#man i should go through the movie credits to see if anyone else posted some development stuff

[mango-ti]

Character animation by Live2D Creative Studio for "Belle", made using Live2D

Taken from their website

[harryspet]

cement walls | bucky barnes

[Warnings] dark!bucky barnes x reader, non/dubcon sex, fingering, kidnapping, forced pregnancy, confined spaces, Stockholm syndrome(?), post-blip bucky, bucky needs some therapy, forced gender roles

[A/N] uhm so this is what i’ve been working on and like usual i have no idea where i wanna take it :):) i haven’t posted in a long while so i figured i would put this out there for some feedback! this is pretty much inspired by Room if you’ve seen that movie. [gif credit to https://jamesbrnes.tumblr.com/]

In which the outside world is too dangerous for you and Bucky is the only one who can protect you. 

taglist: @cherienymphe @lovelynerdytraveler @buckysbunny @hollandsdream @micki-smiles @buckybarnesplumwhore @arts-ismything @saharzek @what-is-your-wish @brattypeony @hermayone @buckysugar @mischiefmanaged011 @visintaes  @watercoolerpaint @disaster-rose @slutforsebstan​ @doozywoozy​

main masterlist

word count: 3.3k

Within the cement walls that surrounded your home, you imagined that you had your own little planet. You spent hours of your days thinking about what surrounded you, if there were floating rings like Saturn had, the constellations you could make out only if you could only see the entire sky, and how the sun would really feel on your bare skin. You were beginning to forget what that felt like and you sat below the skylight trying to reach into your mind and remember.

Maybe you should be grateful that there was even a skylight at all and that there was enough room for a small kitchen and bathroom. You imagined that's what he thought. You could move around freely with no chains so you should be grateful. Almost three-hundred square feet of your new planet that you should be glad to have. Except you didn’t even own the ground you stood on, this planet wasn’t really yours, you were just an astronaut trapped in space. 

That morning, you scrubbed the floors, not only because the military man preferred organization but also because the small space got dirty quickly. After taking your vitamins, extra Vitamin D of course, and munching on a stale granola bar, you got to work. You made the twin bed up, making sure the sheets were tucked in tightly before organizing the small amount of clothes in the wardrobe. 

When you heard the beeping of the keypad outside the door, you stood up, shutting the wardrobe. You weren’t expecting him, not having gotten to the kitchen yet, but alas your moon man appeared. You couldn’t help it, you always looked past him to see what you could have of the outside world. You saw nothing, his figure was only surrounded in darkness as he shut it quickly, and it beeped as the metal door locked again. 

It was like he liked the idea of you not knowing where you were. He’d brought you into this room unconscious so you had no idea whether you were still in Louisiana or not. For all you knew, you could be floating in space and it wouldn’t matter. 

The tall man’s hair was cut short, like he’d just gotten a haircut, and you hated that the room was already beginning to smell like his cologne. He held a brown bag of what you assumed were groceries, “You haven’t been here in more than two weeks. I’ve been cleaning my clothes in the sink. I started rationing food t-thinking you weren’t going to come back.”

He set the bag down on the small kitchen table and you watched his eyes roam over the dirty dishes, “I wouldn’t leave you here, doll face,” Bucky assured you, “C’mere.” He waved you over and you stepped forward cautiously. 

“W-Where did you go?”

He reached up to hold your face, the leather brushing against your cheeks as he looked you over. You wore a green smock dress with a cardigan tightly over you, the box having been cold the past few days, “I had business. Far away business.”

“You’ve never been gone this long.”

“Did you miss me that much?” You wanted to roll your eyes. If Bucky didn’t come back, you’d die in probably the worst way possible and no one would know what happened to you, “I brought you back plenty of groceries, I even got you some oreos and that fancy bread you like.”

“Bucky …. I-I was so so scared. You don’t understand-” He leaned down to kiss you and when your lips didn’t move against his, he grabbed you roughly by your hair. You held in your yelp as you forced your lips to move against his. He held your hips, deepening the kiss and when he pulled away, his hands were still in your hair. 

“I’m here now, “ He looked at you sharply, tugging your hair a bit, “But it seems you can’t keep the kitchen clean, no matter how much time I give you.”

“I’m sorry,” You apologized, the words slipping out before you could even register them. 

He gestured his head over to the sink, “Get to it. And the groceries as well.” 

You moved past him, turning on the warm water before grabbing a sponge. You felt his eyes on your back as you began to clean all the pots and pans you’d been using. You heard the rattling of his belt, his jeans being pulled down, the sound of his boots being stacked to the side, and the grunt he let out when he tossed his jacket over the kitchen chair. 

When you placed everything in the drying rack, you moved onto the bag of groceries. He had gotten the bread you liked so you had something to look forward to that week, “I had to see that lady again.”

“You mean your therapist?”

“It’s court mandated bullshit,” You looked over and he was examining your desk and bookshelf. All the books you had were given to you by him and all the decorations were paper origami that you’d gotten good at making. 

“What did you guys talk about?” You asked hesitantly, putting things away in the cabinet. 

“She thinks I need more friends, more social interactions I suppose but that’s what she says every week,” You heard your bed creak as he sat down, “Hey, make me a cup of coffee, doll.”

“Oh,” It was clear that whatever that therapist was doing, wasn’t work, the biggest piece of evidence being the girl he was holding captive right now. You moved over to the coffee pot, pouring what was left into his favorite mug, “Do you … ever talk about me?”

You could feel his body stiffen even from across the room. 

“Why would I?” When you turned around, his eyebrows were furrowed, his hands on his knees. 

You crossed the small room with the cup in hand, “Well, you interact with me. I’m like your friend, right?” You handed him the drink, standing back as you watched him take a sip, hoping he’d be satisfied with it. 

“You know why I can’t tell her about you, Y/N.”

You shook your head, “Yeah, I was just thinking … “ You sat down a few feet away from him, “Does anyone else know about me?”

“You’re curious today.”

“It’s not like I have much entertainment in here,” You said a little more snarky than you intended. You felt his mechanical arm push into the mattress beside you as he turned his head, “Sorry … when do you think I’ll get to leave the room? Not outside, just out of the room. Maybe to where you sleep at night.”

“If you’re going to be like this today-”

“Forget I said anything,” You smiled weakly, “Please.”

Bucky set down his cup on the small nightstand before he urged you closer. You scooted closer and he gently pushed your head down until it was resting in his lap. You felt his cold hand through your sweater and the other through your hair, “I know what it’s like … feeling trapped,” You pulled your feet onto the bed and he continued to stroke your hair and you welcomed the comforting touch. 

“Then why …”

He shushed you, “Mind over matter, Y/N. It’s all about training your mind to adjust. You’re safer here, you’re taken care of here, and your mind is still trying to convince you that you don’t belong here.”

“I wouldn’t try to escape if I could just stay with you…”

He shushed you again, “I spent decades frozen and then, after that, I was trapped in my own mind. Now everyone’s trying to convince me that I have this new chance to survive in the world. They genuinely think of this new century as being so amazing, so much technology, and opportunities but it’s a lie, Y/N. This world is nothing but danger and death. You’re much better without it.”

You felt a tear roll down your cheeks. You felt like the chains around you were only getting heavier. He was so delusional that you thought it would be easier to start believing him, “Please don’t leave for that long again.”

Bucky sighed, “I’ll stay here for the night. How does that sound?”

You hiccuped, “T-Thank you.”

Later that night, you were lying beside bucky in the small bed. He was fast asleep but you were wide awake, looking up at the skylight. The full moon was lighting up the room. Carefully, you tossed your feet over the bed, doing your best not to disturb the soldier. You got onto the floor, crawling towards the carpet in the middle of the room. Oftentimes, when you couldn’t sleep, you’d lay down and stare up at the moon. 

You stayed like that for lord knows how long, drifting into a place where all your thoughts were silent. 

“What are you doing?” You sat up quickly, your heart racing as his gruff voice snapped you from your trance. 

He was shirtless, standing above you, and rubbing his tired eyes. You simply pointed up, “The moon.”

“Get back in bed,” He commanded groggily. 

You scooted over slightly, “I can’t sleep ... just come look with me. It’s beautiful.”

“You act like you’ve never seen the fucking moon before, Y/N,” His frustration caught you off guard as he reached down to grab you by your arm. You didn’t mean to but, on instinct, you flinched away. That only led him to grabbing your harder, and you stumbled as he pulled you up, “Get in the bed. You scare me to death when I wake up and can’t feel you.”

“If you care so much then why do you leave me in here for weeks on end.”

His eyes flickered with hurt for a moment, “I won’t … ever again. You need far too much discipline for me to let you be on your own for so long.” You rolled your eyes as you turned away, walking towards the bed. 

He grabbed you roughly by your waist, pushing you onto the bed. He pushed you further into the mattress, his hand on the back on your neck, and you were reminded just how cruel he could be. There was a point months ago when you stopped fighting it, knowing in the end he would overpower you, but sometimes your spark appeared. 

He lifted your nightgown easily, knowing he wouldn’t find any underwear to tear off, and his hand cupped between your legs. As you struggled beneath him, he felt you, rubbing and running his fingers over your lips, “Me being deep inside you seems to correct your mood. Is that what you need from me, doll face?”

Your spark appeared and went quickly, knowing he could feel your wetness, giving him the permission to sink two of fingers inside you. He moved slow, his knees pressed deep into the bed, as he watched your lips part with a gasp. 

“That’s it …”

This was his favorite, knowing he could get you off with just his fingers, his fingers curling against your most sensitive areas. He fastened his pace, pushing in and out of you as you lay there bent over. Knowing you were nearing an orgasm you were sure not to run away from, he moved his vibranium arm from your neck and underneath you where he stimulated your sensitive bud. 

“That’s my girl,” He coaxed you as he sent you into a shaking fit, “You finish so well on my fingers, so beautifully.” You came hard, Bucky enjoying the vulnerable view of your face. As he let you go, you pushed down your gown and laid down on your side. The bed dipped as he took a seat, rubbing your thighs as the post-orgasm regret filled you. 

“You ever think you have some control over me, I want you to remember this.”

8 months later … 

You flipped through the channels six channels that the old television would provide. The soldier thought buying you one would decrease your book intake which he was struggling to keep up with as you read several per week. He wasn’t a fan of technology but the two of you had a long argument about it and he eventually caved. 

You weren’t sure if he knew but the TV picked up a local news channel and you got a glimpse into what the world had been like over the past year. Every now and then, there’d be a mention of Sam Wilson and you figured that’s who he was disappearing with when he was gone for weeks at a time. 

As you neared closer and closer to your due date, he’d grown nicer than usual, though the way he’d gotten you pregnant wasn’t pleasant at all. “You complain so much about being lonely.” He had said when you’d missed your period, “This is what you wanted, right?” 

You weren’t sure if you were just nauseous from the pregnancy or if the idea of raising a baby in that room was making you sick to your stomach. Sometimes you caught yourself being selfish, thinking about having someone to take care of and take up your time. Having someone who could love you properly, in a way that Bucky didn’t quite understand. 

“How’s my girl? And how’s my mini me?” Bucky was an abnormally good move when he came down to visit you that night. He was carrying magazines in his hand and you crossed the room, curious to see the details, “I thought you might want to look at nursery stuff.”

“There’s gonna be a nursery,” Your lips pulled into a smile, “Where?”

“Here,” He gestured around and your smile fell, “You can’t be too far from the little tike. I was thinking we could put the crib where your desk is.”

You took the magazines from him, resting them on your protruding stomach, “Oh …” You tried not to sound sad, “You don’t think that maybe the space is too small? I mean, a mom and baby and sometimes you, that’s a lot of people for one room. And when they get older ….” You imagined having a happy little baby but you tried not to think about your child growing up in a box. 

“When he gets older, we’ll think about it then,” He stated, already gendering the baby without any actual knowledge. He refused to let you see a doctor, only brought you prenatal vitamins, expecting that you’d have a smooth delivery right here in the room, “For now, it’s plenty of room.”

You nodded, “When he gets older, will you take him outside the room? Kids need space to play and get fresh air.”

“I’ll think about it, Y/N,” Bucky’s lips pressed into a thin line. 

You didn’t want to push the issue further, not wanting to spoil his mood, “I think a light green will be a good, neutral color for everything. Maybe we can decorate his side of the room.”

He smiled, “Whatever you’d like, doll face.”

You crossed the room, setting the magazines down on your desk, and a scary idea crossed your mind. A scary idea and chance you might just have to take if it meant you could get help. You were getting nowhere screaming at the top of your lungs, hoping for someone to hear you, and asking Bucky over and over again just to let you have fresh air. He was suffocatingly protective and that didn’t seem like it was gonna change. You couldn’t let him do that to your child. 

You made dinner and he slept over that night, his vibranium hand holding your waist the entire night. 

You planned to catch him off guard the next morning, figuring you’d have the best chance of causing a panic while he was still tired. You got up, whispering that you had to use the restroom, and you slipped inside the room. You read somewhere that only a fourth cup of water comes out when your water breaks, so you fill a cup before drenching your underwear, legs and the bathroom floor. 

“Bucky!” You shouted, making sure you looked scared in the mirror, “Bucky!”

The door almost flew off its hinges as the soldier went into full alert. His eyes were wide, examining you, “What-What happened?”

“I-I think my water broke,” A tear slipped down your cheek. 

“It’s too early,” He shook his head, running his fingers through his hair, “A-Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. All the books say it's a gushing feeling and that was definitely gushing.”

“Maybe we should wait … we can wait and see if contractions start-”

You shook your head furiously, cautiously stepping forward, “We have to see a Doctor. W-We have to … contractions are supposed to start before my water breaks a-and I’m only 29 weeks. I can’t have the baby naturally.”

“But-”

“We have to! Please, Bucky, a-all I care about is the baby. Please, I don’t want to lose them. Please don’t make me-”

“Okay, okay,” He nodded, grabbing your face as he wiped your tears, “Uhm …. let's get dressed. There’s a thirty minute drive to the hospital,” You nodded and his eyes narrowed at you, “This is for the baby, remember that. You pull anything and-”

“I know,” You placed your hand over your stomach, pulling away from his grasp. 

Your body was heavy when he led you out of that room. You felt your reality shifting as you entered the world again. What surprised you most was how normal the rest of the home was, not particularly homey, but it was nice and spacious. There was even a full front yard and, sadly, you imagined the happy family that could have lived here. You half-expected him to have a wife and kids that he was hiding you from. 

Now, sitting in the hospital bed, you watched him paced around, not paying attention to what the Doctor was saying. 

“So she’s not in labor? She felt her water breaking.”

“No, Sir. Based on the ultrasound, the amniotic fluid levels are normal. I’m not sure what happened, could be a multitude of things, but it was most likely a false alarm. But don’t worry, it happens all the time. And your baby looks very healthy.”

You opened your mouth to say something but Bucky’s eyes narrowed at you, a warning. 

“Okay, thank you, Doc.”

“Do you two have a primary obstetrician? One isn’t listed-”

“Are we free to leave?”

The Doctor took another look at you, as if he was trying to understand our relationship, but if he noticed anything, he didn’t say it, “Yes, you’re free to go. I would just make sure to keep a sharp eye out and give your obstetrician a call if you have a question-”

“Of course, thanks, Doc,” Bucky nodded as he forced a smile. With his dark jacket and black gloves, it was hard for him not to look intimidating. 

The Doctor looked down at you with a warm smile, “Let me know if you need anything, ma’am.”

Say something. 

Say something. 

If you were going to say something, this would be the time. Why did Bucky have such a hold on you even outside of the room?

As soon as the Doctor left the room, Bucky turned away, frustratedly packing up your bag, “Get up, get dressed, let’s go.”

“Bucky, I really did think-”

“If you don’t want someone in this hospital to get hurt, I’d get dressed and keep your mouth shut.”

You moved your legs to the side, real tears beginning to fall down your face, as you struggled to get your dress on. Bucky noticed your sniffling from the corner of his eye. He moved towards you, kneeling down beside the bed, “Hey, I’m sorry …. I’m just stressed out. I don’t like you being here ... but everything is going to be okay. Our baby is perfectly healthy and we’ll be home soon. There will be no more interruptions after this.”

You couldn’t even bring yourself to nod in agreement knowing that your own opinion didn’t matter. Bucky was god, enforcing his will on you, and claiming he knew best. You felt so small in comparison to him but there had to be something left within you that could keep fighting, that could keep you from going willingly back into that room-

“Y/N?”

You perked up, “Yes?”

“C’mon doll face, let’s go home.”

hope you enjoyed! not sure where i want to take this so feedback will be much appreciated!

[hansensgirl]

not all who wander are lost.

summary. | He’s got your name on his tattoo, wearing the same damn clothes since three days ago. A bottle of gin in his hand, and you’d say he’s just wandering.

warnings. | Strangers to lovers, smut, naive reader, mentions of trauma, angst, fluff, slight violence, slight dub/con, slight blasphemy, drinking, DD/LG, daddy kink, corruption kink, ring/hand kink, size kink, creampie kink, teasing, spanking, choking, spitting, manhandling, praise, male masturbation, handjob, degradation, a bit of humiliation, oral sex, virginity loss, marking, and more. 18+ MINORS DNI.

word count. | 11k

pairings. | Daddy!Destroyer!Chris x Little!Reader.

a/n. | one of the few fics inspired/based off of chemtrails over the country club. please heed the warnings and don’t forget to reblog. ily! thank you so much to @dragon-of-dreams @mypoisonedvine @tenuntilfightcall and everyone else for helping me out with some information! and thank you to my bb sara @asadmarveltrashbag for beta-ing and being there for me during this insane month, ilysm!!

The first time he laid eyes on you, was six months ago.

Meadows like the ones that surround him only exist in movies and Instagram posts. But even those need editing for perfection. Yet, the ones around him made him feel as though he has camera lenses for his eyes. Each piece of grass is a beautiful green, and some had flowers between them. His thighs may hurt but the view is a reward for all the trouble he just went through. A cute cottage lies on the hill he stands on. It resembles one from a Pinterest board but he doesn’t mind.

Birds chirp, sheep bleat, cows low and chickens cluck amongst Ella Fitzgerald's rendition of Summertime. Chris walks a few more steps and onto the porch he goes. This isn’t his destination. Well, technically, it is. But he isn’t supposed to be knocking on your door like he is now, and his heart shouldn’t be beating out of his chest. To the right of this cottage — Chris’s right — is another cottage.

It’s more modern than he’d prefer it to be. It only looks so because inside lives a drug lord who is on the run. It’s truly unfortunate his girlfriend sold him out for immunity. He knocks on the wooden door and takes a step back. Who knows what kind of person is behind it. “Coming!” your sweet voice calls. Chris doesn’t let go of his grip on his gun that’s down the waist of his pants.

Even the sweetest seeming things can always end up being sour.

You struggle not to trip over your own dress. The tail of it drags behind you and sweeps the floor, too. But it makes you feel just like a princess, so you don’t care. On your hip is a basket, and inside is Cotton. Your bunny. She’s been your company for years, and you don’t know what you’d do without her. Barely anyone visits anymore, only because cars can’t handle the long drive up and many people hate nature. But when the occasional knock on your door echoes throughout the house, you can barely keep your excitement inside.

You open the door and gasp. The man… is brooding. And he’s not the type of broody that would grumble insults under his breath or the type that would stalk people, either. He’s the dreamy type, the man your parents say is bad news when really he just needs love. You take in his form. You can tell he’s slightly tired and you just have to give him credit for walking up to your home. He has no flaws, except for the dirt that stains his clothing.

“Hi, do you live here?” the strange man asks, looking around the inside of your home. You jump and you’re not sure why but your skin raises with goosebumps. His voice is deep yet so soft-spoken. For some odd reason, his hand is reaching backwards and you assume that it’s because he has some sort of ache from the walk. You finally register his words and look up at him.

“Y- yes, do you live here?” you stupidly ask. You don’t even realize what you just said until you noticed his puzzled look. “Oh, sorry,” you look down and notice that his black boots are covered in pollen, something that can be oh so bothersome. “‘S’alright, I was hiking a- and I don’t have anywhere to go… Do you think you could let me stay here?” he asks, letting go of the gun. “Uhm, s- sure, what’s your name?” you ask him, moving out of the way.

Naive, so fucking naive.

“Chris, what’s yours?” he asks, stepping inside. You give him your name and he nods. He goes to wipe his shoes on the rug in front of the door but there is no rug. You hand him a rag and he gratefully takes him, mumbling a small ‘thank you.’ “Are you a tourist?” you ask him, setting your basket down onto the floor. Cotton hops out of it and runs off to the kitchen, probably to chew on your apron. “No…” he solemnly answers. He hands you the rag back and you shyly take it.

“O- okay… Are you a photographer? I’ll tell you God’s truth, the most beautiful photos are taken when the sun rises, when it sets and when it’s raining,” you pointedly inform him. You drop the rag into your basket and turn back around, your dress spinning in a slight swirl. His eyes rake your body up and down, taking in every inch of your body. Red cloth with white polka dots covers your body and your mushroom earrings bring the entire outfit together.  Chris has to assume that the heavens above or whatever the fuck else is there have handcrafted you to absolute perfection.

He’s never read any stories about Greek gods, but he knows that Zeus would be absolutely infatuated with you. He takes note of how your body tenses up when he makes eye contact with you, and he gives you a small smile.

“I’m not a photographer,” he clarifies, looking around. He can’t believe you let him in just like that, but the more he found, the more he understood why. A lonely, innocent little girl like you doesn’t have anyone to tell you right from wrong. “Then what are you, sir? Are you lost? I can call the Consulate if you’d like,” you offer, walking towards him. “I’m not lost… I’m a wanderer,” he whispers almost hesitatingly.

“But you only ever wander when you’re lost, no?” you confusingly ask him. He clicks his tongue and shakes his head, before peering out of the window. Luckily, he has a direct view of the other cottage. He really did hit the jackpot. “Not all who wander are lost, little girl. Now tell me, why would you let a stranger inside your home?” he asks you.

Cotton hops from the kitchen to your bedroom, and you stand in place. “I… Well, I’m not sure. You didn’t give me any reason to not let you in or to make me believe you’re dangerous, sorry…” you shyly tell him. “Don’t apologize, just know that not everyone in this world is good. There’s always going to be someone with a little more darkness than the rest of us…”

Chris unzips his duffle bag, and you let out a giggle. “Quite ominous of you, but then again, it suits your whole aesthetic. The cool, bearded man, with his cool words,” you smile at him, but it carries a bit of sadness. “Treat this place as your own, make yourself at home. And if you need anything, I’m always here.”

Chris stays at the window for most of his days. Always with a pair of binoculars and a pack of saltine crackers. Sometimes, he pulls a juice bottle out of his duffle bag, You’ve countlessly offered him something that’s actually filling, such as angel cake and sandwiches. He rejects them all, and you wonder if he’s some sort of super-human. But technology hasn’t invented wireless technology yet, so it’s impossible.

“Uhm, Mr. Chris-Sir? I don’t think those crackers are good for you, they’re all you eat…” you sheepishly admit, carrying a cup of water to him. The mug has a little frog painted on it, but the green paint has chipped away over seven years. You set it down gently, onto the table next to him and Chris just stares out at the cottage. “Bird-watching is so cool, isn’t it? If you see a robin, let me know, they’re so beautiful,” you tell him, before walking off.

At first, he doesn’t take in your words. But once they’ve settled deep in his mind and sunk in, he realizes that you assume he’s bird-watching. He’d honestly take any other assumption, but at least you don’t know he’s spying on the criminal next door. He looks down at the table with a sigh and then notices what you’ve done. Not only did you set a cup of water down, but you also gave him two slices of toast. One has strawberry jam on it, and the other has melted butter.

His mouth surprisingly salivates, but it also doesn’t shock him. Every day he sits there, basking in the beautiful smell of your food and humming. His personal favourite is the smell of focaccia bread being baked. He watches and waits until you leave the room to go tend to the chickens. Apparently, one of them laid a few eggs. He quickly shovels the two slices of toast into his mouth and downs the glass of water like a starved man. Because he is one.

Cotton hopes around once again but all Chris sees is a fluffy white blur. He recalls his memories from when he was younger. Younger him always wanted a pet. Even a fish that would die in the span of two weeks would suffice. But his mom couldn’t afford it, so he dropped the idea. Sometimes, he wishes he had dropped other ideas, as well. Like the idea that he’d enjoy life as an undercover agent, or the idea of sacrificing himself for Erin.

His fingers are sticky with jam. He hates the feeling. He spreads his fingers out and goes to get up from his seat. “Shit,” he curses, realizing that something may happen while he’s away from the window. He stands there, contemplating whether or not he should risk his mission just to wash the fucking jam off of his stupid fucking hands. He calls your name, loudly, hoping you’ll hear him all the way outside the cottage.

“Is everything alright?” you shout, running inside the house. He didn’t expect that reaction, but he’ll take it. You’re holding onto the corner of two walls, slightly bent over. Your chest, your beautiful chest, is the first thing Chris lays his eyes on. He nearly chokes on his saliva, and he just can’t seem to take his eyes off of you. “Uh, hi, I need help,” he gruffly says, his voice a bit deeper than usual. He clears his throat with a loud ‘ahem’ and you begin to stand up straight, much to his dismay.

But he doesn’t think the image of your tits nearly falling out of your dress will leave his mind any time soon.

“Of course… Did you enjoy the toast? I can make you some more if you’d like,” you shyly offer him. “It was good, but I’m fine, thanks though. Can you stay here, right at the window, while I go wash my hands? If anything happens, you have to tell me.” Chris doesn’t leave any room for argument, but your curiosity and naivety get the best of you as always.

“What happens if I don’t tell you?” you ask him, walking towards the window. He blocks your path and suddenly personal space is no longer a thing you need. “You don’t want to know what I’m gonna do if you don’t, little girl,” he warns with a hint of lust in his tone. You nod your head and feel tingles bloom just above your core. You’re not sure whether they’re butterflies or those tingles.

Chris walks past you and you quickly rush to the window. You never realized how beautiful this view is until now. The sun is bright, angled in the most perfect manner so that it doesn’t shine directly in your eyes. The sky is so clear, even with the occasional fluffy cloud that always manages to look like some animal. The window blows gently, shaking the sheer curtains that frame you. You sigh and fold your arms, resting them on the windowsill.

You lay your head on your arms and stare out the window with joy filling your heart.

Chris watches you as you look out the window. You’re slightly bent over, once again. Your ass sticks out, and you subconsciously sway your hips side to side, almost purposefully teasing him. Your white dress has a few strings hanging from the hem, but it doesn’t make you look any less gorgeous. He feels like he’s in a dream.

Not only because of the beautiful scenery, and the beautiful woman in front of him but also because he’s trying his hardest to wash his hands quickly, but his movements are so slow. He looks down and rubs his hands together at a furious pace. Chris hears you gasp and he looks up. “Did you see something?” he asks you, turning off the sink.

“Yeah, my neighbour! I haven’t seen him in months, I need to go say hi,” you tell Chris, before rushing out the door. He only then registers your words once you’ve run out of the house and into the unknown. “Fuck- Wait!” he yells after you. He runs behind you and is so grateful when he notices you haven’t gone too far. But you’re still running and Chris’s target is about ten meters away, so he decides to do what he does best.

He decides to save you.

Chris’s feet hit the ground harshly, crushing the flowers beneath him. Running in socks isn’t fun, but at least he has something to protect him. He calls your name and crashes into you with all the force in his body. You both go down and hit the ground from his fierce tackling technique. You go to cry out in pain and lose your mind, but Chris clams his hand over your mouth. “Shh, be quiet. You’re not hurt, okay? I’m sorry I had to do that, but you can’t go running off like that,” he lectures, throwing his right leg over your body. He frames you down, and you don’t have much room to move. You’re frozen in place, chest heaving, and you furrow your eyebrows at his words.

“Listen, I need you to listen. You may not know me and I may not know you, but when I tell you to do something, you’re going to listen. Understood?” he chastised with a harsh tone. You nod meekly, like a little kid who just got caught with their hand in the cookie jar. “And just so you know, that sweet neighbour of yours over there is wanted by the Feds.” Chris looks over his shoulder and doesn’t see the man there anymore, so he begrudgingly climbs off of your body.

You gulp thickly, out of fear and nervousness. Chris doesn’t seem to want to add on to this newfound information, so your anxiety makes work of it. For all you know, your neighbour could be a murderer. Chris senses your nervousness and gives you a pat on the head, almost as if you’re his pet.

Unbeknownst to you, the sight of you under him, helpless and with his hand clamped over your mouth is something that gets his blood (and hand) pumping. He helps you up, and you don’t even realize it until he brushes some dandelion seeds out of your hair. “Thank you… and thank you for saving me, I’m sorry I didn’t listen,” you shyly speak to him. He nods and shoves his hands into his pockets, finding an old cigarette from before he quit.

“‘S’alright, I just need a few things from you,” he gruffly reassured. “O- Of course, anything for my guest and for the man who saved my life,” you beam with a small giggle punctuating your words. He basks in it, almost as though it’s sunlight over a beach. “Ah, you flatter me. Just tell me about yourself, I’m going to be staying for a while,” he says as he turns around to walk back inside.

A bottle of gin is in Chris’s hands. The colourless yet pale yellow liquid swishes inside its rightful bottle. It’s half full, only because last night, he downed the rest. He hasn’t drunk in a while. Since he got over being left for dead. And that’s only six months ago.

He’s shirtless. Only left in his grey jeans and jewelry. His rings clink against the glass bottle and his bracelets hang a little past his wrist. The gunshot wound on his left side had a faint scar on it. He hates it. Every single time he stares in the mirror, that fucking scar just stares back at him.

His father told him it makes him seem more ‘manly’, but it just feels like a point of weakness. Maybe if he was a little quicker, he would’ve saved that bank teller. He would’ve gotten Silas behind bars. He would’ve been able to be proud of himself.

Chris groans at the memories and spins the cap off of the bottle. It flies somewhere across the room, probably hitting one of the wood walls. He mumbles a ‘fucking hell’ and brings the bottle to his lips. The last time he drank like this was three months ago, and he ended up fucking the bartender.

She was bent over the counter, her tits spilled out of her bra and his cock pummeled into her sloppily.

She ended up kicking him out after they were done.

Chris groans again and sits down on the bed, kicking his legs up. His pants are stained with the pigment of dandelions and grass. The splotchy stains are juxtaposed to the grey of his old jeans. They have wear and tear all over them, but he doesn’t care.

Every now and then, he sighs — he sighs quite deeply. The puffs of air come from deep inside his chest. He tilts his head back and stares up at the ceiling, thinking back to earlier today. He smiles to himself, recalling the way you looked so innocent beneath him.

He’s only known you for a few days, and he already has lewd thoughts for you. Fuck. He just can’t help himself, though. Especially with your innocent doe eyes and pretty little dresses. He closes his eyes slowly, using that memory to fuel his much-needed mental images.

