#post made from the corner of my bed where i am piled in blankets and whimpering in pain. wtf are hips. y do i need them.

[arisveah]

chronic pain? aha more like... like. like, more like- hmmm.

chronic pain? who's that? i only know chronic Gain. nope, not that. ch- gosh. chronic I Need Healthcare Stat- nah, too topical.

more like, more like- more like

more like chronic spin.

get it? cuz. dizzy?

[thot-farm]

Domestic yandere Todoroki family part two

So, last post you may have been thinking 'only one of them shows any yandere tendencies, where is the spice?' The 𝓼𝓹𝓲𝓬𝓮 isn't here either, you get to spend time with Rei and you are going to like it 😠🫵.

Small notes:

I am a character ai goon that cheated or skipped all creative writing assignments in school, so if this is dog shit, it is what it is. This might actually be the first post I actually post that features my writing in detail.

I accidentally wrote with she/her and didn't even realize it, but I'm just going to leave it because it's smoother to read than y/n every other word, so if you want me to edit this for he/him or they/them, comment and I will with a separate tag

♡

You wake up in the morning to a cold feeling on your forehead. As you slowly wake up, you are a bit uncomfortable by the cold feeling and open your eyes to see a blurry pale arm and whiffs of citrus, vanilla and amber, Mom's perfume, impossible for you not to recognize. You get a little scared by the change since she hasn't woken you up in ages, you got used to Fuyumi's gentle voice, or Shoto pulling you out of bed with zero struggle like you are made of stuffing. You wonder if you did something wrong yesterday.

"Sh, sh, darling." Mom shushes gently, her hands trail down to your plump cheeks and rest there, her thumbs gently caressing your face, trying to calm you and your worries.

You try to blink away the sleep and fuzziness in your sight. You go to rub your eyes but Mom gently but swiftly takes hold of your little hands and brings them back down by your tummy.

"Sweetheart, Shoto caught a pretty nasty cold, so he won't be able to go to school..." Mom says with her gentle voice as she holds your hands.

Mom smiles as she watches the gears turn in your sleepy little head as you wonder how Shoto got sick, she lets go of your hands, her hands dip out of your view. "It looks like you haven't been bit by the sickie bug yet... Oh no baby... I think I see a bug in your bed." Mom says, her soft voice laced with concern.

You feel a tingling tickling sensation scurrying up your leg, which causes you to shoot out of your bed, kicking away blankets. Mom scoops you right up into her lap. "Don't worry darling," She holds up her hand that's curled into a loose fist "Mama caught the sickie bug, now it can't bite you," Mom says softly.

A small burst of frost comes from Mom's hand, your eyes widen with amazement as Mom kills the totally real bug, saving you from a bad cold and getting revenge on the evil bug that bit Shoto, like she always does when a sibling is sick.

Mom opens her hand, all that is left of the bug is a pile of snow. "Now that there is nothing left of the bug, help Mama blow all the snow away and wish for Shoto to get better," Mom says softly.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath and blow, wishing for Shoto's cold to go away. Once you open your eyes, you see snow flurries and sparkles flying away, you watch with amazement, seeing the flurries Dad never lets you go out and see.

You see red out of the corner of your eye, you look over to your doorway seeing Dad approaching your door. You wonder why Shoto being sick has gotten either of your parents' attention, you would think it would get you less like usual. You fiddle your thumbs together as turquoise eyes look over you.

"Rei, get her ready for school," Dad says, his voice deep, almost unrecognizable to you from how little you hear it. But you smell the same cologne as always, the one that wafts around every morning.

"But-" Mom begins, quickly cut off by Dad speaking again.

"You made a good point about Shoto and y/n needing to be away from each other more. He has been asking about her all morning and is refusing to eat without her, and if her teachers aren't exaggerating about her refusal to speak, then something must be done." Dad says in a serious tone, his eyes narrowed, but not at you or Mom. He doesn't wait any longer and just walks away from your door.

Dad's words leave you wondering what they had been talking about. But hearing Dad acknowledge how overbearing Shoto is makes you feel a lot of things, glad it's not just in your head, upset at Dad for not understanding you, but also worried about how Dad will 'fix' the problem with Shoto's behavior.

Mom stands up and carries you over to your chair and plops you down, facing you away from the mirror. You can tell she doesn't seem to trust Dad that much, but you don't understand why, he said she was right and all, that usually makes people happy or at least calm. But Mom makes the same face Shoto does around the time Dad comes home and she is gripping the hairbrush unnecessarily tight.

Mom, despite her tight grip, gently brushes your long white hair from the ends to your roots to straighten out what sleeping had done to your soft curls. Every time you try to move your head to look at her, she gently rests her other hand on your hand until you stop moving.

"Have you been brushing your hair every day, honey?" Mom asks in a soft tone, looking down into your grey eyes.

You nod confidently. You smile at how Fuyumi always helps brush through and style your hair in the morning. And internally you roll your eyes at how Shoto always winds up touching your hair at bedtime when you and him brush teeth, so you always wind up brushing your hair at night to make sure his icky boy cooties don't knot up your hair.

Mom gives a small smile when she sees your nod and smile, but you can tell she seems a little sad or something. You look up at her with a serious look.

Mom's smile gets wider seeing your baby face get serious. She leans down and kisses your head. "Don't worry, darling. I just want to make sure you're being a good girl. Now go brush your teeth." Mom says in a sweet tone, smiling softly.

You stand up from your chair and walk out of your room, as you walk to the bathroom across the hall, you brush some hair off your nightgown, trying not to wonder too much into Mom's behavior

Part three

[sinkat-arts]

Blood Upon the Snow Master Post

Daisuga | Western | Monster Hunter Suga | Shapeshifter Daichi

Rated E

COMPLETE | 15 Chapters | 184k

Ever since his family was murdered in front of his eyes by ravenous creatures known as shifters, Sugawara Koushi has lived a life fueled by anger and revenge. It's left him joyless and alone with only his horse to call friend, but it's turned him into a ruthless hunter with a path of blood a mile wide behind his cowboy boots. Skilled and fatally efficient, he's been trusted with the assignment to track down any stragglers from a pack of shifters his crew recently eradicated on a lone mountain. For him, it should have been an easy winter. What he discovered up there amongst the pines, however, would shake his beliefs and leave him questioning himself and everything he's ever done in the name of revenge.

Read it on AO3 >

“It’s just how it is. We’re made to die alone,” he said, heart catching as more words tumbled out before he could stop them, “I’m sorry.”  Those big, brown eyes just kept looking at him. Maybe it was the tension of the moment or maybe Suga really was losing his mind, but the thing’s face seemed to soften as it dipped its snout in something like a nod. All right then , it seemed to say, go on . Its head fell back into the snow, its eyes closed in surrender. 

Chapter 1 on AO3 >

Suga sighed, opening his mouth to tell him to stop that, for the love of god, but he closed it again before another sound could be made. Something about the angle of the shifter’s head as he looked mournfully down at the fabric that was confining and constricting him, and the way the light, soft and silvery through the clouds, was streaming down on him from the small window above struck him, silencing his tongue. Ephemeral and delicate, the winter sun lit him from behind, surrounding him like a damned halo glowing against his deep, rich skintone and the contrasting darkness of his corner.

Chapter 2 on AO3 >

"Why Suka chain Daichi?” The fucked up thing was that for a minute there, I almost said I don’t know. Because sometimes, I look at him, and I cannot see danger. Sometimes, I look at him, and my mind refuses to connect the dots between that smile he gets when he’s learned something new or likes his dinner or plays with Percy to what happened to my family and so many other people along the way.

Chapter 3 on AO3 >

He remembered thinking he’d been quite magnanimous, allowing a shifter to stay inside next to a warm stove and giving him pillows and blankets to rest on, but without Daichi there to add life, he could see it for what it was… just a pile of bedding on a cold, hard floor. I made him live in that. Like that.

Chapter 4 on AO3 >

“This ok?” Daichi asked, that same need rumbling around the edges of his voice, but there was concern there now, too. “Talk to me, Suka.” “Daichi, I…” Suga started, responding to the command to speak but not knowing what to say.

Chapter 5 on AO3 >

“Wish I talk your talk better. Then you listen… understand me, maybe. But this,” he said, gesturing to the wall in front of him, “This show you… I am not stupid, shifter not stupid. And I am not human, but I am a person. Person is family, pack, friend. Person is story. I have that. Wanted you to… see.” He stopped speaking and turned, pivoting so he was facing Suga. “Wanted you to see… me.”

Chapter 6 on AO3 >

The horror was large, looming. It stole the air right out of his lungs - but fuck his lungs, he’d breathe when Daichi was safe. “Shut the hell up and shoot,” he hissed at himself as he fell to his knees, shouldering his rifle in one smooth motion.

Chapter 7 on AO3 >

He thinks we’re at the happy ending of our fairy tale… but I know we’re just at the part where the wolf throws off the disguise and pounces.

Chapter 8 on AO3 >

"So the way I see it… this is your chance.” “To what?” “Start over. Find your place. Be who you want to be."

Chapter 9 on AO3 >

There were smaller deaths that happened all the time - of spirit, mind, heart - and he’d suffered each one throughout his life. But this one didn’t seem nearly as bad as all of those.

Chapter 10 on AO3 >

“Another problem, then,” he said. “What problem?” “Can you forgive yourself?"

Chapter 11 on AO3 >

The volume in the cave rose with it, rejection reverberating from every wall. Monster, killer, leave... words he knew, bouncing all around him as his body burned with fever and shame. Say something, he thought. Anything. This ain’t the time to be a coward, just cuz you feel puny and scared.

Chapter 12 on AO3 >

“I need to say something,” Daichi said, and Koushi didn’t miss the sudden shake in his voice or the way he was twisting his hands. “Was going to wait more, but… I am tired of not saying it. Starting to hurt, not saying it.”

Chapter 13 on AO3 >

“Me for you,” Daichi murmured, “And you for me.” “Us,” Koushi answered to complete the thought.

Chapter 14: After, and Always on AO3 >

Epilogue: Courage

The feelings washing over him were at odds with each other, pulling him every which way. There was the rough scrape of grief in his heart, but right next to it, a little pearl of happiness for the memory.

Epilogue: Courage on AO3 >

______________

Asides and One-Offs

Read after Chapter 11

Heart hurts. Everything heavy and bad because no Suga.   But it bad to miss Suga, I think. It bad to want someone who hurt my pack, kill my pack, trick me, lie to me.

Daichi's Journal on AO3 >

Read after Chapter 13

He just hadn’t expected to walk into his den that summer evening to see Koushi curled up in his nest, sleeping the afternoon away without a care in the world.

Always Going This Way on AO3 >

[plasticfangtastic]

Can We Be Lonely Together? Ch.7

A Homelander x Stalker! fanfic

This is a long chapter so beware.

check my blog for prev. chapters under #my fic tag or the title of this fic. this is a slow burn fic

This is a GN fic, and technically also a supe! reader fic... I leaned a bit on a male reader if am honest as this is a crack ship fic of sorts.

Author's note: I'm glad to be posting this again, had been on a holiday and it was kinda hard working on this fic, altho will say that editing a fic with smut in a plane next to a stranger is not a fun experience.

Sypnosis: You're a mind reading supe who has become enamored by Vought's number 1 supe, he just won't like the lenght you took to make yourself his favorite

R18+ blood, smut, anal play, stalking, murder mention, bit of fluff and Homelander is OOC in this chapter.

Chapter 7

Acts of Savagery

Edgar’s shadow loomed ever present inside the tower, Homelander felt trapped in a maze of monsters seeking his demise lurking on every corner, the list of those loyal to him slim, and there wasn’t a conversation gone unnoticed, the sudden bouts of background music filling offices had increased to a noticable degree even to non-supes. 

Everybody seeking to file him as incompetent and cause him ridicule, his only solace had become Ryan and the more days turned to weeks the more anxious he became, finding something abnormal in the way some watched his son– their fake politeness or over the top niceties kept him weerie, unable to confide with anyone his worries.

But then there was you… it was meant to be a mechanical exchange at first, these interactions nothing more than massages with happy endings, but at no point did you complained, your willingness to indulge him was beggining to break his brain.

Coming no matter the level of inconvenience, watching from afar across a dozen walls to study your reactions, expecting eye-rolls and bemoanings– witnessingnothing but tired grins and squeaky steps. Homelander began to act like a child testing his parents' limits, seeing just how far he could abuse you, seeking lines to cross but all had been drawn in sand by the shore. You were eager to meet him, making your schedule wrap around his, as if you already understood your place in this hierarchy, even Ashley and the remaining Seven offered resistance in these matters.

The more he studied it the less confusing it became in a sense... Your schedule consisted of working, eating good, working and him.

You made sure to keep a low profile, to not stand out.

Your home tastefully decorated, he had made a game of trying to figure out where the money went, your home had plenty but also nothing, you were boring on purpose but only on the surface.

Homelander entered thru the balcony, your home smelled like vanilla and your floors relatively clean, your pantries stocked with the fanciest ingredients money could purchase in this city, your cooking equipment just as expensive, a cursory look at your knife set online had set you back four figures-- letting out a loud ‘yowza’ after seeing the price tag, Homelander hurriedly placed the knife back, in this brief moment of free time in-between his daily patrols, Homelander found strange pleasure in invading your enclosure, feeling the softness of your velvety couch against his palms, touching your knick-knacks, and admiring the few art pieces. 

He made the way to your bedroom.

Your bed was smaller than he expected, your blankets disheveled , and your menu of pillows excessive– nobody needed more than six pillows to sleep.

A pile of clothes rested by the foot of the bed, catching himself before taking a whiff of your clothes looking for peeping-toms before bringing your shorts up his nose, the scent just as he remembered, from here he could see a handful of perfumes that didn’t match the scent he had grown familiar with, even spotting a half-used bottle on the rubbish bin offered him a clue of your decision process.

You had no photographs of family in this spacious two-bedroom loft at all, only a single photo of you and a latina by the kitchen wall as proof your existance,  Waltzing around back towards your kitchen Homelander opened your fridge.

He took a step back, spotting a note left inside.

“Maybe I’m crazy but if you do come while I ain't around feel free to eat? I always make too much. xoxo.”

He had been caught in a small felony, yet the victim welcomed him. Hunger was nothing he was entirely familiar with, his needs quite minimal in that department, he used to joke that all he needed came from the sun but his stomach spoke.

Neither could recall when was the first or last time somebody had cooked for him just for the sake of it, he opened the tupperware to find some leftover chicken marsala, plated even within the container, now the random fork and knife left by the breakfast table made sense, lasering it until the meat sizzled correctly he eat alone, making an impromptu treasure hunt for hidden messages addressed to him– had he missed other notes? He sat on your couch, a blanket bundle under him smelling of sea salt, and cherry blossom, the meal heavier than what he preferred but he had finished it all before he knew it.

He picked the remote, finding another post-it.

“Neighbors bitch too much about the volume.” Your sound system made him a tad jealous– leave the TV on so I know you came in.”

He left it off.

“You don’t think this is just a little off?”

“Though we established that Y/N was special.” John mentioned cringing at the end of his line.

“Oh they’re trying to sweeten you up…”

“Perhaps… this wasn’t too bad, either.” He places the dirty dishes inside the dishwasher– what do they want from me? They already got the trophy fucks… nobody is this strange if they don’t want something more”

“Talkign about Y/N or you?” His reflection spoke.

“Is a fantasy… we don’t need anyone else… not anymore. We have a family now!”

“But you still want the wife barefoot in the kitchen… making sunday roast and pies.”

His distorted self shrugged with a big smug smile from inside the faucet.

“You talking about me or you?”

He called you later that evening while Ryan trained downstairs under The Deep’s supervision, carrying a fistful of guilt in his stomach as he called you. Never mentioning why a copy of his house keys had found their way to your desk, simply showing up rushing straight into his arms, your weight always lighter than he expects, kissing you had become a minefield of strange sensations, your tongue eager and needy, and your lips always soft, your hands caressing his hair, never leaving it alone, pushing Homelander’s shoulder towards you desperately working to fade away all distance down to a cellular level.

This was supposed to be a cynical event… a simple release… now precious, you welcoming him at his neediest, Homelander testing your limits as he bit, nip, suckle and squeezed, it remained with him how your fading wounds appeared to be nothing but gifts from him to you, watching you attentively as you allowed each brand– a pit caved his chest, growing with anticipation, both itching to witness your rejections. How could it be that no matter how much he teased your paperthin flesh you appeared to encourage it? Homelander had a difficult time accepting this urge to see you deny him, to deject him, to despise him.  When you so tenderly spoiled him, cooing him lovingly, as he threw his tamtruns.

Always so easy to make pretty birds run away, he was too much, too heavy, too suffocating for them– just not to you… both men agreed you had the patience of a buddha.

He kissed your whole body with unspoken apologies, cradled you gently as he fucked you in his couch, praying that nobody could hear your guttural growls as he forced himself deeper into you, your legs intertwine to the matching pattern of your fingers on his scalp, not wanting him to breathe on his own without a taste of you, tasting your clean sweat, sniffing your hair, everything of you was so clean, nothing to bother him, nothing to overwhelm him, eagerly resembling him, leaving the room scented with him alone– leaving  apart of him trembling with fear… this had to be a vivid hallucination, another fabrication of an overactive imagination– too good to be true.

Breathlessly panting in his ear, as he fills you.

Your eyes are so wide, so adoring, so scary to him. 

Homelander had craved affection his whole life, he had craved attention, devotion, company… Why didn't this feel right? Had he secretly been lying to himself? 

Falling into your lips, tasting a sprinkle of your blood, your arms wrapped themselves around him, humming sweetly into his temple as you attempted to regain your strentght, petting him all the way down his neck, until both your heartbeats synched in relaxation.

“Would you like me to cancel your meeting?” 

He watched you dress, tidying your hair before one of the many mirrors holding your tongue as to not mention the remodelations.

“I can be late to my own meetings… like the dining table?”

“Eight seater, nice. This a single slab of Brazilian Rosewood?” 

He nodded pretending to know what that was… presumably you were correct, for he simply said ‘grand’ to the interior designer.

“Love these lines… I’m jealous. Is there something you wanted by the way?”

Caught against the wall, navigating aisles in his mind looking for urgent matters to discuss with the only soul he could confide with at this stage.

“I want Ryan to go to a proper school… tutors are all over my place, and those vultures hovering around are annoying. I’ll let you hand something special to your owner if you can give me a suitable list of schools for Ryan. Nothing public, we aren't savages! Dunno if there’s any Supe schools other than Godolkin.”

“Unlikely…” your brows furrowed, giving him a dirty look– finally liberating him, his was the fucking moment you showed your true colours– nothing wrong with public school… but Ryan is a special child… he’s yours. So he deserves the best your name can get him– I’m sure any school would beg for the honor. I’m sure the boy would be happy to see kids around him instead of boring salarymen.”

Your heart rate is steady.

“Ever wanted kids?” what the fuck did you just say you stupid– forg–

“Happy either way… assuming I live long enough to consider the possibility.” 

Watching you come to him, cupping his cheeks, he puffed his chest wanting to make himself appear calm.

“Thanks” your kiss was short and playful, nothing but butterfly wings against him– It will take me a while with your request, chief.”

“No pressure.” he fixed his posture as your hands left him– the chicken was good.”

It took you a second.

“Glad you liked it.”

You didn’t react at all.

“You don’t care I entered–

“Next time call me so I can cook for you, you need to try my carbonara is very indulgent”

Always leaving him confused.

Staying true to your words, boundaries made of glass and drawn in flowing rivers.

This emptiness all too familiar now felt crowded.

Loving you should be easy.

He bet it would be easy.

Walking in opposite directions catching the sound of your bones turning to catch a last glimpse of him.

Flying to your direction just to catch a final glimpse of you as you make it to the kitchen, looking around searching for his mess then signing happily as you find it in the dishwasher.

Homelander wanted to say the right things, to wooe you, to impress you if he could…

Entering the dark room you called an office, you type looking on information regarding some run-of-the-mill scumbag.

“Busy?”

“Just confirming the location of some human traffickers. It would be lovely if you could just fly all the way down to Laredo afterwards and just wait ‘til… seven? When they bring a truck full of hopefully not dead bodies. But not really”

“Sounds like you're busy.”

“It’ll be so good for your ratings. I got the address, or do you want me to call some local hero so they can look good instead of you? Mind you I’m just doing this to make the FBI look incompetent.”

“Mutually beneficial, then?” He leaned forward holding his weight on the back of your seat, catching a whiff of your perfume– Did Roman like my treat?”

“He wants your head on a platter. Didn’t do much but I told him I got something big brewing… I told him I thought you were unto me.”

“But I am.” He kissed your twitching aorta– what do you want to fuck me with?”

His kisses increased, painting a collar on your pristine neck, your eyes closed relaxing your shoulders letting him peck, one hand on your chin, and the other creeping under your shirt. 

In his mind just looking at you was enough to bother him, wanting every spare moment to both test you and relieve him, sex a tool against theoretical boundaries, you smiled… he was cute when he acted so childlish.

“Something nice and girthy.” You wouldn’t tell him of the thoughts swimming in the board members heads, you wouldn’t mention the bad room videos, you wouldn’t mention the not so unnamed women, but he could smell the adrenaline coursing through your veins– might be nothing… mi sol.”

Two words set him ablaze. 

Even as he rocks his head back, eyes struggling to stay open rolling back into his skull, even as your fingers and your hand fondle the most sensitive parts of his body, as he edges with your tongue elevating his shaft as your fingers squeeze ruthlessly, and pump him eagerly.

Twitching with excitement whenever somebody walked past the door, knowing of the spectacle the stranger would witnessed, as your mouth lubed his entrance, your hand eager to fill him, the stain in your pants growing wider, his head becoming light but awake regardless.

He wants your rejection.

Afraid of old habits.

Pleading to gods to stop teasing him with false hopes.

As his hand pushes your head lower, wrapping each ungloved finger with fistfuls of your hair, as you pull him closer unafraid of the creaking of your arm rest, he cannot bring himself to believe you’re a real person.

With a wet sharp whine he fills your mouth with thick cum, shaking himself clean on your lips, tapping your tongue with a now glistening tip, Homelander looks at you and those hazy eyes, wanting to kiss you.

“...y/n do you want to take a break with me?” his voice struggles to stay steady– I want to go check on Ryan… after I go stop those human traffickers of course.”

You nod, cleaning your lips.

“Its strange having somebody other than me to talk to?” his brother asks after the cameras stopped rolling– to look forward to talk to?"

This had been beyond a success this whole event resulting in a small amount of casualties, red and blue lights, and soon to be deported illegals, both could hear the ratings going up. 

"Not that Y/Ntalks much.”

“You like talking to Y/N too… this isn’t good isn’t it?”

“We can’t get attached. I don’t think they’ll be as bad as Maeve but… maybe… possibly.”

He’s flustered, shaking his head before departing. 

Homelander is already flying back home, knowing he will still get an attempt of an earful for entering  some other hero’s territory, but good luck telling him off– after all the CEO just saved a dozen people from a cartel, sure that had to count for something, fuck protocol.

