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albertasunrise · 4 years ago

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Too Late - 3

Summary: You arrived with Steve Murphy in Colombia to assist in the war against Escobar, both of you are partnered with Javier Peña. The tall, dark and handsome DEA agent has a reputation for being Colombia’s Casanova but you soon learn there’s more to him than meets the eye. You realise too late… that you’re in love with him.

Pairings - Javier Peña x Reader

Warnings - Smut, Angst, Blood and Injury

Part 1, Part 2

Beeping. That’s the first thing you sense as your mind starts to come back online. Next was your head. It hurt. Why did it hurt? You were shot in the chest, weren't you? Your mind reeled as you slowly but surely regained the use of all your senses until finally, you cracked open your eyes and a familiar blonde came into view as your vision cleared.

Connie.

She was smiling at you as you tried to focus your mind, remember the events that had brought you here and then you remembered one detail vividly. It pained you as you recall it. Recall the feeling of relief that washed over you as you felt your life force slip away because you’d been at peace with the idea of dying, you were going to see him again. Only you weren’t going to now. No, now you were laying in a hospital bed alive and Javier was still very much dead.

Connie watched the changes in expressions that crossed your face as you battled with the thoughts and feels that raged inside and her brow furrowed in concern ‘How are you feeling?’ She asked sweetly, placing her hand on top of yours and pulling you from your dark thoughts.

‘Why did he save me?’ You questioned as tears started to slip down your cheeks ‘I was going to see Javi again.’ You sobbed ‘Why didn’t he let me die?’

‘What are you talking about hun? Javi’s alive.’ Connie stated in a confused tone ‘You were involved in a raid yesterday. Javier was shot in the abdomen and you had a bullet graze your head. You’ve got a concussion and you had to have a few stitches but you're lucky, it could have been so much worse. You’ve been asleep since yesterday, the pain meds they gave you knocked you for six.’

‘No Javi’s dead.’ You said, shaking your head as the tears continued to fall ‘He died two months ago. I was shot. Steve was holding me, begging me not to go but I could see him Con. I was going to see him again but Steve must have saved me.’

‘Sweetheart no.’ Connie replied, shaking her head ‘I promise you, Javier, isn’t dead but I will be honest with you… He’s in the ICU. He’s critical. The surgery was long and he’s been placed on life support but he’s strong, he’ll pull through.’

‘Why are you doing this to me?’ You asked, your face displaying the betrayal you felt at her deception ‘Why are you lying to me? You helped me heal. Helped me come to terms with losing him and now you’re telling me he's alive?’ You spit ‘What’s your end game, Connie?’

‘I’m not lying to you I promise you.’ She assured you ‘It was all a dream sweetie. Javier hasn't died. The raid was yesterday. It was probably a side effect of the medication they gave you.’

‘Prove it.’ You growled ‘Take me to him.’

Connie nodded, slipping out of the room to ask for a wheelchair before returning and helping you out of your bed and into the chair. She pushed you through the clinical, blue, hallways of the hospital and you looked up when you finally reached your destination to see ICU written in large, bold, letters above the entrance. A nurse kindly held the door open for you both as Connie wheeled you inside. The ward felt darker, more menacing but none of that mattered once she came to a stop outside one room, the door open. Steve was sat beside the bed, sleeping on his arms that wear resting on the edge of the bed. He looked tired, dark black backs under his eyes and you had found yourself wondering how much sleep he'd had since yesterday. Your eyes only lingered on the blonde for a moment longer before they drifted up and sure enough… There he was.

Javier Peña.

A thick tube jutted from between his straight teeth, held in place by a ribbon that wrapped around his head and disappeared in his dark curls. The next thing you noticed was the number machines that surrounded him. He seemed to have tubes jutting out of him left, right and centre, all of them keeping him alive in one way or another.

‘See.’ Connie said softly ‘He’s still with us.’ She finished, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder.

‘Bug?’ Steve’s voice suddenly pierced through the veil and you turned your head to look at him, his eyes still red from what could be sleep but could easily have been crying also ‘How you feeling?’

‘Head hurts but I’m okay.’ You replied plainly ‘How is he?’ Asked Connie.

‘Doc came by about half an hour ago.’ Started Steve as he rubbed his eyes with the balls of his palms ‘No change but he assures me that’s positive. He’s not getting any worse.’

‘That’s good.’ Connie pipped up as she gave your shoulder a squeeze.

‘What are his chances?’ You questioned, voice wobbling a little as you remembered the pain you’d felt when you’d learned he was dead.

‘Doc said it could go either way.’

‘Cut the crap Steve and just tell me.’ You growled, eyes burning into him.

‘The bullet did a lot of damage.’ He stated plainly, scrubbing a hand over his face ‘It pierced his colon, they managed to repair it but… Well, he’s developed a pretty nasty infection… it took so long for medical support to get to you both. He’s on some pretty strong antibiotics but they aren’t a guarantee. It also lodged in one of his kidneys which they had to remove it. He lost a lot of blood…’

‘Chances Steve.’

‘Around forty per cent.’

The words rang in your ears. He had a forty per cent chance of living, which mean he had a sixty per cent chance of dying. You rolled yourself closer to his bed, studying him closely. You noted the way his skin glittered with sweat, his skin pale and eyes sunken. He looked so unwell and your heart broke at the sight.

‘He’s got a fever of a 104. They can’t seem to get it down but it’s not going up either.’ Continued Steve as he stood from his chair ‘Just have to hope the antibiotics start to work soon.’

You simply nodded, eyes fixed on Javier as your brain processed everything. Less than half an hour ago you’d woken convinced he was dead, that you’d gone two months grieving him but then you get shot, you woke up, and here he is. Was this real? Or was what Connie described as, a dream, real? It had felt real. The pain you felt when Steve had broken the news to you. The despair, the heartache. It had felt real when that man had fucked you, had made you cum. All of it had felt so real and yet here and now felt just as real as all of that had.

‘I’m going to go get some coffee Bug.’ Stated Steve as he walked towards his wife ‘I’ll give you some time alone with him.

You just nodded again, not wanting to tear your eyes away from him in case he disappeared like a puff of smoke on a windy day. You managed to push yourself up and out of the wheelchair and into the seat that Steve had occupied a few minutes before, it was still warm, along with the patch of bed he’d rested his head on as he slept. You held Javier's hand and brought it to your lips, wincing slightly at the heat that radiated from his skin but you cherished the feeling of being able to touch him again. Feel his skin against yours. You prayed to whatever deity that was listening for this to be real, for everything that you’d been through to be a dream and that this right here, was reality. You couldn't bear the idea of waking up to learn that Javi was really gone and you were alone.

‘Please don’t leave me, baby.’ You begged against the back of his hand ‘I love you. Please stay with me.

You were woken by alarms and the sound of urgent voices. You cracked open your eyes as someone pulled you away from Javier’s bed and suddenly your heart started to race.

‘What’s going on?’

‘His fever’s spiked.’ The doctor stated ‘We need to get his temperature down.’

‘Javi?’ You sobbed, eyes fixed on him as you were placed back in your wheelchair and removed from his room.

‘What’s going on?’ Questioned Steve as he and Connie sprinted into view ‘Bug what’s happening ?’

‘He uh… they said…’ You couldn’t seem to focus, your eyes locked on Javier as the doctors worked ‘Fever spiked.’

‘Shit.’ Connie breathed and both you and Steve looked at her.

‘What Con?’

‘If his Fever has spiked it's likely his Sepsis has developed into Septic Shock.’ She stated plainly, eyes flitting between the two of you.

‘And that's bad?’ Steve questioned.

Connie nodded grimly, her face falling as she saw the anguish that crossed your face. She hadn’t told Steve what had happened when you’d woken up but she could imagine what was going through your head. You get him back only to face losing him again. She watched you as you watched him, your mouth moving in silent prayer as the doctors and nurses fought to stabilise him. Finally, after what felt like an eternity the room started to empty and a doctor came to a standstill across from you all with a solemn expression on his face.

‘I’m not going to sugar coat this. He’s not doing well.’ He started ‘We were treating him for the sepsis but it appears the antibiotics weren’t responding and it’s progressed to Septic Shock. We are treating it with some aggressive medication but I need you all to prepare yourselves. He’s weak and his body’s struggling to fight this. We’ve done all we can… it’s down to him now.’

You nodded numbly as your eyes trailed back to Javi, his prone form laying there deathly still. You wheeled yourself back inside, pushing yourself to your feet and wobbling slightly before steadied yourself with his bed and placed a small kiss on the corner of his mouth.

‘I need you to listen to me Javi.’ You start ‘I love you, Javier Peña. I love you and I need you to fight this and come home to me.’ You commanded, voice staying surprisingly even ‘I need you to come back to me, baby. I lost you once. I can’t do it again.’

You weren't sure if he could hear you. You read in books and saw in shows that sometimes people in comas could hear you. You weren't sure how much stock you put in it normally but right now you prayed he could. You hoped that if he knew you loved him, that it would give him something to fight for. Of course, you had no idea if he loved you also, you hoped he did. The way you'd been fucking lately. It wasn't frenzied like it had been in the beginning. He had been taking his time with you, worshipping you, making love to you. That had to mean something. Right?

You sat at his bedside every single day and soon a week passed. You talked to him, cleaned him, shaved him, cared for him despite protests from the nursing staff. Steve had managed to convince the nurses to let you stay with him, a small cot had then been set up in the corner for you to sleep on. The day they’d taken him off the vent and he’d taken a shaky breath on his own was the happiest you had experienced since waking up. He had then been fitted with a nasal cannula to assist with his breathing but he no longer had to have a machine breathe for him. His fever gradually started to lower, the medication finally beating the infection in his blood and finally you allowed yourself to hope. The nurses brought you meals every day, you'd been surprised by how good they were compared to some that you'd experienced in the States. There was one nurse that came regularly to check on him, you could see in her eyes that she was taken by him and instead of feeling jealous you talked to her about him. She was British. Had come to Colombia with her husband who was a citizen. You had then learned that he had been a Government official who'd ended up getting shot and killed a few months previous. You told her about your relationship with Javier, how you were worried that you may be too late to tell him how you feel or how he might now feel the same but she'd taken your hand and told you to do it. That you'd always regret it if you didn't tell him the truth.

‘Steve and Con stopped by earlier.’ You said as you forked some hospital pancake into your mouth ‘Steve’s being getting hounded at work for news on you. I guess you’re more popular than you realised.’ You said with a chuckle.

A groan suddenly fell from Javi’s lips and you were on your feet in an instant, holding his hand tightly as you watched his face twitch. Then his hands started to move and your heart started to skip as he squeezed yours. Then finally he cracked open his eyes and those familiar brown orbs peeked through, setting you ablaze.

‘Bug?’

‘Yeah, Javi it’s me.’ You sobbed ‘I’m here.’

‘Wa-water.’ He managed to stutter out, his mouth so dry that his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.

‘Here.’ You said softly as you brought an ice chip to his mouth. The nurses had kept bringing them in case he woke up and at first you'd thought it a pointless task but now you were grateful they had.

You gave him another which he accepted graciously and then another before he finally held his hand up to stop you from giving him anymore. He scrunched his eyes shut for a few moments as the fog in his brain cleared more and more but ultimately his gaze fell on you, his chocolate brown eyes studying you carefully.

‘How you feelin’ Peña?’ You asked, grinning at him as he smiled back at you but your expression changed when his brow furrows.

‘i heard you.’ He said out of the blue and you gave him a bemused look ‘I heard you speaking to me.’

‘Yeah?’ You questioned, curious as to what it was he heard.

‘You said you’d lost me.’

‘Oh, that… yeah that’s a long story.’ You said nervously as you scratched the back of your neck, looking anywhere but at him.

‘You said you loved me.’

Your gaze shot up then, locking with his as your eyes started to prickle with new tears and you swallowed thickly, desperately trying to form just one simple word with your tongue.

‘Yes.’ You whispered, eyes wide as you started to panic.

‘I love you too.’ He replied, a single tear escaping from the corner of his eye.

Chapter 4

#javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier peña x you #javier peña x reader #javier pena #javier peña fanfiction #javier pena fanfiction #javier peña #narcos fanfiction x reader #narcos fanfiction x you #narcos fanfic #narcos fanfiction #narcos #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal

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aroaessidhe · 3 years ago

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Character descriptions from Extasia by Claire Legrand, for fanart.

Contains spoilers. link to full database in pinned post!

author pinterest

Amity Rage

my long white dress with tiny blue flowers, my brown wool cloak, my boots

thin, dark-haired

Into the tender skin above my breasts he carves the mark of Saint Amity. Two hooked lines, joined by a small triangle. The letter m

My plain work dress has disappeared, and now I wear a gown as white as the long winter, softer than anything I have touched in my life. The ribboned bodice hugs my torso, and the long lace skirts circle around me like clouds.

He holds my hood in his hands. Cloth dyed red, ties hanging limp from his fingers like a skinned creature.

ribboned yellow dress embroidered with blue flowers

Blessing Hunger

honey coloured hair

Hunger in her deep blue gown

Father

Long legs and long arms and a broad bright smile, sharp dark features like my own.

Patience Barrow

She wears a pale yellow dress with a white collar, her skirts spilled around her legs. She twists a lock of my brown hair around her fingers. I watch her face, trace its soft lines. She showed us how to weave crowns of flowers, and now one sits crooked on her head, blue and white and pink all mashed against our blanket.

beneath the tallest one stands a woman in a fine gray gown, a cloak of wolf skin slung around her thin shoulders. She is pale, as I am, with my sister’s blue eyes and golden hair. Avazel has given me the gift of turning her ghostly face whole, her arms smooth and fair.

Samuel

A smile on his tanned face, even after all he has lost. His winter pallor has already faded. He works hard in the fields. He hunts and runs. The wind tousles his thick dark hair.

his chin is narrow and sharp

Temperance

On Temperance’s right shoulder perches a fright-bird, a Devil’s creature, all the feathers gone from its head. In their place, a single white eye and gleaming scales. Beneath her dark hood,

So different she looks, wearing a gown blue as jay feathers. The sleeves are long and loose and slip from her bare white shoulders. Her dark hair is soft with a silver sheen

Mercy Vengeance

long red hair to her waist, sharp nose, sharp eyes, freckled skin. Beneath their cloaks, they wear the long white dresses saints wear on holy days, with high lace collars and ribbons at their wrists

her dress as deep a green as summer leaves dipped in shadow. She watches me with sharp eyes. Tiny braids hide in the red cascade of her hair,

green dress

Silence Sorrow

Her hair shines white in the faint moonlight.

The scarred mark of Saint Silence pokes up from her collar—four little marks, like stitches, crossing a proud straight line

long fair hair and red hood

one year older than rage

has woven a few thin braids into her hair. Sorrow wraps one of them around her finger until the end softens and curls

Sorrow solemn and pale as snow, wearing a long black dress with loose flowing sleeves.

Malice

She wears a fine low-collared gown the color of blood. Roses bloom on her cheeks, and though the set of her mouth is hard, her eyes shine bright as a spring sky. She could be as young as I or as old as Granny Dale, whose house crawls with grandchildren. Her hair is black as the mud that gathers beneath my fingernails when I work in the garden, her skin pale as the white moon I know.

her blue eyes ablaze beneath her messy cap of short black hair (it is cut short in the book)

Furor

She points to another woman farther back in the trees. Furor is fair and slight with copper hair to her waist. Flowering vines adorn her sky-blue gown. She molds from the dirt a black wolf pup with shining white eyes and a bright pink tongue.

Furor, vines of red flowers trailing from her hair, holds two crooked knives as long as her forearms

Cunning

a woman with deep brown skin and shorn black hair stands beside another white tree not far from us, her eyes closed and a strange song moving across her lips. Some words I know—berry, sky, flesh—but others I do not. She spreads her arms wide and rises slowly off the dark moss-covered ground, her bare feet pointed and her gown of sunset colors—orange and red and violet—floating in the air around her. In her right hand, she holds a white branch sanded smooth. When she opens her eyes, they are full white too, like my fright-birds’

her body draped in a gown of sunset colors, orange and red and violet.

Ire

a woman, white of skin and hair and eyes, wearing green trousers and a long white tunic hemmed in gold. She stands on a felled tree. Her words are part song and part prayer.

As she sing-speaks, bits of darkness peel away from the black sky and flutter down, forming themselves, until they alight upon her head and arms. Soon Ire wears a cloak of crows, their dark feathers all agleam.

green trousers and a gold-hemmed tunic, a great white-eyed crow on her shoulder

Gall

a pale woman with a light dusting of short black hair, shorter than a man’s. Her gown is sage green and leaves her shoulders bare

Storm

Her ruddy skin is striped with scars. One of her arms, I am shocked to see, is made of metal. Metal joints, metal fingers, as if a blacksmith has forged it for her. It moves as smoothly as my own and is polished to a gleam. I look at the fierce blue light in the woman’s eyes, her wild nest of gray hair.

wrinkled face

Liberty

brown skin and shining black hair tied back with a meadow-green ribbon. Around her are roots and mushrooms, long jagged leaves that glisten with oil. She crushes, tears, mixes, then raises her arm without looking up and murmurs one of those strange chants—part song, part plain speaking.

Jamie

A girl enters the room, closes the door quickly behind her, then turns to look at me. She has smooth skin, a dark brown like Cunning’s, and long black hair kept in many neat braids.

Jamie’s mother

her skin is just the same brown. The same dark eyes, the same black braids. She wears a long pale shirt to her knees, gray trousers, dark boots.

dress is a million shades of blue—royal and peacock, periwinkle and cerulean. Sleeveless with a high collar. Form-fitting bodice, skirts falling around my legs like waterfalls. It’s exactly the kind of dress I’m always drawn to when I browse the archives for old fashion editorials.

gray women etc

Above me towers a woman, silent and gray, thin and bent, five heads taller than any man I have seen. Her long arms trail to the ground, as if they have sprouted from it. The rest of her drifts formless in the air, disappearing into the night. Wild dark hair to her waist, wide toothless mouth hanging open, and though she has no eyes—that gaping mouth is the only thing I can see on what might be her face—I know she is watching me, waiting for me to speak.

Her mouth opens wider, a vast hole, and out of it drift a few buzzing black flies. Deep inside her throat shines a curve of silver, and though I know it is foolish, I cannot help but lean closer. What is that thing?

I hold still and look upon her face, once smooth and now cracking, now peeling away in thin shreds, her mouth widening, her skin stretching around it, and I will remember this, I will always remember this, I will hold it in my heart and mind forever. Then, suddenly, my mother cries out and staggers back from me. She groans, a wordless throaty cry, and looks away, hiding her face. Flesh falls from her body like shredded leaves. Flies buzz out from between her fingers. I know I should not, but I hurry toward her all the same, crying

#extasia #claire legrand #char desc database

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thenovelartist · 5 years ago

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Wedding Nights - MLQC headcanons

Steamy but SFW

I saw some post on tumblr begging for wedding night stuff after these wedding cards were released. I don’t write NSFW, but still kinda want something along those lines, so here. XD

Gavin

While the boy DID spend hours agonizing over finding the perfect engagement ring before ultimately getting a custom one, Gavin could not have cared less about the details of the wedding.

As long as he got to marry the love of his life, he was fine with anything.

He doesn’t care about the details of the wedding night, either.

Much.

He wouldn’t argue, but he would prefer if said wedding night just took place at home. No hotel, no anything big or fancy or frilly. Just them safely tucked away in their new place where he knew it was secure.

Only decorated with candles and flowers because Minor (And Kiki and Willow) told him to.

Doesn’t get the appeal, but if it made his bride happy, then he’d do it.

After the reception, Gavin literally flies home with the love of his life in his arms.

They enter through the window. Because of course they do.

When he closes the windows and curtains, his wife takes the opportunity to hug him from behind, pressing a kiss right between his shoulder blades.

He feels it through all layers of clothing and immediately colors red.

The night starts off innocently for a wedding night. Sweet, fluttering kisses that are interrupted by soft giggles as they held each other close.

Then one of those kisses lingers a little long, putting aside the innocence of their actions.

Gavin realizes he doesn’t know how he’s going to survive the wedding night when his bride runs her hands up his abs to his shoulders, slipping under his jacket to slide it down his arms.

He’s going to die. A sweet death, but he’s dying, nevertheless.

By the time his bride is unbuttoning his shirt, he realizes he should try getting her out of her dress.

Thankfully, she had taken pity on her new husband and had found one with a zipper in the back.

Not that lace or buttons wouldn’t be pretty, but he wasn’t well adept to such things.

He was thankful for the consideration.

When the dress hits the floor, Gavin’s already shirtless.

He’s backing her up to the edge of the bed. Her knees hit the edge, and she collapses onto it.

Gavin has two seconds of clarity to realize he should help her undo her shoes and hair.

He kneels before her, taking off her shoes and kissing the tops of her feet. He loves her and will happily shower her in attention.

Then he attempts to help her with her hair.

He only got four of several pins, but he was at least gentle in doing it.

Only then does he go back to kissing his bride, laying kisses on her cheeks as the occasional “I love you” falls from his lips.

And right before she yanks him down into bed with her, he uses his evol to snuff out all the candles.

Come morning, Gavin’s plan was to make his new wife breakfast (he’d been practicing).

But when it came down to it, he didn’t want to leave her warm embrace for a long while. No reason to rush a perfectly good morning snuggling in bed with his wife

(Others under cut: long post)

Kiro

The wedding was something much different than most people expected. Small, private, close friends and family and a few important people only.

Most importantly: no fans or press! This event was specifically for him and Miss Chips. End of story.

The fans could hear about all the details at a later date.

Probably a destination wedding.

Meaning he booked the nicest room of the coolest hotel.

He personally set up everything in the room beforehand.

Roses and rose petals everywhere. Lots of candles. Music he composed himself specifically for the night. Whole shebang.

They escape their reception in a white limo, streamers decorating it along with a sign on the back that says “Just Married”.

And of course, he carries her bridal style all the way from the limo into their room, the duo laughing and giggling all the way.

They don’t settle down when they get to the room, either. They laugh and joke a bit before Kiro starts tickling his bride, meaning she retaliates until they’re both lying on the bed, snuggled together, stupid smiles on their faces.

To Kiro, it partly feels surreal. Like it was too perfect.

He can’t help but want to prove it’s real by pulling his wife closer to him, holding her tightly in his arms and laying a few reverent kisses on her face.

