#application huddles

[6thdrink]

one worked out... hoping for more to work out <3

[kneelingshadowsalome]

i love your writings so much! i need you to write about könig with maid!reader like i need air and water. könig who needs someone to take care of his house while he‘s gone, returning from his deployment only to find reader huddled up in a soft blanket on the couch, the house smelling of freshly baked cinnamon bread and lavender while she sleeps peacefully. he‘s so touch starved and the domesticity makes his heart and cock stir, he‘s never had any woman cook for him since his Oma passed away. poor reader is oblivious to her boss‘s infatuation until she‘s not, he‘s so awkward around her she thinks he just doesn‘t wanna be disturbed, but she doesn‘t know he uses her conditioner to stroke his cock every night, and now he can‘t help but get a raging boner everytime she passes by and he smells her hair :((((

Banner picture credit: @661ave

possession

noun

the state of having, owning, or controlling something.

Word count: 7 k Tags/warnings: 18+ only DARK FIC. Perv!König masturbating to thoughts of you + your stolen panties. Jealous & possessive behaviour. Dubious consent to having unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, cunnilingus, size kink, breeding kink, implied age difference. Some fluff if you squint.  A/N: First of all, I'm sorry if you expected something sweet & fluffy anon… This thing just came out of me. Also, @gremlingottoosilly wrote the best thing EVER for this trope so please if you haven’t read it yet go give it a read (dark content there too though so be warned!)

He’s good at repairing things. He prides himself in that.

And he keeps his house neat and clean: that’s not a problem. His papers are in order, his office is in order. His home is in order too, and so is his whole life – love life included because there is none. 

He always ensured he’s not dependent on anyone, he never seeked a mother from a partner. Just for self-reliance's sake, he knows how to do his own laundry and meal prep for weeks. He learned to fold his t-shirts with an orderliness fit for the military when he was ten years old, just so that no one would have the chance to say he needed a wife.

He always vacuums the entire house before deployment, does the dishes, takes out the trash. And he doesn’t hate house chores… but he doesn’t like them either. His house is a sad, lifeless, gloomy place to spend time in. It’s big enough for a family, it has everything he needs to host a night for friends, but he doesn’t have any. 

Family, or friends, that is.

When he hears that his co-worker – the one with a frigid wife and five unruly kids – hired a maid to do the cleaning in the house, he pauses to think. He doesn’t have a chaos in his home, but he’s got enough money to make life a tad easier. Besides, it’s only expected of a man of his position to hire an assistant of some sort, is it not?

It’s just that he didn’t expect housemaids to be this… cute. 

There are quite a few applications, and he’s a sick bastard for choosing the maid solely based on the picture attached to the CV. He told himself it was also because it looked like this lady needed the money the most. He's a generous man, so why not help a woman in need? 

Another thing he didn’t expect is how his house would start to smell so nice and look so cozy. It’s the small details, the tiny little things that make his chest burn. The way she uses softener on his shirts and folds not only his shirts but his boxers, too, or places a scented candle on the table when the weather turns cold. It’s clearly for his delight because it’s not one of those overly sweet apple or caramel things but something fresh, maybe spruce or fir. 

She even bakes for him on the days when he comes back. The fact that a beautiful young woman bakes for him stirs something unwanted and long-forgotten in his chest. The sweet scent of home baked buns makes his cock stir, too. His place has never seen a woman’s touch, no one has ever baked anything here…

And he certainly doesn’t expect to find his maid sleeping on his sofa when he arrives home one evening.

She stirs immediately, and apologizes profusely for making herself at home like this. She starts to stutter and explain how she’s had a busy week and difficulty with sleeping, how she simply dozed off while waiting for the rolls to bake in the oven. 

He stops her in the middle of her flustered excuses: she can take a nap here any time, it’s not like the furniture is going to wear and tear from use anytime soon. He’s barely even home, so it’s good that someone enjoys the sofa, right? She can use his bed too if she wants. More convenient that way, ja?

He realizes he went a little too far when she looks at him like he just offered to fuck her on the kitchen table. Which he has thought about, to be honest, for a good long while now. In fact, he’s thought about it ever since she started in this position a month ago. 

It's her fault for being so unsuspecting and lovely, and she's playing with fire when she takes more dangerous liberties by showering at his house. He finds a women’s conditioner bottle in the bathroom and once, he even catches her doing her laundry here too. There’s a pair of women’s underwear in the pile of clothes she politely informs he’d have to fold himself this time because she’s in a hurry to catch her bus. 

He’s far more intrigued by the innocent, blush pink strings greeting him from amidst his black and dark green clothes than by the fact that his maid is breaking the rules. Other employers would give her a warning or simply say she no longer has to come and work here ever again. Showering at his place, washing her clothes in his washing machine and taking a nap on his sofa border on violating the terms of their agreement, but he couldn’t care less. He would carve a hole in his chest if that would make her happy. 

When he finds out she’s busy because she has to work two jobs, he raises her pay, despite the fact that she’s sometimes late and at times, leaves a little too early. She does her job well enough, so there’s no reason to complain. He would simply like it if they saw each other more... Which is ridiculous, he knows, because the point of having a maid is that she cleans his house when he’s away. 

It just feels so nice to arrive home now that she's here. He’s never looked forward to getting back to his bleak modern mansion, but now he’s pining for his leaves like a young recruit who's got a girl waiting for him back home. 

Even if she’s not there when he gets back, he can savour her lingering scent. He sniffs the dark woolen spread she might’ve slept under just moments ago, he eats whatever freshly baked goodies she has made for him. He sleeps with her underwear tucked under his pillow, and reaches for them before sleep. Or then he grabs them in the morning when he wakes up, already hard. 

It’s nice to have an unhurried fap at home than to relieve his needs in some small grey room of a boring military base. It's far more enjoyable to stroke his cock with her tiny, cute underwear spread over his face. Sometimes he wraps it around his cock and jerks himself off to a quick, groan-filled release, adoring the way his cum stains her blushing strings.

His showers last for about 15 minutes nowadays.

It’s unheard of for a soldier, and he read somewhere that lonely and depressed people take longer showers because the warm water is supposed to make up for the lack of human touch and intimacy, and that may very well be true… But he also wants to take his sweet time stroking himself while using her conditioner as lube. 

Coconut or peach, vanilla or argan oil, he lathers it all over his cock and imagines her hot, wet pussy. His hand is too calloused to give him any illusions of softness, but the mind-numbingly sweet scent takes him immediately back to her. Her eyes, her soft smile. The dreamy sway of her hips, the elegance of her wrists as she moves some item out of the way to sweep or scrub or clean a surface.

He faps with slick urgency, wondering if her eyes would go wide if she saw his cock. He wonders if she’s noisy in bed – is she a screamer, or a moaner? Would she claw at his back or simply cling to him if he fucked her? 

And god, how he would fuck her… 

Slowly at first, draw moans out of that soft mouth until she begs him to fuck her hard. He would drag her shirt up and her bra down until her breasts are exposed, then watch how they bounce as he starts to fuck her with purpose. She begins to tighten around him, looking so fucking desperate as her cunt starts to throb and pull him in. The first moan of surrender is needy and tight when she cums around his shaft…

He never gets any further than that because his cock spills with a violent jerk. He cums, long and hard across the tiles. Loads and loads of hot seed go to waste as he groans loudly, not giving a shit about making so much noise. Feeling hollow and deprived for not being able to shoot his cum inside her and then stay there, snug and safe and warm inside her cunt, he allows himself just one single sob. 

He just wants to know how it would feel to cover her whole body with his as he slowly pumps the last drops into her. Sigh afterwards, breathe together, hold her close... Search for her eyes, check if she's in rapture too. Watch her come down from it while still squeezing him down there. Perhaps she’d give him a pleased giggle and a cute, weary smile.

"Scheisse–"

He leans on the wall, knowing that he's lonely, filthy, sick and obsessed. He lives in a dream world, and the thick conditioner takes ages to wash off. The withdrawal phase is worse every time he indulges in his dark fantasies and then has to live without her for weeks and weeks.  

She's just his maid, a hired employee. She’s just an innocent woman with her whole future ahead of her.

He's just a colonel at a notorious private military company… He's just an old, horny, depraved soldier. Calloused, fucked up, depressed. Girls like her don't want anything to do with a man like him.

…

She asks if he wants his house decorated for Christmas.

She asks it with bright eyes and such a lovely smile that he tells her he doesn't own such junk, but he can pay her if she goes to choose him some and then comes back to decorate his place. Their unusual agreement gets more unusual still as she nods with shining eyes, then goes to the city to choose his Christmas decorations for him. He even lets her use his car, which is unheard of. 

Soon, his windows are filled with lights and there are mistletoes hanging from the ceiling. She puts fancy little elves in the window, places Christmas flowers and candles everywhere she possibly can. He walks around the house with a coffee mug in his hand, suddenly awkward and shy when watching his maid put up the most sophisticated, elegant and adorable Christmas decorations he has ever had or seen.

Is this what a home should look like…? Warm, and light, and pretty, filled with cozy, useless things? 

But it's not the items she got him that make a home, no. Home now equals rich, home-cooked meals, or the mouthwatering scent of cinnamon rolls greeting him at the door. Home is a cute girl, returning his obsessive stare with a small smile and telling him to stay safe before he leaves to kill people. Home is a woman who's the perfect wife material, so fuckable and sweet, who's fussing over the fact that he doesn't even have a Christmas tree.

He gets it before her next visit – meaning, her next shift – and decorates it himself. It looks clumsy and uneven and a bit sparse, but she compliments him on it when she arrives. The looks she gives him are so warm and playful that he starts to have some hope – hell, a full surge of it – and he also starts to miss his hood. He's feeling awkward as it is around her, he doesn't need to be blushing in front of his suddenly flirtatious maid... Men don’t fucking blush when a woman flirts with them; they fuck them until their knees give in.

With no small amount of hidden guilt, he finally confronts her with her underwear, telling her she forgot something and that he found these in his laundry pile. Taking sick satisfaction from seeing how she's the one who's flustered now, he forgives her for washing laundry in his place. He's a merciful man, after all. 

There's still some cum on the lace as he returns her possession to her, and he hopes he's just imagining the shock in her eyes when she takes them back. It's his way of saying that he likes her a lot, but the flirting ends immediately, the playful smiles stop, and he knows he fucked up big time. The warm, lively woman is gone, she suddenly resembles an ice sculpture who's about to flee his apartment at any given moment, and he could hit himself in the head with a big metal bat.

What the fuck was he even thinking? That a woman would appreciate it if he returned her panties covered in old, dried cum?

He's a fucked up pervert, and he has lived in a dream world, and now reality awaits.

He shuts down and shuts up after that, keeps the connection pure, pristine and professional. She's just here to do her job. 

The holidays approach, and he's sulking, knowing that he won't see her again in at least six weeks. He'll have to make do without a maid, and he'll have to numb his whole soul to get through yet another lonely Christmas.

Well, not lonely: this time he spends it with the decorations she got him. They can keep him company during the lonely masturbation sessions. They can watch him live on takeout food and remind him what a horny, sad loser he is.

So his last attempt, his last minor sin is that he gets her a Christmas present. She's about to leave, hurrying to some place where she's loved and cherished, or then about to get fucked because she has her hair and make-up done. The jealousy creeps up his spine like a viper as he watches her get all dolled up. 

She's so very grateful to him for allowing her to get ready here and use his bathroom, and he plays the generous, kind gentleman while gritting his teeth, trying to ignore another demanding erection telling him to dick her down and make her stay down. Make her bake for him and sit on his knee as he squeezes her tits and watches her stare turn dumb. Tell her to douse the lights and light the candles, tell her to undress in front of that stupid Christmas tree, order her to lie down on the mat and spread her pretty legs for him…

She's standing at the door, a cute girl turned into a seductive goddess, while he's about to enter into another lonely brain fog. She grabs her coat and grants him one of those warmer smiles as he walks to her with an envelope in hand.

"I got you something... Merry Christmas."

"Aw… You shouldn't have…"

She accepts his gift delicately with both hands, clearly surprised and pleased. When she opens the gift, she laughs and then covers her mouth with her hand. It's a gift card to Victoria's Secret, and with a relatively large sum on it, too.

"Oh god... Ahah, okay. I like your humour," she laughs again, then gives him a wink and an exceptionally gorgeous smile. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." 

He's fully aware that he sounds like an ominous, threatening robot. His voice has an effect on women; most flee, some get curious. She's one of the few who don't know what's good for them at all.

He never had a gift with females, and even with his position, experience and age, he still feels like he’s trying to court a breathtaking alien species whose native language he can’t quite understand or speak. The silence stretches on, and her smile slowly fades, making him perfectly aware of the fact that he should say or do something assertive, something charming, instead of just standing here, looming over her. When the playful stare then turns into a helpless, pitying one, the kind his mother used to wear when she discovered he had been bullied again at school, his hands start to go numb. 

Jerk off and kill, those are the only things he ever was good for… 

"Mm... I'm afraid I have nothing for you," she says apologetically. 

Ach so… She’s ashamed for not getting him a present. 

Well, shit. Fuck.

"Don't worry about it."

"No, I mean… I thought about it. You're the kindest employer I've ever had. I really appreciate it... and I love working for you."

"That’s nice to hear." 

"I just didn't know what to get you. I don't know what you like."

He's trying to ignore the pull of his chest, the sick burning in his loins. His cock is stirring just from the way she's looking at him. Inviting, adoring, waiting.

"You already got me Christmas decorations."

"Yeah, but… You paid for them."

"Aber... You baked for me. No one's ever–"

He shuts his mouth before making a complete fool of himself.

"Well, I'm glad you liked my buns," she laughs, then bites her lip, realizing what she just said could be taken in many ways. 

"I truly did."

She guides her stare to the floor and smiles, and the electricity between them… it just can't be only a fabric of his imagination.

"Take care of yourself. Ok?" He says, then swallows a lump in his throat, but it never quite goes down. She’s still waiting for something; the tension between them is petrifying. 

"I will," she says, her voice a bit frail, and far too sweet. "You too. Take care."

She gives her last smile to him; it’s sad and somewhat disappointed as she turns around and reaches for the door.

"Wait," he calls, purely from the hard instinct that tells him to fucking do something about this heavy, sickening tension. She immediately turns with hope in her eyes.

"Yes?"

"I… Ah, glückliches neues Jahr."

"...What does that mean?" 

"It means 'Happy New Year'."

"Oh," she laughs, "I thought it was something naughty…"

Shit.

Shit.

Shit…

"Ich möchte deine Muschi lecken."

She freezes with her hand still on the doorknob. That fucking sentence was so dark it left little or nothing to the imagination... It was thick enough to make it clear that he’s not a kind, generous employer, nor is he a gentleman.

"What's that?" She asks, her pretty voice barely a whisper.

"Something naughty."

Her hand lets go, it falls to the side. She even tilts her head before her voice turns thick and suggestive too. 

"Really…?"

"Yes."

"Well don't be shy. Tell me what it means."

Playful, naughty, dirty. 

She wants to fuck. She wants to fuck.

Is this a filthy dream or is this really happening? 

"I want to lick your pussy."

There's an intake of air, just a soft gasp. Batting of long, dark lashes, just before the stars in her eyes start to shine in full.

"Oh," she breathes. "Is that so?"

"Ja."

It wouldn't be the first time someone offers him cunt just out of spontaneous pity. It wouldn’t be the first time he accepts it. A man like him takes whatever he can get.

Pity is apparently what's happening now, because his maid starts to undress. 

With a victorious shine in her eyes, she drops her coat to the floor, then unbuttons her jeans. Takes away her shirt and bra with shaky hands while maintaining that seductive, downright filthy eye contact. More and more of her skin is exposed as she quickly strips in front of him, finally slipping out of her black, see-through underwear while he's trying not to shake from dark urges and lust.

When she's naked, flush and bare, her fingers start to slide up her thigh. The other hand is pressed against her side as if shy. She’s either offering him a Christmas present in the most elegant way, or then she’s concerned about getting licked and fucked sore. It's like throwing a dog a meaty bone and then putting the hound in a loose chain, just an inch away from the mouthwatering sight and scent. She steals one look at his erection, currently trying to rip its way through his pants. The gross tent is pointed at her, and she knows it: she knows she has him on a leash, but only barely.

"Go ahead then," she whispers.

He falls straight to his knees, and presses his whole face against her softly trimmed hair. When he opens his mouth, she shudders, clearly not ready for someone this starved trying to devour her whole.

She doesn't know she's about to sleep with the devil… If she knew, she would be out the door by now.

It's too late now: he engulfs her, locks her in place by wrapping his arms around her hips. 

Mein.

Mein.

Mein…

He could rub his face in her sweet cunt forever, but that won't do: she said he could lick her, so that’s what he’s going to do. After a few bites and nibs, after inhaling the sweet scent of her and squeezing her long and hard in his embrace, he finally rises and carries her to his den. There’s only loneliness there in his bedroom, just stale sweat and old musk staining the sheets, but she softens on the linens when he goes down on her.

Her pussy is already throbbing and wet when he gives her the first, fat lick. Next up, soft little laps to make her thighs drift apart. Some long, teasing circles on her clit, and she starts to sigh - he’s not an expert, but he knows she won’t find a more enthusiastic cunt licker in this city. Or this whole country… Perhaps the entire world.

And she's not a screamer, she’s a moaner. She also whimpers a lot. He switches between giving fast attention to her clit, then slow tongue fucking to her hole. The scent of pussy fills his room: they only talk to each other through moans and whines and groans. He breathes into her like a panting dog: she whimpers under torture like she actually likes it, and likes him. Like she actually prefers his bed to any other place in this world.

He fucks her with his mouth, sloppy and hungry; he could french kiss her pussy forever like this. He could spend every evening licking her to ruin. 

"Just like that… Just like that… Don't stop…"

He's as hard as can be; he's about to lose his fucking mind. If she doesn't cum soon, he might just die from having to listen to those unhinged cries. 

To help her out – because he's a generous, generous man – he slips a finger inside, earning another spill of filthy moans.

"Oh god ohgod oh fuck–!"

She sounds dumb and helpless as he eats her out like she’s his last meal. His chin is drenched and his cock is hard as the poor girl leaks all over her ass and on his bedding. He adds another finger, starts to fuck her slow and steady. She's more than prepared for his cock, and when he starts to do the alphabet on her clit, she whimpers, whines, and finally, screams. 

The feel-good hormones flood his brain when she cums. He kisses her through it and slows down the torture gradually, gives her some space to pulse and throb and leak against his chin. 

