#imagine one day i have sex proper and then i never come back to tumblr again im so normal and healed by the power of pussy

[luciality]

you guys dont even know how much i am CONSTANTLY thinking about a french milf and her energetic gymbunny american college age sugarbaby gf.

[sednonamoris]

love, too, will ruin us

Pairing: John Price x gn!reader

Summary: You and Price take advantage of a rare sunny day in England over leave. The brief foray into civilian life has your imagination running wild.

Warnings: Penetrative sex (vague), strong language, mild angst, fluff, two raging nationalists in a relationship

Word count: 1,497

A/N: Resposting the fourth installment of my ‘hellhound’ series (cross-posted to AO3) bc tumblr ate the end of the last one and I didn’t catch it until just now 🤦‍♀️ Reading the others isn’t technically necessary but they do provide context for Price and Hound’s relationship - cheers!!

—

It’s cruel to let yourself dream of domesticity, but when he fucks you slow in late morning light it’s hard not to imagine every day starting this way. Images of a shared flat join the stars behind your eyelids when pleasure overwhelms your senses. Breakfasts for two accompany the taste of him on your tongue. You hear phantom rows over whose turn it is to do dishes between hot breaths panted into your neck.

War brought you together, so long ago now, but who might you be without it? Is there a future where you won’t watch him bleed out full of bullet holes? Where you both come home for mornings like this and stay? 

John’s teeth graze the skin of your neck and you shiver.

“Distracted, are we?” he teases past the dark blue lust in his eyes. 

“Oh, you know,” you say like you weren’t just lost in maybes and almosts and wouldn’t it be nice somedays. “Fancied a birdwatch this morning, but someone just couldn’t get enough of me. All I’ve seen so far is the English Morning-Woodcock.” 

The roll of his eyes is heavier than the press of his warm body on yours, and you can’t help the grin that steals across your face.

“You think you’re so clever,” he groans. 

“Up here for thinkin’,” you quip back, half breathless. It becomes a moan when he pistons his hips into yours just so. 

“Down there for dancing, is that how it goes?” Smug bastard.

“We’ll make a proper Irishman of you yet.”

He shakes his head to hide a smile, crooked and unguarded in the lines of too-bright sunshine that peek through slatted blinds. “Shut up and let me fuck you.” 

“Yes, sir.”

“Cheeky,” he warns before kissing the smile off your lips. 

You can’t find it in yourself to mind as he guides your body to the peak of its pleasure, hands tracing familiar skin, scars, sins. Yours wander over him as well, fingers running against the hairs on his chest, palms smoothing over battle scars, nails raking down the span of his shoulders. He comes undone with a sigh of your name so sweet that the pleasant ache between your legs dulls in comparison to the one in your chest. 

You’ll never get tired of how much you love him. You’ll never not want to keep him here with you in these quiet moments forever.

But this, as ever, is a momentary reprieve. You settle back into crisp white hotel sheets and stretch your limbs after a morning spent twisted in every position. John presses a warm kiss to your forehead before he rolls over to use the bathroom. He comes back with a wet rag - just the perfect temperature - to clean you up. 

“Did you have anything else planned over leave?” you ask.

He looks up from between your bare thighs with a spark of mischief in his eyes. “The only thing I ever plan on is you, love. Could stay here all day if you let me.”

The smile that overtakes your face is wide and entirely sappy and you see it mirrored in the creases at the corners of his eyes. 

“Well I have plans,” you say. “Get dressed, you’re coming, too.”

—

“Please tell me your plans involve more than going to the chippy up the road,” Price says. 

“Obviously,” you roll your eyes at him as you join the queue. “We’ll have a nice stroll in the park, too. Can’t stay inside the one day it isn’t pissing rain in England.”

He shakes his head. “Coming from a Paddy.”

“Your Paddy, so watch it, cunt.” 

The woman behind the counter interrupts your bickering to ask after your orders. John pays for you both, but not without a cheeky comment from you about reparations that even the chip lady laughs at. 

When you step back out into the street the hustle and bustle of London greets you. The sun shines bright and unabashed by the smattering of clouds in the early afternoon sky - fluffy and white, for once. The shopfronts you pass by are crowded, full up with loudly dressed passers-by and lively conversations that echo across busy streets. Everyone and their mother is out enjoying the day. After so long on the job crowds like this can set your teeth on edge, but the park isn’t that far, now.

Parents and lovers and little old ladies have set up on blankets across the sprawling green lawns. Children race across the green with wild shrieking laughter. Some play tag and others pilot kites and more still chant childhood songs and beg their parents to join in. Wicker baskets with packed lunches wrapped in wax paper and love dot the landscape, one for every picnic blanket making its biannual appearance along with the sunshine. 

John’s hand is warm in yours as you drag him over to the one unoccupied bench. Dappled sunlight filters through the shade of the chestnut trees that line the little paved path and streaks the blue of his eyes with gold when he looks over at you. Side by side, the two of you enjoy the day. You eat your meal in pleasant quiet, occasionally stealing one of John’s chips just to see that fond exasperation he saves for you cross his face.

He takes the trash for the both of you to the bin once you’ve finished. You take the time to appreciate his soldier’s physique in light civilian clothes. His smile is warmer than the sun on his return, and you feel yourself burn up with it.

“Thank you for this, love.”

You lean into his side and watch the old man feeding the pigeons and the single mother wrangling her gaggle of children and the teens awkwardly holding hands. “Sometimes it’s easy to forget why we do it. What we fight for,” you say.

He hums something like an affirmative. 

“I like stealing moments like this,” you continue. “Neither of us is ready to retire - might not ever be, and that’s the truth - but it’s nice to imagine, you know? Getting old and settling down and doing daft shite like taking a weekend off and going to the park.”

He wraps an arm around your shoulder and squeezes, leans over to press a kiss to your temple.

“You could have that with someone else, you know,” he says with the quiet sadness that eats at him always. 

“What’s an old war criminal like me got to offer anyone but an old war criminal like you?” you scoff, only half teasing. He doesn’t laugh. “Thought you’d figured out by now, I don’t want that with someone else - anyone else.”

The sigh he lets out rattles his whole body. He turns, then, taking your hands in his and looking you right in the eye. You suddenly feel exposed in the wake of such a confession, even though you’ve lost count of the times and ways you’ve told John you love him. There’s a seriousness and gravity to his expression that has you holding your breath. 

“I love you, too,” John Price says. There’s an apology in the depths of his eyes - for taking so long, for wasting the time you’ve had together, for a thousand other things you’ve already forgiven him for - but all you can think is finally. Finally he says it. Out loud. In the park. Under the sun in the sky for everyone to see. “Can’t promise you anything but myself, and it’s a poor prize, but you’re just mad enough to want it.” 

You grin so wide it hurts, and he can’t help but mirror with a smile of his own, eyes crinkled and sparkling.

“Barking mad,” you agree, and kiss him before he can complain about the awful pun at a time like this. 

It’s chaste - you’re still in public - but it somehow feels more passionate than the open-mouthed kisses you’d branded on each other’s bodies just a few hours earlier with only skin to separate you. Right there on the park bench you tear your heart out of your chest and hand it to him, dripping and bloody and raw but his all the same. 

You’re still smiling when you pull away. He ducks his head, cheeks flushed. Even after so long together he’s unprepared to take the full force of your affection.

“In this imaginary retirement of yours,” he asks after a moment, “do we have a flat?”

You hum an affirmative. “A nice cosy one. In Ireland, obviously. You won’t catch me dead retired in fucking England.” 

“Oh?” he challenges with a crooked smile. “Had my heart set on Liverpool, right next to the stadium. I’ll get us season tickets, we can go to every game.”

“I’ll fly you out to every bloody game if that’s what it takes, just spare me, please,” you groan. 

He laughs. It’s a sound so easy to imagine forever to. 

For the second time today, you let yourself.

[buckyownsmylife]

plagiarism and bullying

I am not sure how much readers of this community know about what’s been happening, but I know pretty much anyone who writes has been going through hell the last couple of months because of authors who have grown too big for their own heads - and have effectively managed to poison the entire community with their behavior, which is precisely what I feared.

And I am sick of it.

I am sick of what can only be described as psychological and emotional harrassment, done privately so people feel isolated and scared to post anything.

I am sick of people thinking they own tropes, alternate universes, clichés, pairings, characters, even GENERAL PLOT POINTS that no one can possibly possess and take ownership of.

I am sick of these same people being the ones who can’t see an idea being thrown in front of them before attaching themselves to it until the original author is forced to pull back on something they’ve been working on because this other person who they considered a friend posted it before (oh yeah. I know all about those of you who are calling out people as plagiarists while stealing WIPs from your friends).

So let me give it to you straight - and this is coming from someone who is actually a victim of plagiarism myself.

Every time one of you points a finger at someone else and shames them privately or even attacks them publicly for writing a story that has the same generic set-up (Steve finds your fanfiction, Bucky loses himself to the Winter Soldier, reader needs to be rescued by one of the supersoldiers) you’re doing all of the people in this community a disfavor, by 1. making everyone scared of publishing anything, because the entitlement for the littlelest things seems vindicated now and 2. you’re taking away from actual instances of plagiarism and authors who are having their entire works stolen.

Think of it this way: can I feel entitled to the concept of sex pollen? only one bed? in vino veritas? why can I feel entitled to this concept that I apparently came up with but that can be rewritten in a thousand different ways?

If someone else can take that generic summary and run with it in a way that’s their own, YOU WOULD NOT BE ABLE TO TRADEMARK IT. It ISN’T an instance of intellectual property and it most definitely isn’t plagiarism.

You all have common sense. Use it. It’s one thing to copy an entire premise of a series, keep the same AU and character and change the lines of dialogue. It’s an entire different thing to create your own stepfather Bucky series, or mobster Steve series, or Alpha all of Chris’ characters (here, have one of “my own” ideas), with your own premise, your own ideas for each chapter and the other details of their relationship with the reader.

Or are you telling me from now on, there can be no more alpha!Bucky’s heat taking over him suddenly, Steve and Reader have to share a bed on a mission, stories with reader, charles and lee as a pairing or any other unusual one? Is that what we really want? To be the only suppliers of a certain trope, pairing or au? Can you see how your ego is affecting the entire fanfiction community hee on tumblr? Why authors are giving up on providing their fictional universes to welcome us into after a lousy day?

If your work inspired someone else’s, there’s a simple way to resolve it: reach out to the writer, confirm it was actually inspired by yours and ask them to give you credit. Credit is the actual solution for works that have been inspired by other works, but not bullying, not threats, not forcing someone to delete their own versions of a story we’re all actually sharing because bottom-line? We are all stealing Marvel’s characters and placing them on Shakespeare’s plot lines and the only thing we can do about it is add our porn and our own personal interpretations, imagination and developments.

And that means, of course: writers, if your story was inspired by someone else’s, please give them the proper credit. As I’m sure you’re aware, we are very quick to identify when something is similar to our creations, and it’s a fucking awful feeling. It’s what created this whole witch hunt over plagiarism in the first place, but while in 8/10 cases it isn’t actually plagiarism, it fucking sucks and it could have been easily prevented when it was just a matter of recognizing you aren’t the seventh wonder of the universe and actually got the inspiration to write that story from someone else.

In the same way, DON’T STEAL PEOPLE’S IDEAS WHEN THEY TALK ABOUT THEM. And no, THAT’S NOT PLAGIARISM either, it’s just common decency. They might even be okay with you writing the same idea, but it’s always nice to let them know and give them credit. Especially if it’s someone you consider a friend, but even more so if it’s something you saw as a snippet of a WIP on your timeline (as a general rule, I wouldn’t work on anything I thought intriguing only after I saw someone else was writing it).

And finally, still keeping that other point in mind: you don’t have the right to stop someone from working on something similar to what you’re writing. Can you imagine how many people are writing, at this exact moment, stories with the same premise? Of course, once it’s out, there’s a high chance the projects will be completely different, since each writer made it their own. I am willing to bet most of them didn’t copy from one another, they just happened to be interested in the same things - which is often the case here, prevented you aren’t an asshole that does what I described in the last paragraph.

I don’t know about you guys, but I am excited to read more stories about magical boading schools and I definitely hope J.K. Rowling won’t stop me from getting that.

Similarly, I beg you. You want to write your mafia!andy series? Please, do. The world needs your story. Just make sure it truly is your story that you’re telling.

tl;dr: plagiarism is a real issue, but never an excuse to bully people and traumatize them from writing. Writers, learn the difference between plagiarism and inspiration. If you do think it’s actual plagiarism you’re working with, please follow the following steps:

Before accusing anyone from plagiarism:

1. Actually talk to them without threatening or manipulating them so you can understand what happened and let them know how you feel. 80% of the times they’ll apologize and give you credit for it. 

2. Unless you’re the reincarnation of William Shakespeare (and so being, you have the rights to all of the tropes and plot twists created in modern literature. go you!) - and prevented the “plagiarism” isn’t so obviously truly plagiarism, that it can be proven with two screenshots placed side by side - talk to someone unbiased who will tell you if what you think was stolen was actually stolen. There’s a good chance you’re being delusional and thinking the entire world is aware of your stories and looking forward to take advantage of your hard work on them.

A good rule of thumb? Don’t do to others what you don’t wish would be done to you, and make sure to apply that rule to the way you approach the situation and treat the person you were so quick to consider a villain. I’ve yet to see (in this community, since I got here) a situation where the writer accused of plagiarism when confronted has been anything other than kind and remorseful, ready to remedy the situation once it’s been brought to their attention.

If you’re so certain of being right, there’s literally no reason to be aggressive to someone who’s not treating you rudely.

[themculibrary]

Stucky Drabbles Masterlist

Links Last Checked: September 6th, 2024

A Proper Omega (ao3) - orphan_account M, 916

Summary: Steve is a 1940’s omega. His idea of what it means to be an omega is very different from modern ideals.

B.B. + S.R. (ao3) - haveufoundwhaturlookingfor G, 780

Summary: Bucky and Steve got each other's names tattooed on their wrists back when they were younger. Steve still has Bucky's initials, and he's determined to save Bucky.

Bedding (ao3) - fmo G, 952

Summary: Intense, hardcore curtain fic, featuring Steve in Target, many textiles, and also casserole.

Been A Long Time But I'm Back In Town (ao3) - torakowalski T, 890

Summary: Steve might be some kinda superhero now but that doesn't mean Bucky's gonna stop worrying when he's not taking good enough care of himself.

Earn It (ao3) - TheRaven E, 824

Summary: Steve keeps Bucky on the edge for hours, because that's what Bucky asked him to do.

everest (ao3) - mcwho E, 904

Summary: Three O's in, and Bucky can’t quite remember which way is up anymore.

Or, Steve gives and gives and Bucky takes it.

Feeling Hot, Hot, Hot (ao3) - haveufoundwhaturlookingfor T, 520

Summary: Steve and Bucky are not dealing well with the hot summer heat.

Hocus Pocus (ao3) - mambo M, 734

Summary: Bucky has a Halloween surprise for his boyfriend.

i don't need a reason (ao3) - howdoyousleep E, 630

Summary: What he could have never anticipated when accepting this internship was to be standing in front of Mr. Rogers’ desk after hours with his pants around his ankles and the exact Senator that normally sits behind this desk situated behind Bucky.

I'm In Luck (ao3) - steveandbucky T, 697

Summary: Steve is sketching a handsome stranger on the train, and gets caught. Luckily, the man doesn't mind.

It Keeps Growing Stronger (ao3) - asymmetricalJester T, 525

Summary: He's on the roof when he first catches that scent.

For the first time since before he can remember, his Alpha instincts start to kick in.

kisses make everything better (ao3) - haveufoundwhaturlookingfor G, 816

Summary: When Bucky comes home from work early one evening, ranting about how much he hates alpha's, Steve knows there's only one way to shut him up...

lips like cherries (ao3) - CaptainCapsicoul E, 957

Summary: It’s be hours and Bucky’s shown no signs of stopping. It started as a bet. A stupid bet which landed Steve here. In bed. Hours later. And no release.

Playdates (ao3) - steveandbucky T, 944

Summary: Steve and Bucky are single parents who meet when they go to pick up their children from school, and find that Jamie and Callie have befriended each other.

Professional Pride (ao3) - galwednesday T, 700

Summary: Bucky is having a very good day, until he turns around and finds himself face-to-face with Captain America.

“Oh shit,” he blurts before he can stop himself, and Captain America blinks at him. “Hey, hi, I didn’t expect to see you here.” Here, at New York’s Pride parade, surrounded by thousands of happy screaming people wearing rainbows and sometimes not much else. What is he doing here? Is he on guard duty or something? Was he just on a mission and happened to be passing by on his way back?

He’s in uniform but with the cowl loose around his neck, so when he rubs the back of his head it fluffs up his matted hair. “I, uh. I saw one of your–temporary tattoos?” Captain fucking America says, like it’s a question.

The Undone and the Divine (ao3) - victoria_p (musesfool) E, 979

Summary: Bucky's always liked making a mess of Steve's perfect choirboy appearance.

Worthy (ao3) - hiareyouanerd G, 449

Summary: I saw a tumblr post saying something like "What if Bucky lifted Mjölnir?" and this kinda happened.

you know you make me want to (ao3) - kototyph E, 635

Summary: imagineyourotp:

Imagine your OTP lying next to each other in bed, staring at the ceiling, embarrassed and slightly alarmed by the wild, intense, filthy sex they just had.

[caramelcal]

Trained for Sin

Ship: Luke Patterson x Reader {fwb}

Word Count: 3.58k (i did not mean for this to be so long)

a/n: yes well...here’s this...(READ THE WARNINGS) enjoy lovelies x 

WARNINGS: friends with benefits theme, heavily implied sexual activities (not any proper smut though), swearing DO NOT READ THIS IS YOU ARE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH THESE THINGS!!!

disclaimer: i do not condone plagiarism on my work at all, this has not been posted on any other platforms, or on tumblr anywhere else but my account (rosemoonmist) if you see anyone plagiarizing mine (or anyone else’s work) please inform the rightful author ! thank you lovelies x

Masterlist   Part Two (optional)

The spontaneous meetings that you had with Luke were exhilarating, whether it be in a bed, on the kitchen counter, or in a public bathroom, it didn’t matter. There was a deal that you guys had made after your first hook-up, and mostly it was for Luke to just blow off steam but you certainly got its benefits too. Sure, it was very well-known that Luke was a bit of a fuck boy, but he didn’t like it going around school every time he had sex with a girl. That’s why he only did it with you, a way for him to have a release, but without the rumors or real commitment.

For the first two months, you were fine with that. You were more than fine with that. Yet, as the months went on, the adrenaline that you had experienced at the start of the deal was not as strong, what was stronger was your longing for more. Currently, that was all you felt as you looked at him.

He had his back turned towards you, you still wrapped up in the sheets of his bed, watching his back muscles flex as he grabbed and put his muscle tee back on. During your time with Luke, every single piece of attention he had was on you, and you liked that, but after he was finished, it was like you never even existed. You would normally get a few words, telling you that he would text you next time he needed you, and the occasional goodbye, but you wanted more.

Even though you and Luke never actually talked, you were always quite good at reading people. Luke was more difficult but the more you paid attention to his mannerisms, the way he walked, and the way he interacted with his friends you knew quite a few quirks that he did when he was feeling certain ways. That’s how you knew what to expect from him when you met up with him.

You weren’t entirely sure of the reason that Luke didn’t want a relationship but you often found yourself pondering it. Maybe he wasn’t ready for it, maybe he found himself too busy with the band but the most believable thing you had thought up was that Luke wasn’t the relationship type. He just wanted to fuck, no connections or attachments whatsoever and he got that with you, maybe that’s why he kept you around.

“I’ll text you later. Maybe we can meet up after band practice if you’re free,” Luke commented, not even turning to face you whilst he continued to pick up things, getting ready. He situated his beanie on his head, grabbing his flannel and a few other things before heading towards his bedroom door, “my mom and dad aren’t home, you can let yourself out. You have your key, right?”

Ah yes, your key. The key to Luke’s front door that he gave you after a month of you guys ‘seeing’ each other. He needed for you to be easy access, so if that meant giving you a key then so be it.

“Yeah,” You replied to the boy, who left without another word, much less saying goodbye. You were used to it unfortunately, Luke was often like this and only gave a goodbye if he was in an extra good mood, which wasn’t as often as you would have liked it to be. After hearing the front door shut, you sighed heavily, taking your time to get out of Luke’s bed, still very much nude, and making your way over to his dresser.

Opening it up, you reached for the back part, which was carefully hidden away from sight which contained extra clothes for you to wear if need be and after Luke had ripped your shirt off of your body, you felt that you probably should change into something new. Your hand lightly graced over the top of a sweatshirt that was Luke’s, one he had given you after ripping your shirt off the first time and you didn’t have anything to wear. You remembered the feeling of comfort you felt when you had it wrapped around your figure.

Just imagine if you could have that all the time. Like those girls from school that wear their boyfriend’s stuff.

But you knew that couldn’t happen, not with Luke. You guys had a deal, there were no feelings or attachments so you couldn’t afford to be fantasizing about a romantic life with him. You guys were friends with benefits, but you were barely even friends.

. . .

“Listen, I’m telling you y/n, this new teacher is evil,” Your friend complained, grunting at the end of her sentence. Laughing a little, you looked over at her as you arrived at your lockers, “he gave us a pop quiz on his first day. THE FIRST DAY!”

You winced slightly for her. If the teacher was willing to give her a pop quiz on the first day, you can imagine thorough tests in her future, and a lot of them. Putting your last lesson’s books in your locker, you turn towards your friend again, “That sounds rough.”

“It is,” She agreed, shaking her head wildly as she closes her locker over before checking her watch, “I’m late for class though, and you’re going to be too. I’ll see you later.”

With that, she walked away, leaving you to pull out the textbooks you needed for your next subject before closing your locker over, “Hey.”

Your eyes shot up towards the voice as you jumped back away from them in fright before realizing who it was. Luke. He wasn’t wearing his usual beanie, and instead was keeping his hair plain and messy, just like it was after sex, sweat making the strands stick to his forehead.

Eyes trailing down to your books, you muttered quietly, “I thought it was part of the deal that we don’t talk in school.”

“It is but you weren’t replying to my texts and I really needed you last night,” Luke sighed, making you raise an eyebrow at him, not that he noticed. It had been three days since the day you had let yourself out of his house and since the last time you guys had interacted in any sexual activities.

You had been waiting for the text that he would send that night, getting you to get over to his house after band practice but the more you waited, the more you thought about it. It had gotten to the stage you were checking your phone for any new notifications every few minutes, and finding yourself more and more relieved when the notification never came. Sure, you had found the whole friends with benefits great at the beginning but you started to long for a more...romantic relationship. And you certainly wouldn’t class fucking Luke in a public bathroom romantic.

“Sorry,” You sighed unapologetically, eyes never moving up to meet Luke’s eyes which stayed firmly on you, watching as you fumbled with your textbooks, “I didn’t see your messages.”

That was a blatant lie but Luke didn’t need to know that. You had seen his message pop up on your phone screen last night, but you never bothered to tap into it or to reply. You found yourself pushing you away from your phone, keeping it further than arms distance s your hands didn’t work against you, and message him back, so that you didn’t end up over there, tangled up in his sheets whilst he walked out on you again.

“Well I have a band performance tonight, I can text you the address and you can meet me there, we can head back to mine?” Luke suggested, leaning coolly against the lockers as he spoke, seeing a hesitant and faint nod coming from your ducked head. A smirk arose onto his face as he spoke quieter, leaning closer to you, “Or we can go into the janitor’s closet right now.”

Head whipping up to look at him, his hazel eyes meet your widened ones, his smirk growing even bigger. He pushed himself off of the lockers, hands in the pockets of his jeans but you took one step backward and further away from him, shaking your head, “I’m late for class.”