He found you still on your desk, meandering on your screen while on company cent.

Your head turning before the doors even slid open, he caught a whiff of that oddity and shelved it for later.

“You wanna go watch a movie? I dunno what Ryan likes but this one has good reviews!” your voice sounded so eager it took him by surprise, Homelander didn’t even had a chance to reply before you leaped off your seat towards him– there’s a session at 8:20 so there shouldn’t be too many people, but you should definitely change”

“change what?”

“Your clothes? I mean you don’t wanna get your suit covered in oil and salt” You raised your eyebrow while picking up your stuff– there’s this amazing dumpling place I think you would love, we can catch a bite and then head to the movie.”

There’s an eagerness building in his throat, observing you carefully as your eyes glimmer in the fantasy, you seemed desperate to leave work.

“After we go pick Ryan of course…” you say.

“I’d like that”

You wrapped your arm around his elbow pulling him away, there’s a buzzing on your phone but not coming from your pocket, it hadn’t stop shaking in your cabinet once, he stared at it spotting an old cellphone surprised more by your hands pushing his cheek to look away– this gesture of intimacy as you playfully dragged Homelander out of the office without care for cameras outside, made his heart race and forget about the phone.

Ryan had been eager to go out, unsure as to whom his father friend was, but by now he had gotten accustomed to strangers hovering around Homelander, far more weirded out by his changed in attire, beside Vought issued pj’s and some sweatpants this was the first time he’d ever seen jeans on him.

Homelander hands squeezing at the fabric of the varsity as if it itched, feeling nude with these thin layers, the way the fabric draped around his body and sagged around his physique was exotic and not in a good way, the way the cool breeze touched him covered his skin in goosebumps, his hat compressing too tightly it squeezing his brain, his breath shuddering lightly as they walked around the city. Around these strangers he felt ignored and watched, his eyes behind shades and his hair a mess under his cap. He felt like a cartoon character in this costume– everybody should recognize him, he was a god, his face more recognizable than Ronald McDonald… but no.

Nobody noticed him, the discomfort growing too great to be ignored, the ringing in his ears increasing, as food arrived by an indifferent elderly waitress.

How could he not be recognized? his face in a billion objects, he was reduced to nothing as not even curious glances were offered his way, his heart ringing in his ear and his brother nowhere to be found, for the first time he felt absolutely invisible, never once did he imagine he would be pleading for flashing lights, as his ears ringed, louder and his tongue sat uncomfortably in his mouth.

Your sudden touch on his forearm soothes him, bringing him down, the ringing replaced by a cacophony of voices and dishes, you talk about the food swearing on the pan-fried goodies, making sure to offer greens to Ryan, laughing at his observations as you ask him to share about his day. 

The mundanity of this exchange, of your casual touches, of your constant need to make sure he had food in his mouth– has food ever tasted like anything but bland? For once he perceived the depths of a dish, the chewy but slippery texture of dumpling skin, the bok-choy crunch mingling with the salty-sweet mince, and the umami of the vinagre sauce pinching his taste buds, this whole scene should’ve felt fabricated but for once he existed in the now, just as himself, not as a walking billboard for Vought.

you half smile asking him about tomorrow’s plans, ensuring your fingers always touched some part of him.

 Looking around he saw other families acting just like this, couples and friends just talking and munching, the kitchen loud as the waitresses yelled to the cooks in mandarin, and even if the low plastic seats were uncomfortable, he didn’t mind. 

This was all he had ever wanted in a sense, lacking all the glamor he was accustomed to.

Sitting in the dark watching the movie feeling his finger turn oily, he felt your weight shift as you leaned your head against his shoulder, your hand touching his as it seeks popcorn. 

Settling yourself against him. 

He cracks his neck lightly catching Ryan completely focused on the movie, hearing around to spot many empty seats, a non-committed smile paints across his face, resting his cheek on the top of your head turning to plant a chaste kiss earning him a quiet chuckle, your other hand wraps around his arms in a frankly uncomfortable manner but for the remaining sixty-plus minutes he bears it.

This was a date. A proper date… even in disguise Homelander was out in public with his date, so this had to be a normal… mundane… simple… date.

One of many, no?

So who was him? Who was this gangly man from Arkansas that commandeered your time away from him, who took you from him, who you entertained and conversed so intimately– if you leaned any closer you might as well be dry-humping him, he thought.

He saw florid reds.

Then just red.

Here he was covered in blood catching the speedy shadow of his son moving away from him.

His ears ringing and his heart thunderous, bile burning his throat and his ears prickly with heat, pacing himself half-assedly around his home, fine leather now smudged with red streaks and his brother doing his best at damaged control, John was too emotional to handle this but sure he tried, his decisions lacked pragmatism, but even Homelander had no point of reference other than himself on how to deal with mentally scarred children… and just look how well that turned out asked John from within the mirror.

Terrorized by anxiety he had never noticed you coming in, your aroma hitting him only once you entered the living room, only opening his mouth with ignored menace as your hands took his face, your eyes blooshot on the edge of tears, and your sleeve damp as it tried to wash away this evening crime.

“Are you alright?” your voice failed to disguise any panic.

He watched you holding everything you were against his weight.

Watching his own eyes blur inside yours.

You looked at your broken phone still on the floor, thinking of everything wrong that I had done, thinking of the awful things I would do, unable to wash away the ache.

I certainly had a knack for ruining things.

[casitafallz]

Decay AU | Surprise, Dr...

Decay had some regrets in Dante’s presents choices from the family unit. In part, the fact when she was assigned a two weeks holiday which was mandatory for any parent of any child under the age of ten to have every 6 months. Decay had only wanted to take a nap, both of her arms were on charge and in the corner but she had hoped Dante would stay watching his screen and allow her time to rest.

It was fine until she woke up sharply to something plastic being wedges into her mouth. Biting down onto it immediately and she sitting up sharply though Dante’s annoyed whine cut through the alarm.

“Mami, No, you’re not feeling very well!” the two year old scolded.

Decay blinked down at him before spitting out the plastic thing into her lap to realise it was Dante’s plastic medical tool, a thermometer. “Dante, I was sleeping.” She groaned though she shifted one leg over the edge of her bed, only for her son to push her leg back up.

“Yes, sleepy, sleepy. You ate too much cake! You are sick. Lay down.” Dante picked up the blue stethoscopes and began to put the oversized ear piece to place and clambered up onto the bed.

Decay watched as he patted it briefly over her chest, too far left to be accurate but she’d not hamper his mood on the matter on pointing it out. She contemplated trying to get up and get her arms up and get him to snuggle but… he was quick to tantrums… maybe she should wait this out and let him get bored of trying to be a doctor.

Maybe encourage Dante onto ‘fixing’ Pariah when she next came to baby sit him given she had gifted that to him.

“Time to test your leg-ping.” He picked up a small hammer what had softer plastic at the end

“You mean my reflexes?”

“Yes, yes.” He nodded brightly and began to hit her knee in various places. She jolted her leg purposely and the tot began to giggle.

“Oh no, my knee!” Decay feigned a gasp “What ever will I do?”

“Yay! It worked!” He dropped the hammer onto the floor and went for the bandages. Those where real, more or less but had Velcro to make it easier on small hands. Dante happily began to wrap her legs together until it ran out.

“Am I fixed, Mijo?” Decay’s voice was a little dry though he picked up the last tool. “Ah, my mistake. What is that?”

“Imma see bloods speeds.” He clipped on the crude, plastic pressure cuff around the lump of her ankle, given her absence of both limbs in his fun.

Decay just smiled at his antics as he began to squeeze the little plastic balloon and rested back… getting her legs free was probably going to take a while without her arms…unless she could convince him to get her arms which… wasn’t an all bad idea; he was learning the basics of those requests and he was smart.

He may be two, nearly three but he knew her disabilities meant she had to have extra help and he seemed to want to help…just as much as he needed hers. It made her smile as he had tried to cut her food up for her, not because of her disabilities but because he thought that was what everyone else did for each other because she always prepped his food given he was so little…and she didn’t trust any toddlers around a sharp implements.

“Oh no, Mama dead!” Decay jumped as Dante threw the corner of her blanket over her face.

“Dante!”

“You’re not alive, Mama. Susshh!” though she felt the weight of his body as he dove onto her belly to keep her down though he giggled loudly. Decay groaned.. but she had to hope Distort or Pariah would come down soon…

 Hopefully.

lol i was in such a mood for posting a new little peice of drabble than posting more chapters for LTRL AU stuff...lilke i miss the decay stuff but i can’t pile too much on my plate so i’ll wait until the fics in a good place or done before i start adding more and alternating the story to fit the decay timeline to her origin :) 

i hope you enjoyed little dante :)

[ragnvxndr]

Welcome home

CapitanoXfem!reader

2.4k words

Smut, sweet to spicy to sweet, capitano worships his wife, oral-fem!recieving, nothing too crazy, just big sweet husband showing his wife he missed them :)

Please let me know if you guys want more??? I just cannot get him out of my head haha (not crazy im totally sane)

NSFW UNDER CUT

Six months. It had been six long months since Il Capitano had been to the manor. A recent mission had sent him to Natlan, leaving you behind to tend to the affairs. As he approached the estate on his horse, he took note of the soft blanket of snow that lay untouched on the manor grounds. Nobody stood at the entrance to receive him, as his arrival was unannounced. He had vowed to you to always keep you safe, to keep you hidden from the perilous aspects of his sworn duties to the Tsaritsa. Many a nights you had waited in the parlor, praying to Archons you doubted that they may keep him safe to return to you once more.

Silently, he dismounted his steed, tying its lead to the post for the stable hand to take care of later. The glass of the front doors were inky black, except for a pinpoint of warm orange glowing from somewhere far within the manor. Opening the heavy door, he breathed in the familiar scent of your shared home. The warm scent of mahogany, the fresh cecilias he had imported from Mondstadt for you weekly, it grounded him. 

Home.

He stepped further into the threshold, closing the door behind him. 

“My lord, I am glad to see you’ve returned in one piece. Shall I wake the staff? Surely you are famished after such a long trip back.” 

Capitano turned his head, taking in the sight of his most trusted advisor, barely awake, yet still so eager to provide for the harbinger.

“There is no need. Please, Dmitriv, rest.” With the nod of his head, the advisor left down the darkened hall to the staff wing.

Silently, he undid the pins holding his thick coat to his uniform before placing it on the coat rack. Footsteps come from the direction Dmitriv left, and out emerges the young stablehand rubbing sleep out of his eyes. He freezes the second he realizes his master is standing between him and the door. Il Capitano breathes heavily in amusement, stepping to the side and letting the young man rush to tend to his steed. 

Further into the estate he goes, heavy boots stepping into the plush carpet that lines the halls. Before your marriage, the manor was cold, echoing every small noise. After you became lady of the house, you breathed life into the once unwelcoming manor. In came carpets, rugs, plush furniture, and your warm personality. As Il Capitano saw it, you were the sun.  He smiled to himself at the thought of your lips pulling into a smile, often teasing him for being so cliché. 

His steps brought him to your shared room where he expected to see you fast asleep under the covers, your small figure somehow still managing to take up the majority of the large bed you shared. To his surprise, the room was empty, the bed made, and the curtains drawn back. The moonlight illuminated the empty bed, causing his heartstrings to tug at the absence of you. He closed the door quietly, head turning to look further down the hall. Warm light poured out from under the door to his study. 

He crossed the distance with ease, pausing before the door with his hand on the handle. Would you be happy to see him? Would you be cross that he had been unable to write to you? Many thoughts flickered through his mind as he slowly turned the handle to his own study. The warm light of the fire place bathed the room in orange. Sitting on the chaise in the corner of the room was his entire world. You sat beneath a dark green blanket, a pile of books beside you, with an open volume in your lap. You wore a simple white nightgown, with one of the straps falling to expose where your neck and shoulder met. His eyes traveled further up your being, taking in the curve of your smile, right to your twinkling eyes.

“Welcome home, my love.” You whispered across the room. 

Capitano reached up, removing his helmet and allowing you to see his face. You drank in the very sight of your husbands visage. Closing the book, you held out your arms to him. He quickly placed his helmet down and crossed the distance to you, desperate for your touch. He knelt before you, kissing the palm of your hand.

“My dove, how I’ve missed you.” He breathed into your hand, before closing his eyes and resting his cheek into your palm. You wasted no time in cradling his face with both of your hands, leaning down to kiss his forehead. You thumb over the scar on the left side of his face as you see the tension in his face fade. 

He opened his eyes to take in your beauty. The fire cast shadows across his face, his left eye blinded white, the right a beautiful tawny brown. Your eyes trace his features as his do the same to yours. Reaching up, he covers your hands in his own, smiling when the two of you lock eyes. You draw his face to your own, ghosting your lips across his. Before pressing your lips to his, you smile and whisper, “I’ve missed you as well, my dear.”

Your husband takes initiative, impatient and needing to feel your lips on his own. He takes your face in his hands and kisses you deeply. Your eyes flutter shut as you melt into the kiss. Your eyes flutter shut as you allow yourself to be consumed by the kiss. You sigh, smiling against the warmth of his lips. He breaks the kiss, resting his forehead against yours.

“Shall we retire, love?” you question. He kisses the tip of your nose and nods, picking up the book you discarded and places it at the top of the pile besides the chaise. You push the blanket to the side and swing your legs over the edge. Your nightgown has gathered around the top of your thighs, showing the plush skin on your legs.

Capitano’s breath catches in his throat as your skin glows in the light of the fire. One of his hands comes to rest on your knees, keeping you in place. Cocking your head in question, he meets your eyes. The look he gives you sends a chill to your core. He shifts from where he’s kneeling before you to in front of your legs. Gently, he slides his hand down your leg, before lifting your leg and placing featherlight kisses on your ankle above your slipper clad foot.

Your smile and sparkling gaze causes the stoic man below you to go into a haze. How he desperately missed your touch, your scent, everything about you. He continues to kiss up the length of your leg, stopping at your knee.

“Please, allow me this for just a while longer.” His breath fans across your skin as he places a lingering kiss to the inside of your knee, looking up at you through this lashes. You hum in acceptance as your beloved continues to worship your bare skin. You reach down to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. His hands are eager, they hungrily dance across your skin. 

The soft leather of his traveling gloves ghosted over your calf. His jet black hair shone blue in the moonlight cast from the study windows. You leaned back against the downy pillows, sinking into the touch of your husband. 

Suddenly, he hooks his hands under your legs and pulls your hips to the edge of the chaise. A slight gasp leaves your mouth, causing his eyes to flicker to yours. “My apologies, my dove. Allow me to make up for it.” His pupil is blown and dark, hungry. He sets your knees over his shoulders as he kisses your inner thighs, worshipping every inch you allow him. He reaches where the hem of your nightgown rested against your thighs. “May I?” He spoke against your skin.

“You may.” It came out breathier, needier than you meant. 

His hands fold the fabric back, exposing your underwear. He kissed further and further, inch by inch, up your leg until he reached your core. His eyes flickered up to yours once more, his very gaze told you everything you needed to know. He kissed over your clothed cunt, before hooking his fingers through the waist bands and tugging them down. You lifted your hips to help him shimmy them down, desperate for his touch. 

Within seconds of your garment being removed, he was back between your thighs. His leather clad fingers dug into your thighs, repositioning your hips so he could take in all of you as your hands held the skirt of your nightgown back for him. “Gorgeous.” He looked up at you, taking in the flush of your cheeks and the rapid rise and fall of your chest. Placing a final kiss to your inner thigh, his lips traveled to your sex. A featherlight kiss was placed on your clit, the very feeling sending a thousand butterflies through your body. He placed another kiss to the bundle of nerves, deepening the kiss. 

Your breath caught in your throat as you gazed down at him. He was intent on worshipping every inch of you, intent on showing you how much he missed you, how he couldn’t get your intoxicating taste out of his mind. He flattened his tongue and licked from your hole to your clit, causing you to shiver under his touch. Enjoying your reaction, he repeated the action, again and again until he could taste your sweet nectar. What were once gentle licks soon became sloppy, needy, fully intent on drinking in every drop of what you had to give. 

Your hand clasped to your mouth, head thrown back, relishing in the pleasure your husband was giving you. One of his hands left your leg as he withdrew from your heat, causing you to gaze down at him. His chin glistened with your juices as he took the tip of his finger in his teeth, removing the glove. “The light of my life, I have thought about you every second of every day since I was last in your embrace. I promise to make up the time I was away.” He promised you before returning to your core. Collecting some of your nectar on his finger, he drew tiny circle on your clit, all the while using his tongue on your hole. You sighed contentedly from the pleasure your were feeling. You watched as he drew his fingers to his mouth, sucking your juices off of them while holding your gaze. He didn’t break eye contact as he dropped his saliva coated finger back to your cunt, tracing the smallest of circles around your hole. Bending forward, his fiery gaze held you captive as his tongue returned to your bundle of nerves, sinking a finger into your cunt.

Your eyes flutter shut from the pleasure you were feeling. He slowly pumped his finger in and out of you as you breathed a sigh of content. One of your hands left your nightgown and found purchase in his silky hair. Carding your fingers through his locks earned you a noise somewhere between a hum and a growl. Waves of electricity danced through your nerves at the blissful feeling. Slowly, he added a second finger, all the while lapping your clit while his tongue. Your hips stuttered at the full feeling he was giving you.

You began to scratch his scalp with your nails. “Oh, please... It feels so good. Oh-” You breathed. Your praise drove him wild, taking your clit between his lips and sucking gently. The small gasps coming from you got louder and louder, causing him to start curling his fingers in your cunt. His fingers continued to rub against your g-spot, your body heating up with every stroke. Your hands began to tug at his hair and your thighs threatened to trap his head between your legs. 

His lips broke from your sex while his free hand gripped your thigh hard enough you were sure it would bruise. “Stay. Still.” He growled, eyes dark with a primal lust. A wave crashed through your chest, his need for you making your heart swell. He returned to your sex, fingers never having stilled. Breathy moans left your mouth as he continued to worship you. 

A third finger entered entered your weeping core, causing you to gasp. The hand gripping your thigh still released you, only to rest on your stomach. He slowly began to add pressure, and between that and the assault on your core, you began to feel yourself unravel. 

Your husband looked up at you, “Please, come for me.” He spoke before returning his mouth to your bud. 

A blinding wave of pleasure washed over you, causing you to clamp down on his fingers. He hummed in approval against your core as your fingers grasped at his hair. “Oh please! Yes, thank you, thank you!” You cried out, rocking your hips against his mouth. 

“Good girl, let go my love, I have you.” He whispered as you continued to grind against his fingers. As you began coming down from your high, he left opened mouth kisses to your inner thighs, helping to ground you. He gently placed your legs down. Your heart hammered against your chest as your tried to even your breathing. 

A sleepy smile graced your features as he looked at you like you placed the stars. Sitting up, he placed a sweet kiss to your lips, his swollen lips tasting of you. He sat back, running his hands back down your body, eliciting a shiver from you. He placed a kiss to your ankle before removing your slipper. 

Gently, he rubbed your feet. “How are you feeling, my dove?” He smiled up at you.

You gazed as him with the sweetest smile. “I am much better now that you are home. Shall we head to bed now?”

His smile grew as his eyes twinkled at you. “Of course, my heart. Shall I carry you to bed?” He placed your slipper back on your foot before gently picking you up and drawing you near.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and placed kisses along his jaw before planting a final one on the corner of his mouth. You felt safe in his arms as he escorted you back to your shared room, content he had returned home to you finally.

an: do yall want another one of these? is this good or is this dumb? this is my first fic lol idk what im doing, no thoughts only horny

[nickywrites]

Christmas Angel

A little Christmas-themed Les Mis one-shot I've had sitting in my notes for a while. Set in a post-canon AU where Valjean is alive, pardoned, and lives with Cosette, who is fully aware of his past; the story is primarily focused on her. This probably isn't historically accurate or plausible at all, but the idea came to me and I wanted to write it. So enjoy this sweet little story for Christmas, or whatever midwinter holiday you celebrate. Much love to you all.

Christmas was approaching, and Cosette had an idea.

She didn't tell anyone what she was up to; her father and her husband both tried to get the secret out of her, but neither succeeded. All they knew is that she was preparing very carefully for... something. She started by saving up a fund of money; never spending it on anything, but simply keeping the coins carefully in a little purse. Whenever anyone asked her why, she'd only smile.

Then came the knitting, and Cosette hardly stopped the movement of her needles except to eat or sleep. She bought many different colors of yarns and made them into dozens of thick, warm blankets. Each time she finished one, she would grin in satisfaction, fold it, and store it with the others in a closet she'd commandeered for the purpose.

Her last step was baking-- she made several batches of sugar cookies, which she shaped into stars, candy canes, and trees. Each cookie was placed in a tin for safekeeping, until she had four whole tins full.

Finally, Cosette was ready; one snowy morning a week before Christmas, she took the carriage and set off with her money and her blankets and her cookies, all piled into baskets. "Where are you going?" her father asked, one last time.

"I'll tell you once I'm back," she answered, kissing his cheek.

~

A few hours later, Cosette had made it to her destination. She approached a rather stern-looking guard without fear, pushing along the little cart she'd brought with her, heavy-laden with her baskets. "Monsieur," she greeted.

"And what's all this?" the guard asked, frowning.

Cosette took a deep breath. "They're gifts. For the prisoners."

And so, after the guard had looked through her baskets to determine there wasn't any contraband, Cosette trundled into Toulon with her cart.

~

The men looked shocked to see her there. Cosette braced herself for harassment, but none came. She stopped at each of the plank-beds assigned to a man, and she gave each one a few gold coins, a blanket, and a cookie, finishing with a cheery "Joyeux Noel, monsieur!" The other prisoners' eyes progressively widened in surprise as Cosette journeyed deeper into the miserable hole that was the bagne. To them, she hardly seemed to be real. Yet the warmth of her blankets, the sweet, buttery taste of her treats, and the presence of the coins that was more than they'd earned all year... that was real.

Most of the prisoners descended ravenously on the cookies, devouring them within seconds-- Cosette felt a pang go through her heart at the sight. The blankets, too, seemed appreciated on the cold winter day, with many of the men bundling into them to stop their shivering. They were soft, with love in each stitch. The coins were a promise of a better future ahead, and it was these that earned Cosette many stunned utterances of "Merci, madame." A few men even gave her smiles-- weak and broken smiles, to be sure, but to Cosette they were beautiful precisely because she knew how rare they must be.

One man she found was young-- barely any older than she. He was huddled in a corner, trembling more from fear than cold, and trying but failing to keep his tears from falling. As she approached, he did not look at her but shrunk away from the sound of her footsteps. "No, sir, I swear it, I didn't-- I've only been here a few weeks, sir, and it was on account of my family, sir-- the little ones were cold and hungry, and I'm sorry! I didn't know what else to do! Sir!" The man huddled in on himself and sobbed.