Women need a lot of stimulation; that’s what he has learned. It’s a marathon, not a sprint, and he doesn’t want to ruin the explosion by overriding her senses. When he rises from a job well done, he sees how some of her makeup is ruined. 

Yeah. Fuck... A screamer, a moaner, and a crier.

And he's only about to fuck her…

"Das war gut. Good pussy," he mutters and licks his lips, high above his pretty little prize.

"Oh–oh god…"

Poor thing is so flushed, desperate and helpless; she jerks as he taps her clit with his cock, whines when he forces the fat, leaking tip into her folds. 

"Wait–"

"I will fuck you now."

"Sir… Please, could we use a condom? Please…"

She's still calling him sir like she's at work. Like he's her superior, or worse yet, an officer, a colonel she's not supposed to flirt with, let alone spread her weak little legs for. 

"Hm. I don't have any."

"I do," she's panting heavy on the bed, clearly reluctant to get away from his cock, too weak to get up after his thigh-shaking treatment. It would give him a year’s worth of confidence to witness her in this state, if she would only let him finish the job. Right here, right now. Dip it in raw and blow a load inside that sweet, aching cunt. She might just end up with his child... 

But the moment is ruined: he hates condoms, and he hates it that she has them with her. Jealousy starts to eat his mind like there's a can of worms poured inside his brain.

Who does she carry condoms for? Does she get fucked often...? 

How many does she have, one, two, three? A whole pack?

She rises to get the darned piece of plastic, and the thick thunder in his head is making him seriously consider locking her up and throwing away the key. Women shouldn't be running around like that, hungry and desperate for a dick. She should stay at home, his home, and go crazy when he returns from war. The rage is the only thing keeping his cock from growing soft. 

"It's too small," he laments when the condom is finally in place but barely reaches the base of his shaft. It's going to roll off if he fucks her like he intended to… Good, long, deep and hard.

She bites her lip as she stares at the sad little wrapping trying to render his cock harmless. Surely she can see how stupid and useless this is… Either he gets her a morning after pill tomorrow or then he pulls out, but the condom has to fucking go. 

"It's… okay," she swallows. "It's okay. Let's just… If you're clean?"

"I am."

He doesn't tell her he hasn't had a woman in months. Almost over a year.

And he’s clean; he keeps everything…in ordnung.

He rolls the cursed plastic off, and his cock immediately bounces back up: hard, demanding and ready. He throws the condom away, just somewhere, anywhere, as long as it's out of his sight. Wasting no time, he's back at her cunt, and bullies himself in.

"Ah ja… Das ist schön… Sehr schön."

Nothing compares to the feel of a real cunt, hugging him tight. And fuck… He can actually fit fully inside her. He fits like a glove. 

"Oh ja. Das ist... I'm not going to pull out. It's not an option. Ok?"

It's not a warning, it's a simple, honest statement. She looks at him with a fearful, desperate stare as his balls arrive to press against her flesh. Yes... nothing beats a wet pussy and a frightened stare.

"Ok…" 

"It's better this way," he promises, wondering if it would make him a bad person if he disposed of her condoms first thing in the morning. "Ja?"

"Yes," she sighs. "Feels so good…"

The tightness in his chest falls down, all the way to his stomach and forms a bittersweet knot there. Why does she keep looking at him like that…? He's not hurting her, she's not exactly afraid, it's something else that's making her give him those dumb doe eyes.

"You're pretty," he rasps while trying not to start a complete fuckfest in every meaning of the word.

"O‐oh…?"

"Ja… It's illegal to be that pretty. Someone might want to fuck you..."

"Please do," she almost chokes on the words while looking up at him. "Please…"

If this is a dream, it’s the best dream he’s ever had. She's so perfect, far more needy and helpless than he ever imagined. He moves before he drives them both to madness. 

"I'll fuck you, Liebling. As many times as you want. As hard as you want."

He can't remember when was the last time he sounded so soft. Or reassuring... He can't remember the last time a woman was so responsive to his cock. But he fucks her. He fucks his own sorrow into oblivion, too. He pauses only to take a good look at her and remind himself that he’s truly inside the sweetest pussy he’s ever had. 

He even whispers lies to her ear about how she doesn't have to worry: he'll get her a plan B after this. The girl turns a bit wild now that it's somewhat safe to be fucked by an animal. She lets him lick and bite her breasts, and thoroughly abuse her cunt. At some point she grabs his face with both hands and kisses him, hungry and sweet. Squeals into his mouth as his balls slap against her ass, hugs him like a drowning person when he picks up the pace and starts to lose himself in her pussy. The feel of a woman's hands around his middle is a sensation he's forgotten completely. 

"You like that?" He starts to talk nonsense between her sloppy kisses, pleased with his own soft voice, with her, with everything in his life right now. "You like my cock? Hm?"

"Yes… Oh fuck, I'm…"

Fuck, she's about to cum again... He's in heaven, no, he's somewhere near Eden. She suddenly goes still, and sinks her nails in his back, just before a cry cuts through the air. It reminds him of the aftermath of a grenade detonating; her moans pierce the air, and he can’t get enough of it. He wants to swim in those screams.

He was supposed to make love to her for hours, but it's crystal clear now that this won’t be a long session. He's a selfish asshole for chasing his own peak next by fucking her through her second orgasm like a rabid dog. 

"Oh das ist sehr schön, das ist gut… Ach für–scheisse—"

He sounds a bit too pathetic, and quickly buries his face into her neck to escape her lovely, adoring stare. He fucks himself into a big, fat, blinding explosion, he can barely hear the thundering roar that meets her sweaty neck. 

She's scared silent by his despair, poor little thing. And he just fapped this morning… But the orgasm compares to the first time he came, it's violent, abrupt and rough. Sadly, the descent is too heady, and too quick. Nuzzling deeper into her hair, he tries to listen to her heartbeat but only hears his own beastlike panting.

"Ok… Ok. I guess we both really needed that, huh?"

She's laughing and out of breath as she gathers their pieces and constructs some kind of a new reality out of them. He rumbles in agreement and refuses to pull out – now that he's inside her, he'll never fucking leave.

"Will you stay? For the night…?"

His question is met by complete silence. She just breathes, then buries her fingers in his hair. He feels like melting chocolate; for the first time in his life, he's somewhat relaxed and content. 

"I… I'd really like to but… I can't. I have a party to attend.”

She gives him a quick kiss on the head, then ruffles his hair. She fucking pets him while he’s plunging into some deep recess with the raw, post-nut clarity. 

She just needed a fuck… She just needed some cock. And a gift card, so she can buy nice things for the men she allows to lick her to ruin. Fuck… She's even worse than him.

“I'm sorry..."

"It's ok," he hears himself say. She’s too fucking gentle as she drags her fingertips across his scalp. Her other hand comes to trace his jawline, and her thighs hug his waist so good that he would have no trouble making love to her again. Just start another round with a slow roll of hips. Fuck her until they're both sweaty and crying, fuck her full of his cum and chain her to the bed, for safekeeping as he goes and gets himself a beer in between the sessions.

For some reason, he can't quite bring himself to act on this wish. Not when she just cried from how good he was, not when she's petting him like he's a good dog who's earned his rest.

He gives himself a minute before pulling out, and she leaves his bed in silence, tiptoeing into the bathroom in a hurry. Trust a maid to not want to stain the floor with cum when she just scrubbed everything clean…

She takes a quick shower and fixes her makeup, then picks her clothes from the floor. His heart is hammering in his chest, but his breaths remain even as he watches her get dressed. He even offers her a ride to the party, which she accepts with apologetic gratitude. It’s held at someone's home: a house party is a sight he has only ever seen from outside.

She gives him an uneasy, distant smile and a quick kiss before thanking him for the evening and the ride. Then she half walks, half runs across the pavement and up towards the door to be let in by her already drunken friends. Some man embraces her, and the white rage inside his skull is telling him to grab a gun, rise from the car and start a good old mass shooting. Instead, he guides his stare to the asphalt and drives off.

He goes home and has a beer, the rage and longing giving his insides a good stab every five or ten minutes. He watches some TV, then mulls over whether to sleep on the couch because her scent is still on the sheets.

It starts to rain outside, and reality kicks in. When it rains, it pours… He decides he actually hates Christmas, and he also can't stand the smell of freshly baked cinnamon rolls. Too tired to dump them in the trash, his feet carry him to the bed, cold and soiled and wrinkled from past love that never was.

The clock is only half past ten, and the doorbell rings just before he takes his shirt off. For the umptieth time this day, his heart starts to race, reminding him that it's not wars that are cruel, but women. 

When he opens the door, she's standing there in the rain. Utterly soaked, dripping wet, sad like a stray cat, lower lip trembling from cold.

"Sir?" she declares, "I'm afraid to fall in love."

There’s a spread of wings inside his chest, catching wind like a soaring eagle. It’s a fell swoop and a heady high at the same time, a burning pain right there over his heart as he looks at her, lonely and sad and so adorably lost. Beautiful and wet, like a trampled little flower after a summer storm. She's perfect, just perfect.

And has she walked all the way back here…? There’s no sign of a taxi, no sounds of a car or a bus, and she looks like she's wetter than a wet dog.

"You’re afraid to fall in love…?"

She nods, then bursts into tears. Her tiny shoulders rise and fall with sobs, the rain makes long, wet strings of her hair. He takes a step and tries to pull her in, but she won't come. Stubborn, incredible little thing…

"Liebling... Me too."

"Really?” she raises her sad stare to meet him while trying to wipe her ruined mascara in the midst of falling rain. “You seem like the kind of man who fears nothing..."

"Oh I fear a lot of things."

"Like what?"

"Like… flying, for example."

"But you fly all the time?"

"Exactly."

She's sniffling and pouting and sobbing, like a princess who always got everything she wanted. He wonders if she's the kind of girl who would've laughed at him in high school, or looked him down her nose. If she would've joined the bullies and been the one to say she’d never sleep with a freak like him…

"Let's get you inside. Hmm? You must be cold."

She won’t come, no matter how hard he tries to coax her to come inside his dry, warm house. The rain falls in mats behind her as the city sleeps, vibrant and vigilant. He thought he already broke his heart to the point it couldn’t get more broken anymore, but the look she gives him as he tries to pull her inside is making it burst and shatter into pieces again.

If she's a princess, she must be a battered, broken one. 

"Come on. I'll give you a bath," he tries to entice her. "And then we’ll tuck you in. That sound gut?"

"Yes," her shoulders drop as she finally accepts his asylum. "Thank you, sir…"

"And don't call me sir unless you want to make me hard."

She breaks into a fragile, shy smile while looking down at the tips of her drenched ballerinas. Then she allows him to drag her in. 

He helps her out of her coat and hangs it to dry while his pretty little kitten gets out of her clothes for the second time this evening. A strong, powerful possessiveness settles in his chest as he guides her to the bathroom and draws her a bath. Then he pulls her shivering, naked body against him so that she wouldn’t feel cold while they wait for the tub to fill with water.

What happens next is soft and gentle, the kind of unhurried exploration he never had time to do because the few females he was with were always in a hurry to get away from him and his needs. 

This pretty thing just eases herself into the bath. A timid but trusting little creature, who allows him to study her body like it’s already a possession for him to play with. She lets him rub her tits and tease her clit, caress her neck and face and waist. She does so with patience, love and hope. He’s been extremely tender and extremely slow with her; perhaps that’s why she doesn’t run away from him. 

"You're too good for me," she whispers when his hand comes to rest on her stomach, just below her tits.

"...What?" 

He barely hears what she’s saying, he can hardly hear her speaking at all because he’s there in the water with her, submerged in the hot, soothing liquid, even if he’s crouching next to the tub in reality.

"Oh please... You're everything a woman could want," she complains softly.

"What do you mean.”

She sighs and looks up to the ceiling, as if begging for help. Then she starts to list things.

"You're… Rich? And powerful, and strong. Kind and considerate. Mysterious... With a great body and a big dick, and still wanting to go down on a woman... It's insane."

He tries to remember how to breathe, but she’s not done yet.

"I'm sorry but… No one's ever eaten me out like that. You must be so experienced."

Her praise eclipses everything, even the thoughts of wanting to kill everyone who's had a taste of her.

So, the boys she's been with don't know how to please her… Stupid arschlochs don't understand what true devotion means. Even a fucker like him knows it's better to make a woman cry out of pleasure than out of fear. Although he always had a talent to do the latter…

And he's not experienced, he's just fucking horny. He just likes to eat pussy. 

But that's not something she has to know. Better to have her keep the illusion that he's a dream catch, a rich cosmopolitan of some sort. What a joke…

"You’re literally perfect," she moans from the bath like the princess that she is. "How are you even single?"

"I'm not… right in the head, I guess."

"Well, neither am I."

He can’t look at her. Not when she’s open and trustful and sweet like this. But her hand comes to rest over his, under the water, under the safety of the surface.

"No one is."

"No. Wirklich, I’m a bit sick. Always was. I jerked off to your…" He leaves the rest of the sentence unsaid, risking a look into her eyes. 

"I know," she smiles. "I don't mind… Actually I think that's hot."

"Liebling…"

"I think I’ve had enough now. Can we go to bed…?"

"Of course."

She giggles when he lifts her from the water, smiles as he dries him with his towel like she's a wet little kitten he rescued from rain. And perhaps he did... She caresses his chin when he carries her to bed, and reaches for him as he accompanies her under the sad, steel-blue sheets. 

He doesn’t need to fuck her, not right now. It’s enough that she’s here: soft, trapped, and tame. His, just his. 

Not another lonely Christmas for him ever again…

And she latches herself onto him like he’s the saviour she’s been waiting for all her life. Poor thing doesn’t know that he may be rich and powerful and strong, but he’s not kind. He’s not considerate, and he’s not perfect. He’s her worst nightmare, he's everything a woman would despise. 

He’s single because no one ever stayed. No one stayed after they saw who he really was... Some even had to flee the country.

But he knows she’ll stay. He’ll make sure that this cute one never leaves. No, this one is not safe from him, even if she tried to escape him to space.

"Are you still afraid?"

He caresses her head, pressed against his chest. She’s unsuspecting and lovely, the perfect woman, hugs him so tight and sighs from simple, lamblike happiness. 

"No," she smiles softly. "Not at all... I know you'll treat me right."

[l0vergirlwrites]

face masks ; spencer reid

synopsis: after a stressful case, all spencer wants to do is relax. what better way to that than have you spend the night doing face masks?

warnings: established relationship with fem!reader, earlyseasons!spencer in mind, spencer being a flustered cutie, mentions of touches & kisses, few mentions of spencer being insecure & reader assuring him, few mentions of nicknames/pet names (honey, ace)

“is it going to feel weird?”

spencer watched over your shoulder as you mixed the face mask solution together with water & the powder, eyes interested as the mixture slowly came together to form a slight green paste.

“it might feel a little cold, but that’s normal” you assured, smiling to yourself when you felt one of his slightly cold hands on your waist, his thumb slipping under your tank top a tad.

you both were huddled in front of his bathroom counter, cozy pyjamas on freshly showered skin, mops of hair still air drying. tonight was the first time you were sleeping over at spencer’s place since you made your relationship official, & the whole night just felt natural. it was nice to be in each others’ presence at the end of the day, especially after a tiresome one like today.

“will you put it on me, please?” he asked, the pleas sounding soft in your ears. you could tell he was feeling a little shy, even sheepish, & you thought it was cute.

you looked up at him with a smile, nodding to the closed toilet lid (which you cleaned prior). “of course”.

spencer pulled away from you to sit down, lightly tapping his sock clad feet against the bathroom floor tiles as he watched you follow suit with the bowl & face mask applicator in hand. “ready to relax?” you asked as you stood between his legs, noticing how his hands were itching to touch you.

with a knowing look, spencer let his hands settle comfortably on the sides of your bare thighs, thumbs moving in circles. “yes” he nodded enthusiastically as you gathered some of the face mask on the applicator, holding his cheek with one hand as you gently smoothed it on his skin.

you didn’t rush your movements, taking your time to apply the mixture evenly. spencer started to hum a gentle tune as you moved from his cheeks to his forehead, causing your lips to pull into a grin when your eyes met. as he was caught, he went silent to your dismay.

“you can keep going” you told him, more so murmured due to the closeness between you.

he slightly furrowed his brow. “it’s not weird?” spencer asked, voice matching your tone.

pausing your movements, you gave him that genuine twinkle in your eye as you shook your head ‘no’.

“i like it, it’s nice”

you continued applying the face mask when he started humming again, the mixture cracking a little on the skin by his mouth as he smiled, allowing himself to relax. you were done in no time, taking his hand in yours to pull him to the mirror so he could see your work.

“what’d you think, ace?” you asked as he took himself in, watching as he let out a chuckle at his reflection. the nickname you had for him, resulting from a long night weeks ago of playing cards, left him feeling gooey on the inside.

he squeezed your hand. “i look a little silly, but that’s part of it right?” he turned to you, feeling warmth grow in his chest as you nodded with a wide smile of your face.

spencer took a mental screenshot of you in this moment. he wanted to remember it.

“do you wanna do me?” you asked as you grabbed the bowl & applicator from the counter, mixing the face mask formula a bit. the double meaning of the statement didn’t cross your mind, & spencer was thankful you couldn’t see how red his cheeks were.

but he knew what you really meant.

“y-yeah, i’d be honoured” he took the bowl from your hands after he helped you onto the counter, tucking a piece of hair that fell from your ponytail behind your ear once you were settled.

“hi honey” spencer breathed out as he now stood between your legs, looking at you like you hung the moon.

“hi” your hands rested on his shoulders, fingers rubbing against the soft cotton of his t-shirt.

he soon got to work, trying to apply the mask evenly without accidentally brushing some of it against your hairline. spencer knew you wouldn’t care of he did, but he still wanted to avoid that—the perfectionism inside him was taking over.

“you’re doing good” you murmured as you watched him smooth the mask over your nose with his index finger, scrunching your nose as he slightly tickled your skin.

spencer didn’t even notice that your thighs were loosely wrapped around his waist now, his focus staying on applying the face mask.

with a small ‘boop’ to your nose, spencer was finished, helping you down from the counter to stand beside him.

“i tried making it as even as possible, the texture wasn’t as bad as i thought it was” he noted as you looked at your reflection, turning to him with a bright smile as he washed his hands, drying them off with a freshly cleaned towel.

“you’re a natural” you rubbed his upper arms, letting his hands fall to your lower back.

“how long do we wait?” he titled his head to the side.

“about fifteen minutes, then we wash it off with lukewarm water & a cloth” you answered, seeing a light bulb go off in his head.