“Oh come on y/n,” Luke tried to coerce, giving you a small groan with a pout. He reached out for your arm, grabbing it softly and giving you a small tug closer to him but you stayed firmly planted on the ground you stood on.

Luke was good at a lot of things, and normally you would cave but not today. Sure, you wouldn’t be completely objected to meeting up with him later, even if you didn’t completely want to but you would not do it with him right now. He had gotten good at getting what he wanted from you, but he would not be getting this, no matter how many pouts and puppy eyes he gave you.

“No.”

Luke pouted again, giving you a mocking pout but you averted your gaze making him whine a little, “Oh y/n/n, you’re no fun.”

Turning on your heels you started to walk away from him, noticing how deserted the hallways were, and suddenly realizing just how late for class you were. However, you didn’t speed up, walking calmly as you shouted over your shoulder, “Send me the address for your gig, Patterson.”

. . .

Logically, you knew that walking to the venue that Luke was playing at was the best option considering he would be driving you to his place. You knew that your car would most likely be abandoned at the venue if you did take it, and Luke probably wouldn’t give you a ride to get it afterward so you decided to walk instead. That’s probably why you arrived a little too early, Luke still performing when you got there.

You couldn’t dispute that Luke was a very talented musician but you guys never spoke about his band or the work he did for it. You knew that music would forever come first to Luke, over everything and anything as that was what he was truly passionate about, and seeing him in his element finally was nice.

Somehow, he managed to find you in the crowds, subtly smirking at you but only so you could tell. His eyes didn’t stay on you too long, and you weren’t too sure if that was because he didn’t want anyone to catch on or if he simply didn’t care but you were thinking the latter. You were just technically a ‘booty call’ after all, even if the term made you feel sick.

Thankfully, it wasn’t long before they all finished up and people filed out of the venue. You, of course, waited behind, knowing that Luke would not want to be seen getting into a car with a girl so you awkwardly waited about. It wasn’t long before the venue was practically empty, and you felt a ping of a notification causing your phone to vibrate.

go to the bar and ask for my keys, they know to give them to you

You texted back an okay before going to the bar and retrieving the keys, thanking the barman, and walking out to Luke’s car. There was only a handful of times that you had been in Luke’s car, actually, you could only count two. One was him driving you from where he met with you to a cafe because he left something there the previous day and one was from meeting up with you somewhere to go to his house.

You found yourself slouching down in the passenger seat of Luke’s car, head just peeking over the dashboard. The parking lot was pretty much abandoned, but you didn’t want to be caught by anyone in Luke’s car anyway, you couldn’t imagine Luke would be too pleased if you were.

Luke arrived out not long after, his hair slightly damp and you could only imagine that he had taken a shower out before meeting with you. How considerate. He took the car keys off of you, giving you a small thank you before he started up the car and started to drive without another word. You, personally, didn’t plan on breaking the silence, knowing that Luke did not like small talk so you weren’t about to start it.

Eyes trained on the road, you drummed your fingers on your thigh to the rhythm of the music that played quietly through the radio. That was until Luke pulled up at the side of the road. Confused, you furrowed your eyebrows and turned towards him, “What? Why did you stop?”

He turned towards you, giving you a small smile before caressing your cheek slightly and going into the backseat. From his position there, he leaned over and kissed you on the lips with a lot of force, grabbing at your shirt and tugging you softly towards him.

Breaking away from the kiss, you looked towards him knowing exactly what he was indicating. Opening your mouth in shock, you started to shake your head, “Luke we can’t do this in your car-”

“C’mon y/n, live a little.”

It wasn’t long until you clambered into the back of the car with Luke, him attaching your lips again but you felt him smirk into the kiss. He helped you out of your trousers and smirked at you, making direct eye contact as he did so. Then he ripped your top off and threw it to the side.

He was on top of you soon enough, one of your hands in his hair and one trailing down his back. You were both in minimal clothing, both with simply your underwear on. His hand left your waist side as he fumbled to get something from the pouch in his car, pulling out a condom.

Pulling away, you turn to look at the foil in his hands, your lips parting slightly. Luke put the foil down, but your eyes stayed on it as a hand hooked under your face. Your face was shifted up to make your eyes meet Luke’s hazel ones. He silently asked if you were okay, making you nod your head and send him a weak smile before he kissed you again. And there, another night with Luke begun.

However, today it was different. Sure, you felt the pleasure of having sex with Luke, but the adrenaline, the addictiveness wasn’t the same. It wasn’t as good as you remembered it. You thought that maybe you were just having an off day and you just weren’t really feeling it today but the more you thought about it the more unappealing it became. Luke was attractive for sure and you knew girls that would pay good money, betray their best friends and drop everything for the chance to fuck the hottest guy in school but the want wasn’t there for you anymore.

Breathing heavily, you felt Luke get up from his position on top of you, grabbing his jeans that had been disregarded under one of the seats, putting his shirt back on as he climbed back to the front. You looked at where he was, clearly waiting for you to get dressed and that’s what you did, hesitantly. However, you felt a blush rise to your cheeks in embarrassment as you thought about it. Shit.  

“Everything okay, y/n?” You heard Luke ask, eyes catching onto his through the rear-view mirror. Despite the dark lighting in the car hiding your deep crimson blush, he could still tell you were embarrassed.

“Luke I forgot to pack another shirt.”

His eyes went wide as you bit your lip, looking down at your lap, your arms crossing over your chest, trying your best to cover your naked torso. He quickly clambered out of the car, going into the trunk and getting something without another word before reaching into the car and passing you something. His sweatshirt.

E/c eyes meeting his hazel ones, you looked at him hesitantly, to which he moved the sweatshirt closer to you, encouraging you to take it. So you did. Once you were fully clothed, you moved back into the front of the vehicle, and Luke slid back into the driver's seat and started the car up without another word.

It wasn’t long before he took an unfamiliar turn, causing you to furrow your eyebrows, “Hey Luke, this isn’t the way back to yours. I think you took the wrong turn.”

“I’m not driving to mine, I’m taking you back home,” He commented, noticing but not commenting on the wide eyes and parted lips that you sent him way. He knew that he wasn’t the nicest guy, or the most affectionate, but did you really expect he would abandon you to find your own way home in the deep hours of the night?

But unknown to him, you did. You expected him to drive back to his, maybe have sex again, and leave you to find your own way home. Or if you were lucky, would drop you off on the main road, and walk half of the way home. However, you wouldn’t say that to him. You knew that Luke wasn’t a bad guy and you certainly didn’t want to hurt his feelings by saying something like that.

Once again, you both found your way into a silence that was neither comfortable nor uncomfortable, simply listening to the quiet playing of the music on the radio. It was some punk rock channel because you knew how much Luke despised mainstream stuff. The only other sound you could hear was the occasional passing car.

“Hey, Luke?” You piped up, breaking the silence that the car held, despite the radio playing softly in the background. He kept his eyes on the road as he took another turn simply humming at you to let you know that he was listening, “Thanks. For the sweatshirt, I mean.”

“Don’t worry about it. Just give me it back when you come over to mine next time,” Luke said nonchalantly, keeping his eyes on the road. Head ducking down, you simply nodded as you felt your stomach fall slightly, suddenly everything clicking into place.

You knew why you didn’t want to continue with Luke. You knew why you no longer enjoyed the sex anymore. And you knew exactly what you had to do.

. . .

It was the next day that you were sat outside of Luke’s house, apprehensive as to if you wanted to truly go through with this. Yet, you knew that you had to. With a parcel in hand, along with a small envelope containing a letter and your house key to Luke’s house, you walked up to the front of the house, going to place the parcel down. The overhang would protect it if it was to rain, or maybe you could just ring the doorbell and run away. Yet, in your moments of hesitation, the door was opened and you were faced with an older brunette woman.

“Oh hello, darling. Can I help you?” She asked, smiling sweetly at you. You knew exactly who this was, it was Emily, Luke’s mom.

“Yeah actually, you can,” You smiled sweetly at her despite your nerves, shifting front foot to foot. Despite knowing Luke for a while and being...involved with him for a few months, you had never actually met Emily before but just from the way she acted, you knew she was a great person. She was a real sweetheart to you anyway, “can you give this to Luke for me, please?”

“Luke is upstairs, you can give it to him yourself if you want,” She smiled back, stepping back almost silently inviting you to go into her house and deliver the parcel to Luke yourself.

However, that was the last thing you wanted to do. Having to awkwardly in person explain that you needed love and wanted romance, so you chickened out and wrote him a letter instead. But you knew that the letter would explain everything, and it would let Luke know that he didn’t do anything wrong, you couldn’t promise yourself that you would be able to do that in the heat of the moment. 

Profusely shaking your head, you held the parcel containing his sweatshirt out to her, “Oh no, no, no, I think it’s best I get on my way. I have stuff to do anyway. Thank you, Mrs. Patterson.”

“You’re welcome darling,” With that, she gave one last smile and you started to walk away, leaving her to close the door behind her. You made your way to the car, going in and sitting down but you just sat there for a few moments, looking over what just happened. Quickly, you pulled out your phone, going down to Luke’s contact and hovering over his name, thumb shaking wildly.

Biting your lip you quickly tap into it and block his contact. This was the way it had to be, you knew that. You knew that if he asked you to come over or if he texted you that you would cave because you were a sucker for his puppy eyes and always would be. It wasn’t a secret to you that you have feelings for him, it was always something you had considered even though it was firmly put that feelings were off the table. You just wished for him to hold you in his arms, to hug you, to kiss you with the same passion but also kiss you with tender love, to tell you that he loved you.

Yet, at the end of the day, you knew you couldn’t have him. He would never give you what you wanted, he wasn’t the hugging type; the date type. After all, he was trained for sin, and that was all he was willing to give. 

[hazzoranstories]

Malachai Parker | Smutty ABCs

A/N: The categories are inspired by fpwrites on tumblr, but the ideas are mine

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It's smutty ABCs, so it's obviously very dirty.

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A = Aftercare (What they're like after sex)

Despite being a whole ass psychopath, Kai is always worried about your wellbeing after sex. It doesn't matter if he's soft or full-on pounding into you, but he still has to ask for reassurance. He usually holds you close to him and won't let go until you slip away.

B = Body Part (Their favorite body part of their's and also their partner's)

His favorite part of his body is his hands. That may sound like a basic answer, but his magic comes from his hands, and he likes to think he gives you magic through them as well. His favorite body part of yours is your fingers. He loves when they grip the bed sheets or claw at his back. Also, how little and petite they are compared to his.

C = Cum (Where they like to come / what they like to cum from)

Even though a murderous psycho probably doesn't want kids any time soon, he can't help but love to come inside you. The euphoric feeling of filling you up and having someplace for his cum to go other than onto your stomach. But, if you truly don't want him to cum inside (which is almost never), then he won't. Or if you forgot to take your birth control that day.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory)

He doesn't mind being called his full name during sex because it sounds much more mature than just Kai. He desperately hates the name but coming from your lips in a whimper sounds much better than he could ever imagine.

E = Experience (How experience are they? Do they know what they're doing?)

Considering he was locked in a prison world for 18 years, Kai doesn't have much experience before that. He wasn't a virgin thanks to high school, but he wasn't a fuck boy. But like many things, he learned quickly.

F = Favorite Position (Again. Self-explanatory)

Lazy doggy style because in regular doggy style, he can't see anything except your backside. But this way, he gets to kiss your neck and whisper what he's going to do to you in your ear. Everything he has access to.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc.)

He is usually more serious and sometimes frightening, but if it's passionate and slow sex, he's looser to smiles and sentimental actions.

H = Hair (How well-groomed are they?)

He never really paid immense attention to his body hair and doesn't care to trim every day. He only does if he's uncomfortable or if it's excessive.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment?)

Everything varies with Kai. One moment he could be all sweet kisses and hugs, while the next, he could be holding you down by your throat. But most of the time, he doesn't care for intimacy and encourages you to stop sharing it during sex. Unless you're having a bad day or not feeling like being dominated, then he'll drop his huge ego and pleasure you.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

Kai masturbates a lot more than the normal boyfriend should have to. His sex drive is pretty high, and he often displeases you when he's violent. And whenever he goes too far, you don't feel like sex, so he has to solve his problem himself.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Choking and praising

L = Location (Favorite place to . . . .  ya know)

The car. That's all I'm gonna say.

M = Motivation (What turns them on?)

Kai likes when you're sassy. He loves it when you're feisty with other people, but he can't stand when you are to him. No one would dare stand up to him, and having you cross your arms or try to look innocent when you know your not is irresistible.

N = NO (Something they wouldn't do. Turn offs)

He banned you from touching yourself because he's always down to fuck you. He hates to think that you have to go to another resort to please yourself when he's right there. It makes his ego go way down along with his self-esteem in his skills.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He prefers receiving because he gets to see your hands around his length. He also gets to tangle his in your hair. He doesn't mind giving because he likes to see you come undone, but he would rather fuck you than do foreplay. But whenever he does eat you out, it's like heaven. For someone who doesn't do it often, he sure is amazing with his tongue.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? Etc.)

Like I said before, Kai can change in seconds. But most of the time, he fucks you till you cry. Unless you are not in the mood for that, then he'll treat you how you want. It all depends on how you're feeling.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

He will for sure have a quickie if you two don't have the time, especially if he's frustrated and needs a small distraction.

R = Risk (Are they down to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

It depends on what your ask of him. He will gladly try anything revolving around domination over you, but if it's something like sex in a public place, he's a little more hesitant. He wants you all to himself and no one else.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long can they last)

Kai can usually go for a long time because he doesn't waste time teasing himself, making him less needy. He can go for 3 rounds at the least and will even spend the entire night fucking you over and over again if you'd let him.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Kai owns things like handcuffs, blindfolds, and zip ties but nothing extreme. He only buys stuff to dominate you and would never think to use them on himself. But despite having them, he only uses them when you two have a lot of time and are up for teasing yourselves.

U = Unfair (How much they like to tease)

I've said this many times; Kai doesn't like teasing. He's okay with occasional things such as blow jobs, eating you out, or fingering, but he likes getting to the best part instead of stalling.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds do they make)

Kai is rather loud compared to his massive ego to be in control. He never shies away from telling you how good you make him feel and has some of the deepest and loudest groans you have ever heard.

W = Wild Card (A random and rather unexpected desire to the untrained eye)

One of his fantasies is to fuck you on a pool table in an empty bar. With you two trying new positions you've never thought of doing and after you're done at the pool table, you guys keep going at it all around the bar.

X = X-Ray (How pretty are they down there? Do they lie, or is it straight and utter facts?)

He likes to say he's 8 inches, but you've cracked his ego by measuring and saying it's 7 instead.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

His sex drive is pretty high, which surprises people because most would think that a serial killer wouldn't have time for fucking every few days, but they'd be wrong.

Z = ZZZ (How quickly they fall asleep afterward)

Once you both decide it's the last round, you cuddle up next to each other, both exhausted and sweaty. In just minutes, he's passed out on your chest.

[angeli-marco-writes]

∘◦  ღ  ◦∘  Harrison Osterfield - Quarantine  ∘◦  ღ  ◦∘

A/N - I wrote this during the first lockdown that Britain were in. ow we’re in the third, and almost a year later, I’m uploading this onto my Tumblr from my Wattpad. And yes, before everyone says it, I am fully aware that the Holland’s and Haz were isolating in two different houses and haven’t been living together for months, but this makes it more amusing, and as I say, it was written a while ago. I do not know Harrison, nor do I claim to; this is a work of fiction and entirely my own. 

Warnings - cursing, smut, detailed sex, cockwarming, oral, kinky names, mentions of sleeping around... you know the drill by now.

Summary - Quarantine with a bunch of sex deprived twenty-odd year old boys isn’t your idea of fun, especially not when the only one you want refuses to pay even the slightest bit of attention. Taking measures into your own hands is only simple until you get caught.

YOU AREN’T SURE HOW, but in some strange twist of fate, you’ve ended up in self isolation with the Holland’s. But it doesn’t end there, no, not just the Holland’s, but Harrison and Tuwaine too.

You have a bed in the attic, the other side of Harrison’s room, but you’re hardly sleeping in it. Seeing as you’re the only girl among an entire collection of (ahem, horny) and barely adult boys, you were most certainly on their beckon call. You didn’t mind being called to Sam, Harry’s, even Tom’s rooms late at night; you simply wished that you'd be asked to sleep with the one you actually wanted. Harrison.

You and he had been friends as long as you could remember, neighbours from age 4 and friends ever since. Even through uni when you studied a double major and you had zero free time, he was still constant in your life. You’d met Tom and the boys, the twins being closer to your age, and gotten on with them all as well. It just so happened that you ended up on a job with Mr Holland, and that’s what brought all of you closer together with you being in their house often to work on this project it also just so happened that you’d been hanging around with them all when lockdown was announced, leaving you to be in trouble if you drove halfway across London to your own home, so they invited you to stay and had any and all necessary items mailed to you by your roommate. You were only trusted to stay with Harrison after your history together and nothing ever having come of you two, though Mrs Holland did not trust the other boys enough with you and therefore did a bed check every night and every morning to make sure you were alone, though it was always a deceitful check on everyone’s behalf. 

You didn’t thank Tom, Sam or Harry post-sex since you’d always have to return to your own cold bed, next to a sleeping Harrison, a sleeping Harrison who wouldn’t dare use you as a booty call like the other three did. It was safe to say that Harrison also had no idea of your truancies since he slept like a light and no one would discuss your actions at the dinner table to save your dignity, and their own necks.

Tonight though, you have other plans. Harrison has some papers to look through and will therefore be sitting at his desk, procrastinating before his computer for hours, only to be left to flick through the contract at an utterly ungodly hour, and he’d proceed to sleep tomorrow, all throughout the day. You were going to help him relax: maybe a massage, a cuddle, a blunt. Or you’d sit on his lap, watch to see whether he’d tense or relax beneath your bare legs, or whether he’d pick up on whose shirt you were to wear. That was the only tell: you’d steal a shirt from each brother to wear as a mark the next day, but you’d simply claim they were more comfortable than your own tight fitting button downs and crop tops. Harrison hadn’t noticed, not yet though as far as you knew, but each brother wore a slight smirk every day that you wore their shirt.

It hurt that Harrison wouldn’t be able to tell with his usual obliviousness, but you’d shower before seeing to him tonight, and wear one of his shirts so that when he got it back it might smell like you, a scent he claimed to enjoy.

As soon as dinner finishes, you leap away from the three boys all vying for your attention.

“I have work to do, and a shower to have. Plus, I’m tired.” You respond to all three on your journey up the stairs, hearing Harrison groan very loudly from the attic, followed by his head hitting the keyboard of his laptop. You smile sadly to yourself, a mix of nervous anticipation and excitement expelling from your body while the water lashes at your skin, soothing any pain or fear you may be feeling. You increase the heat, allowing the steam to fill your pores as you lean your head forwards to keep your hair dry, held in a messy bun.

You imagine his touch all over your bare body, his finger tracing your jaw, but a knock on the door and a yell to hurry up snaps you from your trance, making you turn off the water and wrap a soft towel (that you know to be Harrison’s) around yourself. You scowl at Harry on your way out, in response to which he sticks his tongue out childishly. 

You end up mostly dry after taking a longer than usual walk up the steps to the attic, lingering on each one until the balls of your feet become sore. You peek your head around the door, only to see Harrison in a hoodie and boxers, a grimace on his lips while attacking his keyboard with a ferocity that you’ve scarcely seen. His anger causes you to furrow your brows, silently wishing that you succeed in calming him instead of making him feel worse. 

You slip into a pair of panties and grab your favourite of his shirts off one of the hangers. You pull out your phone under a guise if he spots you, absentmindedly scrolling through your feed while eyeing Harrison. He slows his typing and begins clicking his mouse at the screen slowly, intently reading the reams of white on his laptop. 

It’s time, you tell yourself, standing up from the bed and walking behind him. You place your hands on his shoulders, splaying your fingers and digging your thumbs in. Harrison’s body goes lax, his hands falling from the laptop to the desk, laying his hands flat on the wood. He lets out a groan and rolls his head back, falling right onto the pillow of your chest. You continue to rub his shoulders, enjoying the way he’s slowly relaxing under your therapeutic touch, that is until he swats you away with a small, sad smile. You sigh, having none of it, and crawl your hands down to the hem of his hoodie.

“What are you doing?” He asks, his tone dripping with boredom. “I have this contract to read, you know I do.”

“Exactly.” You reply after thinking for a moment. You want to say the right thing, you want this to go seamlessly, so every word has to be perfect, not to mention every action.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t battle against your bid to remove his hoodie, and obligingly lifts his arms up over his head so that you can pull his jumper off. You toss it to the side and hear something fall to the floor, but that’s somehow the least of your concerns. You reward Harrison with a kiss to the soft, unblemished skin of his neck - but it won’t stay that way, not for much longer. 

You thread your fingers into his beautiful brown locks and tug a little, just to let him know that you mean business. His lips part as though intending to let out a groan of some kind, but it doesn’t come, so with disappointment you continue to play with his hair the way you love to. He doesn’t stop you, so that’s something, right?

When he hasn’t given you attention for too long, albeit about five minutes, you walk around in front of him. His eyes are forced to retrain from his screen to where your breasts show in his top. Apparently, going braless in one of his tops has its perks, not talking about your nipples.

“Looks good on you,” he murmurs. He pushes his chair out and gestures for you to drape yourself over his legs and lap, which you do more than willingly while wrapping your arms around his neck and tugging at the wonderfully soft curls at the nape.

“I know this isn’t ideal, you need to do proper work and be having contact with your girls, but I’ll get you out soon, I know the boys are a lot.”

You simply hum in acknowledgement, adjusting your seat on his bare legs. Skin on skin, electrifying in every sense of the word. 

“That is why you’re doing this, right?” He asks, nervously almost, and you instantly feel as though you’re molesting him, until he wraps his strong arms around your back. You could moan at the contact, his muscles tensing all around you, the feel of Harrison and his smell radiating around you, you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

You move your hands to his shoulders and begin to massage again, just from the front this time, a feeble attempt to procrastinate against your goal. Harrison’s gone back to reading his screen, so while he’s still gathering what he’s reading, it’s your only shot.

You twist on his lap until you’re completely straddling him, your forehead pressed to his. The beautiful blue-green of his eyes sends you into a trance, melting your insides. You can swear that you see him nod a little, so you begin to move your hips. You grind and swirl on his lap, undulating your hips in a perfect figure of eight when you feel him harden beneath you.

With your ministrations paused momentarily, you take a sharp intake of breath and say, “This was never about attention because I’ve been stuck with the boys, this is because I want you.”

Harrison’s face instantly melts into an expression of relief, a goofy smile on his (what you hope to be) soft lips.

“I thought you didn’t want me because you were sleeping with the others,” he says, and you shake your head, tears of relief and happiness almost spilling from your eyes. You feel warm and fuzzy despite the guilt, shame and anger bubbling from your truancies with the Holland boys. 

“You knew then?”

“How couldn’t I?” He remarks, “you’re all they talk about when there’s no adults and no Paddy in the room. What they did to you, how many times they made you cry out their names, the marks they tried to leave on you until your own dominant side came out. Every conversation I had to excuse myself out of mainly respect from you, because what they said upset me but I just couldn’t say so, but then I just came up here and imagined what you’d be doing to me.” Your heart hitches in your throat, butterflies filling your stomach and travelling into your every limb, making your skin tingle. Your stomach rises in goosebumps, as does the skin of your thighs, and you notice that it’s because Harrison has his hands underneath your (his) shirt, and he’s skimming over your waist and legs, holding you and savouring the feel of your skin beneath him. He kisses your neck, once, twice, and it’s gone.

