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formulaes5 · 1 year ago

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nothing in my system (feeling what i feel for you)

He tastes like cherry and vodka and Mark might actually fucking cry if he doesn’t get to kiss Sebastian Vettel like this forever for the rest of time. In which team celebrations are overrated and Mark finds God at the back of Seb's throat.

☆ 3.3k, E, ao3 ☆

It’s loud, nearly unbearably so. The club is packed to the brim with Red Bull team members; engineers and officials alike, all celebrating their Monaco one-two finish like their lives depended on it. The music was loud, the booze was on Red Bull’s tab, and Mark was relatively sure that it was Christian he could hear over the thump of the music, off in a corner booth, loudly explaining the ins and outs of his job to a handful of bemused looking employees, clearly less intoxicated than their boss. He got up from his bar stool with a snort, abandoning the last dregs of his beer on the bartop and walking off in search of a quieter spot to enjoy his victory from. It felt good to get one over his teammate, and Mark wasn’t going to let shitty top one hundred songs ruin it for him.

The crowd was surging now, moving with the beat in an uncoordinated mess, and Seb was using it as the perfect excuse to push through the throng towards Mark in confident strides, a beer and some fruity monstrosity of a cocktail clutched in hand and moving to the beat of whatever bass-heavy track was blaring in the background. He had forgone his usual horrendously ugly plaid shorts for a pair of jeans that hugged his legs all the way down, paired with an equally tight white tee that really left nothing to the imagination. Mark was a lot of things - he would admit to that - but one thing he wasn’t was a damn liar, and right now he could admit that Seb looked downright edible, all blond curls, big smiles, and the kind of firm round ass that was, in Mark’s professional opinion, just downright begging for a smack.

Mark rolls his eyes as Seb finally sidles up to him, pressing a beer into his hand with a big grin. “For the race winner”, he says jovially, not waiting for Mark’s response before taking a healthy swig of his own drink.

Mark thinks about refusing the beer, just to be contrary really, then decides that he doesn’t feel like playing their usual games. He won today, he felt great; he was going to take the damn beer.

He took a sip, shooting an obligatory “cheers mate” in Seb’s direction before realising with a start that Seb had picked up his preferred beer. He certainly hadn’t ever mentioned it to Seb. Interesting.

They struck up a decent conversation, discussing the race, their favourite parts, the highs and the lows and the notable incidents. Mark is vaguely aware of Seb placing his hand on his arm, moving it idly up his forearm as their conversation becomes more animated. He should probably have a problem with it, he thinks to himself absentmindedly. He should probably tell Seb to stop, or at least try and subtly move his arm away, try and discourage whatever Seb thinks he’s doing now. At the very least he shouldn’t like the way Seb is moving his hand along his arm.

They’ve definitely spent far too long huddled in the corner together avoiding the limelight at this point, but Mark couldn’t really find it within himself to care about external appearances this late into the night, his internal feelings on the matter of how touchy-feely Seb had been lately an entirely different matter. He doesn’t even know what they’re fucking talking about, and he suspects neither does his teammate, but all of a sudden Seb is bursting out into infectious peels of laughter, and Mark can’t help but to join in, doing a far larger amount of giggling than he would like to admit to as Sebastian stabilises himself by grabbing onto Mark’s shoulder for support, giggling the whole way through at what was no doubt an awful reference to classic British comedy or a highly circumspect and off colour joke not suitable for public broadcast.

“Air. I need some air,” Seb gasps through his giggles.

“Okay, okay mate,” Mark manages to get out between his own, “let’s find some air.”

They push their way through the crowd still laughing, Mark holding onto Seb’s hand and pulling him along by it so as not to get separated in the crowd as they work their way towards a back exit door, abandoning their finished drinks on a table they pass on the way out.

The door bangs against the wall as it opens and again as it closes, shattering the quiet of the alley they had emerged into. Mark takes a few steps and leans back against the wall, taking in the crisp night air and Sebastian’s slowly petering out giggles as he gets himself back under control and makes his way over to Mark. Seb stops next to him, suddenly quiet, with a look in his eye that Mark can’t quite parse.

Seb licks his lips and stares up at Mark as it all clicks into place. Hunger - that’s what the look is. If Mark wasn’t sure about where this was going before they got outside, he sure as fuck is now. That look was a perfect combination of predatory and desperate and they’re both tipsy, but nowhere close to drunk as Seb rocks up on his toes and plants his hand against Mark’s chest, pushing him back into the rough brick. Mark can’t even get a second to think; to work out if he’s interested, to react to whatever the fuck is going on here out the back of a Monaco nightclub, of all places, before Seb connects his lips with Mark’s in a messy approximation of a kiss, enthusiastic if a little sloppy. Mark could get on board with sloppy.

Fuck it, he decides. In for a penny. He kisses back just as sloppily; wet, messy and insistent. He presses his tongue forcefully into Sebastian’s mouth, tangling his tongue with Seb's. He tastes like cherry and vodka and Mark might actually cry if he doesn’t get to kiss Sebastian Vettel like this forever for the rest of time. He twists the fingers of one hand into the collar of Seb’s tight little shirt, pulling it taut around the back of his neck as he hauls him in closer to press a thigh between Seb’s own.

Seb rocks his hips down into Mark’s thigh, whining needily into his mouth as he does so, feeling sparks shoot up his back as a large hand presses firmly into his lower back, rucking up his shirt to rest against bare skin and dipping down to tuck his fingers into the waistband of Seb’s jeans. The kiss is downright filthy. It’s deep and electrifying and fucking fantastic and Seb had never enjoyed kissing anyone this much in his life.

Mark just can’t get over how much Seb seems to want this; want him. A part of him in a dark crevice of his mind somewhere is livid. Seb’s enthusiasm - demonstrated by the way he seems to be trying to crawl into Mark via his mouth - implies that he could have had Seb like this ages ago. He’s sure that he’s going to be pissed off if he finds out later that he could have had his tongue down Seb’s throat from the beginning of the year rather than waiting for them to get a third of the way through the season. That can be a problem for Future Mark, he decides as Seb does his level best to swallow down a particularly embarrassing gasp from Mark as their crotches rub up against each other in just the right way. Seb is giving everything he has to this kiss; it’s sloppy and perfect and if Mark doesn’t de-escalate the situation fast, he’s going to have bigger problems on his hands.

He pushes gently at Seb’s chest, encouraging him to pull back for air, parting from him with a shaky gasp.

Mark is at war with his own mind, battling over doing the correct, gentlemanly thing, or just saying fuck it and diving right back into those oh so enticing, deep pink lips, “Not that I’m not a hundred per cent on board with this,” Mark starts, trying to regain his breath as he runs a hand idly down the front of Seb’s shirt, “but you’re a bit drunk, aren’t you mate.”

Seb shoots an indignant scowl at him, but Mark pushes on while he still has the self-control for it. “Maybe we could pick this up later?”

He sounds ridiculous - his heart just isn’t in it. He knows it. Seb knows it. And to top it all off, Seb knows that he knows that Seb knows. It’s a hollow charade of decency that neither of them are really interested in playing out, and they both know it too. Good form can be so fucking overrated sometimes, and the sceptical look Seb is sending his way is just the icing on the cake.

Fuck it.

He slams back into Seb with all the finesse of a crashing car, and the shocked little squeak Seb lets slip could single-handedly fuel Mark’s wank bank for the next five years. He tangles his hand in Seb’s lovely blond curls and kisses him like he needs it to live, hard and fast and utterly indecent. He trails his lips from his mouth to kiss along his jaw and down his neck, relishing in the rasp of Seb’s stubble on his own. He makes his way back up to his mouth, crushing their lips together firmly and biting down on Seb’s bottom lip before pulling back, keeping Seb’s lip trapped between his teeth as he moves back to elicit a drawn-out moan from Sebastian as he pushes his thigh further up into his crotch to make up for the loss of his mouth against Seb’s.

He groans and closes his eyes hard, tipping his head backwards into the brick as Seb grabs at his crotch, pushes his hips forward, mindlessly pressing into Seb’s tiny fucking hand palming at his rapidly hardening length. Then Seb is moving, sinking downwards out of his line of sight and all of a sudden Sebastian Vettel is on his knees. Seb is down on the ground on his knees, and he’s on his knees just for Mark.

He looks down and Jesus Fucking Christ Seb is staring up at him from his knees, big blue eyes behind lovely blond lashes and if Mark doesn’t at the very least get some skin-to-skin contact with him he’s going to implode. He watches Seb bring his hand up to his belt buckle and Mark knows he’s fucked beyond measure as he sees him deftly unbuckle his belt and unzip his jeans in one swift motion. He’s fucked. Absolutely fucked.

“Seb”, he gasps, still not quite believing what he’s seeing with his own two eyes.

“I’m definitely sober enough to suck your dick… Unless you don’t want me to?” he asks teasingly, the little shit. If Mark wasn’t so turned on right now, he’d be thinking about strangling him. Seb’s still looking up at him with that shit-eating grin as he palms at his crotch. Mark has no fucking clue what he would do if Seb stopped but it certainly doesn’t bear thinking about.

Seb slides his hand into Mark’s boxers, confidently wrapping his hand around his hard cock and giving an experimental tug, smiling sweetly as Mark lets out an appreciative sigh at the contact, before pushing his boxers down and out of the way. He looks up at him coyly and moves that little bit closer to bring Mark’s aching cock to rest tantalisingly against his kiss-bitten lips, placing gentle little kitten licks on the head of Mark’s cock as his hand finds a home fisted in the soft curls at the back of Seb’s head. He keeps kissing at the tip, gently sucking on it before pulling back and flattening his tongue against the underside of Mark’s cock, licking a long stripe up to the tip of his cock and taking him into his mouth, wrapping his lips around Mark’s cock and bobbing up and down a few times, letting himself adjust to the stretch of his lips and jaw around Mark’s girth. The hand on his head presses down gently, encouragingly almost, helping Seb to move down onto his cock and pick up a decent rhythm.

“Fuck, that’s it,” Mark murmurs, “that’s it baby, good job.” He’s not even sure what he’s saying, just focused on making sure Seb keeps doing exactly what he’s doing, moaning around his cock and picking up the pace.

He moves his hand from where it was gripping Seb’s hair, stroking it back and forth over the hinge of his jaw and stretching his thumb out to touch the corner of Seb’s mouth as he moves on his cock, “Yes, you’re doing so well sweetheart, taking me so well.”

Mark rocks gently into the wet heat of his lips as Seb clutches at the denim covering the back of his thighs, humming in appreciation at the feeling of Mark’s cock hitting the back of his throat. And fuck, he’s actually in his throat. He’s got his cock down Sebastian Vettel’s pretty little throat and Mark can finally die a happy man. The head of his cock is pressed up against the back of Seb’s throat and he’s taking it like a fucking champion, hollowing his cheeks around the thick length of Mark’s cock and tightening his lips at the base, shoving his nose into the neatly trimmed hair of Mark’s pubes. He moves his hand from Seb’s jaw and back to his head, holding him there with a sturdy grip, briefly thrusting further before releasing his grip on Seb’s hair.

Seb pulls off him with a gasp, leaving just the tip resting on his tongue as he regains his breath. He’s got spit all over his mouth and tears in his eyes and he’s the most beautiful thing that Mark has ever seen in his life. The way Seb is suckling at the head of his cock feels like borderline torture at this point, and he knows that he won’t last much longer when Seb dives back down onto his length, intensifying his ministrations with a single-minded focus as he moves progressively faster up and down Mark’s cock.

“Oh fuck,” Mark tapped urgently at Seb’s jaw, trying to pull away, to give Seb the option, but he wasn’t taking it, “Seb, baby.”

He barely gets a second to react to the building heat in his gut before it snaps like a rubber band and he comes with a strangled curse, right into Seb’s enthusiastic little mouth, still bobbing away on Mark’s cock, milking him for everything he had and swallowing enthusiastically around him.

Seb looks lazily up at him as he pulls off his cock, still connected by a thin trail of saliva running from the head of Mark's cock right to Seb's mouth. Seb swipes his tongue across his lips, breaking the connection and grinning smugly, obviously proud of himself.

It's just about the hottest thing Mark's ever seen, and he'll probably make some tentative plans to address that with himself later, but at the moment he has more pressing concerns.

“Fuck," he grits out, "get up here baby.” He pulls Seb roughly up to him, zeroing in on a leftover drop of come under Seb’s lip. The speed with which he rushes to lick it off of Seb’s face is probably indicative of a larger problem, but Mark doesn’t have time for problems now as he licks his way almost ferally into Seb’s mouth, chasing the taste of himself on Seb’s tongue and moaning at the thought of it. The power with which his orgasm had crashed over him had perhaps knocked some brain cells loose in the process.

Seb kisses back just as aggressively, pressing his hips insistently into Mark’s thigh, reminding him that he wasn’t the only person that needed to get off in this situation. Mark generally liked to hold himself to a high standard of performance when it came to pleasuring his partners in the bedroom, or the alleyway in this situation, and leaving Seb hanging simply wouldn't do.

He reaches down and undoes Seb’s belt, roughly pulls his jeans halfway down his thighs with a shaky hand, then he’s shoving his hand into Seb’s briefs and wrapping a large hand around him, producing a filthy, pornographic moan from the man in question as he finally received the long-awaited attention he had been craving. It didn’t take much, clearly having been on the edge for so long had put Sebastian on a hair trigger. Mark strokes his hand down Seb’s cock once, twice, and he’s gone, coming with a cry of Mark’s name, splattering his release onto the ground as he leaned his head in to rest on Mark’s shoulder, panting hot heavy breaths into Mark as his orgasm swept through him.

Mark gave him a minute, then placed a finger on Seb’s chin, gently tilting his head up and leaning in to plant a soft, closed-mouth kiss on his swollen lips. They stand there for a few minutes trading soft kisses before Mark decides to take the initiative. He tucks Seb and then himself back into place, pulling up zippers and tightening belts in the quiet of the night.

“You good?” he asks Seb quietly, stroking over his cheek and checking for anything that might look out of place if they were to reenter the club, finding nothing except his shockingly pink lips, which could hardly be fixed now.

“Ja,” Seb chirped happily, pressing his face into Mark’s hand with a distinctly sleepy hum, “alles gut.”

Mark lets out an amused huff at the fact that English had seemingly abandoned Seb in the moment. He stroked his thumb over the corner of his jaw, leaning in to kiss one corner of Sebastian's mouth, then the other, before placing one last kiss squarely on his lips, loving the way that Seb hummed with clear appreciation in his tone as he kissed him back.

All of a sudden their quiet moment was viciously interrupted by a loud bang. Mark whirled around as the door slammed against the wall, instinctively parting from Seb and dropping his hand from his face, positioning himself half in front of him as he turned to face the source of the noise..

“There you are!” cried Christian with barely disguised relief colouring his face, clearly oblivious to what he had just stumbled across his two drivers doing. “We’ve been looking for you!”

Taking stock of the situation, Christian peered back at Seb with concern. He turned to Mark to check, “Is Seb okay?”

Mark affected a nonchalant grin before responding to his boss, who would no doubt be decidedly not thrilled to learn that Mark had just had his prized driver on his knees sucking his cock like it was his greatest passion in life. “Yeah mate, no worries. He just had a bit much to drink so we came out for some air.”

The worry cleared from Christian’s face. Obviously, Seb had just overdone it a bit and Mark was looking out for him.

“Y’know how it is with lightweights,” Mark chuckled, shooting Christian a conspiratorial look as he jerked his thumb back at Seb dismissively.

“Am not a lightweight!” Seb chimed in indignantly from behind him, suddenly slurring his words in a way he certainly hadn’t been before they came outside. Mark was concerned for all of five seconds, worried that maybe he had misjudged the situation and taken advantage, before cottoning onto Seb’s dastardly plan. He shook his head to clear his worry, feeling a little foolish. Seb had the situation all under control here.

Mark turned to face Seb, shooting him a wink. “C’mon then mate,” he said, “let’s help peel the team off the floor in there shall we? Then we’ll tuck you into bed for the night.”

Seb let out a little snort before following Mark and Christian back inside the club, feeling extremely satisfied with himself as he reached out to pinch Mark’s ass on the way in, laughing when Mark jumped in alarm and reached out behind him to swat at Seb in protest.

He could certainly get used to this.

#sebmark #martian #f1 rpf #ao3 #my fics #rpf #nsfw.txt #fic: nothing in my system (feeling what i feel for you)

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zyana-wyvern · 11 months ago

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"Terrible, wonderful, wicked woman!"

A little fic under the leaves...

A short snippet from a long fic I am working on. Finally my creativity is flowing again and all thanks to this wonderful man. I am working on a long fic and this time I am very motivated to finish it. In this life, where I am a part time fan of various things and a consummate hyperfixator, there has to be at least one, ONE! fanfiction I bring to completion. Here's my vow that this will be it. And here's to hoping I am not a vow breaker. XD The full fic will be on AO, but I will link it here when done. <3

"You with your silver tongue and sweet words! Sometimes I wonder which are my thoughts and which are yours? Where I end and you begin? You make demons slaughter themselves and driders walk to their deaths, twist the mind of all monstrosities in this place, leading them to madness - mutilating themselves. All with your words. Am I not also a monstrosity? One who touched you. One who saw more than just your words. Will you drive me to madness too? Will you make a fool of me? Will you make me run a stake trough my own heart? "

For once she wished he was angry, preferred one of his fiery outbursts to...this... Pain? Fear? Doubt? She couldn't tell what he felt. He was unsettled by her, that much she could tell.

"I could say the same about you, but you doubt the power you have over me. It is me who everyone else judges, saying I'm the fool for trusting you so, and maybe I am. Maybe we're both fools and we're in this together, minds merging, souls tangled. By the gods, I am tired and wish it weren't so, but I find it easier to fight the Ilithid in my head, than your constant presence in my very soul."

She was breathless and tears were biting at the corners of her eyes. Tears she didn't want him to see.

He looked down at her with a small calculating frown, shocked, stunned. He opened his mouth as if trying to say something, but only an exhale escaped.

He who always had words to say about everything, was now silent and flustered. In a different situation she would have laughed, but now she couldn't do anything but look away from him.

Yes, it was in her nature to use all the talents she had to get her way. Life taught her that. Yes, she would often use them on him, but she did for his good, their good, to avoid battles, possible death of any of these strange people who were now family. Especially his death. There was nothing she feared more than his death...

Cold, rough fingers touched her upper arm - his right draw hand, hardened and calloused from the bow he had been using every day. She could recognize it by how it felt against her skin. A reminder of everything they've been trough, of all their dances with death and his ruthless efficiency in battle. A reminder of how her safety was his priority when using that bow.

He softly guided her around to face him again and she let him.

"Come here, you little thief..." he whispered roughly, barely intelligible and gathered her into his arms in one single motion, as if she would have ran off if he hesitated. And maybe he was right, maybe she would have ran away.

"Thief? What did I steal now?" she asked, her words muffled by the thick fabric of his cloak, where she buried and hid her face in.

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest, just next to her ear.

"My words." A deep exhale. "Me..."

#baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x female tav #short and sweet #short ficlet #wip #fluff tbh #oc: idunn #oc: idunn of tar nordho #otp: heart of the sun #bg3 gifs #my gifs

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steddiehands86 · 1 year ago

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Waking up early is dumb…(1/2)

A twitter thread

Eddie hated waking up early, call it insomnia, too many video games of talking to his friends but either way- it made waking up in the early morning before the fog had a chance to lift pretty difficult.

Why so early? Kids. Two, in fact.

Merry and Pippin, the mini lights of his life that had school at ass o’clock, which meant Eddie had to wake up earlier to get them ready. It was always something.

No matter if he got their clothes ready the night before, they would somehow lose a shoe, forget to brush their teeth or their hair so they were always left scrambling. Either way, Eddie drifted through a fog that maybe some coffee would lend some clarity to, but that meant he would have to wake up even earlier as he didn’t have a fancy coffee maker. Tea didn’t count, and after a health scare, energy drinks were out of the question.