Cosette knelt down by his side. "I am no sir. I'm not here to hurt you." She pressed a cookie and some coins into his shaking hands. "My father was sent here, many years ago," she murmured. "His family was cold and hungry too. He's free now, and he's happy."

At this, the young man looked up at her in something like awe. "God bless you, madame."

~

As she promised, Cosette told her father where she'd been when she returned home that evening. At first his face went very pale. "You went there? Cosette, I-- of all the--"

"I'm sorry if it displeases you, Papa. But I think those men need all the joy they can get, and... I think I helped. Just a little bit."

"Cosette, I'm not displeased, it's just-- the bagne is an awful place."

"I know. And that's why I'm glad I went, and I'll go again next year."

Valjean stared at his daughter, and felt his eyes grow misty. Not quite knowing what else to do, he pulled her into a tight hug. "I'm proud of you, Cosette."

Meanwhile, the prisoners of Toulon talked amongst themselves of the Christmas angel they had met that year, pondering the kindness she showed to men like them. They talked of her father, too; that stranger who been one of them, once. This was, perhaps, the best gift Cosette had given them, without even realizing it. She had given them hope.

Fin

AN: I don't know if Cosette would actually have been allowed to do this; probably not, as the bagne doesn't strike me as the sort of place that allowed visitors. Maybe it did, though. I like to think that she could bring some light there. The prisoners probably would have shown some aggression towards Cosette as well, but that wasn't really something I wanted to write.

[dracowars]

hiii ! your writing is amazing and i was wondering if you could do a draco x fem!reader fluff where she slowly steals all of his clothes and he finds her stash ?

thief | draco malfoy

pairing: draco x reader

word count: 927

summary: where y/n steals all of draco's clothes

a/n: i wanted to post this sooner in the week but there was just so much going on, uff

warnings: none

universe: harry potter

Making yourself cozy under your fluffy blanket, you reach for you bedside table and take the warm cup filled with delicious tea in your hand, its warmth shooting through your body immediately. As soon as you have found a comfortable position, you pick up your already opened book and immerse into a world full of fantasy, very different from the world in which you currently live in.

Line by line, word for word, you dive more into its universe and let it surround you within a few seconds.

At least until you are suddenly pulled back into reality by the knock on your door. The door opens a few moments later and platinum hair peeks around the corner. Putting your book to the side, you sit up and lean back against the headboard. At the sight of your boyfriend, you can’t help but gently smile.

“Are you alone?”, he asks in a low voice, in fear of getting caught by your roommates.

“They went to Hogsmeade”, you clarify and notice how his posture relaxes right away, fully stepping into the room.

“You would not even believe me when I tell you how difficult it was for me to get here”, Draco sighs and throws himself next to you on the bed, causing it to squeak and creak loudly. Giving you a quick kiss on the lips, he snuggles up to you and picks up your book, studying its cover with interest.

“Do you feel sick or why are you lying in bed?”, he worriedly asks you, the concern clear in his voice after discovering the cup of tea in your hand.

“No, I just wanted to rest today”, you explain while running your hand through his soft hair.

“Hopefully, you have rested enough by now, because we are going to the lake!”, Draco announces excitedly, and his immense euphoria made the bed shake again. He was never the one to openly show his emotions, except if it was in front of you. Then he transforms into a huge softie. Rising from the bed, he tries pulling you out of your bed.

“No, Draco. Please do not do this to me, it is so cozy right now”, you grumble and to your surprise, he actually lets go of you, but only to head straight for your closet to pick out a suitable outfit for you, as you realize in the next moment. Your current outfit, consisting of a loose pair of sweatpants and a sweater by Draco that is much too big, is definitely not meant to be shown outside. You love this look and Draco’s sweater is incredibly soft and cozy. Oh, and Draco does not know that it is yours now.

Realizing this, you quickly grab the duvet and cover your entire upper body with it, only your head peeking out from underneath as you lay flat on the mattress. Talking to himself, he rummages through your dresser with his back facing you until he suddenly pauses before slowly turning around.

“Wait a minute.. Is that mine?”, he asks, irritated, holding a dark green sweater into the air.

“Maybe”, you answer as quietly as possible and play with your hands under the covers, embarrassed. Ever since the two of you got together, you have gotten into the habit of stealing almost every piece of clothing he has. But what can you do about it when they are this incredibly comfortable and also when they smell like him?

Draco frowns and throws the sweater on the end of your bed before continuing to rummage through your clothes while you can only watch.

“And what about this one here?”

“Well, maybe I accidentally took it when we stayed at your home last summer..”

Far from believing your excuse, he continues to toss all of the clothes you stole on your bed until he stand in front of it with his arms crossed and an indefinable expression on his face.

“No wonder I thought I have nothing to wear anymore”, he shakes his head, but for a second you think you saw a small smile on his lips before he suddenly picks up all the clothes. Immediately, you grab his arm to stop him.

“Do not take them away from me, Draco baby!”, you pout, but his gaze lands on your upper body now, which reveals another of his sweaters after you moved forward too quickly.

“Is that not my sweater too?”

“Is it?”

“I even asked you about this one weeks ago when I was searching for it!”

“Oh, did you?”

“Seriously?”, Draco huffs out in disbelief.

“Okay, okay! Maybe I stole one or two of your sweaters..”, you reluctantly admit, still clinging onto him.

“One or two?”

“Well, maybe a few more than two. But Draco, listen. You do not even believe how cozy they are. And they smell so good, just like you, which makes it easier for me to not miss you too much. If I put on one of them in the morning, I am always happy right away”, you tell him without breathing, the smile on his face becoming wider and brighter each second you keep talking.

“You really are unbelievable”, he softly laughs, puts the pile of his clothes back on your bed and tackles you down onto the mattress, his arms catching your body between them. “I allow you to keep them, but only on the condition that I can borrow them from time to time.”

“Deal!”, you giggle happily before he catches your lips in his in a loving kiss.

[semischarmed]

Chrysalis

People say that college is where you “find yourself” and I can’t help but agree. It’s just, well, how I truly found myself was through my roommate Kyle. Or rather, inside him.

How to describe Kyle? He’s basically the perfect roommate. He’s kind, quiet, studious, relatively clean. He goes to soccer practice for some kind of campus league every weekend. Kyle is also rushing one of the frats on campus- Sig something or the other, so I get quite a few long nights to myself. Long, hot nights where I can’t help but scramble over to his side and pleasure myself in a pile of dirty Kyle-scented undergarments. The biggest treats were the nights when he had to do his frat stuff after a match. The nights when I could slip on his unwashed sweaty gear and just lie in the bliss of being surrounded in him. Every few days, we go out to grab a bite to eat and shoot the shit- the guy’s been a great friend to me, despite his typical serious demeanor. Since he was rushing this semester, he’s been busier and busier but he still makes time for me, even inviting me to some of his soccer team or frat bro hangouts. What can I say? I lucked out with Kyle. Still, I’m a greedy son of a bitch, and I wanted more of him. 

I decided fairly early on that I would possess him, make him wholly mine. I can’t even quite explain why Kyle specifically. He’s cute-sure, tone-definitely, but he isn’t super buff, he isn’t red-carpet-movie star hot, so it’s really hard to place why, out of anyone I could take in this entire school, I decided he would be my target. My forever home. Something about him was just enticing. Maybe it was the way his coffee brown eyes relayed a sense of mystery and serious matters, but lit up with the faintest twinkle of amusement when he recapped his games. Or maybe the way his body only gave me the briefest of glimpses at his musculature when he switched shirts. Maybe it was his kindness, unexpectedly bright for a frat-boy-soccer-star-roomate. Or maybe the way his scent lingered in the room after a workout. God, that scent. Pleasant, warm, humid, musky- like summer rain. Doesn’t matter. I wanted him. I wanted to spend my every moment with him. In him. I wanted to be wrapped up in Kyle’s flesh till the end of time, to wake up with Kyle’s eyes, to take every breath with his lungs, feel every beat of his heart pump as mine.

This possession was going to be special. I prepped for weeks- months even. Truthfully, it’s not all that difficult to possess someone for sometime and when you’re as good at it as I am, you can even maintain it indefinitely by putting the smallest pieces of yourself in them. Kyle would be different. Full, integrative possession- a one-way ticket. I wanted this shit to be permanent. I was going to stuff my entire physical form inside his. To take someone at their core, to violate every law of nature both physical and metaphysical- this, this needed setup, needed planning, needed Kyle to be present during the entire process. Therein lies the issue- how to get a lucid Kyle to sit still long enough for me to complete the slow process of integrating to him. 

I came to the conclusion that a catalyst of sorts was necessary. Something that could lock us in together physically, could stop him from leaving or stopping process, could break open after let the new and improved me emerge. Guess who drafted plans for a one such catalyst? Guess who switched majors to Material Science, who befriended a professor just to figure out a good semi-permeable material to use? No one can say I didn’t love him- at least in my own special way. After weeks of trial, weeks of iteration, I decided on a tight-fitting, sleeping-bag-esque contraption. The material and shape were special- virtually impossible for a human being to break out of, kept fluids in but let some air flow through for ventilation, shaped such that we could only fit directly stacked on top of each other, leaving him unable to escape the process. I also set the release mechanism in the back, so only a completed Kyle could escape. Like any good invention, I gave it a name befitting its purpose: Chrysalis.

I settled on a day where he would be weakest- cardio day, a day where I could easily slip some compound into his post workout mix. I finished preparations with the chrysalis, secretly hidden in his bed.

“Hey dude, sup?” He asks nonchalantly with a slight head nod, as he enters our room, visibly tired from the workout. “Nothing, man” I reciprocate in amusement. I watch in secret anticipation as he downs his special post-workout mixture, scratches his cock through his boxers- unconcerned, comfortable, and gives off a loud yawn. “Hey man, I-I-don’t....feel..” I rush to help him, corralling the grimy, tired, post-workout Kyle into place. He asleep almost immediately. I strip us both naked, marveling at my new vessel. Damn. A light pelting of hair covers the deceptively muscular soccer star. A blanket of sweat surrounds him while a bit of the spiked post workout drink pools at the corners of his plump lips. Deliciously plump lips beckoning for a taste. I aim to lick it off and give him a kiss before I immediately realize what the repercussions would be. Shit. Close call. I stroke his hair, leaning in to tell him how much I wanted this. I take a quick sniff at his pits, at his groin and god they smell fantastic. I roll him to his side, as I take my naked form beside him and pull the Chrysalis around ourselves. I roll to have my back face the bed and the bottom of my cocoon, pulling Kyle on top of me and engaging the the contraption to wrap around us. I find the button to tighten it, effectively locking the position of our stacked bodies in place. I find the final button to lock the Chrysalis into its release valve. No going back.

When I seal us together in my little love cocoon, I begin to feel the gravity of his form above mine, slick with perspiration. My future body was dense, probably from years of building muscle, perfectly tempered, toned, streamlined by every game, every win. Inside our encasement, I rocked back and forth, getting into as comfortable of a position as I could and rubbing our sweaty bods together. I lock my legs around his, intertwine our fingers together and wait patiently for Kyle to come to.

The scent was indescribable, orgasmic even. I’ve never felt closer to him. I am in tune with his slightest movements as he lay on top. With every breath, every inhale our bodies rise and fall in sync. With every steamy inhale I draw in his breath. like we were breathing in each other. No one else deserved to experience Kyle this way, not even his girlfriend Steph. Kyle was mine and mine alone. With mine still intertwined with his, I drag Kyle’s limp hands around his belly, his light abs, give him a feel for himself.

An intrusive wave of uncertainty hits me. Oh god what am I doing? Am I really doing this? This, this is unnatural. I release my hands from his grasp and reach them around him, lightly dancing them across my future body and feeling the new vessel so close, feeling his damp, gently sculpted abs for myself, squeezing his supple ass. Stupid natural order shit. I tug on his hefty, limp dick, which begins to harden involuntarily at my provacation. This is mine. Fuck the natural order, not giving you up baby.

He wakes, disoriented in the Chrysalis. “Uh...I...What the fuck...” Panic sets in, as he feels my immobile flesh behind him and he tries to get his bearings to no avail. He keeps moving back and forth, trying to dislodge himself from the Chrysalis, from me, but it’s far too tight and too strong. I made sure of that. “Oh god, oh god...” he trails as he tries to rationalize the past events. I decide at that point to reveal my identity, faking the sounds of myself waking up before sleepily asking him “Kyle? Uh... w-what are you doing here? What are we doing? W-Where is this? Did you do this? Kyle? Kyle!” I’m a shitty actor but he seems to have bought it. I relish the moment when he sighs in relief at the realization that the naked form on his back was mine. I guess he trusts me. Cute, but you shouldn’t trust me, Kyle.  

“Oh thank god, dude I don’t know, I just woke up. I- uh- sorry, I’m gonna try to get us out of this thing,” He states as he wiggles to try to release us from my cocoon. And fuck did that feel good. 

“Mmmmm Kyle” I trail, as my dick starts to harden and poke at his ass. The wiggling does not helping him, as every movement gets me harder and pushes my dick further in him. 

“Oh! EW! Fuck! What the fuck man!” He shouts, before he realizes all this was turning me on. “Fuck dude stop!” he exclaims. 

“Why would I stop this, baby, we’re just getting started.” I give his back shoulder a quick lick. “I’m gonna make you feel like a new man”.

“Y-You! YOU! You did this! the Fuck! Get me out of here!!” He spat, only for it to rain back on to us through gravity. 

He squirms, trying to escape once more only to be met with the Chrysalis’ tight hold on our forms and my engorged cock. “Only one person can come out of this thing” I moan, as I start gyrating myself into him. “Get the fuck off me, Fag!” He screams in vain as parts of me already start connecting into him. The parts of his body connected to mine light up, like sparks dancing across mine. Euphoria. “There’s that soccer rage” I state seductively as I wrap my arms around his torso and abs and push us impossibly closer. “Suits you... suits...me”.

By this point, My body was halfway submerged into his and he finally starts to feel my nerves, my cells as his. With our shared senses, he feels my arms pushing us together as if his own self was doing the deed. “AHHHH OH MY GOD. Oh! nonononono” He exclaims in terror. He is reduced to incoherent babbling as he smells the suffocating concoction of his post-workout filth. The air is thick and brimming with pheromones. He is reduced to disgust, when he tastes the droplets in the air of our putrid selves locked inside my Chrysalis. Of course, in our connected state, I taste them too, only I love this taste. His taste. Our taste. I can only moan as I continue merging into him and my limbs and his are one. I feel my new biceps as I trace them around the new me. Tone. Nimble. Champion. And I feel my new, experience-tempered legs. Vascular. Virile. Powerful. I’m a goddamn athlete.

Animalistic, guttural sounds escape his mouth as the last of my torso and neck coalesce into his, and all that remains is my head, firmly planted to the back of his. I take a deep whiff of his now-drenched hair with our new, shared, workhorse lungs. “We’re so close, baby.”

Inserting myself into his mind was equally orgasmic. He screams at contact. The first plunge of my forehead tp the back of his was some useless frat shit. Whatever. I dig my head deeper into him and felt his years of soccer practice leak into me. More goodstuff. Then deeper still- and fond memories with friends, fond memories of school bleed into me. I plunge further and further in, taking in every piece of him I could, while he pants and winces at my insertion. His first kiss, grandfather’s funeral, deepest urges all MINE. Fuck. I pull back slightly, as I feel his him gently sob, before I push more myself deeper into his psyche. He screams at the injection of more of my memories and at the realization that this was a one way trip for both of us. “FUCK! FUCK! Stop Please! Too much! Too much!” I mentally sneer as I thrust even deeper into his mind, grabbing some more of him, and leaving more of myself. Childhood memories and feelings flood into my mind and I experience everything that has led to Kyle becoming Kyle. The feeling of winning my first game. The feeling I felt the first time I masturbated. More. Kyle’s deep love for Steph.

Damn, this guy was ready to pop the question and start a family with her-Not Anymore baby. You’re with me now, Kyle. I corrode this particular aspect of him with my own innermost desires. My perversions, the pure lust I felt in finally taking him. He laughs, moans at the lust he now had, before catching himself.

“Oh god what... doing... me!” he whimpers as his body convulses and drools. Our shared pupils dilate at the process as his body thrashes in futility. And yet, I press into him deeper still. Deeper and deeper inside until all but the very last of my old self is left. His deepest secrets, his dreams, self worth belong to me. He cries, mouth mumbling incoherently into a crescendo as I worm in that last bit my head into his and my own life become his. My old body’s childhood memories, My old thoughts, feelings, knowledge, secrets flood his. I give all of it to my new self, ingraining me in him, and cementing us together.

“AHHHH DAMN IT! Fuck Fuck! get-get the fuck out!” he screams as his hands start pulling on his hair, as his head shakes left and right trying to get the intrusion of my mind out of his. He recoils as I briefly take control. “No way dude, this [moan] oh god this is fucking great.” We continue panting, continue convulsing as his body is forced to accept me. “M-My name is Kyle, and I feel fucking good!” He shakes a bit more. “STOP-“ I cut in to force him to tell me “God I fucking love you inside me. Take me! Use me!” He begins gently sobbing, but I make him do it with a smile. “My name is Kyle and I’m a sick fuck who’s gonna cum inside and possess his closest friends”. I make us moan. 

Eventually, the seizing stops, and Kyle finds a moment of clarity. With my memories in him, He finds the release built into the Chrysalis and we emerge out of our slick cocoon as one. Sweat and cum trickle out as we come out a new man. A changed man. He walks to mirror in horror, checking himself to look for any wounds in his form. Instead he finds pulsing of my flesh-or what used to be my flesh-at various parts of his body beneath his skin. Abberant. Inhuman.

“Oh god oh god oh god this-this-this, this can’t be happening”. My new heart quickens as Kyle continues to panic. He tries to slap himself awake, but with each slap my control tightens and I make him moan in approval. He feels impossibly full with something-someone pulsing deep inside his skin, integrating. A natural violation of the highest order. He whimpers as he takes nervous, shaking hands all around him, feeling the intrusiveness of the eroticism I feel in being in him. The pulsing in him stops. “Keep going, baby [moan] fill me up. Make me you,” I force him to tell me with a tone that oozed sex. A tone that was alien to his voice. “My name is Kyle and I love dick. I love dick because the man inside me, the man controlling my every action loves dick. And he’s never leaving me. I love that too, because he’s inside me, making me love that.”

“Kyle I’m giving you one last morsel choice before I take it all the way- I decide everything for us from now on” I state to my reflection in the mirror, giving it a slobbery kiss. “We got a cute ass...I’m sure we can snag a few more bodies to play with... I wanna get a little party going. You know, our teammates are pretty cute, aren’t they? Maybe we can stick some me inside them”. I make him lick his lips. “Your frat bros are pretty cute too [moan] you wanna be frat president? I can arrange that, once I make you put me inside them...I’m getting ahead of myself... Let’s start with one. Pick someone...someone we can take, can use, can fuck” I force his face into an out of place, lustful, deranged smile before returning control to him. “Stay the fuck away from my bros! I..... uh...sorry. S-Sorry for shouting. Just please-please! Get out!” he whimpers in desperation, before descending into more hysteric sobbing. Hysteric sobbing which becomes cute, unsettling giggling, which becomes a roaring laughter as I wrestle back control of my new meat-suit. I wipe his tears off my new face, giving it a quick taste before taking a tour of the new me. “You and I both know there is no going back. The old me? Doesn’t exist. I am You, now. This is your body doing these actions, your brain thinking these thoughts”.

A tremor begins from our extremities, limbs become numb as our shared nerves light up in stimulation. More internal sparks fly through us. This was it. Like an earthquake in my new body, a wave of new feelings wash over me, rocking me to my core. The world around us shook, as the final pieces of my physical self interlocks with his and two become one. 

I reach down to pleasure myself, before deciding instead to first push Kyle’s consciousness to the front so he can watch. This would be my first time in this body. Lets make it special. I do a quick reverse crunch, holding the position. Fucking easy in this body. And then pull the crunch close till the body starts to struggle “Arrgh Fuck! Stop!” he screams. I pull even further and he cries from the uncomfortable position I put us in. “This is mine now” I state with his voice, “I decide how far..[pant]..how far we go” And decide I do, as I pull us even further back, prompting another pained “FUCK” from Kyle. I line my growing hard on-our growing hard-on, up to our shared mouth. “Look.. look at what you can do” I moan as him, before letting his consciousness back in front, leaving only control of his face. He is in hysterics as I keep him locked in his position and continue breaking this new bod. 

“Look at what we’re capable of when I’m driving” I state in our shared mind. His head thrashes back and forth before I freeze it in place. I take brief control of just his plump lips and mouth, and position his thick dick inside. Fuck we taste good. Salty, with the smallest hint of bitterness. I continue, pumping head faster and faster, forcing my occupant to feel every motion. We make little noise beyond the soft smacking sounds as we continue. The feeling was fucking euphoria. Im sure he feels it too, since he’s been uncharacteristically quiet. I’ve seen him do his warmup stretches before. I knew what he was capable of- with just a little push from me. When he shoots, when I let him shoot, I keep our shared mouth firmly wrapped around our engorged dick, guzzling our creation greedily. This mouth cannot contain it all and a bit spill below. Even more dribbles out of as I slowly release our position. Wet cum spills and pools on our shared chest and abs. I smear it around like a lotion. 

I jump and stretch myself into straight standing abruptly, forcing a slight jolt of pain from previously contorting this new body in a way it never had to before. His blood rushes through me, through us, and I let out a sigh of relief and contentment in the afterglow of my possession. I lick my new self clean, exploring all of Kyle’s crevices, before I coat our mouth in my new seed for a taste and swallow the excess in one gulp. We taste Delicious. Kyle, you sexy, tasty fuck, I knew there was something different about you. That last stunt seemed to have satisfied him as he recedes into me. I am in a dreamy smile as I tap my head gently with my finger. “All me now”.

The alarm on Kyle’s phone-my phone rings suddenly. Oh Shit. Kyle-er I had a game in a few minutes. I head over to the field with a breeze behind me, to the sight of slight discomfort and subtle gagging from my teammates. Fuck that. Smell more of me motherfuckers. They smile with strained faces as we do some small warmups for the game. His teammates really were cute- I briefly consider possessing them right there in broad daylight. Fuck it, what can anyone fucking do? I’m Kyle. And when Kyle wants something, Kyle gets it. Still, I only came for a test drive, so I decide to postpone their fates.

The match was tense. My teammates were alright, sure. But Kyle? Me? I played his body like an expert- no movement wasted, every single action carefully considered and executed. It was my brain in here after all. Onlookers stared in awe as, almost inhumanly, I block everything that goes my way. Despite my brain’s expert calculation, his body also deserved to praise. His muscled legs gliding my form through the grass, effortlessly, the twisting his body at just the right spot for the most efficient block. This body following my every command, like I’ve owned it for years. The old me was not one for sports, but this? Working his musculature into these complex maneuvers? Straining his form to just the right amount to maximize performance? Bliss. I can see why some people like this shit. The more I move through him, the closer I felt. Despite my heavy panting at the end, I can’t help but feel energized. Being in him is invigorating. I could keep going at this for days and days- this was truly an athlete’s body. 