One for each eyelid. One on her forehead. The tip of her adorable nose. The apple of each cheek…

Then she reached up to hold his jaw, guiding his lips to hers.

That’s when the fire sparked.

He pins her to the bed, still fully clothed, kissing her like his life depends on it.

One intense kiss turns to two turns to four. Within moments, they’re already breathing heavy despite the night just starting.

Gently turns her to her side so he can get at the back of her dress.

She whines, but then those whines of protest turn to pleasure as Kiro kisses every inch of her shoulder blades.

The laced-up back of the dress is easily tackled by Kiro, who had worn practically every kind of outfit and dealt with every kind of fastener under the sun.

He’s able to undo it with his eyes closed; feeling for the edge of the ribbon and tugging the bow free before hooking his finger onto each cross section of ribbon, slowly working it looser and looser.

It’s not a mad rush to get free of their clothes. Instead, it’s a piece of his tux here and there that his bride works free before tossing to who-knew-where while he slowly slides the dress lower and lower on her body, kissing her newly revealed skin as it went.

And this went on until the only fabric on them were the sheets.

The morning found these two fast asleep. There were no phones or alarms to wake them up.

And neither wanted to wake the other, meaning they pretend to be sleeping for another hour and a half just so they can relish the feeling of being with each other.

Victor

The wedding was big and traditional and the classiest event of the freaking century.

Victor let his lovely bride decide on most of the details, though he occasionally vetoed something he didn’t like.

The one thing he was extremely picky on was the catering and wedding cake.

For their escape afterwards, of course he found the classiest honeymoon suite in the area.

Had the staff handle setting the room up per his request.

Champagne and candles. Vases of flowers decorating the room, but no petals covering the bed. That’s just a mess.

Carries her to the awaiting black limo to escape from their reception. Not decorated in anything tacky, thank you.

He escorts her like a gentleman up to their room, laying a couple kisses on her hands along the way.

Carries her over the threshold.

Sets her down in their room and lets her marvel over the finery of it as well as the stunning view.

He couldn’t help but offer her the champagne, and so, they sit together, his wife curled up in his lap while they sip the sweet booze that they didn’t get a chance to enjoy much of at their reception while they watch the twilight fade completely to night.

Honestly, Victor enjoyed this more than their entire reception. Private quiet time holding his wife? He could get used to this.

Eventually, it got chilly, meaning it was time to migrate inside.

After Victor shut the door and curtains, his bride asked him for help getting out of her dress.

So. Many. Buttons.

And they’re so small and round, traveling from her shoulders to past her hips. How long did it take to get her into this?

After struggling with three buttons, complaining all the while, Victor gave into the desire of ruining the perfectly good dress that she was only going to wear this once anyways.

At the sound of fabric ripping, his wife gasps as she spins around, looking at the buttons that are now bouncing across the carpeted floor.

The horror on her face actually amuses Victor, though he doesn’t let out a chuckle until she herself starts laughing.

It’s an unrestrained laugh that Victor knows he has the privilege to hear the rest of his life.

Can’t help but cuddle her close, pressing a couple fleeting kisses to the side of her face.

With her dress barely hanging off her shoulders, she helps Victor with unbuttoning his shirt.

Once he’s stripped down to his underwear, he leans forward to finally press an actual kiss to her lips for the first of MANY times that night.

During which, he’ll slide the barely-hanging-on dress off her shoulders, leaving her in her undergarments as well.

He picks her up off the ground, and though she gasps in surprise, she ends up looping her arms around his shoulders and legs around his waist, allowing him to carry her off to bed.

Morning is signaled only by the time on the clock, a time Victor has programmed himself to wake up at every morning.

But unlike any other morning, he happily stays in bed beside his wife, cherishing this time with her as he smiles down at her still sleeping form.

Lucien

He would be happy with anything. But, preferred (and got) a smaller, quieter wedding.

Outdoors would be lovely, on a nice, spring day.

Has no preference where the wedding night takes place.

If at home, then he spends time decorating. Like, the whole house. Because it’s now theirs as a married couple.

Trail of rose petals into the bedroom, which is now set up with candles and flowers and music. Lucien even put up a canopy on the bed.

He drives her away from their reception. This is their getaway, and he really doesn’t want a chauffer intruding. Just them is how he wants it to be.

Though the orphanage kids had a fun time leaving notes for them in the back seat and decorating the outside of the car with streamers and cans and the “Just Married” sign on the back window.

They walk up to their apartment together. Then Lucien holds his hand over hers as they put the key in the lock to open the door to their house, together.

Then swoops her up in his arms and kicks the door shut behind them.

He hadn’t planned on carrying her to the bedroom, but that’s what ended up happening.

Set her gently on the edge of the bed.

Long. And. Slow. Kisses.

Each kiss is reverent on her, because she’s the most precious thing in his world.

He’s got patience in spades, so he’s going to take his sweet time lavishing his new wife with love and affection.

As for the line of buttons on his wife’s dress, there’s no problem with that.

Because with every button that’s undone, more skin that he can kiss is revealed.

He starts at the neck of her dress, his kisses landing on her ear and jaw as he works on undoing the buttons one by one.

And when he gets to the middle of her shoulder blades, he moves that attention to her neck, leaving lingering kiss after lingering kiss on every inch of skin that’s revealed.

By the time he’s at her hips, his wife is laying face down on the bed, whining and whimpering at his attentions to her spine.

Does not help that his hands are wondering up the skirt of her dress, rubbing her legs as he continues to undo the buttons one handed.

He pretends he’s got this all under control when in reality, it’s actually a little hard on him.

He did not anticipate how severe a reaction to his wife’s reactions he would have.

When he frees her from the dress, slowly pulling it off her, she seizes a moment to tackle him back to the bed and return the favor.

Thinks he can hold it together.

Is proven wrong and flips her back over on the bed once she finishes unbuttoning his shirt. Restraint is at a new low for Lucien the rest of the night.

Morning sees the rare sight of his wife awake before him.

However, he was awake later into the night when she was asleep, so just as he got to watch his bride sleep and relish the preciousness of something so simple, his wife got to return the favor that morning.

#mlqc #mlqc headcanon #headcanons #mlqc gavin #mlqc kiro #mlqc victor #mlqc lucien #fluff!

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maatryoshkaa · 5 years ago

Text

young god | chapter 11

chapters: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11| 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | epilogue |

word count: 5.3k

warnings: ryu says: be extremely careful with this one. extremely triggering; extreme descriptions of violence, domestic abuse, sexual abuse of a minor, child abuse, foul language, traumatic/suggestive descriptions

description: Han Jisung finally recounts the dark events of his past, revealing just what made him into the monster he is today. the world as you knew it has flipped on its head in the span of one night, and time is running out for you to decide who you’ll stand by.

watch the trailer here!

11| young god.

“Rock-a-bye baby, on the treetop,

And when the wind blows, the cradle will rock.”

Mama’s singing voice was soft in Jisung’s ears, her gentle fingers smoothing out the locks of his hair. He was curled up into her side, his tiny fists, which had been clutching stubbornly at her nightgown, finally loosening as his heavy eyelids drooped. Jisung couldn’t even remember what nightmare he had been having before he had cried out involuntarily and woken his mother, the warm embrace that followed immediately soothing the tightness in his chest and drying the tears on his cheeks.

Mama was always so warm. Mama was home, and Mama was safe.

This was the earliest memory Jisung could remember — every time something triggered all the flashbacks, the nightmares, he would always find himself back here — in this memory, in Mama’s arms, everything growing less and less clear every time. It was like wading through muddy waters, a thickening shroud of fog, as if his memories had become a frayed photograph — blurred at the corners and fading out of focus.

Eventually, he had stopped trying to remember altogether, and the lullaby became nothing more than white noise ringing in the back of his mind.

━━━━━━━━

“Well, aren’t you going to open it?”

The box was wrapped in gold paper, complete with a red bow and ribbon. Covered in little Santa Clauses and Christmas tree patterns, it was small, but weighted enough to make Jisung’s arms slightly sore from holding it. Father would have called him weak had he said anything, so Jisung bit his lip and sucked it up.

“Man up, boy,” he would bark, delivering a slap to the side of Jisung’s head that was hard enough to make his eyes water. “Don’t tell me I raised a little girl?”

Mama would tell him not to mind his words.

Father was watching him now, leaned back on the couch. Maybe there was a glint of impatience in his eyes, but Jisung didn’t notice it as he slowly undid the bow, fingers barely touching the paper for fear of ripping it as he unwrapped it. He never got gifts on his birthday — in fact, Father didn’t even seem to remember the date at all, and Mama never had the money to buy him anything. Christmas, though, was easier to remember.

The fluttering paper fell away to reveal a black box, and when Jisung lifted the lid it something shiny — metal? — caught his eye.

“Cost me a damn fortune. Old geezer down at Young Wings gave me a load o’ shit...”

Mama glanced over at his father, a hand hovering above his arm before withdrawing it timidly. Jisung’s attention was still fixed on the present — it was a camcorder, and brand new; the polished silver metal winked at him, and Jisung pulled it out with wide eyes. He flipped open the screen, fingers fumbling with the power button. The red recording light blinked at him like a rabbit’s eye. Grinning, Jisung held it up to his parents, smile not faltering despite Father’s disinterested eyes and Mama’s tense features.

Mama smiled into the lens. “Merry Christmas, ‘sungie.” Jisung turned away, too fascinated with the present to notice how the smile never quite reached her eyes.

They didn’t celebrate any more Christmases after that.

━━━━━━━━

“February 22nd, 2005.” Jisung cocked his head, squinting at the viewfinder as it came into focus. “Yes! That’s what I’m talkin’ about.” His tongue ran over the gap where one front tooth used to be — he’d lost his first tooth a couple days ago, but he could swear the strange, metallic taste of blood was still in his mouth. He scrunched up his face. Blood didn’t taste good; he decided he wanted as little to do with it as possible.

Jisung was sitting cross-legged on his bedroom floor, the dying rays of the sun filtering through the window and spilling onto his hair. He had been filming video logs since Christmas — dramatically narrating battles between his old teddy bear and action figurines, or pretending he was a celebrity showing guests around the house. On some days, he would prop up the camcorder and hum a radio tune stuck in his head until he fell asleep. After all, Mama said he was too little to play outside with the other kids, and Father certainly didn’t play with him.

“Darn,” Jisung mumbled as the camcorder screen went blurry again. “Why do you keep doin’ this?” He got to his feet, pacing around his room while pointing the camcorder at random items. When it still didn’t focus, he opened his bedroom door and wandered into the hallway. His father was home — Jisung hadn’t seen him all day, but he had heard sounds coming from his parents’ bedroom — and surely, Father would know what to do, right?

“Father?” Jisung called, his voice coming out more timid than he’d intended. “Um, I—I know you don’t like to be bothered, but my camcorder isn’t--isn’t working. U-um...could you, m-maybe—”

Jisung’s stutters were cut off by a loud, strange gasp that made him freeze at the door. It sounded as though someone was in pain, but not quite. The door was shut, but when he listened closely he could hear...heavy breathing...heavy breathing, and a woman’s voice.

“Mama?” His voice was barely above a whisper as one hand scrabbled for the doorknob, twisting it open. Inside, it was dark — but his camcorder was zoomed in, and Jisung watched as it finally focused on two figures on the bed. One, his father.

And two, a woman who was definitely not his mother.

Jisung’s gaze darted wildly. Clothes were strewn all over the floor — a red cashmere coat, his father’s dress shirt. His wide, confused eyes flickered up again, adjusting to the darkness. Father wasn’t hurting the woman — no, he was kissing her; she was on top of him, touching him, and he was letting her, and Mama was nowhere to be seen, and — and —

His camcorder clattered to the floor and Jisung felt his heart stop, both heads on the bed snapping in his direction.

“Baby, we have a little visitor.” The woman spoke first, the cool calmness in her voice turning Jisung’s skin to ice.

“Get out.” His father had locked eyes with him, and when Jisung’s feet stayed frozen in place, his father pushed the woman off and strode towards him. “GET OUT!”

Something in Jisung clicked and he unfroze, fingers slippery with cold sweat as they grabbed at the fallen camcorder and he dropped to his knees. His father was standing in the doorway now, Jisung scrambling to push himself away — back into the hallway, back into the light.

“If you ever speak a word of this to your mother, boy,” his father’s voice was a low rumble above his head, like thunder before a tempest. “I’ll ram that camera right into your skull.” His finger came to rest on Jisung’s forehead before pushing, hard, and Jisung fell backwards, watching his father’s dark face disappear behind the closed door. His head hit the floorboards, hard, but he crawled to his feet, breaking into a run back into his bedroom and slamming the door shut.

Jisung glanced down at the camcorder, a pounding headache beginning to ebb and flow between his ears. The red recording light was still blinking with the comical innocence of a child’s eye — as if forever oblivious to the things it had seen. He slid to the floor, feeling like he was about to throw up, and punched the button to stop the recording.

━━━━━━━━

“June 3rd, 2006.” The ice cream truck rushed past him, and Jisung lightly whistled its tune as it disappeared around the corner. “This is my neighbourhood! Here’s the basketball court—” He pointed the camcorder through a chain-link fence, where a couple of older boys were in the middle of a game. “There’s Levanter Park—” — a children’s playground surrounded by tall lavender flowers — “And in the distance, that’s Miroh Heights.” He shifted the camcorder upwards to film the tall buildings looming in the distance, behind the suburbs. “And we’re back to my house!”

Ever since Mama had started working more shifts, Jisung had been able to sneak out more without anyone noticing. When Father got home, Mama would have to leave, and vice versa.

Jisung had tried his best to forget the woman in Father’s bed — after all, he hadn’t seen her since, having begun avoiding his parents’ bedroom altogether. Sometimes, he wondered if it had happened at all. It was all so strange. It must have been a nightmare.

He swung open the front door, reaching down to unlace his sneakers — and froze. On the doormat sat a pair of red heels.

Did...Mama own red heels?

He ran into the kitchen, a familiar nauseous feeling settling in his gut. There, sitting on top of the kitchen counter, was the woman from months before. She was wearing the same cashmere coat despite the summer weather, loosely draped over her frame so her bare shoulders were exposed.

Jisung’s breath caught in his throat. Somehow, he willed his feet to move, every fibre of his being screaming for him to run, to run into his room, to run out the door, to run anywhere that wasn’t here. But instead, he lifted his camcorder, shaking as he tried to focus on her face. This was real. He needed something to show someone that this was real. Sensing the movement, the woman turned, eyes widening in surprise before a dark smirk curled across her blood red lips.

“Well, well. Look who we have here, hm? Filming something?”

“I-I won’t tell Mama,” Jisung blurted, and the woman’s face darkened. “P-please don’t tell F-Father—”

“Oh, he’s not home, pet,” she chuckled, and stood up. Jisung felt as if his feet had rooted in place, throat painfully dry as she slowly walked up to him. “It’s just you and me.”

There was a red Zippo lighter in one hand, and the other fished in her pockets as if looking for cigarettes. She lit it with a crackle that made him jump, and ran a long finger down the side of his cheek before glancing down at the camcorder in disdain. “Naughty, naughty. You look just like your daddy, though. Same pretty-boy eyes.”

She held his chin between two of her long, red nails and Jisung shrank away from the touch, the sound of his ragged breathing filling the air as his eyes brimmed with tears. “Not quite a man yet, though, are we?” The woman chuckled, her breath reeking of cigarette smoke and liquor. With a smirk that made Jisung’s gut flip, she shrugged the red coat off her shoulders, the heavy fabric hitting the kitchen floor.

She was wearing nothing but lace lingerie underneath, her catlike gaze flickering back to Jisung. “Say, mama’s boy, want me to teach you how to be like daddy?” Jisung was frozen, pupils quivering as his eyes darted back and forth. “Just give me your little camera, hm? You can touch me, too. I’ll make you feel real good.” Her hands were touching him, they were grazing his shoulders and chest and roaming lower, and lower, and —

Jisung shook his head frantically, hands shooting out to push her away — but a red-taloned hand caught his arm and halted his feeble attempts. The woman scowled, and before Jisung knew it his arm was burning — she was pressing the lit cigarette into his forearm to snuff the flame. With a choked gasp he squirmed in pain but she wouldn’t let go, red nails digging into his forearm like a snake’s fangs as his nostrils filled with the smell of her perfume and his own burning flesh. His fingers were trembling violently around the camcorder, clutching it close to his chest for dear life.

She pressed harder, and a scream of agony ripped through his throat before he could stop it, making the woman loosen her grip in surprise. Seizing his chance, Jisung yanked his arm away before a voice thundering through the house made him halt in his tracks.

“What the fuck is that?”

So his father was home.

The moment Jisung’s eyes shot up to meet the woman’s, it all made sense. She was leaning back on the kitchen table, red lips spread wide in a Cheshire Cat’s taunting smile. She was toying with him — she knew that the moment his father came down, wrenching the camcorder from Jisung’s hands would be child’s play.

Snapping out of his horrified state, Jisung finally willed his legs to move and he sprinted out of the front door. The woman’s high-pitched laughter was ringing in his ears even as he made it to the sidewalk and ran out of his neighbourhood, as far away as his legs could possibly carry him. The sky had darkened, the red hues of the sunset making him shiver involuntarily. When Jisung finally collapsed, it was in a field of lavender flowers on the outskirts of town.

He threw his head back towards the sky, and let the sobs rack his body until he lost consciousness.

━━━━━━━━

“December 31st, 2009.”

His own voice sounded foreign to his ears, barely above a hoarse whisper. His house was always so quiet — tip-toes and whispers and furtive glances, for as long as Jisung could remember, as if one wrong move would set off a bomb.

What Jisung would give for quiet in moments like right now.

He could hear shouting and banging on the other side of the house, shaking the walls and making him jolt with every sound. The moment it had begun he’d froze, bare legs hanging off the side of his bed before — as if by reflex — snatching the silver camcorder off of his dresser. He hadn’t picked it up in months — no, years — hadn’t been able to touch it since without feeling nauseous. The moment his skin brushed the cold metal, the memories would shoot through his head like electricity. The grits of dust it had collected bit into his palm now, his own erratic breathing filling the room.

“You fucking whore — you want to leave me? That it? Do I need to remind you that I’m the reason you’re still alive?”

Father. Father’s voice always carried no matter how far away he was. Jisung heard pounding on the floorboards, the sound of someone running — no, crawling; his mother’s fingernails were scrabbling at the base of the stairs. There was a crash, and the struggling stopped momentarily.

“N-n-no, pl-please—” choked sobs were closing up his mother’s throat; Jisung could hear the thick tears in her voice through the paperlike walls. “You can h-hit me, y-you can — I won’t mention your--your other woman, just--God, not in front of Jisung.”

Jisung heard his father wheeze an incredulous laugh. “Jisung,” he spat. “You should’ve gotten rid of him when I told you to, eh? I’m telling you, Ji-Eun—” his mother’s name sounded foul in his father’s mouth — “I never wanted any of this.” There was a blow, and a cry of pain. “But you just wouldn’t get rid of the baby, huh? You just had to fuck everything up, and you still bitch about how hard your life is every fucking day.”

“N-not Jisung,” his mother gasped desperately, “Chungho, he’s your son—”

“THAT BOY IS NOT MY SON!” His father’s sudden roar made Jisung leap to his feet, eyes darting around his room frantically. “I never wanted a son, that boy is a mistake you made and kept.” There were footsteps coming up the stairs now, getting louder and louder — and with a jolt of horror, Jisung realised that his father was dragging his mother towards his room.

Before Jisung knew it, there was a deafening bang on his door that nearly sent him toppling to the floor, as if a body had been slammed hard on the other side. The fighting had never happened so close before — it was always, always on the other side of the house, always downstairs, as if Mama had wanted him as far away from it as possible.

Mama always told him to stay far, far away from the danger, from Father — but it had never been this bad. Jisung would always stay in his room and pray for it to end — pretending as if the shouting, the banging, the screaming was all just static from the TV he could tune out if he tried hard enough. But he knew it had been getting worse as the years passed, Father’s drunken rages growing more and more violent; Mama’s face growing sickly pale and paler still.

The sound of his bedroom door cracking at the hinges snapped Jisung back to reality. Shaking, his eyes shot to the window, under his bed, then to his closet doors. Feeling as though his feet were dragging through wet cement, he felt his legs propel him towards the closet, not even managing to shut the door properly before his bedroom door came crashing down in an explosion of splinters and plaster.

Father was crushing Mother’s weak frame into the ground, both their faces scratched from splinters of wood. Jisung’s body was pressed against the back of the closet — he was long past the age where he could hide away from the fighting in the closet. He was taller than he was years ago, his limbs having grown awkwardly lanky and so he barely fit anymore. The camcorder shook violently between his fingers as he aimed it through the tiny crack in the closet, the small crack of light revealing a fragment of the hellish scene.

Father’s huge hands were wrapped around his mother’s throat and every fibre of Jisung’s being was on fire, every inch of his body screaming for him to open the door, to save her, to stop him. His mother’s voice echoed in his ears, telling him to stay away from the danger, to run, to stay away — but Father was killing her, he was killing her—

He lowered the camcorder, trembling fingers ready to push the door open — and froze. At that moment, just outside the closet, his mother tilted her head upwards. Her eyes met his, wide and bloodshot with fear, and Jisung felt his heart stop. Mama, I’m coming, he wanted to scream, Mama, Mama, I’ll save you—

Face contorted with pain, swollen eyes locked on his, she shook her head ever so slightly. Then Father’s fist came down with a sickening crack, and her eyes rolled backwards into her skull.

The silence that followed seemed to swallow Jisung whole.

This couldn’t be. This wasn’t happening. Mama wasn’t — Mama couldn’t be. But her whole body had fallen limp like a rag doll, and the house felt infinitely emptier, and at that moment Jisung just knew what horrible thing had just happened.

Father’s erratic breathing on the other side of the door brought him back, if only momentarily. “Shit,” the man muttered. There was so, so much blood pooling from beneath Mama’s body, slowly leaking a trail towards Jisung’s hiding place. “Bitch fucking--fucking asked for it. Had it coming…”

Little broken sobs were beginning to bubble in Jisung’s throat as the horror sank in, pathetic hiccups growing louder the harder he tried to shove them down. His vision was growing hazy. His head was throbbing. And when his father wiped his bloodstained hands on his dead mother’s body with the nonchalance of wiping on a rag, something in Jisung’s chest snapped.