He turns back to his computer and continues his work, looking over your shoulder and letting his eyes train every tiny black line of script on his screen. Your neediness is at an all time high, one hand resting absently on your hip, just above your bum while his other hand clicks at his keyboard and mouse like it’s second nature. The speed of his fingers makes you even needier, craving for him to be inside you already, so you climb onto his bare thigh and trap it between your own. 

You dig your hips down into his leg, grinding and aching for friction, and you already know that you’re dripping onto his skin. The fine hair on his thighs gives a delicious amount of friction - not too much but not too little. As you go further, your mouth parts a little more, allowing you to let out a strangled whimper. Your thigh brushes Harrison’s cock through his boxers, and you feel his hand grip your waist tighter, almost painfully.

Your pussy starts throbbing, aching for more of him, while your hands rake his back, leaving scratch marks in their wake. Your head falls to the crook of Harrison’s neck as you approach your high, moving your hips more fervently and letting out moans is anticipation. You wonder if Harrison is even able to pay attention to his contract anymore with what you’re doing to him, but that thought is set to rest when you’re right on the edge, but both of his hands grip your hips and move you off his thigh, the skin glistening with your essence. 

For a minute, you think he’ll be angry, make you clean it up, but instead he just kisses you. His lips catch yours more desperately than you could’ve dreamt, immediately biting down on your lower lip, trapped inside his mouth. You let out the loudest moan you could in the moment, but Harrison finds it heavenly, delving his tongue into your mouth to deepen the kiss while his hands grip your ass. He pulls away, looking at you with those puppy eyes that he knows you can’t resist. 

“Sit on my cock? Just ‘til I finish this section, then I’ll take you as hard as you want.” 

You look sceptical, and Harrison can tell, you know because he kissed you again and moves his hands from your bum to wrap his arms around your whole body and keep you close to him. His lips pressed against your own is enough convincing, so you move your panties aside and accommodate while Harrison takes his boxers off.

When he does, you’re surprised at how big he is, bigger than any of the lads you’ve been with before. Long and substantial, you want to drool just looking at his dick standing proud against his stomach. Nervously, you slide down on him. His girth stretches your every wall and his tip hits new spots until finally you’re balls deep. He groans and exhales, eyes closed while trying to gather his bearings. 

“Fuck.” He says. “Your cunt bottomed out on my cock, keeping me warm and hard, you’re an angel.”

His words drive you crazy, making you moan and involuntarily clench around him, but he doesn’t seem to mind. You wrap yourself around him like a koala bear, craving to have as much skin to skin contact as is possible. Your head lays on his chest to stay out of his way, and he seems thankful to be able to see the screen but also feel you. 

You stay seated on Harrison for no more than ten minutes as he taps away at his keyboard and scrolls through the pages. Occasionally he moves, stimulating you enough for you to gasp or tighten around him, and in those instances he kisses behind your ear. 

You listen to his heart, slowing or increasing its speed depending on your movements. The steady heave of his chest moving with his breathing is strangely calming, making you feel closer to him, more stimulated and comforted, something like love.

Suddenly, his laptop slams shut and he thrusts up into you. You yelp a little and snap your head up, nose nudging with his and your lips grazing. 

“You’ve been driving me crazy, and you’ve done it on purpose. Were you sleeping with the others to get my attention? Am I better than them already? Bigger?” You whimper, his words building a fire inside you. “You don’t have to answer, love, I can already tell by your body.”

You cling to him even tighter than before as he clears everything off his desk, breaking a pencil pot while he’s at it, and you can’t help but chuckle.

“You choose a desk to fuck me on when we have two beds up here, both of which will make a lot less noise?” 

He looks downcast and releases a giggle. “Yeah, didn’t think of that.”

“It’s fine,” you say, cupping his jaw and caressing his stubbled cheek, “you can fuck me harder on this and let the boys know who I belong to tonight.”

He places you down beneath him on the desk, still hard inside you, but instead of attacking you again in a ferocious kiss, he looks down at you and marvels in your beauty just for a moment, his scrutiny surprisingly doesn’t phase you, it only makes you feel treasured, so as your eyes follow the movements of his rippling muscles, he smiles faintly and kisses you softly. 

“Fuck me Haz,” you whisper, those simple words being all the motivation needed, because he pulls out, leaving you whining at the emptiness of only his twitching tip inside your core, but within seconds he pushes all the way back in. 

He feels heavenly, your eyes rolling back into your head and a surprised moan leaving your lips. He smiles down at you before pulling out and thrusting back inside you, setting a steady pace. Every move feels like paradise, every jolt of his hips swindling shockwaves of pleasure through your craving body, having been desperate for him for a good while.

He feels heavenly inside you, his tip grazing that special spot inside you. “Harrison!” You cry, as quietly as you can. He leans down and pulls the neck of your (his) shirt down so that he can get access to your breast, immediately latching his lips onto your nipple, biting at it viciously while pressing his hands onto your spread thighs. You feel yourself approaching an edge, a timed coil curling inside your stomach as his ministrations continue. 

He’s so much better than the others - not that they weren’t good, they have a basic idea of what to do with you and how to use you, and they’re decently sized, but they can’t make you feel the way Harrison can. 

“I’m close...” you whisper between incoherent murmurs. He’s not too noisy, which may or may not be a blessing paired with the slamming and squeaking of the desk beneath your bodies, it’s mostly just breathy grunts and occasional curses.

“Me too, beautiful.” He dances his forefinger up your thigh and rubs circles around your wetness, allowing you to let go.

The coil within springs open, and you feel your body fall loose, vision blurring with stars in your eyes and core clenching around Harrison - it feels like heaven. Feeling this, he climaxes soon after you and to save from screaming, kisses you in a messy fight of teeth and tongues, half muffling the pornographic moans that would otherwise be bound to spill.

Harrison falls down onto you, chest heaving and breathless, but nonetheless he still places open mouthed kisses to your neck.

“I’ll wait for you to get your breath, shall I?” You tease while running your finger up and down his spine. He chuckles and climbs fully on top of you, cuddling you into his chest. “Well, now I can see why you don’t have a girlfriend yet. Can’t even go for one round without ending up flustered. Lucky that I’ll have you no matter.”

He hums into you, holding you and savouring the silence filled with only your breathing and a few sounds from downstairs, but soon the wood becomes too uncomfortable.

Harrison slips an arm beneath you and carries you across the room to his unmade bed, as opposed to your neatly tucked in one with your entire collection of clothes and makeup on top of the sheets, but his bed is probably comfier since he’s always in it. 

“Round two?”

Your heart rate increases, a burning blush rising to the tips of your ears as well as a shy smile snaking its way across your lips, still swollen from Harrison’s attack, not to mention the swollen parts of your skin where he paid a little more attention, leaving marks and memories for days to come.

“I’d like to see you try.” You tease, keeping your cool resolve despite feeling anxious straddling him, his eyes flitting between your chest, eyes and lips, unsure of what to do or how to use his mouth, a definite rarity for someone like him.

He seems desperate, putting his hands on your hips and thirstily jolting his hips upwards - if you’d been a few inches further down, he would’ve been straight back inside you, and maybe that’s what he was hoping for.

“Any hole’s a goal, isn’t that what Tom says?” 

He loves it when you tease him, that much you’re learnt over the years. Every girl he’s been with you’ve found a way to tease him about it, anything he says, anything he does, and he loves it since it usually ends in a play fight and him surrendering control of the tv remote to you. This time however, it ends in something far different.

He tugs the shirt up further and pulls you roughly so that your calves are either side of his neck, your once again dripping core hovering above his face and awaiting tongue. 

“Only if it’s yours.” He says, his breath sending shockwaves through your body straight from your core.

His tongue deftly finds its way through your folds and inside your tensing cavern, and it feels heavenly. His nose nudges at your clit while his tongue laps up all around you, his lips working in tandem while his tongue dances inside you. The moans leaving your mouth are otherworldly noises that you’ve never quite made before, maybe because you’ve never sat on anyone’s face, never mind someone as experienced as Harrison, something that you’re now learning is far from a bad thing. 

“Harrison!” You cry when he delves a little deeper. His eyes remain between your own and the way your boobs bounce inside his shirt while you squirm on top of him. Every noise the pair of you make masks the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs to the attic, and muffle the sound of knocking on the door.

Harrison’s mouth continues its assault on your needy heat, your one hand weaving into his hair while the other massages your breast through your shirt, bringing stimulation to your nipple and bringing your climax closer and closer...

“Haz, we get that you hate work but you really don’t have to make so much noise- OH MY FUCKING GOD!”

You freeze, your recently shut eyes shooting open and darting over to the door, ajar with Tom standing just over the threshold, staring right at the two of you with a face of horror and disgust. Harrison however, bites down on your sensitive nub in his state of shock, and your second orgasm washes over you in such a state of unexpected euphoria that you lose all your bearings. 

You cry out Harrison’s name like a prayer, chanting it while he cleans you up, and it’s not for a solid minute after your climax ends that you realise Tom is still in the room with you, rendered speechless, mouth agape and dumbfounded. 

When you clock what’s happening, you grasp Harrison’s duvet and yank it up to cover you both while you climb off Harrison’s face, his lips still glistening with your cum. He seems lost for words, too, blanching more and more with every passing second. He gulps, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. No one moves, except for Harrison’s cock twitching under the duvet.

“It’s not what it looks like...” you say, your words getting lost in the thick tension of the room, like a rubber band pulled so tightly that it could snap at any given moment.

“Really? Because it looks like Harrison was just eating you out!”

You can’t fault Tom's logic, it is exactly what it looks like, so you just blush and pull the duvet up to your chin while wishing for a black hole to swallow you up. 

You can’t help but notice how beautiful Harrison looks though, plump lips and that wonderful glint in his eyes, messy hair and no top. 

“Ok, so it’s exactly what it looks like, surprise?” You can’t figure out what to say to him in the current situation, but instantly feel relaxed when Harrison begins to rub his palm up and down your thigh beneath the duvet .

“What- oh, this is why you called?” Sam now makes an appearance, folding his arms and standing next to a resolute Tom. You can’t decipher if he’s angry, amused or something else. “Our plan worked!” He suddenly shouts, and within seconds, Harry arrives beside the pair, a smirk on his lips.

“Really? So shagging Y/N and talking about it in front of me was all a ploy to get us together? And if so, why does Mr Fancy Pants here look so angry?” Harrison asks, and you can feel him willing his boner to wilt while in the presence of the brothers.

“Yes!” Comes paddy’s voice from the doorway, swiftly standing in front of Tom. 

You smirk, but Harrison scowls, unable to accommodate this situation within his mind.

“He’s probably shocked because he walked in on you two... you know. But yeah, it was all a plan, sorry by the way.” Harry says, you just wave it off but Harrison’s grip on your leg tightens.

“Don’t be angry, it worked didn’t it?” Sam chimes in, patting Paddy on the back before making his way out.

Tom has to have the last word, you can see it on the settling lines on his forehead, so you brace yourself closer to Haz. “And don’t I bloody know that it worked!”

Maybe the drama was worth it for the laugh out of Tom’s reaction, though Harrison would argue with you there.

[stilinskitpose]

Pining over him // Peter Hale

Pairing: Peter Hale x female reader

Warnings: nsfw , smut , slight daddy kink, hair pulling, choking, unprotected sex, tonnnn of dirty talk and just a lot of sexy sin (plotless kind of)

Characters: Peter, Derek, Stiles, Scott, implies pack, y/n

Summery: The young reader has been fantasising about the feeling of being with a real man for a while now, a real man being no other than the notorious Peter Hale. However, it’s hard to be taken seriously when Peter thinks you are no more than an annoying little teenage girl.

Word Count: lost count it’s a ton

Authors Note: This is my first time posting on tumblr, let alone posting a smut imagine soooo I don’t know how this will turn out. I’m just going with the flow of my hormonal teenage instincts ;)

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“Y/n, did you even listen to a word that I just said?”

The deepness of the voice made you snap out of you staring at the entertaining spider that was crawling up the corner wall of Dereks loft, which caused you to jump suddenly on your squished position on the coach, trapped between two clowns, Scott and Stiles.

The quiet yelp you let out made Stiles stiffle a snort causing you to elbow him in the shoulder. The fucker deserved that. You let out a content sigh and an evil smile when you heard a sound of pain from your annoying brother from another mother. What can I say, the pain he feels makes me wither in complete pleasure. I snort at my chain of thoughts and look up to see a confused Derek Hale.

"Yeah sorry, I was just-", Trailing off mid sentence thinking of a viable reason for not listening to the former Alpha. Thinking it would be funny to tell them about the entertaining spider that just crawled under the crack of the wall on the other side of the spacious loft.

“There was a spider” You answer timidly, grimacing at yourself for sounding so stupid in the room full of your pack. Derek looks at you quizzingly, you giving him the most innocent look you could muster, he sighs before letting a small smile come across his features from your utter randomness.

“I was just telling you how we need to keep you somewhere safe incase the Darach decides to pay you a visit” Derek says quickly, you sigh in annoyance hating being treated like a defenceless little girl. You understood that you weren’t anything supernatural or anything but you would think Derek would have a little faith in you since you were so handy with a frying pan from being in a near death experience with the twin Alphas not so long ago. You chuckle subconsciously at the memory.

A mutter of agreements are heard from around the loft from your oh so fellow pack members. Betrayed and defeated, you try voice your opinion on the matter.

“What? No” You probably looked like a kicked puppy. You definatly felt like one. You continued “I’m not some helpless human Derek. Stiles is more helpless than me!” You whine flicking Stiles in the head which he repeated the action harder on me causing me to poke him in the ribs.

“Why has this suddenly turned into bash Stiles day? You know I have feelings too” Stiles offendingly says, his arms spazzing at his sides to try and prove his point.

“When am I ever nice to you” you scoff jokingly earning a chuckle in agreement from him before he went back to listening to the arguement infront of him wishing he had a bowl of popcorn to go along with it.

Derek ignores Stiles and resumes telling me that it’s for my own good. Blah blah.

“Where will I even go anyway? It’s not like I have a line of people waiting to protect me from the looming and pending doom of death itself” You replied, words laced with exaggeration.

“I’ll look after her, it’s not like I have anything better to do”

The husky voice came from the corner of the room shadows dancing across the body of the person that is wanting to ‘look after her’. What am I, a dog? Y/n replied in her head afraid to reply that response out loud since the deep voice belonged to a man she have been shamefully harbouring a crush on for some time now. Peter fucking Hale.

It’s not like she was afraid to converse with him, it’s just that she was terrified of making a fool of her self by stuttering out a few syllables before halting and staring at his piercing blue eyed that made her legs buckle submissively from the dominance they give off. She doesn’t know how he does it, makes her feel like her skin is on fire whilst her heart pounds faster than humanly normal. Without even meaning to aswell. It’s like he was a complete natural at turning her into jelly without even noticing. It riles her up to no extent.

Your eyes widen in shock and your heart beat began to rise much to your dismay, knowing that he probably knew the effects he had on you, since he had spectacular werewolf senses, made you want to crawl into a ball and wither away in embarrassment. But he never made any indication that he knew either from being completely oblivious or because he wanted to salvage that slither of pride you had left for yourself. You prayed the first. But you doubted it since Peter isn’t exactly known for being the nicest human in the planet.

You knew you were probably over exaggerating and stressing about this whole situation way to much but you just couldn’t comprehend what you would do if Peter found out the way you feel since he is abit older than you, being still only a junior in highschool yourself and him being a fully grown mature man that you wanted to pounce on all the damn time. Jesus I need to get laid, preferably by the man invading my dreams at night but desperate times cause desperate measures.

“Look after me? I’m not a child, I don’t need watching over, I have things to do like watching the last season of The Vampire Diaires even though I’m shitting scared to because Stephen dies” You ramble a butt load of word vomit wanting to shut up but your nerves were your worst enemy in situations like these.

“Hey don’t aim your anger on me I’m just volenteering to keep the weak and innocent out of harms way, that’s character development if you ask me” Peter replies smugly as his gaze burns into the your own. You muster up a harsh glare at Mr Hottie before pivoting to face Derek who was evidently waying the little options he had.

“Your not seriously considering this right? You hate him, everyone hates him” I bitterly state, relunctanly turning around to meet Mr Hotties patronising gaze. The evident smirk plastered on his handsome face tells me that he’s enjoying being the cause of this conflict. Mockingly sending a small wave as if proud of the past he has with the pack before him.

Everyone once again agrees with my statement causing Peter to let out an annoyed sigh before saying “I thought we all got over this anger that has been directed towards yours truely, It will give you wrinkles if you frown at me like that sweetheart”, he humours the situation by sending a wink in my direction. Ugh.

“It’s not like we have a lot of options right now y/n, as much as I don’t like it we need as many people focused on defeating the Darach. It will only be for a few days at the maximum. I promise. Please?” Derek had is puppy dog eyes displayed making it very hard for me to deny him, so I bit my tongue and agreed.

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Derek had dropped me off at Mr Hotties apartment with my bag laying heavy on my shoulders ready to stay for a few nights. This whole situation is bitter sweet if you ask me. Bitter because you didn’t know if these few days will hold a wave of awkwardness between the two of you and a lack of communication since the both of you have never had a proper convosation other than yesterday when he offered to keep you hostage in his apartment. And sweet because you’d have eye candy for a while. I was not complaining. It’s a win win situation.

You stroll around the apartment amused “I’m not going to lie I have always wondered if you lived in a secret lab or in an underground network of tunnels or something like that but this will do I guess ” you snickered and joked. Peter lifted an eyebrow and smirked saying “I’m not a complete animal darling”. My stomache filled with butterflies at his statement and I cleared my throat looking around the apartment once again.

Peter leaned on the doorframe and cocked his hip against it whilst his arms were crossed. Damn. He gave me a once over eyes lingering on the exposed area where my mid thigh length skirt lay. “Aren’t you a little young to be wearing that?” I frowned and looked up at his defined features past his broard strong shoulders.

“I’m nearly 18 I can wear whatever the hell I want” I scoffed. Peter held his hands up in mock surrender before strolling into the kitchen with his back facing me. I could see the defining back muscles from the outline of his green v neck and the way his bisceps flexed when reaching into one of the cupboards for two mugs. His hands. Oh holy Jesus his hands. The muscular and veiny hands gripped onto the coffee mugs send a wave of arousal downstairs. My mouth turned into an o shape as I imagined all the things those hands could do to me. All the filthy things. A girl can only take so much! As my eyes began to travel down the werewolf in front of me I started to bite my lip at the way his jeans hugged his cheeks as they clung amazingly against his thick legs that held rippling muscle. I have got to ask him what his leg day routine is.

A hand started to wave across of my face as if trying to get my attention, I averted my eyes away from the goodies to see Peter staring at me with a wide smirk along his smug face.

“Are you okay there y/n? You look a little flustered. Something on your mind?” He walked towards me untill I could feel his lips skimming the top of my ear. I gulped in suprised as my eyes widened and started stuttering out an excuse.

“Oh u-um I was just— nothing” I hung my head to look at my feet awkwardly as they began shifting from nerves.

“Hmm okay let me show you where you’ll be sleeping” he his voice rasped against my ear which sent shivers around my body.

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He knew exactly what he was doing. I mean how couldn’t he? It was like we were playing a game of cat and mouse. More like werewolf and human. I snorted out a chuckle at my pathetic joke as I lay down on the bed in the spare bedroom that Peter allowed me to use. Glancing down at my lack of clothing, an oversized t shirt that said ‘bugs life forever’ and a pair of white lace panties I let out a heavy sigh clocking my head untill it reached the my phone saying it was 2:45am. My throat was dry from overthinking earlier with Peter, how he got so close to me, pressing his body against mine. Why would he even do that? He thinks I’m an annoying teenager. A child.

Wanting to wet my parched throat I hopped towards the kitchen quietly, attempting not to wake Peter from his room and not bothering with putting on sweatpants as I didn’t suspect anyone to see me in this state. I reached my arms out to the highest cupboard in the kitchen, straining my arm at the height of it and huffed when I couldn’t reach it. A deep voice made me freeze in my position and slowly turn around.

“Did I say you could use my kitchen without my permission?” I gasped as I saw his shirtless form, rippling muscle clouded his chest with light scattered chest hair in the centre that led towards the waistband of his sweatpants. Atleast someone thought about wearing sweatpants.

Holy Jesus for I have sinned. “I didn’t think you would have a problem with it since you offered to imprison me inside the walls of your apartment” I muttered angrily starting to once again reach for the glass that I am determined to get. Little did you know that Peters eyes wandered past the hemline of the oversized sweatshirt you were wearing that was hiked up from you stretching to reach the glass, this eyes lingered on the exposed skin of your thighs and the white lace panties that hugged the underline of your firm ass. Having these sudden dirty thoughts that clouded his mind from his previous dream feels wrong since you are much younger than him. But Jesus did it feel so right to him.

The feeling of someone pressed against you from behind startles you. You move to spin around when a deep voice interrupts you. “I’ll get it for you, don’t strain yourself darling” Peters voice seemed strained as if he was trying to keep himself together as you let out a choked sigh at how close proximity you both were to eachother. As he reached up to grab you a glass and handed it to you, your response make you regret the day you were born. Started from your hands brushing you blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.

“Thankyou daddy” Both his and your eyes widen at your statement.

Oh my god. Did I really just say that out loud? Judging by his expression, I’m pretty sure I did. Shit. What the fuck is wrong with you? Someone please just kill me right now. A werewolf could come up to me right now and kill me and I would say thankyou.

This is why I shouldn’t be allowed to mingle with others

As he was about to say something but you step back abruptly and close your eyes from shear embarrassment.

A husky voice made you jump on the spot, “ say it again” His eyes glazed over in pure hunger as he watched me like I was his prey and he was the predator.

“I-I don’t know w-what your talking about” my voice sqeaked in pure humiliation

“Say it again” he repeats himself before stalking his way towards you and wrapping his hand round your throat as he squeezed lightly sending an electric feeling of pleasure towards your core. You whimpered at the contact and threw your head back at the sight of this heated haze that bore into yours and so he could reach more of your exposed throat.

“Yes, you do. Say it again. I won’t ask a third time.” He growls and you can feel yourself begin to dampen at his forceful tone.

“Thankyou daddy” You coo.

Fuck.” He curses before lunging forward and taking your lips with his. You immediately open your mouth to his probing tongue and moan when it brushes over yours. Peter pulls away from your wet lips and traces his tongue down your throat as his lips begin to suck along the side of your neck surely leaving marks as he does it making you whine and shudder in pleasure. His impossibly enormous hands glide their way to my chest before capturing my breasts through my sweatshirt starting to kneed and pinch my nipples as he held intense eye contact with me.

“These-” he stopped to grasp them harshly before tearing the fabric of my sweatshirt off making direct contact with them this time with his warm and inviting hands that made me choke a whimper as I was being dominated by the man that I have pined over for as long as I have known him. “Are mine” he finished with a growl flashing his blue luminous eyes. His lips began to assault the hardened nipples, swirling his warm tongue round the bud then biting them teasingly.

“Say it, say that you are mine little girl” he demanded as his hand reached down to cup my pussy through my white lace panties.

“Oh god- oh god yes! I’m yours” I managed to stutter as I became a moaning mess as his magic fingers circled around my clothed clit before he moved them aside and plunged two fingers inside my tight walls.

Barely forming a grammatically correct sentence from the immense feeling of pleasure that I was going through, I reached down bravely to palm his prominent bulge that twitched under my palm.

He growled as his hands ran down your back, grabbing your ass between his hands touching outline of your pussy through your thin lace panties. He pushes you back into the kitchen until you feel your back hit the kitchen table. Peter pulls back away from your lips and flips you around, bending you over the table.

Shocked from the turn of events you let out a yelp, “What are you doing?” you moan and cry out as his hands pull down your panties, kicking your legs open with his feet.