You’re beneath him once again, but you’re naked. His hand is wrapped around your throat, and he’s naked too. His cock is slowly driving in and out of you. He’s teasing you. Your pulsating, wet walls hug his fat cock, and you’re both moaning softly.

“Daddy…” you whisper to him, clenching around his cock. “What’s wrong, baby?” he softly asks you. “Please fuck me harder, please, Daddy,” you beg to him, before biting down onto your bottom lip. “I don’t think you’ll be able to take my cock like that, baby,” he shakes his head.

“I can take it, Daddy, I’m your good girl.”

Chris opens his eyes and his right hand has found its way down his boxers. His cock is all swollen and hard, hard as a rock. He places the bottle of gin down on the bedside table and gets himself all comfortable. Chris slowly begins to stroke himself gently. He goes from the base all the way to the top, and then back down. His thumb occasionally swipes against his leaking tip and all he can think of is teaching you how to make him — your Daddy — feel good.

“Fuck, baby,” he moans, feeling a vein throat against his hand. He moans your name and speeds up his movements. His fingers are slightly sticky, but it’s the type of sticky he doesn’t mind. He begins to slow his hand down, and he sighs, not wanting to come just yet. He hasn’t been this hard in ages, and touching himself feels so fucking good.

“Did you say my name? Is everything alright?” you ask, barging into his room. He jumps and his hand flies out of his pants. You both stare at each other, not even daring to blink. You eventually break eye contact and notice the bottle of gin sitting on the bedside table. There’s only a sixth of it left, and you frown. You don’t like it when people you care about drink. “Uhm…” he awkwardly scratches the back of his neck and then takes in your form.

You’re in a nightgown, and it’s sheer as fuck. The gin gets to him and his mind has a slight buzz to it. His heart beats rapidly and his cock throbs with want and need. Chris’s eyes rake up and down your body like how they usually do whenever you’re in front of him. His mother would scold him for ogling at you, but he just doesn’t care anymore.

“I- I am so so so sorry, I should’ve knocked. I just thought you needed help with something because I heard you say my name, but sometimes I just tend to hear random things, so sorry,” you apologize in a panicking manner. You slowly walk back to the door, but you don’t turn around. Your bare feet leave a faint imprint on the floor from the cold sweats that have taken over your body.

“Come back here,” he orders, sitting up on the bed. Chris’s unbuckled belt clanks quietly, and he begins to remove it in one quick motion. You gulp thickly and exhale shakily. You slowly walk to where Chris is sitting, and he pats the spot next to him. You’ve never had such an interaction with anyone, ever. You sit down next to him, but you keep your distance.

Alcohol should not be called alcohol in Chris’s utmost humble opinion. No, it should just stick to its nickname ‘liquid courage’ because it’s more accurate than anything else. He may not seem like it, but he’s just a man who doesn’t have the heart to do much. Adrenaline doesn’t exist for him anymore, not since the incident.

Chris turns his head and stares at your pretty face. You look down, unable to make eye contact with such a God-like man. You have to assume that even Apollo is envious of Chris’s beauty. “How’d you hear me? Because I know these walls aren’t thin enough, and I know I wasn’t being loud, so tell me; How’d you hear me?” he interrogates you like one of Silas’s companions, but this time is slightly different.

Lust is what’s pumping through his veins, not rage.

“Uhm, well… My room was right there, and I wasn’t doing anything but thinking, and since your bed is against the wall, I- I heard you say my name,” you explain shyly. He hums, and you’re not sure whether it’s a hum of delight or disbelief. “Thinking of what?” he presses, inching his body closer to yours.

You continue to stare at his hand, even though you can feel his heavy breathing against your face. “I… Well- I was uh,” you stutter embarrassingly, and it makes you burn up with shame. “Spit it out, little girl, and don’t think of lying to me,” he growls, placing his hand on your thigh. Your gaze follows his movements, and you take in the set of rings that adorn his fingers.

They’re all black and of similar styles. One has a skull, one is completely plain, one has a cross on it and the last one has the word ‘Daddy’ engraved on it. His veins are so prominent. They bulge out with intensity, and you’d just love to trail your fingers along each of them. “Am I going to have to force an answer out of you?” he roughly asks. His other hand goes to the back of your head and he brings your gaze to his face.  

You quickly shake your head in objection, and he raises his eyebrows for you to spit your answer out. “I was thinking about you, and the way you tackled me…” you admit to him in a low and soft voice. “You liked the way I was on you, little girl?” he asks, moving his hand to the back of your neck. “Y- Yeah, made me feel all… Tingly…” you whisper to him.

“I want to hear you say it, little girl,” Chris ushers, squeezing the back of your neck slightly. “I liked the way you were on top of me…” you tell him breathlessly. “Good girl,” he praises in a slightly deep voice. He pulls you onto his lap and you gasp. His hard, wanting cock is right under your thighs, and you exhale nervously.

“You feel that, little girl? That’s all because of you, you did this to me. And you’re proud of it, aren’t you? Got me so fucking hard just because of you.” Chris squeezes your waist, and you really can feel it all. He’s not wrong, either. You’re so proud that you’ve made a man like him so desperate for you. “Do you know what I was doing, little girl? I was jerking off to the thought of fucking that cunny of yours until you’re begging me to stop,” he growls in your ear.

You moan softly, and the picture comes to mind, making your pussy gush with want. “Bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he asks, placing his hand on your inner thigh. You nod, and he raises his eyebrows in warning again. “Yeah, I want that so bad,” you murmur to him. You and your pussy want him so bad. Chris’s hand inches further up your thighs until he’s just an inch away from your bare pussy.

Your thighs are already slightly sticky from your arousal. “Do you know what jerking off is, little girl?” he asks, pulling his hand away from your pussy. You hold back a pathetic, child-like whine, and he begins to lift up your nightgown until he sees your naked body. “Kind of… Isn’t that when a man touches himself? Like how women touch their… down there?” you innocently ask him.

Chris chuckles at how cute you are. So innocent yet oh so slutty. “Have you ever touched yourself, little girl?” he asks, lifting the nightgown over your head. It’s strewn across the floor behind you, and neither of you cares. But you quickly use your hands to cover your most precious, most private parts. “No, no, I don’t want to see any of that. You’re so beautiful, baby, you’re built like an absolute angel,” he husks, and you feel so flustered that you can’t help but giggle.

“T- Thank you… And I’ve done it a few times,” you inform him. Chris nods and smirks, catching the way your nipples have pebbled up. “Have you ever made someone feel good before?” he questions, trailing his broad hands up and down your body. “N- No, it’s pretty lonely up here…” you almost-ashamedly admit. He coos at you. “Do you want me to teach you how to make me feel good, little girl?” he questions, palming your tits.

You moan softly and rub your thighs together as he pinches and pulls at your hard nipples. You’re so small in his large hands, it makes him even harder. You nod your head fervently, wanting to make Chris feel so fucking good. Chris takes his hands away from your body and shifts you in his lap. He reaches down his pants and pulls his cock out of his boxers.

You gasp, having never seen something as big as that. He smirks and uses his right hand to grasp the base of his thick cock. Chris brings your dominant hand down to where his cock is and guides you to wrap your fingers around him. Chris shudders at your soft touch, and he moans softly. “Good girl, yeah,” he praises. “Wrap your hand around me a bit tighter, baby,” he urges, and you do exactly that.

He groans loudly and a small smile stretches across your lips. “N- Now, you’ve got to move your hand up and down. Start off slowly, go all the way to the tip, and then back down,” he instructs, even though he’s helping you out. His hand brings yours all the way to the tip, and then back down; just like he said. His hand leaves yours and goes back to feeling up your pretty body.

“Now do it by yourself, but in a twisting motion, little girl.”

You listen to his words and jerk him off, feeling yourself get wet as his cock twitches in your hand. Your clit throbs and so do the veins on the side of his shaft. Chris curses, and you bite down on your bottom lip. “Good girl, just like that. Fuck, your hand feels so good around me,” he moans, squeezing your waist. You focus on his cock, watching as pre-cum leaks from the tip and down the side of his dick.

It drips onto your slow-moving hand, and you exhale as your movements grow a bit faster. You look at him, watching as his pupils darken with lust. You can tell — it’s written on his face — he wants you to go faster. Your hand speeds up around his cock, making him a moaning mess. “Fuck, you’re such a good fucking girl. You like making me feel good, don’t you? So eager to please like the good little girl you are,” Chris husks.

His praise goes straight to your needy cunt and he knows this because he can just tell. Your thighs rub together, your breath hitches, you let out a giggle and squeeze a little tighter around his cock. Chris’s hand goes up to your head and smashes your lips against his. You both moan into the kiss, and you straddle both his thighs to get more comfortable.

You place your other hand on his cock and mimic your dominant hand’s movements. You try to keep up with the kiss, but you just can’t. Teeth clash and so do tongues as Chris moves his mouth against yours. He pants and his chest heaves as you continue to stroke him. “Go faster, baby,” he urges, and he pulls his mouth away from yours. He can feel you soaking his jeans, your wetness joining the abundant amount of rips and tears in the material.

Your hand moves faster, twisting perfectly and occasionally squeezing his most sensitive spots as well. Chris pushes your hands away abruptly, and you’re confused. Did you do something wrong? Does he not like you anymore? What happened? “Shit, wrap your mouth around the tip, little girl. Trust me, you’re gonna fucking love it,” he says, and you quickly do so.

You’ll do anything to please him. His mushroom tip is leaking and a raging red. It’s the same red as the rest of his cock, and you could swear it’s almost purplish. You can tell he’s aching because you’ve been through a similar thing. You drop down to the floor and kneel in front of Chris. Your lips smooth around the tip of his hard cock, and you can taste him as soon as he hits your tongue.

He tastes of musk and manliness, along with a hint of saltiness, and it’s oh so addicting. You keep the tip of his cock in your mouth like it’s one of your favourite lollipops and smile around him. Chris smiles and wraps his hand around himself. He jerks himself off quickly, desperate to come in your mouth. “Fucking shit– god, you’re such a good fucking girl,” Chris rasps as he reaches his climax.,

His balls tighten up and his blue eyes roll back into his skull. White, hot, thick ropes of cum shoot out of his tip and fill your mouth. You’re not sure why, but a moan escapes past your throat, and it only makes Chris’s high much better. Chris places both hands on the sides of your head and holds you there, gently. You swallow all his cum as it fills your mouth and leaks from the corners of your lips.

Chris so desperately wants to push your head farther down his cock, but he knows he shouldn’t. Plus, there’s always going to be more time for things like that. He pulls your head away from his cock and watches as a string of saliva tries to keep the two of you connected. You gently lick your lips, still savouring his taste and he smiles down at you. You can’t lie — you feel giddy. Giddy in a way in which you crave his praise and approval like no other.

“You’re such a good girl, you know that? Thank you for helping me out… I do suppose I should return the favour, right?” he teasingly says, lifting you up into his lap. You shake your head out of nervousness. “No? … Why not, baby?” Chris asks, and you gulp thickly. “Don’t wanna rush it… I- never mind, you wouldn’t understand,” you look down and fiddle with your fingers.

The grooves of your nails are smoothed over by your pointer finger. Some dips and rises make you cringe, and others satisfy you. He looks down at your hands and notices the skin picked on the sides. He knows how painful those can be, and he doesn’t want you to feel any pain at all. “I’ll try to understand, darling, but if you don’t tell me, then I’ll be completely clueless,” he speaks to you lowly. “I like the way your words make me feel…” you shyly admit to him.

“Aw, how do they make you feel, baby?” Chris presses, grasping your two hands together. “All warm and small… makes me feel like I have it all. Hey, that rhymes!” you exclaim, bubbling in the utmost adorable giggles ever. “You’re a natural poet, darling. But tell me more…” he urges, rubbing his coarse thumbs against your soft skin. “I get butterflies, and I feel all shy and safe. Your words make me so comfortable yet so vulnerable…” you describe to him even though words can’t describe what you feel.

“Is that right, baby? You’re so cute… Do you- Do you get all tingly and babyish when I use my words?” Chris hesitatingly asks. His voice is so gentle and soft, a low whisper that is so soothing to your ears and rough edges. You nod meekly and smile to yourself. Your cheeks may hurt from all the laughter he caused earlier today but that doesn’t refrain you from hiding your smile.

Now, Chris is no doctor. He’s no professional, he’s no master. He’s just a broken man, but he knows exactly what you’re talking about. But he won’t explain what it is, because he needs you to learn on your own. Maybe with some guidance from him, but he won’t trick you into thinking something completely off base.

“Let’s get cleaned up, okay? Then we’ll sleep, you need the rest. We both do.”

He’s got your name on his tattoo, wearing the same damn clothes since three days ago. A bottle of gin in his hand, and you’d say he’s just wandering. But he isn’t. He was never. The stick-and-poke tattoo may seem a bit much, but he doesn’t regret it one bit. Your name is written in your pretty handwriting. The ink is in his skin, and he’s practically marked as yours, now.

The days go by slower, much slower than he’d like them to. But it doesn’t matter now, because his mission is over, and he’ll be leaving soon. But Chris doesn’t want to leave. His wanderlust has found an end as he finally has a place where he’s meant to be. He’s found heaven in the hills, and between your legs.

“D- Daddy…” you whisper under your breath, loud enough for him to hear. Your hands are locked with his, and they rest at your sides. You’re just in a small bralette, and your hard nipples poke through the fabric. Your legs are thrown over his shoulders and your ankles lace together behind his head. Your neck aches from the angle your body is in, but the pleasure blooming from your core is much more powerful.

Chris is between your legs, and he hums against your wet, throbbing pussy. You moan loudly and squeeze your eyes shut from the feeling. He sucks on your clit harshly, and wetness seeps from your hole. “Feels so good… Oh, my…” you pant. Your hips gyrate and you subconsciously grind your wet cunt against Chris’s face. He pulls his face away from your pussy and licks a broad stripe against you.

You moan again and squeeze his hands tighter. His tongue swirls around your swollen and throbbing clit, bringing you closer and closer to your release. Your taste is addictive, and he could stay between your legs for hours on end, if not for eternities. His beautiful, lovely rings dig into the sides of your fingers, but you don’t care. Chris may treat you like a delicate doll, but he should know how much you love it when he’s rough with you.

“I think I’m gonna come, Daddy…” you cry out to him before a strangled moan leaves your mouth. Chris pulls away from your pussy once again, but this time he spits on your lips. His saliva drops down your cunt and mixes with your wetness, and he goes back to devouring you. He eats you out like a starved man, and you’re squealing at the overwhelming pleasure.

If he was on death row, he’d have your sweet pussy as his last meal.

His tongue works over your clit and brings you closer and closer to your release. It’s coming fast. A searing, heated feeling takes over your body and abdomen as your back arches off your couch. Chris is as hard as a rock, staring you directly in the eyes, and he makes you come on his mouth.

“Oh- Daddy!” you cry out loudly, your mouth falling open into a silent, voiceless scream. Your eyes roll back into your skull and in Chris’s past words, you look like a brain-dead slut. Your wetness gushes out of your drooling hole, and he laps it all up with no problem. He drinks up everything you give him, and then some. Your hands are still laced with his and your chest rises and falls at a fast pace.

“Shh… You did amazing, little one. Taste so fucking sweet, just like nectar,” he hums like a hummingbird, before smacking his lips. You slowly come down from your high as he strokes your hands with his thumbs. Your lids are slightly heavy, but you don’t want to get any shut-eye. Time away from Chris is practically a sin in your eyes. “Thank you, Daddy,” you gratefully reply.

“You’re welcome, little one. Got me so hard,” he husks as he moves to get up. He carefully handles your body and pulls out a handkerchief from the pocket of his jeans. They’ve been washed and scrubbed but there are still faint dandelion and pollen stains that he just doesn’t care enough about. Though the adorable face you were making whilst washing them is something that’ll never leave his mind.

Just like the mental image of you coming undone beneath him.

“Can I make you feel good, Daddy? Pretty please?” you ask sweetly and Chris knows he could say yes, but he doesn’t want to. Making you feel good pleases him, but he doesn’t want to sound so poetic so he chuckles. “Soon, little one, I need to clean you up properly,” he tells you and you jut your bottom lip out, pouting. He coos at you and you scrunch your nose up at the attention.

“But I’m all clean, Daddy!” you reason, reaching over to palm his hard cock through his jeans. Chris chokes on his saliva at the feeling of your touch. “In a bit, little one, you need to listen to Daddy. Okay?” he rasps with a warning in his voice. “Okay, Dada…” you trail off with a deep sigh punctuating your sentence. You fiddle with your fingers as Chris carefully cleans up your pussy.

The damp washcloth is gentle against your sensitive skin. Each movement of his is carried by gentleness and love. “I have a question, Daddy,” you hum after a few seconds of silence. “Go ahead, mushy one,” he says with a smile. You giggle at the nickname before calming yourself down. “Were you really wandering?” you bluntly ask him. Chris’s eyes nearly fall out of their sockets, and you gasp.

“What do you mean, little one?” he asks, looking up at you. “Well… You said you were a wanderer! And that’s how you found me! But you don’t seem like a wanderer, you’re too clever to be one,” you explain with a smile on your face. Chris begins to chew on the inside of his cheek, and the skin has already been filled with bite marks and scars. At this point, he should tell you, right? You already know the deepest, most darkest pieces and part of him.

You’ll love him no matter what.

“Well, I wasn’t wandering. You’re so smart, little one. The smartest baby in the world!” he cheers and moves to get up. He sits in the empty spot next to you and lifts you into his lap. You’re still naked and Chris has his shirt off (as usual), so the skin-on-skin contact has you feeling even sleepier. “Sometimes, we lie to protect people. I lied, to protect you, along with many other people. Myself included, of course,” he starts.

“I was sent here with the sole purpose of bringing in your criminal neighbour,” he pauses “and I did.” You nod along with his words, your mind only allowing the most important phrases to sink in. “I arrested him around a month ago, and I was supposed to leave three weeks ago,” he sadly sighs. You look up in a panic, and you’re in shock. “Two weeks ago, I turned in my resignation. I’m not going anywhere,” he quickly adds and your face lights up.

“I’m staying with my best girl, okay?” Chris smiles and leans in to kiss you. You let him do so because God-damn, you’d let him do anything he wants to you. “T- Thank you so much, Daddy!” you squeal and hug him tightly. He laughs in a beautiful cacophony of sounds, and it’s right in your ear.

Chris feels a weight being lifted off his shoulders as you writhe around in his arms. You wiggle around on his hard cock and Chris suppresses a groan. His hands trail from your shoulders to your waist, down to your hips. Goosebumps erupt on your skin and excitement runs in your veins at his touch. Your head rolls back and you exhale shakily. He grips your hips tightly, and you involuntarily buck your hips against his crotch.

Both you and Chris moan before he moves both his hands to your ass. He gropes you roughly, feeling a bit of your wetness on his fingers. “Oh, baby… What’s all that for? Hm? Didn’t Daddy just eat your sweet little pussy out?” he asks in a slightly worried tone. “Y- Yeah… But I can’t help it, Daddy, you always make me so tingly…” you admit to him, shyly.

“Mmm, I like knowing I do this to you. Gets me so fucking hard,” he groans, slapping your ass. You yelp in surprise, but it gets cut off by a whimper. Chris caresses the hit skin and soothes you down from the shock. He smiles at you and then lands another hit. Then another, and then another.

The sting is addictive, just like he is. It leaves you writhing in both pain and pleasure and yet you still want more. “M- more, please,” you quietly beg and Chris coos at you as if you're a pet. And the truth isn’t far off. The coolness of his rings is both brutal and comforting. It soothes you yet acts as if they didn’t just hurt you. “You want more, baby?” he asks in that sweet yet sultry condescending tone of his.

You nod your head and chew on your bottom lip. “‘S too bad you’re gonna have to take what I give you and keep quiet, baby,” he husks, and you whine loudly. Chris flips your bodies around and suddenly you’re on your back, and he’s leaning over you. He locks lips with you and you try your hardest to keep up with the kiss.

His lips move sloppily against yours, but you don’t mind because you’ll take anything he gives you. You moan into true kiss and Chris wedges his knee between your legs. You’d hump him like a bunny because that’s what the demon on your shoulder is telling you to do. But the last time you did something without his permission, you weren’t allowed to make him come for a week.

You just know you’re soaking his jeans but neither of you cares. Chris kisses the corner of your mouth and trails down to your neck, peppering kisses behind as if he’s leaving a trail on your body for when he’s going to explore you later. The stubble on his cheeks and jaw tickles you and Chris falls even more in love with you as your laughter fills the air.

“D- Dada…” you whisper to him as you tilt your head back. His lips land on that sweet spot of yours and your back arches off the couch. Chris smiles against your skin and begins to suck on that sweet spot. Your breath hitches as he bites, licks and sucks on your skin. He marks you up like no other, and you know how much he loves to know that you’re all his.

“Dada… No teasing, please,” you sweetly ask in your soft tone. And how can he turn you down? “In a bit, little girl, be patient for Daddy.” Chris continues to mark you up until he’s satisfied. The feeling of his teeth against your neck and collar bones makes you even wetter than you already are. Possessiveness is carried in his movements, and it only drives you to be needier.

Chris moves further down from your collar bones to the valley of your breasts. Each curve of yours makes him want to sin without any repentance afterwards. He places a kiss there and then looks up at you. “Please, Daddy,” you whisper so quietly it takes him a few seconds to realize what you’ve said. Chris’s hand wraps around your body to your back.

He slowly unclasps your bralette and drags it away from your body at the same pace. You both maintain eye contact all whilst he undresses you to your vulnerability. Chris throws your bra somewhere behind him and places his hands on your body. “Aw, baby… You’re so cute and small,” he sweetly says in an almost shocking manner. Almost as if he doesn't use the size difference as a weapon to make you all soft and mushy.

“Hm, thank you, Daddy,” you tell him because good girls always have manners. “So good, using your manners for Daddy,” he praises, and you wonder if he can read your mind. Your Daddy can do anything, so it would be no surprise if he can. Chris sits upon his knees, but he remains in his towering position. Gently, and with care, he spreads your legs open until he’s satisfied.

He watches as you clench your needy pussy. He just knows your clit is throbbing, and you’re tingly because he just has that effect on you. “Poor baby… Is this all for Daddy?” he asks, and you quickly nod. “Say it, tell me it’s all because of me,” he growls placing his hands on your thighs. Chris slowly moves his hands further down your thighs. His touch is gentle, and he can feel the goosebumps on your thighs beginning to raise.

“‘S all yours, daddy. It’s all because of you,” you tell him breathlessly. “And this pussy is all mine, isn’t it, little girl?” he asks, inching closer to your wet pussy. “Mhm, only yours, Daddy!” you happily assure him, and he smirks at you. “That’s right, little girl. And since it’s all mine, doesn’t that mean I can do whatever I want with it?” he questions, and you nod with no hesitance at all.

Chris traces your wet pussy with his ring-donned pointer finger. “Oh my…” you gasp at the feeling. It may not be much, but your sensitive little pussy struggles to handle it. You clench around nothing again, and he watches, before chuckling at you. “Such a pretty pussy you have, baby, I can’t fucking wait to ruin it,” Chris growls, and you whimper. “Gonna fill you up with my cum after I fuck you, little girl,” he promises, and you never wanted to be fucked so badly until now.

He wonders if his cock could even fit inside you. Usually, he’d want to eat you out and finger you to prepare you. But he’s now thinking with what’s between his legs, and not what’s between his ears. He trails that same pointer finger on your pussy, and becomes mesmerized with the sight. Chris watches as your hole drools with want and need, whilst you watch him.

His already dark eyes are blown out with lust, and it only turns you on even more. Chris knows you’re watching him. He’s not one of the best agents in the FBI for no reason. He looks up at you, and you lock eyes with each other. He smirks and pulls his hand away from your pussy. You hold back a whine, but you still pout in disappointment. Chris begins to unbuckle his pants, and you’re filled with eagerness.

You smile widely, and he coos. “Aw, you’re such a desperate little slut, it’s adorable,” he chuckles, and you shy away. He pulls down his jeans along with his boxers slowly. Chris takes off his jeans and boxers completely, and throws them somewhere around the house. You watch as his cock bounces up and leaks with pre-cum. You just know he’s aching because of how red his cock is.

He’s big, and you already know that. But seeing him in all his naked glory is just something else. The simple yet not so simple idea of Chris’s cock being inside of you is electrifying. It’s both terrifying and exciting. He grabs the base of his cock and the prickly hair pokes the soft skin of his hands, but he doesn’t care. His left hand goes back to your pussy, and begins to rub circles on your clit.

“Oh… Daddy,” you moan quietly. The pleasure is almost overwhelming, so you involuntarily try to shut your legs and keep Chris out. Your knees touch for a brief moment, and he’s having none of that. He separates your legs and climbs on top of you, all while staring you directly in the eyes. His cock drags against your inner thigh. “Oh, is it too much for you, little one?” he asks with faux pity in his tone. You nod and clench your fists to control yourself.

“Too fucking bad, you’re gonna take whatever I give you, and you’re not gonna complain. Isn’t that right, little girl?” he sneers, and you gasp. Usually, you can’t handle someone who raises their voice in the slightest. But hearing Chris do it makes the butterflies in your stomach fly. “Yes, Daddy,” you hum delightfully, and he smiles. “Good girl,” he praises. Chris presses harder on your sensitive pearl of nerves and rubs you in faster circles.

“Daddy…” You moan and it goes straight to his cock. He looks up at you and just knows you’re beginning to drive up that cliff. He slows down his ministrations on your nub, and you bite back a loud whine. “You’re so needy, baby… Already so close to coming, it’s kind of pathetic…” he trails off and more wetness leaks out of you. You’re absolutely soaked and are a little bit ashamed of it.

“Please, Daddy! I’m so close, I’ll do anything,” you beg, but he just doesn’t buy it. “You’ll already do anything I tell you, baby, begging is so useless,” Chris chortles. You let out a small huff and move your hips in a circle, grinding against his thumb. In a flash of blurry moments, Chris pulls his hand away from your pussy and wraps around your neck. He squeezes the sides of your throat, and you gasp quite loudly.

He raises his eyebrow in warning, and you nod in understanding. “Good girl, I don’t want to put you over my knee when I’m feeling so gracious,” he assures, and you smile. Chris brings the tip of his cock to your swollen, needy clit and his pre-cum begins to mix with your wetness. You both moan softly as he rubs his tip on your clit. Your bottom lip finds a home between your teeth and Chris’s tongue swipes over his.

The sight and feeling of his cock on your silky pussy make him so weak in the knees. “Fuck, baby, do you like that? You like it when Daddy makes you feel good with his cock?” Chris asks in a deep, gravelly voice. “Yeah, Daddy… love it so much…” you tell him through a mushy haze of pleasure.

“You’re getting all dumb and stupid already? You’re so cute, little one,” he purrs, and you giggle at his words even though there’s nothing funny about them. “Do you want my cock, little baby? Say it, tell Daddy you want his cock,” he urges, and you look down to where you’re both nearly connected.

“I wan’ your cock, Daddy. Want it so bad, I need it, Daddy,” you beg, and Chris hums. “Just a little more, little girl, it’s like music to my ears,” he smirks, and you bite your bottom lip. “Sing for me, hummingbird,” he pushes, and you just go with whatever your neediness tells you to do.

“I wanna feel your cock deep inside me, Daddy. I want your cum to fill me up until I’m leaking and all stupid. Please, Daddy, please fuck me. I really want your cock, I need it,” you beg and blood rushes to his face and cock. “Fuck, yeah, I’ll give you my fucking cock, and you better take it like the good girl you are,” he growls, and you whimper. Chris slowly drags the fat tip of his shaft down to your drooling, slutty hole.

You whimper loudly, and he looks back at you. Fear is written all over that pretty face of yours, and Chris knows the exact reason why. “Don’t worry, baby, I’ll be gentle, okay? If you want to stop just say so, and I’ll listen. I won’t hurt you, darling. I promise,” he gently reassures you. You sigh with an almost heavy yet full heart.

You then nod and Chris thanks you for allowing him to fully make you his. “Wanna hold your hand, Dada… Please,” you ask pleasantly, and he nods. “In a bit, little girl, I just need to be careful,” he whispers. Chris slowly begins to push into your wet, tight cunt. You swallow him slowly, and the sight is mesmerizing.

The tightness of your cunt squeezes him in a strong hug, and he wishes he could be buried deep inside you for the rest of his life. “Fuck- Baby, you feeling so fucking good,” he moans while trying to compose himself. You’re still whimpering from the pain, and your chest is rising and falling at a fast pace.

“C- Can I push all the way in, little one? It’ll only hurt for a bit,” he asks, and he looks deep into your eyes. “Mhm… Wanna feel your cock deep inside me, Daddy, please,” you beg, and Chris tries his hardest not to come right here, right now. He thrusts his hips forward, and bottoms out inside you completely.

Your mouth falls open, and you’re silently screaming. The pain isn’t too much, but you feel as though the wind is being knocked out of you. Chris shifts a bit, and that’s when you start to feel it more. He’s so deep inside you, and he’s splitting you in two. “Breathe, baby, breathe,” he says.

You realize you’re holding your breath and it’s no wonder why your heart was beating out of your chest. “You’re doing so- so well, darling. Your little cunny looks so nice when it’s stuffed full with my cock,” he groans, and you whimper. “Dada, is hurtin’...” you whisper, and Chris wants to pull out because he can’t stand the thought of his little girl being hurt.

“Do you want me to stop, little one?” he asks, but you quickly shake your head in objection. Even though the pressure in your core is dwindling, and even though you feel a little too full, you don’t want him to stop. “No stopping, Daddy, please,” you whine and flail your arms towards him. He shushes you soothingly, and you calm down as soon as he flashes a stern look.

The pain soon burns away into nothing but dust and ash, and you finally see why he was so desperate to shove his cock inside of your cunt. It turns into pleasure and your pussy leaks around him. You’re soaking Chris’s cock with no shame at all. “Oh, fuck, baby… You feel so fucking good,” he moans, and you follow with a gasp. “I like the way y- you feel inside me, Daddy, makes me all tingly…” you admit shyly, and Chris chuckles.

“Yeah? Bet it makes you want to be fucked stupid, right, baby?” he questions with a playful smirk on his face. “Yes, Daddy,” you moan. You’re never aware of your surroundings because you’re too caught up in the moments. It’s something Chris scolds you for, but you never learn. But in this moment, you can feel everything. The veins on his cock throb against your silky walls, and you can feel his balls against your ass. His hot breath fans over you as Chris struggles to compose himself.

He slowly drags his hips backwards, pulling out of your pussy until his tip is the only thing in your cunt. The sudden almost-emptiness is surprising, but you quickly get used to it. Chris then pushes back into your pussy, and you moan loudly. “Fucking hell, little one,” he curses under his breath as he bottoms out again. He begins to fuck into you slowly and gently, careful to not hurt you. Even if he wants to fuck you until you’re crying.

