#it's hard to cramp myself down to fit in the frame

[somedaytakethetime]

For everyone that has been keeping up with the crochet sweater saga:

AAAAAAAAAHHHH I'M FINALLY DONE!!! JESUS CHRIST THANK YOU!!

I ended up not liking the ribbing for the waistband so I undid it and instead made the turtleneck out of that bit of yarn 😂. I also added a whole row of cream to the sides to make it baggier, I didn't like how it looked when I tried it on previously.

I have a big ball of brown yarn left over. And some cream too. I also own this pale caramel and I'm thinking about making a stripped knit sweater with that combo. I have some green left too and I'm going to make something with that and this brighter green I have that was from one of my mum's old sweaters she took apart. I'm in my earth tones and neutrals era. 😌

IGNORE MY PANTS!! THESE ARE MY HOUSE CLOTHES! I wouldn't wear this sweater with these pants, I just don't feel like changing just for this. 😂

[timelostobserver]

It was almost into the levels of culture shock for Hades in the moment. Seeing American food once again, having gotten used to seeing how the Japanese both presented and ate their own food. Everything looked so heavy compared to the lighter, simpler meals he had before he'd become a demon.

But as usual, the food smelled unappealing to him. At least not so much compared to the smell of marechi blood coming from both Atreus and Astra at the same time. That alone made the smell of human food tolerable in his presence. But he would wait for Astra to finish eating, even chuckling at her response to it all.

Though as Atreus reclined, Hades' amusement faded from his face. Yes, he was incredibly sharp. If he hadn't figured them out then and there, he'd at least had figured out something was up. And seemed he was right on the later.

"Hmm.. where to start. Though if I was to use purely words, then they'd be hard to believe." He looked around the room, looking to make sure they were all alone, that no one could simply walk in on them or view them through any windows.

"So it's best to start off, by showing you instead." He looked to Muzan in that moment, a silent note of what he was about to do; which was to return to his demonic form. Both he and Astra trusted Atreus to keep a cool head, but it might be hard in the face of something non-human.

"And.. I've been feeling cramped enough like this." He got up from his chair and let out a sigh. But to watch as Hades began to grow in size, for horns to sprout from his head, even for wings to unfurl from his back was almost.. haunting. All until his eyes then had the kanji for 'Upper Two' then flare to life in his red eyes.

"Ah.. much better." He exhaled finally, as if he'd just gotten up from a long moment of being packed into a small room. Even as he spoke, sharp, massive fangs were seen as he spoke.

"Upon arriving in Japan, Atreus." He started, taking the moment to now find a spot to sit down again.The furniture no longer fitting to his larger frame.

"We'd met a fair share of.. issues. Mostly being the hostility to Foreigners. It was around such time we met Muzan, yet we were unaware of his true nature, at the time." He noted before finding a spot to sit down next to the Demon King and Kokushibo, minding his tail as it curled around him now.

"He'd also been getting harassed by, what we had thought at the time were members of the shogunate.. But were actually an organization called 'The Demon Slayer Corps'." His tone of voice turned spiteful at this organization.

"They'd started coming after myself and Astra as well, due to our closeness with Muzan, eventually.. we learned why. He was a creature they called a 'Demon'. But not just any Demon, the originator." Hades' ears pinned back a bit.

"Eventually they overwhelmed Astra and I one night, and managed to cut me down. And to save my life, Muzan turned me into a Demon." He motioned to his own appearance.

"That... is the secret. Though it is more of a 'wrapped up' version of events to at least give you a general explanation. A lot had happened since I became a Demon myself.. Astra, however, has remained human." He looked over to her with a smile.

"Not for much longer, mind you.. We wanted to come and 'deal' with this one last thing before moving on.. for good." To finally be free from their parents. To finally and utterly live happily.

[ Muzan looked at him, and then to Astra, and then to Kokushibo, as if he was still trying to make heads or tails out of the conversation. But his jaw relaxed and he gave a very small nod. Acceptance. Astra relaxed at that, and Kokushibo settled on the rug next to the fireplace, as if he were basking in it. It wasn't that cold for the time of year, but it was still nice to have.

❝I hadn't realized that you met Atreus before you met me,❞ she commented, ❝I only thought it was Azha. Though I could see why our parents would have swapped things around. Atreus was too kind, even for them.❞ He may have had a quick temper, and have been grumpy for the majority of the time but he wasn't cruel. He did what he believed was right and their mother hated that. The politics of having such a family dynamic, with each move either meaning death or destruction...

Was a way that she despised living. She and Hades escaped that. They got out. They were safe. They were cared for, for the most part. They... were happy.

She gave a very small chuckle that turned into full laughter. ❝You have to admit that it's great. They've spent years searching for us, following us over continents, and the entire time, the one that let us free was right under their noses. Atreus is something else, I'll give him that. And they haven't even suspected him. Gods, I remember when we were children and we used to play a game called Overthrowing Kingdoms.❞

❝He always somehow managed to flip the script and capture Azha's entire armory and by the time he realized it, it was already done and over with. Our father used to have a very nice laugh over it at dinner-- instead of looking outwards... they should have looked inwards. And we're about to pull one of those little maneuvers again.❞

When Atreus returned with the food, Astra ate it. It was... strange to have something so heavy. She didn't like it. ❝Next time, you're finding something better,❞ she pointed to him, ❝Because that was... horrible. I don't understand how I used to eat it.❞ Though it wasn't really anything accusatory, just... amused.

❝Who would'a thought that you turned into a food critic,❞ he reclined back in his chair, his feet on his ottoman, a journal open in one hand, a coffee in the other. He'd been catching things all evening, noticing things between them. He knew Astra, and she hadn't changed very much since she left. Older and wiser, yes, happier, yes. But was still just as bad at hiding things from him. It was rather endearing.

❝And... there's a big secret that I'm not in on,❞ he commented, ❝So between the both of you, one of you's gotta spill.❞ His language relaxed around them, and his glasses had fallen halfway down his nose.

Astra laughed -- ❝I think Hades'd explain it a little better, 'Treus.❞

❝Well, get talking -- if we're gonna harass Them,❞ he spoke the word with a little emphasis, ❝Then I'd better know everything so I'm not walking in blind. After all... if they're going to give you problems... I'd rather be on your side.❞ There was a light in his eyes, similar to Astra's when she'd thought of something particularly cruel. His was less cruel... and more playful, but with time it would develop more into the one she wore. ]

[chiwhorei]

𝐀𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐚

✞𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐁𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐬: 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜 𝐈𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧✞

Pairing: Shouta Aizawa x Fem!Reader

Genre: Smut, Dark Content, 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 3,175 [Link to Ao3]

Tags: Darkfic, sacrelige, coercion, corruption, dubcon and noncon elements, intonations and parallels to incest, but not actual incest (ie. ‘Father’ Shouta), choking, age-gap, oral, Priest!Aizawa, Virgin!Reader

From Chiwhorei: Aizawa is where this all started, so it’s fitting he is the subject of my anniversary fic. To everyone who’s followed me along this journey despite the long bouts of radio silence, to everyone that’s participated and supported this collab, to all of my lovely, devious friends— truly, completely, thank you for this past year. Xoxo.

The pain was so sharp that it made me utter several moans; and so excessive was the sweetness caused me by this intense pain that one can never wish to lose it, nor will one’s soul be content with anything less than God.

** ** **

There’s not a soul awake this late.

The rosary wrapped between twitching fingers feels like a hot lashing against the skin. The glass and metal itch in your hold, the devotional was a gift for your confirmation-- it holds a decade of sins.

Your family has been asleep for hours now. Slipping through the back door as soon as you’re sure. Nineteen. A legal adult. Yet the only way to leave in the middle of the night is in secret. The cool, summer air hits your cheeks, it’s still for a moment. It’s so quiet, you feel like you’ve mistaken the real world for a snow globe. Static— in the moments after all of the glitter settles, all of the quiet, iridescent tears laying at your feet. It waits, patiently, until someone comes by to shake it again.

Moving into a cramped dorm room a few hours away, your childhood home feels bigger every visit. It’s bigger because nothing fills the space inside. There’s nothing but tense words and the clatter of silverware against dinner plates. Your father reminds you of an old briefcase— stern, rigid leather, unmistakably empty; your mother’s rose garden smells like poisoned wine.

Roses and leather, the combination suffocating enough to repel you in the hours you should be unconscious.

The walk from your parent’s house to the church is the most familiar thing in the world. Down to the cracks on the sidewalk and mossy steps leading up to a set of large, cherry doors. So routine it almost feels good for you.

There’s not a soul awake this late, you decide, that must be why you’re here.

That must be why he’s up too.

Pushing open one ornate door just enough to peek inside, you’re met with that distinct waft of incense and dusty missals. It smells like every Sunday morning and Easter Vigil, it smells like home.

Only votive candles light the space around you, flickering with intentions from fellow parishioners. You wonder if there’s one burning for you.

You know where to find Father Shouta, and suspect he’s waiting. He can trace every step from your parents home to the front gate. You open the confessional booth and crawl inside, the wooden space around you is cramped. It smells like incense masking cigarettes. Kneeling into the leather cushion, you face the screen partition.

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was,” the memory has you falter, “three months ago.”

You remember the last hollow confession like it was yesterday. You were back in town for spring break. After mass that Sunday, your dad told Father Shouta how deplorable it was that your friends had tried, in vain, to drag you to the beach a few hours away from campus. “A week of drinking and sex, not for my daughter.”

Shouta met with you that evening and you cried your sins to him. How you had been dared to kiss boys at a party during midterms week, how you drank who-knows-what mixed with cheap beer at a frat house. He consoled you then, he told you that God will forgive all transgressions. “Even the sins of a whore.”

The memory makes you want to cry all over again. Yet, here you are— knees pressed to the very same leather, face against the same dusty screen.

He’s so still, so quiet, you jump out of your skin at the sound of his voice, “What is it that you’d like to confess, my child?”

Your body aches, stiff and tense to the bone. You breathe in, shallow and suffocated, before you speak again.

“Father, forgive me I—” you can tell his posture is just as rigid, he’s only a shadowed outline and the slightest glimmer of color from his eyes. They warn you, but you ignore the familiar feeling on the back of your neck.

“I have been having impure thoughts. I’ve been thinking about a man,” one more deep breath in an attempt to keep your voice neutral, “a much older man.”

If you could hear a smile, Father’s creaks like floorboards.

His silence prompts you to continue, you knot your fingers together and hold them against your stomach, the Rosary tangled in between threatening to cut off circulation.

“The boys in my youth group, the ones in my classes— they’re all nice but,” you leave the second half of the sentence to rattle around in your mind, “but they aren’t you.”

“Impure thoughts are one thing, sinful, but,” his voice is indifferent, cold, “the true sins are ones of the flesh.”

“I- I haven’t,” you start to stutter, trying to defend yourself, “I haven’t done anything, Father.”

Despite himself, he laughs.

“It’s true Father,” you wonder why you hadn’t just stayed at home, “I’ve only ever kissed a boy— it wasn’t even a real kiss. I’m still a virgin.”

From the screen, you can only see him in fragments. Little cutouts of a dark figure and sickeningly bright red eyes. The color peaks through like pieces of a puzzle, chasing through the patterned wood before you can catch that he’s stepping out of his side of the confessional booth.

“It wasn’t a ‘real’ kiss,” each word is mimicked, emphasized by the tap of his shoes against the tiles below, “no, of course it wasn’t. Not with some boy.” Your legs are unsteady as you stand from the kneeler. There’s nowhere to hide, Father has you trapped in a toy box. Just for him to play with.

“Of course that wouldn’t have satisfied you.”

The door to your side of the booth creeks open just as your back hits the wall. You can see his face for the first time in months, you trace the features illuminated with candlelight. Father Shouta’s face is strong, even more sharp with his long, black hair tied back. His presence looms over where you’re sunken into the booth. Even standing and puffing out your chest, he’ll still be able to look down at you.

He bares his teeth. You know this by now, stupid little girl, you know he likes to play with his food.

Long fingers grip the small door frame and curl around the wood like an omen, his body slithers into your personal space until he’s only an inch away.

“Lust, greed, what is it that you want?” Each vowel cradles a hearty dose of poison, the consonants bite away and spit you out. Your skin feels raw under his attention, “You can’t atone for sins you’re not really sorry for.”

Those same fingers slide up either curve of your neck, he crawls from shoulder to jaw, slowly. So slowly it seems like he’s trying not to get caught. He holds steady against your skin, thumb rubbing lightly at your bottom lip. You must have just fallen asleep after your parents went to bed, that stale, poisoned house even lulling the restless. You must be dreaming right now.

“Don’t make me ask again.” His timber hits the three walls and brings you back to the present. There’s no rest for you, only a weak answer to his question. What is it that you want?

“I want to be a humble servant of our Lord.” Your voice shakes, battered against your throat on its way to meet the stiff air.

Father’s lips are on you, he traces the words of Luke over your trembling mouth, there’s only a breath of space between you,

“No one can serve two masters. For you will hate one and love the other; you will be devoted to one and despise the other,”

The hands holding your cheeks move down to circle your neck, each long finger lays a trap. He tightens around the skin, just enough to make you forget how it feels to breathe freely. He could do anything to you right now, and your cries for help would be swallowed by stained glass.

No one can serve two masters.

The scream caught in your throat meets his wicked smile, it fizzles into little more than a whimper. The small booth you’ve been trapped in is burning hot, you feel sweat beading on your forehead. The last ounce of courage, of restraint, tumbles out before you can catch it.

“Who do you serve, Father Shouta? God or the Devil?”

He answers you with a thick tongue finally pushing into your mouth. He smells like perfumed oils and votive candles, he tastes like sugar free gum and Seven Stars.

His grip around your neck is the only thing keeping you on your feet, you’re sure if he were to let go you’d melt into the floor below. Father’s lips against yours are a siren, dulling all other senses, rendering you malleable to his will. Whatever his will may be, whatever it is that he wants from you— you’d let him have it anyway.

He breaks away, the kiss that’s felt like hours disappears far too soon. Your body jolts forward of its own volition, trying to connect yourself to him again. You’re sure you look desperate, but you’re too intoxicated to care.

“I serve only myself.”

Father lets go of your neck and you’re allowed the first deep intake of breath you’ve had since walking into the church. You swallow hard, looking back up to him. He scares you, he always has, but that fear draws you towards him.

Does a moth know what the flame will do to it? Does the moth know their fate?

You feel like crying, really crying, but all that comes out are a few frustrated tears. Father leans over you once more, eyes trailing the tear waxing over your cheek, “You’re a wretched little girl.”

Is that why they fly towards fire, because they like the burn?

** ** **

You step forward in line, it’s almost your turn. Mother first, she’s always thought of Father Aizawa as such a “charming young man''. The notion always made you scoff, in reality he’s only a few years younger than your parents.

Your dad is behind you, he’ll give him a friendly handshake after the service and remark how beautiful the homily was. Today, he spoke of the devil tempting Jesus. You hung on every word.

Mother steps aside and makes the sign of the cross, you’re next. A sheep guided by the dutiful shepherd, a lamb onto his slaughter.

Your chin tilts upwards, eyes locked onto your part-time captor. He only has you for a few seconds this time, but his attention is a hallway— every door is a pitfall. Aizawa’s gaze turns red when he looks upon you again— a bright, bloody, captivating red. You’ve convinced yourself it’s a trick of the light. But you see them in the dark too.

“The Body of Christ,” his voice is a welcome mat in front of an asylum, holding out the wafer and obscuring one painfully beautiful eye.

“Amen.” You know you’re part, but you can’t hear your own voice.

Father watches as your eyes close and your mouth opens, a quiet obedience, nothing at all out of the ordinary. Your fingers tingle with how tight you’re holding them together.

He places the Body to your awaiting tongue. It tastes like a harsh nothing that will stick to the back of your throat for the rest of mass. You take Christ in pieces, letting it start to melt into the roof of your mouth.

Shouta brushes your bottom lip before retracting. It’s subtle, an accident— the smallest touch of chilling skin. No one notices, the earth doesn’t stop on its axis for anyone else. You step aside and follow your Mother back to the wooden pews like nothing out of the ordinary stirs in your heart.

You feel Father’s eyes on the back of your skirt. They feel red.

“Your sweet girl here has offered a helping hand getting prepared for a youth retreat the church is hosting next week.” After mass, the stop to shake Father’s hand is inevitable, a pleasantry every parishioner makes time for before shuffling out for Sunday brunch.

He speaks over your quiet, “Good morning, Father Shouta,” right as your family turns to leave, almost as if he had been mulling over whether or not it was worth a mention. He regards them with a veiled casualty, never once looking at you.

Father’s face is kind when he wants it to be, laying a hand in the middle of your shoulder blades, it's a feeling of comfort you can’t help but lean into, “We’re discussing how to remain chaste in a sinful world.”

The word ‘chaste’ is pinched into your spine and despite yourself, you smile. A heavy heart has found home at the bottom of your stomach, but you can’t let on to the sick churning in your gut. Your parents gleam with pride for their daughter. A perfect example of a good Catholic girl.

“I’ll have her meet at my office this evening, is six okay?” His question sounds like your dowry, talking past you and asking for your parents permission.

Your dad shakes Father Shout’s hand once more, delighted at how his diligent parenting must be the reason you’ve found yourself in holy favor. Said ‘parenting’ is definitely to blame, but not in the way your dad assumes.

*** *** ***

The walk through church and into the sacristy is like a meditation in fear, every step begging you to turn back, to run home like a scared child. You tread steady, feet searing on hot coals until you’re met with the sound of Father Shouta just beyond the threshold.

“You’re late.” Something sinister fills Father’s quarters as soon as you open the door. It’s scary how offhandedly he can lie. You’re at least ten minutes early, the evening toll of church bells will signal the hour. He wants to see if you’ll stutter, if you’ll argue. You stay quiet, busying your hands with the hem of your skirt, fingers lifting it slightly before you remember who owns the eyes sitting across the room. They look golden from here, a honey you could drown in. You cough at the feeling of sugar in your lungs before collecting yourself and awaiting instruction.

Seemingly pleased with your docility, he smiles wide and crooked. It’s bound into a book he will whisper into you page by page. It’s written in a language only he knows.

Shouta motions you farther inside, leaning back in his seat. He corrects you when you move to sit in the chair on the other side of his desk, waiting with little patience as you settle against his side instead. Your posture is stiff being this close, being this alone.

His facial hair is trimmed neatly, small scars litter his face, the most pronounced a jagged trail under his right eye. From the dim evening light, you see a shadow of loose hairs make a pointed crown around his head.

“St. Teresa of Avila,” Father starts, tapping his fingers against a small stack of papers, “what do you know of her?”

You’re disarmed, the question seems so innocent-- not a note of ulterior motive detectible. Even so, your guard remains high. His intentions need no subtext.

“St. Teresa of Avila, the patron saint of headache sufferers,” you’re struggling to see the point, but Father prompts you to continue, “she was a Spanish nun, she wrote about a prayerful life,”

After another moment of measured silence, you grow even more tense, “Father Shouta, forgive me, I don’t understand,”

You’re hushed with a laugh, the small collection of papers placed in your hands. The first leaf is titled with large letters, “The Life of Teresa of Jesus.”

“I’d like you to read the section I’ve highlighted.”

You shake, thumbing through until you find a block of text traced in bright yellow. You scan its contents, but are quickly interrupted by Shouta’s next request.

“Out loud.”

There’s no escaping the toy box.

His stare is unwavering, giving you no room for objection. They’re not soft like honey anymore, Father Shouta’s eye’s are harsh, bloody gemstones.

You know better than to keep him waiting, adjusting in your half sat position on the side of his desk, you begin reading with hoarse inflection, “In his hands I saw a long golden spear, and at the end of the iron tip I seemed to see a point of fire. With this he seemed to pierce my heart several times so that it penetrated to my entrails.”

Wincing, the words sound like a stranger in your ears. After every sentence, Shouta’s fingertips inch closer to the end of your skirt, right above the knee. You’d be stoned for this kind of hemline at home, but with Father it seems to be exactly the sacred skin he wanted to see.

His hands move, unwavering, as you continue with the annotated paragraph, “When he drew it out, I thought he was drawing them out with it and he left me completely afire with a great love of God.” Fingers stop their gentle assault before adding pressure to your inner thigh, he peels apart your legs with a wordless prompting to keep going.

“The pain was so sharp that it made me utter several moans; and so excessive was the sweetness caused me by this intense pain that one can never wish to lose it, nor will one’s soul be content with anything less than God.”

By the last several words, Father Shouta’s lips are centered in between your open thighs, you feel tears frozen in the duct. You want to pull away, to escape, but his lips hold something you’ve never been this close to.

“Piety is a virtue,” you can feel the hot breath against your most intimate planes of flesh, “but our God is one of pleasure too.”

His kiss feels like branding. An aimless, confused lamb seared with the mark of its owner.

You cry out, loud and broken, when his mouth meets the cotton covering your pussy. Shouta uses his pointer and middle finger to move the fabric away.

No one has ever seen these parts of you, kept locked away for your future husband until now, sitting in the heart of your family's church, writhing from even the slightest touch.Hips buck of their own accord, and you’re granted one last open-mouthed lave against your twitching cunt. His tongue peaks out slightly to catch your clit before pulling away.

You move as if possessed, falling to your knees in front of your Father. Your mouth opens, that same quiet obedience, and his finger brushes your lower lip again. “No one” you think, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of fingers wrapped into the back of your hair, “no one can serve two masters.”

“Body and soul, you’re mine.”

But there’s not a soul left in sight.

✞ 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞: All writing is chiwhorei’s original content, please do not repost or modify. Do no read my content as asmr. Do not recommend me on TikTok.©️

[sekceesimps]

Dying Light (a yandere Zhongli x reader oneshot)

summary: Zhongli comes to claim his darling after she fails to fulfill her end of the contract 

a/n I wish I could say this was requested but I love this man too much. Writing this one had me feeling some kind of way… Hope you all enjoy and leave some requests (pls do yandere Genshin 🤧 smh)! 

Sincerely Coffee

His dark hair shines vividly in the solemn moonlight. Amber eyes radiant, like the purest of diamonds, and fixated right on you. You stand before him and try to subtly shrink away under his piercing gaze. The candles in the room flicker from some gusts of wind coming in. Zhongli seems stiff and at attention, but at the same time far away, lost in thought. Your light and unconscious movement backwards out of fear, unnoticed by you, immediately snapped the archon’s thoughts back to you. 

A ghost of a smile begins to dance its way onto his handsome face, a stark difference to the dangerous threats he had whispered into your ear just moments ago. The light gave him an eerie appearance. 

“Darling Y/N, I’m afraid that you didn’t uphold your end of the bargain,” he frowned and cocked his head mockingly. You step backwards some more until your back hits the wall of the funeral parlor. He has a predatory gaze now as he steps forward and pins a hand on the surface next to your head. He leans forward to further take in your panic. It brought him distress to see that you weren’t comfortable around him. 

“I’m sure you were a good girl and read the fine print. Surely you must be aware that at the end of our contract, if it was that you couldn’t fulfill your end of the deal, then you must join the greatest contract of all time with me?” he continues and runs another hand hand teasingly down your jaw. 

“Perhaps you could entertain me and tell me what that greatest contract is?” you ask hesitantly. Beginning to feel the gravity of the situation as you notice the way the archon caresses you and looks at you with eyes filled with a dangerous sort of adoration. 

“Oh Y/N, you’ve been bad, I thought you understood everything when you signed. I mean marriage of course,” he answered gleefully, eyes sparkling with affection and excitement at your shocked expression. 

Yes, just when did this feeling for you begin, he had pondered to himself. There was no mistaking that these emotions he felt for you were love. He was sure that you also loved him, so why did you look so afraid? He would show you again how perfect the two of you are. 

- - - 

Zhongli is not one to break his word. He is the archon of contracts after all. When you had approached him, as Rex Lapis, a few months ago he had decided to learn much more about you.  