“Giving you what you want baby” He husks as his hands pull down your shorts, kicking your legs open with his feet. You hear him unbuckle his belt before shoving his hand between your legs. “Your soaked” he groans before shoving his cock deep inside your pink and wet pussy.

“ Did you not think I’d notice how you feel about me baby? Your arousal always in the air for me to smell all the damn time I’m around you baby girl, you don’t even realise how hard it was to resist the urge to fuck you everytime I saw you” You purr in content at his sinful string of words.

“Peter please” you beg. He slaps your ass hard causing you to let out a loud moan. “That’s not my name” he glares. Realising what you meant it took you no time before pleasing him again.

“Daddy! O-oh fuck yes!”

“That’s a good girl, I’m going to fucking ruin you” he growls in your ear making you whimper. His dirty words only spurring how turned on you are.

“Please don’t stop what your doing” your desperate gasps are all that he needed to fuck you untill your screaming his name.

He begins to ram his cock in and out of your pussy as you let out a stream of loud and sinful moans, pounding you into the table, making the table legs squeak against the hard floor. He reached round to grip your hair as the other slings around your throat holding you in place as he begins to whisper dirty words into your ear that makes you eager to feel your pussy pulsate around his hard and thick length.

“Who knew you were such a naughty girl y/n? Desperate to feel my cock inside you, I bet you like it when I fuck you don’t you? Huh? Rough and hard?” You managed to humm before it turned into a stuttered moan as you felt yourself beginning to quiver and your legs to shake he continued to pound you with his cock.

Suddenly the feeling of a knot forming below your stomache makes you stutter out a moan “ holy shit, yes, yes!” You scream as you come undone around him as he continues to pound you through your orgasm. A stream of grunts follow after yours as he came inside you, milking your walls with his hot cum.

“Wow, that was unexpected” you grunt as you try and catch your breath, leaning against the kitchen table.

“You started it, calling me daddy and all” he teased whilst he send you a smirk.

“Well I’ll call you daddy as much as you want next time” you reach out to pull at his short hair leaning to give him a subtle kiss on his lips that lingered.

“Darling, next time I plan to fuck that warm little mouth with my cock” he growls.

That can definitely be arranged

[earliebirb]

it’s a small world after all

This is a fic written for my dear friend Jen ( @ishipallthings​ ) who sent me this prompt. I am making a new text post because Tumblr doesn’t allow me to insert the “Keep reading” link properly when replying to an ask :( 

it’s a small world after all

steve/tony, meet cute, pre-slash, au: no powers, 2054 words 

“Great speech.”

Smiling at the compliment, Tony turns around. “Thank y—”

And nearly drops his champagne flute.

His world comes to a stop. The light chatter of the mingling guests fades away, all of his senses zeroing in on the man standing before him.

They had only spent a night together—one unforgettable night a year ago in London—and didn’t even manage to catch each other’s last names, but Tony would recognize those baby blues anywhere.

It’s Steve.

Steve from Tony’s London business trip. Or, as Rhodey has become accustomed to calling him after months and months of Tony bemoaning his own profound stupidity of letting the perfect London stranger go without giving him so much as a phone number—The Soulmate That Got Away. 

“I— What— Steve?” Tony blinks and shakes his head, just to make sure that this is not some weird hallucination his brain has conjured up out of a severe case of lovesick pining.

No matter how many times he blinks, Steve stays there, standing in front of him, dressed in an elegant navy blue suit that shows off his insane shoulder to waist ratio.

“Tony,” Steve says and maybe Tony is imagining the way Steve sounds a little bit breathless, like maybe this moment is just as overwhelming for him as it is for Tony. How Tony has imagined this scenario happening a thousand times in a thousand different ways—meeting Steve again, hearing Steve call his name.

“What— What are you doing here?” Of all the places he thought he would run into Steve again, his best friend’s wedding is definitely not one of them. Tony sets the glass of champagne down on a nearby table before he actually drops it. His hand is definitely not trembling. 

“Uh, my date is a friend. Of the bride’s.”

“A friend of Carol’s?”

“Yeah. She went to get a drink, but—”

Before Steve can finish his sentence, someone approaches him from behind, hooking her arm through his with the kind of easy affection that only comes from knowing each other for years. 

“Steve, I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” the woman chides, but there is no mistaking the fond note in her voice. Her blonde hair falls just slightly below her shoulders. She is clad in a long dress whose shade of blue matches Steve’s suit. 

“Sorry,” Steve says, squeezing her arm lightly as he turns to her with a soft smile. To his horror, Tony feels his own heart sinking. As much as he wants to, he finds himself unable to tear his eyes away from the sight of them standing side by side in front of him.

Loathe as Tony is to admit it, they look lovely together.

Tony doesn’t know why he is disappointed at all. After all, he is just a stranger with whom Steve has spent a night with. Granted, it was a wonderful night—one that started with them fighting over the last croissant at a coffee shop near Tony’s hotel and ended with pillow talk that was way too deep for someone Tony had just met a few hours prior. 

Just because Tony had maybe—okay, definitely—fallen a little bit in love with him, however, it doesn’t guarantee that Steve would feel the same way about Tony. 

To reiterate once again, they are just strangers. Acquaintances, at best. Acquaintances who spent a night being physically and emotionally intimate with each other on the day of their first meeting. The sex had been more than satisfactory, but if Tony were being honest, the part of that fateful day that had secured Steve a special place in his heart was the part where they spent the rest of the night cuddled up in bed, sharing secrets and stories about their very different lives until the early hours of the morning, pretending that they weren’t sleepy before eventually drifting off in each other’s arms. 

Up until minutes ago, Tony wasn’t even sure he would ever see Steve again. It is beyond ridiculous for him to maintain the foolish hope of Steve returning his feelings, the hope that Steve had somehow also waited for him or tried to look for him all this time. 

There is also the fact that Steve isn’t the one who had woken up in bed cold and alone after a night too well spent. 

“Oh, hey! You’re James’ best friend, right? The best man. I’m Sharon.” The woman offers him her hand, a warm smile on her lips.

“Tony. Nice to meet you.” He shakes her hand, returning her smile.

There is a beat in which Sharon seems to take in the situation, looking back and forth between Steve and Tony.

“You guys know each other?”

“Yes—” Steve says.

“Well, not really—” Tony answers, at the exact same time.

Both of them fall into silence upon realizing their opposing answers. Sharon blinks, eyebrows furrowing.

“We’ve met before,” Tony manages eventually, giving Sharon what he hopes passes for an amicable smile. All the while, he feels Steve’s eyes on him. 

“I see.” Sharon nods, but her smile is disconcertingly knowing. “Well, I think I saw some of my friends over there, so I’m going to leave you boys to catch up. It’s nice to meet you, Tony.”

With that, she leaves them alone again, her heels clicking away. 

An awkward silence settles between them. After a few heartbeats, Tony takes a deep breath and makes a valiant attempt at small talk:

“So, how long have you guys been to—”

“You never called.”

“What?”

“I, uh.” Steve’s eyes flit down to his feet before meeting Tony’s. His smile looks slightly strained at the edges. ”You never contacted me.”

“You— You left without a word. I had no way of contacting you.”

“What?” Steve’s eyebrows crease together.

“You did!” Tony exclaims, extremely confused as to why Steve seems to be confused. “I woke up and you were gone. No goodbye. No nothing. How was I supposed to contact you?”

“I— I had to catch a flight, but I didn’t want to wake you, so I did leave without saying goodbye—”

“That’s literally what I just said—”

“—but I left a note!”

“...Huh?”

Steve stares at him with bewildered eyes. “I left you a note on the nightstand. I tore a piece of paper from the hotel notepad, wrote you a note, folded it, and left it there for you to find. I wrote down my phone number and everything.”

“No, you didn’t,” Tony insists, indignant. “I would’ve found—”

Except Tony now remembers that although when he woke up in bed that day he realized that Steve was nowhere to be found, he was also immediately struck with the realization that he was late for his 10 a.m. meeting with a client—the main reason he had been in London in the first place. He then scrambled to get ready and was out the door in a record time of ten minutes. 

He didn’t even glance at whatever note Steve had supposedly left on the nightstand.

When he came back to the hotel later that night, his room had been cleaned up by the hotel staff.

“What?” Steve blinks at him. 

Tony lets out a sharp exhale in disbelief. He tries to breathe through the wave of disappointment that hits him upon realizing that Steve had wanted him to call, and that both of them are just victims of an unfortunate set of events.

Steve is still staring at him, desperate for an explanation.

“I just realized that— Um. You see, that day, the morning after we… met, I woke up late for my meeting.” Tony smiles at him, sheepish and apologetic. “So I rushed out the door in a hurry. When I came back, the bed was made and the room was all tidy. There was nothing on the nightstand. My guess is that the hotel staff must’ve cleaned it up during the day, while I was gone, so…”

“So you never saw the note,” Steve finishes, a myriad of emotions flitting through his eyes.

“I never saw it,” Tony confirms, gazing wistfully at Steve, his heart constricting at the unfairness of it all. They could have started something, if luck had been on their side. Steve had waited for him to call. Now, however…

Steve clearly belongs to someone else now and whatever chance Tony had back then, it certainly is long gone by now. 

Suddenly, someone calls out Tony’s name. They both turn to see the groom making a beckoning motion from across the room. 

“Tones, let’s take a picture!” Rhodey shouts. He is flanked by Carol and Pepper. All three of them are staring at Tony, expectant smiles on their faces.

Tony nods at them with a grin before turning to Steve. Sweet, beautiful Steve whom Tony never got around to having a proper date with.

“Sorry, I have to go,” Tony says regretfully, heart heavy. “It’s really nice seeing you again, Steve.”

He takes one last look at Steve before turning around to join his friends.

Before he manages to take more than two steps, however, Steve catches his wrist.

“Tony, wait.”

Tony turns to see Steve staring at him with a weirdly intense expression on his face, like he is working up the courage to say something. 

“Yeah?”

“Before you go, can I borrow your phone?”

Tony blinks but complies readily, fishing his phone out of his pocket. Maybe Steve wants to keep in touch, become friends. 

Steve types a phone number into Tony’s phone. When he is done, he hands the phone back to Tony. The new number is saved under the name “Steve Rogers”.

“That’s my phone number. Don’t lose it this time,” Steve says, a sweet and lopsided smile on his face. He then swallows, shoving his hands into his pockets. “And, uh, listen… If it’s all the same to you, I would still very much like to go on that date with you, the one you promised we would go on once we’re both back home in New York. I know it’s long overdue, it’s been a year. But I would still love to go for coffee with you, if you’re willing.”

Tony stares at him, uncomprehending. Steve seems to take Tony’s silence as a sign of rejection, because then he licks his lips nervously and says:

“Only if you want to, of course. Only if you want to, only if you’re comfortable with it, and only if you have time. You really don’t have to if—”

“But,” Tony shakes his head, “I thought you and, uh, Sharon? Aren’t you two…?”

Steve pauses at Tony’s question. The second he registers what Tony is getting at, his eyes widen almost comically.

“Oh. Oh. Oh, no. No. We’re not like that. We’ve never been like that.” Steve breaks into a relieved chuckle. “I don’t think her girlfriend would like that idea very much.”

“Oh,” Tony breathes. He feels a rush of giddy hope, so strong and sudden that it leaves him a bit dizzy. “So, coffee?”

“Yeah.” Steve stares at him, nervous and expectant, light pink dusting his cheeks. “If that offer still stands.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“How does next weekend sound?”

Steve beams at him, smile radiant. “Next weekend sounds amazing.”

“Okay,” Tony says, stepping back slowly. “I’ll call you.”

Steve nods before ducking his head bashfully, biting his lip to suppress the growing grin on his face. 

Turning around to finally walk away, Tony feels the ends of his lips climbing up into a helpless smile, so wide it could split his face in half. 

Later that night, he calls Steve. His heart is pounding in his chest as he waits for Steve to pick up, phone pressed up to his ear. 

“Hello?” Steve’s voice comes from the other end of the line.

“Rogers. It’s Tony. Tony Stark.”

A pause. “The Tony who stole my croissant?”

Tony grins. “I didn’t steal anything. That croissant was rightfully mine.”

“I got there first. I saw it first.”

“But I ordered it first.”

“I rest my case.” Steve laughs, the sound sending warmth running through Tony’s body. “I’m so glad you called. Thank you for calling.”

Tony smiles. It’s only right that he gives Steve a call. 

After all, even though Tony had stolen Steve’s croissant, Steve managed to steal something much more valuable: Tony’s heart. 

[jojo-fantasy-aus]

Fantasy au!

Josuke x F! Reader- Ch 2.

It takes Two.

Quick TW for creepy, handsy old men.

If trying to find all the parts on Tumblr isn't your thing, you can also find my story under the name "It takes two" on AO3!

(All of my MK works from my @dinogoofy account will be posted on A03 shortly as well!)

   Your eyes fluttered open, greeted by the awful sight of the sewer walls. Great. You were hoping that all of this had been an awful nightmare. The crook in your neck was a reminder of the unnatural position you fell asleep in. You went to run a hand through your hair as you tried to shake off the groggy early-morning feeling, but a flash of fear coursed through you when your hand got caught on someone's arm.

   "I'm glad you're awake. I was starting to get worried." You jumped at the Masculine voice, relief washing over you in a cool wave when you realized it was just Josuke. He was still sitting where he was when you fell asleep last night, and you tried not to blush when you finally processed that you had fallen asleep on his shoulder. His blue eyes looked tired, and you knew you probably did too. You mumbled an apology before sitting up straight and stretching your arms, Josuke following suit. 

   The silence was almost overwhelming, but you couldn't bring yourself to speak up. Everything just felt, numb. Like you were drained of all emotions exempt exhaustion.

   You watched as Josuke stood up and started to walk back to the grate.

   "Ya'know, I don't think you ever told me your name." The words caught you off guard, laughing at yourself for managing to forget something so simple as a proper introduction. You gave him your name as he looked through the grate.

   "It looks like it's around noon, if you were curious." Noon? Holy shit! How long had he been waiting for you to wake up? 

   "Sorry about falling asleep on you." -was all you could think to say. Josuke smiled, walking back and holding out a hand to help you up. You took it gently out of habit, after everything that had just happened, you couldn't care less about being ladylike.

   It was infuriatingly hard not to notice how muscular he was as he pulled you up.  Once you were good and standing you couldn't help but wonder where to go from here. Where to even start looking. Neither of you even had a good picture of exactly everything that went down last night exempt from what Josuke had seen. You two had drifted back towards the grate when you spoke up.

   "Any idea where to start?" Josuke seemed to think about it for a second as he climbed the latter and pushed the grate back open.

   "I have a few friends that work in a tavern nearby. They tend to overhear a lot, so I thought we might as well start there." A tavern. You hadn't been to one of those in years. You never traveled much on the vacations and off-days the palace gave you, so you weren't quite sure how to feel about it. All palace gossip about them always pointed out the rowdy undisciplined adventures that gather in them, but surely they wouldn't be that bad? You had become a "rowdy adventure" yourself now, hadn't you? 

   The thought made you smile, never in a million years would you ever expect to be doing something like this. Work has always been the forefront of your personality, wanting to provide for your family and your future above all else. Only when you were a kid did you ever even dream of being an adventurer. Josuke called your name.

   "You coming?" He had already made it out of the grate while you were caught up in your own thoughts, waiting patiently for you at the edge.

   "Yeah, sorry. I was...thinking."

   The brisk walk to the Tavern revealed all sorts of horror. You didn't quite realize that Josuke had dragged you back into town yesterday until you left the alleyway. You and Josuke wandered near the palace gardens, where the tents had been, to try and figure out what started the panic.

   It was horrible, blood splatter on the fountains, guards everywhere. Tents torn and trampled, the beautiful gazebo broken and bloody. Nearby was a single wheelbarrow filled with… with bodies. Bodies that wore palace uniforms. You couldn't bring yourself to look any longer.

   Josuke's face was steely and angered, posture tense. He was definitely handling the situation differently than you were. A flash of anger and shame bubbled up in your chest the more you thought about yesterday. You wish he would've stopped to grab Koichi, or the princess, instead of you. He could've saved them if he tried. It wouldn't matter if you were dead or kidnapped, at least they would've been safe. you pushed the feelings back down. Josuke was probably still ashamed, you couldn't blame this on him. 

   You felt useless looking at all this devastation, and felt even more so when you started to tear up.

   "Josuke, can we leave?" Your broken whisper cut through the dead silent air, Josuke looking back at you, face shifting into a softer, kinder look. You must've looked pitiful to evoke that kind of reaction, and you hated it. You hated feeling weak.

   "Yeah," 

   As you and Josuke started to leave, you noticed a crowd had gathered to gawk at the destruction. A paperboy walked over to the guards doing cleanup, talking briefly before taking out his bell.

   "The king is alive! This king is alive! Princess Yukako yet to be found! Find your family and pray!" The crowd started whispering to each other, and as more people added to the mass it became harder to push through them to get out. You almost lost Josuke in the fray, but once you pushed through and into the empty street he was right there waiting for you.

   "Are you ok?" You looked at him in confusion, and only realized why he was asking when you felt the tears sliding down your face. 

   "I'm fine." He clearly didn't believe you, but he didn't say anything as you wiped your tears. 

   Before long Josuke was leading you down endless streets, taking twists and turns that you had forgotten after being cooped up working in the palace for so long. All of it started to feel so nostalgic. A familiar sign here, an old residential street there, it was nice to be back where you started. 

   That's how the journey started anyway, the closer you got to this Tavern the more people started to recognize Josuke, and by people, you mean women. One after another would run up to him and say hello, ignoring your presence all together. Every time that happened he had to shoo them off with some excuse. You couldn't imagine being that popular with the opposite sex. 

   You scoffed at one particular woman who shot you a nasty glare as Josuke got her off his tail. Josuke was handsome, sure, but these women were getting ridiculous.

   "Sorry about that. It's like they follow me everywhere." Josuke said, exasperated.

   "It's fine," you lied, they were getting annoying. "You seem to be quite the ladies man."

   Josuke chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck.

   "Well, I can't say I know why," That had to be a lie. He had to have some sort of idea of how good-looking he was right? You two only walked in silence about a minute longer when Josuke stopped.

   "Ah, here it is!" The sign above the door read 'Tonio's Tavern,'. It was a rather nice, expensive looking tavern that was so loud on the inside that you could hear it from the street. It was even more architecturally beautiful on the inside, and you gawked as Josuke held the door open for you. This place was so beautiful you could hardly believe it was an average tavern.

   Josuke led you over to the bar, waving a man down as soon as he left the kitchen. He instantly smiled, waving before setting a few plates down. He pinched the ear of a different, sleeping man before heading over to the two of you. Waking the scarred, grey-haired man, who complained at him before smiling excitedly when his eyes set on Josuke. You were just sitting down as they both made it over to you.

   "Josuke! It's good to see you, friend" the taller one said, foreign accent thick. Josuke smiled, about to answer when the grey-haired man almost tackled him into a hug. 

   "Josuke! It's been so long!" Josuke pushed him off, definitely happy to see the guy but more concerned with his hair.

   "It's only been a day or two Okuyasu," They seemed to be such good friends, that you found yourself to be smiling at the "reunion" as well. This was the first time you think you've seen Josuke this happy. 

   After they had all calmed down, Josuke introduced the tall man to be Tonio, the owner of the restaurant, and the other to be Okuyasu, Josuke and Koichi's best Friend, who was a mercenary working as security for Tonio's tavern. Both of them were eager to meet you, and only Okuyasu became a little flighty when Josuke mentioned your connection to Yukako. Josuke was in the middle of a sentence when he quickly realized that maybe he shouldn't be talking about this rescue attempt amongst the hustle and bustle of the tavern's lunch hour. Josuke called your name.

   "Hey, Okuyasu and I gotta head to the back to discuss. Are you gonna be ok alone?" 

   "I'll be fine," you were tired, but you weren't completely defenseless. Josuke seemed to understand and made sure to order you some food before he left.

   "You really don't need to do that," Josuke didn't really give you a choice, giving you a knowing look as your stomach rumbled frustratingly on cue, whispering something to Tonio about the food. The distrustful part of you hoped he wasn't going to poison the food. Tonio came back with your food shortly after Josuke and Okuyasu disappeared.

   "Just call if you need anything, bella." The words rolled off his tongue as he set the plate down. You nodded, thanking him with a smile. Once you started eating you found out very quickly why this place was so busy. It was delicious, the dish was just as foreign to you as Tonio's accent, and yet still so amazing. 

   You were thoroughly enjoying your lunch when a stranger sat down on the barstool closest to you. Immediately your skin prickled, stomach turning as you realized just how many stools were still unoccupied. It was uncomfortable to say the least that this man had sat right next to you on purpose. 

   "Hey girlie, what are you doing here all alone?" His voice was so gruff and scratchy that it almost made you feel sick. 

   Just ignore him, you said to yourself, you have to ignore him.

   "Hey, I was talking to you, bitch." He snarled, pulling your plate away from you. What could you do? Your eyes fluttered around the room nervously, keeping your head down so that the man could see you looking for help. Damn, Tonio, Josuke, Okuyasu, none of them were in sight. You felt like an idiot for staying put, but you were a grown woman. You could defend yourself if you needed to. 

   "Are ya deaf or what? I'll show you what happens when you ignore me!" The screeching of the stool against the floor made you flinch. Finally looking up, wide-eyed as you stared at the man. He smirked when you did.

   "Oh, so ya can hear ya nasty bitch," He sneered, his voice had started to raise, and before you knew it all eyes in the tavern were on you. He raised his hand to hit you when a figure approached him from behind, grabbing his arm.

   "Just what the hell are you doing?" Josuke stared him down with a calm intensity, Okuyasu on his heels, looking the same way. The man snatched his arm back with a scowl, massaging it like a wounded dog.

   "And who do you think you are? You two punks should stay out of a man's business." Josuke was clearly holding himself back, Okuyasu not doing much better as the man screamed in their faces. Something on his shoulder when he was turned caught your eye. It was a tattoo. A tattoo with a curling insignia, thorns and words you couldn't read taking over the expanse of it. You got a flash of the one you saw last night clear as day in your mind. You looked up at Josuke in a panic, mouthing the words to him the moment you caught his eye.

   The insignia,

   Josuke smirked, but his eyes looked dangerous. The man started to tremble once he realized he couldn't intimidate the pair. 

   Okuyasu grabbed him first, grabbing onto the back of his collar and dragging him out the side door and into the alley. Josuke followed right behind. The crowd gawked and stared, and you started to sweat. There was no way you were going to stay here. You followed your friends out the door.

   When you made it out and closed the door, Okuyasu had already started roughing the guy up. He definitely fit the build of a mercenary, and he got the guy taking in no time. Josuke stood in front of you, whether to block the scene or be defensive of you,  you didn't know.

   "L-look! Ya ain't getting anything out of me!" Another punch landed on his face. He groaned in pain, but continued to blabber.

   "That stupid shorty and the royal bitch are g-gonna be dead! Ya hear me! You can't do shit-" Okuyasu slapped him this time, groaning and turning to Josuke.

   "Really think this guy is worth it?" 

   "Yeah, as soon as we can get him to talk anyway." Josuke stalked over to the guy, leaning down to get in his face.

   "Okuyasu, which ball should we remove first, the right, or left." Josuke smirked wide as the man gulped in fear. You had no doubt they were bluffing, but he sure as hell didn't.

   "Ok! Ok! I'll tell ya how to find them, just don't touch my balls!" Josuke stood up straight, waltzing back over to you. 

   "Go talk to Tonio about renting a room, yeah? I have a feeling we're gonna be here a while."

   Renting a room at Tonio's was cheaper than you expected it to be, but you still had to split the coin for it with Josuke. You didn't care about the coin anyway really, it was the fact that he only had one room up for rental that night.