Jisung tore through the closet doors, the hoarse sobs licking like flames in his throat giving way to a roar of anguish. His eyes were burning with tears, gaze tinged with crimson red, ears ringing as his face contorted into something animalistic, something he had never felt before, something that wasn’t him. Everything was spinning; the floor was collapsing beneath his feet and threatening to swallow him whole. His hand wrapped around a long fragment of broken wood, and, as if it was an anchor to the last bits of sanity he had left, Jisung let out a bloodcurdling wail and plunged it deep into his father’s neck.

The man howled in pain, wheeling his large body around, but Jisung had already sprinted through the splintered doorframe and tumbled down the stairs. There was dark, slippery liquid all over the floors that reeked of blood and alcohol, shattered glass from bottles sinking into the soles of Jisung’s feet as he ran, his father’s heavy footsteps shaking the ground right behind him.

Jisung found himself in the kitchen, and the caricature before him turned his blood into ice. His mother had been cooking: a pot boiling over on the stove sending hot water splashing onto the tiles and onto his bare feet. The corners of his vision were blurred like a fish-eye lens, the camcorder dented but still locked between the fingers in one hand and slippery with blood. Little details jumped out at him. An open jug of cooking oil. An abandoned meat cleaver on the counter.

He whipped around just in time to see his father lunge for him, and Jisung’s mind went blank. He felt his fingers find the handle of the meat cleaver, his eyes bulging out of their sockets and trained on his father’s chest — and charged forward.

Jisung drove the knife straight into his father’s flesh with a terrible force he never knew he had, a neverending scream tearing through his vocal chords -- and brought it down again, and again, over and over and over, until several eternities later, when Jisung’s screams had finally given way to quieter, quivering sobs, his hands stiffened and he dropped the knife with a clang.

Suddenly, the house felt enormous, a seemingly endless silence flooding the suffocating air. Somehow, he got to his feet and limped out of the kitchen, stumbling back up the stairs.

“Mama,” he mumbled. His vision was blurry, eyes darting everywhere and refusing to focus. The camcorder was forgotten in his hand. “Mama?” Jisung dropped to his knees by her side, shaking hands touching her hands, her blood-drained face.

Jisung didn’t know how long he stayed like that, by her side, silent wails racking his body as he felt the warmth slowly seep from her skin. Mama was always so warm, Mama was always safe, Mama was all he had—

And Mama was dead.

He wrapped his arms around her limp frame, trying to lift her from the growing pool of blood and down the stairs as best he could. His legs gave way before he had reached the bottom, toppling down the steps, and he landed hard on his side, dragging his mother’s body the entire way down. As Jisung’s hands scrabbled to push himself back up, crawling forwards into the kitchen, his mouth went dry as he caught a full glimpse what he had truly done.

Red. That was the only way he could describe the remnants of his father, a giant crimson mass soaking the white kitchen tiles. Red blood on his own raw, bruised hands. And a familiar red lighter that had skidded from his father’s pocket and was now lying in the mixture of fluids on the floor tiles. The cooking oil was still on the countertop, and the moment Jisung’s eyes fell on it there was only one thought coursing through his mind.

In a single, final motion he lurched forward and brought down the jug cooking oil, feeling it sear his eyes as it splashed all over the floor, the walls, the body — before fishing the the red lighter out from the pool of blood and vodka. With the last of his strength he flicked it open, eyes mesmerized momentarily by the tiny flame — and let it fall to the ground.

Flames erupted from the floor, enclosing him in a circle of fire and heat. It was like a bomb detonating, the walls shaking violently as black smoke flooded his lungs. Choking, Jisung’s hands blindly snatched at the flames for his mother’s body, desperately trying to lift her out of the fire. The camcorder’s acrylic strap was sticking to his palm, melting into his skin as it grew unbearably hotter, flames licking at his skin as he limped forwards, no longer able to tell if he was dragging himself out of the fire or further inside of it.

Jisung’s palm smashed the screen door and it burst open. The blast of freezing winter air that hit him as he stumbled out of the building finally leached the energy from his bones, and Jisung collapsed, skinned knees buried deep into the fallen snow. The night sky was a hollow purple, the weak lights of stars drowning in the black billowing smoke from what once was his home. Cradling his mother’s lifeless body as the house burned to the ground behind him, weeping with the agony of an angel cast to the infernos of hell, Jisung could almost hear a familiar lullaby ringing in his ears.

Rock-a-bye, baby, on the treetop

When the wind blows, the cradle will rock

When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall

And down will come baby, cradle and all.

Somewhere, a firetruck sounded, followed by the growing wail of police sirens approaching — but Han Jisung was laughing like a madman.

━━━━━━━━

“They told me that there was nothing left from the fire but bones,” Jisung had told you. “The delivery lady — Old Mrs. Hwang, I think — was the one who called the police. I woke up right before the paramedics arrived and hid the camcorder’s memory chip in my pocket. It was like I already had the reflexes of--of a murderer.”

“What happened then?” You had asked him, your voice barely above a whisper. “Did they…”

“Find out? Never. How could a ten-year-old single-handedly burn down a building? More importantly, why would he want to? I must’ve looked traumatised enough, because the whole thing was written off as a gas explosion. Faulty pipes, something leaked, and the moment my father turned on the stove the house went up in flames.

“I was famous across the country,” Jisung’s voice was ironic, but his eyes were flat and hollow. As if he had already condemned himself long ago. “Everybody pitied and swooned over the poor, orphaned boy — but after a month had passed I became a ghost again, floating from orphanage to orphanage. Then I met Minho—” his eyes snapped up at you— “And after the kidnapping case, it was like everything had snapped again. I couldn’t run from what I had done — I could still see it, every single time I closed my eyes.

“I couldn’t save her. I should’ve died that day — no,” he had chuckled hollowly, “maybe, I never should have been born.”

The moon was three-quarters full, a pale teardrop outside your bedroom window. Your mind had been in limbo for hours now, shifting endlessly back and forth between what Jisung had said, what you had heard, and everything you had seen until now.

Jisung had finally fallen asleep beside you on the bed, his eyebrows slightly furrowed but his breathing otherwise even. You had made him stay the night, a request that surprised the both of you — Jisung, who had still been respecting the distance you had forcibly wedged between the two of you — but you couldn’t bear the thought of him having more nightmares. Especially not after tonight.

Funnily enough, you thought, you’d much rather have a wanted serial killer safely sleeping next to you than out roaming the streets doing heaven-knows-what. A voice in the back of your mind mentioned how you had never expected that your first time with a boy in your bed would be under circumstances that were...less-than-favourable, but it wasn’t like you could do anything about it now.

It all made sense. It all fit together like a grotesque puzzle: the way Jisung reacted with the colour red, all his strange, uneasy symptoms, why all the victims were known to be abusers or mistresses, and oh, God — his family. Your mind flashed as you imagined him bringing the knife down on his abusive father, the scrap metal on his kidnapper — and the stone on the dead man from the Yellow Wood. It was like he had his own Mark of Cain — whoever hurt him would have the pain and wrath reenacted upon them thousandfold.

Maybe it should have felt wrong, what you were feeling — you should have been repulsed, you should have turned him in on the spot, you should have written him off as a monster, a murderer — but you didn’t. No matter how much you tried, you couldn’t bring yourself to hate him. You’d seen the moments his facade had cracked and revealed the raw, vulnerable, broken boy underneath; you could feel the regret and torment he was living with every day, eating away at him from the inside like a disease. And, most of all, you saw the flashes of the boy he might have been in his wide, sheepish smile and bright, mischievous eyes, in his gentle hands and soft voice. In the fleeting moments of happiness that had been robbed from him too young. And now, you realised that you were certain about one thing.

You were absolutely, hopelessly in love with Han Jisung.

Your eyes wandered to his sleeping face, studying the dark circles beneath his eyes, the stress ingrained in the lines of his features. You had seen the same shadows in Lee Minho’s expression — these boys who had grown up with worry and pain etched into their faces like scars.

Jisung shifted slightly, mumbling incoherently and changing sleeping positions. After hesitating for a moment, you gently took his wrist in your hand, gingerly studying his hands and ankles.

Sure enough, there were faint white lines where cable ties and rope had once burned into. Jisung’s shirt had hitched up slightly, revealing rosy skin dappled with numerous bruises and mapped with more miscellaneous scars that all told the same, horrible story.

Your eyes finally settled back onto Jisung’s face again, a knot of bittersweet emotions festering in your chest. Outlined in the silver moonlight, he looked ephemeral — like a young god with too much power thrust into his hands, cold and damaged and beautiful; capable of the most terrible things.

You didn’t know what was going on inside his mind, and you had no idea how things would change when morning came. It felt like he was slipping from your grasp the harder you tried to hold on. Was this how Minho had felt? Out of control? If so, you were beginning to understand why the coroner had wanted to help Jisung in the first place, to mask the ugly truth. To protect his friend, the only brother he’d ever known.

“Trust me, y/n, I was in your position once, too. You’re just like how I was.”

Maybe you weren’t so different from Minho, after all. Because as you watched Jisung’s sleeping figure, felt his body warmth pressed up beside you as something in your chest swelled in both tenderness and pain — you knew you were more than willing to lie for him, too. If you could save Han Jisung’s life, if you could bring back the boy with the happy, angel-like smile from your very first date — no, if you could keep even a fragment of the light and peace left in his eyes, then that was what you had to do. You would hide everything until — until the case was closed.

And maybe, you thought as the moon burned into your drooping eyes, just maybe, everything will be okay.

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noobsomeexagerjunk · 4 years ago

Text

dream smp design takes that may get me decked by the right people

[PART 1, because this may get longer]

dream (plus XD and drista)

- a tiny white blob in slime/green goo; the goo exterior takes a humanoid shape and wears a mask

he can arguably float as long as the goo is there

the amount of goo correlates to the amount of hearts he has, so you can tell he's at one heart when it's just a tiny white blob

the white blob is 1 foot tall--the goo humanoid is irl dream's height

tiny blob is cute but man he is still terrible

- drista would be literally the same in appearance as her brother, you can only tell it's her by the shape and color of the goo

- dreamxd is the also the same, but he's not encased in goo and has XD for a facemask

goo surrounds him and dons massive ribbons for decoration

unlike dream he can actually float in the air

schlatt

i find the common fan depictions of schlatt to be cool and very attractive but I am very drawn to rammy/branding schlatt for so many reasons

it's the relatively soft-looking anthropomorphic sheep but with some parts of his wool-covered figure colored brown in a way that makes him look like he's a brunette with facial hair

he's more furry than wooly and basically looks huggable but it's still that vice-ridden dictator that hurt so many people

his horns and hooves are a pale-golden color, the left horn broken after the white house incident with quackity

he's bleached gray as a ghost, his horns and hooves red, eyes empty and aglow--the figure appears raggedy

if he comes back, his head tuffs have grown to cover his eyes, and he's somehow managed to find a way to fill in his broken horn with metals from the limbo, maybe melted gym barbells crafted to do so

he rarely changes into anything else but suits--pins are the only decoration you're getting, whether it's manburg or schlatt & co

puffy

now puffy puffy puffy--her wooly self is more puffed up and curly

when she arrived on the smp, her locks are long and brunette

her rainbow onesie matches with her prismatic hooves--clearly ivory white but easily reflects rainbows in the sunlight

she chooses to hide her pains with glasses, inspired by the server king who welcomed her into the server

when she finds the ship, she two-tone dyes in inspiration of the most notably forgetful person in the smp, the white locks resembling her hooves

the pirate garb is restricted to the coat and tricorn hat--she dyed them several times and settled with black

she has the dress blouse which she either pairs with business slacks or long skirts--she wears vestcoats that are either gray, red, bi-flag colored or rainbow. she has a habit of changing a lot

her horns are actually fake; she has so many fake horns that she changes with her outfits--when she goes to war she wears the sharpest, most intimidating horns she has

her decorative horns are either very colorful, covered in engravings, or both; the ones she wears the most have storm and lightning designs as a reminder of her arrival and her son foolish

she always wears buckled leather boots

#dream smp #dream smp design #dreamwastaken #dreamxd #drista #jschlatt #captainpuffy #long post

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telli1206 · 4 years ago

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A Christmas To Remember (Ch.5 - Final)

@descendantsgiftexchange Finally! The last chapter 😁 So sorry for the delay @vndooms, but I do hope you still enjoy the story! I tried to make it just the fluffiest and sweet Christmas Jaylos, just like you wanted. Also, since you wanted a Hallmark Christmas...each Chapter is actually named after a real Hallmark Christmas movie 😉

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Chapter 5 - The Sweetest Christmas

“Jay? Are you down here??”

Jay stirs at the sound of Carlos’ voice. It seems...distant. He reaches over to check his boyfriend’s spot on the bed-

“Oof!”

He lands on the floor with a hard thud. Popping up quickly, he blinks the sleep out of his eyes to try to place where he is, but a glance down at the couch he’s standing next to and he already knows exactly what happened.

Well, shit. This is definitely not how he wanted Christmas morning to start.

“Jay??”

“In here ‘Los!” Jay calls out. He starts sorting his hair out before Carlos sees him, dragging his fingers through it harshly to comb out the snarls.

Carlos’ head pops in from the kitchen, his furrowed brow smoothing as soon as he lays eyes on Jay. “There you are,” he sighs, shuffling over and wrapping his arms around Jay’s waist. “Why didn’t you come to bed last night?”

Jay sighs, hugging Carlos close and burying his face in white curls. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.” He lets one hand rub circles into Carlos’ back as he pulls away a little, looking into sad and tired brown eyes. “I was working on...something. With Evie. To add to your gift.

“A gift. For me?” Carlos lights up almost instantly, a smile quickly spreading on his lips. Jay bites his lip to fight back a chuckle. Carlos’ excitement mirrors a kid at Christmas and it’s adorable.

Jay nods, leaning in for a short kiss. “Merry Christmas, Carlos.”

Carlos grins happily at Jay and kisses him again. “Merry Christmas, Jay.”

Carlos grabs Jay’s hand, curling their fingers together to lead him into the kitchen and bumping his shoulder lightly as they walk.

“You know exactly what to say to get out of trouble, don’t you?” Carlos teases, ducking his head to hide his pinking cheeks. “It’s not like I can be upset when I know you were working on a present for me. Even if I did wake up cold and alone in our bed,” he adds with a pout.

“Aw, you know I hate to hear that,” Jay groans, releasing their hands to wrap his arms around Carlos’ shoulders. “Especially not on Christmas day. I love being your space heater,” he adds with a kiss to Carlos’ temple.

Evie and Doug are just sitting down at the table when Jay and Carlos walk into the kitchen, and the sight of them has Evie bouncing back up quickly, her robe flapping behind her as she makes a mad dash into Carlos’ arms.

“Oh! Merry, merry Christmas you two!” She coos, squeezing Carlos tightly before launching herself at Jay. “It’s so wonderful that we get to be here all together, isn’t it?? I can’t think of a better way to spend Christmas.”

“I think it’s safe to assume Evie is up, because I can’t think of anyone else that could be that chipper in the morning.”

Mal drags her feet lazily into the kitchen, her arm draped across Ben for support. “Aren’t you all just a bunch of fuckin’ noisy early birds?” She teases, lips curled into a half smile.

Evie just grins and shakes her head, already walking over to Mal and wrapping her arms around her, not even giving her enough time to dislodge from Ben. It’s an awkward hug, but still as sweet and loving as any Jay has seen between the girls.

“Merry Christmas, Mally,” Evie sings sweetly from Mal’s shoulder, prompting the girl’s smile to widen.

“Ok, ok. Merry Christmas, Eves,” Mal resigns with a happy sigh. “Now,” she adds as she pulls back, “how about we take this sappy show into the living room? I propose we eat after presents, if that works for everyone?”

Her glance flicks over to Jay, a smug smile tugging at her lips. Jay chokes back a snort when he sees her, lowering his eyes and giving a tiny shake of his head. As grateful as he is for the gift ideas that Mal and Evie had helped him come up with and execute last night, Mal’s eagerness to show off what they did is just the tiniest bit funny, especially coming from his favorite cynical bitch.

He looks back over at Mal in time to catch her knowing look at Evie, her cheeks flushed with excitement and green eyes widening. Jay can’t believe how quickly his friends are being reduced to overexcited children at the mere idea of celebrating Christmas morning. But, really, it’s just too damn cute to complain about.

And if he’s being honest with himself, he can’t remember a Christmas where he’s been this excited, either. With all of his friends gathered together, and with nothing to do all day but open presents and enjoy each other’s company? He can’t deny that the promise of a day like that has him feeling a little like a giddy little kid, too.

——-

Doug is recruited to rouse Jane and Lonnie so they can start opening the gifts all together, despite his VERY vocal reluctance to do so. And Jay and Mal’s continued joking about what he might encounter up there, with both girls completely alone, in their bedroom, does nothing to reassure him. Evie is fully aware of this too, clearly, as she gives Jay and Mal her usual disapproving glare.Their level of entertainment from making Doug flush and fluster has not diminished at all over the years.

Fortunately, bringing Jane and Lonnie downstairs is largely uneventful, at least from what Doug tells them when they finally make it to the main living area. Though Jane’s bright pink cheeks and muffled giggles as she clings to Lonnie’s arm might suggest otherwise. But no one questions it when they plop down onto the floor in front of the tree, with Jane scooting close to Carlos to give him a hug and wish him a Merry Christmas, and Lonnie ending up opposite them, gripping Jay’s arm and hooking it over her shoulders.

“Big day, huh? Merry Christmas, Jay,” she tells him, her smile wide and toothy.

“Yeah. Merry Christmas Lons.” Jay tips his head to let it rest on hers while hugging her shoulders.

“Is it everything you hoped it would be?”

Lonnie turns to face Jay better, staring curiously at his face to gauge his reaction.

He grins brightly at her. “A little too early to say, but I have a feeling it will be. I mean, I have you here with me, right? So it’s already great.”

“Damn straight!” Lonnie agrees, bursting out a chuckle. “I’m glad you finally realized that, Jay-Bear.”

Lonnie’s laughs are muffled as Jay pulls her into his chest, hugging her around the neck and ruffling her hair as she tries to push away from him. But they pull apart suddenly when Mal stands up and claps loudly.

“Alright alright, how about we start passing out gifts now? I’m dying to see what my Benny Boo got me anyway,” Mal teases, giving Ben a playful pinch to his cheeks.

Ben rolls his eyes and plants a kiss on Mal’s nose before pushing himself off the couch to snatch an envelope from under the tree.

“Just remember, great things come in small packages,” he adds, before giving Mal a teasing wink and handing her the envelope.

A snort from behind him catches Ben’s attention, but Carlos and Lonnie both launch themselves at Jay to smack a hand over his mouth before he can make any retort. They finally let go of him when he raises his hands in surrender.

“You’re no fun,” he mumbles.

The group quickly descends on the gifts under the tree, passing them around until everyone has their own presents laid out in front of them. They all begin their unwrapping at the same time to the soft din of conversation and laughter, taking their time to enjoy each other’s company on Christmas morning and excitedly share all that they received.

“Well shit Ben, you weren’t kidding about those small packages!” Jay chokes out when Mal opens her gift. “A whole fuckin’ island?? Damn Ben, you wanna marry me instead? I’ll treat you good, I swear!. Shit, for my own island I’ll treat you any way you want.”

Jay wheezes as a firm hand is smacked into his chest. He grabs it tightly, pulling Carlos into him for a hug and kissing him solidly on the cheek as he tries to wiggle out of Jay’s grasp.

“Aw, don’t be mad ‘Los, you know I’m kidding! Besides, what would I do with a whole island if I couldn’t share it with you? Hmm?” He asks sweetly, kissing Carlos again before he pulls away to sit back upright.

Carlos rolls his eyes, absentmindedly toying with the red ribbon on the box in front of him. A tiny smile splays on his lips as he looks at the gift, which morphs into a wicked grin when he locks eyes with Jay.

“How about I decide how I feel after I open my gift?” He asks coyly, waggling his eyebrows. “Then we can see if your gifts are as smooth as your words.”

Jay smirks proudly, giving Carlos a nod as he pushes the box closer. “Go for it,” he challenges, puffing out his chest confidently. He’s very sure that Carlos will love what Evie and Mal helped him come up with, so he’d rather not waste another second waiting for him to open it. And if he earns extra brownie points for his smoothness? He’ll take them, gladly.

A glimmer of excitement sparkles in his eyes as Carlos tucks into his present, sliding off the bow and tearing off the paper with absolute vigor. Jay swears he can hear a tiny squeal slip from the boy’s lips as he reaches the box, pausing for a breath before lifting the lid to peer inside.

Jay chews on his lip while he watches Carlos silently, a nervous energy building in his gut when he sees him lift the first gift out of the box. It was a stack of cards, and Carlos flips them over in his hands, slipping the first card out of the rubber band to examine it more closely.

“Harry?” He gives Jay a confused look, then pulls out the next card. “and...Chad?”

Carlos sifts through the cards, quickly glancing at every one. “Jay, this is a stack of cards...of all of my friends?”

“Yeah,” Jay agrees, rubbing at his neck awkwardly. “It’s a...game. Mal helped me come up with it.”

He takes the stack of cards from Carlos’ hands, lifting Harry’s card from the top and tipping it away from him. “When it’s your turn, you hold up the top card away from you, and the other players give you two facts about the person on the card. You guess who it is based on the facts that you get. So, the weirder and more random the facts are, the harder it is. The player who guesses the most people in 60 seconds wins.”

Jay places the deck back into Carlos’ hands, and watches his face intently when he pulls back. He has no time to scrutinize Carlos’ reaction, however, as the boy’s bright eyes immediately meet his, with a radiating smile already on his lips.

“Jay, this is...awesome!” he coos, dragging his fingers across the cards lightly as he stares at them in awe. “I can’t wait to play this! Thank you so much, I love it.”

Jay feels a flush of warmth in his cheeks at the sincerity in Carlos’ voice, his heart swelling with joy as he grins back at his boyfriend. Emboldened by Carlos’ excited response, Jay eagerly lunges forward, thrusting his hand into the box in front of Carlos, prompting a squeak of surprise. He whips out one more wrapped item, dropping it in front of Carlos with a flustered gasp of breath.

“There’s one more! And if you loved that, I think you’ll go nuts for this one!”

He keeps his eyes trained on the box as Carlos lifts off the lid and peers inside.

“Oh!” Carlos exclaims, picking up a large photo print. “It’s the castle! Did you take this picture on the day we got here?”