The sound of skin on skin is quiet and almost unintelligible. The squelching sounds from your wet pussy and moans fill the room. Chris gently grips your hips and watches as your face contorts into a frown of pleasure and not pain. “Daddy…” you pant softly as you look up at Chris. “Yeah, baby? Am I hurting you?” he asks out of worry. “N-No, it feels so good…” you trail off as one particular thrust lands near your g-spot. And he knows that.

“Wan’ you to fuck me hard, wan’ you to destroy me, Daddy. Please fuck me like the slut I am…” you gently beg and Chris halts his thrusts. His cock twitches inside of you because of your words. Only he can corrupt an innocent angel such as yourself. “Shit- Little one, I don’t want to hurt you, that’s why I’m being so gentle,” Chris explains, but you shake your head. “You could never hurt me, Daddy. Please, I need you,” you beg for one last time, unaware of what you’ve done to him.

Chris roughly pushes his cock back into your cunt without warning. “Awe, I see. My little princess wants to be fucked like the whore she is, hm? Well, whatever princess wants, she gets,” he growls because beginning to fuck you roughly. You moan loudly at the feeling as with each thrust, his cock pummels against your sweet spot roughly. His pelvic bone rubs against your swollen clit and his grip on your hips tightens.

“Daddy!” you cry out as Chris pounds into your poor pussy. The room fills with moans, groans, curse words and wet sounds that all come from the art you two are making. “Aw, what’s wrong, little girl? Can’t take daddy’s cock anymore? Hm? Well, I don’t really give a fuck, you’re just gonna lie there, and take what I give you like a good fucking girl,” he sneers, and you push at his chest.

“It’s so sensitive!” you wail like a little bitch in heat. “But I bet you don’t want me to stop, do you?” Chris asks as a moan bleeds past his plump lips. “Uh-uh, please don’t stop, Daddy!” you squeal after a harsh thrust. The stretch of Chris’s cock is amazing, and you never want the feeling to stop. Chris’s hand leaves your hip and crawls all the way up to your neck. He wraps his fingers around your throat, and squeezes the sides, making you clench tightly around his big, thick cock.

He lowers his face to yours and watches as you react to the way he’s being rough with you. “Oh, God!” you cry out as he makes his thrusts more powerful. “Actually, it’s just ‘Daddy’, but I’m fine with that too,” he slyly smirks. You’re too fucked out to even laugh at his joke. Your eyes roll back into your skull and your back begins to arch off of the couch.  “Awe, are you gonna come around my big fat cock already, slut? How cute,” Chris mocks.

You nod your head and begin babbling like a baby. “But remember, little girl, I have to give you permission to come, okay?” he reminds you, and you whine. Chris’s hand around your throat moves up to grab your jaw, and he stops thrusting into you. “None of that is allowed. Don’t forget your place, little girl,” Chris warns with fury seething through his words. You mumble an apology, trying to formulate the proper words to speak.

“Seems like I really did fuck you stupid,” he chuckles, and you moan at his words. You clamp down on his cock, tempting him to do what you want, like a siren using her voice to lure men into the sea. “Open your mouth up first, little girl,” he orders, and you obediently listen. The searing arousal in your core begins to fade away, and you feel a panic beginning to rise inside you.

Chris drags his hand back down to your throat and rests it there. You watch as he puckers his lips up, and suddenly, he spits into your mouth. You open your mouth even wider and stretch your tongue out. His saliva lands directly on your tongue, and you wait for further instructions before you give in to your desires.

“Swallow it, little girl,” he instructs, and you do exactly so. You open your mouth back up just to earn some praise. “Good fucking girl. The best baby ever,” he smiles and presses a kiss to your forehead. “Thank you, Daddy! … Can I have cummies now?” you lovingly ask your Daddy.

“Of course, little one,” he says as he smiles down at you. Chris begins to fuck into you again, deep and hard. With each thrust, he pounds your g-spot and his balls slap against your ass. His remaining hand on your hip moves down to your clit, rubbing your little button with rough circles.

“Daddy… ‘m gonna come!” you moan loudly and Chris fucks you harder. “Come one, baby, come all over my big cock like the good girl you are,” he urges. The building feeling inside you increases, and you feel yourself getting closer to your release. “Fucking come, little girl, wanna hear you sing for me,” he growls. And with one specific thrust, you find yourself coming undone beneath him.

The sight is so fucking beautiful. Watching you as your eyes turn up, your mouth falls open and your cunt hugging his cock just gets him going, and he wishes he could take a picture of you right now. “D- Daddy! Oh, my-” You cut yourself off with a loud moan and Chris keeps on rubbing your clit and fucking you through your orgasm.

You soak his cock until it’s dripping and even then you’re still coming. You moan loudly and Chris can feel himself getting closer to his orgasm. His balls begin to tighten up and a droplet of sweat drips from his neck down to his chest. “Daddy, are you gonna come?” you sweetly ask as he fucks you through your orgasm whilst chasing his own.

“Yeah, baby, Daddy’s gonna fill you up with his cum. I’m gonna leave you leaking with my seed,” Chris growls as he fucks you faster. “Please, Daddy… Please, I want your cum so badly! Please fill me up with your cum, Daddy,” you beg and Chris tosses his head back.

“Fuck, yes, yes yes,” he shouts as his balls tighten up again. He quickens his pace until white, hot, thick ropes of cum spurts out from his aching tip. He fulfills his promise and your wish, filling you up with his cum until there’s nothing left. His cum mixes with your juices as he paints your walls with no expertise whatsoever. Chris slumps on top of your body, engulfing you in a bear hug as his cock remains buried inside of you.

You’re both panting and struggling to come down from the euphoric feelings. You look up at Chris make lock eyes with him for the nth time. There’ll never be a day where you don’t get lost in his eyes. They’re beautiful, absolutely beautiful. “You did so fucking good, little one,” he praises, pressing a kiss to the side of your head.

“Thank you very, very much, Daddy,” you slur, feeling yourself beginning to sleep into little space. “Daddy?” you call out, tapping his bicep after a few seconds. “Yeah, baby?” he asks, lifting himself up to get a better view of your face. “Will you really stay?” you ask with a bit of worry in your voice. He sighs with a full heart.

“Always.”

[familyagrestefanblog]

Just been thinking about the scene in "Gorizilla" where Adrien jumps off the skyscraper and Gabriel is forced to show some emotions while writing another post and I... I just-

Gabriel you selfish dick, what the hell??

I was just as glad as everyone else to see Gabriel expressing genuine concern and fear for Adrien, it hit especially hard BECAUSE he was being Hawkmoth at that moment. But this

THIS???

I just noticed how much of a bastard thing this was of him to say.

Think about it. This situation came to be because Gabriel completely disregarded Adrien when he just wanted to ask his father the short but very important question (which Adrien made known) of getting to see his mothers film in the movie theaters and send him away to his room when he noticed Adriens ring again which led to him suspecting Adrien to be Chat Noir. Gabriel wanted to confront Adrien about it but because Gabriel literally treated him like shit Adrien run away to see it anyway to which Gabriel reacts by sending the Gorilla after him (go after him yourself jerk,YOU fucked this up). The Gorilla can't catch Adrien though so Gabriel chews him out and immediately akumatizes him so Adrien has to reveal himself to free himself so he can help Ladybug deakumatize him.

Well, things escalate eventually leading to Adrien jumping off a skyscraper at the same time Ladybug gets caught by Gorizilla leaving her unable to save him from certain DEATH and here we are now

Adrien is falling to his death and Gabriel as Hawkmoth is literally BEGGING him to transform if he really indeed is Chat Noir.

....

....

Do you also see whats so genuinely fucked up about this scenario here? Let me repeat it:

Gabriel, the man who is not only the cause of all of this but also the one and only person involved who's is in complete control here, is begging ADRIEN, of whom he doesn't even know for sure if he really is Chat Noir, to transform to de-escalate his own fall to his death.

Gabriel Garbage Agreste, how DARE you start begging as if you were any kind of victim in this?!

Let me break it down just how much is wrong with all of this:

Even though Gabriel is fully aware that HE is the person in control here and is NOT sure if Adrien, who is literally about to die in mere moments, even has a definite way of saving himself, he's still putting the active "decision making" on ADRIEN. Who, let me remind you, can NOT hear Hawkmoth/Gabriel begging him to transform! Gabriel is making ADRIEN the one responsible for the outcome of this situation right now even though there is still the very real possibility that Adrien has no possible way of knowing that Hawkmoth is counting on him to transform BECAUSE HE MIGHT NOT BE A MIRACULOUS HOLDER IN THE FIRST PLACE!

It doesn't matter at all that Gabriel was correct with his suspicion because he's just immediately throwing all the responsibility he holds for this entire situation right off of himself, playing poor bystander father, when HE is the one who holds all the power and therefore should be the one immediately taking action in HIS chaos for which HIS SON is about to lose his life!

In addition to that point, let's talk about the ridiculous amount of time Gabriel let Adrien fall while just standing there waiting and begging.

Because Gabriel is not only asking Adrien to transform once, he's asking TWICE.

There are 31(!!!) seconds beween Hawkmoths reaction to Adrien jumping and Ladybugs yoyo-string reaching Adrien and even though one certainly can make an argument here that the show time does not translate into the “real” time as well, but even if, there is no way in hell these 31 insane seconds would ever realistically come down to a number that isnt unforgivable long concidering the circumstances. And even then he's only letting Ladybug go to catch him because he hears Ladybug call to an absend Chat Noir for help, finally getting it through his thick skull just how close he is to having his own sons blood on his hands.

Gabriel was willing to let his own, possibly innocent, son fall to his DEATH for this long for the off-chance of him revealing himself to be Chat Noir because Gabriel is unwilling or simply incapable of taking on the obvious responsibility he holds until things reach such unspeakable limits that he has to face reality for a moment so not everything goes up in flames.

But I'm not done yet. Oh no, definitely NOT.

Because even after waiting for so long he’s forced to let Ladybug go, this is still not the moment that convinced Gabriel of Adriens innocence. Its only after Wayham doubles as Adrien while Adrien transforms into Chat to join the fight that the sight of Adrien and Chat Noir at the same place eventually convinces him.

Look at his face here and dare to tell me he wasnt still 100% convinced that Adrien could very likely be Chat Noir. Also dafuq kind of reaction is “Well, thats for the better” with THAT expression? That is NOT anywhere close to the relieved expression he SHOULD have had here! How much horrible stuff has already happened to Chat Noir at this point of the show? And THIS is how you react to the for-any-somewhat-resonable-parent GODSEND (but false) news that it wasnt your own flesh and blood you did this to? Yeah, you truly care Hawkbitch. Can someone please just call child protection services already?!

So even after this IMMENSE risk Adrien was not yet save from his supervillain father and neither was he Gabriels actual priority after “finding out” that Adrien is NOT Chat and he just put his CIVILIAN son through all of THIS. Which is exactly what happened in "heros day" part 1 and 2, where in part 1 he once again tells Gorizilla to protect Adrien, he is his "number 1 priority" but in part 2, after Adrien escaped from his akumatized bodyguard, Gorizilla is one of the giants Hawkmoth calls to himself but Gabriel has nothing to say to that. It was literally like he totally forgot about Adrien all together which is only made clearer by Hawkmoth later on straight up calling himself "a man with nothing to lose".

Fuck you Gabriel, Adrien was literally never an actual priority for you and you proof it over and over again.

And apparently even a situation that proofs someones innocence in every possible factor will not be proof enough for Gabriel to accept that he was wrong if it was HIM who had to back down and take the needed action to de-escalate the situation and not someone else. Any situation that forces "weakness" of him and doesnt end with an undoubtable proof that 100% satisfies/clears his previous intention holds no worth in credibility for him, no matter how irrational or contra-productive it is to still cling onto it. Because Gabriel/Hawkmoth refuses to be the one having to back down and to be out-stubborned by anyone else. If he isnt the one tricking the others his paranoia and ego stop him from thinking clearly. Especially concering Gabriels and Adriens always worsening relationship, this is a bloody dark red allert for the future.

But besides that, lets talk about just how much of an selfish, self-centered and irresponsible thing is it of him to ask ADRIEN to pull the sacrifice in this moment?

Adrien didn't refuse to transform for no reason. If he were to do it not only everybody in Paris would see it but HAWKMOTH as well and Adrien has no way of knowing that Hawkmoth at this point is not as much his enemy as he rightfully thinks and actually just wants him safe and sound right now. Adrien is perfectly aware that the moment Hawkmoth finds out about his identity he WILL take advantage of it, endangering his loved ones, friends etc (naturally including Gabriel himself as Adriens father as a big priority) and going after him mercilessly until he gets his ring. Adrien didn't refuse to save himself for nothing and that's important as hell!

Because here is Gabriel now begging Adrien to pull that exact sacrifice even though HE could stop this whenever he wanted, saving Adrien himself.

But he doesn't right away

And do you know why he doesn't?

Because stopping it required letting go of Ladybug and that could possibly lead to him losing the chance of getting her miraculous.

So this rotten insult to fatherhood wants to tell me now that he's a poor, poor father who fears for his dear sons life while basically asking ADRIEN to be the one to pull the bloody heavy sacrifice that will lead in Adriens eyes to horrible and devastating consequences for all of his loved ones and himself.

Just so Gabriel himself doesn't have to do it!

This is Gabriels default reaction by instinct. Gabriel are you FUCKING kidding me with this bullshit? How come I only noticed the fucked up second face of this scene now? I went so long actually giving Gabriel some legit credit for this but in reality this is beyond 7 stars of awful.

Once again, I applause Miraculous for this nuanced charactersation. This is what I will forever and ever love this show for and its fine to portray this because it obviously leads up to something

So let me say this with every inch of my heart:

FUCK. GABRIEL. AGRESTE!!!!

[infinitegalahad]

GENERATION KILL: COMFORTING THERE PARTNER

"This is just me formally submitting a request for that gk boys offering their own forms of comfort fic/ headcanon/ thoughts wtevr. Lol just as a reminder. 😀"@theboardwalkbody

Gif Credit: @ymagor

A/N: You're wish is my command, homes❣️ Here's a little change of pace! @theboardwalkbody inspired this post (and asked it!), so thanks for the Inspo friend! 🤩 I'm doing this for BoB and TP because I'm going through a slight writer's block and instead of thinking about long descriptions, I just wanna so head canons that get a little out of hand. I hope this isn't too ooc😔 Reader has *inserted mental illness* btw, it's up for interpretation! ALSO GN! READER! Enjoy!

Taglist: @theboardwalkbody @contrabandhothead

Masterlist

NATE FICK-

Nate's a calculated person. He can see the patterns in people, things, etc. Like how his father's eyebrows wrinkle when he's excited, or when his mother likes to prep a meal from vegetables to the main course. So when you're happy, sad, whatever-he knows it, and you don't even have to tell him.

He'll come home and see you. He knows that you've heard him calling you're name, but you don't move. He looks all over the house and finds you inside of your tub, just sitting there with no response. The water is running, and your clothes and hair are soaked.

So in an attempt to not disrupt your peace, Nate climbs in and sits next to you. You look over and he's stares at you. Just as your about to speak, he beats you to it.

"I'll get you a towel and some clothes."

And then, he just leaves. You hear the door quietly shut, and you blink for a few seconds. What the hell just happened? It snapped you out of your depressive trance. Now instead of feeling sad-you just were confused.

So you hear the door lightly open again and then close. After a few more minutes of soaking, you get out and see a towel and a set of clothes that are most certainly not yours. It's Nate's Dartmouth Lacrosse sweater and a pair of underwear-he knows you too well.

So you exit the bathroom and you see Nate, putting two cups down of you're favorite tea

And he's got that face. You know the face were he's like ☹️

"Hey, c'mere."

The two of you climb into bed with eachtoher. He throws one of those ugg blankets over you. You rest his head in his chest and he pats your head. There's a silence, until Nate says, "Do you wanna walk about it."

Normally, you'd say no and he'd read you a book you're reading or hold you as you cry, but this time, it's different.

"Yeah, I do. You won't judge, right?"

Nate tilts you chin up, and he's got a tired smile on his face.

"Why would I?"

BRAD COLBERT-

Brad may appear horrible with emotions and reading the room...in which he isn’t

Okay, scratch that. He tries to understand them, it’s just hard for him to give advice and use words to comfort you. He feels like he’s walking on glass, But sometimes, you just need him psychically more then anything.

When you storm out of a room when Chaffin makes a comment on your weight, Brad takes a few minutes to think what he should do.

Normally, he’d just leave you be, but he’s gotta do something. Getting up, he follows you down the hallway. You’re not far, and he’s calling you’re name.

You stop in the hallway, wiping the tears coming down toye face. Brad turns you around with his hands on your shoulder. He’s got a blank face on as he looks at you, seeing your red face and the tears.

While you sob and stutter, he fixes the collar of your shirt, tucks your hair behind your ear, which is normal. He likes to neaten you up to make you feel better.

But he starts to use his thumb, wiping the tears coming down your face. You shocked as he cups your face, making you look into those icy cold eyes. He looks like the Iceman, cold and emotionless, but what he says very Brad.

“You’re beautiful.”

Then he pulls you into a tight grasp. He’s a whole foot taller then you, and you like the way he snakes his hands around his waist and slightly lifts off you your feet. His sheer presence is intimating, but for you; comforting. 

RAY PERSON-

THIS MAN. although a hick with a big mouth, he does know when to shut up and can read you’re emotions like the back of his hand.

He can just see the sadness swelling in your eyes and the way you pick at the foot at your plate and avoid all of needs for cuddles in bed. Heck, it’s making Ray sad.

So he does what he does best-not shutting up, well-about things he likes about you.

“Man! Look at my hot girlfriend/wife! There reading books by the liberal media, total smartie here! Oh! And they have a degree from-“

Ray will also beg for to your attention and follows you around like a puppy. Like you’ll be sitting on the couch and he’ll come rest his head on your lap. You ignore him, but he starts to twist and quote random movies so you finally give in.

Is Ray annoying? Yes. But did he make you smile? Also yes.

Also Ray is a cook, and knows all of your favorite meals. Of course, he sets the table, lights a few Mantown candles (yes there real google them), and comes to serve your meal with two plates.

“The most beautiful man/woman I have ever seen, the love of my life, the apple of my eye, the Avril to my Bizzy D-you’re hot pockets.”

It makes you laugh, which makes Ray happy. He feeds off of that attention. You sit in Ray’s lap, eating hot pockets, and watching The Best Damn Tour. You lean on Ray’s shoulder, and he leans right back.

POKE ESPERA-

Alexa play Whatta Man’ by Salt-N-Peppa BECAUSE! WHAT! A! MAN!

Poke is one tough mofo. He embodies the meme of “Good morning to my beautiful wife/husband and child everybody else get fucked”.

But like every baddie; baddie’s gotta have soft spots for there bitches. He has two; you and his daughter. And oh god he’s love the two of more then anything in the world.

Poke knows you and his daughter well enough. His daughter first notices that your not as enthusiastic and bubbly, and then she tells Poke. But Poke already knows because he’s observant and very in touch with his emotions.

So when he’s a work; he thinks and does a lot of self reflection. He wonders why you’re upset. Did he cause it? What can he do to make it better? He asks all the guys for advice, and even his own daughter.

An idea strikes! Poke’s got a lot of anger, so his therapist told him to express his emotions by journalling. But Poke learns that it helps him get everything out of system, so he’s a secret writer. Heck, he even likes poetry; and would kill anyone if they’d find out.

While off at work, small letters start to appear across you’re house. Some are long, some are short, but there sweet and make you’re day.

“I held the stars in my arms wen I held you”

“I can’t wait to kiss you.”

“Your eyes stole all of my words away”

And the covers of the notes are done by Poke’s daughter, covered in glitter and Lisa Frank stickers.

You confront Poke about this “mysterious pen pal” and Poke is like “I mean, your lips do sound tempting”

You know it’s Poke, and he knows it, but there’s something about the mystery that is very romantic.

WALT HASSER-

Here comes our favourie country pumpkin

Now let me say. This man LOVES you more then anything the world

Doesn’t wanna show you off (but he does)

So when you’re the slightest bit sad, Walt is even sadder then you are

Walt is someone that lives to receive attention, and also he’s someone that likes to give it. Especially to the love of his life!

Walt gives you things you actually need, and nothing that is materialistic. Growing up, his parents had a healthy relationship, and the apple clearly doesn’t fall far from the tree.

Waits on you hand and foot. A back massage? Done. A fuzzy blanket? Right on it! A specific burger from a joint that is thirty minutes away at three in the morning? Walt’s driving like a manic just for you. You have the man’s undivided attention.

“Walt?”

He stops whatever he’s doing and runs over, getting on his knees, “Yeah, what’s up baby?”

“Can you sing the song? Y’know, our song?”

Walt nods his head, now an eager puppy, and gets his gutair to play the song he wrote especially for you. And this is making me realize how painfully single I am oh my

RUDY REYES-

Rudy has an iv of respect woman/men juice. He always understands the assignment-and desires extra credit.

So whenever you’re down in the dumps, Rudy will drop everything and drag you into the car to go walk on his favorite trail. It’s ten miles long, but Rudy is a fitness freak.

First, you hate doing it. But the more you talk these long walks, the more you begin to enjoy it.

Sometimes there silence. Rudy won’t speak force you to talk. Talking is stressful, and Rudy will wait until you’re ready. The two of you holds hands, and Rudy has such a calming presence. It’s really hard to get angry at him.

You finally speak and tell Rudy you’re problems, and he listens and doesn’t interrupt. He’s got a hand on you’re lower back, or on your thigh. He’s basically you’re emotional support teddy bear and will always be a lending ear, or a total cuddle monster.

Rudy has the best advice as well. It’s always some yoga shit, but damn, those breathing  exercises do actually help.

EVAN “Q-TIP” STAFFORD-

Oh Q-Tip. My feral goblin son😭

I love him, but sometimes-things can fly over his head.

But when you start to ignore him and hide away from him, he begins to notice. And he HATES IT.

Like Christianson will ask him if he’s okay and he’ll literally quote a 2pac song and be like,

“I would drop all my girls for you, Walk barefoot 'round the world for you, Fly around like the birds for you, Thats why I wrote these words for you..”

Lilley is like “Brah we gotta help a homie out”

So the three stooges create Lovegate. The mission? to make Q-Tip’s partner happier.

Q-Tip is very artistically inclined. So with Christenson’s editing skills and Lilley’s camera, Q-Tip writes you a song and does a whole music video.

The man rents out a movie theatre venue just to show you. Of course, you’re blown away. It’s horrible and you can taste the autotone, BUT IT’S THE EFFORT THAT COUNTS. and q-tip has that smile on. you know what i’m talking about!

Doc Bryan walks in on the two of you making out and is pissed since all he wanted to do was see the re-screening of Bridemaids but NO, Q-Tip just had to rent out a theatre to show his partner a music video about them and then make out.

He see’s Lilley, who’s recording and asks to interview what Doc’s opinion on the music video, and this is what he’s says.

“I think my ears bled, but thank fuck those two aren’t acting like emo’s.”

DOC BRYAN-

The gif has a purpose. Trust me. SPEAKING OF THE MAN OF THE HOUR

Bryan, like Poke, is a very observant guy. He’s an angry motherfucker, and even a little insensitive, but ever since dating you; he’s tried to change.

He hates the world. People are shitty, and it makes him feel shitty that you’re sad because when you feel shitty, he’s in a shitter mood then he’s usually in

Knowing that his words might sound a little harsh, Byran knows how to distract you. Without words. After all, he didn’t work out for nothing.

Long hugs are you’re thing. The two of you will run into eachother, find a private place, and he’ll just wrap his arms around you. His big arms are protective, and he’s warm, and you just sink into him.

Sometimes, you’ll fall asleep. Byran sometimes will fall asleep with you, other times he’ll gently lay you down and put a blanket with a gentle forehead kiss.

When you cry in his arms, he’ll wipe the tears away. He can feel them against his arm, and he doesn’t know what to do. Crying girls/guys are not his speciality.

But when you squeeze his arm back, to let you know what your there and that you love him, Byran will freeze. He has no idea what to next with words. He’ll put his hand over yours, and turns out; it works well.

After this is all over, he’ll check up on you and ask you simply if you’re okay. You respond with a smile. Byran isn’t one for smiles, but for you, he shows a subtle smile back. Just to let you know.

[mr-chrisevans]

Hey 🙂

For the drabble prompts, could you do Chris Evans & #2 please?

I love your stuff, and would love to see what you di with this one! Thanks xx

Thank you so much for your support, it means the world!! I had a lot of fun writing this one, and if anyone is interested in submitting a request, the original post is here!

Title: Family Gathering

Pairing: Chris Evans x reader

Prompt: "I'm too sober for this." "You don't drink." "Maybe I should start."

"On a scale of one to ten how much to we actually have to do this?" You asked Chris as walked inside the hotel.

"It's not going to be that bad, I promise." He said and set his arm around your shoulders. "They're your family, it can't be that bad."

You chuckled. "There's a reason we haven't spent very much time with them when they're in town."

He stopped the two of you in the middle of the hallway before you walked into the bar, right in front of a posterboard with the faces of your cousin and his soon to be wife. He turned to you and held your shoulders in your hands. "We're in this together. And if it sucks absolute ass, we'll suffer through it together and we'll have a really good story to tell people when we get back home."

You tried to roll your eyes and pretend to be annoyed, but you couldn't help but smile. "You're right, you're right." You sighed.

"I usually am." He smiled and kissed you. "Into the belly of the beast we go." He held out his arm for you to take and you walked inside together. You were instantly overwhelmed by the people inside the bar. You always knew how large your family was, but seeing them all together in a small space was a lot to take in.

"Oh dear God." You muttered and squeezed Chris' arm a little tighter.

"Everything is gonna be fine." He reassured you.

Before you could even try to make a run for it, your cousin Allie came running up to the two of you. "Oh my gosh, Y/N I'm so glad you could make it!" She shouted to you over the noise of everyone else. "How are you?" You tried to answer but she had already turned her attention over to Chris. "And look at this man over here. Still can't believe she managed to snap you up." She playfully grabbed his arm and you tried not to laugh at how obviously she was feeling for his muscles.

He turned to look over at you and smiled. "I'm just surprised she can put up with me so well." He said.

"It was nice to see you, Allie. We're gonna head over to the bar." You said quickly and the two of you slipped away from her as fast as possible.

"I think I'm starting to see why you don't like some of your cousins." He laughed.

"Allie is nothing if not bold, I have to give her that."

"I kind of like the way you got all defensive about your boyfriend getting felt up by another girl."

You rolled your eyes at him. "I wouldn't get your hopes up there." You joked. "Most of the others will probably try and squeeze you for money or some kind of credit on your next movie."

"Looks like we've got incoming." You turned to look in the same direction as Chris and saw your least favorite uncle, Frank, making his way through the crowd enthusiastically towards the two of you.

You snapped back to face Chris. "I'm too sober for this."

"You don't drink." He said, matter-of-factly.

"Maybe I should start." You sighed. You'd been inside for less than ten minutes and it already felt like being in a cell.

He chuckled and shook his head. "I think I have an idea." He whispered to you as your uncle finally made it over.

"Oh Y/N, it is so great to see you here tonight. And bringing this guy with you wow I-"

Chris quickly interrupted him. "Sorry, I don't do pictures at private events. I'd like to spend some personal time with my girlfriend." He turned his back toward him and you could see him trying to hold in a laugh. Your uncle looked truly baffled before he walked away, no doubt to talk shit about Chris to the rest of the family.

"I cannot believe you just did that."

"Hopefully that will keep them off our backs for the rest of the weekend." He put his arm around your shoulders and gave you a squeeze. "How pissed do you think they'd be if I proposed during the ceremony?"

You burst out laughing at the idea. "I don't think I'd ever be invited to another family event."

He shrugged with a coy smile. "Let's get you that drink."

[samcrobae]

Two of Hearts, Part III

Part 2 can be found here: https://samcrobae.tumblr.com/post/637870420669939713/two-of-hearts-part-ii

A/N: credit to original gif creator . It’s a long one. But our reward is at the end. Stay with me ❤️

4 loud knocks to your front door startle you off the couch as you were sat watching The Vampire Diaries. You look through the peephole and see EZ on the other side of your door, hands gripping the sides of his kutte.

“Ezekiel...” you defensively cross your arms across your chest, unsure how to feel now that you’re face to face with him again.

“Y/N... please, can we talk?”

You look at your feet and slowly nod your head, opening the door further, allowing him to step inside.

You sat on the couch, and he sat on the ottoman in front of you.

“Y/N... I don’t really know where to start here... but-" he began.

“Where were you?” You blankly blurt out.

“Stockton. Look, baby...let me just start from the beginning-" EZ reaches over to you and takes your hand in his, but you pull away.

“Why?”

Putting his head down in defeat, he fumbled with his fingers. He sucked in a breath before letting it go and explaining. “I was following a lead... I had been doing research on the guy that killed my mom... I found Him. I needed answers. I needed to know.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You felt the tears beginning to sting your eyes, but fought to hard to keep them at bay. “Why did you go alone?”

“If I had told you, would you have let me go alone?” EZ’s jaw clenched.

“Why didn’t you tell Angel? He would have wanted to be there..”

“I needed to go alone. Angel has too much going on with the MC, I mean I’m pretty much dead to them now I’m sure, but this was personal. Club would have made him pick. I needed to go alone.”

“EZ, Angel is your brother! Marisol was his mom too! You made a decision that he should have had a say in too. That’s not fair!” You voice was now raised and you were angry. You were angry he didn’t tell you, angry he went alone, but you were even more angry that he didn’t include Angel.

“Listen Y/N I’m trying here alright? Since when do you care about Angel’s feelings so much? I’m here. I’m back now. I want you to understand why I did what I did. I want this. Us.”

There go his stupid hands again reaching for yours. You pull them away and stand up, frustratingly running your hands through your hair.

“Ezekiel....There’s no US.” Dammit the tears. They were free flowing and there was nothing you could do to stop them.

EZ stood up and walked toward you, his arms reaching for your waist, but your hands moved his away before he found it. “Y/N... what? I love you, you love me. Can’t we just make this work?”

“I love you Ezekiel... but it’s not enough, is it?”

“Wh—" it was his turn to fight back the tears, “what do you mean?”

“My love wasn’t enough. I loved you. And you left. And I get it EZ, you had to do this for you. But what about me? I spent 4 months drinking away my sorrow, I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t sleep, I was afraid to be left alone with my thoughts because it all came back to you. There’s no us.”

You walked toward the front door and held it open, EZ slowly approaching.

“You said loved. Past tense.” He grimaces as he repeats your words.

“Bye Ezekiel.”

————————————————————-

EZ sped into the clubhouse parking lot, knowing full well the rest of the Mayan men would be there. This was the first time he was showing his face there in 8 long months. He didn’t care, he was seeing red.

He put his bike in park and swung the clubhouse doors open. Silence fell over the clubhouse at his reappearance, but didn’t last long as he made a run straight to Angel, shoving him hard against the wall.

