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theredofoctober · 1 year ago

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SPITE— The Boys fic, Billy Butcher x reader, crossposted from AO3, reader uses she/her pronouns

TW: Violence, noncon

The super villain known as SPITE (reader) has been stalking Billy Butcher. He captures her, and chaos ensues...

Read after the cut

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"You little cunt."

The words lose their meaning quickly in the lurching dark through frequent repetition.

Their first utterance is a hiss against your ear as you're dredged from the street to some rank basement, roiling in your captor's grip like a sturgeon all the way down.

The second usage of the phrase errupts in a catankerous grunt as their speaker attempts to bind you to a chair, a gyre of your tulle and satin costume half-smothering him as you thrash, and kick, and bite.

"You little cunt," snarls Billy Butcher, for the third time, as you clip his jaw with your forehead.

Then, with a vicious grin, he spits a gout of his own blood into your face.

"Like that, do you, you fucking supe slag? Don't worry, there's plenty more where that came from."

His shackles your throat with his fist, smirking as you flinch from the red razors of his teeth. He wears a mask of revulsion, the whites of his eyes within it shocking, horrible.

You can't seem to look away.

"Not so brave, now, are you, flower?" asks Butcher. "See, I've been following you, and just picture my fucking surprise to find out that you've been trying to do the same to me. And just me, that is; you've kept well out the way of my Boys. You've been very clever about it, I'll give you that. I doubt they even have a clue who you are."

He releases your throat and wipes his hand on the garish fabric of his shirt with a laborious theatricality.

"So," he continues, "either you were trying to kill me off—which you are absolutely shit at, by the way—or there's something else you're after. Wonder what that could be?"

Butcher kicks a chair leg, and you rock upon it like a bowling pin.

"Look at ya," he sneers. "Running around here, dressed like some clown's tart— sorry to tell you, love, but the circus ain't in fucking town."

Swallowing dryly, you attempt to scrape the chair backwards, inch by inch, across the floor, putting space between yourself and the man with the coarse velvet of murder in his voice.

Butcher watches your retreat, shaking his head.

"Where are you gonna go, sweetheart? You can't use your fucking fairy magic powers when you're all tied up like that, so don't get any ideas. You're cosied up with me for a bit. So let's have a chat, shall we?"

With your voice obstructed by a makeshift gag you merely widen your eyes in response.

"Well, love, I'm glad you asked," says Butcher, with an acid sarcasm. "There's only two ways you're leaving here tonight: either as strawberry slushie at the bottom of a fucking rubbish bag, or all in one piece, except for your dignity, that is. Better make up your mind. I don't have all night."

He pauses, pretends to consider.

"Well, I do, but I wanna spend it cracking open a couple of beers with the lads, not down here chin-wagging with a bleedin' Supe."

Butcher's gaze is thick with the dregs of an old and bitter madness: you feel more than undressed by it, skinned, rather, your muscles flayed from the bone.

"Look at you," says Butcher, coldly. "Sitting there in all that pink bollocks looking like something Piglet shat out after a mad one in The Hundred Acre Wood. What's it all about, eh?"

He kicks suddenly at your calf, his boot rending layers of candyfloss fishnet thread with a blow that will surely bruise.

"Nobody's making you wear this shit; Vought won't touch you with a bargepole after all the stunts you’ve been pulling on the sly. Your own kind don't want anything to do with you. You're a loner. So what were you doing prancing about in this silly fucking get-up? Waiting for me to notice?"

Butcher shunts your chair back against the wall, tipping it at an angle that, at his high vantage, likely allows a view that is particularly obscene.

"Don't be shy," he leers. "Every time you threw a kick at me I could see right up at your knickers. And they're fragile little things, ain't they?"

You strain against your bonds, bucking with such an indignant gusto that the ropes start to fray against your muscles.

"Oh no you fucking don't," says Butcher, and slaps you so hard across the cheek that you're still again in an instant, your ears sirening from the blow.

"You don't wanna piss me off, darling," says your captor, grimly. "See, I could really fucking hurt you, but I don't wanna manhandle you more than I have to, savvy? Then again, I think you're gagging to be roughed up. Didn't put up much of a fight, did you, and now I've got you right where I want you—"

You mumble your objections into the wad of lace against your teeth, but Butcher ignores you, caught up in the rhythm of his spiel.

"—Seems like you're desperate for me to give you a good seeing to. Well, don't worry, love. Daddy's here."

He's being ironic, you think, but as a strange combination of want and loathing twists his countenance you begin to change your mind.

"I can't stand your sort," Butcher mutters. "Filthy mutants, the lot of you. But seeing you in this mess I might have it in me for a pity fuck."

He shoves a thumb into your mouth and pulls free the gag, wincing as his fingers come away wet with drool.

"Well," he says. "Speak up, love. Do you wanna shag, or die?"

"Neither," you rasp. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Butcher's smile is blood and ice.

"See, I thought you'd say that. So I took the liberty of popping all the security footage I've got of you onto a nice little pen drive so I could play it back to you, remind you how many times you’ve tiptoed around me about in your glorified stripper wear without finishing the bloody job. Let's have a gander, shall we?"

He fumbles for a remote, and a vast television screen illuminates in the centre of the room, revealing picture after picture of you tracking Butcher across the city by night. You recall taunting him with your proximity, enjoying the game; it's how you always hunt your targets, hounding them until they go mad with paranoia, an end hastened by hallucinations cast like spellwork from your fingertips, each more awful than the last.

Butcher, however...

He had been difficult. He'd barely seemed to respond to your assaults, no matter your pressure upon his mind.

"In case you're wondering, I saw your poxy visions," he announces perceptively, rapping the television screen with his fist. "But you underestimate the level of fucked up I've witnessed in my life. I've seen scarier shit in my morning routine."

The screen flickers, and you're faced with a shot of yourself standing in Butcher's shadow, so close to him that your breath is almost on the back of his neck. How smug you'd been in the thought that he hadn't known you were there, that you were so extraordinarily clever, and daring.

Humiliating to think that Butcher had followed you with equal stealth, despite his limitations.

"Tell me why you picked me to wind up," he demands, "and not Frenchie, or M.M., or any of my mates. Why am I so special? You've heard my theories. Now it's your turn."

You don't immediately answer, keeping a mutinous silence.

Butcher approaches you with a slow, heavy tread, a killer's prowl, and leans into you, smelling of beer and cologne, and his own congealing blood. You wonder what he makes of your own scent: sweat and sugar, the remnants of perfume, petty irritants for his rudimentary human senses.

Smirking, you say, "You despise us all so much, Billy. I wanted to see what your face would look like when you realised that a Supe had killed you."

"Nah," says Butcher, shaking his head. "I'm not convinced. I reckon you wanted to know how hard a 'normal' like me could hate-fuck you when you got caught in the act."

He shunts a knee between your thighs—each lashed to either side of the chair, conveniently apart—and grinds an apex of bone against you, forcing a reluctant shiver through your core.

You're afraid to move, lest you provoke him; you can't be silent lest Butcher thinks he's won.

At last you settle to hiss between your teeth, "Why don't you just do it? Like you said, I can't use my powers with my hands tied like this. So what's stopping you? Why don't you just do what you want, Mr King Shit of Fuck Mountain?"

"That's not my style," says Butcher, with a sneer. "I want you to ask for it. Beg like the pathetic cunt you are. I'm giving you a choice."

"I'm tied to a chair, genius. I don't have many choices."

"You were trying to murder me, sweetheart. You're lucky you're getting any options."

"You could just let me go."

"And put up with you tormenting me for another bloody month? Not likely."

You burst into sudden laughter and Butcher freezes, his face clouded by sheer loathing.

"Shut up," he snarls. "Shut up right fucking now."

Butcher makes a fist, and you wonder what he means to do: violet an eye, shatter a tooth, break bone like a glass in some grimy pub. As your laugh continues he aims a punch and misses as you weave your head aside, splitting his knuckles on the back of the chair.

"Shit!"

"You're a hypocrite," you say, as he wipes off the blood. "I know all about you. Your hard-on for killing Supes. You act like you think you're better than us, but really? I think you're a jealous little fanboy."

"Who's the fucking fan here?" snarls Butcher. "Admit it. That little stalking act— you've been flirting with me."

You wrinkle your nose.

"You wish."

"Don't have to wish. I reckon if I was to feel that snatch of yours right now you'd be wet through."

The laughter dies in your throat, and you edge about in your seat, attempting to shimmy your skirt further down over your hips.

"Wouldn't mean anything," you mutter, at last, and Butcher gives you a cunning look.

"Only that getting smacked about by a man who wants to kill you is your cup of tea. And I'm starting to think it is."

He shrugs off his vast coat, throwing it aside. Veins stand out on the backs of his hands and arms, and you realise, suddenly, that he is serious in what he means to do, entirely so. You could die tonight, and the worst of it is that no one would care.

"Make your mind up, Spite," says Butcher. "You know what's on the table. You pick, or I will. I don't think you'd like that. My crowbar wants to make friends with every one of your stupid fucking Supe bones."

The peril of your situation is unavoidable. You move your lips, the sounds escaping at such mite softness that Butcher cranes his ear towards your mouth.

"What did you say? Speak up, darlin'."

With a sudden lunge you snap at Butcher's earlobe and latch on with grinning teeth. Blood crests your tongue in a grisly baptism, and as the man wrenches from your grip you see how badly he wants to hurt you.

"Oh, you sneaky little fucker!" he barks. "That's it; I've had enough of that mouth."

In a punishing scuffle Butcher stuffs another wad of torn fabric between your jaws, thrusting it so far down your throat that you almost choke. Then he drags your hips forward on the chair and scrambles for his zipper, his face murky with rage.

"You wanna play, Supe? Then let's have some fucking fun."

His fingers pierce your core, twisting deep, and you writhe like a halved worm around them.

Butcher drives his face so close to yours that your foreheads knock together, his eyes the very black of death.

"So I was right. You're making a proper mess, poor little thing."

You attempt to remain defiant, scornful, but you can barely maintain the artifice when Butcher's hand is so deep within you, each rough twitch of his fingers inducing a further slickness. Desperate, you wrench your arms against the ropes that hold them fast, hoping to wear through your bonds.

"Pack it in," snaps Butcher. "Or I will really bloody hurt you."

You believe it, but don't cease your struggling; you never relinquish a fight, whatever the cost.

Cursing, Butcher wraps a fist around your throat, squeezing until you gargle in pain.

"Now you be a good little trollop," he says, "and take my fucking cock, alright?"

He's so hard as he enters you that you see, in his expression, a dark, aching relief, as though soothing a terrible burn.

How long as he thought about this, tortured by your figure twisting and dancing around him through the rain-lashed streets in a miasma of summoned dreams? How close did he come to splaying you across a wall in some filthy alleyway, crushing you like a butterfly under his boot?

Now he has you jailed from your powers he makes you feel weak. How exhilarating that he is capable of this, a man born entirely without super abilities.

With each violent thrust the chair bangs against the wall, swinging a blade of pain up through your middle. Butcher's hands rip at your costume, tearing it between your breasts with an animal malice.

"You're tight," he says. "So fucking tight..."

He kisses your stuffed mouth with a clash of teeth, and the assault sparks the flint of lust in the secret part of you that has yearned to be dismantled by his stark hatred.

Even as you'd schemed to kill him you'd thought this man handsome, admired, coldly, his brutal methods, imagined standing over his corpse, admiring the loss of homocidal life as you might a sun beam in broken glass.

Now you are such fragments in his handling Butcher has no mercy for you. The man is out of control, taking, by instinct, in a berserker state, knowing nothing but the satisfaction of violence.

His cock jars you like a slaughterer's bolt, knifing your warmth with his ever greater heat. There is no talking, for a time, only the fever of his vengeful need. The room resounds with exerted grunts and the squeak of the chair beneath your struggling bodies; the angle of fucking is awkward, and you notice Butcher glancing at your bonds, evidently considering whether or not cutting you loose is worth the risk of you killing him.

At last he barks, "I'm gonna move you. Try anything stupid and you can kiss your kneecaps goodbye."

You nod limply, and Butcher pulls a blade from somewhere and hacks at the ropes with a careless malice, unflinching as he nicks the skin beneath. Keeping only a knot around your wrists he wrangles you over a couch and ruts you, face down, upon it, his fist in your hair, straining its roots.

"This what you thought it'd be like, you fucking brat?"

You try to brace a leg upon the floor, but your foot skids, and Butcher presses you harder against the couch cushions, smothering your ragged breaths.

"Supposed to be superior," he grunts. "Can't even put up a proper fight."

You twist under him, throwing him off onto the floor in a landslide of churning limbs, and as he staggers up after you again he's grinning widely.

"That's more like it."

As he comes for you again you vault yourself over the back of the sofa and roll into a dark corner, loosening the rope across your hands. When Butcher seizes you by the ankles and hauls you towards him you steeple two fingers at the man's forehead and flex.

What you put into his mind is the vilest image your thoughts can conjure, so corrupt that he drops you swiftly and flinches back, his face paling.

"Fuck me."

For a moment you think that Butcher might vomit, and scrape yourself further across the ground, towards the door, waiting for the inevitable heaving to give you time to run. But he only turns his head and spits a clot of plegm into the dust, his countenance wrenched by a savage glee.

"I knew you Supes weren't right in the head, but you're really somethin,'" he breathes. "Can see why all your quarry end up bashing their own brains in against the nearest wall. Not me, though, love. You've picked the wrong bastard."

A rare fear eats through you as you dump the last of the rope and scamper up the stairwell towards the street. As you barrel your shoulder into the door at the top it resists you, barely splintering despite your harshest efforts.

"Supe proofed," says Butcher, smugly, as he comes up the stairs behind you. "At least against half-baked cunts like you that don't even have decent powers."

He slams you against the door, dizzying you in the blow. The next thing you're aware of is being dragged back down to the basement, and although you rail him with blows and waves of toxic thought Butcher manages to lumber back over the threshold again.

"I'm not finished with you," he says, and lets out a yelp as you sweep a foot under one leg, bringing him down onto the concrete floor with a resounding boom.

Spitting out the gag, you snap, "Go on, kill me, fuckface. I'm waiting. Make it good for me!"

"I'll make something bloody good, that's for sure," Butcher retorts, and he pins you on your back, arms trapped beneath you. "I never leave a job half-done."

He kisses you again, his tongue gilding your throat, and you feel his hardness between your legs again, undetered by the fight, likely strengthened by it. This is a man who feeds on brutality: why should his fucking be any different?

This time when his cock enters you his right hand follows, finding your clitoris with a nimble ease. You loathe the way he makes your body jump to his touch, the stupid, whimpering moans that pass your bleeding lips with the ruthless beat of his thrusting.

You detest how easy it is for him to mould your obstinance into something needy and mewling, as though he knew this potential was there from the beginning.

"How's that feel?" asks Butcher, thickly, a devilish blaze in his eyes. "Tell me. Is that good, you little cunt?"

"Yes!" you blurt out, and hate him for making you say it, for the fact that it is true. "God, don't—"

You attempt to bring your knees together, to dislodge his hand, but you can't shift Butcher's weight, only trigger him to fuck you deeper, rolling his fingers between your heaving bodies until you're slick as an eel with perspiration.

"Go on, make some noise," croons Butcher, "'cause you're gonna come so hard you'll forget how much you hate me."

Your mouth opens to protest, but to Butcher's grinning satisfaction you can do nothing but let out hoarse, quavering cries, all rational thought simmered to steam on the pinnacle of your ecstasy.

You've never known pleasure so sharp, so clean. You're still in the throes of it when Butcher bucks against you one last time, flattening you beneath him as he fills you with his groaning release.

He rolls off and lies beside you for a minute, seeming to gaze at the ceiling, with something between disgust and a quiet smugness.

Then he says, into the lull, "You want a drink?"

You sit up slowly, disliking the precarious wobble in your arms as your brace yourself.

"Why," you say, slowly, "the fuck would I want to drink with you, Butcher?"

Getting to his feet he shrugs, and fumbles about on a table for a bottle of something murky and likely possessing the qualities of turpentine.

"'Cause you're still sat on your arse rather than trying to kill me again, so I reckon you need a bevvy. And I know you ain't got anywhere else to go."

Butcher pours you a shot of the dark liquid and eyes you with a cagey interest when you don't immediately take it.

"I'm the only one of your marks that isn't a Supe," he says. "I haven't figured out your M.O. yet. Be easier to pick your brains when you're pissed. Might loosen you up a bit."

"Not a good idea," you mutter. "Might realise we've got more in common that you think."

You outstretch a hand and pluck the glass from him, sniffing the contents suspiciously.

"Ain't poisoned, Spite," says Butcher. "Be fucking rude, after what we just did."

"It'd be bang on character, then," you reply, coolly, and drain the glass in a wincing swig. "Christ. How do you drink this shit?"

"I've got a strong stomach. Or kidneys. Take your pick. So, now you're watered, speak up. Why did you come after me?"

You wind your arms around your knees and look at Butcher sideways, thinking, with some annoyance, how much your answer will stroke his ego.

"A lot of Supes out there are afraid of you. I just wanted to know why."

#ao3 writer #the boys #the boys fic #billy butcher #billy butcher x reader #dark!billybutcher #dark!fic #tw noncon

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allisluv · 6 months ago

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I came up a silly little prompt I think you may like :)

so imagine a a very big tough and blunt reader who frequents the Hob

LG spots her and approaches her during a break in one of her performances and is maybe a little flirty but reader is just like “yes.” “No.” “Okay.” And LG has no idea how to handle them and thinks they’re just rejecting her advances

LG is clearly a little upset and leaves them alone, the next night reader brings her a hand picked bouquet of wildflowers and buys her a drink and she’s all confused cause she thought they weren’t interested “I thought we were flirting” “…THAT was flirting???”

Cutie patooties

Plus I love lucy gray x big masc lady 😌

lucy gray baird x fem!masc!reader

i haven’t written onshotz in so long so i apologise if this isn’t exactly what you were looking for but i did try my best <3

lucy gray findss you in the crowd and from that moment onwards, her sights are set on you. the second the covey returns to the shack at the back of the hob, she's heading straight for you.

you glance up as she approaches, a frown tugging your lips down as you size up the girl in front of you.

she offers you a dazzling smile and says. "well hi there pretty darlin'. is there any chance you might have a spare one of those?" she tilts her head towards the drink in your hand. "i need to clear my pipes."

you offer her the bottle of white liquor and she gratefully takes a swig, wiping the dregs from around her mouth. "i don't suppose you have a name, do you?" she raises a teasing eyebrow and her eyes flicker to your lips when you answer. "i'm lucy gray. are you liking our set?"

"yeah, its okay," you grunt. "heard worse."

lucy gray falters at that. her heart sinks and she wonders what she's done to make the conversation fizzle out so fast. before she can ask if you'd want to spend some time together, maude ivory is on the stage once more. "i reckon that's my cue to leave. m kio[it was nice to meet you."

"likewise."

lucy gray mulls over the conversation long into the early hours of the morning but it isn't until she's backstage of the hob that she sees you again.

you knock on the shack's door and it nearly snaps off the hinges. lucy gray answers, her guitar case slung over her shoulder. you hold out a bouquet of wildflowers and her brows draw into a tight line. "what are these for?"

"i got them for you and i would like want to buy you a proper drink if you'll let me."

lucy gray scoffs under her breath and throws her hands into the air. "i thought you weren't interested!"

now it's your turn to be confused. "why would think that? we were flirting yesterday!”

lucy gray laughs and she feels lighter now that the air has been cleared. “you call that flirting? honey i gotta teach you some things.”

“does that mean i can take you for that drink?” you grin.

lucy gray playfully snatches the wildflowers from your hands. “only if you’ll let me write you a song.”

#the hunger games #grace talks🐚🌷#thg #headcanons #rachel zegler #lucy gray #lucy gray baird x reader #lucy gray baird #lucy gray x reader #wlw hcs #hcs #wlw #blurbs #blurb #fem!reader #writers #writers of tumblr #thg tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes

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snickerdoodlles · 1 year ago

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Trick or treat!! <333

(sorry if i already swung by with a tot request. i honestly can't remember 🥲)

no such thing as not enough tricking or treating!! here's more of this one! so also tagging @arewedoneyet because i didn't mean to give u such a short snippet, i was just really busy and very tired yesterday > <;;

Chay swings their hands again, squeezing gently. “Guilt aside, I am grateful.” Chay’s cheeks darken as his eyes swing between Kim and their surroundings and back again shyly. “I like spending time with you.”

Kim’s own face feels hot as he forcibly swallows back his instinctive responses of spend all time with me and stay with me forever and I’d go everywhere with you. It’s getting harder to hold himself back these days. Especially at times like this, when Chay looks at him so fondly and Kim feels like he’s ready to burst.

They round the final corner and there the bus stop stands, as mundane as everyday and Kim’s most hated foe. His spite spikes when Chay perks up at the sight of it as well, and Kim slows down until he’s an anchor dragging down Chay, stealing precious more seconds and hiding his theft with pouts and other dramatics.

Chay laughs. The sky has filled with dark grey crowds since they began their walk, the dregs of sunshine pushing through turning everything color rich, and Chay glows with it. Kim hungers.

The first drop of rain is a surprise and a shock. Between one startled blink and the next, the last rays of sunshine are swallowed up and the clouds break. Kim hisses and Chay gasps at the rapidly increasingly downpour and Kim ushers Chay under the bus stop’s overhead. The rain is thunderous against the thin tin roof, and Kim has to press close to Chay to hear him.

“Kim!” Chay protests anyways, “I’m all wet!”

“I know,” Kim says unhappily. He loops his arm around Chay’s waist and pulls until Chay’s pressed entirely down his side. Chay’s clothes gently steam everywhere they touch. Chay’s hand presses against his chest, not strong enough to push them apart but about to if his worried frown is any indicator.

Kim pulls his hand away and tightens his hold with an eye-roll. “I’m fine Chay, I’m not a candle.”

Chay’s worry doesn’t budge, but he doesn’t try to pull away either. “I just don’t like leaving you out in this,” he says with a frown.

“I could still come with you,” Kim tries again. Not that he really wants Chay doing anything less than playing hooky today, tomorrow, and every day, but Kim’s trying to be better about that sort of thing.

Chay smacks Kim’s chest with a half-laugh, half-huff and starts digging through his bag. “Don’t be silly, then you’ll be stuck waiting for me all day!” Kim will still be doing that, just further away, but he’s struggles to explain that before Chay lets out a triumphant ah-hah! and holds out an umbrella.

Kim frowns and doesn’t take it. “You’re staying out all day.”

Chay rolls his eyes and pushes it into Kim’s hand. “Why do I care about rain? I brought it for you.”

All of Kim’s schemes to steal more minutes from Chay dissipate like steam.

“For me?”

Chay snorts and forces Kim to take the umbrella. “Yes, you dork, of course I did.”

Of course, he says. Kim looks out at the misty downpour and tries not to shake as the words rattle through him. Of course he did.

Kim’s second personal nemesis appears through the gloom, but the bus’s arrival is softened by Chay giving him a smile and a squeeze goodbye before he boards. Kim watches him leave silently and unblinkingly, continues staring out into the rain long after the bus’s tail-lights have faded into the mist.

When Kim finally steps back out into the rain, this time safely sequestered under Chay’s umbrella, the drop of sound from the thunderous barrage on tin to the gentle patter on cloth draws Kim up short again. It’s incredible just how much larger every little thing feels on this small scale. Kim’s so full of wants and feelings he’s shocked he can keep it all inside. Perhaps that’s why he can’t swallow back the lump in his throat, maybe he’s finally reached his max capacity.

Kim swallows back what he can and holds his hand out to catch the rain. His skin hisses and crackles and steams, but Kim doesn’t waver. He waits until his hand is fully blackened and cooled to bring it back and press it against his chest to feel the heart within pound against his ribs.