I do a little dance as, in the end, we squeeze a 1-0 victory. All thanks to me, of course. My teammates brace themselves slightly-likely from the deep, concentrated musk and gallons of sweat I was emanating- before they surround me in a group huddle. New and improved Kyle is kinky little shit though, so I grab and pull their sweaty bodies uncomfortably close, and then squeeze them to me even closer so they can leave with the scent of my sweat on them. They recoil at my actions, at my words, as the normally stoic Kyle gently coos “Great job, team”. They laugh nervously and try to pull away, but I keep them in the embrace just an awkward second too long, sniffing each of them and remarking them. One day, you’ll all be mine.

After the game, I return to our room and look at my sweaty, dirty self in the mirror. I take a whiff of the freshly filthy soccer game and  soccer team smells we impregnate our room with. I take a quick sniff of our shared armpits, deciding to forgo showering this bod. Exquisitely noxious. Not getting rid of this.

I called his girlfriend Steph to break up abruptly over phone, citing my “newfound” sudden onset homosexuality. She was upset, understandably, but supportive. Really, I had no issues with the girl, and in another life, we’d be best friends fawning over the same straight dude. But this was Kyle, new-Kyle, new-gay-Kyle-who-only-loves-possessed-dick. My Kyle. He was mine, and mine alone.

Having finished my short list of post-takeover errands, my new self was on the prowl for some new recruits, new bodies to take, to possess, to pleasure me. Since he never really gave me an answer to my question earlier, I search through the remnants of the Old Kyle in my mind, force them to give me the name of someone to to take. I smiled. In the echoes of my mind, one face, one name reverberated in my head.  

Red.

I start giggling in a cute tone, out of place coming out of jock Kyle before I break out into a full cackle. “Kyle, you sick, sick, fuck...Red? Big Bro Red? After all he’s done to try to bond with you? Sick, incestuous son of a bitch.” I let out a soft moan as I drag my new vascular hands all over myself, stopping at my new nipples to give them a slight tickle, and my eyes flutter. I give them a hard twist, whining in elation when his body delivers the sensations to me. The smells we’ve been emitting has been pungent, concentrated, putrid from that sweaty group hug earlier. “Traitorous, depraved fucks like me don’t deserve a shower” I make him say in dirty whispers.

Red was Kyle’s big bro at the frat, and someone I had only met once previously. Once was enough to leave an impression. Unlike cute, naturally introspective, reserved athlete Kyle, Big Bro Red was extroverted, artsy, and fucking hot. Apparently, he’s been trying to connect to Kyle ever since the two were paired. Well, Kyle’s under new management, and I planned to use every bit of their tenuous relationship to get Big Bro Red under that same management. This was going to be fun. 

I am stopped abruptly as my phone vibrates. “Hey, wanna grab a bite to eat?” I close my eyes in sweet satisfaction, lick my lips seductively and shift my mouth into a filthy smile when I catch the name of who it’s from:

Red. 

—————End—————

Took a bit of inspiration from some past stories I’ve read in writing this one. The story implies a continuation but I’m still a bit on the fence. Hope you liked it/ Happy New Year’s!

[dailydaydreamings]

Best in the Worst Way, Part 13

The Reader has been having a love affair with two Avengers and gets caught in a sticky situation. She’s suddenly faced with life decisions she’s not prepared for, including who to love, what she wants, and is this all worth it?

Okay, this took way way too long to write. A couple of things. A) language warning. B) I’m not a doctor. C) I hope I tagged everyone who wanted to be tagged! I tried! Lmk if not! D) I am a total knob with technology and I don’t know how to comment on my own posts without using my main account, so I’m not ignoring you I swear!

Just a couple more chapters, do you think they’re having girls or boys (or both)?

Bucky stood in the doorway of your bedroom, a bemused look across his face. His eyebrow twitched upward to say, are you okay with this?

Four weeks ago, the answer would have been a hard no. But you were four weeks into a strict bed rest. Steve spent the mornings at the compound and Bucky spent the mornings with you, and then they switched in the afternoons. You spent most of your time reading or learning to crochet, poorly. You were completely bored out of your mind.

So, you cracked a smile and shrugged a shoulder to let him know you weren’t 100% pleased with the situation.

Bucky’s mouth twitched into a slight smile, “Looks great, Steve.”

Steve looked up from where he sat at the end of the bed, painting your toenails. “You’re doing the other foot, this is a lot harder than it looks.”

You groaned, “How are you still on the first foot?” It had only been forty minutes.

Bucky laughed, “Let me get dinner started, okay? You two have fun.”

Your heart gave a small lurch. Bucky wasn’t okay. Not after your trip to the hospital.

He blamed himself.

You looked over at Steve, who had his tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth he was concentrating so hard on your pinky toe. You kicked him in the chest with your other foot.

He blinked in surprise, “What was that for?”

You gave him an exasperated look, “Go talk to him.”

Steve looked down at your foot again, “Babe, he’s fine?”

You kicked him again. Harder. “He still blames himself for what happened, dumbass.”

It was no one’s fault really. If anyone was to blame it was your biology. But Steve had yelled at Bucky about the sex, blamed him for the bleeding, on the way to the hospital. Dr Lawrence had said the sex hadn’t caused it but nothing had been the same since. Bucky hadn’t slept in the same room as either of you since. He came in to check on you and Steve. He cracked jokes, made dinner, but kept his distance.

He was beating himself up for this and you weren’t going to take it anymore.

When Steve didn’t answer, you started to heave yourself up, “If you won’t go talk to him, I will.”

“No, no,” Steve put his hand on your shoulder, forcing you to sit. “I will okay. I’m sorry.”

An hour later, Bucky and Steve came in carrying food. Steve handed you a plate and settled in beside you, Bucky seemed to be hesitant to join. He stood beside the bed, ringing his hands nervously.

Your heart gave a little lurch, he did a really good job at making himself look small.

You opened your arm up to him, “Come sit with me, baby.”

He seemed to rock back and forth on his heels, “Every time I want to touch you, my head screams at me that you’re going to start bleeding again.”

You looked over at Steve, who hung his head slightly. He knew this and you’d beat his ass for it later.

“I’m okay, baby, I swear,” you lied through your fucking teeth. “Come sit with me, please.”

Bucky sat at the edge of the bed, not touching you. This would be a start tomorrow he would scoot an inch closer. In three days you’d be hip to hip. In a week he’d kiss your forehead. It would be okay.

But for now, you started with, “So can someone tell me something interesting please? Facebook can only keep me so entertained.”

———

Four Weeks Ago

Dr Laurence was wearing heels. At four am.

It was such an odd detail, but it was the first thing you noticed when you got to the hospital. You didn’t even make it to the compound. The hospital was closer.

Steve carried you into the ER, yelling frantically for help. You were placed on a gurney, and Dr Laurence was at your side a moment later. She was speaking quickly, but you weren’t sure what she way saying. She looked to Bucky and Steve for answers. She was putting gloves on, reaching for the ultrasound.

You were looking at her shoes. Valentino nude pumps, you’d seen them online two days ago and laughed at the price.

You were barely aware that the ultrasound probe had entered you.

Bucky was petting your hair.

You just stared at her shoes.

The moment you looked away, you would have to start to cope with Steve screaming at Bucky the whole way here. The way your sheets were stained with blood at home. The fact you had a house showing in the morning, and you were going to miss it. The fact you had a million unopened boxes of baby things in your apartment.

Your head just screamed the moment you looked away from Dr Laurence’s shoes, she would tell you your babies were dead.

Your ears rang.

Yesterday, they’d been so active. You were cursing their movements begging for a moment of reprieve. You’d do anything for a small kick right now.

“Y/n!” Dr Laurence looked up at you from between your legs.

You lifted your head from the bed, you tried to speak but no words came out.

She motioned at the ultrasound, “It looks like placenta previa. The bleeding seems to have stopped, but I’m going to get you a transfusion. We’re just looking for a heartbeat now...”

You frowned, placenta previa, that was something you’d read about. That was a normal risk, something that could happen to anyone. And the babies...

The familiar sound of their heartbeats filled your ears.

It was the most beautiful sound in the world.

That was it. The flood gates opened and you started to sob. Steve wrapped his arms around you first. Bucky was next, he embraced the two of you, kissing your forehead gently.

Their words filled your ears, setting a blanket of comfort over you.

“They’re okay, you’re okay.”

“It’ll be okay, you’ve got this.”

“Breathe, just breathe for now.”

“We love you so, so much.”

———

“Okay, we cannot be this unorganized, guys seriously?” You pinched the bridge of your nose.

Busy and Steve stood at the end of the bed, their arms crossed over their chest. You sat in bed, your hair in the messiest of buns, looking down at the mess they’d brought you to sort through.

“Well what do you propose?” Steve asked.

“For starters,” You motioned at the mountain of baby clothes in front of you, “Why do we have eight different outfits that were brining to the hospital. There’s two babies.” You held up two fingers for emphasis.

Bucky scratched his head, “This mommy blog said you need two outfits, in case one of them doesn’t fit. Plus, we don’t know if we’re having a boy or a girl.”

“They should look cute when coming home,” Steve asserted.

You only blinked. If someone had said this would be your life one year ago, you would have died laughing.

“Okay, fine,” you grabbed the nearest shirt. “We could go gender neutral, you know that right?”

It’s not like you had any shortage of gendered clothing though either. Tony had loaded you up with boy clothing, swearing you would be having two. Natasha had done the same for girl clothing. And Steve had managed to pick out the most extravagant outfits from each section.

“We can,” Steve conceded. “But I want us to have options. See what they look like when they come out.”

Your nose crinkled. You fucking hated that. Come out. Like they would just slide out of you, no issues.

You rubbed your temples, “Okay, but I refuse to have my kids dress matchy matchy their entire lives. They can if they want, but I will never make them wear the same outfit.”

Bucky chuckled, coming to sit on the bed beside you, “That’s going to go over well.”

You glared at him as he completely destroyed your pile of folded baby clothes.

Steve ran his hand through his hair aggressively, “But they’d look so cute.”

You shook your head, “Only if they want to. They need to have their own personalities.”

Steve looked ready to lose his mind, “But...pictures.”

You levelled him with your mom look. You’d been practicing. “I’ll give you Christmas cards. If the two of you also dress matchy matchy if we have a boys.”

“Deal,” Steve didn’t even hesitate.

You could picture it now. Two little boys in dorky ugly Christmas sweaters and beige khakis, their hair spiked up and Steve and Bucky marching to a tee. Oh it would be glorious, but you realized a moment too late you had forgotten yourself in that picture.

You cleared your throat, “Okay, names.”

Bucky reached over, rubbing his hand over where the babies were most active. A slight smile played on his lips as he leaned over to brush his lips over your bare skin.

You tried your best to ignore the shiver of pleasure that went down your spine.

“I don’t care,” Bucky murmured, “I think we should see what they look like when they come out.”

“No,” you ran your hand through his hair. “We pick now or at least get some options.”

Steve came to sit on your other side, disrupting the rest of your pile. You rolled your eyes, so much for nothing.

“Poppy?” He suggested.

You shook your head, “I like Penelope, not Poppy. I don’t believe in naming a kid a nickname. It feels final.”

They both looked at you funny, but you stood by it.

“What about Carter,” you suggested.

“No!” Both boys said in unison. You stopped, thinking about why that name wouldn’t work before bursting out laughing.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Steve!” You reached over to stroke his face. “Not Carter.”

He chuckled, “It’s not a bag suggestion. I’d love to honour Peggy, but Sharron might think I named them after her.”

You burst out laughing. What an awkward situation that would be. One you’d pay to see.

“Okay, guys,” you snapped your fingers a couple of times, “We need a couple more names. Some more ideas. Let’s go.”

The name started flowing, and you started feeling more comfortable. Aaron, Grace, Henry, Bonnie, Andrew, Katherine.

You relaxed into your pillows. Your babies would have names. No matter what happened.

———

The boys stayed awake at your side while you slept.

You woke a couple of hours, having only slept for what felt like a short moment to find the two of them drinking coffee and nibbling on muffins.

“You look like shit,” you commented, stretching an arm over your head.

Bucky raised an eyebrow, “Look in the mirror, sweetheart.”

You grasped your hand to you chest in mock hurt, “Oh, burn.” You said sarcastically.

Steve chuckled, getting up to come over and kiss your forehead, “We’re just glad you’re okay.”

You stroked his beard lovingly, “I’m okay, and now I’m worried about you two. I’m fine, go home and shower and sleep. Please.”

Steve pressed another kiss to your forehead before moving to sit down beside Bucky, “Not gonna happen, baby.”

You rolled your eyes, “I’m not going to have the babies today. You’re useless to me tired. Go home. Please.”

Bucky shook his head, “We’ll take turns, how about that?”

You rolled your eyes, “You two need to talk and go get me some stuff. Please, let me worry about you two right now instead of myself. Just for a moment. It would make me feel better if you just got some rest at home.”

It took some more convincing, but they finally left. And you were left in peaceful silence. You looked down at your belly. One of the babies gave a swift kick. You smoothed over the spot gently, “I love you, please stay in there a while longer, okay?”

“We’re going to do everything in our power to do so,” Dr Laurence stood in the door way.

You smiled, “I can’t thank you enough for being here last night.”

She nodded, coming to sit on the stool by your bed. She didn’t look happy. You braced a hand protectively over your belly.

She tapped her tablet with a manicured nail, “I’m concerned.”

“Okay...?”

“I’m not going to be gentle. Your blood pressure is through the roof,” she clarified. “You’re at risk for preeclampsia, your labs suggest that this half of your pregnancy is going to be hard. You’re in for a world of hurt. And I don’t think delivery is going to be any easier. I don’t think a vaginal delivery will be an option. You will be on bed rest until you give birth, and I doubt you’ll make it to thirty five weeks. In all honestly, I’ll be impressed if you make it to thirty. But your medical history and labs also suggests a c-section is also not a good option.”

You let out a little laugh, leaning back against the headboard. “The last time I saw you, you were singing praises for how well things were going.”

Her mouth tightened into a thin line, “I also said you should be taking it easy and lowering your stress levels.”

You narrowed your eyes at her, “Are you suggesting I did something wrong?”

Dr Laurence raked a hand through her hair, “I’m not saying you did, but I’m saying we need to start taking this seriously now because I’m not sure how to get the three of you through a safe delivery.”

Your mouth went dry. ‘The three of you,’ had always been you, Bucky, and Steve. It took on a whole new meaning when it was in reference to you and your children.

You may not have lost them last night, but you were well on your way.

“You’ll be on strict bed rest for the rest of the pregnancy,” Dr Laurences’ voice softened. “The good news is, the bleeding has stopped and you’ll be able to go home soon for a couple of weeks at least. We’ll do everything we can to get your blood pressure under control.”

Your hands shook as you reached up to wipe away a tear. “Not of a word of this to the boys.”

Her eyesbrows rose to her hairline, “They need to know so they can take care of you.”

You shook your head, “I have one who is a stiffling mother hen. If he’s worked up, so am I. And the other one is recovering from a major head trauma. He doesn’t remember everything in the last eighteen months. The only thing I can do for him now is to help him get back to where he was.”

“No,” Dr Laurence shook her head. “You need to take this seriously now or you will not make it through delivery. If they think you’re fine and brush it off as a little blood, you will end up in a much worse situation.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “We’re not going to play this game, doctor. I will take this seriously and if you put me on bed rest, I will follow it. I just don’t want the risks exposed to my boyfriends. And, you do get to tell them without my consent.”

Dr Laurence looked like she was ready to throw her tablet. “Fine, but the moment things start going south, you will end up in hospital supervised bed rest.”

You glared right back at her, “Looking forward to it.”

————

You sat between your boys watching TV when it happened.

You paused, your food halfway to your face as you felt another tightening in your stomach. They had been happening all day, but all of the sudden you were aware of one thing, it was far too painful for it not to be a contraction.

You dropped your fork onto the duvet.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asked jumping to his feet.

You quirked your head to the side, looking down at your belly, “I think I’m in labour.”

“Shit!” Steve was suddenly gone.

Bucky calmly took your plate and fork and put them on the side table, “You sure?”

“Mmhmmm,” you hummed, as you let out a long breath. “We probably have hours to go though.”

Bucky nodded, “Let me call Dr Laurence.”

Your mouth tightened. She was the last person you wanted to see. You especially didn’t want to hear her gloat that she was right, you’d only made it to thirty-two weeks. Damn her.

Steve’s head popped in the room, “But it’s too early!” And he was gone again.

Your eyebrows rose to your hair line, he was taking this as well as you expected.

On your other side, Bucky put his phone to his chest and said, “Dr Laurence wants you to come in right away.”

You pinched your nose, “I don’t want to labour for the next twelve hours there when I can do it from home.”

Bucky relayed that information to her. And then asked, “Has your water broken?”

You shook your head.

Steve walked through the bedroom, going into the bathroom, talking a mile a minute. “—and we don’t have enough nipple cream!” Was all you caught. You could hear drawers being rummaged through in the bathroom.

“She says to come in anyways,” Bucky relayed to you. “And she says you’re clearly not taking this seriously.”

You rolled your eyes, of course she did.

“And we need another bathroom,” Steve murmured as he walked out of the room again.

“Fine,” you snapped. “And go calm Steve down.”

Another contraction hit hard. Your breath hitched.

Your birth plan, if you were having a vaginal delivery, was to go all natural, but now you were thinking an epidural sounded wonderful.

“You okay?” Bucky rubbed your back.

You took deep breaths, but nodded weakly. “Let’s go, please.”

He nodded, leaving the room to get Steve and your bags, but Steve stood at the door, bags in hand and simply said, “We need to go, guys.”

Bucky came around the bed to help you up. His arms around you, you barely made it out the bedroom before you felt a rush of fluids.

“Well, fuck.” Bucky mumbled.

Tags

@booktease21 @sexyvixen7 @just-the-hiddles @fading-mentality-bouquet @a--1--1--3 @broco8 @yougottalovefandoms @hailqueenconquer @tazzi-baby @imaginebeinlovedbyme @amiets2 @prettyblueskylark @spookyparadisesheep @bloodbrink @holl2712

[george-mackay-macfine]

Let's play a game

A/N - Who remembers the snippet I posted ages ago with the bad boy / good girl. Well, I finally did something with it.

Please enjoy, Chapter one.

The warmth of the sun was the first thing I felt when I woke up, coating me in a blanket of warmth. It was too much warmth, and I was rapidly becoming uncomfortably hot. The second was the throbbing in my head, undoubtedly brought on by all the alcohol I had consumed the night before. And the third was the heavyweight of an arm across my torso. Who did the arm belong to? Well, to be honest, I wasn’t quite sure.

“Shit,” I whispered, cautiously turning on the plush bed, careful to not startle the owner of the arm that lay all too casually around my waist. “Shit, shit.” I moved the arm carefully off my waist, putting it beside its owner.

The owner of the arm was none other than Jude Hastings, the boy I’d known since I was eight, and the boy who’d mercilessly teased me throughout school and somewhat into our adult lives.

People, primarily our parents, often called it teasing— a bit of harmless flirting between an adolescent boy and a dorky adolescent girl, so they said. I, on the other hand, referred to it as warfare.

Which would lead to a lifelong war between Jude Hastings and me.

“Fuck,” I stood from the bed and looked down at what was covering my body… It wasn’t much. All I had on was what I’m assuming was Hastings’ button-down shirt, and that was it. No bra, no pants… And I had no clue where my underwear had gotten to. “Pull yourself together, Darcy,” I whispered to myself. “Just find your shit and get out.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, taking five deep breaths. My mother always told me it was a way to destress, but guess what, mom, I am still stressed. “Okay. Pull it together.” I had seven things I had to find in this apartment, and hopefully, it was all contained to this one room. Anything I couldn’t uncover would just have to be left as a sacrifice to the apartment demon.

My pants and top were the easiest to find, laying at the end of the bed a dead giveaway of where Hastings and I had ended our night standing, or at least standing for the most part. I vaguely recall him pulling me off the bed just to bend me over the desk he had pushed against the wall… I guess that counts as sort of standing.

“Jacket…” I crept around the room, trying to find where my favourite corduroy jacket had landed in the thralls of passion I had shared with the still sleeping demon. “Gotcha,” I pulled on the sleeve bringing it out from behind the chair that sat pushed into the corner. Another memory of Hastings and I making out on the very chair flashed through my mind bringing a blush hot enough to make the top of my ears burn. “Shoes, bra and underwear,” I sat on the floor, pulling my jacket over my arms looking around for a sign of any of the missing clothing. I quickly spotted my bra hanging over the bedpost at the top end of the bed. “Ahha.” I pushed up from the floor and padded across the carpet, keeping a keen eye on Hastings to make sure he didn’t suddenly wake up and catch me in the shameful morning after clothes collection. If I was lucky, I’d leave with all my belongings and whatever scraps of dignity I had left. “Four down, three left.” I scooped the bra off the bedpost and shoved it in my pocket. Watching Hastings, I dropped to my knees and looked underneath the bed in hopes of finding at least one of the remaining items, if not all of them. “Shoes.” I gripped the heel on one of my boots and pulled it towards me, half an item down… The second boot was more brutal to get to. I had to crawl at least halfway under the bed to reach it, somehow it had landed so far underneath the bed last night, but at least now I had shoes to wear for my solemn journey home.

Was underwear really that necessary for a journey home? Could I just leave without them? And my purse, I mean, I’m sure any decent human being with any dignity would give it back to someone who’d left it at their house. Still, then again, this was Jude Alexander Hastings we were talking about. He wasn’t known to me for being a decent human being. Besides, cancelling all my credit cards and getting a new I.D sounded a lot more appealing than risking Hastings waking up with me still inside his apartment with minimal clothing.

“Fuck it.” I army crawled backwards out from under the bed, careful not to get any carpet burns on any delicate parts. Trust me, one time of having sex on some carpet, and you know the pain well enough to not do it again. Once I emerged from the pits of the bed, I took a final look around, trying to find the elusive underwear or purse. “Note to self, cancel the credit card.” I stood up and walked to the pile of items I’d begun to form at the end of the bed: pants, top, bra, shoes and jacket. Five out of seven ain’t bad in the grand scheme of things. I mean, was it my favourite purse? Yes, and were they my favourite pair of lucky underwear? Yes. Could I buy more to avoid any further interactions with Jude Hastings? Fuck yes.

“Missing something?” The husky voice that haunted my alcohol-soaked brain startled me into dropping my pants to the floor. I spun on the ball of my feet and looked at him, lazily lying in his bed. The sheet hanging from his waist was the demon man himself. Since when did he have abs? - No, not the point, Darcy.

“Two things actually,” I felt the rush of heat blossoming on my cheeks as I finally allowed myself to look over his bare chest.

“Would these be one of them?” His hand rose, hooked around his pointer finger was my black lace thong, the one I’d been crawling around this whole fucking room looking for. Bastard. “They sure look like yours.” He held the up higher, squinting with one eye.