He usually made it a point to get dressed with the kids- a T shirt and jeans at least, but the night before he and his buddies had a raid night on their game that lasted until the very wee hours.

So when the time came for his alarm to go off, he rolled out of bed- blearily head and heavy limbed- and trudged through their morning activities. When the time came to walk them to the bus stop, he pulled up his hair, shrugged on something vaguely appropriate and did the final inspections for school. Clothes on? Check. Faces and teeth washed? Yep. Shoes thankfully ON and tied? Indeed. Hair brushed? Wellllll-

Once all of that was finished they were on their way. Wayne waved from the porch after a couple goodbye bear hugs, and the trio walked out into the mist that had descended like a sheer blanket over their little corner of life.

They identified woodpeckers, said hello to the dogs and squirrels, planned out their after school activities as it was the weekend.

Through it all, Eddie fantasized about the coffee and cigarette that was waiting for him, the warm bed he could crawl back into since he didn’t have to work that day. Even though there was no one waiting for him to curl up to, he longed for the gentle embrace of his blankets for at least a couple more hours. Thank god they had school, toddler-hood was Eddie’s hell since both kids were born early and had reflux. Night terrors. Colic.

Now they were school age it was better, and though he had issues with the faculty he could appreciate that they had buses come out to their end of town, that he didn’t have to buy school supplies this year or pay for their lunches- really it was a miracle that he needed to move back with Wayne when he did.

Raising two kids on one salary wasn’t cutting it anymore.

They had been back at Hawkins for a few months, leaving Indianapolis and all that mess behind to try and start over. He found a job, reconnected with his old friends and even made some new ones. Robin always talked about her roommate that she was sure they’d hit it off though Eddie wasn’t interested in the slightest.

No, what made his early mornings worth it was not just cuddling with his kids and playing with them before the bus would come and pick them up to whisk them off for a day of learning- it was the actual dreamboat that drove the big orange ish yellow monstrosity.

He was something else.

Always had a bright smile, a silly little wave, and spoke to his kids like they were little adults which made Eddie’s heart flutter and stomach tighten. He wasn’t sure if Steve was like him and always wondered but never said anything to him because that would be weird and the man was working so… alas.

He didn’t even know his name! It had to be something like Vinny, or Tony. He looked Italian with his olive-toned skin, the cute little moles with those sleepy little puppy-dog eyes.

It was ridiculous. He was ridiculous. Always smiling that thousand watt toothpaste commercial smile, complete with a “Hi guys!” Who woke up that bright -eyed and bushy tailed? The man was killing Eddie everyday oh so softly and deftly.

Today was the same, though different. The bus came by right on time at 8am, the lights on top of the cab flashing. The kids sprang out of the bushes and batting at the leaves and twigs that cling to them to huddle around Eddie for their goodbye hugs and kisses.

The bus pulled up and stopped, and their in the drivers seat was Vinny/Tony/stranger-

“HI STEVE!” Both kids screeched in joy.

So his name was Steve, good to know. Eddie wondered if he was related to that other Steve who was in a couple grades behind him. He always thought he moved on to college or something.

“Hey guys! Good morning! Merry, you going to be a menace today?”

Eddie’s daughter stomped up the steps and high waved him, “Yeah!”

“Alright!” The guy sounded just like Linda from Bob’s Burgers and Eddie was in love.

“Pip, you gonna be a fool of a Took?”

Eddie. Was. In. Love.

“Always!” Pippin chirped before high giving the little boy.

They went to their seats and before Eddie chose that moment to leave and fantasize about the bus driver later, the siren of his morning fantasies called out.

“Something tells me you might like this- what did the bus driver say to the frog?”

“I’m, I-I don’t know? What did he say?” Shouldn’t he be like…driving away? Was he calling him a fucking frog?

Steve’s smile just got bigger as he bounced his eyebrows at his own joke, “he said ‘Hop on’.”

To be fair, it was really fucking early and Eddie’s brain was like cheese, so normally he would have got it right then but all he did was snort and wave.

It was only until Steve had driven away, and Eddie had walked back home to tell Wayne the weird fucking thing the bus driver said to him over coffee did he get it. Wayne snorted and shook his head, saying nobody had time say shit like that early in the morning unless they were sweet on someone did Eddie suspect that maybe, just maybe, Steve might be a little fruity.

So maybe waking up early wouldn’t be so much a hassle, that it could be something to maybe look forward to. He knew for sure he could put a little more effort in his appearance because the frog comparison was entirely accurate though hurtful at the moment.

As he laid back down to dream about cute Bus Driver Steve, his sludgy mind supplied him with strange dreams of frogs, kisses, princes and chariots that he would no doubt forget upon waking back up.

He couldn’t wait to pick the kids up at the bus stop later.

#stranger things fanfiction #steddie #eddie munson #steve x eddie #family #dad jokes #twitter thread #dad Eddie Munson #bus driver Steve #Eddie is in love #Steve tells dad jokes #it was either the frog joke or the bat joke #if you want the bat joke give this attention #kidding I’ll still write more of this later #maybe

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typicalpoet-exe · 5 months ago

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just finished the last episode of dead boy detectives!! i documented my thoughts while watching so here they are! spoilers under the cut

FUCK crystal finding out who she really was hit hard. Jenny getting the full story on the supernatural is great though

the goodbyes were sad, and quite convincing, and the kiss was probably meant to be at least semi happy but i’m far too edwin-brained to feel that

esther attacking is awful but expected, and though it might not happen i am counting on the cat king joining in on this rescue mission

well that theory was immediately proven right. it was cool getting more lore although i’m kinda scared this is the last we see of cat king?? i really want closure for edwin and him. but cat king calling edwin a tease kinda makes up for it i guess 🤭

i really want monty to have some agency in the end, yk closure

edwin being tortured isn’t new but WHY DOES IT ALWAYS HAVE TO BE MY FAVOURITE CHARACTER. also why aren’t they letting charles save edwin?? i need it, for my heart. 😔

OH MY FUCKING GOD IT HAPPENED AGAIN. well rescue mission is going fine so far and yea monty did help so,,, im to scared to keep predicting now

EEEEEE charles and crystal using their strengths to take away esther’s power is everything!!!! also niko just died but honestly it didn’t affect me that much. now time for some charles saving edwin i hope 🤞

wait wtf. lilith just grabbed esther?? sooo no charles saving edwin i guess 😐

hm okay maybe it IS sad that niko died,,, but hey at least crystal is an official dead boy detectives now!!! they can finally change their name to whatever monstrosity it was they concocted early on

FKFKGKDJDGJFJDJRJY YK GLYKGKG THE FUCKING CATK INF YES IM SO HAPPY EDWIN GAVE HIM A LITTLWD KISS?!??!?!?!, I WAS SCARED BUT NO THEY FUCKBIG NAILED IT, CLOSURE AND EVERYTHIBG

what a relief that they don’t have to run from death anymore!!! and the hug!?!? 💞❤️💗💕💖💕💓💗💖 it’s fucking perfect. everything is perfect. i don’t see a singular loose end and my boys get to be happy together!!!!!!

also wtf is the ending. it might just be my sleep deprived brain but i genuinely don’t understand.

well what a fucking life changing show. happy that i’ve watched it all so i can now see every single piece of content about this show without risking spoilers. what a ride

an absolute 10/10 masterpiece

#dead boy detectives #i’m so happy it actually has a proper ending and doesn’t leave everything open just in case they want a second season #fuck this was great #i’m going to bed now

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no-naem · 1 year ago

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Now I shall put some of my favorites of the unfinished art from the 100 Kayano Days challenge. [Rubs hands together]

These are all in order from old to new, from September 2022 to January 2023.

It's a hot day. Karma: "I want cuddles, and I can't cuddle Akari (she'd kill me). So..." Nagisa: "You're too hot." Karma: "I know I am." Nagisa: "YOU KNOW THAT'S NOT WHAT I MEANT!!" Karma: "Cuddle time." Nagisa: "IT'S 31 C!!! AKARI, HELP!!" Akari: "Sorry Nagisa! I have another love to attend to. You're on your own."

(Lol the dialogue is kinda off but I like what I was trying to go for.)

Aguri lives AU but at what cost. Akari is this 🤏 close to losing it.

Adults Kayano, Kanzaki, and Karma went to that one cafe that was doing that collaboration with a popular video game.

GoM AU, with Akari slowly turning into an antimatter creature. It took a long time for her to transform, and there was no cure to stop this. It wasn't fun, but at least her friends were there for her.

Kayano and Akari, Deemo AU, based on that one art for ANiMA from the game.

Okay, THIS one I still like a lot. It takes place in the Okinawa arc, and the concept was that there'd be a montage where each student would use Korosensei's Ultimate Defense Form as a blunt weapon to knock out all of the guards. And then end with Karasuma taking out Takaoka the same way.

GoM AU again. Nagisa excitedly shows off one of his partners. ...and yes I made antimatter Akari 10 feet tall. :D

Surprise Koro Q! Based on that one episode from the anime. Imagine if the transformation was permanent.

Baby shark doo doo doodoodoodoo...onesie.

Shirt reads: "I am completely normal and not insane I have no desire to harm anyone I am not carrying a weapon." I like the potential chaotic vibes in NagiKae. They're besties.

Eldritch AU!!! Context: some of the 3E students are eldritch beings, and Kayano is the reincarnation of an ancient being that ruled a whole other dimension filled with other eldritch monstrosities, which she can summon. This AU gave me so many brain worms, yet not enough to help me finish any of them. 😩

I have a bleak zombie apocalypse AU. Takes place after their high school graduation, probably after the events of Korotan D? Kayano's half-infected, Nagisa's a zombie, Karma has severe head trauma that he can't fix and it's making him go wack, and Gakushuu's trying to keep everything together.

I wanted to draw more than one birthday art for Akari and this was one of them. Just her and her big sister...

This one was gonna be a prank. Forgot about it though LOL.

The concept was Kayano arriving in limbo, dazed, after getting killed. But Aguri tells her to go back. It's not time yet.

Aberration AU. Takes place 4 years after canon, right around the time they're in college. The monster behind them is basically both of them. Their memories and DNAs make up the monster. Kayano and Nagisa are unhealthily codependent after being kidnapped and used as experiments for...3 years. 😐 But it's okay. They eventually get rescued and get therapy.

Kayano twins AU. I was gonna draw a short comic about the twins but I had to give up because I was struggling for some reason. (Why is this pic so LONG???)

One of the Christmas/Karma birthday ideas. It'd have Karushuu kissing under a mistletoe. Kayano's just here for the desserts, man.

Eldritch AU. This would be a sequel to Day 88, featuring Kanzaki (she's a time god) instead, but I didn't have enough motivation to finish it.

This is just Day 93, but Aguri and Korosensei were supposed to be there with her, along with the rest of group 4!! But I ran out of time.

And finally, this is another limbo situation where the Yukimura sisters would hug each other one last time. But then I thought it was too sad and went for the "Aguri lives" ones.

If you made it all the way to the end, then WOW thanks for reading!! Hope y'all liked reading about my thoughts! There are actually more arts that are unfinished but those are like...really messy lol.

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thessalian · 2 years ago

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Thess vs Resentment

Bed soon, but first, quick commentary.

I think I mentioned that I had to be commuting into work on Tuesday and Wednesday, because Scruffman was on annual leave. I said I’d email him to check in today. I technically didn’t have to because he’d sent me like three separate emails asking for reports that he’d apparently been sitting on since my annual leave last week, so like fuck does he ever ask anyone else to do those (he insisted that he asked others to send out reports when I was unavailable but one of those emails was dated 6th February so fuck that). But I did anyway, in a separate email, after I was done sending the reports and shouting “WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!?” at the walls. The nice thing was that his reply was thanking me for making the effort to come in and underlining our “You only have to come in if we really need a warm body in the office” agreement. Which is nice because I don’t like the commuting. It hurts. And I swear to whatever fucking god you like that if I have to do it two days in a row? I’m going to quietly murder someone.

Anyway, today wasn’t a great day because Temp was on her bullshit again. I mean, seriously on her bullshit. Once I’d finally sent like twenty reports to people, I looked at the typing queue and what do you know? A whole bunch of long-ass bits of typing from the most annoying people to type for, and a list of timestamps making it very obvious that Temp picked and chose the shorter things to type while leaving me with the long complicated bullshit. But of course I took them because they were basically right there, all at the head of the queue, and just loaded up my personal queue with those and a whole bunch of other mid-length or short ones that followed the long bullshit chronologically. And when I finally finished up with that and went to pick some more stuff out of the queue? Same thing - four bits of typing in the 6-7 minute range, a couple of 3 minute ones, and a 14 minute long monstrosity from the really aggravating guy I’d already typed two long and bullshitty documents for that day. (He’s a nice guy, don’t get me wrong. Just he has this thing about jumping around in the dictation doing the short dictations first which is fine for him but ends up with me having to switch spots on the document and it throws off my rhythm, plus he makes things longer than they need to be just in general.) So I took the first six and left the 14 minute monstrosity behind - I was doing enough long ones and I was not eating the rest of the afternoon with that just because Temp couldn’t be bothered. Thankfully it was gone by the time I went back to pick up more typing, so that was a bonus. Thing is, when I went to pick up a last couple of bits of typing about fifteen minutes before close of play? She’d done it again. Thankfully no more 14 minute monstrosities, but by this point, given that she’d been doing it all damn day? I was done. I took one longish one and the outstanding urgent reports and left her with the rest of it, citing “I don’t have time for your bullshit right now”. I mean, come on. I’m still in significant pain from the whole deal of having to commute to work two days in a row when my buses have been crammed with uni students and tourists (yeah, both of them; I have no idea). I do my share of the long shit, but I resent the fuck out of having to do hers as well.

I just resent the fuck out of this. She takes advantage of the fact that I will do exactly what I was asked to do - take things in chronological order unless there’s a really good reason, like “This is an urgent bit of typing”, or “It’s not marked as urgent but I’m being told they want it right the fuck now”, or even “I’m leaving in fifteen minutes and the longer ones always take longer than the actual time stamp says”. She’s been talked to about this at least twice; all I ever get is “Don’t stress about it”. Easy for her to say; it’s to her benefit if I don’t. And Scruffman doesn’t have time to keep track of that. It’s a nightmare and I’m fed up. I should not be in a war of attrition with my co-worker because she’s a lazy mare. She should just stop being a lazy mare! But that isn’t going to happen so I don’t even at this point.

Anyway, I was basically productive today, but when carrying an armload of laundry across the house to stick it in the washing machine hurts, you know it’s a bad day. But laundry’s done and folded and put away. I put the new sheets and duvet cover I got for my birthday on the bed, which is great because now I can wait a day or so before I next do laundry. I should probably do a load that includes my towels tomorrow, so that can be that. Of course, I do have to survive tomorrow, which means praying that Temp doesn’t pull her bullshit again. But the good thing about working from home is that I can actually do stuff like keep a metaphorical eye on the laundry, and switch the washer to dryer mode when it’s done washing, so I’ll have clean towels for bath without having to wait on said bath. ...It’s the little things.

Also I put an actually recipe post on the Cooking With Spoons blog, and tomorrow I’m thinking, if I have a spoon available, I might put the recipe for my tuna broccoli lemon pasta. It’s a good one for when the spoons are just lacking. And they seriously are - the only reason I’m not in bed is a need to vent and the whole thing where I had a two hour nap earlier in the evening so that should bring me to a “good night’s sleep�� equilibrium.

#Thess has a day job #Thess works from home #Thess is a motherfucking adult

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dxrknessembr8ced · 10 months ago

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Few Hours Later...

Mrs Shao returned to her resting place as she finally laid to rest she knew the risk of saving her daughter, and she paid the price for her involvement. The ultimate price that is the cost of her soul and humanity as her entire body begun regenerating through the darkness of makai. The darkstalkers that fed on her flesh had felt constant agony and the poor creatures that destroyed her home and killed her, fused together with her body still regenerating into a large orb of energy and organic mass. The orb is not her monstrous form as this is a cocoon, a chrysalid for the worse that has yet to come. While awaken inside the large orb changing from within she felt her body being numb from all the pain but her mind is still in its normal state and all she have to do now is fly over back to metro city.

As she hovers above everyone they all seen the grotesque orb from the sky and they're all screaming in terror and running for their lives which infuriated the old woman but at least she isn't harming anyone by accident which is the first thought in her head she ever think about. She's getting use to the power, despite being forced to mutate by the more powerful strain of the virus she was given full control of her body which is quite shocking since her daughter had a more horrible experience but in any case she continued flying across the world till she finally made it back into the hell home that is, or was Metro city. All military personal and the rest stopped fighting and stare at the large orb above the sky watching over everyone but her main focus are her own daughters from inside the chrysalid she look around with her psychic abilities.

" Where are there? Oh gods I hope nothing ever happens to them, no they're strong... "

Huff.

" I worry too much.... "

Though her worrying about her children is indeed warranted despite their survivability being high the risks are greater and like any parent it's her job to protect and guide her children through their journey to hell and worse. She done so before and now she'll do so again, all she have to do is wait for her body to finished and emerge out of her shell like a butterfly. Mrs Shao can feel her body changing, though painless it felt unpleasant and made her uneasy yet made felt so much power coursing through her body she's just wondering what ungodly monstrosity from this affliction she'll become.

#{ Musing: Mrs. Shao }#{ The Mother Of The Twins }#{ A Mother's Duty To Protect Their Children }#{ The True Horror Of T-Erebus }#{ The worse Has Yet To Come... }

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loud-whistling-yes · 4 months ago

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ON IT BOSS o7777

....ok actually wait i need to actually finish my multi-page long google doc monstrosity first, but i can give you an extra thought that popped into my mind a few minutes after posting this for now lol

^^^ please imagine me swinging hachi around like this for the entire duration of this rant, thank you

(now imagine me shoving him into your face for this line) THIS BITCH HAS SO MUCH LOVE IN HIM THAT NEEDS TO COME OUT (TOO BAD JOKER'S LIKE ALLERGIC TO THAT THOUGH)

idk man. when you have so much love and excitement and whatever else you have in you and you need it to come out somehow. he reminds me so much of when i was a kid and i had so much stuff i needed to say so i would. not. shut. up.

his entire character is so transparent (.... actually now when i think of it, might just be an audience surrogate thing) like, you always know what hes thinking cause 90% of the time hes usually blurting it out loud and i think???? ITS REALLY ENDEARING?????? PROBABLY CAUSE I CAN RELATE BUT IDK MAN I JUST THINK ITS NEAT

(also it makes hachi and joker a really interesting dynamic cause jokers always like. DEAD FUCKING SILENT whenever family is being mentioned which is like,,,, fair. im pretty sure there is like at least 3 instances of joker going like "what who said that" whenever he, oh god forbid, become all touchy-feely. anyways wonderful case of unstoppable force vs immovable object and its beautiful to see joker finally break in ep51)

(..... ACTUALLY HOLD THE PHONE MORE RANTING NOW THAT I THINK OF IT. speaking of joker finally breaking in ep51, did anyone notice how much more uh, affectionate is definitely not the word but????? protective????? nice?????? to hachi??????? in encore??????????? like idk theres a shift in his behaviour is what im saying. all i can guess is since ep51/the manga's equivalent of ep51 happened like RIGHT BEFORE the finale we never really got to see their behaviour after the whole hachi-fucking-dying thing. so this is an absolute win for me and found family enjoyers all around.)