Already, his skin is beginning to pink. It won’t be long before his hand is once again too hot not to risk further scorching the precious thing. But if there’s one thing Kim’s learned on earth, it’s how to appreciate the seconds.

#kinnporsche #kimchay #au: heart burdened #trick or treat special #i am suddenly v insecure about this one but also too tired to fix ajfhjfjh #HOPE U ENJOY?

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buckets-and-trees · 11 months ago

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Happy hoelidays, my friend! I hope you enjoy this small gift. Thank you for wreaking hoeliday havoc with me 😘❄️❤️

Warnings: Soft!dark Curtis. Dub con oral sex (m receiving). Slight humiliation and cum play.

—

“There you go,” Curtis hummed, his big hand guiding the motion of your head as you sucked his cock. “I think you’re even starting to like it, if all that squirming down there is anything to go by.”

A fresh wave of tears spilled over and burned down your cheeks as you avoided Curtis’ dark, victorious gaze by hiding behind your own closed eyelids.

Because you didn’t like it, being followed outside of the bar by him. Being manhandled down the nearby alley and shoved to your knees at his feet.

But Curtis was terrifying, the leader of the local biker gang and so much bigger and stronger than you.

Even if you put up a fight or tried to scream for help, no one would save you.

And both you and Curtis knew it.

So you just kept working his thick length with your mouth, praying for it to be over soon, and despising yourself with every fiber of your being at the way your panties were flooded with your slick.

“Mmm, fuck, that’s enough,” Curtis groaned, his voice all gravel and grit as he shoved you away but kept you close with his hand collaring your nape.

You managed one shuddering inhale before his hot, sticky cum was hitting your face in messy ribbons, causing a new wave of shame to wash over. You flinched as Curtis tapped out the last dregs of his pleasure against your swollen lips before wiping the tip of his cock along your cheek.

“See, I knew you were a good girl.”

You stared at the ground between you, listening to the sound of Curtis tucking himself away and redoing the front of his jeans.

He smoothed a hand over your head like you were some kind of cherished pet before rumbling, “Till next time, sweetheart,” and then he was sauntering away, leaving you alone in the alley, shivering, burning with shame, and still on your knees for him.

SIRI!

YOU WICKED LOVELY WONDERFUL HOE!

COMPLETE MENACE!

good lord you certainly got me this time around...

someone check my pulse

Here I was, silly little Aspen, ready for a little hoeliday mischief, sending you a soft naughty Ransom, only to be utterly RUINED in the alley by soft!dark biker Curtis!

....ruined and reader might be unwilling to admit waiting for the next time Curtis will take what he wants, but I AM NOT UNWILLING TO ADMIT I'M A LITTLE DESPERATE TO GET USED BY THIS MAN AGAIN VERY SOON.

RIP me. This will be an excellent way to leave this world.

Thank you for this dark, perfect, menacing, but irresistible gift! You sincerely spoiled, took no prisoners, were not playing games when you dropped this under my tree.

#aspen asks #siri/stargazingfangirl18 #hoelidays #curtis everett smut #curtis everett x reader #tw: dubcon

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ruebrosca · 2 months ago

Text

Of Gold and Obsidian.

Chapter One: Little Dust Dreamer.

Alistair/Female Brosca

5.8K

Warnings: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Abuse, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Sexual Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con (I will add if needed, please let me know.)

Summary:

Dwarva don’t dream. Least of all the casteless brands in Dust Town. There is no point in entertaining silly little fantasies when you don't know when your next meal is. All that matters is survival, dreams don't keep you warm and fed.

But Rue dreams, in her waking hours, of an easy life topside with her sister, Rica and Leske. Where they want for nothing and have full bellies. Above ground, there's no Carta, no Beraht and definitely no Kalah. Rue and her family would finally have a home that is warm and welcoming—a dream where she can be safe.

But alas, Dwarva don't dream.

Notes:

Hi this is my first ever fanfic. I wanted more stories of my favourite wardens Brosca and Alistair, so I have dipped my toes into writing. I should mention that I'm dyslexic and have dysgraphia so if there are mistakes, I apologise. Anyhoo here ya go!!!

Chapter 1: Little Dust Dreamer

But alas, Dwarva don't dream.

When she woke up to two voices in the room, she thought nothing of it and groaned as she rolled over, grasping at the last dregs of sleep, trying to ignore the conversation but it was proving difficult, particularly due to one of the voices speaking in a hushed whisper, and the other was as loud as the bell tolls.

“I can't keep gambling on you forever, Precious.” The voice boomed, emphasising the word previous in a way that made Rue feel uneasy. It was only when she realised that the blaring voice belonged to a man, Beraht, that she shot out of bed to find her sister. She would not abide Rica being left alone with him.

They were not far from the rock slab that she and Rica called a bed. From behind the cloth screen that they used for privacy, she could see Beraht standing too close for comfort and Rica, her eyes pleading for help. As the crime lord continued, Rue joined her sister's side.

“You've got a sweet look, something to light a man on fire, but you gotta make it count.”

Rue could see the shiver of disgust roll off of Rica. By the ancestors, she despises this man with all of her being for everything He's done to her and for how he makes Rica feel. She often imagines cutting off his manhood. It helps to temper the anger she feels when she has to look at Him.

“Please Beraht, I don't want to do this in front of my sister.” Rica implored.

He chucked “Why not? She knows the slope of the land, don't you girl?” he said sleazily. Of course, Rue knows the troubles of noble hunters, but she doesn't want to hear of them from this bastard, especially about her little sister.

“Dinnae talk about my sister like that,” Rue said through gritted teeth. She wanted Him to leave, to stop this line of conversation. Well no, what she really wanted was to gut Him like a Nug and throw his body into the lava lake. Stones be damned. But she's a duster, lower than dirt and they don't get to want anything.

She knew what was coming when she answered back defiantly. She's got to give it to Him, he had a mean backhand, particularly with his gaudy rings on. The sound of his hand colliding with her cheek caused Rica to scream in surprise. The scoundrel then roughly grabbed Rue's face, demanding her to look him in the eyes.

“Before me, you both were just another couple of dusters. Now look at you. Both of you can read, write, sing and play the strings.” He spat, forcibly turning her head to face Rica cowering in the corner.

“Look at ye sister here. Braids down to her arse - Gold capped teeth. She can recite elf poetry and play the harp. Every man's dream.” He said with a smug tone. Rue finds Rica's eyes glancing between her and Beraht silently pleading for this ordeal to end. He turned her face back to his eye level, forcing Rue to slouch.

“All she's gotta do is find a lord, squeeze out some kid who looks like Him and we're all living the easy life in the diamond quarter.” He drawled, finally letting go of her face. Blood rushed to the smack on her cheek. Rica rushed to her, grabbing her arm for support, and turning her head towards Rue's ear. “Please don't get involved, you know that never goes well.” she whispered with watery eyes.

Beraht continued on his rant, pointing his finger aggressively at Rue. “I'Il treat her however I like as long as you both eat off my plate. You keep your head down and say aye to any job I decide is low enough for scum like you, in return, I put out coin so she” he now gestured to Rica. “Can doll herself up and get a belly full of some nobleman's brats then you both will be free of your debts and I get to join the family and be called milord for the rest of the little prince's life.” he remarked with satisfaction.

“I s’pose ye gotten a job for me then” Rue snarled. She was over this.

“Aye that I do. Rockface will tell you more about it.” Leske hates that nickname, so of course Beraht uses it exclusively for him.

“I just thought I’d check up on my investments and right now they don't bear much gold.” He scowled at the pair of them. “I'm giving you another week, precious if you haven't found a patron by then, you're back there sweeping streets.” he declared with a threatening tone.

Rica then spoke cautiously “But I have. I've met someone that is. I didn't want to promise but he seemed interested.”

Beraht hummed displeased and started to make his way to the exit. He turned back at the boundary of the room “Get out of ye nightie. Your pal Leske’s waiting outside. He knows what I need from you today.” He stared angrily towards Rue. “Don't even think about bungling this job. Your whole family is on loose sand with me right now and I know you don't have anywhere else to turn, understand?” He sneered, finally leaving the Brosca's alone.

Watching him leave, Rue was distracted by her worried thoughts. How long was he in their room? What if he saw her drawings? What if he found the stash of sovereigns? Suddenly Rue was brought back to the real world as Rica pinched the space above her elbow.

“Ow! What was that for ye div?” she said, rubbing the back of her arm.

“That’s for being a gobshite. He could’ve killed you!” Her sister exclaimed, throwing her hands into the air as if praying to the stones.

“Oh no, what a shame.” Rue jokes. Of course, she didn't mean it. If she died, who would protect Rica from men like Beraht?

As if she was reading her mind, Rica replied with concern. “You don't mean that.” Fussing over the red mark left behind by the slap.

“No, I deh.” Rue said softly. Wanting to lighten the mood, she started to swat at Rica's hands. "Dinnae fash! Ye heard the man, I've gotta job to do. Cannae ye get me some scran while I get ready pleaseeee?” Pulling what she hoped was her best beggar face.

“Och! Fine, get ready then.” Rica said, making her way to the main room. Rue went to relieve herself, but Rica still wanted to converse through the walls. “I'm sorry you had to see that.”

Rue rolled her eyes and hollered back “It's alright. I just hate the way he treats you! treats us! Y'ken?”

“I ken.” Rica said sullenly, clambering around the hearth. “Just be careful around Him, You've been lucky so far.”

Rue finished her business with the chamber pot, pulling her threadbare nightie over her head and tossing it on the ‘clothes chair’ in the corner.

Rica persisted from the other room. “He thinks you and Leske are funny.”

Rue searched for her breeches, pulling out clothes that looked similar.

“Y’ken some of the nobles I've met they’d sooner have your heid for speaking ye mind.”

She found the breeches, sniffed them and deeming them good enough, she tugged them over her plush thighs. Moving on to the next article of clothing Rue spun around confused, scanning for her stays, they weren't where she left them.

“Oi Red where are me stays.” She shouted towards the doorway.

Her sister answered back a little too quickly “I’m borrowing them, they're cleaner than mine.”

“Yeah, but yours are too small for me.” She grabbed Rica's handmade stays, loosening the front laces and pulling the garment over her head. She scooped her tits into the correct position and started tightening the front.

Rica then re-entered the shared room with a plate of only slightly mouldy bread and a cup of something steaming. “Well sorry, not all of us can be blessed by the ancestors like you are.”

Rue nabbed the bread from the plate and scoffed. “Ha! More like cursed to back pain till the end of my days.” She paused, picking off the mouldy bits. She chucked a piece of bread into her mouth. “Now then, tell us more about this patron.”

Rica signed longingly. “He’s sweet and easy to talk to. Plus, he treats me right. He'll be a good match if he's interested.”

Rue took the cup of what she now knows is the two-day-old bone broth. She sipped before she responded. “Just be careful, even sweet men can hurt ye.” Rue knew all too well.

“Aye, I ken. It's just Beraht's been warning me ever since two of his other girls found patrons at lord harrowmont reception, they've been getting gifts already!” The red-headed said with a weary smile. Whilst Rica continued speaking, Rue placed the cup down and began to tame her dark curls into a low bun. “Lord Rustin gave Elsie a surface silk gown, and she's not even pregnant! Beraht's getting impatient.”

Rue signed, “I wish we didn't have to work for Him.”

Rica laughs. “I wish we could just go and walk the deep roads until we find a magical crystal kingdom and live happily until the stones embrace.” She spoke with a dejected tone, “But it's not happening.”

“Ye ken the other options, cleaning middens, begging, going to the surface.” Rica shuddered as if the surface could be worse than dust town. What Rue's read about it, it sounds like bloody paradise. Though anywhere sounds like paradise when compared to this horrific place.

“No, unless ye find a way to save us all from the darkspawn and become a Paragon, we’re pretty much on Beraht's leash for life.” Rica mumbled, picking at her nails nervously.

“No pressure then.” Rue remarked dryly, “Someone like me could ne’er actually be a Paragon.” She continued getting ready, pulling a dress over her head. It's rough and scratchy.

Her sister lit up. “It wouldn't be the first time.” Rica loves the histories of paragons. “Gherlon the Blood-Risen was born casteless, you know, before he went to the surface. And he came back and won the throne!” She said with glee.

“Many Paragons have humble origins. All that matters is that the Assembly recognises their achievements.” She proclaimed with a hopeful smile. She proceeded while Rue was wrapping her weapons belt around her waist, cinching in the fabric. “And once they get that vote, they found their own house, and are as noble as if the ancestors themselves had made it so.”

Rue signed “Imagine, founding our own house…” A girl could dream, right?

“So, what are you standing around here for? Go do something great!” Rica teased in the way only a sister could be permitted to.

“Aye! That would certainly surprise Mam.” Rue chuckled. She didn't much care what Kalah thought. She felt nothing but resentment towards their mother. However, Rue couldn't deny the delight she'd feel if was able to shove an achievement like Paragon in the drunken's face. She made her way to where they kept their makeup and began putting on her kohl, preening into the small looking glass.

“Och, don't pay attention to her. She's just a bitter old drunk.” Rica replied. “Make something of yourself just to spite her.” the corners of her mouth rose into a tentative, warm smile.

Rue mirrored her sister's expression “Maybe I will at that.”

Rica's smile grew. “Maybe ye will.” A sense of contentment washed over them as they revelled in this small moment.

But the moment couldn't last forever. Rica let out an exasperated sign. “But until then, we can only serve as Beraht demands, and he won't like it if either of us is late.”

“Aye. I'm going.” Making her way to the door, She turned on the spot. “Have ye got ye knife?”

Rica grinned. “Yes! And if anything happens I'll meet you at the usual place. Now go!”

“Alright, alright. I'm going for real this time.” And with that Rue left their shared room, intent on leaving the home.

She didn't get far before being stopped in her tracks by her mam. With a bottle in hand, Kalah was slumped in a chair, close to the hearth.

“Whozzat? Why are ye bothering me? Rica?” She groaned, obviously just awoken from a drunken haze.

Rue spoke with a mocking deep tone “No. It's the king of Orzammar. I heard you were single.”

“Don't ye sass me, ye ungrateful brat! I made ye and I can make another just like ye.”

Rue rolled her eyes. “Hmm. Of course, Kalah. Whatever you say.”

“Ye got ya head in the smoke. Ye Da was like that, too.” The older woman grumbled

“Well, at least he managed to get out of here.” Rue didn't often wonder what life would have been like if her da took her with Him to the surface. There was no purpose in hypotheticals. Plus she couldn't ever imagine life without her sister.

“Aye. Left me with a shrieking babe to feed, not a coin on the table.” Kalah contemplated the flames before she resumed with her tripe. “No, we're born with one coin to barter, and it's between your legs." Her lips drew back in a snarl. “So ye better show some sodding gratitude, or do I have to beat it outta you?”

Her jaw clenched, Rue spoke through gritted teeth “Lay one hand on me or Rica again, and I will kill you, ye ken.”

“It was for your own good. The world's a cruel place, Ye..” Kalah paused “Ye had to learn that” Rue crossed her arms over her chest. Her mother always tried to justify the abuse she enacted, as though it was her motherly responsibility.

“You think you'd be where you are now if I'd let you hide from a few slaps? Everything you are, I made ye!” She cursed.

Rue scoffed, “I've got work to do.” She advanced towards the front door. She threw a glance at her mother. “Do try to dry out by the time I get home.” She insisted with a fake smile.

Opening the door with vigour then expected, Rue left for the slums, but not before hearing her Mam shrill “Hey, where are ye going? Why's she leaving? Don’t leave me.” Rica replied “Nevermind that Mother, why don't you just lie down?”

_________________________________

Dust Town is Orzammar's most impoverished quarter, home to the unwanted, the broken and those whose ancestors have forsaken them. These ruins of palaces of old are now a haven for crime and poverty. The streets are unclean with decades of filth covering the stone. The smell of smog is burning and the air is hot and heavy. This is where Rue and all those who are casteless reside.

She finds Leske not far from her home, leaning on a broken pillar, his umber skin contrasts against sandstone. He smooths over his new boxer braids, killing time. His eyes light up once he notices movement from the house.

“About sodding time. I was starting to think I'd have to bust in and get eyeful of that spicy sister of yours.” He teased.

Rue signed exasperated.“Haven't I told ye never to talk about my sister that way?”

“You're just jealous because you want the majesty of Leske for yoursen, ye shameless hussy.” He raised his eyebrows suggestively. “What do ye say?”

“Last I saw of ya ‘majesty’, the sceptre was a little...soft.” She retorted

He looked away with a sheepish expression, “I..kinda hoped you'd forgotten that..”

Eager to get going, Leske remarked in a serious tone. “As much as I’d love to keep chatting, we'd better get down to business.” He gestures with his hand for her to lead the way to the checkpoint.

“Aww. Here I was hoping our mission was me making fun of ye.” Rue pouted

He smirked. “No such luck.”

“Boss says we're out for a search-and- discipline. One of his smugglers is holding out on him.” They strolled side by side, passing landmarks like decrepit shelters and vagabonds alike.

“Name's Oskias. Some surfacer. Beraht got word that he's been selling shipments topside that never make it to Beraht's ears down here.” Leske motions with his hands. “He wants us to find the rotter and see what goods he's holding back.”

“He's stealing from Beraht? I like him already.” She chuckled.

He gave her a lopsided grin. “Aye well, yours will be a short and tragic relationship.”

“Any idea where this Oskias is?”

“All he told me is ‘Find him.’ Duster's got some family from the Merchant Caste. He's probably staying near their quarters.” He jutted his head towards the commons.

Their conversation died down as they moved past the lone guard at the edge of dust town. It was clear where Dust Town ended and the rest of Orzammar began. The road turned from sandy tracks to polished cobblestones and fine dwarven craftsmanship was in abundance. The river of lava illuminates the commons area in a warm hue in addition to pleasantly heating the entire cavern.

Rue stopped near an alcove, Leske followed, She quickly surveyed her surroundings before speaking in a hushed tone.“I reckon we check Tapster's. Poor sod’s probably getting pished.”

“Aye. You ready to show him some pain?”

“I don't think we have to kill the bastard.”

“We’re not just killing him. First, we take back anything he stole and then we kill him.” He responded casually. “Come on. You can feel bad later.” He jogged to the tavern.

She looked up, silently imploring to the ancestors,the stone and any other deities that may look upon her before following him. “Ugh! Fine. But let's at least find out what he's done.”

He held the door open for her, shaking his head. “Whatever lets you sleep at night, my friend.”

The tavern is bustling with life. The smell of old ale is pungent and there's a low drone of chatter that lulls to a stop once the dusters walk in before returning to the normal volume. Tapster’s doesn't permit castless but they've got a job to do.

The bartender gave them a quick glance, not stopping in at the task in hand, cleaning glasses. “No casteless.”

Rue hums. “Seems you've got an open-door policy on martyrs, though.”

“Who the dust are... oh.” He said with an annoyed tone before giving the pair a proper peek. “My mistake. I didn't realise you're one of his.” He stutters. “I - l'm not looking for any trouble.”

Rue on her charming mask, knocking on the bar, Leske behind her. “Don't worry Salroka, just tell me if you know where to find a sod named Oskias.”

“Is that what this is about?” He breathed a sigh of relief. “He's here all right.” He jerked his head towards a solitary man ruminating on his reflection in his mug. “Right over there. Been nursing that same mug half the day. Paid up front, though. Good silver. What 's he done?”

“Made Beraht unhappy. Bad idea for him.”

“l'l say. You, uh, you do what you have to.” He paused for a moment. “Just try and keep it neat please. I'm still paying for this space.”

Rue gave Him a thankful nod, pushing herself off of the bar. She waved Leske to Oskias’ table. He pulled out a chair for her and she gracefully plopped down, whilst Leske manoeuvred to the back of Oskias.

Oskias looked up from his drink, disgruntled. He’s a little too tipsy to notice the movement behind Him. “Hey, I was saving that seat!”

Leske peered over Oskias’ shoulder, grabbing the back of the chair “That's real thoughtful, Oskias.” pushing the chair in till the table was uncomfortably pressed into Oskias' stomach. “lt's tiring work looking for you.”

“H-how do you know my name?

Rue retrieved her fan knife from her belt, flipping it to calm her nerves. It also caused Oskias to get visibly anxious, which would certainly help speed up this encounter. She was glad she remembered to put on kohl, she always thought it helped make her look more intimidating.

“Let's just say we've got a mutual friend” She spoke in a seedy tone.

“Oh, no, You're not from Beraht, are you? He's trembling now.

Rue grinned, touching the tip of her knife to her nose and pointing at Oskias with her free hand, making Leske snicker.

“Got it in one, Salroka.”

He was panicking now, babbling incomplete thoughts “.Because that would be too much. l don't think I - I could handle--”

She shushed him. “Calm down. There's no reason we can't keep this civilised, yeah?”

“You mean you're not here to kill me?” He relaxes a little.

“Of course not!” She scoffed in a joking manner. “This is just a friendly inspection.”

“Just making sure you didn't accidentally pocket any processed lyrium, ye ken.” Leske yanked the chair back, surprising the occupant, making him yelp.

“L-look I always been loyal to Beraht. He's been good to my family: I know how much I owe Him.”

She shot Leske a look, He responded with a shrug.

“Search his bags.” She ordered.

“My pleasure.” Her partner in crime roughly grabbed the bag slung across Oskias' body.

“W-wait! I do have some lyrium. It's just ore. I-I made a side deal with one of the mining families.” He wheedled. Rue gestured with her knife for Him to continue speaking.

“If it worked out, I was gonna bring Beraht his cut, I swear. I-l'd be crazy not to.”

“Suicidal, one might say.” Leske chimed in.

“How much ore did ye take?” She queried.

“Just a little. Maybe twenty-five sovereigns worth--”

Leske wore a stunned expression. “Twenty-five sovereigns?”

“Most of that's with my buyers on the surface. I just picked up a few nuggets down here.” He said casually, trying to make this mishap trivial. “If I were to.. maybe give you a piece, that's a lot of coin. Could you, uh, forget to mention this to Beraht?”

“I'm listening…”

“I-I don't got any coin myself, I make that topside. But you can take the ore, sell it, maybe get enough to get out of this nest?

Now that was a plan, Rue contemplated. This payload, plus the stash she had would be enough to bribe a smuggler safe passage for her, Rica and Leske to go to the surface and make a proper living.

Oskias looked between the pair, unsettled by the quiet. “What do you say?”

“Give me all ye have, and I'll pretend ye weren't here.”

“All I have is the two nuggets, but they're yours if you let me out of here.”

This could work, she thought. One nugget for Beraht, one nugget to sell. Split the profits equally. Bing, bang, bosh and job's a gooden.

“Are ye breathing smoke? Beraht'll kill ye if he catches ye with his lyrium!” Leske alarmed.

“Och. Ye think I wouldn't share with me best friend?”

“Well, that's a whole other story, We'd need to sell it before we go back to Beraht. And to someone who won't turn to him.” He said with a conspiratorial smirk.

“Tell you what--cut me in fifty and we'll take it to Olinda. Remember her? She likes me and refuses to work with the old man.”

Rue mirrored his smirk. “Deal.”

“Then what happens to me?” Oskias muttered in a nervous tone.

Rue fidgeted with her knife for a moment, pretending to contemplate his fate. She wasn't going to kill him, He hadn't hurt anyone, He just pissed off the wrong man. And stole from him but that was beside the point.

“Go up to the surface and never come back.” She threatened.

Making his way back to her side, Leske put Oskias' bags across his shoulder. “We'll have to tell Beraht he's dead. If he ever finds out…”

“He won't, I swear! You'll never see me in Orzammar again.” He got up quickly, putting his hands low as though he was taming a wild bronto. “Thank you! You're as kind as you are beautiful! May the ancestors bless your steps.” Rue snorted at that, she was letting him live, he didn't need to lie for his life anymore.

“Go on. Off with ya.” Rue watched him strided out hastily, almost stumbling over a stool.

Leske touched her shoulder, a silent command for them to leave. They didn't speak again until they were in the commons, on their way to Olinda’s.