“If they’re not mine, perhaps they’re yours,” I smirked in self-satisfaction as the smirk on his face faltered. One Edwards.

“Well, if you’re sure they’re not yours.” He bunched them up, leaning over to his bedside table. “I think I’ll keep them then.”

“Wait.” I yelped, springing onto the bed. “Give them to me,” I reached for them. Holding my hand out, waiting for the lace scrap to be returned to me. “I need them to get home.”

“No, I don’t think so.” He dropped them into his bedside table. “You said they were mine.” One Hastings.

“God, I hate you,” My eyes turned to slits as the smirk came back to his face more prominent than the one I’d managed to make him lose moments ago. He shut the drawer and returned to his previous position, his whisky coloured eyes running over my form.

“Not what you were saying last night.”

“Was that before the double shots of tequila? Or was it before the fishbowl margarita?” I moved back, standing at the end of the bed, pulling my pants up over my hips. Usually, I’d feel self-conscious dressing and undressing in front of someone I’d just had sex with. Still, by this point in our lives, Hastings had already made numerous comments about how ‘plump’ I was, as he liked to call it. I didn’t have time to dwell on the idea that I gave him a front-row pass to see how correct his childish name-calling was. “Or maybe it was before the game of beer pong?”

“Yeah,” He dropped his head and laughed. “It started about there.”

“Hastings, you know as well as I do that I don’t remember a thing about last night, right?”

“Would you like me to give you a play-by-play?” I unbuttoned his shirt with nimble fingers. For once, my skill of unbuttoning button-downs came in use.

“No, thanks. I think I can surmise what’s happened from the lack of underwear.” And the memories of him pushing me up against his front door helped with the overall picture.

“It was your idea,” I stole a look at the bedside table where the same old alarm clock I was sure he’d had since middle school sat. Nine-thirty. Shit. Fuck. Shit.

“Was it now?” I didn’t really have time to hear how this interaction was my fault, but I was curious. Even if I was supposed to be meeting my parents for brunch in half an hour, and by the looks of it, I was going to have to suffer through without underwear.

“Oh yeah.” He fell back onto the bed. “The boys and I were at the bar, and you came up to me… You know I was expecting to have another verbal sparring match with you, one I’d ultimately win.”

“Doubtful,”

“When you began to flirt with me.” I could hear the smirk in his voice even with my back facing him.

“Is that so.” I sat on the edge of the bed and picked up one of my boots, unzipping the side.

“Oh yeah,” I heard the shuffle of sheets on the bed behind me and then felt the warmth of his chest pressing onto my covered back, heat radiating from where his skin touched me. “Never expected this from you, Edwards.” He moved my hair to the side, his fingers leaving goosebumps on my neck as he trailed a fingertip along the skin. “Really, I never did.” His lips touched the skin now, ghosting the same pattern his fingertips had traced.

“Alright,” I stood up, balancing on one foot as I tried to shove my foot into the boot. “I don’t know what this.” I wiggled a finger between our bodies. “Is, but last night was all there was. There will be no encore, M’kay.” I knelt down, zipping up the boot before shoving my foot into the second.

“If you’re sure you can live without one.” He moved back to the top of the bed, leaning back on one arm, watching me scamper to make myself presentable. “You know you’re still wearing my shirt.”

“Thank you, Captain obvious.”

“I’d like it back. It’s one of my favourites.”

“And those.” I jutted a finger at the bedside table where my underwear remained captive. “Were my favourite pair of underwear.” I smiled sweetly at him. “So we’ll call it even,” I brushed my hair with my fingers, trying to make some sort of progress with it so it didn’t look like I’d just been to pound town… which apparently from the ache in my legs I had been.

“You know that’s not helping,”

“What isn’t.”

“Trying to make yourself look like you haven’t just had one of the best nights of your life.”

“Bold of you to assume that,”

“Not an assumption. You told me so much yourself last night.”

Fucking Hastings. That’s it, fuck it. I was getting my underwear back. Even if it meant a small game of seduction.

“Look, Jude.” I let my voice drop into a whisper as I walked towards where he lay comfortably. I flung my legs over his body, straddling his waist. I couldn’t help but internally melt when his hands clinging to my waist, pressing me down onto him. I’m human. What can I say? The thin sheet gave everything away, and I had to admit, Hastings was packing more than I thought. Self-satisfaction flowed through me as I saw his eyes widen slightly, his pupils dilating as his fingers moving in circles on my waist. “I want you to know something about last night.” His eyes locked with mine as my right hand held onto his chin, keeping our eyes locked, my left going to the bedside table quietly pulling it open.

“Yeah?” His Adam’s apple bopped as he swallowed.

“Last night was,” I moved his head, so he was looking away from the drawer as my hand began to search for the fabric. “Was something that I…” My fingertips grazed the lace. BINGO! “I’m going to pretend doesn’t exist.”

“Oh really?” His hand quickly left my hip and grabbed around my waist. “Because I’m going to remember every little detail.” The lace slipped from between my fingertips as he flipped us. “Especially every time I open this draw.” I heard the draw slam shut and all hopes I had of leaving with my underwear gone.

“Get off me.” His right hand pulled my leg up and wrapped it around his waist. Oh god… he was good.

“Oh no, you started this.” He laughed, his chest pressing into mine with each exhaled laugh. “I’m just finishing it.”

“I need you to get off me so I can leave Hastings.”

“I dunno, I’m quite comfortable.” His hand pushed the fabric of his shirt up, revealing a tiny slither of my skin. “I like how you look in my bed, a forbidden fruit who doesn’t belong.” I let out a snort. If this was his attempt at flirting, he had a lot of work to do. “But here you are,”

“You are right. I certainly don’t look like the type of girl you’d waste your time on, so how about you let me up, and we pretend this didn’t happen.”

“No, I don’t think I like that idea,” His voice came out in a soft whisper.

“Why?”

“I was always told girls like you,” I felt a rush of enjoyment as his eyes ran over my body, a rush I didn’t want to feel. “The good girls who their parents think their perfect when really they’re the worst of the worst are the best,” It was beginning to be a struggle to concentrate as his fingertips brushed the hair away from my forehead. “And from what I’ve been told, you’re the best of them… So I want to find out myself.”

“Oh really?”

“Really. Why did you come up to me last night?” Why did I go up to him last night because I was lonely? Because I was sick of April talking about her fiancé? Because as much as I don’t want to admit it, verbally sparring with Hastings was a highlight.

“I heard that the reformed bad boys are the best,” His finger dragged along my jawline. ���And I heard you’re one of the best.” I countered with a smirk.

“Oh really?” He mimicked.

“You tell me,” His fingertip tapped against my lips. Impulsively I nipped on the tip.

“Let’s play a game.”

“I’m listening.”

“The game to end all of our little games for good… No more practice jokes, no more telling my parents I got some random girl pregnant.” He chuckled.

“Then you can’t egg my car anymore or let down my tyres.”

“Fine.” He conceded. “Then let’s sweet talk,” His lips went to my neck, placing sweet kisses along the skin. “Let’s play fight, talk twenty-four-seven,”

“I’m no good at sweet-talking, and I don’t think I could stand talking to your for so long.” My voice came out breathy as my senses zero’d in on the feeling of his lips.

“Let’s wish each other good morning, and good night every day… We’ll take walks together.”

“I’d prefer a ride on your motorbike.” He let out a chuckle, the skin under his lips practically vibrating from the motion.

“I’ll give you a nickname,” His lips were on my jaw now, my hands we on his back, nails digging into the skin, I’m sure leaving moon-shaped indents. “Let’s hang out with each other’s friends.”

“Your friends are dicks.” His lips dropped close to mine, a chaste kiss being left on the right side.

“We’ll go on dates, talk all night on the phone… I’ll hold you, kiss you.” His lips moved to the other side. “We’ll make love, bang, fuck whatever you want to call it.”

“I’m waiting for the game part, Hastings. Right now, it sounds like you just want me to be your girlfriend. I mean, I know last night was good, but really this good?”

“The game is, Whoever falls in love first, loses.” He finally pulled away, his right hand still rubbing circles on my hip bone.

“Doesn’t seem like much of a game.”

“Then why do you seem so scared?”

Was this asshole serious? I was never scared, especially not when it came to challenging him, beating him.

“I’m not.”

“Then what do you say?”

“So you want to pretend we’re a thing to all of our friends, all of our family, just to make one of us fall in love with the other first for what? Bragging rights and heartbreak?”

“Tell me something.” His lips hovered inches from mine. I could feel the warmth of his breath, and how the hell did he not have morning breath? “How good would it feel to know you conned me into loving you, then breaking my heart,”

He had a point. After all the years of heartache and teasing he’d caused me, it would be fun to break his heart into a million tiny shattered pieces.

“What would we tell everyone?” His body moved against mine as he shrugged.

“That we’ve reconnected or connected whatever you want to say.”

“You really want to do this?” My brow raised in suspicion.

“Make you fall in love with me.” I nodded my head. “Oh hell yeah,”

“Fine.” I smirked. “Let’s play a game.”

[fallen-gravity]

Aftermath

A whole summer later, and Mabel's still having nightmares about being trapped in her bubble. One unfortunate morning, Ford just happens to be the one who overhears her crying in her sleep.

Notes:

A huge, huge shout out to @ariasofelegance

A little white ago I reblogged a silly post that said something like "come into my inbox and tell me what my writing brand is", and without hesitating she dragged me into the dirt. Got me so on the nose that it backfired and whoops, I wanted to write it.

Said ask can be found here

Hope you’re happy with the results, Rin ;)

AO3

It’s the sound of sugary pop music seemingly wafting in through her bedroom window that wakes Mabel first. She assumes it’s just an alarm she doesn’t remember setting, and frantically waves her arm out for her nightstand so she can turn it off and go back to sleep for another minute or ten.

Then it’s the fact that her hand smacks something that squeaks, and okay, maybe Waddles accidentally left one of his toys in her room. He’s got plenty, so she can shrug off that as long as it’s not his favorite then he can go another few minutes without it. She’ll bring it downstairs to him when she wakes up, or if Dipper rises before her he can bring it downstairs instead.

It’s fine. She can brush those things off, and to prove it to herself she turns over on her other side and brings her blanket up to cover her ears. If anyone needs her they’re gonna have to climb the stairs all the way up to the attic and tell her themselves. She smiles to herself at the thought, and settles easily back into her sleep.

It doesn’t really click that something’s…off until the sun shines in through her window. Despite knowing that she’s facing away from her window, the sunlight still pierces through Mabel’s blanket and lands right into her eyes. Even for the mid-summer Oregon sun she’s gotten accustomed to, it’s uncomfortably warm and unreasonably bright for so early in the morning.

…Stranger still, she’s sure that Dipper would’ve already complained about it before she did, or at the very least, she’s sure she already would’ve heard him shuffling around the room by now.

Mabel takes it to mean that he must already be awake and downstairs, and groans. It still doesn’t explain why the sun is so painful in her eyes, but she guesses that could be a result of her sleeping in later than she’s used to.

“Alright, universe, you got me” Mabel mumbles, and stretches as she finally pushes herself into a sitting position. Opening her eyes is a bit tougher with the sun still harshly shining into them, but it’s manageable, and…

…This doesn’t look like the attic.

She attempts to rub the sleep out of her eyes, in case she’s still not fully awake yet, but no, the image in front of her still doesn’t change. She’s about to try standing up to see if walking around will help snap her out of her haze, but before she can even kick her feet over the edge her bedroom door swings open.

“Oh, thank goodness!” Mabel sighs. “Can you close the window? I can’t see a thing”

“Sure thing, Miss Mabel!” a cheery voice that is decidedly not Dipper’s replies, and with a snap of their fingers the lights go out. Now that her eyes finally adjust, Mabel’s able to glance around her room, and…

Oh no.

Oh no no no no no no no.

There are stone statues of her face in every corner of her room, piles of rainbow plushies stacked all over the floor, a collage of sweaters all over the wall, inflatable furniture scattered everywhere, and most notably, a large rug with a bright shooting star embroidered into the center.

“Miss Mabel?” the strange voice asks again, and a bright pink hippo steps into view towards her bed. “Is everything okay?”

Mabel frantically scoots backwards in her strange bed. “Stay back!” she tries to shout, but everything comes out as more of a panicked waver. “Stay back or I’ll grapple hook you in the face!” she frantically pats all around her body for any sign of her trusty weapon.

The hippo tilts its head in confusion, a squeak emerging from it. “Oh, Miss Mabel, you’re a riot! Don’t you remember?”

Mabel freezes in her frantic patting. “Remember what?”

The strange hippo laughs. “Our volleyball match! You promised you’d play with me, but then you took a suuuper long nap instead!”

Mabel shakes her head. It can’t be. It can’t be. She knows Dipper already came to rescue her, she knows they already took the bus back to Piedmont together, she knows they promised to stick together through thick and thin.

Or…did they? What if that was all part of this sick fantasy too? What if Bill just made her believe that Dipper came to her aid, when he’s actually been captured, or hurt, or worse, and Bill is still pacifying her for as long as he can to keep Weirdmageddon going?

She can’t breathe. She tugs at the collar of her turtleneck, but that only makes things worse, because it’s not until she notices the hot pink of her collar that she realizes she’s wearing her shooting star sweater. She wants to rip it off and claw at it until it comes apart thread by thread.

“M-Miss Mabel?”

She has to get out of here.

“Of course!” she replies, just to avoid suspicion. “Let’s go play some volleyball!” She claps loudly, and the pink hippo grins, seemingly unfazed by her behavior.

“Great!” it beams, and bounces happily out the door. Mabel follows more slowly, casting nervous glances everywhere she looks for any signs of creeping yellow eyes.

“Oh, shoot!” the hippo shouts once they’re outside, and Mabel nearly jumps a mile out of her skin.

“What is it?”

“We don’t have enough players,” the hippo pouts. “I can go see if I can find anyone who-”

“No!” Mabel shouts, and a few beachgoers freeze to cast glances her way. She blushes, and tries again. “I...I mean, we could always get my brother to play with us! Where’s my good ol’ twin brother?”

For the briefest of moments the hippo’s eyes flash yellow, but they’re back to normal just as quickly.

“Over here, sis!” Dippy Fresh waves, approaching them on his skateboard.

Mabel steps back, shaking her head. “Where’s my real twin brother?”

The crowd of beachgoers begins murmuring uncomfortably to each other.

“Aww, c’mon sis, don’t be like that!” he grins, jumping off of his skateboard and taking a step closer.

“You’re not my real brother” she hisses. “None of this is real! I know it isn’t!”

She’s shouting now, but she doesn’t care. “Come out and face me yourself, Bill! I know you’re out there! I don’t want to take part in this sick fantasy anymore!”

Everyone around her gasps, and between one breath and the next she’s painfully tackled to the ground.

“Mabel Pines!” an unfamiliar voice shouts, mixed seamlessly with the shrill echo of Bill’s. “Not only have you broken the one and only law of Mabeland, you have also spoke up in defiance of Bill Cipher, the true creator of this land. A simple court trial will not be enough. For these transgressions, you will be taken straight to the Fearamid for proper punishment”.

Mabel’s face pales. “W-wait! I was only just kidding!” She pleas, but a strong pair of arms is already lifting her into the air. She kicks and thrashes, but no matter how much she fights back, more pairs of hands seem to grab onto her and keep her in place.

“No!” she shouts. “I’m sorry! I won’t do it again, I promise! I’ll do anything you guys want! I’ll never leave you again!”

“It’s too late!” Bill’s voice finally separates itself from the crowd, and he manifests himself in front of her. He lifts her into the air, and she starts thrashing even harder, but nothing she’s doing is working to free herself from her grip.

At the very back of her mind, she thinks she can hear someone shouting her name. But she’s sure that’s all just part of the illusion, that Bill’s using the sound of her own family against her to torture her one last time before she never sees them again, and-

Something brushes against her forehead.

Something soft, and warm, and comforting, and so humanlike compared to everything else around her that it’s enough to make the every single aspect of the illusion disappear into thin air all at once, even Bill himself.

Everything’s black, and then, with a blink of her eyes, she’s staring into Ford’s eyes, soft and loving and pooling with worry. It doesn’t take long for her to piece together that it’s his hand on her forehead.

“Mabel?” he asks, and she realizes quickly that it had been his voice shouting her name in the bubble.

She gasps, bolting upright, and does her best to recover her breathing. Ford doges out of the way to avoid smacking heads, but stays right where he is beside her, rubbing soothing little circles into her back.

Her throat hurts. She must’ve been shouting in her sleep. She wants to cry, but she can’t even do that right, because  the moment a sob tries to escape her throat her chest feels like it’s closing up, and she can’t take a breath anymore, no matter how much air she inhales.

“It’s okay,” Ford whispers to her. “Deep breaths”

Mabel shakes her head. “I…I can’t”

“Yes you can,” he replies, firmly but kindly. He scooches closer to her, slowly as not to re-startle her. “Mabel, look at me”

She does. His eyes are so soft, conveying so many grounding, human emotions that the single moment of eye contact alone is almost enough to completely ground her back to reality. “You’re okay,” he murmurs, once she’s finally able to maintain eye contact without her eyes trembling. “You’re awake, I promise” he offers his hands out to her. “Reach out and squeeze my hands if you need to, but I promise that I really am right here”

Mabel reaches out and takes his hands in her own. They’re so much bigger than hers, and they’re rough with calluses and there’s quill ink stuck under his nails, but they’re so comfortably the hands of her great uncle, all the way down to the extra sixth finger on each hand that the sob stuck in her throat finally breaks its way through. He’s not just another illusion, he’s not a perfect copy that Bill sent to keep her complacent, he’s just…Grunkle Ford.

Mabel throws herself into his arms as her sobs overwhelm her small body. She buries her face into the collar of his turtleneck, and forces her eyes to focus on a little loose strand sticking out at the back of his neck. It’s just a tiny little imperfect detail that could easily be snipped or sewn back into place, but a little imperfection like that to let her know she’s home is more comforting than she’s willing to admit.

Ford wraps his arms around her and holds her closely. He gently runs a hand through her hair, whispering I know and it’s okay over and over again into her hair, and she just buries her whole face into the crook of his neck, inhaling the scent of coffee and ash and ink coming from his sweater like it’s a lifeline.

She stays in his embrace until her sobs finally calm, and they pull away gently. She wipes at her nose with her wrist.

“I’m sorry”

Ford shakes his head. “You’ve got nothing to apologize for, dear. I know firsthand just how awful it feels to suffer through a panic attack alone”.

Alone?

She glances to the other side of the bedroom, and finds Dipper’s bed empty. Her heart drops to her stomach. “Wh-where’s..?” she starts, but Ford places a gentle hand on her shoulder before she can finish that train of thought.

“Dipper’s okay, he’s outside with Soos”

“Grunkle Stan?”

“He ran out to the store, but he’s okay too”  

Mabel buries her face into her hands. “You didn’t…come in here because you could hear me from downstairs, did you?”

Ford shakes his head, a fond smile itching to spread across his face. “I came upstairs when I’d heard you were still asleep and didn’t want my favorite niece to miss out on such a beautiful morning,” he pauses, the smile on his face vanishing just as quickly as it had appeared. “But then when I came in to wake you up, you looked like you were having a panic attack in your sleep, and…” his voice trails off. “You started…crying out names.” He winds a protective arm around her shoulder, and gently squeezes her arm. “I’d never want to make you recount something so awful, but if you want to talk about it, I’m not going anywhere anytime soon”

Mabel sighs. It isn’t even close to being the first dream she’s had about the bubble, so she should be used to all of these strange feelings by now. But this particular dream felt the most based in reality, and it’s the first time Bill’s actually shown up and threatened to hurt her to her face.

She returns his gesture, winding an arm around Ford’s back and giving his arm a gentle squeeze. She scooches just a tiny bit closer to him and rests her head on his shoulder. “I…” she begins, squeezing her eyes shut to brace herself. “I was trapped in Mabeland again. Except it wasn’t like all the other times I’ve had nightmares about it where I knew something was off and I hit the ground running as soon as I realized where I was, it was more like…I felt like I’d always been there.”

With her free hand, Mabel brings the collar of her sweater all the way up to her nose. Anything to distract her from her uncle’s worried expression burning into her. “It was like everything we did last summer was for nothing. I woke up in my bed in the castle, and everyone was acting like it was peachy keen. I tried asking someone about where Dipper was, just for some sense of normalcy, but all that did was summon that dumb clone Mabeland created of him so I wouldn’t get too lonely. I know it’s dumb, but the whole thing just felt…too real. Like I was still stuck there, and the apocalypse was still going on out here, and the whole rescue mission was just a sick dream that Bill put in my head to trick me into believing everything was okay”

Mabel squishes her face into Ford’s sweater and just forces herself to focus on his scent, on the soft material of his sweater, on the gentle pattern of his breathing. “Everything was ripped away from me, Grunkle Ford, and I couldn’t do a thing about it. I tried speaking up for myself, but that only made things worse, because Bill showed up, and he-”

She’s suddenly painfully aware that she’s trembling again, and can’t help the tears building in her eyes. She tries burying her face even further into Ford’s sweater to collect herself and keep going, but before she can she feels Ford’s hand at the back of her head, gently holding her in place as she cries.

“It’s okay,” he tells her, his voice a soothing presence among her racing thoughts. “You don’t have to keep going.” He’s back to gently petting her hair, and the gesture is consistent and familiar enough to ease Mabel’s crying. “I’m so sorry that you’re still having nightmares about this”.

“It’s okay,” she sniffles, and finally finds the strength to pull herself away from his sweater. “It’s not your fault”, she says, and her eyes drop to the hardwood floor of her bedroom. “I’m just so scared, Grunkle Ford.” She grips onto the edges of her skirt. “I know that I shouldn’t be, because I know Bill’s been gone for a year and I know everything’s okay now, but I just can’t help but feel that everything’s not.”

Ford nods solemnly, and for a moment he doesn’t respond, until he shifts in his sitting position so he’s facing directly towards Mabel rather than beside her. “Mabel, may I show you something?”

Mabel blinks, her head tilting slightly in confusion. “Sure, Grunkle Ford, what is it?”

Ford rolls the sleeves of his turtleneck up to his elbows. His wrists are covered in faded white slits, and the rest of his arms are covered in burn scars, scratches, gashes, and decades-old bruises that never healed properly. Some of them are still red and blistering, and others look so faded that she could just as easily mistake them for birthmarks.

It hurts Mabel’s heart just to look at them. Her hands hover cautiously over them, and she glances at the wonderful great uncle that they’re attached to. “C-can I…?”

He nods. “Sure.”