Jane and Lonnie huddle up to Carlos, leaning over his shoulder to take a peek.

“Oh look!” Jane squeals, poking at the picture. “Lonnie, there are the snow angels we made! What a pretty shot, Jay. The snow looks magical!”

Lonnie nods vigorously, elbowing Jay in the shoulder. “I like it, Jay-bear. What a thoughtful gift.”

Jay snorts and shakes his head at them. “Oh please. I did better than that.”

He pushes the photo aside, gesturing inside the box it came from. “I made a puzzle.”

“What?!”

Carlos can’t hide his surprise as he pulls the box close. “How...how, did you do that?”

Jay smiles proudly, glancing back at Evie and Mal. “It’s cake, ya know, when you’ve got the queen of Auradon and the world’s most creative designer backing you up.”

Evie steps forward and smiles curtly, her soft red lips pressed together and eyes crinkled with a gaze of warm affection. “Jay really wanted to give you something to remember this Christmas by, Carlos. And, to show you how grateful he is that you’ve been such a good sport with all of his activities-”

“-to show all of us,” Mal interjects, smirking at Jay.

“Right. To show all of us,” Evie agrees, giggling quietly. “Today, we’re going to have a cozy day inside. We can use your gifts, if you want, or just...hang out in our pj’s and relax together. I’m even going to serve breakfast right in here. Today is going to just be about-”

“-being lazy asses together,” Mal finishes. Evie whips her head to glare at Mal, but her look immediately softens at the girl’s teasing smile, and she simply shakes her head.

“Enjoying each other’s company,” Evie corrects her. Then she turns back to Carlos. “Merry Christmas, Carlos.”

Carlos is glowing, his smile stretched wide as he beams at Evie, Mal, and back to Jay. “That’s, exactly what I wanted. Thank you so much.”

Carlos leans in towards Jay, who meets him halfway to connect their lips softly. It’s a short kiss. It always is when they’re in public, to keep from flustering Carlos too much with added attention.

That doesn’t stop it from being interrupted with an irritated groan, though.

“Ok, ok! Jay did good, we get it. Not a shocker. He has us to help him look good,” Mal jokes with a smug grin. “But there’s still gifts to open! And I needed food like, an hour ago. Chop chop!”

Soon after, animated chatter and shrieks of excitement are following a flurry of torn wrapping paper and bows. Gifts are being opened and presented with flourish while breakfast is served, the sweet scent of cinnamon rolls permeating the air.

Jay licks the icing off his lips as he watches in silence, taking in the joyful squeals and bursting smiles of his friends, their cheeks flushed from the warmth of the fireplace and steaming cups of hot chocolate all around. The happiness in the room was almost palpable, as thick and enjoyable as the whipped cream swirled on each mug. Jay couldn’t think of a morning he had ever enjoyed as much as this one.

-----

Just as Evie promised, their day was spent inside, with not a single one of them even bothering to change out of their pajamas. A lazy day by all definitions, but not boring. Not at all. Actually, they had quickly discovered that the game that Jay had given Carlos was absolutely hilarious, and just couldn’t get enough of it. Half the day was gone in an instant before they had even considered another activity. The facts that were being shared about their friends were just too good to stop.

Well, except for dinner, maybe. Food had been a long forgotten commodity at that point, and the feast Evie and Doug had had prepared was smelling way too good to resist.

“Why am I not surprised that Chad would carry an emergency mirror around in his shoe?” Carlos asks, snorting a little as he packs up the cards. Jay chuckles, handing him a stack when he stands up.

“Forget about that, I’m trying to figure out when Harry had a crush on you! He never said a word about you to me.”

“Well, it’s not like you’ve talked to him much recently,” Carlos contemplates. He plops down onto the nearest couch, waiting patiently while Jay curls in next to him, letting a hand fall on Carlos’ knee as he settles into place.

“But. We used to...hang out. A lot.”

Jay hesitates at the memory, letting a thumb trace circles on Carlos’ knee while he mulls over his words.

“From what you’ve told me, you didn’t do much talking then, either.”

Jay’s head shoots up, eyes narrowing at Carlos’ wicked smile. He slides his hand off Carlos’ knee, slowly letting it creep under the hem of the boy’s shirt.

“Low blow, ‘Los,” he snarks. “Do I need to remind you what happens when you try to tease me?”

He gives Carlos’ side a harsh squeeze, making the boy squeal and jump back. “Ok, ok, stop!” he wheezes, prying at Jay’s fingers to try to pull them off. “I’m sorry!”

Jay grins and leans closer, burying his face in Carlos’ neck before leaving a trail of wet sloppy kisses up to his jaw. Carlos squirms and wiggles to get away from Jay, breathless and panting from his own laughter.

“I give! I give! Stop, pleeeeease.”

Jay pulls back,, smirking as Carlos huffs out a few breaths, finally bracing himself on his arms to push himself back upright.

“Rude,” Carlos states flatly, sticking out his tongue. “It’s not my fault you hooked up with Hook.” He sniggers at his comment, trying to hide his smile. “Get it? You hooked-”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jay groans, rolling his eyes. “You’re lucky you’re cute, cause your jokes could use some work.”

“And yet, you still love me,” Carlos adds, grinning as he goes in for a kiss. “So what does that say about you?”

Jay smiles into the kiss, wrapping fingers around Carlos’ neck to keep him in place.

“That I’m lucky, too.”

-----

The last few hours of their evening are spent tackling Carlos’ new puzzle. Carlos had asked to start it immediately after dinner, and the glow of elation on his face was too adorable for Jay to even try to resist.

Even if the puzzle was huge. And exhausting.

Not surprisingly, Mal gives up first, barely a few minutes into the puzzle. She moans that her blood sugar is low, and she might pass out if she doesn’t get something right away. Her dramatic display is just enough to goad Ben to abandon the puzzle, too.

“Alright, let’s go,” he sighs, pulling Mal up on her feet. “I’ll pull together a snack for you in the kitchen.”

“You mean, you’ll cut me another piece of strawberry cheesecake, right?” Mal lets her lip jut out in a fake pout, but it’s more playful than pleading.

“Of course, my queen,” Ben teases with a roll of his eyes. They give a casual wave as they make a quick exit to the kitchen.

“She must’ve been hungry,” Jane observes montonely, her eyes never leaving the puzzle. She’s too focused on filling in the corner snow angels to pay any real attention to her surroundings.

Lonnie stays close to Jane, occasionally leaning over her shoulder to hand her her more pieces of the puzzle as she finds them. They both seem to be concentrating on the section they’re assembling, but every few minutes or so Lonnie lets her fingers drag across Jane’s earlobe, smiling happily at the glint of blue topaz from earrings she had given to Jane. It makes Jane smile wide each time, tilting her head to nuzzle against Lonnie’s cheek.

Jay watches them for a moment, a satisfied grin spread on his face. When Lonnie catches his eye, he can’t resist giving her a proud wink. She shakes her head with a chuckle but still returns the gesture, leaning back into the beautiful brunette by her side.

Hay can hardly describe how this day has made him feel. He’s...intoxicated. Either from utter happiness, or maybe just the warm mulled cider cupped in his hands. But either way it’s the best feeling. While this whole week has been great, Jay has to admit that today, and the close, intimate time he got to spend with his friends, with Carlos, has been his favorite.

It’s a gentle reminder to him why he loves his boyfriend so much. While he doesn’t always agree with Carlos’ idea of a good time, the little genius knows exactly how to fill his life with meaningful moments that he can treasure forever, and he’s definitely grateful to Carlos for giving him that.

But when Jay glances at Carlos, with his half-hooded eyes and fingers sliding uselessly over the pieces spread out on the coffee table, making no effort to pick any up to sort them out, he knows Carlos is done with making meaningful moments for the night.

“‘Los?”

“Hmmm?” Carlos responds lazily, pursing his lips to fight back a yawn.

“How about we finish this up tomorrow?” Jay implores, and clasps a hand under Carlos’ elbow to help lift him up. “We can get back to it first thing in the morning.”

Carlos gives in to the yawns he’s been fighting, rising up slowly at Jay’s urging. “Mmmhm.” He hums into Jay’s shoulder as he cuddles himself into Jay’s chest, letting himself be held up by the strong, muscular arms now draped across his shoulders.

After sleepy goodnight mumbles are passed, Jay starts to guide Carlos slowly upstairs to their room. For their entire trek he keeps talking to Carlos despite his head starting to droop on Jay’s shoulders. His hand on Carlos’ shoulder is in continuous motion too - anything to keep his boyfriend awake for just a little longer.

He has just one more surprise planned for this week.

Carlos makes a beeline for the bed as soon as they get to their room, crawling on all fours across to his side and lifting the blanket to burrow underneath. Jay watches him from the doorway, pulling the door closed softly behind him before walking around to wear Carlos has settled.

“Hey, don’t go to sleep just yet, ok?”

Jay drops down beside Carlos, resting one arm on the bed as he reaches to stroke Carlos’ cheek with the other. “I have one more gift for you.”

One brown eye pops open, and Carlos turns to face Jay while he slowly opens the other. “Y-you do?”

He props himself up on his elbows, leaning in close to study Jay’ face. “But, you got me so much. I only got you that stupid snowboard.”

“Hey, I love that snowboard,” Jay insists, kissing Carlos on the cheek. “It’s exactly what I wanted and it’s perfect. And anyway, this other gift is kind of...for both of us. Ok?”

“Ok…” Carlos looks up at him, still hesitant.

“I had this plan, originally,” Jay cuts in quickly. “...to take you hiking, in the mountains. And we’d stay in a cabin, right there on the mountainside. It’s so beautiful there, I know you’d love it. And I had places picked out already, to hike to, and waterfalls we could climb and jump off of, gorgeous hills for ziplining. And we could just, do all these amazing things. Together.Thrilling, unforgettable, heartstopping things that we’d remember forever.”

Jay takes Carlos’ hands in his and looks into his eyes. He’s smiling sincerely, and his eyes are wide with surprise, as if Jay’s plans do sound exciting. Jay almost considers going back to that plan, if Carlos is responding so well to it.

But he knows there’s something he would love even more.

“But...that’s not the plan anymore.”

Carlos tilts his head, looking confused, so Jay continues. “I talked to Mal and Ben already. They’re going to let us stay on Mal’s island. As a little vacation, for us. It’s all ours for a week.”

“What?? Really??”

Carlos pops up fully, forcing Jay to stumble back with a laugh. But it doesn’t matter, because his boyfriend’s huge smile is worth it. “Yeah, ‘Los. They want us to. We’re gonna chill on a beach for a week, just you and me.”

Carlos squeals happily, pulling Jay into a hug. “That sounds so perfect! Thank you!” But then he pulls back, just as quickly, giving a quizzical look. “But...why did you change your plan? What happened to the mountains?”

Jay’s still smiling, and he takes Carlos’ hands again. He’s sure now that he made the right decision.

“Because, ‘Los. I planned so much fun, crazy shit this week. Cutting down trees, sledding, ice skating-”

“And I loved it!” Carlos interrupts, voice sharp and insistent. “This week has been so fun, all thanks to you.”

Jay chuckles, shaking his head. “Thanks, that means a lot to me. I was just trying to make it a special time for us. For you.”

He squeezes Carlos’ hand. “But, I realized something this week. Well, maybe Mal helped me a little,” he adds with a snicker, “but she’s right, like always.”

He wraps his arm around Carlos’ shoulders and pulls him close. “I love everything we do together. But, I’m the one that loves sports. And being active, doing stuff outside. I feel like...everything I planned, everything that I thought you would love to do...they were more, things I love to do. I’m saying you don’t love them. I just...love them more, you know?”

Carlos’ smile reaches his eyes as he listens to Jay, and he nods his understanding. Jay pulls Carlos even closer, nuzzling along his temple.

“And as much as I want to share the stuff I love with you,” he adds, “I should...I want, to share yours with you, too. And I do! I really, really do. So, we’re going to sit on a beach, and relax, and enjoy each other’s company. We’ll save the world’s best hiking adventure for another day.”

Carlos bursts into giggles, nudging Jay as he grins smugly.

“Thanks, I think,” Carlos pants through his laughter. “But, this could become the world’s best beach adventure, you never know.”

“True,” Jay admits with a grin. “I’m not sure we can call laying on the beach an adventure, though.”

Carlos taps his chin with his finger, pretending to think but not hiding his smirk. “Well who says we have to just lay on a beach the whole time? This trip sounds like the perfect opportunity to try out surfing, don’t you think? I mean, I’m sure you’ll be better at it than me, but I’m willing to try. I’ll try anything, as long as it’s with you.”

Jay’s smile brightens, his cheeks pinking from the flush of warmth through his body as he pulls Carlos in again. He feels so...content. Happy. Loved.

“Same here, Carlos.”

This didn’t feel like the vacation of his dreams, at first. But he’s going to be with Carlos, making him happy. And that gets his blood thrumming harder than even the most extreme sport ever could. So he’s definitely willing to give a vacation like this a try, for Carlos.

#jaylos #jay x carlos #jay son of jafar #Carlos De Vil #evie grimhilde #doug son of dopey #li lonnie #jane fairy #ben florian #mal bertha #jannie #devie #bal #descendants #descendants gift exchange #vndooms

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hopelikethemoon · 5 years ago

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Cherry Red (Javier x Reader) {MTMF} [smut]

Title: Cherry Red Rating: Explicit Length: 4700 Warnings: Smut (Bathroom sex ‘nuff said) Notes: You can find everything about Maybe Today, Maybe Forever here. Set later summer 1998. Reader’s outfit can be found here. Check out the NSFW ABCs. Summary: Javier and Reader enjoy a night out with Connie and Steve.

“Babe,” You started, using your tongue to catch the straw, taking a sip before you sat it down on the table. “What’s your favorite color?”

Javier’s brows drew together as he leaned over to give Sofía a handful of broken up animal crackers. He pursed his lips, “It depends.”

“Helpful.” You rolled your eyes, brushing your fingers through your hair as you rested your elbows on the table. “Maybe I want to buy something special…”

“Oh?” He smirked across the table at you. “Red.”

“That’s your favorite color?”

He shrugged, “You’ve got that one flannel shirt you wear.” Javier adjusted the straw in Sofía’s apple juice box, glancing back at you. “It’s red and it looks good on you.”

“I didn’t know you liked that.” You grinned a little, chewing on your bottom lip. “I don’t know if they have lumberjack chic, but I’ll check. Just for you.” You nudge his foot under the table. “You good to watch the girls for a couple minutes?”

He nodded, “Yeah, baby.”

Josie was dipping her chicken nuggets in her Szechuan Sauce, occupied with the cassette tape she was listening to. You could take her almost anywhere, so long as she had something to listen to.

Javier was already working on you about the Gameboy Color that was supposedly coming out around his birthday. He’d passed his Gameboy down to Josie — but she wasn't nearly as enthralled with it as he’d hoped. She liked her cassette tapes.

You finished your drink, rising to your feet and moving around the table to drape your arms over Javier’s shoulders, resting against his back. “Try not to pick up any women.”

Javier snorted, turning his head to kiss your cheek. “I’m only looking to pick you up, baby.”

You grinned at him as you brushed your fingers through his hair, “You know what the hot dad look does.”

“To you.”

“Nice save.” You laughed, pressing a quick kiss to his lips before you pulled away.

“Will I be getting a show tonight?” He questioned, turning around as you took a few steps backwards.

“Maybe.” With a wink, you turned away from him and headed through the mall towards the lingerie store where you’d already bought a decent collection of intimates.

You were looking forward to tonight. With the busyness of summer, vacations, work, and balancing everything neither of you had had much of a chance to have an evening out with the Murphys.

Connie had been dying for a night out for the past couple weeks and everything finally aligned. Monica and Nadia had agreed to watch all four girls.

“Welcome! Can I help you find anything in particular?” The shopgirl questioned as you strolled into the store. “We have a sale on our V-String Panties.”

You snapped your fingers and laughed, “You know… I’m not into feeling like my underwear is riding up my ass all day. But I appreciate the aesthetic.”

She laughed brightly, “Well what are you looking for? Are you shopping for yourself or a special someone?”

“Well, I’m looking for my own personal comfort… But yes, I am shopping for something to entertain him.” You folded your arms across your chest, glancing around the store. “We’ve had success with everything else I’ve bought here.”

“Always happy to have a returning customer,” She offered with a smile. “If thongs aren’t your style, we have a very nice collection of lacey intimates in different cuts. Boyshort, hipster, and so forth.”

“Oh!” You hummed thoughtfully, “I suppose a boyshort cut would be nice. I’m planning on wearing this black dress of mine. It has a cute cherry print, spaghetti straps, and it lands about here.” You explained, gesturing to your mid-thigh.

“I have mad respect for you.” She told you as she guided you further into the store, towards a display of lacey underwear. “What about these?” She pointed to a pair of blue pair of lace underwear on the mannequin.

“Does it come in red?”

She bent down, pulling out the drawer beneath the display, “Here you are.”

“Thanks,” You ruffled through the drawer until you found a pair in your size. You could definitely see Javier enjoying these. Though, truth-be-told, he was easy to please.

“Now, if you’re wearing spaghetti straps, you’re going to need something strapless.” She tapped her finger against her chin, looking around the store thoughtfully. “Oh! I know. Come with me.”

You followed after the shopgirl, moving further towards the back of the store where there was a collection of bustiers on display. You made a mental note to return to purchase a few of the others on display — particularly a black lace up bustier that wouldn’t cover much. It had ribbons that were neatly placed directly over the breasts and not much else.

“I think this should go with the panties.” The girl said, holding up a cherry-red strapless bustier. “What do you think?”

“I’m in love.” You smiled, taking the bustier from her and holding it up in front of you. It was tasteful, entirely covered cups that would actually offer a little support, and the lace descended about mid-rib. “I’ll take both.”

“Great! I’ll ring you up.” She smiled.

You had a feeling that Javier was going to really enjoy the purchase.

——

“What is your secret?” Connie questioned, holding the little straw in her drink in place as she took a sip of her fruity cocktail.

You cocked your head to the side, “Which one?”

“How do you pull off this look?” She questioned, sweeping her hand over the length of your body. “Whenever I’ve attempted the mini dress look, I end up looking like a woman in her thirties who still thinks she’s a teen.”

“I just don’t give a fuck.” You admitted with a shrug. “You know how I dress at home. Sweatpants or shorts, paired with whatever tank top is clean. At work I’m rocking a power suit.” You picked up your rum runner, taking a drink. “So when we get out — I like showing a little skin.”

Your eyes wandered towards the back of the bar, where Javier and Steve were playing pool. They needed a little guy time.

“Javier likes it, doesn’t he?” Connie questioned, curling a lock of blond hair as she leaned her elbow against the table.

“Yeah,” You rolled your eyes. “But he also likes me in sweatpants.” You smoothed your hand over the skirt of your dress. “You should wear whatever you want to wear, Connie.”

“I do!” She assured you, gesturing to her own outfit. Connie rocked the mom jeans. “It’s just… Steve and I hit another dry spell and it’s driving me crazy.”

You frowned, “Shit. What happened?”

“I don’t know.” She admitted, taking another drink, before sitting it down. “And it’s not everything… we just haven’t had sex. At all. All summer.”

“Okay, but if it’s not everything…”

“It’s all the build up.” Connie explained. “That’s fine, that’s good. He’ll go down on me, but then seem like he’s not interested in actually having sex.”

You frowned, “Have you talked to him?”

“You know how he is. He’s as bad as Javier.” Connie chewed on her bottom lip. “Steve assured me that nothing’s wrong, he’s just not really in the mood.”

“Well, if he told you he isn’t in the mood that’s probably the case.” You told her, circling your thumb around the rim of your glass.

“My mother got me paranoid that there’s someone else.”

“Well, your mother should shut the fuck up.” You said bluntly. “If there’s one thing I know about Murphy, it’s that he’d bend heaven and hell to keep you in his life.”

“I just thought… maybe if I dressed more like you do.” She gestured to your outfit again. “Javier can’t keep his eyes or hands off of you.”

“We both have very different relationships.” You sat up a little straighter. Well, now you knew why Connie had been dying for a night out. She was always more comfortable having these discussions after a couple drinks.

“I know. But I want what you have. I want that passion.” Connie sighed heavily. “I just don’t understand it. Everything is so good and then he just shuts down.”

“Okay.” You pressed your tongue to the inside of your cheek. “What happens after things die down? He gets you off and then what?”

“He usually says something about not really being in the mood. He’ll kiss me for a little while longer and then we’ll go to bed or get up for the day.” She frowned, “I wish I hadn’t told my mom. She’s had me stressing about this since June.”

“Have you tried making an evening of it?” You questioned, your brows drawn together. “He might be genuinely stressed with everything that’s been changing in your lives. He quit the DEA after like fifteen years.”

“We’ve been so busy this summer.”

“Then that is your problem.” You took another sip of your drink. “You’ve both been busy. I mean, at least he’s been trying to meet your needs.” You pointed out. “Props to Murph.”

Connie dragged her fingers through her hair, laughing nervously. “And what if that’s not the problem?”

“Then you talk to him.” You told her, “And maybe go see Nancy. She helped Javier and I get over our own dry spell.”

“Go buy some sexy lingerie.” You told her, glancing around to make sure no one was watching the two of you. You flipped up the skirt of your dress, showing off your red lace covered hip.

“Oh my God!” Connie covered her mouth and laughed. “That’s gorgeous!”

You smirked at her, “I bet you Steve would lose his shit if you undressed and had on some sexy lingerie.”

“I definitely don’t have anything like that in my dresser.”

“But really, you should also talk to him.” You insisted, glancing back at where the guys were. They appeared to be having a similarly serious conversation. “I’m sure he’s got his own concerns.”

“I would love to prove my mother wrong.” Connie laughed quietly, shaking her head. “She’s never really liked Steve.”

“Didn’t she stay with you guys this summer? I wouldn’t be in the mood if my in-laws didn’t like me.”

Connie grimaced, “God, I’m glad I have you to talk me off the ledge.”

“You can always call me, Connie. Or meet up for coffee. You don’t have to drink to talk sex with me.” You shrugged a shoulder, taking another sip of your drink. “Why don’t we go check on the guys?”

“Okay.” Connie finished off her drink, pausing for a second, before she slid out of the booth and followed you towards the back of the bar.

“Having fun?” You questioned, taking a drink of your rum runner before sitting it on the ledge of the pool table, putting a little sway in your step as you approached Javier.