(seriously. i think hachi fucking broke joker what the fuck. i was so shocked by the dialogue in the first chapter i was wondering if i was dreaming cause theyre behaving exactly like how 11-year-old me would write fanfic /pos. the whole "how can i lose to my own assistant" thing. the other "we won't be partners anymore" thing. just like. the whole 3 chapters of lowkey insane detail that is joker getting BURNT ALL OVER, CRAWLING OUT OF BED AND IMMEDIATELY ASKING IS HACHI OKAY, THEN MAKING QUEEN FLY OVER SO THEY CAN CHASE AFTER HIM?????? BRO YOU HAVE LIKE 3RD-DEGREE BURNS ON YOU OR SOME SHIT GO HOME YOUR CHILD IS FINE) (NOT REALLY) (HE ALMOST TOOK A FUCKING FIREBALL TO THE FACE LIKE YOU DID) (GOD SAVE THEM)

hey guys fun parallel

#hm.#this went on longer than i expected #anyways #fweeet #turns out in a fight between unstoppable force and immovable object the object snaps like a twig damn😭

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vesuvianvienna · 6 years ago

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Vampire Julian at the Masquerade with my apprentice Vienna. This is shameless. I have no shame. tagging @anjatheapprentice @arcana-dumpsterfire and @bazzpop and if anyone else would like to be added to the tag list please let me know!

cw: heavy smut, blood

The ballroom. Empty for years after the Count’s untimely death, now brimming with champagne and laughter and the rustle of billowing skirts. Music rang from the rafters themselves, seemed to vibrate in the very walls as the partygoers danced, spun, and whirled around the cavernous space. Vienna stood near the back, clutching a full crystal of some sparkling liquid she had taken off a tray just to have something in her hands, grateful for the mask affixed to her face for its ability to hide the anxious expression on her face. Asra had accepted an invite to the Masquerade, but had mysterious business to attend to and had begged her to go in his stead. Weak when it came to denying her master, Vienna had agreed, and had barely slept for worrying since. Large crowds made her throat shrink and her stomach turn, especially large crowds of complete strangers. Even the dress, as breathtaking as it was, did little to boost her confidence. Asra had had it custom made for her, the midnight blue silk light as a summer breeze against her skin, the skirts enchanted with little spangled stars that twinkled when she moved. Her mask was similarly constructed, royal blue damask with spangles around the eyes, embroidered with silvery thread and adorned with a single rose, its petals matching the blue of her hair. Her shoulders and decolletage had been dusted with a silvery powder, making her shimmer as if she had been sprinkled with starlight. No facet of her appearance, no matter how whimsical or fantastic, could bolster her. Shaking hands gripped her skirts as she shouldered her way past the revelers and out into the garden, taking no notice of a figure clad all in black, piercing eyes following her every move as he shadowed her.

Fortunately, though the terrace wasn’t entirely deserted, it was far less crowded than the ballroom itself, and Vienna took a deep breath, thankful to be able to shake off the claustrophobia. The marble of the railing was cool against her forearm as she leaned against it, looking out over the moonlit gardens, a soft smile touching her face. How she would love to explore them, to acquaint herself with all the curious and exotic blooms that flourished there.

While she was lost in thought, a man dressed in brocades of clashing purple and orange sidled up to her, a drink in his hand and a rather improper gleam in his eye. “Enjoying the garden? Surely you must be, being such a rare and exquisite bloom yourself.”

Vienna’s head turned, slightly startled by the voice to her right. “Oh,” she said, clutching her glass closer and giving the stranger a polite, if rather stiff smile. “I suppose so.”

Mistaking her curt response for an invitation to move closer, the man grinned down at her, now merely a hair’s breadth away. He lifted a gloved hand to pinch her chin between thumb and forefinger, lifting her head as if to inspect her. “Yes, a rare flower indeed. Are you seeking company tonight?”

Stunned at first by his forwardness, the smell of strong liquor on his breath snapped her out of her frozen state, and she wrenched away from his grasp. “I most certainly am not,” she spat, painted lips curled back over her teeth in a disgusted grimace. “I think you should leave.”

“Ah, I see this rose has thorns,” the man chuckled, advancing toward her once more. Her rejection didn’t seem to faze him, violet-clad hands reaching for her once more. Suddenly, he stopped dead in his tracks, watery eyes fixed at a point above her head. From behind her, she heard a voice, pitched low in warning.

“You heard the lady.”

For a moment, the boorish gentleman seemed nearly frightened of whoever stood behind her, though she didn’t dare take her eyes off of him long enough to look. But the fear seemed fleeting, and his lips curled in a smirk as his alcohol-driven bravado returned. “So she’s your pet, then? Surely you wouldn’t mind sharing her? After all, a sweet little thing like this should be-”

His words were cut off in a flash of silver as Vienna surged forward to press a small but deadly sharp blade against the side of his neck, the weapon drawn from somewhere within the folds of her skirt. “I am no man’s pet,” she hissed, thoroughly repulsed by his behavior. “You will leave the palace grounds now, and I will be sure to inform the Countess of your despicable behavior.” Vienna stepped back, extending her arm to keep the knife to his throat. “Now, get out.”

The message finally seemed to have sunken through, the man turned with a flick of his coattails and fled. Vienna relaxed, tucking her blade back into her skirts; she had no intention of reporting anything to Nadia, who already had enough to worry over without dealing with the headache of this trifling encounter. Perhaps at a later date, she would bring it up, but for now–

Suddenly, she remembered the voice from behind her, soft in tone but threatening in pitch and timbre. In a rustle of silk, she turned to see who had tried to intervene, but was met with an empty terrace. Mere moments later, she heard a soft chuckle and caught of a flash of black out of the corner of her eye, a long shape that seemed to be heading for the maze. Without thinking, she gathered her skirts and followed, wanting to see her would-be rescuer, wanting to thank him for his attempt at gallantry, but mostly wanting to put a face to the voice.

Tall hedges surrounded her on both sides as she entered the maze, her heart rising to the back of her throat. She knew it well enough by now, but there was still the possibility of getting lost within its twists and turns. A voice–his voice–seemed to sound from within, beckoning her further, hesitation a mere memory as she kicked off her ridiculous heeled slippers to run after him.

Don’t be afraid. I won’t bite. Follow, little one, follow…

No matter how fast she ran or where she turned, his voice always seemed to be just ahead of her, guiding her deeper and deeper into the labyrinth, when finally, she reached the courtyard at the center. There he stood, his back to her, strikingly tall and imposing. As she drew closer, he turned, a pleased smirk on his mouth, one piercing grey eye pinned to her. The hem of his long cape brushed the ground, stirred the grass around his booted feet as he fully faced her.

“Well done, lovely one.”

Vienna paused, her body twitching as if summoned to him by invisible strings, and yet she hesitated. “Who are you?” The question was asked softly, curiously, accompanied by a slight tilt of her head. Logically, she knew there should be fear, but she felt none. His grin widened, a dark brow arching over the top of a beaked mask.

“I’ve had more names than most. You may call me Julian.” He bent at the waist, sweeping forward in a graceful bow. “And what might I call you?”

“Vienna.” She gave her name without a moment’s thought, a smile touching her lips as he straightened and strode toward her. Gently, he reached for her hand, cradling it in both of his as if she were some delicate artifact, and brought it to his mouth.

“A pleasure, dear lady,” he purred.

With him so close now, she felt something prickle at the back of her mind, something that felt like a warning. Her stomach gave a clench as she realized that his lips were cold, even through the silk of her glove, and when he glanced up at her through his lashes and smiled, she caught a glint of something sharp and white. Pointed teeth. Fangs.

“You aren’t human, are you?”

He laughed, a soft chuckle that rumbled in his chest as he straightened, still holding her hand. “My, you are quick on the draw, aren’t you? No, darling, I haven’t been human for quite some time.” His head tilted to the side, regarding her with curiosity and amusement. “Yet you aren’t afraid of me. Why is that?”

For a moment or two, Vienna couldn’t answer. Why wasn’t she afraid? She had heard Asra speak of his kind, creatures that had once been human but had been bitten, infected, cursed. They could only walk in darkness, possessed unholy strength, speed, and senses, and sustained themselves on sacred, running blood. They were meant to be monsters, murderers, and yet…she saw no such evil in his eyes, no such malice in his smile. Slowly, she finally answered, “If you had wanted to hurt me by now, you could have. If you wished me dead, I would be.”

Julian laughed again, at last releasing her hand, though he took a step closer, looking pleased when she didn’t move back. “Clever woman. It’s true, I mean you no harm. My kind have gathered a rather nasty reputation, but you have nothing to fear from me.”

Her gaze was soft beneath a furrowed brow, questioning, searching. “Then why lead me here?”

His teeth gleamed in a wide, rather insolent grin. “You intrigued me. I haven’t seen you at the Masquerade before, and I’ve been in attendance for many, many years. And after that display with that poor buffoon, I knew I had to introduce myself.” Julian chuckled at the memory. “Here I thought I would come to your rescue, your dashing hero, but I believe you frightened him more effectively than I ever could.” His hand lifted, pausing for a moment and only resting his fingertips against her neck when she didn’t pull away, her head lifting a fraction to expose the slender column. The leather was cool against her skin, and she pressed her lips together to hold back a sigh. “And even from across the ballroom, you smelled so sweet…”

His voice dripped with longing, with hunger, but not threat, his touch ever gentle as he traced the shimmering ridge of her collarbones with the tip of his finger. Her stomach gave a pleasant little flutter beneath her corset, an unfamiliar heat settling there as he swallowed her up in his ravenous stare. Slowly, she reached up, lifting onto her toes to reach his mask and tug it away from his face. Her heart hammered in her chest at the sight of him, sharp lines and angular features, handsome and dangerous. His lips, soft and full when they weren’t curled in a smirk, lifted at the corners, and Vienna wondered if he could hear how her heart began to race at the reveal of his face. His hand lifted to her cheek, tracing the edge of her mask, before he murmured, “May I?”

Vienna nodded, closing her eyes as he reached behind her head to untie the mask and lift it gently away from her face. If the mask made a sound when it hit the ground, she couldn’t hear it over the blood rushing in her ears as he cupped her cheek in his hand, his touch cool and achingly tender. When her eyes fluttered open, she saw that his stare had shifted to the slope of her neck, flushed pink in a rosy blush. “Vienna,” he cooed, stroking her cheek with the backs of his fingers, “sweet little one, will you let me have a taste?” His touch slid to her throat, and she wondered how such cold fingers could leave such heat in their wake. “I won’t take much, just a sip or two.”

Her voice felt locked in her throat at his softly worded request, so she took his hand instead, his long fingers curling around hers as she led him to a bench made of stone, set with soft cushions in jewel-toned fabrics. Her skirts rustled as she sat, pulling him to sit beside her as she held his hand in her lap. “Take what you need,” she said gently, tilting her head back to better see his face and to better expose her vulnerable throat. Julian smiled, fangs glinting with pinpricks of captured starlight.

“Let’s not be hasty,” he purred, curling a finger beneath her chin to keep her head tilted at the perfect angle. “What sort of gentleman would I be if I didn’t begin with a kiss?” His head lowered, his silhouette outlined in silver moonlight, and his lips brushed against hers, so soft at first she wasn’t sure she had felt them at all. His mouth was as cool as his hands, sending a pleasant shiver skittering down her spine as his lips slotted more firmly against hers, both hands cradling her head as if he were afraid she would slip from his grasp. Vienna’s hands curled in the lapels of his coat, pulling him closer, all but melting into the kiss. Her lips parted as she sighed against his mouth, barely noticing when he leaned forward, his hand cupped beneath her head to cushion it as he pressed her onto her back. His cape fell around them, shielding them from the outside world as his tongue slipped into her mouth, almost shy as it slid along hers. At the first moan he coaxed from her, Julian answered with one of his own, her arms locking around his neck as his body covered hers, all passion and sweetness and breathless anticipation. At last, he broke the kiss, giving her only a moment’s pause to catch her breath before his lips descended onto her throat.

At first, his kisses remained soft, like gentle electric pulses that tingled down her spine. Then his mouth opened and those fangs grazed her skin, not hard enough to hurt but enough to make her gasp as he pinched her pulse between his teeth. There was no blood, not yet, but the mark he left swelled a livid rose madder, a slow drag of his tongue both soothing the sting and drawing a mewl from her. “Beautiful,” he whispered against her, though she couldn’t tell if he was referring to her or to the mark. Her hand, trembling ever so slightly, slid back through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes as he crouched over her, streamlined sinew and lean, predatory strength that didn’t match the tenderness of his gaze. His lips touched hers once more, briefly, before her turned her head to the side, lowering his mouth to the unmarked side of her neck. His teeth paused at the looping throb of her vein, allowing her a moment to brace herself before sinking his fangs into her soft skin with a low hiss.

Vienna cried out, clutching at him as the pain flared hot, then subsided, giving way to a sensation that wasn’t quite pleasure but was too close to tell the difference. It was intimacy in a form no human tongue could describe, as if he were drinking from the bowl of her heart, running his fingers through her soul. Less than half a minute seemed to stretch to fill an eternity before Julian finally lifted his head, looking as though it pained him to do so. A thrill of something she couldn’t name shot through her at the sight of his lips darkened by her blood, stained a deep, damning crimson. Before she could fully enjoy the sight of them, however, he was lunging forward to take her lips in another kiss, this one desperate and frantic, as if he had swallowed a deadly poison and her mouth held the only antidote. Expecting to be repulsed by the taste of her own blood, Vienna found herself strangely enchanted by it, the tang and salt so foreign and yet so familiar.

When at last he let her breathe, Julian looked down at her like a man half-starved, caressing her cheek and gazing deep into her starry eyes. “Delicious,” he murmured, stroking one fingertip over the teeth marks in her throat before his mouth lowered to her skin once more, dipping his tongue into the hollow of her throat before nipping at her collarbones. “I want more.”

His kisses strayed all over her body, somehow leaving spots of heat in their wake even through the layers of clothing between his lips and her skin. The line of her decolletage, the silk-clad swells of her breasts, the quivering plane of her stomach; she half expected to see scorch marks left behind on her dress. Vienna shivered, pushing herself up on her elbows as Julian wrapped long fingers around each ankle, grinning as he saw her legs were bare beneath her skirts. “Please,” he purred, sliding one leather gloved hand up her calf. “Let me taste you deeper, sweet Vienna.”

“Yes,” she said almost too quickly, too breathlessly, lifting her leg to rest her ankle on his strong shoulder. “God, yes.”

His eyes flashed as his hands slid up her legs, pushing her skirts up around her hips as he lowered himself between her thighs, his broad shoulders opening her up for him. The moonlight exposed her, left her vulnerable beneath his heated gaze, but she felt no fear, nor did she feel cheap or embarrassed. The way he licked his lips when he saw the thin triangle of sheer fabric at the apex of her thighs, the way the black centers of his eyes seemed to swallow up the grey made her feel strangely powerful, ethereal, like an enchantress of myth and fable. His fingers ghosted up her thighs, teasing her with feather-light touches as he pressed kisses to the trail of warmth they left behind.

“Look at me,” he whispered, urging her eyes down to where his mouth rested against the pulse of her femoral artery. Reddened lips skinned back over his teeth as he bit into her as if he were savoring the sweet juices of a ripe, succulent fruit, not deep enough to break the skin but hard enough to leave a livid bruise, the flesh darkening as he sucked the taste of her into his mouth. Vienna cried out, grateful for their seclusion as she wound her fingers through the gentle auburn waves of his hair, ruthless bites littering her thighs before he lifted his head and nuzzled into her palm. “Do you have any idea how utterly edible you look right now, darling? If we aren’t careful, I might just swallow you whole.”

Midnight blue silk caressed his cheek, one gloved fingertip tracing the curve of his lower lip. “Then please, be careless with me.”

The delight on his face gave her heart a thrill, now gentle lips pressing a heated kiss to the cup of her palm before he lowered his head once more. Impatiently, he tugged her skirts aside so that she could see him properly, the wordless command to keep her eyes on him written plainly in his stare as he pressed a warm, lingering kiss to her mound. Vienna bit at her lip, all the air pulled from her lungs as long fingers curled around her undergarments, ripping them away as if they were no sturdier than a moth’s wing. He drank in her shiver as the night air caressed her bare skin, unbearably cool against her heat. Black leather slid deliciously against pale thighs as he lowered his head once more, auburn curls tickling her skin as he hesitated, his lips a mere whisper away. That first teasing flick of his tongue drew a mewl from her, a rather feline grin tugging at the corners of his mouth before he repeated the action, a slow, devilish drag up her folds that had her writhing. His name left her lips in a ragged moan, more breath than sound, and that alone broke him, a groan rumbling in his chest as he closed his lips around her clit and sucked hard, fingers sinking into her thighs. Vienna’s back bowed, fingers clutching at his hair, at his shoulders, needing to grab hold of something before she floated away while his clever tongue dipped lower, prodding into her slick entrance with a muffled sound of pleasure. His eyes were closed, concentrating on the overwhelming taste of her, heady and exquisite, more fine than the rarest vintage, sweetened by the sounds of her moans and the way her hips rocked up, chased his mouth, as if she would perish without its warmth. As his tongue slipped deeper, playfully curling and twisting, one cool leather-clad fingertip rubbed slow, tantalizing circles over her clit. Her thighs trembled, her breath trembled, her whole body shook under the dizzying spell of his wicked, wicked mouth, a rabbit snared in the kindest of traps. Her fingers tightened in his hair, and finally Julian’s eyes opened, the pupils blown wide and his stare dark and intense. He didn’t speak, at least not with words, but she heard him nonetheless.

Darling girl, come for me.

As if the command itself were a sharp edge, it cut through the last of her tethers and she flew apart, shattering with a cry of his name. Every muscle coiled tight, every sinew strung as tight as an archer’s bow, and yet he did not relent or ease his passions; if anything, his tongue pressed deeper, his finger stroked faster. Adoring eyes narrowed with the intent to drive her utterly mad with pleasure, one orgasm spiraling into another, and as her body began to show signs of coming down, the insistent flicking of his tongue at her clit tossed her headlong into her third.

He had mercy on her then, and lifted his mouth from her, licking his lips to savor her as she collapsed in a heap of heaving breasts and rumpled skirts, eyes as vast as the universe itself as she slowly floated back down into her body. Julian was wound tight as a spring as he crawled back up over her, flicking her skirts back down over her thighs and wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. “You,” he rasped, “are dangerous, sweet girl. A man could lose himself to you.”

Vienna slowly sat up, feeling a dreamy light-headedness that was part blood-loss but mostly pleasure. His arms curled around her waist to hold her flush against his body as she covered his face in tiny raindrop kisses, her heart shuddering in her chest. She needed to be closer, needed to feel more, needed-

With a short yell, the two of them tumbled off of the bench and onto the grass below, Julian tucking himself beneath Vienna to absorb the impact. Strands of hair that had come loose from the twist she had snared them in tickled his cheeks as she sprawled over him, catching herself on his chest. For a moment, they stared at each other in stunned silence. Then, Vienna felt a purr rumbling in his chest beneath her hands, felt his hands slide from her waist up her back. “Yes, I much prefer this view,” Julian said with a smirk, gloved hands now slipping over her shoulders and down her arms. “Whatever will you do with me, Vienna, now that you’ve got me in such a compromising position?”

She blinked, and then a feline smirk of her own curled on her lips, her body fluid and graceful as she slid down to straddle his hips. With her skirts rucked up around her hips, she could feel him against her bare folds, the texture of his breeches deliciously coarse, and beneath them…

“Oh, Julian,” she breathed, spreading her thighs and rocking her hips against his, rubbing herself deliberately over him and drinking in the way his eyelids fluttered, his lips parted. His hands curled at the bell of her hips, gripping at her skirts as if he were seconds away from tearing them from her body. “Julian,” she breathed again, unbuttoning his waistcoat and the shirt underneath, sliding her palms over his bare chest. She wanted him, and oh how the fire of that want blazed hot in her belly. But did he desire her the same? Would a man of such strength and power want someone so fragile, so mortal? He cast no spell, held her under no thrall; every choice she made, she made on her own, and such passion was unfamiliar to her, foreign and frightening. Would he guide her through the fire?