Mabel gently runs her fingers along each of them so lightly that it’s almost as if she isn’t touching them at all. She knows that he’d been hurt in the past, and she knows that it couldn’t have been easy roughing it out in the multiverse for thirty consecutive years, but it breaks her heart to see the evidence of it all up close.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Ford sighs, cutting into her thoughts. “But most of these don’t come from the portal” he pauses to rub at the back of his head. “Or, rather, they do, but not in the way that you probably think”

Mabel pauses. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…sometime after Bill betrayed my trust, but before I was able to get the metal plate in my head to keep him out, he’d take advantage of our deal that let him into my mind whenever he pleased,” he taps at his forehead. “He was furious that I shut down the portal, so any time I fell asleep he’d use the opportunity to hurt me as much as he could. He never wanted to kill me because he was convinced I’d change my mind in due time, but he felt the need to torture me so I’d never act against him again. He’d slit my wrists, he’d burn me, he’d do just about everything he could to make sure I could feel the repercussions of his actions when I woke up.” He rubs awkwardly at the back of his head. “Thankfully he was never able to break a bone before I woke up in time to stop him, but…” he trails off, and for the briefest of moments he looks as though he’s lost in thought.

“I’m getting ahead of myself,” Ford blushes, snapping himself from his own thoughts before Mabel has any time to ask if he’s okay. “The point is,” he says, “Just because you know he’s gone now doesn’t mean that he never hurt you. Your nightmares are your scars, and they’re just as real as the scars under my sweater.”

Mabel wants to respond with a proper thank you, because she’s genuinely touched by the validation, but there’s a part of her that just can’t move past all the gashes and scars on Ford’s arms. She knows she’s seen similar cuts elsewhere, maybe not nearly as dire, but she knows in the back of her mind that’s just because she was just barely able to stop them from becoming much, much worse.

“I don’t think it’s just the nightmares” she mumbles, just barely loud enough for Ford to hear.

“Hmm?” Ford hums. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Mabel runs two fingers gently around the white scars on Ford’s wrist. “I don’t think it’s just that he hurt me, I think it’s that he hurt a lot of people that I love, too.” She shakes her head. “I know there isn’t a lot I could’ve done to prevent it, but…I was so oblivious to it, Grunkle Ford. I had no idea he was hurting so many people until it was almost too late”.

She keeps rubbing gentle circles into his wrist, like she can make the scars and all of the memories of the pain he went through vanish into thin air with her loving touch alone. “Dipper’s got these scars too. I know he’s okay now, but…” the sigh that escapes her is broken and shaky. “I know that much worse things could’ve happened to him, too”.

Ford frowns. “He…did tell me about being possessed, yes. But he also told me that he couldn’t have gotten his body back without your help. Bill’s a master at trickery, Mabel, it’s not your fault you couldn’t recognize him in Dipper’s body”.

…But she also knows that the reason Dipper was possessed in the first place is because he was up all night trying to crack a code that she told him she’d help him with, and she also knows that if she found out that it wasn’t Dipper controlling his body until it was too late, then…

“He wrote a letter”

The words slip out of her mouth before she can stop herself, and she slaps her hand over her mouth, tears building in her eyes again.

“Who did?” The soft smile slips off of Ford’s face. “Dipper?”

Mabel shakes her head. “Bill wrote a letter when he was still in possession of Dipper’s body. I’ve never shown it to Dipper before because I didn’t wanna freak him out, but I just…couldn’t bring myself to throw it away, because I was so afraid that if I did, Bill was going to find out, and wait until the moment my back was turned so he could…” her voice trails off, and she can’t finish the sentence no matter how badly she needs to get it off of her chest.

“Mabel?” Ford asks, his voice dripping with worry.

She shakes her head, and hops down from her bed to reach underneath. She grabs a seemingly useless crumped up piece of paper, and carefully unfolds it and pats down all the wrinkles before she offers it to Ford. “Before he could do this,” she replies, her voice barely rising above a whisper.

Ford takes the letter from her, and Mabel takes her seat back on the bed beside him. All she can bring herself to do is just watch as Ford’s expression becomes more and more horrified as he reads further down the letter, and the hurt in his eyes when he looks into hers when he finishes reading is palpable.

“I’m scared, Grunkle Ford” she repeats, her mouth continuing to speak before her brain can stop her. “I know Bill’s gone for good, but how can I be so sure that everything’s okay when I know that this is what he could’ve done to my brother?”

For a few painfully short moments Ford says nothing. Mabel’s sure he’s at a loss of words, or that it was a mistake showing him the letter because he’s freaking out now too, but much to her surprise  Ford’s next move is pulling her into his arms again and hugging her so tightly it’s as if he never wants to let go again.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs into her hair, but doesn’t give her enough time to respond before he keeps going. “Mabel, I’m so sorry you’ve been burdened with this. You’re the last person I would ever wish to feel so unsafe that you can’t even trust the quiet moments.”

His breathing sounds broken and shaky, but if he’s tearing up at all he’s doing a really good job at hiding it.  “You don’t deserve any of this. You’re too young to feel like you have any responsibilities over anyone’s life or death. I’m so sorry that he made you feel this way”

She knows he’s not the kind of person to use his words carelessly. She knows that he’s phrasing it this way because he recognizes his own behavior in her. She doesn’t respond verbally, but she reciprocates the hug best she can, and a heavy sigh escapes Ford when she does. They stay there in silence for a few short minutes, just reveling in the comfort and safety of the other’s arms.

When they finally pull away, Ford seems to have gathered his composure again.

“I promise, Mabel” he takes one of her hands into his own. “I promise you that he’s gone. He can never hurt you or me or Dipper or Stan ever again. It doesn’t mean he hasn’t, and it doesn’t mean that recovering from that sort of pain will be easy, but if there’s anything I know for sure, it’s that he’s never showing his face here again”.

Mabel finally crumbles in his arms. She’s sobbing again, but it’s a cathartic kind of sob, and she’s gripping onto Ford’s shoulders like he’s the only thing keeping her together.

“And even if he does, I know just the grappling hook to scare him away”.

Between her sobs, Mabel can’t help but giggle.

[wherethewordsare]

Right Where You Left Me

Real quick. Two things. Thank you @kuripon for being just an absolute gem and beta reading this for me. I’m sorry for all of my yelling. You’re an actual factual life saver.

SECONDLY!! Some Content Warnings upfront: Post Mountain, Post Torture, Near Death Experiences, Descriptions of Injury (though not graphic.) and some mild drugging. Just... Jaskier Wump ahead. Happy ending though, I swear. 

Jaskier felt it in his bones, the way his body was starting to give out. He knew it wouldn’t be long now. They had been zealous in his interrogations, all of them. He huddled in the corner of his cell and took a deep breath, wincing at how it pressed against his broken ribs. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of breaking him, not mentally at least. Bodily however, he knew he didn’t have much left to give. 

They had pulled him off the road to Oxenfurt as he was returning from the dragon hunt. Though he was still broken-hearted and angry, he still wouldn’t give them what they wanted. Maybe it was because he didn’t want to be responsible for one more heap of shit shoveled in Geralt’s life, maybe it was because despite the way his heart broke, he would still remain loyal to that bastard. 

He coughed, his body shaking, and he knew that the next time they came to collect him for the information he would not give, they would only find his body but Jaskier would be well far away from this hell. At least he thought so.

Large hands gripped him and hauled him up and when his feet did not find purchase on their own, he was scooped up and carried. He might have heard a small huff and a hum that sounded familiar but he had been hearing that everywhere recently. His eyes had been swollen shut for the past day and what he could see was merely a blurry collection of lines.

Jaskier ached and he was so tired and there was a sickening feeling like the world had turned the wrong way for a moment. Still the guard held him, silent as he was carried. Jaskier was determined not to go out without at least a few biting remarks but his mind was so muddled and his throat had been screamed raw weeks ago. 

“You’ll never find him,” he wheezed, choking on the words as the figure laid him down on- 

Jaskier knew he must have finally snapped. The surface under him was soft and there was a blanket, warm and clean being pulled over him. 

“He’s worse than I’d have imagined,” said a voice he couldn’t quite place, a woman’s voice that made something old and familiar turn in his gut. 

“He’ll make it. Jaskier’s always been a stubborn shit,” came another voice, gruff and also familiar. His chest ached in a way that had nothing to do with his injuries and he didn’t have time to really think about it before he was slipping into darkness. 

~

Jaskier woke slowly, his mind fighting back against the hazy sleep that kept pulling him down time and time again as he slowly realized his body was healing. It still hurt, but the pain wasn’t as deep. There was something warm pressed against his face, gently rubbing against his cheeks and forehead and a soft humming. He wanted to turn into the presence and cling to the comfort that washed over him. 

The cloth pulled away from his face and he knew the whimpering he had heard was his own as he tried to chase the feeling again. A large warm hand cupped his cheek, calloused fingers grazing against his jaw. He could weep with how good it felt after months upon months of that dungeon and those guards and their mages. 

“Can you hear me, Jask?” someone murmured only inches from him. Jaskier could feel the tips of his hair brush against his neck. “Jask, you have to wake up.” His voice sounded tight and wounded. “I’m-” Geralt made a hurt noise as a thumb brushed his temple. 

“Hmm, G-rlt?” He turned his face into the palm that held him, sighing as though it had been the balm to all his aches. The hollow pang of loss in his chest flared again as he slowly gained his bearings. Oh, this wasn’t a dream but a nightmare. Geralt, the Geralt he knew wouldn’t touch him like this, wouldn’t be this soft. The Geralt he knew, the one that had thrown those words at him on the mountain, wouldn’t care about him now, not like this. 

Tears came unbidden. He had been so careful not to let the guards of Nilfgaard see him break but some tricks were far too cruel not to hit their mark. He tried to pull away from the hand, fighting every fiber of himself that wanted it to be real, needed it to mean he was safe. He sobbed as his heart finally cracked open. 

“Jaskier, no. No no, you’re-” Firm hands lifted him up gently by the shoulders and he felt his head rest against a broad chest as he was being cradled. The feeling turned his stomach and he struggled to pull away. 

“You might need to axii him,” came another male voice from somewhere beyond Jaskier’s senses and the chest under his head expanded with a sigh. 

“I don’t want to make it feel like I tricked him, I need him to believe it’s real,” Geralt said from above him, those calloused fingers now sliding into his hair. 

“Geralt, he’s not with it yet. Just let him sleep a little longer,” said the voice. This one he didn’t recognize. 

Jaskier tried to thrash, to pull away. He wanted to fight this but he had no more fight in him to give. The man above him sighed again, almost sadly and Jaskier felt a twinge of magic against his scalp. By his cheek, a round metal piece seemed to hum for a moment and then there was darkness again. 

~ 

The next time Jaskier woke, he was alone in a large room, cocooned in a pile of furs and pillows. The room was bright and outside the window, a craggy landscape stretched as far as he could see. It smelled of pine and clean air and the very tail end of summer. 

“You’re awake, bard.” A man walked in, carrying a tray with what looked like a bowl and two cups, steam rising from all of them. 

“Where am I?” Jaskier croaked, wincing at how his words scraped against his throat. He knew he wouldn’t be singing again any time soon. 

“Welcome to Kaer Morhen, home of the witcher keep and the school of the wolf,” he gave a smile that tugged at the scars that ran along the one side of his face though he had let his hair fall in a way that looked like it was meant to hide them. 

“You’re a witcher?” Jaskier found himself leaning away slightly, not trusting his own eyes. 

“Last time I checked, yes. Eskel. It’s good to finally meet Geralt’s bard,” Eskel set the tray down on the edge of the bed and backed away to give Jaskier room. He sat in a dusty arm chair in the corner, fishing a book from his pocket. 

“I’m not Geralt’s anything,” Jaskier said automatically. It had been what he had told Nilfgaard, again and again and again, even as they continued to break his bones and burn his skin and invade his mind. “Geralt isn’t anything to me,” he added, swallowing around the taste of ash in his mouth. 

“Eat, then we’ll talk,” Eskel only gave him a small smile and turned back to his book. 

Jaskier looked down at the tray. One cup remained and the bowl, a broth with onions and small bits of root vegetable floating in it. Jaskier immediately recognized it as the same soup Geralt had made when he had caught a fever a few years back. He picked up the tea, foregoing the broth for the moment, not ready to swallow those memories just yet. 

It occurred to him that all of this may have been some kind of trick. He had never met Geralt’s brothers in arms, he had never been to Kaer Morhen. Maybe they thought he had and they were waiting for him to mess up. But there was nothing to mess up any further. 

Eskel lifted the other cup of tea that Jaskier hadn’t seen him take, sipping slowly as he disappeared into his book. “Broth too, bard.” It felt like a gentle chide, though he glanced up with an easy smile. 

“Are all witchers this bossy?” Jaskier grumbled as he lifted the bowl to his lips, sipping. It turned out to be nothing like the broth Geralt had made him, this was so much better. The moment the liquid touched his lips, he realized he was famished. He made only a small attempt to go slow at first before simply tilting the bowl back to drink it down. It burned his throat but it warmed his limbs with a deep kind of comfort. 

When the bowl was empty, Jaskier leaned back against the headboard, cup of tea in hand. He let the quiet stretch between them for a few moments, Eskel still in his book, Jaskiser in his thoughts. 

“Now, let’s start with the easy stuff,” Eskel set his book aside but made no move to stand or come near Jaskier. “We heard Nilfgaard had you about six months back. We finally managed to get you out four weeks ago. You were not in good shape but you’re doing better now.” 

It had just frosted when he was taken from the road, Jaskier thinks. Now it looked to be the end of summer. He had been captive for almost a year. He took a sip of his tea and nodded. 

“So this isn’t a trick?” He said flatly, curling his toes to test his minimal strength. They ached with the rest of him. 

“No. We understand that you’re going to take some time to trust that, but we’re not going to rush you. Anything you want to know, we’ll answer to the best of our ability and you are, of course, welcome to stay here,” Eskel looked down then, scuffing his boots along the floor boards. He seemed to be trying to word his next statement carefully. 

“You’re asking that I choose to stay peacefully. I’m not a captive, but leaving isn’t a good option,” Jaskier bit out. The tea and broth and rest had rekindled a fire in his gut that Nilfgaard hadn’t quite managed to bank and he felt like he was burning with it. 

“Just for now, till we know it’s going to be safe for you,” Eskel shot back. He rubbed his hands on his thighs. 

“Safe for Geralt and his child surprise you mean. I’ve seen your hidden fortress and am now a liability,” He knew it to be true but it didn’t take the sting out any more. 

“Jaskier, that’s not fair. Geralt-” Eskel clicked his mouth shut quickly. 

“Oh no, no no, go on. Tell me what that asshole said, hmm? Did he mention that he threw me aside? Is that why you’re worried I’ll turn him in so quickly? They had me for three seasons and the most I gave them was trouble,” Jaskier shook, suddenly exhausted. He found that he struggled to keep his eyes opened and he looked back down at the bowl of soup. “At least you had the decency not to axii me this time,” he spat. 

Darkness took him again, but before it did he heard another voice from the door, “I’m sorry, Jask.” 

~

He was alone the next time he came to, though he hadn’t been moved to any kind of dungeon which was a relief. His chest tightened at the thought of going from being the prisoner of an army to the prisoner of someone he had once considered his friend. 

He stood slowly, letting his weight shift gently onto the balls of his feet as he made to get up. He nearly collapsed again, grunting at the way his muscles refused to hold him. He scolded himself for not having seen it coming. He couldn’t remember the last time he stood, let alone walked under his own volition. 

Jaskier took a deep breath as he let his fingers pry gently along his healing body. He found that the worse of the damage had been healed though he still ached and he was certain he would have to rebuild his strength again. It would take time, time that he probably had now that he was a resident of circumstance in Kaer Morhen. All those years he had wished of coming here and how he longed to be anywhere else. 

He dropped his head into his hands, groaning. He had just wanted to go home and forget the war and the witcher and the mountain. 

The tap on the door made him jump but when he looked up, Geralt was standing there. He was without his armor, his hair pulled back, and his arms crossed over his chest. Geralt frowned at him, his brows knitted together. 

“Jaskier,” he started then stopped again, his jaw clicking shut as he shifted. He didn’t budge from the door, only looked out the window as he took a deep breath. 

“I won’t fight. If you want me to stay, I’ll stay. I-” It was Jaskier’s turn to look away. He hadn’t had much time to consider just how he might have made it out of a heavily guarded Nilfgaardian fort alive but with Geralt standing there looking all the world like a man put out by one underfoot bard, it wasn’t hard to put the pieces together. “You didn’t have to come rescue me. I would have-” he swallowed around his next words. I would have still protected you with my last breath, Geralt. “Thank you, anyway.” 

Geralt rubbed his face and took a hesitant step forward before retreating back to the door again. “Jaskier, why?” There was something wrong with Geralt’s voice, like it had been rubbed and frayed. 

“Why? Why am I staying? Because I don’t really have much choice, do I? Apparently I’m not done healing, and now I know where you and your child surprise are hiding, I’m a liability, aren’t I?” He let his hands fall into his lap in defeat. 

“I don’t want you to stay,” Geralt said quickly, his hands coming up in surrender. He looked up for a moment and shook his head before he opened his mouth again. 

Jaskier felt like his heart had finally snapped. “Right, well. Now that we have that settled, I’ll just give myself enough time to get up to snuff and then I will be on my way, shall I? Should have known you didn’t want me here.” He sounded wounded, even to his own ears. “Don’t understand why you went through all that trouble to rescue me if,” Jaskier tilted his head back and squeezed his eyes shut, willing the tears there to not fall. They did anyway. 

“I didn’t mean to shovel more shit, Geralt. I don’t know why you didn’t just let me die in there doing the one thing I’ve always tried to do,” he looked at Geralt then, wincing, “try to make your life a little easier.” 

“I don’t want you to stay if you don’t want to,” Geralt said softly. He took a hesitant step forward as though Jaskier had the strength to cause any real damage to anyone other than himself. “You didn’t give me up, even after the way I… after the hunt,” Geralt rubbed his face. “I just don’t understand why you did it, why you wouldn’t tell them even as they…” His words trailed off and they both seemed surprised to find that he had knelt down beside Jaskier, his hands wrapping around one of Jaskier’s. “Why did you do that, Jaskier?”

“You’re a fucking fool,” Jaskier spat. “Because I love you. Because I’ve loved you for nearly twenty years and even after you tore my heart out, I couldn’t bring myself to give you over,” Jaskier cried. He could feel Geralt fighting down a flinch where their fingers met and a small part of him was pleased. He was shaking, his mouth impossibly dry as he pressed his free hand to his eyes. “Geralt, how did I get here?” 

Geralt moved to sit beside him on the bed, not letting go of his hand, his eyes never quite meeting Jaskier’s. He was getting his words together, Jaskier knew and he gave him the time. 

“We had heard they had a travel companion of a witcher. There are… very few of those who exist, let alone one Nilfgaard would be interested in. When we sprang Yennefer, she confirmed that she had heard you had been taken prisoner too,” Geralt gave a small smile then. “She had heard that you would just sing to them, all of your songs instead of giving them information.” He sounded almost proud as he said it, but then his face fell. 

Jaskier sat in stunned silence, trying to pay attention to Geralt’s words as he seemed to hyperfocus on the warmth of his hands around his own. Slowly, he withdrew his hand, trying to make sense of what was happening. Either his confession was going to be left unacknowledged or Geralt was working up to let him down easily for once. He had to beat him to the punch for once. 

“I’ll get my strength back and then I’ll be out of your hair. I don’t want to cause you any more trouble. I’ll lay low, maybe head to Creyden or somewhere out of the way.” He clasped his hands together, pressing where his skin was still warm from Geralt’s touch. Twenty years of wanting stuck in his throat. Then he thought of the mountain and swallowed them down again. He had always been good at that. 

“You don’t have to leave here, Jaskier. You’ll be safe,” Geralt said, tilting his head down slightly to meet Jaskier’s eyes. 

“I’d be in the way,” Jaskier reasoned. 

“You…” Geralt sighed and rubbed his eyes tiredly. “No, Jask, you wouldn’t. But I don’t want you to feel like you’re trapped here. Just… Give me some time?” Geralt winced as he looked back at Jaskier. 

“What am I doing here, Geralt? I don’t want to be kept around just to absolve you of some guilt you’re carrying,” Jaskier asked again. 

Geralt made a low noise, somewhere between wounded and relieved. “I shouldn’t have yelled, it’s true, and it’s my fault they took you in the first place. But I brought you here, because this is where I wanted you, where I thought I could keep you safe.” His jaw worked for a moment as he chose his next words carefully, though he seemed stuck.

“I don’t get it. Help me understand, Geralt. I didn’t even think you cared,” Jaskier frowned, his fingers fidgeting. 

Geralt looked up at him and his eyes had gone soft around the edges. “I’m a fucking fool.” His hand came up and cupped Jaskier’s cheek, his thumb brushing away the tears Jaskier could no longer hold back. He couldn’t help but lean into the touch, his stomach swooping. “I love you, I’ve loved you for… far longer than I was willing to admit.”

Jaskier gave a soft laugh, trying to cover his sob. “What the fuck do you witchers put in your soup?”  

Geralt went still for a moment before he snorted, ducking his head. “It’s the onion.”

Jaskier gasped as he pulled away from Geralt dramatically. He only just managed not to start cackling. “I knew this was a trap! The Geralt I knew would never-” a pillow hit him in the face, knocking him back. He grinned madly from where he had landed only for it to be lost into a yawn. He hadn’t realized how taxing the conversation had been. 

Geralt stood, leaning over to adjust Jaskier’s bedding. “Rest, bard. You’ve still got healing to do and we have a lot to talk about.” He hesitated for a moment before leaning down, pressing a kiss to Jaskier’s temple. “I’ll be here when you wake up.” 

Jaskier let himself settle into the bed again as he watched Geralt leave the room. He felt it in his bones, the way his body melted into the furs around him. He’d be on his feet in no time and he was free to follow them wherever they took him, though he knew he’d still happily follow Geralt anywhere he went.

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

Don’t Take the Money

(cross-posted from my AO3 and based on the Bleachers song of the same name; you should give it a listen ‘cause it definitely shaped this story)

-vomit tw, depression tw, lots of angst and emotional whump with a happy ending, of course-

Jaskier had received six urgent messages in three weeks, each delivered by a different exhausted messenger in the same oddly familiar livery. They showed up outside of inns, in the corner of taverns, and one of them even had to trek through the deep woods to find their hidden campsite; Geralt almost felt bad for them. Almost.

After the seventh strange man appeared with a scroll for Jaskier, the bard didn’t even bother reading it. He merely tossed the rolled and sealed piece of parchment into a refuse pile on their way out of town and didn’t look back. Geralt picked it up when the bard wasn’t paying attention, letting his eyes scan the fancy, swirling script of the Viscountess Pankratz.

Julian Alfred Pankratz,

Return home immediately! Your wedding cannot be put off any longer! Lady Ainsley will not wait another month for your foolish adventures with that Witcher to come to an end. If you do not return for your wedding in three weeks time then you shall be officially disowned and your name will be stricken from the family records.

With Urgency,

Lady Pankratz

Geralt swallowed hard. Jaskier was betrothed? He was to be married in three weeks? But they weren’t anywhere near Redania. Or Lettenhove. Jaskier had never mentioned anyone by the name of Lady Ainsley before, or anything about his past if he could avoid it. Did that mean...?