You were an interesting mortal and had almost immediately caught the God’s attention. The geo archon had taken to shying away from the affairs of humans over the last hundred years or two. However he tended to make exceptions for interesting people with even more interesting requests. 

“I’d like to ask for some help,” your melodic voice said, breaking the silence in Rex Lapis’s abode. “If that means signing into a contract with you, then I accept,”

He appeared near you in an instant, “Even if that means not getting the best deal?” he asks, startling you slightly. 

“Yes,” you breathe out lightly. 

“Hmm, you’ve caught my interest,” he responds, putting a hand to his chin, as if he was thinking long and hard about a potential deal with you, “do go on with what you need my help for” he finishes. Of course, he already knew what you needed. He had been watching you for quite a while, but he loved hearing your voice and being near you for once. 

“I need to find someone and I can’t do it by myself. Could you please lend me your strength and assistance as I look for this person” you practically begged him. Oh how he wanted to hear your begging in a different context. It was taking everything within him to not tug you by your hair and bring you to his side forever by force. He knew that you probably wouldn’t appreciate that and he still had to do his job and draft a contract. That is when the idea had struck him to skillfully find a way to keep you with him forever. 

“Very well, let us start writing up a contract then,” he pronounces with a tone of disinterest, secretly preening with joy on the inside. You perk up and smile largely at him, it brought him satisfaction knowing that he made you feel like that. 

“Alright that should be everything,” he finishes and removes his quill from the scroll. “I will come to you whenever you need help, all you must do is call out my name. As for my benefit, all you need to do is find this person you hold dear and that will be enough for me. You have the next 70 days to complete this, of course there will be a punishment if you can’t fulfill your end. However I have the most faith in your skills.” you nod at him in confirmation as you take the pen from him and leave a scrawling signature on the paper. A glowing binding tying you to the archon, prompting you to blush at how close the two of you were now. “Don’t disappoint me, Y/N'' he whispered and let you leave his abode with a smile. The first step in his plan to make you his was finished. Time to wait for your inevitable failure. 

Now he wasn’t going to actively make you fail, he still was true to his job and bound himself to you so that you could call him for help. He would still assist you as well. However, he agreed to what you wanted because he knew the task itself was impossible. This brother you were looking for was long gone for sure, he made sure of that before he signed on to your contract. He couldn’t wait for when the two of you would finally be spending the next few weeks together. 

 Zhongli was smart about the way he conducted himself around you. He was careful not to give you any hints of his true intentions. Sometimes though there would be foolish people who pushed him. Whenever he saw you talking with, brushing arms with, or giving attention to others, the archon would be fuming. Of course, he would let it simmer, playing for the long game instead. It never failed to make him angry and anxious that these insignificant mortals thought they had a change with his future wife, it caused him to let out a tsch in annoyance. 

The two of you had wonderful moments in your quest. Your ability to work well together in battle allowed for quick defeats of random hilichurls on the journey. Truly your skills were something he admired and loved about you. 

The first night you left a parting goodnight kiss on his cheek was what made him truly believe in life again. Your warm lips against his skin ignited a flame within him that he didn’t know he yearned to have lit.  It began to become a sort of tradition between you two for the next months. 

 His favorite moment with you by far was when the two of you had been drinking and you allowed him to come into your bed. Now, not in THAT way. You didn’t like how he had been sleeping on the ground whenever you spent the night in a tavern so you told him to just sleep in the bed with you. It had been an awkward fit at first due to his taller frame. His long limbs were cramped painfully so you let him wrap his arms carefully around your body. Both of you take in and are intoxicated by the other’s warmth. He could get used to the way you faced him and nuzzled your face into his neck. He had fallen asleep and had the most wonderful rest for the first time in a while. 

After the two of you woke up and cuddled in the morning, “Should the day ever come where we are not together, you will continue to shine like gold in my memories” he had smiled and gently taken your hand into his own as he brushed his lips softly against your knuckles. His words and soft actions prompting a light blush across your face. 

He didn’t know how much longer he could wait for you. Every moment he was with you, but not truly in the way he desired wound him up more and more. He knew he would snap very soon. 

- - - 

You tremble against the cold breeze and his warm touch as he leans closer to you and captures your warm lips with his own in a passionate kiss. His hands traveling down further onto your flushed skin. 

Now that you were his in an unbreakable bond, he finally felt at ease. With you, Zhongli felt at home for the first time in thousands of years. He would protect you from any and all threats. If it meant keeping you safe with him, then he would tear apart all of Teyvat. After all, you belonged to this archon now. 

As the sun begins to rise, you notice the dying light within the parlor, fading candles leaving behind a darker atmosphere. A perfect metaphor you think, if he kept touching you like this then you knew that your own resolve would also die out, completely accepting the ownership that he had over you. 

Zhongli notices your wandering gaze before he takes your face between his slender fingers and forces you to look up at him. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten how much you mean to me. Let me remind you,” he announces as he lifts you up and brings you towards his room. Indeed, he would be spending the next few hours reminding you of his love, before you embark on the next chapter of your lives together, courtesy of his subclause turning you into an adeptus in addition to being his wife forever more. He had all the time in the world to get you to comply and love him as dearly as he loves you.

a/n why am I so in love with this man 🧎‍♀️

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Sleepover

Warnings: noncon, fingering, oral, somniphilia, unprotected sex, pre-existing relationship

This is dark!Steve Rogers x reader (side of Sam Wilson x reader) in an established relationship and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: The reader stops at a safe house but isn’t as safe as she thinks.

Note: Pretty much I wanted to make the trope “there was only one bed” dark, so I did. Reading the warnings. Last chance.

Also saw that @mcudarklibrary​ was having a somniphilia theme for August and September so thought this could be a contribution!

I hope y’all enjoy!

Let me know what you think! (Like, reblog, reply, leave some words, a gif, nonsensical emojis)

The safe house was small but it would do. It was just you for the night until you headed to the rendezvous and found your way back to New York. A week of reconnaissance and several days of retreat and you could have slept in the grass. Well, it wasn’t much better.

A double mattress on the floor between the narrow counter and table that folded into the wall. The bathroom was barely more than a closet. A tight shower and a floating sink beside the small toilet. You weren’t entirely sure why this was on the list of assigned safe points but it had been the closest.

You set your bag on the counter and unzipped it as you flipped on the light in the bathroom. Your phone buzzed in your pocket and you answered as you pulled out the cotton tank and sweats you’d wear after a hot shower. The clothes you had on were better off burned than washed.

“Baby, I’ve been tryna call all day.” Sam didn’t even give you a chance to say hello.

“You know I’m on a mission, right?” You asked as you went into the bathroom and dropped your clothes on the closed toilet seat. “I can’t be on my phone all day.”

“Thought you were headed to the safe house?”

“I’m there now but it took a while,” You reached for the shower faucet but paused as you heard a rumble in the distance.

“I miss you, baby,” Sam purred. “Maybe we could have a little fun on the phone tonight… Facetime?”

“What the--” You went to the window as the roaring of the motor grew louder. You pulled back the thick curtain and peered out. You sighed. “Sam.”

“What?” He asked innocently.

“How much fun are we gonna have with my chaperone here?” You sneered.

“What do you--”

“Steve.” You said plainly as you watched Steve killed the engine and wheel his bike around the back of the house. “I can’t believe you.”

“I swear it wasn’t me, baby.”

“Mhmm, and you also didn’t tell him to tail me in Rome.” You huffed.

“That was different.” Sam argued. “I promise, it’s nothing to do with me.”

“You have fun alone.” You said. “Distance makes the heart grow… fonder, is it?”

“Baby--”

“Love you.” You sang and hung up before he could respond.

You really did love Sam but he could be overbearing. At first, being fellow agents had been fun and dangerous. But as things grew more serious, he acted more and more like a babysitter. You both took the same risks, you didn’t understand why he was anymore worried about you than himself.

You placed your phone on your duffel as you carefully stepped around the mattress that took up much of the space. You opened the door a crack as footfalls crept around the side. You pushed it open entirely as Steve came into site.

“Steve,” You greeted as you crossed your arms.

“Oh,” He looked genuinely surprised. “I didn’t see your… car?”

“In the trees,” You nodded to the nearby forest. “Precautionary.”

“I… shit, I didn’t know you were here. I was just in the area on intelligence and needed somewhere to crash.”

“Mhmm,” You held open the door for him as he approached. “You sure someone didn’t tip you off?”

He blinked at you and turned back as he entered. You followed and locked the door.

“You mean Sam? Come on, after Rome, he can deal with his own paranoia.”

You squinted at him and sighed.

“Well, if you can’t tell, there isn’t much room.” You waved to the small space. “More a shed than a house.”

“Geez, yeah,” He looked around. “Well, I can--”

“It’s fine. These things happen. I’m sure you’ve slept on worse.” You shrugged. “Almost thought I’d be in my car for the night.”

“As long as it’s not too much of a bother.” He rubbed his neck. “I didn’t mean to barge in.”

“It’s one night. Won’t hurt anyone.” You said. “I’m just gonna get cleaned up and lay down. I’ll try to stay out of your way as much as I can.”

“Alright,” He put his bag down next to yours. “I’ll try to do the same.” He unzipped his bag. “Save some hot water for me.”

You gave a thin laugh and went back into the bathroom. You closed the door but it didn’t click. You tried several times and found the latch broken. You huffed and cranked the faucet. The shower whined and the water pattered down against the old porcelain.

You undressed, careful to keep an eye on the small space between the door and the frame as you did. You stepped behind the curtain and the rings rang against the rod as you pulled it into place. 

You sighed as you melted beneath the hot water. You let the steam swallow you up and scrubbed your skin clean. You stepped out and took one of the half-dozen towels hidden away in the cupboard.

You let out a ‘whew’ as you dried off and dressed quickly. You walked out with the towel and draped it from a knob on the counter. 

Steve turned away from the window. It was dark outside already. He smiled awkwardly. 

“You done in there?” He asked.

“Mhmm,” You nodded and grabbed your phone as you let him past. The place was even smaller with him there.

You dropped down onto the bed and your screen it up with a notification. It was Sam. ‘Babe? Hello?’ You unlocked the phone and found several other messages.

‘Was in the shower. Looks like a long night with the old captain.’ You replied.

‘Hey, nothing to do with me. Promise. I’d check in myself ;)’

‘Sure, sure.’

‘Come on, baby, don’t be like that.’

‘Even if it wasn’t, night’s kinda ruined.’

‘Just don’t let him see ;P’

You shook your head and lowered the phone. The shower groaned in the next room and your stomach fluttered. It would be difficult but you did miss Sam terribly; in many ways.

‘I can’t.’ You typed as you listened to the stream of water. The door hadn’t caught for Steve either and upon a glance you saw his blurry silhouette behind the curtain. Sam was quick to respond.

‘You’ve done worse, baby. You remember Rio ;P’

‘I regret Rio’. You giggled under your breath, the memory of the humid hideaway and your little escape with Sam as Bucky kept watch. You were still certain he’d spotted you on his surveillance.

‘He’s an old man. He’ll probably sleep early.’ 

‘You realise this house is tiny. I’m surprised he fit through the door.’

‘But I miss you :)’

‘Don’t do that.’

‘I know you miss me more. Can’t wait for this sugar.’

You barely stifled your laughter as the shower stopped and you texted Sam a heart eye emoji before flipping to another app. You knew Sam wasn’t going to let up but it would be awkward enough spending the night here in such close confines with Steve. You and him were rarely alone; you usually had the buffer of Bucky or Sam. You’d always found the First Avenger a little stringent; tight-lipped and a bit of a hard ass.

Your eyes flicked up as the door opened all the way and Steve stepped through. You cleared your throat and glanced back at your phone. He only had the towel around his waist. You crossed your legs and scrolled through your timeline.

“Forgot my clothes out here,” He said. “It’s been such a long day, it’s all slipping my mind.”

“No worries,” You kept your eyes on your phone as he gathered up a bundle from his bag and fled back to the bathroom. 

You blinked and finally lifted your head. Your phone buzzed and you looked down. ‘You got me all worked up.’ Sam included an eggplant at the end and you quickly swept away the bubble. Steve emerged in a pair of track pants and an A shirt that did little to conceal his muscular torso as the fabric was stretched taut.

He shoved his dirty gear in his bag and fished around for his own phone. He neared the other side of the mattress and gave a doubtful look at the space beside you.

“Um, sorry if it’s a bit cramped.” He lowered himself carefully. “You know, about seventy-odd years ago, you wouldn’t even have noticed me.”

You chuckled and shimmied over to give him more space as he leaned against the wall next to you.

“It’s fine. Sam’s a bed hog. I’m used to it.” You assured him.

“Oh, yeah, I learned that once.” Steve scoffed. “This place in Germany. A lot like this one. He’s not very accommodating.”

“No, not when it comes to sleep,” You muttered.

“Chatterbox,” Steve remarked as he unlocked his phone. “As is Bucky today… uncharacteristically.”

Your own phone buzzed as Steve opened up his messages. You lifted your own screen and cautiously swiped up. ‘How long til he’s asleep? I’m so hard it hurts.’ Sam’s message had you framing the phone with your hand in shame.

‘Don’t get me worked up,’ You warned as you shifted beside Steve.

‘I was just looking at those photos you sent on Valentines. I can’t help myself.’

‘Stop :/’

‘You know I can’t. That little outfit was too much. Tell me you still have it.’

‘He’s going to see. Stop.’

You coughed and flipped your phone as you sensed movement along your peripheral. You peeked over at Steve but he just stared at his phone as he typed with his thumbs slowly. Maybe you were overly paranoid. You looked at your screen again.

‘You look just as good without it.’ Sam’s text made your stomach knot.

‘You never seemed too picky :P’

‘I bet you look just as good now. What are you wearing, baby?’ 

You wanted to laugh at him. You weren’t exactly dressed to the nines. ‘Sweats and a tank. Very sexy.’

‘Oo u know I love ur ass in sweats’.

‘Haha, sure’.

You heard a growl from beside you and quickly lowered your phone. You looked at Steve as he shook his head at his own cell.

“Sorry, Bucky’s just… being Bucky.” He blackened his phone and sat up. He tucked it under his pillow and yawned. “I think I’m just going to sleep. I’ve been on the road all day.”

“Sure,” You said. “I’ll get the light.”

“You don’t have to sleep yet.” He slid down onto his back. “I don’t mind.”

“Nah, I’m pretty tired myself.” You said.

You left your phone on the mattress as you stood and pulled the string of the hanging bulb. The space went black and you carefully toed your way back to the bed. As you got onto the mattress you nearly landed on Steve and apologized as you righted yourself. You fished out your phone as you laid atop the covers.

“Night,” You said as you held your phone to your stomach.

“Night,” He echoed.

You rolled onto your side, your back to him, and dimmed your screen. You unlocked your phone again. ‘When you get home, I’m taking you to dinner and you’re not wearing panties.’

‘Ur so bad.’

‘Not as bad as you, baby’.

'You really gotta stop. I need sleep.'

'I'll leave you alone if you send me something to tide me over ;)'

'Steve is right here'.

'When he's asleep. Trust me, he's out like a light after dark.'

'I'll try… no promises.'

You hid your phone and listened. Steve barely moved and you could only hear his breath as it slowed to a steady lull. 

You rolled onto your back an glanced over at him. His eyes were closed and no tension marred his face. You bit the tip of your tongue and sat up. 

You kept watch over him as you opened your camera. You turned on your flash and flipped it around. You had one shot in the dark. You pulled down your tank top, goosebumps as the fear of getting caught tickled your skin. You lined up your finger and clicked as you gave as coy a look as you could manage.

Flash, snap, you quickly laid back down and pulled up your shirt. You were on your side as you checked the pic. Not bad… you sent it and held in a giggle. Your phone buzzed not long after.

'Oh baby that will def get me thru the nite'. You sent a heart and a kissy emoji in reply and told him you had to go to sleep. 

He returned the sentiment and you set your phone on the floor, content to wait until your homecoming for a release of the heat pooling in your core.

You closed your eyes and yawned. You really were tired.

💤

Steve sighed. She was asleep. He could tell as her heart slowed and her breaths evened out. He had fought to keep still until she did; as she had continued her texting, and even as she had chanced to take that naughty photo. And right beside him!

It was hard to keep his cool as he laid next to her. As she got out of the shower, he’d chanced to look up and see her through the crack of the door before she wrapped herself in a towel. And then he had barely been able to keep his eyes on her face as her nipples stuck out beneath the cotton of her tank. 

And next to her. Her warmth seeping into him. He could sense her nerves as Sam goaded her through her phone. As she did a poor job at hiding her screen and he pretended to be distracted by her own. She had completely missed that he’d open the tracking app with the little dot that blipped right over them. The very one that told her where she was at all times.

It’s how he found her all alone in the safe house. Convenient that it was so small but he had a plan either way. He’d been fantasizing about this very moment for months. Close to a year. Every time he saw her it got harder to act normal. Often he just shut down and went quiet. And seeing her with Sam…

His hand was on the waist of his track pants, fingertips picking at the elastic. He’d been hard all night, at this point, throbbing. He flinched as his hand brushed his erection through his pants. He let out a strained breath through his teeth and shivered.

He peeked over at her. In her sleep, she’d turned on her side to face him. She looked peaceful and yet a shadow of that naughty grin she’d given to her phone remained. Steve began to rub himself through the thin crotch of his track pants. He groaned. Looking at her, it felt even better. Her airy snores, just a hiss between her pouted lips, kept time as he stoked himself.

His other hand grasped hers. What was he doing? He dragged her hand from where it laid bent before her chest and he pushed it down until it was next to his. He slid it beneath and held it to his hard dick as it twitched. He swallowed a grunt as he used her palm to pleasure himself.

She murmured and he let go of her. Her hand fell between them but she didn’t wake. She fell onto her back and brought her arm up over her head, her elbow barely missing his temple. She grumbled and her breaths petered out once more. He watched her for a moment and admired the way her tank top had been pulled askew and her sweats had rolled lower on her hips.

He couldn’t help but trace the elastic with his fingers, grazing the skin bared just above. She didn’t react, didn’t move, didn’t make a noise. He pushed beneath her pants, just a little. He felt the smooth skin of her pelvis as he watched her face. Her eyes didn’t flutter open and she didn’t stir to stop him. He tickled the trimmed hair further down and he let out a long shaky breath.

He traced the line of her cunt and carefully dipped his finger between her folds. She was wet despite her unconsciousness. His fingertip slid over her clit and she let out a moan that ended in a nasally snore. He watched her cheek twitch but she still didn’t wake. He pressed another finger down and flicked down and back up. He dragged his fingers along until she began to slicken.

He withdrew his hand and kept his eyes on her. She pushed her arm down over her face and arched her back as she stretched, a sleep grumble as she wiggled beside him. He brushed his fingers along his lips and tasted her. He looked her over and felt the deep pain of his arousal. It was more than that, it was an insatiable and overwhelming need.

He sat up, careful no to jostle her. His hand crawled down her thigh and he sidled over as he inched her legs apart. He lifted himself onto his knees and turned to climb between hers. He stopped as he knelt above her and she still was completely unaware. 

He waited a moment before he grasped the waist of her sweats. His hands slipped around and he eased them past her ass as he lifted her. She was putty in his hands. Dead weight as her chest rose and fell without disturbance.

He rolled her pants down a little more. And more. And more. He stared at the soft outlines of her nudity as he bared her and drew her pants down her legs. He backed off the mattress and untangled her feet. He got back between her knees and ran his palms along her naked legs. Goosebumps rose at his touch and she moaned but her arm remained over her eyes and she only muttered between snores.

He paused and leaned over his side of the mattress. He grabbed his phone from under his pillow and quickly swiped it open. He clicked on the camera and turned the flash on. He grasped the top of the tank top and pulled until the straps slid down her arms and her chest came free. He snapped a picture, then another with his hand on her tit. Then he bent to take her nipple in his mouth and suckled until his cock was sore.

He pulled back and looked over her as he set his phone aside. His little doll. 

Steve slid his hands down onto the mattress and bent over her. His nose grazed her tuft of hair and he inhaled her scent. He hummed in delight. He nuzzled her closer and poked his tongue out along her folds. He delved deeper and teased her clit and a sharp breath had him frozen. He glanced up but she was still asleep. 

He flicked his tongue and she squeaked again. He loved that sound. He remembered that sound, dreamt of it since he’d first heard. Her and Sam never seemed to have much shame or perhaps it was a lack of awareness. That day in the training room when they thought they were alone; when they didn’t know he was just outside the door, kept from his own workout as they wrestled on the mats.

He brought his hand up to feel along her entrance. He poked a finger inside her and felt how tight she was. He added another finger and imagined her around his cock as he had a hundred times before. He lapped at her hungrily and curled his fingers inside her. Her walls constricted as her orgasm built and he guided her through it. He felt it and heard the stifled pattern of her breath as she crested the peak.

He slowed and peeked up at her. He withdrew his hand and reluctantly parted as he sat up. Her arm had slipped from her face and bent around her pillow. He could hear her heartbeat as it raced and yet she was asleep still. How could she not have woken?

Steve gripped the top of his pants. He looked down at his hands as if they weren't his own. He rose and stepped out of his track pants and swiped his shirt over his head. His hands glossed over his hot torso and his chest threatened to burst as every sense was magnified. He needed her. He could have her. Like this.

He bent and took his phone again. He switched to record and the flash bloomed to life. He angled the lens over every inch of her as he watched the screen. He backed up and went to the counter. He propped his phone up against the side of the bag, adjusting it until it focused on the mattress. He wanted to remember it even if she didn’t.

His fingers wrapped around his cock and he stroked himself and neared the bed. He groaned and lowered himself before her. He bent her legs around him as he bent over her. He slid his arm beneath her head and it lolled into the crook of his elbow. He pressed his tip to her folds and slickened himself with her arousal.

He prodded at her entrance and held his breath. He watched her face in the dark as he pushed into her. She stretched around his tip and her breath rushed along his thick bicep. He went deeper, unable to stop as her warmth beckoned to him. He was halfway in and felt as if he couldn’t go any further. She was so tight and yet he had too. He wanted all of her.

He held his breath and thrust to his limit. She gasped and her head turned suddenly as her eyes snapped open. The shock in her face was startling and somehow intoxicating. She blinked as she mumbled in confusion and she brought her hands up against his chest as she tried to shove him off. He jerked his hips and she cried out.

“S-Steve…” She gulped as she felt his thick muscles helplessly. “What are you--”

He pulled back and thrust into her again. Her legs tensed against him and her body arched beneath him. He hushed her and smothered her lips with his. She tried to pull away but she was trapped under his weight; in his strength. He liked the way she writhed, the way her tongue tried to force his out, the way her nails dug into the skin of his chest, the frantic noises that he swallowed up.

💤

You were so full it hurt. Your heart beat faster than ever as your eyes searched the dark. All you could see was the shadow of the man atop you, feel his sheer strength as he cradled your head with his thick arm and moved his body atop yours. You clawed at his chest as you squeezed him with your thighs, trying to get him off of you but only seeming to draw him deeper.

You pushed your head to the side as you finally tore your lips from his and gulped at the air. His motion built steadily as his groans seeped into you and made your stomach turn. 

At first, you hadn’t known where you were. It took a moment to recall the safe house and the mission that had led you there. Another to remember Steve’s unexpected arrival and your hasty texts before you resigned to sleep. And another to realise what he was doing to you. To realise that while you were terrified, it felt good. To battle with yourself and your weak body.

“Steve…” You rasped as his wet lips crushed against your cheek and his hips moved steadily against you. “Stop. What are you-- Sam…” You could barely form a thought, let alone speak. “Please--”

“I couldn’t wait any longer.” He growled as he sped up. “You’re so good. So tight.”

“Steve--”

“Mmm, say it again.” His other hand gripped your hip as he tilted into you. “I love my name in your mouth.”

“No, no, no,” You murmured. “Why--”

He impaled you sharply and your voice fizzled in your throat. He rested his weight on you as he sank into you completely and held himself there. Carefully he rolled onto his side and took you with him. He hooked your leg around his side as your other was trapped under him. His arms wrapped around you as he rocked into you.