The touch of his cool hand on her cheek brought her back to the present, and she noticed a crease between his brows, a searching look in his eyes. “Vienna,” he breathed, “you don’t have to do this. If you don’t want this–”

She surged forward, crushing whatever he was about to say between their lips in a heated kiss. His hands gripped at her, desperation in his fingertips as she curled her fingers in his hair, her lips parting to allow his tongue into her mouth. When at last she surfaced for air, she pressed her forehead to his, blue sweeping against red. “I fear I want this too much,” she admitted in a whisper, pressing herself closer to him. “We have only just met, you and I.”

A moment’s pause, then a short, adoring laugh. “I have the strength to snap your neck like a twig, and you’re worried that I may think poorly of you for wanting me?” There was no malice in his gaze, no malevolence in his words, and she leaned into his hand, nuzzling against his palm. “You know what I am. You know the monstrous truth of my nature, yet you don’t shy away from me. You desire me all the same, despite the brevity of our…relationship. If that is not something to covet, precious girl, then I don’t know what is.”

A bit of her fear drained away, and a smile graced her lips. “Do all your conquests find you this charming?” He laughed again, and she pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth before sitting up once more. Her fingers were sure and steady as she unfastened the front of his breeches, her breath catching in her throat as she saw in full moonlight what she had only felt before. She grasped him, warmer than she had expected and heavy in her hand, and he let out a soft groan, his lower lip caught between his teeth. Vienna lifted her skirts once more, positioning them so that the tip of his length just barely rested at her entrance, tormenting him with her heat, so close and yet out of his reach. From within the folds of her skirt, she withdrew her knife once more, liquid moonlight shimmering along the blade before she drew it over her palm. Julian’s eyes widened, lips parting as his stare darkened, intensified at the sight of her blood. “Drink,” she instructed, holding her hand out to him. “Please. If I am to be yours, then let me be yours fully.”

Julian hesitated only a moment before wrapping his hand around her wrist and tugging her hand to his mouth, his tongue dragging sensuously over the shallow cut. He groaned, bucking his hips up against her, and Vienna slowly let herself sink down onto his length, letting out a soft keen as he pushed deep within her. A growl rumbled against her palm as he sank into her velvet fire, the pleasure and heat like heaven itself as she languidly rolled her hips, adjusting to the feel of him. Vienna braced her free hand against his chest as she set a pace, swiveling her pelvis as she leaned forward, her head swimming with the throb of dull pain at her hand and the heady pleasure down below. Julian’s lips entirely covered the cut on her hand, his eyes half-lidded and piercing as he gazed up at her like he would like nothing more than to swallow her whole. When at last he tore her hand away from his mouth, his lips stained dark, dripping crimson, he reached up and deftly plucked the pins from her hair, letting the blue curls tumble around her shoulders. “That’s better,” he purred, carding her hair through his fingers as he gripped her hip, urging her to move faster. “Just like that, darling, yes.”

Her moans were swept away on the evening breeze, soft whimpers and curses falling from her lips like rain as Julian dug his heels into the ground and thrust up into her. Their bodies rose and fell, crested and crashed like waves upon a shore, ceaseless and eternal. Vienna felt her chest contract, all the oxygen pulled out of her lungs as he pressed on her back, urging her down to press his lips to her chest, over her racing heart. Time seemed to stand still, as if the moon herself had paused to watch them, to guard them. Her blood still slicked his lips, leaving lurid marks on her collarbones and where the tops of her breasts swelled above her dress, yet she couldn’t find the will to care how he marked her. She whispered his name, chanted it like a prayer as that fire raged, that scorching coil drawing tighter and tighter within her, and Julian pulled her closer, clung to her as if she were the last hope for his soul.

“Vienna,” he murmured, sliding his hands over the soft, tempting swells of her breasts. “Oh, Vienna…” He was close, too close; a brush of her lips on his skin would be his undoing, and he removed the glove covering his right hand with his teeth, reaching down between their undulating bodies. Fingers that were warmer than they had been at the start but still startlingly cool against her heat slid over her clit, rubbing in gentle circles, coaxing her sweetly toward that precipice. “Come over the edge with me, darling. Please.”

Vienna was as helpless to disobey as she was to keep the sun from rising or the stars from shining, and she flew apart with a scream that could have held the syllables of his name but was too broken to tell. The world faded into streaks of dim color, shrank until it contained only him and the way he moved inside of her, the way he touched her so reverently it could break her heart. As she shattered, so did he, bursting within her with a moan and a shout of her name, and oh, if a lost soul like his could experience a woman so divine, then perhaps he wasn’t quite as damned as he believed.

At last, they collapsed against each other, his arms banded tight around her middle and her little fists curled in the open neck of his shirt. For several long, breathless moments, they laid there, panting and dazed, neither truly grasping that what had just transpired was real, and not some vivid dream. Then, Vienna kissed him, tasting the last traces of her blood on his mouth, and the spell broke, a smile curling on his lips as he returned her kisses. When at last their breathing had returned to normal, Julian sat up, pulling out of her and tucking himself back into his trousers. “I’d best return you to the Masquerade before you’re missed,” he said almost mournfully, stroking his bare hand through her hair. Vienna opened her mouth to protest, but she knew that Nadia would be concerned if she went missing. Slowly, on wobbling legs, she stood, brushing bits of grass from her skirts and readjusting her dress. Julian appeared in front of her, dangling her mask from one finger. “Allow me?”

Carefully, he tied the mask back onto her face, even helping her rearrange her hair into something more suitable for a social gathering. She didn’t miss his salacious chuckle as he picked blades of grass from her curls, nor did he miss the way she shivered when he brushed the back of her neck with his fingertips. When he was finished, she turned and slid her hands over his chest, drawing her lip between her teeth. “Will I ever see you again?”

Julian chuckled, stroking her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “Soon, lovely. I won’t be able to stay away for long.” His arms wrapped around her as he pulled her close for one final kiss, more gentle than any before, his lips reluctant to leave hers. “I’ll find you,” he promised, pressing his forehead to hers. “I’ll come back for you.”

And with that, he was gone, as if he had never been. A flash of black at her feet caught her eye, and she bent to pick up the only token he had left behind; his mask, beaked and feathered. She clasped it to her chest as she exited the maze, following the sounds of chatter and music back to the party, her slippers exactly where she had left them at the mouth of the labyrinth. The marks on her chest and neck attracted some odd stares and raised eyebrows, but no one gave her a second glance as she strode toward the palace, warmth in her chest and the gleam of a secret in her eyes. Julian would keep his word, of that she was certain, and her heart ached for him already. Her grip tightened on his mask, a wordless promise that he would come back to claim it, and her, soon.

Soon, my darling one

#the arcana #julian devorak #vampire julian #fan apprentice #fanfic #oh my god i posted to the wrong blog #shit #god at least this monstrosity is finally finished #this took way too long to write

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contemplativepancakes · 3 years ago

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sunsets for somebody else

Daphne runs into her long lost husband arguing with another man in the grocery store. Things start to take a turn when she realizes they're married.

The bottle of bleach drops from Daphne’s hand into her cart, landing with a sloshing thud as she takes in the scene in front of her, frozen in her tracks. Emmanuel is standing right in front of her, arguing with another man about cleaning supplies.

Wearing a beige trench coat for some inexplicable reason—it’s almost 90 degrees outside—Emmanuel listens to a man who’s explaining in minute detail how to clean an oven. They’re both wearing wedding rings, and Daphne’s heart swells for a moment before she realizes it’s a different ring from the one she gave Emmanuel all those years ago.

“Dean, I don’t think this is safe for Jack. This is going to create noxious fumes,” Emmanuel says, squinting at the ingredients of the cleaner apparently-Dean had thrust at him.

Dean pinches the bridge of his nose, and Daphne squeezes the handle of her shopping cart harder, feeling faint. It’s not every day you come across your long lost husband at the Stop N’ Shop.

“I think the kid can take some fumes,” Dean says, plucking the bottle out of Emmanuel’s hands and putting it in the cart. “We wouldn’t even have to worry about this if someone didn’t let the pizza fall onto the bottom of the oven.”

“The directions said to put it directly on the middle rack!” Emmanuel protests, and Dean rubs a hand down Emmanuel’s back in a familiar way that makes Daphne’s stomach roil.

She’s not jealous, she’s not. She was just helping Emmanuel when she found him, after all. Their marriage was simply one of…convenience for Emmanuel. It’s not like he had a birth certificate with him, or a social security number. What did Daphne get out of all this? Well. Daphne looks at his cheek bones wistfully, her gaze dipping down to his strong forearms his trench coat is rolled up to reveal.

Dean rolls his eyes fondly, and then he tugs Emmanuel into his side, kissing him on the temple. Daphne jerks her stare away for a moment before returning it, noticing now that their wedding rings match.

“Emmanuel?” she chokes out, against her better judgment.

For a long second, she doesn’t think Emmanuel heard her, but he turns around. “Daphne?”

Daphne nods, her words forsaking her. She doesn’t miss the way Dean clutches possessively at Emmanuel’s hip.

“I…thought you were dead,” she finally says. “I filed a missing person report.”

Dean squints at her, before something like recognition passes over her face, and now that she thinks about it, Daphne recognizes him, too. He’s the one who showed up right before everything went to shit. Horror stories of Stockholm syndrome flash through her mind.

“Emmanuel, are you…happy?” she settles on.

Emmanuel gives her a smile, leaning harder into Dean. “I am.”

“Good. That’s. Good,” she says, a strangled look on her face, she’s sure. “Would you want to catch up some time?” she asks before she fully registers what’s coming out of her mouth.

Emmanuel gives her a warm smile. “I’d love that.”

As they set up a time to get coffee, Daphne tries to ignore the glare Dean levels at her throughout the whole conversation. He insists that their meeting be tomorrow, since apparently they won’t be in the area for long. Daphne tries to ignore the warning bells in her mind that tell her she’s about to get murdered and takes solace in the fact that at least they’re meeting in a public place.

Besides, even if Emmanuel’s husband is a serial killer, surely Emmanuel won’t let him murder her, right?

The next day, Daphne hems and haws as she debates what to wear. Whatever this is, it’s the exact opposite of a date, anyway. She knocks on the door of her foster child, Alex, to wake them up before she goes into the bathroom to do her hair and makeup. Really, she’s just doing it for herself. She’s allowed to want to look nice!

When she finally deems herself as ready as she’s going to get, she goes back to Alex’s room to make sure they’re actually up. To her pleasant surprise, they’re sitting on the edge of their bed putting on their socks and almost ready. “Excited for school today?” she asks.

Alex makes a face at her. “Never,” they say, but their voice at least has the edge of a smile to it.

They’ve come a long way since they were first placed with her, and even though Daphne knows she shouldn’t be getting overly attached, she can’t help it. She walks down the steps and into the kitchen, deliberating for a moment on breakfast before putting frozen waffles into the toaster. If she’s about to get murdered while Alex is at school, she can at least make sure the last thing she made for them wasn’t cereal.

Alex tromps down the steps, dragging their bookbag behind them, and Daphne hides her smile behind her glass of orange juice. Alex lights up at the sight of the waffles, disturbingly easy to please, as always. They inhale them, as teenagers do, before putting their dishes in the sink. Daphne cracks open her laptop as they wait for the bus, attempting to get some of her work done for the day since she’ll be taking a break later for the coffee. She really hopes her boss doesn’t try and call her while she’s out.

Or, maybe she does. She’s not sure she’s prepared for the level of awkwardness that she’s about to go through, but maybe it won’t be as bad as she thinks. She really wants to know what Emmanuel has been up to for all of this time. She’s still…embarrassingly hung up on him, and it would be nice to get some closure.

The bus pulling up in front of the house jerks her out of her thoughts, and she gives Alex a wave before they race off to get on. She watches them settle into a seat with one of their friends, and smiles at the fact that they even have friends now.

In the end, Daphne doesn’t manage to get much work done before she clambers into her car and drives to the coffee shop they agreed on. She doesn’t really think she needs caffeine with the way her leg is bouncing already.

Emmanuel and Dean are already there when she walks in, Emmanuel with a cup of black coffee he’s dumping sugar packets into and Dean with something with whipped cream and chocolate syrup drizzled on top. She gives them a tentative wave before ordering hot chocolate for herself, settling herself delicately in the seat across from them.

“So,” Dean says. “You were Cas’s wife?”

She squints. “Cas?”

Emmanuel speaks up. “After I regained my memories, I remembered that was my name.”

“Oh.” Smiling weakly, she tries to reconcile that. “You have them all back now?”

Emman—Cas nods.

“Just forgot about me, though?” she tries to ask lightly, but it comes out a little garbled.

“You took advantage of him!” Dean explodes from the other side of the table, making Daphne flinch. “Who the fuck finds someone naked with no memories and marries them?”

“Dean,” Cas chastises, his arm shifting like he’s putting his hand on Dean’s thigh under the table.

“I was helping him,” Daphne says hotly. “Would you have just wanted me to leave him there?”

Cutting Dean off before he can say anything else, Cas looks at Daphne and smiles in a way that makes her heart flutter. “I’m very grateful. I don’t know what I would have done without you. I’m sorry I didn’t reach out to let you know I was alright.”

Dean crosses his arms over his chest and leans back in his chair, taking a sip of his sugar monstrosity. He comes away with a whipped cream mustache, and it’s hard not to laugh as he wipes it away in total seriousness.

“So,” Daphne says. “You two have a kid? Jack?”

Scowling, which seems to be Dean’s automatic reflex, he exchanges a glance with Cas before softening. “Yeah, we have a kid. He’s four.”

Daphne thinks maybe Dean should have been a little bit more concerned about the fumes of cleaning chemicals if they have a four year old, but she keeps her judgments to herself. Cas beams. “He’s very bright.”

Returning the smile tentatively, Daphne asks, “How long have you two been married?”

“It’s almost our one year anniversary,” Dean says gruffly.

Daphne tries not to let it affect her, even if that’s more time than she ever got with Cas. “Practically newly weds, then!”

“It’s been an adventure; that’s certain,” Cas says, smiling serenely even as Dean elbows his ribs. “Tell us about you, Daphne. What have you been doing?”

Daphne shrugs a shoulder. “Oh, not too much.” Mourning the man I pulled out of the woods and saved and married, she doesn’t say. She knows Emmanuel never felt the same way about her that she did him. “I got approved to be a foster parent, so I’ve had a few kids come through.”

“Helping people has always been your calling,” Cas says softly.

Daphne takes a few minutes to gush about Alex, and her previous kids before them, before she notices Dean’s not actively glaring at her anymore.

“That’s…nice,” he begrudges when she finishes.

“What do you do, Dean?”

Looking like he just dropped something on his foot, he stammers before he hastily says, “I work construction.”

Daphne squints at him. She has the feeling he’s lying to her, but she has no idea why he would be.

“And what about you, Cas?”

“Oh, I mostly just take care of Jack.”

“You’re a stay at home dad?” she asks, the thought making her stomach twist into knots and heat rise to her face.

“Of a sorts,” Cas agrees.

God, they’re making it impossible to carry on a conversation with them. Daphne keeps a smile pasted to her face. “What do you two do for fun?”

“I’m convinced Dean thinks fun is superfluous,” Cas confides, even as Dean splutters at him. “But I like to drag him to thrift stores with me. Dean likes to bake, also.”

“I work on cars, too,” Dean says, and Daphne can feel his desperation to maintain his facade.

She tries not to quirk a smile at his discomfort. They chat for a while longer, Dean getting increasingly dodgy about the questions she asks before she finally excuses herself to go to the bathroom. She shuts the door behind her and looks down at the dank floor. Is she getting what she wanted out of this? She has no idea what she even imagined happening when she asked to catch up. Emmanuel running away with her? Maybe in her wildest fantasies. Taking a deep breath to ground herself, she looks in the mirror and checks her makeup, rubbing at her under eye circles before walking back out of the bathroom.

Cas is at the counter ordering another drink, for Dean, by the sound of the sugar content, and she walks over to him. Hesitating before she bites the bullet, she asks, “You’re not…like, being held against your will, right? That Dean seems,” she pauses, “interesting.”

Cas laughs warmly, putting a hand over Daphne’s. “No, nothing like that. This is a choice of my own free will, believe it or not. Dean is much more caring than he lets on.”

Well, Daphne’s not sure she believes it, but. At least he’s happy, and in the end, that’s all she’s ever wanted for him.

#supernatural #destiel #castiel #outsider pov #daphne allen #the born again identity #contemplative writing

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danniburgh · 4 years ago

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Sins of the Flesh (priest!Dave York x f!reader)

Pairing: priest!Dave York x f!reader

Summary: His mind shouldn’t be on the new catechesis teacher as he cleaned the chalice after handing communion. His thoughts shouldn’t be on the young girl he knew for so long as he blessed the congregation and finished mass.

But you were different now. Something in you had changed. “Lord, have mercy on me.”

Word count: +10.9k

Warnings: religion! catholic religion to be precise, a lot A LOT of religious references and undertones (shot every time you find one lmao), age gap (around 15 years, reader is legal), smut, unprotected p in v, oral sex, breaking of celibacy vows!, catholic guilt, me making divine metaphors... i think thats it.

A/N: first of all this is all @asta-lily’s fault, she asked why no one had turned this man into a priest and i said “ok ill do it” so i did it, she is to blame. also i wanna say thanks to the pocket wives that encouraged this creation, sorry my loves, this isnt as slutty as yall thought lmao, and thanks to @alliterative-albatross who gave me all the bible verses that shaped this story as well. and i wanna thank the creator of this playlist that i listened over and over while writing this, and yeah, sorry for this monstrosity, love you <3

Masterlist // Read on ao3 // ko-fi

comments and reblogs are eternally appreciated 💓

moodboard by @asta-lily

“So whoever knows the right thing to do and fails to do it, for him it is sin.”–James 4:12.

Sunday 1.

Like a piece in a puzzle.

That’s how you fit in.

There, sitting in the middle of a ten people polished wood bench, eyes on the four feet tall crucified Jesus on the wall above the altar, ready for the first sermon you were to hear after coming back home.

Home. That was the name.

That church felt like home.

You were enjoying sitting there, among the children you met a couple of hours earlier when you were introduced to them as their new catechesis teacher, breathing in and out the myrrh incense burning and invading the navel and your lungs, filling them with new energy, getting them ready to feel the love that you were sure was about to pour over you.

You heard your name behind you and you turned around to see Mrs. Stevens, one of your mother’s friends waving at you from two rows behind.

“Hi, honey!” she smiled at you and immediately you reciprocated “I heard you were in town, are you staying this time?”

You drowned a chuckle inside your chest and bit your lip, nodding. Just realizing you even had missed the venomous messages hidden behind the kind words mouthed by old catholic moms.

“Yes, Mrs. Stevens, I’m staying this time.” you replied, the woman lifted her hand a bit to the sky and you smirked to her.

“God bless, I bet your mom is delighted you’re here!” she muttered “I know she missed you terribly all those years you were in that school.”

“It’s called college, Mrs. Stevens,” you reminded the woman, and she rolled her eyes, making you chuckle softly again “but do not worry for my mama anymore, I graduated, I’m staying for good.” you told her, amused at the way she acted as if you staying at home was some godsend blessing.

The organ began to play on the upper balcony behind everyone and you saw two altar boys, carbon copy of each other, almost rushing their way to the altar, and behind them… Father Dave.

You smiled softly at the sight of him as he walked solemnly to the altar, his green chasuble flowing with the air and the movement, there was a thought you had all those years you were away from home because of school, always coming back to Father Dave York: the young priest that decided to stay in the first congregation he was sent to, the one that became a pillar to the community, the holy man that held the direct link to God and that gave you your first communion, the one you missed when you went to attend mass at the church near campus because no one gave the sermons like he did. For some reason, whenever you least expected, you thought of him.

You saw him putting his bible on top of the pressed cloth over the altar, kneel and kiss the center of it and cross himself. And then, after he closed his eyes and muttered a prayer to himself and to God, he opened his deep brown eyes and he looked at you.

“Let us pray.”

Your mouth dried when his deep timbered voice, with the help of a small microphone on his altar, wrapped the entire navel and you with it, he looked at you as he cleared his throat and he opened his arms to the sky, breaking eye contact with you.