“We've got to trade this lyrium in quick and get back before Beraht starts wondering what we've been doing.” He looked around nervously “Un... unless you think we should give it all to Beraht.”

“We'll sell one and tell Beraht we found one on Oskias.”

“Yeah aye. He'd probably buy that. If he knew what Oskias was hoarding, he wouldn't have sent us to look, right?” He rationalised. “Unless he was testing us…”

“Dinnae fash. It'll all be reet. Just point me at this merchant.”

“Hmm. Then we'd better go find Olinda. She used to give me crusts off her week's-end loaf when I were wee bairn. She's got a soft spot for me.” He said with a fond smile.

Leske stopped for a moment “Was that smart, Rue? If Beraht finds out Oskias ran, he'll kill you, he'll kill me. He'll make you kill me then yourself. Then he'll probably stew us and serve us to the poor.”

She gave him a small smile. “Leske, I'm not gonna kill ya. And no one's gonna stew us. We'd taste terrible, too tough.”

Rue needed to calm him down a little before they made it back to Beraht lest he crack under the crime lord's stare.

“Plus it's too late for regrets now. Poor cunt’s halfway to the surface by now.”

“We should sell this quick and report back before Beraht starts wondering what's taking so long.”

Before long they found themselves near the market stall. The shopkeep recognised Leske instantly.

“Leske! You old scamp, what're you doing here? Trying to charm me out of another set of ribbons for your girl?”

Rue smiles. She remembers the bright red ribbons. A gift for one of her name days. She cherishes them and loves braiding them into her dark unruly curls.

Leske leans on the stall “Trying to talk you into being my girl, Olinda. You know my heart's breaking for you.”

“Don't you go saying that around my husband.” She blushed “Now then, who's your friend?”

“I'm Rue. Pleased to meet you.” Firmly grabbing Olinda’s forearm and shaking it.

Pleased with her manners, the shopkeep grinned “You're welcome to look around. I’ll slide on the mark-up since you're Leske's friend, but I can't give anything away for free.”

“Actually, we've got some lyrium to sell you.” Rue nodded to Leske, taking the bag off and showing Olinda the contents.

“Well..that's not what I was expecting to hear cross those lips. Where exactly would someone like you pick up lyrium?” she asked with a curious tone.

Rue could understand why Leske was fond of Olinda. She has warm brown eyes that make you want to spill all your rotten secrets.

“Call it a gift.”

She frowned “Hmm. I can guess who you might have got this gift from. Leske, you know I don't do his business.”

“This is just us, Shaper's honour.” He put a hand over his chest. “You won't get in with Beraht if you buy it.”

With a cautious expression she inquired. “How much do you have?”

“To sell? One nugget.” Rue replied.

“I can give you thirty silvers per nugget.” She was business-like now. A true merchant caste.

“Only thirty-” Leske sagged with disappointment. Olinda notices

“It's less than it's worth, I won't lie to you, but the market for it's topside and that won't be easy for me to reach.”

Leske nodded along. “I'll have to find a buyer who won't ask where it came from. For that, I can't afford more than thirty.”

“You got a deal, Salroka.” Rue agreed.

“All right, then. Let me take that off your hands.” The goods were exchanged and coin changed hands. Oskias' bag placed back across Leske's shoulder.

“And friends, you probably shouldn't come around here for a while... just in case.” she added wearily.

And with that the dusters set off for Beraht’s shop.

_______________________________

The rogues could hear Beraht before they saw him. It was like the man didn't know how to speak quietly and considering the subject matter, it's a skill he should learn quickly.

They entered the shop, and stood in front of a desk, waiting for the conversation to end.

“The king is old. His rule won't hold much longer.” Beraht bellowed.

Jarvia, the Carta's second-in-command, is positioned to the side of the desk. Which is just grand. The bitch despised Rue and the feeling was mutual. She just made every interaction insufferable.

“Prince Bhelen seems far more sympathetic to our interests than Trian.” Jarvia chimed in.

“Bhelen has some tastes of his own that he knows I can provide--” He said with a smug smile. He spared a glance to the audience.“We'll finish this later.”

He scowled at the pair in front of Him. “It's about time you two showed up. What happened with Oskias?”

She answered plainly “He's guilty. Here's the goods.”

Leske put the bag gently on the desk, opening it for everyone to see. Beraht peered in.

“One lousy, nugget? You want me to believe that 's all he got off with?”

Leske replied “He said he kept most of it topside. That was all he had on him.”

“Very interesting, seeing how my cousin was at the Tapsters earlier and he says he saw something change hands between you and Oskias.” Beraht stood from his chair and rounded the table.

“And then the duster sodding stood up and walked out on his own two feet!”. He spat quite literally. Rue closed her eyes once the spit hit her cheek.

“Does that sound like what I asked?” He turned towards the other woman. “Jarvia, what does that sound like to you?”

Jarvia sneered, looking smug “Sounds like some jumped- up face-brands thought they could take a bribe and let him walk free. That's just not right.”

The mobster turned back to the pair. “The lady says it's not right. You wouldn't disagree with a lady, would you?”

Rue gave jarvia a dirty look. “Depends on the lady.”

Beraht slammed his fist suddenly on the desk. “Do you really think right now is a time to get clever with me?”

“Oskias is dead. We just didnae do it in public.” Rue said curtly.

“Right. I mean, no one's gonna say spit to you, Beraht, but we cannae move that free. We needed to get Oskias somewhere private.” Leske intervened, trying to de-escalate the situation. “We took Him to the lava sinks behind the mines. You won't be seeing Him again.” speaking with his hands.

Beraht thought for a moment, hand caressing his beard. “Hmm. I don't like you making me look weak.. but it's smart to try to keep the Sword Castes from asking questions.” He was satisfied by their answer. Jarvia looked less convinced with their lie but said nothing.

“Now, I got another job for ya. Make some use of your... unique skills.”

“Let me guess; We dinnae have a choice.” Rue retorted in a dry tone.

“You're catching on.” He responded in the same manner. “The Warrior Caste's hosting a Proving today--all the best fighters, last man standing--you know the sort of thing.” He leaned nonchalantly onto the table, as though the topic at hand was boring.

“They're showing off for some Grey Warden who's looking for candidates to drag off to a life of eternal glory.” Waving his hand dismissively.

“Now, it's not often we get every name fighter - in Orzammar lined up like that, and I have certain acquaintances who... take an interest in this sort of thing.”

Just grand, we're rigging a bloody proving. Rue reasoned. That won't bite us in the arse later.

“You're taking bets on the fighters.” She stated.

“There's a lot of coin to be made when people get the fever up. Favoured fighter's an officer named Mainar, veteran of four darkspawn campaigns.”

He smiled a toothy, sly grin. “Everd's a long-shot. Just got back from a Deep Roads offensive. Some young buck who has all the ladies drooling.”

He stopped leaning and stood at his full height. He was attempting to make Himself some menacing, but Rue only got satisfaction that she was taller than the mobster. “l've got a lot of money riding on him, mine and other people's. I expect to see that eight-to-one pay off, understand?”

“Aye. I do.”

“The fight only gets announced to contestants themselves.. to prevent illegal gambling. So first, you'll have to find Everd, see who he's fighting, and when.”

“So how are we supposed to help Everd win?”

“When the name Mainar comes up, I want you to slip this drug into the bastard's water.” Beraht ordered.

Oh it gets better, Rue thinks. Not only were they gonna rig the fight, they were gonna do it by drugging a warrior caste. Fucking brilliant.

Beraht nodded to Jarvia, who in turn pulled out a small vial of clear liquid. She handed it to Leske. Beraht continued with his instructions.“It'll slow his reflexes, Just enough to take the edge off, not enough to show. But it wears off quickly, so don't use it until just before his fight.”

“Alright. We'll go right now.” Eager to leave, Rue pocketed the vial into a small pouch on her belt.

“You bet you will. Here's your pass to get on the grounds.” She grabbed that too and folded it up. “Proving starts as soon as the clock strikes.”

Beraht snatched Rue's arm tightly and spoke through gritted teeth. “And when I say I have coin on this, I'm not talking about some pittance, like the value of your life. if I don't see Everd's name on the winner's sheet, you'd better make sure I never see you, or your sister ever again.”

Rue nodded, words failing her. She left quickly, joining Leske outside.

“Come on. Let's go rig a fight!” He said in an almost cheery tone.

Rue added dryly, “Yeah, I'm sure nothing cannae go wrong.”

This was gonna be a long day.

#dragon age origins #brosca #warden brosca #dwarf commoner origin #alistair x warden #alistair x brosca

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envysnest · 1 year ago

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the absolutely braindead responses to the jonah hill situation honestly reflect why i don't want to date cishet men or engage with the christian right going forward. silly little rant under the cut

the pointless belittling of sarah, the abuse apologism, the therapyspeak, the "WHY DIDN'T SHE JUST LEAVE," the endless inching of goalposts--

god, ENOUGH. NO ONE CARES ABOUT YOUR OPINION. NO ONE THINKS YOU'RE FUNNY. grow a fucking brain cell and THINK for a moment.

and honestly twitter is overdue to die because i keep blocking these accounts and i can't get them all. sometimes i luck out and see NOTHING in the comments, and other times it's like a tidal wave of sludge. just the dregs of humanity. the absolute worst, ankle-biting, useless, banal evil. it is DARK on there. i have to stop going on block sprees because it's like snorkeling in a pool of pure motor oil. it angers and depresses me every. single. time.

inevitably, every single one of these people's bios is like "christian. god fearing. maga. three children. motorcycle enthusiast" like they make these people in a vat JUST to be cruel and insensitive. even if they're bots, who the hell is making all of these bots just to be contrarian and triggering? why the fuck has our society come to THIS?

obvs i'm not posting this on twitter because i don't want like, john3747484 calling me a whore on my own damn post, and it's so sad that social media is like that now. everyone is so full of hatred. everyone thinks being mean and pea-brained is funny. everyone thinks every topic can be "debated" and metered out into absolute oblivion, or until the other party gives up (whichever comes first).

i can't unsee it!!! and every time a woman comes forward with the same tale of abuse, every time a trans person tries to just EXIST, every time a woman like keke palmer tries to take joy in herself, it is the same. damn. people. just there to be contrarian and joyless.

i just KNOW hell will be very full and VERY annoying 100 years from now.

#text posts

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stabby-sheepy-writes · 4 months ago

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The Christmas Spirit

Genre: Horror, 5.4k words

TW: Eldritch Horror, Body Horror, Spiders

AN: I wrote this as a silly lesbian spoof off of hallmark movies, and then got super inspired by Love Death and Robot's Beyond the Aquila Rift, and this monstrosity became the result. Not my best work, but was still fun

Summary: A lesbian Christmas hallmark movie gone wrong

The apartment was dark when she finally opened the door and unceremoniously kicked her heels down the hallway before even stepping through the threshold. Keys dumped into a dedicated bowl on a side table next to the door, an expensive purse hung up on the coat rack right above it, followed by the sluggish figure of an exhausted business woman as she closed and locked the door behind her. She shrugged off her heavy coat, hanging it up on its hook and trudging over to the bathroom to strip her makeup off and get changed.

Her dinner was the last roll of crackers in her barren pantry and the last, sad dregs of wine from the Sangria box in her empty fridge. She’d find time out of her schedule to go shopping, but she had the weekly report due tomorrow and God knows she wouldn’t have it in on time unless she took overtime--nevermind the next week’s report, which she may have to go into the office on Saturday to get a head start on. She simply had no time--she’d have to live with UberEats and cheap chinese takeout until month’s end.

Her phone buzzed on the counter. It had been buzzing since yesterday, perhaps even the day before. She had been ignoring it to focus on work, as she was a busy business woman and simply didn’t have the time. But something drew tired eyes over to the screen, and she picked it up to look at the text.

Mom: Are you coming to Christmas dear? --sent 8:32 am I know you’re busy, but it’s important you come this year, sweetie --sent 11:12am I have all these pies and christmas cookies and nobody to eat them! You don’t want to leave your dear old mother in a bind, do you? ;)--sent 6:02pm …It’s what your father would have wanted, Diana. Please. --sent just now

Diana looked down at her phone screen with a sense of deja vu. A moment passed, and finally her fingers moved to respond--a practiced movement, something they’ve done hundreds of times before.

Diana: Fine. Make chocolate chip for me.

The drive to Logsville had a lot more backroads then Diana remembered. Twists and turns in old country roads that sometimes had her gritting her teeth and feeling grateful for the tires’ treads. It had rained the night before, and the morning frost had turned the roads to ice--slick enough for her little red car to drift a bit more than she would like, and have her driving at a crawl to avoid ending up in a ditch.

The radio was playing soft christmas music, Mariah Carrey having been defrosted before thanksgiving this year in order to sing over and over on Diana’s several-hour car ride back home. It seemed like no matter what station she switched to, the song was playing on loop.

Mom must be happy, Diana chuckled, eyes glancing off the road to instead look down at the radio controls, she loves this damn song.

She moved her hand to try and fiddle with the volume controls, focusing a tad too much on the button that always got itself stuck instead of the patch of ice and snow that had appeared in the road ahead of her. When her tire hit the patch and skidded, she jerked her head back up just in time to feel the wheel wrench in her hands, the car swerve, and to get a split second to get a good look spiky green needles of the Noble Fir she was careening towards before the airbags smashed into her face and her car crashed into the tree.

The whiplash made her neck crack, the impact and press of the airbags slamming the air out of her lungs. There was a moment where she thought she was dead--a stillness in the air, cold seeping into her fingers and toes. Deja vu set in for a moment as she floated, before she was pulled back by the voice of Mariah Carrey sputtering back to life from her radio. She slowly lifted her head from the airbags, groaning at the ache of her joints and body as she blearily grabbed her phone, unbuckled her seatbelt, and pushed open her car door. Unceremoniously, and also because the front of her car was buckled and crushed inward, she rolled herself out and face first into the snow.

“God damnit…” Diana huffed, lifting herself up as she slowly regained her breathing. A quick once over showed she was fine, a prickling in her back making her wince as she stretched and turned to look over at her car. The front end was crumpled, the windshield smashed and filled with leaves from the fir tree--she carefully reached in to pull out her purse, thankful for the lack of glass.

“You know, Noble Firs are top sellers this time of year. Don’t know how I feel about you wrecking my stock first thing upon coming home, sweet potato.” a warm, deep voice chuckled from behind her. Diana swung around, head craning to look up at a familiar woman who smirked down at her. She was brown-skinned, had warm brown eyes and red-dyed hair with shaved sides. Tattoos swirled up the skin of her neck and on the back of her hands, a heavy letterman jacket layered beneath an even heavier winter coat. A familiar sharp-toothed grin was plastered across a handsome face, making her skin tingle with the memories of the things that smile did to her back in highschool. She banished said thoughts, a pang of annoyance causing a sigh to huff out as Diana took in the large, muscled form of her ex-girlfriend.

“I haven’t been your sweet potato in 10 years, Talia. And it's not like I meant to crash my car into your damn…tree farm? I thought this was Bill’s land?” Diana questioned, eyes averting from the warm brown gaze of the woman to instead focus on the large ax across her shoulders, and the snow mobile hitched to a sled with several trees a few yards behind her.

“Figured your mother would’a told you, but Bill retired in July,” Talia hummed, “got too old to handle the work. Gave the christmas tree farm to me to manage and run.” She glanced over Diana’s shoulder, cocking a brow and lips furling up into a more teasing grin.

”Don’t think that thing’s gonna be running anytime soon--you need a ride home, sweet potato? Ain’t too far, and I need to run this bunch back to the shed anyway.”

Diana rolled her eyes at the nickname, shivering as the cold started eating through her thinner winter coat, “Do I have much of a choice?”

“Well, you could walk, but I don’t recommend it,” Talia hummed, turning and heading back to the snow mobile, “but you always were a stubborn one--still just as cute as it was when we were teenagers.”

With a grumbled curse and the flushing of her cheeks, Dania stomped through the snow after her to climb on.

The ride back was mostly in silence, Dania pressed up against and hugging the other woman’s back purely to try and conserve warmth. Talia was, thankfully, silent and mentioned nothing about Diana’s hands against her abdomen other than to tell her to wrap her arms tighter so she didn’t fall off. Her torso was still just as solid as it used to be, and memories of nights curled up against the other woman’s stomach while lying in bed filled Diana’s mind, despite her attempts to banish them.

“So, uh, how have things been?” She finally asked, latching on to conversation in the hopes of changing her focus off of her still-possibly-lingering attraction to the woman she was pressed up against. Talia hummed, the engine and her back rumbling in sync as they made their way between the rows of Christmas trees.

“Been alright--focused on running the place, as well as helping your Momma set up for the town Christmas festival. It’s the same bakeoff as always, but this year I’m in charge of the central Christmas Tree. Your Momma said with Bill retiring off it was high time to appoint me in charge of it.”

Diana nodded, eyes peeking over Talia’s shoulder to see the approaching town, “Bet you’re real excited about that. You’ve dreamed about having that job since we were in 4th grade.”

Talia let out a small giggle, uncharacteristic of a woman her size and yet something that Diana remembered hearing for years, during snow ball fights and later on between bed sheets--”You still remember that, huh? I’m sure it ain’t near as impressive as that big-wig city job you got.”

It was a jab, Diana knew--they had broken up over it, after all. Still, she turned her head to press her cheek against Talia’s warm back and watch them pass by the border of the tree farm and head towards the town.

“Of course I’d remember,” was the last thing she said, and the rest of the ride was in silence.

Her mother was waiting for her once she returned, a worried look on her face melting away once she saw Diana on the back of Talia’s snowmobile: ”Honey! You had me worried sick--where’s your car?”

“Found her hugging one of my trees, Ma’am, I’ll get one of the boys to tow it back to town later today. Figured you’d want Diana home safe first,” Talia answered, turning the vehicle off so that Diana could step off and head towards the front steps of her childhood home. Her mother met her on the third step, cupping her face and turning it side to side to inspect.

“I’m fine, Momma--just didn’t see a patch of ice in the road. The car is totaled though--hope you don’t mind putting me up in my old room longer than the original few days,” Diana grumbled, eyes taking in her mother’s well-dressed figure and humming, “did you just get off of work?”

Her face was released and her mother smiled and shook her head, “Mayor’s job never clocks out, sweetie, but you understand that. Come inside and get settled in, Momma will make you a cup of tea. I’m sure your nerves are shot--would you like to come in, Talia?”

Diana opened her mouth to try to protest, but a hand resting itself on her shoulder cut her off as Talia smiled, winked down at her and said, “Why, I’d love to Ma’am, long as I’m not intruding.”

“Of course not, dear, you know you’re always welcome--why, Diana, have I told you how helpful Talia has been these days? Barely a day goes by where I don’t have her fixing up something in this old house.” Her mother grinned, turning to open the front door and invite the two of them inside.

Diana huffed, ready to retort something along the lines of Talia needing to get her car towed, when the soft sound of sobbing caught her attention. Shuddering breaths, gasping for air and the heaving sound of crying--just barely audible over the winter’s wind. She turned to look around, brows furrowed in confusion as the source of the near-silent crying seemed to shift and waver, unable to be pinpointed. Her eyes picked through the town that was visible from the stairs, looking between houses that showed little movement and at a strangely-empty town square.

“Hey, Momma? Do you hear that?” Diana called out, turning back to look up at the two women waiting for her at the doorstep. Her mother simply peeked her head out, shaking her head while Talia regarded her with a…strange look.

“Hear what, sweetheart? Are you sure you’re feeling alright? The crash may have shaken your nerves,” her mother hummed, gesturing for Diana to come closer, “and I’m sure the bustling from the square isn’t helping--everybody is so busy setting up for the fair, after all.”

“But nobody is in the square, I just looked--” Diana turned around again, double-taking when the square was filled with life. People hanging decorations, putting up stands and talking amongst one another. Children all dressed up in warm clothes chasing and having snowball fights. The crying was gone. Her head hurt, and she shook to clear her mind and turned away.

“You must be right, Momma,” Diana groaned, hand going up to pinch her brow, “I must not be thinking straight.”

She followed behind her mother inside the house, Talia coming around behind her to shut the door. Diana kicked her shoes off at the door, looking around the familiar inside of her childhood home. The hallway was full of baby pictures, and pictures of her father before he had passed away. The stairs leading up to the second floor, where her old room was. The side door to her father’s old office--a room she had never been inside, not even when he was alive. It still smelled the same--like apple pie and spices--and reminded her of just how long it had been since she had been home.

Her eyes glanced over to the office door, curiosity capturing her attention--but as soon as she thought to reach for the knob, the warmth of a solid torso pressed against her back.

“Hallway ’s too small for you to linger, sweet potato,” Talia chuckled, “and I don’t think you’d take too kindly to me carrying you into your kitchen.”

Diana jerked, blushing and walking down the hallway, grumbling out “Still not your sweet potato” as she went.

Talia left after an hour, leaving Diana to rest in her old room as her mother left to cook dinner downstairs in the kitchen. Her fingers were cold and stiff, her neck still cricked from what she figured was whiplash. She had been told to try and get some rest, but the prickling against the square of her back kept her awake as she stared up at the ceiling before she finally gave up and sat back up. She padded downstairs, standing idly in the living room--unsure if she should help her mother cook, or walk around town to try and work off the headache that pressed against her skull.

It was in this moment of decision that she heard the crying once more. Still quiet, but in the steady silence of the house she was able to pick up on it better. She swerved her head around, looking through doorways and out windows, seeing no source and getting no closer to finding it.

“Honey, are you awake?” Her mother called, sticking her head through the kitchen doorway and smiling at her--”You’re up earlier than I thought you’d be, sweetie. Couldn’t get down?”

Diana glanced over at her smiling face, inspecting for any sign of something being wrong--but her mother looked like she always did, curly hair pulled up and dark skin freshly lotioned to prevent any ashiness from the cold. After a moment, she responded back: “I’m fine, Momma. Just couldn’t get down. I’m thinking about taking a small walk around town, that okay?”

Her Momma smiled and nodded, “Of course sweetie, just be back by 6 so Momma can feed you. I’m making your favorite dessert tonight, it’s already in the oven. I know how much you’ve missed my sweet potato pie.”

Diana sighed and nodded, shrugging on her coat and passing by her Dad’s old office with only a twinge of temptation to peek inside, “Thank you Momma, I’ll be home in a bit. Love you.”

The town was just as she remembered, bustling and filled with the smell of baked goods and christmas pine. She didn’t make it far before she came across Talia and several men from the tree farm hauling a massive fir tree into the square, putting up the base supports and tying loops of rope around the trunk in order to safely haul it up to stand proudly in the center of the town. Diana stopped to watch, allowing herself for a brief moment to admire her ex like she used to when they were still in highschool together. Rippling muscles, charisma falling out of her ass with a smile that was the brightest thing this side of paradise and a laugh louder than the horns of Rapture and just as sweet.

Diana remembered sadly the fight that had ended them--she had gotten her job, a big opportunity that was too far for her to possibly ever commute. It was what had to happen, she had said, the money was too good and the work experience too valuable. Talia had asked if it would make Diana happy, or if it was all about the idea of success that she had been chasing since she was a little girl--and to this day, Diana still didn’t have an answer. But watching someone that she used to love--someone who still stirred up butterflies in her stomach whenever her brown eyes met Diana’s own--made her wonder if she had made the right choice leaving all those years ago. When those brown eyes finally met her own, and she was greeted with a wide, teasing smile, Diana flushed and quietly, softly admitted to herself that she knew the answer.

“Ah! I see sweet potato decided to come bless me with her presence--give me a few moments and I’ll be right over” Talia called, exchanging quick words with the men before jogging over to Diana’s side. The tip of her nose was flushed red, visible even with her darker skin, and Diana felt the overwhelming urge to give it a kiss to warm it up.

“You don’t have to, I know you’re busy. I was just taking a small walk.” Diana protested, and yet was met with a warm hand on her shoulder and a softer smile.