   Even if you stopped caring if your actions and the way you dressed were unladylike, the fact still remained that an unrelated man and woman sharing a room together out of wedlock was… unseemly, in the public's opinion. You yourself tried not to judge anyone's actions, but the thought of the women courting Josuke finding out made you shudder. You weren't worried about Josuke pulling any tricks, he was growing on you the more you were around him. 

   Tonio's rental rooms were quite pleasant, that you couldn't deny. With a large central bed, a couch, and a bell for tavern room service, this place was definitely targeted towards nobles. Tonio had even laid out some medical supplies just in case you and josuke were hurt.

   It didn't really make sense to you though, Tonio apparently knew of Josuke's healing abilities, wouldn't he know Josuke could heal himself? ... He could, couldn't he…?

   You gingerly pressed your thumb into the grooves of a jeweled flower necklace that you had forgotten you had. Tonio had given you and Josuke some clothes for the night, and when you changed much earlier you had found the necklace in your pocket. It was a gift from Yukako, and you had meant to put it on before you left for the festival. You must've shoved it in your skirt pocket as you rushed out the door. You had been fiddling with it for a while now as you observed the street from the second story window, relaxing on the rugged Camelback couch.

   You spotted Josuke from the corner of your eye, entering the room looking a bit disheveled. He definitely seemed exhausted.

   You gave him a slight wave that he returned with a smile, walking over to the bed where his clothes were laid out. His smile made your chest flutter a bit, and your stomach feel strange. You passed it off, you refused to fawn over someone so easily.

   You were pointed toward the window still, but you would be a fool if you couldn't tell he was changing behind you. He had tugged off his chain mail some time ago, when you had first rented the room, but now had started taking off his shirt.

   "Do you have to do that, here?" You say, immediately stiffening up and desperately keeping your eyes on the flower. Josuke chuckled.

   "You seem much too proper to look, Miss lady-in-waiting, so I don't really mind." You scoffed, biting the inside of your cheek to keep yourself in-check. Your face was quite red already, you knew, and you glanced up at the window to direct your attention at the men putting out the lanterns below.

   Unfortunately, with darkness afoot and lanterns burning bright in the room, all you could see was Josuke's taut muscled back in the reflection of the mirror. 

   You were more concerned than aroused when you noticed the cut across his back.

   "Josuke!" You called, turning around in your seat. He looked back at you, chest still full on display, making it a bit hard to focus on scolding him.

   "What happened to your back?" He smiled nervously.

   "Ah, well… I had to help Okuyasu throw out some assholes who started a bar fight, and one got me with a glass, my healing abilities don't really work on myself… but it's fine, it's not that bad." Your eyebrows furrowed, this must be exactly why Tonio put the supplies out. It occurred to you that maybe this was a regular occurrence for Josuke. You stood up from your seat and rushed over to the bed, pulling out the alcohol and cloth. 

   "Sit." You curtly commanded as you tugged the cork out of the bottle.

   "Seriously don't worry about it, I'll-"

   "Josuke. You can't possibly be thinking about not disinfecting that."Josuke laughed as you grabbed a hold of his arm and pulled him down onto the bed, facing his back towards you as you got to work. Josuke complained dramatically a few times but he was smiling while you told him to keep still.

   The wound wasn't too deep, but it still could've gotten infected if he let it be. Josuke hissed a little as you wiped away the blood. You apologized quietly as you focused. You set the cloth down and closed the bottle back up when you finished.

   "Thank you." You blushed, mumbling a shy 'you're welcome' as he stood, flexing a bit before putting on a night shirt that fit him a little too well, neckline dipping low, dark green in color.

   You ripped your eyes away and set the basket of medical supplies on the floor. Picking up the flower necklace off of the couch cushions and clasping it around your neck. Laying down a knitted blanket over the couch as a sheet shortly after and settling yourself, ready to sleep. 

   The sound of Josuke calling your name made your eyes fly open.

   "What do you think you're doing?" You sat up, confusion written all over your face.

   "Excuse me?" He was still smiling.

   "You can't possibly be thinking about sleeping on the couch?" He was clearly mocking you from earlier with a smirk on his face, which annoyed you to no end. You rolled your eyes at him as he stepped forward.

   "Yes, that is what I was trying to do. You're too tall to be sleeping on the couch Josuke, I was being courteous." Josuke was still smirking as he leaned over you, hands on the back of the couch to trap you in. You opened your mouth to speak but only gasped as he suddenly snuck an arm under your knees and another under your head to pick you up in a bridal hold.

   "Josuke! P- put me down this instant!" You squeaked. He only responded with a hum as he roughly dropped you on the bed.

   "What kind of knight would I be if I made a damsel in distress sleep on the couch?" 

   "I'm no damsel in distress!" You insisted as he walked back to the couch, landing on the cushions with a thump.

   "You were definitely in distress when I found you."

   "No I wasn't!" You were laughing at that point, he playfully scoffed at you and you responded by chucking a pillow at him. He caught it as it hit against his chest and put it on the couch where he could sleep. Rolling over on his side that faced away from you. 

   You couldn't help but stay smiling as you stood to blow out the lanterns, speaking softly as you returned to the bed. 

   "Goodnight, Josuke."

   "Goodnight, fair damsel." 

[let-it-raines]

What a Wicked Game {15/15}

Killian met her in a pub on a rainy night in March. Going inside was only supposed to be a way for him to avoid the rain and fight off the demons in his head. It was a place for him to pass through, not stay. But then he was charmed by a blonde woman with a quick wit who had absolutely no interest in him or who he was.

That was a first. It was also the beginning of Emma Nolan helping to bring him back to life. It was the beginning of everything.

Five years later, with their worlds crumbling around them, Killian can’t help but wonder if this is the end of the peace they have known now that his family knows about his relationship. It wouldn’t be a problem if his father wasn’t the King of England.

rating: mature

a/n: thank you to @captainswanbigbang for running this event and letting me write this story, to @resident-of-storybrooke for plotting and listening to me talk and for reading this, like, four times while never complaining, to @captainsjedi for making all of the incredible art for it and writing the sweetest tags, and to @wellhellotragic for finding the original story over on ao3 years ago and supporting me then and still supporting me now ❤️

ao3: beginning | current

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

-/-

February 2021

His heart is in his throat.

It’s been that way for several hours now, and at some point, Killian should probably get that checked out by a medical professional who can assure him that he’s not going to die and that his heart will return to his chest and beat at a normal rate again.

He is in a hospital, after all, so there’s likely someone who can help him out.

“Killian, you have to stop clenching your fist.”

“I’m not clenching my fist.”

“Literally, look down at your hand.”

Killian blinks before looking down at his hands. His right is tangled with Emma’s, his grip stronger than it should be, while his left is, indeed, balled into a fist on her mattress.

Oh.

Sighing, Killian unclenches his first before loosening his grip on Emma and leaning forward to press his lips against her knuckles. “I’m sorry, love. I - fuck. I really don’t mean to be so dramatic, but you fainted out of nowhere just as we were about to leave to go home, and I’m terrified that something awful is wrong with you.”

Emma’s hand pushes into his hair, scratching at his scalp, and he shouldn’t be the one who is being comforted right now. He should be comforting Emma. She’s the one who is in a hospital bed waiting on the results of all of the tests they ran on her, and while he knows she likely had low blood sugar and a lack of sleep from the hectic schedule of their tour, he cannot help but think of all of the horrendous things that could be wrong with his wife.

He loves her in sickness and in health, always, but God, he hopes she’s alright. He can’t live without her, which is so damn selfish to think, but this is where they are now.

(And he can be selfish when it comes to wanting Emma to be alright.)

It’s nothing. It has to be nothing.

“I’m fine,” Emma promises, but he knows she doesn’t actually know, not yet. “It’s been a crazy week with no sleep, and I skipped meals, which was stupid. It’s probably low blood sugar or exhaustion or something else I can fix when we get home and have some time off.”

“But you don’t know that.”

“I mean, I could be dying, but I didn’t think that’s what you wanted me to say.”

“Swan - ”

Emma huffs and rolls her eyes at him. “I’m fine until the doctor says otherwise because I pretty much refuse for something to be wrong with me.”

Killian nods and leans down to press his lips against her knuckles once more. He understands. He refuses for something to be wrong with her too. They’ve already spent too much time in their lives with Emma in a hospital, and he doesn’t want to keep doing this.

“Good afternoon, Your Highnesses,” Dr. Roberts sing-songs as she walks back into the room. He has no idea if this woman is always this peppy or if maybe this is her way of saying there’s nothing wrong with Emma before she actually says it. If there is something wrong, Dr. Roberts really has to work on how she speaks. “So, I have some good news.”

Killian perks up, while Emma stays sitting as she was, her thumb rubbing over his knuckles. “What is it?”

“Well, you’re fine,” Dr. Roberts continues, her smile bright as ever, “and so is your baby.”

“Oh thank God,” Killian sighs, leaning forward again. He’d truly convinced himself that something awful was wrong, but Emma is fine. She’s fine.

“I’m sorry,” Emma mumbles, “did you just say I’m pregnant?”

What?

“I did.”

Pregnant.

“I cannot be pregnant.”

Emma is pregnant.

How did he not hear that part?

“You are most definitely pregnant, Your Highness.”

How is Emma pregnant?

“You just told me I apparently have a baby in my uterus. You can call me Emma.”

Is he going to be a dad? Is Emma going to be a mum?

Killian’s head shoots up from where it’s buried against Emma’s hand to quickly look at her and her slack-jawed expression before looking at Dr. Roberts.

The doctor nods before looking between the two of them, and Killian stops staring a hole into her eyes to turn to look back at his wife who is apparently carrying their child. He feels like the biggest asshole in the world because he can’t seem to form coherent thoughts and should probably be having some kind of poetic thought about what this is going to mean to him, to the both of them.

Killian may be a little shocked.

The fact that Emma is too makes him feel a hell of a lot better.

“Emma,” Dr. Roberts sighs, “I think I’ll give the two of you some time to yourselves to talk since I seem to have shared some rather big news. Just know that both you and your baby are fine, but you need to make sure that you’re not overexerting yourself. You fainted because of a lack of sleep, proper nutrition, and your pregnancy.”

“Thank you,” Killian manages to mutter out while his thumb caresses Emma’s knuckles and Dr. Roberts walks out of the room. The moment the door closes, Killian leans down to kiss Emma’s hand before looking up at her. “Penny for your thoughts, love.”

“I’m really scared that my feet are going to get bigger.”

Killian barks out a laugh and rises from his chair in order to get closer to Emma, dipping his head down and kissing her because he can’t think of a single reason why he shouldn’t be kissing her at every available moment.

Especially now.

Especially always.

“I believe that means you’ll simply have to get new shoes. I think that can be arranged.”

“Never did I think there would be a day where you were encouraging me to get more shoes.”

“Well, you do have to throw out the old ones, of course.”

Emma’s chuckle is small, but it’s there, and Killian rests his forehead against hers while Emma’s hand comes to rest in his hair, toying with the little strands at the nape of his neck.

God, that feels good.

They’re having a baby.

“Killian,” she whispers, “how am I pregnant?”

“I don’t think I really need to explain the concept of sex to you.”

“Shut up.”

“No, I’m serious. When we are having sex, or making love if that’s your preferred term, and I reach my - ”

“You’re being an ass.”

“Wrong part of the body.”

“Ten years from now, when we think back on the moment I found out I was pregnant, this is what you’re going to have to remember.”

Emma is pregnant.

They’re going to be parents.

Bloody hell.

“I love you, darling,” he whispers, pulling back from her so that he can tuck her hair behind her ears and see the beautiful green of her eyes. They’re wet with tears, and he imagines his are too. “And I don’t know how this happened. I assume...I don’t know. I don’t know how this happened, but I do know that I’m happy. Are you happy?”

Emma nods while tugging on her bottom lip. “I’m happy, but I’m scared. I mean, we’ve talked about wanting kids, but talking about it and actually knowing that I’m pregnant is - ”

“Nerve-wracking.”

“Pretty much,” she laughs. “I’m pregnant. We’re going to have a baby. I don’t think we know how to have a baby.”

“I imagine we’ll figure it out.”

“I guess we will.”

-/-

Killian is flooded with joy for the first week of them knowing Emma is pregnant. She’s only eight weeks along now, so they haven’t told a soul yet, but he’s itching to, if only because he desperately needs to talk to someone about it.

Someone who isn’t Emma because right now, he’s feeling like a piece of worthless scum on the sidewalk for some of the thoughts he’s having.

There are so many damn emotions that come with Killian knowing Emma is pregnant - happiness, elation, joy, terror, anxiousness, excitement - and as much as he fluctuates between all of them, there’s only one that creeps into the forefront of his mind in the middle of the night after a day wandering around knowing that their lives are going to keep changing every single day.

Uncertainty.

And it’s rubbish because he’s not even sure if uncertainty is an emotion, but it’s also rubbish because he’s feeling uncertain not because he doesn’t want this baby, but because he’s terrified that he won’t be a good father to their child.

Killian has a piss poor excuse for a father, and as much as David has filled in for that role, it’s not the same as having a good example for his entire life and seeing year-by-year proof that children can grow up to love their dads and not resent them or be hesitant to even be in the same room as them at family gatherings. He doesn’t love his dad, and he hates that he’s consumed by that. This is supposed to be one of the happiest times in his life, and all Killian feels some days is that he’s already a failure.

(It’s been a week. How is he already screwing up after a week?)

If he didn’t know that Emma is going to be the most incredible mum on the planet and make up for all of his shortcomings, he’d be fully convinced that he couldn’t do this and that fatherhood simply wasn’t for him.

Which is utter bullshit. He’s been in love with Emma for nearly a decade, has known he’s wanted to have children with her for most of that time, and Brennan should not still be able to take up so much space in Killian’s head.

Not anymore.

He’s fighting those demons and dealing with them in his counseling and every time he has to deal with his father, and Killian is determined not to let him taint this.

He can’t.

Not when the woman in bed next to him might as well be an angel sent to him from above, and not when the almost invisible curve of her stomach resting underneath his hand can be felt. They weren’t prepared for this. It wasn’t planned, and it’s apparently the result of the two of them thinking that the month of December was some kind of sex parade where birth control was sometimes optional.

(Emma found where she had skipped birth control pills after they got home, and he thinks she stared at the package for an hour at the very least.)

They were so stupid.

But he doesn’t regret it. Killian can’t. If they’d waited and tried some time from now, the baby growing in Emma wouldn’t be this baby. It would be a wonderful baby he and Emma both love with everything in them, but it wouldn’t be the same. Maybe next time, if they’re lucky enough, the pregnancy will be a result of months of careful love-making and a pointed attempt at trying, but to him, it doesn’t matter.

He’s scared out of his mind about being a dad, doesn’t know how he’s going to do it, but he wouldn’t change a thing. Not when he has Emma.

“You’re thinking too much,” Emma mumbles, twisting in the bed.

He lays his hand flat over her stomach. “You’re talking in your sleep.”

“I’m awake. Your thoughts were so loud.”

“If you can hear my thoughts, I feel like you need to explain quite a few of the fights we’ve had.”

“Don’t wanna,” Emma mumbles sleepily. Killian huffs into her hair before twisting around her and allowing her to stick her freezing cold feet between his calves while his lips brush over her cheek. His hand flexes over her stomach again, feeling the proof of a decade of love and heartbreak and everything in between. “You’re a good baby daddy.”

(He rather despises that term, and Emma seems fit to call him that this week. Hopefully that will die down, but he really can’t complain when Emma has just become fraught with morning sickness as of yesterday.)

“Am I?” he whispers into her hair, trying not to laugh. She’s not going to remember any of this in the morning. She has a habit of waking in the middle of the night, having a conversation, and then forgetting about it the next morning.

“Mhm. You’re sweet, and you’re also really hot. I like that about you.”

“Oh, well, I’m glad I can be of service for you in that way.”

Her breathing starts to even out after that, slowly returning to how it was, and Killian keeps moving his hand over the small, almost swell of her stomach, something that he knows is a comfort to both of them already.

“Killian?”

“Yes, love?” he whispers so quietly the ceiling fan drowns out the noise of his voice.

“You’re going to be a good dad.”

And even though she’s mostly asleep when she says it, Killian knows that Emma thinks that. She has so much faith in him even when she shouldn’t, and her words settle the beating of his heart and the worry running circles in his mind.

It’s not everything, but it’s a start.

(And technically, Emma having faith in him is everything.

It’s all he’s ever wanted and far more than he deserves.

But he’s glad for it.)

-/-

“What the hell are you wearing?”

“What? You don’t like it?”

“It’s rather beige.”

Emma huffs and tugs at her bra, pulling it out and gathering all of the excess fabric there. “My mom thought it would be appropriate to buy me nursing bras, but this isn’t even close to my size. Like, I understand I’m going to balloon up in every way imaginable, but this is gigantic.”

“We told your parents about the baby two days ago. How has your mom already sent you new bras?”

“Express shipping, babe.”

Killian laughs and walks toward her. She’s standing in front of the bathroom mirror in nothing but her knickers and this massive bra that he can’t ever imagine Emma properly fitting into. Apparently, she can’t imagine it either. It hangs far off her back and over her breasts, and if she lets it go from her grasp, it falls to expose her nipples.

She looks ridiculous.

But also rather lovely, and when she turns around to face him, bottom lip jutted out in a pout, he steps up to her and places his hands on her hips, fingers inching up over her sides. “This is the sexiest you have ever looked.”

“Shut up,” she laughs, slapping his stomach.

“What? Can I not talk about it? This bra is so much better than everything you have in your closet.”

“You’re being dumb.”

“Oh, always.”

He leans into her and brushes his scruff against her neck, knowing that it tickles her, before doing the same with his fingers against her sides. Emma is squirming away from him, or, at least, trying to, but he doesn’t let her, backing her up against the counter as he keeps moving against her while she gasps for breath and laughs.

In between calling him an asshole, of course. That’s her favorite name for him.

“K-killian,” she gasps, leaning away from him as he kisses her neck and moves to kiss her jaw. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“In an hour.”

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready?”

“Aye,” he promises before kissing the corner of her lips until she’s turning to him so she can move her mouth over his, soft and slow and absolutely perfectly. As always. “But I think I might have some time to spend with you first.”

“Oh?”

“Mhm.”

“Can I take this damn bra off?”

“That was kind of the plan.”

-/-

They’re having a boy.

Killian was convinced that they were going to have a girl, as was Emma, and while it’s definitely a shock despite the equal odds, it doesn’t change anything about their excitement level or any of their plans going forward.

They’re having a boy.

And they can’t decide on a name. Everything in his head and on the list on the refrigerator were decidedly more feminine names, and while David, Liam, and Graham all cheekily suggest that their son should be named after one of them, Killian isn’t too sure about that.

(Ruby says their son can and should be named Ruby because she simply cannot wait until they have a girl for her to have a kid named after her.

When Emma suggests she have her own kid - “pregnancy is a bitch,” Emma mumbles - Ruby raises her hands in defeat and says they should name the kid whatever they want.)

It’s not that simple.

For as much as he and Emma push back on the traditions of his family and some of the inane rituals, they do want the name to fit. However, they want it to fit both them as a couple and his family. It’s a mixing of lifestyles and opinions, and the debates seem to rage on and on. Killian’s mum tells him she’s happy with whatever name they choose because it’s their family, Killian’s father makes a rare comment just to tell them how much he’s still pissed over Emma saying she won’t pose for photographs the day after giving birth, and Emma can’t seem to decide on anything.

(Except that she’s still not going to pose for photographs and expose their child to the wildness of the press after twenty-four hours of life, and he supports her wholeheartedly.

The press has tried to ruin them time and time again, emotionally and physically, and Killian will not stand for it for his wife or their child.)

Killian has his preferences, but he’s trying to narrow down her choices on the massive list that seems to keep growing and growing each day.

The name debate wages on as the weeks pass by and Emma’s stomach continues to grow. Killian never spent a lot of time imagining what this period in his life would be like, but overall, it’s mostly the same as he expected it would be. At least for him. Emma has gone through highs and extreme lows as her hormones attack her and change her body, and all he could do was support her and rub her back when she was vomiting.

And make every food that she wants, no questions asked. Though, surprisingly, her cravings are not at all what movies make them out to be. They do follow along with a lot that he’s read in the books and articles he’s consuming.

“There is literally no reason to read ten different books on the same thing,” Emma mumbles as she pulls her up into a bun. “That’s got to be information overload.”

“It’s varying opinions, love,” he insists, taking another note and sticking it to the page in his book. “I want to know as much as I can so I’m not caught unaware, and I needed a break from looking at cabinet handles for the new house.”

“Babe, you’re going to be caught unaware. It’s going to happen. Not even you can completely prepare for this.”

“Aye, but I can try.”

And he does try. He tries as he reads his books and looks at articles online so that he can at least be the tiniest bit more prepared than he would be. Emma reads books as well and is always looking to see his notes and what he knows, but she’s definitely the more relaxed of the two of them.

At least he thinks that.

She’s six and a half months pregnant and in a wonderful phase of constantly wanting him no matter what they’re doing when he realizes that Emma doesn’t like to constantly talk about the baby because it is all anyone talks to her about. When she does engagements, it’s what people mention. When they go out to dinner, even the servers mention their impending parenthood. When Emma talks on the phone with his mother, Allison is constantly talking about gifts for the baby and plans and asking if Emma has looked into some of the classes Allison suggested. Everyone means well and simply wants to share in their excitement, but their life isn’t all about this baby.

Their life is greatly enhanced by him and will change because of him, but at the core of it all, they’re still Emma and Killian who have been having conversations for nearly a decade about things other than a baby.

And Emma is still Emma, and she wants people to ask her how she is or what books she’s read lately or any conversation that would have been had before she was pregnant.

Late at night, though, when they’re lounging in bed with his hand on her stomach and his chest pressed into her back, sometimes she likes to whisper her thoughts and her fears, all of the hopes that she has for this future that keeps getting nearer and nearer to them.

The road to getting here was full of sharp wrong turns and dark corners full of heartbreak, and while they may have gotten a little lost along the way, they’re here now. That’s absolutely all that matters.

It always has been.

“Babe,” Emma calls out on a sunny day in June. They’ve been home all day, neither of them changing out of their pajamas, and he imagines from the look of it, Emma hasn’t combed through her hair. To be fair, he hasn’t either. “Do you know where the peanut butter is?”

“We had that entire box shipped here for you. It should be in the cupboard.”

“I don’t see it.”

“Have you checked the bottom shelf?”

“Yes.”

“Did you really?”

“I’m going to slap you.”

Killian sighs and puts down the letters he was responding to in order to get up and walk toward Emma and the cupboard. When he steps inside the room, he immediately goes in search of the box of jars of peanut butter he ordered for Emma only for it not to be there.

“Fuck,” he mutters.

“That’s kind of an extreme reaction to not being able to find the peanut butter.”

“How did we lose an entire box of peanut butter?”

“It can’t be lost. It has to be misplaced.”

“Lost, misplaced. Whatever, love.”

He squats down to look over all of the bottom shelves before scanning each and every other one, shifting around containers and boxes and every other insane organizational tool he decided to buy when he wanted this room to be contained and not a mess.

Except he can’t seem to find anything.

Mostly this damn peanut butter.

“You know what,” Emma sighs, “it’s fine. I’ll eat something else.”

“Darling, I will find it.”

“It’s fine.”

“I’ll find it.”

“Killian,” Emma huffs, tugging on his wrist until he turns around to look at her, “it’s fine. We have those smoothies I like in the fridge. I’ll drink one of those instead.”

“Are you certain?”

“Absolutely.” She tugs on his wrists again until she’s pulling him out of the room and back into their kitchen. “It wasn’t important.”

“I simply don’t understand where the peanut butter could have gone. I mean, I suppose it could have been moved, but I - ”

Emma loops her arms around his neck and presses up on her toes until she’s gently sliding her lips over his in a slow kiss that has his heartbeat quickening and gooseflesh rising over his skin.