“What the fuck did you do Angel?!!! What the fuck did you say to her?!”

Angel caught himself and quickly wound up, shoving EZ to the ground. Before it could go any further Bishop and Tranq were there to break it up.

“What the fuck is going on!!” Bishop shouted.

“I don’t know let’s ask Angel. Y/N doesn’t want anything to do with me but seems to care so badly about Angel and his feelings. So tell us big brother, what the fuck is going on?”

Gilly looked over at Coco, Coco intently staring back and forth between the brothers. With a breath of shock Gilly mumbled out “yeah. It’s a thing.”

Angel narrowed his eyes at his brother, trying to maintain his composure. What he really wanted to do was beat the shit out of him for breaking you the way he did.

“Oh boo fuckin hoo Ez, your girlfriend doesn’t want anything to do with you,” suddenly realization hit Angel. “Did you go see her? You talked to her?”

“Yeah Angel I talked to her. And she seemed to care more about the fact that I left you. Not her. What the fuck did you say to her? Did you fuck her that night I came home? You were coming out of my bedroom. Did you fuck my girl bro?”

“No, no one fucked anyone. Can you blame her for wanting nothing to do with you? You fuckin left her. No heads up, no explanation, you broke her Ezekiel! You didn’t see the way she cried every night, the way she fuckin doubted herself, you made her feel like she wasn’t enough man. And who was left to pick up the pieces huh? US. Your fuckin brothers!! Who was left to pick her up off the floor when she was too drunk to walk ? ME. I took care of her. I spent her birthday with her. I held her when she cried, FOR YOU. So yeah she wants nothing to do with you now, maybe she fuckin realized you ain’t shit. You didn’t love her.” Angels eyes were wild and his nostrils flared as he was inches away from his brothers face.

EZ smirked back at him, “that’s cute Angel you’re in love with her. She’ll never fuckin love you the way you need her to. Remember, she ain’t yours brother”.

Angel nodded his head and looked at the rest of the Mayan men, ready to throw shit down if it came to that. “You’re right...I didn’t fuck her. Man did I fucking want to. I’d be lying to your face if I said I wanted nothing more that night than to feel her pussy wrap around me... but I couldn’t bring myself to do it, because I would have been too ashamed of myself for letting that happen with my brothers girl but by the sounds of it, she ain’t yours anymore. Nah she ain’t my girl. Because if she was, I would have never left.”

Bishop nudged Coco in his side as he watched the argument unfold, “wait- Y/N? This is all because of Y/N? What the fuck is going on?”

Coco pursed his lips into a thin line, his eyes never leaving the brothers before him, “I don’t man, it s a whole fuckin thing.”

Before anyone could process what was happening EZ delivered a quick blow to Angels left cheek, causing him to stumble back. Once he had Angel backed into a wall he punched him again, landing a punch to his eye.

Bishop stood over them, “alright break this shit up. Take it the fuck away from here. This shit is personal. It doesn’t enter these fuckin doors. Go home Angel. EZ, get the fuck outta here . Come back tomorrow we gotta clear some shit up.”

Angel moves past Bishop, and Bishop put a hand to Angels chest stopping him in his tracks. “I fuckin mean it- go home shithead. Your home. Not Y/N’s. You love her?”

Angel looked back at Bishop, jaw slightly open.

“I need to know how to approach this shit with the prospect tomorrow. Do you love her?”

Angel had a faint glint of sorrow in his eyes but he couldn’t lie to Bishop. He slowly nods his head yes and Bishop releases his hold on him. He nods his head back in understanding and Angel walked out of the clubhouse.

——————————————————-

You were half a bottle of wine down when you heard two pounds of your front door. Jesus Christ what now?

You assume it’s EZ again and you swiftly open the door, “EZ leave it alone——Angel.”

He turned to face you, the bruises on his face now apparent.

“Angel what the fuck happened ?!” You usher him inside and shut the door behind you. As soon as you were in your living room you took his face in your hands, examining the black eye and cut to this lip.

He placed his hands on your wrists and held them. “I’m fine querida don’t worry.. just let me say this okay? I practiced this the whole way here and I need to say it before I fuck it up.”

You slightly furrow your brows but nod your head.

“When EZ left I didn’t know what the fuck was going on. I didn’t know if I would ever see my brother again. But for some reason I felt was my duty to see you. Take care of you. Make sure you were okay. We spent so much fuckin time together that I missed you when you weren’t around.”

Fuck. You knew where this was going and you needed to put a stop to it before he said anything else. You were already a mess. No need to add to it. But your voice wasn’t working and you couldn’t bring yourself to make him stop talking. Angel never talked about his feelings, and he was so genuine in the way he talked.

“Then we spent your birthday together, thanksgiving, we had movie nights, the way it felt when you laid your head against me was unlike anything I have ever felt and I never wanted those moments to end. And then my birthday. And then Christmas. Somewhere along the way I found myself thinking about you every single day. And you make me so fuckin happy like when I’m with you, it’s just so easy. And I think... I think that I love you, right ? and it fuckin scares me. That shit scares the shit out of me because I don’t know how to love anyone. And I don’t know if you love me too but I needed to tell you this. And if that means taking more fuckin punches from my brother then so be it because you’re fucking worth it. You’re incredible mami.”

The tears were back. Why couldn’t these men just leave you alone? But wait- more punches from his brother? Is that where those bruises came from? What happened to him tonight?

“Angel.... I... is that what happened to you? Did EZ do this to you? Why?”

He tried to be non-chalant in his answer to you but you could tell it bothered him. “Nahhhh.... you know I just told him how if you were mine I would have never left. That’s all.”

You let out a breath and a slight smirk. You don’t know if it was the after effects from the 2nd bottle of wine you opened after EZ left your house just a few hours before or if it was because the man in front of you just confessed his love for you but you pulled him by his kutte and slammed your lips into his. He stood frozen in place for a minute but when he settled, he fell perfectly in line with your movements. His hands found their way to your hips and he pulled you flush against him, digging into the skin and it hurt in the most delicious way.

You sighed into his lips, his tongue snaking out to skim your bottom lip and you granted him entrance, his tongue sinfully exploring your mouth and he moaned into the kiss. You backed him into the couch and when his legs met the front of it, he sat and pulled you with him. You were straddling him, his hands on your waist and yours in his hair gently tugging and your nails occasionally grazing the back of his neck.

His lips left yours and began their assault on your neck, your breath heavy and eyes slightly hooded as goosebumps graced your skin. The way his lips felt on you was heavenly and when he roughly sucked on the skin you let out a small moan. His lips found yours again and this time the kiss was feverish, hungry, and possessive. You broke the kiss, needing to come up for air and rested your forehead on his. He bit down on his bottom lip and groaned.

“Are you okay?” He asked, trying to catch his breath.

You smiled and nodded your head, “yeah, I’m fine. I just... I love you Angel.” Your bring your hand up to his cheek and he leans into your touch.

“Say it again.”

“I love you Angel.”

“Mmmm again. Just one more time.”

You let out a small laugh and kiss his lips. “I love you Angel Ignacio Reyes.”

“And I love the way you say my name...”he leaned in and kissed along your collar bone, gently biting at the skin as he went. His hands snaked their way up the back of your oversized tshirt and to his surprise you weren’t wearing a bra. Your hands came up to the hems of your shirt and lifted the fabric up and over your head, your nipples now erect from the cool air in the room, centimeters from Angel’s lips.

He needed no coaxing or further instruction as his lips latched onto your right nipple, his hand coming up to play with the other and you let your head fall back as your skin lit on fire. He gently rolled your nipples between his teeth, alternating between the two and he sucked hard on the skin of your breasts, possessively leaving his mark.

You could feel the bulge in his pants through the thin fabric of your biker shorts and you began grinding your hips over him, the friction practically begging to allow you to come undone.

“Come on, bedroom.” You let out between shaky breaths and moans and he stood up, carrying you with him, your legs wrapped around his waist. When you made it to your bedroom, he laid you on the bed, hovered over you and kissed you again.

“Are you sure?” He asked as he hovered over you stuck in place, patiently awaiting your reply. He knew you were on the fence with your emotions and your interaction with EZ probably made things worse but on the other hand he was so in love with you and there was nothing he wanted more than this very moment.

“Yes, I’m sure.” He came back for another assault on your neck, working his way down gently sucking and kissing at every piece of available skin. His fingers hooked into the waist band of your shorts and panties and both came off quickly and were discarded over his shoulder. He continued to kiss and suck down your tummy, your things, and then he spread your legs open and crudely exposed your center to him.

But it didn’t feel crude, in fact, it was gentle and romantic, and sexy. The dark gleam in his eye a now very obvious contrast to the tenderness that shown in them just a few minutes before. He pulled his shirt over his head and laid in front of you, his lips so close to your pussy you could feel his breath on you.

“One rule mami, don’t hold back on me. I wanna hear you. Tell me how good I make you feel. If I don’t hear you, you don’t cum.”

What the fuck did he just say? What happened to the romantic and soft things he was saying earlier? You were on overdrive, it’s been months since you had been with anyone, and you could have cum right there from his words alone. You didn’t have much time to register his words because you were snapped back to reality by his tongue licking up and down your folds.

When he reached your clit he suctioned his lips and began to gently suck, flicking his tongue across your sensitive bud, then slid a finger into you.

“Angel..... fuck....”

Your legs began to shake and you no longer had control of your breathing. His tongue flattened and his free hand came up to hold your hips in place, you grinding against his tongue.

His hair had fallen into his face, but he didn’t seem to care, his only concern was to make you feel good, make you say his name over and over and over again.

“Such a good girl... fuck your self on my tongue mami..”

“I’m gonna cum Angel ..... oh my god....” your back arched off your bed and you swear your soul left your body. You chanted his name like it was the holy grail and never once did he let up.

“I need to fuck you. You gonna let me?”

You barely registered what was happening you were were still coming down from your high and nodded your head yes.

He gripped your chin in his hand, “no mami that ain’t good enough. I need you to tell me it’s okay that I fuck you. Is that what you want?”

His hand came down to slap your pussy twice and you let out a moan followed by “yes, please fuck me.”

He stood up and removed his belt, jeans, and briefs before getting back on the bed. He spread your legs with his knee and kissed you again while he ran his dick over you clit, making you moan again into his mouth. In one Swift motion, he was inside you. You let out a gasp at the sudden fullness and he stilled himself for a second, allowing you to adjust to him. He was big. He was thick and the stretch burned but you loved it. Pleasure soon took over and you rocked your hips against his indicating it was okay for him to move.

He began to thrust in and out of you and listened to you moan with each thrust. You wanted to hold out longer, enjoy this much longer but your body was betraying you and you felt a pull in your belly and your walls involuntarily clenched around him.

“It’s okay baby, I got you. Cum.” He rubbed Slow, lazy circles over your clit and your eyes rolled to the back of your head.

“Please don’t stop Daddy.. please....just like that.”

You eyes shot open at the realization you had just called him Daddy. He locked eyes with you and a devilish grin flashed across his face.

He brought his hand to your throat and squeezed, a playful smile coming to your lips and he thrusted into you much harder this time.

“Be a good girl and cum on daddy’s dick mami.. I know youre close I can feel it. Give daddy what he wants.”

Your hands were gripping at your sheets and your body was slick with sweat as another wave of pleasure washed over you.

“AngelAngelAngelllll......”

He leaned his head into the crook of your neck and sucked the skin again, his hand coming to intertwine with yours.

“I know baby... I got you..”

———————————————

Coco pulled up to your house and his suspicion was confirmed. Angel was here. When Angel didn’t come home to the house he shared with Coco after the fight with EZ he could only assume he would find him here.

“Dammit.” He muttered to himself. He leaned forward and dig through his glove compartment for your spare key. Only two people had a key to your house — emergency purposes. Angel and Coco.

He knocked on the door but there was no answer. He knocked again but nothing. Sighing, he put the key into the lock and turned the knob, letting himself in.

Looking into the empty kitchen and dining room then making his way into the living room. He thought he heard the faint sounds of a bed smacking into the wall, he’s fucked before, he knows that sound anywhere, but he ignored it.

“Angel?” He called but no answer.

He stopped when he spotted a tshirt thrown onto the floor and that’s when he heard it. The distinct sounds of moans filling the house. He followed the sound and stood outside your door.

“Such a good girl taking daddy’s cock aren’t you... keep bouncing that ass like that.. fuck it’s so good...”

Coco tried his best to contain his laughter, but more importantly, things just got a lot more complicated.

He went back to the living room and made himself comfortable. He waited until the moaning subsided and the bed stopped creaking. He stood up and made his way down the hall, opening the door with no warning.

“Hey lovebirds.” He pulled up the chair that was at your desk and sat on it, you and Angel throwing blankets over yourselves.

“Are you fuckin kidding me man?!” Angel spoke first.

“Wassup Y/N, relax, I heard the whole thing it’s okay. We got bigger problems mano. Bishop talked to the prospect. Got some info on your mom. The guy who killed her. You didn’t come home so figured I’d find you here and tell you.”

Angel looked back at you, then back at Coco.

You kissed his cheek , “it’s okay, go. I’ll be here when you’re done. I love you”.

He kissed your cheek and got up, wrapping a sheet around his hips. “I love you too”.

————————————————

@starrynite7114 @blessedboo @drabbles-mc @everyhowlmarksthedead @angelreyesgirl @tranqs-main-mami @gemini0410 @superficialfeelings @montanaraed @appropriate-writers-name @lakamaa12

[sambergscott]

notes from the palm springs commentary !! 🏝

i know not everyone has access to hulu and i know i'd be gutted if i couldn’t watch it too so bc i'm lucky enough to have an american friend who let me use her hulu account i thought i'd share the commentary with you all on here <3 

- their first bit of commentary is “there’s a title” (cristin) and “there’s a goat” (andy)... 10/10 anaylsis thanks guys

- andy joked that they talked about waiting for an earthquake but decided they didn’t have the budget to wait that long (he said the glowing lights at the end were real tho 🙄)

- andy: “we’re gonna start off pretty racy” djfdjfkdjgh

- “for all those kids out there, the b99 fans, you probably don’t wanna watch this”.... but andy,, we absolutely Do

- andy was cristin’s least favourite person in the movie

- nyles spread eagle on the bed was in the script not an acting choice

- according to andy there were 700,000 bugs just hatched where they filmed the wedding scenes that they had to edit out in post (also it was suuuuuper cold and cristin was shivering)

- ANDY CALLED HIMSELF A BUTT UGLY WEIRDO. NO SIR. U ARE THE FURTHEST THING FROM THAT.

- the dance move when he clapped his hands over his head “lightly hurt his schlong”

- they had 20-30 options for orchid explosion by fournier, cristin pitched some too that she “does not remember!” (she said that very cute)

- they talk about how great june squibb is and how andy is impressed that she wasn’t complaining about the cold/shooting at 5am/the fact that they improved a lil bit.  “she doesn’t not give a what”

- during the make out scene on the rock cristin goes “ohhh ~spicy~”

- they also had to have a snake wrangler come out before they shot that scene and he was like “uhh i think it’s good?”

- andy was excited about having to get shot by an arrow when he was reading the script (it was also the moment they realised this movie was zanier than first thought)

- the cave was the same place they shot the old batman movies

- they started working on palm springs on november 9th 2016…. hence the wedding date

- cristin said they did about 30 takes (at least) of her opening her eyes/sitting up.. basically the entire first half of the first day shooting she spent doing the same thing

- “i just think you’re the coolest cristin, way to go man!” “you too andy!”

- the beer is fictional and has a meaning behind it.. the tortoise is to do with a myth about the universe or smth

- andy wants someone to make the beer fr

- “so here is cristin in the desert pretending to be hot” “he means physically” “TEMPERATURE HOT… i have no opinions on her appearance”

- they wanted to skip past the set-up-y parts to avoid it being too groundhog day and add diff dynamics and comedic elements that come from that

- according to andy, nyles has been in the loop an “insanely long time” (cristin and andy like that you don’t know the exact number of years bc however many years it’s been nothing has changed for nyles)

- cristin’s fondest memories were spending days in that dusty ass car together (i too would like to be that girl in his car)

- “i like your hat” “of course you do” was improved by andy and jk

- andy said jk is a “national treash”

- andy loved shooting the montage w jk (and he thinks that montage + the scene at the end is why jk signed up to do ps)

- “i went full butt” - andy samberg, 2021

- HE HAS A STUNT DOUBLE CALLED SETH WHO HAS A SIGNIFICANTLY BETTER BUTT THAN HIM (but andy’s butt was funnier so they went with his)

- the very last shot of the movie was nyles getting the handjob in the car

- max or other andy i can’t remember who talked for a while about how talented our andy is. can’t wait for that oscar nom!!!!!

- if andy were in a time loop he’d try to catch up on shows for a few years (and then try and leave)

- cristin is horrified that he’d choose to watch all of MASH to get him through a time loop

- cristin LOVED filming all the deaths

- andy said that their dance scene in the denim jacket replaces every iconic dance scene ever like fame/dirty dancing/etc etc and he’s right

- he dropped her in that scene bc his arms are “weak and floppy like a baby calf”

- the tattoo moment was the only fully improved scene

- they REALLY wanted it in the movie

- cristin insisted on the hook hand and eye patch and they obliged and she said she kept the hook hand and put it on her mantle and andy was like “prove it prove it prove it prove it prooooooove it”

- she did Indeed prove it

- orange in the movie significies intimacy and that whole montage is coloured orange to show them falling in love

- they loved shooting the tent scene

- the first night they filmed it there was a sandstorm and rain and they had to hide under a tarp and they came back the next night and they were able to get looser with it bc it was the last day of shooting and they’d basically done the whole thing the night before

- the dinosaurs bit was a “symbolic moment between the characters - they are 2 people who don’t believe they can be loved so they’re feeling something impossible and therefore they should see something impossible”

- the wake-ups were like an acting exercise in a way bc each wake up was diff emotionally based on where they were in the loop

- nyles finally cares about something (her) for the first time in maybe hundreds of years and he immediately gets slapped down :(((

- “suck my dick officer bitch” was cristin’s ad lib!!! (if anyone makes a montage of her life’s work she would like it to either begin or end w suck my dick officer bitch, andy said why not both)

- “for some reason i rolled up one of my sleeves [after nyles woke up after their fight] and then we couldn’t get out of it so that was a lesson! it was a terrible choice”

- andy loves the overhead pool shot

- everytime andy watches the confrontation at the wedding he feels terrible for tala, we love an empathetic king

- re: roy’s arc andy talks about how important it is to relish what you’ve got and it was v v v v sweet

- everyone laughed so hard in the arrow/garbage bin scene

- apparently tyler’s shirtlessness in the shower was distracting for people in early tests and they had to tone it back w colour correction 💀

- cristin was like “did that happen when i had to take my shirt off?” and andy was like “uh huh yeah”

- the goat was on set for a couple of days + apparently cristin would talk to it in between takes 🥺🥺🥺 can she get any cuter

- max talked about how they lucky they were to get andy and cristin and how the movie wouldn’t have worked without them, they were so on the same wavelength and there was an early meeting where nobody else could get a word in bc they were talking so much

- nobody was in it for the paycheck, “it was for the love, and dare i say it, for the art” <3

- they took 3-4 nights to shoot the entire wedding, andy can Not stress enough how much they were rushing

- they haven’t busted out any bloopers yet bc they used pretty much every frame they could/reused them in different places

- cristin doesn’t want to know if nana knows bc the mystery of it is what makes the movie so great!

- andy said there’s no definitive answer to a lot of stuff bc a lot of the people working on the movie had diff opinions

- the french song w the slo mo bit of sarah in the bar was cristin’s choice

- andy is v confused why people think spuds is nyles’ dad,, he’s just tricking him into getting a ride and andy’s sorry to everyone who thought it was real

- cristin liked that the payoff at the end felt like payoff while still staying true to who nyles and sarah are and not just super romantic bc “it’s a romcom!” [andy said throwing his arms in the air]

- cloudbursting was andy’s idea from the very first meeting about the movie but we been knew

- andy: “here’s the ending! nobody knows what it means!”

- the family at the end was the producer’s family, they drove a very long way to do that 2 second scene lol

- andy and cristin were swaying to when the morning comes at the end 🥺

- andy clapped and shouted “WELL PRODUCED” when his/tli’s credit came up hahaha

[not-delicious-milk]

untangle

pairing | itadori yuuji x fushiguro megumi

content | fluff, light angst, humor. birthday fic for the birthday boy. yuuji has adhd and i will die on that hill

word count | 1.7k

form | oneshot

originally posted | 23 december 2020

author's note | yes i wrote this because i got back into knitting. i know i’m a day late for fushi’s birthday but shh. anyway itafushi brainrot

Itadori hyperfixates on knitting. Shenanigans ensue. 

It started out innocent enough. 

Gojou had decided to treat them to shopping in the city, something that excited Kugisaki and Itadori beyond reason. Fushiguro thought that those two would probably faint from excitement if their sensei ever indulged them in a trip to Roppongi, as he'd promised them so many months ago, even though he knew fully well it was little more than a tourist trap.

Then they passed by a fabric store, and Itadori had stopped cold in his tracks at the sight of the multicolored yarns in the window. Peeking over a teetering pile of bags and boxes he was holding for Kugisaki, Itadori drew so close to the window his breath misted up the glass.

"What is it, Itadori?" Kugisaki huffed. She turned around and barely suppressed a laugh when she saw him staring. "Are you a grandmother now? Come on, I still need to pick up new stockings."

"No, it's just—" Itadori glanced back at her, wide eyed. "You know, my grandfather taught me to knit once, when I was really little. I hadn't given it much thought since…" His sentence trailed off. "Anyway, it's getting colder now, right? Plus Christmas is coming up. Maybe I should pick it up again."

Fushiguro shrugged. "As long as you don't go crazy. Like that time with the stamps."

"Listen — those were limited edition stamps—"

"And the historical romance movies."

"How did you — come on, Pride and Prejudice is a classic—"

"And the bullet journals?"

"I didn't even get that many of those! Gojou-sensei was the one who recommended those to keep track of stuff."

"You had to empty one of your manga shelves just to store all the stationary you bought!"

"Okay, I get it!" Itadori held up one of his hands in a gesture of surrender, nearly dropping Kugisaki's things in the process. "In and out. All I want to do is look."

But that was not all he wanted to do. Itadori wanted to touch the yarn, and then he was ogling the seasonal colors, and then he was flipping through pattern books, and then he was discussing different wool blends with the lady working there, and then he was picking out bamboo circular knitting needles, and then he was ordering cones of yarn in different colors, and by the time they staggered out of the fabric store, Fushiguro was ready to collapse. 

The way home was just as bad, if not worse. Itadori talked Gojou's ear off the whole time about different stitches he wanted to try and projects he was going to start. "Oh, by the way, Fushiguro!"

Fushiguro turned at the mention of his name. "What is it?"

"Would you prefer a scarf or a hat? I picked out this blue acrylic-wool blend to match your eyes, but I'm not sure which one you would prefer."

Fushiguro blinked at him. "A— a scarf, I guess."

Itadori gave him a thumbs up and then went right back to talking a mile a minute. Fushiguro wasn't sure if he should be paying attention or not. He glanced at Kugisaki, who was in a world of her own looking at the souvenirs and new accessories she had bought with Gojou's credit card. 

Gojou himself seemed only mildly interested in what Itadori was saying. He seemed to be thinking of something else, but he did seem to be making an effort to show his student that he was listening.

Fushiguro sighed. He really was hopeless. "Itadori, tell me about the patterns you want to try."

Itadori turned to him, and Fushiguro let himself take in the radiant glow of his eyes for one selfish moment, before training his gaze on the floor of the train.

(Was it too much to ask for him to stop being so bright all the time?)

The excitement could barely keep its way out of Itadori's voice as he described the different ways to knit a sock, and Fushiguro smiled a little, careful not to let Gojou see it. He would never let him live it down. 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

"Fushigurooooooooooooooo!"

He doesn't have to yell. The walls are so thin between our rooms anyway. "What?" he called back, a little quieter. 

"I need your help! Come here!"

Fushiguro sighed and closed the book he'd been reading. It was a hefty tome on marine biology he'd picked up the week before. And in that week, Itadori had probably knit enough to clothe a small country. 

Well, that was an exaggeration. But he really had been spending all his time working on some project or another, and Fushiguro was mentally counting down until his inevitable burnout. 

He opened the door to Itadori's room and poked his head inside. "What— oh."

Itadori grinned sheepishly at him. He was in the middle of a pile of tangled yarn, probably partially tangled in it himself, seated on the floor. "Um, I could use another pair of hands."

Fushiguro sighed for as long as he could, feigning annoyance. 

(He really didn't mind.) 

"Thanks, man." Itadori wriggled his way out of his multicolored bonds and started picking at the strands. "I promise it's not as bad as it looks." What it looked was pretty bad.

"I just forgot to organize them when I was done with a color. I had just been putting them in a bin under my bed."

Really? Not a blender?

Fushiguro said nothing as he worked at a thick knot. 

"Brat, do something about him."

His eyes went wide as Fushiguro whipped his head around to see a mouth formed on Itadori's cheek, speaking in a familiarly cold voice. "He's driving me insane."

Itadori slapped a hand over Sukuna's mouth automatically. "You were already insane," he muttered under his breath.

The mouth opened again on his hand. "All you think about are your projects. If I wanted to possess a grandmother, I would have done so. Brat, break his knitting needles, throw out his yarn, something. I know you find it irritating too." 

Itadori pointedly ignored Sukuna's voice, but for a moment Fushiguro was sure he saw something flicker in his eyes — something like disappointment, or maybe regret. His smile seemed a little too tight, his gaze too fixed.

Ever since he had come back to life, Fushiguro had noticed that Itadori wasn't quite the same. He never wanted to talk about it, either, besides the few words they'd exchanged before the Goodwill Event. 

But these days, something about Itadori Yuuji seemed a little unsure. He seemed harder, cracked around the edges like broken glass. He was smiling the same smile as ever, but something in his eyes told Fushiguro that he didn't mean it. 

Fushiguro imagined that he was untangling Itadori. Maybe it was that he didn't trust him enough, wasn't close enough to him, didn't care as much about him as Fushiguro did him, but there was something twisted up inside Itadori that he didn't let anyone touch. 

(He would never admit it, but Fushiguro wished that he could. Sort through the strands one by one, with care and with gentleness, until he was all smoothed out.)

"Itadori," Fushiguro said quietly. 

"Huh?" By the time he turned around to meet his eyes, Itadori had already masked his brief slippage of control. 

"I don't think it's irritating."

Itadori laughed a little. "No, it's okay. You don't have to feel bad, I know I'm going a little overboard…"

"I'm serious."

He fell silent and ran his fingers through his soft pink hair. Again, there it was — a flash of something between disappointment and regret. "I just… it feels nice to make stuff for other people, I guess." And there he went again. Always other people first. 

(When would he realize other people worried about him too?)

Fushiguro didn't say anything else, but silently picked a piece of yarn off of Itadori's hoodie. 

"Oh! That's right!" Itadori suddenly stood up and rummaged through his bag. "It's your birthday tomorrow, isn't it?"

It was. Fushiguro hadn't told anyone about it though — there wasn't much he hated more than other people fussing over him on his birthday. The attention, the coddling praise, the presents… all of it was too much. 

Who could have—

The winking face of his sensei flashed across his mind. Of course.

"Here you go, before I forget to give it to you." Itadori handed him a folded blue scarf. "It's your birthday present!" 

Fushiguro took the scarf gingerly. It seemed to tingle in his hands, and he could almost feel the attention and time that Itadori had put into it. It had a complicated-looking cable pattern that must have taken him forever. 

"Do you— do you like it?"

He glanced up at Itadori, whose usually sunny face was clouded over with insecurity. Ah, I must have made a face by accident. 

Fushiguro answered by putting the scarf on. It even smelled like him. If he breathed in deeply, he could smell Itadori's fabric softener and the scent of the outdoors that always seemed to cling to him — wood and soft grass and—

Stop smelling the scarf.

"I like it," he managed. He couldn't make eye contact with Itadori — if he did, he was afraid his careful mask of casual indifference might break and reveal something much more embarrassing.

"You do? Oh, that's good." Somehow Itadori didn't sound very convinced.

Fushiguro risked looking into his eyes. "I really love this," he stated firmly. "Honestly, I'm glad you decided to start knitting again." He paused a moment before going a step further, grasping at the tangled strands around him and within the boy who stood before him. "I think your grandfather would be really proud of you."

Itadori blinked in surprise. "Oh." A wide grin spread across his face. "Well, I'm glad you like it!"

Fushiguro gestured hopelessly to the mountain of tangled yarn.

"Ah, right."

An easy silence fell as they untangled the rest of the yarn. The warmth of the scarf around Fushiguro's neck was grounding, and reminded him of the warmth of the boy next to him. 

Itadori scooted closer to him and rested his head on Fushiguro's shoulder, surprising him. Neither of them said a word as they picked at knots of yarn. 

"Thank you," muttered Itadori under his breath. 

Maybe birthdays weren't so bad after all. 

[autumnleaves1991-blog]

The Next One’s on You 2/5

Whelp Maxwell Lord has been consuming my thoughts all day and I sat down and wrote out the next part. Part three probably won’t be out till Saturday but I didn’t want to wait to post this one. Thank you my darling @justanotherblonde23​ for being my emotional writing support buddy. Thank you for reblogging, commenting, and liking! Let me know if you want to be added to a Taglist. 

Summary: A series of moments in the life of Maxwell Lord x reader centered around drinks. 

Pairing: Maxwell Lord x F! Reader 

Warnings: 18 + for language and some making out 

Taglist: @josepedropascal @mrschiltoncat @ghostwiththemostbitch​ @mrsparknuts @oldstuffnewstuff @yespolkadotkitty @heythere-mel @justanotherblonde23 @artsymaddie @maxlordsgf @xjaywritesx 

My Masterlist  

Chapter One - Triple Espresso 

Chapter Two: Vodka Martinis 

A week passed, then two and nothing. Not a sound. Silence from the illustrious Maxwell Lord IV and so life moved on. The shop had a steady stream of customers, and evenings were spent vegging out in front of the TV in your pajamas with whatever dinner you scrounge together that night. You pull the vanilla ice cream closer to you and dig the spoon inside when your roommate Michael comes out his tight black jeans, and black turtleneck the sleeves rolled up to his elbow. 

“Oh honey, it’s a Saturday night,” he wiggles his butt at you, “you should come out with us tonight we’re going to that new dance club, get out of this depressing apartment.” 

“Oh yeah...that’s not really my scene. I would much rather be home with a good book or TV, but you go and have fun! Don’t worry about me,” you smile reassuringly and he scoffs. 

“How about a date then?” he uses the mirror on the wall to apply a thick layer of black eyeliner stopping to look over at you, eyebrow raised. 

“What?” 

“My friend Tom from work, he’s single and looking to mingle,” he wriggles his eyebrows up and down at you, “What do you say? Friday night dinner at Les Amis?” 