“Lord, have mercy.” he murmured, and the congregation replied to his prayer as you struggled to find the air that had escaped your lungs.

As Father Dave guided the congregation through the sermon and through the prayers, all you could see was him.

In some way, there was something different about him you hadn’t noticed the last time you were there; you didn’t know if it was something about his deep voice as he recited the credo by muscle memory, the way he walked from one side of the sanctuarium to the other as he talked about the scripture or the way his hands wrapped around the chalice when one of the altar boys handed it to him as the organ echoed all around the navel, announcing the communion.

You stood up and walked to the back of the line and sighed as he lifted the wafer to the sky, and your eyes closed by themselves when he lifted the chalice and took a sip from the sacramental wine and locked your eyes on him as the line moved.

As soon as you were in front of him your lips parted and he smiled at you softly.

“The body of Christ.” he murmured, his deep brown eyes on yours as they filled with tears.

“Amen” and you opened your mouth.

He put the wined wafer between your lips and his thumb brushed with your chin, making your skin burn as you brought it inside of your mouth with your tongue and forced yourself to walk away from him.

As you returned to your seat with the gold cross that hung from your neck between your fingers and kneeled to pray for the forgiving of your sins, all you could think of was brown, deep eyes, and a soft, brief touch on your chin that burned more than the wax of a burning taper.

Dave felt it.

The way you looked at him throughout the entire service.

And it made him feel different.

When you rose from your seat to walk to the communion line, he saw the way your body moved, almost as if you were floating instead of walking.

He knew you were back, and his heart was happy you were finally home.

But he didn’t expect to see you so changed.

And he didn’t expect the way your eyes had made him feel.

Then you were in front of him, and he smiled because he remembered the first time he handed the body of Christ to you, years and years before.

And your eyes filled with tears as his breath hitched when your lips parted for him as he fed you the sacred soul of the savior.

God, have mercy.

His mind shouldn’t be on the new catechesis teacher as he cleaned the chalice after handing communion. His thoughts shouldn’t be on the young girl he knew for so long as he blessed the congregation and finished mass.

But you were different now. Something in you had changed.

Lord, have mercy on me. He thought as he entered the sacristy.

“Whoever conceals his transgressions will not prosper, but he who confesses and forsakes them will obtain mercy.”–Proverbs 28:13.

Sunday 2.

“Forgive me, father, for I have sinned.” Dave heard your voice next to him and felt the air leave from his lungs. Not you, please God, not you.

You had been avoiding Father Dave for almost the entire week.

And you felt guilty about it.

You couldn’t even look at him in the eyes and not think about those dreams you were having about him.

If God was all love and perfection, why was he tempting you with dreams of Father Dave, his own servant, touching you in places you got shivers from, warming your body with his own, putting his mouth on your skin as you repeated his name like it was the sanctus?

Holy, holy, holy.

Why was God putting inside your head the sins of the flesh you had already asked forgiveness for? Why was he making you desire a forbidden man? A man that was not to be perceived as a man but as the representation of him on earth.

That morning, when you walked into the church to impart the catechesis class, you saw Jesus on the cross and you saw him look at you. And you knew he knew.

All omnipresent, all omniscient, all omnipotent.

You couldn’t stop thinking about him.

Almighty God why were you thinking about him so much?

And the resolution in your mind was asking for forgiveness, you needed to pay penitence for those thoughts you knew you did.

But were you really about to confess to the man you had been dreaming about that he was invading your every thought?

“It has been two weeks since my last confession.” you mumbled, playing with your cross over your neck, Dave breathed in deeply and intertwined his hands on his lap.

“What are your sins?” he asked, closing his eyes as he remembered his own.

Dave was always a man of faith. It was in him from birth. He had been taught and trained to not fall into any temptations and so far his life had been devoted and dedicated to God and only to God.

But your eyes and the way you saw him, and the way your eyes made him feel when they locked on his, had him spiraling down into decadence.

Sometimes, dedicating his life to the word of the Lord made him forget he was still a human, he was still a man.

He had needs.

And he was alright before your eyes. Before your holy eyes were on him.

He had dreamed of them; he had thought of them; he had imagined them when he was in the limbo between sleep and awakeness.

He had dreamed of your lips, of your lips on his skin, he had thought of those lips that just looked like they needed someone to wet them and bring them back to life; he had imagined those lips of yours in places of his body he swore never to use.

He had prayed for them to disappear; he had begged to his God to erase those thoughts of his mind and free them from the temptation that was incarnated in you, in your body, in your eyes that denied to see him when you were in the same room, in your hands as you moved them to teach the children, in your legs trapped in the tight denim of your jeans, in your lips as you smiled to everyone but him, in your entire being, just by existing.

But they had increased, like a tamed flame sprayed with gasoline. He had a fire in his chest, one that was spreading through him as he was closer to you.

He needed them gone; he had sworn to never look at a woman as an object of desire; he had sworn on his life and he had vowed his commitment.

But you were there, kneeling next to him, separated by the thinnest patterned panel, holding the matches and the fuel.

“I’ve been having… improper thoughts, father,” you whispered, closing your eyes and left your necklace alone, clutching your hands together as tight as you could, you felt the aura change and the air grow thicker between him and you, “about a man.”

Dave opened his eyes at your confession and frowned. A man?

He knew you could tell him whatever you wanted; he knew he wasn’t allowed to ask in for details; he knew he was only there functioning as a link for you to get absolved from your sins and you were a young woman granted of free will and enough time to ask for absolution but he wanted to know; he needed to know who that man was.

“He is ol–older than me,” he heard you mumble and his hands tightened their grip on each other “and I can’t have him, father, I–I’ve been having these thoughts about a forbidden man.”

Dave’s mind went reeling, and he didn’t understand why. He didn’t like to assume about the life of his congregation members, he never did, but you were talking to him, after he had been dreaming about you for days, after you two shared something about desiring another man. And he was angry. He wanted to know who. He wanted to know who was keeping your mind the same way you were keeping his.

“He keeps me up at night, thinking of him, that is,” you whispered “I’ve–Jesus,” you let out the air of your lungs and Dave breathed in deeply once more “I’ve touched myself thinking of him.” you said under your breath and Dave felt his chest tug and turn.

“Does this man… know what he is causing in you?” he muttered with a frown and heard you sigh.

“No, I don’t want him to.”

“Alright, child,” he replied after a few seconds, and made a grimace of disgust at the pet name. It felt wrong, and he felt dirty with the word on his mouth, “do you repent these sins?”

“Yes, father, I do.” you closed your eyes at his words and wanted, for once, to be brave and tell him he was the one roaming around your mind. But it wasn’t fair.

“Please, recite in silence the act of contrition,” he muttered to you and you obeyed, feeling your eyes fill with tears.

As he waited for you to finish, he did the same on his side of the confession box

I’m choosing to sin and failing to do good.

“Amen.” you said, and he murmured the word to the ceiling.

“I think the word you do for the church,” he started, and you wrinkled your nose at the thought of him knowing it was you “the devotion you have, and how you repent, you don’t need to pay penance,” he muttered separating his hands and putting two fingers on the edge of the patterned panel that separated the two of you “through the ministry of the church,” your breath hitched as he whispered the words to you, and you saw with teary eyes the shadow of his fingers on the panel “man God give you pardon and peace,” you bit your lip and unclutched your hands, lifting your fingers and pressing it to his as two heavy tears fell from your eyes.

Dave felt the pressure of your touch and felt his hand tremble.

“And I ab–absolve you from your sin.” he said under his breath, pressing back.

“Thank you, father.” you whispered, not moving your fingers. You could feel the warmth of his through it and for a few seconds, you could also feel his eyes on your face.

Dave was the one to break the contact first. Absentmindedly brushing his fingers on his stole as he saw the shadow of you move and get out of the confession box.

He sat there, thankful you were the only one that morning and thinking about what you had told him.

A man of God, a man of hope. He had hoped, even if it was a sin and even if it was forbidden by pure creed and vow, that you were feeling the same as he was.

For a moment, he wondered about those thoughts… Were you thinking about that lucky old man touching you? Were you thinking about that man kissing you? What did that man look like? He wanted to be that man; he wanted to be the one whose touch you desired; he wanted to be that man you thought of as you sneaked your hand inside your underwear at night and brought yourself to pleasure. He wanted to be the one whose kiss you yearned for as your sex ached for attention; he wanted to be the one whose fingers you imagined as your own were buried deep inside you.

He fisted the flesh of his thigh over his dress pants and forced himself to stop thinking of you like that.

Dave stayed inside the confession box for twenty minutes more, praying for forgiveness, as he had done every night since you had been back.

At service, he saw you further back on the benches and he tried not to sneak glances at you as you sat there with your precious eyes on the crucifix above him, avoiding him at all costs.

And at communion, he tried not to brush your soft skin with his fingers as he fed you the wined wafer, failing when his knuckle brushed your cheek, his chest deflating when he noticed the way your face quirked in pain when you muttered Amen at him. Dave tried not to make anything of the fact that you kneeled more time than anyone else on the congregation after receiving the communion.

And when the service was over and he was alone in the sacristy, he tried and failed to not think about your skin, your eyes, your hands and your lips all over his neglected body.

That sunday night Father Dave masturbated in the shower thinking about you with your fingers deep inside you as his mind imagined it was him you thought of when you touched yourself in the darkness of the night and prayed for forgiveness.

He shouldn’t be thinking about you like that.

“Beloved, I urge you as sojourners and exiles to abstain from the passions of the flesh, which wage war against your soul.”–1 Peter 2:11.

Sunday 3.

“Father, sh–shit,” you bit your lip to stop yourself from moaning as your pointer and middle fingers circled your wet clit under the covers of your bed, your legs spread open, the soft cotton of the sheets grazing softly at your inner thighs as you imagined your fingers being one of Father Dave’s, as you imagined him next to you, with his arm above your head as he whispered sweet nothings in your ear and nibbled at your neck while his other hand played your clit like a master pianist. You imagined the hardness of his erection pressing patiently on the skin of your hip, wetting it with pre-semen, making your body burn with the feeling of his warm naked body beside you.

As your other hand played with your nipple you imagined his eyes taking you in, you imagined his lips on your skin, were they soft? you bet they were, and you bet as well his hand would be surprisingly rough for a priest.

“Jesus, fu–fuck.” the knot inside your lower belly exploded with the thought of him and his hand and his body and his lips and his priesthood and you came with a silent scream that made your ears ring for a few seconds and your legs tremble on the bed.

As you hazed out, ready to fall asleep again before your alarm went off to go to work at the church, you felt that familiar guilt cripple inside you and settle in your chest, warming up and leaning against your heart.

Dave was panting, he fisted his hand as he leaned on the tiled wall of his shower and his other hand moved desperately on his cock. The water was still warm, and he closed his eyes shut as he imagined it was your hand on him, giving him the pleasure he was seeking, as he imagined you were behind him, your lips brushing against the wet skin of his back, your free hand around his chest, gliding softly at his skin, making him whimper with your touch.

It was so early for him to be so hot over you again; it wasn’t good for him to give into these desires he had and had been praying so hard and so much to get rid of.

He didn't want to keep doing it and he surely didn’t feel good after it, but his body ached for you, his chest turned every time he thought about you, every time he saw you around the church, he felt the deepest, hottest desire for you and your hands and your body and he just couldn’t help it.

His hand gripped and pumped as fast as he could and he came with a silent groan, opening his eyes as he finished milking every drop of his seed and watched it mix with the shower water and go down the drain. Along with the decency and morality that was left inside him.

You heard your name being said, and you turned around as you finished picking up your things from the small desk you used to teach the catechism; you saw Mrs. Vega, the church custodian, a small, old lady that had known you forever, walking towards you.

“I’m sorry dear, but I want to ask you for something.” she said when you smiled at her.

“Of course, Mrs. Vega, what is it?” you put your small book inside your bag and hung it from your shoulders.

“You see, the little twins that help Father Dave are sick today,” you frowned at the mention of Father’s Dave name but let out a sad sigh at her statement, “and they can’t come help with the service, you’re the youngest of the teachers, could you do it?”

You raised your eyebrows in surprise and felt your stomach churn inside you at the thought of standing next to the altar for a whole service.

“Me?” you asked, your voice in a high pitch as Mrs. Vega reached for your arm and tugged you to walk out of the chapel and into the navel of the church.

“Yes, dear, remember only the youngest get to do it.” she obviated, pulling you with her to the transept and up two steps to the sanctuarium “you only need to hand him the communion things and the holy water, I will prepare everything for you.”

“Why don’t you do it?” you asked in a whisper, not daring to take a step further closer to the altar. Mrs. Vega turned to look at you, and she narrowed her eyes.

“Since when are you shy, girl?” she asked with a teasing smile “I remember you singing in that kiddie choir we used to have and doing it terribly,” you chuckled at the memory and bit your lip “it’s only until the boys get that bug they got out of them.” she palmed your arm, and you breathed in deeply.

You looked up at the crucified Jesus above the altar and silently begged him for anticipated forgiveness.

Dave almost cursed when he saw you standing next to the altar as he walked across the navel.

The thought of who would replace Bobby and Chris on their altar duties didn’t even cross his mind as he was more worried about praying for the boys and sending them some sweets and pleading for the cleansing of his soul after the incident on his shower earlier that morning.

As he stepped up to the sanctuarium your eyes locked on his and he noticed you lips parting when he nodded his chin once at you, he noticed the way you swallowed as you nodded back and for a brief second, his imagination ran wild and made him believe you felt the same way as he did about you.

Even if it was the wrongest thing to think about.

It was like torture.

An hour of torture.

You got to see him kneel behind the altar and kiss the white pressed cloth softly as he stood, as you wanted and wished to be the altar’s cloth he pressed his plump lips on, he crossed himself and you mimicked his movements. And for a brief fraction of a second, as he opened his arms to the sky, you saw him looking at you out of the corner of his eye. And his eyes burned in your skin, they made you feel like your chest was aflame.

The communion time arrived, and he turned to you as you grabbed the chalice with the wine, his eyes locked with yours and you felt them weigh heavy on your body.

Dave couldn't concentrate, he felt on his side the way you were looking at him. It was heavily distracting for him to have you there, in his space, so close to him.

His hands brushed yours when he took the chalice from you and he stood there for less than a second, his fingers on yours. His soft touch and warm skin made your lips tremble with the emotion that touching him gave you. You felt a shiver go up and down your spine and the small hairs of your nape rose as his hands trapped yours.

You caught your lip between your teeth as he broke the contact and you knew he noticed; he looked at your lip as you bit it, and you blushed under his and God’s gaze.

You watched him and he felt you observing him as he prepared the wafers and wined them inside the chalice.

Your throat knotted when he lifted the cup to the sky and you felt your mouth dry as he brought the rim to his lip and his neck strained while he took a sip of the sacramental wine.

Because of the closeness you could see the movement of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed the wine, you noticed a small drop of the crimson red liquid escape from his lips and the way he trapped it with his tongue settled deep inside your belly and leaked through your sex.

The pain of the greatest guilt you’ve ever felt in your short life appeared again and clawed its way inside your chest and to its now usual spot right next to your heart, you were struggling to keep your thoughts at bay; you were looking at Father Dave, right in front of you, doing what he dedicated his life to, and you were imagining him using his hands on your body instead of handling the instruments of the church.

Would he touch you like that? would he treat you with the same delicacy as he treated the body of Christ? would he caress you as softly as he did the chalice? would his mouth be warmed with your taste as it was by the wine he drank?

Dave turned to you and he saw you clutching your hands together, you walked towards him slowly, and he couldn’t stop thinking about the way you moved, almost as if air went through you, as if instead of giving steps your feet barely touched the floor because you were floating.

Everything slowed down, the music of the organ in the balcony, the prayers of the congregation, even the way he moved slowed down so he could focus on your face; on your sweet eyes, those that had brought into him the feeling of humanity, on your soft skin that had scorched his hand when he dared brushed his fingers on it, on your lips, those lips that he couldn’t pray out of his head.

He lifted his hand with the wined wafer, and even the way those holy lips of yours parted was slowed down.

Your eyes connected with his and Dave felt it in his body, deep inside his stomach, the temptation, the whispers of his mortal body as it reacted to your actions; he put the wafer between your lips delicately and pushed it inside your mouth, and then, as if by the grace of God in the heavens, you closed your mouth while he did it, and your lips wrapped softly around the pad of his finger as he pulled them away from you.

And just like that, the world started moving at its usual pace.

His skin tasted sweet. And you spent the rest of the service thinking about what other parts of him would taste like that.

Would his neck taste the same if you kissed it? would his chest feel like that if you nibbled on it? would his lips be that warm or would they be warmer?

Dave’s finger was burning.

He wanted to chop it off his hand just to stop feeling that flesh-eating guilt of enjoying your lips, your soft, warm lips around it, touching his skin, wetting it with the slick of your mouth.

After the service ended and Dave blessed the congregation, he saw you rush to the exit and he felt the sting of the guilt and the sadness. He wanted to talk to you and offer his apologies before you went home.

Sunday 4.

You weren’t there.

And Dave missed your eyes on him.

“I appeal to you therefore, brothers, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship.”–Romans 12:1.

Sunday 5.

As soon as you walked into the church you felt the eyes of all omnipresent beings on your body. As if the desire that burned deep inside your body left marks all over your skin, that could be visible for all those that looked carefully enough.

You heard your name behind you and jumped slightly, startled. You turned around and felt your blood fall to your feet.

“Father Dave,” you muttered, more to help yourself acknowledge the fact that there he was, standing in front of you, out of habit, his white tab collar was the only piece of his attire that hinted the fact that he was a priest. You tried to control your body as you felt instantly that flame inside your chest beginning to spread.

“You weren’t here last week,” he said, hesitating to step closer to you “are you okay?”

You nodded a few times and bit your lip to stop it from trembling.

“Are you sure?” Father Dave asked, and you dropped your eyes to the floor and saw him give a couple of steps towards you, your breath hitched and your entire body began to shiver when you felt his hand on your arm “I’m sorry.” he whispered.

“What?” you looked up to see him and you could notice his pained quirk, his brow furrowed, his eyes narrowed and his lips… those lips you had spent all but two weeks imagining printing themselves and making marks on your skin, on a sad, downwards line.

“Can I please talk to you?” he said again in a whisper and you opened your mouth to reply, but only air came out, “please?”

His deep brown eyes were on yours and you felt your chest turn by the feeling of having him so close. You nodded, and he turned to the sides, as if he was making sure there was no one there, and guided you to the sacristy.

“What are you doing?” you asked, a bit altered when he opened the door and let you in first, followed you and closed the door behind him.

“I just needed to be alone with you for a minute,” he clarified, you let your eyes wander around the small space where he got ready every day for the services instead of letting them settle on him, because you knew being that close to him wouldn’t help your situation at all “I wanted to apologize.”

You frowned and looked at him. He had his back almost glued to the door and his hands together, his thumbs fidgeting with each other.

“Apologize for what?” you muttered, and he sighed.

“I’m–I make you uncomfortable, and I’m sorry.”

Dave felt stupid telling you that, but it was his truth; he spent every free moment of his days when you weren’t near him thinking maybe it was because of him. It would make sense, that you didn’t want to be there because you didn’t like his closeness, that you didn’t want to be there because he was taking advantage of his position to steal glances and give furtive touches.

He understood, but you were an excellent woman, devoted and committed to the congregation, and he knew he needed to stop or you would leave and he would never see you again. And he couldn’t have that.

“You aren–you…” you babbled, and then the look he gave you made you lose your words.

His eyes were all over you. And you could feel them on your skin, how they took you in, how they navigated through your body and every inch of you was immediately on fire.

Then he looked at your face and you swore you could see in his brown eyes the deepest form of devotion there was. And your mouth was agape and your eyes filled with tears and suddenly he was in front of you and his hands were orbiting your face.

“Can I touch you?” he said, and you nodded.