“No worries, sweet potato, the boys can finish up. Why don’t you stop by my house real quick so we can catch up? I have cookies I need help baking, if you’re up to it.”

Diana rolled her eyes, jokingly pushing against Talia’s chest, “You just miss my peanut butter cookies, you sweet talker”.

She was met with a laugh, “Can a simple woman like myself not want both?” Talia retorted, a soft smile breaking out across both women’s faces as they walked along.

Talia’s home was warm and welcoming, decorated with little Christmas decorations all the way through and a simple tree in the corner. The kitchen and living room were open to one another, and Diana thoroughly enjoyed the view she had when Talia shucked her heavy layers to just wear a form-fitting turtleneck beneath. The kitchen was filled with the smell of cookies, and while waiting for the oven timer to go off Diana slowly looked at all the photographs laid out on the mantle over the crackling fireplace.

There were pictures of Talia’s family, of their friend group back in highschool. The christmas tree she had set up in the corner had ornaments with little pictures inside--baby pictures of nieces and nephews, of pets and post cards. Diana knew that Talia’s grandparents loved to travel, and she smiled at all the little keepsakes that were decorated on the trees. A little nativity scene also decorated along a flat table, the little wooden figures sturdy and simple.

Diana double-took at the nativity scene, her brain starting to ache once more as something felt…off. She looked at every piece, a dead ringer for the scene that her own mother put out on their mantle every year since Diana was a child, and then she turned back to a photograph that was center of Talia’s fireplace.

The oven timer went off, and the other woman slipped into the kitchen with a pair of oven mitts to take the baking pan out, calling over: “Cookies are comin’ out--something wrong, Diana?”

Diana reached out to take the photo from the center of the mantle, holding it close just to make sure she was seeing it clearly--it was a picture of them from highschool at a christmas party, when they were still dating. Diana had longer hair then, box braids down to her waist that had green and red woven in that matched with the horribly-ugly Christmas sweater that was still buried somewhere in her closet at home--and Talia had been wearing a Haunakkuh sweater. A Menorah-Saurus--something that she had found in Walmart and was so corny it had to be shown off, and something Diana remembered laughing at until she cried when her girlfriend had first shown it to her.

Her head was pounding now, as things started not making sense and she tried to reason them out, until finally she turned to Talia with a look of confusion and finally said the words that were starting to plague her mind as more and more of her memories came back to her.

“Talia? I thought you were jewish? Why do you have a nativity scene set up?”

The other woman looked surprised for a moment before swiftly recovering, her bright smile breaking back out over her face--”Nativity scene, sweet potato? You must have really hit your head in that crash. Why don’t we get you home?”

Surprised and confused, Diana turned back around to look at the Christmas decorations that she had spent nearly the past hour looking at--the tree, the nativity scene, and little sprigs of mistletoe and tinsel--and found them all…gone.

Instead, in their place, was a menorah sitting where the wooden figures had just been.

The walk back to her house was plagued with Diana’s head pounding, feeling like fingers were massaging the wrinkles in her brain as her eyes swerved back and forth to look at the town, avoiding the woman walking beside her with a tin full of fresh-baked cookies. She realized as she looked that she barely recognized the faces of the people around her--that when she looked away and glanced back that their movements were inconsistent, sometimes too slow and sometimes too fast.

When they got back to her house, the sound of crying returned--higher pitched, more desperate, as if she was finally getting closer. Diana felt the growing panic in her chest trying to choke her, Talia staring at her quietly as they climbed the steps.

“Are you sure you’re feelin’ alright, Diana?” Talia asked, a hand resting against the center of Diana’s back--on top of the piercing prickling sensation that she was slowly growing ever more acutely aware of, digging and rooting and jerking against her skin.

“Yeah…yeah, just give me a moment, will you?” Diana breathed, letting them both inside and eyes suddenly drawing to the same door that had been plaguing her since she got home, “Why don’t you go bring the cookies to Momma while I take a breather? Just need a bit of air.”

Talia gave her an almost knowing look, and nodded after a moment, “Alright--don’t do anything I wouldn’t do while I’m not here to watch you, alright?” she teased, eyes sliding off of Diana as she tread down the hall.

Diana’s eyes followed her, watching her disappear into the kitchen before letting her eyes drop to the office door. A door she had never been in before, never been allowed inside. It called her name, the sobbing growing louder the closer she got. When she finally opened the door to look inside, the sobbing faded away as her stomach dropped.

The walls were flesh-like, pulsing and threaded with veins. They moved like a heartbeat, warm and gooey and horrifying as her brain started to pound with it. Diana tried to back into the hallway, but found her exit blocked as Talia stopped her, looking past her into the room with disappointment.

“So you decided to go inside, again.” Was all Talia said, looking down at Diana with empty brown eyes--so empty and cold and devoid of the things that Diana knew of her. Diana hauled herself backwards, further into the pulsing room as Talia stepped forward.

“What’s going on, Talia? What the fuck is this?!” Diana demanded, feeling panic as she watched Talia’s expression morph back into the same calm, loving expression she knew so well.

“lYou weren’t supposed to see this Diana. You know you aren’t supposed to come in this room.” Talia hummed, stepping forward closer to her. Diana backed away, her brain screaming danger, danger the closer the other woman got to her.

“Talia, what the fuck is going on? Why is everything so weird? Where are we?!” Diana pleaded, feet unsteady as the size of the room shifted and swelled, as if unsure of what form to take. One moment it seemed the size of a small closet, the next as big as a stadium. Diana’s fingers started to stiffen, locking up as her neck started to crick, as the persistent prickling in her back grew more and more apparent, more and more painful.

Talia stepped forward again, “It hurts, doesn’t it? ‘s why you weren’t supposed to come in here--you have no memories in here, so there’s nothing I can fill it in with. Even I have my limitations. Your memories of the rest of the town are so…crisp and clear, but not this room.”

Diana’s knees locked and she started to buckle, her body numbing and stiffening, too frozen and cold to move as Talia stepped forward once more, soft and warm hands trailing along her skin and brown eyes staring deep into her own.

“You want to know where you are, Diana? I promise you won’t like it. I can oblige, though--what’s 364 failures compared to an eternity?”

She couldn’t speak, at some point she realized her tongue was swollen and putrid with decay. Diana’s eyes grew wide as the world, and her vision, shifted. She saw the brick of the town square, overgrown with frost and dyed brown with old, dried blood and pus. She saw the rust from the inside of her car, felt the long-deflated fabric of airbags against her face and the ache of the steering wheel pressing against her cheek.

She couldn’t move her neck very far, but it was enough to see the shambling figures that wandered and scuttled around. Spider-like figures with decaying, gasping bodies peaking from beneath the skin. Hands outreached, faces trapped in eternal wails, muted sobbing and slow, weak struggles stretching and pressing against the skin of the alien-creatures that moved around the ruins of what was once the town of Logsville.

In the center of the town square lay a massive figure, the largest spider with several bodies building up its torso with the familiar face of her mother staring blank-eyed in her direction. Her mother’s face was outstretched in a silent wail, the soft sound of sobbing barely reaching Diana’s ears. The activity was busiest around the massive creature, smaller attendants pulling sacks of orbs from its rear and arranging them into nests--eggs, Diana realized. Hundreds and hundreds of eggs.

“You really are such interesting things,” Talia’s voice chitters, coming from up above her. Diana moaned, unable to make any other noise as the prickling of her back shifted and a large, eyeless head leaned down from the roof of her car to peer at her. Protruding from its shoulder, Diana could make out the faintest hint of red-dyed hair.

“Your mother was the head of this town, much like our Queen, and when we came we allowed her one simple request--a reward for yielding to us with no struggle. Do you know what she wished for, sweet potato?”

Diana felt her eyes burning, like they were trying to well up tears, but nothing fell. The creature cocked its head, and Diana felt probing against the inside of her skull.

“She wished for her daughter to have a happy Christmas. Isn’t that such an odd thing? It took several iterations and tries before I could even construct something that you would believe. Of course, you crashed the second you saw me--I couldn’t pull you out of this car, so I just fused to you here. Rather bothersome process, I’ll have you know.”

Diana’s eyes slowly shifted over to look back at her mother, vision starting to blur as she tried to focus on her wretched face and sagging body--on the thousands, possibly millions of eggs hatching more and more of the spiders that crawled and fed and chittered along the streets of what used to be her happy little christmas town. The sun was setting, slowly plunging the square into darkness, but the scuttling feet still pierced her ears. The creature staring at her with its fleshed-over eyes hummed, rumbling the car and the appendages digging into Diana’s back.

“You know, you could join the rest. It’s not so bad--you’ll no longer have the dream, of course, but I’m sure you’d find just as much entertainment from my work. Rebuilding the world for ourselves is time consuming, and you would be inside of me experiencing it--right under the skin, next to this woman. A front row seat--rather kind of us to give your species.”

Talia waited for a moment for Diana’s response, and brokenly Diana realized her options. As she looked at the horrible, contorted figure that was her mother and the rest of the townspeople of Logsville, she made her decision--one that she had made over and over again.

The creature paused and then smiled at her, and Diana wanted to cry when she saw how similar it was to Talia’s own, “I see you’ve made your decision. Day 365 it is, then.”

Diana’s vision went black, her last thought being the realization that if today was 365 of this hell, that it meant that tomorrow was Christmas.

Mom: Are you coming to Christmas dear? --sent last year I know you’re busy, but it’s important you come this year, sweetie --sent last year I have all these pies and christmas cookies and nobody to eat them! You don’t want to leave your dear old mother in a bind, do you? ;)--sent last year …It’s what your father would have wanted, Diana. Please. --sent last year

Diana looked down at her phone screen with a sense of deja vu. A moment passed, and finally her fingers moved to respond--a practiced movement, something they’ve done hundreds of times before--before pausing. The thought crossed her mind of how many times she must have done this--of how many more times she’d have to. Perhaps until her Mother died, then she’d stop going back home to that little town. Maybe she’d keep going to the town until it crumbled to the ground. Maybe she’d do it for eternity--but surely not, thought Diana. For eternity is much too long to spend celebrating Christmas. Nobody has that much Christmas Spirit in them.

She chuckled, feeling as if she’d just made a rather ironic joke, and typed:

Diana: Fine. ! not sent

Make chocolate chip for me. ! not sent

#creative writing #fiction #lesbian #horror #wlw #lesbian writing #lesbian nsft #stabbysheepywrites

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robototron217 · 1 year ago

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I wrote a bunch of silly rhymes on my phone and I'm just gonna post em, please tell me ur favorites!!!

hokey jokers who cant collect their chuckle fucks, clumps of lucky chumps connect their head to funky buckled trunks.

hunky dory losers that wont be here tomorrow, truckers choosing why, not what or when to follow.

every single drum and beat that fails to treat my feet meets frigid little bitches whos friends swipe my lunch meat

shrill shrieking pleas of please save our souls,

chills shaking leaves, this cleaves our sour coal.

silly sappy suckers who suckle on my sanguine tap, willing strapping buskers to buckle down my tangled trap

deoxyribonucleic acid

he got into his ride back home and flew into an accident

trigger bigger litters for critters to appreciate

rub her harder there theres pressure to alleviate

pretty prissy missies miss might makes right towns, shitty cities proclivities to chris Christie coming down

freaky little heathens, let them free they gotta know, hellish horrible hounds bound to greet them at the door.

if the treat us like dogs then we must bite their hands, kicking with their feet, clogging foreign lands

forklift horace tries reuben on rye

larking grifters pour ice in the lie

when machine gun eddie hits the bricks

then fifteen nuns are ready to get their kicks

itchy bites all over my legs,

bitches fight all over the dregs.

if you lack a punch packing power your silver starts to show,

whiff your cracking attack while her smarts start to glow

the Goddess rod divines from thee

the hottest bod youll ever see

#silly rhymes #hehe

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ironmanfridgemagnet · 2 years ago

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Sitting On The Shelf - Marcus White x Reader

Part 16 - Dog Adoption Day

SOTS Masterlist

"Okay, I need two volunteers." Glenn chirped far too happily for it being 6am. Wincing at his loud tone, you brought a hand to your forehead, rubbing small circles into the flesh of your temple as though it would help ease out the tension there.

Taking slow and deep breaths, you considered whether it was worth the horribly distasteful flirting - if you could really call it that - from Tate, to try and get something to help. Bringing your new favourite mug to your lips, 'Least Insufferable Co-worker' in big black sharpie scrawled across it, you took a long sip of coffee. Ever thankful to Garret who'd had the cup ready for you as soon as you walked into the breakroom, you let a small smile settle across your face.

"Oh, right here, I'm first! Pick me!" Mateo cheered, too excited to be volunteering for some silly little task that Glenn wanted done - one that was probably going to suck.

"Okay, thank you, Mateo. Who else? Anyone?" Glenn's eyes scanned across the lengths of the breakroom, waiting for someone, anyone to make eye contact with him and offer themselves up for the task. "Garrett!"

"Yeah, I just wanted to say no." Your quizzical look was quickly dissolved as you let out a half-hearted chuckle which soon turned into a coughing fit: the last dregs of sickness still clawing onto you.

Silence fell over the breakroom at the loud coughs that racked your chest; both Garret and Jonah reaching out towards you and resting a hand on your back. Jonah began to rub up and down the length of your spine as Garret gently patted you, trying to help the coughs out. With a final spluttering cough, you took another sip of your coffee, swallowing down the flem that had built up in the back of your throat and settled deeper into your seat, wrapping your arms around yourself.

"You're all ingrates." Dina snapped suddenly, an accusing finger pointing at the crowd gathered in the breakroom, her gaze softening as it settled on you - nose red and burning hot to the touch and the occasional sniffle and cough or clearing of your throat making her heart melt. "Except y/n. I hope someone sets you all on fire, and you need a volunteer to put it out."

"It's too much for 6:00 a.m. Dina." Amy groaned from in front of you, her mug of coffee kept close up to her chest as she let out a tense huff.

"I don't think it's enough." Dina sassed back, never one to be impressed by her co-workers lack of motivation to work or do anything, it seemed.

"Okay, fine. I'll-" Jonah flashed you a pleading look, his bottom lip jutting out slightly more then usual as he mouthed at you a question - a silent plea to join him and not leave him alone with Mateo the whole day, or however long Glenn's mysterious task would take. A silent conversation was shared between the two of you; you hoping Jonah understood you'd just be keeping him company and not really doing any work, and Jonah agreeing to anything to keep his sanity. Leaning across the table he grabbed your hand, lifting it up for Glenn to see. "We'll do it."

Before Glenn could argue against your involvement, you nodded silently, confirming that you wanted to do whatever Jonah had signed you up for.

"Okay, thank you, Jonah and y/n. The two of you and Mateo will be in charge of our in-store dog adoption today." Cries of anguish and upset filled the breakroom, groans and whines of people who wished they'd taken Glenn up on his offer to play with puppies all day. "Yes, that's right. That volunteer job was desirable. That was a lesson. "And lo, the Samaritan, as he travelled, came to where...""

"6:00 a.m. Glenn." Amy whined, finding it too early to hear Glenn recite scripture on top of hid unusually cheery tone. You couldn't agree more.

"Okay, right. Anyway, while the rest of you are having normal, dog less days, these two selfless heroes will be in puppy heaven." Glenn rubbed salt into the wound, making sure everyone who hadn't volunteered really felt it and wished they'd had - hoping that in the future it would trick more of his employees into blindly signing up for stuff.

"I'll switch if anybody wants. I don't really care about dogs." Jonah callously admitted, his arms folded across his chest defensively as gasps resounded around the breakroom, heads turning to glare him down.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" You asked bluntly, deeply offended at Jonah's weirdly apathetic stance on dogs. Though you more often then not found yourself to like the reserved nature of cats more, you would never not care about dogs - it was impossible not to with their carefree nature, love for life and for the people they came into contact with. "Seriously J?"

"I mean, I don't dislike them." Jonah defended, his pitch of voice increasing slightly at the sudden attention he was receiving from the entirety of the breakrooms staring at him, waiting for an acceptable enough excuse for his words. "I just, you know, I don't really have strong feelings one way or the other."

"You're a psychopath." Mateo scoffed, turning away from Jonah in disgust, his arms folding across his chest in restraint. Though you doubted Mateo had been happy working with Jonah before, you were dreading the day ahead even more so now.

"Sociopath, he's a sociopath." Dina corrected, staring down Jonah just as mush as everyone else despite her love for birds.

"Is it because they don't like you?" Amy asked, her eyebrows pulled together tensely, worried by Jonah's lack of care for the furry animal that so many held dearly in their hearts.

"No, no I think it says something about our priorities that we spend so much money on pets when there are literally millions of children without adequate nutrition." Well, wasn't that just the most Jonah response you'd ever heard, huh.

"Can we add 'its say's something about our priorities' to the list?" You let out a chocked whisper, leaning backwards so that Garret would be able to hear you better. Garret let out a quiet laugh at your words, pulling out his phone and typing furiously fast into his notes app.

"I hope you die." Mateo spat, turning away from Jonah in his seat and facing the other side of the breakroom.

"I second that notion." You croaked, taking another long sip of your drink and curling into yourself even more. Jonah playfully pushed your shoulder, though the movement causing you to let out a string of coughs - Jonah profusely apologising as he began to rub up and down the length of your back once again.

"Okay, I need another volunteer." Glenn asked, this time receiving several enthused cries from around the breakroom. "Sandra, thank you. Come on up. And I am glad that you're an animal lover because we have a large number of hornets nests around the perimeter of the store. That's right, it's not always good to volunteer. That was another lesson."

You held in your laugh this time - part out of feeling sorry for Sandra, and partly because you didn't want to start another coughing fit. Standing slowly from your seat, you walked towards Jonah, his hand coming to rest on the small of your back as he lead you out of the breakroom and onto the store floor where, hopefully, there would be an abundance of puppies you could spend your shift playing with. Though you know you'd always found new and inventive ways to get your shift over with, you were counting on the cuddly little creatures to magically take your illness away and fill you with warmth instead.

Making small talk with Jonah as you walked, you caught him up on the events of your day off; letting him know about your saltine craving and chastising him for never having seen '50 First Date's', as well as telling him about the sweetheart who you'd been lucky enough to spend your sick day with - conveniently forgetting to mention the handsome strangers name.

————————————————————————

Climbing over the dog-sized white-picket fence, you settled yourself down in the middle of the artificial grass, cooing at the puppies that swarmed around you sniffing and licking at your arms and legs. Picking up a particularly small Jack-Russel, you held the puppy up to your face, holding eye contact for a brief moment before pulling it into your chest, snuggling itself up in the crook of your neck.

"I know we've always had this unspoken rivalry." Mateo began, taking a bag of dog food from Jonah's bucket and placing it down before he could, inside of the fenced in playpen.

"Not a rivalry, you're just always mean to me." Jonah scoffed, pulling out another bag of the dog food and placing it down before Mateo could take it from him.

"And not unspoken, you talk about it all the time?" You added from the floor of the playpen, gently running your fingers through the fur of the puppy you had coddled to your chest.

"Well, anyway, since we're stuck together, I figured we could at least be civil." Mateo scoffed, offended that he'd been called out on his actions but also by the fact he'd tried to make an effort at all when that was the response he got. You liked Mateo, he was definitely a character, and fun to work with, you just weren't the biggest fan of the more snarky side that seemed to appear sometimes.

"Okay, somebody needs to be in charge of the..." Lydia, the lady running the adoption drive, appeared behind Mateo, her hands tucked anxiously into her pockets at the sight if the two bickering.

"I'll do it. I'll do it better. This guy doesn't even like dogs so." Mateo snarked, plastering a wide smile across his face as he turned to face her, hands outstretched for whatever she seemed to be holding in her hands.

"See, you're even trying to embarrass me in front of the dog lady." Jonah snapped at Mateo, arms crossing over his chest, him turning to shoot you a wide-eyed expression of frustration; Mateo's antics seeming to get to him quickly.

""Dog lady?" Jonah, she has a name." Mateo scoffed, his mouth hanging open at Jonah's supposed ignorance though you could tell it had quickly dawned on him that he, himself, didn't know the woman's name.

"Lydia." You hid behind a faux cough, hoping that Mateo would hear and not embarrass himself more then he had by arguing with Jonah at the front of the store so early in the day.

"Lydia. Really, Lydia?" Mateo asked judgementally, his face scrunching up in what appeared to be disgust at the woman's name - like it was her fault that that was what she was called. "Ouch."

"Jonah I want this dog." You said as Mateo walked away, clipboard and tray firmly in his grasp. "I want it so much. Look how cute it is - and it already loves me."

"You don't want the dog, peach." Jonah replied, climbing over the fence and sitting opposite to you, a fluffy white dog crawling into his lap, Jonah mindlessly stroking the fur of the sleepy pup. Attempting to argue against his accusation, he quickly shut you down. "Remember a few months ago?"

Shrugging your shoulders, you went back to stroking the dog that rested on your chest, it seeming as sleepy as you were this morning.

"When you said you wanted a baby? It was just because you thought Harmonica was cute." Jonah probed, testing the waters of his questions, as though he was afraid that brining up the topic would upset you.

"And she is!" You argued, unsure of what point he was trying to make with the comparison. Harmonica was cute, and you wanted a baby in that moment - not anymore.

"What I'm getting at is, you just think it's cute; you don't really want a dog. Besides, dogs and babies are a lot of work - it would take up loads of your time, and they poop and you have to feed them." Jonah listed, the more he spoke the less you felt like taking the puppy home with you, on top of the fact you'd have to consult with Amy and Adam first.

"You're right." You sighed in defeat, settling the puppy down and making a move to stand - Jonah quickly standing and coming to your aid as you became light headed at the sudden movement. Maybe you should've taken a couple more days off of work. "Besides, I wouldn't know how to look after one anyway - baby or puppy - it's not like I have the perfect example to follow. I'd probably make for a pretty shitty parent in any case."

"Peach..." Jonah muttered, you barely hearing the endearing phrase at the hushed tone of voice. His hand reached for yours, intertwining your fingers and pulling you into him, his arms wrapping around you and embracing you in a warm hug: a soft command to not think as such leaving him breathlessly. "Don't talk like that."

Jonah had seemed to take the words more to heart then you had; you hadn't meant much by the words, though they'd bittered on your tongue. It had been nothing more then an offhand comment made in the haze of sickness and lack of good sleep, but maybe it did ring slightly true. Your mom wasn't the best by a mile, it was no competition really, but you knew she loved you in her own way - kind of - but that didn't matter now. Amy was an incredible mother to Emma, and to you, if you'd ever let yourself dwell on your relationship for more then a moment.

Deciding it was best not to divulge into such topic so early in the morning, and in the middle of the store, you pushed away from Jonah's warm embrace, announcing you were going to go find Garret quickly with a wobbly smile. Stepping out of the pen, you walked hastily towards the customer service counter where you hoped to find your beloved Garret, the end of your shirt sleeve coming to brush against the tip of your nose, the end a bright, hot red still. Sniffling slightly, you swiped against it again, then once across and under your eyes before you rounded the corner to see Garrets beaming face. It was a good thing you were excusably sick today.

"Hey doll-face." Garrett chirped, his hand reaching out for you as you walked closer to him, pulling you to sit on the counter to the left of him as your hands connected. "How's your morning going?"

"Good, Gare. Puppies are cute, I get to watch Jonah and Mateo bicker. What more could I want?" A quiet laugh left Garrett's lips at your explanation, a knowing laugh that he'd be updated on all they had fought about later: once from Jonah, and another, the truth, from you. Grabbing a blue clipboard from where it had been placed on the edge of the counter, you passed it to Garret, a silent exchange, engrained in you like tradition, routine.

"Attention shoppers, are you thinking of having a baby, but want to test the waters with something that's not the same at all? Adopt a dog today." Another well-timed sniffle hid the raw redness of your nose and eyes. It seemed as though the universe was out to get at you today.