“Stop worrying about it,” she murmurs as they sway back and forth with her stomach pressed tightly against his. “I don’t want a repeat of the blueberry muffin incident.”

“Dammit, don’t - ”

She kisses him again, insistently pressing her lips into his, and Killian presses back, pecking her lips once before doing it again and again and again. He kisses her fleetingly all the while continuing to sway the both of them. The wood is cold against his bare feet, so he’s sure Emma’s feet are literal icicles, but he’s not focusing on that as Emma begins to laugh, a small melodic sound that carries with the music that’s playing over the speaker on his phone from where he was listening to it when he was working.

But the laugh grows louder as Killian’s mouth moves away from hers and more toward the corner of her lips so that his scruff brushes against her skin, tickling her in the same way that his fingers are scratching against her sides and over the edges of her belly.

“You’re the only one I want to make laugh, truly.”

Emma’s laugh quiets at those words until she’s tightening her arms around his neck and nuzzling her face into his neck. There’s a sharp inhale of her breathing him in, and Killian kisses the top of her hair.

“You’re a romantic, my love,” she whispers.

“That’s what I strive to be.”

“I know. It’s why you practice all of those lines in the mirror.”

Killian scoffs. “I do not do that.”

“If anyone asks, it’s your word against mine, and well…”

She lets the words trail off, obviously waiting for him to fill in the blanks and continue their banter, but he doesn’t. He can’t, because the song is changing, and it’s been ages since he danced with her in the privacy of their home. Everything lately has been in suits and dresses with Emma’s heels making her nearly his height, but it hasn’t been the two of them in pajamas with messy hair and the ghost of missing peanut butter cascading over them.

So he keeps moving them, a gentle sway that turns into more, and they traverse the space in the kitchen, their feet quickly moving as Killian whispers in Emma’s ear words of affection that flow from his heart. It’s moments and times like these in the sanctity of their kitchen when it’s just the two of them and no one and nothing else that he thinks of how grateful he is that they fought for their love and won. Nothing about this was ever guaranteed or predestined, but they figured it out.

“I love you.”

Emma hums. “I love you, too.”

She pulls her head back until he can see her eyes, the beautiful glint of blue wrapped up in the green, and her smile is so bright that he can’t imagine not kissing her. He can’t imagine not kissing her as often as he’s able and not kissing her every day on a multitude of occasions. So he does.

And he hopes not to ever stop having that desire.

He won’t.

Emma is his wife and the mother of his child, of this one between them now and any ones in the future, but most of all, he thinks, she’ll always be his closest companion.

His best friend.

“Hey,” Emma whispers after they’ve been silently dancing for at least two songs.

“Yeah, love?”

“I think I’ve finally decided what name I want for the baby.”

Killian chuckles and tilts his head to the side to press his lips into her hair once more, inhaling the scent of her shampoo and everything that he’s grown accustomed to over the years. “And what’s that then?”

-/-

Their son is born on September twenty-third, a few days after Killian’s thirty-second birthday.

They name him Andrew Killian Phillip Jones.

He always goes by Andy.  

-/-

-/-

-/-

Any of my Second in Command (the original version of this story) will recognize Andy. He was, like, star of the show for that crazy long epilogue/sequel I wrote, and I really wanted to include him here. The main reason, though, was to show that even though some parts of Emma and Killian’s story changed, that they went through more of a wild ride this go round, that they still get to have the same happy ending...wait, I think I have to say “happy beginning” here 😉

Thank you all for the INCREDIBLE support! I hope you enjoyed this story!

@mrtinski @klynn-stormz @jonirobinson64 @snowbellewells @therealstartraveller776 @thejollyroger-writer​ @sherifemma​ @shardminds​ @captainsjedi​ @galaxyzxstark​ @galadriel26​ @idristardis​ @karenfrommisthaven​ @teamhook​ @spartanguard​ @searchingwardrobes​ @itsfabianadocarmo​ @owlways-and-forever​ @jamif​ @shireness-says​ @ultimiflos​ @nikkiemms​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @onepunintendid​ @bluewildcatfanatic​ @397bartonstreet​ @killianswannn​ @carpedzem​ @captainkillianswanjones​ @mayquita​ @jennjenn615​ @onceuponaprincessworld​ @a-faekindagirl​ @scientificapricot​ @scarletslippers​ @xellewoods​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @stahlop​ @kmomof4​ @tiganasummertree​ @singersdd​ @tornadoamy​ @captainswanbigbang​

[veterveter]

YO MANU THIS FINALLY CAME THROUGH I'LL LIKE READ AND DO COMMENTARY AND EDIT THIS LATER BUT I WANTED TO POST IT WHILE I HAD IT!!!!

Bless, tumblr finally working for you.

Anyway, here's the post from @delirious-and-slightly-murderous

So seeing as Tumblr hates me, I'm trying this darling, hope it reaches you.

So just read rat king.

[You should all totally read rat king if you haven't yet, it's fun I promise :) But also read Manu's commentary on it!!]

Tuuli I hope you know I love you and completely adore you and I am in awe of you but right now I HATE YOU. 

You broke me AGAIN. And I was just mending myself.

This was great and beautiful and fantastic and completely awful and the worst thing I've ever seen in my life. 

I'm crying.

So now I'm going to make a habit of coming to scream at you on tumblr every time you post something. 

You already know how I feel about your characterization and Andrés' POV and the angst. So there, it applies here too.

Here we go you awful and magnificent goddess.

“Martín,” Sergio clarified, moving up his glasses, the prescription of which was much too weak for his continuously worsening eyesight, “I think you should stop sleeping with him: Yes, Segio and his judgement. That couldn't not be there. But Andrés and Martín are sleeping together? I know this is going to hurt.

Martín was a constant in his life, something carried over from before. Martín? Martín wasn’t a problem; Martín was the only one thing that was good: at least here he appreciates him. Thank god.

Before, he would have found some entirely healthier way of loving his soulmate. Maybe they would have even had an old-world relationship, eventually. Andrés felt like he might have liked that, once. He knew Martín would have loved it: 😭 I want this for them and it hurts that it's simply not going to happen. I'm afraid of the MCD tag, Tuuliiiiiiiiiiii! Who did you kill, you murderous genius?

Andrés needed Martín, desperately. Too desperately to love him the way he should have: I'm going to die. He could at least try but nooooo, god forbid the day Andrés de Fonollosa makes things simple for anyone.

Andrés could see the way orgasms had loosened some of the tensions that so often gripped his body, and he hoped Sergio could too.😏

 If Andrés had to choose only one, he would have certainly chosen— : repressed asshole. I hope that was going to end with the word Martín. Why are you even getting married? What's even the point. But I see Andrés will continue to be emotionally stunted even when the world is ending.

Martín and Sergio had gotten along well, before. Andrés could remember so many pleasant evenings, just the three of them and a bottle of wine. But ever since they had to move to this base, the tensions had been palpable. They were both desperately trying to keep them alive, but were constantly disagreeing on the how: I'm starting to like Sergio more than Andrés here, how is that possible? How? See what you do Tuuli?

He turned around at the doorway and left the room, because he had no doubts about it: they would listen to him: Andresito, you are being too egocentric, this is not going to end well, for anyone.

Andrés understood just enough to know he was proud.: I don't know how to feel about this Andrés. I can't.

Andrés always tried not to take the slights of this brave new world personally – it was cruel, but they all had to endure loss of unspeakable magnitude – but this? Having to choose between his Martín and his brother?: Oh no, Oh no, NO. This isn't fair. Why do I get the terrible feeling we already know who he's going to choose? Please DON'T do this.

Andrés knew with unwavering certainty that either one of them would be willing to do it, and that they would consider it a great big favour to Andrés, and not the horrifying curse it truly was. He was the one who would have to pay the ultimate price, and live, knowing how much it had cost: Everything always has to be about you, doesn't it Andrés. You fucking deserve it.

Andrés could appreciate such a malleable room, because it reminded him of Martín, who always became what Andrés needed him to be.😡😭💔

Martín had never cared about plants, before. Actually, he seemed to have held a certain disdain for them. He had always said they were stupid and lifeless. Now he was looking at these ones, their lifeline, and he was filled with reverence and sorrow. If Andrés could have given him one thing, he would have liked to return to him his complete disregard for flora, and all the things it had since then come to imply: This hurts, and not only for obvious reasons. But nature? Fuck right in the feels.

Martín was entirely too pretty to look like this. They hadn’t even been having sex, because suddenly Martín looked like his eternally calcium-deficient bones might now break from the strain. Pretty Martín yeah! And you are a genius. Now this is my official headcanon as to why Martín drinks milk, he has fragile bones, the poor baby.

The weird walking corpse at the table smiled, and it almost made him resemble Martín.: He's already halfway dead. The MCD tag is him isn't it? I hate you Tuuli.

Andrés had to remind himself that he was lucky to have this. He may have had so many better things, before, but now he had this, and that was good. They had it better than most, him and Martín, for they had each other. Andrés still had his brother, and now he would have his wife, too. He was lucky: Not for long, buddy. And you deserve it. Poor Sergio I normally hate him but gosh.

“No,” Andrés said without waiting for a single beat, because he couldn’t let Sergio think he considered it. Even though he almost— “No, I don’t. I want you two, both of you, to figure out a way. A different way.”: He loves them both and he accepts it? Why does the world have to be ending.

Andrés tried not to think too much about Martín from before, but sometimes he did anyway. That night, as he wrapped his arms around Martín’s pathetic, weak and shivering frame, he thought about his true soulmate, the one this body had once belonged to.: Now I understand Martín sacrificing himself is the only way. He's already dead. And because of Andrés no less. How tragic.

Andrés had never said it back.

That night, he didn’t say it back.: Now Martín is going to die and it'll be horrible isn't it? Tuuli I want to murder you.

I’m so sorry, Andrés,” Sergio said quietly, slowly reaching out a hand to touch his shoulder.

Andrés recoiled from it, sharply. “No,” he snapped, “No. We are all going to die. Say those words, Sergio. We are all going to die.” He had made his peace with death long ago. There were worse things, many things so much more horrifying—

“We are not all going to die,” Sergio said, “The generator—” His words were cut off by Andrés’s hand on his throat, squeezing.: You are the king of denial, bad decision, being stupid, emotionaly stunned and not appreciating your soulmate enough Andrés. You deserve all the pain.

“He doesn’t deserve that,” Andrés said, his voice breaking again as he thought of it, Martín’s body, his corpse, frozen and preserved like that for as long as they would live. Martín, out there, while Andrés was in here, unable to ever go and give him even a proper burial. He had always been able to give Martín so little, and in death he would fail him yet again: I really have no words for this. But Martín being forever preserved out there and Andrés knowing that and not being able to mourn him. That is genius and it hurts and it's the perfect ending for them.

Andrés had never told him. Not once. How could he be certain that Martín had known? How could he insist that Martín, the brightest of them all, had known, when Andrés had never told him? Martín operated in words – how could Andrés have forced him to read his love in a language he didn’t even speak?: Now you confront your feelings too late, like always you repressed asshole. You deserve all the pain.

God, he wished Martín hadn’t been so bright. That he had been an idiot, dim-witted and slow like the rest of them.

Then the two of them would have let all of humanity perish.: You already murdered me with 'stay a while' and now this. Tuuli I'm coming back as a vengeful ghost and haunting your perfect ass.

So yeah, I don't have words but that's what I could spit out.

And Tuuli, you know the thing I showed you about the spider? Well when I finished reading this I was crying and wailing. My professor came running because he thought it was another spider or something even worse like a serpent.

When he asked what was going on I was in such a state I could only say 'rat' like a dumbass. 

RAT.

Like seriously? And when he asked again I said Rat king fic and pointed vaguely to my phone. 

He thought I was talking about an actual rat.

So imagine this. We are there, at night (in Costa Rica nightfall is around 6:00pm all year round, so now it's 9:00pm and here in the tropical rainforest it gets Dark), camping in the middle of nowhere in the wild with a tropical storm falling over our heads and I start crying about Rats. 

Congratulations Tuuli, you put me in such a state that I managed to send the whole of 9 biologists into a frenzy, frantically checking out the tents over an imaginary giant rat. 

It was literally terror in the jungle. 

I wanted the earth to shallow me. I didn't know how to explain that all that circus was because of a fucking fic.

I think now I no longer have satelital internet rights.

I hate you.

(P.S: But don't worry I still absolutely adore you, even if now I am the laughing stock of my fellows 🥰😘♥️)

Here have my friend the spider to show how I'm feeling.

[jq37]

The Report Card – Fantasy High Sophomore Year Ep 2

Boggy the Froggy!

Welcome back, ya’ll! We jump back in with our Bad Kids (or 4/6 of them anyway) the very next day. Fabian sends Gilear out on a coffee run on the threat of bodily harm. His mom–who, if you remember is low-key a total badass–tells Fabian that if Gilear doesn’t come back from the quest alive, she’s going to duel him to the death on top of the house. Yikes. At Chez Thistlespring, Gorgug’s parents give him another very detailed sex talk and then remind him that he lives in a world where magic is very real so any and all dreams he remembers should be treated as omens. 

At the haunted house, Adaine wakes up having had portentous dreams like everyone else which is doubly concerning I have to imagine considering (1) she is the eleven oracle and (2) as a full elf she’s supposed to trance, not sleep and dream. Luckily for her nerves, she cast Find Familiar the night before and summoned an emotional support familiar which she gave the amazing name Bogariel Frogariel aka: Boggy the Froggy. 

Meanwhile (and I needed to switch paragraphs because Kristen is doing the D&D equivalent of playing Twister while everyone else is playing Checkers as she is wont to do) Kristen is talking to Tracker about changing Yes? again because she is filled with doubt about her god of doubt but the one thing she clearly doesn’t have doubt about is her relationship with Tracker because it’s been less than a year and she already sees wedding bells in their future. Wild. She also invites Tracker on the quest, rectifying what I thought was a wild oversight last week. 

Everyone meets up and they realize Fig and Riz are missing. They (specifically Fabian) can’t get Riz on the phone (which has never happened before) and all of Fig’s stuff is missing. They head over to Riz’s office to see if they can find him but, before that, Tracker cancels the church of Yes? because, sure. 

There are signs of a struggle at Riz’s office, but no blood. They find a picture of Riz’s super-spy dad (Pok) with his arm around someone who appears invisible to them (though the spot is circled in red). They also find claw marks going up to a mirror. Adaine stops Gorgug from touching the mirror which would have driven him insane and had him attack the group. She sees a twisted version of Riz in the mirror which no one else can see until she describes it (suspicious). Then, she dispels magic and the Riz appears in the room…and attacks them (roll for initiative baybee)!

Fabian is flipped the F out. Kristen decides to chill out and drink Riz’s coffee–much to the incredulousness of everyone else (she’s on those chill existential dread vibes). Adaine and Gorgug are stricken by fear but they’re able to snap out of it quickly. Once they’re sure it’s not Riz (the doppelganger is going full creepy horror movie monster with the head twisting and biting and junk), they start going full throttle but Kristen gets a clutch roll and lands a banishment on Nightmare Riz (who was invisible at the time). Also, Adaine finds a gun but no one is down with her packing heat without proper firearms training so she reluctantly puts it back. They confer with Sandra-Lynn and they find out Fig has, for some reason, gone to Bastion City (the capital) and Gorthalax is missing. Also, because Emily is Emily whether she’s present or not, they find out that Fig has decided to multiclass and she is now a bard/warlock with her demon dad as her patron. Those might be connected because, as her patron, Gorthalax can now find Fig at all times.  

Sklonda, in the meantime, has been investigating a robbery at the mall. They end up there too because Gilear (who is back from his coffee run) said he saw Fig’s bus in the area. They tell Ragh to meet them there and then head over (Gorgug in the old family car which he buys from them for 30 gold (the cost of a pony)–the amount Adaine suggests after the Thistlesprings reject his insane offer of 1000 gold). Also, Kristen leaves her brothers some gold secretly which is sad and also I think not the best way to handle that, but the intention is good. The robbery was of a gem–non-magical I believe–called the Devil’s Heart. [Edit: And apparently Fig’s doing.] Fabian shows up, tries to be helpful, and then eats glass. Normal stuff. 

The group tries to figure out what’s going on with Fig by calling the hotel she’s at and basically doing a straight improv comedy routine, each passing the phone around with a bad story until Adaine just hangs the phone up. Then, they find out from Sklonda that Pok’s partner is a tabaxi (cat person) named Kalina and she is in the empty space in the photo. Sklonda and Sandra-Lynn can see it even though the Bad Kids can’t. 

With that information gathered, the group leaves Elmville for the first time on the way to the Hotel Cavalier in Bastion City and, hopefully, Fig. 

Detention

Fabian for Intern Abuse

Poor Gilear. Fabian solicits increasingly complicated coffee orders from his friends to make Gilear’s job harder and tries to get them to threaten Gilear on their behalf. Even Sandra-Lynn was like, bro. Lay off the guy. Bad form, sir. (Hilarious, but bad). 

Honor Roll

Adaine for Rocking Her Portent Rolls

Adaine had a 19 and a 4 for her portent rolls this session and she used them very judiciously. The first was her 19 which she gave to Gorgug who was about to fail his saving throw and touch the mirror which would have led to him attacking everyone (she has a vision of his beheading her in a rage–sidenote love that Brennan makes her portent rolls actual visions instead of just having the mechanical effect of changing the roll happen). The second was a 4 which she gave to Brennan who was rolling for concentration on Nightmare Riz’s fear spell. What a power move to stare your DM in the face and say, “You roll a 4.” Amazing. Portent rolls are so good you guys. Also, bonus points for coming up with the name Bogariel Frogariel. 

Random Thoughts

Fabian’s response to his mom’s ultimatum that she will fight him if Gilear doesn’t return alive? “Damn, guess I have to fight my mom.”

“MAGIC IS REAL AND SO IS MY FROG.”

Brennan describes Boggy as just the most archetypal looking, round, squishy frog and I want a plush of his yesterday. Or a stress ball! It would go with his whole emotional support thing in game. I love that Siobhan picked not the potentially “useful” or “cool” animal. She went full Marie Kondo and was like, “What’s gonna spark some joy?” Boggy also can give her the help action, which is great!

The episode was great even 2 cast members down, but they were missed. On more than one occasion, I was like, “This is more quiet than usual. I wonder why–ah Emily.” We better get her reaction to Boggy as soon as she’s back.  

Kristen brings up the concept of patenting a god which is wild. We also get an answer to the question I had last week about Tracker’s cleric status–she still is a cleric of the moon goddess. The moon goddess is just chill with her followers not being exclusive. 

Fabian sans Riz is a hilarious mess. For anyone who likes them together as friends and/or romantically there was a lot of Content. Fabian being like, “Idk about Fig but something is def wrong with the Ball because he always answers on the first ring when I call  him.” Him canonically forgetting that he has a name other than The Ball (that’s the name in his phone, obv). And, the coup de grace, him investigating RIz’s office, but only for signs of his name. Him trying to Investigate like Riz, rolling a nat 1, and literally eating glass (“I thought I could taste fingerprints!”). 

“Coffee’s ordered, is the Ball dead?”

Adaine as everyone is clowning on Fabian for possibly making out with the Hangman: The Hangman is much more human than my bitch sister. 

Nightmare Riz, who they still think is actual Riz at this point, pops out of the mirror and Fabian and Adaine’s reactions respectively are, “You can’t do these things!” and, “It’s like 60% of our grade.”

The idea of Gorgug going from a terrified scream into a barbarian rage scream is very funny. Where are the animatics people?

Oh, speaking of people, Fantasy High was trending on tumblr the morning after this stream. Nice job, guys! 

The talk that Gorgug’s parents give him about all dreams being significant is something I always say in movies/books/shows like this. You have protagonists who *know* they live in a magic world and they have weird dreams and it’s not until 2/3rds of the way into the story that they’re like, “Wait. My dreams…mean something?” Bitch, what?

Gorgug’s initial coffee order is Hot Chocolate with a shot of decaf.

Everyone is very chill with Tracker coming onto the quest. Adaine just has one rule: No sex in the tent while they’re also in the tent. Kristen asks like she’s offended Adaine would feel the need to say that but like…come on. 

At first, I thought the invisibility in the photo was similar to the non-Adaine bad kids not being able to see Nightmare Riz until she described him but they still couldn’t see the woman in the photo after Sklonda described her so not sure what was going on with the mirror. 

I went back to the episode where Riz finds the photo of his dad (First Kisses and Last Words at around 1 hour, 27 mins in) and in that photo it’s of his dad and his mom. So either (1) it’s a different photo, (2) Brennan forgot/retconned something, or (3) something seriously screwy is going on. I will also note two observations here. Sklonda mentioned that Kalina doesn’t drink but was holding up her hand in a toast like she was drinking in the photo. That seems too specific a detail to not mean anything. And the second thing is, last ep, we did learn about a servant of the Nightmare King called the Shadow Cat and Kalina (if that is her real name) is a tabaxi so that’s something to think about. 

With all the complicated coffee orders flying around, Adaine just changes hers to a black coffee to try and make Gilear’s life a little easier (her original order was a Peppermint Mocha–sans the threat of violence to Gilear Fabian was offering). I do really love that Adaine seems genuinely concerned about the guy. SOMEONE should be. And it’s consistent with her characterization of just being generally well mannered and empathetic. 

Kristen getting the banishment on Nightmare Riz is something she did after Ally asked for it and Brennan was like, “lol, sure on a 19 or 20.” Boom. Rolled a 19. Just like in the prom fight. So the lesson here folks is don’t give your players a conditional yes and then expect the dice to bail you out. 

Kristen’s existential crisis is so crazy to me because she’s having, like, a prototypical Crisis of Faith™ (and pretty realistically) except, unlike in real life, she has certain knowledge about the existence of gods, life after death, and the means to communicate with those deities in the present day like…I feel like you’re crisis-ing wrong, girl. She’s crisis-ing like she just deconverted from Christianity when I feel like what actually happened is closer to, like, quitting a sorority or realizing you hate your major or changing political parties.  

the nature of humanity is just that every so often someone accidentally invents homestuck helioism again

Ragh had a dream matching up with Gorgug’s (but he didn’t realize it was Gorgug in his dream) which means something and I’m sure we’ll figure out what soon enough. 

The Fabian eating glass scene is another one where you truly need to see it to understand how great it is. Lou is equally game to have Fabian be the coolest person who ever lived or a huge baby and Fabian running away crying because he has glass shards in his tongue is incredible. Hilariously, he runs into Ragh in the food court who has also eaten glass in the past (“Glass is literally invisible.”) and they bro bond over it so hard (“That’s my boy!”) that Tracker and Kristen are like…are they a thing?

The other crazy scene is the gang passing around the phone trying to convince the hotel receptionist to give them info about Fig. Kristen comes up with the name Teddy Guyger (and Zac and I at the same time are like, “Did you get the name Teddy because you have a teddy bear in your inventory rn?”). Fabian tries to drop his dad’s name. Their first move for some reason isn’t to give the phone to Gorgug who is also a part of the band. Adaine just hangs up the phone like Peppa Pig. Exquisite comic timing. 

“I cast bane on Gilear.”

I love the running joke of Adaine having visions throughout the day of her friends in the process of doing dumb BS.

Nightmare Riz going after Fabian’s good eye was big gross. Thanks Brennan, I hate it.  

I wonder if what’s going on with Fig is completely different than what’s going on with Riz. Just because they’re gone for the same reason irl, doesn’t mean they’re gone for the same reason in game. Nightmare Fig could be a fun fight though.

As someone whose fave thing in D&D is not combat, I thought the fight in this episode was great. Interesting concept, good chance for in-character reactions, not too long . 

Ragh upon meeting Tracker: Check it out: I’m gay. (Tracker: Tight.)