He cupped your face, and you felt his warm, rough hands scorching your skin as you closed your eyes. His warmth started mixing with your own and you could feel him inside you already. It was as if everything you needed in life was already there.

“You don’t make me uncomfortable,” you whispered, closing your eyes as his fingers started caressing the skin of your face, tracing your features “I swear you don’t”

Dave let out a sigh when his thumb traced the edge of your lips and he so wanted to lean down and take them in his. There had been so long since he last kissed someone and he, for a split second, forgot everything about him and the only thought in his mind was you.

“I don’t?” he asked under his breath as a tear rolled down your cheek and he brushed it off with his knuckles, you shook your head and opened your eyes and he felt his heart fill with the purest love he had ever felt in his life “you swear?” you curled your lips up and nodded twice.

“Can I tell you something?” you muttered, looking up at him and losing yourself in the depths of his brown eyes.

“Always.”

You allowed your hands to slide to his shoulders and you let out a relieved sigh. They fit perfectly.

“Yo–you are…” he nodded his chin, his hands still cupping your face softly as his eyes studied your face, you let out a trembling sigh and grabbed as much courage as you had left within you “you are the man I’ve been thinking of all this time.”

Dave widened his eyes and the movements of his hands stopped, he looked at you, searching for any hint of mischief or lie, searching for something that could tell him you were lying, that you were playing with him. But there was none.

“That’s why I wasn’t here last week,” he heard you say as he felt his heart burn with the flames of his desire and love “I was embarrassed after what happened at the communion.”

You looked at him for a second, waiting for the rejection, waiting for him to tell you what you already know, that he can’t for you what you wanted him to be, that he can’t give you what you wanted as his duty was with God and not with the mortals, let alone with a woman.

Father Dave had resigned to the pleasures of the mundane world; you knew that, but you also knew he deserved to know, even if nothing would happen.

“Am I?” he asked you, bewildered after such confession, you nodded and moved your hands to cup his face, a gesture that made him close his eyes. You wondered when was the last time, if ever, he had been touched like that “we can’t” he replied, opening his eyes and leaning in to you.

You could feel his breathing mixing with yours as the implications of his words fell on you.

“We can’t” he repeated, pushing his forehead to yours as you trembled under his touch.

“You want to?” you asked him and Dave asked for guidance in his mind as you started crying and wetting his hands. He nodded, and you sobbed.

“I can’t” he whispered, and you shook your head as he looked at you pouring your feelings from your eyes.

“Kiss me.” you pleaded, looking into his brown, deep eyes. Making him frown.

“What?”

“If you’re not gonna give me anything, at least kiss me.”

His face quirked from confusion to pain in an instant, and you gripped the hold on his face.

“Please, Dave.”

Dave sighed at the way you whispered his name without calling him a father, and deep inside him he was grateful. With you he didn’t feel like a man of god, with you, letting him touch you and touching him back, he only felt like a man. Like the man he never got the chance to be.

“I–I” he started, and you shook your head. Dave looked into your eyes and all the air he had stored in his lungs left his body in a hurry, you were the most precious being he had ever seen, and for a second, he wanted nothing but to make worth the fact he had you in his hands “shit.” he said under his breath.

Dave brought your face up to him and printed his lips on yours, stealing the little air and the close to no coherence you still had in you. You let out a soft moan out of the surprise and out of the feeling of your entire body warming up to his temperature.

His lips were as soft and as wars and better than you had imagined, they were a bit dry and hesitant on yours, but the contact of them with yours made you feel like you were floating away from the realm of the living.

Dave didn’t want to stop kissing you. He didn’t remember the last time he had kissed a woman, and in that moment he wasn’t kissing any woman he was kissing you; the precious being that had been in his mind for weeks and that had never left.

Unsure of his movements, he let you take control of the contact and soon enough you were sliding the tip of your tongue along the seam of his lips, Dave let out a surprised grunt and opened his mouth slightly of you, and you took his lower lip with your mouth. And he let you kiss him all you wanted, enjoying the contact of your slow, wet, warm lips on his less experienced ones until he was sure his lungs were screaming from the lack of air.

When he broke the kiss, he left a small one on your forehead and pressed his lips there and you closed your eyes to feel him settle inside you

“I’m sorry.” you whispered to his neck. And he nodded slightly.

“Me too.”

“But I say to you that everyone who looks at a woman with lustful intent has already committed adultery with her in his heart.”–Matthew 5:28.

Sunday 6.

Your knuckles grazed softly with the sacristy door and you heard the muffled noise of the latch and the door opened.

“Hi,” you smiled and Dave looked at you up and down “got your text.”

“Come in.” he motioned his hand for you to hurry and you turned your head to both sides and walked into the sacristy, closed the door behind you and slid the latch.

Immediately after the door was locked, you felt his hands on your waist and his chin on your shoulder.

“This is why you texted me?” you teased and he moved to let a kiss on your jaw.

“I missed you.” he muttered and turned your body around for you to face him.

“You didn’t.” you smiled at him and wrapped your hands around his neck, grateful for the apparently deliberate choice of him to take off his tab collar.

“Yes, I did, I missed you all day.” Dave leaned towards you and took your lips in his, already knowing, after less than a week’s practice, how you loved being kissed.

His lips were as warm as they always were, his tongue barely present if not just to taste the sweetness of your lipstick, his hands always steady on your waist, and at the end, his forehead on yours, just taking in your breaths with his.

“Mass starts soon.” you said, and he nodded, sliding his hands to your middle back to wrap you closer to him.

“I know.” he left another brief kiss on your lips.

“You gotta get dressed.” you murmured against his lips.

“I know.” he muttered back and kissed you again.

“Want me to help?” you asked under your breath, just for him, as if you saying it as low as you could would stop God from listening.

“Yes, I would love that.” Dave replied and gave into another deep kiss that stole both your breath and made you want to stop the time so you could kiss until your lips fused together.

“C’mon you need to get ready.” you broke the kiss and stepped away from him, making him smile. You wandered around the sacristy and found his tab collar. You sighed and took it in your hands.

Dave looked at you and noticed the way you looked at the soft plastic piece, he walked towards you and raised his hand to grab yours. As you felt his hand on yours; you turned your head to look at him and smiled softly, and you moved your hands, raising them to carefully lift the collar of his shirt and clasp the piece around his neck.

“You okay?” he asked in a whisper, you nodded and bit your lip at the sight of him in front of you.

Dave moved and walked to the small table against a wall with a large bowl of water and you gazed at him as he washed his hands and whispered a few words. You leaned onto the wall just looking at him go to a small cabinet near the opposite corner and took a white, folded linen garment, which he unfolded and you recognized as the long robe he used under all his attire.

He slid it off and whispered another prayer again as he let it fall and graze his ankles. His eyes went to you and you smiled at him, he next grabbed a green square that you also recognized and you walked to him and took it out of his hands.

“Let me do it” you whispered, and he nodded, you unfolded the long stripe that was the stole and found its middle, Dave crouched a bit to help you and you let it fall around his neck over his shoulders.

“Return to me the stole of immortality,” he whispered, looking at your eyes, your throat dried at the deepness of his voice “which I have lost in the sin of my first parent and although I, unworthy,” he continued and took your hand in his “approach thy sacred mystery grant to me everlasting joy.”

You gripped his hands and felt your throat knotting around itself.

“Why are you praying to me?” you asked under your breath. He cupped your chin with one hand and brought you close to his face.

“You’re holy.” he whispered and left a soft kiss on your lips.

“Stop it.” you chastised him and he shook his head, giving you a soft smile that you reciprocated immediately.

You turned to the table and saw a long, golden cord and you took it.

“Not that one.” he muttered, and you frowned.

“Why not?” you saw him taking a deep breath as he took it from your hand and left it back on the table.

“The cincture… it means chastity and continence.” he replied under his breath and you let out all the air of your lungs as he took his chasuble and put it on without looking at you.

“Dave.” you called, and he lifted a hand to you as he said the last prayer. When he finished, he looked at you and as if he read your mind, he smiled at you and shook his head.

“Don’t,” he whispered, taking you again in his hands and pulling softly so your head rested on his shoulders “don’t apologize please.”

“I need to,” you mumbled against the light fabric of the green chasuble “I’m keeping you from your vow.”

Dave grabbed your shoulders and pulled you away from his body, his hands slid to your face and you gripped his wrists as he brought your face to his.

“You’re not doing anything, my love,” he muttered the last words directly on your lips as he stole a few kisses from your trembling mouth “you’re perfect,” he panted out and you shook your head “I’m doing this because I want to, please understand it,” he kissed you again, a bit more desperately “you’re the most divine creation I’ve ever laid my eyes and hands upon,” he whispered rapidly on your lips “and I want you to be mine.”

You gasped as the words left his mouth, and he gazed at you.

“Dave...” you started, but he didn’t let you finish, he wrapped his arms around you and brought your body to his, tightening the embrace as he thought of the implications of what he just asked.

Dave lifted his eyes to the ceiling and for the first time in years, with you slowly wrapping your arms around his waist, exactly over the place the cincture was supposed to go around, and the sweet aroma of your perfume inundating his senses, he felt really close to heaven.

“I want you to be mine too.” you whispered into his ear, and he smiled, leaving a kiss on top of your head.

“How beautiful and pleasant you are, O loved one, with all your delights!”–Song of Solomon 7:6.

Sunday 7.

You stirred on your seat again, the organ was playing the latest song before Dave would bless the congregation and wrap up the service and you were nervous.

You glanced at the crucified Jesus above him and you felt his eyes on yours; you felt him shove his holy hand on your chest and as the last notes of the song inundated the navel, you felt your throat sting with the green tint of your deep guilt, but at the same time, the rest of your body drown with the red warmth of your love and desire for Dave.

Is it worth it? you heard inside your head and your immediate response was yes.

Eternal damnation in exchange for a few hours of love. It was condemnedly worth it.

The service was over and you stood up with the rest of the congregation; you talked with a few people on your way out of the church and slowly and patiently you waited for everyone to disperse.

You walked around the gardens outside the church and slid between the gate that marked the beginning of Dave’s small house inside the church grounds. You rummaged around your small bag and pulled out the key he had given you earlier and with nervousness and the familiar guilt settled next to your heart; you let yourself into his house.

You turned on the lights. The space wasn’t big, but it wasn’t small and everything around smelled like him. For a priest’s home, the place lacked religious imagery, and you automatically chastised yourself for thinking about his priesthood again.

You sat on the loveseat next to the door as you waited for him and got dragged inside your head again; you talked about doing that throughout the week and you had agreed it was something you both wanted. But your head sent you through an unwanted train of thought and you sat there, thinking about the future. Something you hadn’t talked about.

After all, he would still be a priest and you would still be a young member of his congregation. You could spend time with him and let you love him and let him love you as much as you two wanted, but in the future… what else was there for you?

You could never ask him to leave his habit for you, you could never ask him to leave his life for you, you could never do something like that to him. But you were unsure if something like that had any other path but failure.

The door opened and there he was, unclasping his tab collar and dropping it on the end table as you rose from your seat and walked to him. He smiled at you and his hands found his place on your waist.

“You’re here.” he said, not surprised but relieved.

As he took off his attire in the sacristy and walked to his house from the church, he had a few minutes to think about what he was about to do. He didn’t allow himself to overthink it because if there was something he knew was that he wanted it; he wanted it more than he had wanted anything in his life. He couldn’t explain it even if he tried, but he knew there was something about you that made him feel human, there was something about you that made him feel like he belonged somewhere, maybe the way you talked to him, maybe the way you kissed him, maybe the way you always seemed to understand the moral and spiritual dilemma he was in. He didn’t know, but he knew that he loved you, even if he wasn’t supposed to, even when he wasn’t allowed.

And as he thought of it, love was one of the laws of the God he represented, and he felt it deeply.

“I’m here.” he pulled you to him as you wrapped your arms around his neck and nodded.

“Thank you.” you closed your eyes and bit your lip, shaking your head at him.

You felt his lips on yours as they re-discovered your kisses and his hands roamed to your middle back to press your chest to his.

You were amazed by how fast he had learned how you liked to be touched, how you liked to be kissed and caressed, as if he was just trying to commit to memory everything you ever wanted and he wanted to do it to you to please you.

Dave slid his hands from your back down to your hips and moved you softly to the side, without breaking the kiss he snaked his hands to the back of your thighs and lifted you. You smiled in his mouth and wrapped your legs around his waist as he walked to his bedroom.

When you crossed the doorframe you started leaving small kisses on the skin of his neck and he sat on the edge of his bed with you in his lap, you were already feeling the hardness growing inside his pants and his hands started grazing up and down your thighs as he let you taste his neck how you best pleased.

Dave was in a haze. He understood then the power of physical touch combined with deep love; it enhanced the sensations, the flame inside his chest was burning him from the inside out with a deep desire he was sure he had never felt before, and you were there, moving slowly on his lap as you devoured the skin of his neck and kissed slowly around his jaw.

“Dave,” you whispered as you licked his earlobe and pulled out a shiver from him, he hummed in question “touch me.”

He didn’t hesitate on questioning where, his hands roamed all around your body, they were big and warm and they were rough; you cupped his jaw with both hands and took his lips in yours with a wet, open-mouthed kiss that he followed as his hands snuck inside your shirt and you moaned softly at the feeling of skin to skin.

You moved out of his lap and stood up in front of him, Dave let out a soft whine at the sudden loss of your weight on his body but stopped when you moved his legs open and stood between them.

“Take off my shirt, please.” you told him, not in an order but he obeyed, he grabbed the hem of it and lifted it, you raised your arms and felt his lips on your rib side as you finished taking it off and dropped it on the floor behind you.

Dave put his hands around your torso and licked your skin experimentally, which made you gasp at the feeling of his wet tongue against your skin and he smiled to himself, doing it again and nibbling on the same spot softly.

His hands slid to your waist and without being told to he unbuttoned your jeans and dragged them down slowly, his eyes directly on yours. You smiled at him with your reddened, kiss-swollen lips and he felt your smile settling inside his lower belly, his cock twitching inside his pants.

You put your hands on his shoulders as he helped you out of your shoes and jeans and when you were there, standing in front of him only in your underwear, he swore there wasn’t anything more divine than your body.

You sank on your knees and your hands landed on his thighs, Dave’s throat clutched and his chest turned as you smiled at him and your hands slid to his belt, you raised your eyebrows as if asking for permission and he nodded a few times, leaning backward into his hands to give you space for you to do whatever you wanted to him.

You unbuckled his belt and opened his pants, his breath hitched when your fingers hooked to the hem of both his pants and his boxers, and then he lifted his hips for you to pull them off him. Dave smiled when he saw you bite your lip at the sight of his hard cock resting on his abdomen. It did something unexpected on what he thought was his dead ego, but he loved the way you looked at it.

“Take off your shirt.” you said and again, without it being an order, he obeyed. Unbuttoned it as quickly as he could and slid it off his shoulders as you leaned over his lap and took his erection on your hand, your thumb grazing softly the tip and he threw his head back between his shoulders.

“Oh, my love.” he sighed out as you started pumping slowly and when he closed his eyes, you licked the underside and wrapped your lips around the tip, making him gasp.

You took it slowly, enjoying the taste of his pre-cum as it came out of him, pumping the rest you couldn’t fit inside your mouth with your hand.

Dave forced his eyes open and moved his head down to watch you, he shivered when he found you already looking at him; he moved his hand to your face and with his knuckles caressed your cheek, making you smile with his cock inside your mouth.

For him, looking at you on your knees between his legs was like looking at a sacrosanct painting; your lips around him taking as much of his length as you could, your saliva dripping from his dick to your hand, bobbing your head up and down as your eyes, those holy eyes that never left his, it was a pleasure he never thought he would get in his earthly life.

He felt himself close to cumming, and he pushed your head softly upwards, you rose from your knees and clashed your messy lips onto his and he wrapped his arms around your waist, his large hands roaming around the skin of your back. His fingers played with the back of your bra and he broke the kiss for a few seconds to unhook it and help you slide it off, you smiled when he sighed at the sight of your breasts in front of his face and he pulled you flush against his head, taking a nipple in his mouth.

The warmth of his mouth and the wetness of his tongue around the soft skin of your nipple made you cry out his name softly and arousal gathered between your legs. One of his hands rested on your other boob and kneaded delicately as you fisted his hair in your hand. Dave moved his mouth to your other nipple and lapped at it before trapping it inside his mouth, you pressed his head to your chest and let out a moan when his teeth grazed your nipple as he released it.

“I wanna taste you.” he muttered against your boob and you smiled at him, nodding.

He moved you softly to lie down on the bed; the sheets were cool and soft and he stood on the edge, taking you in again, studying your body.

He leaned down to you and you opened your legs to make space for him; he hovered over your body and kissed you again, softly, as if you were back in time to the first kiss he gave you in the sacristy, as if he wasn’t about to devour your body.

His kisses traveled from your mouth to your neck and your chest, he left one in each nipple, making you laugh, he left a trail of them over your belly and one over your belly button. As he kissed your abdomen and your thighs, you looked at the ceiling and you smiled at whoever was watching.

Dave took the hem of your panties on his fingers and you lifted your hips for him to slip them off you, you lifted your legs and he unhooked them from your ankles, grabbing your calves and opening your legs again. He gulped when he saw your wet, expectant pussy right in front of him and looked at your flushed face. He leaned down and left kisses around your thighs without breaking eye contact.

“Guide me.” he whispered and left a kiss right over the hood of your clit, making you moan.

You nodded once, and he looked at your pussy, opened the lips gently with his fingers and blew on your slick folds, making you shiver. He flattened his tongue and licked from your slit to your clit, tasting your arousal, moaning at the richness of it.

You slid your hand to your clit and looked at him.

“Here.” you mumbled, circling a few times to show him how. He had told you he had sex before his ordination, because he didn’t want to go into his holy orders without having experienced it and wondering for the rest of his life what he had missed, but he said it wasn’t as good as he thought it would be and before you, he thought he would never know. So you had to show him what you wanted and what you liked because his experience wasn’t vast.

Dave did as you showed and you moaned out loud, the pads of his fingers were warmer and bigger than yours and he was handling you so delicately you were already on edge.

He kept licking and circling your clit and then, without a second thought, he moved his fingers away and started circling your clit with his tongue.

“Oh m–my god,” you fisted his hair, pushing his face into your pussy and he pressed your hips onto the mattress, looking at your face with your mouth opened in pleasure and your eyes closed shut “Dave ke–keep doing that baby,” you pleaded and he did it, and started playing the pad of one of his fingers on your slit, making your hips buck slightly he saw you pant and smiled when you slid your free hand to play with your nipple so he added a second one to play with your entrance “inside, put them inside.” you said under your breath and he pushed his fingers slowly inside your cunt, making you let out a long moan of his name, he started pumping and curling his fingers inside as he had imagined you doing it all those weeks ago while touching himself in the shower and closed his eyes to hear you moan his name as he brought you closer and closer to pleasure.

He moved his fingers faster inside of you and hand fisted and pulled his hair as your moans became tamed screams and he thought of them as the most pious symphony that he and only him had the sacred pleasure to hear.

You wrapped a leg around his shoulders as you felt the knot inside your belly explode from his ministrations and you chanted his name over and over as he worked you through your orgasm. You panted for a few seconds and opened your eyes to the sight of Dave licking his fingers clean. You smiled at him and released his hair to motion him to come to you; he hovered over your body again and you put your hand on his nape to bring him to you; you moaned softly at your own taste and you felt it smile on your lips.

“What?” you asked in a whisper.

“Did you like it?” he asked back on your lips, you nodded and cupped his clean-shaven jaw, leaving a deep kiss on his lips.

“I loved it,” he smiled, and you wrapped your legs around his waist and felt his cock brushing lightly against your folds. “make love to me, Dave.”

You saw his smile widen, and it was his turn to nod to you, he kissed you again while his hand worked on aligning himself to you; he slid the tip through your folds and you gasped on his mouth when he found your entrance and started pushing in.