“That new French place downtown?” 

“Yeah, you’ve been talking about going there since it opened. Just give the guy a chance, what else would you be doing on a Friday night. Seems like your mystery man didn’t pan out.” 

“Mystery man?” you sit up straighter and place the open container onto the coffee table. 

“The one who left you those white roses,” he rolls his eyes and finishes the wing tip. Closing the tube with a snap and putting it into his fanny pack. Your heart sinks as you think about the beautiful flowers and the arrogant bastard who left them. 

“Oh those…” you say dejectedly. 

“So what about Tom?” he puts one hand on his hip and looks at your expectantly. 

“Oh…” what could be the harm, “sure why not. You’re right, I have nothing else going on, and I have been wanting to go there. Who knows maybe I will find the love of my life with this Tom.” 

He laughs, “there’s the spirit. Oh sweet little barista, we will find you love yet!” He pulls the door open and shut quickly, his platformed boots smacking loudly down the stairs. 

You groan, throwing yourself back against the couch, a hand coming up to massage at your temples. What’s the harm? Maybe this Tom guy will be wonderful and you’ll end up happily ever after, like one of those Disney movies. 

Friday night comes before you know it and you straighten your dress again in the mirror. The black cocktail dress is the nicest thing you own with short sleeves, a white lace collar, cut off just above the knee. You pair it with your sensible black heels grabbing your clutch and heading out to catch a taxi. 

When you pull up the lights from the restaurant twinkle and you gaze at the elegant people inside drinking champagne from tall flutes. You take a moment to imagine that’s you when you are interrupted by your thoughts by a tap on the shoulder. 

“Excuse me, are you y/n? Michaels friend?” you turn and look at an attractive man with short cropped black hair, thin lips, blue eyes, and a suit with a purple waistcoat. 

You nod smiling and reach out your hand, “Tom right?” 

His grip is firm and his palms are sweaty as he holds your hand up to his mouth and gives it a sloppy kiss. You give a slight grimace as you pull your hand away and cover it up with a smile. “Shall we?” you gesture towards the hostess and he nods, putting his hand on your lower back as you’re both led to the table, his hand dipping lower and squeezing your ass. 

He pulls out your chair and as you sit down and he leans toward you, “you look good enough to eat,” he murmurs in your ear and you have to suppress the uncomfortable feeling growing in your stomach. 

You try to laugh it off and concentrate on the meal. Conversation flows freely and you almost feel relieved until the end. “So why are you single?” he asks. 

Your drink catches in your throat you sputter out a surprised, “what?” he ignores you continuing. 

“I mean when Michael asked me if I wanted to go out with his friend I thought he meant one of those young things he goes out clubbing with every weekend. Obviously that isn’t you,” he takes a sip of his cocktail, “I mean you're pretty, but I think we both know this isn’t gonna go beyond tonight. So why don’t we just skip dessert and get out of here?” 

You stare at him incredulously wondering if he’s actually serious and when he just takes another sip and gestures for the check you close your eyes sighing. When you open them again he is sliding his credit card to the waiter and you look around the restaurant trying to think of a way out when you feel eyes burning on you. You slowly turn to the left and see a large table filled with men and women in expensive suits and dresses. Sitting at the head of the table and fuming is Maxwell Lord the fourth. 

Fuck. 

You groan and put your head down rubbing at your temples. You hear the pen scratch against the pad and Tom hops up to his feet and slides on his coat, holding a hand out to you. “Let’s get out of here baby, and I will rock your world.” 

“I’m not going to sleep with you,” you put your hands down flat on the table and look up at him. 

“I just bought you dinner,” he scoffs, “it’s time for you to return the favor baby,” he moves to grab your wrist and you pull it quickly from his grasp. 

“Please just leave, don’t make a scene,” you plead and he does what he’s done all night, ignored you. 

He bends and gets right in your face sneering, “Now I see why your single, fucking bitch to good for anyone. Maybe if you got some, you wouldn’t have that stick so far up your as-” you slap him hard across the face. Tears burning in your own eyes. 

He shakes his head in shock and the slap echoes across the restaurant, customers turning to stare. He rubs his cheek and looks like he’s about to explode grabbing the water glass closest to his hand he pours the entire contents of it hard at your face. The freezing water shoots in your eyes and you gasp as it soaks into your dress and into your underclothes. “Fucking bitch,” he shouts stomping out the door. 

You close your eyes and reach for your napkin using it to clean off your face. You listen for the noise of the restaurant to resume to a gentle hum before you open your eyes. You do everything in your power to avoid the eyes of the other patrons, especially Maxwell Lord. The waiter comes up to your grimacing, “Can I get you anything honey?” she asks, holding out another napkin. 

You shake your head no, gratefully accepting it and thanking her. She smiles lightly before leaving. You stand up and shiver, feeling the tendrils of water seep down your legs. Keeping your eyes straight ahead you walk out the door and suck in a large gulp of air, body trembling slightly as a cool breeze blows past. Instantly regretting the choice not to bring a coat. 

“You know, when I said the next drink is on you...I didn’t think you would take it so literally,” your eyes close and head drops as Maxwell Lord’s voice charms behind you. 

You sigh and turn towards him, taken aback at how he’s not smirking like you thought he would be. Instead his hands are clenching tightly in a fist and he looks downright boiling. Chest heaving, neck red, and a slight sheen of sweat on his brow. 

“What do you want Mr. Lord?” 

“I…” he unclenches his hand and runs it through his hair, “I wanted to know if you were alright, that was quite the scene inside… did he...did he hurt you?” his voice takes on a dangerous edge as your eyes raise to meet his own. 

“No,” you reply breathlessly before coughing, “No, I’m fine.” You shiver again as another burst of air blows past. 

You feel the heavy coat land on your shoulders before you see it. His suit jacket carefully pulls across your shoulders as he wraps it around you. You try to protest but he scoffs, “You’re freezing,” he chastises, “take the damn coat.” 

You say nothing pulling your arms through the sleeves and wrapping the front around your chest. You're enveloped in the scent of fresh linen and something spicy from his expensive cologne, and you sigh. “Thank you,” you whisper. 

“My limo is on it’s way, let me take you home,” he steps closer and you retreat. Defenses rising. 

“Thank you but I would rather catch a cab then step foot in your sex mobile,” you turn away from him attempting to flag down a cab but having no luck. 

He groans, “My sex mobile?” 

“Yes. Who knows how many women you’ve fucked in there I don’t want to catch some disease. Plus I already told you once Maxwell Lord the Fourth that I am not some cheap whore, and believe it or not I meant it.” 

“You don’t think I know that?!” he shouts and you whip around looking at him wide eyed. “Listen, I make it a habit of getting what I want. Whatever I want….women throw themselves at my feet, money freely flows, and I have a whole household of servants to do anything I want. I will admit that day I acted like an...an asshole but...you...you’re different.” 

“When I saw that guy treating you the exact same way I had...and then when he tried to grab you, I saw...red. That fucking…” he takes a breath to calm himself, “I know it’s not what you want but I would feel much better if you let me bring you home.” 

You observe him for another moment before nodding slowly. You just stare at each other, his breathing slowing and matching pace with yours and when the limo pulls up you both walk towards it, never breaking eye contact. You slid into the backseat and he follows his leg brushing your own. 

“Where to sir?” the driver asks. 

“Home,” he shouts back and your eyes widen. 

“I thought you said you would take me home?” 

“Yes, to my home. I want to take you out for a drink and being...well being me, I can’t do that without it causing a publicity nightmare…” He trails off looking at your wide eyes, “Is...is that okay?” 

You get the feeling he doesn’t ask for permission very often and you slowly nod your head. This had to go down as one of the strangest nights of your life. Tom certainly turned out to be the villain in your fairytale but maybe there was still hope for at least a nice ending. The driver makes twists and turns and your stomach flips as his hand moves down to grasp the seat, finger brushing right against your own. Without thinking you move your pinky over to graze over his ring. You hear his breath catch as he links his pinky with your own. 

The car pulls up to a gorgeous mansion with tall white columns and two marbled lion statues. The butler greets him at the door and you smile at him in greeting and hand over Maxwell’s coat. Maxwell takes your hand gently and guides you to another room. A large brown leather couch takes up the center of the room under a persian rug. A roaring fire in the fireplace illuminates the room in a warm glow, huge bay windows looking over an expansive garden and pool. He lets go of your hand and you feel the aftershocks slide up your arm from his touch. 

He goes over to the bar on the far wall and pulls down two glasses. Filling a shaker with ice you watch as he meticulously fills it with vodka and vermouth, slapping the glass over it before he lifts it over his shoulder and shakes it furiously. You can see his arms flex under the white linen shirt he wears held in place by a pair of brown suspenders. 

He slaps the side of the shaker to release it and strains them both into the glasses before spearing an olive and putting it into one glass and going to spear the other you shout, “No, please no olives,” he looks over at you eyebrow raised, “do you have any cherries?” 

He says nothing, only removing another saucer and tossing two cherries into the other glass and carrying both over. He hands you the drink and clinks his glass against yours taking a sip. You watch, mouth dry, as he swallows and his neck stretches deliciously. 

“Come,” he walks over to the couch and sits down patting the seat next to him. 

You take the seat hesitantly beside him and take a sip savouring the taste. He puts down his drink on the small table in front of you and turns to you, “I think we got off on a rocky start…” 

You snort, “you think?” 

He glares at you before smiling, “Yeah...that was probably my fault. So why don’t we try this again,” he holds a hand out to you, “I’m Maxwell Lord the Fourth, CEO of Chimtech Consortium.” 

You shake his hand feeling the electricity spark in your fingers again, telling him your name and adding the title of barista to the end. He repeats it slowly and feel yourself warm at the way your name comes out honeyed on his tongue. 

The ice broke, the two of you into easy conversation talking about everything. All about his company, his family, what he likes to do when he gets a free afternoon, and even his favorite color. The more you learn about him the more you begin to unravel the mystery of Maxwell Lord. You’re both on your third vodka martini of the night when he brushes his fingers over your cheek. 

“You have an eyelash,” he holds it on the tip of his finger putting it up gently to your lips, “make a wish,” he whispers. 

You close your eyes and blow gently, lips pushed together and you sigh when you feel the press of his lips against your own. It’s hesitant and barely there and when he pulls away you surge forward pressing your chest against his own and capturing his lips in a heated kiss. He responds eagerly and pulls you close till you're straddling his waist on the couch, his hands running up and down your back. You groan as you feel him rub gently against you and he uses it to lick his tongue into your mouth. 

You arch your back as you feel his tongue warm and velvety intermingle with your own. He scoots forward to the edge of the couch and pulls your legs to wrap around his waist. Hands moving lower to knead your ass gently through your dress. His foot kicks out and he knocks the drinks to the floor spilling onto the expensive rug. Glass shattering as they hit together just right. 

You both pull away breathing heavy to look at the ground, the vodka seeping into the rug. You burst out laughing and he looks at you with that damn eyebrow cocked again, “What’s so funny?” 

“I would like to get through one interaction with you without one of us spilling our drinks,” you tease eyes glittering as you smile at him. 

His lips curve up and he lets out a chuckle, pulling you close to resume his kisses, “Ok, I’ll take the blame for that one sweetheart but the next one’s are on you.” 

“Are you asking me out, Maxwell Lord the fourth?” you tease, pecking his lips gently. 

“Yes,” he pulls away looking serious again, “What do you say?” 

You throw your arms around his neck and kiss him again, “sure,” you let out breathlessly, “why the hell not?” Maybe you didn’t find your prince charming in Tom but something even better came along. 

Suddenly, the door is thrown open and a thin older woman with grey hair in an immaculate Chanel suit stalks over to you, “Who the hell is this Trollope Maxwell?!” she screeches. 

“Mother, please leave us alone,” he hisses. 

Mother? Oh fuck, what have you gotten yourself into now. 

Chapter Three: Orange Juice 

[kerie-prince]

We're Worlds Apart (3)

Draco Malfoy x American No-Maj!reader

series m.list | general m.list | previous chp

warnings: cursing, angst(?), Draco being a meanie :(

summary: Draco Malfoy is a pureblood wizard. Magic runs through his veins and has been since his birth. You're a Wiccan No-Maj; a non-magical being with ordinary blood through your veins, but practices what you call magick. And this very practice upsets your neighbor.

a/n: not my best lmao kinda gets cheesy. anyways, Y/M/N = your mother’s name and Y/B/N = your brother’s name

(gif cred)

“Do I really have to get one?” Draco whined in the middle of the phone store, getting his very first cellular device.

“Yeah, man. It's 2008 and you still write letters. Plus, your bird took a shit on my car,” Blaine said matter-of-factly. He found it funny that Draco still used an owl post for communication; the only other person Blaine knew that still uses an owl is his 97 year old grandmother. And even she has a landline in her house. “It's just easier and quicker to use. Why wait a whole day for a letter when you can just text me and I’ll respond in two seconds?”

“I’ve never even used a wall phone, how do you expect me to use a bloody cell-phone, Blaine?” Draco was fidgeting in his seat as he waited for the store employee to finish, what was it called, a credit score? Muggles sure are weird.

She came back shortly with a small, black box that had a weird word on it. What the bloody hell is an iPhone? She explained how it turned on, all the applications it carried, and details about billing and more. Draco was still confused about the whole thing but Blaine said that he would help him understand it better.

“Well look at you, Dray. A modern wizard in America,” Blaine jokes. Draco played with the new device, working out all the kinks of it. He sent his very first text message to Blaine at that moment. Took him precisely 5 minutes to type out a very bland, simple ‘Hello. -Draco L. Malfoy’

It made Blaine laugh so hard that he held his stomach. “My god, we’re gonna have to work on your texting skills, man. First things first, you don't have to sign your name at the end of a text. I know it's you.” Blaine explained to Draco all the fundamentals of texting as they walked through the halls of Santa Marie.

Throughout the day, Draco shared his new number with his department. The more he shared his number, the faster he became at typing.

At the end of his shift, he went to a nearby restaurant where he usually picked up dinner —not one to know his way around the kitchen — and headed home.

It's been a good week for him; his mother had sent him a letter everyday, he finished setting up the guest room for Theo and Blaise, he has this new phone, and best of all, Y/N had not crossed his mind once.

Now he still hasn't accepted what she does in her free time, but also he realized that she’s not exactly harming him nor did she know what he was. He's usually busy with all the work he does, anyway. It was quite a sudden change of heart. But mostly, it was his mother that was able to talk to him and change his views.

My dearest son, had it been during the time before the war, I would have agreed with you. But you have to understand that things are different now. You're different now. Now I am not forcing you, but maybe you should just talk with her just once. If not, just ignore her. After all, she only lives next door.

When he read the letter, he could practically hear all of his friends telling him ‘She's right, you know.’ And deep down, he knew it too. So he went with her advice: ignore Y/N.

—

You’ve had a terrible week; your assistant manager forgot to count the inventory which meant she also forgot to make an order for inventory. A group of teens stole a bunch of little vials of oils you had put on display. And to top it all off, a man stood in front of your shop with signs that had biblical verses written on them, blocking the entrance way and essentially driving away any potential customers. You called security but they never came.

You were used to this happening, it's happened all your life. But that didn't mean that it didn't hurt. I'm not harming anyone, so why does this happen to me? Next week, your mother was flying in from Maine to look around the house to make sure nothing would ‘freak Stephanie out.’ 

Driving back home, you were just waiting to mix some bath salts in your tub, play music, and relax for the next couple of days. By sheer coincidence, as you pulled in you noticed your neighbor that you now knew as Draco pull into his driveway.

This week can't exactly get worse you thought as your legs carried you to his front door. With gentle knocks on the door, you waited patiently. Being rejected once more didn't bother you, but you at least wanted to hear him speak to you and try your chance to become better acquainted.

Draco opened his door, his tie was undone and he looked confusingly at you. “Can I help you?”

Panic overcame your senses and without thinking, you blurted out, “Do you hate me?” You noticed his shocked face as it was probably not something he expected to hear.

“Excuse me, what exactly are you talking about?” he asked in his entrancing British accent. It was too late to take it back, so you just kept going with it. “I’m sorry, but you moved in here four months ago and you seem to have made friends with everyone around here but for some reason, you won’t even say ‘hi’ to me. Did I offend you or something?” You sounded exhausted and sad. Not only at the week you just had, but how Draco wasn’t being so neighborly with you as he was with everyone else on the street. It bothered you so much to no end. And the most frustrating thing was that you didn’t understand why.

“Uh, I apologize that we haven’t been on speaking terms but I don’t think I have to talk to you now, do I?” Draco scoffed. Why is he being such a jerk? “I’m not saying that you have to talk to me, but it’d be nice if you could at least wave or something. But instead, you look at me funny and ignore me. It’s kinda rude.” 

“Merlin, you muggles are so temperamental.” Draco said under his breath. The word sounded funny to you.

“Muggles? Did you just call me a muggle?” The look on Draco’s face didn’t go unnoticed. He stared at you for a few moments, not saying anything. What does that mean? “Is that what you call Americans in the UK? Doesn’t really sound nice.”

Draco started laughing mockingly at you, his grip on his door tightening and knuckles turning white, “Look, I don’t understand what it is exactly you want from me but I will say this; the fact that you are so offended that I won’t acknowledge you is honestly quite fucking childish and if you couldn’t get the hint then I’ll say it plainly for you now. I don’t. Wish. To. Be. Friends. With. You. Got it?” and with that, he slammed the door in your face.

Groaning out, you yelled at him through his door, “Fuck you then! I don’t wanna be friends with some rude prick!” You ran to your door and slammed it pretty hard. The sudden noise frightened your cat and made her run from her tower into your room. What the fuck is his deal? 

You walked to your room, pissed off and tired. Looking up, you saw Draco in his room. You stared each other down before you walked up to your window to close your blinds, flipping him off before it fully closed. Afterwards, you took a regular shower and went to bed. Anger built up inside you, and for probably the first time, you hated another human being. And you had to live next to him for god knows how long.

-

“I mean, did you really have to say that to her?” Ian and Ashley had just listened to Draco explain what had happened the night before. Ian just sat in the chair eating his lunch as Ashley responded to him. “I know things might be different in England, but you should’ve given her a chance. She could be nice. I have a couple No-Maj friends on my block.”

“I’m on Ash with this. Is it really all because she’s Wiccan? Be honest, Dray,” Ian chipped in. At that point, Draco didn’t really know what to say. He thought he could look past it, but he couldn’t. “Maybe, yeah. I come from two families that had very strict traditions and views of muggles. I thought I dropped those views but seeing first hand what they do and-”

“And it makes you feel like a freak? Because you’re a real wizard that can do magic and they sit in some weirdly drawn circle and ‘do’ magic?” Ashley finished Draco’s sentence, making quotation marks with her hands. “I get it, I really do. I was offended too when I had to read about No-Maj’s doing this during school. And then to see movies where witches are viewed as ugly, green-skinned hags with warts on her face and wear rags for clothes. Kinda brings you down as a kid. But I got over it. You should, too.” Ashley held Draco’s hand for a bit before she grabbed her coffee mug and left for her appointments.

Ian sat quietly, watching as Draco was sinking in everything he was advised. “Look man, it’s not really my business to be telling you what you should or shouldn’t like, and who you should or shouldn’t like. And you know what, you’re not exactly in the wrong to get mad about what happened. After all, she just kinda picked a fight with you out of nowhere.” Draco had a face that looked as if he was saying ‘Right? I’m not crazy here’

“But,” of course there’s a ‘but’, “from what I hear around the street, Y/N’s really nice. Super weird for sure, but an overall nice person. I think you should think about it.” Ian nodded at Draco before joining Ashley out of the breakroom. Draco sat there, thinking about what his friends said and also thought back to his mother’s letters. I’m such a child. And I’m the one that called her childish. If he was honest, you were but it didn’t make him better.

He knew what he was going to do after work. It pained him to have to apologize to someone. Apologizing wasn’t something he was exactly used to doing. He’s only done it once to Harry and his friends nearly three years after the Battle. He didn’t even really know what to say to you. But he’ll figure it out. Right?

-

You stood shocked at your doorstep, hands holding onto the sweater as you looked before you. “Mom, you’re here early.”

“I had been given an extra week off of work so I thought I’d just come and see my oldest baby before your brother and Stephanie comes. Also gives me a head start to plan our dinner and get this house situated,” your mother walked past you with her two large luggage cases and dropped them on your living room floor. She looked around the house and eyed all the decorations and pictures on the walls.

To her, everything was nearly normal. You had family pictures posted and some pictures of you and your friends from college. In the living room, you had a tapestry hung up behind your couch that used to belong to your grandmother. “Y/N please, will you take down that blanket? Why don’t you put up a picture of some flowers, or maybe something abstract?”

“Because I don’t want a picture of flowers and that’s not a blanket. It was Grandma’s. I want it hung up there. Ma, you gotta understand that it’s my house now.” Your arms were crossed due to the cold. You had the day off and tried to spend it well as you did your cleansing spell in the morning, but it seems that it wasn’t very effective seeing as your mother came in and immediately started nitpicking everything.

“It was cute in your room when you were a kid. But you’re 26 now. How would your boyfriend feel if he walked in here and thought ‘oh, didn’t know I was dating a 16 year old.’” Her constant criticism was nearly pushing you to the edge. “Ma, I don’t really want to argue with you tonight so I’m just going to bed-” a doorbell rang throughout the house and you were thanking whoever was listening for giving you a reason to walk away from your mother. 

As soon as you opened the door, you were met with another face that you weren’t exactly excited to see. “Can I help you?” you repeated Draco’s words from last night back at him in a spiteful tone.

Through gritted teeth, he looked at you and said, “I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry for being an arse yesterday. I hope we can look past it and become well-acquainted neighbors.”

“Huh, you’re sorry? You don’t really sound it.”

“I know, I’m not really used to doing this,” Draco quipped. “But nonetheless, I would still like to apologize.”

“Yeah, whatever, I’m sorry too.” You were about to close the door until your mother came up and pushed the door completely open, “Honey, who’s at the door- oh! Hello, I’m Y/M/N. And you are?” She looked at Draco with the nicest smile that you had ever seen on her.

“Hello, My name’s Draco. Nice to meet you,” he awkwardly shook your mother’s hand. He didn’t smile, but he also didn’t have the usual scowl on his face when he would look at you. Guess he does have manners. “Y/N, is this a friend of yours?” your mother insinuated with a less than discreet wink. Without missing a beat, you replied, “No. Ma, this is my new neighbor. I just met him. But it’s late, so nice meeting you Draco. See you around.” And you closed the door.

“That was rude, Y/N. You should have invited him in. He’s very cute,” your mother grabbed her bags and headed into the guest room. From a distance, you could hear your mother speak to herself, saying ‘At least this room looks normal’. “It’s kinda late. Besides, we have all the time in the world to talk.” 

You walked to your small closet and grabbed the special bath salts for stress relief and walked to your bathroom. Starting to strip, your mother barged in. “Ma! Privacy, please!”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Y/N. I gave birth to you. Anyways, how long has it been since he moved in? Do you think he knows about your witchy stuff?” She asked as she stood by the door, checking her reflection as you continued to undress for your bath. “I don’t really hold a sign around my neck that says I’m a Wiccan, Mother,” you said with closed eyes. Your mother said, “I hope not. Night, baby,” and closed the door.

This is going to be a long three weeks.

-

The morning came and you woke up before your alarm and did your daily routine. The only difference was that your mother was going through your pantry looking for ingredients to make breakfast. “Morning, honey. Do you want some pancakes? I’ll make your favorites! It’s still blueberry, right?”

“No, that was Y/B/N. Mine are chocolate chip and peanut butter.” You said flatly as you grabbed your watering can. “Oh that’s right. But I already bought the blueberries.”

“That’s fine, they still taste good.” Your mother was satisfied with your response and started right away. You walked out to your front yard and watered your plants along the fence. The betony plants were beautiful, its sight was calming your nerves as you poured water over them. The sound of a door closing caused you to look up, watching Draco as he was standing in his yard with what seemed like a cigarette attached to his lips before he took it out and placed it onto an ashtray that was on his porch.

He walked over to the fence that separated your yards. The smell of the cigarette was in the air and it reminded you of your late father. “I meant it last night,” he mentioned his apology. You didn’t really know what to say so you just nodded and went back to watering your plants.

“But if I recall, you did start that fight,” he chuckled. You glared up at him for a few seconds before returning to your task. “Alright, I guess I’m sorry too.” Draco scoffed and just whispered ‘Whatever’ and walked away. “Wait,” you called for him before he walked back into his house and luckily, he stopped. “I’m sorry,” you said with sincerity. “Can we just start over?”

He stared at you, visibly contemplating your question then finally said, “Sure.” He walked into his house and you stood shocked in your yard. Your mother walked out and announced to you, “Honey! Breakfast is ready! Come on, I think your plants are watered enough.” With the snap of your screen door, you were released from your daze and walked inside. Maybe this week is turning around after all.

-

Draco sat in his room, not exactly sure what exactly happened. Was he really going to try and become friends with a muggle? He could imagine the look on his fathers face. Just because he had lost in the Battle, didn’t mean that he magically accepted muggles and muggle-borns. Narcissa didn’t like them much either but she also didn’t hate them as Lucius did.

This would shock not only his parents, but also his friends, Blaise and Theo. Merlin, the person that would probably have a field day about this would be Hermione Granger. He sat there, imagining Granger either laughing at him or cursing him after all the bullying he put her through. All those years of calling her a mudblood and he becomes friends with a muggle. A No-Maj. A Wiccan No-Maj. But then he thought about what Ian said at work. Y/N is really nice. Weird, but nice. And when he agreed to having a fresh start with you, he figured that it would give you a chance to prove him wrong about what you were like.

Or she could be exactly what I always thought muggles to be. Foolish.

—

next chp

(っ◔◡◔)っtaglist: @beiahadid @malfoy-styles-wife @fivenightslaughter @juneballoon999 @leydileyla @fangirlanotherjust @originalsoulcollector @opiomancy @lipstickandloveletters

[quitetheketch-moved]

so I’ve been seeing bad taste in youtubers, not like in my mutuals or anything but in general but it made me want to make a like, recommended list of youtubers i like who are pretty chill if not full on comrades so here we are - not prompted by anything specific but an itch I got here some of the channels I like:

Cooking:

BORE.D - Fun cooking channel with a stylish presentation 

Chinese Cooking Demystified - Like it says on the tin, informative authentic Chinese dishes from all over the country. 

David Seymour - started with buzzfeed taste tests but now covers most big cooking channels seeing if he can recreate them and how they are

Maangchi - Plz cook for me, like i’m begging feed me it all looks amazing 

My Name Is Andong - fun cooking videos from all over, especially the ones about Russian food.

Simply Sara Kitchen  - good home style cooking 

Souped Up Recipes - Traditional Chinese cooking

Movies/Tv:

Accented Cinema - a video essay channel with a focus on Asian cinema

Folding Ideas - Not strictly about film but I tend to watch a lot of essayists who fall into multiple things and I kinda just have to lean into their main aesthetic but Dan is a gif so check him out.

Jack Saint  - Jack and Joel have a lot of similar style of content but Jack leans into media stuff more so i’m moving him over here. (although i’ve been working on this post for over an hour going through my alphabetical yt sub list and i’m starting to regret trying to categorize them)

PushingUpRoses  - a must watch if you love old tv especially Murder She Wrote

Renegade Cut - Does games too, and frankly they are some of their best work, but quality media analysis.

Ryan Hollinger - Horror movie analysis

Scaredy Cats  - More horror movie analysis but my favorite channel of this kind

Gaming Essays:

Adam Millard - video essays about video games - really recommend the video on Frog Fractions and the Longing

Curio - I’m putting them here because theres been a big focus on games lately and they recently started twitch streaming which is fun but really it’s all media essay. Just please check out their four part Witcher series adfkj it’s the most recent so easy to find.

Errant Signal - I dont have much to add other than please check out Errant Signal, they dont post much but I am in love with this channel.

Game Maker's Toolkit  - in depth essays about elements of game design

Jim Sterling  - Okay not essays but gaming news - if you dont check out anyone else here you should still check out Jim. Especially if you care about the rights of workers in the gaming industry. 

Gaming Play:

Biffa Plays Indie Games - mostly does Cities Skylines but sometimes other, great videos to relax to.

GaLm - GaLm deserves so much much than he gets, Love him been watching him for forever and honestly he’s enough of a workaholic that there’s so much content you WILL find something you like. All complete with critical analysis.

GrayStillPlays - one of the few like, non overtly left-os here but listen, if you want some slightly silly slightly more edgy style of video game videos to kinda turn off your brain and just enjoy you cant get much better than grey. He’s chaos but chaos that doesn’t rely on racism. Maybe one too many jokes about addiction but they aren’t usually punching down so???

John Wolfe - chill horror youtuber - not much to say but one of my favorites.

KatherineOfSky - want the most soothing voice ever to gently play hardcore logistic games at you? Well holy fuzzy cats, you’re home.

Many A True Nerd - Partner to Claire in the category below, known for his fallout but plays just about anything. Also loves grand strategy and paradox games. Good playlist management too do easy to find what you need.

Wanderbots - A just, massive amount of indie game content.

Commentary/Other:

Claire Rousseau - Books youtuber who is just a delight, I dont know how else to describe her but even tho I dont read anymore i’d still die for her.

Courtreezy -  just the queen of being bubbly and fun (some of these I dont have good sales pitches for just *shoves them at you* give em a shot)

D'Angelo Wallace and dangelowallace - Main and second channel, both the same kind of content but the formats are different. Dont always agree with all his opinions but man, theres no fault in the way he presents and researches them - solid essayist but also just oozes charisma and good times.

Drawfee Show - one of the bigger channels here save D’Angelo above so you may already be familiar with them but just a fun weekly drawing show. Good times.

Foo the Flowerhorn  - Watch fish be fed bits of blanched vegetables, like that either sells you or not but it’s Good.

Jarvis Johnson and Jarvis Johnson! GOLD - primary and secondary channels, pure commentary channel on a wide range of topics - i recommend the videos on 5 min crafts and the bachelor.

Life in Jars? - Eco-spheres and terrariums oh me :0

MacDoesIt - Gay chaotic energy, just chock full of Moods and fun times.

Sarah Z - Unofficial tumblr historian

Politics:

Big Joel - kinda variety content, plenty of media analysis but through a strongly leftist lens. Torn between here and commentary but the balance is slightly more overtly political than just media commentary through a political lens so here we go.

Black Red Guard - A black leftist commentary/essay channel focused on black issues and self described as a “New Afrikan Maoist”, this is fairly new channel I found so I’m not as good at describing his content def not better than he does but solid stuff through a perspective I wouldn’t normally get.

hbomberguy - Just watch his video on Pathologic please. Or like, watch 20 mins then go play Pathologic then come back after you’ve beaten it and Pathologic 2 and finish the video.