"So any-" Before Garrett could ask his question, Dina approached the two of you, timesheet in hand and a stern look on her face; had you forgotten to clock in this morning? You hoped not. Last time you hadn't, Dina had really ripped into you, and you hoped you wouldn't have to endure that again.

"Hey, you forgot to clock in this morning." Dina announced, though your fears were quickly dissolved as she had pointed an accusatory finger at Garrett.

"Oh, yeah, I came in behind Elias and got distracted. What's going on with his butt?" Garrett asked dismissively, a far off look clouding his eyes as he seemed to reflect on the events of this morning - if only he knew the utter bullshit Dina was about to come out with.

You liked Dina, sure, but sometimes she really got on your nerves. Dina was sweet, in her own way and you loved that about her - like the sweet mug she had got you as a 'gift,' and the way she had fixed your locker for you without you asking on multiple occasions, she checked in on you while you were sick, and always made you feel welcome at work - but she was also a hard ass. Nothing slipped passed Dina's grip; absence, truancy, breaking of store rules and even gossip was ran past her. If there was something to know, Dina knew it.

However, you admired her commitment to all of the rules - you didn't think you would be able to stick to it the same way she did, and you wouldn't be able to do her job that was for sure.

"What is going on with his butt? It looks so..." You paused, not quite knowing the right words as to what Elias's butt was, your hand frantically waving in front of you in hopes that they would understand what couldn't be said.

"I know right?" Dina let out a low whistle, embellishing your struggle to find the words. "Make sure to clock in at some point so we can start paying you."

"Oh, hold up. Wait. I haven't been paid for the last two hours? Can't you just adjust the timesheet?" Garrett's eyebrows creasing together in frustration - of course Dina hadn't been willing to change the timesheet - but, knowing Garret, a small spark of hope had existed based on the fact Dina had been kind enough to tell him at all.

"Can. Won't. Rules are rules." Ahh, typical Dina. Though you know you truly wouldn't have had it another way; Dina was a good counter balance to others within the store and its chaotic nature.

"Are you being serious?" Garrett scoffed, his eyebrow quirked high as his gaze flickered over to you; though, unlike him, you could believe Dina's actions.

"Yeah, I'm being serious, and "what's up" with Elias's butt is he started cycling." Dina grimaced, stepping away from the counter - and in turn you and Garrett - to presumably mither someone else over something they had, or hadn't, done. "Obviously."

"Ridiculous." Garrett muttered under his breath, pushing away from the desk with a huff. "Well, guess I got to go clock in, you coming doll?"

Pushing away from your comfortable position against the countertop, you walked closely beside Garrett, listening to his complaints about Dina's antics and plotting his revenge against her. Though Garrett's idea of revenge was always to be petty, you knew that would work on Dina; desperate to stick to whatever Garrett would try and call her out on. Boy, would today be a long day.

————————————————————————

Sitting atop a stack of empty crates, once filled with the display fences that now contained lots of dogs still waiting to be adopted, you sipped at your coffee, fiddling with the crinkly brown paper of the cup.

"Stains your teeth you know." Jonah chastised, sitting down next to you on the crates, taking the cup from your hand and swirling the liquid around before taking a sip himself. Muttering something about him being a hypocrite, you took the paper cup back, taking another long sip before passing it back to Jonah.

"If it's bad, why does it make me feel so good?" You whined, dropping your head onto Jonah's shoulder as you gestured for him to finish the drink off, knowing he hadn't had the chance to really wake up to the day since he'd spent all morning looking after the dogs.

"That's showbiz, baby." Jonah said, putting on his best New-York accent as he took another sip of the warming liquid. The two of you dissolved into laughter, Mateo rolling his eyes at you and scoffing as he began to speak, most lightly to complain about your lack of help, until Lydia rounded the corner.

"All right, I think you guys are all set." Lydia clapped her hands together, tucking her phone into her back pocket and slinging her bag over her shoulder. "So I'll be back at 6:00 to close down and take the dogs that don't get adopted back to the shelter."

With a thumbs up and wide smile, she turned to leave, though Mateo seemed to have other plans. "Oh, these guys aren't going back. I'm gonna get them all adopted. You might as well find new dogs at the junkyard or wherever."

"Honestly, most of them probably won't get adopted. But even one life saved makes it all worth it."

What? Turning to meet Jonah's eyes, you exchanged a silent, shocked conversation. Surely she hadn't said what you had thought - maybe you'd jumbled up the words in your mind, the fever still riddling you and you didn't even know it. The callousness of her words made you certain you'd heard it wrong, you hoped you were right.

"Wait, "one life saved"?" Jonah asked the question you'd all been thinking, each of you turning to face Lydia with baited breaths.

"Yeah, we're an open admissions shelter, meaning we do have to euthanize based on duration of stay. So unfortunately, most of these guys, they're out of time." It was worse then you'd imagined; these poor dogs were going to be killed if they weren't adopted and for what? What had they ever done to the world?

Maybe it was the final dreads of sickness that still hadn't left you, or the depreciating words that had slipped past your lips only hours before, but all this was too much. Today felt as though it was the worlds own, personal, attack on you.

"That's terrible." Mateo whispered under his breath, as shocked as the rest of you by the revelation; he had been, more so then not, joking about getting all the dogs adopted today, knowing how much of a struggle that would be. However, after such a reveal, there seemed to be an innate agreement between the three of you that you would make sure all those dogs got adopted no matter what.

"Oh oh, God no, that's not what I meant. No, no, no." Lydia rushed, the four of you laughing nervously at the sudden change of tune - maybe you were right, maybe you had merely misheard what she was saying. "You won't have to kill them. We have a service that comes in. I'm dating the injection guy. Yeah, he's great. He's divorced. Most of them are at my age, so. Yeah. Do you sell stamps?"

"At the register." Jonah answered, a shell-shocked look on his face. You had sincerely hoped it had been some cruel kind of joke, however, it seemed to just be routine here - and you didn't know if that made it hurt more.

"Yeah, okay. I'm gonna, just excuse me. Oh, and dryer sheets, actually?"

"Aisle 12." You whispered, looking up at the brown-haired women as she gleefully skipped away to find dryer sheets and stamps. How could she be so happy at a time like this? Even though it was what was the 'norm' for her, you still couldn't believe how nonchalantly she had admitted what would come.

"I don't know why they bother calling it a shelter. They should just call it Doggie Death Row." Jonah groaned, holding onto the enclosures fences, gripping the metal between his fingers as though that would help keep the puppies in the store forever, away from the grasp of death.

"I don't know why you're so upset." Mateo snapped, pulling the dog that had been sat beside him into his lap so he could stroke it. "I thought you'd be jumping for joy by now. "Yay! Dead dogs! It's Jonah Christmas!""

"I do got to say J, this is quite the change of heart." You added, looking down at the brunette who was now crouched beside you , looking longingly into the doggie play area. Gripping his shoulder in your hand, you squeezed it, rolling the flesh back and forth to try and soothe his distraught.

"Look," Jonah asserted, suddenly standing and facing the two of you, a determined look on his face. "We only have until 6:00 p.m. to get all of these dogs homes. And the only way that we're gonna do that is by working to..."

Mateo suddenly cut Jonah off finishing his idea, standing from the bench he had been sat on and marching closer to the two of you. "We've got to work together. We got to work together if we're gonna do this. You guys up for that?"

"I'm down." You stood with a shrug, shaking Mateo's outstretched hand in solidarity of 'his' idea.

Turning to look at Jonah, the two of you awaited his response; he rolled his eyes, knowing Mateo would claim it was his idea, but shook his head in agreement anyway. "Yes, it's a great idea."

"Great, we'll do my plan." Mateo confirmed, struggling to open the white-picket fence of the playpen, then quickly giving up and stepping over it, holding onto you and Jonah as he did.

"Let's get these dogs homed." You smiled, squeezing both Mateo and Jonah's hands with renewed determination; maybe this kind of challenge was exactly what you needed to get your head back in the game.

————————————————————————

"I'm so sorry to hear that your husband passed." You said just above a whisper, rubbing your hand up and down the woman's arm in a comforting gesture. When you had agreed to getting people to adopt the dogs - no matter the cost - you hadn't thought you'd be guilt tripping someone by bringing up their dead husband.

"What was his name?" Jonah pried, fingers pushed down on the speak button on the walkie talkie he had tucked under his arm, hanging in the space between the two of you.

"Jeremy." The woman nodded sombrely, placing her hand on top of your own and squeezing gently.

"Jeremy." Jonah confirmed, leaning slightly towards the walkie hoping it would ring loud and clear for Mateo who was on the other end, dog in hand. "And how long ago did he leave us?"

"Two years ago."

"Oh, bless his soul. Tell me more about him." You lulled, your genuine question helping to ease your guilty conscience: you had to do it for the dogs, without this they would be killed. You could do it.

"He loved camping, and the outdoors and..." The woman began, willingly delving into the loving memories of her husband to share with the two of you, however, she was quickly cut off as Mateo came speeding over, fluffy Pomeranian in hand.

"Hold on, Mateo, she's in the middle of a lovely story." Jonah held his hand up, feigning interest as the woman animatedly talked about her husband.

"No, I found Jeremy in the camping section again." Mateo explained, nuzzling the head of the bubbly pup with his knuckles.

"This dog's name is Jeremy?" The woman gasped, reaching out and scratching the dig right behind its ear, making its tail wag back and forth.

"Yep, little 2-year-old Jeremy." Mateo confirmed making you wince; this felt evil, and there were probably better ways to go around it, but Jonah and Mateo were working so well together for once, you'd push passed your guilt just to keep the peace.

"That's so crazy. We were just...you don't think..." You asked, resolving to playing into the act Mateo and Jonah had constructed, a small gasp escaping your chest. As Mateo walked off with the woman and her soon-to-be dog you frowned deeply at Jonah.

"Just a few more to go." Jonah reassured, grabbing your hand and gently squeezing it before turning to face the dogs that had yet to be adopted. Just a few more to go, you could, and would, save them.

————————————————————————

Taking another sip from the now cold coffee, you grimaced slightly, the cold and bitter liquid bitter in your mouth. Deciding you'd replace it at some point, you placed it on the lid of the tin of dog food, pulling your sleeves up to your elbows and stepping over the white-picket fence enclosure. Settling down in the midst of the puppies once again, you allowed the few that remained - you, Mateo and Jonah's drive to get them all adopted having been quite successful - to run up to you. Some circled round you and some nipped at your jeans, though one in particular crawled into your lap, its head resting against your knee as it licked the material of your jeans.

"Cute dog, Forgetful Lucy." Marcus loomed over you, puppies swarming and clawing at the fence in front of his feet. A wide smile spread across his face as you looked up at him, his eyes softening at the raw-redness of your nose despite the height of your illness having ended days ago. "You feeling good?"

"Ah, so you did finish our movie?" Smiling up at Marcus, he stepped over the fence, dogs nipping at his shoes as he walked across the artificial grass, sitting down opposite you. The same Jack-Russel you had cradled against your chest earlier barking - more like yapping due to its tiny stature - at him, though the noise quickly stopping as Marcus pulled the pup into his arms, letting it rest against him.

"Our movie?" He teased, stroking the small dog with feather-light touches, soothing the dog into an almost sleep-like state easily. "C'mon y/n, at least take me out to dinner first."

A red-hot blush rose to your cheeks, something you hoped he thought was due to your sniffles and not the fact he had asked you to take him to dinner - you doubted that he had meant the words seriously, but you couldn't control the way your thoughts had oh so quickly spiralled. Marcus had more then meant it though, the joking twinge to his words easily masking the seriousness behind them: he'd love to take you to dinner, if you'd let him, though God knows he would be far too scared to ask.

"Maybe when I'm feeling better." You rebuttald, Marcus's face becoming as red as your own at the teasing words - he hadn't expected you to saying anything of such back.

"Who's this little fella?" Marcus asked, shuffling closer to you to scratch at the older dogs head as it rested in your lap. The dog nuzzled into Marcus's touch, stirring slightly from its sleep-like state to do so.

"Well, aren't you two a cute couple?" The woman you had convinced to adopt 'Jeremy' cooed, walking closer to the enclosure the two of you sat in.

It was easy to understand where she had got the idea from; you were wrapped up in a jumper far too big for you that could've easily been his, you were practically curled into his side, each of you were holding onto a dog and talking to the other in hushed whispers. Fuck, it was hard, even thinking about it to yourself, to imagine that the two of you weren't dating given the position you found yourselves in.

Both you and Marcus stuttered through a denial to her question, neither of you quite being able to get the words out fully as heat rose in your cheeks and you desperately avoided each others eyes.

"Oh, so you haven't quite got there yet? That's alright." The woman reassured, looking between the two of you who still could quite meet each others gaze. "Me and Jeremy were the exact same way; you better swoop her off her feet now young man, before someone else does it for you."

"Oh, I'm working on it." Marcus sheepishly admitted after a long beat of silence, looking at the woman before him with a nervous smile on his lips. Your eyes widened at the words; not quite believing what you were hearing. Surely he was just trying to appease the woman's sweet comment rather then explain the situation to her. Right?

"Good, now you two lovebirds have a good day will you." The woman waved goodbye to the two of you, grabbing the dogs paw and moving it in a waving motion as well before walking away, an almost giddy step in her walk, as though she knew the turmoil she had just caused the two of you and was relishing in the fact.

"Well, I better get going, got to clock in for my shift." Marcus announced, allowing the dog to run free from his gentle hands and standing. He offered a hand to you, twisting his warm fingers around your own, pulling you up and almost into his side.

"Yeah, of course." You stumbled out, eyes not being able to tear away from Marcus's deep brown ones. The red, hot flush against your cheeks had still not faded as you took a step away from him, hands still connected. "I'll see you around."

"See you around." Marcus let go of your hand, stepping out of the playpen and walking away towards the breakroom. As he reached a corner, he turned, giving you a wide smile and a wave, before disappearing into the depths of the store.

"So," Jonah teased, suddenly appearing by your side within the dog pen. "Are we going to talk about that?"

"About what?" You snapped, becoming more flustered as you realised Jonah could very clearly see the way you watched Marcus until he was out of sight, your face was flushed hues of pink and the way you held onto his hand long after you had stood up. "There's nothing to talk about!"

"Oh sure, sure. Whatever you say peach." Jonah prodded you gently in your side, tickling you just enough to elicit a laugh in which you chased him out of the enclosure, threatening him to keep quiet about anything he may, or may not, have seen.

————————————————————————

"I got to say, we made a pretty good team. And I usually hate being in teams. I can get pretty competitive." Mateo admitted, leaning against the desk you sat behind, adoption form after adoption form littering its surface.

"You know what, I actually used to be the same way. It's why I burnt out of business school." Jonah admitted, the two seeming to have divulged into some kind of heart-to-heart after their day spent working together, for once.

"I thought you flunked out." Mateo asked as Jonah sat next to him, the two leaning against the table top.

"Hey, twinning, I flunked out of high school!" You chirped up at the mention of leaving school, something you had been through yourself. Though you didn't talk about it often, it was deemed common knowledge within the store, you having worked here long before you dropped out, though you weren't sure if Jonah knew; you wanted him to know he wasn't alone, in a sense.

"I thought you dropped out." Mateo asked, turning slightly in his place to face you.

"Eh, blurred lines." You shrugged, looking back down to the paperwork you had previously been reading over.

"Well, I flunked out because I burnt out." Jonah explained, as though he didn't want anyone to look down on him for flunking out, to make sure you knew it was due to circumstances out of his control. It didn't matter to you why he'd flunked out, everyone has their reasons, and you, of all people, weren't going to judge him for flunking out of college when you didn't even make it out of high school - fuck, you admired that he even tried.

"Sounds like you're making excuses." Tuning the boys bickering out, you went back to reading over the paperwork and forms, making sure every detail was filled in correctly and no phone number or name was left unfilled. Occasionally accepting a new form now and then from Jonah and Mateo, you read each twice, making sure everything was done correctly before Lydia would be here to pick everything up.

"Wow, you guys really got all the dogs adopted." Lydia asked in awe, breaking you from your trance at the form covered desk and getting you to stand from your desk to look around, only to find all the dogs were gone. Huh, turns out Jonah and Mateo did make a really good team - with you on the side-lines to supervise of course. "That's great. I guess I'll just wait till next week to see the injection guy. You know what, I'm an adult. I'm gonna call him on the I'm gonna text him."

Lydia quickly took your place at the desk, thank you form organising the forms for her in advance before she began to pack up parts of the display - though not without slipping her phone out from her back pocket and sending a quick text, with a dopey smile, to who you hoped was the injection guy.

"Well, nice working with you." Mateo stuck his hand out to Jonah, a final peace offering in the name of all they had accomplished today - which was a lot by any measure.

"It was nice working with you too." Jonah admitted, shaking Mateo's hand briefly before pulling away and tucking his hands into his front pockets, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. "Hey, you know, I was thinking of seeing a movie tonight if you want..."

"I'm seeing two movies." Mateo quickly challenged, making sure he had the final one up on Jonah - you should've known.

"I'm free J." You answered his unasked question, stepping closer to him and wrapping your arm through his, pulling him into your side as you walked away from the doggy-adoption display in the centre of the store.

"For me? When are you not peach?" He teased, you smacking his arm away at the cheek of his words; sometimes you thought Jonah was getting too comfortable around you. Smiling up at the taller man, you pushed him away, your connected arms keeping him close enough. "I'm joking, I'd love to have you. On one condition though..."

"Oh, this can never be good. What? What is it?" You asked, face scrunched in concern as to what Jonah could possibly ask you - it would be easier to list off what he wouldn't ask you at this point.

"What's going on between you and Marcus?"

————————————————————————

☆: .｡. Tag List .｡.:☆ @write-from-the-heart @despicablylara @whatafreakingloser @flowercrowns-goodvibes @millieb-3199 @lolawassad @catarina-trouxa @falsegodofmischief @thepurplebutterflythings @littleboysmile @sibsteria @quinn-7007 @aashy723 @maeisonline

Want to be added to the taglist? send an ask to let me know <3

————————————————————————

Hey guys!!

Happy SOTS upload day 😫😫😫 I'm very sorry for the lack of an upload this week, but there will be a sub-part Sunday to make up for it along with some really fucking awesome requests from some really awesome people I'm working on atm - one of which will have multiple endings and the other is such a cute concept I LOVE.

Thank you so much for your continued patience with me and support, it genuinely means the world to me.

As always, I hope you enjoyed, and have a lovely week!! <33

(also if anyone would like to put forward a suggestion as to what y/n's Halloween costume should be for when that ep comes up, I'm more then open to ideas)

#sitting on the shelf marcus white x reader #superstore x reader #cloud 9 #superstore imagine #marcus white #marcus white x reader #marcus superstore #marcus white imagine #superstore marcus imagine

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hearts-hunger · 3 years ago

Text

where the love light gleams || danny wagner x reader

Read on AO3 | Masterlist

Summary: You have a headache, and Danny takes good care of you.

Pairings: Danny Wagner x Reader

Genre: Holiday fluff, v tender smut, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 2.5k | Warnings: smoking, smut (it’s not very... graphic? but it is smut nonetheless. with love, minors begone.)

A/N: Can you believe I’m a self-proclaimed Danny girl and have only just now written a fic for him?? I think this makes up for the wait, though. It’s just Danny being perfect and sweet and wonderful. I hope you like it! ♡

“Can I sit on your lap?”

Danny looked up at you, a pleasantly surprised smile lighting his face. “Sure, love.”

He pushed his chair back from the table to make room for you, patting his thigh in invitation. You curled up in his lap and leaned your head against his shoulder, giving a contented sigh when he wrapped his arms around you.

“You ok?” he asked softly, only for you to hear. “Ready to go home?”

You shook your head. “I want to stay.”

He brushed your hair back from your face. “You’re sure?”

You pressed a kiss to his jaw. “I’m sure. You’re having fun, and I’ll be fine snuggled up with you.”

He smiled. “Okay, sweetheart. Thank you. Let me know when you’re ready to go, ok?”

You nodded and snuggled against him, leaning into his solid warmth as he went back to his conversation. His sweater was warm and soft against your cheek, and you liked how his voice and his laugh rumbled in his chest. You were more than happy to stay so he could have a good time with the boys.

You’d all gone out for drinks after the boys got done at the studio, celebrating the work they’d done and the coming break for the holidays. The little pub in town was cosy, the perfect place to while away the evening hours on such a cold, snowy night. The five of you had tucked yourself into the corner, squeezed around the table with a round of beers; you’d talked and joked and enjoyed the company of your best friends, glad to spend time with them when they’d been so busy working on the new album.

You’d started to feel a headache, though, and your contributions to the conversation had tapered off. You hadn’t wanted to leave, not on account of a silly little headache, but you knew you'd be more comfortable close to Danny.

His free arm stayed protectively around you, and even though he stayed invested in his conversation with the guys, he told you with little touches that he loved you and was worried about you.

“Alright, boys,” he said after a while, setting his empty beer glass on the table. “I better get my girl home.”

He rubbed your arm as he shifted in his seat, preparing you to stand, and you gave the boys a weak smile.

“Sorry I couldn’t hang,” you said.

They smiled back at you.

“That’s ok, kiddo,” Jake said. “Thanks for coming with us.”

“We’ll try to plan our next outing a little earlier in the day,” Sam teased. “Now that we know you two have the bedtime of a couple of grandparents.”

You checked your phone; it was early, earlier than you usually would have left, and you knew the boys would have no trouble hanging out for hours still. Any other night you would have loved to outstay your welcome at the pub with them, but your headache was steadily growing worse; though you felt a little guilty, you weren’t going to protest Danny’s decision to leave.

You and Danny stood, and he tried to stretch a little in the cramped space.

“Maybe if you weren’t so boring, she wouldn’t have been so tired,” he told Sam, a teasing smile on his face.

Sam scoffed. “I’m not boring. Am I?”

You gave a soft laugh. “No, you’re not boring. It’s just... been a long day.”

The sympathy and affection in their expressions told you they understood and didn’t mind.

“Long day for us, too,” Josh said, finishing off the dregs of his beer. “But you’ll still come to the Christmas party at the studio, won’t you?”

“Tomorrow, right?” you asked. You remembered Danny had mentioned they were doing a Christmas party with all the studio staff and their families, and you’d been looking forward to going.

Josh nodded. “I don’t remember when it’s supposed to start, though.”

Danny smiled and grabbed both of your jackets from the back of your chair.

“It starts at five,” he said, ever the most responsible out of the boys. “If you’d bother to check the schedule we get sent every week, you’d know.”

The brothers all gave him a round of dismissive scoffs, and Danny laughed.

“No, I figured you wouldn’t,” he said affectionately. “I’ll text you tomorrow to remind you.”

You all exchanged goodbyes, and Danny put his hand to the small of your back as he guided you through the tight maze of tables and fellow pub-goers. You smiled to yourself at the steady stream of “excuse me, sorry,” type apologies from your boyfriend as he tried to keep his broad frame from bumping into anybody.

Once outside, you shivered in the freezing night air and let Danny help you into your jacket. He fished a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket and lit one as you walked back to where he’d parked the car.

“We could have stayed longer,” you said.

“I know,” he said, his breath clouding with smoke in the air. Snow fell in light flurries, dusting his hair and the shoulders of his jacket. “But I don’t mind heading home. You’d already stayed longer than you wanted to.”

He looked over at you and studied your face in the light of a streetlamp. “You look tired, baby.”

You sighed. “I’m...” You rubbed your fingers against your forehead. “I have a headache.”

A look of surprise and guilt washed over his expression. “You do?” He let his half-smoked cigarette fall to the sidewalk and put it out with his shoe. “Why didn’t you say?”

You shook your head. “It doesn’t... It’s not that big a deal.” You gestured to the cigarette on the ground, feeling an unwarranted flash of irritation as the pain in your temples spiked. “Why’d you put that out? You didn’t even smoke half of it.”