He did it slowly, no rush; he wanted to feel you in every inch of his cock; he wanted you to feel him and every ridge and vein of him as he found his home in you.

You nipped at his lip as he bottomed up and smiled when he stayed there, inside you, enjoying the wait for your body to acclimate to his, you looked into his eyes and you felt it.

You felt how you two fit together like pieces of a puzzle.

As if his body was made for you and your body was made for him.

It felt right.

It felt sacred.

Dave started moving at a calmed pace and you with him, quickly finding a rhythm where your hips moved almost in unison and he thrusted into you deeply every time he moved. He was supporting his weight on one arm next to you while the other gripped your hip and helped you with the tantalizing dance you both were having.

He hid his face in the crook of your neck when your hands moved to his back and you pulled his body down to yours, his chest gliding yours and his hips circling as he thrusted faster into you.

Dave moaned into your neck when you scratched his back as his thrusts became pounds.

“Harder, please, baby, harder.” you whispered into his ear and he listened, driving into you as fast as his body allowed, the noise of his skin clashing with yours and the wetness of you leaking around his cock flooded the room and his moans grew louder and you dug your nails into his skin chanting his name as you got closer and closer to your second release.

“Yo–you’re a goddess,” he muttered into the skin of your neck as his cock grazed your cervix, his hand wrapped around your hips and he lifted your ass for him to thrust deeper, making you moan his name loudly “you’re m–my go–goddess.”

You slid your hands to his ass and fisted his buttcheeks, pushing him further into you.

Dave felt his orgasm closer and closer every time he drove into you and your warm walls started to clench around him with the closeness of your orgasm, he nibbled the skin of your neck and clutched his eyes shut tighter when his body started to stiffen as he pounded into you; he muttered your name a few times like a prayer he never knew he needed to make, and it sounded right, your name in his voice as he drove himself and you to climax, his own name on your sweet voice as you begged him for everything he had in himself, it was all right, it was all correct, there was nothing wrong, how could he had felt so guilty about it when it was the most perfect, most righteous, most sacred, most heavenly action he could do.

You in his arms, your hands on his body, his cock inside your cunt, you wrapped around him begging him to cum inside you, everything about it was all he could have asked for to feel like he was in heaven. He had almost said no to feel it, and he bursted inside you at the same time as you broke in pieces around him, thinking that he would rather live his life with you around him than his afterlife in heaven.

“I love you.” he muttered against the skin of your neck and you opened your eyes after riding the high of your orgasm and looked at the ceiling.

You frowned when you heard his words and when you remembered what he said to you before he came, and as you turned to the side to see him that red warmth you had felt earlier disappeared almost completely and the bright green taint of the deep guilt inside you washed over your body and your soul.

He looked at you and narrowed his eyes. His expression changed as he realized you weren’t going to answer his confession.

“Dave,” you whispered and his face changed, his brow furrowed and you saw his jaw tighten “what did we just do?”

pedrito's perma list: @queenofthefaceless @northernpunk @pascalesque @sleep-tight1 @cheekygeek05 @bii-aan-ckaa @letaliabane @starlightmornings @mouthymandalorianalso @supernaturalgirl @metalarmsandmanbuns @purplepascal042 @asta-lily @greeneyedblondie44 @missswriter @pedro-pastel

Dave York pit neighbors: @pascalslittlebrat @mypedrom @mothandpidgeon @rebelliouscat @hnt-escape @maharani-radha @hylliamoon

#dave york #dave york fanfiction #dave york x reader #dave york x you #dave york pit #dave york the equalizer #the equalizer #the equalizer 2 #the equalizer fanfic #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #Jose Pedro Balmaceda Pascal #pedro pascal characters #priest dave york

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regnumaves · 1 year ago

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Get a GRIP you sorry excuse of a king, what would your men say if they saw you right now? -

The still aching, but at least somewhat rested wings begin to beat again, first against the dust, then against the air as he finally gets himself off the ground successfully. The muscles still hurt, however, and something in his left shoulder feels like it's not quite in the correct place. Ugh.

He might need to pace himself for a while longer. As eager as he is to get his revenge on whatever monstrosity pops up before them next, he wants said revenge just a bit less than he wants to lose strength in his wings in a critical moment and fall to his death in front of the girls like a damned pigeon. Sure, he could request a heal - but there are others on their team who need it more.

This is fine.

Let's stop being ridiculous here. He is far from finished yet, but also he is not an idiot.

And then, as though to challenge his cool head, the area begins to blur, shift, change - what the hell is going on - oh damn it's hot - hold on why am I actually in hell now -

and when the world stops spinning and shaking, and he sees everything clearly again, it feels as though he is back in the Kauku Caves again, except somehow it's even worse. Much worse, in fact.

The instant his wing gives out and he is forced to land just for a few seconds, he shrieks in surprise before forcing himself into the air - then sighs in resignation and untransforms, his humanoid form lighter in weight and more convenient than the shifted state for the purpose of hovering in one spot for as long as possible.

Gods damn. What can he even do here like this? He groans, shaking his head.

"My apologies, I might be out for longer than I'd hoped," he grumbles. Though his left wing still moves slower than it should, he nevertheless flaps them more vigorously, creating a cooling wave of a tailwind for the girls. "I'll do my best to try and support you and rejoin as soon as I can, alright? You've got this!"

Tibarn uses Rally Dexterity + Rally Speed on Lachesis. Lachesis gains +4 Dex and +4 Spd for one round Ruse activates. Morgan gains +2 Dex and +2 Spd for one round Molten Lava activates. Tibarn HP: 5 → 4

Yikes, that burns.

> @sacaeblade

Kentucky Fried Tibarn ❁ Team 4 Iron Round

#lockpicnic #tomorrowscircle #sacaeblade #lioneheartedsunflower #❁ thread ; kentucky fried tibarn. ❁#❁ all skies shall belong to me ; ic. ❁#❁ mission season ; snowglobe. ❁#toaarena2023summer #❁ support ; patty. ❁#❁ support ; morgan (f). ❁#❁ support ; lyn. ❁#❁ support ; lachesis. ❁

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dragonsoftheeast · 2 years ago

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the gods will always smile on brave women

read on Ao3

Three generations of women, and Midsommar

Written for @vikingsevents Summer Solstice challenge Day 7: Flower Crown

Siggy Bjornsdottir loves to fight.

She is determined to be a shieldmaiden worthy to be the daughter of Bjorn Ironside. Worthy to be the daughter of Thorunn Blood-eye.

She loves to see her father’s nods of approval, to hear her mother’s praise.

She loves to imagine her victories on the battlefield, the clashing of swords and shields, charging forward with no fear. Valhalla is the only destination for me.

It’s not just her glory or her parent’s approval or her family legacy that motivates her.

At twelve years old, she is practiced with her own sword and shield. She can hit her mark with the bow and arrow. She has practiced with the spear and the ax, though she is not exceptionally skilled with them. None can call her lazy.

But that is not the only thing she loves.

Siggy’s days might be spent learning to fight with her father, but many of her nights are spent weaving with Aslaug, her mother by her side.

Her mother tries, but she was not taught when she was young, and she learns with slow and clumsy fingers. Siggy outpaced her long ago.

Siggy has been working on this tapestry since the winter. It depicts Lagertha in her first battle, leading a group of shieldmaidens. She is especially proud of the designs of the shields, blue with the Fehu rune emblazoned on it.

At first, she’d wanted to show the story of her courtship by Ragnar, as her father had described, but she’d worried. Would honoring her grandmother offend her queen?

Before she’d started, she’d asked her mother’s advice.

“Aslaug deserves your respect,” her mother told her.

“Do you love Aslaug, then?” Siggy asks.

Her mother purses her lips.

“It’s complicated. She owned me. She set me free. And she helped raise you. For that I will always be grateful.”

“Well, what should I do then?”

“You can still honor your grandmother,” her mother says, twisting her hair in her hands. “But we still owe Aslaug much. You should be wary of needlessly insulting her.”

So she’d unwound her work and started her new scene.

She’s finally finished it.

Her father praises it, comparing it to his mother’s work.

She glows. It is the highest praise, from him. She is not just descended from a great shield-maiden, but a great weaver, as well, this purely female work. She represents the greatest part of her ancestors.

She plans to give it as a gift to her grandmother, when she comes to celebrate Midsommar.

Of course, she loves being able to train with her grandmother, too. But with her so busy, and so far away in Hedeby, Siggy just wants the chance to show how grateful she is.

They greet her grandmother at the docks, adorned in flower crowns.

---

Siggy is restless in the morning, rocking on her heels, as they prepare for Lagertha’s arrival from Hedeby. She is also so excited to show her finished tapestry to her grandmother.

It is strange to think of Lagertha, who she once so idolized, as her daughter’s grandmother.

Siggy has been raised by legends. Thorunn herself has no great parents to hearken to. What grandparents could compare to Ragnar and Lagertha? Certainly not the slaves that Thorunn was torn away from as a child.

She once feared that any skill or ferocity her daughter possessed would only ever be attributed to Bjorn, but by staying, she has ensured the opposite. But at least now, Thorunn has turned herself into an ancestor to be proud of, in the same way that Aslaug speaks of her own mother, the shield-maiden Brunhilde.

She is proud to stand as a woman in Siggy’s lineage, despite her lack of finesse at the loom.

Thorunn wouldn’t even be making the attempt to learn, if it weren’t for Siggy. She seems to take twice the time to make a knotted monstrosity, while her daughter’s fingers fly, threads flashing.

Her daughter has the best characteristics of a noble shield-maiden: she has calluses both at the palms of her hands, from the sword, and at her fingertips, from the loom.

Her talent is why Thorunn doesn’t actually spend much time teaching her. Bjorn takes up that role well, and enjoys doing it. He takes every opportunity to show off their talented daughter.

She is unsure as to what she can teach her that Bjorn or Lagertha or her uncles cannot. Perhaps that is why she prefers her secret lessons with Ivar. Every bit of progress together takes so much work, it feels so rewarding. One day, when he reveals himself to his brothers, they will believe that this is the result of true talent, that all of this was completely effortless.

Ivar has paved his own way to strength, just as she did.

But she still has something she can share with her daughter.

Siggy has begun to ask for braids, so she has begun to practice again. It has been so long since she has ever had to braid another woman’s hair, despite her skill from years of practice. But her daughter’s hair is like spun gold in her hands, and doing it as a family makes her smile.

She tucks purple flowers into each other- at least this weaving she is adept at- and sets them on her daughter’s head. Warrior’s braids twist over her ears, allowing the rest of her beautiful hair to fall loosely around her shoulders.

Thorunn’s own hair, as always, is braided back tightly on the right side of her face, to expose her scar in full. Small white blooms dot the greenery that encircles her head.

“My mother has arrived,” Bjorn says, at the door.

“Come here,” she says. He dips his head down low enough that she can reach. She plops a wreath of white and yellow blooms on his head.

“Thank you,” he says, adjusting it so it sits straight on his head.

They go to the docks to greet their family, flowers tickling behind their ears.

---

Lagertha always looks forward to her visits to Kattegat.

It has grown large over these many years. She can spot it easily, there on the coast, swallowing up the bay. The docks are filled to the brim with boats, and the misty sea cannot shroud the heights of the Great Hall entirely. Trade and prosperity has caused it to swell in size, and its connection to a great hero does not hurt, either.

In weaker moments, she wonders if this all could have been hers. If she had swallowed her pride, allowed Ragnar to take his second wife, would she be a queen over this great city?

But no. She would not be Lagertha if she swallowed her pride for a husband. The fates had known her fate long before she was born, and they had made her to be the Earl of Hedeby. And she is still proud of what she has done there.

More and more women have come to Hedeby, seeking to become shield-maidens. Her lands are fertile, and she has bounty she had never known as a farmer.

She has a son she is proud of.

Her son has his own family now. A family that waits to greet her.

“Mother,” Bjorn exclaims, embracing her almost as soon as she steps off of the boat. His flower crown sits crooked on his head, and she corrects it.

She turns to look for her grand-daughter, and is struck by the very image of Gyda. The resemblance hits her like a hammerblow.

She thinks of her daughter too often, these days, surrounded by eager young women who desire her mentorship. Her daughter, a woman for too short a time, who died at the age Siggy is now. She could only hope Siggy would far outlive her.

“Oh, Siggy,” she says, wrapping up her granddaughter in her arms.

The four of them catch up together as they make their way to the Great Hall, her entourage of warriors following close behind.

“It is good to see you, Earl Ingstad,” Aslaug says from her throne, her sons all flanking her, “In order to celebrate Midsummer. Please enjoy all that Kattegat has to offer.”

“I am, as always, grateful for your hospitality, Queen Aslaug,” she replies. Every time she has returned here, she finds that her respect for Aslaug has grown.

“Now that our guests have arrived, let the festivities begin!” Aslaug says, toasting. “Skol!”

“Skol!” The crowd echoes in reply, and the music begins. The sun still shines overhead.

“Grandmother,” Siggy says, stepping forward. “I would like to present you with a gift.”

Her servants approach with a large roll of cloth, and unfurl it. It is a tapestry, showing her at the head of an army of shield-maidens. The work and the detail is excellent.

“It depicts your first victory, against the king Froh,” she explains.

Ah, her first battles, where glory was the only goal. How she misses the purity of the fight, but she can never return to it. She is too old to fight for no reason now. As a shield-maiden, the chance of Valhalla was all it took to motivate her. As an earl, everything must have a purpose, every battle has its own goal.

Yes, Siggy is young enough to want to fight purely for its own sake. One day, she may outgrow this. Perhaps she will enter Valhalla before then. Who knows? The gods have already decided. But Lagertha cannot wait to teach her all she knows.

“I will treasure it always,” She tells her.

“A less permanent gift,” Thorunn says, passing her a crown of white and purple wildflowers. She dons it happily, and grasps their hands- Siggy’s in her left, and Thorunn’s in her right.

The three of them, wreathed in flower crowns, turn to join the festivities together.

#vikings #vikingssummer #thorunn #siggy bjornsdottir #lagertha #fic #bjorn x thorunn #showing some generational women here #glory and gore

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dreamerstreamer · 4 years ago

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Like You A Latte

Pairing: barista!Sapnap x gn!reader

Summary: [Coffee Shop!AU] Sapnap usually hates the closing shift, but when one crazy storm sends you barreling into his life, he might just change his mind.

Word Count: 5.4k

A/N: this was requested by a sweet anon who wanted something in a real life setting! i took some creative liberty with the au, but i hope you all enjoy nonetheless!

Sapnap grimaced as he stared out at the café window, his lips curling downward into a frown at the sight of the pouring rain. Driving home is gonna suck, he thought.

With a sigh, he turned back to wiping down the table in front of him, trying to ignore the incessant pitter patter on the roof above him. Screw Clay for ditching him with the closing shift. Sure, he might have that presentation tomorrow morning and Sapnap might have let him leave early, but he still sucked. The closing shift sucked.

It didn’t help that it was pouring buckets outside. No wonder the café was empty—there wasn’t a single soul in their right mind who would be outside at this hour and in this weather.

Except for him, apparently.

He sighed, eyeing the clock on the wall. There was an hour left until he had to close up shop, and he was bored out of his mind. He had already scrolled through all of his feeds and was sick of the music they were playing over the speakers. Usually he had at least one or two customers to chat with if they were in the café, but today there was none.

Looks like I’ll be alone for an hour, then, he thought to himself bitterly, leaning his forehead against the wall. Fun.

It was at that moment that the unmistakable sound of the door chimes echoed through the air, and Sapnap’s eyes went wide.

No way.

He lifted his head, turning to see a silhouetted figure standing in the doorway, their clothes sopping wet as they painted. He winced at the sight. Not even an umbrella would have been able to shield yourself from this kind of rain, but it was still painful to see just how soaked to the bone you would get.

Just then, the figure stepped inside, and his mouth went try at the sight.

One thing stuck out about you, and it wasn’t the fact that you were dripping water on the floor he had just mopped.

You were cute.

He just barely remembered to stop gaping as you approached the counter, brushing back some hair that was stuck to the side of your face. You opened your mouth to speak, but what came out of your mouth startled him.

“How many shots of espresso can you fit into an extra large latte?”

He blinked at you, eyes wide. “I’m sorry, what?”

You cleared your throat. “How many shots of espre—?”

“No, no, uh,” he stammered, waving his hand in front of him, “I heard you, it’s just that...” He paused, trying to find the right words. “...why do you want that much caffeine?”

You let out a deep sigh, dragging a hand across your weary face. “Look,” you said, “this paper is due at the crack of dawn, the wifi at my place is out, the library just closed, and I’m either handing it on time or I am going to die trying.”

He raised his eyebrows at you and sucked in a deep breath. “Okay,” he began, “um, an extra large latte, was it?”

You nodded. He turned, grabbing the tallest of the paper cups he had stacked behind him, eyeing it. “Alright,” he mumbled, “that’ll probably fit around... thirty shots of espresso?”

You paused, blinking, and he could practically see the gears turning in your head. “Okay. Okay, cool.” There was a beat of silence, a look of contemplation crossing your features, then you nodded again. “Can you give me like twenty shots, then?”

The words flew from his lips before he could stop them. “What the hell.”

When you only stared at him, he coughed. “I mean, I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to even give someone more than four at once.”

You sighed for what must have been the millionth time as you shoved a hand into your pocket, digging around for a moment before fishing out a wallet. Opening it up, you pulled out a ten dollar bill. “This,” you said, waving the bill in front of him, “will be your tip.”

His jaw dropped, but no sound came out. After a few seconds of tense silence, something desperate shot across your face. “Please,” you said quietly, “for the sake of my paper. I need it.”

Sympathy welled up inside of him at the look on your face. Every college student knew the struggle of handing something in last minute. What kind of person would he be to say no?

“Okay,” he said, grabbing a sharpie from his apron pocket and uncapping it with his thumb, “this is gonna take a bit. Please, take a seat...?” He trailed off, expectantly waiting for your name, his eyes locking onto you.

Your lips curled into a small smile, and he felt something jump in his chest. “[Y/N].” You raised your brows at him. “You do realize I’m the only one in the store, right?”

His cheeks flushed, and he tore his gaze away from yours, fumbling to scribble your name on the cup. “Oh. Um, right. Sorry.” He offered you a sheepish smile. “Force of habit.”

You laughed while you slid your backpack off your shoulder and it sent a tingle up his spine. “Nah, I get it.” As you plopped onto the bar stool seat, your eyes darted to his chest, flashing with recognition. “Thanks, Sapnap.”

He nearly dropped his sharpie, his heart doing a backflip in his rib cage. How did you—? He glanced down, nearly shriveling with relief. Right. I’m wearing a name tag.

Sending one more glance in your direction as you pulled out your laptop, he turned, cracking his knuckles. Twenty shots was going to take more than just a few minutes to brew, and he’d be damned if he didn’t stick to his guns and deliver this absolute monstrosity of an order to you.

A good fifteen minutes later, Sapnap found himself staring down into a pitch black cup. Where the smell of coffee beans was usually even distributed throughout the store, it was now almost entirely concentrated in one cup. With a delicate hand, he oh-so slowly poured in some frothed milk, carefully moving it as a design began to form on the coffee’s surface. A few moments passed in devoted silence, and he pulled away to reveal a perfect milk heart staring back at him.

Indeed, he was holding an extra large latte with twenty shots of espresso. He was half impressed and half horrified by his own creation.

With a small smile, he picked the cup up, sliding it over the counter toward you. “Voilà,” he said, bowing dramatically, “your order is served.”

You looked up from where you were typing on your laptop, blinking blearily at him before recognition set in. A grin tugged at your lips as you picked the cup up. “Oh my god,” you breathed, taking a heavenly sip, “you are such a lifesaver. You have no idea how close I was to passing out just now.”

Sapnap chuckled at your enthusiasm, picking up a rag and walking over to the sink. “I don’t know how you’re going to enjoy drinking that, but I hope you stay conscious.”

You raised your cup up toward him in a silent toast, the mirth in your eyes sending something light and warm dancing across his bones. As you turned back to your paper, he began cleaning up the mess he had made while brewing twenty shots of espresso.