He grabbed your leg and bent it even higher, straining your muscles as he crashed into you harder and deeper. You beat on his shoulder and threw your head back as you tried to resist the swelling in your core.

“It’s okay,” He purred. “You can cum for me.”

“St-e-ve,” You stuttered and grasped his shoulder. “Why--”

“Can I cum in you?” He asked as he grabbed your head and made you look at him. A light shone from behind him. You hadn’t noticed that before. “I gotta-- I’m gonna fill you up.”

“No, no…” You pushed helplessly. He wasn’t wearing a condom, you could tell. The thought made you sick. “You can’t--”

“I can’t--” He rolled you onto your back once more. 

He pinned your hips down with his large hands as he raised himself on his needs and rutted into you without restraint. You felt as if your pelvis would snap as his grunts filled the small house. You clung to the pillows around your head and your body constricted in an unexpected and unwanted climax.

“That-- It--” He snarled as his motion turned relentless. “I’m-- gonna-- ugh…”

His voice trailed off and his hips snapped harshly against you as he came. You felt his heat as it coated your walls and he eased himself still as he lowered his body back down to yours. He pecked your lips and you turned your head away.

“Why…” Your voice crackled. 

He hummed and nuzzled your cheek. “That was good, wasn’t it?”

“Get off of me,” You sneered. “Steve,” You slapped him and he recoiled. “Off!”

He grunted and pulled out of you as he pushed himself onto his knees. His cum leaked from your cunt as you sat up and he got to his feet. Your entire body tingled and you were shaking. You stood, your legs wobbly, and Steve’s shadow blotted out the bright light the beamed across the space.

“What is that?” You asked as you reached between your legs to wipe the cum smeared on your thighs.

“A keepsake.” The flash on his phone suddenly went out as he tapped the screen. “To look back on.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You stomped towards him and reached for his phone. “How could you--”

“Don’t worry,” He held the phone above him. “Sam will never know… unless I want him too.”

“No…” You stared up at his face shrouded in darkness. “How…” 

You blinked as tears rose and a hollow chill swept through you. You spun away from him and stumbled to the bathroom. You slammed the door as a sob caught in your throat. The damn thing would stay shut. You punched it as you swallowed back your tears.

You flipped on the light and pushed yourself away from the door and it creaked. You turned the sink on, the cold water numbing as you tried to wash away his cum from your cunt. When you finished, you let the tap run and looked into the mirror. You didn’t look like yourself. You didn’t feel like yourself.

And Steve, he couldn’t have been himself.

[hercleverboy]

heheheheh this could be so cute and I’m pumped to see where you go with this babe

fluff 25 & 44 with general 1 🥰

wc ↠ 845

Fluff #25 ↠ “Your hair is really soft.”

Fluff #44 ↠ “You’re an idiot.” “But I am your idiot.”

General #1 ↠ “Is that my shirt?” “You mean our shirt?”

She opened her front door, surprised to see Derek Morgan stood there, holding up her seemingly very drunk boyfriend.

Spencer looked up at the sound of the door opening, a massive grin splitting on his lips at the sight of her. “Y/N!”

“Oh!” Y/N gasped as he fell forward in a drunken scramble to hold her, throwing his arms around her waist and burying his head in her chest. Y/N looked up at Morgan, who was significantly more sober than her boyfriend was. “Geez, how many did he have?”

Morgan chuckled. “Like three drinks? Your boy here is a bit of a lightweight.”

Y/N laughed with him, looking down at the man who was pushing his entire body weight against her as he mumbled incoherent words. “Well, thank you for getting him home safe.”

“Not a problem, sweetness. Take care of him, yeah?” Morgan smirked, as he backed away from the door towards his car.

Y/N rolled her eyes but smiled. “Yeah, yeah.”

She manoeuvred Spencer the best she could with him practically on top of her so that she could shut the front door. She huffed, looking down at Spencer with amused eyes. “What am I going to do with you, hm?”

She managed to get him over to the sofa, bringing him down to sit— a difficult task considering he was still clinging to her in a way that could only be compared to that of a koala.

Spencer shifted slightly, bringing one of his hands up to twirl a piece of her hair between his fingertips. He leaned forward, taking a big, over exaggerated breath in through his nose, the smell of her berry scented shampoo filling his nostrils. “Your hair smells nice.”

She chuckled at the comment, smiling down at him. “Thanks bub. Just, stay here, let me grab you some water okay?” She went to stand up, but Spencer’s grip on her only tightened.

“No! Stayyyy. I missed you.” He whined, shaking his head against her chest. “Please.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll stay.”

After a few minutes, Y/N felt his breaths begin to even out, a sign that he was falling asleep. She didn’t want to him to put his neck out, even though she knew moving him to the bed was going to be a hard task she had to try.

“Spence? Baby, let’s go to bed yeah?” She whispered, shifting slightly as he stirred.

He whined against her shaking his head.

“You’re gonna get neck cramps if you stay here.” She tried, and even in his drunken head he knew she was right. He loosened his grip on her, allowing her to stand before standing to, although he immediately lost his balance. Y/N reached out her arms to steady him, looping one arm around his waist to help his toward the bedroom.

When they got there, she sat him down on the bed. “Are you alright getting changed?”

He scoffed, nodding feverishly. “Y/N, I am very very, very very, very, capable of dressing myself!” He insisted, and Y/N held her hands up in mock surrender. “I am a grown man and a genius and I have an IQ of 187 and — wait, I can’t get my shoes off.” He whined, looking over at her with a pout and his famous puppy dog eyes.

Y/N grinned, bending down and untying his converse for him. “I’m gonna grab you some water, okay?” She murmured as she rose back to her feet. He nodded with a drunken smile. She reached out and ruffled his hair, placing a kiss to his hairline before leaving the room.

When she came back, Spencer had managed to somewhat get changed.  He was now dressed in a shirt, still with his mismatched socks on his feet. He’d gotten in the bed and was sat up against the headboard. His eyes lit up at the sight of her as she came toward him, putting down the glass on the bedside table.

“There you are! You were agesssss!” He groaned, watching as she placed down the drink. He looked up at her, reaching out his arms and making grabby hands at her. “Come ‘ere. Wanna hold you.”

She grinned, moving to get into bed next to him as he sighed happily, placing his head on her chest and his arms around her waist. She put her arms around him, only then realising what shirt he’d chosen to wear. She looked down at the familiar material, recognising it as one of her own shirts. It was one over her oversized ones and was usually quite big on her. It was more fitting on Spencer, but still loose in places as it hung from his lanky frame.

“Spencer, is that my shirt?”

He groaned in confusion, looking down at the shirt before giggling quietly, nodding his head. “I think you mean our shirt?”

She shook her head with a chuckle, smiling down at him fondly. “You’re an idiot.”

He nodded against her. “Yep. But I’m your idiot.”

Not a minute later, the sound of his snores filled the room, Y/N letting out a happy sigh at the sound. “Yeah, you are.”

[jekde04]

Hide and Seek

For Gruvia Week 2021: Day 3 - Discovery

Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 4

Pairing: Gruvia (Gray Fullbuster & Juvia Lockser) Fandom: Fairy Tail Genre: Romance/Humor Word Count: 4,424 words Summary: It was safe to say that this wasn't the way Gray envisioned revealing their relationship to anyone. You may also read it on FanFiction.net and AO3! Check out my master list for other Gruvia fics.

The smell of curry wafted through his bedroom before he heard her call his name.

"Gray-sama! Lunch is ready!"

Really, he would have been happy with a couple of caramade franks delivered to his doorstep. But Juvia would hear none of it, saying he ought to eat healthier homecooked meals whenever he could—an indirect way of telling him that she would cook for him every chance she got. And even though Gray protested that Juvia was unnecessarily tiring herself out, she was the type of person who would go through all the trouble to make him happy. Even if that meant cooking a full meal of his favorite food the day after she just got back from a week-long mission.

Clad only in his boxers, Gray got up from his bed and made his way to his apartment's dining area. It wasn't much, just a square wooden table large enough to seat two people (or four, if you cramp them in). He watched as Juvia—wearing only his shirt that looked too large on her delicate frame—prepared the table, making sure to put extra curry sauce over his rice like she knew he loved.

Juvia moved her chair to the corner of the table so that she was sitting next to him, their arms and knees touching.

"Tsk! Why are you sitting so far from me?" Gray grumbled, pretending to be annoyed.

Juvia glanced at him, confusion evident on her face. "What is Gray-sama talking about? Juvia is almost on your lap." Even so, she moved closer to him so that they were almost squished together.

"But you're not."

With a mischievous smile playing on his lips, Gray picked Juvia up like a plushie and sat her on his lap. She shrieked and instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Now that's better," he grinned, one arm around her waist and another across her lap, his fingers palming her exposed guild mark.

"Gray-sama!" Juvia scolded him, a healthy shade of pink blooming on her pale cheeks. "Juvia and Gray-sama should be eating. We already skipped breakfast!"

"So?" He ignored her weak protests as he tightened his hold on her waist and buried his head at the crook of her neck, leaving a wet kiss just below her ear. He could feel her fingers gripping the hair on his nape as he trailed kisses down her neck.

"Gray-sama..."

It was supposed to be a plea to let her go, but it came out huskier than Juvia intended, causing a tightness in Gray's boxers. With all the energy she could muster, Juvia pushed him away and cradled his head between her hands so that she could look him in the eyes.

"Gray-sama needs to eat so he can have more energy—" she kissed him on the lips—"to satisfy Juvia." She sported a sweet, innocent smile, but there was an unmistakably playful glint in her eyes.

Gray smirked. "Am I not satisfying you, huh?" He kissed her hard before she could even answer, and Juvia tried her best not to melt into a puddle right then and there.

"You are," Juvia said between kisses. "But Gray-sama and Juvia need to eat. Our last meal was last night."

"But I only want to eat you," Gray whispered as he nibbled at her ear, his hand sliding dangerously between her legs. Juvia tried to protest, but her voice came out so weak as Gray trailed kisses on her cheek and covered her mouth with his.

A couple of knocks made both of them jump.

"Are you expecting someone, Gray-sama?" Juvia asked, finally getting a chance to pull away, but not enough to completely escape.

"No," Gray mumbled. He couldn't care less as he continued planting wet kisses on Juvia's cheeks, down to her jaws and neck. If he ignored whoever was at the door, that person would surely go away.

A louder set of knocks pounded on his door.

Collecting as much willpower as she could possibly get (given that Gray was practically lapping her up like a cold popsicle on a blazing hot day), Juvia hopped off Gray's lap and straightened herself.

"Gray-sama should answer that."

"C'mon, Juvs," Gray whined, hating how she was suddenly out of his reach. He tried grabbing her wrist, but she quickly pulled her hands to her chest and pointed towards the door. He felt the urge to punch whoever was on the other side.

That bastard won't even know what's coming.

Sighing, Gray started to make his way towards the door when a barrage of knocks once again threatened to take his door off the hinges. It was followed by a voice that sent a chill down his spine.

"Open up, Fullbuster!"

It only took a second for Juvia to recognize the familiar voice and cover her mouth with her hands.

"Erza-san? What's she doing here?"

"How would I know? I told her I was sick!" Gray said, careful not to raise his voice. Not only did he lie to Erza and his whole team so that he could skip their mission—he did it so he could spend time with Juvia, his secret girlfriend for about a month now. After all, she just got back from a mission herself, and they had barely spent three full days with each other since they got together as they were whisked away to mission after mission—he with Team Natsu and she with Gajeel and Lily.

For goodness' sake, they deserved their 'alone time' together. And by that, he meant getting away from the prying eyes of his guildmates.

It wasn't like anyone would be disappointed to learn that he and Juvia were going out. In fact, he was quite sure he would have to endure merciless teasing from pretty much everyone in the guild for at least a couple of weeks when they found out about them.

It was just that with Juvia right here—in his home, wearing only his shirt and her skimpy lacy panties that barely covered her bum—it was safe to say that this wasn't the way he envisioned revealing their relationship to anyone.

"Gray! We brought food." It was Lucy this time.

He took a deep breath. Okay, you just have to show them you're fine and they'll leave you alone. Turning to Juvia, he said, "Hide. In my room. Now."

Juvia nodded and noiselessly scurried off to Gray's room. Though hiding their relationship for the meantime was more of Gray's idea than hers, she definitely didn't want to reveal it by getting caught half-naked in his apartment.

Another series of pounding brought Gray's attention back to his front door. "Gray, I swear if you don't open this right now, I will—"

Gray opened the door and came face to face with a worried Lucy and a frowning Erza, both carrying huge brown paper bags brimming with snacks and fruits.

"Thanks for visiting, but I'm fine. You can go," Gray said in a flat tone. Well, if he wanted to continue his make-out session with his girlfriend, he better get down to business right away and cut his friends' visit as short as possible.

"Hello to you, too," Erza answered the cranky ice mage. Without being invited in, she sidestepped Gray and walked straight to the kitchen, setting down the paper bag she was carrying. Lucy followed, muttering, "Geez, thanks for the warm welcome," and started taking out the food they brought with them.

"Seriously, what are you two doing here?" he asked as he followed them into the kitchen.

"We're being good friends, dummy," Lucy answered him. "You're sick, so we thought we'd make sure you're okay."

"Well, I'm okay. You didn't have to go out of your way for this."

"And just let you starve to death?" Erza asked. Everyone knew Gray couldn't cook an egg to save his life. She found a box of medicines in the grocery bag and tossed it to Gray.

"That doesn't seem to be the case, though," Lucy quipped, her hand holding a barely eaten bowl of curry. "Someone must have already stopped over to cook for Gray."

Gray gulped and tried his best to keep a straight face.

"You know, this tastes like the curry Juvia cooks for us in Fairy Hills," Erza remarked after tasting the dish, a crease forming on her brows.

Oh no, Gray thought. How did Juvia's name come up all of a sudden? And how the hell would he steer the conversation around? His mind drew up a blank, fixated on the fact that Juvia was just a few feet away from being found and he couldn't do a single thing about it.

"Did Juvia drop by this morning to bring you food, Gray?" Lucy asked in a teasing tone, a naughty glint in her eyes.

"Y-yes! Yes, that's what she did!" Gray answered, a little too eagerly. "And then she left right away. For a mission. For three days. Yeah, that's it. She won't be back for three days." Mentally, he thanked Lucy for giving him that perfectly plausible scenario.

"Really? I'm surprised she didn't insist on taking care of you," Erza said. Gray smirked as he remembered all the ways Juvia took care of him since last night.

"Yeah, that's so unlike Juvia, isn't it?" Lucy said, her hand cradling her chin like she was deep in thought. Her eyes shot up to Gray, making beads of sweat form on his forehead. "Are you sure you're not hiding her in your apartment?"

"W-what?!" A furious blush adorned Gray's cheeks. "Why would you think that?!"

He must have looked so exasperated as both girls broke into a fit of laughs.

"I'm just kidding, Gray. You're so fun to tease," Lucy said, while Erza placed her hand on his forehead and said, "I think your fever shot up again."

"Sh-shut up," Gray said, swatting Erza's hand and reverting to his usual poker face. He took a seat and grabbed one of the plates, taking a mouthful of rice in his mouth. Now that Juvia wasn't within arm's reach, he was starting to feel hungry. After all, it had been more than 12 hours since he last ate.

And Juvia, too.

"Look, I'm grateful for all your help, but I'd really like to be alone and rest," he said, trying to sound as convincing as possible. "I can totally handle myself."

"Aww, don't be like that! We were just teasing you," Lucy said as she sat next to him. She took the other plate of curry and started eating. "This is really good! I haven't tasted Juvia's curry before."

Noticing that Lucy was eating Juvia's share, Gray blurted, "Don't eat that!"

Lucy just rolled her eyes. "Chill lover boy, there's more than enough here for everyone."

"Can't believe you're not just overprotective of Juvia. You're also super protective of her food," Erza taunted as she got her own plate and started putting food on it.

Gray sighed. What should I do to make these two leave?

"Yeah, you're all protective but you're not doing anything about it. Juvia is a patient girl, but you never know when she'd get tired of waiting for you."

"Might be soon." Gray glowered at Erza, but she ignored him and added, "Mira saw her giggling and blushing at her lacrima several times while we were on a mission."

"Come to think of it, you're sick, yet she left on a three-day mission?" Lucy surmised and Erza nodded. "Perhaps she already found someone who would actually appreciate her."

Gray balled his fists under the table. Even though his friends had no idea that he was actually the one Juvia was talking to via lacrima during their mission, he couldn't help but feel a bit mad that they would think Juvia's affections would sway that easily.

"Juvia would never betray me," he snapped before he could even think.

"Betray you?" Lucy raised her eyebrows.

"Why would you call it betrayal? Is she your girlfriend?" Erza narrowed her eyes at him.

"Juvia's not my girlfriend! I don't care about her!" Gray blurted.

It was really more out of impulse than anything else, but he immediately regretted his words when he heard a loud crash from his bedroom.

"What was that?" Erza asked, a sword suddenly materializing in her hand. Lucy grabbed her keys, and both girls stood up and went to the direction of Gray's bedroom.

Oh, fuck.

Gray jumped in front of the two girls with outstretched arms, blocking their way. "Calm down! I'll go check it."

"No, you stay here," Erza said in that no-nonsense tone that would have normally made Gray freeze on the spot, if Juvia's life (and their secret relationship) weren't on the line. He grabbed her arm.

"That's my bedroom, okay? I'll check and you'll both stay here."

It all happened so fast. One moment he was holding onto Erza's arm, and the next thing he knew, she had escaped from his grasp and was heading towards his bedroom just as Lucy turned the knob...

"Stop!"

"Gotcha!" Lucy yelled as she barged into Gray's bedroom, the requip mage right behind her. Erza's eyes darted from the bed to the closet to the tightly shut windows, like a predator looking for its prey. Lucy pulled back his messy sheets and opened his cabinet with a vigor that he seldom saw in the woman. Why does she look so excited?

There was no trace of any living creature anywhere.

A wave of relief washed over Gray when the two women stopped rummaging around his room. Still, he couldn't shake off his worry as he thought of his girlfriend. Did she just manage to hide so well? Or was she attacked? Just the thought of someone laying a hand on Juvia made his stomach turn to knots.

"How could this fall for no reason?" Lucy wondered aloud as she picked up the intact plastic lamp on the floor right beside the bed. She also sneaked a peek under the bed, making Gray's heart thump loudly. But the frown on her face as she got up made it clear that she didn't find anyone there, either.

Sighing loudly, Gray said, "Alright, show's over. No one's here, so get out of my room and let me fix some stuff here." Erza and Lucy exchanged quick glances but didn't resist when Gray pushed them out of his room and slammed the door.

Alone at last, his eyes swept across his disheveled room. "Juvia, where are you?"

"In here, Gray-sama."

A small puddle leaked from under his bed, materializing into Juvia's body. She's safe. He pulled her up towards him.

"Great thinking. I really thought they're gonna catch us. Are you hurt?" Gray asked as he inspected her body. She didn't seem hurt or anything.

"Juvia's okay. She was just caught off guard so she accidentally toppled your bedside lamp." She smiled, but one look at her despondent eyes showed that it wasn't as simple as that. Something was bothering her.

"Was it... because of what I said?"

Honestly, Gray didn't mean anything by it. Saying that Juvia wasn't his girlfriend and that he didn't care for her that way had always been his default defense whenever he was being teased about her. And now it became a habit that wasn't easy to shake off.

When she didn't answer, he sighed. "Come on, you know what I said wasn't true. I just said those things to get them off my back." He captured her hands in his. "I'm sorry."

Smiling at him, she replied, "Juvia understands. Gray-sama should go outside, or Erza-san and Lucy-san would get suspicious."

She still had that forlorn look on her face, which reminded him of how much convincing he had to do when he first bared his feelings for her.

"Juvia's sorry for doubting you, Gray-sama. It's just that he has denied Juvia's love for so long that she finds this all hard to believe. What if she wakes up one day and realizes this isn't real?"

That was when he realized that even though Juvia took his rejections in stride, his words still cut her. He then promised himself to treat her better, not just in actions but also in words.

Even if she was the only one who heard it. She was the only one that mattered, anyway.

Gray moved his hands to her cheeks, cradling her face as they locked eyes. "Hey, you know me, right? You know how I really feel about you?"

Juvia nodded, but he knew the doubts still lingered.

"I love you, Juvia."

And even though he had lost count of how many times he already told her that, her eyes still shone with the same sparkle they had back when she heard those words for the first time.

"Juvia loves you too, Gray-sama."

He gave her a gentle kiss, which would have been perfect and magical were it not for a low grumble coming from Juvia's stomach. She giggled. "Sorry. Juvia's starving."

Gray opened his drawer and handed her a couple of candies. "It's the only edible thing I have here now, but I promise I'll make them leave right away so we can eat together, alright? Just stay quiet." He stole another quick kiss from his girl before he left, careful not to open the door too much.

He found Erza and Lucy huddled together on his couch, keeping their voices low as they talked. When the celestial mage noticed him approaching, she cleared her throat and said, "Hey Gray, are you feeling better already?" She walked towards him and caught his face between her hands, turning his head whichever way and inspecting his body as if looking for some wound or scratch or something.

That was weird alright, but he decided to shrug it off and just focus on the task at hand: kick his annoying friends out of his house.

"I'm good. Get off me," he answered, swatting her hands away. Moving right between the two girls, he draped his arms over their shoulders. "You know, I really appreciate your concern over me, but I can handle myself." He started pushing them towards the door. "I really, really, really want to rest a bit more though—" just a few more steps and he could already reach his front door—"so please leave."

Just when he was about to open the door, the redhead spun around and glared at him. "Hold it. Why are you so anxious to kick us out of your house?"

He froze. "W-well, I told you I'm okay already..."

"Are you sure?" Lucy said, facing him as well. She placed her hand on his forehead and pulled back immediately. "You're burning up!"

"No, I'm not."

He couldn't understand why they kept walking closer and closer to him with an excited look in their eyes. Taking huge steps back until he was almost right outside his bedroom door, he felt like a small kitty getting cornered by two hyenas.

Two crazy, vicious hyenas.

"Perhaps we could give you a sponge bath?" Lucy purred.

"Oh yes, just like when we were kids. I'm sure it'll make you feel all better," Erza added.

"What the hell is wrong with you two?!"

Before Gray could make a run for it, his bedroom door slammed open and a furious Juvia swooshed past him, pinning the two women to the opposite wall.

"LOVE RIVALS!"

But instead of getting scared by the dark aura coming from the water mage, Lucy clapped her hands and let out a delighted squeal. Erza, on the other hand, looked like she had saucers for eyes as she stared right back at the girl glaring daggers at them.

"I knew it!" Lucy yelled. She pointed to Juvia, then Gray. "You two..."

"So, the rumors are true..." Erza muttered to herself, still not believing what she was seeing.

Gray sighed. There was no use hiding things now. And he better do something before his girlfriend water slices two of his best friends.

"Alright, fine." He walked towards them and pried Juvia away from the two girls. "Juvia and I, we're together. Happy?"

That seemed to snap Juvia out of her jealous rage as her head whipped towards Gray. "Gray-sama?"

Lucy let out another squeal, cheeks pink with giddiness. "It's about time! But—" She punched Gray's bare arm.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"Why didn't you tell us?"

"You didn't ask! It's not like I can just blurt it out in the middle of a conversation!"

"Of course you can!" Another punch. "How can you hide this huge thing from us? If Natsu hadn't told us, we wouldn't even know!"

"Natsu-san?" Juvia asked. "Did Gray-sama tell Natsu-san about us? Gray-sama told Juvia not to tell Gajeel-kun," she pouted.

"I didn't tell him, I swear! Why the hell would I tell that idiot about us?"

"Natsu overheard you talking to Juvia on your lacrima," Erza explained as she straightened her blouse and skirt. "Believe it or not, he was able to put two and two together and figure out that you two were dating."