“we could sit on the couch & start a movie—only if you want to” spencer proposed, adding the last part even though he didn’t need to.

he watched as you rubbed his skin with sticky sweet affection. he secretly wished your fingerprints would mark his skin if it meant that your touch would never leave him.

“i’d love to—you can pick” you winked, leaving spencer flustered as he followed you to the living room.

within a minute, your legs were in spencer’s lap as you both settled into the couch cushions, eyes on the the tv screen after you set a timer on your phone. however, you couldn’t stop looking at him as his hands subconsciously massaged your calves sweetly, a content look present on his face.

“i’m really happy you invited me here tonight” your voice broke spencer’s gaze on the tv, his soft eyes turning towards you & how your arm wrapped around his shoulders.

“i like having you around… you being here helps me relax” he admitted, subtly letting his eyes fall to your lips. you felt love bloom in your chest, spreading all over your skin at his words.

it was like you had read spencer’s mind as you leaned forward a tiny bit to press your lips to his in a longing peck. you tasted like like mint lip balm you wore, while spencer tasted like the tea he made an hour ago.

you both didn’t care if your face masks looked a little wonky after that kiss, both of you were just happy to be in each others’ company.

[zyonsay]

Begrijp je me? JOOST KLEIN

Summary: You get home to discover an upset Joost.

Reader: Genderneutral

Warnings: Mention of struggling with mental health, sadness BUT theres comfort!

Now playing: 'Antwoord" by Joost Klein

AN: Hi guys! I had this idea a few days ago, never got around to writing it tho. Assignments are kicking my ass and im knee deep in a psychiosis. This one is relatively short (1k words) but more self indulgent! Love yall, take care <3

#Justice for Joost

A dark, heavy blanket was already draped over the city. Your job often required you to work late evenings, which was unfortunate but in your current situation not avoidable. Together with the support of a good friend, you had already sent out a few job applications some time ago, but nothing has come out of that yet.

Ik moest wachten, wachten, wachten op een antwoord

Your shoes quietly clacked on the wet sidewalk. The stars shone brightly but were also accompanied by heavy rain. Sighing tiredly, you pulled your hood further over your head, as if it would do anything against the water drops being catapulted right into your visage. Maybe it was time to take out your bike from the garage again.

Keek in de spiegel, zag de vraag en het antwoord

The water crawled up your jeans slowly but surely, having reached your calves already. The wet fabric slapping against your leg was a sensory nightmare, you were cursing every single inch you’d have to walk till arriving at your apartment building.

Ik moest wachten, wachten, wachten op een antwoord

With hurried steps you raced up the staircase. Number 2.06, Number 2.06. A content and slightly exhausted huff escaped you as the three black numbers finally graced your field of view.

Dans met de duivel, die heeft mij allang door

Your keys rattled as you locked the door. Usually there’d be a salt lamp lit on the coffee table in the living room, but this evening everything was dark and quiet. Not that it was usually loud, but it felt almost like the life was drained out of the apartment.

Maar we blijven grinden tot het einde

That was until you heard a quiet sniffling sound. You discarded your soaking wet shoes along with your equally wet socks at the front door. Like a bloodhound you tracked down where the source of the noises came from. But you barely had to walk out from the hallway to find a huddled up Joost on the sofa.

Ik woonde in Katwijk, dat was lijden

You quickly rushed to his side, slinging your arms around the heap of blankets, under which there was a man hidden. Somewhere. With gentle hands you stripped down the blankets, revealing your teary-eyed boyfriend. His eyes were reddened and glossed over with tears. As much as he tried hiding it, you picked up on the light quiver of his lips and the sniffling from his nose.

Ze willen niet kijken naar de feiten, spijtig

“Come here.” His arms slid around your torso, holding you close. You nestled your face into the mess of blonde hair atop his head. “I’m here.”, you pressed a sweet peck against his forehead, while holding him in your arms.

Maar ik blijf mezelf te allen tijde, begrijp je me?

Joost had been struggling with his mental health for a while now. From time to time, he’d get really bad. In moments like this he needed you the most. Your embrace for sure didn’t fix his problems, but they sure made it feel more conquerable. You knew how helpless one can feel, how you want to be isolated while craving love, how you hate everything but don’t want to.

Begrijp je me?

Joost pressed closer to you, tears now flowing again. You squeezed him, letting him hold onto you for as long as he needs to. “How about I make us some tea?”, you rubbed his back in smooth, slow motions. His hum was muffled by your own figure. Joost loosened his hold on you, his blue eyes searching yours. Your hands cupped his face while you left sweet kisses along his forehead, cheeks and finally the tip of his nose. “I’ll need to get those pants off first though.” He looked down at the soaked jeans and grimaced in a disgusted manner. A sigh of relief left you as you slipped the fabric off, leaving you in your underpants. Joost tangled his fingers in yours and you pull him towards the kitchen.

Begrijp je me?

The kettle whistled a distant song, while you once again wrapped Joost in an embrace against the counter. Two cups stood on the surface, both with a tea bag inside. One of them had one sugar cube, the other had two and a half.

Begrijp je me of begrijp je me niet ?

The blonds heart seemed to beat with yours, he inhaled your scent. Besides your usual cologne you smelled like… you. He huffed contently. The light on the kettle died down and you broke the hug to pour the steaming water into the cups. While your front was turned towards the cups, Joost had found the opportunity to cling to your back. Your warmth, your scent, everything about you was calming to him. Some people need etheric oils to feel at ease, but you were like his own substance. He was addicted to you, your emotions and your words.

Begrijp je me?

You turned around in his arms, smiling at him. God, how he loved that smile. “Wanna talk about it?” He shook his head, “I’m too exhausted. Maybe tomorrow.” He lazily smiled at you, inching closer to your face and then pressing a sweet, short peck to your lips.

Begrijp je me?

“Alright.”, you offered him another loving kiss. “Let’s just enjoy this tea and then head to bed, sounds like a plan?” He still had his signature smile all over his face, his dimples showing and his eyes lighting up again. He loves how you get him, how you understand him in every way.

Begrijp je me of begrijp je me niet?

[beomcharms]

moths to a flame ✧.*

pairings : beomgyu x reader

genre : childhood friends to lovers (idiots to lovers mostly)

warnings: a little bit of kissing but mostly just fluff, suggestive

wc : 1.6k

a/n : this is just a short and sweet fic for beomgyu because i miss talk x today :)

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

“And you thought this would be a good idea ?!” you huff out pulling on one end of the tent.

“Shut up” Beomgyu mutters from somewhere on the other side. “Tiktok made me believe it was a good idea to go camping with your friends”

The sun sat on top of your heads and the heat was unbearable. Beomgyu had picked you up today morning for a surprise hangout. Little did you know, he was trying to grill you alive.

“Gyu are you really pitching it back there ?” You shout at him.

“Yes you- ahhh” you hear him shout and you rush out to the other side, letting the tent collapse.

“What- what is it?” You ask frantically while Beomgyu jumps about.

“A big fucking giant ass bug just flew in- THERE IT IS” he screams hiding behind you. You look carefully and you notice a beetle making its way towards your boot. You give it a stomp and kick it away. Now, you were not one to kill insects but you knew Beomgyu wouldn’t calm down unless he was sure it was gone.

“There, it’s gone” you sigh while he continues to hover behind your shoulder.

“My saviour” he says and looks at you with such admiration that you feel less annoyed with him.

“Let’s watch that YouTube video again” you tell him and huddle over his phone together.

Somehow it’s always been like this. Beomgyu and you had been best friends since, god knows how long. You knew his fears and likes like the back of your hand. He was loud and obnoxious and annoyed you to no end, but Beomgyu had a sensitive side to him, which was why you stuck with him. Once Beomgyu liked you, he stuck to you like gum.

-.-

It’s almost evening by the time you set up the tent and you both sit outside completely exhausted.

“I can’t believe we will have to take it all down in a couple of hours” you mutter.

“Shh… let’s not talk about that and honestly I think it might actually collapse before we have to dismantle it” Beomgyu tells you placing a finger on your lips and you look at him.

Sometimes it hurts to see how beautiful he is, inside out. But Beomgyu always looked like he had no clue about it which irritated you. He could have girls and guys swooning over him and yet be completely oblivious to it.

College began in a week and the summer break was almost coming to its end.

Your friends would often joke about how Beomgyu and you would ‘breakup’ once college starts and sometimes it would get to you, you couldn’t imagine a life without him.

Beomgyu had surprised you with his college application though. He didn’t tell you but he had applied to your same college and had got in, for which you felt extremely grateful for. College in itself would be a scary experience, and you thank god you’d have Beomgyu by your side.

-.-

“What would you do without me ?” Beomgyu laughs as he grills the meat. You patiently wait for it beside him, your only job being cooking the ramen. You were a terrible chef and ramen was your only saving grace.

“Hey! I have all the other talents just not cooking” you huff out. “Besides I have you to grill my meat Chef Choi”

“Hmm” he murmurs “I’m going to ignore the inuendos there” and you slap his shoulder.

“Think about it, you can do the cooking and I’ll keep the bugs away” you tell him and Beomgyu smiles.

The sun was setting and despite your complaints you had a great view of the sunset. It was pretty and healing and you felt drunk in coziness.

“Have you talked to your roommate yet ?” Beomgyu asks you. You had gotten separate dorms and Beomgyu had already taken a liking to his roommate. You on the other hand was terrified of reaching out.

“I’ll figure it out” you mutter at him. You had seen her photo and she looked pretty intimidating.

“I’ll text her for you, hand me your phone” he tells you holding out his gloved hand.

“Fuck no” you say. You were a coward, not a loser. “Gyu don’t worry about it, I do much better in real life, than online” you tell him.

“Alright” he tells you going back to the grilling, “I don’t get it” he says.

“What ?” You ask him, opening the ramen pot. It was close to being done.

“You are shy around everyone else but me” he huffs out.

“That’s because I’ve known you since I was three” you remind him. It was true. Beomgyu was the only person around whom you could breathe easy and let yourself be. You had terrible social anxiety and if it weren’t for him you are pretty sure you wouldn’t have any friends.

Beomgyu cuts up the pieces of meat while you turn off the stove and pour the ramen into the bowls. You hand Beomgyu the chopsticks before sitting down beside him.

There is a few moments of comfortable silence as you slurp down your noodles. Beomgyu seems lost in thought and you let him be.

-.-

It’s almost 7 by the time you wrap up the dishes. You wait outside your tent, which had collapsed only once before you managed to put it up again, with your coffee.

“This was fun” you tell Beomgyu softly.

“Yeah” he says. He’s been awfully quiet since dinner and you wondered what happened.

“What’s wrong ?” you finally ask him nudging his shoulder so that he’d look at you.

“Nothings wrong” he tells you but you continue looking at him and he rolls his eyes. “Well, don’t I ever make you nervous?” he huffs out.

You blink back in surprise. He was still thinking about that ? Beomgyu didn’t make you nervous… he made you flustered.

“Uh… not really” you tell him, trying to diffuse the growing tension.

Beomgyu leans in closer and you look away, “Not even a little ?” he whispers and you shiver a bit.

“No” you tell him pushing him away but he doesn’t budge. Beomgyu leans closer still and you have no option but to look at him.

“Not even when I do this ?” He asks you cupping your cheeks and squishing them, making your lips pout while you shake your head in disagreement. You can feel the heat on your face.

“You can’t lie to save your own life” Beomgyu grins and you hide your face in embarrassment. Beomgyu pulls your hands away from your face, holding it in his own and you look down.

Beomgyu tips up your chin to make you look at him and he has the widest grin. “You are cute” he tells you before leaning away and you try to steady your rising heart rate.

“And I like you” he adds. “Maybe even disgustingly L word you”

“What?” You ask in surprise.

“I thought it was pretty obvious” he tells you in his own casual way, while you try to figure out what just happened.

“Wait” you tell him, turning his face so he’d look at you. “You like me?”

“Duh” he replies, trying to look calm and collected but you can tell he is nervous taking note of his pink ears. You smile at him and then nod your head.

“Aren’t you going to say it back ?” Beomgyu whines and you shrug your shoulder.

“Well if it’s so obvious, why should I ?” You tease and Beomgyu pouts at you, “Come on, just say it” Beomgyu huffs and you almost laugh.

Beomgyu turns away in annoyance and the sight is so familiar to you, that it fills you with warmth. Even when you were kids, Beomgyu would pout and turn away to not look at you when you fought. Sulky boy.

“Hey” you call him tapping his shoulder, but he refuses to look at you.

“Beomgyuu” you whine pulling on his jacket, “Ofcourse I like you too” you tell him shaking his shoulder.

“You are just saying that” he mutters looking at the trees.

“Come on look at me” you tell him pulling on his arm and he finally turns to you.

“I like you too you dork” you tell him, holding his face and the tiniest of smiles play on his lips.

“And do I make you nervous ?” Beomgyu asks you.

“You make me wild” you tell him, leaning in giving him a soft kiss on his cheeks.

Beomgyu turns your head to capture your lips. The kiss is so soft and gentle and Beomgyu cradles your head and holds you like you are the most precious thing ever.

You lean away and look at Beomgyu again. He is full on smiling and his whisker dimples are so cute that you can’t help but kiss his cheeks again.

There is a sound of a crash and you both turn around. The tent had managed to collapse again.

So much for a romantic ending to your day.

-.-

EPILOGUE-

A day ago,

Beomgyu sits in his room, scrolling through TikTok’s. College started in a week and he thinks this would be the perfect time to confess to you. He just doesn’t know how.

Beomgyu knew you would hate it if he did something big. And he doesn’t want to do something clichè. He had asked his friends and all of them gave ideas which got progressively more worse.

Beomgyu sighs and continues scrolling. He passes a few when he comes across a TikTok of a couple on their camping trip and a bulb turns on in his head.

Camping. Sounds perfect. Except he didn’t have any equipment. Maybe Kai would have something.

And maybe, just maybe things would work out.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

🎧 i really hope you enjoyed reading this fic, if you did please leave a like/reblog or leave a comment it helps me out a lot, xoxo 🎧

[starry-eyedblog]

HI LAURY (≧ω≦。) I CAN FINALLY SEND YOU AN ASK AGAIN!!

okay ahem i was thinking about roomates!soap and gaz !! they are like very overly touchy and obsessed with you, literally can't keep their hands off you while you three are on the couch watching a movie. a bit insane and gross sometimes too BUT i love them very much. DO YOU SEE MY VISION HERE!! i don't think i am explaining it well BUT YEAH >:3

ruru!! i'm so happy yer free from jail, vry glad to have you back<3

and omg i'm actually frothing at the MOUTH i see your vision so clearly. why is this so hot?? i actually need them so badly. hope i do the idea justice !! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

warnings/tags: roommate! soap x roommate! gaz x reader, non con/dub con, groping, pervy/creepy behaviour, slight manipulation/guilt tripping, mentions of panty sniffing

you had moved into a new flat a few weeks ago, managing to snag a pretty big place for a cheap price. when you saw the amount on the post advertising it online, your eyes almost bulged out of your head and you rushed to contact the owners, which turned out to be two handsome men a few years older than you.

what was not to love of the place? close commute to your work, cheap, spacious and two very good looking men living there too. honestly it felt like a setup but you didn't question it, and your application was immediately accepted.

so in no time flat you were moving in, setting up all your own furniture with the help of both your roommates. and after a week of getting comfortable and your roommates keeping a good distance from you while you settled in, they finally asked you to join in with them on their activities that have always been just for the two of them. the first, was film night.

"every friday night, we have film night. snacks, drinks, shitty films. it's our routine, and now you're here, we thought you should be included." gaz had told you on thursday morning, an easy smile on his face as he stood leaning on the kitchen counter, eating toast in just his plaid pyjama trousers hanging low on his waist with everything else on show. it was very difficult to avoid oogling at his chest as you responded. "so-sounds great, i'll uhm pick up some snacks after work tomorrow." you ushered out.

it's now friday night at half nine and the three of you are huddled up under soft blankets on the pretty spacious couch with you squished in the middle of them. there wasn't any need for them to have their bodies so close to you, but you didn't say anything. gaz had his arm resting on the back of the couch, around your head which made you blush slightly, even though it was just for his own comfort.

you're only fifteen minutes into the film, some popcorn in your hand with eyes glued to the tv when you feel the first touch. it's a big, warm hand pressing at your thigh. you jump, head whipping round to soap who smiles innocently at you. his hand grips your thigh and you whine, stumbling out a response.

"soap, wh-what-?" you try to ask but soap shushes you up quickly, "shh hen, tryna watch the film." he points to the tv with his free hand, no longer looking at you. not even a minute later, another hand coming from the other side of you is now squeezing at the inside of your thigh.

your head whips round to face gaz instead, your eyebrows scrunching up in confusion. "why are y-" before you can get another word out, gaz is also shushing you and instead facing the tv - just like soap.

you try not to think about it too much, as they both seem to be enamoured with the film playing in front of them and uncaring of the fact both of their hands are gripping at your thighs that borderlines on just a wee bit too tight.

as the film continues, you start to forget about the weight of their hands on your thighs but that doesn't last long until both hands are moving again, one going to your front while the other slides back to rest on your arse.

your cheeks instantly flare pink as you sputter out words, trying to ask what they are doing. "ain't doing anythin', you're jus' too sensitive love. keep watchin' the film alright? me and johnny really want you to take movie night serious, can you do that for us?" gaz asks with a pout, guilt tripping you with his adorable puppy face that will soon become a recurring issue for you.

you find your head nodding slowly, eyes turning back to the tv once again as their hands start to fondle you. soap's hand teases at your cunt through your joggers, cupping it every now and then while gaz grabs and almost kneads at the soft skin of your arse, fingers slipping the joggers down enough that he can touch warm flesh.

it doesn't take long for you to be a whimpering mess on the couch, trapped between the two burly men who give you no respite, rough overworked hands fondling you so meanly and roughly, without care for your sensitive body.

