times before so that was nothing new but he’d never... marked you. Things were usually pretty vanilla, straight to the point and satisfying each other’s needs. But you can’t deny that for the past few weeks and from the very moment you walked into the changing room, things had felt different. A static, heavy electricity that seemed to spark every time your gazes held, a thick tension that shrouded and guided the two of you into complete intimacy.
“Wait,” you breathe before he can get any further south. He looks up, pained and needy but also alert, afraid of making you feel uncomfortable. “Wait. I want to– to try the last one.” The heat from your core seems to bloom and spread across your body, your cheeks aflame.
He swallows what’s left of his composure and presses a kiss to your shoulder and you scuttle away into the changing room to rush in to try the final piece on. It’s by far your favourite, from the lace embellishments all the way down to the little crystal heart hanging on the underwire between the cups. It may be a typical, cliche colour, lumped in the same category as black and red lingerie, but it’s perfect in your eyes. Original.
You’re still adjusting your garments, making sure nothing is askew when the curtain opens in the reflection of the mirror. You spin around on your heel, ready to berate Shownu for ruining the surprise but the look in his eyes is dangerous.
His lips find yours before you can blink, crashing down into a hungry, open-mouthed kiss and his hands circle your waist, pulling you flush, so that there’s barely a sliver of space separating your bodies. Everything about him is desperate, as if he’s making up for lost time or making the most of what little time he has, you’re not sure. But something in your chest unravels, a familiar feeling of relief satiating your nerves. Of all the times you’d been intimate with Shownu, this already is by far the most special.
He pulls away, giving you both time to catch your breaths. “I couldn’t wait,” he pants, marvelling your figure in the new set. He moans once again in approval, his eyes never losing focus. “God, I want you. I want you so bad.”
“Then take me.” You lunge forward, capturing his lips once again, savouring his flavour on your tongue. He tastes of tobacco and cherry drops, the sweet tang coating your lips and seeping into your mouth. Your kisses are kittenish, almost impish; undoubtedly teasing yet curiously sating.
His hands discover a mind of their own and untangle themselves from your hair to explore the rest of your body, squeezing and pinching almost painfully in all the right places. You sigh into his mouth and press your body close once more, impatiently waiting for the next inevitable scene to unfold.
He pulls away again, this time abruptly and crouches down on his knees, his palms traversing your stockinged legs. He kisses a trail from the bottom of your thigh to your hips and finally to the apex of your thighs, growing dangerously close to your heat. The butterflies in your stomach silently rage, a flurry of excited wings turning your stomach in anticipation. You look down at him with needy eyes but you’re met with a dour, challenging stare, almost questioning your ability to handle him.
He grips your thigh and lifts your leg up, resting your foot on the cushioned seat, exposing your heat to him. You cover your face, ashamed of how deprived you are, almost embarrassed as you bare yourself to him. He mutters dirty nothings and compliments into your skin, his fingers drawing deliberate circles on your clothed clit. Your body jerks in response, limbs tightening and tensing out of your control.
“Shownu,” you whine, his name getting caught in your throat as another mewl tumbles past your lips.
He hushes you gently, in a way that almost feels as if he’s chiding you for being so impatient, before finally hooking his finger in your panties and pushing them to one side. The stuffy air of the changing stall hits your core, making you feel even more exposed and sends a shiver running down your spine.
“I need you to be quiet for me, kitten. You can’t let anyone out there know what a dirty little girl you’re being. Can you do that for me? Can you keep quiet for daddy?”
You nod silently, your lip held tightly between your teeth in a bid to stay silent. Though you don’t realise how much of a challenge it is until his tongue dives into your folds, making quick work of your clit. You gasp, a sharp intake of breath at the feeling as he eats you out like a man starved. Heat pools in your stomach and your legs begin to shake, and sensing you’re close, he slows down, slipping a finger into your entrance.