She then narrowed her eyes at Gray. "And of course, it helped that he heard everything, Gray."

Juvia turned a bright tomato red, her hands flying to cover her mouth. Gray blushed, remembering the nights he spent during their last mission sneaking out of his and Natsu's tent, calling Juvia in secret just to ask her how she was doing. His flush deepened as he also remembered the not-so-innocent conversations he shared with Juvia when he thought everyone was asleep.

Damn that dragon slayer's hearing!

"There's just one thing I want to know," Erza said in her serious tone, which made both Gray and Juvia straighten. She cleared her throat. "Juvia... Gray didn't... forcefully take your flower, right?"

Gray, Juvia, and Lucy all turned as red as Erza's hair. Even Erza looked like she wanted to withdraw her very suggestive question as she couldn't stop the blood rushing to her face.

"Do you really have to ask, Erza?" Lucy whispered, her eyes fixed intently on the floor, finding it interesting all of a sudden. "I mean, just look at them..."

Gray gave out an indignant "Hey!" while Juvia literally had steam come out of her ears as she tried to cover her burning face with her hands. Thankfully, she had the presence of mind to wear Gray's boxers before storming out of his room, although Gray wasn't sure that the sight of them—him wearing only his boxers and Juvia wearing his clothes and not hers—could salvage their situation.

"W-well, o-of course I had to ask!" Erza reasoned amid her embarrassment. "I know I taught Gray how to respect women, but if he took advantage of Juvia in any way, I would—"

"Calm down, Erza-san," Juvia said, regaining her composure as she touched the requip mage's arm to try to diffuse the sinister aura starting to emanate from her. "Juvia swears that Gray-sama has been nothing but a gentleman to Juvia."

"Yeah, how could you even think I would take advantage of Juvia?" Gray asked, slightly offended. "We're both consenting adults and we know what we're doing!"

"And I am glad to know that." Erza firmly patted Gray's back, and he thought he was going to cough up blood from the impact.

"So..." Lucy teased, poking Juvia's cheek and smirking. "You two are doing it, huh? You owe us details on our next sleepover, Juvia!"

"Lucy-san!" an embarrassed Juvia exclaimed, once again burying her scarlet face in her hands. Lucy laughed, mumbling something about finally not being falsely accused of being a love rival anymore.

Now that everything was out in the open, Gray cleared his throat and hollered, "Okay, now that we're all good, can you leave us alone now?" He escorted the two girls towards the door once again, and this time, they complied without any protests, finally leaving the couple to their much-awaited alone time.

Gray slumped on his couch. "I'm sorry about all that, Juvia."

"It's not your fault, Gray-sama," Juvia said as she sat beside him and rested her head on his outstretched arms, Gray instinctively pulling her closer. "The whole guild would most likely know about Gray-sama and Juvia before this day ends."

"Yeah."

Juvia sneaked a peek at Gray. "Is Gray-sama okay with that?"

"Well, it's bound to come out sooner or later, right?" Gray answered nonchalantly.

"Juvia is sorry."

Gray looked at his girlfriend, surprised to see her looking a bit down, fiddling with the hem of her shirt. "Why?"

He barely caught what she whispered. "Juvia knows Gray-sama doesn't want anyone to know."

And then, it hit him.

Taking her hand in his, he lifted her chin with his other hand so that she could look at him. "Did you seriously think I'd keep you a secret forever?"

When she didn't reply, he continued. "It's not that I didn't want anyone to know. I just didn't want to make a big deal out of it, announcing it and everything. I thought it would come out naturally, like people would just notice. And I certainly didn't want them to find out this way," he said as he gestured towards their half-naked forms.

Juvia giggled. "Gray-sama probably should not have called Juvia during his mission."

"As if you won't call me," he smirked.

"Juvia just didn't want Gray-sama to miss her too much," Juvia said as she nuzzled closer to him.

"Is that so? But I clearly remember a certain someone jumping into my arms the moment she saw me and telling me how much she missed me."

"And she definitely heard a certain someone say that he missed her, too," Juvia retorted, eyes gleaming at him. "He couldn't even get his hands off Juvia..."

"Hey—"

Juvia shut him up by pressing her lips on his for a long, loving kiss. When they finally went up for air, Gray whispered, "How about we continue where we left off earlier?"

"You mean our late lunch?" Juvia asked innocently.

"Not hungry." But just as Gray said that, his stomach grumbled.

"Oh, really?" Juvia cocked her eyebrows. "Come on, Juvia's hungry, too." With that, she dragged him towards the kitchen, leaving no room for complaints.

Gray let Juvia lead the way, watching her hair flowing down her back like soft ocean waves, all the way down to her long, flawless legs. He smiled.

"Alright. But I'm having you for dessert."

A/N: This came out WAY later than I expected. It was one of those stories that started out really good in my head, but the actual writing process turned out to be a pain in the neck. Now I'm just embarrassed to tag this as Gruvia Week 2021 because I'm more than a month late, lol. But I still would because I'm shameless like that, haha.

[refinedbuffoonery]

Looking Through A Window (7)

macriley married undercover au

masterlist.

Sorry for the delay! I either have my shit together in real life or fandom life, but never both at the same time lol. Anyway, I got endless joy from reading all your reactions to last chapter’s clifhanger (sorry not sorry). I didn’t respond to comments because I don’t trust myself not to spoil anything, but just know that I appreciate every single one of your theories. Also, many of you were at least somewhat correct. (Yikes am I becoming predictable?? Gotta fix that.) This chapter ends at a good stopping point, so I’m going to switch gears and write a couple chapters of other fics (which I encourage you to read!!) before coming back to this. But fear not! I have big plans for the future of this fic, and I’ll send you all down the theory rabbit hole soon enough. xoxo

*****

The world narrows until Mac is only aware of two things: his racing heart and the fact that Riley is gone. 

The blood is fresh, but there’s no sign of a struggle—no sign of anything, really. The windows are locked and unbroken, the bedroom door is half-closed the way it always is. Not a single thing is out of place…except for Riley. 

So, where the hell is she? 

His body goes taut as the worst case scenario plays in his mind. Please don’t be gone, Mac silently begs. Please. 

The apartment is quiet. Too quiet. So when the shower turns on with a loud thunk, Mac flinches. Hard. Without thinking, he scrambles out of bed and lunges for the bathroom door. 

As he bursts through the door, Mac’s awareness shifts to three things: Riley is alive, she’s naked, and she’s screaming. 

“Mac!” She hisses, glaring over her shoulder. If looks could kill, he’d be very, very dead by now. At least her back is to him. “What the hell?” 

Mac barely hears her over the roaring in his ears. He scans her naked body, trying and failing to be professional as he scans for injuries. 

His eyes land on the blood smeared between her thighs, then the thin stream rolling down the inside of her knee. As understanding dawns on him, Mac holds out his own blood-covered hand in silent explanation. 

Riley winces. “Sorry about the blood.” 

Mac still feels a little disconnected from his body when he says, “I was afraid you were dead.”

Embarrassment floods Riley’s face. She begs,“Can we please finish this conversation when I’m not naked and bleeding all over the floor?” Mac’s gaze automatically flicks to the drops of blood between her feet, but he doesn’t move. His limbs are still frozen in place, the way they’ve been since he found her. “Get out!” Riley snaps. 

His own embarrassment finally taking hold, Mac stumbles backward, tripping over the door frame on his way out. 

While Riley showers, Mac busies himself by stripping the bed and washing the sheets and blankets. Not just because it needs to be done, but because it’s easier to process emotions when his hands are busy. It feels like he just experienced the entire spectrum of human emotion in the span of three minutes, and now all these untethered feelings are floating around in his head. As he works, Mac examines them one by one. 

He woke up this morning wanting to cuddle with Riley. Not just wanting to, but comfortable enough to act on that desire. 

When his hand landed in the blood, his brain immediately jumped to the worst case scenario. He is deeply afraid of said scenario. 

Then panic set in, as he desperately tried to prove himself wrong. 

Followed by relief at finding Riley and learning the blood was not from an injury, but from a normal bodily function. 

Then embarrassment, because he freaked out and barged in on her over something he could’ve deduced for himself if only he’d just stopped to think. He’s supposed to be smart, so why couldn’t that big brain of his, as Jack would say, figure this out? 

The answer to that question, at least, comes easily: Because it’s Riley, and he doesn’t always think with his head when it comes to her. 

For example, while he’s mortified at seeing her naked, a part of him wishes she’d been facing the other direction. 

Mac starts the washing machine and decides to do the mature thing and hide in the kitchen for the entire foreseeable future. He spies Harley lying on the couch, gazing out a window. “And where were you for all of this?” he asks. “A heads-up would’ve been nice.” 

Harley stares at him for a few seconds before resuming her vigil, and Mac hears the message, loud and clear: You’re on your own. 

When Riley still hasn’t emerged from the bedroom long after the shower turned off, Mac suspects that she’s hiding too. He doesn’t blame her. 

It’s late morning by the time the laundry is finished, and Mac can’t hide any longer. Clutching the still-warm sheets and blankets to his chest, he cautiously ventures into the bedroom. Riley is lying on the bed with her knees tucked up to her chin, and a pang of sympathy echoes in Mac’s chest. Her eyes are closed, but Mac doubts that she’s actually asleep. 

Dropping the sheets on the floor, he asks, “Are you alive?” 

Riley groans. “No.” 

“Could you please go die on the couch then, so I can make the bed?” She groans again and mumbles something incoherent. “Also you’ll feel better if you eat something.” 

“No I won’t.” She sounds like a whining toddler, and Mac has to stifle a snort. Still, a bit of the awkwardness dissipates. But only a bit. 

“Yes you will. I know you, Miss Hangry.” 

“I’m not hangry.” 

“Says the one who skipped breakfast.” 

“I was hiding from you.” 

“So was I,” Mac confesses. Riley cracks a single eye open at that, just in time to see his cheeks heat. “Trust me, I am way more embarrassed than you.” 

It takes him a second to notice that she’s blushing too. “Wanna bet?” 

Mac starts putting the fitted sheet on the unoccupied side of the mattress. “I didn’t see anything, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Nothing he hasn’t seen before, anyway, but Mac wisely decides to keep that part to himself. “Victoria’s secret is still a secret,” he adds with a wink. 

Riley rolls her eyes. “You did not just say that.” 

“Made you laugh, didn’t it?” Mac gives her a shit-eating grin, and despite her best attempt at hiding it, amusement slips through the cracks in Riley’s unimpressed facade. 

“Whatever. We don’t have to do anything today, do we?” Mac raises his brow at the question. For all the years he’s known Riley, she’s always been more of a ‘suck it up’ kind of person, not a ‘stay in bed’ person. So her question is surprising, if not mildly concerning. 

“Nope.” He pauses. “Are you okay? This isn’t like you.” 

Riley rolls onto her back. “Dude, it feels like someone took a cheese grater to my insides.” 

Mac winces at the mental image. “Ouch.” 

She pauses, as if contemplating her next words before she says them. “I got a new IUD a couple months ago, and this one makes my cramps way worse. I used to be able to ignore them, but this sucks.” 

Not knowing how to reply to that, he squeezes Riley’s ankle in a way he hopes is reassuring. Mac flicks his gaze up to meet hers and finds Riley already looking at him. Her gaze is warm and steady, but Mac can see hints of pain clouding her dark eyes. He thinks it isn’t fair that her body turns on her like this. 

"I'm getting back in bed the second you're done making it," she warns. 

"Go right ahead." 

Riley wanders into the kitchen, and, true to her word, reappears right when Mac finishes smoothing down the comforter, with Harley at her heels. To Mac's surprise, Harley jumps on the bed, waits for Riley to get situated, and then tucks herself into Riley's side. A smile blooms on his face. Riley puts an arm around Harley, pulling the dog into her stomach before moving to scratch her head. When Harley licks Riley’s face in return, Mac suddenly gets the feeling he's watching something private. 

Satisfied that Riley is in capable hands, Mac leaves without another word.

*****

Beneath the weathered wooden conference table, Harley’s head rests on Mac’s foot as she dozes through the Patriots’ council meeting. When they arrived, no one looked more put off by their presence than Conrad, but, true to his word, Ethan welcomed Mac and Riley with open arms and encouraged their participation. A murmur of dissent snaked through the room, but no one openly questioned Ethan’s decision to include them. 

Twenty minutes in, Mac would rather be anywhere but here. The “meeting” so far has been very little business and mostly rehashing some fishing trip a few of the guys went on over the weekend. Mac is holding out hope that it won’t be a complete waste of his time, but said hope dwindles each time someone exaggerates about the size of a fish. 

There’s nothing interesting to look at in the room, save for Riley. No art, no plants, no wall of guns. Not even a clock. Just drab gray walls with no windows. And he doesn’t dare study any of the men for longer than a second or two each. Making an enemy is as easy as looking at someone the wrong way, and Mac has no desire to antagonize the other members of the Patriots…at least not yet. 

Extricating his foot from beneath Harley’s head, he’s just about to make an excuse about needing to use the restroom when Ethan’s phone rings. After quickly checking it, Ethan excuses himself from the meeting with a curt nod to Conrad. Mac understands the look; he’s given and received it countless times himself, after all. Permission to continue without him. Because despite his tendency to toe the line, Conrad is still Ethan’s trusted lieutenant. The exchange is subtle, practiced, and apparently insignificant to the other men at the table, who are somehow still talking about fish. 

When the storytelling finally lulls, Conrad clears his throat. "Let's start with recruitment. Report." No nonsense, right to the point. Maybe he’s tired of the fish conversation too. 

As Conrad steers the conversation through the various items on the agenda, Mac realizes two things. 

One, the Patriots are far more organized than he originally made them out to be. This is no grassroots startup, and their plans go much deeper than protests and parking lot shootings. 

Two, Conrad is careful not to let anyone share too much information, instead asking everyone to give their detailed reports in individual meetings. And it's more than just trying to keep him and Riley in the dark. It's almost as if…almost as if Conrad doesn't want anyone to see the big picture besides himself. 

Mac decides to take his theory for a test drive. "I know I'm new here," he says, "but why have everyone meet with you a second time individually instead of sharing their full reports now? Wouldn't that be a better use of time?" 

Conrad sneers. "On the contrary, boy, why would I waste everyone's time making them listen to information they don't need to know?" 

It takes every ounce of Mac’s self control not to roll his eyes. 

Beneath the table, Riley grips his knee, nails digging in through his khakis. Mac wants to tell her that he’s thinking the same thing she is, but he can’t. The best he can settle for is a brief touch on her arm before needing to do something with his hands to distract himself from the way his skin burns under her touch. He elects to drum his fingers on the table, mostly to push Conrad’s buttons even further. 

If Conrad’s furrowed brow is any indication, it works. 

“Do you mind?” Conrad says with a pointed glare at Mac’s hand. 

Feigning ignorance, Mac replies, “Mind about what?” 

“The tapping.” 

“Oh!” Mac makes a show of sliding his gaze down to his hand before flattening his palm against the table. “My bad.” 

Looking none too pleased, Conrad moves on, but to Mac’s surprise, the man sitting beside him leans in to whisper, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. He's not the one to piss off." His words are tinged with genuine concern, and under different circumstances, Mac would appreciate the advice. 

"He's a man," Mac whispers back, "just like everyone else at this table." Minus Riley, of course. 

The man presses on. "The previous occupant of your seat was shot point blank for asking too many questions." Mac's brows raise at that. "You're sitting in a dead man's chair." 

Mac pockets that little detail gratefully, but he hesitates before ultimately heeding the man's warning. He fiddles with the button on his sleeve, impatiently waiting for the meeting to end so he can share his theory with Riley. 

What Mac doesn't anticipate is Riley beating him to it, pulling him aside before they're even back in the car. "Conrad's compartmentalizing information," she says in a quiet, confident tone. 

They’re too exposed to be having this conversation. Mac nervously checks for eavesdroppers, but doesn’t spot any. Deeming it safe for now, he replies, "Yeah I thought so too." 

"He's made himself essential. No one else knows how everything works." Riley pauses, eyes catching on something over his shoulder. Barely audibly, she adds, "An asshole and a control freak." He doesn’t need to turn around to know she’s looking at Conrad, not when she has a white-knuckled grip on Harley’s leash. 

"So if we eliminate him…" 

Riley nods in understanding. He’s controlling everything in an attempt to rise through the rankings and seize power. So if they eliminate Conrad, the whole organization may very well come tumbling down in his wake. 

Now they just have to figure out how the hell to accomplish that. 

"What if we help him?" Riley suggests, reading Mac’s mind. 

"What?" 

"We've spent all this time looking for the weakest link, but maybe…maybe we need to attach ourselves to the strongest one." A stray curl falls in Riley's face, and as she brushes it behind her ear, Mac absentmindedly wishes his fingers were brushing it back instead. Riley continues, "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I think we should help him become more powerful than he already is. That way, we can do as much damage as possible when we take him out." 

A man they don't know walks by, and Mac nods in greeting. Waiting for the man to move out of earshot, Mac drops to one knee, giving Harley a good scratch. She wags her tail and opens her mouth in a smile, clearly enjoying the attention. When the coast is clear again, Mac says, "You just made this op so much longer, but I think you're right." 

Riley snorts. "What, is there somewhere else you need to be?" 

Gazing up at the woman before him, the answer is obvious. Not unless you're coming with me. 

*****

In the gray hour before dawn crests over the world, Mac wakes to something tickling his nose. He exhales sharply, trying to blow it away, but the tickle persists.

His face is pressed into the nape of Riley's neck, and a deep inhale causes a few strands of her hair to go up his nostrils. Reaching up to brush Riley’s hair out of his face, he hesitates right before his calloused fingers brush her skin, afraid that even the barest touch will shatter the moment. As soon as Riley wakes, he'll have to hide behind his mask of indifference, and Mac isn't ready to do that yet. 

For as long as he dares, Mac allows himself to imagine what it would be like to wake up with Riley for real, in his own home. He sees her curled in his bed, sheets pulled up to her chin, hears the soft, steady cadence of her breathing, smells the lingering traces of perfume on her skin. 

Riley stirs in his arms, and the vision blurs, moving out of reach. Mac grasps for it, but it evaporates into nothingness as she settles back against him. 

He shifts his focus to the very real sensation of Riley’s body tucked into his. Her back to his chest, his leg slotted between hers, her ass pressed against his—

Shit. 

Mac jerks backward, trying to put as much space between them as possible before Riley wakes and realizes just what she scooted back against. 

Except, in his haste, Mac doesn’t realize there’s a third party present until his foot slams into the small, warm body lying at the foot of the bed. Guilt washes over him at Harley’s ensuing yelp. 

Awake, Riley mumbles, “Did you just kick the dog?” 

“It was an accident!” Mac insists, sitting up. He turns his attention to Harley. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. You can come back if you want.” He pats the bed in a way he hopes is reassuring, but Harley merely eyes him with suspicion before slinking out of the room. 

“I can’t believe you kicked the dog,” Riley says, still half-asleep. “She finally slept with us, and you betrayed her.” 

“I told you it was an accident!” 

“Betrayal.” 

Mac rakes a hand through his hair. “You’re never going to let this go, are you?” 

“Nope.” Riley sighs, rolling back to her side of the bed, and Mac isn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. Or maybe a little bit of both. “You better go apologize.” 

Mac scoffs. “And let you take over the entire bed while I’m gone? I don’t think so.” 

And there it is. The closest they’ve come to acknowledging the evolution of their bed-sharing habits. Particularly the newfound lack of sticking to their respective sides. If he’s being honest with himself, Mac doesn’t know where to go from here. He wants to see it as a sign of things changing between them. Obviously Riley is aware of their precarious positioning, but based on her casual relocation, she doesn’t see this any differently than the dozens of times they’ve slept squished in a small space together in the past. Whether she’s aware of the other thing, she doesn’t let on. 

“Your funeral,” Riley says, pulling Mac out of his head. 

Right. 

The dog. 

The dog whose forgiveness he needs to earn via extra breakfast. Maybe extra dinner too. 

Sighing, Mac goes after her, cursing his inability to get things right with either of the females in this house. 

.

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[moonbeambucky]

Hey Neighbor (Part 3)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Word Count: 2686 Warnings: none unless you count awkward/cringeworthy moments

Summary: You had a plan and then life came along with one of its own. With your future almost derailed you worked hard to get yourself back on track and finally everything seemed to be going right… that is, until your new neighbor moved in.

A/N: This is a slow burn people so sit tight! A huge thank you to my wonderful beta Sam @buckyofthemyscira​ Feedback is always appreciated!

PART 2 | HEY NEIGHBOR MASTERLIST

You paced in your apartment for a few minutes, debating what you should do. The gift card was a lovely gesture but you can’t accept it, Bucky is a stranger even if he’s your neighbor, and even though he inconvenienced you it would be wrong to take this.

But then again, maybe he really meant no harm at all and it would be rude not to accept this. It certainly would be put to good use.

All of these thoughts raced through your mind as you walked the length of your apartment. The walls truly were thin and you knew Bucky was home, meaning if he heard you come home then he knew you had the gift card. Was he expecting you to thank him?

Fuck it, you’re going over there. You went to the bathroom to make sure you looked alright. You aren’t sure why you cared so much but you quickly brushed your teeth and dabbed a bit of perfume on your pulse points. With a final look at yourself in the mirror you put your phone in your back pocket, grabbed your keys and the gift card and shut your door.

Your teeth were clenched as you made a fist and knocked at Bucky’s door, holding your breath as you heard him shuffle towards the door to answer it.

“Y/N, hey!” Bucky seemed surprised to see you.

His hair was loose, falling on his shoulders. The blue of his t-shirt brought out his eyes, even in the dimmed hallway lighting.

“Hey Bucky,” you replied easily, as if the words fell naturally from your lips. Holding up the gift card you smiled and Bucky mirrored the gesture.

“I see you got it.”

“Yes, thank you. This was really sweet but honestly you didn’t have to do this.”

Bucky lifted his arm to rub the back of his neck, exposing part of his waist as his shirt ran up. Your eyes couldn’t help but catch the deep V line sculpted on his body, making you unconsciously lick your lips. As Bucky spoke you lifted your eyes to meet his again.

“I felt really bad. I didn’t mean to be a shitty neighbor. I’m not really used to this.”

“Having neighbors?” you asked with a giggle.

Bucky smiled. “Not ones so close.”

“That’s the city for ya,” you said awkwardly, looking everywhere else except Bucky.

“So listen,” Bucky began, clearing his throat. “You just got back from class right? If you wanted, how about I make you a cup of coffee? I definitely owe you a lot, even more than the gift card.”

The thought of having coffee with the embodiment of sex on legs made your knees wobble. You politely said you couldn’t impose.

“You wouldn’t be. I was about to make a pot myself, I’ve got a lot of work to do.”

There probably should have been more insisting on your end, saying that you couldn’t come in because you also have a lot of work to do but somehow your mouth had a mind of its own as you agreed to coffee.

You wanted to keep things light, and so as you followed him inside you joked, “How do you get any work done with all that music?” but the moment you stepped into his apartment you wished the ground would open up and swallow you whole.

Bucky’s apartment was a mirror of yours with his bed and couch placed in the same spot against the wall, though it felt smaller with the dark taupe covering the walls, but what really made things feel cramped were the instruments scattered all over the apartment.

Several guitars were hung along the brick wall with a variety of amps on the floor. A large keyboard was laid out on the trunk that served as his coffee table in front of a black leather couch. An electronic drum kit sat beside a large desk, with wires attaching to a device beside his computer.

“Music is my work.”

You were stunned into silence, feeling completely stupid for asking him to not play music when you were home. You wanted to turn around and go back to your apartment where you could shake away the cringey feeling that rooted itself into your bones.

“Ohh,” you managed to squeak out.

“Yeah…” he trailed off, baring his teeth for an awkward smile at your revelation. “But don’t worry about the sound, I went out earlier and got headphones.”