“Why aren’t you going?” the Witcher asked. Jaskier whirled around, his eyebrow already raised in confusion; he went three shades paler than normal when he saw the limp paper hanging from Geralt’s fingers. “We’re not even remotely close to your hometown and we’re traveling in quite the opposite direction.”

Jaskier made a face and waved his hand dismissively.

“I know. I don’t want to marry her.”

“Why don’t you want to marry her? They’re going to disown you, Jaskier. Isn’t this” - he shook the letter for emphasis - “the life you’re used to living, anyway? You should go home and be with...with someone like you .”

“What’s that supposed to mean, Geralt? You think I belong with someone foppish? Loud? Annoying?” The bard was spitting mad already. The Witcher had touched on a sore spot, apparently. “Should I be with someone more breakable and human and petty?”

“Don’t you want- aren’t you-”

“C’mon big boy, use that fantastic Witcher brain of yours. Figure it out.”

Geralt didn’t understand.

“Wouldn’t you be happier with her than on the Path with me?”

Jaskier looked...hurt. His expression changed from indignant to heartbroken in the measure of time that occurred between split seconds. It did something awful in the Witcher’s gut. Something unfamiliar and painful. The bard’s next words were barely above a whisper. Even with his enhanced hearing Geralt had to focus hard: “Would you prefer me to be married off and out of your way?”

“No, that’s not what I-”

“I don’t even know what we’re even getting at here, Geralt. I’m sorry. I can return home if you’d like. If I send a messenger first thing tomorrow then the family’s hired mage can portal me back in time for the wedding.”

“Jaskier,” the Witcher was pleading. He didn’t know why or for what, but the pitch of his voice left room for no other possible interpretation. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt again.”

“Then don’t ask me to marry her, Geralt.”

The Witcher dropped the letter back onto the refuse pile and shoved it deeper with the tip of his boot. Jaskier’s bright smile returned and the soft notes of his lute filled the air once again. For some inexplicable reason Geralt felt triumphant. As if he’d won a battle he didn’t know he’d been fighting against an enemy he’d never met before.

---

“Are you Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf?” a well-dressed stranger asked, approaching the table where the Witcher was seated. It had been a week since his and Jaskier’s argument over the summons. Neither one had brought it up again and the bard had seemed almost unusually affectionate since. The amount of casual touching they did had significantly increased, even when the sun set and it was growing close to bedtime. Jaskier seemed to be happy touching Geralt and the Witcher had no reason to complain; he liked knowing that his best friend wasn’t scared of him.

He regarded the messenger with a suspicious gaze, “Aye. I am Geralt of Rivia.”

“I have a contract for you.” The man slid a piece of paper across the table and folded himself into the chair across from Geralt’s. The pattern stamped into the red wax seal was familiar but the Witcher couldn’t quite remember where he’d seen it before. His strange visitor smiled benignly, “It doesn’t even involve killing.”

“Then why hire a Witcher? That’s kind of our schtick.”

“This agreement is of a more personal nature,” the man shrugged, leaning back in his chair and waiting for Geralt to read his missive. The Witcher took the delicate stationary in his large hands and unfolded it until he could see the printed words:

To Sir Geralt of Rivia,

Witcher and Friend of Julian Alfred Pankratz

We, the Pankratz Family, come to you and offer this agreement:

Return Julian safely to our ancestral home within two weeks and you shall be paid the sum of 1500 crowns. Consider it a bodyguarding mission, if you so desire.

You are also formally invited to attend the wedding of Julian Alfred Pankratz of Lettenhove to the Countess Ainsley DeStael of Rinde, which will occur three days after your mission ends.

In order to complete the job and claim your payment, however, you must leave the wedding party without Julian at your side and return to your Witcher duties alone. He isn’t cut out for such a hard life on the road. He is of noble blood and has responsibilities here at home. Please return him to his kind of people and claim your coin in recompense.

Sincerely,

Francois Reginald Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove

&

Constantina Charlotte Pankratz, Lady de Lettenhove

Geralt glanced up from the contract and out into the main dining room where Jaskier was currently jigging atop one of the surprisingly sturdy tables. The bard’s smile was bright, his voice was strong and clear as he sang of lovers meeting in secret, and his blue eyes twinkled with joy. He loved the attention of performing. How could Geralt take that away from him, even if he would be safer at home? Even if he would be married to another, spending his time with another, caring for another…

But didn’t Geralt care about Jaskier? Isn’t that why he’d risked life and limb over and over to keep the bard safe? Because Geralt loved him? He pushed the thought away with haste and tried to keep his expression neutral. His amber eyes strayed to the upturned hat at Jaskier’s feet. People had been depositing coins there all night and a rather decent pile had sprung up but -

But he could be doing better, Geralt thought. He could be taking a warm bath every night and buying expensive oils from real apothecaries and not sketchy traveling salesmen. He could be dressing in silk every day and never complain about having to wear a woolen doublet for warmth again. He could sleep next to a fire in a real feather-bed. With blankets. He could stay healthy and safe and never go near another angry monster for all his days.

Something in the Witcher’s heart withered and died when he realized just how much he’d been holding Jaskier back; something important. Something the bard had helped him cultivate over six long years of traveling together. In an instant the Witcher had hidden it away in a dark corner to die.

“Alright.”

“Huh,” the messenger smirked. “They thought it would take more bribery to get you to agree, Witcher.”

“It’s not about the crowns,” Geralt shrugged, gaze flitting back up to Jaskier. The bard’s twinkling cornflower-blue eyes met with his and Geralt quickly glanced away, already ridden with guilt and shame over his decision. “It’s about making him happy and keeping him safe.”

“If I didn’t know any better about your kind and their lack of feelings,” the messenger snorted, “I’d say you might even love the Little Lord Pankratz.”

“If I didn’t know any better about myself,” Geralt replied, “I might agree.”

“See you in two weeks, then. Hope you can make it to Redania in time.”

“Why not just portal us there? Jaskier said his family had a hired mage.”

“Busy with wedding preparations,” the man shrugged. “Anyway, I must be going. The Viscount and her Ladyship are eager to hear your reply. See you soon, I’m sure.”

The stranger stood, bowed, and disappeared back to Lettenhove with the signed contract. Geralt swallowed back a mouthful of bile. He hated himself. He really did. But this is what’s best for Jaskier.

---

“Who was that, earlier at the table?” the bard asked. He was lounging on the bed with a tin of lute polish in one hand and a rag in the other. “Did he have a contract?”

“Yes. In Redania, actually.”

“Oh, lovely! It’s almost time for the summer festivals to begin; I can show you the best alehouse in all of Novigrad while we’re there.”

“My job is near Lettenhove. Do you want to go with me?”

“Sure. Might be fun to swing by my old stomping grounds. This doesn’t have anything to do with my canceled wedding, does it?” the bard shot him a pointed look. Geralt schooled his features into some sort of passivity and shook his head.

“Vampires rarely attend the weddings of minor nobility,” the Witcher lied through his teeth.

“Vampires, huh? Nifty. Haven’t had one of those to write about in awhile.”

“Hmm.”

---

“Geralt, help! Geralt, please! GERALT!”

The Witcher tossed and turned, unable to sleep. He kept hearing Jaskier’s raw, heartbroken voice ringing in his ears. He could still smell the desperation and panic that clung to the bard’s soft skin as he struggled to get away from his captors. To get back to where the Witcher stood with Roach and the gatekeeper. Geralt kept imagining those eyes, those fucking beautiful eyes, brimming with tears of betrayal as a liveried servant handed him a velvet pouch stuffed fat with crowns. Oh gods, the way his bard had looked at him…Geralt shoved his head out the window and vomited. There was nothing but the sour sting of bile against his tongue and the back of his throat. He heaved in a breath but choked back the sob threatening to come with it.

“Please don’t leave me here, Geralt! Don’t take the money! I’ll be better, I promise! I won’t talk as much, I won’t touch Roach again, I won’t write any ballads about you, Geralt please, I lo-”

The guards had dragged Jaskier inside and slammed the heavy oak door shut before he could finish his sentence, but the Witcher had gotten the general idea. The bard thought he was doing this out of hatred and not out of the sincerest, purest love Geralt had ever felt. He thought this was a punishment and not a slightly backwards form of rescue. If only the bard could understand.

Jaskier’s love wasn’t unrequited.

The bard stole the very breath from Geralt’s lungs every time their eyes met. Every time Jaskier crowed with pride after finishing a new song about their adventures together the Witcher felt his icy heart melt a little more. Each casual brush of their hands as they walked side-by-side sent his emotions reeling. The way his exuberant bard looked as he strolled beside Roach, the sunshine bringing out streaks of dark red in his chestnut hair and lightening the embroidery on his travel jerkin, it was ethereal. Magical. Overwhelming in all the best ways.

And he’d given it all away for a measly pouch of a coin and a slightly clearer conscious. Or was it?

Geralt retched again as he came to another realization.

He had forced Jaskier into something he didn’t want. Geralt had always given his friend free reign. The younger man came on and off the Path like a bee between flowers, visiting and traveling with the Witcher when he pleased and leaving again for odd jobs or festivals when Geralt wasn’t in the mood for company. But he’d given him no choice about the marriage. No, he’d wrestled Jaskier to the ground and bound his hands. He’d gagged him. He’d flung the bard into Roach’s saddle and tied his crossed wrists to the pommel so he couldn’t pick the knots free and escape. He’d passed Jaskier off to the guards and watched them drag him away as he spit out the gag and started yelling.

As he confessed his love to Geralt after six long years on the Path together.

Fucking hells, what have I done to him?

The suddenly panicked Witcher tumbled from his rented bed and reached for his boots. There was no time to spare. There was no time to waste.

There was only Jaskier.

---

Jaskier couldn’t believe it.

After all this time. After all their adventures. After all the songs he’d written and rooms he’d gotten them at comfortable inns, this is how the Witcher repaid him. Trading him back to his parents for a bag of coin like he was some sort of slave or whore.

He was a bard.

He was Geralt’s bard.

Well, he used to be Geralt’s bard. Now he was going to be Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove and Lord of Rinde by marriage.

He wished he could just stop breathing and disappear. His heart thudded dully in his chest and it felt as if he was floating several feet below the surface of deep water. He was unable or unwilling to surface; maybe both. There was no point anymore, really. Geralt, the only person he’d ever really loved, had trussed him up like a market goose and traded him for silver.

The food his family’s servants brought him laid mostly untouched. He knew how to eat just enough to keep from dying. He’d been in plenty of dungeons and bandit camps before. Jaskier had spent six years following the Witcher’s Path and surviving off of whatever Geralt caught or he traded for. There was no reason to eat any more than what he needed to keep his body alive. There was no reason to get out of bed. Or bathe. Or change clothes. These clothes still smelled like the road. Like lute polish and chamomile oil and Roach and mud and Geralt.

“Please,” his mother begged, clasping his limp hand in both of hers. She’d been sitting at his bedside for maybe an hour, watching him stare listlessly up into the green velvet canopy above him. “Just eat something substantial. Say something. Do something, Julian. We know you aren’t happy with us or our decision but you can’t just lay here all day and wallow in self-pity. You have responsibilities to take care of; Ainsley has grown worried and her father is impatient.”

“The wedding is tomorrow,” he’d replied. There was no emotion in his voice and the monotony was soothing to his own ears. Geralt didn’t like it when he got too excited. Best to be calm and quiet like a good little noble. “I will be presentable. I will be at the altar. I will do my duty for the family.”

“Thank you, Julian.”

“But I will not love her.”

“You never have to love her,” his mother smiled. She gave his hand another small pat before standing and moving towards the door. Her job here was done, after all. “We only need you to marry her.”

---

Geralt pounded up the steps of the keep two-at-a-time. His usually slow heartbeat was now pounding in his ears like a warlord’s drum. He had to save Jaskier, he had to - the door slammed open and something hard went flying into his chest, knocking him back a step. The Witcher reached out a hand to steady the person he’d collided with but his amber eyes were still focused on the castle’s front door. He moved to step around the stranger and into the building when they suddenly spoke. The bard’s voice was pitchy and low from crying all morning: “Geralt?”

“Jaskier?” the Witcher gasped. His grip tightened around the younger man’s upper arm. “Are you okay?”

“Am I okay?” Jaskier looked truly flabbergasted. His expression shifted from shock to anger quickly, however, and the hurt in those blue eyes nailed Geralt to the ground where he stood. “Am I OKAY? You absolute fucking moron; of course I’m not okay. The love of my life tied me up, handed me over to my horrible fucking family like a Beltane offering, and disappeared into the night with a fat bag of crowns. The one person I love most in this world, the only person I’d ever trust with my life or my lute, treated me like a transaction of some sort. I am very much not okay, Geralt of Rivia! Now pick me up, take me to Roach, and get me the fuck out Lettenhove before I have to marry that horrible, terrible, hideous woman!”

The Witcher cracked a smile. Jaskier jabbed a finger into his chest and frowned even more deeply. “Why the fuck are you smiling, Witcher?”

“Because I missed the sound of your voice.”

The bard blushed, his righteous anger faltering.

“I love you too,” Geralt added. Jaskier’s eyes somehow grew even rounder and more watery. “I’m so fucking sorry but I didn’t know how else to protect you. I thought that maybe after coming home and seeing how much nicer it was than being on the Path you might want to stay here and be safe. Live your life normally. I thought you’d be happier here than you were with me. You’d certainly wouldn’t be hurt as often.”

“Did you just say that you love me?”

“Yes.”

“Did you hear me say that I love you, mere moments ago?”

“Yes.”

“Then why the fuck would you try to get rid of me?” The Witcher tried not to flinch when Jaskier placed a gentle hand against his cheek. He’d expected a slap. A kick to the shin. A knee to the groin. Screaming. He hadn’t expected that look of soft understanding to dawn on Jaskier’s boyish face. Despite the knowing sparkle in his eyes, the bard’s voice was sad. “Caged birds never sing, Geralt. What an awful cage it would have been; I'd never see my handsome Witcher again. I'd never attend another royal wedding as entertainment. I'd never write another line of song, much less be able to sing it. I would have been miserable Geralt. I probably would have died much sooner here than I would on the Path.”

“Can you ever forgive me?”

“As soon as you do as I say and get me the hell out of here, then yes, I’ll consider forgiving you, Witcher.”

“Well I suppose we shouldn’t waste any time.”

Geralt flung the bard up and over his shoulder and took off back down the steps at a sprint. He wasn’t going to let those people have his darling Jaskier back. Not if they tried to cage him and take his voice. He knew better now. He understood. 

They loved each other.

The bard was laughing brightly, bouncing along as Geralt made for the stables. He could see his family exiting the Great Hall and making their way in his direction. It didn’t matter. They’d never catch up with his Witcher. He shot them several naughty hand gestures and grinned widely when Geralt swung them both up into Roach’s saddle. “Sorry girl,” he apologized. “Time for our daring escape into the woods.”

---

"Fifteen hundred crowns, huh?" Jaskier asked, eyeing the hefty purple velvet bag.

"Actually there are only fourteen hundred left," Geralt shrugged. He reached into his saddlebag and brought out a small leather pouch, which he handed to Jaskier. The bard opened it, peered inside, and gasped in very genuine surprise.

"Geralt..."

"Do you like it?" the Witcher was worrying his bottom lip between his teeth in the cutest way. Jaskier wanted to answer but his heart was caught somewhere between his throat and his stomach so he couldn't quite form words. He nodded.

"Can you help me put it on?"

"There's no clasp. They aren't meant to have clasps."

"I know."

Geralt's heart soared as he lifted his gift for Jaskier out of the bag and lowered it over his head. The medallion rested just between his collarbones, framed by a tuft of the bard's chest hair. It was a copy of Geralt's wolf medallion, only this wolf held a flower in its mouth. Gently, as if unwilling to break the stem or let it go.

"It's perfect," the bard beamed. His eyes were watery and he blinked the tears free to keep staring at his new jewelry. "Thank you."

"Hmm."

"What do you want to do with the rest of the money?"

"I don't know," the Witcher shrugged. "Maybe go to the coast?"

"I've always wanted to go there!"

Geralt pressed a tender kiss against Jaskier's lips, reveling in the sensation of his bard melting against his chest. They'd spent the last few nights wrapped around each other, whispering secrets and stories into each others mouths until sleep overtook them. Tonight would be no different, except that now Jaskier felt truly safe. He felt loved. He felt utterly surrounded by the happiness that came with being on the Path next to his Witcher. "What are you thinking about, little lark?"

"I'm glad you came back for me. I'm glad we're together now."

"Hmm. Me too."

[lastwagontrainhopper]

A guiding hand

Royai week day 2 - Serene (let’s collectively ignore how late I am posting this ok thaaaanks)

Summary:   “She expected Roy to follow up with a flirty comment or joke; that was usually how this type of conversation went. Instead, after a moment, he let out a sight. When he spoke again, his voice had a melancholic tone to it.

"That right there is the one sight that I really miss. ” ”

---

The Colonel and his Lieutenant share a late-night conversation. (Blind!Roy)

Words: 2489 

Tags: Blind Roy Mustang, Fluff and Angst, Late Night Conversations, Established Relationship, Canon Compliant

read on aot

“They had left their windows wide open, letting in a soft breeze to relieve them from the heavy summer heat. The curtains were rising and falling without a sound, fluttering in the air like ghosts. Even the streets around the house were quiet at that hour; the only thing that broke the stillness of the night was Riza's voice.

"As for Senator Harn's wife, she was wearing a very elegant apricot-colored dress. With her signature high hairdo, of course.”

Their blankets had long been kicked away to the bottom of the bed in a messy pile. Roy was lying on his back, facing to the ceiling, one hand playing idly with a lock of Riza's hair.

"Apricot?" His eyebrows furrowed slightly. "That's the yellow with a touch of pink, right?”

"That was pretty much it, yes." Riza was lying on her side, her head against her hand, elbow propped up on the pillow. The room was covered in shadows, but the flickering lights from the window on the street allowed her to see the outline of Roy's face.

"And you said Harn had a royal blue jacket...That must have made for an odd contrast.”

Riza smirked. "Yes, that's what several people seemed to think. It looked as if the General and his wife had not consulted with one another before coming to the gala.”

A sly smile spread across Roy’s face. "Ha! And you just know the rumors about their marriage are already flying high. It's sort of ironic, considering how Harn is constantly babbling to the Parliament about the “traditional family” and the “sanctity of marriage” and whatnot." His hand came to lightly circle Riza's wrist, his thumb tapping the back of her hand. "I’m sure you now understand how crucial fashion is in Central. It's not just a matter of taste: it's inherently political.”

"Sure," she answered, unconvinced. "Anyway. The Harns didn't capture the guests' attention that long, since the buffet was brought shortly after.”

Roy hummed appreciated. "And that was a good one. I've rarely tasted crab this delicious.”

"Yes, and they must have put as much effort into the presentation as in the cooking, because the set-up was magnificent. Everything was served on glittering silver plates, which reflected the glow of the chandeliers. On each table, the dishes were arranged in a sort of pyramid, culminating with the piece of meat or seafood. It looked extremely fragile, like...like some sort of house of cards, or crystal architecture, defying gravity - but they all stood the evening without crashing down. It was breathtaking.”

This had become the most constant part of their day. Almost every night, as they lay in bed before going to sleep, Riza would describe to Roy a long list of the things he hadn’t been able to see during the day. When they had first started this habit, as they were working on the the reconstruction of Ishval, Riza's descriptions had been much more pragmatic, like a mission report: which building seemed in need of repair? Which tribal leader looked unsatisfied during their morning meeting? She did her best to give him this information as the day went by, but there were always important details that she missed.

As the years had passed and the two had distanced themselves from the military, Riza's description had slowly become more lyrical. She began to tell him about beautiful sights that he was missing – a particularly colorful sunset, or the way the city lights looked at night. As time went by, she started to enjoy these conversations and more more, and they became increasingly long. It got to the point where, as Riza saw something pretty during the day, she found herself immediately thinking of the way she would describe it to Roy later at night.

"You should try to write a book," he had told her once. "You're so good at this - I can picture in my mind everything that you're telling me about like I was seeing it."

"It wouldn't be the same," she had answered, shaking her head. "I like hearing your reactions."

He had arched his eyebrows, smirking. "And yet you scold me every time I interrupt you.”

"Stop being overdramatic,” she had retorted. “Now let me continue." They had left it at that.

Sometimes Riza would rest her head on his chest as she went on with her stories. This was what Roy preferred.  Ever since losing his eyesight, he had grown much fonder of physical contact, even casual, with her - after all, it was the surest way he could know that she was by his side. But Riza liked to remain slightly further, just next to him, so that she would be able to observe him during their late-night conversation. His face would take on such a special expression at those times, almost peaceful, or...serene.

Serene. That would have been the last word anyone would have chosen to describe Roy under normal circumstances. Despite his reputation as a slacker, he was a man that was constantly busy thinking about one thing or another, pondering, planning his next ploy – or his next date with a certain Lieutenant. His eyes in particular had always betrayed the constant working of his mind: they were restless, always darting around the room to study the people they were talking to, noticing details in their postures, noting suspicious movements out of the corner of his eye.

And, Riza knew it well, even the moments of rest didn’t bring Roy much serenity. More often than not, his sleep was plagued by violent nightmares that would wake him screaming in the middle of the night - or at least, that tensed and distorted his expression as he slept.

This had not changed since the Promised Day. But since Roy’s fight in the underground of Central, his blind eyes had lost their piercing look and had taken on a milky appearance. In the first few weeks, Riza had hated meeting that blank stare - it reminded her too much of what his eyes used to look like, as well as symbolizing her failure as a bodyguard.

But eventually, she had come to see a certain beauty in them, and in the calmness they brought to Roy's expression. He was still as expressive as ever, with his trademark crooked smile and taunting eyebrows. But in the evening, when they were alone together, his face truly relaxed. As Riza described the day's events to him, he would focus entirely on her voice, letting his mind recreate the image she was painting. His eyebrows would loosen and his forehead became smooth, free of its usual furrow; his mouth would fall half-open. At this particular moment, Roy took on a serene expression that Riza had never seen on him before, and she never got tired of looking at it.

"I need to tell you, unfortunately," Riza broke the silence that had settled, "that you were not the best-dressed man at the reception.”

Roy propped himself up on his elbows, frowning with surprise. So much for serenity.

"What? Who was?”

“You’re not going to be happy about this,” Riza said, trying to hide the small smile in her voice. "But Colonel Birks made quite an impression. He wore a rather daring suit, made of a black  fabric from which red velvet patterns stood out.”

Roy huffed with indignation. "Velvet! Nonsense. He obviously can’t stop pushing the boundaries of extravagance – and of bad taste.”

"I don't know," Riza said evasively. “I thought it was pretty elegant…and I wasn't the only one.”

Roy ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it. "Outdressing the president should be considered insubordination," he muttered under his breath. "I'll call Ms. Zhao tomorrow. I need something more avant-garde for the next gala. Maybe with some silk mixed in with a cotton suit?”