Javier slid his arm around your waist, pulling you into his side, “Steve’s still shit at pool.”

“Of course he is.” You snorted, shaking your head as you set your eyes on Steve. You watched him and Connie carefully, analyzing the way they interacted with each other. Same as they always had. You leaned up to whisper in Javi’s ear, “Please tell me Steve was asking you for advice too.”

His shoulders sagged with relief, “Yes. Connie too?”

You nodded, “I figured tonight was a motivated evening.”

Javier chuckled, “They’ll be fine.” He ran his hand over the small of your back, before his hand moved lower and he slipped it under the hem of your skirt, giving your ass a squeeze.

“Javi.” You laughed, pressing your face against his chest, snaking your arm around his waist. “Behave.”

“It’s been driving me crazy wondering what you have on under this.”

You smirked, “I think you’ll enjoy it.” You pulled away from him then, gesturing to the pool table. “Let’s get another round of drinks and play a game.”

Connie made a face, “I’m bad at this game sober.”

“That’s why it’s fun.”

“I’ll get the drinks.” Javier said, pressing a kiss to the back of your head before he headed for the bar.

You grabbed two cue sticks from the stand, passing one to Connie. “Good news.” You told her, “I think things are going to be just fine.”

“Really?” She smiled brightly.

“What are you ladies talking about?” Steve questioned, wrapping his arm around Connie as he swung the rack in his other hand.

“How badly team Peña is going to kick your ass.” You grinned triumphantly, taking the rack from him and moving back to the table to set up the balls.

“Team Peña? Did ya’ll get married and forget to tell us?” Steve teased.

“And we had a secret son and named him Stephen Murphy. I’m sorry you had to find out this way.” You deadpanned.

Javier returned with the drinks, “What did I just walk in on?” He questioned, passing you your drink.

“I was telling Steve about our secret son.”

“Oh, right.” Javier took a sip of his whiskey. “Stephen Murphy.”

Steve looked between the two of you, “How do you do that?”

“Do what?” Javier questioned.

“Just know what the other was doing?”

You shrugged, tilting your head to look at Javier. “I chalk it up to eleven years of healthy banter. We’re on the same wavelength.” You bumped your hip against his, before you took a sip.

“Let me guess,” Javier scratched at the back of his neck. “Some shit about our secret marriage?”

Connie laughed, “Oh. My. God.”

You grinned, “Yep!”

“Figured.” He sat his glass down on the pool table, moving to grab his discarded cue stick. “We playing?”

“Yeah. Yeah.” Steve answered, exchanging a look with Connie.

You and Javier absolutely killed the Murphy’s at pool. Three rounds in and you were still the victors. Nailing pocket after pocket with ease.

“I’m starting to think you’re cheating.” Steve remarked, looking between the two of you.

“You can’t cheat at pool, bud.” You quipped, blowing off the extra blue chalk on the tip of Javier’s cue stick. “At least not easily.”

Javier’s hand found its way under the hem of your dress again, giving your ass a playful squeeze. He was making it increasingly difficult to focus on the game. Not that you weren’t intentionally bending over to show off the hint of lace that laid beneath your skirt.

You shot him a look, only to be met with a suggestive raise of his brows.

“Why don’t you buy us another round of drinks.” You suggested, “You know… losers buy drinks.”

Steve narrowed his eyes, “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Javier grinned, curling his arm around your waist. “Come on, Murphy. Don’t act surprised.”

“I’m not. That’s the sad part.” He turned towards Connie, “You want another drink, sweetheart?”

“I’d like that.” She smiled hopefully, “And… maybe we could dance.”

Steve nodded slowly, “That sounds nice.”

“Come on,” You said, taking Javier’s hand into yours. “They need some alone time, anyway.”

“Yeah, they’ve got some shit to work out.” Javier agreed, following after you through the crowd, back to the hallway that led to the bathroom.

One of the bathrooms was occupied, but upon trying the second door knob you found it unlocked and empty.

“I had this whole plan of showing off the lingerie when we got home.” You told him, watching as he locked the door behind him. “I guess I should’ve known we wouldn’t be able to control ourselves.”

Javier arched a brow at you, “What did you think was gonna happen, baby? You wear this dress and spend all night bending over…” He crowded close to you, his hands sliding up your outer thighs, until he curled his hands around your hips. “Your ass looks divine.”

“You think my ass looks divine in sweatpants.” You poked him in the chest, before you slid your hand up to curl around the back of his neck.

“Maybe I just like your ass,” Javier’s hand slid around, giving your asscheek a squeeze before he swiftly smacked it. You were just this side of tipsy and entirely unable to control the yelp that escaped you.

“It’s a pretty good ass.” You laughed, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Wanna know a secret?”

“Hmm?”

You lowered your voice, leaning in close to him. “I like your ass too.”

He rolled his eyes, “Oh, fuck off.’

You laughed, sliding both of your arms over his shoulders as you pressed close to him. “It’s the truth.” You grinned, leaning up to kiss him.

Javier’s tongue invaded your mouth, sliding over your tongue, before sweeping over the roof of your mouth. You chased after his lips as he drew back, his gaze dark with desire as he met yours. “Turn around, baby.”

You didn’t even hesitate, turning around to face your reflection in the mirror. You glanced over your shoulder, watching as Javier worked the zipped down your spine, revealing bare skin and the cherry-red bustier that stood out against your skin.

“Look at you.” Javier drawled out, peeling the thin fabric of your dress down your torso. He held your gaze in the mirror as you leaned back against his chest. “Fuck.”

“I thought you’d like it.” You remarked, tilting your head back to kiss his jaw. Javier was transfixed on your reflection and you watched the way his hand trailed over your ribs, tracing the lacey lines of the fabric that was wrapped around you.

“I fucking love it.” He told you, his hands sliding downwards, pushing your dress down your hips to reveal the red lace covering your there. “You were gonna make me wait until we got back home to show me this, baby?”

You nodded, reaching behind you to curl your fingers around the back of his head, playing with his hair. “Had to make you work for it.” You pointedly ground your ass back against him, smirking as you felt his stiffened cock. “Baby, did you bring your cue stick in here?”

Javier chuckled, the sound turning into a soft growl as he pressed his mouth into the crook of your neck. “So fucking mouthy. I should put that mouth to use.” He drawled out, cupping your jaw as he held your gaze in the mirror. He ran his thumb over your bottom lip, watching as your tongue darted out to tease it.

“You could…” You arched a brow at him. “But I think you want more than that.” You rocked back against him, “Don’t you, Javi?”

Javier’s lips found your ear, his breath hot against your skin as he kissed you there, before dragging his mouth back down your neck. “You’re right, baby. You can’t wear this shit and not expect me to want to fuck you.”

You inhaled sharply as he roughly grabbed at your hips, holding you steady as he took a step backwards. You watched him in the mirror as his eyes raked over you. “Like something you see?” You teased, swaying your hips from side-to-side.

He hooked his fingers in the waistband of the lace, dragging them down your hips. “I like everything I see.” Javier told you, crowding close to you again. He worked his hand in between you and the bathroom sink, his fingers slipping between your thighs.

You bit down on your bottom lip, rocking back against his covered cock as his fingers cupped your cunt. “Feel that?”

“Fuck. Baby, you’re soaking wet.” He said as he dragged his finger between your slick folds. “Goddamn it.”

“Well someone kept eyefucking me during pool. I’m sorry.” You shot back with a wicked smirk as you met his gaze in the mirror. “What’s a girl to do?”

Javier abandoned his teasing, his hands moving to unzip his jeans, shoving them and his boxers down his hips. “Indeed.”

You let him maneuver you into position, arching your back as you widened your stance, knuckles going white as you clenched at the edge of the sink for support. There was very little foreplay in these scenarios. And you loved it.

The haste, the need, the desperation.

You cried out — thankful that the bar was noisy and crowded and no one would care if someone was getting fucked in the bathroom. His cock filled you completely, buried within you from root to tip.

“Watch yourself, baby.” He told you, rocking his hips forward roughly, urging you to open your eyes and watch as he fucked you. “Wish you could see just how good you look on my cock.” He told you, fingers winding into your hair as he held fast to you and fucked you.

You moaned, grabbing onto the faucet as you lurched forward. “Javier.” You hissed out through clenched teeth as he kept repeatedly driving into that sweet spot within you. His cock hitting the deepest spots that had you seeing stars.

Javier’s fingers curled loosely around your throat, pulling you back against his chest so you only had his arm to cling to for support as he rocked into you, burying the full length of his cock into you with every thrust. You were lost to the pleasure of it all.

Even the way your nipples pebbled beneath the lace, the way his arm kept rubbing over them as he kept his hand securely wrapped around your throat. It was all overwhelming.

“Want you to come for me.” Javier urged, his lips close to your ear as he spoke. “I want you to come for me, baby. Come on my cock.”

Your body clenched in response to his words, your cunt tightening like a vice around his cock as he kept slamming into you. You were right on the cusp, teetering right on the edge. You could feel it throbbing deep within you, your release ready to wash through you.

“That’s it, baby.” Javier rasped out, “Want you to come for me so I can fill that pretty little pussy of yours.” He reached downwards, his fingers seeking out that little bundle of nerves just above where his cock was driving into you. “Love knowing I’m dripping out of you.”

Your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave. You cried out, the sound muffled by his hand as he wrapped it around your mouth. Your body clenched around him, but still he didn’t stop thrusting into you until he found his own release. Your cunt milked it from him, inner walls pulsing around his cock as he spilled into you.

And only then did he slow down his pace, hips rolling languidly as he guided you both through the afterglow of your releases. Your legs shook from exhaustion as Javier pulled out of you, quick to pull the lacey red underwear back up your thighs. Putting them back into place.

“Holy shit.” You panted out, hand to your chest as you felt your thundering heartbeat beneath your palm. “Why is bathroom sex… so good?”

“Wish I knew.” He chuckled lowly as he tucked his cock back into his boxers and zipping his jeans closed once more. It was unfair how easily he could look composed and you felt like you looked thoroughly fucked. Mostly because you had been. Your inner walls were still fluttering in response to just how thoroughly he’d fucked you.

Javier arched a brow at your reflection, “You good, baby?”

You nodded your head slowly, “A little out of breath.” You admitted, pulling your dress back up your body. “Do you mind?”

He stepped towards you, pulling your zipper up your back as he pressed a kiss to the back of your neck. “I like the lingerie.” He remarked, resting his hands at your hips as he propped his chin up on your shoulder — meeting your gaze in the mirror.

You bit down on your bottom lip, laughing softly as you sank back against him with a sigh. “I’m glad.” You reached behind you, stroking his cheek lovingly. “I love you.”

He grinned at you as he curled an arm around your waist, keeping you pressed close to him. “I love you too.” Javier pressed his lips to your cheek. “We should get back out there.”

“Like they don’t know where we went.” You snorted, turning around in his embrace so you could lean up to kiss him. “Is everything okay with Steve?”

Javier rolled his eyes, “I love our pillow talk.” He deadpanned, giving your hip a squeeze. “Yeah, he’s good. He’s just working through some shit.”

“Well, Connie’s mother thinks he’s cheating on her.”

He narrowed his eyes, “Connie’s mother is part of the problem.”

“I told her to talk to him.”

“Good.” Javier shrugged his shoulders. “I told him the same shit. I reamed him out for letting it go on as long as he has.”

“They’ll be okay though, right?”

“If they talk. Yeah.” He nodded. “Never thought we’d be the ones giving relationship advice.”

“Oh how the tables have turned.” You laughed, checking your reflection in the mirror before you moved towards the bathroom door. “Personally, I think Connie’s jealous that they don’t have this—” You gestured in between the two of them. “But they’re both very…”

“Vanilla?”

“Yeah.”

“You’ll be proud.” Javier told you, slipping his hand into yours. “I told him they should experiment.” Your brows shot upwards. “Don’t get too excited. I just told him they should mix it up.”

You grinned at him, “Well that’s something. I told Connie to buy some sexy clothes.”

“Hopefully they work things out,” He squeezed your hand tightly as you headed back out into the main area of the bar.

You scanned the crowd, spotting Connie and Steve slow dancing to some sappy song with the rest of the couples on the dance floor. They seemed to be having a good time. And as much fun as it was to hangout with them — they needed alone time.

“I’m gonna go close out the tab,” You told Javier as you turned towards him.

“Yeah.” Javier nodded, releasing his hold on your hand and running his fingers down your spine. “Works for me, baby. I’ll be at the table.”

You headed over to the bar, flagging down the bartender to close out your tab.

“Here you go.” The bartender said as he sat a drink down in front of you.

“I’m actually closing out my tab.” You explained.

“I know,” He shrugged, passing you your receipt.

“Okay.” Your brows furrowed, following the bartender’s line of sight as a younger man approached you, settling at the bar beside you.

Of course.

“Hey there pretty thing,” The man leered, his eyes raking over your body, before meeting your eyes with a toothy grin. “Saw you playing pool over there,” He leaned a little too close to you on the bar, but you didn’t flinch.

You weren’t about to give him the satisfaction of unnerving you. “Yeah?” You raised your brows with an unamused expression.

“Can’t help but thinking you could do better.” He continued, “Didn’t seem like he appreciated the way you blew on his cue stick.”

You snorted, “Wow.”

“Just speaking the truth,” The younger man remarked, eyes flickering over you again. “I bet I could give you what you really need.”

“See,” You tossed your hair over your shoulder, “Everything you just said was wrong.” You popped the cherry from the drink into your mouth. “Cause I doubt your pencil dick could fuck me like my partner just did in the bathroom.”

He looked flummoxed by that.

You patted him on the shoulder, “Thanks for the drink. Make sure you get home before your curfew. Would hate for your mommy to worry.” And with that you headed towards Javier, sliding into the booth beside him.

“Free drink?”

You grinned at him, “It really pained me to turn down the offer of sexual favors that came with it.”

Javier curled his hand around your leg, “Really?”

“Didn’t seem right given what we just did.” You dragged your teeth over your bottom lip, keeping your eyes on his face.

Your breath caught in the back of your throat as you felt Javier’s hand curl around your inner thigh beneath your skirt. He slid his hand up higher, until his thumb dragged over your sensitive folds through the damp lace that was soaked with his come.

“We should go home.” You whispered, closing the distance so you could kiss him. “So I can give you the full show.” You added as you pulled back, meeting his gaze.

“I love the way you think, baby.” Javier grinned, brushing his nose against yours. “C’mon.”

#javier pena #javier pena x reader #pedro pascal x reader

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lady-divine-writes · 4 years ago

Text

Good Omens - Starmaker (Rated PG)

Summary: Crowley rushes into Aziraphale's shoe shop right at closing with a ballet emergency. She's in dire need of a new pair of pointe shoes, which she can only get at Aziraphale's shop.

Made by a craftsman who identifies themselves with only a star ... (1451 words)

Notes: I thought I would put a new twist on the whole 'Starmaker' trope XD

Read on AO3.

“Help me help me help me help me!” Crowley begs, racing through the door of Aziraphale’s shop a minute before closing, as is her custom. Crowley doesn’t leave the theater too often unless she absolutely has to, and that’s usually to go home. She can't get away with sneaking down back alleys dressed in a hoodie and a pair of sweats the way other dancers do. At over six feet tall without her pointe shoes, an absolutely unheard of height for a principal dancer in any company, not to mention the Royal Ballet, and with her flame-red locks, she’s far too recognizable despite any of the disguises she tries to employ.

Crowley loves her fans. She wouldn’t be where she is without them. But she’s not a people person. She appreciates her privacy. She despises being bothered outside the theater, away from the shield of the curtain and the stage.

Besides, she’d rather have her favorite shoe fitter all to herself.

“My goodness,” Aziraphale mutters, fussing with drawers of satin ribbons, pretending to be unaffected by the goddess flying down the aisle towards her in desperate yet glamorous despair. “Whatever could be the matter, my dear?”

“Whatever could be the matter?" Crowley mimics. "I’ll tell you what could be the matter! I am set to dance Sleeping Beauty in just under a week, as you well know …”

“As I well know …”

“... and my pointe shoes died! Out of the blue died!” Crowley pulls her broken shoes from out her pockets as proof of her grief.

“Don’t you keep about eight pairs in rotation?” Aziraphale asks, moving on to a basket of elastics with practiced nonchalance.

“Yes, but they’re all scuffed and creased. I don’t want to wear those on stage." Crowley smirks like the brat she is. "I can’t help it if my feet look their best in a new pair of shoes.”

“Doesn’t the theater have another pair for you?" Aziraphale stalls, being of no help on purpose. She has missed Crowley way too much to simply let her jete into her shop and act as if she visits weekly for tea when, in reality, they haven't seen one another in a dog's age. "I thought they must, seeing as you haven’t set foot in my shop for around three months.”

“Oh, they have another pair all right,” Crowley moans, not catching the bitter tang in Aziraphale’s words, “but not my favorite! I need my favorite, Aziraphale! I cannot be expected to dance a part as grueling as Aurora without my …”

Aziraphale gives in. She turns, four brand new pairs of pink satin shoes cradled side by side in her hands like a beloved set of quadruplets. “Are these what you need?”

“My shoes!” Crowley cheers with an exhalation of relief, scooping the shoes out of Aziraphale’s hands and hugging them tightly to her bosom. “How ever do you manage to get a hold of them when no one else can? And four pairs!? You're a miracle-worker! No! You're an angel! That's what you are!”

“Every fitter stocks certain shoes," Aziraphale says, fighting the rush of red to her cheeks. "Supply and demand and all that. You’re the only dancer I know who buys these, and since you're local, for now, I keep them in stock.”

“But they're literally impossible to get a hold of!” Crowley lights gracefully onto Aziraphale’s fitting chair. It's actually an elaborate, gold-scrolled throne - a chair of significant opulence that Aziraphale keeps on hand to make her clients feel appreciated. But with its high back and red velvet cushions, it suits Crowley most of all. “I’ve been looking online everywhere for a pair!”

“You wound me!” Aziraphale gasps, pulling up a pillow and taking to her knees to fit the ballerina. Not that it’s necessary. Crowley has been coming to Aziraphale’s for these same shoes since they showed up in her shop over a year ago. From that moment on, they were the only shoe Crowley would wear. They’re her Cinderella slipper. She barely has to put in any effort, and they do exactly what she needs, each brand new pair responding as if she’s been wearing them for a day of classes.

If Crowley didn’t know better, she’d say they were made to fit her feet perfectly and her feet alone. But that's ridiculous. Each make of pointe shoe suits a variety of dancers. Still, Crowley has never met another dancer who wears them.

“You should have come to me first!”

“Don’t take it personally, Aziraphale. It’s always good to have a backup supplier, what with the state of the world today. You understand, don’t you?”

“Alas, I do," Aziraphale admits sadly, slipping off Crowley's flats and sliding her feet into the satin slippers. "There. How do those feel?”

“Oh, they’re heaven! Simply heaven!" Crowley stands from her seat and rises to her toes, admiring the way her feet look in brand new shoes, even with her legs hidden by baggy practice pants. "So incredibly soft! Like dancing on a cloud! And to think, each pair will last me two, three weeks at least! I don’t know what kind of magic this maker wields that he can create a shoe that lasts me more than a day, especially with all the partnering I’m doing. Why, I’ve been known to break other shoes in around two hours!” Crowley lifts one foot up and peeks at the virgin sole. She reaches down, fingertips tracing the indented star on the center above the brand name. “Star," she says reverently. "Did you know they’re the only maker that doesn’t have their picture on the Freed website?”

“So you keep telling me,” Aziraphale says dryly.

“Do you know who he is?”

“Not at all.”

“Oh come on! All of you fitters know the shoemakers, don’t you?”

“Yes. But not this time, I’m afraid.”

“I’m dying to know what he looks like. To put a face to the shoes, so to speak."

"Does what he looks like matter so much, my dear?" Aziraphale gazes up at the statuesque ballerina looking down in Aziraphale's direction to admire her shoes. She only has eyes for them. Aziraphale sighs.

Same planet, but two completely different worlds.

"Well, no ..." Crowley says, a tad unconvincingly. "Still, you don’t think he’s like one of those scruffy, beer-drinking, pot-bellied Minotaurs that make the other Freed pointe shoes, do you?”

“I’m not sure.” Aziraphale stands and puts her pillow away. This part of the fitting process always ends the same, with Crowley gushing over the skill and artistry of some unseen craftsman.

“Maybe he doesn’t put his picture up because he’s devastatingly handsome, and he can't stand the attention," Crowley says dreamily, extending an arm over her head, which makes her look twice her height. "I know what that's like." Her pouty red lips pull down at the corners, her love-soaked expression turning sour. "Or maybe because he’s worse than the others: three-feet tall, pot marked cheeks, and only four teeth.”

“Who’s to say it’s even a man, my dear?” Aziraphale gestures for Crowley to retake her seat so that she can sew on her ribbons. Ballerinas normally do the work themselves, but Crowley claims Aziraphale has a special knack for it. Crowley will sew her own ribbons and elastics on in a pinch, but she much prefers the way Aziraphale does it.

And Aziraphale only does it for Crowley.

“Oh, if only." Crowley slides back into the chair and pulls her pant legs up to her knees, exposing her legs all the way to her calves. Aziraphale catches a glimpse of Crowley's toned legs, her shapely calves, and her heart skips a beat. Aziraphale sees gorgeous legs and feet all day long, but Crowley's are exceptional. They're a masterpiece, sculpted through hours of practice and performance, but also luck and phenomenal genes. "But odds are slim," Crowley continues, rolling her ankles to see just how beautiful her feet look in her shoes at all angles. "There are so few female shoemakers in the ballet world. But it would be amazing." Crowley sighs. "Well, whoever he … or she … is, they’d better not think of retiring any time soon. When they make their last shoe, I’ll dance my last dance. I can't even think of dancing in anything but star shoes.”

“I don’t think you have anything to worry about.” Aziraphale reaches into her basket of ribbons for the matte ones Crowley favors, carefully hiding a special leather stamp, one she’d carelessly left out on her work table where anyone could see.

One in the shape of a star.

“I'm sure that if they ever heard that, they'd make your shoes till the end of time.”

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable wives #ineffable lovers #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley

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beinmybonnet · 4 years ago

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21st December 1907, Iquique, Chile

The church bell rings out in three joyful tones. With a sharp inhale, Joe sends a prayer skywards on the tails of doves.

Gunfire chases the echoes.