He put a hand to your elbow as you crossed the street. “I didn’t want it to make your headache worse.”

“Oh,” you said, softening. “Well... thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” he said. He looked over at you again as you walked. “You should have told me, honey. We could have left a lot earlier.”

“I didn’t want to make you leave,” you said. “I know you had a long day at the studio, and you deserved to hang out and unwind.”

You reached the car and he opened your door for you.

“You’re good to drive?” you asked.

“Yeah, I didn’t have that much to drink.”

You were grateful, because you didn’t know if you could drive with your head pounding like it was. You leaned your head against the window as he drove you home.

“I’m sorry you don’t feel good,” he said. He took your hand and rubbed circles against your knuckles. “Please tell me next time.”

You felt like you might cry, for some reason. You hated making him worry.

“I was trying to be sweet,” you said, your voice a little wobbly.

“I know, baby,” he said softly. “You were being sweet. But I wouldn’t have been upset if you wanted to leave.”

You nodded. “I know. I just... I wanted to hang out too, and I wish you’d been able to have a good time. I wish I hadn’t ruined it.”

“You didn’t ruin anything,” he assured you, and you knew he was being sincere. “And I did have a good time. Besides, it’s not like this is the last time we’ll all go out for a drink. We still have the Christmas party tomorrow, if you’re feeling up for it, and plenty of time to hang out now that we're done in the studio for a while.”

You drew your joined hands up and kissed the back of his hand. “I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart,” he said gently. “Let’s get you home and taken care of, ok?”

You shared a companionable silence the rest of the way home, his tender, rhythmic touch against your hand easing your discomfort. He came around and opened the door for you when you pulled into the driveway, and he kept his hand in yours as you walked up to the porch.

“Turn the lights on,” you said, gesturing to the extension cord. He plugged in the outdoor lights he’d put up for you a few days ago, and your yard was bathed in a rosy glow.

“Stay here a second,” he said once you were inside. He closed the door behind you and didn’t turn on the overhead lights, fumbling around in the near darkness for some reason.

“Danny,” you said. “What are you doing?”

You got your answer when he plugged in the Christmas tree and the lights on the mantle, giving you a sweet smile.

“I figured we should keep it nice and dim for you,” he said, helping you out of your jacket and hanging it up. “And I knew you wanted them on anyway. It’s not too much, right?”

You softened at his thoughtfulness. “It’s perfect. Thank you.” The Christmas lights gave your living room a cosy glow without being too bright, and you were glad he’d taken you home.

“Come on,” he said, steering you to the bedroom. He told you to sit on the edge of the bed and stay put; a minute later, he was back with medicine and some water.

“Hopefully that’ll kick in soon,” he said, reaching to plug in the lights you had strung over your headboard. “And... there. That’s all your pretty Christmas lights, right?”

You smiled. “Yeah, that’s all of them. Thank you.”

He gave you a chaste kiss. “You’re welcome.”

He set your empty glass on his nightstand and knelt in front of you to take your boots off for you. You felt close to crying again.

“Danny,” you said, your voice tight.

He looked up at you, worry in his expression. “What’s wrong?”

You shook your head. “Nothing.” You brushed your fingers over his hair, tucking back a curl that had come loose from his bun. “Thank you for taking good care of me.”

His posture relaxed. “Sweetheart,” he said softly, the corner of his mouth tipping up in a gentle smile. “You don’t have to thank me, but you’re welcome. I love you.”

You touched your hand to his cheek and kissed him. “I love you too.”

When your boots were off, he helped you out of your clothes. First your sweater, then your jeans; he took off your shirt and unclasped your bra with the ease of a man who’d done so many times, but his touch was chaste and comforting. He found you cosy pajamas and tied your hair back in a messy, soft braid.

“What am I forgetting?” he asked, when he could think of nothing else to do to help. “Should I make tea?”

You moved up to the top of the bed and got comfortable under the covers. “Nope. Come here.”

He smiled. “Are you sure there’s nothing else I can do?”

“Danny, you’re perfect,” you said. “You’ve done everything a girl could ever want and more. Now I just want you to lay down with me.”

“Yes ma’am.”

He made quick work of his own clothes, changing into pajama pants and his well-loved “Franken Van Muth” sweatshirt. You cuddled close to him when he got into bed, letting him drape the covers over both of you.

“How’s that?” he asked.

You gave a contented sigh. “Wonderful.”

He kissed your forehead. “Is the medicine starting to help?”

You nodded against his chest. You felt much better already, made as comfortable as could be by Danny’s patient, selfless care. He slipped his hand under the hem of your shirt and pressed his warm palm against your back, drawing you close.

“I had a thought,” he said.

You smiled. “And what thought would that be?”

He rubbed his hand up and down your back with a soothing pressure. “I think I read somewhere that an orgasm can help with headaches.”

You laughed. “Did you, now?”

He hummed in agreement. “I think we should test that theory.”

You sighed and ran your knuckles against his jaw. “I would, but... I don’t want to be selfish. I’m not really up for — ”

“I know,” he said, gently cutting you off. “I wasn’t thinking of getting all fancy. And I wasn’t thinking of me.”

“That’s not fair, though,” you said. “You’re just gonna... not get anything?”

He smiled. “Who said I won’t be getting anything?” He kissed all over your face. “I love giving you pleasure, sweetheart. Your pleasure is its own reward.”

You blushed. “Well. Aren’t you the most perfect boyfriend on the face of the earth.”

He chuckled. “Not in a lot of ways, unfortunately. You deserve better than me.”

“Impossible,” you said, tracing your fingers over his beloved features. “I love you. I don’t want anyone else.”

You could feel his smile as he kissed you.

“Glad to hear it, honey,” he said. He pushed gently on your hip so you were lying on your back; his big hand wandered over your body, warming you to your desire.

“You were so sweet to me earlier,” he said, splaying his hand over your stomach. “Let me be sweet to you.”

You melted against his touch as he slipped his hand underneath the waistband of your sweatpants, his movements slow and easy as he began to tease you. He kissed you deeply, catching your sigh against his mouth.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said softly, the bridge of his nose nudging against your jaw as he kissed your neck. “I love you.”

His words did just as much as his fingers to draw the spark of desire into a flame, one that warmed your whole body as it curled between your hips. You held onto his shoulder, rocking against his hand.

“Danny,” you sighed.

He hummed. “Tell me how it feels, baby. Let me hear your voice.”

You closed your eyes and leaned your head back against the pillow. “So good, Danny, please,” you said, your breath catching in your chest. “Feels so good.”

You gave a little hiccuping gasp when he curled his fingers inside you, the feel of his big, strong hand against you equal parts heady and comforting. He handled you with ease and patience, lovingly drawing you out as he kissed everywhere he could reach.

“Please, Danny,” you breathed.

“Shh, relax,” he chided gently. “I’ve got you, pretty girl.”

He didn’t pick up his pace like you thought you’d wanted him to — he kept his touch steady and slow, and he knew exactly what he was doing. When he finally drew you to the edge, you were shaking underneath him.

“Beautiful,” he praised. He kissed your jaw.

Your whine was little more than a gasp. “Danny.”

“I know, my love,” he assured you. “Just... let me look at you.”

You tried to be patient as he studied your face, his own features beautiful in the soft light. He looked at you with nothing short of adoration, and you loved him more than you could ever say.

“Kiss me,” you said.

He did as you asked, and you fell to pieces as he brought you to your high. He held you close and told you how much he loved you, how lovely you were to him.

“Thank you,” you said. “For everything. I love you.”

You touched his cheek and pressed close to him, his warm, steady frame feeling like home.

He gave you a gentle smile and kissed you. “I love you too.”

fic taglist: @gretavanwinkle, @evilhagspage

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#danny wagner x reader #daniel wagner x reader #danny wagner fluff #danny wagner smut #greta van fleet fanfiction #danny wagner fanfiction #gvf fanfiction #maddie writes stuff!

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halothenthehorns · 2 years ago

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Five Times Tonks almost meets Remus, and the Time she finally does

I've never been a big Remadora fan, but I don't hate them either and writing out a couple of almost- and then the meet cute did amuse me. Hope you enjoy.

"Mommy?" The little girl's hair was its natural mousy brown color and tousled with sleep, but her eyes were bright blue and alert as she held something behind her back and watched the door where the man had left, he hadn't even looked at her. His eyes hadn't looked at much of anything as he spoke quietly before leaving hastily. "Who was that?"

"Oh Nymphadora, I didn't realize you'd gotten up." Andromeda smiled at the sight of her daughter, moving on instinct to pick her up, shield her from the world and holding tight. "What have you got there sweetie?" She asked quietly, trying to tug the bit of paper away.

"I made a picture," she proclaimed happily, she was still so easily distractible at this age. She showed it off with a flourish and beamed as her mothers watery eyes found the sloppy image, a black dog like shape chasing the toddler in her new dress that was bright yellow. Andromeda snatched it away and folded it hastily, while her daughter pouted. "You don't like it? Uncle Siri-"

"I love it honey, of course," she pressed her only child right to her heart as she carried her back to bed. Her daughter need never know she would burn it along with any other evidence of their past connection to the Black family after the latest's deeds had been blasted across the paper. "Uncle Siri went on a trip though, and he won't be back for a while," her voice broke, the news Remus had delivered of the fast sentencing still didn't feel real.

It was what he deserved she kept telling herself, pushing away that toast he'd made at their wedding, the way he'd held Nymphadora! Even Bellatrix could never be so cold hearted as to manage such a split personality.

"Can't I owl him the picture?" She pouted as she accepted the covers around her once more.

"I'll do it for you," she lied at once. "You just give all that to me honey, I'll make sure he gets them." Ted would have to be warned as soon as possible. She looked one more time at the silly image and tried to keep her voice from shaking too bad, "like the dog star. That's really clever sweetie." Her cousin had always said he hated his name and then made jokes about it for years, how had she not seen this coming?

"So he's not coming over to play again?" Nymphadora’s eyes flashed a darker shade of blue as she pouted. "Last time he played with me all night, and he promised he'd bring his own friends over. One of them has a baby, and one of them turns all furry sometimes so he's sick and doesn't like to come, and one-"

"Dora," her mother stroked the side of her face, pushing lightly to get her to lay down. "Come now love, it's bed time. Enough sweetie." Her daughter was complacent at once of course, still squirming in the sheets but appeased for now. She would stop asking about him, she assured herself, this would all just fade away like a bad dream.

"To Romanian internships!" Charlie managed to howl louder than the thumping base.

"To seven NEWTs each!" She declared back as they clacked their drinks together and downed the lot. Her hair was neon yellow for the occasion in one last fit of Hufflepuff pride, her eyes changed colors to every pulsing light around them.

They sang the next dozen songs to come on at the top of their lungs and hung on each other in goodbye as they exalted in their future. It was her turn to get the drinks next, and she did so with pride as she forced her way to the bar and hung practically over the filthy, cup lined wood to get his attention, half tempted to take the dregs of the left behinds and put them all in one cup rather than pay these prices.

She finally got her order in and backed away from the smelly bloke that was going to drown her faster than any alcohol with that much aftershave on and backed straight into someone else. "Sorry," she said at once.

"S’alright," his voice slurred terribly. She had to look up a bit to catch sight of his face and couldn't quite make it out, their surroundings kept flashing stark relief and darkness back and forth so fast it was starting to give her a headache and making odd flashes cross his face anyways. She'd swear he streaked his hair some strange color other than the brown it was though.

It was in the air for one small moment as the two tried to get a better look. He smiled, she could tell that much, but it was such a sad thing only half visible, like a chipped mirror. She made to put her hand on his on pure instinct, maybe steer him outside and bum a fag in the fresh air while they got out of this noise for just a moment.

A woman burst onto the pair and grabbed the mans arm, pulling him to the dance floor and slurring her own gibberish as she slopped half their drinks over the pair. He drunkenly went with her, and she started after in concern. What kind of Auror would she be if she just let some stranger get taken advantage of like that, he didn't even seem coherent enough to walk home, let alone keep up with that. Then he grabbed her ass and leaned in to kiss her before accepting his drink and she turned back away.

Still fresh from her multiple detentions in school she'd never have to deal with again, half of which had been for nosing into others business, she firmly reminded herself now what Moody had already tried drilling into her head from his mismatched eyes. You couldn't save everyone.

"And you're sure it's a werewolf attack this time?" she asked in exasperation as she scribbled down the notes. "Because the last three times you lot have said that, it's been everything but! I swear, a jarvy bite would set your office off—"

"I swear it, miss," the harassed man from The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures dropped his briefcase full of notes, scattering them across the floor as he barely looked at her. "Orders came straight down from Diggory; we've got a live one! We'll need all bodies on hand."

"Okay, okay," she promised as she gave the message to a waiting owl. It took off and proceeded to leave a white mark on a rather important looking-document as the man stuffed it away, not even seeming to notice.

It was the seventh dead body she'd ever seen, but the youngest by far. The boy was barely thirteen, and ravaged so severely even that would have been impossible to define without the sobbing aunt having to explain. The parents were at St. Mungo's with his little sister; they weren't sure if she'd survive the night; if one could call it that with what her future would hold.

People were bustling in and out of the house like it was aflame; the moon was still waning on the horizon. They hadn't been this close to catching a possible Greyback sighting in years and all the big wigs were in attendance as they pored over every detail of the place.

One man stuck out more than he should. She'd only just passed her final training course by the skin of her ankle, literally. She'd nearly failed her stealth training, but had O'd her observational tasks. The man was tall with light brown hair adorned by odd gray streaks. He stood in the back of the crowd and watched the body, somehow detached from the others. Fudge was talking animatedly to some reporter with elaborate blonde curls sucking on a quill, Scrimgeour was delegating and double-tapping his wand on all spells performed to keep the activity moving, but the man seemed apart from it all and hovered close to Dumbledore of all people. Just quietly standing there as if waiting for someone to turn and blame him any second for these deeds.

The moon's shadows seemed to keep his features sunken and unhealthy as he passed a crumpled bit of paper into her old headmaster's hand and then slipped back out of the room before she could get a close look and make out any features properly. Dumbledore slipped the note into his pocket without looking, and she followed the man impulsively.

He stopped just short of the apparition point and hunched over, grabbing fistfuls of his hair. She stepped even closer in concern and offered a pitiful, "I puked, the first time I saw a dead body. Quite glad I missed lunch, or I might have again." She sounded hoarse enough to her own ears. He wouldn't mistake her for lying.

Turning just enough to see him in profile, she could see him slowly lowering his hands to his side but then backed away even farther from her. She caught the scratchy disuse of his own voice, meaning he may have spilled his guts earlier instead. "It doesn't get easier, but we've got to keep trying." He hunched his shoulders again. She stepped cautiously forward, but he took another step back.

She imagined for a moment what Greyback would have done in this instance when confronted with her offer for help. Tried to eat her, despite the height of his power vanishing for another month. Taken her away to feast on for the whole of his stay as human, as rumored he consumed humans even while not in the wolf body? Here, Dumbledore's friend just looked, sad. She nodded and stayed in place as she understood. "All it can take is someone who is prepared to fight what seems a losing battle next time and if he is delayed again, and again, why, he may never return."

Even the man's laugh sounded exhausted, but she could have sworn she caught a smile in the thicket of darkness. "Wise words from a wise man. You have a good night."

"You as well," she whispered as she turned back to the house.

She was sure he'd been listening in since the argument had started, the page of his newspaper had not been flipped while their voices escalated. It was very noisy in the Three Broomsticks, so it's not as if that was the distraction. What really caught her attention though was the small laugh from his corner when she'd called this ponce her mothers particularly favorite swear in Latin.

This idiot was too dense to even seem to recognize he'd been insulted. The chuckle had been soft and unnoticed to the pompous jerk who wouldn't take a hint for the past five minutes and was still trying to coax her into having a drink with him. She liked it, she instantly decided, and wanted to hear it again rather than another second of this grating voice.

One conspicuous glance over only showed his profile, his face was still hidden behind the Prophet with only the hint of his oddly light brown hair, but his head was definitely inclined in their direction, she'd swear it. A man after her own heart really, not trying to swoop in and rescue her, but clearly unwilling to look the other way.

A quick trip to the bathroom should solve both of her problems, she instantly decided, flat ignoring the next words out of this arseholes mouth and just waltzing in. She was very glad she’d done it, she’d been unconsciously blunting her features in frustration. Staring in the mirror with concentration, she smoothed out her square chin to a more heart shape she liked and shortened the nose. Madam Rosmerta came in only moments later and promised she'd kicked the tosser out while she was debating between black curly hair or her favorite bright yellow for this first meeting and she thanked the bartender heartily as she eagerly went back out.

The paper was folded neatly in place on an empty table, a single coin in place as his departure. She pouted she didn't even know what he would have been drinking.

"I have a list of people and places we need to be keeping an eye on incase Black makes contact," Scrimgeour stated. "Dawlish, take Godric's Hollow, just in case he wants to go gloating over the dead Potter's, Proudfoot, the street from his original crime, I wouldn't put it past that twisted soul to try laying low there either. Tonks, go find Lupin, an old acquaintance of his-"

"Sir, Dumbledore's just sent owl back," Kingsley weaved his way easily through the different desks. "He's approved of the dementors."

"Good, good, better safe than sorry," their grizzled lead nodded and went back to hashing out assignments while she hastily collected whatever she needed, like the address and whatever information they had on this guy, before apparating.

His home was in Wales, left to him by will of his parents. It was not some long ago, probably useless passing dorm mate to their escaped prisoner who opened the door though, but Albus Dumbledore.

"Hello sir," she smiled brightly in confusion. "Pleasure running into you on such a day."

"Miss Tonks, always a delight," he smiled at her as he closed the door behind him. She frowned and looked anxiously through a window that had the shutters closed.

"Sorry to cut short," she said earnestly, "but I-"

"Yes, I suppose Rufus would have you come interrogate the poor man," Dumbledore agreed sadly. "May I kindly request you go back to him with my confidence he has cut ties with Black long ago. I vouch for him Miss Tonks, he will be employed at my school this year, and he needs his peace as he collects himself for the journey."

"Oh," she rocked on her heels in surprise and immediately regretted this as he had to steady her gently. "Erm, I suppose," she agreed hesitantly. Scrimgeour was big on his paperwork, getting all his I's dotted and T's crossed, but then Dumbledore was in and out of the Ministry so much and had personally had lunch with the man last week she knew. Surely this would be allowed. "Yes sir, if you insist," she nodded.

He beamed at her and gave a sweeping look with those bright blue eyes she smiled back just to see him chuckle again, he looked like he needed it.

"I'm not surprised you don't remember me," Sirius promised as she again tried to apologize while Kingsley turned away to be introduced to someone named Elphias Doge. "Merlin, I don't even remember how old you were last time I saw you. I'm not sure I want to know what Andromeda's said back then," he finished with a scowl that was probably more pronounced than usual because of the grim lighting in this house. "Is she coming along?"

"Not officially," Tonks shrugged as she still watched him eagerly for any hint of familiarity. Azkaban had stripped away so much though, she might as well have never met him before, he looked nothing like her mother at all. "She's in the loop but on the outs, if you catch my meaning."

Sirius tutted disapprovingly and shifted impatiently in his seat. He barely looked up at the man coming in and taking a seat next to him, but her attention was instantly diverted from some old second cousin to this stranger.

He had light brown hair with liberal gray streaks in them and weathered skin as lined as Sirius', with the same kind of shadow in his eyes as the escaped prisoner. Older than his years somehow, and he was already at least ten years older than her anyways. There was something there though she instantly found herself leaning into, wondering for the first time in this room if the purple in her hair was a childish color, or maybe not bright enough in fact. He had a light in him, a curiosity as he took her in and offered his hand. Nobody else but Moody and Sirius Black had taken a second look at her because of her youth.

"Tonks," she said at once before he could even ask as she shook his hand firmly.

"Nymphadora Tonks," Sirius added for emphasis even as he kept scowling at the ceiling.

"Not Andromeda's daughter," the man smiled from her to him. "Merlin you've grown up."

"Just Tonks," she corrected with a haughty look for Sirius alone before trying to keep smiling at him, but they were interrupted by Molly Weasley's shouts echoing from up the stairs, "-Extendable Ears? How dare you two, this is the limit I swear-"

"Dinner might be delayed tonight," the gentleman mock whispered to her. "Are you staying though? It'll be worth it, Molly's a great cook."

"I'm sure I can be tempted," she smiled eagerly back, "only of course if I'm not intruding. We haven't even been properly introduced."

"You could never," he laughed, and she instantly grinned along. "Sirius is an awful host, don't mind him. I'm Remus Lupin."

#remadora #5and1 #Tonks #Nymphadora Tonks #Remus Lupin #hp #fanfiction

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blog-of-a-multitude-of-fandoms · 2 years ago

Text

Laugh- Steve Harrington

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader

Characters: Steve Harrington

Warnings: N/A

Request: Anon- Can I please request Steve Harrington (Stranger Things) + the word prompt ”Comfort” please? Thank you!

Word Count: 531

Author: Charlotte

You looked up at the clock for what felt like the hundredth time since you had entered Scoops Ahoy. You were meant to be meeting your date here for ice cream and then go to see a movie, but the arranged time had come and went over an hour prior. Blindly, you held onto hope, somehow trying to justify why he was so late and keep believing that he will still turn up. You had been sipping at a coke whilst you sat in the booth, trying to ignore the stares of others in the store, but your drink was down to the dregs, and you didn’t want to have to face standing up and leaving alone.

Doing your best to stop yourself from crying or making anymore of yourself, you tried to build the courage to leave but before you could, someone slipped in opposite you. It wasn’t your date but the man who had served you the drink, dressed in a sailor’s costume.

“He must have been a right ass to stand you up,” he stated.

You felt your body tense. Was it really that obvious? Were you really that pathetic that people could tell you were stood up for your date?

“Pardon?”

“You’ve been checking the clock non-stop, and you’re upset,” he explained. “I just assumed.”

You shrugged your shoulders, trying to seem nonchalant even though that was the furthest thing that you ever would.

“It was meant to be our first date,” you sighed. “But he’s seventy-eight minutes late, so I think that’s probably a good enough sign that I wasn’t worth meeting.”

Tears brimmed in your eyes, and you could no longer fight letting them fall. The man opposite you gave you a weak smile, grabbing one of the napkins from the table. He shuffled around the booth to take a seat beside you, gently wiping away the tears as they rolled down your cheeks.

“This has nothing to do with something being wrong with you, it’s all to do with something being wrong with him,” he explained.

“I didn’t even like him,” you whispered. “No one had ever asked me on a date before.”

“There will be other dates. You’re beautiful and clearly caring and nice if you’re willing to give him over an hour to show up.”

You sniffled a little too loudly for it to not be slightly embarrassing.

“I must look like such an idiot,” you croaked, trying to laugh through it in an attempt to stop the tears.

The man beside you practically cackled. “You look like an idiot? No one’s looking at you when you’re sat next to the walking Matey bottle.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly at him wildly gesturing to his silly uniform.

“Thank you for making me laugh and comforting me, you didn’t have to be nice to me, you could have just told me to free up the table.”

He shook his head. “I didn’t come over to get the table back. I hate seeing sad beautiful women and if I can make you laugh a little, then it’s been a good day.”

You gave him a weak smile. “I’m Y/N by the way.”

“Steve.”

#Laugh #Anon #Request #Steve Harrington #Steve Harrington Imagine #Steve Harrington One Shot #Stranger Things #Stranger Things One Shot #Stranger Things Imagine #Charlotte

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honeymoonjin · 4 years ago

Text

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 7.1k || ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut - rated 18+

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ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: both non-sexual and sexual pet play, dom!jimin, sub!jk, sub!tae, handjob, yoongi and yn pretending like they don't wanna suck the souls out of each other, exhibitionism, voyeurism, mutual masturbation

A/N: welcome back to my best boys ;;;;-; this chapter is being cross-posted from ao3. in the future i'll try and upload in both places at the same time!