"gu-guys the film, i thought you wan-hghh wanted to watch it." you splutter, head rolling back onto the shoulder of gaz who's on your left. "aye we do, so quit yer yapping quien." soap grumbles, leaving a sloppy wet kiss on your neck, eyes not even looking at the tv.

it doesn't take long for gaz's fingers to work their way down your joggers and push aside your flimsy underwear, a dry thumb pressing against your asshole that has you squirming, hips bucking to get away. gaz's other hand keeps you pinned down firmly with no issue, watching the way your mouth falls open to let out confused sounds of pleasure and pain.

as gaz does this at the back of your body, soap fondles with the front of you, hand slipping down your underwear to press at your clit which makes you moan out-loud, eyes fluttering shut. "dove, please. we haven't seen this film before, been waiting awhile." gaz complains, nibbling at your ear and you feel as if all your nerves have been set on fire. the guilt and pleasure swirls through your turned on body, mind starting to become foggy as they continue their groping.

you bite down on your bottom lip harshly, teeth digging into the skin and causing little tears. tiny droplets of blood stain your bottom lip as you sit there like a doll for them, your fuzzy brain desperately trying to focus on the film but at this point any ideas you had about the plot or characters has left you and replaced with the way your body is being groped at by your two new roommates.

soon soap's fingers are slipping past your folds and caressing your hole that seems to grow wet from the touch, even though it's a natural human body instinct, soap takes it that you're enjoying his and gaz's caressing which just feeds into his gross mindset.

"fuck gaz, should feel how wet they are. fuckin' turns em on being groped." soap moans deeply, one thick finger slipping into your wet hole that immediately clenches down on the intrusion. "that so? we picked the right one tav." gaz smirks at his friend, pulling his hands out of your joggers to then shove his dry thumb into your mouth roughly.

"suck lovie." he stated, watching the way your teary eyes didn't move away once from the tv while your mouth gently sucked on the digit. soon he slipped his thumb out and pressed it against your hole once again, but this time he gently started to edge his spit soaked finger inside which had your body flinching. you had never experimented back there, so this was a very new sensation.

"never had anyone back here, eh?" gaz jokes with a mean chuckle which soap joins while thrusting one finger meanly into your tight cunt that leaks around his hand. another finger is soon added, thumb pressing against your clit. you feel absolutely ashamed, your body enjoying the touch while your mind is conflicted.

before you can think much more about how wrong this is, how your roommates have ganged up on you to touch you without any consent, your stomach tightens and your cunt clenches down on soap's two fingers. your asshole pulses around gaz's thumb as your orgasm washes through you and your eyesight blurs from the intensity.

as you whimper and gasp on the couch, hips bucking and writhing to try get away, both men watch in awe as you cum. the film is long forgotten now, playing quietly in the background as it illuminates the room. once your orgasm finally comes to an end, your body slumps back into the couch, eyes half lidded and body limp while your roommates remove their hands out of you.

soap is the first to taste your sweet nectar, long tongue wrapping around his middle finger and sucking off your juices. he moans and pants like a dog in heat as he tastes you on his tongue, and it isn't long before gaz is whining for his turn. soap reluctantly pulls off and rests his ring finger on gaz's plump lips, watching the younger man slowly open his mouth and welcome his finger inside. his tongue laps up the wetness, hips bucking up from need as he drinks down everything he can just off soap's finger.

after a minute, soap is pushing gaz off with a chuckle. "alright calm yersel gaz." he says, and gaz rolls his eyes. "you're just the same." he grumbles quietly before turning to you, smiling at how out of it you are, still limp against the couch.

thankfully both men pull your underwear back up and clean you up, but not without leaving messy hickeys all over your neck and shoulders to claim you as theirs.

and no one needs to know, certainly not you, that through this week of you settling in - where they kept their distance so you were comfortable, they weren't actually keeping faithful to that promise. they already managed to slip a few dirty pants out of your bedroom to sniff and huff at while jerking the other off at late hours into the night, as well as spying on you when showering.

but this was just the start of their creeping on their new pretty roommate.

@bjornthebearguy

@iciclesses

@mothymunson

[ddejavvu]

I’m such a simp for jealous!reader and jealous!hotch lmaooooo

What if reader and Hotch were married and had other kiddos so they had to split off for sports activities (jack at soccer and other kiddos at basketball or something). Then like either jack or other kiddos thing gets done early and then either hotch or reader sees their spouse getting hit in repeatedly and becomes jealous and territorial?

Soccer is different than baseball in that there are soccer moms, but baseball dads. The moms that happen to be there take a backseat on the bleachers while the dads huddle around the fence, shouting instructions in on their trembling kids scared to bat.

It means that while Aaron has to deal with women in form-fitting workout gear when he picks Jack up from soccer practice, you have to deal with dads in baseball caps, jeans, and shitty sunglasses.

Your daughter is getting good at baseball, something you're insanely proud of while you cheer along from the bleachers. Aaron would be proud, too, if he were here to see it. But he's on Jack duty today, because you wanted to catch this game. You're hoping the boys make it to the field in time to see her close out the game, but you're nearing the halfway point and there's no sign of them.

"Alright, Sophie!" You cheer, watching her strike an opposing batter out, "Good throw, baby!"

"Ah, she's yours?" A voice comes from your left, and you see a man backing away from the fence to approach you.

"She is," You beam, eyes fixated once more on your daughter, "Which one's yours?"

"Number 15," He points to one of the girls on the bench, She.. tries her best."

You recognize the brunette ponytail on the girl, remembering that she's been having a hard time with batting. When she's able to hit the ball, it's always a good shot, but more often than not she misses.

"I'm sure she'll get better the more she plays!" You promise her dad, and he nods, perching on the end of the bench just below you, "That's what happened with Sophie, before we did at-home practices she was really struggling."

The man's face twists into intrigue, something deeper than that rooted in his eyes as he stares you down, "Oh, you practiced with her? Maybe Angel could use that, too. Are you, uh, taking applications?"

"Oh," You laugh, "No, that's- I'm not a coach or anything. In fact- uh, my husband and son were probably more helpful than I was."

It's like you've cut the power to the man's megawatt smile. The light in his face dims, and his face sours as he stands to walk away, "Oh. Understood."

It's then that you come to the disheartening realization that he was flirting with you. Not only that, but he'd only played nice when he thought he had a shot. Now that he knows you're spoken for, he's hooked back over the fence, shouting at the players.

A hand drapes itself over your collarbones from behind, and you startle before you realize that Aaron is hugging you from the other side of the bleachers.

"Oh!" You gush, letting Jack clamor into your lap to hug you while Aaron walks around to sit beside you, 'You scared me, Aaron."

"Sorry," He grins bashfully, scanning the field and seeing Sophie talking to the coach, "How is she doing?"

"Good," You grin, smoothing out Jack's sweaty post-soccer hair, "She just struck that little brat from the other team out, the one who got mud on her popsicle last time."

"Good girl," Aaron chuckles, watching Jack rush off to play with a few other kids by the trunk of a big tree, "Who were you talking to?"

"Angel's dad," You recall uneasily, "Uh- number fifteen. He was-"

"Flirting with you," Aaron concludes, "I know."

"You saw?" You ask warily, eyes apologetic, "Aaron, I'm sorry, I- I didn't realize until he left, and then you got there, so I just forgot about it, but if you want I can avoid him next time, or-"

"Hey," Aaron sets a hand on your thigh, leaning in to kiss you softly, "It's alright. Don't worry about it, I'm not angry."

"You're not?" Your brows furrow, and he leans in to kiss you again, wiping the expression from your face.

"No," He shakes his head, forehead leaned against yours briefly, "Well- I was, but he totally just saw me kiss you. Twice. So..."

"Oh," You laugh bashfully, leaning over to tuck your face against his shoulder, "Well, that's good. Hopefully he leaves me alone."

"Hopefully," Aaron agrees, squeezing you closer with his arm around your shoulder, "Oh, don't look now, but he's talking to Jia's mom."

"Which one?" You retort, something smug lining your features as you wonder how she'll break the news to him.

"Gloria," He tries not to stare, ducking his gaze back down to your face instead, "Hey, perfect place to tell someone you bat for the other team."

[theemporium]

i saw this friends to lovers prompt that reminded me of nico:

“cuddling for comfort in a Very Platonic manner”

like they’re pretending it’s totally platonic and doesn’t mean anything, no, but also, like, come closer

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

.

It felt like an inside joke whenever you and Nico would insist you were just friends—a joke that everyone except the two of you were in on.

Because you weren’t dating. And you totally didn’t have feelings for each other. And Nico definitely didn’t look at you like you had hung the damn moon. And you definitely didn’t become the personification of the heart eyes emoji the second he was in your vicinity. 

You were just friends—very close friends. And colleagues too. 

There was absolutely and positively nothing remotely romantic going on between you, the Devils’ social media manager, and Nico Hischier.

Not in a million years. 

Except there was, it was just a goddamn tragedy—and painful watch for the team—that neither you nor the captain had the balls to do something about it. Truthfully, it had just never crossed your mind that Nico would even look at you in that way. 

Hockey had been a constant in your life. At every major event in your life, every single milestone, you could remember a hockey game being played in the background. You could remember watching games with your family, you could remember the way your parents cheered when your family’s favourite team won, you could remember the first time you attended a playoff game. 

It had always been a part of your life, and you knew you wanted it to be a part of your future too. 

Your father had been the one to send you the application form. You were fresh out of university, a degree in hand you weren’t totally sure what to do with and a resume that most people turned down due to a lack of experience. When he had sent you the intern application form for the New Jersey Devils, you laughed and joked that it would at least be a good story to tell years down the line. 

You hadn’t expected to actually get the position. 

And you definitely hadn’t expected to befriend the newly appointed captain of the team but the universe worked in funny ways. 

And despite your best attempts to remind yourself these boys were your colleagues—that you were just a part of the social media team, just a part of the bigger Devils team that they bantered with—you found your friendship with Nico bubbling into something akin to a crush. 

You thought you hid it well, but the teasing remarks from Jack said otherwise.

What you failed to realise—or believe when Jack started talking your ear off about acting upon your crush—was that Nico felt the exact same way. 

But even if a small part of you yearned to believe as much, you knew you would never risk your friendship with Nico. Never in a million years. Not even if your friendship was hardly a friendship these days, now something far more. 

“And oh! That looks like a broken stick from Hischier who doesn’t look happy at the final score.” 

You winced as you watched him hit his stick across the goal post, as it snapped in half before he skated towards the tunnel without even a second glance. His head was down, but you could see the frown and furrow in his brows in your head clear enough. 

You knew he would be beating himself up for the loss. You knew he would be blaming himself for the last goal slipping through. But unfortunately for you, you wouldn’t be able to see him until long after the post-game interviews and debriefs were over. 

You didn’t get the chance to actually see the boy until the team found themselves huddled in the bar fifteen minutes from the stadium, each player eager to drink away the memory and pain of their freshest loss in what seemed to be a streak of losses. 

It was almost like your body was pulled towards him the second he stepped into the bar, looking as though he had a heavy weight on his shoulders. His eyes found yours in an instant and he was moving through the bar before anyone could even greet him. 

It was like an unspoken language shared between you when you saw the look in his eyes, when you opened your arms and let him just fall into your embrace and hide his face in your neck. 

“You played the best you could,” you whispered to him, your fingers threading through his hair before you felt him sink further into you. 

“But it wasn’t enough,” he muttered, and you could hear the self-loathing in his voice. “Nothing seems to be enough these days.”

“You’ll break the streak soon,” you assured him, nothing but confidence in your voice because maybe that was just what he needed to hear. To know that someone still believed in him and the team when he didn’t. 

“I’m just sick of being asked the same question, of being asked what I can do to help the team win,” Nico whispered, a hint of vulnerability and doubt in his voice that he would never let the boys hear. “I feel like I’m disappointing them.”

“You’re not,” you said to him, your voice a little stern as you clung onto him tighter. “Nobody blames you, Nico, except maybe yourself.”

He huffed out a laugh, though it felt a bit self-deprecating and bitter.

“You’re in no mood to drink,” you murmured as you tugged his head back, letting his red-rimmed eyes meet yours. “Do you wanna go?”

He nodded. 

You paused for a moment before continuing. “Do…do you want me to come with?”

“Please,” he whispered softly, his voice cracking a little when he did. 

You gave him a shy smile, and something in his chest eased a little at the sight. “Let’s go then.”

His hand fell down to take yours, intertwining your fingers together without a second thought—almost like it was a bodily instinct more than a choice. He pulled you behind him as he made his way towards the exit, pushing through the crowd and glancing over his shoulder to make sure you were okay. And just before you reached the door, your eyes found Jack’s from across the bar, that knowing look in his eyes. 

But tonight wasn’t the night to test his theory or let your feelings take over, so you pushed them down like you always did and followed Nico out of the bar.

.

[verspia]

—𝐢 𝐠𝐢𝐟𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭

You frown in thought as you cradle a warm cup of hot chocolate in your hands, huddling a little close to the heat emanating from the fire place, which you’re seated in front of.

Christmas is one of your favorite holidays of, and this year, you celebrate it with your boyfriend, Oscar. Normally, with the end of the season, he would be in Australia with his family, spending the holiday under the blazing sun, not under frosted snowflakes and the biting cold of London with you.

The thought makes you pout a little, guilt eating at you for keeping him away from his family during the holidays, as if he isn’t apart from them for most of the year anyway.

Originally, you both were meant to go together, but with christmas being near, the visa application process had taken a lot longer than you’d both expected and that meant that you were only eligible to travel to down under after New Years.

You had insisted that Oscar leave without you, urging him to spend the christmas holiday with his parents and sisters, but he had resisted, arguing that he would make it up to them and it was far too late to book a flight, what with the rush that came during winter break, and you had reluctantly agreed.

That didn’t stop you from feeling guilty though, but you refrained from thinking about it more, knowing that there wasn’t much you could do about it.

Instead you wondered what you could gift your boyfriend for your first christmas together.

You knew that Oscar wasn’t much of a material person, and that he was happy with anything you would give him, but you wanted to do something meaningful.

Given the fact that gifts were your love language, both giving and receiving, it was important to you that you find the perfect gift for Oscar.

You worried your lip between your teeth as you pondered, when your eyes lit up with an epiphany, and you stood up abruptly, abandoning your hot chocolate on the kitchen top, grabbing your keys and heading out to the store immediately.

You payed no mind to the snow that nipped at your face, staining your cheeks a rosy red as you hurried out, charged with excitement for the gift that you had in mind.

When Oscar awakes on Christmas morning, you are not where you’re supposed to be, cuddled up in his arms, and the loss of your presence next to him startles him awake.

He steps into the living room, rubbing away any trace of bleariness from his eyes and finds you there, still in your pyjamas and with one of his hoodies on, Home Alone playing on the tv screen.

Your smile is radiant, and your zealousness for christmas is almost childlike. His heart warms at the sight of you and he smiles widely, trudging over to you.

“Why aren’t you in bed, love”

You turn around at the his voice, beaming impossibly wider, and your eyes sparkle with delight as you spot him.

“Oscar!” His name on your lips always makes him giddy, but the exhilaration in your tone today is tremendous, and vastly contagious, to the extent that Oscar begins to wear the same excitement you do.

“It’s Christmas! I was waiting for you,” You grab Oscar, pulling him on to couch with you, “We gotta open the gifts, Oh you’ll love what i’ve gotten you!”

Oscar stares fondly at you, “I’m happy with anything you give me, baby, you know that.”

You nod at him, not really paying attention, as you stand up and pull him along towards the direction of the christmas tree that you both had decorated together, weeks prior.

He happily lets you drag him along, and soon, both of you have unraveled the presents from your friends and family.

You open the gift that Oscar has gotten you, and gasp in elation, throwing yourself at Oscar, Thank you’s and I love you’s falling from your mouth as you pepper his face with kisses.

He laughs as he holds on to your waist, and then finally, both of you turn to the last present, that is inside a conspicuous bag, glittered golden.

You move over a little, eyes fixed on Oscar as he opens the bag, pulling out a cardboard box that is too, shimmering golden, with a red ribbon holding it together.

He unwraps it, and the sides of the box fall flat in five sections, each have attached a packet of Tim Tams on it, and another box stands proud in the middle.

Oscar uncovers the lid, and another lid appears, the words Merry Christmas on it and much like the first time, the sides fall into sections, each holding polaroids of you and Oscar.

The pictures are of monumental moments of your relationship, His first sprint win and you congratulating him with a kiss, his first podium as he smiles brightly, you wrapped up in his arms, smiling equally as bright. There’s photos of Oscar surprising you at your graduation ceremony, and kissing you when you win a debate’s competition, as well as a few pictures of your first date, and first kiss.

He pulls away the last lid, and finds a heart shaped letter inside, which he picks up and discovers a keychain for his car.

The keychain is shaped as a heart, and he examines it closely, accidentally clicking it open and finds both his and your initials together in a smaller heart inside.

He breathes softly, a little baffled at the thoughtfulness of the gift, and looks up at you, adoration clear in his eyes.

He’s a little breathless as he whispers I love you to you, and you smile shyly at him.

“Do you like it?”

Your eyes glimmer with hope and a little uncertainty, and Oscar pulls you into his lap, kissing you softly.

He’s not good with words, so he hopes to show to you just how happy you make him, pulling you closer than you’d ever thought possible, kissing you deeper to convey his appreciation to you.

You both are enveloped in a warmth that contrasts the dreary weather outside, but it’s clear that you both have a jolly christmas, under the shimmering pine tree.

This was inspired by this

didn’t proofread so pls don’t mind any errors

[the-californicationist]

Guile & Guilt (Ch. 07)

Soap/Reader

TW: sex

MDNI/18+

AO3 LINK

I'm so sorry for the wait!! I hope this long chap made up for it. I really appreciate all the comments and reblogs. It really keeps me going. The next chapter is gonna be rough. Hope you're ready for it. I'm not!

CHRISTMAS EVE

The lecture hall slowly began to fill with graduate students and professors. A gaggle of undergrads huddled to the side with their notebooks, surely attending by someone else’s command and not of their own volition. They were all dressed in various layers of warmth. Anoraks and sweaters rustled and stretched in the cloth seats, the odd peacoat was hung carefully over the edge of a chair. It was nice to have a small crowd, but you were sure everyone had somewhere better to be. The only people that would show up to the long-standing tradition of a Christmas Eve colloquium were the die-hard academics and those desperately needing extra credit in their year-long lab classes.

You liked this lecture room the best. The big arching stadium seating made you feel like a surgeon in her theatre, carving up your poems and displaying their abnormalities, arguing in favor of their spectacular forms, illustrating your skills with grace and ease. It was all well and good not to be the patient on the table. Today’s victim would be Sonnet 91. 

The projector light blinded you in an unnatural blue, making you turn away from its lens, and you pretended to busy yourself with your notes as you waited for it to warm up. You shuffled the papers again, and you had a sip of water. Just fidgeting. If you stopped moving, you’d think about him, and you didn’t want to think about him. 