___

Joe is vaguely aware that Andy is dragging him backwards, snarling at his ear. His own fury is there, churning low in his stomach but for now a numbing shock has won out over his body. They’re killing them… he thinks as Andy shoves him sideways.

She punches the brick beside his head and her own embittered howl joins a building symphony of screaming. He pulls her bloodied hand to his chest and holds it firm, thumb rubbing at the stain. He swallows.

“We have to be ready,” he grinds out, their eyes meeting wide and furious. Andy nods, digging her thumbnail into the back of his hand and then pulls him further into the alley. “As soon as it stops.” He’s desperately trying to think practically now; they need a way in, a way out, god they might even need to dig in right here, and Nicolò-

“Now, move.” Andy’s rounding corners with clipped efficiency, and he remembers to pull the pistol at his belt. The noise is dying down now. “We can get back in through the playground,” she says in a tight voice over her shoulder. Joe flinches and quickens his pace.

The rear of the schoolhouse comes into view and Andy pauses at the low fence. There are yellow ribbons twisted up the slats of the gate. Every window is shattered, every shutter is swinging. Broken glass and shards of wooden frame litter the hard court and herb gardens. A group of women are hunched under a windowsill, hands over their shaking faces as they cower against the stone. Final bullets thud into the interior wall and Joe is moving, skirting the fence and pointing out towards treeline.

“Go. Into the trees, go now,” he tells the women, pointing east. One has a baby in her arms, nodding, sobbing as she stumbles backwards. Two are tugging on the sleeve of another, a gaping wound in her cheek. “You have to go, she’s gone – run.” he says, swiftly detangling their hands. A wailing child trips out of the doorway and is scooped up by the women as they stagger away. Andy moves into the space at his side, eyes fixed on the roof.

“Book was up top with the miners,” she says. While there is noise coming from within the school, there’s no movement from above. “Goddamn Silva, hijo de puta!”

“They can’t leave survivors, they’ll be sweeping the buildings – if it gets back to Santiago-”

“I know – we’ve got minutes. I’ll get Booker, meet you at the church. Fallback to Quipisca if it all goes to shit.” Joe’s nodding before she’s finished speaking, already inching towards the door. It’s been too long, where-

“Joe.”

“Church, shit, Quipisca – I heard you.”

Andy holds his gaze for a moment, then turns away towards the school. “Be fast.”

___

Joe finds him in the westernmost classroom, body curving up from the stone.

For every room searched in stoicism, blinkering himself against the mounting horrors – this one rushes up to greet him in obnoxious lividity. The little ones lie amongst their splintered desks like discarded dolls. Their limp bodies curled together in their fear. There is a small boy slumped against the wall at his feet, his white smock drizzled in ropes of crimson over a heaving chest. Joe allows himself one aching glance across the room at Nicky’s still form, and then crouches quickly before the child, cupping his shaking face in his hands.

“You’re alright, you’re alright – let me see,” he murmurs in Spanish, shifting himself to block the boy’s view of his classmates. He moves his fingers quickly over the small chest and torso, finding a shallow graze across his ribs and a deeper one along his collar. The boy’s red eyes are fixed on Joe’s own now, sobs seizing and catching within him. Joe unties his neck scarf quickly and fastens it tightly around the boy’s own throat, pressing firmly. “There now, looks much better on you.”

Little hands grip tightly at his wrists, trying to pull Joe closer. He’s about to lift the boy up into his arms when there’s a crunch of broken glass from the hallway, and a young woman drags herself through the door on her knees. Joe spins sideways, pistol raised - but she’s crying out desperately, hands tacky with blood and reaching for the child.

A choked cry for his mother the boy and is wriggling toward the door and then clasped in her arms. Joe exhales heavily, opens his mouth to tell her to go, to run-

-and there’s a shallow breath from behind him

He’s across the room and on his knees in the space between heartbeats. Nicky is facedown, arms curled in against himself but now breathing raggedly. Joe’s eyes roll up in fierce gratitude for those breaths and he quickly runs his hands over Nicky’s shoulders and down his spine, following the line of scarlet rosettes stained over his bowed back.

“Nicolò?”

Nicky presses his palm to the stone to raise himself up, struggling for purchase on the bloody floor. Too bloody. Joe’s hand clenches hard in the damp fabric at the small of Nicky’s back, fingers tightening in dread- that’s too much blood- he’s still bleeding-

But his eyes catch a neat plait trailing under Nicky’s arm. Joe’s breath stalls violently in his throat.

Lifting his head sharply now, Nicky scrambles for traction in the blood with his free hand, his right curled beneath the head of the girl within the cage of his arms. He lifts his body away from her, their clothes clinging and sticking together. His brows knit briefly, ducking his chin to peer at his own chest. Then raises his eyes to trace her form. “No, I…”

The holes piercing her pinafore are a perfect reflection of the exit wounds on Nicky’s own chest. Joe’s heart seizes painfully, and he slides his hand up to rest at the nape of Nicky's neck as he whispers his uncertainty once more. “But I-

“We have to go Nico,” Joe tells him quietly, hating- hating the world beyond the window with every fibre within him. Nicky nods absently but is still staring down at the little body cradled in his hands. He doesn’t move. “Come on, we-”

“I don’t understand.” Nicky's voice is quiet but clear. Eyes locked on unseeing eyes. Joe wants to yell, wants to hold him, wants to lead him out to the Plaza and unleash unholy hell at his side. But he touches the pads of his fingers to Nicky’s chin and tilts his face gently.

“I know.” He pauses, so Nicky can see the truth in his eyes. “But you have done all you can.” A harsh sound claws from Nicky’s throat and Joe winces, knowing. He opens his mouth to speak again, but there is a sharp call and response from the school’s forecourt and Nicky meets his eyes with a grimace. Joe cups his hands beneath slight shoulder blades, and together they lower her back to the floor. Nicky pulls her sodden plaits back to rest across her front, and Joe gently closes her wide eyes with a whispered prayer to carry her on. As they stand Nicky turns to survey the tragedy littered around him, and his expression starts to quake in a way Joe cannot bear for a second longer.

He knots their fingers together and pulls him from horror.

___

In the end, they don’t speak of her until they have crossed the Bolivian border and made a more private camp. At the church, they stood with Booker as he roared into the rafters, blood still dripping from his coat. They had moved quickly through Quipisca, following Andy through the protective grooves in the earth with what was left of the miners and their fractured families – seeing them safely into Noasa.

Nicky is sat at the ridge’s edge, feet hanging in the open air when he speaks the words once more.

“I don’t understand.”

Joe looks up at his side but does not speak. This this will have been taking form in Nicky’s mind since they left Iquique. He hasn’t pressed or pushed – knowing the words would come when Nicky was ready to speak them into the world. He's felt his turmoil in other ways of course, the bite of his nails into Joe’s wrist as they slept, the hard press of his boots into the ground as they hiked – as though he could stamp his rage back down into the earth that had birthed it. Finding words to compliment such depth of feeling has always been harder for Nicky, less instinctive. Thus all that fall from his lips do so with the deliberation and care - never wishing to be misunderstood. Joe swore to himself aeons ago that he would treasure them all.

“There are days, when I don’t understand,” Nicky corrects softly, lifting his left hand to drag his fingers down his own chest. “What is the purpose of my body if not to fall, so that others can stand? What is the purpose of this gift, when I cannot give it?” He pauses, taking a measured breath. “I had her, I shielded her, and it still was not enough. My body could not save her. My death was not enough.” Nicky sags back slightly now, jaw tightening in distress and Joe aches with him. “If death is not enough… I have nothing else to give.”

Joe takes a raw moment to absorb the words, to give them space to breathe – but his own are formed and sure.

“Our deaths can be a gift for this world, I agree. We can give, and give, and we can give again. But all we can do is give, Nicoló . We cannot control what is taken.” A charged pause chases the affirmation.

“So much was taken.” Nicky whispers into the sky.

“It was. What was her name?”

“Magdalena. Her name was Magdalena,” Nicky smiles around the sound. “I was trying to teach them the polka. She was the quickest.”

Joe grins now, his laugh a bark in the night. “I could hear them laughing from the Plaza, I wondered if you were trying to teach them arithmetic.” He takes a neat elbow to the ribs and uses the leverage to tug Nicky’s hands into his lap where he clutches them tightly, running fingertips over familiar knuckles. The view before them is effusively beautiful. The slighter hills roll together casting deep shadows into the valley’s clefts, and he can hear the rush of shallow rapids far below them. The red rock ridge they have settled on juts out into the clean air with pride, confident of its strength and place in the world. But the stars boast their beauty too stridently to be ignored. Joe cannot remember a night he could trace the constellations he learnt as a child so clearly.

Nicky dips his head to the cradle of Joe’s shoulder, tension starting to leach from his frame. But Joe will not allow them to rest this night until one issue is unwaveringly refuted.

“My love, being unable to prevent their deaths does not void the joy brought to their lives that morning. I would have you know that.” His words are steady. “Death is not your only gift, nor is it your purpose. You have so much more to give this world”

Nicky blinks slowly against the cotton of Joe’s shirt and presses his lips to his collar for a long moment. It’s acceptance, Joe knows. Grateful receipt of honest words.

“Do you feel it Yusuf? What is happening to this world?”

He does. Like a gnawing shadow on his heels. He struggles still to give it form. It’s like the world is racing against itself, ever hastening its pace. He can feel the panic of it - the pressure. It has always been this way, the bitter bite of competition having wounded lands of his heart long ago. A prize sought was a holy land, a shining and maddening city toyed over for generations. Deemed a worthy reward for the sacrifice of many lives.

Today it is 18 pence. A quick little girl, and her whole community lie cold in their grave this night for 18 pence. The exclusivity of their dirt such a point of pride for a country that its people ceased to have meaning. The behemoth of industrial greed blindly claiming them.

Joe’s words are heavy. “I feel it.”

“The world is changing. This is not the end, this growing carelessness for life.”

He picks a star, and pulls Nicky closer.

#okay i guess i'm writing again #immortal historical husbands #i tried to resist them and have admitted defeat #the old guard #usermarwan #whose set on joe's hands reminded me whilst writing to convey how tactile he is #the old guard fic #my fic #chasing the echoes #mine

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pricefieldchaos · 4 years ago

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Matthew x Lucie: “The curves of your lips rewrite history”

I wrote and posted this on AO3, as my Fairondale heart ached because of the lack of content, and this is how it turned out. By the way, I'll leave my AO3 profile here, if you want to check out my other OS and stay tuned for new ones! thelastwriter. Enjoy and maybe let me know what you think, I appreciate it a lot!

It was a beautiful spring Sunday and Lucie Herondale was in the London Institute’s backyard, sitting on the grass and enjoying the warm sunlight while writing a new chapter for her latest story. The air smelled like fresh flowers and the birds were singing and flying from one tree to another. Lucie was feeling super relaxed and incredibly inspired, it was the perfect day to add some new action to her novel. The warm breeze caressed her soft uncovered skin on her arms and shoulders, where the brown waves of her loose hair slightly tickled her.

Matthew Fairchild was laying right beside her, his gaze fixed on the clear sky. It was not unusual to see him hanging around the Institute, since the Fairchilds and the Herondales were great friends and Matthew was often there to train with his parabatai, James Herondale, and to spend some time with him and his sister, Lucie. Earlier that morning, he had spotted her getting ready to go outside and had immediately asked if he could join; Lucie had been surprised by him wanting to spend some time alone with her, she had always thought the reason why he enjoyed being with her was because her brother was there, too. She had been happy to see that, maybe, she had been wrong all this time.

Matthew turned around to look at the young girl on his right: she was wearing a lovely light blue dress, and a ribbon of the same colour adorned her hair. She had taken off her white lace gloves – she found it way easier to write without them on – and Matthew was watching her delicate hands move swiftly along the paper. He was glad she was so focused on her papers, because that way she wouldn’t notice the smitten look that was all over his face. His heart had jumped into his chest when she had agreed to let him go with her, he had been dying to get the chance to be alone with her for so long.

“What scene are you writing now?” he asked. Lucie was slightly startled by that sudden question – she had been so focused on her work that she had almost forgotten that he was there with her. She turned to look at him, his blonde locks were sprawled on the grass and his dark green eyes were now looking directly into her blue ones. The buttons of his white shirt were half-done under his golden vest, and his blue necktie was loose. His warm smile made her cheeks flush, and for a moment there she almost forgot about his question.

“Oh, right” she sighed. “So, princess Lucinda just figured out her feelings for prince Martin, but she won’t go tell him already because, despite his latest declaration of love, she is still afraid of getting her heart broken.”

“I think it is quite foolish” he answered. “Why is she afraid, if you said that he returns her feelings?”

“Sometimes, reciprocating the other’s feelings is not enough” she explained, letting out a sigh. “Countless things can come between a potential love story and make it so that it never sees the light.”

“How dramatic” he laughed.

“It is true, Math!” she scolded him, throwing an elbow at him playfully. “Also” she continued “she is afraid of giving in to perilous… temptations. The young man in question is quite the charmer.”

He smirked. “I thought that, by now, you too had learnt that the only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it.”

“You will never grow weary of quoting your beloved Oscar Wilde, will you?” Lucie giggled. “And by the way, it would be very improper of her! It could ruin her reputation.”

“I am sure I will not, my dear” he grinned. “As for your story, I still think it is foolish of her not to act on her feelings. Most importantly, it is your story – you are the one who gets to decide whether something is improper or not. And, as far as I am concerned, reputation is an overrated concept, and people should spend way less time worrying over it.” He winked at her.

Lucie let out another sigh. “Well, I guess that is not the only reason I am reluctant to let her go to him. If she does, I will need to write a memorable scene – I am talking about a grand gesture and the finest romantic speeches, and then it will be inevitable for them… to kiss.”

Matthew widened his eyes, agreeing. “They most certainly need to do it!”

“Yeah… that kind of is the real problem” said Lucie, shyly.

“Why would it be?” he asked.

“I… okay, I will tell you. The thing is, my kissing scenes are dreadful! I cannot write them properly, I cannot even get them right by reading them in other books. And, of course, I cannot take my personal experience as an example.” She looked down, too embarrassed to look at her childhood friend in the eyes while discussing such matters with him, especially since they were alone out there, unchaperoned and all that.

“Are you telling me the beautiful, sweet Lu has not been kissed yet?” Matthew said, lifting himself up from the ground so that he could sit in front of her. He knew he had started playing with fire by asking that uneasy question, but he also knew he wouldn’t care if he got burnt.

Lucie’s cheeks turned completely red, but she answered, still not looking at him in the eyes, “I-I did not get the chance – no fine young man has courted me, yet.”

“That is a pity” Matthew said, “and such a waste” he added. "But perhaps I could still help you with that kissing scene?” He moved closer to her, so that their knees were almost touching. At this point, he was so nervous he had started sweating and slightly trembling. What if he had pushed too far? What if she thought that he was being inappropriate, and that would ruin their friendship? These thoughts were interrupted by her asking him another question.

“And, tell me, how would you do that?” Lucie asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I could kiss you” he said, blatantly. “That is, of course, if you will allow me.” By daring to suggest that, he had definitely reached the point of no return.

If possible, Lucie blushed even more, and Matthew noticed, and a slight smirk appeared on his face.

“You are an indecent scoundrel” Lucie laughed. “Suggesting we engage ourselves in such a scandalous activity here, out in the open, where any member of my family could catch us any minute.” Her playful tone made him breathe a sigh of relief, she didn’t seem offended or anything – instead she had started teasing him in turn.

“You are not turning down the offer, though” Matthew grinned, then his expression turned serious. He couldn’t let her think this was just a game to him. “But I understand if you will. You must want your first kiss to be perfect.”

“I actually do.” Lucie remained silent for a couple seconds; then she spoke again. “Do you think that you can live up to my expectations?” she teased him again.

“There is only one way we can know” it was his only answer. Lucie gently tossed her papers and pen on the grass beside her, then looked at Matthew, meeting his gaze. She felt her skin burn from the anticipation. Was she really going to finally have her first kiss?

Matthew’s heart started beating so fast he almost thought it was going to burst anytime. He looked into Lucie’s beautiful blue eyes, who were staring at him, both questioning and excited. Neither of them said another word, as Matthew moved his face closer to hers, until they were just a few inches apart, and then he lightly brushed his lips against hers. “You may want to close your eyes” he whispered. She giggled, and then did so, and he finally locked lips with her, firmly, and placed an arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him. She quietly gasped as she run her fingers through his soft hair.

Matthew began to wonder if he was dreaming – he was kissing her, at last. He couldn’t remember the first time he had thought about how much he wanted to do that, it was too long ago. But this was no dream: Lucie’s lips felt so real and soft and warm against his, her delicate scent and sweet taste were intoxicating him, it was better than anything Matthew had ever tasted in his whole life. He started moving his mouth on hers, getting the shivers every time that she let out a soft moan against his lips. Lucie took him by surprise when she bit his lower lip, but she could definitely tell that he had liked it a lot, because he deepened the kiss and then gently pushed her onto her back and leaned down, never letting go of her.

He moved his lips to her neck and then lower onto the neckline of her dress, but quickly returned to her mouth before he could no longer be able to stop. He prayed the Angel to forgive him for the thoughts that had taken over his mind. He wondered what she was thinking.

Lucie was completely lost in Matthew’s touch, kisses, sighs. She would have never imagined her first kiss to be this… incredible. That probably was the right word to describe what she was feeling, at least partly – she actually was, for the first time, unable to put something into words.

They went on kissing for another handful of minutes, giggling every now and then and enjoying the taste of each other's lips, and the feeling of their intertwined fingers and light caresses. Eventually, he broke the kiss, breathless, and helped her sit up again. He gently stroked her cheek with his hand. He was unsure whether his lack of breath was due to the kiss or to her unmeasurable beauty. Probably both, he thought. “Woah…” he mumbled, smiling.

Lucie adjusted her hair, retying her ribbon while she regained her breath. “So, how did you like it?” she bluntly asked.

Matthew laughed, and just said, “The curves of your lips rewrite history, my Lu” quoting Oscar Wilde again and receiving an eye roll from Lucie as an answer. “Did you like it?” he asked in turn.

“It was wonderful!” she exclaimed. “Now I totally know how to write a kissing scene! Thank you, Math” she said cheerfully. That most likely was not the only reason why she was so happy about what had just happened, but in that moment she was too eager to write every single detail down in her notebook to think about it. She placed a kiss on Matthew’s cheek, then quickly retrieved her pen and papers from the ground and went back into her own world, frantically writing down notes in order not to forget anything.

This time, Matthew was the one to blush.

#matthew and lucie #Matthew Fairchild #lucie herondale #thelasthours #shadowhunters #mucie #fairondale #matthew x lucie

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writingsofmyimagination · 5 years ago

Text

Instinct |5|

Attack on Titan Fanfic

Levi x Reader

Summary: An unwelcome(ish) blast from the Captain’s trainee days comes back to the Scouting Regiment and old habits die hard.

Instinct: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 |

Words:2803

Warnings: Swearing (Obvs), Smut - Orgasm denial, knife/cum play (Oh yeah I went there!).......Sub Levi.....Like Oooof!

This took me wayyyyy to long to finish. So i’m sorry! Thank you to everyone who has messaged at one point or another asking if there will be more chapters.

This was going be the last chapter...but I decided that i loved it too much. There will be more but there will just be a time jump to a much more recent arc. So if you wanna be tagged let me know :)

Huge shout out to @submissive-bangtan who not only inspired me to do a Sub as f**k Levi but also helped me out with a few ideas (knives and cleaning of certain fluids :P) when my Smut brain died for a while.... Thank you, you’re amazing and I purple the hell out of you!!!

Permanent tags: @spideyboiiiiiii @pjimochi @nefelimalfoy

Sooo enjoy:

“Hhhhhmmmm Cold” Levi hissed as you removed the ice filled packet from his ballooned ankle.

“Obviously”

It was a rare sight seeing Levi actually laying in his bed, you just wished it was under better circumstances. You’d done as much first aid as you could for him, his ankle had been iced and was now elevated comfortably under a few pillows.

The mission had for most purposes failed. Levi’s squad was slaughtered as well as countless others from the unit. The female titan had surprised everyone with a hardening ability everyone had yet to even comprehend; allowing her to escape. The corps nearly lost Eren, it was only thanks to Levi and Mikasa you didn’t. Mikasa disobeyed direct orders resulting in the subsequent injury of Levi. Things were not looking good for humanity. Faith In the corps had gone to lower depths than you’d thought possible; Eren’s custody was to be transferred tomorrow to the Interior police. Erwin had one last final plan; the option of failure for this non-existant.

“Don’t move!” you ordered

“I’ll be back with some tea” Levi responded with nothing but a huff but even Levi dare not move under the gaze you shot him before heading downstairs.

“How’s he doing?” Hanje asked

“As grumpy as you can expect” you responded placing the water jug over the flames. Hanje smiled weakly, even behind the bright glare of her glasses you could see the dim and tired dying out glow.

“I know everything looks bleak but even when we discover the smallest amount of knowledge about the titans it will help” she offered

“I know, just wish the squad would feel your optimism, but this plan has got to work tomorrow otherwise we’re fucked even you can’t deny that surely?”

“I try not to dwell on any other outcome than our victory tomorrow.”

“I thought I told you not to move?” Frowning at Levi who’d sat himself up, legs dangling over the bed. As petite as he was the tone on hi body was near ridiculous as was his physical strength. The underwear only teasing his thighs.

“You did, I’ve ignored you. It’s not bad, I heal fast” You placed the tea next to his bed, sighing with a shake of your head.

“This is why I … At least let me strap it first” You grabbed a bandage from the draw and plonked yourself next to him and shoved him on his back and cradled his leg over your thighs and began wrapping.

“I wish you’d just listen to me, just once” you confessed defeated as you got up sliding your shoes off near the door subsequently locking it. He did used to listen but only when he submitted in the bedroom, never in the field.

“I’m going to keep you off your feet for a little longer” You offered with finality to a Levi who already had his legs dangling over the bed ready to get up again. You hindered him from getting up any further pushing him back as he went to stand. He conceded, bratty pout slapped on his lips; he pulled himself up to resting his head against the pillow. Your legs clamped either side of his waist resting on the back of your calves trapping him where he lay. Even injured he was strong enough to put up a fight but he didn’t.

Wise choice! Plan successful!l

“Yeah?” he questioned, his lips curving up at either end wickedly; his hands rested and gripped at your behind. You naturally arched into him.