DAY TWENTY-THREE

It’s two blocks of pure ice that wake Taehyung up that Tuesday morning. Before he’s even really coherent, he’s hissing and tucking into a ball away from the cold.

“Puppy, shh, it’s just me.”

Even as those chilled items that Tae can tentatively identify as feet tuck between his bare legs, he goes lax and accepts the body that wraps around his curled back. “Minnie,” he mumbles, and it’s so quiet that the older boy probably doesn’t hear, but his grip tightens anyway. “‘What time ‘s it?”

“Early, I’m sorry.” Jimin’s voice, unlike his thawing toes, blows warm across the back of Taehyung’s neck. “Missed you.”

A sleepy smile of bliss crosses Taehyung’s face for exactly three seconds, at which point he recalls the fact that he didn’t go to sleep alone tonight. Shooting up so quickly that his shoulder catches Jimin’s chin, Taehyung peels his eyes open to see Jungkook, awkwardly hugging a pillow to his chest with his legs crossed.

He bites his lip, avoiding their gazes. “Sorry, I, uh, don’t mean to disturb.”

“Shoot.” Jimin rubs his face blearily. “I didn’t see you there, Jungkookie. I should go-”

“No, no, stay,” Taehyung begs hurriedly, launching himself back onto the mattress and wiggling himself back into the curve of Jimin’s front. “Jungkook, um, you can come cuddle too if you want. I like being middle spoon.”

The youngest gazes back and forth at them, never resting long enough for eye contact. His indecision is palpable, but there’s a pleased glimmer too. “Is that...okay with Jimin-hyung? I don’t wanna intrude.”

Jimin’s voice is soft, his eyes slipping closed as he eases his face into the crook of Taehyung’s neck, arms snaking around his torso. “You can be a part of us too, Jungkookie.”

The words are perhaps more intimate than Jimin even realises, and in the vulnerable setting of a bed in the early morning hours, Jungkook’s hard swallow is audible, before he slowly puts the pillow aside and tucks his feet under the covers, slipping down. It’s not until Taehyung’s arm is his headrest and the other one provides a comforting weight low on his hips that he speaks up again. “Do you… do you mean that just for now, or… Or for good?”

“What do you think, Minnie?” Taehyung’s fingertips trace lazily over the bare skin that’s exposed by Jungkook’s shirt riding up. “Can we keep him?”

Jimin hums in affirmation. He’s just about asleep again, but Taehyung can feel his pleased smile against his shoulder. “Of course we can, puppy.”

The repeated nickname causes Taehyung’s heart to twitch just as his dick does. It’s no less endearing and special, but Jungkook is still perfectly awake and right there, and it feels a little confronting.

But Jungkook just chuckles, twisting around in Taehyung’s slack embrace to face him, eyes bright. “If you’re a puppy, what am I?”

Taehyung’s careful not to jostle Jimin. He’s begun snoring, nothing more audible than regular snuffling, but still Tae doesn’t want to disturb that rest. “What do you mean, Jungkookie?”

He scrunches his nose, thinking away. “Well, there’s Minnie and there’s puppy. I want a cute nickname too if I’m gonna be - you know - with you guys.”

“Jungkook,” Taehyung begins haltingly, “Jimin calls me puppy because… God, it feels silly saying it out loud. He calls me puppy because sometimes when we’re together I go into puppyspace. You know; like petplay.”

“That’s not silly,” Jungkook says reflexively, even as his eyes widen and lips part. “What’s it like?”

“Puppyspace?” Taehyung asks. Jungkook nods eagerly, and the motion is transferred through Tae where they connect, making Jimin grunt and bury his nose deeper into the crook of his neck. “It’s so peaceful, Jungkookie. He takes care of me so I don’t have to think. I can nap and cuddle and play, without all of the stresses of life. It feels all warm and cosy, you know? I love it.”

Jungkook’s eyes sparkle in wonder, his fingers finding their way to Taehyung’s worn black sleepshirt, fiddling with the hem. “Can I try? How do you… how do you know if you can do it?”

Behind Taehyung, Jimin lets out a half-asleep groan, his nose pressing against the taller one’s back. “Of course you can try. Let’s just sleep for now, though? I’m sure Minnie can play with both of us later.”

It’s that promise that allows Jungkook to settle, nodding with a tentative hum and shifting down so that his head can rest in the crook of Taehyung’s neck. Taehyung falls back under like this, with a heartbeat thrumming against his back and soft, even breaths tickling his bared shoulder.

“Hobi?”

Hoseok pauses, frothed toothbrush clamped between his teeth. “Mmng?”

“I don’t-” you cut yourself off, clearing your throat to dislodge the thickness that distorts your voice. “Can we not tell them?”

He bends over to quickly spit out the majority of toothpaste, but when he stands upright to face you again there’s a smear on his chin. “Tell them what?”

You blink. “Last night. I just… I don’t want them to- to pity me or treat me like I’m glass or anything. I know it won’t happen again, it was just…” Shrugging hopelessly, you give up on trying to put words to it. “I don’t know.”

The dom remains silent for a few moments, lips pursed in thought. “The chicken must have been bad,” he concludes.

Bewildered, you cock your head to the side. “Huh? What chicken?”

“You and I went out for dinner at this fried chicken place, but when you got home last night it made you sick. That’s why you aren’t quite yourself today. I’ll get Yoongi-hyung to make some hangover soup.” His eyes are warm, pulling you into a comforting one-armed hug. “Just the chicken, that’s all. Yeah?”

You swallow down the swell of gratitude and instead bury yourself into his safe embrace. “Yeah. That’s all.”

To his credit, Yoongi doesn’t ask questions, pushing all his concern into his cooking. The doctor all but feeds you himself, hovering with a furrowed brow and a napkin. Strangely enough, his fussing goes a long way in cheering you up, and you let the events of yesterday wash away with the salty broth.

Hoseok hangs around for a while before going down to do some laundry, Namjoon briefly jumps in to steal a spoonful directly from the pan, eyes never leaving the novel he’s holding open with a single hand. Even Jungkook stumbles in blearily at one point, nose first, requesting an extra two bowls for Jimin and Taehyung as well.

You’re onto your second serving by the time it’s just Yoongi and you. He’s pulled up a chair beside you, cradling a coffee. “I got a text this morning, you know,” he begins gently. “I can ignore it if you’re not up to it.”

It takes you a moment to process his words, recalling Sejin’s instructions the day prior. “It’s your day, then?” He nods silently, scanning you for any reaction. You hum, spoon swirling lazily in the dregs of your breakfast. “I’m up to it,” you answer finally, “if you are.”

“Always,” Yoongi replies immediately, voice bared and soft. His hand passes over yours, squeezing briefly, before he stands up and clears the bowls from the table. “Aspirin is in the pantry if you need it, blue container.”

You give him your thanks, left alone as he disappears upstairs.

Grabbing a glass and pouring yourself some water, you track down the aspirin and take out two tablets, grimacing as the bitterness sticks to your tongue. While you may not actually be sick, a headache was beginning to bloom between your brows.

So much had happened in the past few days, you almost felt like you’d gotten whiplash. The early days of lounging around the house and chasing pleasure seemed so distant. Feelings tangled things up more each day, unraveling quicker than you can get a hold on them.

It wasn’t just you, either. You saw the way the guys looked at each other, how gentle they were, how thoughtful. It was in the little things. Jungkook’s laundry pile started featuring clothes from the other maknaes; Namjoon and Hoseok always sat so close together, even when there was room on the couch; Yoongi had started giving the others bigger portions when he cooked, even as his stayed the same. And Jin…

You startle when a door opens, glass almost slipping from your hands. It’s the unfilmed room across the stairs. You frown as a tall figure slips out, swamped in a massive pink hoodie that you’d never seen in the house before. A sleeve-covered hand reaches up to rub under the hood, dark hair poking out. Your breath catches. Jin…

He moves across the hall gingerly like his body aches, hand never leaving his face as he grumbles sleepily. For a split second, your mind entertains the thought of sprinting past before he sees you, avoiding the conflict that is no doubt upon you.

But only for a split second. Because the only thing worse than being confronted by him is not seeing him at all. You wait, instead, until he rolls his shoulders back, tipping his face to the ceiling to stretch out his spine. The hood falls back, exposing a serious case of bedhead, tired eyes, and sallow skin. But it’s Jin nonetheless, beautiful despite his apparent exhaustion, and your heart breaks again for being the one to cause this.

He notices you when his head comes back down from the stretch, and were you not in such despair you may have cracked a smile at the way he jumps. “Y/n…” he mumbles, voice barely audible.

Your mouth goes dry. Even if it wasn’t you don’t know what to say, simply bracing yourself for anger.

He doesn’t stiffen his features, however, simply watching you with melancholy eyes. “You look sad,” he says weakly.

Your heart is racing a hundred beats a second at just hearing him speak to you, and it takes you that much time just to process his words, eyes pricking sharply. “I am sad,” you reply honestly, blinking the wetness away. “You look tired,” you whisper in return.

His bottom lip trembles, before flattening tightly. Instead of responding verbally, he just nods.

The two of you sit in that silence for a while. Jin’s breathing is ragged, his eyes unfocused as they slip past you. You think you might be sick with the way your stomach flips.

Finally, you can’t stand the silence. “Are you still mad at-” you begin, but your words die in your throat as you’re enveloped tightly by him, clutching you so close that your chest constricts. The tensed breath you didn’t know you were holding rushes out of you with a sob, and your arms fly up to hug him back, just as tightly.

There’s nothing more than just a simple hug, but your heart is still full, almost overwhelmed by the cathartic relief of having him close to you again, his chin resting on the crown of your head, his hands rubbing circles on your back, the gentle sway as he rocks you in the hold.

It lasts for an eternity too short, and when he pulls away you feel untethered, already pining for that contact again.

His eyes are swimming, though you see the way he tightens his jaw to hold it back. “I’m devastated,” he admits, “but I miss you too much to ice you out like this. I need time but god, I don’t want space. Can you give me time?”

You’re nodding hastily, sniffing as your nose threatens to run. “Of course, Jin. I’ll be here. I… I think I-”

“Don’t-” he interrupts sharply, sucking in a shaky breath. “Don’t let now be the first time we say it. Later,” he promises.

We. Your skin breaks out in goosebumps, electricity thrumming along your nerves. You let that word settle you, repeating it in your head as Jin sends you a sad smile - but a smile nonetheless - and takes his leave, disappearing upstairs.

You decide to take a bath, in the end, letting yourself soak in the thought of “we” a little longer.

“So, what, we start barking? Chew on some sticks?”

Taehyung colours violently and Jimin sends Jungkook a sharp glare in rebuke. “Say less,” he scolds the youngest, before reaching up to run his fingers through Taehyung’s hair, breaking up the curls. “We just ease into it. Taehyung doesn’t use it for humiliation or anything like that, he just likes being taken care of. Isn’t that right, pup?”

Taehyung hums, eyes already fluttering as he leans his head into Jimin’s palm. The three of them had migrated onto Taehyung’s now-made bed after their breakfast after Jungkook once again mentioned wanting to try petplay.

Significantly larger than Jimin, Taehyung has to awkwardly shuffle down the mattress further to rest his head in Jimin’s lap, but Jungkook can immediately see the lines of stress that melt away once he does so. Jimin smooths his hand down to cup the younger’s chin, delicately stroking the soft flesh as if he were patting a sleepy dog.

“You’ll just watch for now,” Jimin instructs Jungkook without removing his gaze from Taehyung, “and if it feels right, you can join in. There are no expectations and no rules, only to respect the process and don’t disrupt Tae’s petspace. Got it?”

Jungkook swallows as Jimin chooses that point to lift his steeled gaze, brows high as he waits for Jungkook to agree. “Got it,” the youngest confirms. He gets comfy, tucking his feet under him and leaning up against the pillows.

“Such a lucky boy,” the dom begins with his voice like melted sugar. “Dogs aren’t meant to be up on the furniture. But you’ve been good lately, so I thought I’d treat you.”

Taehyung’s eyes flutter closed. He shuffles slightly, stretching one leg out until his ankle dangles off the edge of the mattress, but doesn’t audibly respond.

Jimin chuckles fondly through his nose, hand running down to rub up and down Taehyung’s clothed tummy, which is now facing upwards. “Oh, pup,” he coos, “you must be tired after the big walk. How about we rest for a bit, and we can play later?” Instead of waiting for a response, the dom just gasps like he’s forgotten something important. “Oh! Your collar! I must’ve taken it off when I took off the leash. Never mind; Jungkook, dear, could you get me the brush and collar out of the bedside table? Bottom drawer.”

It feels like the very particles in the air shift when Jungkook is ripped away from the observer role and into an active participant. He swallows away the dryness in his throat to little avail and nods, fumbling with the drawer handle and pulling out a barely-used hairbrush and velvet dog collar. “These?” he asks redundantly, nerves settling when Jimin gives him a pleased smile and holds out his hand.

“Alright, little puppy,” Jimin announces, his voice lilting easily back into the candyfloss tone that all owners used with their pets. “Let’s give you a brush before we put your collar back on. I don’t want your coat getting matted.”

Taehyung gives a small, throaty hum and lifts himself laboriously up onto his elbows, tipping his head up to his master. Jimin pats his cheek warmly and calls him a good boy, and Jungkook gets a front row seat to the beautiful sight of a sleepy, lusty Kim Taehyung going pink in the face, a shy smile twitching his lip.

‘Brushing his coat’ is just brushing his hair, but even Jungkook can see that the technique is slightly different. Jimin does it slowly, methodically, line by line from the front to the back, then reaching around to the nape of his neck to give it a good brushing there - Taehyung all but shivers at each swoop of the brush - even folding down each ear when he goes past. Watching it is nothing short of mesmerising, and Jungkook feels his spine tingle, wanting to feel it too.

Was it too soon to join? He could always ask for the brush later, he decided. Though even as he reached that conclusion, the thought was slipping out of his mind sand through fingers, hazier and hazier the more he listened to Jimin’s lull tone and watched his patient movements.

“There we go,” the dom whispers, passing the brush over one last time to settle all the curls in their rightful place, “much better now. Chin up, pup; time for your collar.”

Taehyung’s chin lifts the minutest of degrees. Jimin waits for a moment, but the brown-haired boy looks almost like he’s falling asleep on the spot, swaying slightly as his elbows prop him up.

“Silly me,” Jimin tuts with a smile, reaching out to manually adjust Taehyung how he wants him. “Doggies can’t understand human words, can they?” Like a proud parent, he turns to Jungkook, grin widening as he sees the state the boy is in. “I am trying to teach Tae-tae some commands. Sit, lie down, wait. Suck. He’s getting better.”

With that, the dom grabs the collar off the duvet and fiddles with the buckle, undoing it so that he can wrap it carefully around Taehyung’s neck. The process reminds Jungkook much of what happened when his parents put a collar on his childhood dog: slipping a finger under the material to test how snug it was, shifting it around until the small dangling pendant was to the front, giving it a little tug to ensure the buckle was on right.

At the gentle tug, Taehyung practically topples, going lax with his face down on Jimin’s thigh and snuggling down, breaths even. Jimin doesn’t comment on it, simply humming in acknowledgement and returning to softly stroking his back and shoulders. But he does glance over to Jungkook again, eyes glinting. “Do you wanna come a little closer, hm?”

At the invitation, Jungkook almost trips himself scooting over, wrapping his arms around one of Jimin’s and holding it to his chest. Seeing the tender moment shared between Taehyung and Jimin had made him feel positively touch-starved, desperate to feel some of that sweet attention.

Jimin’s eyes widen in bemusement before twisting his hand in Jungkook’s grip and giving his stomach a little scratch. “Goodness me, little energizer bunny, huh?”

Jungkook whines, recognising that higher-pitched voice. He was being talked to like a pet, and the thought made his insides hot. He presses his face against Jimin’s shoulder, feeling the heat on his skin there too.

“No need to get all shy on me now, bun,” Jimin teases. “I’ve already seen that little friend in your pants. Well, I suppose he’s not that little.”

Jungkook tightens his arms around Jimin’s one, wanting to rock his hips up to feel some friction. He just squirms instead, hoping his need is answered. “Jimin-hyung.”

Jimin sucks in a breath. “Can this bunny speak, hm?”

Jungkook blinks, the furnace inside him cooling for a moment. “Am I not… supposed to?”

“I’m not telling you off, I’m asking,” Jimin explains softly, cocking his head down at the potentially-sleeping Taehyung in his lap. “Tae-tae likes to be non-verbal. It’s just preference. Would you rather keep speaking?”

After a moment of thought, Jungkook nods, then props his chin up, sending Jimin his best puppy eyes. “Minnie, I need you,” he pleads in a small voice, writhing against him again.

Jungkook’s fingers curl when Jimin’s hand dips lower suddenly, grasping his length from over the fabric of his sleep shorts. The pleasure is like a bolt that shocks his whole body, and when Jimin strokes him once, the texture of the fabric increasing the friction, the guttural sound that falls from his lips is more animal than human.

Jimin just smiles placidly, patting the throbbing heat once. “Does it hurt, bun? Want me to make it go away?”

“Y-yeah.” Jungkook’s breath is shallow with excitement. This feels like new territory, relying fully on Jimin to relieve the ache, too helpless, too stupid to do anything about it himself, just a dumb bunny with a generous owner.

“You’re drooling, bun,” Jimin points out, voice raspy with arousal. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”

Jungkook feels fingers at the elastic band of his shorts before Jimin withdraws. He whines, a pout threatening to form, but the dom just runs his fingers and palm over Jungkook’s mouth and chin. Then, when his hand delves in and grips Jungkook, he’s slick with Jungkook’s own drool, the slide wet and hot and electric.

He moans, but saliva won’t stop gathering in the hollows of his mouth. It’s like it’s impossible to close it at all, every firm, purposeful stroke making it harder to do that basic function.

“Noisy boy,” Jimin scolds, though there’s no venom to his tone. “You might wake the puppy up, bun.”

With a strangled groan, Jungkook’s head flops down, his teeth banging against Jimin’s shoulder. A thought floats across his dazed mind, of pressing his teeth into skin, lovebites to colour the bronze.

But his teeth don’t sink into flesh. Fabric fills his mouth. Jimin’s shirt. His teeth don’t stop, though. On the contrary, he chews on the cotton, letting it muffle the sounds he can’t help but make.

“Oh, good boy,” Jimin praises warmly, his hand speeding up mercilessly to pitch Jungkook over the edge. There’s no foreplay, no kisses or teasing touches. His hard cock is a problem that his master is kind enough to solve, that Minnie-hyung is making go away, and he won’t stop until his bunny has finally-

When Jungkook comes, his whole body feels it like an earthquake. Every muscle jerks, pulses so that his toes curl and his core trembles, the drool soaking the fabric of Jimin’s shirt now until he feels it run down his own neck, blubbering through the waves of it.

Jimin slows down after the first burst of cum, but doesn’t stop, only tightening his grip like he’s milking every last drop out.

Once the tides of pleasure have dipped back down again, Jungkook goes boneless, whimpering until the hand finally leaves his softening, oversensitive cock.

He’s panting, all of his body weight on Jimin to stay upright, and it takes a few moments for his senses to properly return to him, his heart still beating erratically in his chest. “Oh, fuck.”

Jimin giggles elfishly, before reaching up to tap on Jungkook’s bottom lip with wet fingers. “You made such a mess, little bunny. Clean it up, now.”

Jungkook welcomes the digits, blinking blearily as the bitter tang of his own cum fills his mouth. He sucks Jimin’s fingers clean two at a time, swirling his tongue between them dutifully. It isn’t until he’s done and Jimin is praising him that he restores enough energy to sit up again.

Across from him, Jimin peels the soaking wet sleeve of his shirt off his shoulder, laughing softly in good humour even as his brows furrow at the weird feeling. Before Jungkook can offer up an apology, Jimin is stripping it off entirely, chucking it away and rubbing at his now-bared chest. “Much better,” he muses to himself. After a moment of letting Jungkook clear his head, Jimin turns to him, his dry hand returning to lazily card through Taehyung’s curls. “How was it, Jungkook?”

“Uh,” Jungkook replies eloquently, feeling the way his cock still throbs every few seconds in aftershocks. “Uh.”

“That’s what I thought,” Jimin states proudly, before sending Jungkook a serious gaze. “We’ll talk later, yeah? When your dick isn’t hanging out.”

Jungkook flushes, scrambles to tuck himself away, and the movement jostles the bed enough that Taehyung groans, craning his neck up with bleary eyes and rumpled hair.

The two sitting on the bed go silent. Jimin cocks his head to the side and cups Taehyung’s cheek. “Were you- Tae-tae, did you just have a nap in the middle of the scene?”

Taehyung beams sleepily, eyes still lidded. “Mm.”

“Tae! Are you out of petspace now?”

“Think so.” With a dramatically loud cry, Taehyung reaches an arm up into a deep, arching stretch, rubbing at his eyes once he’s done. “Mm, yeah, definitely. My foot has kinda gone dead too.”

As Taehyung sits up to rub at his foot, pressing his thumbs into the muscle, Jimin’s shoulders sink with a deep pout. “Tae-tae,” he whines again, “you know I like playing with puppy.”

“Sorry,” Taehyung replies easily, though it doesn’t sound like he is in the slightest, “I guess I just wanted to destress more than anything. I didn’t sleep so well last night.”

Jimin’s face softens, his complaints dissolved at Taehyung’s words. Without a verbal reply, he just reaches out, hooks his finger on the neckline of Taehyung’s shirt, and pulls him in for a kiss, humming into it slightly.

The movements, the touches are so natural and intimate that Jungkook feels like he’s intruding. It only lasts a moment before they break apart to go shower, but it’s enough time to sear the sight behind Jungkook’s eyelids. Maybe he’d been allowed to join them in their scenes, even cuddle with them, but he wasn’t a part of that bond that tied Jimin and Taehyung so strongly together. The thought sinks in his stomach, and he decides to skip the shower, getting dressed instead for a long workout downstairs.

When you knock on his door, Yoongi is at his desk, a pair of black-framed reading glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He glances up, an eyebrow lifting in mild surprise.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?”

You muffle a smile at his domestic getup - a grey t-shirt hangs off, far too big for him but outlining his chest and strong shoulders nonetheless, and his long black sweatpants all but cover his bare feet, toes tapping the carpet unconsciously as he waits for your reply. “I’ve been informed that today is your day.”

“Ah, checking in to the Fuck Hotel, I see,” he quips casually, slipping his glasses of and shutting the lid of the laptop he was working on. “We do have one vacancy.”

“Is that so?” you say, unable to stop your grin as he stands up from his office chair and rolls his head back like an athlete warming up.

“Comes with a continental breakfast,” he assures, before ducking his head with a sheepish chuckle. “God, hyung is becoming a bad influence on my sense of humour.” With slightly pink cheeks, he stretches out a hand towards you, before jerking it back and freezing, fingers curled and tensed. “Wait. Shit.”

You frown, glancing down at yourself, but nothing seems out of the ordinary. “What is it?”

“Hm. I just remembered my prompt, is all.” He takes a step back with a thoughtful furrow of his brows, clenching his hands into fists and putting them behind himself. “Dammit, I was meant to think of a game plan but I got distracted sorting out- uh- client emails.”

“Was this a bad time?” you ask with a light laugh, even as you cast a guilty glance towards the laptop. A month in and he was still doing work?

“No! No, it’s fine, it’s just…” Wincing, Yoongi scratches at the back of his neck and takes another step back, gesturing down at himself, and at the messy work desk. “I’m not in sexy mode yet. I look like a stay-at-home dad trying to work out how to order groceries online while my toddler is finally having her 2pm nap.”

You pause before an incredulous laugh bubbles out of your throat. “Okay, first of all, I think stay-at-home dads are very sexy, and I happen to think that you are very sexy. Secondly, ‘her?’ Why was that whole analogy so specific?”

