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intrepidacious · 2 years ago

Text

lavender's blue

summary: If there was one thing Jefferson could always rely upon, it was that you didn’t much care for sense.

pairing: jefferson x f!reader

word count: 6.4k

warnings: canon-typical angst?, reader with unspecified magical abilities, reader is alice-in-wonderland-appropriately weird y'all (affectionate); kind of open-ended but in a hopeful bc canon-compliant way <3

please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning.

a/n: i started this as a submission for @sparkledfirecracker's cheesy writing fest challenge, but it didn't turn out very cheesy or even remotely on time. still, thank you for the wonderful prompts your wheels of fate gave me, and congrats on your follower milestone 💛

prompts used: jefferson + friends to lovers + forehead kisses

masterlist | read on ao3

What Regina couldn’t have anticipated, what no one ever could have, really, was that you had always been unpredictable. A loose end. A ticking time bomb. An unlocked door.

It was a curse in and of itself, most of the time, albeit one with a lowercase c. You’d always craved a normal life, but that didn’t mesh too well with your impulsiveness. Normalcy craved planning, devising, executing, in that order, precise decisions and arrangements that weren’t to be changed at a whim.

You were as wild as a flower in spring.

It was what Jefferson liked most about you when you first met, back when he was still jumping worlds like one of them would give him an answer. Instead, he found you, back in the Enchanted Forest you both called home, on a day that had started out like any other.

You were smack dab in the center of the meadow the hat spat him out on, and you were spinning around yourself until, he supposed, your skirts finally circled just so, and then landing on your back, laughing. Your feet were bare and dirty from stamping the ground like you were proving a point.

When he stepped closer, you propped yourself up on your elbows and blinked up at him with a grin. The sun cast his shadow in such a way that his head seemed to touch your heart. Jefferson noticed that, even then.

"Is there a reason you’re trampling on the dandelions?" he asked.

"Some people don’t deserve a wish," you simply said.

He couldn’t argue with that.

"And what about you?" he said instead.

"Well," you mused, closing your eyes, the tilt of your lips unwavering. "I think I already got my wish for the day."

"And what was that?"

There was magic brimming within you, and a lot of it. It made Jefferson’s hands shake and the hat cough out trails of smoke, even though it didn’t need to go anywhere, but you … you didn’t even seem to notice.

"Something blue," you answered.

Curiouser and curiouser, just like your smile. That was the thing that kept him distracted long enough for you to anticipate his next question, to point, still without looking, back at the hat and the purplish haze it had wrapped itself in.

"Lavender’s blue, dilly-dilly," you continued before he could voice his confusion. "I mean, I wanted flowers. But I suppose one doesn’t argue with chance, don’t you think?"

There was an almost dangerous glint in your eye when you faced him again, and that settled it.

"Why not?" he asked, and held out his hand.

You stared at it in amusement. "Are you in the habit of challenging fate, stranger?"

"Only if I know I can win," he said. "And the name’s Jefferson."

You took his hand, then, and he could never be sure if it was meant as an introduction or a leap of faith. It didn’t matter, really, when it ended up being both. When he’d pulled you to your feet, there was a small bottle in his palm, its contents glittering like liquid stardust.

He blinked.

"You can keep that if you want," you said, turning your skirt pockets out and carelessly dropping the rest of their contents on the ground. "It’s all too heavy."

Jefferson watched as you plucked a single dandelion and shook it until the wind did the wishing part for you. Then you turned without another glance at him and walked away humming, your magic patting the hat like a pet and then vanishing with you.

He’d spend weeks thinking about you simply handing him the very potion he’d intended to steal, and he still couldn’t figure out how you’d even known.

***

In this life, there are several things you know.

You know you’re a florist. You know you’re well liked, which is nice and feels new, even though you’ve lived here all your life. You know your hands can fabricate the most splendid arrangements, bouquets and wreaths in all the colors Maine has to offer, and most days, you know you’re perfectly content doing just that.

Other days, though, you know you want to see every single petal turned to ashes.

Because you also know this voice deep inside your bones, not quite your own but almost, too familiar with your habits and routines and endless, endless smalltalk. You know it keeps telling you that something is missing, something you might find again if only you set this whole damn place aflame.

So you think, what’s the harm.

And as the flames lick at your window settings and burn the roses to a crisp, you tilt your head slowly and something inside stirs, like a sleeping dragon twitching as it wakes. You realize then, that in between all the things you know, you almost missed something quite important.