“Mmmhmm” your hands found solace brushing up his undercut from the side and tangling in his hair.

“I was thinking we could play a game, like we used to or have you forgotten how much you like it when I’m in charge?” you traced a finger from his neck in a delicate soft move to under his chin. He chased your finger meekly into a kiss, soft at first. His grip on your behind grew tighter. His lips rougher, dancing with yours. His eyes flashing back to the echo of training days, two cadets sneaking out to the training posts.

With enough motivation to stay where he lay you slid of the bed and scooped up his harness that was hung pristine and delicate on the back of the door.

“Take everything off and put this on, I’ll be back in a minute” The leather was removed from your hand with instant obedience.

You took ten minutes to return, you only needed three. The other seven were purely for his imagination to stew.

On your arrival back he’d done as you asked.

“Good Boy” His eyes bloomed. Those words. Coming from anyone else would easily have earned a broken jaw, but from you; they riled something at his very core. He would sin to the heavens for you just to hear those words roll off your tongue. The leather, ribboning round his skin. Beautiful as it tried to contain the muscle underneath.

You grabbed the chair, wrist swinging it in front you. Your head nodded to the chair

Sit!

He sat.

“Did you think I’d forget how my Levi likes to be treated?” Your fingers clasping together at the base of his neck, your chest almost to his, your hips angling into his groin; his palms already applying pressure at your hips.

“Did you think I’d forget every last dirty thing I can get you to do to me?” your words slipped into a whisper at his ear as smoothly as your lips enveloped his ear lobe. Adams apple bobbing a deep groan in his throat as your teeth pinched the skin and your hips rolled into him hard.

“You sound so beautiful when you moan for me” praise tickling awakes the triggers at the back of his mind. He was weak for it, but what really drove him when you were in charge was the need to please you; to drag every breath, moan and obscenity from your lips. When you demanded it of course. When he was yours, the ability and familiarity of following orders to a fault remained in tune with his Corps life.

“Wanna play?”

“Yes” You tugged at his hair.

“Yes, M’aa…m” You ground your hips against him again for a final time as he grew hard beneath you.

“I’ve just got to grab something from downstairs”

“Again?” he whined.

His hands were locked in yours, pinned above of his head. His wrists looking so pretty with rope weaved around them. He was unable to see the way your mouth had curled into a smile, laced with satisfaction. Thee make shift blindfold seeing to that. He’ll have a reason to smile every time that cravat is round his neck from now on. His eyes had blown out so beautifully when he saw what you’d brought from downstairs. His thighs were tinted red, small red squares. The way he hissed through his teeth as the riding crop struck. Your core hovered, aching for the pressure of his thigh centimetres below.

“If I don’t cum from your words while I’m riding your pretty thighs you’re going to say blind and tied and I’m going to ruin every orgasm that I allow”

“If you do” he countered.

“If I do… you’ll be able to see and touch me and when I’m finished with you I’ll let you make me cum once however YOU want. Does that sound good to you?”

You lowered onto his toned muscle. His agreeance of his reward was tainted by a sigh that melted into your ears like honey when your hips circled; spreading how much he affected you.

“I’ve hardly even started and yet feel how filthy your thigh is already, coated with me”

His body fidgeted; Adams apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. The thought of getting dirty with you was too good. He wanted to feel your cum coat his thighs as you unwound above him and he wanted to SEE it.

“I’m waiting” You prompted. You wanted his words mixing with your hip movements. He’s was never much of a talker, so all them years ago you started doing these ‘games’ to get him to articulate what he enjoyed the most; and he was ridiculously good!

“I bet you wish it was my tongue in between your legs instead of my thigh don’t you?” Your fingers curled into his skin just above his chest, pressing more weight through your hands.

“Why don’t you tell me why…I should” you prompted through supressed moans as he tensed his quads beneath you. His hair falling off of his forehead as he rolled his head to the side, veins twitching frustrated in his neck.

“You love when my tongue glides through you, the way my teeth leave pretty little bruises on the inside of your thighs”

“Mmmm” you hummed in bliss rocking your hips.

“The long flicks of my tongue, the way you quiver and your leg tighten around my head”

Your hips circled in long drawn out ones, rushing to that high quicker than you thought you would.

“Your clit in my mouth, the way you arch your back when my fingers disappear into you. I love it when your fingers scratch down my back, marking me whispering how good you take my cock into your ear”

Your hips jolted along his tensed muscle, nails dragging down his chest

“Fuck” you hissed leg muscles dancing, clenching his thigh. A victorious smirk plastered across his face.

“Didn’t take you long were you that desperate?” You gripped his jaw harshly bringing his face to the centre, his lip partially pouting.

“Watch your mouth” you shoved his head to the side. He huffed, the regretful moan that followed when your hands clamped down around his weeping cock.

“You’re now going to suffer a bit longer for that cockiness” Your hands weaved through the harness tugging gently.

“But I’ll do as I said after”

“How’s that” you preened talking over the deep groan rolling around his throat as you lowered yourself down on him.

“Mmm tight…soo good” he whined. He had the audacity to roll his hips into you without permission.

“I don’t think so…” you half choked keeping your moan from him.

“You’re NOT going to move and you’re NOT going to cum are you?”

“No ma’am” Muscles twitched in his arm as the frustration was tugged onto the rope cocooning his wrists. You weren’t going to make it easy for him. The rhythms of your hips were something Levi confessed in being weak for; especially when he couldn’t control them. You could never get over how sexy it was when Levi’s bottom lip disappeared under his teeth, groans filtering through.

“…..”

You stifled yourself as you lent backwards grabbing your next play thing. His cock now pressed firm against the velvet patch inside you. Your fingers traced over some light lines on his chest, a subtle hint and memory triggering gesture.

Red trickled over tense pectorals, the stain spreading through the white linen. Hisses passed through pursed lips. Your hips circling torturous and slow clenching around him; his hips jutted up minutely as the glinting silver blade caressed over his skin. His head rolled back into the sheets; drunk on the sensation, goosebumps igniting a pathway where the red trickled down.

“Did you think I’d forget how much you love it when I make you bleed?”

“God I can feel your cock twitching; you love it when I mark you don’t you”

“Mmmhhmmm” he hummed, redirecting every ounce of energy he had to not fuck up into you. His cheeks secured in your hand fast.

“Excuse me?” you cued.

“Yes, fuck!” He whined.

“Does that sound like you want more?” You gave him a moment to retrieve a breath which you only stole clenching around him.

The knife edge balancing elegant over his collarbone. Obedient metallic soldier waiting for its command.

“More” he pleaded.

“Manners” Your hips had stilled waiting for the magic word. You detected slight exasperation amongst the breath of his whine of the sudden stopped motion.

“Please, god please don’t stop moving, you feel so good. Please mark me as yours, please”

“Much better” you praised, your hips resumed their light circles; your breath hitching when he reached the velvet goldmine at the front of you. Eliciting hisses from his lips, clenching and drawing neat lines soon to be littered with little pin pricks of red.

“So pretty” you cooed, hands ghosting down the centre of his chest; his muscles tensing at the contact.

The rope fell away from his skin, pretty rose pink lines now glazed on his wrists. His eyes flitting adjusting to the light finally landing between your thighs and his. Cum and arousal glistening off them. His arms had dropped above him resting on the squishy cotton of the pillow. His pupils fully blown out saturated with desperation.

“Can I move now?”

“Mmm yes, but you still can’t cum until I say” He didn’t need permission twice. He sat up, his freed hand supporting you at your lower back. Your own hands tightening together at the back of his neck; fingers gliding past the soft prickles of his undercut. The moment your back touched the mattress his head dived to the crevice of your neck allowing him to nudge your head to the side. Hot thirsty kisses decorating your neck, kisses becoming heavier across your clavicle. Fading red petals drifting away quickly. The kisses across your scarred side were longer, almost more sincere and compassionate. The warm comfort of oxytocin you brushed away pushing his head further down to where was really aching and pressing on your priority list. Humanities strongest weak for the treasure between your legs offered no resistance.

“Fuck…Stop!” you cried yanking his head up from your core, his chin glistening, cheeks tainted light pink from the heat.

“Just fuck me now” you whined. Moist plump lips made their way up your body. Your devilish eyes holding onto his with a vengeance.

Heavy breathed expletives diffused into the air. Levi’s low grunts getting deeper rapidly. His head already buried heating up your neck with nips and bites. Blossoming pink half crescents indenting on his back.

“You feel so fucking good” you managed in unison with the harsh juts of his hips.

“Fuck… I can’t” he struggled.

“After 3 and you can cum, you’ve been such a good boy” you purred. You were trying your hardest to control your muscles, hindering them from releasing the intoxicating waves.

“3”

“2”

“Ugh I can’t” he whined again. The desperation emitting through his struggling pants shoved you straight into a convulsing mess. He broke. Pulling out unable to hold just one more second. Spilling out over your stomach.

“That desperate you couldn’t even hold on one more second; and now you’ve made a mess” you were chasing your breathes, body basking in the aftershocks.

Exhausted pants fanned across your neck, low groans soaked in his throat.

“Mmm, I’m sorry” He whimpered. You dragged him into a suffocating kiss, his knee pressing against your soaked core causing sweet shudders.

“Seeing as you couldn’t control yourself you can clean your mess up” He nodded accepting his task, shifting upwards to leave the bed.

Oh no!

“With your tongue” you added holding his arm.

He made sure to scatter your breasts with wet prolonged kisses. The attention firing through your nerves like a flame spreading through gasoline. He smirked as his lips engrossed around your nipple which was already stood pining attention. His body shuffled down; eyes face to face with his mess. Your eyes never faltered, fixed on the all too intoxicating view of his tongue brushing against your skin, lapping up his own cum. A starving kitten getting all the cream.

“If only everyone else knew just how filthy you really are. The clean freak stops at the bedroom door” you shuffled under his mouth, already feeling that fuzzy feeling in between your legs pooling round your bundle of nerves.

“Nobody would believe you baby” he cooed in response creeping back up to nudge into the crevice of your neck; you could only hum in response.

“Enough now, let me go and get a towel and some water so I can clean you up” you offered glancing at the red smeared over his chest.

“Not yet”

“No?”

“If I know you and you know I do; you watching me clean up my own cum would have easily made you want to fuck again…so… I’d rather do that” Fingertips trickled down your body, dipping between your legs.

“Mmm see…your just as much of a slut as I am. Annnddd you said I could have you once exactly how I wanted”

“Well you know I’m a woman of my word”

#attack on titan #LEVI ACKERMAN #levi x reader #shingeki no kyojin #Attack on Titan Imagine #instinct #captain levi smut #attack on titan smut #yes i'm a damn hoe

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hallospaceboyy · 5 years ago

Text

Servitude Part 3

Lilith has been acting strangely, and when her emotions finally get the better of her, Y/N must console her.

AN: Love love LOVED writing this, and it's not often I feel this way, but I'm so happy with the way this turned out. I do hope you all enjoy 🖤

Warning for smut, strong language

Part 1 / Part 2

You’ve barely seen Lilith since you had spent the night with her just over a week ago. She rarely summoned you, but still expected you at her side during her council meetings. She seemed at war with herself since the affection she showed you, no longer allowed you to sit in her lap, but had you chained to the throne, kneeling at her feet, as if to instil some dominance, some control that she no longer feels. The silver chain hooks into the small, metal heart shaped loop that hangs from your collar, keeping you tethered there, not that you have any desire to move anyway, happily stay by her side.

The meeting ends, demons filing from the room, and the brunette hadn't touched you the entire time, not even so much as a stroke of your hair, as you were so used to. You'd tried to rest a hand on her calf some time ago, just to feel her, but she had pulled away, leaving you crestfallen, confused.

Her blue eyes finally do rest on you now, and she's frowning slightly, deep in thought. You crawl closer to her, place both hands on her knees, and she stiffens, but doesn’t recoil, eyeing you curiously. The sound of the chain dragging across the stone floor, the way the cold metal brushes the skin of your chest makes you shiver. Lilith regards you coolly, eyes flitting over you as if awaiting your next move. You slowly push her long red dress up her legs, eyes never leaving hers.

“Let me please you, My Queen. I hate that I have angered you.”

Her jaw clenches at that, but she keeps silent as you bunch her dress at her hips and part her thighs. You press soft kisses there, closing your eyes, and hear her breath a sigh, shifting her hips in her seat. Her slender hands tangle in your hair, and you smirk as you kiss higher, find her devoid of underwear again.

You don’t keep her waiting, eagerly bury your face in her cunt and lick at her hungrily, and the demoness releases a strangled moan, arching her back and pushing at your head. She's sinfully wet, drapes her leg over the arm of the throne to spread herself more for you and you groan throatily against her, lapping at her entrance, swallowing her arousal for you with wanton eagerness.

She cries out loudly as you suck at her clit, flicking your tongue over it, and she's rolling her hips against you now, pressing your face insistently to her.

“Yo-You're such a good girl.” She moans breathily, and then she’s tipping over the edge, clawing at your scalp as her orgasm crashes through her, bucking her hips against your skilled mouth. You can feel her slickness coating your chin, and you squeeze her thighs, digging your nails in slightly. It never fails to delight you, making her come apart, seeing her composure slip. It makes you fall for her all the more, her open vulnerability in these moments when you please her.

Her grip on your hair slackens, and she combs her fingers tenderly through your locks, panting. She gazes down at you when you glance up at her and press a single soft kiss to her clit, laboured breathing hitching in her throat. You nuzzle your cheek against the soft flesh of her thigh, leaning your head against her.

“You haven't done a thing to displease me, Y/N.” She whispers, and she offers you a gentle smile, and with a flick of her wrist the chain tethering you to the throne detaches from your collar, clattering to the floor. “Go on to your room now, darling. I need some time to think.”

Your heart sinks when she looks away from you, face stoney again, and you wince at the soreness in your knees as you stand, limping from the room.

You are rudely awakened from your nap when there is an urgent knock on your chamber door, starting into a sitting position and rubbing at your head. The room is dark, candles all burned down, and you know you've been sleeping for hours. You jump from the softness of the mattress when a crash resounds from down the corridor, and you sprint to fling the door open, finding Lilith's minion standing there, eyes wide, wringing his hands.

“She’s inconsolable. I didn't know who else to ask.”

“Lilith?”

He nods, swallowing thickly. “She’s been crying, screaming, destroying things. I've never seen her like it.”

You sigh, ignoring the dread in the pit of your stomach as you brush past him and stride with purpose to Lilith's quarters, and you don't bother to knock when you hear the loud wracked sob from the other side, push the heavy door open with shaking hands.

Lilith is curled on the rug before the fire, although it barely burns, dying down to a pile of hot ash and embers. Her arms are wrapped around her knees, and her shoulders are shaking, hair hanging in wild strands around her face. The armchair is upturned across the room, the drapes pulled from the windows and the frame of the four poster bed, torn to ribbons on the floor. Smashed glass litters the ground, and your eyes flit to the puddle of whisky beside the broken bottle on the stone floor. The room is a mess, chaotic, but you take it in only fleetingly, tiptoe around the shards of glass as best you can to fall to the side of your Queen. You wince when a small fragment embeds itself in your heel, but say nothing, a tiny cut the least of your worries.

“I didn't ask you here.” She snaps, well, tries to snap, but her voice breaks, and it's thick with tears.

“I know. I was informed you may need some company. Maybe a little cheering up, a listening ear?”

You don’t recoil when she looks at you and glares, merely search her face, taking in the red splotched, tear streaked skin, swollen eyes, her smudged makeup, usually perfect red lips staining the pale skin around her mouth. Your heart aches to see her this way, brow furrowing in concern at the fresh tears gathering in her eyes.

“I don’t need anything, don't need anyone.” She spits, looking away from you to gaze at the embers in the hearth, and you refrain from rolling your eyes at her trying to close herself off from you.

“You know, you may not like to admit it, but I know you better than anybody in Pandemonium. I may spend most of my time sitting in obedient silence, but I’ve studied you, watched you intently the entire time, listened to you. I know every change in the nuance of your voice, notice the slightest shift in body language. You can talk to me, Lilith. About anything.” You certainly don’t feel as brave as you sound, but you place a warm hand on her back, and she tenses momentarily, before relaxing beneath your touch and turning to search your eyes.

“I'm weak. I have failed. The one thing I told myself I would not let happen, has. I-I don’t-" She sighs in frustration, rubbing furiously at her eyes. “I care for you so deeply. I never meant to let it happen. But it's drowning me, clawing at my heart and I can’t bare it. Can't bare the way that you remain so kind, so loyal, when I've treated you as some object to be owned.”

“You've treated me well. I'm happy here, with you.”

“Why?” She frowns, bottom lip trembling, and you take her hands in yours, kiss the backs of each of them, each knuckle, her palms, her wrists.

“Because I love you. I would do anything for you. I’m not ashamed to admit that. Having feelings doesn’t makes us weak, Lilith. It makes us strong, to allow ourselves to succumb to them despite the pain we have suffered through. The pains of the past.”

Her bottom lip trembles, and you take her into your arms, surprised when she lets you, instantly melts into you and nuzzles her face into the crook of your neck. She sniffles against you and you hold her tighter, stroke her hair, her back, just cradling her and relishing in the intimacy, the softness. You would hold her this way every day if she allowed you.

“You love me because you feel obliged to. Because I’m Queen.” She murmurs, but her arms still snake around your waist despite her doubt.

“No. I love you because you're you. The fact that you're Queen makes me proud. The fact that you're strong, resilient, generous, intelligent beyond words, endlessly fascinating, makes me love you. I admire you more than I've ever admired anyone.”

Lilith huffs a laugh then, her hot breath tickling your neck. “Ever the flatterer.”

“It's not flattery, my love. I would never lie to you.”

She pulls away from you, and your heart constricts at the notion that you've said something wrong, said too much, but her face is inches from yours, her watery eyes gazing into yours, and she blinks heavily to try to keep the tears at bay. She presses her lips to yours then, and your heart jumps in your chest. She's never kissed you before, had been the one boundary she told you that she would never cross. Kissing is intimate, kissing is a caress lovers share, kissing is how you fall, so the touch of her lips to yours is the only touch you aren’t familiar with. Until now. Her lips are soft and damp, and she tastes of whisky, of burning, her hot mouth a lick of fire as her tongue slips past your parted lips. She tastes exquisite, feels exquisite, and you can’t withhold the soft whine that rises from within you, can't refrain from clutching desperately at her dress, needing her closer to you, needing her against you. Her slender hands cup your face as she crawls into your lap, straddles your hips and presses herself flush against your heaving chest.

You whimper when she breaks away, and she chuckles, nuzzling her nose against yours. You didn’t want the kiss to end, but when your eyes flutter open to look at her, take in her flushed cheeks, the lazy smile on her face, your stomach flips and you feel light headed, overwhelmed with profound affection for her – Your Queen, your Lilith.

“I have wanted to do that for so long.” She whispers, and you blush, grinning at her and biting your lip.

“I think you should do it again.”

“Mm. I agree.” Her tongue darts out at your lips, and you suck at it, capture her lips with yours and nip at her bottom lip. She hums against you, and you hold her tighter, arms enveloping her in an embrace.

“I love you." She mumbles between kisses, voice breathless, gentle, so very soft, and you smile against her lips.

“I love you too, Lilith.”

Your lips remain locked for some time, until you're both hot with need, pawing at each other desperately, and then you carry her to the bed, crawl on top of her slight form with the intention of worshipping her, the entirety of her. But Lilith has other ideas, rolls you beneath her and strips you bare, strips herself bare, and she makes love to you for the first time, her hands gentle, her lips seeking heated flesh, each caress bestowed upon you radiates love, affection, a devotion to you that she had never shown you before. When you are both satiated, laughing with pure joy in each others arms, you fall asleep blissfully entwined. When you wake in the morning, the throbbing you had been ignoring in your foot is gone, completely healed, and your fingers instantly brush your neck. The collar is no longer there, bare of heavy leather. It feels strange, but you know that this is Lilith's way of showing you as her equal, and you nuzzle into her sleeping form, inhaling her familiar scent. The scent of home.

#lilith x reader #lilith #madam satan #madam satan x reader #caos fanfiction #caos

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whatawriterwields · 5 years ago

Text

Am I Wrong?

The bookshop’s window looks out onto the street. Aziraphale stands there, feet planted firmly on the dusty wood of the floor, shoulders back, head erect. Hands clasped behind his back. A soldier at attention, though he can’t stop his hands from fidgeting, hard as he tries. He stares out at the cars and the pedestrians passing, one after the other, back and forth, back and forth. He watches the pattern repeat until he can hardly stand it, until he wants to scream. His eyes burn, but it’s not enough to produce real tears.

He’s used to this feeling, this twisting, swirling sensation in his gut. He’s been known to stand this way for hours, days even, before finally breaking down and crying, and then trying to forget about it. As his hands tremble now, and he fights to keep them still, he hopes this one will pass more quickly.

But this time he’s interrupted. Though he’s turned his bookshop’s sign to CLOSED - though he’s had the wild thought, as he always does in these episodes, that he should close the damn thing down and leave London for good - the door swings open around noon, and a familiar voice calls out to him above the bell.

“Angel?”

His heart leaps, faintly, at the sight of Crowley’s red hair making its way toward him through the shelves. For a moment he thinks about moving away from the window, opening a bottle of wine with the demon, and whiling away the afternoon and the evening with pleasant conversation. Laughing about customers and hearing horror stories about Crowley’s plants. But then the thought crumples. Aziraphale deflates, and turns back toward the window, eyes burning a little stronger. That’s just like him, to think of distracting himself with pleasure. How stupid of him. How selfish.

Read on Ao3

Crowley appears by his side. “What are you doing here? I fancied a lunch date.”

Aziraphale forces a little smile. “That sounds fine, dear.”

“Fine?” Crowley raises an eyebrow.

His lips twist into a half-grimace, and he focuses his eyes on the people passing by on their side of the sidewalk. It’s not many people - the day is overcast, and it’s a weekday, and most people are at home or at work - but it’s enough. Enough to remind Aziraphale why he should be at work too.

“Something’s bothering you,” says Crowley. “Tell me.”

Oh, that would be easy, wouldn’t it? To confide in Crowley, to heave all his inner turmoil on the demon’s shoulders, to let him carry the weight Aziraphale was made for. That would be convenient enough. Aziraphale swallows, tasting salt on his tongue, and stares away. “It’s nothing.”

“Don’t be daft. I’ve never heard you that unenthusiastic about food.”