Bucky turned to hold up a bag from the floor and you recognized the name of the professional audio shop.

“I never needed them before. My old landlord had lost most of her hearing so my music never bothered her.”

Bucky turned to the small kitchen counter to start preparing the coffee. He hadn’t offered you to sit, not that you saw a chair, so you stood watching his shirt cling to his muscles as he reached up to open the cabinets. They were different from yours, their honeyed tone showing a little age but not old by any means.

He pulled down a small coffee maker that was clearly made for a single person. You’ve already had more cups of coffee today than that tiny thing can produce in a sitting. Bucky was an obvious bachelor, even if you didn’t know about the revolving door of women you could see it in the way he kept his place.

He had been here just over a month but the apartment looked as if he had been settled in for years. Beside the bag he previously held up were others filled with things that hadn’t been put away. His bed wasn’t made, but the dark blue comforter was mostly strewn over the mattress with just the corner pulled a little too low.

His TV was opposite the bed on a dresser whose bottoms drawers hung open, with a bunched up shirt preventing the middle one from fully closing. Things weren’t dirty, it just needed a good tidying. Behind you was a large bookcase, with each shelf overstuffed with books and graphic novels, loose music sheets spilling out from the top, a few Funko Pops and some other knick-knacks.

“Milk and sugar?” he asked, turning around as one hand gripped the handle of the refrigerator.

You nodded with a smile as you continued to observe his apartment. Above the couch was a large framed poster of the movie Psycho and briefly recalling the conversation you heard this morning you really hoped he was actually talking to his mother.

“Shit.”

You turned around to find Bucky watching you stare at the poster, though his eyes moved to the couch.

“I’m sorry, I should have asked you to sit down,” he said, apologizing for his manners as he moved the keyboard off the trunk and on to his desk. “I don’t usually have people over.”

You both know his statement was a lie; he has people, women specifically, over every night but what he meant was he doesn’t usually entertain.

The couch scrunched under his weight as he sat beside you, handing over a mug of steaming coffee. He warned you it was hot and so you held it as the ceramic heated your skin before placing it on the trunk. Bucky had done the same and so you felt comfortable enough to do so as well, even though asking about a coaster would have been just as simple.

“So you mentioned you’re in school. What are you studying?”

You were aware of how close his knee was to yours as he turned to face you. Nerves made you grab the cup of coffee first, sipping on the still too hot liquid before answering.

“I’m going for my MSW. I’m nearly finished too, I just have this last class before I somehow have to fit a ton of hours for an internship into my schedule which is a little difficult to figure out.”

“You work full time too, right? It must be hard doing both.”

Bucky’s blue eyes were focused on you, deeply staring into your own. All you could do was nod your head in response. He was enchanting, clearly a great listener; it’s no wonder he can charm the world into his bed.

You fell into a conversation about Stark Industries and how you came to work there, going to school part time as you worked to pay the rent.

“It feels like I’ve wasted so much time because of the road I had to take. I keep picturing myself at the end, finally graduating, knowing all the stress and sleepless nights were worth it.”

Bucky watched as the passion you had for social work poured off your lips. There was something deeper than wanting to be handed a diploma, he could see the fire burning in your eyes that you had for this field, something you left unsaid.

“I’m sorry, again, if my music kept you up and distracted you.”

“No, I’m sorry Bucky. I was rushing to class this morning and I probably could have said things in a better way.”

You shared a quick smile with him, bringing the mug up to your lips to mask the way your cheeks wanted to stay pulled tight to cement the smile on your face. Staring at Bucky made you feel giddy and warm all over.

You suddenly realized how long it’s been since you’ve hung out with a man that isn’t Steve. With all your school work keeping you busy you hardly had any time to notice what was missing in your life, not until now where you felt butterflies fluttering away in your stomach. Wow, you definitely needed to get out again.

“So you said music is your work, what do you do?”

Bucky tipped the mug back to finish the last drop of coffee, before smoothing his fingers over his lips.

“I’m a composer actually.”

Well that was unexpected. You definitely judged Bucky too quickly, with the loud music and louder women. Without seeing him you figured he was some punk in a band, who stayed up all night and didn’t give a shit about his neighbors because he wanted to live out the party lifestyle of a wannabe rock star. But as Bucky explained you found out he was so much more than that.

From a young age he was musically gifted, picking up melody and sounding it out by ear as he sat in front of the piano. His mother Winifred had also played and taught him what she could until Bucky’s enthusiasm for playing outgrew the time and knowledge she had to teach him. She and his father George hired a piano tutor who noted how talented Bucky was, especially for a young child.

Bucky’s ambitions grew as he wanted to learn more instruments, guitar, violin, percussion.

“I can’t do horns,” he joked, not having the patience to practice proper breathing for the brass instruments.

Bucky has been composing music since the days you were pining over boy bands, selling his first work to a commercial for an international airline.

“Wow, I feel like the biggest asshole for telling you to stop.”

Bucky chucked at your admission, “It’s okay Y/N, really. I should have realized I’m not in Long Island anymore. I promise to use the headphones for every instrument that I can.”

“Thanks Bucky,” you smiled, sighing a breath of relief although you still felt embarrassed. While trying to lift the weight of guilt you somehow made it worse. “I’m sure our other neighbors would appreciate that too.”

Bucky’s face twisted with concern. “Shit. Have they complained too?”

Your palms covered your face as you shook off your stupidity. Why was this man making you say all the wrong things?

“No, not in a bad way,” you tried to convince him. “Have you met Clint? A bit shorter than you, dirty blond hair.” Bucky shook his head back and forth. “You must have seen his fiancée then, beautiful redhead, Natasha?”

Again, Bucky shook his head. “Well they live above you.”

Bucky cringed at the thought. If you heard all the noise they certainly have as well.

“So it’s actually kinda funny…” you began, telling Bucky that Clint takes his hearing aids out when he was playing. “They’re both really nice, you should say hello if you see them. Plus now I can tell Clint I won our unofficial bet.”

Bucky’s head quirked with curiosity. “Well, he called you the Guitar Hero,” you admitted, watching a smile form on Bucky’s face.

“I don’t just play guitar,” he said proudly.

You smirked, “I know. That’s why I was calling you the Music Man.”

Bucky’s hair blanketed his face as he tipped his head forward to laugh at your nickname. When he sat up again you noticed the crinkles around his sparkling eyes, and the way he smiled from ear to ear showed off perfect teeth, beautifully bright against the beginnings of dark stubble that started to fill in along his jaw.

Butterflies swirled around your stomach like a tornado as your heart rattled against your chest. This sensation was bubbling up the longer you stared at Bucky. Why were you feeling this way? You couldn’t distract yourself, not with a man, especially not this one.

“I get it now, the walls are thin,” he stated, still shining that beaming smile.

Your brain jolts to life again, as common sense starts to combat the small army forming to defend your developing crush. Your brain wins this round however, as you remind yourself the noise wasn’t just about the music.

“Oh yes they are. Our beds are on the same spot on the wall,” you said, raising your eyebrows and widening your eyes to infer what you were talking about.

Bucky’s cheeks blush a deep shade of pink with embarrassment. “Oh… I’m….” He’s too nervous to apologize for what you both know you’re referring to.

“I wear headphones to sleep to drown out the noise.” Great, just keep making it worse Y/N. “But on the bright side, the banshees all sound like they’re enjoying themselves.” Nope, that didn’t help at all.

Fear of saying something even worse had you quickly fumble up an excuse to leave, telling Bucky you had a paper to work on so you thanked him for the coffee and practically ran back to your apartment, dreading every future interaction you would have with him.

Later that night Bucky opened the door for a woman who swayed inside with determination. He offered her a beer and with lust in her eyes Dot licked the neck of the bottle before bringing the top to her lips. Bucky turned away, shuddering with embarrassment at how hard this girl was trying.

He knows what she wants, what they all want but Bucky hasn’t believed in relationships for a very long time. It’s something that works for other people whereas he enjoys the physical connection; release your needs and move on.

Bucky wished he cancelled tonight. He felt… awkward after you left. It made him shift his bed forward a few inches away from the wall. He didn’t realize just how much his entire presence has affected you.  

With his arms caged beside Dot’s head he moved above her, thrusting his hips and checking to see that the bed didn’t touch the wall as his motions rocked it. Her nails dug crescents into his back as she began to cry out in pleasure. Bucky forced his lips against hers, an action she felt in her heart but Bucky just wanted to shut her up, hoping you hadn’t heard her.

Shutting the door behind Dot who begged to stay Bucky went to the bathroom, splashing cold water on his heated skin. His reflection stares back at him but he doesn’t want to look, wondering why his mind has been wandering to places he doesn’t want it going. He dries his face, letting the towel hang over the sink as he shuffles back to bed, staring at the wall for a few lingering moments before he turns over and hopes sleep will come quickly.

PART 4

[neverthrive]

Just gonna leave this old ass fanfic here

Adventuring is a rewarding occupation, providing an abundance of wealth, the respect of peers, and even a fulfilling sense of self worth. Even so, the constant action takes its toll, and every once in a great while an adventurer has to take a step back, breathe in deeply, and just get away from it all. Which is exactly what Jake had been planning for himself and his human brother.

It was a simple idea; take a break from their regular schedule of evil slaying, butt-kickery and all around, nonstop awesomeness. Find some remote location that holds nothing but tranquility in store for the duo to just chillax at for a few days. Just the two of them, a dog and his boy. It was perfect, but like any other well laid plan, there was a monkey wrench destined to find its way into the cogs of said perfection and jam Jake's precise synchronization up something awful. This particular monkey wrench goes by the name of Marceline.

"What are you dweebs up to?" Inquired a melodically cynical voice that belonged to none other than the ancient noirette in question. Marceline stared down ever curiously at the mixed species siblings and their growing mess as she liesurely drifted on the air over their heads. From what she could tell, her mortal friends appeared to be gathering heaps of useless garbage and stowing the junk in their already cramped luggage, for some reason or another.

Finn took a moment to acknowledge the vampire's presence, looking up from his loaded pack to face her. "I'm not actually sure, myself... Jake just told me to start packing my crud, and I guess that's what I'm doing, so does that answer your question?"

"Not in the least." she replied curtly before turning her now suspicious gaze in Jake's direction. The dog paid Marceline no mind as he continued to toss his various and mostly useless possessions into a sack. A rubber duck, a length of rope, a jar of peanuts, a pair of socks... Finally, he stored two empty glass bottles and closed the sack, still oblivious to the vampire's questioning stare. "Jake, what the plum is with all the hullabaloo?"

"Nope." Jake snapped, mildly irritated.

"'Nope'? Nope what?" She pressed him, ignoring the dog's tone.

"No. I'm not gonna tell you because you'll just want to come with us and muck it up. It's s'pose to be just me and mah bro, and you have no part in it. So no, Marceline, you can't come camping with us." Jake retorted in his best attempt at sounding authoritative, but in trying to iterate just how serious he was, the fact that he was suppose to be withholding information had slipped his mind a tad. He soon realized his mistake and growled in frustration. "Forget I said that last part!" But ironically, that last part about ignoring that previous last part was ignored by both teens.

"We're going camping?" Finn and Marceline asked in unison, excitement bubbling up in their throats.

"Yes, Finn, WE are. And no, Marceline, WE are not. Got it?" Jake answered pointedly. "It's camping time with Finn and Jake. I didn't hear Marceline anywhere in there, so step off sister!"

"Well fine! Maybe I didn't want to go on your stupid trip anyway!" Marceline pouted sorely and turned to leave, but Finn, being the model peacekeeper he is, blocked his friend's exit. "Get out of the way, Finn. I'm obviously not wanted here anymore." The vampire queen tried to push the boy aside, but no matter how hard she shoved, the squishy blob of flesh and heroism persisted to keep her from leaving.

"Come on, Jake's just being a butt. You don't have to leave on account o' him bein' a Mr. grumpy pants." Finn gently wrapped a hand around Marceline's forearm and began to lead her back over to his brother so as amends could be made.

"He doesn't even wear pants, dude." she huffed out in retortion as she let herself be pulled back towards the junk heaps that the magical dog was still busying himself with sorting through and packing into napsacks and suitcases and the like.

"Jake..." Finn verbally nudged his brother to outstretch the olive branch to Marceline, but an apology seemed hesitant in forthcoming. "Come on, man. You know you done bad in yourself bro, and I know you know how to make it right again." Finn's prompt appeared to have worked this time, eliciting a defeated sigh from Jake.

Dropping his bags of assorted and worthless loot, Jake turned to face Marceline who now had her arms crossed over her chest and was avoiding eye contact with him. "Look, I'm sorry, alright?" Marceline untensed a bit at that. "It's not you, It's just that I really wanted to have some bro time with Finn, y'know? To recapture those times we used to share when we was wee pups." Jake inhaled deeply, breathing in the musty scent lingering about from the, until recently, long forgotten contents of that once overstuffed closet in the corner. He had a feeling in his gut that he'd regret this decision later, and his gut was almost never wrong, but he couldn't ignore his guilt and empathy for Marceline. She just wanted to hang with her friends. "So... You want to come with us, then?"

The vampire's sour mood dissipated immediately, her pout rapidly shifting to a grin stretched from pointed ear to pointed ear. "Heck yes I wanna go camping with you guys! So when are we leaving?" Marceline asked almost giddily.

"Well I guess since you're coming with us, we probably shouldn't be heading out 'til just before sundown." Jake answered thoughtfully. Having so much time before they were to depart allowed Jake some spare moments to cool it with all the preparations and freed up his thinkin' schedule a bit. Suddenly, a thought pervaded his mind that the dog rather took a shining to. "If we're bringing guests along now, Lady Rainicorn's coming too!" and with that, Jake took off to go inform his girlfriend of how he'd decided she would be spending the next few days. The matter was entirely non negotiable.

Finn and Marceline stood idly by as Jake hastily absconded out through a nearby window. The young hero turned to his immortal friend "You know, he actually does wear pants..."

"Really?"

"Yup."

A quarter hour before dusk would settle in, the four campers had reached the landing Jake scouted out beforehand. It was a small pocket within the forest, not too far from a river, vacant enough to comfortably fit everyone but with a dense enough canopy to shade any vampire from daylight at high noon. Having acquired a suitable base of operations, the only thing left standing in between Jake and his cherished relaxation was setting up camp. The duties were divied up between two groups.

"So Lady and I are gonna pitch our tent, by ours I mean hers and mine. I don't know what either of you are doing so... Sleep under the stars or whatever. But also, we need a campfire, so you guys should maybe gather some sticks and twigs and stuff, and it'll be math. 'Kay." Jake then spoke something in a language neither Finn nor Marceline could comprehend to Lady, who laughed in response, and the two magical creatures diligently began piecing together the frame of their shared tent. The rainicorn giggled lightly every time Jake slipped a tent pole into the corresponding connector she held.

Marceline narrowed her eyes at the spectacle and made a face. "Gross..." She thought it best to linger around the couple and their disgusting adorableness as little as inhumanly possible and began to head towards the surrounding thickets. Finn soon followed suit, tailing behind his friend into the thick of the forest to gather materials for their fire.

"So like, sticks, huh?" The human remarked as he bent over to scoop a discarded twig from the earth.

Marceline turned to see Finn's pitiful offering. Their fire would need a lot more fuel than some measly green branches. "No man, we need bigger stuff than that." she explained. "And preferably a little more dead." she added.

"Bigger?" Finn thought it over for a moment. "Alright, bigger." Turning to face a tree, the stout teenager grappled the trunk and with all his might attempted to pry the poor unsuspecting eudicot from the soil. "I need your wood, tree! Give it up, yo!" Finn continued his struggle while Marceline cackled at his random act of foolishness.

Seeing no sign of Finn relenting any time soon, his undead friend intervened. "Finn, we don't need a whole tree. And you most def don't gotta yank one out'a the ground. C'mere, ya goober." she beckoned while barely supressing her laughter. Finn looked from Marceline then back to the tree in his grasp, releasing the bark from his grip and gaining nothing from his efforts but sore arms.

"Look," she pointed to a fallen branch that looked as if it'd been laying on the forest floor for a few seasons now. "This is the kind of stuff we're gonna need. Big enough to burn, and not impossible to pick up, got it? Now get it." Finn did as instructed, bending to take the dry, rough chunk of high octane campfire fuel in his arms. "Alright, now just find a lot more like it and we're good to light 'em up."

"How many more?" Finn asked wearily.

"I don't know. Lots, I suppose. Have to keep it going for a while." she replied, venturing deeper into the woods to search for any more decent firewood she might per chance stumble upon. Figuratively, that is, it's hard to sumble when your feet don't touch the ground.

"Bleh..." Despite his contempt for such menial labor, Finn once again followed the vampire to gather what they needed. It was an easy enough job, but way too dang boring for a man of action. Finn needed excitement, and lugging sticks around wasn't providing.

When they'd finished gathering the firewood and the time came to actually light the fire, Finn demanded he be the one to do the deed. And so there they sat across from one another, a neatly arranged pile of dead wood between them. Finn furiously stroked the sticks together in a fruitless attempt to catalyze a spark.

"This usually works! These things must be broken, or something..." Finn pouted and heaved the useless wooden shafts into the nearby shrubbery in frustration.

"Here," Marceline moved herself closer to the bundle and spawned a small flame in the palms of her hands. Touching the flame to the tinder, the pile of miniature lumber and bark ignited almost instantly. Finn stared down at the blazing fire, then glanced up to Marcleline, a smug, toothy smirk plastered across her face.

"You cheated!" he yelped, pointing accusingly at the girl who succeeded so easilly where he so miserably failed.

"Finn, don't be jelly of my totally sweet vampire powers." Marceline replied, her expression never faltering.

"I'm not jelly! Maybe jam, but not jelly. Just admit you cheated! Vampire powers is cheating fo' sure." he insisted.

"Nope." The vampire playfully let her forked tongue slide out from between her fangs, mocking the disgruntled human.

"Whatever..."

"Hey, you guys made the fire! Rad!" Jake exclaimed as he padded his way over to the two from his now fully assembled tent.

"Yeah, we totally did it! 100% group effort here." Marceline chimed almost sarcastically. "So who wants to roast marshmallows?"

"... Then the puppy looked under his bed, and saw two glowing green eyes! The pup was so scared, it almost wee wee'd!" Finn stood over his three friends, the crackling fire below lighting his features in distorted illumination. He raised both hands above his head, digits stretched and curled as claws in the most menacing display the boy could muster. "The nebelung under the bed reached out to the scared little puppy and..." Finn paused, turning to Jake who'd heard the story right along with Finn in their youth and knew what came next. "TICKLED THE PUPPY!" Finn pounced on his brother and poked his wriggling fingers into the dog's soft flanks. Jake snorted and snickered at the human's tickle attack as the two women watched on. Lady found the sight to be quite amusing, adorable even. Marceline just sucked the red from a can of kidney beans in stark indifference.

"If you two are done with your brotherly gropefest yet, maybe I could tell a real ghost story?" Marceline cut their fun short and assumed her position over the campfire as current story teller as the brothers returned to their seats. "This isn't the first time I've been in these parts of the woods. I came through here some years back, how long ago exactly is a little fuzzy. But I wasn't alone. No, I had friends with me, just like I do now, and just like now, there was a dog among my group.

"We were just hiking through, you see, we had no intentions of staying. No, that would be foolish! We knew better, we'd heard the stories of what happens around here after dark. Weird stuff... Spooky happenings, y'know? But the dog, he got lost-"

"Oh no! Not the dog! The dog always dies first!" Jake interrupted with his sudden fearful outburst.

"Well anyway..." Marceline shot him a scornful look, and continued. "The dog must have started straggling, because when we stopped to rest, he was nowhere to be found. Of course we looked for him, we stayed together as a group, we weren't about to split up so we'd all be lost in 'The Forsaken Forest'. But no matter where we searched, there was no sign of the poor lost doggy. It wasn't 'til well after dark when we found him. He was huddled in a bush maybe twenty or so yards from where he was last seen, shaking uncontrollably with his face in his hands.

"He wouldn't show us his face. He just kept on mumbling some nonsense about 'whispering trees' and 'eyeball rockets'. When we finally pried the dog's hands from his face, he had no eyes! Just two gaping sockets where his looking globes used to be! Once we got him to calm down, he told us the whispering trees of the forsaken forest used some hoodoo to turn his eyeballs into jet packs and they flew right off of his face. Wait..." Marceline stiffened and tilted her head to one side as if intently listening to some faint noise off in the distance. "Did you guys hear that?"

"Hear what?" Jake squeaked, cowering into his girfriend's embrace. Cuddling with Lady Rainicorn made him feel secure, but it wasn't enough to make him totally forget he was in the alleged 'Foresaken Forest'.

"It sounds like..." she leaned in toward Jake, and with a completely straight face, with a hint of what might pass for something distraught in her tone, answered "Whispering."

That's all Jake needed to hear. He gave his friends a surprise performance of his scream song and tore off to his tent as fast as his four legs would carry him, separating himself from the 'evil' trees outside with a thin layer of nylon. No way in the flippin' Night-o-Sphere was he letting some piney mischief makers steal his precious eyes. Lady chuckled and followed after him, knowing Jake wouldn't be able to sleep alone tonight after that fright.

Finn and Marceline shared a laugh at Jake's expense. When their howling merriment subsided, they realized they were alone once more. Finn fed a few more branches from their dwindling supply into the blaze, stoking the flames.

"So, have you really been out in these woods before?" The boy asked, now feeling uneasy not knowing if the vampire's story was true or not. Finn'd witnessed stranger things, so believing tall tales came easily to him.

"Yeah, I have. But not how you're thinking I did, that story was bogus." Finn was relieved. "Naw, my old man took me camping somewhere around here when I was younger, before that whole 'fry incident' happened. It's one of the more pleasant memories I have from my upbringing." Marceline sighed and watched the flames consume their fresh meal through hazy, half lidded eyes. The age-old young woman contently recalled the time she and her father shared out in this forest so many years ago.

"Is that why you like camping?" Finn pulled her out of her train of thought. "Becuase your dad brought you?"

"Yeah, probably." she admitted. "It's just nice to chill out in the wild, with some friends or family or whatever. It's kind of peaceful. So how 'bout you, Finn? Have you ever been camping?"

"Well, once pop took me, Jake and Jermaine out for a weekend of fishing. Y'know, a father and his boys." Finn still missed his parents, they were such kind old folk. No one else would look twice at the human freak, but they raised him as their own. "But it was actually just the back yard, there was a pond there too, and we were told we couldn't go inside the house 'til the weekend was over. Dad made us some sort of little shelter out of some dead trees and ferns and all we ate was the fish we caught, but Dad made sure to stock the pond with lots of fish beforehand, so we had plenty. It was a pretty good time, even if it wasn't the wilderness like this."

"It's not where you're at, Finn, all that matters is who you're with." Marceline asserted, and felt a certain truth to her words resonate. In her experience, this was an immutable fact, in good company, fond memories could be made anywhere. Finn always seemed like good company, and he'd given the vampire an abundance of fresh memories she hoped would not fade any time soon.

"Yeah," Finn nodded gingerly. "that's deep." The human stretched his arms wide and yawned in deeply. It was getting late, and an adolecsent boy needs his sleep. "I'm gonna hit the sack."

Finn took a few paces away from the campfire and found one of the various packs he'd brought with him on this excursion at the base of a large tree. Opening the zipper, he reached inside and withdrew a very large, very new looking gortex sleeping bag and unrolled the bundle of fluff and warmth, laying it across the ground. The tuckered hero wasted no time before hopping into the over sized, silky feeling cocoon, but before he could drift of to the land of Sweet dreams, he was disturbed by a familiar voice.

"Where am I supposed to sleep?" demanded the very abandoned feeling vampire queen.

"You're nocturnal." Finn retorted bluntly before rolling over to face away from the dying fire.

"But I've been up all day!" she protested. "My sleep schedule is wack, and it's pretty much entirely your fault."