Tea.

Thankfully, no else one gets hurt. The building barely even carries any damage.

When Sheriff Humbert finally lets you leave, it’s already dark outside, far too late for a neighborly visit, but you go anyway. You should have driven, but by the time you think of that, you’ve almost climbed up the hill already. The forest seems to whisper to you; you ignore it.

It’s a grand house, and you can tell it’s empty by just looking at the front of it. Not without furniture, but without a heart. You knock, knock, knock, and the sound seems to echo through the whole forest.

When the door opens, it’s with a creak that almost sounds like a yawn, and Jefferson freezes, his eyes widening as they meet yours. They’re more tired than you remember.

"I didn’t forget," you say before he can get a single word out, handing him the small parcel. The paper has worn wrinkly in your sweaty palms. "I just burned down my shop today."

If he’s surprised, or concerned, he doesn’t show it. He hovers in the doorway, his fingers carefully unwrap the delicate teacup, and there’s a wisp of a smile of his face as they trace the tiny, nonsensical little spout.

"What’s this for?" he finally asks, his voice strangely raspy.

"Don’t you remember?" you say. "It’s your unbirthday."

He lets you in, then, and your boots sink into the carpeted floor, like the ground is trying to swallow you up. The front door clicks shut.

"Tea day is Tuesdays and Thursdays," you continue on, wandering deeper into the house, making a wrong turn and taking a few steps up the stairs before suspecting—recalling—that the kitchen is to the right. You huff frustratedly. "You didn’t remind me last week!"

"Well," Jefferson calls from somewhere out of your sight. "One never knows with you."

Dark wooden cabinets. Checkerboard tiles in the kitchen. You decide you’ve broken enough rules for a day and cross them strictly diagonally until you hit a corner cabinet, pulling it open. Empty, empty. "It’s my unbirthday too, you know," you say when you hear his steps approaching again.

"What are the chances?" His voice is still hollow, in a way, as hollow as this house, and you feel like you’re missing something, but it’s so, so tiresome to think about.

"Look at that," you say, shaking the last couple of crumbs out of a crumpled up, sad-looking biscuit wrapper. "I should have come up earlier."

Jefferson sighs as he leans against the counter, watching you continue to rummage through the shelves, drawers, cupboards, trays.

It’s the saddest tea you’ve ever prepared, without a single thing to nibble on and the tea leaves trapped in silly little cotton bags, but you move opposite each other like you’re playing a game of chess, which consoles you a little.

He wins, you think, but you don’t actually know how to play.

***

Jefferson was never entirely convinced you were from the Enchanted Forest. It didn’t suit you, the dirt of this world, the whispered promises of happily ever afters and wishing upon stars so your dreams came true.

You went for the things you wanted without an ounce of remorse and without a single glance over your shoulder.

Then again, none of the other worlds he’d passed through seemed to fit you, either. Wonderland might have come closest, but you lacked its shrillness, the blunt terror in its colors and way of life. And you hated playing cards.

He wasn’t sure how you kept running into him whenever he least expected it, but you seemed to make a habit of doing just that. You seemed to enjoy pretending not to notice him staring whenever he did find you, mesmerized as if it was that first time all over again.

There was something about your presence that made any room you inhabited feel different, and the woods and sky and earth would all vibrate at a different frequency whenever you were around. It wasn’t just your magic, it was all of you.

Of course, he wasn’t the only one who’d noticed.

"See something interesting, dearie?" a voice laced with insanity asked from behind his shoulder.

Jefferson’s eyes never left you, even as he felt Rumplestiltskin’s gaze bore into his neck. You appeared to be counting the toadstools, reciting something in sing-song he couldn’t make out from where he was standing.

"Did you make a deal with her, too?" he asked, voice carefully neutral because you never knew what the Dark One would pick up on and use against you. He already had more on him than Jefferson liked.

"Oh, no. All magic comes with a price." The same phrase, a thousand times, accompanied by the same shimmer in his eyes. He didn't have to look to know it was there. "Just because you’re yet to pay yours doesn’t mean that’s true for everyone."

"So she’s mad?"

"What’s mad?" Rumplestiltskin tutted. "We’re all mad, in our own way. The most powerful most of all."

You lifted your head to look at the two of them and waved. Jefferson lowered the hat over his forehead, finally turning away.