He’d gotten your message from Gaz, that much was clear. You knew because you started receiving sunrise texts again — just the pictures, though — and when he needed to go out on a mission, you’d get your little promises. You sent him back what you received. If he sent a sunrise picture, you returned it with your own. If he said that he promised, you said it, too. You wanted him to call. You wanted to drag it out, to gut it like a fish, to see all the entrails of your feelings and the bloody evidence of your battle to be together, all of its innards smeared across a cutting board, sterile and measurable. 

But, for some reason, you couldn’t do it. You tried to type out what you’d wanted to say, but none of it made sense. It was all just begging and pleading and wishing for things you couldn’t have. So, you stopped. You kept up the replies. You matched his energy. It wasn’t until he sent you a screenshot of his flight itinerary that you started to realize the other shoe was dropping on you very soon. 

He was supposed to fly in sometime this very afternoon, but it wouldn’t be only him. You’d heard from Pidge that his whole team was coming with him, eager to meet her and Hamish, apparently. You didn’t know what emotion you felt about that, but its anonymity didn’t stop you from feeling it. 

You’d sent him back a Google Maps screenshot of your apartment, since he was supposed to be your ride up to Old Kilpatrick, and he sent you back the thumbs up emoji. 

It was embarrassing to you that the slight change in send-reply patterning made your heart race. You felt like your brain could benefit from a hard reset, like an iPhone that had chosen to get stuck on the same application, unable to move forward to the next task. 

So, you’d tried to put him out of your mind. When your labmate begged you to take her place at this colloquium, you jumped at the chance. A presentation would take up so much time and energy; surely it would cure you of your obsessive behavior. Unfortunately, Sonnet 91 felt all too timely. 

You watched it populate the screen, the first four lines occupying the cold, unembellished center of your slide, professionally stark:  

Some glory in their birth, some in their skill,Some in their wealth, some in their body's force,Some in their garments though new-fangled ill;Some in their hawks and hounds, some in their horse;

You wondered where your glory would come from, if you ever had any. Then, as if to answer your question, the hall door opened and he walked through it, carefully propping it open behind him and letting his three enormous friends through. Johnny was freshly shaven, and his mohawk was back, trimmed on the sides and groomed to stand in a tall, brown shock. You could see the prominent scar on the side of his head, a sharp cross where the hair could no longer grow. 

There was an observable air of confidence to his movements, as if this was his hundredth colloquium, as if he attended them every week. His surety silenced you, and you stood staring, rapt. 

He met your eyes. The bright, glassy blues found you, set in a pleased way, fully at peace. It was the face made when something lost had been found, when a gift was unwrapped. A knowing gleam. 

If you didn’t start talking, people were going to ask you if you were alright. So, you introduced yourself, shakily but smoothing it out as you went,

“Good evening, and thank you for joining us at the 2023 Christmas Eve Colloquium tonight. I love this tradition, and I really appreciate you all being here. If you didn’t get the, uh… the handouts,” you pushed the stack across the desk toward the undergrads who all crowded around them like seagulls with an old French fry, “Okay...”

You pointed up to the sprawling slide,

“In looking at Sonnet 91, most would argue that it is a confession of love. But, it is a tentative one, at best. The speaker claims that despite whatever glory others may have, his glory is found in his lover. We don’t learn until the couplet that his affections are at risk of not being returned.”

You flipped the slide, showing the next four lines:

And every humour hath his adjunct pleasure,Wherein it finds a joy above the rest:But these particulars are not my measure,All these I better in one general best.

It was all very simple. This was an easy sonnet, and there was no real mystery, but as you came to the end, you tried to reiterate your thoughts quickly, feeling the pressure to let people get on with their lives,

“The speaker makes quite a substantial claim here, so much so that the audience may be led to believe that he is being intentionally facetious, especially if one were to consider the content of Sonnet 92.”

“No,” a deep voice from high in the back protested, “I mean, I think I disagree with you, lass.”

The whole room woke up. Everyone turned quietly in their seats, generating a symphony of creaking and rustling of chairs and coats, craning their necks to look at Johnny who, for some reason, had stood up in his aisle.

“Oh, how so?” You said politely, trying to be deferential. 

It was more than a little uncomfortable in the room. No one ever asked questions during the colloquium, even though that was its intended purpose, and certainly no one ever stood up when they asked it. Everyone usually just allowed the speaker to drone on and on about whatever topic they were into that week, and there would be polite applause at the end so you could all go home early. Ironically, Johnny had committed an act of rebellion a mere five minutes into your talk. 

“Well,” he crossed his huge arms over his chest, shoving his muscles against each other. Amongst the mostly lithe, soft-bodied academic crowd, he and his friends looked out of place. He raised his voice, sending it arching down to you like an arrow, “I’m pretty sure he’s genuine. Look at the next four lines.”

He pointed to the glowing screen. You sighed, flipping slides.

Thy love is better than high birth to me,Richer than wealth, prouder than garments' cost,Of more delight than hawks and horses be;And having thee, of all men's pride I boast:

“Look, bonnie,” Johnny chuckled, “I dunno about you, but if I’m boastin’ about a wee hen who’s more than all that — more than wealth, more than all men’s pride? She must actually be somethin’ to boast about.”

You countered, trying to get the talk back under your control, flipping to the next slide: 

Wretched in this alone, that thou mayst takeAll this away, and me most wretched make.

“Then what of his lamentation in the couplet?” You asked pointedly, listening to the sounds of creaking chairs again as everyone turned back to look at you as you responded, “Surely he has some reason to doubt this uniquely prideful love.”

Johnny shrugged,

“He doesnae doubt the love; his life cannae be separated from his love. Love is all there is. Ye ken it from Sonnet 92 when he asks: But what’s so blessed-fair that knows no blot?”

You smiled, slowly, knowingly, and then finished the couplet for him,

“Thou mayst be false, and yet I know it not.”

You were aware of the implication you were wielding like a knife down there in your theatre, staining your hands and hurling your scalpel at him, accusing him through verse of the same sin you’d thrown in his face the last time you spoke to him: of being false, of betraying Pidge. 

Johnny shifted his weight, frustrated, but standing his ground,

“It’s not… he doesnae think it’s false, hen. Tha’s not it.”

Were you still arguing about the poem? You couldn’t tell. His face had become serious and a little pleading. So, you responded in verse since it would fit the conversation either way, 

“How like Eve’s apple doth thy beauty grow, if thy sweet virtue answer not thy show.”

“And I would bloody eat it anyway, thief. False or no.”

There was an awkward silence and then a short, if a bit unsettled, polite applause. People began to shuffle out, standing, stretching, and chatting with each other as they made their way back into the hallway. A few of your labmates waved at you, and a friend from your cohort wished you a happy Christmas. 

Johnny sauntered down the stairs toward you, leaving his friends lounging in their seats, and as he came closer and closer, you felt like you were the one on the slab of your own theatre, open and vulnerable to the empty room, fully at the mercy of your operator. 

You thought he might pause, that he may stop walking and stand a few paces away, ready to talk things out, but he didn’t. He didn’t even slow his pace. Johnny grabbed you around your jaw with his enormous hand, his wide palm hot against your chin, and he pulled you into him, your lips sliding into his, pressing together like the last piece of a puzzle, completing a picture. 

His body was so warm as you crashed into his arms, and he held you down, pinning you like you would fall away from him if he let go. You couldn’t do much else other than submit to his strength; you didn’t want to do much else. You grabbed him around his waist, feeling him through the thin cotton of his shirt, tumbling into him as he forced your mouth to take his tongue. 

Johnny let go of a low moan, a sigh that couldn’t escape, and the hand that had been holding your face was now fisting your hair and running thick fingers through your soft strands. 

He pulled back without warning, gasping as he whispered to you, speaking with his forehead resting on yours and his eyes pinched closed,

“Did you mean it, what you told Gaz? Am I right? Is this right?”

You took a deep breath, smelling his soap and his cologne, the scent of his skin so familiar to you it seemed like home. His eyes remained closed, and he wore a mask of pain, holding himself back from truly letting go. You nodded, whispering back to him,

“You were right.”

Then, his eyes shot open, finding yours immediately, looking back and forth to peer into both of them at once, searching for even the slightest hint of deception,

“Are you fallin’ for me, mèirleach? ‘Cause I’m… I cannae go halfway. I’m in, or I’m out.”

“I’m in,” you smiled, laughing a little at your confession. He kissed you again, softly petting your hair, holding you close. But, you paused and looked up at him with a warning glare in your eye, “But, look, she cannot know. Maybe after the wedding, but… she cannot find out.”

“She won’t,” he was smiling back at you, making it look like it would be on his face forever, “I’m a professional spy, lass, or did you forget my wee entourage back there.”

He nodded up to his friends. The captain was asleep with his hat over his eyes, snoring in long, regular rhythms. Ghost was using a datapad, staring intently at the screen, and Gaz was using two hands on his cell phone, tapping vigorously, engrossed in some sort of game.

Johnny whistled, quick and shrill. The men stirred, peering down at him and making their way toward you. When they reached the bottom, they all towered over you, ready for polite introductions.

“John,” the scruffy, bearded one shook your hand first. His fingers were dangerously strong, and it shocked you to feel it against your own palm.

A young man was next. You knew it was Gaz, but you hadn’t seen a photo of him yet.

“I’m Kyle,” he smiled. He was even nicer in person, “We texted, before.”

You nodded, smiling back, and introducing yourself.

Then, it was the big one.

“Simon,” the tall blond shook your hand for a brief moment, just enough to squeeze and release. 

“It’s really nice to meet you all,” you said, “I’m glad you made it for the holiday.”

“We try to stick together ‘round this time of year,” Price explained, but you weren’t sure you fully understood his meaning. You just smiled and nodded. 

“You ready to head out?” Johnny asked you.

“Yeah, just need to head back to my place and get my bag.”

“Alright, hen,” Johnny smiled, “Lead the way.”

You led them up and out of the building and into the cold night air. Your apartment was only a short walk from this side of campus, so you decided to forego the bus ride. 

Johnny had your hand clasped in his so tightly that you wondered if he was alright. You looked up at him, and he smiled. You didn’t know how to say all the things you wanted to say, so you just commented on the most obvious one first,

“Where did you learn Sonnet 91? Or 92 and 93 for that matter?”

Gaz interrupted you, turning his head to talk over his shoulder as you walked behind him,

“Bloody stuck in his Kindle for months, he was. I think he read them all, and then he read them all to us. We’ve had more of the Bard than fuckin’ Lizzy the first.”

You gasped and made a face at Johnny, waiting for him to answer for his actions. He just shrugged, his cheeks flushed either from the embarrassment or the cold. 

Price walked up beside him and knocked him a bit on his shoulder, ribbing him along with Gaz,

“Especially that one. What number?”

“Fuckin’ 145,” Ghost groaned.

Then, in unison, the three soldiers all started reciting it aloud, their voices sing-song and purposefully annoying, 

“Those lips that Love’s own hand did make breathed forth the sound that said “I hate” to me that languished for her sake…”

Johnny shoved Gaz back to the front of the group with his free hand, laughing it off,

“Alright, alright, you bastards. I may have read it two or three times…”

“Two or three hundred, Sergeant,” Price rolled his eyes. 

You grinned up at Johnny, humming your pleasure,

“Wow! I’m impressed. Didn’t know you were such a Shakespeare fan.”

Gaz scoffed, 

“It’s not the poems he’s a fan of!”

Price smacked him on his arm, stopping Gaz from being too mean in his playfulness, aware that Johnny had his limits of what he would allow to be said in front of you.

“Mmm,” you answered noncommittally, squeezing Johnny’s hand as it held yours, clutching at you like the end of a rope, holding you like an anchor to his hull.

As you made it to your apartment, you pointed to the small coffee shop on the corner of your block,

“Do you wanna wait somewhere warm? I’ll only be a minute.”

Price snorted, grinning as if he had just remembered a private joke, 

“Go help her with her bags, Sergeant. C’mon, lads.”

The trio left you together, and Johnny waited for you to open the door to the lobby. You buzzed in and waited for the elevator in the quiet foyer. 

He was silent the whole ride up to your floor. You thought he’d have more to say, especially after just getting back from a tour. You wondered what was keeping him so quiet. 

You jiggled your key into the lock and pushed your way inside. Marlowe was on the futon, lounging in her favorite position, but when she saw the strange man in her house, she bristled and fled beneath your bed. 

“Marlowe,” Johnny said, recognizing her.��

“Yeah,” you smiled, grabbing your vitamins from the kitchen cabinet to put in your bag, “Sorry, she’s afraid of strangers.”

“It’s alright, hen. I love your place. Look at that view. You can see the river and everything. That’s class.”

He was being polite. Johnny was way too big for your apartment. With him in the space, it felt like you may as well have lived in a tent. It was such close quarters that you spent most of the time edging around him to get to your stuff. 

“Can I…?” He was pointing down at your bed, asking to sit. 

Recognizing your rudeness, you nodded,

“Yes, of course. I’m sorry. Can I get you a water or something? Tea?”

“No, I’m good,” he sat and smiled, still looking around the space, taking it in. To be fair, there wasn’t much to see.

You continued to pack, trying to hurry knowing his friends were downstairs waiting for you. 

“Okay, toothbrush… I think I’m all set. Are you ready?”

“No,” he was looking down at the floor, and his tone was so soft that it made you stop your packing whirlwind to listen to him. 

The silence deepened between you, and you tried to be patient. Neither of you dared to move, but he met your eyes. 

“What is it, Johnny?” You asked, still waiting. 

He stood and walked the half step it took to stand before you. His huge shoulders blocked out the light, and you could tell he was chewing on his words, working them over and over to make sure they were right. 

“I need to know…” he said quietly, running his fingers through your hair again, “I need to know if you are havin’ any doubts about this, lass. I dinnae want to pressure you, and I know I shouldnae be asking you to lie to her, but I need you, mèirleach. I need to know you’re not still havin’ doubts about the way I feel about you.”

Were you? You weren’t sure. You knew he cared about you, and you didn’t have any evidence that he was playing you, but Pidge’s warning still raged in the back of your mind. 

You sighed,

“I don’t doubt that you have feelings for me.”

“But, you think they willnae last?”

“I don’t know, but I want to find out. It’s just hard to have confidence in a secret.”

He furrowed his brow,

“I’d call her and tell her now, if you’d let me. You wanna wait, hen. And I’m fine with that. I am. But, how am I supposed to show you who I am when I’m not supposed to be showin’ you anything at all?”

You didn’t know what to say to him, and it made you feel discouraged. Maybe you were wrong. Perhaps you should have kept your promise after all, and this was just too complicated. 

Johnny watched the guilt spread across your face and chased you down with his eyes, his tone laced with dark suggestion,

“Unless you want me to show you now, thief.”

You did. You wanted him to show you everything he was. And, you understood what he was asking you for. The nerves between your legs pulsed, and blood rushed down your arms, excited for whatever he was threatening you with. You wanted him to fuck you right here in your apartment. But, you hesitated, very aware that if you said yes, if you let him show you what he wanted you to see, you wouldn’t be able to come back from that. The guilt would eat you alive. 

“Your… friends…” you picked at the zipper of his thick coat, stepping close enough to him that you could feel his heat radiating from inside the fleece lining of it. 

“My friends can wait, thief. I can’t.”

“Then don’t.”

The same way a bear trap snapped shut, its teeth digging into the writhing flesh of the creature inside its metal maw, that was how he caught you in that moment. You looked up at him, eyes wide and expectant, and you were greeted with a hunter’s smile. He knew he had you, and he went for the kill, putting you out of your misery. His arms wrapped around your body as he kissed you with a high fever, moving from your mouth to your neck as quickly as he could, devouring your soft flesh there, nipping and sucking at you frenzied and harsh. All of his gentle reservedness was gone, pushed aside in favor of sating his wild craving. 

You were on the bed in a second, your back flat, pressed into the mattress by his heavy weight. He didn’t readjust. He allowed his body to pin you down, crushing you beneath him. You tried to rid him of his jacket; there were so many layers between you, and you were eager for there to be none. 

He helped you, shucking off his coat and shirt layers quickly before returning to your mouth and throat, breathlessly panting as he kissed and licked your throat. His chest was bare to you then, and the cold metal of his tags stung your chest as they jingled out of his clothes, falling onto you like two silver coins. You rubbed his body down, pressing into the muscles of his neck and back, feeling them jerk and lunge as he moved above you. He kissed your mouth again, moaning through his nose. 

Then, he was peeling you apart, taking your clothes and tossing them away, pulling off the tissue from a coveted gift. Johnny didn’t even take time to pause at your bra; he just yanked it over your head with the rest of your clothes, unceremoniously. While you were sucking on his tongue and kissing down the scruff of his jaw, you heard his boots thump onto the floor, one after the other. 

All that remained between you were your slacks and his jeans, and he was forced to leave your mouth to deal with the barriers. He made his way to your breasts, sucking on them hungrily, but not playing. He was done playing with you, it seemed. 

He popped the button on your pants and tucked both of his hands into the waistband, grabbing your panties along with it, and ripped them down your legs with a deep grunt. You were naked, and the denim of his jeans raked against your sensitive skin. He was grinding his body against you as you were trapped beneath him, and you felt his hips rock back and forth as he rubbed his cock against your core, trying to use the friction inside of his jeans to find some pleasure, returning to your nipples to lick them into stiff peaks. 

You wrapped your legs around his hips, your thighs halfway between the skin of his ribs and the bite of his belt, letting him thrust against you. 

“Johnny,” you whispered, “Take them off.”

“Not yet, hen.”

You moaned, feeling his crotch pressing hard against yours, but not being able to find any sort of consistency in the texture. 

“Why not?” You asked and begged at the same time.

“Because…” He kissed his way down your belly, settling his face between your thighs, “As soon as I do, I’m gonna fuck you, mèirleach. And I’ve not tasted you, yet.”

His mouth was wet and hot and just what you wanted. Johnny ate you like he was on a mission. There was no careful exploration like the first time. It felt like he was eating you to satisfy his own craving, and your enjoyment was merely a fringe benefit. 

You keened as loudly as you dared, crying out for him as he lapped at your folds, hunting down your flavor. 

Then, he began to speak to you as he sucked on your clit, pausing to say his words before returning to his font to swallow more of you down into his throat. 

“Do y’know how long I’ve waited for this, hen?”

Suck, lick, kiss…

“How many nights…”

Suck.

“...in the sand…”

Lick.

“...in the bloody dark…”

Kiss.

“...waiting to have you in my mouth like this.”