He lay down again on the bed and raised his arm, inviting her to come closer. Riza moved to nestle up against him, putting her head on his shoulder, a hand on his chest. Roy wrapped an arm around her waist and buried his nose in her hair. Whenever he did that, his breaths would tickle Riza's neck, making her giggle; she would always pretend to be annoyed but it, but they both knew better.

After a moment, Roy tucked some of her hair away from her face. He brought his lips close to her ear. "Tell me again what you were wearing."

Riza felt a shiver go down her spine. That deep voice that Roy used when he whispered always got a reaction out of her, no matter what cliché or silly thing he would say.

A wry smile crossed her lips. "At this point, you know my wardrobe better than I do, Roy. ”

"I know," he answered, unabashed. "But I like hearing you describe it."

Riza chuckled. “Well,” she began, “I was wearing the flowy emerald green skirt that Rebecca got me for Christmas, a brown leather belt, and my white blouse. The one with the embroidery on the collar. ”

He hummed in appreciation. "With your golden high heels, I'm guessing."

"With my golden high heels," she nodded, "because even though my feet are killing by the end of the night when I wear them, they do really go well with that skirt." Her hand started to play with the ring that Roy wore as a necklace. "I didn't put much makeup on because of how humid the weather was. But I did wear my bright red lipstick."

She felt his cheeky smile even before he spoke. "I can recognize it by taste, now."

If they weren’t pressed so close together, she would have dug her elbow into his ribs. She rolled her eyes instead. "I also had my gold bracelet to go with the shoes, and the earrings you bought me to complete it all. What else...my hair was in a bun, and, of course, I had my necklace."

She expected Roy to follow up with a flirty comment or a joke; that was usually how this type of conversation went. Instead, after a moment, he let out a sight. When he spoke, his voice had a melancholic tone to it.

"That right there is the one sight that I really miss. ”

Riza felt her smile drop. A lump appeared in her throat. Roy rarely complained about his blindness; even in the months following the Promised Day, he had adapted to his new lifestyle with impressive resilience. At first, it seemed as if his disability had affected his Lieutenant, plagued by guilt, more than himself. Still, Riza knew that he must have carried a lot of silent regrets through the years. There was so much Roy had had to give up, so many compromises he had had to reluctantly accept on his plan to reform Amestris – and on his personal life.

Riza disentangled herself gently from his grasp and straighten up, half sitting, to observe him. One of his arms was folded under his head, and he still seemed to be looking at the ceiling - but of course, that was just an impression. She ran a hand through his hair, brushing them away from his face. He smiled slightly at her touch, but she didn't need to see the pupils of his eyes to know that his heart wasn't in it.

She didn't like seeing him like this. With thoses cloudy eyes, melancholy turned his serene expression into a confused one - like he was a child that got lost and couldn't look for his way home.

Riza laid down again and rested her head on the pillow, her face turned toward Roy. She started to gently stroke his arm. "At least, you can keep in your mind the image of what I – and you – looked like in the prime of our youth," she said after a moment in a playful tone, trying to comfort him. "You won't need to see us get all old and wrinkled.”

To her surprise, Roy's face saddened further.

"Don't say that. Beautiful women are like fine wine, they only get better with age - that's what Chris used to say. I always wanted to see how you would look as you grew old.”

Riza raised her eyebrow, surprised. "Really?" she answered in spite of herself.

He nodded. "Not everyone ages gracefully, of course. But I know that wrinkles would look flattering on you; you have such elegant features. And silvery hair never fails to give this distinguished look - at least on women," he added, running a hand through his hair, suddenly self-conscious. His eyebrows furrowed. "Do I already have grey hair?"

Riza felt her shoulders relax. "You're almost completely bald by now, Roy."

He winced. "Please don't joke with that. I don't know what I would do if this were to happen.

Riza simply smiled, and they fell back into a comfortable silence. She watched Roy’s chest rise and fall with his breathing, lulled by the calm rhythm.

"You know, I always wished I could see you grow old, also because it would have meant that we made it."

Riza felt her breath catch in her throat.

She reached up and placed her hand on his cheek, hoping her touch could tell him what her words couldn’t.

“We did make it, Roy.” Now of all time, she wished he could see her face.

"I know," he said. He took her hand and brought it to his lips, pressing a light kiss against her knuckles. "I know."

Riza propped herself up on her elbow. She close her fingers around his, and squeezed firmly.

"Listen. We'll just do like with everything else. When my hair turns grey, I'll describe it to you. And as for the wrinkles," she placed his hand on her face, "you can see that for yourself."

Roy made a small smile. For the first time, he turned to face her, placing the tip of his fingers on both sides of her face. That was something he never tired of doing. Before he had lost his sight, he had always been able to read her like a book, understanding the meaning behind even the most subtle of her facial expressions. Now, he could do it in a much more literal sense, by tracing the surface of her body, reading the lines on her skin as if they were words written in braille.

"And when my face is so wrinkled it's unrecognizable,” she continued, "you will know the story behind each one of them.” She injected a smile into her voice. “The ones I already have on my forehead, for example, come from the stress of having spent so many years asking you to do your paperwork.”

His fingers brushed her forehead, and he smiled, abashed. "And you're all the more beautiful for it, my dear." He reached toward her and, guided by his hands, placed a light kiss on her head. “I can’t wait to see the rest.” ”

[goldenkookietae]

The Book Fortress Tumbles

BTS One shot

Pairing: Boyfriend!Taehyung x reader

Word count: 3,643 words

Warnings: Smut, strong language, sir!kink, dom!tae, teeny tiny bit of angst

Summary: Your exams are starting soon and you’re beyond stressed. You’re trying not to let that show but it all comes bursting out when your boyfriend Taehyung tries to get you to relax. When you realise your mistake, the only thing you can do, is apologise to him. Just not with words.

A/N: My college just announced that our exams will be held starting from 18th September. That’s too less time to mug up the entirety of the semester syllabus. Sigh. This one shot is reflecting my current situation (minus a Taehyung and dedication towards exams). I accidentally posted this when it was half finished lol, I panicked all the time I was taking it down xD.

Disclaimer: This story is an AU fanfiction that I have created using the names of the members of BTS. I do not claim any ownership over the members of BTS. The plot and the personalities of the characters are entirely my own.

Do not plagiarize my work and do not repost.

 *

Moodboard

*I do not claim ownership over any of the pictures. They are credited to their original owners.

“Y/N~” Taehyung sang, skipping up to the study table, a pile of books hiding the person behind from view.

A faint “yes” was whispered softly from behind the walls of what seemed like a book fortress. Taehyung knew that the queen in this fort had probably not even looked up from her current preoccupation.

But somehow, as the “boyfriend”, he had a few special privileges. Somehow he could pull her to cuddle with him when  she had an exam the day next, somehow he could wake her up in the middle of the night and still get her to cook for him, somehow he could steal her ice cream after having his and get her to find him rather cute.

Okay, maybe the last two aren’t true. Those are the things I’d do for her. He thought. Either way, whatever the consequences might be, he felt deprived, almost jealous of bound pages and thick covers.

She had told him a month before, on a day that Taehyung now marked as a blue day in his life, that her exams were coming up and that she’d have to focus on her studies. That she’d have to give her attention to her text books instead of her handsome boyfriend. And the second her exams would be done, they could do whatever he pleased.

Oh, the many many things Taehyung had in mind for everything that pleased him. On top of the list was her name in bold, underlined, Y/N. Y/N had been scanning her books so intently throughout this whole month, it seemed as though she was studying the instructions to defuse a bomb that was seconds from exploding. He hardly saw her around the house, only between the times she came outside to refill her snack jar or water bottle or for her meals. It got to the point where she hadn’t even realised that Taehyung had shifted to her apartment and had been staying with her throughout.

It was funny because they’d share the same bed and wake up inside a warm blanket burrito. Even if she had realised, she hadn’t said a word and Taehyung was more than happy with that. Staying back at his place while she was like this was close to being on an entirely different planet with no forms of communication.

He had picked up a lot of hobbies to distract himself, he played more video games, ate a lot of food, tried cooking (which surprisingly went okay), cleaned her house to make sure she was always comfortable and sometimes worked overtime because everything else was simply boring. But at times when she hadn’t noticed he’d pursue another wonderful hobby. Since Y/N wasn’t really bothered about what Taehyung was up to, he unashamedly spent his time staring at her. She wasn’t even dressed to impress these days, putting on the first thing she reached in her cupboard before sitting down to study.

But she loved being comfortable. And Taehyung noticed how she’d always pick the shortest shorts she had, ones that barely covered the globe of her ass. He would’ve loved those clothes on her every damn day, only if he wasn’t restricted to staying a mile away so she could ‘focus’ and almost suffering from blue balls.

“Y/N~” he whined yet again, choosing to cross over to other side of the fort and poking the bookworm. His plan for the night was to at least get some attention. He had been deprived of it for more than a month, it had reached the point where he would be in an existential crisis from lack of affection.

He would respect all her restrictions, he was being so good at keeping his carnal desires at bay (even if his hand was no match), he hadn’t complained when she finished her food early and left him alone to eat his portion, and definitely didn’t bother her for falling asleep on top of her books. He somehow felt proud of being that boyfriend, the one who’d bring her meals and would carry her back to bed when she’d fallen asleep.

But he just hoped that this, whatever it was, probably a test from the gods, would soon come to an end. And that Y/N would then jump onto his lap and kiss the living daylights out of him to tell him that he passed with flying colours.

All he wanted was a little bit of cuddling that night. The exams were still a week away and she could spare that much for him, couldn’t she?

He poked her again. One last time. And when that earned him nothing more but hummed ‘yes’, he knew it had come down to war. He extended his hands to her waist, caressing the soft flesh before taking on a different turn.

“Taehyungie! Stop!” Y/N hollered, jerking so suddenly that the central defense of her fort broke and tumbled to the ground in all the glory of crumpled and dog eared pages.

All that didn’t bother Taehyung as he tickled her sides, not caring about the curses leaving her mouth at that instant. If he paid any attention, then it would definitely turn him hard.

He picked her up effortlessly, carrying her over to the bed and placing her down. He climbed on top of her slowly, licking his lips as his face leveled with hers.

“Let’s just cuddle for tonight Y/N. You’ve been overworking yourself and it’s okay to take some time off to relieve stress. Relax for today, okay?” Taehyung muttered soothingly, rubbing her arms to warm her skin.

“Or maybe we can do something else to relieve your stress?” He chuckled trying to lighten the passive expression on Y/N’s face but it only made it more poignant. Before he could say anything else, the anxiety all came onto Y/N at once, making her snap.

“Taehyung stop! This is not a joke. My entire career depends on these exams and you’re treating it like a joke! Stop it!” Y/N exclaimed and Taehyung went still. 

He knew she didn’t mean that and she knew that her career was as important to Taehyung as it was to her. He was looking out for her simply. She knew this too.

Sighing, Taehyung slid off her and stood next to the bed.

“Your career is important Y/N, I know that. It is to me too. But you’re taking too much pressure. You need a stress buster once in a while. Maybe this was not the best way and I’m sorry about that but maybe we can watch a movie tonight or-” Taehyung kept thinking of more things but Y/N cut him off.

“No. I am not under pressure. I do not need a stress buster. All I need to do is study and revise like I was already doing.” Y/N said as she looked at Taehyung pointedly, before sliding off the bed and sitting down at her desk.

“Alright. Let me know if you need anything.” Taehyung gulped. When she didn’t respond, he sighed and left the room as quietly as he could.

Y/N felt bad. When Taehyung had jumped onto her, all her focus flew out of her mind and she finally realised why she had been fidgety all week. Even when Taehyung had offered it to her on a silver platter, she’d refused like a total idiot and was now facing the consequences. From the corner of her eyes, she watched Taehyung through the slightly open door of her room. She could see him laying on the couch, his long legs spread out before him invitingly, his tongue sticking out and jaw flexing as he concentrated on playing the game.

As her eyes slid down, she focused on his hands, his long fingers working the joystick easily, the veins on his arms straining against his skin. Oh, she knew very well what all she wanted him to work with those fingers. The thought made her close her eyes and bite her lip, and she mindlessly clenched her thighs together.

She considered walking up to him right then, but the thought of coming back to him after she’d sent him away so strongly seemed too embarrassing. If that were to happen, Taehyung would never let go of the incident and would tease her about it forever.

In a desperate attempt to calm herself, she turned back to her books, revising topics again and again but still feeling as though she was reading them for the first time ever.  Her eyes slid over to her water bottle as she recited the words she’d just read to herself again.

Tae’s thicker than that. She thought looking over the bottle and imagining a different view in front of her.

“What are you doing, you idiot?” she whispered, realising that her hands were now around the bottle, and she was fisting it with a well known need. Sighing she stood up, knowing she had no choice.

She slipped out of her room, trying not to close the door too hard. Walking straight to her boyfriend, she stood in front of the TV, blocking his view while facing him.

Taehyung looked up at her in confusion, and frowned when the sound of his avatar dying echoed behind her. But as soon as Y/N slid to her knees before him, his lips twisted into a smirk. In a second he threw the joystick in his hand to the side and leaned back into the couch making himself comfortable and pushing his legs closer towards her.

When Y/N bit her lip and stared at him hungrily, he raised an eyebrow.

You just gonna sit there or do something? I’m waiting.

It was so easy to understand everything about him after they’d been together for so long and she didn’t want to disappoint him now. Quickly, her hands unbuttoned his skin tight jeans and unzipped them, while Taehyung simply snuggled deeper into the couch as though waiting for a show about to go down.

Well, something was going down alright. That thing being Y/N.

She struggled to pull off the jeans, huffing every time her strength wasn’t enough, and Taehyung made no effort to help her out. Normally, Taehyung would be praising her throughout, but at the moment her only reward was the delicious view of his thick thighs.

Without wasting a second, Y/N pulled his boxer briefs down to his knees, then to his ankles and her face narrowly missed getting hit by his cock. After more than a month of sexual frustration, her mouth drooled as she laid eyes on his thick, huge cock, veins straining against the length as it stood hard and proud. She was a fool, comparing a stupid water bottle to the masterpiece in front of her.

He was already hard, and Y/N thought he must have been for quite some time through the evening. She’d done that. And she must be the one to fix it.

“Go on darling, suck me off.” Taehyung murmured bringing his fingers to her chin for a moment, tilting her face up and then letting go.

“Yes, sir.” Y/N whispered before taking him into her mouth fully, too hasty and needy to tease him at that point. She flattened her tongue against the smooth skin of his cock, lathering it with her saliva and tasting the salty tang of his precum. As her mouth grew full, she took him as far as she could go, stopping before her gag reflex could hit her and then looking up at Taehyung.

“Fuck. You’re going to kill me with those eyes.” Taehyung grunted, biting his lip harshly and never taking his eyes off Y/N. The sight of her kneeling before him, her mouth full of his cock and her pretty eyes looking at him so innocently - it was too much. His hand raised above his head, gripping the top edge of the couch for support as his jaw slacked and eyes closed.

As he prepared to relax, his eyes snapped open when Y/N picked up speed suddenly and sucked him faster, bobbing her head up and down his length, using her hands to jerk him where she couldn’t take him into her mouth. His eyes threatened to close as hot pleasure shot through him, but he managed to keep them open and fixed them onto Y/N’s eyes. While she sucked him off, he could see the way her hands slid down her body, no doubt seeking for her own pleasure.

But Taehyung was having none of that.

“The only place your hands are allowed to be are on my cock. Understood babygirl?” He glared, and he was surprised that he managed to keep the tremble out of his voice.

Y/N let out something between a whine and a hum, making Taehyung’s eyes roll back into his head. Nevertheless, he felt her figure move and he knew she’d obeyed him.

Straining his eyes to open, he saw her holding her hands behind her back and sucking his cock like her life depended on it. He shifted his hand from his side to her hair, gripping the roots above her neck and momentarily pulling her off of his throbbing member.

“Use your words girl.” He growled, clutching onto her hair tighter and bringing her closer so the head of his cock touched her lips. Y/N let out a soft sigh at the pain, enjoying it more than she should.

“Yes, sir.” she gulped, and immediately Taehyung pushed her back onto him, using the grip on her hair to guide her downward till her nose brushed his skin. Y/N gagged and swallowed, and the sensation made Taehyung’s thighs clench in pleasure.

Y/N didn’t miss that, she kept swallowing and moaning, the soft vibrations of her mouth against his cock, making him climb higher and higher to the edge of his release. And when Taehyung felt her soft hands shift from behind her to massage his balls, his hips jerked and he knew he was close. With three long thrusts into her pretty mouth, Taehyung came with a loud grunt, shooting strings of white hot cum into Y/N’s mouth which she swallowed hungrily.

Taehyung laid there for a few minutes, taking deep breaths to normalise his thundering heart. He peeked open an eye to look at Y/N and groaned when he saw her sitting on her knees with her hands on her lap. So obedient.

He leaned forward and held her chin with his hands, tilting up her face and bringing it close to his. His cum glistened on her lips and the thin layer of sweat on her forehead made it look like her skin was glowing.

“That was a very nice apology, babygirl.” He cooed, pecking Y/N’s lips softly. With his thumb, he scooped up a drop of his cum that had dripped onto her chin and pushed it into her mouth, immediately feeling her tongue swirl around his finger.

“And that is forgiveness.” He muttered, cupping her neck and pressing his lips to hers, swiping his tongue against the soft flesh and tasting himself. For Taehyung, it had all been a plan to get attention, and he got more than he had asked for, but if Y/N couldn’t get her release then there was no point.

Y/N felt Taehyung’s hands slowly slide down her skin, coming to rest at her hips where he held her tight. As she deepened the kiss and pushed her tongue into his mouth, he pulled her up and placed her onto his thighs, his cock slipping against the thin material of her shorts.

Her mouth tipped open against his, and she pressed herself onto him, grinding up and down while Taehyung nipped at her skin. When Taehyung cupped her between her thighs she let out a strangled gasp. The sound had woken something primal in Taehyung and he growled against her skin, biting down on the skin above her breast.

It had been so long since they’d done anything together, so long since Y/N had touched herself, that she knew she wouldn’t be able to last long. Taehyung would get his hands on her clit and she’d fall apart and that’s exactly what she needed. More than she had imagined.

Stripping off their clothes was a hasty blur, their mouths never leaving each other’s skin, kissing, nipping, biting, licking and sucking. Taehyung’s hands slid down to Y/N’s now bare heat, groaning at how slick and wet Y/N was.

“You didn’t want to say no to me, did you babygirl? Look at how wet you are.” He murmured, pressing and circling his thumb on her clit making her whimper. She whimpered helplessly when he pushed one long finger into her making her cling to him for support. When his finger curled inside her, she felt a familiar knot of pleasure and she blushed, embarrassed that she was going to come as fast as the time she’d lost her virginity. Too damn fast. She hid her face in the crook of Taehyung’s shoulder, biting down on the tanned skin as his fingers pushed her towards the edge relentlessly.

As Taehyung continued finger fucking her, his mouth was occupied with her breasts, sucking them and littering the skin with deep purple marks.

“Cum for me, Y/N. Cum on my fingers. Fuck.” He rasped, his teeth pulling at her pebbled nipple and Y/N came all over his fingers, letting out a loud cry and clutching tighter onto his shoulders.

Y/N relaxed against Taehyung’s shoulders, sucking deep breaths to compensate for all the breath Taehyung had knocked out of her with his talented fingers. Taehyung kept his eyes on her heat, pulling his fingers out of her and dragging his tongue over them with a loud a moan.

“So sweet. I missed this.” Taehyung said softly, his eyes closing to savour her taste on his tongue, licking his fingers in a manner to leave no drop untasted.

Just when Y/N had opened her mouth to speak, she jolted in surprise when Taehyung’s cock slid into her, stretching her walls as he reached all the way till he bottomed out. His eyes slowly turned to her, hooded with lust and a glint in his eye that she knew all too well.

This is payback for surprising me earlier.

“Fuck, you’re so tight. You’re squeezing me.” Taehyung groaned, and Y/N’s eyes fluttered shut. She couldn’t comprehend words at that moment, her tongue tied with being sensitive and the way Taehyung was rocking his hips into hers.

“You’re still on birth control right?” Taheyung asked through gritted teeth, struggling to pause his movements before his mind spiraled out of control.

“Yes, just please, Tae-” Y/N whined, unable to finish her sentence as Taehyung pulled out and thrust into her. Sitting flush on his lap, Y/N could feel the length of his cock reach into her deeper than ever. With the little energy she had, she raised her hips and pushed herself back onto him at the exact moment that Taehyung thrust upwards.

“Tae!” she moaned, biting her lip so hard she drew blood, a hand coming up to squeeze her breast as the other clutched onto Taehyung’s thigh to make sure she wouldn’t fall off. Taehyung didn’t give her a second to breathe, setting a rhythm, driving deeper and harder into her each time. She knew it was all the built up tension over a month of inactivity and she wasn’t complaining even when her body shook with over stimulation.

Y/N eventually leaned into him, letting him guide her the way he wanted and she loved it. Gripping the soft flesh of her ass he made her ride him, driving her up and down on his cock and getting high on the sounds of their skins slapping together and the way Y/N’s tits bounced right in front of his face.

Despite her usual vocal self, Y/N felt her voice disappear, every word she tried to form dispersing into mewls and whimpers.

Touch me there. She tried to tell him, a moan and a curse leaving her mouth instead, making her frustrated with the building tension. She moved her hand in search of Taehyung’s, sighing almost immediately when his fingers were on her on her clit, rubbing and pinching the bundle of nerves.

Y/N’s orgasm crashed through her with high pitched moan, shattering any coherent sense left in her and numbing her senses where the only thing she felt was the hot seed that Taehyung had shot inside her, his groans muffled by the heavy daze of her mind. It was too much to handle.

“We’re out of practise.” She managed to whisper finally, her voice hoarse and tired. Taehyung chuckled at that, watching Y/N’s chest heave with every breath and syncing it to his own breathing. His thumb rubbed soothing circles onto her skin and he pressed a chaste kiss on her bare shoulder.

“Let’s get you cleaned up baby.” Taehyung murmured, softly carding his hands through Y/N’s hair. All the exhaustion she had been feeling caught up to her, what with the tension of qualifying her exams, of meeting everyone’s expectations and the intense overwhelming pleasure she had just experienced.

Her lids dropped slowly, the only thing keeping her awake being the soft brush of cloth against her skin which she assumed was Taehyung cleaning her up. When her back hit the soft mattress and Taehyung’s warmth pressed against her skin, she could barely keep herself from crashing into sleep.

“Sleep Y/N.” Taehyung whispered against her hair, kissing her temple softly and pulling her to him. “Stop making me worry all the time. And don’t you worry either. You’ll do great. And you’ll make us all proud.” He finished, pressing more kisses against her hair and pulling her closer into his chest.

“I love you.”

With those words of reassurance, Y/N smiled just before she drifted off to sleep.

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