"Then it surprises me you don’t seem to use that to your advantage," he said, crossing his arms.

The Dark One’s grin spliced his mouth with gold. "I like the result of my bidding to be as expected."

It seemed as good enough a cue to leave as any. He didn’t come very far, though, had barely taken the hat off to embark on his next journey before you caught up to him.

"Where are you going this time?"

He smiled to himself, because even with all your whimsical moods he knew you well enough by then to understand you hated being ignored. "Camelot," he answered just as the hat began swirling.

You stepped closer, bare feet crunching the fall leaves on the ground, and when he turned to meet your gaze, the curiosity in your eyes made his heart stumble over itself as he held out his hand, again.

You took it without a moment’s hesitation.

***

There’s a road that leads into town, but it doesn’t lead out. You like how this doesn’t make any sense; it almost feels normal.

Jefferson hates it, of course. It’s easy to read on his face, contempt tinting his every look and gesture an unbecoming shade of green. He hates this world and this wrong life and the fact that everything he wants is right under his nose and yet so far out of reach.

You get that, you really do. But the constant worrying and thinking just drags you down, doesn’t it? No. Ridiculous. So you decide to make a change.

Or rather, things fall into place again.

You work at the library now. People don’t like you as much, but it’s not like that thing at the flower shop was your fault, so they get over it. You love books too much to even consider setting them on fire, and there’s a lot less customer interaction involved, which minimizes the smalltalk. You’ve never liked smalltalk.

You’re perfectly content with your life.

That Friday you find Jefferson hunched over yet another map of the area, tracing the paradoxical routes that should lead onto the interstate and yet never do. Cars break down, bikes crash into trees that appear out of nowhere, and hiking somehow just leads you to walking in circles until you find yourself on main square once again.

It’s a puzzle that’s missing half its pieces, and you’d care about it more if you had any intention of leaving.

"Where do you want to go so badly, anyway?" you asked him once, when his eyes were red-rimmed with lack of sleep and that desperate determination.

"Home," he said, and the finality of that word made your insides twist.

Food and drinks are strictly forbidden in the reading hall, but you sneak him a thermos filled with coffee, anyway, the time for tea long passed.

He smiles at you tiredly as you take a seat opposite him, frowning at the pile of books you’re going to have to sort back onto the shelves past closing time. "Who are you today, then?" he asks, his voice hoarse as if he hasn’t talked all day. He hasn’t taken his scarf off, either, so maybe he’s getting sick.

You squint your eyes at him. "If you’re coming on to me, it’s not working."

Jefferson huffs, and then turns back to his maps. "Not at all."

Maybe it’s working a little, you think as you continue to watch him. After all, there’s method to this madness of his, passion to his pursuit, even though you don’t really understand it.

If he notices you staring, he shows no sign of it, and you’re not about to make him aware of it, not when you’re just starting to get to know each other. Besides, the longer you ponder the possibility of him, the stronger your head starts to pound.

You need to lock up at nine and Jefferson leaves you with another crooked grin that suggests more familiarity than there should be between the two of you. You return it with a bump of your shoulders, and then you watch him walk down the street with his hands in his pockets until he rounds a corner and you roll the shutters down.

Once again, you can’t shake the feeling that something isn’t quite right here.

Because of your migraine, you spill the leftovers of the coffee over a particularly rare collection of fairy tales later that night. The gold-edged pages bleed ink all over the maps, rendering them essentially pretty trash for the perfect townsfolk of Storybrooke. You fold them up as a gift, and then you put your keys into the letterbox for them to pick up on Monday.

***

For a while, it was the two of you on his travels through the different realms, exploring and stealing and doing the unexpected. It was your specialty, after all.

And then, just like that, for a whole while, Jefferson didn’t see you again, not until after he’d met and lost Grace’s mother. It was a particularly cold night in December when he woke to his daughter tugging at his sleeve and a strange noise from outside.

It was rhythmic, swooshing, almost like the wind but accompanied by something like a hum. When he stepped to the window, though, there was nothing outside but darkness and whirling snowflakes.

He managed to get Grace back into bed after some crackers and tea, her eyes drooping closed as she huddled up with the corner of her blanket in her mouth. Jefferson watched her drift back to sleep, and then he returned to the window, because he had this feeling that he couldn’t quite shake. Like someone was calling for him without ever saying his name.