"Hey, it's your own choice to pester us during the day. You made your bed, now you gotta sleep in it. Hehe." Finn laughed at the irony of that figure of speech used in this particular instance and noted that he's not exactly one to be clever with irony, and it was mostly just coincidence, but an awesome coincidence at that. "Can't you just like, sleep hangin' from a tree or somethin'? Bats do that all the time."

"No! For one, that's actually an insulting generalization, and two, I don't think I can maintain myself in bat form while I'm sleeping." Marceline explained. It sounded logical enough of a reason to rule out sleeping in trees, and there was no way she was about to sleep atop the cold dirt. "Scootch over, I'm getting in with you." she ordered.

"No way! Why didn't you bring your own sleeping junk?" Finn countered.

"Because I didn't think of it and vampires were never bestowed with the gift of foresight, now make room!"

"You can't!" Finn barked.

"Why can't I?" she challenged.

"Because... You're a girl..." Finn's face brightened with reddish hugh.

"Are you saying you'd rather sleep with a boy?" Marceline asked slyly, raising an eyebrow in playful inquiry.

"Well no... But..." Finn sputtered, "This isn't fair!"

"Life ain't fair, get used to it," the dead girl shot back while making her way to Finn and his comfy looking sleeping bag that he was being oh so greedy trying to keep all to himself. Finn hesitated, but after seeing Marceline was dead set on gettin' all up in his bag, he reluctantly relented his opposition and allowed her entry, slipping in beside him.

Marceline noticed how spacious it was inside, still comfortable enough even with the both of them fully encased up to their necks in the puffy fabric, and she almost couldn't help but to be suspicious that Finn's end game was to share this sleeping bag with someone all along. Silly human, he'd only have to ask, no need for reverse psychology and mind games. But then she realized this was Finn she was thinking about and how his intentions never run any deeper than face value. Marceline couldn't see Finn, the genuine goober he is, devise some elaborate plan entailing sleeping bags and psychological warfare all to result in getting her to sleep with him, speaking only in the most literal sense of the term.

Then Marceline realized something else. She was dreadfully uncomfortably laying in this position. "Finn. I need a pillow." she informed.

Disturbed once more from the verge of slumber, Finn exhaled audibly and cracked his sore and crusty eyes. Scanning about the surrounding darkness for something that might sate the relentless vampire's pestering, Finn peered a fairly large, stout stone not far from where they lay. Removing his arms from the confines of the sleeping bag he was now being forced to share, he grabbed hold of the rock and placed it by Marceline's head with a dull thud. "Use that." he instructed coarsely before returning to his previous position and trying once more to sleep.

Marceline stared at the rock in awe for a long moment before deciding it was a horrible candidate for a pillow. No, she'd need something softer, with some give. Something... Squishy. And per chance, it just so happened that there was something exceedingly squishy laying right beside her. So with no further thought or reasoning, Marceline curled herself around Finn and layed her head on the softest point she could find between his shoulder and chest.

"What the flip are you doing?" The hero questioned when feeling his friend's arms snake around his body.

"Shut up." she hissed, momentarily lifting her head from his chest to make eye contact. "You're lumpin' comfortable, so deal with it. Now lay there and be quiet like a good pillow." And with that, she nuzzled back into the fleshy swells of Finn's torso.

As awkward as this situation was, Finn couldn't deny that it was maybe even a little pleasant. But also mostly uncomfortable, for him at least. So to right this, Finn hauled his arm out from beneath the cuddly vampire and repositioned it around Marceline, so now they were in some ungraceful, and clearly completely platonic embrace. Nope, nothing going on here, just a couple o' bros in a sleeping bag is all. Snuggling? Naw, none of that going on here, bro.

Feeling Finn's arm wrap around her back and rest somewhere near her waist, reciprocating her cuddle, Marceline grinned into the adolescent adventurer's chest. "I know you're enjoying this, probably more than you're letting yourself believe, but don't expect it to happen often." She took a moment to glance back up to meet Finn's embarrassed gaze. "You just so happened to have been the most comfortable place for me to spend the night." Reaching up to play with the ears of Finn's hat, she added "Y'know, you're no Hambo, but you're quite the snuggly little bear."

Finn's face flushed skarlet, or maybe it never stopped being that color, he couldn't tell. But either way, he definitely felt significantly warmer around the collar after that remark. He wasn't too sure he liked being Marceline's 'snuggly bear', he imagined it might be something reminiscent of what Lady Rainicorn would call Jake, if she spoke english. And Finn for sure didn't think he was ready to have with Marceline what Jake had with Lady. But here they were, closer to any other girl than he'd ever been, unburnt by her touch and unscalded by any callous words that carelessly fell from her mouth.

Finn gave some thought to this and realized it wouldn't be so bad to be more than simply friends with Marceline. She was probably the greatest gal he knew, and almost certainly the least complicated, even if that's not saying all too much. But he could easily envision their relationship taking a turn for the romantic. By the time he'd worked up the courage to profess that thought to her, a rather obnoxious snore seized his attention. Finn snapped his eyes down in his bed buddy's direction to find she'd already fallen fast asleep. So, the adventurer, pushing all silly thoughts of relationships aside, closed his eyes for what seemed like the umpteenth time that evening and was finally allowed rest.

It wasn't the muted sunlight shining through the leaves overhead, ticking at his eyelids, that woke Finn that morning, nor was it the stirring of the girl still in his arms. It was the earpiercing shriek of utter shock and surprise let loose from his older brother's agape maw. Finn's eyes shot open, sitting up quickly and turning his attention from Jake to Marceline, taking in the situation and how it might look to anyone outside of the sleeping bag.

"This probably isn't what it looks like!" Finn piped up defensively almost without thinking. His brain kicked in and told him that whenever someone says those particular words, it's almost always exactly what it looks like.

"Oh my grawd, dude! You guys didn't... Did you?" Jake gasped, flabbergasted. "Just tell me you kept it PG13, please."

"Dude, what the hey! We're both fully clothed, okay!" Finn stepped out of his sleeping bag to prove he was, in fact, not in the nude. "She just forgot to bring any camping gear, so I shared. Alright?"

"Yeah, alright... I guess I might have been overreacting a bit..." Jake mumbled ashamedly, averting his gaze from his two friends he just so blatently accused of indecency.

"A bit?" Finn chuckled. "It's a'ight man, let's just forget about it." Finn's stomach let out a low growl. "So what's for breakfast, homie?"

Jake felt a mite cheerier now that they'd moved on past that terrible misunderstanding. What an awful, horrible revelation to wake up to first thing in the morning. "Canned food, yo. It's all we got since we pollished off the marshmallows last night."

"Sounds good, man." Finn responded with a nod. He looked back to his vampire friend who was still wrapped in his sleeping bag. She was in a sitting position, watching the two brothers, holding the poofy top of the bag up to under her chin with strangely bare arms. "C'mon Marcie, stop being a lazy butt. It's time to get up." The human coaxed.

"Remember that thing you said about how we're both fully clothed?" she asked with a bashful smile. "If we've learned anything this morning, it's that you guys are great at jumping to conclusions." She motioned with her eyes, directing Finn and Jake's attention toward a pile of her discarded flannel shirt and ripped jeans.

"What the flip, Marceline!" Finn cried out, bordering on the hysterical.

"What, I got hot! Besides, it's not like I'm completely naked. Glob Finn, don't be such a perv!" Marceline huffed indignantly, floated up from the ground sleeping bag and all, snatched the shirt and pair of jeans from where they lay and was gone into the dense forest, presumably to get dressed.

"What in the flip just happened, Jake?" Finn asked flatly as he continued to stare dumbfoundedly out into the woods where he last saw the lunatic who wore his sleeping bag like a toga.

"Sounds like you're having girl troubles, bro." Jake answered, gingerly giving the confused human an empathetic pat on the back.

[fullyellowsun]

Roommate | 5

I do not own the picture, credit to the owner.

Pairing: chanyeol x you/baekhyun x you

Genre: fluff? comedy? rom-com?

Word Count: 1,566

Description: Chanyeol passes the audition but has to leave in a month. How will Y/n and Baekhyun deal with it? Will they call a truce for the time being to enjoy the last moments they have with Chanyeol or will they continue to bicker and stress Chanyeol out?

"Hello, I am calling to inform you that you have passed the audition." Chanyeol has been picking up all his spam calls for the past 3 months to see if it was the company calling him and finally it paid off.

"Okay, thank you." He says, trying to keep in his excitement and stay professional in front of the company’s spokesperson.

"Please expect to move in about a month. Do not bring many belongings as it will just cramp up the dorms and please do not bring any pets of any kind."

"Okay, I'll do that, thank you." The caller hung up and immediately Chanyeol hugs me. I was listening in from the side.

"You did it Chanyeol! You made it!" I hug him back, excited that he is now one step closer to his dream.

"If it wasn't for you, I would've never auditioned. Thank you! The sad part is, I have to move in a month."

"Let's not worry about that now, we have a whole month to think about it. Now, we should just enjoy the time we have. First, I hate to bring up pick-me girl into this but he's your best friend too so I think you should tell him."

"Ahh right," Chanyeol pulls away from the hug, "I have to tell Baekhyun." He grabs his phone and asks him to come over. I run downstairs to mom and dad to tell them the good news.

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"Okay, so I'm thinking that we should plan an impromptu surprise party to celebrate him passing the audition." I say quietly to my parents. They nod, understanding where I'm going.

After a while of talking, here’s the plan. I take Chanyeol to the beach after lunch (with pick-me girl ughh) and we hang out for a while. My parents set up a small picnic dinner in a nearby area with all the romantic fairy lights and stuff but the problem is… well, Baekhyun. It could’ve been some nice quality time with Chanyeol but nope, pick-me girl gotta ruin it all.

“Chanyeol, Chanyeol, Chanyeol, Chanyeol.” I say in excitement, ready for the plan to start. I glare at Baekhyun, as he’s sitting on the side, glaring at me.

“What, what, what?” He asks excitedly.

“Sooo, not to ruin the mood or anything but you know how you have to go soon?” Chanyeol nods sadly. “Well, we have to hang out as much as possible now, you know? So, today, let’s go to the beach!” I announce excitedly. “And yes Baekhyun, you can come too.” I say, rolling my eyes.

“I never even asked.” He retorts.

“I want you guys to both come! Let me get ready… Baekhyun, you might have to go home and change cause I don’t think any of my clothes will fit you.” He nods in understanding and leaves. I follow him and stop him when he gets to the front door.

“Baekhyun, now that our best friend is leaving, I think we should get along, at least for his sake… so can you be a bit more bearable for the next month or so?” He scoffs.

“Says you.” I put my first up, ready to punch. He puts his hands up and hurriedly says, “B-but I get it, I’ll try but you should too.” I nod, biting my tongue so I don’t say anything mean back and putting my fist down. I have to at least try.

“Okay, I’ll let you go then, see you at the beach later.” Baekhyun doesn’t say anything and just leaves. I try not to run after him and punch him, instead walking to my room to get changed for the beach.

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“Y/n! Come into the water! It’s so much fun!” Chanyeol motions for me to come in as Baekhyun continues to splash Chanyeol, Chanyeol trying to defend himself while calling for me. I sigh and get up, not really wanting to get into the water but today is all about Chanyeol and spending time with him. Chanyeol starts splashing me immediately as I get into the water and I hurry to defend myself. Baekhyun joins in the fight sometime and soon all of us are laughing and splashing each other. As we exit the water, I take notice of Chanyeol and Baekhyun's shirtless bodies. I stare a second longer than I needed too, admiring their toned figures. Although I don’t particularly like Baekhyun, I still had to admit that his body was nice. It was lean but toned whereas Chanyeol had a larger build and was muscular. I turn away, feeling my face turn red and jump at whatever chance to change the subject. We move on to making sand castles, competitively trying to make the tallest and strongest ones. Unfortunately, we had started building too close to the shore so all of our hard work was ruined by the waves. My mom calls, letting me know that everything is ready. Since it’s almost time for the sunset, I tell Baekhyun and Chanyeol to close their eyes and follow me. I bring them over to under the boardwalk, where a small blanket was set up with fairy lights circling the piece of cloth. There is a basket in the middle of the blanket and candles were placed at each corner of the fabric. It was very romantic and everything I had imagined. Too bad There was a perfect view of the setting sun and everything seemed perfect.

"You guys can open your eyes now." I say, still in awe of the greatness my parents had created. Chanyeol and Baekhyun uncover their eyes.

"Wow… did you prepare this?" Chanyeol asks.

"Well, my parents did but I came up with the idea to do this. Come on, let's eat." I sit down on the blanket and open up the picnic basket. There was an assortment of fruits and sandwiches inside. I pass out the different foods and we eat in silence, watching the sunset and eating. It started getting cold in my bikini so I started looking around for my shirt.

“Are you looking for your shirt?” Chanyeol asks as I’m shaking, looking around frantically. He was slightly shivering too, with his half-clothed body.

“Yeah… have you seen it?”

“Yeah, you left it at home.”

“What?!”

“You want to use the towel to stay warm? I’m kind of cold too.” Chanyeol says, getting up to get the towel. He brings it and wraps it around me and him. I have to scoot a little closer to him to be able to get enough of the towel around me. I was practically in Chanyeol's embrace. He was warm and soft, despite his muscular build. I clung onto him, still shivering, and watching the sunset, the pinks and purples painting the sky.

"You know, I'm cold too." Baekhyun says, breaking the silence. I glare at him, motioning to him that this is a moment between just me and Chanyeol. "Hello? Am I not invited to this VIP towel party?" Chanyeol shushes him and wraps the towel around Baekhyun too. My towel slides up off my legs and around Baekhyun's shoulder. I pull in my legs and wrap my arms around them to stay warm.

“This towel barely fits two people, why are we now sharing it with a third person?” I ask Chanyeol.

“It’s fine, you want to be in the middle then?” he asks, ready to get up.

“No, no, no, I don’t want to sit next to pick-me girl… I mean Baekhyun.”

“I think we’ve already established the fact that boys don’t have cooties.” Chanyeol says, like a stern mother.

“Yes mom, I know that, I just don’t particularly like Baekhyun.” I stare in disgust at Baekhyun and he stares back equally in disgust.

“You two should get along more if you’re both going to be my best friends.”

“We’re trying! It’s just, I just don’t match his vibe and he doesn’t match mine.”

“I think you two would fit so well, you just got off on the wrong foot.” Chanyeol gets up and pushes me in between him and Baekhyun. I cling to Chanyeol, getting as far away from Baekhyun as possible.

“Why would you do that?” Chanyeol prys me off of him and pushes me towards Baekhyun. I fall into his bare chest and push away immediately. My face feels hot and I go back to clinging to Chanyeol.

“The sunset is so pretty.” I say, trying to forget about what just happened. Baekhyun nods, also trying to change the subject.

“We should take a picture.” Chanyeol says excitedly, pulling out his phone. I do the same and start taking pictures of the sunset. “Say cheese y/n. What are you doing? We’re taking a picture.” Baekhyun was already leaning into the frame with a large rectangular smile that I almost believed that he was having fun. I look up at Chanyeol’s hands, holding his phone in our direction, Chanyeol with his large smile and dimples. I smile too, holding up a peace sign close to my face. “1, 2, 3!” Chanyeol checks the picture and smiles. “Look! We look so cute! I’m definitely going to remember this when I look back. Thanks y/n for making this.” He exclaims excitedly. I quickly glance at the picture and I have to admit, it was a cute picture. I was definitely going to remember this moment.

[oneweekoneband]

shouldn’t gay taylor swift fans be given access to the original homophobic version of "picture to burn”? and other post-evermore reflection questions.

Did yesterday last twice as long as a regular day? Does anyone else feel like pulled taffy today or is that the four red wine spritzers I made myself with Sutter Home mini bottles of cab and cherry flavored seltzer? How long has it been since Taylor Swift has been to an Olive Garden? Is the part in “willow” where she’s like “You know that my train could take you home / anywhere else is hollow” about pegging? Does Taylor Swift understand even a basic sketch of the events of The Great Gatsby, a novel commonly assigned in school to teenaged children? Is Taylor implying on “marjorie” that her grandmother is a ghost? Is it weird of me to think it is nice that Taylor believes her grandmother is a ghost? Do I believe my grandmother is a ghost? Is it weird of me to think it is nice to wonder if maybe she might be? Is “gold rush” obviously for the Kaylors, or am I just being prejudiced against men’s theoretical right to be good looking? Last night I peeled myself up from a circle at the foot of the bed and poured hot sauce into canned minestrone soup when I realized it was already hours past dark. After it warmed on the stove I ate on our cramped front porch at the little painted table that is dirty all the time from just the air, I guess, even if you wipe it down twice a day, so when I see it I think of my lungs covered in dust too. But last night it was cool outside and I wanted to get as much air inside of me as possible, dirty or not, before the time came to crack southward at the waist, fall hard, with all my weight, down to my knees, and supplicate myself most disgracefully at the feet of the Lord’s most terrible daughter. The new Taylor Swift album became available at nine pm pacific time. Will there ever be salvation?

Has Taylor Swift ever met up with high school friends in a bar over the holidays and wanted to cry a little the entire time, feeling a battle in her own body between the parts inclined to slide back into the shape of an old self to fit and the hardened parts that can’t? I don’t really think so! But with “’tis the season” she has written a song about fucking your ex while home for Christmas anyway, and it slaps. It is always a wonderful treat when this anthropomorphized Tiffany platinum tennis bracelet sits herself down and writes up a pretty little fiction about the small and ugly things that normal human people do. This is what makes “All Too Well”—a perfect piece of autofiction about her fake boyfriend Jake Gyllenhaal—so good, though if you say that in certain company the reaction is like you’ve shot a dog. When Taylor spins me some shit like this, like about parking out by the Methodist to meet up in those strange, stretchy days at the very end of December for theoretically casual sex that you’ll think about sadly on the plane when you go, I accept it like a pomegranate seed plopped on my tongue by Hades himself and I thank her. If I wanted to know who you were hanging with while I was gone, I would have asked you!!!!!!!!

Why doesn’t Taylor just call this a bunch of b sides that didn’t fit right on folklore? That’s what it is. And why deny that? They’re largely very good b sides. I love “dorothea”. Do you love “dorothea”?  Are you still the same soul I met under the bleachers???? If Taylor really is going to release a third part of this moody forest saga come March, will the government show some real leadership for once and declare a purge so that we the people might rise up and bring this despot to the justice she so richly deserves? Why is Taylor Swift the Patricia Clarkson in Sharp Objects to our sweating and shaking Amy Adams? Why do our mouths loll open helplessly to accept her poison spoon when proffered? Mama, please... Do you think, strictly within the cinematic universe of “no body, no crime (feat. Haim)”, wherein Olive Garden regular Taylor Swift avenges canonically murdered Haim sister Este by killing her husband and (my favorite bit) implicitly framing the mistress, that after all that is squared away she and alive Haim sister Danielle bang it out? Why did the lilting piano ballad, “champagne problems”, about refusing a marriage proposal from a college boyfriend make me cry this morning on my pathetic little walk around the neighborhood? Was I thinking of the night I was 22 when I said no and no and no then yes to a drunk boy asking me with flashlight eyes to give him a nonsense forever promise, which I did because I knew in the morning we’d have forgotten, or would pretend to? Is it because I know that night so well, can still feel and smell and see, though I never mentioned it to anyone, everything about the few hours in the dark where I fought sleep because it felt nice pretending I was someone I knew I couldn’t be? Or was it just because on Twitter someone made a video setting the song to clips of Sersh & Timmy frolicking together wearing the same vest in Little Women? Is “coney island (feat. The National)” the first duet between Taylor and a man that isn’t an atrocity and an attack or is that purely my Matt Berninger derangement disorder speaking? Is “coney island (feat. The National)” degrading my nervous system like a wasting disease even as we speak? Did I close my fist around something delicate???? Did I shatter you??????? Will my own horrible hand ever come out of the Arthur meme clenched fist into which it furiously curled when I first listened to the, yes, fine, extremely lovely “coney island (feat. The National)”??????? It’s been almost a full day and typing like this isn’t very efficient.

Is “cowboy like me” my dual reward for fighting with so many annoying guys in my “The Cowboy in the American Imagination” class lo those many years ago and, plus, for always believing that country Taylor would never die for good? Did Taylor Swift watch Brokeback Mountain for the first time this year? Would Taylor Swift like me to email her a pdf of the Annie Proulx story? Does Taylor Swift want to buy me the too expensive D.S. & Durga “Cowboy Grass” perfume I’ve been coveting for years? Is all cowboy content inherently queer? Just kidding—that one isn’t a question. Now that Taylor is once more in the business of recreational yeehawing shouldn’t she, as a gesture of goodwill, make the forbidden original homophobic version of “Picture to Burn” available exclusively to those gay fans who wish to have it? (i.e. the elite gay fans with a sense of history and place.) Does she not owe us that much? Isn’t that really the only respectful thing to do? Is it not the very, very least this monster could do?

[owillofthewisps]

rosemary & thyme

notes: fun fact this was actually what started unspoken and as such this takes place in the same verse. i’d initially planned it to be in unspoken but sometimes things just don’t work like that. this is also self indulgent fluff for myself today bc my cramps are bad enough that i can’t stand for more than five minutes without starting to shake from the exertion lol

the third gif in this was what kicked this off the ground in the first place

title is from scarbourough fair, mostly thinking of the simon & garfunkel version.

also this is my 900th post on here lol

rating: teen. no real warnings, just fluff. maybe small hints of self-esteem issues and small hints of mostly dulled grief. 

pairing: eskel/fem reader

word count: 2.5k

on a spring day, you re-paint the trim of your cottage. it is an old, old pattern, but you are determined to make something new.

“Must you?” you ask Lil’ Bleater.

You’re ensconced in a soft bed of clover that lines your cottage. The sweet, grassy scent of the clovers lingers in the air like perfume, a herald of spring. Hyacinths are dotted through the bed, swaying in the gentle breeze, their buds plump on their stalks, a promise of blooms in the soft indigo peeking through the edges of them, the last breath of a winter sunset.

Lil’ Bleater is intent on eating them.

She noses at a small clump of stalks, each tenderly green, still newly given life. The stalks break under the clamp of her teeth, and you sigh.

“Must you?” you repeat.

She glances up at the sound of your voice and considers you. Then she bleats, loud and indignant, and leans down for another mouthful.

You snort a laugh and turn back to your cottage. You trace your fingertips over the window’s trim, the wood worn riverstone smooth by the years and the rain alike. The paint has chipped, washed out to the soft blue kiss of a robin’s egg. Even the vines, each a delicate scroll of leaves unfurling, have faded into something autumnal, their color muted by nature’s touch. You follow one of them with your fingernail. They wind like the small trails in the woods, meandering yet purposeful.

Your father had steady hands. Even with you and your brother clambering over him, children gone woods-wild, his delicate brush strokes brought the forest to life in the walls of your home.

Sometimes, when the sun shines just right, you think you can see the past peeking back at you, imprints of images long painted over glimmering just beneath the coats of paint.

Lil Bleater butts against your back. “Ow,” you tell her, even though it’s only a short bite of sensation.

The goat prances around your seated form and flops into your lap, all hoof and horns. She squirms until she’s comfortable.

She’s still munching on a hyacinth stalk.

“You owe me new flowers.”

She ignores you.

You sigh and readjust. She’s a warm weight in your lap, the heat of her softened by the thick fabric of your skirts. The goat makes a miffed noise at your movement. You stroke a hand over her horns, the smooth bone cool against your skin, like a spring river just beginning to warm. She nestles down into the cradle of your skirts with a soft noise. Your attention returns to your cottage.

You touch the window trim again, lay your fingers against the faded paint once more. The small flowers - delicate little things, unfurling prettily in soft layers of petals - were your mother’s favorites. They go back to the oldest layer, you know. You trace the one colored for you, and then walk your fingers over to the one for your brother.The ache settles between your ribs, fills the hollow space there.

“It’s still here,” you whisper to Lil’ Bleater. “It’s just built upon, right?”