Lick. Lick. Liiiickkkk…

“Oh, fuck, Johnny!” You bit down on the back of your hand, reeling from the pressure building in your center, feeling chills on your arms and chest, “Please…”

“And when Gaz told me…”

Suck.

“...I didnae believe him.”

Lick.

“But, I wanted to. I wanted to believe…”

Kiss.

“...that you were really mine…” 

Suuuuckkkk.

“...mo mèirleach…” 

Liiickkkk.

“...mo ghràdh.” 

You started to come, your hips vaulting into his strong jaws, and his eyes found yours, bright and clear, staring at you, watching you fall apart in his mouth. At the last moment, just before you fell over the peak, he wrenched his eyes shut and sucked even harder, yanking you into a furious, crashing orgasm. 

Then, desperately scrambling to taste the result, he thrust his tongue deep into your hole, his entire mouth suctioned to your pussy, reaping his soaking reward. 

“Johnny,” you sobbed, overwhelmed by the power you felt growing inside of you, bursting across your body like hundreds of little fireworks.

He was back up by your face in a moment, cradling you and kissing you with your come smeared all over his lips and cheeks,

“Shh, shh… it’s alright, lass. I know what you need. It’s what I need, too.”

You heard his zipper and watched him slide out of his jeans, kicking his socks off with them, naked with you once more, and now with full intent. His cock was drooling onto your belly, the precome leaving long, sticky trails as his swollen shaft traced its way up and down through your folds. Johnny’s cock was so hard that it felt like a warm, iron pipe was pressing into you, threatening and dangerous. 

You must have worn the concern on your face because he chuckled down at you, kissing your forehead sweetly as he humped himself against you,

“Too much for you, thief?”

You let your hands meet in the middle, holding his dick with one on top of the other, effectively jacking him off as he thrust forward and back, wetting him with his own lubrication, and you watched him throw his head back in sharp need. You smiled up at him,

“Not yet.”

“Jesus Christ,” he paused, holding his position, poised like a viper. Then, he looked down at you, suddenly serene, “Do you need a condom?”

“No, do you?”

“Fuck, no,” he said, and he immediately sank his head into your softness, melting into you with a slick slide, trusting you implicitly, believing you like a disciple. 

Your body hadn’t experienced a cock as thick and as hard as his. It wasn’t uncomfortably long, but its upward curve was particularly cruel. It was built to torture the soft pleasure-ladden spot inside of your walls, dragging across it as he fit himself inside of you. It took a few thrusts until you felt his hilt, but you were wet enough that your pussy didn’t need much coaxing. He was sighing above you, audibly and full of relief, his face bent and twisted in a perfect torment. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck… thief, holy fuck. Oh, Christ. I cannae… oh…”

His thrusts were audible. Flesh pounded into flesh, and the wet noises coming from you seemed unreal. Each and every time he entered you, pressing through you and molding you to his shape, you felt sparks of bliss within your belly, expectant and eager. 

“Johnny… it feels so good. You feel…” 

“You alright, mo ghràdh? Do you… mmmph, fuck… do you need me to slow down?”

You imagined what that would be like, and your pussy railed against it, feral and wanton, fighting any semblance of gentility with sharpened teeth and greedy claws. 

“No, please… don’t.” you kissed his cheek as he lay his head into your shoulder, deep in concentration, rolling in his passion.

Your kiss made him turn to face you, kissing your mouth so softly, with loose, relaxed lips, gently sliding his cheek across yours like a huge cat, rubbing himself all over you. He didn’t stop, but he spoke to you darkly, 

“I’ll do whatever you want, lass. Tell me, and it’s yours.”

“This,” you sighed, moaning as another wave of pleasure made you clench down around him, gripping him from within you with a fluttering squeeze, “You. Just you, mo chridhe.”

You tested out the nickname you’d used before, hoping to encourage him. You may as well have poured kerosene on a fire. He narrowed his eyes at you in disbelief, obviously hearing it and using it like war paint, covering his body in it, staining himself in it, changing himself from the inside out to fit its definition. He lay his head next to yours as he worked his cock within you, grunting through gritted teeth with each heavy thrust. His body started to tremble, shaking with his need to come, and the low, long whine that came from his throat made it sound like he was boiling over with blinding pleasure. 

He took both of his arms and crossed them behind your back, grasping your shoulders from behind in a painfully tight hold. Then, pressed to his chest, he lifted you, settling you in his lap in the lotus position, keeping his cock sheathed deep inside of you. You grabbed onto his neck instinctively, holding him like a lifeline, rocking your hips into him to chase that friction. 

Johnny sighed, pressing his forehead to yours, 

“Yes, yes, yes, thief. Take it. Fuck yourself on me, hen. Use me. I wanna feel you come, mèirleach…” 

He begged so sweetly, and you were happy to oblige. You used his shoulders to brace yourself while you pushed your body down onto him, spearing yourself over and over. At this new angle, his cockhead hit your g-spot every single goddamn time, and you were dizzy from his menacing shape. He snaked his hand between you to press on your clit, not even rubbing it but applying force, giving you something to grind against. The combination of his hand and his cock and his growling whines of struggling for control were enough to do the trick, and you saw white behind your eyes as you fell into a chaotic, plunging orgasm once again. 

“Fuuuuckkkk…” He groaned loudly, his voice turning vicious, “You are mine.”

Your body fell back to the bed and he shoved your legs onto one of his shoulders, fucking you as deep as he could go, stretching you as he did, throwing himself into you as you came down from your high. He was shouting, curses and praises, all in a filthy, animalistic snarl. Johnny just kept repeating the same phrase in a cultish chant, mindless and recursive, completely beyond himself, past reality. 

“You’re mine, thief. Mine.”

As he came, he searched for your eyes, staring into them, showing you his elation. You ran a hand across his scalp, your fingernails dragging through his mohawk, and you saw the whites of his eyes as he rolled them back into his head involuntarily. You held onto his hair and gave it a little pressure, holding his skull in your hands as he filled you with his spent pleasure, his cock throbbing, pulsing rope after rope of hot come into your belly, frothing and foaming around the base of his shaft as he fucked you through it. 

20 MINUTES LATER

You were so worried that his friends would make some sort of comment. As you walked back to the coffee shop, tucked under his heavy arm, you prepared for the playful banter and the jeering. His mohawk was destroyed, and you were both glowing with a sheen of sweat, matching in your states. You knew that they knew. You could also tell that Johnny was bracing himself for the worst, steeling his resolve before entering the cafe. And you thought you would get, at the very least, some mention of how long it had taken to get your bags. But, when you made it to the coffee shop, they didn’t say a word. They smiled, and although they smiled knowingly, there was more affection in it than mischief. It shocked you. After all the ribbing from before, to have none now seemed like some kind of gift. When Johnny realized they were going to let him keep his prize for himself, uncontested, he began to glow with pride as much as pleasure. 

The ride was not quiet, though. All of their stories from Urzikstan and its many dangers started to come out. Price told you about how Gaz and Ghost were almost incinerated in a cobalt mine, and Johnny was showing off his newest badge - a retro SAS pin Price had given him for rescuing the other two from said mine. The blue wings and the motto surrounded a bright sword.

“Who dares, wins?” You asked, trying to see the words in the dark backseat. 

Ghost, who had needed to sit in the front with Johnny because of his height, nodded, taking the pin back from you to admire it.

“Well deserved,” Price commented beside you. 

“Sounds like it,” you agreed. 

Johnny had been so sweet to you after his ferocious lovemaking, you thought all the medals in the world might not be enough to thank the man. No one had ever been so kind nor so attentive. Most of the time, you and whatever lad would clean up separately, maybe watch a show or two and then say your goodbyes. Not Johnny. He spent most of his time admiring your body, making sure you were intact and unharmed. Then, after covering you up with your softest throw, he came back with a hot towel and cleaned you up meticulously. He lay beside you until you felt good enough to get dressed, and still as you were putting your hair up, he made you a tea and finished packing your bag with the things you’d forgotten; your vitamins on the counter and your phone charger. 

When you came out of the bathroom, he had stripped your sheets and put them in the hamper, and Marlowe’s food timer had been set. Her litter box was clean, and the automated litter keeper was reset. You wondered fleetingly if he had wiped down the counters as well. 

The drive felt shorter than usual, especially since your thoughts were on other things. But, when you pulled into Old Kilpatrick, Johnny spoke up to the whole car,

“Look, no one says a fuckin’ thing about us to my sister. To anyone, alright? She’ll find out when she’s bloody meant to.”

The men agreed to keep quiet, but Gaz mouthed off beside you, 

“Sure we can keep a secret, Soap, but what about you? I wouldn’t give you a medal for impulse control, mate.”

Johnny eyed him in the rear-view mirror with a stern glare,

“Aye, but then that’s my problem, you daft bastard.”

 Gaz rolled his eyes, grinning all the while. 

By the time you’d arrived, the only open spot to sleep was a big pallet on the floor of the living room. Hamish was the only one awake to welcome you, and he set you up with pillows and blankets to camp out like a row of sardines. 

“Hey, lass,” Hamish told you, “Go sleep with Pigeon. She’d murder me for leaving you on the ground.”

He looked worn out, and although you didn’t mind sleeping on the floor, you didn’t have any real reason to insist. So, you hugged all the boys good night, making sure not to take too long on Johnny’s turn, and retreated to your post. 

Pidge was snoring softly as you entered the room, and you got ready for bed as quietly as you could, plugging in your phone to the nightstand. It buzzed, and you saw his message flash up on the screen:

Mo Chridhe: miss you 

You: i miss you too

Mo Chridhe: im still in a wee shock

You: why

Mo Chridhe: you. cannae believe youre mine

You: i am. and youre mine johnny mactavish.

Mo Chridhe: promise

You: promise

CHRISTMAS MORNING

Waking up with Johnny and sitting around the tree together with your coffee was every bit like Christmas morning as when you were a child. Instead of presents, you were content to sit as close to him as you dared, pretending to be making room for others by finding spots on the floor beside the gifts and stockings. 

All together, it was Johnny, his three soldiers, you, Pidge, Hamish, Hamish’s mum and dad, and Roger. Rodger had crashed on the couch last night, the Hamiltons had taken Johnny’s room, and now you were all crowded up in the small den, passing gifts around and chatting as you opened your presents. There weren’t many, but it was enough to feel like a holiday. 

Roger got the Playstation he’d been begging for from his brother, and his parents had bought him the games. Pidge had given Johnny a new set of headphones since his had melted in the cobalt mining fire. She also got him a pound of her shortbread cookies, which he was stuffing into his mouth with absolute abandon. He’d bought her a tea set off her wedding registry, and Hamish had landed a very aggressive knife from him. The professor was already being given a tutorial by Captain Price, and you tried not to laugh as he practiced stabbing the air with him in the kitchen. Price was scary when he did it, but Hamish looked downright silly. 

“Okay, alright. My turn. Here,” you gave out your cards to everyone in attendance, but pulled out a box for Pidge. 

“What did you do! I told you not to, hen. I am going to give you a laldy, and you’d deserve it!” She hugged you around the neck and jiggled the box. 

Satisfied with the rattle, she tore into the paper and gingerly lifted off the lid. Inside, she saw the MacTavish tartan, woven into a full shawl, embroidered with a tiny pigeon in the corner, just for her. She inspected it with wonder, her breath fully stolen away. 

“Did you… You made this? Are you doin’ your weavin’ again, babe? I thought you gave it up.”

You shrugged,

“I found a reason to give it one last shot.”

Pidge started to cry real, honest tears, and she reached out for you, clutching the shawl to her chest, sobbing, 

“Thank you, hen. Thank you so much. After they buried mum in hers, and I didn’t… I couldn’t touch it anymore, I just…”

You held her and rocked her back and forth, smiling at her outpouring of love,

“I know, babe. I remember you saying so. But, now you’ve got one of your own.”

For a moment, you stole a glance at Johnny. The whole room was a little moved by your gesture, but he looked… unwell. He was standing behind everyone, and you were the only one looking at him. His hand was clasped over his mouth, and he had tears coming from his eyes, unblinking, letting them roll down his cheeks one after the other, staring at you, frozen in place. He was so unsettled that, for a moment, you thought you’d made some error. But, as Pidge recovered, so did he, and he wiped his face to return to normal; putting on a mask of an expression, hiding whatever he had just shown you. 

“You’re the best damn friend I’ve ever had, hen. And I love you. Dearly.”

“I love you too, Pidge.”

“Here, here, open mine! It’s not as braw as all tha’ you did, but still.”

You were handed a gift bag, and you peeked inside. You found a book of poetry with some incredible illustrations inside, and a charm necklace with a silver boar hanging from it. 

“It’s our wee clan beastie. You may as well be a MacTavish by now, hen. So, I thought you should have it.”

You smiled, letting her put it on you. Then, you hugged her tight, 

“You don’t know what that means to me, Pidge.”

Pidge laughed through dried tears, still emotional,

“Ha! Says you, miss weaver. Honestly.”

You let her gush over it a little more before you retreated back to your position beside Johnny. You pulled out the four smaller boxes from your bag and handed them to the soldiers, indiscriminately since they were all alike. 

“What did you do, thief?” Johnny’s voice was low, and he was grinning up at you, staring at you through those dark lashes.

“Open them,” you urged him. 

They did, and one by one they all pulled out small compasses, made with built-in flint strikers, hanging from tied paracord. It was the most tactical practical thing you could find on such short notice, but they all seemed pleased. Gaz shook it at Price, 

“This would’ve been bloody helpful in South Tobraka!”

You laughed, 

“Well, I’m sure it’s a little too low-tech for you, but Merry Christmas anyway.”

“It’s bloody perfect,” Gaz smiled, clapping you on the back. Ghost nodded, and Price hooked it to his lanyard without questioning it. 

Johnny bent over to whisper to you as discreetly as he could, 

“Gotta sneak off to give you mine, lass.”

You smacked him on the arm, whispering back, watching Pidge like a hawk as you did so to make sure she couldn’t see you,

“Don’t be naughty.”

Johnny laughed, 

“No, no. I’m serious.”

“Alright!” Hamish clapped his hands, causing you to jump out of your skin, “Who’s ready for crackers?”

CHRISTMAS NIGHT

You and Johnny were curled up on the couch with a steaming cup of sweet wassail, scrolling through the photos you’d taken that night. You popped two crackers together, pulling out your paper crowns, your gold and his blue, snapping selfies and reading the jokes to each other. Everyone was in their crowns by the end of the night, and while Price smoked cigars on the porch with Gaz and Ghost, Pidge and Hamish had driven his parents and brother home. 

You were finally alone after having such a full house, and your gift for him was burning a hole in your bag. You were dying to give it to him, but he beat you to the punch.

“Alright, mèirleach, are you ready for your wee gift? It’s probably gonna earn me extra PT for a few months, but it’s worth it.”

“Why?” You asked, setting your cup down on the end table and turning your body towards him. 

“‘Cause I’m not even supposed to have these off-duty, much less hand them over to my American lassie.”

Johnny dug into the neckline of his shirt and pulled out the dog tags that you had encountered last night when he took you to bed. The coin jangled on the chain as he pulled it over his head, and like a medal for an award you had not won, he looped it behind your neck, letting the coin fall between your breasts, still warm from his body and now warm from yours. 

You pulled it up to read its stamp, staring at the words:

O POS 2073521 MACTAVISH SAS RC

“Wanted you to have it, lass. A wee piece of me to keep safe, if you will.”

It was hard to know why you started crying, but you felt the searing tears fall down your cheeks as you stared at the tag. His blood type was what started it all, and you began to imagine all of the times that this thin coin would have warranted such a label. 

“It’s alright, mèirleach, if you dinnae —”

“No,” you raised your hand to his face, closing your other hand around the coin and pulling it in to your chest, eager to keep it safe just as he had asked, “Thank you, Johnny. I love it.”

He turned his face toward your hand as you caressed his scruffy jaw, and kissed your palm, holding your hand with his so you couldn’t escape. 

“I got you something, too. But, it’s small, and now I’m afraid you won’t have anything to hang it on.”

You dug in your bag and pulled out a small cardboard box with a thin red string tied around it. There was no card, there was no name printed on it, but he knew it was him nonetheless. He took it from you, almost snatching it, excited and surprised, not waiting for it to be given. 

“Thief! You didnae have to do that,” he was grinning, and his eyes gleamed, full of sudden joy. 

You’d found an old locket at the charity shop, and your gift had fit inside perfectly. When he opened the clasp, he froze. You’d use a scrap of the shawl that you’d woven for Pidge and cut a little circle from it, embroidering a tiny map of Scotland over the threads, planting a little red heart over what was almost Glasgow. 

“Mo mèirleach…”

“Mo chridhe.”

As soon as you said his name, his eyes found yours and he leaned in to kiss you, clutching the locket in his fist, tight, tight, tight. 

BEFORE DAWN

That night, in his bed, smelling his oranges and cloves, his scent filling your nose, covering you with his sheets, you lay buried in his chest where his tags used to lie, your cheek now warming the skin beneath. You imagined the compasses that dangled from the four sets of keys strewn across the kitchen counter. You thought about the shawl that was wrapped around his sister as she slept in her bed. Holding his locket in your hand, you ran your fingertips over its tartan, borne of the same threads as hers. You wondered about tomorrow, and the day after that, and the year ahead of you, and you felt a tightness in your own chest as you considered the timeline stretching out before you, woven from the choices you and your lover had made together. It was as if you had altered fate’s plan somehow, shunning your intended path and forging one of your own making. What future had you created? Did you have the guile to craft the right course? You held his hand, his fingers laced between yours, and whichever way you went, you hoped that he would be braving it with you.

[fictoculus]

౨ৎ they find you crying...

send a request!┊masterlist┊taglist applications

FEAT... venti, cyno, itto, tighnari

A/N... i just wanted to put in a little message to say how greatful i am for all the love and support! it genuinely brings a smile to my face reading what you guys write when you repost one of my works. also, please don't be shy and send me some requests! i want to make sure i'm making content that people will enjoy and am struggling to think of interesting concepts ♡

WARNINGS... references to low mental health (venti)

✧ venti.