Fabian, who has known Cathilda his entire life: Do maids dream?

In this ep, Kristen and Adaine rolled 2 nat 20s each (Kristen rolled one for initiative also but it was lowered by her modifier), and Gorgug and Fabian each rolled 1. Fabian also rolled a nat 1 (which, again, led to him Eating Glass).  

[mageicalwishes]

Read on AO3: here

Read the previous chapter (On Tumblr): here

Summary: “I’m egging your house for a dare, but you’re parent is a cop and now they’re yelling at me, so I told them you were my ex and you wronged me, and now you’re coming outside, so please just go along with this, I really don’t want to go to jail” AU When Simon Snow agreed to egg some posho’s house, he never thought he’d find himself here - The only thing standing between himself and a criminal charge, the word of a handsome stranger.

Chapter: 5/7

Words: 2,079

Not the most eventful chapter, sorry! But TRUST ... The next 2 chapters are worth it :)

Simon

After last week, me and Baz quickly fell into a routine of texting whenever either of us were free. It was the first thing I did in the morning, and the last thing I did at night (I even found myself waking up earlier, just so that we could speak more). It was a little bit pathetic, really - But, I couldn’t find it in myself to care.

We spoke about everything - Our likes and dislikes, our childhoods, our favourite sports teams, our other friends - You name it, we spoke about it. Well … Everything except what happened last time. We never spoke about that - Although, I figure that, that was probably for the best.  

So, it’s really no surprise that, the second I settled down into the booth to eat, I pulled my phone out and messaged him.

ME (15:19): Hey, hey, hey, Bazzy Bitch!

ME (15:19): How are you doing? :)

BP (15:21): Snow, I am genuinely BEGGING you to stop with the nicknames. Bazzy Bitch … Really? That's atrocious, even for you.

BP (15:22): And, I’m very well, thanks. Yourself?

ME (15:24): Good :) I’m great, thanks!

ME (15:24): And I’m never gonna stop with the nicknames. Never!!!! Not until I find one you like anyways ;) I’ve got a WHOLE list imma work my way through!

ME (15:25): I’m back at the Pizza place we went to together!

ME (15:25): I even got free chips this time :D

BP (15:26): Oh wow - I’m seething with envy. Free artery-clogging chips AND greasy pizza … What a gift!

BP (15:26): And ALL of that, on top of your chocolate pancakes this morning? Your internal organs must be thanking you!

I scoff, aloud, stupidly pleased with his grating wit.

SS (15:27): OI!

SS (15:27): Don't be a sarcastic twat!

SS (15:27): You LOVED the food there. You were practically drooling over it!

SS (15:28): Don't even TRY and deny it!

BP (15:29): It was adequate.

SS (15:28): Exactly! See! You loved it!

SS (15:28): Adequate is Baz talk for “It was the most delicious thing I’ve EVER eaten!”

SS (15:29): You’re just winding me up!

SS (15:29): If you REALLY didn’t like it you’d go all OTT using posho insults … NOT say it was adequate.

SS (15:31): You’d be all like … “Oh, Snow. This is positively ghastly! Atrocious! Lamentable, even! My private chef would never DARE serve me an abhorrent dish!”

BP (15:33): Sure, Snow. Whatever you say.

SS (15:34): You know I’m right! You just don’t wanna admit it.

SS (15:34): Cuz you’re a right dickhead :p

BP (15:35): How rude! I’m hardly a dickhead … I didn’t even make you admit how many of those words you had to Google, Snow!

I roll my eyes (Even though he can’t see them), and type out a simple, yet effective, response …

SS (15:34): Wanker!

Baz

Despite myself, I let out an unnecessarily loud laugh - Helplessly charmed by the idiocy of it all. I mean, seriously, only Simon Snow could call me a wanker, and leave me giggling like a bloody schoolgirl!

Regretfully, my little outburst draws Daphne’s attention away from the twins (Who appear to be trying to kill each other with Lego Duplo blocks), and straight onto me.

“Who are you talking to then, Sweet?” She asks.

“Just a friend,” I snap, my tone far too urgent.

“Okay,” she drawls, clearly having picked up on my unnecessary defensiveness. “Who?”

“Uh - Simon. Nobody you’d know. They’re sort of a new friend.”

“Oh I see. Did you meet him at the club?”

“No,” I snicker (Struggling to imagine somebody like Snow belonging somewhere so unnecessarily snooty, and uptight). “I just … Met him in town the other day. At the cinema.”

“Oh well, that’s nice,” she beams.

“Yeah,” I drone. “Very nice.”

She stares over to me, her full lips quirked up into a soft smile, and her deep brown eyes studying my face closely. She knows. Obviously. She always knows - Bloody mother’s intuition!

“And … Is he …”

She doesn’t have to ask properly, because I know what she’s trying to say.

Daphne has always been accepting of my sexuality. Although, it’s more than that, actually - She’s always been fully open to the idea of it (Not just reluctantly tolerant). Occasionally enquiring about whether I’ve been seeing “Anyone special”, and insisting that I must invite him over for dinner (Even after I tried to tell her that no such person existed). And I just know, that she was behind that infernal “Same-sex sexual education” pamphlet, I found on my bed last summer (It was actually fairly informative, although, I’d really rather have just sought out the information out myself. The humiliation of knowing that she’d read that with me in mind, made me want to set myself on fire).

So, the words that go unsaid when she asks if Simon is …  Are 'Your boyfriend'.

“No,” I sigh. “He’s just a friend. Honest.”

'Just a friend' … The words twist in my mouth, bitter and scornful. And, while it is technically the truth, it feels like a lie.

“Okay. Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. I was just curious,” She shrugs. “But … It’s lovely to see you smiling. I’m glad that you found him - Friend, or otherwise.”

“Yeah,” I huff, scrubbing my hands together awkwardly. “Actually ... About Simon. I’ve been meaning to ask. Do you think that he could come over next Friday? For dinner.”

“Of course he can!” She grins. “I’m always telling you, you can invite people over. As long as it’s okay with his parents, that’s perfectly fine by me.”

“Okay. Perfect,” I sigh, pursing my lips, in an attempt to suppress my telltale grin. “Thank you.”

She smiles - Sweet and warm. “Of course.”

“But, just to warn you - He has quite an early curfew,” I stammer. “So - I mean, he has to be back home by eight. So, we may have to have dinner a little early. Is that … still okay?”

“Well, it’s not ideal, but I’m sure I can sort something out.”

“Okay,” I breathe, relieved. “Sorry. I would order a takeaway, or something, but I sort of promised him a homemade meal. The food at his place isn’t exactly the best, and yours is objectively delicious … So, I figured that he'd appreciate a proper meal.”

“Oh you little flatterer,” she says, laughing demurely. “I’ll figure something out, don’t worry. If worst comes to worst, he could always just stay the night - That way we could have dinner at a normal time, and you two wouldn’t have to rush yourselves.”

And there it is - Two whole days with Simon Snow, served up to me on a silver platter. Daphne truly is a superior stepmother.

“Okay. Yeah,” I stutter, my face flushing absurdly. “I mean … I’ll check if he’s allowed, but that would be great. Thank you.”

She smirks lightly, shrugging her shoulders casually (As if she hasn’t just made my entire month). “It’s no problem. It’ll be nice for you to have some company.”

Elated, I scoop up my phone and fire out a quick text to Snow. But, before I can hit send, I remember - Father.

“Uh - Daphne,” I mumble. “Actually … I was going to ask - Do you think that you could not tell Father?”

Her face folds into a frown - Her eyebrows falling, and her eyes squeezing shut, as though pained by my request.

“Basil,” she sighs. “If that’s really what you want, then of course I’ll keep it a secret. But, your Father doesn’t care about you having friends over. Even if they’re boys … Even if they’re more than just a friend -”

I scoff, unconvinced.

“- He loves you Basil. I know it. He talks about you all the time - How proud he is of you, how smart he thinks you are, how much you remind him of her. He thinks the world of you … Even if he refuses to show it. And, I know that he didn’t exactly respond well to your coming out, but he still cares for you. Trust me, I understand that it’s desperately unfair that you should have to wait, but … He will come around. Even if I have to drag him there kicking and screaming myself! You don’t have to hide yourself away in your own house. I don’t want that for you. He doesn’t want that for you.”

I scrunch my face up, unsure of what to say.

“It isn’t that,” I murmur, my voice frustratingly weak. “I just … I don’t want him to know. Father has sort of met Simon before. But ... He didn’t exactly make the best first impression. So, I’d rather he not know that Simon was here.”

“Oh?” she chuckles, her curiosity peaked. “What did he do?”

I falter, gawping at her stupidly. “The egging … That was Simon.”

She grins wickedly, clearly amused.

“But it was just a joke!” I continue. “He’s a really, really nice guy once you get to know him. And, he’d never do something like that normally! It was just a stupid game that went a little too far. And he was super, super sorry - He came back to clean it, and everything.”

“Okay, okay,” she chuckles. “We all make mistakes, Basil. I won’t hold it against him. But … You’re right - It’s probably best if we keep Simon away from your father. Don’t worry, Sweet. Your secret’s safe with me.”

————————————————————————————

Simon

BP (15:51): Good news, Snow - You’ve been invited to dinner. Friday. My place. Sound okay?

BP (15:52): And, don't worry, Father is in Oxford over the weekend, so you’ll be perfectly safe.

I smile down at my phone, ecstatically happy.

ME (15:52): Haha defo :D

ME (15:52): Dinner sounds great!

ME (15:53): What time did you want me to come over?

BP (15:54): I was thinking 11am-ish. That way we could spend the entire day together.

ME (15:54): Okay yeah. Sure :) Sounds fabbbb.

BP (15:57): Yes.

BP (15:57): Actually, speaking of spending the day together - My stepmother said that you could stay the night, if you’d like. That way you wouldn’t have to stress about being back in time for your curfew. Forgive me, but I’m not entirely sure whether you’re actually allowed to go to sleepovers - But, if you are, then you’re more than welcome to stay.

BP (15:58): And, we’d be in separate rooms, and everything. Obviously. So you don't need to worry about that.

I wasn’t really worried about that, to be honest. I can imagine much worse than spending the night with Baz. Although, I won’t tell him that - That is definitely far too forward.

BP (15:58): And if you’d rather not, then that’s fine obviously. It’s just an option.

Exhilarated - A manic grin breaks across my face, my cheeks aching with the force of it. If anyone were to look up at me right now, they’d probably think that I was mildly demented (Although, to be fair, I’m not entirely sure that I’m not - I do feel slightly mad with it all).

Irritatingly exposed, I slink off to the bathroom for some privacy.

ME (16:00): Of course I’m allowed to go to sleepovers, you plonker! It’s a children’s home … Not a prison.

BP (16:01): The strict 8PM curfew suggests otherwise.

ME (16:01): Aha lol true :D

ME (16:03): But nah, seriously. I’ve never actually been to a sleepover, but I’m pretty sure I just have to, like, ask my social worker. They’ll probs need to do some sort of check, and then I’m good. They’re normally fairly chill about that kind of stuff tbh, as long as you ask. And, I’m 17 now, not 6 - So I doubt they’ll have a problem with it.

ME (16:04): They might need your parents number, though. Just to like … Call and check I’m not just bullshitting them :’)

ME (16:04): Dunno. I’ll go ask them in a sec.

ME (16:05): But if they say I can, I defo wanna sleepover.

ME (16:05): It'll be nice not to have to run off after a few hours for once :)

BP (16:07): Definitely.

BP (16:07): Enough chatting, though, Snow. Go and ask, before you forget! I need definitive answers ASAP! Chop-chop!

ME (16:05): Alright, alright! Keep your wig on, you impatient git! I’ll go and ask now. So … Ttyl :D

[modernagesomniari]

Fic - ‘That’s Not Quite an Answer’

Part of the Mala Suledin Nadas Series.  You can read it on AO3 here.

So this is in fact a retelling of an early romance conversation you have with Solas at Haven.  However, it also morphed with an idea I picked up from some brilliant folks on tumblr - where Solas does yoga/tai chi as exercise.  Damn those thighs....

Maturish (Eli is thirsty af bless her), ~4900 words

**************

Eli woke early, luxuriating in a proper bed after days on the road.  Especially the last few where they’d been up in the mountains.  Aravels had been cold enough in the snow, tents were significantly less insulated.  The bed in her little shack was large and covered with blankets - it may not have been as comfortable as her bed in the aravel, but she doubted the villagers of Haven were up to hunting the birds necessary to stuff their mattresses with the feathers.  The wood was cold against her bare feet as she stood, stretching, padding over to the little area screened off for morning ablutions.  She found the whole concept of a bucket for that sort of thing a bit disgusting, but Cassandra had forbidden her to go to the woods to do it, something about ‘Herald of Andraste’ and ‘propriety’.  One of the servants had brought another bucket last night with fresh water in it and she winced at the cold as she crouched and dangled one hand in it.  Closing her eyes, she allowed the heat of the flames at her fingertips to heat the frigid liquid until steam came off the top and only then did she dip the flannel left for her in the water and quickly wash herself.

She remembered Hearthmistress Ashanaya getting so excited one time when they were skirting Starkhaven because the hunters had come back with some rare herb.  The camp had stunk for three days, but at the end she had made a large quantity of soaps that they had all treasured for their scent.  The soap here felt like it was made of dandelion nectar and bitter roots, but she still felt cleaner for it afterwards.  It made her feel slightly homesick, but that was quite common at the moment.  In a way, she preferred being out on the road than in Haven - people were beginning to think she belonged here.

Varric was at the main fire when she approached him, her bare toes crunching in the snow.  He gave her a large grin and passed her some freshly fried oatcakes and honeyed tea.  At least someone was happy.  He seemed busy, though, sifting through various papers with a crease on his brow, so she kissed him lightly on the forehead and let him be.

She knew who she wanted to go and see.  Their adventures in the Hinterlands had devolved into the territory of nightmares after Redcliffe, but had been illuminating none the less.  There had been a report from one of Leliana’s agents that the scouts who had been sent to Wycome had landed safely in Kirkwall and were making their way northwards, extra Dalish mage in tow.  She hoped Mihris was behaving herself.  She and Solas had been easier with each other since then, although it helped that they had got themselves thoroughly engrossed in searching for fragments of Tyrrda’s legend.  She was beginning to enjoy his company more, to be less afraid that he would suddenly turn on her and her people whenever he was feeling cranky.  True, they avoided certain topics, but even when they had been discussing more general magical theory he had listened and debated her experiences fairly, not jumping to conclusions like he had before.

As she passed the tavern, she caught some of the servers there taking out some rubbish and smiled at them, waving.  She liked that they smiled and waved back rather than look at her fearfully - she’d been working quite hard before they’d left for the Hinterlands to ensure that they would.

“Anything special on the menu tonight?” she called out.  One of them grimaced (Tobias, she thought his name was).

“Not particularly, your worship.  Although the hunters brought some good dried meat back from near Redcliffe.”

She made a face sympathetically - dried meat may be fine on its own, but wasn’t particularly good at being used in dishes.

Hopping up the steps to where Solas did his research, she greeted a few people already waiting in line for Adan and then knocked on the door of Solas’ hut.  When there was no reply, she knocked again - it was quite early in the day, although the sun was most definitely up.  Perhaps he was engrossed in something?

“Your…your worship?”

She turned to find a young elven woman carrying a laundry basket on her hip.  The poor thing looked a bit terrified, so Eli made sure her smile was warm as she inclined her head.

“Just ‘Ellana’ is fine, if that makes you more comfortable.  What’s your name?”

The girl swallowed, eyes wide.

“Um, Jan, your wor….Ellana.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Jan.  I haven’t seen you before.”

“Oh, I came up whilst you were away, miss.  My master wanted to come and speak to the Ambassador, but then I came here and I didn’t want to leave.  Lady Leliana said I could stay if I made myself useful, that you would be happy for me to stay?”

“Of course I’m happy, Jan.  I hope you’re being treated well?”

“Oh yes,” Jan answered, warming up now Eli clearly wasn’t going to smite her with holy flame.  “And it’s good to be doing something that means something, isn’t it?  You being the Herald of Andraste and all.  I always went to Chantry on Sundays, miss.  Always.”

Eli tried not to let her smile fade.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.  Did you want something?”

“Oh!  Yes, I was wondering if you were looking for your friend?  Messere Solas?”

“I think he prefers just ‘Solas’, as well.”

“Yes, yes of course.  I just wanted to let you know that he left early this morning, went up into the woods above the Chantry?  He wasn’t carrying anything with him, though, so he can’t have gone far.”

Eli smiled at her again, thanking her for letting Eli know.  Jan beamed, blushing as she took her laundry out of the small square.  Eli wished she could rid herself of the nausea that came with people insisting on her being the Herald, wished that she could see a way to rid them of the notion.  Perhaps this was why she wanted to see Solas so much.  It didn’t take much deliberation to decide to follow him - at least she’d get a nice morning walk if she didn’t find him.

The path up into the woods was just behind the Chantry and she took a moment to bow her head at the small clearing where Ghila and Yerevan’s memorial stones were.  Then she was in the trees, the low hustle and bustle of Haven falling away until there was nothing but silence and early morning light.  The pale bark seemed almost as white as the snow that lay on the branches, these small trees quiet and waiting for spring, whatever green they possessed locked tightly up inside them against the cold.  She loved to brush her fingers gently over the rough trunks, imagining she could feel the life pent up inside.  There had been some woods in her life where she could do just that.  She wondered if Solas had ever been there, ever dreamed amongst the evergreen trunks of northern Nevarra, the gentle oaken slopes of Starkhaven, the tangled heat of southern Antivan jungle and old, old forests in places where not even the greatest of shemlen nations could claim any part of it other than a pathetic name in ink on a map.  He still hadn’t told her much about his past or his studies and she was desperate to know, excited to see how his experiences matched with hers.  She couldn’t travel the Fade like he could and so her knowledge was grounded in reality.  What had she seen that he had missed as he slept and what had he done that she never could?  What could their combined experiences tell them both?

She only came across him by accident, just as she was beginning to wonder why she couldn’t see any tracks.  Her eyes had been naturally scanning for them, but perhaps he had just taken a more winding path.  His slow movement had nevertheless been in stark enough comparison to the stillness of the woods that she’d spotted him from quite far away, but the sight once she’d worked out what she was seeing was enough to stop her in her tracks, breath catching slightly in her throat.

He was shifting through a series of movements she half recognised as part of the Vir Atish’an.  Combining many still forms and movements through those forms, it was a method of slow training that was taught to most of the Clan throughout their lives as a way to learn their own body and find peace between themselves and the world around them.  Her brother had always been awful at it being far too impatient, but Eli had come to enjoy it once she had dedicated herself to her own magical talent and future role as First.  Solas was employing forms she had never seen before, with transitions strange yet somehow achingly familiar.  He was amazing, his body moving with such fluidity and grace one moment to poised, anticipating stillness the next.  His eyes were gently shut, the sun filtering through the trees in the small clearing he’d found dappling the light over him.  In front of him was a slope down to the main valley that laid out the whole lake.

He was also, despite the snow, shirtless.  Eli came forward slowly, not wanting to disturb but frankly unable not to come closer.  He’d clearly been working for some time - there was a sheen of sweat over a chest more lean than she’d expected, faint ridges of muscle on his stomach not so defined, but enough that the early morning sunlight played over them in a way Eli found utterly mesmerising.  Gods but he was beautiful.  Her mind and body were at war with themselves - on the one hand she just wanted to continue watching him, seeing him move through the forms of their people with all the expertise of someone who’d been doing it their whole life.  On the other she felt her mouth go dry at the thought of running her tongue over that stomach, to feel the sheen of sweat against her own naked body as she pressed up against him.  She couldn’t help imagining what this tight control would mean in sex, how he would hold himself above her, move her body to where he needed it to be to make her toes curl.  Her breath came out in a stutter as she tried to calm herself - Dread Wolf take her naked in front of the Clan fire but she hadn’t quite realised just how much she wanted him.

The sound of her breath was enough and his eyes opened languidly, fixing straight on her and making her stop in her tracks.  Her hands extended in placation immediately.

“I’m sorry, Solas.  I didn’t mean to intrude.  Please, let me leave you in peace.”

He slowly placed his foot on the ground from where he had been balancing, like he could stand there on one leg through a hurricane if he wished.  He didn’t stop as he spoke, although the next series of movements she recognised as those that would bring one down from the Way, beginning to end the session.

“I was almost finished anyway.”

She greedily took that as tacit permission to stay and decided to lean up against one of the trees near him to try and relearn how to breathe.  Not that she kept her eyes off him as he went through the last of the motions.  He planted both feet solidly on the ground, raising both arms palms down at his chest to push down like he took his own soul and gave it to the earth.  As he moved through this last motion his eyes opened again from where they had closed. They looked directly at her, though he had not watched her move and there was a lazy heat in them that made her swallow.  She had taken lovers in the Clan who had been learning the Way as part of their craft and knowing precisely what sex after such a session could be like was not helping her situation in the slightest.  He would be languid and strong all in one, his senses would be heightened and his consciousness newly extended to encompass all feeling in his body.  She could have him writhing before she came close to his cock, trailing fingers over skin warmed with near sweat to raise the soft hairs at the nape of his neck, scraping the gentlest of nails over his back until he shuddered with it.

He had finished and she should probably say something.  To her credit, she used him turning away to reach for his things to clear her throat a little so she could speak with sounding like he’d half had her already.

“I recognise some of those.  Did you learn it as the Vir Atish’an or did it have another name?”

He looked back at her from taking water from his flask, his attention and obvious curiosity doing nothing to douse whatever flames had taken hold of her body this morning.  The fact that he seemed utterly uncaring of his partial nudity (something she had already tired of amongst the shemlen) did not help.  At all.

“It was part of thethe Vir Atish’an where I learned it, too.  I was not aware the Dalish still practiced it.”

“It’s different in some ways - I didn’t recognise all of the forms but the basic principals seem to be the same.  Not everyone is very good at it, so we don’t demand it of everyone, but it’s generally used as an educational tool first and then a healing tool if need be.”

“Healing?”

“Yes.  Often our Hearthmistress will take any newcomers as students to help them deal with any darkness they have lived through.  Sometimes it takes feeling connected to something to allow for grief to manifest.  And…

“…only when grief manifests can it be taken care of.” Solas finished quietly, something close to a smile in his eyes.  “I am glad such things are still part of your life.”

Eli smiled and nodded, watching him reach for his undershirt and begin to put it on.  It clung to his arms and torso as he did, distractingly enough she almost didn’t hear him.  “Is it something that you enjoy?”

“Yes, actually.  I didn’t at first - too hot-headed.”

He glanced over with a small grin that seemed to suggest this was something he was familiar with.  “After a while though, I got better at it.  It was useful, after…well, I had some trouble with my role when I was younger and the Vir Atish’an helped me focus on trying to work out what it was that I wanted.”

“And did you ever?” he asked, deftly picking up his pack and coming towards her.  She really needed not to be wondering what he would smell like after exertion.

“I don’t know,” she managed to reply.  “I thought I had.  Then…”

He looked up towards where they both knew the Breach was.

“Ah.  Yes I can imagine such a thing rather taking precedence.”

“For all of us, I would guess.”

He inclined his head towards her.

“Indeed.  Shall we?”

They began to walk back together, Eli trying very hard not to be so aware of his body beside hers.  Clearly she didn’t manage it, though, because she caught him catching her looking.  She might have imagined the ghost of a smirk on his face, but she didn’t think so.

“I’d like to know more about you, Solas.” she declared after a few moments’ silence.

“Why?”

She looked over at him, a little dismayed to see naked suspicion on his face.  Where had that come from?

“Why not?”

The frown deepened.

“Privacy?  Caution?  Concern about the direction of this Inquisition once our work is done?”