The goat snuffles, mouthing at the hem of your bodice.

“Yes,” you say. “It’s still here.”

You pick up your bowl, paint the color of the soft blue of the midmorning sky splashed up the edges of it, and sweep a broad stripe of it over the faded flowers.

                                                      *******

“Stop,” you tell Lil’ Bleater, pulling your paintbrush from her ever-hungry mouth. “You’re going to get paint on you, and then Eskel and I will have to give you a bath, and none of us will find that enjoyable.”

She’s relentless, butting lightly at your arm and nibbling at your sleeve. You nudge at her with a grumble.

“Trouble finds trouble, I see,” Eskel says from behind you, his deep voice lined with laughter.

“You’d best be talking about the goat on both counts, dear Witcher.”

“Of course, sweetling.”

He wrestles Lil’ Bleater off of you, gentle despite the goat’s squirming. The goat announces her displeasure loudly and butts against his knees. She darts away before he can stop her, pausing just out of reach and bleating at him before she prances off in a familiar direction.

“I really should fence in my garden,” you muse, turning back to the trim. The fresh coat of paint gleams in the afternoon light, shifting to something sea-bright, the sky melting into water.

Eskel sighs. “I don’t think it would help.”

“Me neither.”

He settles behind you, one arm looping around your waist, his thick thighs framing yours. The smithy has left its touch on him since this morning, a hint of soot scent sweeping over you. Eskel’s rough fingers flirt with the hem of your bodice, his thumb sweeping over the ridge of the embroidery. It is hard to keep apart from each other, the first few days after he comes back to you. You gravitate towards each other like small suns, anchor yourselves in each other’s space with unthinking touches. A quiet assurance that you are both here, together.

You lean into the warmth of him. He’s broad against your back, a pillar of strength, and then he softens. It’s just a hint, but you can feel the way he uncoils for a breath. He winds his other arm around you.

“Missed you,” you say.

He laughs, low and sweet, and the rumble of it resonates through you. “I wasn’t gone that long.”

“I always miss you,” you tell him matter-of-factly.

Pressed against him, you can feel it when Eskel’s breath hitches, catches in his throat.

You turn just enough to press your lips against the curve of his jawline. It is carefully placed, your soft kiss, just beyond the edges of his angry scar. He swallows, the muscles of his thick throat rippling. You hum softly, turn back to your cottage, and lean over to pick up the small stick of charcoal that’s half-buried in the clovers.

Eskel moves with you as you draw closer to the cottage. The charcoal stick scrapes against the paint as you sketch, soft clusters of yarrow flowers blooming slowly beneath your careful hands.

“This is a different pattern than the previous,” Eskel murmurs. His voice is rich against you, flows like warm, honeyed mead.

“Mhm.” You rub a thumb against a wobbly line, wipe it out of existence. “The previous one was my father’s.”

His arms tighten around you, scaffolding to keep you steady. “How many years?” he asks.

“Long before I was born,” you say, rubbing out another poor line. “He added to it throughout his life.”

“There was one for you, wasn’t there? One of the little flowers had your color in it.”

You glance back at him, at the sunrise of his golden eyes. Eskel has a gaze that strips you, sometimes, that peels away the world until it is just you and him. “Aye,” you say softly. “There was.”

He brings you trinkets, sometimes, in that same color. Little things from his journey on the Path. Nothing grand, but carefully chosen, often fitting into the niches of your cottage perfectly. Tiny curios to replace those you’d left behind in your first cottage, as if they can capture the first night he spent there with you soft in bed with him, tucked close around his broad frame.

Eskel slips a hand to your free one and slowly twines his fingers with yours. It’s almost shy, and you turn your palm skyward to better hold him. Your interlaced hands rest on the plush of your thigh, his thick knuckles pressing soft divots into the flesh.

You start to sketch again, adding a sweep of sorrel leaves to frame the yarrow, the soft curve of the leaves wrapping carefully around the buds.

Eskel is quiet behind you. His chest rises and falls against your back, steady like the tide, a cadence that feels as if it belongs solely to you.

Eventually, you pull away from your sketching. You tilt your head and examine it. It’s by no means fine work. You do not have your father’s steady hands, cannot bring life to charcoal drawings in the same way. But your months of practice have paid off. The yarrow buds match the ones speckled along the roadside, and the sweep of sorrel leaves could be the fields that surround your cottage.

“What do you think?” you ask.

Eskel shifts. He leans forward, just a hint, and touches just beside one of the veins of a sorrel leaf. Each inch of his chest is solid against your back. “You’ve practiced.”

“Yes.”

He squeezes your hand. “It’s nice.”

You laugh. “I’ll take nice,” you say. “I suppose.”

“Next time I’ll be more complimentary, then.”

“Good,” you say, and you let go of his hand so that you can wipe the charcoal dust off on the very hem of your skirt, already dirt streaked at the edges. Then you press the charcoal stick into Eskel’s hand. The small stick is dwarfed in his massive hand, and want pulses through you for the briefest breath. “Your turn,” you say. Your bold words have never sounded so shy.

Eskel stills.

That ache that fills the gaps of your ribs pulses, goes sharp at the edges, thorns against your bones.

You feel him draw in a breath.

“If you want,” you say, the words stumbling off your tongue. You keep your gaze ahead, focus on the sheen of the paint. It’s the same pigment your father used. When you crush the ingredients beneath the pestle, the scrape of it against the mortar sounds like your father’s voice. There has never been a blue that evokes such tenderness in you.

Eskel’s fingers close around the charcoal stick.

You suck in a sharp breath. It’s quiet, but not to him, you know.

Eskel always hears you.

“You’re sure?” he asks, and though the words are steady and his voice is the same mellow, deep tone, there’s something wavering in him, an uncertainty that cloaks him.

“Yes,” you say. “I told you - I rarely change my mind.”

“Rarely is not never.”

You ache to glance back at him, to find the honey gold of his gaze, to see the map of his scars against his handsome features. You know you cannot. Something ancient in you knows that if you break this moment, it will never return.

“Eskel,” you say quietly. “Not about this.”

He swallows.

He shifts forward. The motion takes you with him, carries you forward like a wave to the shores. He hesitates just as the charcoal rests against the pristine paint above your sketches.

You let your eyes flutter closed, your lashes whispering against your skin, the barest breath of sound, and feel some of the tension melt from Eskel’s broad frame. You curl yourself into the cradle of his chest. The charcoal scrapes against the wood, a brisk sound softened by the murmur of the spring breeze. The fingers of the breeze stroke through the trees, rustling against the leaves until it’s something of a melody. You listen quietly, let the song of it wash over you, feel Eskel warm and steady around you, and find yourself drifting hazily through time.

The sound of the charcoal fades. There is only the wind now, only the breeze catching in the meadows red-veined sorrel before it slips between the trees. You wait, rubbing a thumb idly over the thick muscle of Eskel’s thigh.The sun is filtering through your eyelids, lighting even the shadows of your closed eyes.

Eskel fidgets. It’s the slightest of movements, but from someone so disciplined, it rings across your senses like a skipping stone leaving ripples across a pond’s surface.

You lay your head back against his broad shoulder and open your eyes. “Well met,” you say to him as he glances down at you, and his eyes burn bright, amber wreathed by sunlight.

“Well met,” he says back, laughter tucked just under his tongue, but then his eyes flicker away.

You nudge at his jawline for the span of a breath, and then you turn your attention to the window trim.

The ache filling the gaps of your ribs fades away.

Eskel has woven sprigs of rosemary through the sorrel stalks, the sharp-tipped herb softened by the dainty ovals of thyme leaves. You can tell where he began to draw. The charcoal is lighter there, not pressed firmly down, but the lines grow darker as the herbs grow more plentiful. The black of the charcoal is stark against the blue. They’re both oddly delicate, the sky blue softened to a pale robin’s egg, and the spider web of charcoal lines lies over it like fragile lace.

His arm tightens around your waist. You reach down and lace your fingers through Eskel’s, a woven pattern strong enough to carry both of your weights. His shoulders loosen. You can feel his slow, steady heartbeat.

“Come,” you say after a moment, “you can help me with the rest of the paint.”

“Dare I ask?”

“I hate grinding for the colors,” you say, rising to your feet and clapping your hands against your skirts. “It takes too long. But your Witcher muscles must be up to the task, yes?”

Eskel pushes himself up in a graceful movement, that sleek dexterity of a Witcher. “If I’d known it was only my muscles you keep me around for-”

“You’d have stayed anyway for the sex.”

He coughs at that, but his smile is broad. “You’re confident.”

You shrug. “It’s good sex.”

He laughs, a low growl of a sound. “That it is.”

You glance his way and find yourself struck by the sight of him. The afternoon sun is kind to him, makes his dark hair glisten and his eyes practically glow. You reach out to him with a small smile, wind your fingers through his once more. He lets you tug him along.

You pause just before the threshold of your cottage, glancing back as Eskel ducks inside. The clover still carries the mark of your bodies, the plush of them pressed down where you had been. There’s a bit of paint splashed across them. You idle for a moment, let the breeze tease at your skirts.

Things will be different once you cross the threshold.

With Eskel’s softly sketched herbs spun in a delicate web around your yarrow and sorrel, your cottage is no longer just yours.

You inhale softly, let the scent of the clovers wash over you. It’s grassy and sweet, with a hint of earthy dirt just beneath. It smells like home.

You turn around and go inside.

taglist: @tutuwho @witchernonsense @whitewolfandthefox @riviawitch3r @hina-chans-stuff @restingnurseface @raspberrydreamclouds @ambivertomnivore

[theglguidetowebcomics]

Full review: Girly

What’s Pink, insane, NSFW, hilarious, and somehow heartwarming at points? This comic is a ride and a half, and I’m genuinely surprised more people haven’t heard of this one… I’ve been wanting to talk about this one for a WHILE. 

So let’s talk about the elephant in this room… Because I think it just ate someone’s couch. 

Slightly NSFW review with spoilers below.

Girly, by Jackie Lesnick was a webcomic that ran between 2003 and 2010, (and really has some of those early webcomic hallmarks). Its monochromatic pink, vertical, with a poppy early cartoon feel. It’s also listed as a romantic comedy, which is… correct, but cuts a whole lot of what makes this comic good, short. 

This review was always going to be one of the 4 I really struggled with. And not just because I lost it the first time without a back up in a code glitch, got distracted by a pandemic, then procrastinated my way to finally making a second version in my new backup folder… No, well also yes but no. This was a comic I read when I was younger (and should NOT have read  when I was younger), and have always had a soft spot for. I’ll admit as much as this comic has its flaws or weird moments or just weirdness in general, its one of the few comics I’ve found myself rereading in its entirety more than once. And no matter how much I know it's coming, find myself sobbing, uncontrollably, at the final panel. There’s surprisingly a lot of heart in this comic, and a whole lot of honesty in just the direction the author took this weird little thing. But, first let me take of those rose tinted glasses as much as I can… (actually that might not work too well with a pink comic seriously whats with all these early 2000s lesbian comics being PINK?). And give this old comic a look and a bit of a dust. but , first...

Sex.

Getting to the point - page 3 of “Girly”

Girly is a NSFW comic. It’s not shy about it either. It hits the audience (and the main character) over the head with it literally in the first pages. It has sex positive characters, a sex positive world, some characters with… sex powers almost, and Dildos, a whole lot of dildos. Some even with smiley faces on them. It’s a pretty unavoidable part of the comic that makes up a large core of it’s humour and is baked into its wacky world. So if that’s not your thing, and it’s not really skippable in this case, you won’t like this comic.

But, if you’re alright with that part of it this might just be a hidden gem. Moving on.

Art

Artwork is always interesting in webcomics. They’re usually one man shows, have a weird niche / strong influences, and or usually go on massive journeys as the art improves. Girly is no different here. 

Girly starts out rough. Some poses are wonky and its a bit scratchy. Technically speaking it has a few issues, which is fine. Its a free webcomic, from the 2000s that didn't copy and paste faces. (Won’t name names, you know who you are). You can’t be too harsh on a free comic, though.

However, what the art style does, even early on is set the style and feel of the comic. Anime inspired faces, bold outlines, and blocky silhouettes that were really popular with 90’s and 2000s cartoons. It has a newspaper, manga comedy strip vertical style, too. It fits the style of story well as a poppy wacky story. It's the perfect art style it could take.

Its rough in the beginning, but moves on from its scratchy days, to loose pen brush, to finally a polished free hand poppy style. It gets more technically advanced as it goes along, but it keeps its core style throughout. It’s fun, a little unhinged, and just pares perfectly.

The one issue I have with the art is it comes off as a bit cramped. It certainly matches the energy of the story, but it also feels like it doesn't let the characters have any breathing room in the frame. It comes off as squashed, and can make some character poses hard to read. That’s the only complaint I can find though. The issue even fixes itself later in the story, but just very very close to the end. It looks great there, but the majority of the comic is a little cramped. Still that’s just a small complaint.

Nitpicking here but some panels need a lil more room

This a humour comic foremost. It's the biggest part of what makes Girly specifically Girly.

Humour

The humour is mostly wacky nonsense, playing off its insane characters, physics defying world, everything being dialed up to 11. It also works a lot like satire, poking at what influences it, and playing with cinematic expectations. The first page has Otra shooting someone into space on a rocket because they annoyed them, the first “adventure” the character’s go on is stealing everyone’s pants because they couldn’t find anything else to do. Then there’s the kidnapping adventures, knight trials, and slice of life shenanigans that happen. All of it as wacky as the last. I haven’t really found any other lesbian comics like it. Its not everyone’s tastes, but it is certainly unique.

If you’re into a willy wonka tunnel of over the top characters and plots, you’ll like Girly.

Characters

Girl is a LONG comic, it ran for 7 years. The art evolved, the story writing, jokes, and themes along with it. It was originally meant to run for only 50 strips... and it ended up with 764. 

so, there’s a lot to unpack.

Firstly, the premise of the story is somewhat simple. It focuses on Otra. The kinda straight man to the entire universe. She starts out almost depressed, out of place, and bored of the wacky inhabitants of her world. Until one of those wacky residents smacks her over the head with a giant dildo and won’t leave her alone for the next 7 years of run time. 

What follows is the sullen Otra being pulled around by the always cheery and zany nonsensical Winter as the sidekick for bizarre adventures. Otra’s depressive grounded view keeps the bizarreness funny, while Winter cuts through her negative attitude and causes a lot of the over the top plot. Leaving Otra to warm up to the world, and Winter to get less reckless as they balance eachother out. It’s a fun dynamic, and works as an emotional core of the story. No matter how weird the plot and rules of the world are, their relationship keeps the story somewhat focused and rewarding to see develop.

An example of bold wacky character designs from even early on

The comic isn’t just about them, though. As an ensemble comic there's plenty of side characters that go through arcs and beats as well. From el chubacabre, the man that woman find so irresistible that they sleep with him as soon as they see him; detective Clapjaw the street wise detective who is very bad at his job; Officer Hipbone and police guy from the cute P D; captain fist the ever popular bad at his job superhero who gets all the credit; the news reporter obsessed with captain fist; the woman with babies; Steak;  the elephants that just… appear and eat buildings; among many many others. A lot of whom also have nicely written character arcs and depth in later chapters. Many of the character however are simple and remain simple, which isn’t a bad thing. For such a large cast, having a diverse range of strange characters with strong identities and looks even if a bit simple stops it from getting bogged down. It strikes a good balance. Plus there’s plenty enough of characters with more depth later on. 

 All the character’s are insane, and over the top in a way that really sets up the world they live in and how it works... as dysfunctional as it is. There’s something very Cartoon Network about all the characters, but with some wider influences. something about  dumb characters, with very specific goals and quirks that work on their own physics to feed into the high energy insanity of the world. Its entertaining to read, and leads to a weirdly charming feel of the comic. 

Story and plot

For the bit people actually want to know about. What is it about?

Just a little bit of influences...

For the style itself the comic comes off as a mix between early 2000s slice of life-y anime, 2000s cartoon Network, and a dose of 2000s webcomic sarcastic action/adventure flare. It definitely has one of the most pronounced styles that I’ve seen, and even if it's very much a webcomic of it’s time it also goes a bit beyond that into something that feels personal to the author and honest. Its a batshit comic. But, it wears its influences on it’s sleeve and really plays with tropes and ideas the author found engaging at the time. It somehow comes off as refreshing in just how willing it is to go weird or niche for no other reason but because it wants to. It's what I appreciate most about the comic. It’s honest.

The overarching story of the comic is without a doubt about Otra and winter growing together as people. But with a comic that’s run for 7 years a little bit more happens in the journey, at least you hope it would. Girly runs on chapters, 15 in total (with 15 having sub chapters due to being the story’s climax), and each one of those chapters follows a different plot or adventure with Otra’s and Winter’s developing relationship gluing them together. 

The plots themselves are wild and vary a bit in quality. But for a long comic that’s understandable and expected. They go from solving elephant problems, super villains, body swapping, fantasy parodies, and all sorts of strange things. Sometimes a few plots drag and a few character arcs feel a bit bland. It still manages to be entertaining all the way through though. The plots themselves work to get the character’s to play off each other and explore the strange world it takes place in. Exploring evil teddy bears, or an entire town devoted to cheap gags. No matter what, all the plots work in fleshing out the world and pushing character’s out of their comfort zone or forcing them to change. There are some that are less fun than others, but none of them manage to be boring or useless. Which for a long comic such as this, is quite an achievement.

Conclusion

Girly is a hidden gem, Its an insane sex positive comic. A loose style and even looser physics. It’s bold and unabashedly itself. But, at its core it's about the love story of Winter, the wacky insane woman needing to slow down and open up, and Otra, a sullen woman who’s deemed herself only worthy of being on the outskirts of society. It’s two people growing together in a world that’s up to its ears in care bears, sentient dildos, earth shattering cloning, and jabs at 2000’s paste it comics. And somehow it all sticks together.

The characters resonated, at least with me, which may be the nostalgia talking. But by the end of the comic I can’t help but  think back on how long it took them to get there. The bits that made me laugh (a lot of them), the stupid parts, and the character’s arcs, as over the top they could be at times.  It may not everyone’s cup of tea. But it has a lot of heart at its core. (If you get past all the dildos). 

For all it’s flaws and weird bits. I still find myself going back to Girly. 

Maybe now, some more people will too.

[noladyme]

The Frog Princess. Chapter 9

She had no wish to be bound down to anyone, but Y/N none the less found herself being dragged across the continent; to marry King Foltest of Temeria.  Instead of pomp and spectacle; she was accompanied by the witcher, Geralt of Rivia. Their travels would bring both monsters, lust, love; and heartache. All sound tracked by an endearing buffoon of a bard, named Jaskier.

TW: Violence, language, sexual themes. Rated M.

9

After a few days moving north – having followed Calanthes advice – we found ourselves; at Jaskier insistence; at a tavern in a village, by the river of Yaruga. We’d paid our way onto a boat the following morning; that would take us to Brugge; a vassal state north of Cintra.

Enjoying a meal and drinks; I was in a good mood. “The one who sings. So, you named your horse after me?”, Jaskier smiled. “That’s such an honor!”.

I laughed. “Actually, I named it for a young poet; who was hexed by a succubus”, I said.

Geralt chuckled next to me, and squeezed my hand. “That sounds like a story!”, Jaskier proclaimed, and pulled out his small notebook. “Tell me!”.

I bit my cheek from laughing. “He was cursed to walk the meadows; gathering flowers for her; and writing her songs”, I smiled. “He made lovely little frames with pressed flowers and plants”, Geralt grumbled with a smirk. Jaskier’s eyes lit up. “Oh, this is great! Tell me more…”.

Geralt stood up. “Storytime is over. Time to rest”, he grunted. Jaskier nodded and smiled. “Yes, I supposed you two need to go… rest; now”, he said, and wiggled his brows.

It was true. Having ridden for 3 days with the bard tagging along, Geralt and I had not had much time alone. A fact, I’d noted, that had made Geralt even more broody than usual.

With a hand on my lower back; the witcher led me towards one of the small rooms we’d rented for the night. “Right”, Jaskier called to our backs as we walked away. “I’ll just stay here… and drink… alone”. “Keep it dry, Jaskier”, I called back. “We don’t want to get chased out of town, with pitchforks to our backs”. Geralt stifled a laughter next to me.

Closing the door to the small room behind me; I suddenly found myself pushed against it – a very determined witcher attached to my lips. “I thought you’d never finish eating”, he growled; untying my jerkin on the sides; and pulling it over my head. He shoved his knee between my legs; and his hands found my breasts under my shirt – massaging them, and stroking his thumbs over my nipples. “I’ve missed these”, he growled against my neck.

I scratched my nails down his back – frustrated from the lack of access to his skin, through his clothes. “What else did you miss?”, I breathed. He took a hold of my ass; and squeezed it tightly – surely leaving marks. “This…”, he groaned; before moving his hands to my hips; “… and the way your face looks when I make you do this…”.

I gasped; as he pressed down on my hips – holding me firmly to his muscled thigh – moving me back and forth; so that I was riding it. The friction instantly sent sparks through my body; and I felt a blissful expression spread across my face. “There it is”, Geralt smirked; before he leant in to whisper in my ear. “I’m going to make you come like this, little frog. Then, I’m going to take your clothes of; so that I can look at you while I fuck you”. My breath hitched. Geralt groaned; and continued rubbing me back and forth on his thigh; making me completely lose my footing on the floor, from my legs shaking. “I’ve got you”, he chuckled. “You’re not going anywhere”.

I threw my arms around his neck; holding on to him, as my moaning began to turn in to mewls. “Geralt… I can’t…”, I tried. “Yes you can. Let go. I’ve got you”.

He rubbed me back and forth faster; pressing me down even harder. I felt a strange frustration towards the lack of skin to skin contact; but it was soon replaced by a state of utter ecstasy; as the building ball of fire from my core exploded, and I saw stars. I dug my face into Geralts shoulder; and cried out.

My legs gave in; and Geralt caught me in his arms; removing his thigh from between my legs. “Good girl”, he breathed as he held on to me; still hanging from his neck. “Can you stand?”. I nodded slightly; and removed my arms from his neck; allowing him to remove my shirt. He exhaled deeply from the sight of my bare chest. “Something caught your eye?”, I smiled; as I shakingly began unbuttoning my breeches, and sliding them down my legs; removing both them and my boots at once.

Standing naked in front of Geralt; his eyes became fierce – hungry. It was like I was a freshly cooked rabbit, and he hadn’t eaten in a week. It made me chuckle.

I walked up to him, and began playing with the fasteners on his jerkin; making it clear that I wanted it off. He rid himself of it and his shirt; allowing me the view of his broad chest. I looked at him through my lashes, and ran my fingertips down his torso; taking care to trace his nipples as I passed them. His eyes were fiery as he watched me with bated breath.

Letting one finger slide down his stomach; I stopped by the top of his breeches; hooking a finger into the waistband, and pulling him towards the bed. I sat down on the edge of the mattress, and kissed him just below his bellybutton; before I began unbuttoning his breeches; that had grown quite tight in the front “That much?”, I smirked, and put my hand to his hardness over the fabric. I kissed his stomach again, and began tugging at his breeches; putting my open lips on his member over his pants.

Suddenly; Geralt pushed me down on the mattress; and pulled his cock out of its confines. “No more teasing”, he growled, and lowered himself over me; licking once over my folds; before placing himself between my legs; and sinking in to me with a groan. “Fuck, woman”, he hissed. “Have you grown tighter?”. I moaned. “Maybe you’ve just grown larger from having waited so long”, I chuckled. He pushed into me again, with another loud groan.

A while later; I fell asleep draped across his chest – a satisfied smile on both our lips.

---

We were slowly waking in each other’s arms, when – to no surprise – there was a banging on the door.

Geralt groaned angrily. “And you said you didn’t want children”, I chuckled.

“Geralt, we’re late for the boat!”, Jaskier called. “Shit!”, Geralt snarled; and we both tumbled out of bed to get dressed – almost getting our shirts mixed up in the procedure.