♪ you'd been feeling low for a while now, spending your days alone at stormbearer point, losing yourself in you thoughts as you gaze absentmindedly at the scenery below you

♪ venti would be more than just concerned, though he may be completely oblivious at first; it takes him a while to notice how you're truly feeling

♪ when he does, he feels an ache in his heart, he scolds himself for not noticing sooner

♪ he's sure to shower you in gifts, whether they be big or small, and always make sure to spend quality time with you, refusing to leave until he sees that beautiful smile of yours

stormbearer point was... somewhat comforting. the soft, gentle breeze brushing against you as you dangle your feet off the edge, though you weren't swinging you legs in joy as you usually would. instead, they dangled freely off the edge, swaying only when the wind willed them to. contrary to the environment around you, your life for the past few weeks had been anything but pretty. it felt as if the flowers of your mind had wilted, leaving you with the shrivelled stems as you desperately buried them over and over, praying to the gods that some miracle would make them sprout once more.

your beloved, venti, had been completely oblivious to your state of mind, thanks to your ability to mask your emotions; though you'd hoped that, even then, he would've been able to see past your facade. only now, 3 weeks later, does he finally notice the dullness in your eyes as he gazes into them, holding your cheeks in his hands to stop you from turning away.

while you had been completely lost in your thoughts, he had seen you perched upon the edge, slowly lowering himself down to sit beside you and snaking an arm around your waist. his eyebrows furrow as he feels your body tremble against him, followed by shallow sobs and quiet sniffles; his heart shattered. how hadn't he noticed that you, the love of his life, hadn't truly been feeling the joy he had falsely seen in your broken smile?

from that point onwards, the bard made sure to keep his eye on you, watching you from afar as you spent time alone, making sure to take you to your favourite cafe atleast once a week. he'd also shower you in gifts, whether it be a dandelion he had found on his adventures, or a hat he'd bought from a merchant that he thought would compliment you perfectly (though he thinks you look simply stunning in anything and everything).

✧ cyno.

♪ cyno being cyno, he'd most likely tell you the "best" jokes he can think of, knowing they always make you smile (mostly for the wrong reasons...)

♪ as soon as he finds you huddled up in the corner, sobbing into your knees as you cradle them into your chest, he instantly questions you; wondering who would dare hurt his beloved, he is the general mahamatra after all...

♪ naturally, his immediate thought is to track down the perpatrator and administer judgement just like he would with any other criminal, but it comes to his realisation that this isn't just any old criminal, it's someone that had hurt you

life can be... overwhelming sometimes, something cyno knows well. yes, administering judgement does bring a sense of pride, but being face-to-face with so many wrong-doers can really be damaging. that's why his level of understanding is so deep, he can really empathise with what your feeling, though sometimes he struggles to comfort others.

so, when he finds you curled up in the corner, trembling as you pull your knees closer to your chest, he finds himself frozen to the spot.

"did they hear me come in? i don't think they did... how am i suppossed to announce myself without scaring them?"

he ends up making a fool of himself.

his first idea is to clear his throat, but because he didn't want to frighten you (worried that you'd jump and hit your head on the wall you were propped up against), his coughs ended up being far too quiet to overpower your sobs. his "back-up plan" was to simply walk over and hug you, placing a hand behind your head and pulling you into his chest, shushing every so often and rocking the two of you from side to side.

you sat their for a good 5 minutes, not saying a word to each other but basking in the comfortable silence. being wrapped in his arms alone is more than enough comfort; his warmth lulling you to sleep as your eyes flutter shut.

crying can take a lot of energy, and so it's only natural for you to dose off once the stress that's been bothering you all day finally leaves you in peace.

the general feels your head fall limp on his shoulder, your sniffling eventually silencing as you relax against him. gently, he lifts you up from the floor, carrying you to the bed and carefully setting you down before climbing in beside you.

"goodnight, my love, we'll talk about it tomorrow, ok?"

✧ itto.

♪ itto is very energetic, and thrilled at the idea of adventure (and beetles). so, when he hears you sniffling behind the door of your shared bedroom, he assumes you've come down with a cold and bursts into the room with boxes upon boxes of tissues and cold medicine

♪ only when he sees your face wet with tears does he realise, you're crying

♪ call him overdramatic, but he literally drops everything and rushes over to you, tackling you backwards onto the bed and squeezing the sadness out of you

"3... 2... 1..."

with a loud thud, your shared bedroom door is flung open and an eager oni jumps through, arms full of sickness necessities (including a mountain of snacks to fulfill any and all possible cravings).

"[name]! i heard you sniffling soooo... i brought tissues and cold medicine and chocolate and- babe?"

your scans your face, staring at you longingly until he finally catches your eyes, red and puffy. you can see the way his heart shattered just by the way he looks at you; a small, almost unnoticeable, crease between his eyebrows expressing his concern.

"c'mere..."

despite asking you to hug him, he charges right at you, the shock briefly stopping your tears as his tackles you backwards and onto the bed. as soon as he's comfortably ontop of you, he kisses your face all over, slightly rougher on your cheeks but feather-light on your eyelids, which were squeezed shut. satisfied, he gives you one final kiss on the lips before burying his face in the crook of your neck and hugging you tight; as if he was trying to squeeze the sadness out of you.

"what's got you all upset, hm? wanna talk about it?"

and so you talk, explaining how everything had gone wrong that day, impersonating the vendor you had "argued" with as itto listens carefully, refraining himself from interrupting you no matter how tempting it may be. only once you had finished does he share his input, reassuring you that you weren't in the wrong and practically yelling in frustration at how unprofessional and rude the vendor had been.

he even offered to cook for the two of you, though you ended up ordering becaue this man cannot cook to save his life. that's ok though, it's the thought that counts.

✧ tighnari.

♪ tighnari, being a forest ranger, is not often home during the day, meaning collei would be the one to find you crying

♪ she would rush off to find tighnari almost immediately, who, conventiantly, is only a minutes walk outside gandharva ville, observing the wellbeing of the flora and fauna of sumeru

♪ the two of them would come running within minutes, tighnari panting as he bursts into your shared home with look of pure worry plastered onto his face

♪ simply talking with eachother provided you with more than enough comfort, hence why the two of you spent hours just talking, snuggled up close under the cover and discussing whatever came to mind

you try your best to muffle your sobs, hands clasping over your mouth as you squeeze your eyes shut in an attempt to stop the tears from falling. tighnari wasn't home, and the last thing you'd want is for collei to hear you (since you're a somewhat parental figure to her).

however, things don't always go to plan.

as if fate itself was against you, a rhythmic knock echoes throughout yours and tighnari's shared home, one you know far too well. you curse under your breath, rubbing your face down messily with your hands before scrambling to the door. you take a deep breath before pulling it open, greeting collei with a warm smile, like you always do. you do everything in your power to keep your composure, to stop your voice from wavering as you spoke, but your attempts were proven futile.

"[name]? a- are you doing ok? your eyes are all red..."

that was all it took for you to break down.

poor collei is strucken with pure panic; she has never seen you like this before and genuinely doesn't know how to help you. there's only one solution she can come up with: tighnari.

before you could even attempt to mutter an apology, the greenette is practically sprinting towards the forest, yelling over her shoulder:

"i'll be right back!"

tighnari, thankfully, was only a couple minute's walk outside of gandharva ville, studying the wellbeing of the sumeru's flora and fauna. attatched to his satchel is a small drawstring pouch, where he collects fallen petals or damaged flowers, later drying or pressing them and gifting them to you as a substitute for the traditional bouquet.

"collei?"

his ears perk up at the sound of collei barging past the dense bushes and shrubbery, only to immediately drop down as collei explains how you'd burst into tears, panting heavily from the long run.

without hesitation, the ranger messily packs his belongings before sprinting in the village's direction, wasting no time before bursting through the front door and throwing himself onto you, enveloping you in his comforting warmth. the two of you would just stand in the doorway for a few minutes, holding onto eachother tightly. you gripped onto the back of his shirt as if he was your lifeline. in a way, he was.

"i'm so sorry i wasn't here, sweetheart. next time this happens, you come find me, ok?"

he peppers you with kisses, mainly on your forehead and nose, eventually dragging you to the bedroom where the two of you cuddle until the sun sets, not wanting to fall asleep but instead just talk about anything and everything.

"we only need to talk about it if you want to, okay? i love you, [name], i will always be here"

thanks for reading ♡ want to read more? would you like a part II? let me know! my requests are OPEN, so please feel free to let me know what you'd like me to write next!

© FICTOCULUS 2023; please do not steal, translate, or repost my works as your own

[6thdrink]

rejected again... uni rejection letters are so disheartening and demotivating.. i dont think im ever going to get into any uni atp

[garagepaperback]

fulfilment

“Do you think it’s worth it?”

“Do I think what's worth it?” Malfoy is in the middle of the bed like it’s a pedestal built just for him, lean and still spread out. He’s twenty-two minutes into a thirty-eight minute process involving his fingernails. Harry’s got his feet propped up on the desk but the apathy of the pose doesn't seem to be taking. 

He gestures.

“You do this, you know.” Draco says, not having bothered to look up.

“Do what?” Harry asks. He leans back, the chair protesting.

“Go back to the dregs of a conversation from three days ago as though it’s a perfectly normal tendency.”

Harry bites his lip, considering, but not about that. "It felt unfinished.”

“You stopped talking.” Draco replies, smooth. He's doing the whole nail thing all by hand. The blunt tip of a wand isn’t sensitive enough, he'd explained the first time. Funny to think of magic not being sensitive, of Draco being so acutely careful about something Harry sees as mostly pointless. Though that's being eroded recently along with a few other things - he's not ever going to be concerned with the application of varnish on his own keratin, but he's at least recently stopped being annoyed to even know the word. Maybe if an instrument is held softly enough it becomes something else, gets to grow deeper than blunt usefulness.

Harry hums and then says the thing he avoided saying days ago.

“I don’t know if it will work.”

And, what a misleadingly uncomplicated term - only two lean lines huddled together. Do the mean jab and the quick strike sustain a distance between the i and the t? Will that always be part of it?

It eclipses, blocking out an enormity. Standing for. Heavy and redolent and Harry still doesn’t look directly even though he returns to the bedrock day after day, greedy about the unreal warmth, wanting wanting wanting. Cock-struck, Ron says, but the past month even the frown’s been starting to dissolve, he says it laughing almost. And it's more than that. He's sitting here watching the boring nail thing, for instance.

“What point is there in talking about this.” Malfoy says, holding up the thumb on his left hand for inspection.

Malfoy has this while Harry has it, which Harry thinks means nothing, or means Malfoy keeps the qualifier a little nearer to himself than Harry does, close enough to point at. Under the same sky, at least.

“I don’t know.” Harry rearranges himself, elbows on his knees, holding up his chin. “What if we cock it up?”

Draco’s lip curls up, which Harry suspects is more about the coarse spotlight turned toward the thing between them and not as much a strummed fear of loss, the one that's on of a constant low broil in the moment suspended between Harry's chest and gut. “We probably will.”

“So what’s the point?”

“Come here.” Draco says, glancing up then. He's so handsome there's sort of an ache to look at him, weird and ethereal in the middle of a boring afternoon. He’s pale enough that it makes the world along his edges seem vicious in vividness by comparison. “Let me do yours.”

Up on the bed, Harry lets him. He doesn’t give a shit about fingernails, but supine and barely moving like this, both of them breathing steadily and Draco with his hands over and under and having Harry’s - he thinks maybe here is the holding, this, it, whatever.

“What’s the point of any of it?” Sometimes Harry thinks Draco talks just to linger under the plush shield of his own voice, sometimes Harry thinks he’s really saying something. “Even you don't get to restrain a living thing and demand it stay perfectly still so you can make some notations about the distance from the nose down to the tail. If it's minute or a nice day or a nice few years - a hundred, I don’t know.” Harry looks at him, surprised and Draco hurries past, busily staring at the hand he’s holding. “Not a hundred. Probably two at best.”

Harry laughs.

“But it’s the-” Draco bites his lip, Harry is listening very much. “It’s not about how much. If you’re busy trying to calculate that you’re missing the entire rest of it, the real thing. Isn’t there a phrase? Seeing the eggshell and missing the yolk?”

Harry’s laughing so hard Draco swats his hand to still it. “Oh, definitely not.”

A small, true grin is dawning. “Seeing the skin and missing the organs?”

“You’re disgusting.” Harry’s smiles, too.

“The ineffable stuff, then. I don’t know." Draco’s eyelashes are nearly flush with his cheek, he's talking to the bend of Harry's wrist, the soft curl of his fingers. “Can’t it just be something worthy of awe? Why does it have to be enough?”

“Are you high?" Harry asks, laughing. "Where the fuck did this come from?”

Draco shrugs, Harry's hand still in his. Outside, it’s a really beautiful day, but he’s been forgetting about that, lately. He's finding it increasingly difficult to remind himself of anything else when it feels like the horizon has inverted and lives inside his chest.

Maybe, awe. It seems conceited to demand to know the quantity of a miracle. And who is he to decide a landscape is worth more than a glimpse? 

for day 31 of @microficmay

[karniss-bg3]

i know you usually don't tackle female!tav x kar'niss but if you had to give it a shot... just something wholesome maybe? esp since the Absolute is feminine-coded all throughout the game, the overtones could be there for kar'niss to see a kind good-aligned femme!tav as a goddess to worship all for himself. maybe just a scene of her tending to his wounds or arachnid peculiarities as a drider—i.e: maybe he molts and the process is painful but she helps him through it with comfort and grace?

[Music]

Where had he gone? Morning light had broke and there were no signs of her eight-legged companion. Tav crawled out of her sleeping bag to survey the area with mild concern etched over her face.

“Kar’niss?”

She surveyed the area, her ears coming to perk as she caught the sound of shuffling from a nearby cave. Unafraid she advanced toward the noise, casting the light cantrip in an effort to shoo away the darkness. She’d come to find a figure huddled at the back of the cavern, curled in tight against the rock face in an effort to make himself as small as possible. She frowned while she carefully stepped closer, willing the lights nearer to get a better look at him. She noticed signs of damage along the abdomen of his lower half, the flesh knotting and bunching up unnaturally over the carapace.

“Gods, what’s happening? Are you alright?” She’d ask while trying to wander closer.

“Don’t!” He retreated tighter against the wall wanting to maintain the greatest distance between them. “This is not for you. Go away.”

She could sense the fear in him, the pain. His leg at the far back of his body lifted and curled in a vain attempt to scrape over his molting mound with pathetic results. He snarled in frustration, planting his hands against the wall, his torso slumped. She wouldn’t be intimidated able to see he was in need.

“I’ll be back,” she said, darting off.

In a few moments she returned with pack in hand, placing it down nearby to root around for supplies. Kar’niss’ eyes narrowed as he watched, a deep reverberating trill vibrating within his throat akin to a growl. Tav heard the sound for what it really was, cries from a wounded animal who didn’t know how to ask for aid. She pulled a bottle of light gray paste from her bag, unscrewing the lid and giving it a sniff to make sure the contents were still good. It smelled medicinal, a sharp tang of bitter roots and sap combined to make a potent salve. Satisfied with her test she rose and approached Kar’niss once more.

The drider reared up in response, his pedipalps rising and extending outward in a threatening manner while his two front most legs stamped into the ground with defiance.

“S-Stay away…!” Kar’niss panted, a panic starting to bubble within him. Every woman he’d ever trusted had inevitably hurt him, betrayed him in some way. Used, abused, and discarded when his usefulness had run out, why would Tav be any different?

But Tav was different, even if he could not yet see it. She held up the jar so he could get a better look. The contents were boring, bland and unimpressive in appearance, hardly what one would think could fell a drider.

“It’s medicine, Kar’niss. It will help ease the pain, allow you to heal faster. See?” She used two fingers to scoop up a dollop of the paste, applying the portion onto her own arm and rubbed it in like lotion. Once done she extended her arm so he could see for himself. It looked perfectly normal. Her flesh didn’t melt away, bubble or boil from the application, nor did it turn any unusual colors. The scent was so strong that he got a whiff and his head jerked back in response to how it tickled the inside of his nostrils.

He still seemed hesitant about what was on offer. That is until another pang of pain ripped through his body, his entire frame quaking in response. His expression twisted and teeth grit in anguish.

“Hnnng!” He tried to turn and reach back to touch the pained segment but he couldn’t reach, his spine unable to twist at such an angle. His brows furrowed, his attention returning to Tav who tried so hard to offer him help. With his lips pressed into a thin line a slow sigh spilled from his lips. “You may...apply this medicine. But do not linger!”

She smiled at him. “Thank you. It...might sting a little, but far less so than what you’re enduring now.”

Tav approached his side to get a better look at the damage. It did seem he was molting and only midway through, suggesting this would be a long day. The carapace that had fallen away left tender pink flesh behind, exposed and vulnerable during this stage of the process. She’d first snap away the dead skin that still clung to him, knowing better than to peel beyond that. This process couldn’t be hurried it needed to continue at the pace it was destined to go. Still, she could at least be rid of the excess and provide him relief from the weight.

Kar’niss was on edge throughout, watching over his shoulder at the ready for the flash of a dagger, the buzz of threatening magic, anything she could do to strike at him. None of that would come to pass. Instead with the removal of the discarded carapace she now had access to the fresh skin below. Her fingered dabbled into the salve and applied a coating over the surface. Despite her warning about the inevitable sting, Kar’niss scrambled and backed up into the corner, a monstrous screech echoing throughout the cave.

Tav backed up quickly and held up her hands. “Easy, easy now. Shh it’s alright.” She cooed, her voice maintaining a delicate hum to keep things calm.

A sheen of sweat trickled over Kar’niss’ face along with the threat of tears in his eyes, heavy exhales of breath pushed between his clenched teeth. He was on the verge of snapping at Tav once more until he felt something unexpected; Relief. The salve started to work it’s magic over the affected area. A cooling sensation crept over the sensitive skin leaving behind a pleasant tingle, effectively numbing the nerves from further assault. He blinked in stunned silence. Her method not only worked but it stopped the pain rather than enhancing it. He glanced at his rounded back-end with a firm look of contemplation, his abdomen lifted and issued a cursory wiggle. His gaze then darted back to her, his savior, the anger steadily fading away.

“That’s better, isn’t it?” Tav smiled and screwed the lid back onto the jar. “It should stave off the pain for at least a few hours, I’ll need to apply more after that. At least now you know what to expect. We can remain here until the process finishes. I’ll keep an eye out, guard the cave and bring you something to eat. How does that sound?”

Kar’niss bobbed his head in a quick nod, still a little taken back by this new revelation. He rubbed at one of his arms to self soothe, struck by a new wave of thoughts he didn’t know how to process yet.

“...Thank you,” he whispered.

Tav stepped closer and rested her fingertips on one of his pedipalps, another gesture that brought him great shock. “You’re welcome. Remember I am here for you, okay?” Their eyes met briefly which made something inside his chest flutter, wild and free. His lips trembled enough to where he jerked his gaze away, worrying his lower lip between his teeth.