Innuendo Studios  - Frankly I had no idea where to put this one, because it’s a little of everything but mostly media analysis but also please watch the alt-right playbook if you like, want to understand more about how radicalization happens.

KAR - Black anarchist channel, solid political videos but shorter than most of the ones here so better for consuming when you dont have much time.

Leslie Exp - Videos about disability

Luna oi! and NonCompete  - frankly best agitprop communist duo. A good place to start learning about mutual aid and what anarchism is, beginner friendly videos on leftist theory.

Philosophy Tube - Videos are super polished and well made essays about philosophy, super theatrical and flashy. Honestly cannot stress enough how fun the production value of these are.

Professor Flowers - Nuanced important discussions about race, media, and the political landscape.

Some More News - Like it says on the tin, news but told to you by a disheveled fed up leftist (I joke because i’m running out of things to say in the comment for each but really, Cody and his entire team deserve a lot of credit for their well researched videos on current events)

Thought Slime  - Agitprop but make it a little silly because tbh we all need some jokes rn

Honorable mentions of some slightly bigger channels you may already know but I enjoy: UpIsNotJump , Steve1989MREInfo , SmallishBeans , RTGame , Primitive Survival Tool  , Mumbo Jumbo ,  emmymadeinjapan ,  Kurtis Conner ,  Danny Gonzalez , Drew Gooden  , How To Cook That , JunsKitchen , Defunctland 

[chuckbass-love]

May I request a Ransom x Y/n fic where he goes to a pub after being taken out of the will and he see's y/n at a table crying because she's just been dumped

I love this idea!! 

A/N: Just a heads up, i’m keeping the events of the movie in this where he goes back to the house to switch the medication and then have him go to the pub after that.

Disclaimer: My work is not to be posted anywhere else other than MY Tumblr, Wattpad or Ao3 without my permission. However, reblogs are welcome.

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Lots of angst, alludes to smut at first and then pure smutty filth. Fingering, oral (m and f receiving), protected sex, daddy kink, ass slapping and fluff overload. Heavy alcohol use, swearing and alludes to murder (the plot from the movie).

Word Count: 8,770

GIF NOT MINE!!! Credit to @roooogers go check them out💜

Shoulder To Cry On

“Please, Anthony. Please. Don’t do this” your voice shaking with the fear of losing the one person who you assumed would always be around. Your brain trying to register everything he’s just said as tears drown your vision out causing everything to go blurry. 

Weak body, silent screams and shaky hands. It’s real. But it doesn’t feel real. It feels like a dream. Like if someone were to pinch you now then you’d wake up and feel fine. But that’s far from your reality. 

“You’re making a scene Y/N, everyone’s looking” he looks around him, watching on as everyone stares in your direction, enjoying the free show as they dine. 

Is he serious? 

“Me making a scene? You chose to do this here in front of everyone, knowing full well how i’d react” the anger coming out, the need to scream consuming you, so you do. You yell. You pick the food up in front of you and throw it at him. Bread, prawns, even your red wine.

“How could you do this to me? You fucking cheating scumbag” bottom lip trembling at the words leaving your mouth, the sick feeling working its way through your body and eventually settling in the back of your throat but you stop it.

You had plans for a lovely anniversary dinner tonight. Your boyfriend of 4 years Anthony. The man you’ve always seen yourself marrying and tonight, you thought was the night. That he’d finally get down on one knee and propose. But that was soon ripped away from you the moment the starters arrived.

He started his little speech about how he’s had the best time over the last 4 years with you, the memories you’ve made together. 

Then came the moment that everyone dreads. The breakup speech. 

He confessed to not feeling as happy as he once did with you and then he admitted to having a connection with some woman at work. His assistant. Jennifer. 

And as much as he played it off like nothing happened, you’ve known him long enough now to see all of the tell tale signs. The way he rubs his ear lobe, the way he avoids your eyes and most importantly the way he stutters when he’s nervous. 

His face has guilt and cheater written all over it. Your whole world feels like it’s crumbling around you and everything is a mess. Including your mascara. 

You always had your suspicions about Jennifer but he was the perfect liar, a genius at concocting up excuses. The way he’d make your mind do a full 180 with your thoughts and feelings. Just like a magician tricking the audience. He pulled the wool right over your eyes and love enabled that, stopped you from asking all the questions that you should have thought to ask.

It’s like now, everything he ever said to you, all the happy memories and plans you made. They all seem so fake, like he never meant any of it. It’s gut wrenching. Sickening. 

He’s a beautiful liar. He did it so effortlessly. Getting into bed next to you after no doubt being with her, touching her in the places he was only ever supposed to touch you.

But before you can even get to him, the restaurant staff make their way over, trying to remove you from the scene but you don’t even give them the chance.

“I’m going. Don’t fucking touch me” you hold your hands up, slipping your coat on and grabbing your purse.

“I hope one day you’ll experience how you’ve made me feel tonight” and that’s the last thing you ever said to him, picking your stuff up to leave.

All that anger and hurt eventually brought you here, the bar right round the corner from your house. You couldn’t bare the thought of even going home right away, let alone stepping foot in there. It’s too soon. 

The house that’s jam packed with memories of the two of you. Photographs of you. The bed you’ve slept in every night with him for 2 years. Your skin itches.

That’s when you see someone sit down next to you at the bar but you don’t look. He still notices you though. Ogling you as he sips at his whiskey. The way your dress hugs your figure, the slit up the side, exposing your legs.

You hear his thick Boston accent ordering. Still refusing to turn your head. You really don’t want any bother tonight. You just need to drown him out. Drown out the way he smells, the way he touches you, the feel of his huge hands all over your skin. 

Ransom doesn’t stop though, stealing glances here and there at you, trying to figure out the perfect chat up line to dish out. Then it comes to him, no chat up lines needed.

“What’s brought a beautiful girl like you here tonight then?”

The smirk that appears on his face comes out in his words, you can hear it but you’re really not in the mood so you order another drink, ignoring the stranger. 

But the second you speak up, your voice giving your state away, causing Ransom’s head to shoot up, leaning closer to get a better look and that’s when he sees it. Your eyes that are filled with tears, the way you’re sniffles follow shortly after they fall.

“Wait, are you okay?” Genuine concern in his voice, not wanting to upset you even more by prodding too much. 

“I’m fine” you spit, just wanting to be left alone to wallow. To over evaluate everything that’s gone down tonight. But that’s kind of hard to do with this man talking non stop.

“You don’t look fine”

“That’s because i don’t need nor want anyones pity” ouch.

“Who said i was pitying you?” he rolls his eyes, not even sure on what’s turned you so cold or should he say who. But he tried. Which isn’t usually in his nature. 

See the events that lead Ransom to that little bar are slightly different to yours but nevertheless, he’s here with you so it doesn’t necessarily matter. The story should probably be told anyway though.

All was going so well in his world earlier today, he was happy as Larry, living off of his Grandfather, taking all he could get from him. He had everything. A bachelor pad that puts his friends one to shame, a beamer, scantily clad women at the click of his fingers and invitations to all the best parties in Boston. He was the most notorious playboy, everyone knows him.

The moment he stepped foot into his Grandfathers study, nothing was ever going to be same once he left. And that’s a fact. 

Harlan broke the news about his will. How he changed it recently. Leaving his nurse Marta Cabrera with everything. Every. Last. Dime. 

Meaning Ransom and his family will be pushed out of the mansion and Walt will be kicked to the curb when it came to Harlans publishing company, Blood Like Wine. 

He argued with Harlan for what felt like forever, tried his best to plead his case and he even resulted to taking a threatening tone to his beloved Grandfather. Which of course, didn’t work. Leaving him angry, furious even. His blood was well and truly boiling. He’d had it. He couldn’t hear another word of that bullshit. So he stormed out. Bidding his great nana a swift goodbye in the form of resting his hand over her arm. 

Once in his beamer, he screamed. Smacking the wheel with all of his might before stepping on it, pulling out the space and up the driveway. He had to get out of there and fast. 

But halfway up the drive, he slams on the breaks when an idea begins to form, causing him to turn around. Parking away from the mansion first before creeping his way back in. 

He climbs the wall at the side of it, up to the secret window that he discovered in his childhood. Once he’s in he finds Marta’s medical bag, opening it and switching his grandfathers meds, making sure to take out the one saving grace that could ruin his perfect plan. 

With that secured in his pocket, the bag is zipped back up and placed back where he found it and he’s leaving the same way he came. Back down the side of the house but before he can make a quick run for it, he sees his great nana in the window. Staring at him, without blinking. He waits to see if she’ll speak but she never does, so he turns to leave, making it back to his beamer without a single person catching him. Great nana doesn’t count, there’s a very slim chance that she didn’t even know it was him. After all, she didn’t say a word.

All done now though, the plan is now in full swing. Soon Marta will take Harlan up to bed to give him his medicine. That’s when she’ll give him the overdose on morphine. Or the good stuff as they like to call it. 

And eventually it’ll start to come together. 

Marta will get arrested for Harlan’s murder, the money and all of the assets that were once hers will be stripped away and they shall all be returned to their rightful owners. His family and him of course. One thing that should be made abundantly clear about Ransom is that he’ll only ever help or get involved when there’s something in it for him. However, he’s not always evil, he has a soft side, it rarely comes out but make no mistake, it’s there alright. 

With his evil plan in place, he heads back home but before he even gets there, he passes a quaint little bar at the side of the road. He could really do with a drink right now. Of course a taxi home will be required but with thousands about to grace his bank account, what’s 10 or more dollars on taxi fairs. Exactly, it’s pittance to him. 

The second he enters, all eyes are on him. All but two. Your eyes. You’re sat at the bar, head in your hands and from what he can see, you’re dressed all fancy. Too fancy for this place that’s for sure. So he makes his way over, noticing the disgusted looks out of the corner of his eye. He’s never been here before, so of course he’s the newbie to all of the regulars.

That then leads to now. 

You turn to face him, your sad eyes meeting his dreamy ones. The only way to describe them. You find yourself on the verge of getting lost before you break the gaze. Nodding towards the barman who slides another shot over to you to which you knock back like it’s nothing before continuing to sip Gin.

Just one look from you and he can see that something isn’t right. 

“What’s got you crying all on your lonesome?”

“More like who” you respond, chuckling as more tears fall.

He opens his mouth to speak but you cut him off “i had the lovely pleasure of being dumped tonight” you muster up your best fake smile, as if somehow acting like everything is okay will suddenly make it all okay for real. But it’s no use, you still feel torn to pieces. Your heart is still on the floor, it’s been stomped on way too many times for you to count on two hands and you’re life is a complete shambles.

He doesn’t love you, Y/N. He doesn’t love you anymore but then again, did he ever? 

“I’m sorry to hear that and for what it’s worth, the guys a jackass for doing that to you”

His comment has your brows furrowing in question. What does he mean by that? But you don’t even get a chance to ask, he can sense your confusion a mile away.

“I just meant that you’re gorgeous. He’s a fool” his nice side coming out to play, he’s never this nice to a woman unless he plans to sleep with her. But this time, it’s different. You’re different. He can never bring himself to pray on you like one of those other girls. Because he can see it, that you’re drained. You’ve had enough. Your ex made a fool of you enough already so who is he to add to that?

“Yeah right, he cheated so i doubt that very much” you snort, knocking back the rest of your drink.

At this point the bartender doesn’t even need you to ask for another, he’s probably realised by now that he should keep them coming. 

“What an asshole” 

Why does he care? He’s just a stranger. But still, you agree with him.

“Yup”

And just like that, a conversation blossoms. 

Drinks flow as you explain the events of tonight and he doesn’t interrupt you. He just lets you speak, it’s almost like he can sense that you just need someone to listen, like all you need is to let out all of your emotions. Even if it is to a complete stranger. 

Who by the way isn’t bad in the looks department. 

Wait. No. You can’t think that. 

Surely it’s fine to think it, just as long as you don’t act on it. Although, you are available now so there would be no harm.

“So let me get this straight. The man took you to dinner for your 4 year anniversary, let you get all dolled up, makeup, hair, nails. The works. Just to break it off with you and tell you he’s met someone else?” his brows raising and you nod, ashamed of how you’ve been treated because ultimately, you really did look like the idiot tonight.

You bought an expensive dress just for this very occasion and you did look the best you’ve ever looked. Radiant and glowing. Your makeup was on point, as was your hair. But now, you’ve got mascara everywhere and you’re way over the line of tipsy.

“I don’t get it. You’re well, you. I mean look at you and he left this for another woman? It makes no sense. There’s no way i’d ever give you up. No chance. No way” the way you feel your cheeks warm at his obvious compliment. You’re almost certain that he’s sweet talking you now. It took him a total of 2 hours. And he finally gave it a go. But you’re not complaining.

“LAST ORDERS” the bartender pulls you from your thoughts. That’s when you turn to look at him, still not knowing the perfect strangers name.

“Um, i guess i should get going” the very sentence makes that sick feeling come back but just like earlier, you push it away, stopping it before it comes spewing out on the bar. There would have been no time to run to the bathroom. 

“I guess i should too” he smiles softly, shrugging his coat on and standing up. 

That’s when the height difference is clear. He towers over you, making you feel small and dainty. 

He gestures for you to head out first and as you glance back over your shoulder, you see him sliding some money to the bartender. No doubt, he paid for all of those drinks that you forgot to even pay for. Fuck.

These heels are way too high and your vision blurs a little as you stumble out the door but before you can even fall to the ground and face plant, he catches you, lifting you up and walking you over to what looks like a taxi.

“Come on you, let’s get you home. Where’d you live?”

Your mind goes blank as you stare at him before muttering “i don’t want to go home, i can’t go home. He’ll be there. Don’t make”

He cuts you off, pulling you closer to him and giving the cabbie his address instead. Wait. His place?

“I guess i should probably tell you my name being as you’re gonna be in my house soon huh?” he chuckles, spurring your own laughing fit. 

“Do tell, mystery man” 

“Ransom”

“I don’t have any money to pay you, not that i need to anyways, just tell me your name”

“No, no. My name is Ransom” his laughter fills your ears.

Strange name. Strange man.

“Surely not” 

“Sure is. Well technically it’s my middle name. But i really can’t reveal anymore than that”

“Well i’m Y/N by the way and can i just say, you smell amazing” ah, the part where you make an utter show of yourself by leaning closer and closer, until your face is inches from his neck. That’s when you inhale really dramatically. Getting a good whiff of his manly scent. It’s intoxicating.

Luckily for you, he takes it all in good humour, probably because you’re drunk. 

The rest of the ride back to his consists of you getting overly touchy, making random comments and with Ransom being the playboy that he is, it’s a real struggle for him not to fuck you here and now. Even in front of the cabbie. It wouldn’t be the worst place he’s fucked.

Yes you’re drunk but your hands are roaming to places they shouldn’t be and now he can feel a situation forming in the shape of a huge hard on.

Not that you notice, you’re too wrapped up in your own drunken state, blissfully unaware.

He can’t fuck you anyway. You’re too drunk. He’ll have to sober you up first.

The taxi comes to a halt and you look out of the windows, noticing a huge house, too posh for the likes of you but clearly fitting for a man like Ransom. He pays the cabbie before getting out. 

You sit there clueless until you feel him scoop you up in his arms. He kicks the the door shut, walking the both of you to his house. He fiddles around in his pocket, holding you up with one arm so that he can open it and put you down on the couch.

“Is this your place?” 

“It is indeed”

“It’s so big”

He lays you down, pointing his index finger in your face as he warns you “stay here, okay? Don’t move”

The child in you starts to emerge, the pout and puppy dog eyes coming out “yes sir”. You salute him and watch him strut away. 

When he returns, his coat is off and he’s just in his white shirt, grey cardigan and his slacks.

“Here, drink this, it’ll help”

“Ew what is this?” your face screws up, disgusted at the taste “are you trying to poison me?”

“It’s just water, don’t be so dramatic. Drink it”

“What if i wanted another drink” 

He just shakes his head disapprovingly. You’re really having none of it and he can’t fuck you like this. He makes it his mission to make sure all the women he’s with can actually remember what’s going on. Plus he needs your consent first. 

“Drink. I won’t tell you again” his scary side showing just a tad but he soon shuts that off, realising how bossy and intimidating he sounds “wait, sorry, i didn’t mean to scare you”

Shouting and confrontation has always scared you. You’ve always had this natural instinct to cower and hide. 

But this time, all you can really do is back up, to the other end of the couch.

“You’re just really drunk and it’s not doing you any good. Especially with everything that you’ve gone through tonight” wow. He’s even surprised himself with that one. 

It’s not that he doesn’t care about you or your feelings because he most certainly does. He’s liked being there for you tonight, even if you did start out as two strangers at a bar. It distracted him from his own drama filled life. But your freaky side was showing on the taxi ride over and it awakened something inside of him.

Not in the way that some may think. Sure he’d love nothing more than to fuck you senseless, make you forget everything even if it’s just for the night but most importantly. He felt something more than just lust when you were touching him. 

And as strange as that is to admit, it felt amazing. Like fucking you wouldn’t just be for the sake of it. You wouldn’t just be another notch on his bed post. It’s almost like his heart knows something that his brain doesn’t know yet.

Eventually he gets you to slowly sip at the water until half of it is gone and then the whole thing. You’re still tipsy but a little better than you were before the water.

“Did you want any food? I could order in? It might help?”

“I mean i did sort of throw my prawn starter at my ex” 

He can’t contain his laughter, leaning back on the couch and throwing a hand over his left boob. You really are hilarious to him. He’s so amused by you and he doesn’t ever want this night to end. Even if it doesn’t end in sex, which it will. He’d be satisfied. 

Something that Ransom Drysdale would never ever think or say. 

“So food then?”

You nod before shaking your head aggressively.

“Actually no. No food. I already feel like i’m going to hurl. Food will just make that worse” 

He seconds that, taking your empty glass from your hands and disappearing to refill it before returning it to you.

“You best drink up then if you aren’t planning to eat”

So you do as he says, stopping after a couple of sips due to your eyes noticing more and more about him that you never noticed before. Like his slicked back hair, his broad shoulders and oh shit. Is that a boner?

It’s gotta be right. 

Your still tipsy self hands him the water for him to place on the coffee table for you and that’s when you do the unexpected. You make your way over to him, sitting way too close. Your bare arms rubbing against the soft and thin material of his cardigan. 

“You alright?” 

The way he acts like he cares, which, he does. It’s soothing, the gentle tone in his voice. The way he’s treating you like you’re glass and he doesn’t want to break you. And he’d be right, because you are delicate. Not your body of course but your heart, your soul, your mind. Not that there’s much left of your heart after Anthony broke it.

“I’m okay, i’ll be better after i get this dress off though” the flirty side of you starts to make an appearance. You look down, twiddling your thumbs as he clears his throat, clearly didn’t expect a comment like that. 

“I guess i could fetch some of my clothes for you to wear?” his suggestion, whilst very cute and gentleman like, isn’t what you were after. And he’s far from a gentleman. You can just tell.

“I don’t think you understood” you turn around, back facing him “i need some help. Please” eyelashes batting as you quickly look over your shoulder at him and seconds later, you feel his hand move your hair to the side. 

The zipper glides down with ease causing the straps to fall down your arms and soon enough. You stand up, letting it fall into a puddle on the floor. Leaving you in nothing but your matching blue laced, bra and panties set. Along with your heels of course. It’s the set that you bought for tonight too. For the sex you never ended up getting.

For the first time ever, Ransom is rendering on speechless, his mouth waters at the most incredible sight in front of him and he can tell from that look in your eyes that you want him. 

Something he never expected to happen so fast. That’s when you sit back down next to him, resting your hand on his thigh.

“You know i should really thank you for tonight”

“Honestly, it was nothing” his words are aimed at you whilst his eyes are fixated on your body, not even trying to hide it from you but you just lap it up. You could use some attention right now. After all, your confidence was knocked with your ex boyfriend’s revelation.

“No, really. It was nice. You’ve been amazing. So let me thank you” but before your lips can touch his, he pulls back. Looking at you as his hand caresses your cheek, staring into your eyes like he’s looking into your soul and you feel close to naked in more ways than one.

That’s when his lips crash to yours in an intense and very heated kiss. As his hands roam around your half naked figure, you position them at the back of your bra, signalling to him that you want him to remove it. Which of course, he does. 

He pulls away for a couple of seconds, taking a moment to look at your breasts. And the way he cups them with his large hands before using his thumb and index fingers to pinch at your now hard nipples, has you moaning into the kiss. Leaving your lips parted just enough for his tongue to slip in, adding to the build up. 

The battle for dominance begins and it goes back and forth between you both, your hunger is very much profound. As is Ransom’s. The moans he’s eliciting are almost porn star like and he’s barely even touched you. But that’s the beauty of it, it feels so good that you’re keening for more. Which earns a low and raspy chuckle.

It doesn’t take long before you’re straddling him, legs either side with your hands cupping his face. His hands rested on your waist, squeezing slightly, almost like he’s making sure you don’t go anywhere. And after the day he’s had. He needs someone, whether he admits it or not. He does. 

But that’s all he’s ever wanted. Is someone. Someone to talk to, someone who will listen and be there. He can’t complain about how that’s not the case though, he’s brought it all on himself. The loneliness, it’s killing him but he chooses to push everyone away. 

His family though, that’s all them. They made him this way. A scheming, money grabbing playboy. It doesn’t mean the facade doesn’t drop once he’s all alone though.

However, it never drops around others. So why is it dropping around you?

“God, i needed this” he pants, in between his kisses that he’s peppering from your lips to your jawline and then your neck. It takes him next to no time at all to find the one spot that drives you insane and when he notices the way your whole body shivers. He smirks, sucking and biting it along with the equal amount of wet kisses.

“Me too. Fuck, right there” you mewl, back arching in his hands as they splay across it before moving down to settle on your panties. His finger traces the top of them, following them as it dips into your ass before giving your ass cheeks a hard smack. 

God if this is how incredible you feel just kissing and touching the man then sex must be a real first place prize.

Just the way he’s handling your body alone is enough to send you over that sweet cliff but you stop it, holding back by pushing his face away from your skin, interrupting the hickey he was clearly in the middle of making.

“I wasn’t done with you, come back here” 

You stop him again “i need you” you whisper frantically, both of your chests rising and falling. Your heart is beating like crazy.

“Patience baby” he winks, standing up with you in his arms, legs wrapped around his waist and your arms holding onto his broad shoulders for support as he carries you up the stairs and into what looks like his room. 

Before you even have time to pause for so much as a second, he throws you to the bed. 

“I wanna take my sweet little time with you” he starts, the bed dips as he gets on it, hovering above you “gonna worship every inch of your body” he lowers himself so that he can kiss your lips, then your jawline, then your neck and then eventually, the valley between your breasts.

“Gonna show you what your worth baby, prove to you that you’re better than that scum who didn’t treat you the way you deserve” also something that’s unlike Ransom. But if there’s one thing he’s a pro at, it’s pleasuring a woman. He knows what the fuck he’s doing. He can talk the talk and walk the walk. Which he’s about to prove to you right now. 

He lowers himself down to your sex, the way the pool is growing more and more is obvious, he can smell it and even see it, the way the light blue material has darkened around your tight hole.

You spread your legs open wider, your way of inviting him in. Of course he accepts. He starts off by pressing a thumb down onto your clit, moving it around in circles and causing you to jolt. You’ve been craving someone, anyone at this point to touch you there. Maybe that should have been a sign that things were doomed with you and Anthony since he’s not touched you in months. Maybe that was a sign you should have seen, a red flag that you were too blind to notice.

“Look at you, so flustered already. God i can’t wait to fuck you” 

“Please” you beg, pathetically.

“Nuh uh baby, i told you i wanna take my time, starting with this pretty little pussy” he hooks his fingers into the hem, using that to pull them down and off of your legs before throwing them behind him, not caring where they land. 

“My oh my, it is a pretty little pussy, isn’t it. God you’re soaked baby, all this for me?”

“All for you” your confirmation leads him to lick his lips before pressing a couple of open mouthed kisses to the inside of your thighs.

“That man is an idiot. But i guess his loss is my gain. Ain’t that right baby” he winks as his kisses get closer and closer to your arousal covered hole. 

“Ransom, plea- OH FUCK” his mouth latches onto your clit, sucking as his tongue flicks across it rapidly. A sensation you’ve never felt before that makes your breathing hitch, your hands run through his locks, no doubt messing them up, not that he’s showing any signs of caring.

All that Ransom cares about right now is making you feel good, making you cum.

“Like this baby? Like my mouth all over you?” his eyes meet yours as he uses his fingers to spread you open so that he can really get a good eyeful “you’re dripping” he murmurs, almost like he’s talking to himself and not to you. He slowly slides one finger in before resuming his attention on your folds and your bundle of nerves. 

“More, i need more. I need you” as flattered as he is by your desperation and need to feel every inch of his thick cock, he has to prepare you. Most of the women he’s been with have never had someone as big as him before, so he always likes to get them ready and you are no exception. 

“Patience baby, you’ll have me. All in good time” 

His raspy voice has you melting alone and the way he’s working you over, slipping a second digit in, should be criminal. How can a man like this be single and alone? It makes no sense. Plus it doesn’t hurt that he’s loaded too. 

It’s a mystery that you’ll be sure to get to the bottom of once you’re done here. 

A third finger is added and he’s curling them all more and more each time he bottoms out, your back arches again, your grip on his hair gets tighter. But he doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t stop. Not even for a second. He’s a man on a mission right now.

The way he’s sucking on your clit, the way his fingers are filling you up and the way he’s slurping at you like a drink is something you’ll never and could never compare to anything you’ve ever experienced. He’s a literal god and he has your walls fluttering around him, your clit pulsating in his mouth.

“Feel the way your squeezing me baby, you gonna cum? Huh? Gonna cum all over my fingers” the pure filth that he’s spewing, is what has you coming face to face with stars. And Ransom can feel the way your hips bucks up into his face, the way your hands keep him locked there until they are pushing him away due to how sensitive you are. He doesn’t budge though.

He just laps at your sex again and again before finally withdrawing his fingers, noticing your slick coating them and dripping down his hand.

“Jesus, looks like somebody made a mess”

You can’t help the way your cheeks warm in embarrassment which he soon puts to bed by stuffing his fingers in his mouth to clean them off. Every last drop. 

That’s when he takes it upon himself to drink directly from you, sticking his tongue into the honey pot, taking everything you have to offer “god so fucking sweet. I can’t get enough baby, tastes so fucking good” 

A flirtatious giggle escapes, your hands covering your mouth but he rips them away.

“Don’t ever feel embarrassed or shy around me” 

“Are you gonna fuck me now?” your teeth bite at your bottom lip as you shiver with the anticipation of what’s to come from him. His silence is deadly but exciting.

“Indeed i am” 

He can most likely hear your heart race as he pulls away, getting off of the bed to undress himself. Starting with his cardigan and shirt. Once it’s off, his abs are revealed, his biceps are huge. You have the biggest urge to kiss him all over that chiseled body, sculpted by some kind of god. He’s gotta be a fantasy.

“But first baby” he trails off, pulling his slacks down and stepping out of them “you’re gonna suck my cock, get it nice and hard with that mouth of yours before i ram it into that tight little cunt” he pulls his boxers down, stepping out of them too and kicking both to the side before stalking closer.

You gulp, your eyes widen... he’s huge. Really huge. Thick too. Does he even need your mouth?

“What’s the matter baby? Is someone intimidated?”

“No” your denial, whilst very cute, isn’t believable. But he’s still going to let you have a go at wrapping that mouth around it.

You scoot off of the bed and fall to your knees, feeling even more dainty than you did before when he was towering over you like a giant. 

“Don’t be shy baby, get to work” 

Your hand wraps around him with your thumb swiping the pre cum that’s oozed out of the slit and you immediately pop your thumb into your mouth. You just want a small taste and as soon as the salty-sweet droplet hits your tongue. You all of a sudden crave more of it.

“Nice?” he asks, cocking a brow up “delicious” you smile, adding to his already blown up ego.

You gradually welcome him into your mouth, opening wider as each inch passes your lips until he’s almost bottomed out. That’s when you open wider and his tip hits the back of your throat making you gag, saliva dripping from the corners of your mouth.

“You look so good taking all of me in that mouth, bet you’ll look even better when you’re taking me in that cunt”

Is he trying to kill you with his dirty talk? Most likely.

He’s a different man to the guys you normally go for. Maybe that’s where you’ve gone wrong. You’ve let yourself settle for mediocre sex, mediocre relationships and maybe that’s why you’ve never been truly happy, like happy to your very core. You’ve never fully believed that you deserve the world. Never known your worth.

He grips the sides of your head, stilling your movements so his can begin and he doesn’t go easy. His thrusts have you making an even bigger mess, more saliva dripping down from your face to the floor. He’s loving every second of it though. But soon enough, just as quick as he started, he stops. Pulling out and looking at you, content with what he sees. 

“God you’re fucking beautiful like this, on your knees for me like a good girl. Get on the bed baby” you do as you’re told, sprawling out on the bed and waiting for him to join which of course he does. As soon as he gets a condom out, taking it from the wrapper and sliding it down his shaft. Size XL. You spy before he tosses the wrapper into the bin. 

“You ready?” he asks, resting his tip between your legs and lowering his body so that he can slide his arms underneath your shoulder blades. His face inches from yours. 

“Please, i need you now” and with that he slides home, not stopping to let you adjust to every inch as it comes. You can feel your pussy stretching, the way it stings slightly but it also feels incredible. It’s bliss. 

“S’tight baby and s’warm. Feel that pussy stretching around my cock” 

Your eyes roll back as your head lolls to the side, presenting your neck to him and giving him the opportunity to finish what he started earlier, which of course he does. 

And the second is lips are on your skin, his pace picks up and the pain turns to pleasure. You feel him so deep inside of you that you just know if he were to pull out that you’d feel emptier than ever.

“God, yes. Ransom. Fuck” your legs wrap tight around his waist, forcing him in even deeper if that’s possible at all but still you do it. Wanting nothing more than to feel as much of him as physically possible.

So you wrap your arms around him, your fingers tracing shapes on his back, causing him to shiver and growl loudly “fucking take this cock baby, take it like a good girl” he starts, adjusting his pace from fast and rough to slow and hard. Ramming in each time he speaks “such a good girl” thrust “loving every inch of this cock huh?” thrust “god this pussy” thrust “is gonna have me cumming way too quick” thrust.

“I can’t have that now can i?” that’s when he shocks you, flipping you over so that you’re on top “ride me baby, show daddy what you got” the nickname he uses for himself has your walls spasming, catching his attention.

“Oh you like that huh? Such a dirty girl for daddy, aren’t you?”

“Yes daddy” despite never using that in the bedroom before, it feels weirdly satisfying, having him refer to himself as daddy and seeing how he gets when you call him that too, the way his mouth hangs open, the way his cock twitches. 

It’s something you’ll never forget.

You start off by collapsing onto his chest, your breasts pushed up against his pecs as you slowly lift your ass up before sinking back down onto him, earning a hiss. 