The boat transporting us was even smaller than the one that had taken us from Skellige; but we managed to fit both horses onto it – with Geralt standing between them, sending Bayrd wary eyes. The horse whinnied softly. “Don’t. Even. Think about it”, the witcher snarled. “Be nice to Bayrd”, I said. “I will, when he stops looking at Roach like a bale of hay he wants to dig in to”. I chuckled, and walked up to stand next to my stallion. “Be a good boy, Bayrd”, I whispered; and patted his neck.

Within a short while, we made land just outside Dillingen. “Why didn’t we just take the bridge?” I asked Geralt. “Patrols”, he answered shortly.

We rode east of Dillingen; avoiding the city completely. “We need to avoid large groups of people from here on”, Geralt grumbled. “Zaba. Remember?”. I nodded behind his back. “Yes. But we’re out of the way of Lyria now; what should I say if anyone asks?”. He seemed to ponder my words. “The truth. As much as you can”, he answered. “You’re on your way to Vizima, with your brother, Jaskier; who is performing at the upcoming wedding between Foltest and the lady Y/N”. Jaskier looked at him sincerely. “I don’t think anyone is going to believe that; Geralt. The lady doesn’t look a thing like me”. “Her name is Zaba. And… fine, she’s your… fiancée”. “That’s going to cramp my style”, Jaskier mumbled.

Geralt sighed. “We need to re-saddle. For appearances sake”. He got of Roach, and helped me down. “Move”, he said to Jaskier; gesturing for him to move backwards in Bayrd’s saddle. With a swift move; Geralt lifted me by the waist, and put me in front of Jaskier; my back to his chest. Jaskier grunted slightly “Should have cleaned the pipes…”, he mumbled. “What’s that?”, Geralt snarled. “Nothing!”, Jaskier answered; voice pitched. Geralt saddled back up on Roach. “You know he has superhuman hearing, right?”, I whispered smilingly to the bard. “Shit”, he replied.

Geralt looked back at us. “Jaskier, hold on to her; or you’ll fall of”, he grumbled. “I know how to ride a horse, Geralt”, Jaskier sneered. “Not as well as she does”, the witcher replied.

“Horse or whores, Jaskier?”, I smirked. “Ha, ha. Aren’t you just funny”, Jaskier snorted, and put his hands on my waist; leaving me to hold the reins.

“Let’s go”, Geralt growled, and led us north.

We made good time through the countryside; getting further, faster than we had in the last days. I suspected it was because I was on now Bayrds back, and the one leading him forward, instead of Jaskier. I was most definitely a better rider than the bard – who was clambering on to my waist, like his life depended on it. We were riding hard.

“Can we slow down?”, the bard cried out behind me, as we were descending down a hill. “No”, Geralt replied shortly. “This isn’t a good place for a rest”. “Bollocks”, Jaskier complained behind me, before yelping. “Or, at this point, lack thereof…”.

I sighed. “Geralt, the horses need a rest”, I called to the witcher. “I need a rest”. Geralt slowed down, and let me ride up along side him. “This area isn’t safe”, he grumbled; scouting into the distance. I shook my head. “Brugge is a vasal of Cintra. Won’t it be safe enough to make camp; just a couple of hours?”. Geralt looked at me with sympathetic eyes. “We can rest in the village of Kernow”, he said. “It’s just a few hours northeast of here”. I frowned. “But you said…”. “It’s a small village. Just an inn and the occasional travelling merchant. It’ll be fine”. “An inn?”. Jaskier sounded elated. “Well I think we can make it a few more hours; Zaba, my love”. He patted my hip; but quickly moved his hand when he saw Geralts expression. “Right. Let’s go”, he croaked.

---

Kernow was as small as Geralt had said. A few tiny cottages were strewn about; clearly having been raised wherever it made sense for the inhabitants to build them. A plump peasant girl was milking a goat when we strode in to town; sending a leering look at Jaskier behind me. “Hello”, I heard him smile. I elbowed him in the ribs. “Darling!”, I cried out. “Yes, dear”, Jaskier coughed.

We hitched the horses under a half roof by the small inn. The air smelled like freshly roasted chicken and good ale; and my mouth was watering from the thought of it. Geralt seemed to want to reach for my hand; but remembered himself; and stepped in front of us, to enter the small building.

A few farmers were sat around tables by the walls. A man with a scar across his face; nodded knowingly at Geralt, and lifted his mug slightly in greeting. Geralt nodded back at the man. I looked at him questioningly. “Harpy”, Geralt muttered. “It was stealing his sheep”. “That’s how you know of this place. You had a contract here”, I said quietly. Geralt grunted. “Not exactly”, he said. “Contracts mean coin. He had none to give”. I gasped in jest. “Did the White Wolf actually do someone a favor, without asking anything in return?”, I jeered. He looked at me from the corner of his eye. “I did you four favors last night”. I smirked. “I seem to remember giving you a couple in return”. He stifled a grin.

We walked up to the table that was serving as a bar; and ordered drinks and food. The barman looked at Jaskier and his lute. “None of the people here have much coin to spare, good bard”, he said. “You’re welcome to sing; but don’t expect much pay”. Jaskier frowned. “I suppose my lute can rest for the night”, he said. “Suit yourself. No skin of my back”, the barman replied. “Dodged an arrow there”, Geralt muttered; and I bit my cheek not to laugh.

“Geralt of Rivia!”, someone called out. Turning to face the man; my face instantly lit up. Mousesack!

“The White Wolf! How are you, old friend?”, Mousesack cried out, taking the witchers hand, and patting his shoulder; before looking at me. “And…”. “Zaba!”, Jaskier interrupted him. “My… lovely fiancée”. Mousesack sent me a knowing look, before letting his eyes fall to the pendant hanging from my neck. “Well, bard; you’ve certainly played over the rim”, he said. “Ah, yes”, Jaskier smiled uncomfortably; and put his arm around my shoulder; pulling me in for an awkward half hug. ”She’s the bane of my existence, this one…”. I slapped his cheek in jest; and put my head on his shoulder. “Oh, Jasky…”, I chirped. Geralt looked ready to throttle the bard. “I’m sure she is”, the wizard mumbled. “Come, join me for a drink!”.

We sat down at a table in the darkest corner we could find. “How did you get here, Mousesack?”, Geralt asked. “Last we heard, you were on your way to Tigg”. Mousesack nodded, and took a swig of his ale. “And I arrived there shortly after you left, it seemed”, he said. “I found Jaskier here balls deep in one of Coodcoodlaks servant girls; and he told me you’d left that morning”.

“Why didn’t you tell us you’d seen him?”, I asked Jaskier, and punched his shoulder. “Ow!”, he said. “I didn’t know it was important!”. Mousesack smiled. “It’s not his fault. I didn’t tell him I needed to see you”. So Mirtha had been right. Mousesack had been searching for me.

Geralt groaned. “I knew your next move would be north; as east is crawling with Nilfgaardian patrols”, the wizard said. “Yes, but how did you get here so soon?”, Geralt asked. “You can’t fly…”. “I can make portals”, Mousesack answered. Geralt groaned, looking suddenly sick to his stomach.

I took a large swig at my own ale. “We went through Birxen”, I said with a low voice. “Met a butcher and his wife who said you were looking for me”. Mousesacks eyes were suddenly serious. “I was, my lady”. “Zaba”, Geralt corrected him. “Zaba, yes”, Mousesack smiled. He seemed deep in thought for a moment. “Ermion…”, I pleaded. “What is it you need to tell me”.

Mousesack sighed; pulling himself back into the moment. “First, tell me how much you know about your upcoming union, and how it came to be”. I clenched my jaw. “I’m supposed to marry Foltest; to make sure he supports Calanthes war against Nilfgaard”, I said, and took a bite of a chicken leg. I sucked my fingers; and looked up at the wizard. “Calanthe already told me I’ve become rough; you don’t have to remind me”.

Mousesack smiled softly. “You’ve always been rough around the edges, girl. Lucky for you, you’re also intelligent and strong”, he said. “You’ll make a good queen”. I rolled my eyes. “What else do you know?”, he asked.

I sighed. “I know that I’m supposed to be a good wife…”, I sneered. “And steer clear of anything that might seem too… witchy”. I sent a look towards Geralt who smirked back. Mousesack narrowed his eyes. “Eist told you to leave behind your vöelve training?”, he asked. “No”, I said, wiping my hands in a piece cloth serving as a napkin. “Thrude did”.

The wizards face contracted into an unreadable expression. “How is Thrude?” Geralt sent him a knowing look. It was almost sympathetic. “She was well a few weeks ago”, I answered. “Good”, Mousesack said quietly. “So, you know nothing else?”. I shook my head tiredly. “No. Just that Geralt is to bring me to Foltest”, I said, my voice hitching slightly.

Mousesack looked from me to the witcher, and back again. “Fucking Eist…”, he growled. “Always bloody secrets. You’d think he’d learnt something from the situation with his stepdaughter”. Geralt grunted. “Mousesack”, I demanded. “What’s going on?”.

He sighed. “Nilfgaard wants you”. I scoffed. “Yes, I know. They want to stop my marriage to Foltest, so he won’t support Cintra”. “It’s more than that, little one”, Mousesack said. “The Usurper wants you for himself. To marry”.

I laughed out loud. “Well, aren’t I the popular one…”. Mousesack looked at me poignantly. “You are”, he said. “Girl, you have not even begun to scratch the surface of what you can do as a sorceress”.

Geralts face dropped; and Jaskier choked on the sip he had just taken from his mug.

“I’m not a sorceress!”, I said. “No, you’re not. Thrude saw to that; at Eists bequest”. I was finding it difficult to breathe. “Thrude… has been there since my birth. She trained me as a vöelve…”.

“She was teaching you to control your powers”, the wizard interrupted. Geralts face was hard, and he wouldn’t meet my eyes. “You knew?”, I scoffed. “I didn’t know, little frog… but I suspected there was something”, he grunted. “I’ve told you as much”.

Mousesack took my hand. “Thrude saw your potential from the moment you opened your eyes, and looked at her”, he said. “She also saw that you’d need help to control that potential, as you would be…”. “Rash. Stubborn…”, Geralt said. “A pain in the arse”, Jaskier said. I kicked his shin under the table.

“You could be dangerous. To yourself and to others”, Mousesack said quietly. “Eist wanted to protect you. He didn’t want you in Aretuza. And he didn’t want you in the hands of someone even worse”.

“Nilfgaard”, I whispered. Mousesack nodded. “The Usurper wants you. Marrying you; he would potentially have a strong sorceress at his side. And – of course – through his blood bond to you, Eist would be forced to halt his support of his wife; and stay neutral in the war. Calanthe would lose both Temeria and Skellige”. The wizards eyes bore into mine. “Innocents would die; and you’d be forced into servitude of a man, who’s much more brute and evil than you can comprehend”.

“I could have just not married anyone”, I grumbled. Mousesack chuckled quietly. “That was never an option, my dear”, he said. “It is your destiny to become a queen; it was written in your stars… I’ve seen it myself”. I frowned. “To Hel with destiny”, I snarled. Geralt snorted. “I wish it was that easy”, Mousesack said. “I came to find you, to make sure you’d understand the importance of this union. You must be queen; but you can’t be queen of Nilfgaard. They would use you in ways, where you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself afterwards”.

Mousesack put a hand on my cheek, and looked down at my chest. “Thrudes mother gave her that on our wedding night”. My chin dropped. “What?”, I breathed. “Thrudes husband is dead…”. Mousesack smiled sadly. “No I’m not”, he said. “But…”. “But you left her”, I interrupted. “She loved you, and you left her”.

Mousesack let go of my hand, shaking his head. “No”, he said softly. “She loved me, and I loved her. But I had to leave for Ban Ard. I needed to learn how to control the chaos in me. So, I became a sorcerer”. My heart dropped. “Wizards halt their aging…”, I said quietly. “And vöelves don’t”, he half smiled. I frowned. “So you didn’t want her because she’d grow old?”. “I’d have her old; gray, deaf and blind”, he chuckled. “Those last two might actually make our relationship easier”. I heard Jaskier sniffle next to me.

Geralt took my hand under the table.

“Thrude told me to go to Ban Ard; and when I came back for her, she sent me away”. Mousesack looked down at his hands. “I loved her with every inch of my being; and I think I always will. But she saw a different future for me… and for herself”. He took my hand again, and looked at me.

Tears welled into my eyes. “Mousie and Tootie. I never knew”. He smiled. “Not many did”. He sent Geralt a look.

“Well!”, Jaskier said; wiping his eyes. “I think this calls for a ballad”. Geralt groaned loudly, as Jaskier walked out on the floor, and began playing.

“The fairer sex, they often call it; but her love’s as unfair as a crook. It steals all my reason; commits every treason, of logic, with naught but a look…”

Mousesack kissed my hand. “Y/N”, he whispered. “Queen of Temeria. I find it difficult to wish health upon your marriage; not because I don’t want you to be happy; but because Foltest is a miserable old cunt, and I hate his guts”. He sighed. “But I wish love and happiness upon your life; regardless…”. He stood up to leave us. “I’m off to the Capital”. I stood up myself, and he embraced me; kissing the top of my head. “Will I see you again?”, I sniffled into his shoulder. He pulled back from me, and held my face in his hands. “I’ll make sure of it, your majesty”, he smiled; before looking at Geralt. “You two are about to break each other’s hearts; I hope you realize that”. Geralt looked down.

Mousesack kissed my forehead and both my cheeks; before walking out the door; leaving us behind.

“But the story is this; she’ll destroy with her sweet kiss. Her sweet kiss…”.

---

There were no rooms for let in the inn; so, we set up camp a few miles outside Kernow. Jaskier was sleeping soundly next to his lute; mumbling in his sleep. I grabbed a blanket from Bayrds saddle; and draped it over the snoring buffoon.

“You’ll be a good mother”, Geralt said. He was sitting on large rock; working on some herbs for one of his draughts. I chuckled. “Everyone seems to agree that Foltest is sweaty, old, and all round disagreeable. I’m going to try to avoid his bed as much as possible”, I said. I sat down next to him. “Needs more celandine”, I said, nodding at his bowl. Geralt raised a brow at me. “What? I’ve been looking while you’ve made this before”, I smiled.

He handed me the bowl, and I gently continued crushing the herbs he’d been working on. He got some celandine from his satchel; and added it to the mixture; letting me continue the task. “I was right about you being more than you thought”, he said. “I suppose so”, I said. “You won’t have to worry about me dabbling in magic anymore”. He exhaled deeply. “You’re still a human. You haven’t had any real training”, he muttered. “I don’t want you to get hurt”.

I sighed, handing the bowl back to him. “Thrude was always trying to get me to focus on herbs and animals”, I said. “I’ve never been able to see the future or the past – or cast spells…”. “There’s more to magic than spells”, he grunted. “Sometimes it’s just two creatures meeting, and reacting”. He was using my own words back at me.

He went to add the herbs into the boiling water over the fire. “We need to move northeast. If we continue north we’ll get to close to Brookilon Forest”, he said. “I doubt the dryads will give us safe passage…”, I grumbled. Geralt grunted in response. “It will bring us close to the City of Brugge, but…”.

He was interrupted my an arrow landing at his feet.

Geralt ran towards me; kicking Jaskier while passing him. The bard woke with a start; and barely avoided an arrow, by rolling over.

Geralt sprang at me; pushing me down on the ground; and laying himself on top of me to shield me. “Are you hit?”, he demanded. I shook my head fervently.

“Geralt…”, Jaskier called. He was laying on the ground with a knife to his neck; held by a slim woman, dressed in browns and greens. The witcher sniffed the air. “What are you doing so far west; Filavandrel?”.

A blonde tall man – who I recognized as an elf – stepped up to the fire. “There’s a war, witcher”, the elf answered. “We go where we must to further our cause”. Geralt grunted. “Get off the girl; you’re crushing her”, Filivandrel said.

Geralt rolled of me; and the elf gave me his hand to help me stand. “Who are you?”, he asked; his voice neither cold nor warm. I looked at Geralt; who looked to the ground, and stood up himself. “My name is Zaba”, I said as calmly as I could. The elf tilted his head. “You don’t look like a frog”, he said.

I straightened my back. “And who are you?”, I asked. Geralt went to stand next to me. “This is Filivandrel. The king of the elves”.

---

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- no lady

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@ayamenimthiriel​

[btsfan15]

Heated Kiss

I folded my arms across my chest, starting to lose my patience. Jin continued to browse through the refrigerator’s contents, taking his sweet time, seemingly unaware that he was obstructing my path. Finally, my boyfriend settled on a bottle of sparkling water, grabbing it and straightening up. I let out a relieved sigh as he stepped back and I moved towards the fridge, but he shut the door just before I reached it. When he looked back at me, he found me wearing an annoyed expression I couldn’t hide.

“Oh, sorry, Navya .” He apologized with a smile, unscrewing the cap from his water. A fizzy hiss escaped the bottle. “Did you need something out of the fridge?”

A sassy remark immediately came to mind, but I held it back. I was trying to bake him a welcome home treat, but his broad shoulders seemed to block me at every turn in my cramped kitchen.

Choosing not to respond, I only sighed again and quickly pulled open the door to fetch the egg carton. As soon as I turned around, I saw Jin leaning against the counter, casually sipping his drink - right in front of the drawer I was just about to open.

I drew in a slow breath. I was trying not to overreact, I really was. I loved my boyfriend, and I loved having him home. These nights together were far too infrequent; he was often gone for work for weeks at a time and I missed him like crazy until he returned. But, to be perfectly honest, every time he was gone, I got kind of used to him not being around. So when he was around, there was always an adjustment period. It took me some time each time to remember how to share my home, and I had to remind myself often to not get upset with Jin and his shoulders for simply taking up space.

“Excuse me, Jin.” I said as calmly as I could, approaching Jin and touching his arm. “I need to get by you.”

He didn’t hesitate to slide over, allowing me access to the drawer, but instead of moving to his right, as I’d anticipated, he moved to his left - and stopped directly in front of the oven.

My sigh was unmistakably exasperated this time.

“What?” Jin asked, his eyes widening. “What did I do?”

I pinched the bridge of my nose.

“I’m sorry but could you just… not be in the kitchen for a while?” I asked.

“I just wanted a drink.” Jin frowned. “And to hang out with you, my amazing, beautiful, wonderful, smart, loving, talented, patient girlfriend who I’ve missed so much.”

I felt a pang of guilt - which I suspected was exactly his intention.

“Fine. But if you’re gonna stay in here, please try to keep out of the way.” I said, marching towards him. When I reached him, I leaned around his frame to punch the buttons to set the oven to preheat.

Jin made a crisscross motion over his heart, but his face wore a small smirk.

“And here,” I added, holding out a well-worn recipe card towards him, “Make yourself useful and read me the instructions while you’re at it.”

“I’m nothing if not useful.” Jin quipped, taking the card from me and scanning the recipe.

“What about handsome?” I joked as I organized my ingredients and tools on the counter, hoping he could tell I wasn’t really upset with him.

“Useful and handsome.” Jin agreed, and the corner of my mouth lifted.

I glanced at him, and he returned my faint smile, his eyes telling me he wasn’t offended. He then brandished the recipe card, clearing his throat, and my hands hovered over the countertop, poised and ready.

“Step number one,” Jin recited in his best MC voice, “Give your baking assistant a kiss.”

I scoffed.

“What? No, Jin, just read me the instructions! Please.”

Jin feigned offense.

“I am!” He exclaimed. “I’m reading them word-for-word!”

“I’ve made this recipe a million times, I know for a fact it doesn’t say that.” I accused him, reaching for the card, but Jin held it against his chest, shielding it from my view.

“Yah, I’m just reading what it says!” He laughed, swatting my hand away. “It says right here,” He pointed to a random spot on the card, “That you have to give me a kiss before we start or the whole thing will fail.”

“Whatever.” I huffed dramatically, rising to my tip-toes to quickly peck Jin’s smiling lips. “There. Step one complete. Now, what’s step two?”

Jin pretended to study the recipe.

“Hmm, step two is… repeat step one.”

“Jin!” I groaned, shoving his shoulder. “Come on! Seriously, could you stop messing around and just read me the recipe? Please?”

Jin’s teasing expression faded, and he reached for my waist, gently pulling me closer.

“Navya,” He chuckled softly, touching my face, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. Usually you don’t mind it when I mess around… Is something wrong? Did you have a hard day?”

“I’m just trying to do something nice for you.” I pouted.  “I just wanted to make you something sweet to welcome you home, but you’re making it difficult.”

“Jagi…” Jin smoothed his thumb across my cheekbone, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know… I really appreciate you wanting to do something sweet for me… but you should know that you are the only sweet thing I want right now.”

I looked up into Jin’s eyes, and found him gazing at me with such sincerity - such pure, unadulterated love - that my heart instantly melted, and my pout became a repentant frown.

“I’m not being very sweet, though.” I admitted guiltily. “You’re being sweet and I’m treating you like a brat.”

Jin smiled slowly, cupping my face with both hands, and pressed a kiss to my forehead.

“But you’re my brat, and I love you.” He exhaled, inclining my chin. He then lowered his head, his eyes slipping shut as he sought out my lips, and a pleasant shudder ran through me when he found them.

Jin kissed me sweetly at first, taking his time to enjoy the feel of me in his embrace again after so long, but his hands gradually trailed down my body as his soft lips pressed to mine, his languid kisses slowly burning hotter the lower his grasp travelled. My blood rushing, all thoughts about baking or wanting Jin to stay out of my way rapidly fled my mind, until finally, he reached the backs of my thighs. Breaking his mouth away, Jin hoisted me up and turned around, sitting me on the counter in one quick movement, before I even had time to gasp. He then fit himself between my legs and anxiously reclaimed my lips, parting them with his tongue as his hands kneaded my hips.

And it was at that precise moment that a loud beep sounded over the pounding of my heart, indicating that the oven was done preheating.

“The oven,” I remembered, reluctantly tearing myself away, “The oven’s ready and I don’t have anything to put in it.”

Jin regarded me with a smoldering expression as both of us panted, trying to catch my breath.

Then a mischievous spark glinted in his eyes.

“I have something to put in your oven.” He purred, and before I could react, he hefted me up over his shoulder.

“Jin!” I cried, laughing as he started carrying me out of the kitchen and towards my bedroom. “What about your dessert?!”

Jin continued striding confidently down the hallway.

“It’s right here.” He replied, patting my bum with his free hand.

I giggled, swinging my arms and legs lazily, not really fighting him.

“At least turn the oven off!”

I couldn’t blame him for his appetite, and I was in no mind to deny him. Because honestly, the way he’d just kissed me… He’d awoken the same hunger in me, too.

Reaching my bed, Jin slid me off of his shoulder and carefully deposited me on the edge of the mattress.

“You’re right, Navya, I’ll turn the oven off. It’s about to get hot enough in here as it is.” He grinned.

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t deny the heat I felt spreading throughout my body.

“Okay, go ahead. If you’re sure you don’t want anything sweet tonight.”

Jin bent down to press a lingering kiss to my lips, and a wave of pleasure surged through me.

“I told you, Navya,” He whispered, his face hovering close, “You’re the only sweet treat I want. Tonight and every night.”

I smiled up at him, and stole another kiss, my teeth grazing his plump bottom lip.

“How about sweet and spicy?” I teased.

Jin straightened up, holding his tummy as he laughed his signature laugh.

“I like the sound of that.” He chuckled, making his way towards the door. “Just hold that thought, I’ll be right back.”

“Wait, Jin?” I called after him, and he paused in the doorway.

“Yes, Navya?” He asked.

“I’m glad you’re home.” I smiled sweetly, and I truly meant it. Even though I'd been unjustly annoyed with him earlier, now I wanted nothing more than for Jin to share all of my space.

Jin’s expression softened, his gentle smile reaching his eyes.

“Me too, Navya.” He agreed. “Me too.”

“I love you, Jinnie.” I said.

“I love you, too.” Jin says.