He found you clearing the path leading up to the cottage with your bare hands, the frilly cloak around your shoulders not nearly warm enough to keep out the icy sting of winter. Your fingers were already starting to turn an unhealthy color, and a thin layer of snow sat at the crown of your head like a frozen hat.

Jefferson cursed and grabbed his coat from the bench next to the door.

"What are you doing?" he hissed when he reached you, wrapping you up within seconds. You blinked up at him. Your lashes were glittering with ice.

"It needed cleaning," you said matter-of-factly, without keeping your voice down.

Quickly, he ushered you inside and made you sit next to the fireplace. You only seemed to realize the oddness of your situation now that warmth was returning to your limbs, looking around the room in slow confusion, like you were trying to piece everything together.

Jefferson was putting the kettle back into the fire when you got up again, his coat still draped around your shoulders, and stepped closer to the bed.

"You had a daughter," you said, peering at the sleeping toddler with something almost like a frown. "She’s beautiful."

"She looks like her mother."

"Nonsense. She looks just like you."

The red on his cheeks felt almost like a betrayal, but you didn’t mean that, anyway, so it didn’t count. Still, he was stunned enough to drop his mug, and the sound of it shattering on the floor woke Grace up again. She would be three in spring, then, and she was a smart girl, but she’d stopped talking months ago, instead resorting back to the wails of a much younger child whenever she was upset, and she was hard to calm.

He couldn’t blame her.

Whenever he held her like this, he felt as helpless and alone as he did that first time when she was crying for her mother and there was no one there but him.

Except this time, Jefferson wasn’t alone. To his surprise, you stepped closer and started humming, and then singing under your breath.

To his even bigger surprise, it seemed to soothe Grace.

It was an old song, a familiar song, and you placed a calming hand on his shoulder as he cradled his daughter until she finally fell asleep again. You were still cold enough he could feel it through his shirt, but your voice carried a warmth he wasn’t used to anymore.

You took your tea in comfortable silence, and when the first rays of sunshine started creeping through the branches outside, you told him that you had to leave again. He almost asked how long it would be this time.

Instead, he led you to the door and shook his head as you tried to slip out of his coat. "The weather is supposed to turn again," he said, looking you up and down because he didn’t know when to expect you next. He never did.

"You’re different," you said, and even though you didn’t sound as disappointed as he felt at those words, they still left their mark.

"You’re not," he said, and meant it as a compliment. Somehow, when you met his eye, it didn’t seem like one anymore.

"I wouldn’t be so sure," you answered, and he had no response to that.

You kissed him, then. Sweetly, like a blushing bride would. For a moment, he didn’t know what to do with himself.

It was over far more quickly than he’d have liked, and you stuffed your hands into his coat pockets.

"I’m sorry," you said, and for the first time, you wouldn’t look at him.

But Jefferson could do nothing but stare, even as you finally turned and wandered down the path again, because there you were, with your heart on your sleeve, and he’d just lost his wife, and he didn’t know up from down anymore.

***

Stepping into Jefferson’s sitting room is a little like entering a creature’s belly and sitting down next to its beating heart, pressing so close you can feel it pulsating through you.

There’s a large grandfather clock staring at you from next to the fireplace, and on the mantle there’s a small, wooden alarm, and from there, it’s six and a half steps to the cuckoo clock on the far wall that makes a little rabbit appear every fifteen minutes.

Then, it’s another twenty steps past the living room table to the clock on the even farther wall and the bookcase he stores his silver pocket watch on, in a blue box on the high shelf, next to a dusty collection of fairy tales and an old hat he used to wear on Fridays.

Or was it Sundays?

"You could just go talk to her," you tell him on a Thursday, taking another sip of tea.

Jefferson sinks back in his chair, knuckles at his temples. His chin is still held high in bottomless defiance, but his eyes are so tired. "It’s not that simple."

"It’s not that complicated, either," you shrug. "You’re her father, after all."

"Except I’m the only one to know that."

"I know," you say, and you’re not sure yourself if you mean to sound reassuring or scolding. The thought is head-achingly heavy, so you drop it and pick up a tune instead, quietly humming to yourself as you continue your circles around the room.

It’s an old melody, ghosting through your mind more often than not, a little sad and happy at the same time. You feel Jefferson’s weary gaze on the back of your head, and somehow it makes you smile.

"You remember how it’s supposed to work back at home, though, right? True love conquers all." You chuckle to yourself. The song in your head starts to buzz. "Or," you continue with a dismissive lift of your eyebrow, "are you just going to wait for that savior to appear? How long has it been, ten years?"