“Yeah just like that, make daddy proud baby” so you do, you go again. And again. And again. Getting quicker each time until you’re a pro at it. You then sit up, continuing to bounce up and down, grinding as he bottoms out, with his initial instructions of course. He guides you through it and before he even tries to help a second time, he takes his hands away, noticing how you’re doing it all by yourself.

Grinding like the whore he’s turned you into. You can’t help the confidence beaming off of you as you go to work, slamming yourself down on his cock eagerly. You need that sweet release now more than ever, as does he.

“That’s it baby, make yourself cum” 

The best pout and puppy dog eyes make a return “fuck me. Please daddy” and who is he to say no to you?

“You’re gonna be the death of me i swear” he flips you over again, keeping himself seated deep inside of you as his pace turns animalistic. 

“Mhmm, give it to me, i’m gonna cum” you plead, not that he’d ever deny you a mind blowing orgasm in the first place as it’s clear you’ve never had one like the one he’s about to give you.

“Bet he could never fuck like this huh? Make you moan like a fucking porn star for him. Gonna have your legs shaking baby, hold on to me” 

So you do. 

Your grip tightens around his neck. 

With every hit to your g-spot, he nudges you closer until yet again, stars cloud your vision and your toes curl. Your back arches up so that you’re chest to chest and you cum with a shaky and satisfied cry. He doesn’t stop though, plowing into you to chase his own release. Your legs are most definitely shaking.

Your walls continue to clamp down on him, spurring it on. 

“God i’m gonna cum”

“Cum for me daddy” is all he needed to hear to go crazy and that’s when he spasms himself. His thick seed filling the condom and his thrusts get slower and harder. Riding both of your highs out. 

Your breathing is heavy, your heart beat is out of control but you feel complete. 

You’ve never experienced anything like that before. 

He pulls out, disposing of the condom and rushing into the en suit for a second before returning with a wash cloth. He uses it to clean you up, taking his time and making sure to be extra careful with you. You try to prop yourself up on your elbow but struggle due to him fully ruining your body.

“Just relax baby, let me take care of everything” he presses a couple of kisses to your thighs and then your stomach, pausing to throw the wash cloth into the hamper before making his way back up to your lips.

He lays down next to you, pulling you into his side and draping an arm around your body so you lay your head down on his chest.

“So” you both say at the same time, causing a laughing fit to erupt.

“That was certainly an experience” 

“I told you that i was gonna worship you and i think you can agree i delivered” 

“You did more than just deliver Ransom”

“Please do tell me more” he laughs, stroking your hair.

“How on earth are you single?” the question that’s been on your mind since you and him got talking at the bar. He’s acted in a way that not many men do these days, it’s hard to believe no ladies are lining up to be with him.

Plus his dick and head game is A-1.

“I’m single more by choice than anything else”

“How come?” you feel bad for asking but surely if you were over stepping the line then he’d say.

“I mean, my family life hasn’t always been the best. I’ve learnt to not trust anyone that i’m related to and growing up with parents that just chucked money at stuff to solve it. If i was upset then it was always take this money, go shopping. Or if i needed my mother for girl advice it always lead to my dad telling me i should never trust women which is rich seeing as he cheats on my mom all the time”

It’s quite sad actually, a man that seems to have it all together, is clearly broken inside.

“I’m sorry, that’s awful. I’m guessing that’s why you’re single then, why you choose to keep away from dating”

“Yup. I prefer to just fuck with no strings attached. It’s easier, I don’t have to do anything other than make them cum. I’m not filled with pressure to be the perfect boyfriend. I can just relax but sometimes it gets lonely”

“How’d you mean? Sorry if i’m prying” you rest your head on your hands as you look up at him, his finger tracing shapes on your back now.

“It’s fine honestly, don’t sweat it. I guess the best way to explain it is that i can have all this money from my grandfather, all the cars, girls and friends in the world but i can’t trust any of them enough to let them see me when i’m laying in bed at night. The times when i just want someone to hold, someone to hold me, tell them about my day, hear about theirs. Someone to wake up next to and fall asleep next to. But whenever a woman gets even remotely close to me in a way that is too deep. I back off, i give her the cold shoulder and just ghost. I get freaked out because to me, there’s nothing scarier than someone seeing all of me, the good, the bad and the ugly”

It takes you just a second to realise, he’s just bared his soul to you. After saying that he backs off whenever a woman gets too close. After saying that he struggles to trust. That he’s scared of being himself around someone. He’s just been himself around you. And you have no doubt that he feels comfortable enough with you to do that so that’s gotta count for something, surely.

“I get it. It’s hard. Loving someone is easy but allowing them to love you, that’s the scary part. Because ultimately when you let someone in enough to let them love you whole heartedly it opens you up to the chance of heartbreak i mean, look at my life”

You both laugh a little “It’s not even just regular heartbreak, it’s the fear of being cheated on, having my trust shattered. Having someone use me for my family’s money”

“Well, for what it’s worth. I think you need to just bite the bullet, let that guard down. How do you ever expect to find what you want and need if you’re not willing to open yourself up to it. It’s a risk that is worth it sometimes, that eventually, all the heartaches will lead to something greater or someone. Someone that will accept every flaw you have and be there regardless of how messy things can get”

Ransom is just so relaxed right now, he feels at peace, at ease with you. The way you’re listening. Your head rested on his chest, letting him hold you and giving him proper responses, it shows you’re paying attention, you want to be there for him. He’s completely taken back by you. How could anyone want to cheat and leave you, it’ll always remain a mystery to him.

You’re like this ray of light, that came into his life tonight out of the blue. Someone who’s hurting too but somehow you amazing him with the sunshine you provide. You’re everything he’s always wanted in a girlfriend but he’s spent years pushing girls just like you to the side due to fear. Only difference is, he’s able to be himself with you. With them, he could never.

His body lets go as he turns on his side, turning you with him so that he’s cuddling you from behind.

“You’re right. I’ll get there eventually. I just, i need time”

Your silent for a while, taking his words in before you speak.

“Seems like you don’t need any time at all”

That’s when you hear quiet snores from behind you, he’s dozing. And after a couple of minutes, you decide that it’s probably time you see yourself out, you never wanna over stay your welcome and right now with him asleep, you already have.

But before you can even get off the bed, you need to remove his hand from around your frame. Which isn’t going to be easy considering you have to try not to wake him up.

You succeed, finally managing to scoot over to the edge of the bed. But that’s when you hear his tired groans, followed by a hand to your wrist.

“Don’t leave me” his voice is laced with worry

“What?”

“Everyone leaves me” his words break your heart all over again, you’ve been left before and you’re not about to do this to him. Besides, it’s not like you wanted to, you just didn’t think he was the type to want you here all night.

“I didn’t think you’d want me to be here when you woke up”

“Well, you thought wrong. Come back and cuddle, don’t leave like everyone else does”

It doesn’t take much more to convince you to crawl back into his arms. He presses a couple of kisses to your shoulder as you get under the covers with him. Then the kisses move to your cheek and eventually, your lips.

“I’m here to stay then i guess”

“Good”

You feel warm and happy somehow in his arms, like everything has gone away, even if it’s just temporarily.

“Goodnight” 

“Goodnight Ransom. sweet dreams” something you’ve always said throughout your whole life. It’s a nice thing to say and it has him smiling into one last kiss before he closes his eyes for the night.

---------------------------

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[likecastle]

In which Jaskier cuts Geralt’s hair

Well, folks, I was inspired by Geralt’s slightly wavier wig in the new S2 promo photos to write a story in which Geralt finally gets some proper haircare and it brings out his natural curl pattern. This somehow turned into 7,000 words of Geralt musing about his own terrible self-image and Jaskier tenderly negotiating a haircut.

Credit for Geralt’s 3-in-1 shower products goes to @exrayspex​, with my thanks for their enthusiasm about this exceedingly soft concept!  

I’d like to put this up on AO3 at some point, but the title has me stumped, so if anyone has a suggestion, please let me know.

“When are you going to let me cut your hair?”

Geralt snorts, incredulous. “I’m not.”

Jaskier fixes Geralt with a pleading look. The streaks of peacock blue Jaskier recently added to his hair really bring out the color of his eyes—all the better to beguile him with. “Come on, Geralt, don’t you trust me?”

“No,” Geralt says, trying without much luck to keep his attention on the TV screen. Suddenly he has to fight the urge to tuck a stray strand of his hair behind his ear.

“It would look so nice if you just took proper care of it,” Jaskier wheedles.

“It doesn’t need to look nice.” Geralt can feel his shoulders creeping up towards his ears, and he wishes Jaskier would look at something else besides him. “It’s just hair.”

“But—”

Geralt jabs the remote in the direction of the TV. “Are you going to let me watch this or do you want to go home?”

“Fine, you grouch,” Jaskier says, returning his attention to the screen.

It must not hold Jaskier’s interest, though, because he can feel Jaskier’s gaze returning to him periodically throughout the rest of the film—which in itself isn’t all that unusual, since Jaskier watches even movies he really likes with one eye on his phone. Except that when Geralt meets his gaze, Jaskier’s looking at him with a wistful, almost sad expression. Geralt doesn’t let himself wonder what might be on his mind.

Later, Jaskier yawns wide and says he’d better be going if he doesn’t want to fall asleep at the wheel on the way home. It’s just a dramatic excuse not to help clean up, Geralt knows, but he can’t help smiling at the way Jaskier rubs at his eyes, smudging the faded remnants of his eyeliner. Geralt walks him to the door, and for a moment Jaskier just stands there on the porch, looking at Geralt thoughtfully.

When his hand reaches up, Geralt freezes. He thinks for a moment that Jaskier’s about to cup his cheek and drawn him down—but he just takes a strand of frizzy hair that’s come loose from Geralt’s ponytail and twists it around a finger.

“I thought so,” Jaskier says, with a private little smile.

Geralt’s sure Jaskier must be able to hear the way his breath’s gotten jammed up in his chest. “Thought—?”

“Nothing.” Jaskier digs his hands into the pockets of his jacket and starts down the front steps. “G’night, Geralt.”

As Geralt tidies away their takeout containers and empty beer bottles, his mind keeps wandering back to Jaskier’s offer. He knows Jaskier’s just trying to be nice—or trying to fix him, the way he tried to “liven up” Geralt’s wardrobe early in their friendship and tried to set him up on dates after he split up with Yen last year. But the options he tries to push on Geralt—the overpriced bomber jacket Jaskier bought him that’s still sitting at the back of his closet, the gorgeous chestnut-haired nurse Jaskier introduced him to—always seem to reflect more about Jaskier’s idea of Geralt than they do about Geralt himself.

Because the thing is, he’s not brash and stylish like Jaskier, who’s all eccentric colors combinations and flashing rings that accentuate his expressive hands. Jaskier knows how to construct an outfit that tells the world exactly who he is at any given moment, from his ever-evolving hairstyles to his painstakingly-sourced vintage clothes. Geralt, on the other hand, is just—nothing, an absence of style. His idea of a good outfit is one he can forget he’s wearing, one that will make everyone else forget him when he’s wearing it. His relationship to his appearance is as estranged as his relationship to his ex-wife. Being in his body, making use of it when he’s lifting weights or hammering a nail or swinging Ciri up in his arms—that makes sense to him. But thinking about his body is the opposite of that. He doesn’t like being looked at, even by himself. He avoids the mirror on his medicine cabinet as much as he can and starts feeling close and queasy if he so much as looks at himself in a dressing room mirror.

Before he goes to bed that night, he shakes his hair out from his ponytail and makes himself take a long, hard look in the mirror. All he sees is the sallow, tired-eyed face of a man who can hardly remember how to smile anymore, a face scarred from carelessness and creased from years of worry. His dull white hair, which Jaskier had twisted so carefully around his finger, is somehow greasy and dried out at the same time, limp around his face but bristly at the ends. He can’t find any sign of the potential Jaskier seems to think is there. He suspects it was never there in the first place—a mirage visible only to well-intentioned flatterers like Jaskier—and he feels foolish for looking.

No, Geralt decides, he’s not going to let Jaskier cut his hair, or do anything else to him. Better not to bother at all.

*

The next time the topic of Geralt’s hair comes up, he’s brought Ciri into Jaskier’s salon for an emergency haircut. Ordinarily, Yennefer handles things like haircuts and clothes shopping, but Saturday night, Ciri emerged from the bathroom with the front her hair lopped off somewhere around her eyebrows and a dawning expression of anxious regret on her face. Geralt had reassured her that everything would be OK, while texting Jaskier frantically for help and silently panicking about what Yen was going to say when she came to pick Ciri up on Sunday night. Thankfully, Jaskier was able to squeeze Ciri into his schedule this afternoon, and he promised to fix Ciri up.

So now Geralt is sitting awkwardly in the waiting area, hunched on a squeaky vinyl-upholstered chair. He’s been to Jaskier’s salon plenty of times—to meet him for lunch or a post-shift drink, to drop off something he left at the house or to give him a ride home—but he rarely does more than stand uneasily just inside the door. The relentless pop music and the echoing acoustics never fail to overwhelm him, as does the muddle of scents—clouds of different hair products and the pervasive smell of something sharp like ammonia. The abundance of mirrors unnerves him, too. Nobody can possibly need to see so many views of their own reflection, can they? Between the curious patrons peering at him in the mirrors and passersby staring in through the plate glass storefront, Geralt feels like he’s on display. And to make matters worse, he keeps catching glimpses of his reflection, his own hunted expression looking back at him from unexpected angles.

Ciri, at least, is having a great time, chatting happily with Jaskier as he snips away at her hair. The last time Geralt took Ciri for a haircut, it was at one of those children’s salons where the chairs looked like toy cars, and now here she is, sitting beside grown women almost like she’s one of them. It scares him, sometimes, to think of her growing up—more than sometimes. There are so many ways the world can fail her, and he can only do so much to protect her. There’s going to come a time when she’s going to get into some kind of trouble he won’t be able to bail her out of, and he’s not sure what he’s going to do with himself when that day comes. But for now, at least he can pay Jaskier to fix her disastrous home-brew haircut.

“What d’you think, Dad?” Ciri calls, and he looks up to see Jaskier removing her cape with a flourish. When he turns Ciri’s chair around to face him, Geralt’s heart catches in his throat. How grown up she looks, he thinks, but what really makes his chest ache is how much she’s coming into herself—becoming someone with her own unique taste in clothes and books and music, who won’t compromise about the bullshit dress codes at school and is brave enough to try something new even if the results are atrocious. He doesn’t know where she gets it.

“You like it?” he asks, not trusting himself to say something that won’t embarrass her.

“Yeah, I guess,” she says with a shrug, and hops down from the chair.

“We could do yours next, Geralt,” Jaskier offers, sweeping up the little blonde fragments of Ciri’s hair from the floor around his station.

“Ooh, yeah!” Ciri grins up at him. “I bet Jaskier would give you a really cool haircut.”

“I’m sure he would,” Geralt says mildly. He doesn’t want to quash Ciri’s enthusiasm or impart his own discomfort to her. It’s one of the things that keeps him up at night, the fear that he’ll pass down all his insecurities. He tries so hard to keep that shit buttoned up, to shield her from his own shortcomings—and he knows it’s inevitable that he’s just going to mess her up in other ways, but he wants to do better for her, has to do better. “Maybe some other time.”

“So you’ll consider it!” Jaskier says triumphantly, coming over to tell the receptionist the total for Ciri’s cut.

Geralt notices Ciri looking at herself in the big mirror behind the front desk, fussing self-consciously with her new fringe. Jaskier must notice, too, because he gives Ciri a big hug and says, “You look great, kiddo. Right, Geralt?”

“Definitely,” Geralt says, surrendering his credit card to the receptionist to pay a frankly staggering amount. He tips a hundred percent.

*

“You should take him up on it,” Yennefer says that evening when Geralt concludes the story of Ciri’s haircut by telling her about Jaskier’s offer to cut Geralt’s hair.

Geralt blinks in surprise. “Really?”

She glances back to where Ciri is waiting for her in the car. “Jaskier did a good job. She and I are going to have a serious conversation later about when to ask for permission and when to ask for forgiveness, but I have to admit it suits her.”

“It does,” Geralt agrees. He realizes he doesn’t know what it would be like, to feel his appearance suited him. He’s never tried, really, to make his exterior reflect his interior, wouldn’t even know where to begin.

“Besides,” Yennefer says, gesturing to his haphazard ponytail, “you really do need to start taking better care of yourself, now that I’m not around to make sure you’re presentable anymore.”

Geralt’s eyebrows shoot up, a smile twitching his lips. “Is that what you were doing? Looking after me?”

Yennefer lifts one hand to tug a lock of his hair, the gesture so similar to Jaskier’s that it makes him shiver, for some reason. “No, but somebody ought to.”

He ducks his head, hoping to hide the ache that washes through him—a longing for something they both wanted but never quite managed to find together. “If you keep Ciri waiting much longer, she’s gonna make a break for it.”

“She would, too,” Yennefer says affectionately. “Take care of yourself, Geralt.” She surprises him by brushing a kiss against his cheek, then turns to go.

Geralt waits until Yennefer’s car is out of sight before he goes inside. As he loads the dinner dishes into the dishwasher, he thinks again about Jaskier’s offer. He’s never been good at asking for things, let alone holding on them once he has them, but it’s been especially hard since he and Yennefer split—even the littlest things feel like they require an effort it’s not worth making. It’s so easy to tell himself he doesn’t need anything—a fancy haircut, a new jacket, a reassuring glance, a gentle touch. But sometimes, maybe, it’s enough to want them.

Wiping soapy water off his hands, Geralt pulls his phone from his pocket and texts Jaskier. Does your offer to cut my hair still stand? Only if you’ve got time.

OMG YES!!! comes the immediate reply. I can be there in 20. Then, a moment later, Jaskier amends, Shit wait make that 40 need to run to get some supplies

Geralt huffs out a laugh. Have to get up early tomorrow. This weekend?

All booked up this weekend but I’m off on Tues so I can come over to your place in the pm if that works for you

He’d hoped to give himself a few days to cancel, just in case he changes his mind, and in this respect Tuesday’s almost no better than forty minutes from now. But he does like the idea of doing this at home, instead of in the salon. He types out OK and hits send before he can think better of it.

Don’t chicken out before then

No promises, Geralt answers.

Jaskier responds with a string of emoji that Geralt finds completely inscrutable, but which make him smile nonetheless.

*

Jaskier arrives on Tuesday evening with a six-pack of cold beer and bag crammed full of supplies.

“I thought you were going to cut my hair, not outlast a siege,” Geralt says, trying to ignore the way his stomach twists with nerves over this impending ordeal. He should have cancelled. He should never have said yes to this ridiculous idea.

“Oh, none of this would be remotely useful in warfare,” Jaskier replies. Then, contemplatively, he says, “Well, maybe some of it. But first, I thought we could have a drink.”

“So you can cut my hair drunk?” Geralt asks.

Jaskier rolls his eyes and brushes past Geralt into the kitchen, dumping his bag into an empty chair at the table. “So you can relax a little for once. And so we can talk.”

Geralt feels the knot of anxiety in his stomach tighten even further. “What is there to talk about? It’s just a haircut.”

Jaskier lets out a long-suffering sigh as he rummages around in Geralt’s cutlery drawer in search of a bottle opener. “Geralt, have you not listened to a single word I’ve said about my job?” He pops off the caps of two bottles of beer and hands one to Geralt. “No, don’t answer that, I know you haven’t.”

Geralt takes a sullen sip of his beer, but he doesn’t dispute the accusation.

With a nod of his head, Jaskier gestures for Geralt to follow him into the living room, and flops down on what Geralt has come to think of as his side of the couch. Geralt sits at the other end, turned to face him. “You need to know what you want going into this, or you won’t get good results.” Jaskier fixes him with a gaze that makes Geralt take another swallow of his beer. “Have you ever given any thought to what you like, or don’t like, about your hair?”

“Not . . . really,” Geralt mumbles, wondering how angry Jaskier would be if he called this whole thing off now.

“Well,” Jaskier says patiently, “why do you keep your hair long? I always assumed it was because you liked how it looked, but I’m realizing now I’ve never asked about it.”

Geralt takes another sip of his beer and tries to think of answer that’s not Because I do. He’s worn it long since high school, when it was primarily something to hide behind. It felt like a kind of fuck-you, an off-putting choice to keep people from looking too closely at him—and to help him forget about other people, too. “It’s easier,” he says finally. “Don’t have to get it cut every few weeks, and I can keep it out of my face.”

“OK, that’s good to know.” The calm, encouraging tone Jaskier’s taking should feel condescending, but Geralt finds he doesn’t mind—or maybe it’s just the beer starting to relax him a little.

“You don’t always tie it back, though, do you?” Jaskier goes on.

Geralt shakes his head. “When I’m working, yeah, but the rest of the time . . .” He shrugs. It depends—on who he’s around, how comfortable he feels with them, hell, how hard the wind is blowing. Sometimes he can’t stand the feeling of it in face, and sometimes the pressure of the hair elastic at the base of his skull is enough to make him want to rip it out.

“Can I . . . ?” Jaskier gestures to Geralt’s hair, and Geralt inclines his head. It’s inevitable that Jaskier will have to touch him if they’re going to go through with this, so there’s no point in being shy about it. Jaskier scoots forward on the couch, and Geralt holds very still, letting him reach back and undo the tie holding his hair back. A sheet of frizzy white strands spills around his bowed head, almost obscuring Jaskier from view.

He can feel Jaskier, though, running his fingers through his hair. The touch makes Geralt’s scalp tingle and a shiver runs through him that he tries and fails to suppress.

“OK?” Jaskier asks, and Geralt nods.

“You’ve never told me when you went grey.” Jaskier’s voice is hushed, almost as if he’s afraid of startling him. He continues to card his hand through Geralt’s hair—with professional curiosity, Geralt realizes, but the touch is so gentle it also feels like a reassurance. Geralt closes his eyes, grateful to be shielded from Jaskier’s view.

“Started in high school,” he says. It’s been a long time since he thought about how, when those first thick streaks of white were coming into his dark hair, kids at school would call him skunk and Cruella de Vil, shit he knew better than to respond to but that just made him even more self-conscious. It occurs to him now that most of his memories of being looked at—really noticed—are colored by other people’s derision for things he can’t help. “It was all like this by the time I was twenty-one, twenty-two. Someone told me once it’s genetic, but . . .” He shrugs again. He’s got no one to ask about a family history of premature graying, no photos of distant relatives to compare himself to.

Gentle fingers tuck his hair back behind one ear, and Geralt looks up to see Jaskier smiling at him. “I would pay good money to see pictures of you in high school. I bet you were so surly.”

“You wouldn’t have liked me,” Geralt says “I was insufferable.” Miserable and ungrateful and roiling with self-righteous anger all the time, hardly able to string a civil sentence together.

Jaskier rewards him with a snort of disbelieving laughter. “You’re insufferable now and I like you just fine.”

This is true, Geralt thinks. His anger has banked down somewhat since those days, but he’s no less difficult to be around, and Jaskier’s never seemed to mind his rough edges. If he’s being honest, he wouldn’t have been able to appreciate Jaskier in those day. His constant talking and absurd jokes would have grated on Geralt’s nerves, back then. They did when he first met Jaskier, in fact. He tried, for a long time, to keep his distance, sure that there was nothing he and Jaskier could possibly have to say to each other. But Jaskier kept turning up, kept surprising him, kept being kind to him for no damn reason. Geralt’s glad he did.

“So,” Jaskier says, pushing the conversation back in his desired direction, as he always does, “what I’m hearing is, you like wearing your hair long?”

Geralt considers, taking another swallow of his beer. Liking doesn’t figure into his thinking much, but it’s not just out of habit that he keeps it this way. “Yeah.”

Jaskier’s nod is solemn. “Anything you don’t like about it?”

Again, Geralt has to give this serious thought. “There are, uh . . .” He gestures to the wiry flyaways that tend to form around his head by the end of the day. They tend to tickle his face unpleasantly as he works, which is irritating when he doesn’t hand a hand free to brush them away.

“Yeah, it’s a little dry,” Jaskier says. “But we can fix that up.” Geralt knows exactly how soft Jaskier’s hair is, and he can’t imagine his own ragged hair could ever come close. “Anything else?”

Geralt shrugs.

“OK,” Jaskier says, “enough with the interrogation. I think I’ve got everything I need.”

Jaskier gets up and retrieves another beer—not for himself, but for Geralt. Jaskier’s fingers brush his as he hands over the bottle, and it gives him the same little shiver that he felt when Jaskier was combing through his hair. “D’you want me to tell you what I’m thinking, or just surprise you?”

Geralt’s gut instinct is to make Jaskier tell him what he’s got in mind, so that he has the option to veto it and put this whole thing to a stop. But he thinks of Jaskier’s teasing question the first time they talked about this—Don’t you trust me?—and how he’d said no when the answer is really yes. So he takes a deep pull of his beer and says, “Surprise me.”

The look of glee on Jaskier’s face is worth the knot of dread that immediately forms in Geralt’s stomach. He takes another drinks and reminds himself that it’s just hair. It’ll grow back.

“You’re not gonna regret it, I promise,” Jaskier says, and then his warm hands are urging Geralt up and off the couch.

It takes them a while to get everything situated to Jaskier’s liking—the bathroom is too cramped to accommodate a chair, so Jaskier has Geralt drag one into the kitchen, covering the floor in newspapers to catch the stray clippings. Then Jaskier sends Geralt to wash his hair while he sets up the rest of his supplies. When Geralt comes back downstairs, his hair soaking into his t-shirt, there is a truly staggering array of equipment spread out on the counter, Jaskier’s own little traveling apothecary kit, with everything from dangerously sharp scissors to brightly-colored bottles of product to some kind of instrument that looks like a bowl full of dull spikes, which Jaskier says attaches to his hair dryer.

“Rule number one,” Jaskier says, grabbing the towel out of Geralt’s hands. “No more regular towels on your hair. Your hair deserves to be treated with care.” Geralt snorts, but the towel he hands Geralt is pleasantly soft, with finer knap that’s soft as fleece in his hands. “And don’t rub at it,” Jaskier scolds. He steps closer, wrapping his hands around Geralt’s to guide him, his hand moving in a gentle squeezing motion. “That’s good,” he says, and Geralt feels his cheeks flush.

Once Geralt’s hair is toweled dry, Jaskier maneuvers him into the chair, and combs out his hair with a wide-toothed comb. Jaskier is exceedingly careful not to yank on the knots, but even so the gentle tug sets his skin tangling. Geralt knows his scalp is sensitive—he can remember fighting back tears while Vesemir struggled to brush out his unruly hair as a kid—but it’s never felt like this before. Of course, that might have something to do with the fact that ordinarily, when he finally breaks down and subjects himself to a trim, he just asks Eskel do come over and cut it with the kitchen scissors. Even with someone he trusts as profoundly as he does Eskel, it’s still an uncomfortable ordeal that makes him unaccountably tense. But this isn’t painful, or unnerving at all. It’s . . . nice, embarrassingly so. He can’t help wondering what it would feel like if Jaskier were to drag his nails along his scalp—and then he has to force himself not to think about it, because even the thought of the sensation sends a shudder through him.

Thankfully, Jaskier is busy fiddling with his phone, and a moment later he puts on a playlist he likes to call Geralt’s Sad Dad Rock mix. Geralt appreciates the background noise—familiar songs he can tune out if he wants to, quiet enough that the music’s not intrusive.

“OK,” Jaskier says, snapping a cape around Geralt’s throat. His hand comes to rest on Geralt’s shoulder and he leans in to speak almost directly into Geralt’s ear. “Ready?”

Geralt suppresses another chill and says, “As I’ll ever be.”

Jaskier gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze and gets to work. Geralt’s grateful for the lack of mirrors, because it means he doesn’t have to see what Jaskier’s doing, but at the same time it leaves him without much to go on—just the touch of the comb, Jaskier’s hands carefully repositioning his head, his fingers pulling this or that lock of hair taut to snip at them with the scissors. Eventually, Geralt closes his eyes and lets Jaskier’s voice wash over him. Jaskier often accuses Geralt of not listening to him when he talks, but in truth it’s easy to get lost in the lilting cadence of his speech, like hearing a song but not its lyrics.

“. . . and the thing is,” Jaskier’s saying, though Geralt lost the thread of his rambling long ago, “the more you do it, the better your results will be. You just have to help them along . . .”

He can see why Jaskier’s clients like him so much, how nice it is to fall into the pattern of someone else’s words, especially when that someone has as nice a voice as Jaskier. He’s often grateful for Jaskier’s conversation, which fills silences Geralt didn’t even realize were empty until he came along.

When Jaskier says, “OK, you’re all done,” Geralt is surprised by how quickly the time has passed. “We can just leave it at that and just let it air dry, or . . .” Even though he can’t see Jaskier, he can picture the hopeful expression on his face.

“What?” Geralt asks, twisting around in the chair to look Jaskier in the eye.

Jaskier bites his bottom lip, looking almost nervous. “Or I could show you how to style it. If you wanted. Nothing over the top, I promise.”

Geralt thinks it over. On the one hand, there’s no way he’ll ever bother repeating anything Jaskier shows him how to do, but on the other hand, he wouldn’t mind having Jaskier’s hands on him a little longer. “All right.”

“Really?” Jaskier’s eyes go wide. “Nope, never mind, I’m not gonna second-guess this. No take-backs! You’re committed now.”

Which is how Geralt finds himself being hustled back upstairs and into the bathroom. Jaskier pulls back the shower curtain and is about to start issuing instructions when he lets out a squawk and staggers backward.

Geralt looks around in alarm, expecting to see a giant spider in the tub. It’s only belatedly that he realizes he’s thrown an arm out in front of Jaskier, as if that will protect him from whatever nonexistent threat he was reacting to. “What?”

“Geralt, for shame!” Jaskier exclaims, pointing to the bottle of 3-in-1 shampoo/conditioner/body wash on the edge of the tub. “Is that yours?” He says it with all the breathless horror of someone discovering a murder weapon.

“Uh . . .” Geralt has the distinct feeling he should try to deny it, but there’s no point in trying to pretend. “Yes?”

And then Jaskier is laughing, but it’s warm with delight, not mocking or cruel. In fact, he looks up at Geralt with such fondness that Geralt almost can’t bear it. “Oh, you poor man,” Jaskier says between gusts of laughter. “No wonder your hair is so dry!”

“. . . It’s efficient,” Geralt mutters in a half-hearted attempt to defend himself.

“It’s like washing your hair with dish soap. But don’t worry,” he adds, pressing a hand to Geralt’s chest, “I’ll get you sorted out and then your hair will be so soft it’ll be completely irresistible.”

“Hmm,” Geralt says dubiously, but Jaskier just grins at him.

“OK, this next part is going to be a little awkward. Ordinarily you’d do it by yourself in the shower, but I’m gonna take a wild guess and say you’d rather not jump in the shower with me right now.”