Yoongi huffs defensively, petulantly throwing himself down to sit on the bed with his legs splayed wide. “I used to have a life plan, okay? But that’s not relevant now. The point is, I haven’t worked out how to do a good scene. I don’t want to it to be disappointing. Or, god forbid, boring.”

Your frown just deepens. “It doesn’t need to be an elaborate setup, Yoongi. Just fuck me. Touch me, at least. I can’t believe we’re still both wearing all our clothes when I’ve been very explicit about my intentions.”

You don’t miss the wince that flutters across his face. “That’s kinda the issue. Touching you, I mean.”

“You don’t wanna touch me?”

“I-” Yoongi all but stomps his foot, teeth clenching in frustration. “Of course I fucking want to, but I have to stick to my prompt, Y/n.”

Your mouth drops open. “So your prompt is that we can’t even touch each other? Doesn’t exactly sound very appealing for a porn show.”

He clicks his tongue. “You can still touch me,” he corrects with a dry gaze.

Unconvinced, you narrow your eyes. “Isn’t that convenient?” you question rhetorically. “Gonna make me do all the work this week because you haven’t organised it in your planner yet, Doctor Min?”

He glares at your teasing tone. “Excuse me for trying to play the game properly.” You swallow as his eyes run down your body heavily, pink tongue darting out to wet his lips. “If I could touch you, trust me, I’d have you dripping by now.”

Your thighs tighten, but you force them not to move. The last thing you want him to know is that you’re just about dripping already. “Sounds to me like you’re just lazy.” He doesn’t react, watching you make up your mind. You suck in a breath to hype yourself. “If I walk away right now, you’ll get nothing. Not only will you lose your prompt, but you’ll be stuck with blue balls. But if you give in and fuck me already, then you’ll only lose the prompt.”

“Who says I’ll even have blue balls? I’m perfectly comfortable,” he fires back immediately, tipping his head to the side cockily.

“Oh, please,” you drawl, letting your eyes fall to the sizeable bulge beneath his sweatpants, “you aren’t that big soft. Don’t kid yourself. So do you wanna get off, or not?”

His gaze hardens to stone, jaw flexing. “I’m surprised you think I need you for that. Aside from the fact that there are six other people in this house, I brought a fleshlight from home for a reason.”

Now that is something you hadn’t expected him to say. You freeze from your spot in the doorway, feeling heat pulse between your legs. Your spark of resistance is quickly fading, overtaken by need, so you don’t hesitate in firing back while you can. “If you think your fleshlight is better than me, then that’s your loss. Enjoy the bunkbeds; I’m off to do what you’re too cowardly to.”

“Have fun, sweetheart,” he snips, one of his hands sneaking under his shirt to rub his lower abdomen, fingers slipping below the hem of his sweats. “Shut the door on your way out.”

Feeling like you’ve lost the argument (and a little too horny to care) you have your final say by slamming it, thumping your feet with every step down the hall to your room.

Once inside, it takes mere seconds to throw yourself onto your bed back-first and shove your hand down your pants. But then, before you even dip into your wetness, a thought strikes you.

Pulling your hand out and making your way to your desk, you use your other hand to clumsily type in your password, and open a browser. It doesn’t take long to navigate to the page with all the paid streams for your own show, and with a slight flush you select Yoongi’s bedroom, impatiently punching in your credit card details.

After an agonising wait, the payment is processed and you’re brought to a private livestreaming site, a single window open in front of you.

The angle itself is strange, making Yoongi’s room look larger than it was, but you’re surprised at just how high quality the video and sound is once you bring it to full screen and slip your headphones in your ears. Yoongi is hunched over his nightstand, and you can actually hear the wooden slide faintly in the background as he opens and closes a drawer, returning to his office chair with a seemingly-transparent fleshlight and a bottle of lube.

Something about watching him through a camera in the corner of his room feels so wrong, especially as he palms impatiently at the tent in his pants, uncapping the lube and pouring a generous amount into the opening of the toy. You’d never been much of a voyeur - or, at least, so you thought - but you couldn’t take your eyes off him, blinding slipping your hands down your pants but over your underwear, simply pressing down on your clit to ease some of the crying need.

Oddly, the lube pours down and begins to drip out the other side, creating a dark patch on his clothed thigh. The audio picks up Yoongi cursing, and there’s no further preamble before he’s using one hand to hook down his sweatpants and kick them off to pool on the floor. The motion causes his cock to jerk up onto his stomach, leaving a smear of precum on his grey shirt, visible only by a few pixels of darker grey.

He scoots a little down the seat of the chair and hitches a leg up over one of the arms, eyes slipping closed as the hand not holding the dripping fleshlight grips his own cock, thumb pressing at the head.

“Oh, fuck,” he groans lowly, the sound running through your headphones and straight down between your legs. His brows are furrowed like it’s almost paining him, but he hovers the opening of the fleshlight over his tip as if he’s trying to hold back.

Slowly, he lowers the toy down one inch at a time, until the lube is drooling over his cock. Finally, the transparent toy slips down over his cock and his hips jump off the chair, his knuckles white on the arm of the chair and the fleshlight as he growls and lifts it back off again.

The sight of him intentionally teasing himself is too erotic for you to stay unmoving, and you find yourself burning up, losing the headphones for a moment to shuffle out of your own clothes. You hurry as much as you can, grimacing at your sopping panties, but by the time you’re back in your chair with nothing but a bra and tuning back into the stream, Yoongi’s not even focused on his toy anymore.

It sits propped up on his thigh, with two of his fingers lazily, almost absentmindedly thrusting deeply inside of it to keep it steady as the rest of him swivels in his chair to open his laptop again.

You frown and squint at the tiny screen on the stream. Rows of fuzzy squares stack up, and while you can’t be certain the phallic shapes of some of the miniscule images inside them make you think he was on a sex toy website.

He quickly opens a new tab, however, and your heart begins to beat nervously as a familiar page comes up. One you’d been on just earlier.

With bated breath you wait, hands grasping at the meat of your thighs and clothed breast to hold off on touching between your legs just yet. Yoongi navigates the Bangasm page, going through the same payment process you did.

It isn’t until you’re met with a miniature version of your own room on his screen that you realise what’s happened. And it’s when Yoongi squints and leans in closer, before turning to face the camera directly with a bewildered look, that you know you’ve been caught.

Frozen, you watch the on-screen, Yoongi look back and forth twice, before slowly scooting his chair back on an angle to the table, so that the laptop is in eyeshot even as his body is facing the camera fully.

Your mouth is dry, but the fleshlight he picks up again is wet, so wet that his fingers glisten, almost slipping off the toy entirely. He holds it tightly, transferring it to his dominant hand and teasing the top over his tip, biting hard on his lip.

The squeeze you have on your thigh is almost painful as your core burns, but you’re too stunned still to move, watching him dance the opening of the fleshlight over his cock, never dipping it inside.

With a twitching grin and lusty eyes, he glances towards the laptop. Your whole body feels hot as you glance over your shoulder to the camera in your room, before looking back at the screen. He’s not moving, chest visibly heaving even as he stares patiently at the computer screen.

He’s… waiting for you.

With one strangled breath, you tilt your chair away from the desk, adjusting your own laptop in a similar setup to him. Eyes locked on the stream, terrified you’ll miss a single moment of him indulging himself, you let your fingers uncurl from your inner thigh and trail them down, wasting no time in automatically locating your clit, massaging around the small bud.

Pleasure flows through you like hot water, down to your toes. After holding out for so long, after being so aroused for so long, the simplest touch has your knees weak and your head lolled back against the headrest.

On screen, Yoongi’s grin widens, and he rewards you by lowering the fleshlight, the clear silicone making way for the tip of his cock. He doesn’t stop there like last time, though; instead, he slowly but surely plunges it all the way down until it’s flush with his pelvis. Your eyes fly open when the flushed head pops out the other side, and Yoongi clearly enjoys it too judging by the way he curses and grips it tight, practically panting.

Without really intending, your fingers dip down and slip inside, two already. You barely feel a stretch with how wet you are. Although the feeling of something inside you is nice, you know your fingers just aren’t enough, especially with the angle of you slumped back in your chair.

So, you chance one look back at the screen - Yoongi is using the tip of one finger to spread his precum around the glossed tip of his cock, but his eyes are firmly locked onto you - and walk on shaky legs to your closet, where an unassuming (and so far unused) black silk bag lies amongst your shoes.

The amount of time it takes for you to duck into the bathroom and quickly wash the silicone vibrator you have with soapy water feels like an eternity, and by the time you hurry back it isn’t the toy that’s vibrating.

Frowning, you hesitantly answer the call that’s coming through on your phone from a familiar contact.

Yoongi’s voice immediately fills the room as the pixelated version on the screen rests his phone on the side of his desk, not jerking but twisting the fleshlight in slow arcs around his cock. “Couldn’t get enough of me, hm?”

“Says the one calling me,” you offer back lightly, switching onto speaker mode so that you can settle back in your chair, “enjoying the view?”

“A little too uneventful for me yet, sweetheart,” he teases, and his breathy groan is timed with the Yoongi on the stream lifting the fleshlight up a little and plunging it down again. “How about you put that toy in your pretty little pussy for me. For us.”

You feel your core pulse at the reminder that it wasn’t just Yoongi on the stream. Any number of anonymous strangers could be tuned in right now, seeing you with your legs spread.

The only way to cope is to lean into it instead of shying away. You slide the black silicone toy through your folds to slick it up, sighing with every light pass over your clit. Once it’s as wet as you are, you press the slightly bulbous tip down until it slips inside you, immediately shivering at the feeling.

The toy is small enough that you don’t need any special prep, yet big enough that it was satisfying, and curved just right. It had been your old reliable long before coming on the show, and there’s something strangely familiar and comforting about feeling it fill you out as you push it in deeper.

“Fuck, there we go,” Yoongi praises, and you hear the wet smacking noise of him snapping his hips up into the toy. “I may not be able to touch you, but you’ll still call my name when you cum for me.”

Your toes curl, and you’re no longer able to focus on the stream, letting your eyes fall shut and your ears tune in to his voice alone as you work the toy in and out of you.

He doesn’t waste any time in joining you, and the resulting sounds that fill your room are obscene, him making no effort to muffle the gravelled curses and moans, nor the wet thwack of silicone that gives away his movements.

The noise is somehow even more thrilling than the sight, and the feeling of his eyes on you encourages you to speed your hand up, even reaching down to desperately rub at your clit with the flat of your fingers, shivering at the wave of pleasure that wracks through your body.

It’s not long before you hear Yoongi’s voice turn guttural and the pace of the flesh light pick up frantically.

You wrench your eyes open and gaze blearily at the computer screen just in time to watch the stream of white that spills up through the back end of the fleshlight and over Yoongi’s knuckles. As hot as the image is, you whine at being made to watch this through the pixels instead of in real life, and the thought of being right fucking across from him as he fell apart is enough to make you seize up in your chair, orgasm draining you thoroughly, with not enough force to squirt but dripping on the seat nonetheless.

You take the toy out once pleasure turns to the sharp tweak of oversensitivity and pant, fighting to catch your breath as your feet feel positively numb.

Coming down from your high, you almost forget the running phone call until you hear his voice come through the speaker again. “Have a shower and then come back down to my room. You’re sleeping with me tonight.”

The beeping tone leaves you alone in your room, and you loll your head back over the edge of the chair with an exhausted moan, not without a grin playing on your lips. You wouldn’t protest to that.

#the gentlemen #tgm #bts fanfic #bts x reader #yoongi x reader #yoongi smut #vminkook smut #vmin smut #jikook smut #taekook smut #i don't even know how to tag anymore fksdfjsk

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le-amewzing · 2 years ago

Text

such sweet sorrow

Been a while since I wrote them, but s19 still gives me Ellick feels. :') *Note: Set after s19e14, "First Steps."

Fic: "such sweet sorrow" [FFN] [AO3]

Pairings/Characters: Nick Torres/Ellie Bishop

Rating: K+

Words: ~2,130

Additional info: romance, hurt/comfort, 3rd person POV

Summary: He's good at playing along at life with his friends, his family. But Nick's mind is, of course, elsewhere, with someone else. -—Or, Nick Torres wishes to convey the latest bit of scuttlebutt to the one he loves.

Nick Torres never should have come here.

Nick should have stayed at home, still in bed at this ungodly hour (just shy of five in the morning), on a Sunday morning, like any sane person. He should have woken up in another three, four hours, because weekends were for sleeping in when they weren't assigned the weekend watch (although McGee once told him the MCRT had Bad Juju™ when it came to weekend details, hence why Nick had yet to work one). He should have woken up and eaten and worked out and vegged in front of the TV—and repeated until it was time to call it a night.

Instead, Nick sat in his SUV, parked outside a nice, small home that hadn't been touched in a while. This wasn't his neighborhood, even though it felt far too familiar…as did the property's layout before him.

An average-looking home that boasted a lot of easy exits and plenty of stash spots.

A home set apart just enough from its neighbors, in the event action ever arrived on its doorstep.

And…a separate, detached shed turned into a little dwelling.

The former home of Odette Malone—or whatever she called herself nowadays—sat empty and waiting for Nick's regular surprise visit, rather as though it expected him. Nothing had strayed out of place since he'd last been a few weeks ago, Nick observed as he exited his car and approached with caution. The last dregs of snow had melted from the roof thanks to the unseasonably warm weather, but the paint still flecked off in various spots on the siding and the steps down to the guesthouse were still sturdy except for the third one up from the bottom. There weren't any new footprints, either. Only the echoes of his previous visit remained in the dry dirt.

The stillness of Odette's home put him at ease, even though it didn't bring him any happy memories. On a typical day, the thought of her made of him grimace. Odette had taken a lot from the team, a lot from him. But, still.

Nick walked over to the smaller dwelling, where Ziva had once hidden herself. He'd mused a time or two that Ellie might've done the same, given the chance, but he'd already broken in here half a dozen times since she and Odette had departed nearly a year ago. And he'd been thorough. Ellie hadn't stayed here.

It didn't mean he had no hope, though. That was why he broke in even now and went to the desk where Ellie and the infamous Mossad ninja had left communications for each other for months on end. And that was where he now set down his own short letter.

Nick twisted his lips around, skeptical. No matter how many times he did this, he always felt a bit silly, leaving a letter that no one might read, that anyone could read.

But he'd been doing this for a while. Initially, he'd left notes—some angry, some mopey—and then the notes lengthened to letters. So much kept happening in his life, and he couldn't fathom her not knowing. Or, at least, him not sharing with her somehow, even if she never got these letters.

That said, periodically his notes and letters seemed moved in their place before ultimately they began to disappear. He'd noticed a missing letter around the time of Gibbs' disappearance, which had concerned him. After all, what if there'd been a mole after the whole team, someone who'd gotten to Gibbs first and would work slowly through the rest of them?

But then his letters continued to disappear even after Gibbs resurfaced, after the team dynamics changed. After Knight established herself as one of them. After Parker threw in his lot with theirs and joined their ragtag crew. Nick never received anything in reply, but he was dumb enough to hope that his words reached Ellie, somewhere, somehow.

And that included today's words. Really, it was his thoughts about Knight's remark during Kayla's first case this past week. He dragged a hand over his face now, replaying those couple of days over in his head. He'd been so focused on being a decent FTA for Kayla that he'd sort of walked into Knight's conversation about his paternal attitude towards Victoria and even Kayla.

"Even if I might be a family man," he mumbled, thinking aloud on his friend's remark, "having five daughters…" He chuckled and shook his head.

"Five kids? Really? That's a lot."

The smile fell off his face as shock overtook him and a certain someone whistled impressively behind him. Nick turned about slowly, as if sudden movements might cause this mirage to disappear just like his letters.

But Ellie wasn't a mirage. His Ellie stood in the guesthouse doorway, casually (tiredly?) leaning against the doorjamb and watching the view. She was mostly backlit, but she didn't back away when he turned the desk lamp on, the light casting her face in a warm glow. The light revealed a lot: Her hair had grown even longer, and she wore it messily braided over her right shoulder. Her skin was paler, as though she hadn't had much sun in a while. And her dark eyes…there. That was where she carried her exhaustion. But her eyes brightened when she smiled after he took the first step towards her. "Hey, stranger."

"Hey," he breathed. With an extra half step, he closed the distance and slipped his arms around her waist. He buried his face in her neck, inhaling the mix of scents there. Beneath lingering smoke and staleness, he could still pick up traces of her. Nick's curiosity over her whereabouts lost out to his yearning, and he squeezed her to him.

"I've missed you, too, Nick," Ellie mumbled into his shoulder. Her voice sounded wet.

He pulled them apart just enough to face her. Nick rested his forehead against hers. "Ellie—"

She smiled through the tears and cupped his face in her hands, drawing his mouth to hers. The kiss lasted for seven heartbeats before she was content only to nuzzle him. "I got all your notes and letters," she confirmed.

He traced circles on her hips through her shirt. "So some wishes do come true." He furrowed his brow. "Is it really too dangerous to answer even one?" He hated how whiny he sounded.

She cocked her head to one side and raised her eyebrows, indicating the scant light of the wee hour behind them. "Coming here is dangerous, Nick. For me, as well as for you."

Nick blinked. He hadn't expected to hear that. "But…"

"Too many people know of this place, is all."

He pursed his lips. "…just NCIS."

"More than two is a lot."

He nodded. "I take it you can't stay long?"

Ellie reached up and traced her thumb along the tiny scar in his right eyebrow. "We crossed paths this time, Nick. I couldn't help myself."

Nick opened his mouth to point out that she made it sound as though this had all been one big accident, a complete coincidence, something they couldn't repeat and would absolutely not happen again.

"So, tell me about today's letter." She smiled again and slipped her hands into the back pockets of his jeans to warm up. "Who's got you talking about an insane number of kids?"

He exhaled, half a chuckle caught in his throat as he scooted them backwards enough to close the door but not enough so they'd have to part. "It was Knight's idea. Well, not idea—more like her prediction of the future."

Ellie quirked an eyebrow. "How the heck did the topic even come up?"

Nick summarized Kayla's debut case as probie. "And, recall my…previous letter," he reminded her, "after what Jimmy and Kasie went through. Knight and McGee didn't know exactly how much time I've spent around the Palmers the last several months."

Her smile was apologetic before she rested her head on his chest. "I'm glad you've spent time with Jimmy and Victoria, though. It's evident in your letters that you enjoy being with them. …sometimes I feel a bit envious," she added in a small voice.

A grumpy part of Nick wanted to point out that that could be remedied quite easily if only she came in out of the cold and stopped working for Odette. But he also knew Ellie Bishop never chose to do anything without purpose, and he wasn't going to stop her if this new line of work gave her purpose. "Well, I get along well with everyone, you know that. The Palmers. Kasie. McGee and Delilah still call me far too often to babysit the twins at the last possible second. Knight's a riot. Parker's a chill dude. And even Vance specially requested me to be Kayla's Field-Training Agent." He shrugged. "A lot of crap hit the fan after…you…and then Gibbs…left, but I'm fine. I'm good. Really."

But there was one person he couldn't lie to, and she promptly withdrew her right hand from his back pocket and gave his rump the tiniest of smacks. "You can't fake being okay around me, Nick. You're not undercover."

He frowned, even when she picked her head up to stare him down.

"You yourself wrote me about the underground fighting case a few weeks ago and having to deal with Sawyer. And Jimmy's pep talk?" She stared him down with those big brown eyes. "It is all right not to be all right."

Nick's shoulders sank a fraction of an inch; he hadn't even realized he'd held any tension in them. But the reminder that he'd admitted the truth about that low point to her in a previous letter… He felt well and truly humbled, especially in the face of her steady words. All he could do was nod like a chastised child.

But Ellie rested her chin on his shoulder and sighed, only a smidge exasperated with him. "Don't forget how strong you are, Nick. You've been through far worse hell than this and you have lots of people who love you, no matter how close or far we are. You're strong."

He turned his head a little, their cheeks brushing in the process. "Yeah, but—without the Charlie to my Luis?"

"We all get a little lost. But you're not weak, Luis. Neither's Nick." She raised her eyebrows as if daring him to protest and then kissed him to keep any excuses at bay.

Nick wished for the moment, for the morning to stretch out longer. Kissing or not, it felt good and right to have Ellie not just in his arms but within reach again. And he was about to say as much when an alarm chirped from her pocket.

Ellie locked eyes with him and gave him another apologetic smile. "I've overstayed my welcome," she pointed out.

He frowned. "Not with me. Never with me, Ellie."

"I know." She pulled away then, walking around him to the desk to collect his letter. She beamed at him as she tapped the letter against her shoulder. "I can read between your lines."

Nick snickered at her lame joke but cracked the door open for her and scanned to check that the coast was clear. "The sun won't be up for another couple hours." He glanced back at her. "Sure you can't stay longer?"

Ellie shook her head and approached him at the door. "Just think of this as extra time to get a head start on brainstorming, Nick."

He pulled a face. "Brainstorming?"

She hummed as she stared at his letter before pocketing it; Ellie seemed impatient to read the details even though he'd basically told her the gist. "Well, duh. If we're really going to have five daughters, we're not going to name them randomly on the spot."

He gawped at her. Had he heard her correctly?!

"Although think wild and free, too. Be creative." She shrugged. "Just in case Fate throws a bit of testosterone our way," she added. She stuck her tongue out at him, impishly.

But Nick couldn't help but wear a matching grin with her as Ellie winked and slipped out the door after, gone once more out of his life.

He turned back to get the light and he locked up behind him, knowing she would've had plenty of time to get a head start. Her leaving now hurt much as it had last time, but Nick still smiled, he realized when he spied his reflection in the driver side window. But he knew this brief reunion wasn't the only reason why.

This time, he felt reassured that he would see her again, without a doubt.

Until that time came… Missing letters would have to hold him for now.

:') May I just say how much I appreciate the delightful bro-ness of Nick's friendship with Knight? I've mentioned it before in A/Ns to other fics, but I adore their vibe, rly. So having her deliver that "you're so gonna have five daughters line" was brilliant, like having your bestie roast you. X'D (Altho I still assert Nick's bestie is Jimmy. ;P) ANYWHO! I've actually written a short story with a similar premise in my original works, but I dearly wanted to use the location of Odette's home the more I thought about e14 and how rough things have been for Nick lately in canon, and so this thing happened! :D He's been so grumpy, but I do feel he's mostly beaten down by now, hence not having the reunion be an explosive one, just smthg softer and smthg lbh all us Ellick fans SORELY NEED. TTwTT And the way Ellie rolls with the punches about Knight's prediction—she totally would, given the big fam she comes from (and Nick's extended fam, too). XD So, yeah. Also, a nod to my pal, controlled climb, whom I've sucked into the Ellick rabbit hole and who is writing some rly awesome Ellicks lately, bc her work reminded me about the awesome CharlieLuis dynamics that we honestly didn't get enough of on-screen. :c Alas… I look forward to the next bit of Ellick inspo s19 gives me, but in the meantime come dive in to my Parknight fics bc I'm churning them out like a BEAST, my love for Parknight burns nearly as strongly as my love for Ellick does (and if you like my writing for Ellick and/or NCIS in general, then you might enjoy Parknight). -w- Final thoughts: While editing, Ailee's "I Need You" came up on my playlist and DAYUM if the Ellick reunion feels didn't hit me like a ton dropped off a skyscraper! TT-TT Also, the title comes from that famous line in Shakespeare's Romeo & Juliet: "Parting is such sweet sorrow, / That I shall say good night till it be morrow." (It felt fitting for the premise and I couldn't get it out of my head…even tho I've never read that Shakespeare work. :P)

Thanks for reading, and feel free to leave an anon/unsigned review via the FFN link or comment via the AO3 link at the top of the post, especially if you enjoyed this!

~mew

#ncis #ellick #nick torres #ellie bishop #fanfic #mew writes too much #have some feels #but they lean towards the fluffy side this time uwu #bc i miss these two so fucking much #also this is one of several fics written like 2 mts ago and only gettin' posted now bc it's been a productive spring XP

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