Oh for all the tits of Sylaise, really?  She pursed her lips, feeling the anger bloom easily in her chest.  Only, they’d talked about this, hadn’t they?  She looked over, really looked over and saw the suspicion hiding the guardedness he’d harboured since she met him.

“Then don’t answer.” She said softly, trying not to sound hurt.  She was a little, but she could understand.  “I wasn’t asking as part of the Inquisition.”

Suspicion faded to mild alarm on his face and she looked away as he clearly had a little war with himself.  

“I’m…sorry.  With so much fear in the air…”

To her surprise, she felt him bump his body gently into hers, the skin of his hand still warm from exercise.  When she looked up she could almost see how much effort it was taking him to be open, something weirdly forced about his smile.  “What would you know of me?”

She let him see her grin, genuinely this time.  Then her excitement got the better of her.

“You said you’d travelled to many different places.  In the Fade?  Whereabouts have you been?”

She’d clearly surprised him.

“You…wish to know of my journeys in the Fade?”

“Of course!  I’ve never met a somniari before - think of all the places and things you could have seen, how much more access you have to things once lost.  Tell me?”

She viewed his obvious attempt not to be charmed as a win on her part, even more so when he allowed the twinkle of enthusiasm he often had when they found ruins together to shine in his eyes.

What he told her was better than she could imagine.  He told it so simply, so beautifully - like he had nothing to prove.  The best thing by far was how easily he warmed to a subject the more questions she asked, like he only wanted to tell someone who was as fascinated by it as he was.  So much of what he said was so different from anything the shemlen wrote or said - there was no underlying morality, no inferences, just what he had seen and how he had interpreted it.  That he had been to Ostagar shocked her - she didn’t know he’d travelled so far south, but the way he told the tales of the spirits he found, at once united and utterly splintered, made her feel the fear and elation in her own heart.

She didn’t want him to stop.  Not just because she loved hearing about his experiences, but she could listen to his voice forever.  She’d go through phases of being completely soothed by it only to then feel it coaxing those embers of desire that hadn’t quite bedded down back into flames again.  It was extremely disconcerting.  She wondered if there had been any others like her, entranced with his magical talent.  Also, whether he’d taken them with him.  Perhaps after all of this she could persuade him to allow her to travel with him too.

When she asked him if he’d always travelled alone, he shot her a strange look before answering, a little smirk on his face that told her he was about to be a shit about something.

“Not at all,” He said, obviously obtusely.  “I have built many lasting friendships.  Spirits of Wisdom, possessed of ancient knowledge, happy to share what they have seen.  Spirits of Purpose helped me search.  Even wisps, curious and playful, would point out treasures I might have missed.”

Eli laughed, delighted at the idea of her grumpy Rift-mage being bugged by little wisps of light, trying as hard not to be charmed by them as he was by her.

“We used to be warned off playing with any wisps, but the ones I found in the forest always seemed harmless enough.  It was the demons that often used them to draw out prey that were the problem.”

“Trapped here on this side of the Veil, such scavenging is only natural.”

“Precisely.  I don’t know of any spirits with the other names, though.”

His face grew soft, the back of his hand gently brushing hers as they started walking down a slope further from the Chantry than they had been before.  She realised they’d come out nearer his hut, the other side of the fence.

“They rarely seek out this world.” He told her, softly.  “When they do, their natures do not often survive exposure to the people they encounter.”

“You sound sad.  What do you mean?” She asked, instinctively stepping closer to him.  He noticed and smiled at her for it.

“Wisdom and Purpose are too easily twisted into Pride and Desire.”

She didn’t like how he read her clearly shocked expression - like he knew that was what she would think and judged her for it.

“So after all of the warnings, you’re saying you became friends with Pride and Desire demons?”

“They were not demons for me.”

His quiet certainty rocked her, something softly devastating about how he simply stated ideas that broke even the Dalish definition of the Fade and demons.  He let them walk in silence for a while, but the more Eli thought about it, the less she was willing to let it go.  She stopped them with a hand to his chest, coming round to face him.

“What does that mean?”

He was sneering at her again.

“You think me foolish?”

“I think you cryptic.  And judging.  Which is unfair, by the way.”

Clearly this was not what he’d expected her to say.  Given how she’d just felt about him, Eli didn’t mind admitting that she found surprising him borderline arousing.  Seeing him off-balance was beginning to become an addiction.  “So explain.  I understand that spirits can be twisted, but how were they not demons?”

The hard look faded and he shrugged.

“I may have been misleading.”

“Mmhmm?  Deliberately so, I’d go as far to say?”

She was teasing him and he knew it.  She much preferred this particular smirk.

“Perhaps.  What I meant is that the Fade reflects the minds of the living, as we’ve spoken about.”

“Yes.”

“Well, if you expect a Spirit of Wisdom to be a pride demon, it will adapt.  And if your mind is free of corrupting influences, if you understand the nature of the spirit, they can be fast friends.”

Eli thought about this for a moment, turning back to their path and clasping her hands behind her back as she began wandering forward.

“Of course, what that means is that most people going into the Fade expect to see demons, which most do.  But you’re saying that even if they met Wisdom, because they expect anything with knowledge to be a pride demon, to be manipulative, the spirit will become that thing?”

“Simply put - yes.”

“But pride demons do try and manipulate people.”

“There is no one answer to this issue.  Some will do so because they believe it is what is expected of them based on their reading of their audience.  Some have become corrupted enough that they have a sense of their own, have decided that this is a course of action they wish to pursue.”

“So you’re not saying that every demon was made by someone misreading them?”

He hummed beside her, considering, then shook his head.

“I do not believe so.  Although, there is always more to learn.”

“I’m impressed, by the way.” She told him, glad that there was still the fence between them and other people.  They would hit the lake first, then come round the front.  

“Impressed?”

“That you could become friends with spirits - I’ve never been able to.”

“Anyone who can dream has the potential.  Few ever try.”

“Hence the pride demons.”

He smiled, allowing the simplified point.  Then his face turned sad again and he moved them off the path so that they walked up a short rise that looked over the lake.  Eli took a deep breath of mountain air, watching the sunlight gleam off the map of ice cracks on the frozen water, the trees on the other side occasionally shedding their snow to leave trailing clouds of mist.

“My friends comforted me in grief and shared my joy,” Solas said softly, after a few moments.  He was looking at the same scene she was, but was somehow also looking somewhere far away.  “Yet, because they exist without form as we understand it, the Chantry declares that spirits are not truly people.”

“They declare a lot of people not truly people.” Eli replied with a  familiar frustration.  “Although I grant you, spirits seem to be the subject of most of their wrath.”

He turned to her, his hands behind his back, standing in that way he did that made her realise how tall he was.

“Is Cassandra defined by her cheekbones and not her faith?  Varric by his chest-hair and not his wit?”

There was something challenging in his voice she didn’t like and told him so.

“You’re testing me again.”

“It is just a question.”

“I don’t like it when you test me.”

“It is just a question.”

He’d gone guarded again and she wasn’t about to let him.  So she smiled, mischief glinting in her eyes off the sunlight and ice.

“You have an interesting way of looking at the world, Solas.”

“I try,” he replied, suspiciously.  “And that isn’t quite an answer.”

She shook her head, still smiling, her hands gently clasped behind her back.  She took another step towards him, on her toes.  Another, and if she leaned just a little closer their bodies would touch from hip to chest.

“I look forward to helping you make new friends.” She told him, keeping her voice soft.  His eyes darted to her lips and back again, slightly parted in his uncertainty.  To her utter delight, he stuttered a little when he spoke.

“That should be, well…”

She grinned, letting him watch her look at his mouth before meeting his eyes again.  They were brilliant grey in the sunshine and a mixture of unsure and aroused.  She loved it.

“That isn’t quite an answer, either.”

Her voice had dropped to something low and intimate and she kept herself balanced on her toes, feeling his breath quicken in his chest.  A thought occurred to her.  “What would I be?”

His eyes took a moment to focus.

“Pardon?”

“If Cassandra is defined by her faith and Varric his wit - how would you define me?”

He took a breath as he understood the question, his face so very close to hers.  If she concentrated she could almost feel the latent heat of his exercise seeping through the wool of his shirt and onto her own skin.  He let their breath mingle in the scant inch between their lips and something flipped in her stomach as she swayed slightly again, feeling like a leaf in the wind next to his solidity.  She only had the briefest of smug twists of his lips to realise he was going to play with her before he leaned ever so slightly forward, his breath caressing her cold cheek.  He held her eyes and his voice was low and almost spoken onto her skin.

“Curiosity.”

When he pulled away it was like a physical wrench and her body actually tipped a little forward in the space where he’d left before she fell back on her heels, letting her intake of breath translate as knowing frustration as she watched him step back and to the side of her.  There was something exhilarating in the way he acknowledged it, a slight dip to his head and repressed grin telling her he knew exactly what kind of a teasing shit he was being.  She chuckled at them both, shaking her head and looking back out at the lake.

“Curiosity?  I think I can take that.”

“There are some who think it dangerous.”

She looked at him, not flinching from the warning in his eyes.  It had less impact when he was smiling at her, anyway.

“Only when you’re not prepared.  And even then, it’s often worth it.”

He laughed a little, shaking his head.  She’d have to address that little tell of disbelief at some point.  Possibly.  Andruil’s fluffy snow-shoes - what was she getting herself into?

“If you like, you could join me tomorrow.  It would be interesting to see how the Vir Atish’an has changed over time.”

She laughed, partly through joy of being asked into this obviously private time for him, partly because of his expression.

“Over time?  How long ago did you learn it?”

There was something bashful in his answering huff of laughter.

“Ah.  The spirit I learned from was an echo of a man long gone.  I’m aware some of the forms may be…archaic.”

“Well, maybe we can compare notes and make a hybrid between the two?  Only maybe not tomorrow - honestly I think I’d rather just move through the forms, it’s the perfect time for it.”

“Because of the Breach?”

She nodded, glad of his gentleness and the understanding in his eyes.

“The Breach.  But truthfully, just as much the Herald of Andraste.  There was this girl today…” She trailed off, not wanting to burden him.  “It doesn’t matter.”

“No.” He said firmly, if softly.  He hooked his fingers gently around her arm to move her into walking beside him.  She was reminded fiercely of her fantasy earlier on for a quick moment.  He would know precisely where to put her.

“No?”

“Tell me.” He urged.  “I wish to know.”

She smiled at him, the heat of desire mixing with the warmth of closeness.  She linked their arms together, pleased when he naturally compensated for the attachment.  And then she told him.  They walked together through the snow, Haven looming above them, but for a brief moment she didn’t feel the weight.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

got any good domestic johnlock fic recs??

Hi Nonny! 

YES!! I certainly do! I love domestic Johnlock! Done lots of lists in the past, so check out the additional lists, and I’ll update those lists with these latest ones I’ve sorted!

DOMESTIC JOHNLOCK Pt. 4

See also:

Platonics and Domestics

Platonics & Domestics Pt 2 / Hugs, Cuddles & Kisses Pt. 3 / Tooth-Rotting Fluff Pt. 4 / Love Confessions, Slow Burn & Dev. Rel. Pt. 2 / Established Relationship Pt. 3

Platonics / Bromance / Friendship Pt. 3

When Morning Comes by Youarethelightoftheworld (T, 423 w. || Christmas Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Lazy Mornings/Morning After, Fluff and Angst, Sleepy Cuddles, Domestic Fluff, Cuddling / Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort) – “Sherlock,” says John solemnly, “I’m not sure we can go anywhere today.”

Promises Kept by grannysknitting (K+, 844 w. || John POV, Hurt/Comfort, Friendship / Pre-Slash, Sherlock’s Violin, Worried Sherlock, John Whump, Post-TGG) – When they were in hospital, Sherlock made a promise to himself. Now he’s keeping it. Set after ’Polygamous Marriage’ but before ’Back in the Saddle’

Realisation by Susie.Donym (K+, 957 w. || Sally POV, Pre-Slash / Friendship, Humour) – It takes her a while but Sally finally makes a huge realisation.

Like Any Other Day by wearitcounts (T, 1,145 w. || Fluff, John’s Birthday, John Loves Sherlock, Sweet / Thoughtful Sherlock) – Just when John thought Sherlock couldn’t get any more strange…

Together is What we Have, Together Protects Us by Phantom of the Black Pearl (K+, 1,566 w. || Post-TRF, Friendship / Platonic or Slash, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Sherlock, Worried Sherlock, Slice of Life) – After a case one evening in the flat Sherlock voices a concern that causes the pair to consider why they’ve chosen to stick together after all that’s happened.

Like Euphoria and Scotch by FinAmour (M, 1,856 w. || Five and One, Alchohol / Drinking, POV Second Person Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Sherlock’s Imagination, Armchair Sex, Fluff, Happy Ending) – 5 different ways it all could have gone + the one way it actually works itself out.

One in Ten Thousand by Blind Author (K+, 1,856 w. || Post-TGG, Friendship / Pre-Slash, Discussions of Violence, Worried then Curious Sherlock, Scars/John’s Bullet Wound, Medical Anomolies) – John seems to have unusual mobility for a shoulder wound…

The Adventure of the Mysterious Appearance of Tissues by Gwen’s Blue Box (K+, 1,910 w. || Fluff, Humour, Sick John, Caring Sherlock, Hurt/Comfort) – In which there is a case, John has caught a cold and is not interested in investigating, Mrs Hudson is away and Sherlock does the shopping.

The Case of the Missing Blogger by nicknack22 (K, 2,147 w. || Fluff, Humour, Friendship, Worried / Anxious Sherlock) – Alternately titled, The Case of the Oblivious Consulting Detective. In which Sherlock comes out of his mind palace to discover John missing. 221B does not fair well as a result.

Risotto by Richefic (K+, 2,153 w. || Friendship, Angst, Misunderstandings, Apologies) – The first time that John cooks dinner for Sherlock is almost the last. Fortunately, Sherlock is really quite observant. Inspired by John’s reference in “The Great Game” to there being some leftover risotto in the fridge.

The Many Faces of Concern by sdrawkcabemdaer5 (K+, 2,473 w. || Friendship, Angsty Fluff, John Whump, Mildly Clueless Sherlock) – John is injured on a case, leading to some surprising reactions and discoveries about their friendship.

Bored Games by patster223 (K+, 2,769 w. || Cluedo / Board Games, Friendship, Humour) – Sherlock is bored and John decides that they should play Cluedo. In retrospect, it was a truly awful decision.

The Rational Machine by Solstice Zero (K, 2,924 w. || Hurt / Comfort, Malnourishment / Fainting, Doctor / Minder John) – Sherlock passes out. John muses on the reasons why. Containing an absorbing case, two bags of shopping, and a few apples.

On a Sunday Morning by SD_Ryan (G, 3,136 w. || Fluff, First Kiss, Obsessive Sherlock, Pining Sherlock) – Sherlock has a little problem. He can’t stop obsessing about John Watson. {{Note to Self: ‘Cheese Tease’}}

Wish I Was In Heaven Sitting Down by standbygo (M, 3,282 w. || Post-S4, Five Plus One, Missing Scenes, Parenthood, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Cuddling & Snuggling, Hurt/Comfort, Declarations of Love, Fluff, Food, John Whump) – Five times when Sherlock and John ate together, and one time they didn’t. A history of the boys, in food.

The Bee Charmer by dreadpiratewatson (M, 3,314 w. || Est. Rel., Captain / Soldier John, Idiots in Love, Domestics, John in the Army) – Greg goes to 221B to check up on Sherlock after a strange phone call pulls him away from an important case, and is stunned to find himself in front of a gun brandishing soldier with a sleeping Sherlock on his chest. John Watson is a doctor, a war hero, a husband, and the only one in the world who can soften Sherlock’s heart.

Bored Games by SparksMayFly (K, 3,492 w. || Humour, Friendship, Cluedo / Board Games, Big Brother Mycroft) – Sherlock asks if he can take Reverend Green in for interrogation. John explains that’s not how the game works.

Every Step of the Way by Shi_Toyu (G, 3,795 w. || Car Accidents, John Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Slash, Caretaker Sherlock) – When John is injured on a case, Sherlock can’t forgive himself. Everyone expects him to give up on his flatmate and get bored, but he’ll prove them all wrong by sticking with him…every step of the way.

Five Times John Cooked Something with Peas and One First Kiss by 221b_careful_what_you_wish_for (T, 3,915 w. || 5 and Ones, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Cooking / Food, Sick Sherlock, Music, Domestic Fluff, First Kiss) – After John cooks five dinners that slowly reveal their hunger for each other, Sherlock and John finally share a first kiss.

Jukebox by standbygo (T, 3,990 w. || Fluff, Singing/Music, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Hurt/Comfort, Humour, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss) – After the music halls of Sherlock’s mind palace get damaged by accident, John learns that Sherlock never forgets a song. Even the ones he’d rather forget. But the random singalong brings some unexpected benefits.

No Good Without You by textsandscones (T, 4,021 w. || Case Fic, Sherlock’s Violin, Dancing, Soppy Fluff) – A diverting new case surrounding musicians and stolen instruments captures Sherlock’s attention, the consequences of which lead both detective and doctor to see one another in a different light. Part 1 of Prompt Fills

Breakfast, acronyms and brotherhood by Rose de Sharon (K+, 4,074 w. || TBB Fic, Friendship/Bromance, Hurt/Comfort, Protective John, Fluff) – Set after The Blind Banker: my take of Sherlock and John’s conversation over breakfast. S/J friendship, bromance, no slash.

The Care and Keeping of Your Mad Genius by Janieshi (T, 4,553 w. || Post-TGG, Friendship, Anxious/Worried Sherlock, Light Humour/Teasing, Alternating POV, Cranky Sherlock) – If he hadn’t been so focused on holding the bastard still, John would have laughed aloud. This maniac really thought John was the pet in this dynamic?

Welcome Home, John by slashscribe (G, 5,504 w. || Post-S3, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Awkwardness, Stabbed Sherlock, Protective Sherlock, Panic Attack (Sherlock), Self Esteem Issues, Love Confessions, First Kiss) – When John moves back to 221B, he thinks he’s the broken one, but after a while, it becomes clear that he might not be correct.

Of Razors, Pipes, Red Notebooks and Rugby Jerseys, Or: Sherlock Doesn’t Like His Doctors Clean Shaven by allonsys_girl (E, 7,313 w. || Est. Rel., PWP / Porn With Feelings, John’s Beard / Beard Kink, Roleplay, Love Declarations, Banter, Rimming, Anal, Domestic Fluff / Bliss, Idiots in Love, Emotional Lovemaking, Pet Names, Obsessive Sherlock, Sherlock POV, Bottomlock, Cranky Sherlock) – John grows a beard. Sherlock really likes it. Part 1 of Consulting Husbands

On Favors and Keeping Score by Ewebie (G, 7,622 w. || Hurt/Comfort, Sick Fic, Fluff, John Whump) –  John woke up to the horribly unpleasant sound of his clock alarm. Which meant he’d slept through his phone’s alarm. And for a moment he glared blearily at the noisemaker before smacking at it with his palm. Ugh, he felt like rubbish. The back of his throat was burning with the irritation that heralded a proper dose, his nose was threatening to drip every few seconds, and he had the uncomfortable flush that normally suggested a fever. Nothing high, just uncomfortable. Nothing deadly, just irritating. Nothing worth calling in sick with, just a full day of discomfort in the face of other people’s discomfort. It was going to be a day where he was forced to bite his tongue from telling people off. “You’re not as sick as I am, so off you pop.” Part 7 of Tumblr Shorts

Speak My Language by Itsallfine (T, 7,479 w. || Thanksgiving, Love Languages, Love Confessions, First Kiss) – When Mrs. Hudson introduces John and Sherlock to the concept of the five love languages, Sherlock descends into a dark mood and John’s curiosity gets the better of him. What is Sherlock’s love language, and why does the whole concept set him so on edge? Part 1 of A Holiday Triptych

The Name Game by ItsClydeBitches221B (K, 8,958 w. || Humour, Family, Platonics / Friendship, Sort-of Parentlock, John/Mary, Mary is Nice, Five and Ones, Baby Watson, Mycroft Loves Baby Watson) – The names that baby girl Watson comes up with for her extended family. Or: how everyone—Watsons, Holmes, and others alike— just learned to give up and embrace their weirdness.

How To Give Your Boyfriend Who Doesn’t Know He’s Your Boyfriend the Best Valentine’s Day Ever byunicornpoe (T, 9,832 w. || Valentine’s Day, Fluff and Crack, Soft Sherlock, POV Sherlock) – Sherlock is pretty sure that John Watson is his boyfriend. He’s also pretty sure that John doesn’t know it. But with a little help from a magazine, some friends, three crepes, five dates, one awesome CD, and a stalker van, John is bound to realize just in time for Valentine’s Day.

A Is For Aftermath by ElvendorkInfinity (T, 10,567 w. || Injury / Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Friendship/Pre-Slash/Bromance/Platonics, Hallucinations, Introspection, Insecure / Worried John, Big Brother Mycroft, Alternating POV, Anxious Sherlock, Self-Deprecating, Mildly Possessive Sherlock, 3G Moment) – John is still hallucinating, Sherlock cannot sleep, and Lestrade has a new case for them. But will life at 221B ever be able to return to normal? Epilogue to M is for Moriarty.

Shuteye Shenanigans by Ayakae (K+, 13,263 w. || Post-TRF, Friendship / Epic Bromance, John’s Nightmares, Angsty Fluff, Bed Sharing, Humour, Cuddles, Taking Care of Each Other, Domestics) – John Watson has never slept with Sherlock Holmes. Never ever ever. And never will, thank you very much. Well, there was that one time, but John didn’t count that. It was completely different, just like the second time it happened. And the third. And the fourth. Epic bromance, but it can be read as pre-slash if you wish.

Hope for Heroes by Richefic (K+, 16,887 w. || Post-TGG Fic, Introspection / Flashbacks, Friendship/Epic Bromance, Hurt/Comfort, Worried/Anxious Sherlock, Sherlock Admires John, BAMF John, John Deduces, Fancy Party, John’s Self Esteem, Domestics) – In the final moments of “The Great Game” Holmes hopes he will have the chance to tell his flatmate that he was wrong. Heroes do exist after all and the one in front of him is called Dr John Watson.

Through the Clouds by Mazarin221b (E, 20,004 w. || Retirement, Sussex, Bees, Home Improvement, First Time, Romance) – Sherlock takes a remarkably early retirement at 47, and convinces John that a change of pace would do them both good. They buy an old cottage on the South Downs, and exchange their nonstop life in Baker Street for quiet contemplation, bee studies, and book writing. They might go completely insane, but sometimes it takes stepping outside of the life you’re living to find the life you want. Part 1 of Through The Clouds

Chaperones by MissDavis (T, 34,114 w. || 11 Years Post-S4, Fake Relationship, Parentlock, Disney World, Bed / Room Sharing, Friends to Lovers, Fluff, First Kiss, Obsessive Sherlock, Insecure John) – Right. Of course. Everyone assumed they were a couple and no one would question it. John put his elbows up on the table so he could rest his head in his hands. “You want to pretend to be a couple so we can chaperone a trip to Disney World with Rosie’s class and you won’t have to share a room with a stranger?” “Exactly.” Sherlock beamed at him. “Don’t worry about the cost. The Birmingham case last month paid more than enough to cover expenses for all three of us.”

The Book of Silence by SilentAuror (E, 60,056 w. || S4 Fix It / Post S4, Virgin Sherlock, Rosie / Parentlock, Domesticity, Fluff, Praise Kink, Sex Toys, First Person POV) – As spring blooms in London, John and Sherlock begin to take new cases and cautiously negotiate this new phase of life with John living at Baker Street again. Despite how well it’s all going, John struggles to forgive himself for the way he treated Sherlock following Mary’s death as well as trying to figure out how to finally put his long-time feelings for Sherlock into words. Part 1 of The Book of Silence/Rosa Felicia