A moan escapes the confines of your tightly sealed mouth, loud enough to be heard, but it only eggs him on further, a second finger slipping in, his hand pumping in time to his laps. He moans against you, the vibrations sending magical sensations straight to your bundle of nerves, and your head falls back against the wall, your chest heaving with laboured breaths.
When he pulls away his mouth is glistening with your arousal, his pouty pink lips swollen and abused from the kissing before. “You taste so good, baby.” He whispers wantonly, his fingers maintaining their relentless pace. “So sweet, I can’t get enough.”
He swirls his tongue faster than before, fingers pumping furiously to bring you closer to the edge.
“Oh, fuck,” you curse, one hand tangled in his hair, fisting his locks awfully tight. Your other hand is tightly fisted in your mouth, teeth sinking into your supple flesh to stop any further sounds from escaping. The lewd squelching of his ministrations only serve to turn you on further, and with a final brush of your g-spot, you unravel all over his lips, a long drawn out whine filling the room.
You don’t know how it’s possible for you to get any wetter but it seems you do, a mixture of his spit and your slick dampening your inner thighs as he continues to work you past release. You squirm at the overstimulation, crying out with your hands pressing his head closer.
“Fuck, that was so hot,” he gets to his feet and presses a few sloppy kisses to your lips, your mouth opening to taste yourself on him. “But I want to see your pretty face when I make you cum. Take those off.”
He nods towards your soaked knickers and you don’t hesitate to step out of them; the less between you and him, the better.
He fumbles around with his zipper, fingers moving with practiced dexterity and his cock finally springs free, dribbles of precum leaking from the tip. You suck in a breath as he hoists both your legs around his waist, pinning your back to the wall and holding you by the thighs. You arms snake around his neck, tightening as you feel the head poke your entrance. Your thighs clench around him, prompting him to hurry.
“Please,” you plead, rutting your hips into his, trying to find his length.
“Please what? Use your words, kitten. Tell me what you want.” His hands grip your ass tightly, keeping you perched above the tip of his cock, his eyes locked onto yours, demanding you answer and voice your dirty desires out loud.
“I want you to fuck me, daddy, please,” and it’s almost pathetic, how desperate you sound, but you’re way beyond caring. Your head spins with ridiculous levels of lust and unfulfilled promises and you’re desperate to satiate every last one of them.
Without warning he lowers you onto his cock, his length sliding in and bottoms out inside you. Your mouth falls agape, a gasp rattling your rib cage. Shownu buries his head in your neck, suckling red splotches all over your skin, his teeth sinking in to bruise.
“Oh, fuck,” you cry out as his hips start to thrust at a steady pace, your position against the wall allowing him direct access to your g-spot. “Oh my god,” your fingers find purchase in his locks in a desperate attempt to stay grounded, but Shownu has other ideas.
His breath is searing against your neck, muttering how pretty you look in pink, flustered and needy for his cock. Blessed with sizeable girth and length, he fills you up to the brim, each thrust more delicious than the last. His eyes are fixated on the sight below, staring in awe at the way he disappears inside you, the way you coat his length with your juices. “Fuck, baby, you feel so good. So tight, I can feel you squeezing around me.”
His hands knead at your supple flesh, squeezing tight before one hand flies up to knead at your breast through the lacy bra. His thumb flicks over your clothed nipple, eliciting a hushed gasp which he captures in his mouth. Your other hand grasps at the curtain, holding on for dear life as he pistons his hips relentlessly.
“Look at you, dirty little slut. So hungry for daddy’s cock,” he pants in your ear and grabs your jaw in his hand, forcing you to look at yourself in the mirror.
To say you’re a mess would be an ultimate understatement but something about your dishevelled state only adds to the feeling in your gut. Shownu hoists you up even further, bouncing you on his length, so much so his grip on your thighs causes one of the stockings to rip. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you remember the lingerie hasn’t even been bought yet and you feel ashamed of yourself for behaving in such a way, making a mess of such perfect garments.