“I won’t be gone long. Let me know if the pain returns,” Tav said. She’d then slip away to give the drider his space, smiling at him over her shoulder until her silhouette faded from the cave entrance.

Kar’niss looked on in an effort to process it all. He lowered himself to the ground to rest while the pain was quelled, glancing back from time to time where the medicine had been applied. Steadily a slow, lopsided smile tugged at his scarred lips, a warmth growing inside of him unlike any he’d known before. He looked to the cave entrance, watching and waiting, for her to return.

“My Queen.”

[jake-whatthefisgoingon-kiszka]

This collab has been in the works for some time now and we’re finally ready to share with you the first chapter! @kultavalo and I have giggled for many a moons over these two love birds so we hope you enjoy them just as much as we do 🥰

*Read on AO3

Pairing: Josh Kiszka X Danny Wagner *sweet sweet slash

Warnings and tags: 18+ ONLY! No minors need be present where Finn and I are involved! Some slight angst, idiots pinning and flirting, fluuuffff, more tags to be added later

Word count: 2.7k

Omne Trium Perfectum, everything that comes in threes is perfect.

What a beautiful phrase, though anything in Latin did tend to have that effect.

It was something Danny often thought about ever since he heard it read aloud from a book Jake was reading in their shared space on the bus between two seemingly identical cities.

The more he thought about it the more it did very well seem that everything that came in threes was indeed perfect: the sun, the moon, and the stars. Melody, rhythm, and harmony. The three musketeers, the three wise men, the holy trinity, hell even bacon lettuce and tomato…

Though he’d been close with the Kiszkas for a very long time, Danny still sometimes struggled to find where he fit in. Josh, Jake, and Sam- everything in threes is perfect.

Even despite their constant corrections of interviewers, their heartening attempts to include him, Danny still had this nagging feeling in the back of his head that he would always be just on the outside looking in. Of course that was until three times he and Josh kissed, and by the third time he knew he was right where he belonged.

𖤓 - ☾ - ☆

The mall was quiet. The giant plastic ice cream cone that slowly turned near the entrance to the food court hummed softly in its rotations. A pack of moms with strollers had invaded the benches near the central fountain and a group of kids who were quite clearly supposed to be in school right now shot them nervous glances from their huddled corner near the Hot Topic.

It wasn’t often that Josh and Danny got to spend some quality time with just the two of them. Often either Sam or Jake or both would tag along on whatever adventure they might go on, not wanting to miss out on any potential fun.

But honestly this trip to the mall was not exactly the kind of quality time or adventure anyone was actually thrilled about.

Earlier that day Josh had received quite a scolding from Jen, their makeup artist. He had been secretly dipping into her stash of white eyeliners after he had run out of the one tiny pencil he had brought on tour himself.

In his defense Josh had never expected that he would enjoy wearing the simple white dots that were all his current skill level would allow on a daily basis. The original idea had been to only apply them for interviews and more casual public outings where he still had to look the rockstar part. But the more he practiced and perfected his symmetrical application, the more he started to add the tiny bits of flair to his daily outfits. They made him feel pretty. The pencil he had brought lasted about two weeks.

He really thought Jen wouldn’t notice. It was just one pencil out of her giant kit! But in his ignorance Josh had inadvertently grabbed the most expensive item out of the whole bunch and Jen had definitely noticed.

She had cornered him in the dining room of the hotel during breakfast that morning. It had just been him and Danny at their table, sleepily blinking into their cereal as they tried to wake themselves up enough to actually go out and enjoy their day off between shows. Neither boy had noticed her angrily stomp up to them until it was too late.

She slammed her hand down on the table, rattling the cups and bowls and startling the two half asleep musicians.

“Joshua Michael Kiszka.” she hissed as she held up the stump of what used to be a full white eyeliner pencil.

“I know your mother raised you better than to steal so would you care to explain to me what this is supposed to be?”

Fear gripped Josh’s heart. Jen was one of the most gentle and loving people he knew. No matter what kind of shenanigans he pulled or how bratty he acted she always treated him kindly and with a smile. So the fact that she now looked like she was about to strangle him truly made him think carefully about his next words.

“Uhm…” was all he managed to stutter out before she put up a hand to silence him.

“Don’t even start with me, young man. Do you have any idea how expensive this pencil is?”

Josh simply shook his head slowly. He’d never really thought about the price of makeup, the shitty little pencil he got at CVS was just a few bucks, but the look on Jen’s face told him that had not been the case for the one he’d so carelessly nicked from her beautycase.

“Forty five dollars.” she spat at him and all the color in Josh’s face drained. He didn’t even know eyeliner could be that expensive.

“You better get me a new one Josh.” Jen continued, “Or you can do your own makeup for the rest of the tour.”

Danny, who had been trying to stay as quiet as possible and had just focussed on finishing his cereal and getting the hell out of dodge as quickly as possible let out a tiny snicker at that. He instantly regretted letting the small noise escape his lips when Jen turned her burning gaze to him.

“And you!” She pointed an accusing finger at Danny but quickly lowered it when she realized he hadn’t actually done anything wrong.

“You better go with him and make sure he doesn’t fuck up more.” she grumbled before storming back off to her room, leaving the two boys stunned in her wake.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen her that angry before” Danny mumbled into his coffee cup as Josh dropped his face into his hands in shame.

“Yeah me neither.” Josh’s voice was muffled but Danny could still make out the words.

“You gotta help me Danny, I really fucked up this time.” he sighed as he rubbed his hands over his face.

Danny sighed as he finished the last of his coffee. This wasn’t exactly what he had planned for his one day off in over a week, but he couldn’t let Josh down. Something about those big brown eyes that pleadingly stared at him from between those fingers made him incapable of saying no.

“Fine, but you owe me one.”

***

They'd hijacked a runner van and taken a trip to the nearest mall.

Soft jazz echoed through the almost abandoned halls and promenade as Josh and Danny made their way from shop to shop. The search for the insanely overpriced pencil had started frantically. Jen had left the stump Josh had tried to sneak back into her kit on the breakfast table and the boys had been smart enough to bring it with them for reference.

It didn't take long for him to get distracted however.

Besides his own impulse purchase of the white eyeliner during an unrelated CVS run, Josh had never actually been inside a makeup store. He had no idea about the wealth of products that were available and the wide assortment of colors and sparkles blew his mind.

Danny tried to keep him on track for the first hour or so but he had to admit trying out all the different shades of eyeshadow on the back of his hands was pretty fun.

“Do you think we should get Jen a new eyeshadow palette as well?” Josh had asked once both of his hands were covered in colorful swatches.

“You know, as an apology?” He continued as he swiped a new color onto Danny's wrist, having run out of space on his own skin.

Danny shot him a halfhearted frown but in all fairness the glittery purple Josh had put on him did look good against his skin.

“We don't have to do anything. If you'll remember I didn't steal anything. If you wanna buy her something extra to make up for your crimes feel free. I'm just here to keep you out of more trouble.” Danny said as he jokingly swiped a line of silver powder across Josh’s cheek.

Josh snorted out a laugh as he swatted Danny's hand away from his face.

“And you're doing a marvelous job at it darling.” He laughed as he turned back to the array of makeup in front of him, loading up his fingers with 10 new colors to try.

Danny knew Josh joked when he called him pet names. He called everyone darling, it wasn't anything special.

But the way his stomach felt… like there was a tiny firecracker that went off in his abdomen when the word hit his ears. It still made him feel special…

Danny quickly locked that feeling back in the corner of his brain he had labeled “for future consideration”. A corner he had established a few years ago when one random Tuesday in August he had looked at Josh and something in the way the sun hit him in that moment made his stomach flip over twice.

Danny wasn't sure when the time for consideration would arrive. It certainly wouldn't be right now though, walking towards the lipstick counter, about to tell Josh he probably shouldn't swatch the chapstick straight on his lips.

“Josh, I don't think that's very hygienic.” Danny hissed into his ear while he scanned the area for any employees who might have spotted them and deemed this the final transgression worthy of kicking them out of the store. They still hadn’t found that ridiculously overpriced pencil they were looking for in the first place.

Josh simply let out a huff and rolled his eyes.

“Calm down, I’m gonna buy it. It tastes like watermelon though!” he said as he absentmindedly threw the tube into the shopping basket Danny was holding.

After about another hour of swatching, searching, and Danny herding Josh through the aisles like a toddler who might eat all the crayons in art class, they finally found the elusive white eyeliner pencil.

Jen hadn’t lied, it really was fortyfive dollars. It seemed like a ridiculous price to Danny but Josh bought two anyway. One for her and one for him so she wouldn’t kick his ass for stealing again.

After their quest was complete the two men decided to reward themselves with milkshakes and look at their respective hauls in the food court.

“Can you get me a chocolate with whipped cream shake?” Josh asked as he walked towards the nearest table, typing on his phone as he took a seat, practically ignoring Danny.

“Absolutely the fuck not.” Danny said with a huff which made Josh look up in surprise. The confused look on his face was honestly adorable but Danny didn’t let that influence him.

“I sacrificed my free day to come along with you. You used both my arms as swatch central, and I’m carrying both of our bags. You get me a milkshake.” Danny laughed. He wasn’t actually angry at Josh but someone needed to reign in the diva on occasion.

The pouty look Josh shot at him was almost enough to sway his determination but Danny put his foot down. He did do all of those things for Josh and there was no reason why he shouldn’t receive a little bit of gratitude for it.

Josh let out a dramatic sigh when he realized Danny wasn’t wavering but he did get up and started walking towards the shake shop.

“Don’t you want to know my order?” Danny asked as Josh walked off but he simply waved and said “I know what you like.”

Danny pretended his stomach didn’t shoot up into his throat at those words. He took a seat at the table Josh had picked and started rifling through their shopping bags. their quest had started with just one pencil but they had ended up with so much more. Eyeshadow and blush palettes, mascara, nail polish, lipstick. They could have put together their own beauty kits at this point.

Danny lazily looked over it all as he waited for Josh to return. They had bought so much sparkly shit. He didn’t even know what half of it was for but he was sure he could figure it out with some help from google and youtube.

Out of the corner of his eye, still slightly stuck in the plastic bag Danny spotted an item he did know how to use however. The chapstick Josh had said tasted like watermelon.

He grabbed the tiny tube and pulled the cap off. The strong, sweet smell of artificial watermelon immediately penetrated his nostrils. It was a fairly intense but nonetheless pleasant smell.

Danny absentmindedly pressed the chapstick to his lips, wanting to see for himself if the smell actually matched the flavor or if it would simply taste like vaseline.

He had to admit he wasn’t disappointed. The chapstick truly did taste like a watermelon candy.

“I don’t think that’s very hygienic.” Josh's mocking voice spoke from right next to him, slightly startling Danny.

Josh simply chuckled as he set down the tray carrying the two giant milkshakes he had purchased.

“Now it’s almost like we kissed.” he grinned at Danny as he took a sip from his own cup and pushed the other towards the drummer.

Danny’s eyes went wide and all he could stammer out was a shaky “Wh-what?”

Josh shrugged as he popped the clear plastic dome off of his cup and used his straw to mix the whipped cream through his drink. He barely even looked up at Danny as he continued speaking.

“That’s what they say, when you share chapstick it’s like you kissed. ‘Cause your lips touched the same surface.”

Danny stared at Josh for a long quiet moment. Josh hardly seemed to notice, too busy with mixing his drink to the perfect consistency.

Eventually the self preservation mechanism in Danny’s brain took over and he quickly took a sip of his own milkshake to break the awkwardness.

The taste that hit his tongue was simultaneously nothing like he expected and everything he knew he wanted.

“I didn’t know they made watermelon milkshakes.”

“I told you. I know what you like.”

Danny tried to hide his blush behind his giant cup but honestly it was hardly necessary. Josh had grabbed the nearest eyeshadow palette and was intensely studying the shimmering colors.

Once they had finished their drinks they decided it was time to head back to the hotel.

They had seen pretty much all the tiny mall had to offer and Danny was set on spending whatever remained of his free day soaking in the jacuzzi tub his room had granted him access to. If he spent some of that soaking time thinking about a certain frontman and getting himself off, well that was between him and the bathwater.

Josh had texted the van driver while they were still at the food court so by the time they’d found the correct mall exit they only had to wait for another ten minutes to be picked up.

The sun was shining bright and there was a small patch of grass next to the pick-up area. Josh quickly kicked his sandals off and sighed contently as his bare feet touched the grass. With his eyes closed and his face turned to the sun Josh didn’t notice Danny staring at him.

There was a reason everyone compared Josh to the sun. He radiated a certain kind of light that was simply undeniable. Right now Josh seemed to be recharging, soaking up the few rays of direct sunlight he could get to make his own glow shine brighter once more. Danny loved staring at that glow, even if he could only do it in secret. Whenever he could bask in those little rays of Josh’s sunlight he felt like a starving man finally being fed.

It wasn’t too long before the van showed up and Josh reluctantly put his shoes back on, threw his bags in the trunk, and joined Danny in the backseat.

Josh patted his pockets as the van started driving, seemingly looking for something. He turned in his seat and hooked his arm over the headrest, trying to reach something in the trunk.

Danny looked at him in confusion but before he could ask what he was doing Josh turned back. He huffed, looked at Danny, and kissed him straight on the lips.

Danny’s brain short circuited.

It only lasted a second. Honestly it was over before he even realized what had happened.

He simply blinked at Josh in confusion, hoping that somehow the morse code his eyes were spelling out conveyed his question of “what just happened” to the other man.

It seemingly worked cause Josh simply shrugged and said “my lips were dry. The chapstick is in the bag in the trunk but you’re still wearing it. I’m simply getting back what I paid for Daniel, don’t look so surprised. If anything, this whole trip today should have taught you that stealing doesn’t work.”

He pulled out his phone and half heartedly started scrolling through instagram, ignoring Danny’s still shocked gaze.

Josh had kissed him. On the mouth. Like it was nothing.

Danny's stomach was in his throat and his heart was in his ears and Josh was just looking at his phone.

The watermelon flavored tube of chapstick burned a hole into the pocket of his pants.

𖤓 - ☾ - ☆

Tags: @sanguinebats @gracev0609

[flyingwargle]

osamu sips his milk carton, idly scrolling on his phone, when a head drops on his shoulder, groan muffled in his sweater vest. dyed blonde hair tickles the side of his chin, so he tilts his neck to the side. “yer head is heavy, ya scrub,” osamu says around his straw. “go to yer own desk.”

“bein’ a captain is so much work,” atsumu complains. “did ya know we hafta run drills? coach’ll still contact other teams fer practice matches an’ whatever, but we gotta strategize. imagine makin’ strategies an' actually followin' them."

"yer right. ya might get a headache from all that thinkin’.”

“hey, one of us gotta. the only thing in yer mind is food.”

he isn’t wrong, and osamu refuses to acknowledge it, simply chews on the end of his straw between his teeth. the silence stretches until atsumu mumbles, “didja start thinkin’ ‘bout which university ta apply to?”

“sensei recommended me a few in tokyo. there are some in osaka, but i wanna go to tokyo.”

“i bet the food scene is better, too. easier fer ya to find a job an’ get experience.”

osamu puts his phone down and leans back into his chair, glancing over at the mop of hair at the corner of his eye. “what did sensei say to ya?”

“the usual. better ta go to university first, blah, blah, blah. i ain’t listening ta ‘im.”

“what about coach?”

“says any team would be lucky ta have me. just depends on which one.”

“wait ‘till the ih. i bet a buncha scouts will look fer ya.”

atsumu just hums in response, falling quiet. osamu can feel his shoulder beginning to go numb, but he doesn’t say anything, just looks out the window. it isn’t often that they’re left alone together at lunch, usually eating with suna, ginjima, and the others. suna, though, wants to establish an initiation tradition for the first-years, and went to gather inspiration from the other sports clubs. osamu didn’t want any part in it, and atsumu was called to talk with coach. if anyone thought that osamu stayed behind to wait for his brother, he wouldn’t correct them.

“did ya have time to eat?” osamu asks, since apparently all he thinks about is food.

“i ate an onigiri before meetin’ coach.”

“an’ the rest?”

“savin’ it fer after school.” atsumu’s voice grows thick, muffled. “just wanna sleep.”

the changes in responsibility from second year to third year were subtle. on top of regular practice, they’ve become mentors for their underclassmen, giving them advice or correcting their forms. last year, they left clean-up to the first-years and strategy to the third-years, but now, it's their turn to huddle around the board, evaluate everyone’s performance and progress, review potential line-ups and starting orders. although their coach has the final say, as captain and vice captain, it’s important for them to be aware of their teammates’ strengths and weaknesses, the overall team’s synergy, and what needs to be improved.

at least, that’s what osamu thinks. he still participates in strategy meetings after practice, but at home, he’d do homework while atsumu pours over starting orders and research potential drills. instead of watching funny volleyball shorts, he’d analyze recordings of old matches. their walks home are often in silence, with atsumu lost in thought. any time osamu tries to prod, all he gets is a fake smile and equally empty reassurance. “nothin’ ya need to worry ‘bout, ya scrub.”

sure, osamu has a lot on his mind as well, from researching universities, taking note of application deadlines and submission requirements, but he’s still the vice captain. everyone thought by having the twins lead, it’d make communication easier. instead, it’s the opposite.

“hey, ‘tsumu.”

atsumu gives the slightest roll of his head in response. osamu says, “ya don’t hafta do everythin’ yerself. ya can ask me for help, y’know. i’m yer vice fer a reason.”

“yer my vice ‘cause it’s better than havin’ sunarin.”

“wouldn’t he be better? he’s goin’ pro, like ya. it’d look good on applications, or whatever.”

“i don’t think the pro league would care if ya were the captain or vice in high school.”

“true, but i care that ya aren’t relyin’ more on me. it ain’t just ‘cause i’m yer brother, but ‘cause i stand beside ya. if ya do everythin’, yer gonna burnout, an’ that’s when we’ll really be in trouble.” osamu tilts his head back, rests it against his brother’s chest. “don’t think ya hafta hold back since i have my own stuff to do. i promised we’ll get through this together, yeah?”

atsumu’s mumble is faint. “yeah. just forgot ‘bout that. sorry.”

“no problem, ya scrub. so, tell me what coach wanted to talk to ya ‘bout?”

silence. osamu glances over, recognizes the familiar labored breaths in slumber. atsumu’s head has drooped over his shoulder, eyes closed. osamu smiles at him, lowers his milk carton to settle against him, closing his own eyes. they deserve to have a rest.

--

inspiration: this fanart of the twins sleeping on each other (although i accidentally reversed the positions whoops)