Geralt very much does not acknowledge the wave of heat that rolls through him at the thought.  “Probably wouldn’t fit, anyway.”

“Eh, I’ve made it work in smaller spaces than this,” Jaskier says, with such casual confidence that Geralt’s mouth goes dry. “But luckily, you’ve got one of those detachable showerheads, so we should be just fine. Might be easier, though, if you, uh, take off your shirt off.”

Geralt’s already come this far, and, besides, it’s not like Jaskier hasn’t seen him without his shirt on before. As Geralt strips off his shirt, Jaskier puts a towel down on the floor and beckons him to kneel down at the edge the tub. He’s careful to get the water to a comfortable temperature before he puts a warm hand on Geralt’s bare back, guiding him to lean over, his head bowed.

The routine Jaskier directs him through is more complicated than Geralt could ever have anticipated. There’s a thick, dark purple shampoo that Jaskier instructs him to use only once a week—he has another shampoo he’ll give Geralt to use at other times, but really, Jaskier insists, he should only be washing his hair a couple of times a week, anyway. Jaskier shows him how to rub the shampoo into his scalp only and let the water draw it down through the rest of his hair. The pressure of the spray on his scalp makes his skin tingle, as does the press of Jaskier’s body against his side. When Geralt doesn’t apply the conditioner to Jaskier’s liking, he adjusts Geralt’s hands with his own, smoothing their joined fingers through Geralt’s slippery hair. And when it comes time to rinse the conditioner out, he shows Geralt how to cup the water in his palms and press it into the wet mass of his hair.

“You’re doing great,” Jaskier tells him, and Geralt is grateful his face is hidden behind ropes of his wet hair.

Finally, Jaskier pronounces himself satisfied and turns off the water. Now that they’re done the task of washing his hair, Geralt’s awkwardly aware of his chest dripping with water in the cool air of the bathroom—and of Jaskier standing less than an arm’s length away from him.

Jaskier, on the other hand, is nothing but professional, rubbing a series of products into his hands and then smoothing them over Geralt’s hair. After each application, he gathers Geralt’s hair in his hands and presses it up toward Geralt’s scalp, just like they did with the water. It’s a bizarre motion, like nothing Geralt’s ever seen before, but it seems to be having the desired effect, because the strands of hair hanging down in front of his face are slowly forming into thick coils, and Jaskier keeps making little satisfied humming sounds with each new application. Jaskier finishes by wrapping Geralt’s hair up in another one of those extra soft towels.

“And now we wait,” he says, hopping up onto the sink.

Geralt pulls his shirt on again, careful not to disturb the towel on his head, and he might be wrong but he thinks that he catches a little disappointed frown cross Jaskier’s face, but it’s gone before he can be sure.

“Thanks for indulging me,” Jaskier says. “I know you don’t really like this kind of stuff, but I’m having a great time.”

“It’s not as bad as I thought it would be,” Geralt replies. But that sounds worse than it did in his head, and he hastens to add, “I mean—it’s nice—when it’s you.”

Jaskier’s smile is something Geralt can’t quite get to the bottom of—fond and wry and maybe a little sad, too. “Well, I’ve been dying to do this pretty much since the moment I met you, so, you know, thanks for that.”

It’s strange to think Jaskier has been harboring private aspirations where Geralt is concerned. But then Jaskier’s always been full of surprises when it comes to him—immune to his ill temper, amused by his rudeness, tenacious enough to bully his way past his silences. He’s never understood what Jaskier sees in him, and he often feels he offers a poor reward for the hard work Jaskier puts in to being his friend. Because it’s not easy, Geralt knows. Plenty of people have decided Geralt was too difficult to get to know, or too prickly to stick with. Even Yennefer, who’s loved him better than he could possibly deserve, struggled to make inroads against Geralt’s defenses. It never seemed to matter how much he loved Yennefer, he could never bring himself to relax around her. He was always on tenterhooks, waiting for the other shoe to drop—until, in time, it did, a sort of self-fulfilling prophecy. He can’t blame Yennefer ending things. She wants things he doesn’t know how to give. He couldn’t figure out how to change himself into the sort of person she deserved.

“D’you want another beer?” Jaskier asks, nudging Geralt’s knee with his bare foot.

He wouldn’t mind another drink, but he’s loathe to puncture the peaceful little moment that’s grown up between them. “Let’s just stay here.”

Jaskier nods, and a moment later Fleetwood Mac comes on over Jaskier’s phone speakers—one of the only bands they can agree on—and Jaskier treats him to an inspired rendition of “Dreams,” his voice turned otherworldly by the chill acoustics of the bathroom tiles. Geralt watches Jaskier dance on his perch on the edge of the sink and wonders, with an ache in his chest, what it would be like to be so uninhibited, so comfortable in his own skin. He can’t imagine it, but sometimes he feels like he’s maybe just a half-step closer to knowing when he’s around Jaskier.

When the song fades out, Jaskier hops down from the counter and says, “OK, time for the last step.”

Jaskier sticks that torture device attachment onto his hair dryer and lets Geralt’s hair down from the towel. Jaskier lets him stay seated, and starts drying his hair. He doesn’t pull Geralt’s hair taut with a brush, as Geralt has seen Yennefer do when styling her own hair. Instead, he gathers it up a section of hair in that little torture device accessory and holds the dryer still, letting the air work around the strands. Geralt closes his eyes against the noise and sensation of the air against his scalp. It lasts a long time, Geralt bracing his arms on his thighs as Jaskier moves the hair dryer around his head. The noise of the dryer makes conversation difficult, and Geralt feels strangely distant from Jaskier all of a sudden, even though he’s standing so close Geralt could press his face to the soft flesh of his stomach if he wanted to. He knots his hands together between his knees to keep himself from just reaching out and pulling Jaskier close.

When Jaskier finally switches off the hair dryer, the silence it leaves feels big. It’s probably just the heat from the hair dyer, but Geralt feels flushed and a little rubbed raw.

“All right,” Jaskier says, fixing him with a considering look. “Let me just . . .” He reaches out and grips Geralt’s hair in both hands. He doesn’t so much tug as gently crush the strands, but the pressure is enough to make Geralt’s mouth fall open, and he doesn’t exactly make a noise but something happens in his chest like his lungs kickstarting. Jaskier glances down at him with an inquisitive smile. “Sorry, too hard?”

It’s all Geralt can do to shake his head.

“All done,” Jaskier says. When he lets go, Geralt immediately misses the touch. “Wanna take a look?”

Geralt stands up and turns to regard himself in the mirror. To say he doesn’t recognize himself would be an overstatement, but the sight of his reflection is a surprise. The cut doesn’t seem all that different in terms of length, but the ragged edges are gone. The dingy white of his hair has turned a gleaming silver, and it hangs around his face not in its usual lank tangle, but in softly curling waves. It’s almost . . . pretty, a word he’s never associated with himself in his entire life. The new brightness of his hair makes his face seem clearer, more open somehow, and the gentle curls offset the hard lines of his face in a way that make his features look almost delicate, or in any case less roughly hewn than usual. He reaches up to touch it, and to his amazement, it’s just as soft as Jaskier promised it would be. Maybe not as soft as Jaskier’s own hair, but much nicer than he can remember it ever feeling before.

“You like it?” Jaskier asks, and in the mirror, Geralt can see he’s looking at him with a hopeful expression. It makes something twist in his stomach—longing, and at the same time a rejection of what he wants, the certainty that he can’t possibly hang onto anything nice for long enough to enjoy it.

“You know I’ll never go to all this trouble,” he says, gruffly, and immediately regrets it when he sees Jaskier’s smile slip from his face.

“No, I know,” Jaskier says, and starts packing up his supplies. “I just wanted to try it. I’ll still leave you all the products, just in case you change your mind, or—”

“Jaskier.” Geralt swallows hard, and puts a hand on Jaskier’s shoulder. “I—”

Jaskier looks at him with such a searching expression that Geralt hardly knows how to look at him. He’s never known someone who’s so much all the time, expansive and loud and demanding and generous and so goddamn bright.

“What I should have said,” Geralt says, against the tension threatening to stop his throat, “is that I wouldn’t have tried this if it weren’t for you. It’s . . .” He’s not sure how to answer Jaskier’s question. Does he like it? He looks so unlike himself that he honestly doesn’t know what to make of it. He can’t tell if it suits him or not, because he still isn’t sure what that would mean. But he likes the idea that Jaskier’s uncovered this version of him, that this might be how Jaskier sees him in his mind’s eye. “I’m glad we tried it. Thank you.”

“I am, too,” Jaskier says, quietly. “Even if you never do it again, I’m glad you trusted me enough to try. And for the record?” The twist of his lips is almost pained, but it’s a smile all the same. “You look fucking gorgeous.”

Geralt ducks his head, his shoulders inching up. “Jaskier . . .”

“No, I’m serious, Geralt.” Jaskier sounds annoyed, almost angry, all of a sudden. “I know you don’t care about superficial stuff—”

“That’s not—”

“—but take it from someone who spends a lot of time looking at people and doing my best to make them look as good as I possibly can: you’re objectively really fucking good-looking.” Jaskier lets out a harsh, reckless laugh. “And if you don’t care about my professional opinion, I also happen to think you’re the most attractive person I’ve ever met in my entire life, so there’s that.”

“I—”

Now that Jaskier’s started talking, he can’t seem to stop. “You’re the most incredible person I know, Geralt,” he says, in a breathless rush, “and I’m not talking just about your looks—although you are genuinely so ridiculously handsome that it’s really not fair. You’re kind for no reason and incredibly devoted and, OK, sort of a dick sometimes, but also so goddamn careful with other people and so fucking hard on yourself, and I just—I wish you could see yourself the way I do. I wish I could show you, even for just a second, because—”

“You did,” Geralt says. Jaskier stares at him, stunned into silence, and Geralt takes the opportunity to continue. “You do. Not just tonight.” He’s breathing hard, and he tries not to think about how dangerous this feels, like standing up on the top of a tall ladder or walking the line of a roof that might collapse under him at any moment. “When I’m with you, I feel like I could be that person you see in me, maybe. I just . . . don’t know how.”

Jaskier laughs again—softer this time. “You dummy,” he says, “you already are. You’ve just got to believe it.”

“Oh, is that all,” Geralt says.

“Yeah, no big deal,” Jaskier says, waving one hand dismissively. “You’ve got me to convince you, after all.”

“Oh, yeah?” Geralt can’t help the smile spreading across his face, despite the shivery feeling still simmering under his skin. “How’re you gonna do that?”

“Well . . .” Jaskier takes a step towards him, and then another, settling his hands lightly on Geralt’s hips. “I’d probably start a little like this . . .”

The first touch of Jaskier’s lips on his is like a breath of clean air after a storm, and Geralt can feel something that’s been knotted tight inside him for a long time unfurling itself. It doesn’t feel dangerous anymore, that buzz under his skin transmuting into a golden glow. He knows it’s not as simple as it feels—he can’t expect Jaskier to change him with a single kiss—but for the first time in a long while, something feels purely, unequivocally good, and he wants more of it.

In time, Jaskier’s hands creep up Geralt’s sides to his back, even as Geralt’s own hands drift down past Jaskier’s waist. When Jaskier’s hands slip into his hair, Geralt wrenches himself free with a shiver. “You’re going to undo all your hard work,” he says, teasingly.

“D’you really care?” Jaskier asks, and scratches his nails along Geralt’s scalp, wringing a whine from deep in Geralt’s chest that should be embarrassing but isn’t.  

“Not really,” Geralt gasps, his whole body pressing closer against Jaskier’s. “You can always do it again.”

Jaskier’s smile is wide as he bends to kiss him again. “That’s what I thought.”

[blitzturtles]

Title: Night Off

Rating: Teen and Up

Fandom: DC Comics

Pairing(s): JayDick

Summary: “If you’re not here to kill me, then get out!” Dick calls without moving. He should probably double check as to who his intruder is, but the idea of moving is somehow more unappealing than the idea of one of his enemies actually managing to break into his apartment. He’ll take the risk of potential kidnapping if it means that they’ll do most of the bodily lifting for him.

Notes: I was having a chronic pain flare, asked my wife who I should inflict it on, and her answer was, “Jotaro and/or Dick Grayson”. So here’s the Dick Grayson version. Btw, I’m doing a writing / fic giveaway! Check out this post to see how to enter. Goes until 8.25.21!

-

It’s extremely rare for Dick to pull out of a planned patrol, but there are nights when he can’t handle the thought, much less actually suit up and venture out into Gotham. Tonight is one of those nights. Old injuries are rearing their ugly head, making themselves too known to be ignored, and he knows that going out will be a mistake. He’s more likely to cause trouble than he is to prevent it, and he’s not about to cut into someone else’s patrol just to have someone come to his rescue. That’s time that could be better spent, and he hates the idea of anyone knowing the degree of pain he’s dealing with. To know that it cripples him to the point where walking is a slow, agonizing process. It feels like a weakness that he’s not prepared to share.

Bruce has chronic pain. That’s something Dick’s known for years. Possibly since he was a child, but the man never seems to be stopped or even slowed down by it. He’s never missed a patrol. Never needed someone to fish him out of a bad situation brought on by his knee completely giving out on him (not that Dick admitted to that being the problem; he’d lied and claimed it had been freshly injured.) It’s frustrating to watch, and it sets a precedent that Dick can’t keep up with. It makes him feel pathetic on nights like these, and it’s all he can do to try to distract himself with crappy television. Up until the moment when something crashes into his apartment through his-- previously locked-- window.

“If you’re not here to kill me, then get out!” Dick calls without moving. He should probably double check as to who his intruder is, but the idea of moving is somehow more unappealing than the idea of one of his enemies actually managing to break into his apartment. He’ll take the risk of potential kidnapping if it means that they’ll do most of the bodily lifting for him.

Sure enough, Jason shows up in the doorway of his living room a moment later with his helmet at his side, but his cowl still fixed in place. “You’re not dressed,” is the first thing that comes out of his mouth, and it makes Dick’s eyebrows climb up toward his hairline.

“Are you my babysitter now?”

“No,” Jason snarls, “I’m not fucking Bruce.”

“Alright then,” Dick shrugs and tries to leave it at that. The keyword being ‘try’, because Jason never could leave well enough alone.

“Why aren’t you out?”

“Changed my mind. Am I not allowed to do that?” Shit. He sounds unnecessarily snappish. More so aloud than he does in his own head, which he knows is the pain getting the better of him, but that doesn’t mean he wants it to reflect in his tone. He heaves a sigh, “Sorry, just wasn’t up for it tonight, you know? Think I twisted my ankle a little last night, and I thought I would take a night. See if the swelling goes down.”

Jason frowns as he mulls over those words, but he doesn’t outright reject them. “Okay,” he starts, and Dick almost sighs in relief, if only internally, “So that was bullshit.”

Fuck.

“Jason-”

“We can do this all night, so you can keep lying to me, or you can just tell me what’s going on,” Jason’s gaze shifts from Dick to the rest of his apartment, undoubtedly looking for some kind of clue. Or possibly some sort of trouble. Neither of which he finds, because Dick’s too stubborn to ice his joints, and the compression wraps he has on are hidden by his clothes.

“I’m not kidding about my ankle,” Dick says after a moment of contemplating his word choice.

“You’re just lying about the cause,” Jason concludes after a moment. His head is cocked to the side, but it’s apparent that he’s fixated on the offending joint, “And it’s not the only thing bothering you.”

The problem with Jason is that he’s far more observant than most people give him credit for. And intelligent, for that matter. It’s easy to forget that Jason thinks Shakespeare is a fun read, and that he’ll spend hours debating the topic with Alfred, if given the chance (and Alfred is always willing). There’s also the fact that Jason tends to pick and choose when he’s going to press an issue; often because he intends to come back around to it, but only when the situation turns in his favor. But the favor here has always been Jason’s. Dick’s stuck on the couch of his apartment, unwilling to move unless absolutely necessary, because his knee will feel like it’s being torn in half if he does, and that’s to say nothing about either ankle.

“I don’t really want to talk about this, Jason,” Dick uses the name for emphasis this time. With a short, clipped tone that he hopes conveys just how badly he would like Jason to leave, but Jason’s also nothing if not obstinate.

“Have you tried ice yet? Or heat?”

The words startle Dick, and he looks to Jason with far too many emotions readable on his face. Jason merely raises an eyebrow in return, and Dick sighs, “No. I don’t think I can get up.”

“Oh,” Jason breathes the word, like he hadn’t expected the answer. And he probably hadn’t. He’d probably expected Dick to continue to deny reality. To lie through his teeth until Jason gave up (which wasn’t going to happen, but that’s beyond the point now.) “Okay. Got any ice in the freezer?”

“Yes- what?”

Jason’s gone in an instant, heading for the kitchen with little concern for Dick’s desire to be left alone. He comes back a minute later with several bags full of freshly scooped ice. He passes them to Dick, one at a time, while Dick slowly places them on various offending limbs.

There’s a dumbstruck expression on Dick’s face, as if he can’t fully process what’s happening, which might have to do with why he doesn’t stop it either. Jason disappears again, this time into the bathroom, and Dick just- let’s him. He’s not sure what else to do now that Jason’s set his mind to- whatever it is he’s set his mind to.

“Here,” Jason says when he comes back with a paper cup of water and a handful of pills. It takes Dick a moment to remember that, a. His first aid kit is in the bathroom just like most peoples’, and the leap for Jason figuring that out isn’t really a leap and b. That Jason’s come here for a (very rough) patch up job more than once, which means he already knows exactly where he can find said kit.

Dick swallows the painkillers with little prompting and passes the cup back to Jason, who must dispose of it in the trash, given that he disappears into the kitchen again. When he comes back, he looks at Dick with that sort of halfcocked, curious expression he gets.

“Anything else I can do?”

“Uh- no. I think you’ve done plenty,” and Dick means that. Jason’s done more for him than Dick would have done for himself, and the ice actually feels kind of nice on the throbbing joints. Combined with the compression, it’s the best relief he’s gotten all day. Maybe the medication will actually do something for a change.

“Good,” Jason says, and Dick assumes that’s the end of that. That he’ll go right back out the window that he came in, but, instead, Jason flops on the couch cushion nearest to him and nods at the long forgotten TV. “What’re we watching?”

“We?”

“Yeah,” Jason says without missing a beat, “I got nothing better to do, and distractions can help with pain. Trust me.”

And two things occur to Dick right then. The first being that Jason isn’t just doing this out of some obligation. He wants to help. Wants to make Dick feel better, and Dick doesn’t know what to do with that information. And the second is that Jason knows, on a very personal level, what it’s like to be in so much pain that his body doesn’t cooperate with him, and of course he does. Jason’s death had been far from pleasant, and he still wears the scars of it. There’s no doubt he feels it in his bones and damaged cartilage. Never mind all the other injuries since then, and there’s a long, long list that Dick’s personally seen the fallout of several times.

“I don’t know,” Dick says once his brain starts processing in the right direction again, “CSI?”

Jason snorts, “What, want to spend all night yelling at the screen?”

“Maybe,” Dick says with a shrug, “You got something better?”

“Hell yeah,” Jason reaches for the remote, and Dick passes it to him without question, “We’re gonna watch some good ole-fashioned zombies.”

And there goes Dick’s eyebrows again, “Really?”

“Sometimes a man just needs something a little autobiographical, quit judging,” and Jason says it with such a severe tone that Dick can’t help but laugh.

Truthfully, it’s the best he’s felt all night, and that doesn’t change once the movie-- however bad it may be-- starts. He catches Jason with a small, half-smile tugging at the corner of one side of his lips, and it helps Dick to relax a bit, to know that he isn’t being judged.

[twoidiotwriters1]

Iron 7 (Peter Parker x F!Oc)

Words: 2, 323

Masterlist

Chapter 6

Post-credits scene (Iron man 1) / Chapter 8

2010

"It's unfair that I can't go," Lily complains, walking into the living room.

"You should get used to it," Jess says without taking her eyes off the television where they’re playing the replay of the grand opening of Stark Expo. "No one else can find out who your father is.”

Lily leans against the back of the chair where Jessica is.

“It’s unfair. My dad hasn't even said anything about going, lots of kids have fun there,” She sighs.

The screen highlights the dance of some women in small red shorts and tops, referring to the armor. And to Tony with a huge smile showing his great achievement.

"Even he has more fun than me,” She grimaces. "Although, I think he’s more cocky now than before…”

“Big word,” says Jess. "Stop complaining. Maybe one day, I can take you.”

"Seriously?"

"If your father lets us visit him for free, of course,” She turns to see her and smiles. “Now finish your homework.”

“Fine."

Lily returns to the table with all the homework that her math teacher left her after her private class. She expected to go to school like a normal girl, but Pepper and Tony insisted on hiring several teachers to visit her during the week. "We can't risk it," They said, much less when reporters and practically the whole world follows Tony in every move since he broke the news about the Iron Man.

She can’t complain, some subjects are fun and she advances very fast, if she were in a school, she wouldn't be able to do it. In addition to the private lessons she has some with Happy, she appreciates that too. It's fun to see Happy struggling to learn the subjects with her.

"Hey, Lily. You have to see this,” Jess says from the living room. Lily returns and this time sits on the couch to see her father in the Senate or the military committee. Obviously, television doesn't show everything, but enough to see that her father just makes fun of everyone, especially that businessman Justin Hammer.

"Very cocky.”

Both girls nod.

***

"And I also learned about worldwar-two, but Professor Edwards said it would take us longer to do our research because there is so much information," Lily informs walking next to Pepper.

"I'm glad you're enjoying your classes, honey," She says with a smile, but then sneezes.

"Are you sure you shouldn't be resting?" The worried girl asks.

"I'm fine, don’t worry.”

They both go down the stairs until they reach Tony's workshop. Pepper puts the combination and they enter. Lily, seeing Tony for the first time in a few weeks, runs towards him. Tony gets up from the chair and receives her with a hug, bending down to her height.

"You should also greet me this way, Pepper," Tony teases. Pepper rolls her eyes, but she can't help a smile at the cute image.

"Why didn't you wake me up when you arrived?" Lily asks as they part. She crosses her arms.

"I could hear your snoring outside,” He jokes. “No nightmares?"

"Didn’t have any this week.”

“Good, and enough waiting for me on the couch, last time you complained about back pain. Those complaints are not allowed until you’re fifty years old... or thirty, it depends,” He nods, ruffling the girl's hair making her laugh.

The moment ends when Pepper remembers why she was upset with Tony. Now they both walk around the workshop discussing things. Lily listens to them as she sits in the chair where Tony was. She frowns when she sees a brown box, but Pepper's comment distracts her.

"The Expo is a gigantic waste of time.”

“There’s nothing more important to me than the Expo,” answers Tony. “It’s my primary point of concern.”

"Hey!" Lily complains. “What about me? I’m your daughter! And you haven't taken me to Stark Expo yet, so unfair…” She says with a pout.

"What?" Tony says from the other side. “I'm sorry, kid. Grown ups talking here!" He answers by pretending not to have heard her.

Lily makes a face.

"The Expo is your ego gone crazy,” follows Pepper.

Lily stopped listening. Photos of boring cars on Tony's computers are more interesting than Pepper scolding her father. She only lifts her head when they return to the entrance. Tony trades a painting for an Iron Man painting. Then, suddenly, Tony appoints Pepper CEO of Stark Industries.

"Trying to figure out who a worthy successor would be,” says Tony over a few glasses of champagne, "and then I realized, well since she's only eight, she can't run a company,” He points out to the girl.

"Yet!" She yells from her place.

"It’s you. It's always been you.”

***

"I think I'm ready for that training," says Lily pulling the ropes of the ring in the middle of the room.

"Not yet, Smarty," Happy replies.

"But I'm eight now and I can outrun you.”

"Anyone can outrun Happy, kid," adds Tony.

"So why did you tell me to come if you won't let me train?"

“Watch us and learn.”

Lily makes a face. She’s getting tired of everyone forbidding her so many things.

It doesn't take long for Pepper to walk in asking Tony for a signature. Lily walks over to the white chair near Pepper. She sighs, she's about to complain to her, but the presence of another redhead interrupts her. She had never seen that woman and apparently she also distracts the two men.

"What’s your name, lady?" Tony asks

"Rushman. Natalie Rushman,” She introduces herself.

“Hi," greets Lily. Natalie looks at her with a smile.

"Wait, I thought no one should know about Stark Jr.'s existence,” Tony points out.

“She’s already signed a confidentiality contract. Don’t worry.”

Tony shrugs and invites Natalie into the ring. She obeys. Pepper sits on the couch next to Lily and Tony pulls her aside to sit on the same couch.

"Now she’ll be your assistant?" Lily asks. Pepper nods. “Wow, you used to be Tony's assistant, now you have one. I wish I had one,” She says.

"I want one of those too," says Tony. And with that, they argue again. Lily rolls her eyes, but something else interrupts her thoughts and the discussion.

Apparently Natalie is more than capable and better trained than Happy since she manages to throw him to the floor in one movement. The three of them get up from the couch.

"Happy," Pepper squeals.

Lily goes back up to the edge of the ring and smiles seeing how Happy gets up with difficulty. She raises her head to see Natalie.

"Cool! Can you teach me to do that?"

“Sure."

"Definitely not," Pepper and Nat say at the same time.

"Why not?" Lily frowns and steps out of the ring

The second redhead clears her throat, she puts on her shoes and talks to Tony about some documents. In the end, they finally finish the paperwork for Pepper to become CEO. Natalie leaves. Tony and Pepper start talking about a trip to Monaco.

"What? Are you going to travel again? You just arrived,” The girl complains, drawing their attention.

“It'll only be a couple of days, Lily," replies Pepper.

"That's what you always say.”

“Hey." says Tony. "It's a business trip, kid.”

"That too you always say,” She rolls her eyes. Pepper looks surprised, that's not how she used to act before. "Can I go this time? I can do my homework there.”

“Sorry, but no. Remember that you’re still a ghost." says Tony

She frowns.

"That's not fair. You always leave me here, I can't even go to a park and you don't let me accompany you, you’re hardly home anymore,” She says, raising her voice and causing a certain tingling to appear in her hands.

"Watch your tone, Lily,” says Tony starting to get annoyed. He looks down at the girl's clenched hands. "Turn that off, now.”

"Just this once, I promise to be good. If you want, I'll stay at the hotel,” She insists with a frustrated sigh. She opens her hands to avoid making a mess.

"I said no, young lady.”

"But-"

"Lily Stark, I said no,” Tony ends with a firm voice.

The little girl clenches her teeth and runs out of the place before they can see her cry from anger.

"Huh, it brought out your moody side too, Tony," Happy says from across the room.

Stark sighs.

"I'll talk to her when we get back.”

Pepper feels guilty. Maybe they’d been more absent since Tony announced the identity of Iron Man and now it’ll be worse because of the new job. She wants to follow her, but she knows better to leave her alone for a moment.

***

"Hey, you broke your record," Jess says, handing a bottle to the girl, who gasps. She takes it and sits on the chair next to the girl.

It's been a couple of hours since Lily started running through the gated area of the Stark property.

"Can we do something else?" Lily asks.

Jess takes out the notebook where the itinerary is written.

"I suppose we can rest for a while," Jess replies, taking off her sunglasses.

"You didn't do anything, what are you going to rest from?" Lily says with a smile.

"I can't be in the sun that long, I want to be tanned, not burned.”

"If you say so.”

After the break, Lily continued with her task, finishing earlier that she is used to. The rest of the day, they both decided to just relax with some masks that Jess had brought.

"Why do they smell funny?" Lily asks feeling the texture of her mask.

"That's coconut, you'll get used to it,” answers Jess. “Afterwards we’ll paint our nails, we’ll watch romantic movies while we eat ice cream. It’ll be fun.”

"Why are we doing this?"

"It's what some girls are used to doing when they are alone or with their friends.”

Lily nods. "Why?"

Jess laughs. At this point she’s already used to the onslaught of questions that she sometimes receives.

“It's fun, it's also girls quality time, you know, they talk about handsome people, the boys they like from school. It’s a distraction that sometimes we need, even from parents.”

Lily frowns.

"Do you need a distraction from your parents?"

“Okay,” Jess gets comfortable on the bed to sit in front of the girl. “Many times, especially when you’re a teenager, you argue with your parents and it’s normal. That’s why it’s good to have friends with whom you can vent. Trust me, if I didn't have my friends, my relationship with my mother would be a disaster. But it's not a bad thing,” She clarifies when she sees Lily's grimace. "Parents also need to get away from their children a bit.”

"Is that why Tony travels a lot?"

"I don’t think so. He’s an important businessman and he just wants to take care of you, that's why you should stay here.”

"It's not fair,” She crosses her arms.

“Yes, you should get used to that too. When you’re older it’ll be a little easier.”

Lily's head fills with more questions.

“Jess."

"Yeah?"

“We're friends?”

"Of course.”

"Can I vent to you about my dad?" Jess laughs.

"Tell me everything.”

They both talk about many things and do girlish stuff. Lily learns a few things as Jess tells her about her life as a student and everything she does when she’s not taking care of her. At one point, she wishes she had that life, but, even if she could go to normal school, she couldn't have all of that, at least not like Jess.

Night comes, Jess sleeps in the guest room leaving Lily in her room. The great Stark mansion is completely silent, the nightmares that had not tormented the girl for several months return and this time, they’re worse.

She’s on the floor of an empty room, the four walls are completely white. She doesn't see anyone else, but she knows someone is watching her. She wants to ask for help, she wants to scream, but no matter how much she opens her mouth, nothing comes out of her. Her torso and arms are trapped with a straitjacket. She tries to get out of it, but everything is useless.

The tickling starts in her hands, but this time she’s not in control and quickly spreads throughout her body. She wants to burn the straitjacket, but in the dream it’s not possible.

"Lily!"

The girl suddenly wakes up sitting on the mattress. She looks everywhere, but her mind is still in that empty room. She falls off her bed, but keeps moving until a wall stops her.

“Lily, it's okay! Quiet! You have to breathe…” Jess says in the dark.

“Don't!" screams Lily. Her chest rises and falls rapidly. "Please don't hurt me!” She sobs. “Please, please…”

"Lily, it's me!” The girl approaches the girl and touches her arm, but she removes it immediately when she feels the high temperature. Jess screams in fright, causing Lily to jump in place of her. "J.A.R.V.I.S, turn on the lights!” She orders and the AI obeys.

Lily blinks trying to focus her vision, when it happens, what she sees is another fear: Jess is in front of her looking at the blisters on her hand.

She had done that. Lily burned Jess.

Memories of when this happened with her mother come to her mind, causing her panic to escalate.

She doesn't hesitate twice to leave the room, ignoring Jessica's calls. She runs through the house, down the stairs and to the workshop. J.A.R.V.I.S lets her in and sets the code so that no one else could enter. Finally, Lily goes to one of Tony's cars and hides underneath it. She bends her legs and hugs them to her chest. The only thing that can be heard in the workshop are the uncontrollable sobs of the girl.

Taglist

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