He growls, low and sinister in his chest as his hips stutter. Your hands slide under his shirt, nails digging into his skin and silently begging him not to stop. Slowing inside you, he senses your discomfort, your thighs aching and burning with the position he’s holding you in. He lowers you to the floor and bends you over the seat in front of the mirror so that, not only can your see your own reflection, but his too.
You flinch as his hand comes down on your bare ass, the sound ringing through the stall, your eyes squeezing shut and anticipating the next strike. He spanks you again, groaning as he watches your skin bloom a pretty shade of rose. You clench around him in response, your skin stinging, his lips lifting into a wicked simper. “You like that?” His voice is low and deep, slow and sensual, evoking the deepest feelings of salacity within you.
You nod, too lost in the countless sensations to give a comprehensible answer. Though it doesn’t seem Shownu is too fond of your silence, his hand coming down against your ass again but with more conviction.
“Yes? Yes, what?” His hips move at a torturously slow pace, your own hips pushing back to try and meet his and fill you up.
“Yes daddy,” you choke back a sob, forgetting that anyone could walk in at any moment.
He struggles to hold back as he feels himself close to release but is determined to satisfy you first. He laces his hand in your hair and pulls your head back, your back arching perfectly, dipping and dimpling in all the right places. You have a clear view of the both of you, sweaty and slick with each other’s love, panting and heaving.
“Please,” you sob, your legs shaking as the familiar knot in your stomach tightens with tension. “Please let me cum. Please.”
“You’ve been so good for me, baby,” he sighs into your ear, his thrusts becoming sloppier. “You’ve taken daddy’s cock so well.”
His other hand snakes around to your bud, rubbing circles with his nimble fingers and your cries start to crescendo, getting higher and louder with each stroke.
He bites his lip, stifling his groans as he leans forward and looks you in the eyes through the reflection in the mirror. “Cum for me, baby.”
And his eyes never leave your face as your legs start to give way, your orgasm powerfully ripping through your body and making your walls flutter around his pulsing cock. Your eyes squeeze shut but not before you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror; Shownu a sweaty mess, panting down your neck, benhind you.
“That’s my baby,” he praises while continuing to fuck you through your orgasm, your heat throbbing from the overstimulation but edging you a little closer to the promise of another. “Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum, squeezing around me like that.”
And with a last, definite thrust and sinful, guttural groans he spills inside you, painting your walls with his seed. You watch as his face contorts into one of pain and mass effort, the relief of his release evident in the way his muscles relax.
“Shit,” he huffs under his breath, peppering the nape of your neck with kisses, reluctant to pull away. Still inside you he reaches over to grab your discarded underwear. “One more thing,” he whispers pulling away, fixing the panties and pulling them up. “Keep this on.”
“Shownu!” You exclaim, eyes widening in shock as his cum seeps from your entrance, soiling the cotton lining of the lace knickers. Your cheeks flush again, this time out of embarrassment. “I– I haven’t even chosen which one I want. And we haven’t even bought them yet–”
“I’m buying all three.” He states matter-of-factly, tucking himself back in and smirking at your stunned silence. He watches you carefully as you get dressed, removing the ruined stockings to replace them with another pair. “I want you to stay the night.” He blurts out avoiding your gaze, snapping the tag off to hand over to the clerk.
You bite back a smile and flutter your eyelids up at him, peering abashedly from beneath your eyelashes, a flurry of foreign feelings keeping your heart afloat. “I’d like that,” you mumble into your chest.
He quickly kisses your forehead, his thumb tracing over your lips before checking you both over to ensure you look as presentable as possible. You head over to the counter, absolutely mortified at the thought of having to interact with another living person, squirming in discomfort at the feeling between your legs, but it seems like the woman at the register is none the wiser. You place the sets on the counter, along with the empty hanger and Shownu slides the tag across, tapping it intently with his finger.
“Can I get another two of these, please?” He clears his throat and adjusts his collar once more, stealing a glance at you from the corner of his eye. “She looks pretty in pink.”
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