And that comment, though it’s said in a lighthearted tone, a gentle tone, even - though Aziraphale knows Crowley is only teasing, and that Crowley loves him, and that Crowley doesn’t mind going out to restaurants and watching Aziraphale eat everything on the menu - because of those things, in fact, that comment makes Aziraphale’s shoulders sag, and he covers his face with his hands as they begin to shake.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley is taken aback. “Hey, hey -” he puts an arm around Aziraphale, using the other hand to draw Aziraphale’s damp fingers from his eyes, to brush the brimming tears away - “what did I say?”

“N-nothing.” Aziraphale pulls away from Crowley’s arms. He doesn’t deserve comfort. “I’m…”

“What? You’re what?”

“I’m all wrong.” He gestures helplessly out the window, too overwhelmed to try disguising the catch in his voice. “Do you see the people out there? The people who walk by my bookshop every day, and have for hundreds of years, and did before I came here and started this ridiculous business?” He locks his eyes on a man with his head bowed against the wind, and points. “That man just lost his job. He’s trying to care for his son, but he’s barely making ends meet, and he’s been praying every night for a miracle to change his fate.”

Crowley’s eyes widen. “How do you know that?”

Oh, Crowley doesn’t know, of course he doesn’t. Aziraphale has never told him what the world is like for a principality. That’s one secret he’s never confided. “I know them all, Crowley. I can know every human’s suffering if I want to.”

“What?”

“See that woman?” He motions, somewhat wildly, to an elderly woman several paces behind the man. “She hasn’t talked to any of her family members since her brother died. She tries to work up the courage every day, but she just can’t stop thinking about which one of them is next, and maybe it’s her but even worse, maybe it isn’t, and she’s terrified of letting herself cry about this first loss when she’s got to keep herself strong for so many more.” Aziraphale dashes more tears from his eyes.

Crowley’s mouth is hanging open. He seems utterly lost for words, but that’s just fine - Aziraphale isn’t done, he isn’t close to done.

“I’ve been in this shop since the eighteenth century,” he says, “and I’ve seen every kind of suffering under the sun. I’ve seen people break down and cry in the middle of the street. I’ve seen arguments end decades-old relationships. I’ve seen people dying, out there in the cold during the worst winters, and no one caring enough to help them.” He clutches his head, running his fingers through his hair, his breaths shaky, uneven. “But most often I just see the pain in their minds. And it doesn’t show up on their faces. And I can read exactly what’s happening to them - I can see how badly they need the world to just stop being so unfair, and for some great cosmic order to right their lives, and for things to start making sense.”

Aziraphale lets his arms fall. “All while I’m here, in my bookshop, wealthy as can be, able to go out to lunch whenever I like, never needing to worry about money or dying or how I’ll keep warm when winter comes.” He wants to let his legs give out under him. He wants to fall apart. “All while I’m reading books and eating crepes.”

There’s a moment of silence. Aziraphale doesn’t look up at Crowley; instead, he turns and leans his forehead against the window. He can still see people passing. He sees the ones in their cars, too, and it takes him no time at all to pick out the ones hurting. To see their stories unfurling out from behind them like so much shredded ribbon.

“You...” says Crowley at last, “what are you saying?”

“I’m saying I’m a bad angel, Crowley,” Aziraphale snaps. “I’m saying I was supposed to be a warrior against the forces of evil and injustice, and I don’t know how. I’m no good at fighting. I’m saying -” his hands are still clenching and unclenching, feeling, Aziraphale knows, for the flaming sword he still senses like a phantom limb - “I’m saying that I’m frivolous, and shallow, and selfish.”

“Oh, come on.” Crowley reaches out for Aziraphale again, hands going to his shoulders, comforting - and once more Aziraphale sidesteps them. Why is being kind so easy for Crowley? Why does comforting come so natural to a demon? Why can’t Aziraphale reach out to the person driving that car out there, who’s fallen off the wagon for the third time, and give him some of that healing warmth that flows from Crowley without a thought?

“I care so much about books,” Aziraphale whimpers. “I read them over and over, and I collect them, and sometimes I just sit in the middle of them and stare at them and feel so happy I can’t even explain it. And I want to care that much about all these people. I want to - really, I do. But it’s so exhausting.” He can feel another sob building in the back of his throat. “It never ends, their pain. And when they come in here I don’t know what to say to them. I don’t know how to help. I’m useless.” He has that wild thought again, that reckless, wits’-end thought, that maybe it’d have been better if his bookshop stayed burned. “All I can think about are these stupid books.”

And he sobs again, and again, and leans against the window like it’s a lifeboat keeping him above a flood. Like it’s another little raft that keeps him from harm when the humans around him are drowning.

“I don’t know how to help,” he sobs. “I’ve been here six thousand years and I don’t know how to help them.”

And he feels so weak, so pale and fragile here in this place that’s supposed to bring him joy, that he barely notices when Crowley touches him once more. When Crowley’s fingers press to his cheek again, turning his face, slowly, tenderly toward him.

“Aziraphale,” he says, quiet. “Look at me.”

Reluctantly Aziraphale raises his eyes. Crowley’s sunglasses are off. His golden serpent’s eyes are on full display, spread without whites around them. They’re filled with something Aziraphale can’t quite name.

“You’re not a bad angel,” Crowley says. “No one should be forced to carry the whole world’s suffering. That’s too heavy a weight for anyone.”

“I could be doing it better,” Aziraphale mutters. “I could be - I don’t know - I could be rescuing people from war zones. I could be going out distributing food to the hungry. I could be miracling jobs for every underemployed family. I could be out shouting down bigoted preachers - in fact I could have been doing that for hundreds of years, as they don’t seem to be getting any less bigoted as time goes by. I could have used some divine miracle to stop the Inquisition, if I’d caught it in time, if I’d been more vigilant. I could have stopped the Terror.”

“You can’t possibly blame yourself for every terrible thing humans have done to each other.”

“What else can I think? They commend you. They ought to have punished me.”

“Come on.” Crowley tilts Aziraphale’s chin up. “We both knew they were idiots for thinking I started the Terror and the Inquisition. We both knew it wasn’t possible for a single demon to do that much damage. How can anyone have expected a single angel to stop it?”

“So many people died.”

“People die, Aziraphale. It’s what they do.” Crowley moves his hand to the back of Aziraphale’s neck, still gentle. “It’s not your fault.”

Tears are running more freely, now, from Aziraphale’s eyes. “But it’s my mission -”

“Was your mission.” Crowley’s thumb runs over Aziraphale’s damp cheek. “It was a terrible mission, given to you by angels who didn’t care about you. It was a mission that just set you up to be a disappointment. But you’re free now.”

“And what am I supposed to do?” Aziraphale wants to pull away, but he doesn’t have the strength anymore. He needs Crowley’s hands. He needs his breath. He needs his comfort, pathetic creature that he is. “I want to help. I want to be good. I don’t want to spend another six thousand years here not making a difference to anyone.”

And Crowley smiles, a smile so slow and so easy and so tender it’s like watching the dawn break in the sky.

“Angel,” he says. “You’re an idiot.”

Aziraphale blinks.

“You know I’m a demon, right?” Crowley nods down at himself. “You know not a single person in six thousand years has ever been kind to me, except for you?”

Aziraphale glances away, cheeks going red. Crowley’s exaggerating. Though his earnest expression, the way he ducks his head to make eye contact again, belies any sort of teasing intent.

“You gave me hope in goodness again,” Crowley said. “When you gave away your sword. That’s not nothing, is it?”

“I…”

“You think you haven’t mattered? Angel, you’ve mattered to me for all six thousand years you’ve been on this planet. You’ve mattered more than the sun. You’ve mattered so much you convinced me to stop Armageddon, and it’s not because you were some grand warrior out fighting injustice. I met enough of those types in Heaven.” Crowley jerks his head, as if to dismiss the legions of God’s army in a single gesture. “It was because you loved.”

“What do you mean?”

“Loved, not the way they talked about in Heaven - not the way they meant it when they said God’s made of love.” Crowley takes Aziraphale’s face in both hands and holds it steady. “Listen to me. You loved because things brought you joy. Because you were happy, in this world, and that was incredible to me.”

Aziraphale hiccups. It’s hard for him to keep his mind on the gaping chasm in his gut when Crowley is looking at him like that. When Crowley is holding him so near, and still smiling that close, loving smile.

“You’re an idiot,” Crowley murmurs. “You’re so good, angel, and you’re a light in this world without even trying to be one. You have no idea how much happiness you can bring just by loving books. It’s not wrong to be the way you are.”

“Oh, Crowley -”

“Shh.” Crowley draws Aziraphale in, wrapping his arms around him and fitting his head against the crook of his neck. “Hey. It’s all right to cry. Get it out.”

And Aziraphale cries; he stops trying to maintain his soldier’s stance and leans fully into Crowley, letting Crowley support him. Crowley pets his hair. The feeling is so nice, so wonderfully soothing; he shouldn’t enjoy it, he shouldn’t be thinking about Crowley when he’s supposed to be thinking about the world, but somehow he can’t help it.

Maybe Crowley’s right. Maybe he doesn’t have to.

“The world needs people like you,” says Crowley. “So you aren’t a warrior. Who needs another force for violence anyway? Humanity’s better off with you watching over them than anyone else.”

“You really think so?”

Crowley pulls back, and his lips meet Aziraphale’s, softly, so softly. Aziraphale can’t help the smile that blooms in his mouth at Crowley’s touch.

“I know so,” he says.

For a long moment they stand in silence, Aziraphale taking slow, steadying breaths, Crowley with his arms still around him, rubbing soothing circles into his back. For a long moment Aziraphale works to let go of the shame he let overcome him.

Then the bookshop’s doors jingle again, and the two of them break apart.

Aziraphale’s eyes widen. Someone else has entered the shop, someone he doesn’t recognize - a young girl, a teenager, with short dyed hair and large earrings. She looks a little small for her clothes, like she’s shrinking into herself, like she’s lost. It takes her a moment to turn her head in their direction.

When she does, her gaze drops immediately to their joined hands, before she looks up at their faces. Aziraphale catches the trace of a smile in hers.

“Hello,” he says, voice still wobbling slightly. “My apologies. I was just - ah - well, I’d been having a hard morning, and my -”

He looks over at Crowley, who gives him an encouraging look.

His eyes move back to the girl, and he reads the lost look in her shoulders with hardly any need for a miracle - came out to her parents, they’re not pleased, she left the house to clear her head, but she doesn’t know what’ll be waiting for her when she comes home.

“My partner,” he says, voice a little stronger, “was giving me some good advice.”

The girl’s smile widens into something more substantial. “Uh. No problem.”

“Would you like to - er - look at a book?”

“He doesn’t like it when you buy them,” Crowley stage-whispers to her. “Just look and put them back, though, and you’ll be fine. And don’t get any smudges on the covers.”

The girl lets out a tentative laugh. “That’d be great. I’m just… looking for some light reading, you know.”

Suddenly the spark of an idea enters Aziraphale’s head. With a little bounce in his step, suddenly, he disentangles himself from Crowley and moves toward a particular shelf, beckoning the girl to follow him.

“How do you feel about classical poetry?” he asks.

She shrugs. “I don’t know much about it.”

“Well, there’s a delightful poet from ancient Greece I think you might like. I’ve got a book of her work around here somewhere…”

Crowley watches from the window as Aziraphale rummages happily through the volumes. The girl is starting to relax, peering over Aziraphale’s shoulder to see what he’s looking for. Aziraphale can feel the bright grin growing on his cheeks, but he can’t stop it. And he doesn’t want to. It’s been a long time since he’s had the chance to talk about Sappho.

Tonight, when the shop closes again, Aziraphale resolves, he’s going to take Crowley out for dinner.

#good omens #good omens fanfic #ineffable husbands #ineffable husbands fanfic #aziraphale! has! low! self! esteem!#angst and hurt/comfort #enjoy a little angsty break from my usual tooth-rotting fluff #more fluff to come soon #robin writes fanfic

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drunk-onsunlight · 4 years ago

Text

Day #2 of Promptmas

Chapter 2: I'll hold your hands (they're just like ice)

Summary:

Peter, Morgan and MJ go home to wrap some gifts for everyone but MJ has a huge bag full of money to hide while Tony and Pepper try not to ruin the Christmas decorations at their lovely home

Read on Ao3

Chapter 1: Beautiful what’s your hurry?

Chapter 2: I’ll hold your hands (they’re just like ice)

Concept: Decorating & Gift wrapping

Dialogue: “Your hands are freezing” & “That ornament doesn’t go there”

Peter, MJ and Morgan arrived to the apartment after their Christmas shopping with lots of presents for everyone. The whole gang wasn't going to get together for Christmas but they will send all the gifts to their respective owner. MJ's mom wanted to see her and MJ was definitely not hyped. She wasn't going to tolerate any discussions about politics, economy or her love life choices. Those topics were forbidden with her family. MJ wasn't physically tired, emotionally... Maybe a little. She was so used to Peter and Ned, but adding the Starks was another level, they were like Peter's family. If she wasn't good at managing her own family relationships, Peter's family relationships were just as complicated to interact too. And she just hanged out with Morgan, MJ have never met Pepper or Anthony. Peter knew her opinion on Stark Industries, the "privatization on World Peace" as Tony Stark once called it and many other things with the billionaire. That's exactly why she did all she did. She wasn't stealing anything from poor defenseless people, they deserved it. And seeing so many super heroes on the news gave her an idea a few months ago, actually one superhero and one article: The Bugle's accusations on Spider-Man. Was he actually a threat? He was helping people around and saving the city from a few awful looking monsters, but is it good to take justice in your own hands? Well, that was exactly what she was doing. The leather suit, the mask and the silver wig was just to not get caught.

The idea of using a closed mask like Spider-Man gave her terrible images of getting sick, chocking and dying without anyone knowing. Not thanks. She preferred the wig that made her look like a dream and the mask that make her eyelashes more visible, she even wore contact lenses, not common contacts, they were modified to see various ranges of the electromagnetic spectrum, she was also trained in martial arts. And the leather suit was very useful to distract people when she needs it. After they went inside the apartment, Morgan, Peter and MJ took off their gloves and jackets. Peter took a small package on his hand and left it on his room and then came back to help Morgan with the million boxes she had dropped on the couch. In that moment MJ knew she had to take her bag to her room and hide a few things, some legal and other not so legal. She managed to sneak out of the living room and when she locked the door on her room, she emptied the bag she was carrying. Two books, the silver wig, the cat mask and 5.000 dollars fell to the mattress. She placed the books on her night stand, the wig and mask under her bed and then took off her clothes to remove the leather suit. The money was a little more complicated to hide, a few shoes boxes will do fine on the top of her closet. After hiding everything she went back to the living room and found Peter and Morgan struggling with some gift wrapping paper. The scene was really cute, actually. Morgan was placing her little hands on the table to hold the paper in place and Peter was trying to fold the paper around a mountain of kitchen supplies. They were a mess. "Do you guys need some help?" MJ asked trying to hide her smile at the ridiculous but cute scene "oh, please! Peter is terrible at wrapping gifts" Morgan looked totally mortified but had funny expression "Me? You are not helping much little lady" Peter looked so troubled that MJ decided to take him out of his misery "ok. First of all, that's not the way to wrap a bakery set. Peter, why on earth are the bowls upside-down?" "He is terrible at this. Told you” "Do you have a better idea, Morgan?" "Nope. But MJ has. You do, right?" Morgan looked at her with pleading eyes "I do. Didn't this have a box or something like that? I can't think of a store just giving a full bakery set without a box" Peter and Morgan looked at each other on a silent conversation and if MJ was getting things right, Peter was on the 'I told you so' part. "You didn't bring the box, didn't you?" "Nope" Peter and Morgan answered at unison "Morgan thought it was better to wrap everything outside the box so it didn't looked so 'lame' if I recall correctly" "And you can't say no to Morgan. Ok, then we can find a nice way to place everything into the big bowl like a fruit basket but with kitchen supplies. Better idea?" "Oh, my god! Yes! That's perfect" Morgan was delighted and Peter relieved. MJ knelt between Morgan and Peter and started removing a few straps of paper that, somehow, Peter managed to hold to the mountain of supplies. She placed the big bowl on the center of the wrap paper and then started to place the different tools on it in the best way possible. When everything was placed on the bowl nicely, she stared to lift the paper around the bowl to hold it above the supplies, it looked like a big candy. MJ put her hands around the wrapping paper and realized she didn't have any ribbons close by to finish. "Peter, can you put your hands here so I can find a ribbon for this?" "Yeah, totally!" he instantly moved his hands to where MJ had hers. When their hands made contact she realized she was freezing or Peters hands were just too warm for her "MJ, your hands are freezing! Do you want some tea?" "yeah. That would be nice. Thanks. But after we finish this" Peter still had one of his hands over MJ's and after a second too long she remembered she needed a ribbon to tie the present. She tried to make a nice ribbon and to make the paper look decent after Morgan and Peter's attempts at wrapping the bakery set. Peter went to their kitchen and started the kettle for MJ's tea and then decided to make some hot chocolate for him and Morgan. MJ kept wrapping more gifts, those were easier to wrap, especially May and Pepper’s shoes, thank God they had those boxes.

Morgan helped MJ cutting tape and that made MJ’s job easier. She discovered that Peter bought a nice dress for May, a Netflix gift card for Happy, Spider-Man and Iron Man plushies for Anthony and a planner for Pepper. No gifts for Morgan or MJ, that she could see, he always made sure that MJ had a very embarrassing present, last year’s was a terrible Christmas sweater that he made her wear for a full day.

“MJ, bring the gifts you bought for everyone so we can wrap them!” How can you tell a 10 year old that you actually snuck off to steal some money from a bad guy and not to buy presents for her family and your friends?

“I want to keep those a secret because Peter is terrible at keeping secrets and I don’t want you, May, Betty or Ned finding out what I bought for them.” Perfect excuse, Peter was terrible at keeping secrets, he got too exited and started oversharing things he knew

“He is actually really good at keeping secrets” Morgan said after a few seconds in a quiet voice while holding the plushies MJ wrapped for Peter. She remembered the Iron Man plushie and realized Morgan’s Dad was Iron Man, he could be retired but if the timeline was correct, Peter knew him since high school and he probably knew other supers. Ned told all their class that Peter knew Spider-Man and Peter looked totally horrified because “he couldn’t speak about it” so yeah, maybe he was good at those big secrets, but little ones? Not so much

“Well, everybody has secrets Morgan, it’s up to us who do we trust with the big ones” MJ felt her leather suit was screaming at her from the room across the hallway, her secret was a big one. One nobody knew about, not her friends and definitely not her family. Just one specific person and he was hell good at keeping her secret

“and Christmas gifts are huge secrets, peanut” Peter said entering the living room with MJ’s tea and hot chocolate for him and Morgan. He was sitting next to MJ while Morgan was in front of them, they chatted for a few minutes when Peter got a call from Pepper.

“Hi, Pete!” Peter placed his phone on the table in the center so everyone could hear. It made MJ a little uncomfortable, she felt out of place, like she wasn’t meant to hear this conversation

“Hi, Mom!!!”

“Hi, Pepper” MJ didn’t say hi, she just kept listening to the rambling and weird noises in the background of the call

“Oh! Hey Morgan. I was actually calling Peter to let him know that Happy is going to get you. Your dad wants you back to help us decorate the house. Would you like that? I know you wanted to spend time with your brother but he saw a few festive decorations and bought a lot of things and now it’s freaking out because I don’t have creativity… his words, not mine”

“It’s true!! You can’t place those led lights on the fireplace, that’s terrible! And the stockings have to be there, so no lights!” MJ hear clearly everything Stark was shouting from not so far away from Pepper apparently

“Sounds like an emergency mom” Morgan was looking at peter trying not to laugh a loud

“I’m sending Happy to get you or your dad will drive me crazy! Tony!!! That ornament doesn’t go there!!!” This time Morgan and Peter shared a loud laugh.

“Nothing new I can see” Peter looked fondly at this phone with their exchange.

“Morgan, please come back” Pepper sounded mortified.

“It’s fine. She will be ready to go when Happy gets here, promise”

“and Pete, we would love to see you and your girlfriend on Christmas. Think about bringing her for some dinner or a lunch or just a coffee! I would love to meet her. Bye!” The phone went quite, just like the three of them. Morgan was looking the phone with curious eyes, Peter was bright red with big eyes and mouth open, MJ didn’t knew how she looked but surprised was a good start.

“Peter Benjamin Parker, you have a girlfriend and didn’t tell me?” oh, oh, Morgan sounded mad.

“What? No! I have no idea what she’s talking about! You should ask your mom where she got that terribly wrong information” Peter was trying to process the last two minutes while getting back his phone from the table

“oh! I definitely will! And after that we are having a serious conversation, brother. MJ, did you know something about this? After all, you guys live together”

“Actually no. I have no idea what your mom was talking about, this idiot can’t be normal so think about him dating someone... Totally unreal!” MJ wanted to ease the mood a little, Peter looked like he wanted to hide somewhere before Morgan killed him.

“ok, peanut! Go grab you coat, gloves and scarf while I pack the gifts back on their bags so you can place them under the Christmas tree” Peter helped Morgan up from the floor and took the mugs to the kitchen. The girl started to run around the apartment to gather her things. MJ saw her entering Peter’s room and a few seconds later running back to the living room and placing more packages next to the ones Peter was collecting. As soon as they finished packing, the bell rang announcing Happy.

“Bye MJ! Hope to see you again soon” Morgan said to MJ surrounded of bags with all the things she bought for everyone.

“Hope to see you soon too, Morgan!” She wanted to be more formal and send some greetings for her parents but she didn’t even knew them in person and she wasn’t going to pretend she cared enough for that formalities

Soon they were alone and MJ tried to avoid the conversation of the mentioned girlfriend, maybe Pepper hear something and took it the wrong way or she was speaking about Gwen, Peter’s ex. Maybe she didn’t know she was dead. Ok no, they were too close for Pepper not to know about her, probably Pepper knew more details of what happened that she knew. MJ needed to clear her mind so she decided to wear her leather suit again and went out without Peter knowing.

Notes:

Thanks for the comments and the kudos here and tumblr! Love you all :3

Find me in tumblr @drunk-onsunlight

Check more amazing wors in @spiderman-homecomeme

#spideychelle #spideychelle twelve days of promptmas #petermj #betty brant #ned leeds #pepperony #peter parker mcu #michelle jones mcu #morgan stark

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