Time passed in a blur as he shifted cups around and wiped down machinery, only sped along by the sound of your frantic typing. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he saw as you raised your now empty coffee cup in your hand and tossed it across the room. In an elegant arc, it landed squarely in the trash can a few feet away.

“Nice throw,” he said, smiling at the satisfied look on your face.

You sent him a thumbs up with a hum, your face looking delightfully warm and much more awake. “Thank you.”

Another moment passed in silence when a realization suddenly hit him. “Wait a second. You finished it? All twenty shots?”

You didn’t even look away from your screen. “Yep.”

His look was one of complete and utter disbelief. “That quickly?”

You deadpanned. “I think the most I’ve slept in the past three days is something like three hours. I’m kind of dying.”

He chuckled. “Understandable.” His lips curled downward as his expression grew serious. “For real though, once this caffeine wears off, I want you to sleep for like, half a day, okay?”

Your fingers faltered in their typing for a moment, and your eyes briefly met his. “You don’t even know me.”

Something in his stomach churned. But I would like to, he wanted to say.

Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest with a teasing look. “Can you really blame me for being concerned? Twenty shots is more than a lot.”

You rolled your eyes at him, but he didn’t miss the way your lips twitched. “Ugh, fine.”

He bit back a laugh. “Fine is good enough for me.”

You returned back to typing, squinting harshly at the glare from your screen as you mouthed some of the words you had written. His eyes darted to the clock once more and blinked in surprise. Was there really only fifteen minutes left until closing? He hoped you could finish in time.

Sapnap turned and bit the inside of his cheek, the cogs in his head churning. I feel like I’m forgetting to do something. An image of the water you had tracked into the café flashed through his mind, and he found himself eyeing the mop and bucket sitting by the corner where he had left it nearly an hour prior.

Do I really want to wipe the floor again? He paused for a long moment. Not really. He thought of the streaky puddle left in your wake one last time, then shook his head. Ah, whatever. George has the opening shift tomorrow—it’s a him problem, now.

A soft yell broke him out of his thoughts. “Hell yeah!”

He lifted his head in time to see you close your laptop screen, a wide grin stretched across your face. “Did you finish?”

You flopped onto the table, letting out a relieved groan. “Yes, finally. I thought I was never going to be done.”

He opened his mouth to respond when your face suddenly scrunched up. Before he could ask if you were okay, you ducked your face into the bend of your elbow, a sneeze escaping your lips. Sapnap’s heart leapt at the sound.

Cute—your sneeze was cute.

His lips quirked up at you as he sent you a worried glance. “You cold?”

You wiped at your nose, shivering a little. “A bit, yeah.” You offered him a lopsided smile. “The rain kind of did a number on me.”

He fiddled with his keys in his pocket, gulping. “I’m, uh, gonna close up in a few minutes. Did you want me to give you a ride back to your place?” He paused for a moment, then quickly added, “I promise I’m not a creep.”

Your laugh made him want to dance. “Oh, yes please.” Suddenly, your smile dimmed, and you curled back a bit. “You—you won’t mind if I get your car a little wet, will you?”

Sapnap stared at you and your dripping clothes, something tugging inside his chest. If it was Clay or George asking, he’d probably kill them if they even attempted to get into his car while soaking wet.

But for some reason, the way you looked at him with your wet hair sticking to your face and a hopeful glimmer in your eyes made his heart skip a beat.

“Not at all.”

“George wanted me to tell you that you suck.”

He turned, feigning an innocent look. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Clay sent him an amused look. “Something about a puddle? And that you’re a huge prick for not wiping it up for him.”

Sapnap rolled his eyes. “He’s just being whiny. I was stuck by myself yesterday because you bailed on me.”

Clay gaped at him. “I had a presentation and you literally let me go! That’s a valid reason!”

When Sapnap only gave him a levelled stare in response, he sighed. “I’m here now, okay? I’ll even man cash for you so you can just do the easy clean-up stuff, too.”

Sapnap grumbled but didn’t protest. “C’mon, man.” Clay leaned over to gently prod his shoulder. “I bet you today’s closing shift is better than last night’s!”

He waved a hand dismissively, focusing his attention back on the order he was working on. “Sure, sure.”

As much as he didn’t want to admit it, Clay was right about one thing—today’s shift was better already. It wasn’t raining like crazy again, and the café wasn’t completely deserted. Well, you were there yesterday, but he had already accepted that the two of you probably wouldn’t interact again. It’s not like you were a regular or something.

He was vaguely aware of the door opening, the chimes tinkling like bells as it swung open and shut. Footsteps approached the counter as he pushed some stray trash into the garbage can, not particularly paying any attention. That was when a familiar voice spoke up.

“Can I get an extra large latte, please?”

Sapnap froze then whipped around, eyes wide as he took in the sight of you standing in front of the cash register. Before Clay could even confirm your order, he blurted out, “[Y/N]? You’re back?”

You grinned at him from the other side of the counter, your wallet in hand. “I like coffee, okay? And you’re not too shabby of a barista.”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “‘Not too shabby’? Rude.”

You giggled, tapping your credit card on the PIN machine. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. I did mostly want to say thanks for the other night, since you are pretty great, Sapnap.” Your eyes flashed. “But...”

“...but?” he prompted.

“But,” you said, grinning teasingly, “you might cement yourself as my favourite barista if I maybe got a free snack.”

He raised his eyebrows at you. “A free snack, you say?”

Your smile widened. “Yes, sir.”

Sapnap paused, cocking his head. “I’ll... keep that in mind. Go ahead and grab a seat for the time being though, alright?”

You nodded in assent and slid into the bar stool you had sat in the night prior, pulling out your laptop once more. Once you were out of earshot, Clay leaned over to Sapnap. “You know ‘em?” he asked.

Sapnap couldn’t help but smile a little. “Yeah—[Y/N] is kind of the reason why George thinks I’m a prick, right now.”

“Nah,” he said, “George knows you’re a prick. He just thinks you’re being particularly prick-y today.”

Sapnap playfully pushed him away with a shove. “Screw off.”

Clay didn’t even flinch, only wheezing under his breath as he greeted the next person in line. Sapnap rolled his eyes again as he grabbed an extra large cup from the stack, his hands moving like clockwork as he poured in some freshly brewed espresso and frothed milk. Making a regular latte was infinitely faster than making one with twenty shots, to say the least, and practically no time had passed before he was walking over to your seat.

“One extra large latte for [Y/N],” he said, sliding the cup onto the space next to your laptop with ease, one hand tucked behind his back.

Your face lit up. “Thank y—”

“And,” he suddenly added, pulling his other arm out to reveal a pastry, “one chocolate croissant.” He gave you a sly wink as he held it in front of you. “On the house, as requested.”

Your smile fell. “Oh, wait, no. I was joking. You don’t actually have to—”

“Shh,” he whispered, dangling the croissant in front of your face, “just take it. No one else is going to buy it anyway. Consider this thanks for yesterday’s tip.”

You gingerly took the croissant from his hands, your cheeks growing warm. “Okay, fine.” You held the pastry up to your lips, sinking your teeth in and beginning to chew. Your eyes widened in shock as you swallowed. “Oh, wow. This is really good.”

He placed his hands on his hips triumphantly. “Aren’t you glad you took it, now?”

Sticking your tongue out at him, you took another bite. “Thanks, Sapnap. Seriously, what would I do without you?”

He shrugged. “I dunno, actually be well-rested instead of chugging caffeine?”

“For the record,” you pointed out with a slight glare, “I did sleep for like half the day like you asked me to, but now I’m behind on everything.”

He cocked his brows at you. “So, you’re just sticking around to finish some stuff, again?”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “Yeah—the wifi at my place sucks and my roommate hogs all the bandwidth, plus you guys are open later than the library, soooo.....”

You gestured vaguely, and he nodded in sympathy, crossing his arms over his chest. “Makes sense.”

He could have let the conversation die there, could have just gone back to wiping down the tables and cleaning up after Clay. But instead, he found himself slipping into the seat next to you, curiosity nibbling away at his restraint.

“I don’t think I ever asked,” he said, resting his hand on his chin, “but what are you studying?”

You grinned at him, his ears growing warm as you began telling him about your major. You asked him about his and what he wanted to do after graduation, and it didn’t take long before the two of you slipped into casual conversation, almost as if you were old friends. While he did have to go take some orders every once in a while, he was mostly able to chat with you while the both of you worked. It was nice—spending time with you was nice.

And it seemed like his heart agreed, too.

The ringing of the door chimes made Sapnap raise his head. He opened his mouth to give the official café greeting before closing it, a fond smile overtaking his features. “Hey, cutie.”

You grinned back at him as you strode up to the counter. “Hey, loser.”

He pretended to wince at your words, clutching his chest in mock hurt. “Ouch.”

You stuck your tongue out at him, your lips curling up as you dug a hand into your bag. “Kidding. Can I get a—”

“Extra large latte with a normal number of espresso shots,” he finished expertly, reaching around to push a cup onto the space in front of you. When you didn’t say anything, your wallet balanced delicately in the palm of your hand, he coughed awkwardly. “I know your order.”

You stared at him in utter shock. “You do?”

He pretended that his lungs didn’t feel like they were on fire. “Y-Yeah.”

A smile tugged at your lips, and you opened up your wallet. “I wish I had a memory as good as yours, Sapnap.” You pulled at out a ten dollar bill and slapped it onto the counter, grabbing your coffee with the other. “Thank you so much, and keep the change, okay?” You took a step back, sending him an apologetic look. “I have to get going, but you’re the best.”

He picked up the bill, waggling it in front of his face. “I know.”

You paused, tastefully adding as you turned, “...loser.”

“Hey!”

You laughed at him while you bounded out of the café, and he felt his irritation die in his chest, something blossoming in its stead. “Kidding!”

As the door swung shut behind you, he sighed, a dreamy haze filling his mind. Weeks had passed since you two had first met, and he could feel himself falling harder and harder. He always knew that he wanted to get to know you better, but now that feeling had grown tenfold. There was something so subtle and real about everything you did—about the way you talked and laughed, about the way you pointed and smiled.

He wondered how much more of you he hadn’t seen, and he wondered if you’d show him.

A voice ripped him out of his thoughts. “Are you gonna snap out of it anytime soon?”

He turned, blinking back to reality. “What?”

George stared back at him with paused lips. “Sapnap, you’ve been spaced out for two minutes.”

Clay turned to look at them both. “You look like you just had some big revelation or something. Are you good?”

Sapnap opened his mouth, then closed it, feeling a lump forming in his throat. As much as he ragged on them for being reckless and stupid, Clay and George were his best friends, and they deserved to know what was going on.

Was this going to go poorly? Probably.

But was he going to do it anyways?

Unfortunately, yes.

“Guys.” He sucked in a deep breath, squeezing his fists by his side as he looked up. “I like [Y/N].”

There was a beat of silence, and Sapnap felt the anxiety well up inside him. They were totally about to flame him, weren’t they?

The two of them shared a look, then Clay turned to him. “We know.”

Sapnap blinked. “You knew?” he said slowly. “Both of you?”

George bobbed his head, cocking a brow at him. “Um, yeah? It’s kind of obvious.”

Sapnap gaped, sputtering. “H-How? In what way?”

George opened his mouth when Clay raised a hand, silencing him as a wide grin stretched across his face. His green eyes brimming with mischief, he sidled up to Sapnap’s side, slinging an arm around his shoulder. “Hey, George,” he said, “watch this.”

He leaned close to Sapnap’s ear, and whispered just loud enough for all three of them to hear. “[Y/N].”

Almost instantaneously, Sapnap felt his heartbeat speed up as George’s jaw dropped. “Oh my god. Look at his ears.”

While Clay pulled away and let out a loud wheeze, clutching at his chest, Sapnap’s hands slammed over his ears, hiding them from view. “Do not look at my ears.”

Gasping for air, Clay managed to choke out between shaky breaths, “He’s blushing!”

“No, I’m not!”

“Are—” Wheeze. “—Are too!”

“No—”

“You totally are.”

“George, shut the fu—”

“Alright, ladies, you’re both pretty,” Clay suddenly cut in, clapping his hands. “If you two would stop bickering, then we can actually address the issue at hand, here.”

“Which is that Sapnap is a hopeless simp?” George prompted.

Clay nodded. “Which is that Sapnap is a hopeless simp.”

Sapnap scowled. “I am not hopeless, and I am also not a simp.”

Clay tucked a hand under his chin. “Well, we’re going to make sure you’re not hopeless.” A devilish glint shined in his gaze. “Not for much longer, that is.”

Sapnap swallowed. This couldn’t be good.

“Wait,” George said, furrowing his brows, “what about the simp part?”

Clay blinked. “Oh, no. He can stay that. We’re just going to make him confess.”

Sapnap, who had been staring in stunned silence up until this point, blinked for a moment, then frowned. “Wait a second, you’re going to what?”

Clay leaned forward, patting his shoulder reassuringly. “Trust me, buddy. Everything is going to be just fine.”

With that, Sapnap’s frown only deepened.

Everything was going to be just awful.

Sapnap swallowed anxiously as he slid another cup across the counter toward the pick-up station, George dutifully picking it up as he read out another name. Sapnap had half the mind to realize that they really shouldn’t have let George be the one to read the names, especially when he was so garbage at it, but the other half didn’t particularly care. It was far too preoccupied thinking about one thing and one thing only.

Well, two things actually.

You and his confession.

The plan was simple in theory, at least, but in practice? He had no clue. He’d had it prepared for days now, but he had yet to see you, and he was pretty sure he was slowly going insane.

“Just calm down,” Clay had told him. “Like I said, you’re going to be fine.”

As much as he trusted him, Sapnap didn’t believe him for one second, and he was pretty sure Clay knew it. If he did, he didn’t say anything, but oh boy, could Sapnap see it in his eyes.

Just then, the familiar sound of chimes and footsteps filled the air, and Sapnap felt his anxiety spike.

You were here.

Taking a moment to breathe and calm himself, he casually began to wipe down the counter before him, dragging damp rag across the countertop. At the same time, he felt his heart hopelessly trying not to and failing to skip a beat at the sight of your weary face. “Mornin’, [Y/N],” he greeted.

You didn’t bother to say a greeting back before you flopped into your usual seat, letting out one long groan. “Uuuggghhhh.”

A flicker of fondness filled his heart. “Rough week?” he prompted, his hand slowing down as he wiped away a small stain.

You groaned again in reply, rubbing at your temples. “Oh, you have no idea. My profs have just been unbelievably infuriating, and I feel like I’m constantly on the verge of a mental breakdown.”

He reached over to pat your shoulder, nodding sympathetically. “I get that—sometimes it’s like they forget you have other classes.”

Your head shot up, your face twisted into a pout. “I know right? Like, give me a break!” You slumped forward, your cheek pressed against the table. “I just want to take a nap.”

He smiled fondly at you. God, you are so cute. “Did you want a latte?” he offered. “The usual?”

You paused for a moment, thinking, then shook your head. “Caffeine is only going to make me even more stressed, and I don’t think I can handle anymore.”

He hummed in understanding, then turned. He quickly grabbed something off the shelf behind him before sliding it over the counter to you. “I know it won’t make your week any easier,” he said, “but here. It might make you feel a little better.”

You perked up at that, raising your head to eye the napkin-wrapped item in front of you. Pulling back the soft tissue, your eyes lit up. “A chocolate croissant!”

He turned away with a soft smile. “Your favourite, right?”

You sunk forward, your gaze dazzling in the midday sun. “Because of you.”

He nearly choked on his spit as he whirled, only to see you pulling back the napkin to take a bite. Sometimes, you really spoke without thinking, and it sent his head absolutely spinning.

You sighed as you sunk your teeth into the flaky dough, your eyes fluttering shut. Chewing away as you leisurely swung your legs, you glanced up at him. “Hey,” you murmured, “what time is it, right now?”

“It’s, uh—” His gaze darted to the clock on the other side of the wall. “—ten to eleven.”

Your eyes shot wide open, swallowing the bite you took as your jaw dropped. “Oh, shoot. I’m gonna be late. I have a class at eleven and it’s on the other side of campus.”

Sapnap’s expression mirrored yours. “Oh, shoot,” he parroted.

You nodded as you slid off the seat, scrambling to slid your bag onto your shoulders as you spoke in a hurried frenzy. “Okay I have to get going but thanks so much for the snack Sapnap you’re the best and um I really appreciate it but I, um, I have t—”

“[Y/N],” he said abruptly, and you fell silent, your voice dying in your mouth. His gaze was soft as he gestured to the front of the café. “You’re gonna be late.”

You didn’t waste another second to turn on your heel and scramble to the front. “Thank you!” you called out behind you one last time as you pushed past the entrance and rushed down the busy street.

The moment the door fell shut once more, Sapnap nearly collapsed against the counter, gripping onto the granite for dear life. “Clay,” he said, turning his head to send his best friend a shaky smile full of nothing but anxiety, “I’m gonna die.”

“You are not going to die,” Clay said immediately, walking over to pull Sapnap up from the counter. He clapped him on the shoulder, looking him dead in the eyes. “Like I said, you are going to be just fine. Don’t lose your head over it.”

Sapnap whipped his head up, grabbing his shoulders. “This is probably the worst confession I have ever tried to make in my life,” he said bluntly, his tone clipped with anxiety. “No, wait—this is the worst confession I have ever tried to make in my life.”

Just then, the back room door swung open to reveal a very tired-looking George who sighed with a bag of coffee beans tucked securely in his arms. “Okay, pack it up, lover boy,” he muttered, tilting his head at Sapnap. “You’re on break, now.”

Sapnap didn’t even bother to come up with a witty retort, simply letting go of Clay’s shoulders with a quiet whine before sliding into the back room, his shoulders slumped over. As he walked past, Clay leaned back against the countertop, a curious grin dancing on his lips. “You think [Y/N] will even see it?”

George grimaced, setting the bag down on the table. “I hope so. Otherwise Sapnap here is going to die of embarrassment, and I am never going hear the end of it.”

From the back, a muffled groan rang out. Clay and George’s eyes met once more as they let out another sigh.

They really, really hoped so.

How you made it to class on time with two whole minutes to spare, you’d never know.

You collapsed into the nearest available seat with a massive sigh, the air rushing out of your lungs all at once. Maybe you should try out for the track team like your roommate keeps telling you to.

With a tired smile, you sat up, pulling out your laptop from your bag and setting your half eaten croissant on the table in front of you. You were just about to open your laptop when a smudge of black on the pristine white of your napkin caught your attention. You narrowed your eyes, lifting up the croissant to see even more of it.

There’s something written on it...?

Curiously, you found yourself unfolding the napkin, gasping at what you saw. A sprawling string of text littered the thin paper, all written in a familiar sharpie ink.

hey, [y/n]—if you’re reading this then thank god that means you actually kept the napkin and didn’t throw it out or something. super long story short, i like hanging out with you and would love to get to know you better, so here’s my number XXX-XXX-XXXX and also i like you a latte and also i like you a lot :)

You snorted, your cheeks burning up with bashful glee. Even though he crossed it out, you could still read the pick-up line he had jotted down. It was so very like him to get embarrassed and scrap it last minute. There was something endearing about it, really.

Cute, you thought to yourself, something warm and hazy wrapping around your heart. You dug your hand into your pocket, slipping out your phone. Very, very cute.

A few minutes later, a notification lit up Sapnap’s phone. Swiping his finger across the screen, he found himself stating at a message from an unknown number. His eyes darted over the words on his screen, widening. A yell suddenly flew from his lips, and George yelped as he nearly poured some espresso on his hand.

“Sapnap,” he hissed, whipping around with a glare, slamming the cup down on the counter, “what the he—”

He fell silent as he saw the wide grin stretched across Sapnap’s face, his eyes practically glowing with joy. Before he could even ask, Sapnap shoved the phone in his face, six words printed across the screen in black text.

i like you a latte, too :)

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