"Eight years, three months, two-hundred and seventeen days."

Huh. You could have sworn you’ve been here much longer.

"Then there’s still nineteen years and …" You think for a moment, then shake your head. "You know what, I’m not going to get that right if I tried, and I don’t want to, so let’s just say a while."

He almost laughs at that, a soft, pained look in his eye that you’re not supposed to find charming.

"You’re going to go insane in that time," you say softly. "I would."

"I know." It’s already starting to tug at the tilt of his smile and the twitch in his eye. He hasn’t quite learned to stop caring, yet, and of course he hasn’t. That wouldn’t be like him.

He’s always been your mirror, so why would this be any different?

Things stay they same, and they stay the same, and they stay the same, and you’re sick of it. Apparently, there’s a thing such as too normal a life, and it makes your skin crawl.

So you start tailoring again. Your evenings are long and there’s just a few people that come in regularly, that ask for golden thread to fix their buttons and flaxen yarn to hem their suits. It’s quiet. Terribly quiet. Too quiet.

There’s not a single clock in your shop, and you realize you miss the ticking as soon as you crawl out of the belly of the beast. So you keep returning.

"We used to share a bed," you recall, lifting your arm so Jefferson can reach for the thread you’re holding out as you both sit on the floor, your tools and fabrics spread out over the entire room. You love watching him work, even though you don’t quite understand why he’s so obsessed with making hats. Maybe you just forgot.

"We did", he answers, not even looking at you. It makes you roll your eyes.

"So why don’t we now?"

"That would be rather complicated." His stitching is impeccable.

"Why?" Something throbs between your temples.

"Several reasons, dear." He tilts his head. "Aren’t you late?"

The unpleasant feeling in your chest disappears when you look at the clock. "Shit."

You hastily gather your things and start running to make it back to your shop in time, barely remembering to catch your breath enough to say goodbye, and so you miss the look on his face as he watches you, staying behind in the big house in the middle of the woods.

***

You visited more often, now that you knew about Grace, but Jefferson didn’t know if that was for her sake or for his. One thing that was very clear, however, was that you didn’t care at all about the dirty looks you got from everyone else whenever you strayed off the path to wander towards his cottage, unchaperoned.

Sure, they pitied him, but he was grieving, they said, and you were young and beautiful.

"They’re all so terribly starved for entertainment," you sighed, and then you handed him another pretty pebble you’d found on your way. He put it into the bowl on the window sill.

Grace was getting old enough to get used to you, then, to recognize the hands that tickled her chin and sometimes pulled her up when she fell on the forest ground. She loved your surprises, and your stories were her favorites to listen to when it was bedtime, even though she usually fell asleep long before you stopped talking.

"Did I ever tell you," you continued when the embers were barely glowing anymore but your eyes were shining in the moonlight, "about those pirates that I ran into near—"

"Why did you stay away so long?"

You blinked, and so did he. He hadn’t expected himself to actually ask, not after all this time that you had been back in his life. But the question was out now, sitting between you on the broken floorboards of his broken life, and the night stretched your silence into infinity.

"I wrote you letters," you told him, and it was true, but it wasn’t an answer. So he kept looking at you, and the silence scraped its nails against your skin. "I don’t know," you finally said in a way that told Jefferson you did know and didn’t want to tell him. There was a flustered hum to you that almost made him want to take it back, but the magic that followed each and every of your whims didn’t retreat. Not even a little.

"I was falling in love with you." He’d never admitted it out loud before. Who would he have told?

You laughed nervously, looking over at Grace. "Not very much, clearly."

"You never gave me the chance to do it properly."

"You don’t want me. I could never be a mother." Still, you talked quietly enough not to wake her, and you brought her trinkets and playthings whenever you’d been away for a while. You never brought him anything, but he still felt like he was getting a rare gift every time. It must’ve counted for something.

Besides, this was the first time you’d attempted to reason with him.

"I didn’t have her then," he said anyway, as if that was an argument.

"But you were always going to."

"And what about you and me?"

You bit your lip. "I’m inconvenient."

"I know," he said.

"You can’t rely on me."

"I know," he said.

"You deserve better than me."

Jefferson shook his head, and for the first time since he met you, you looked unsure. So, for the first time since he met you, he was the one doing the incalculable.

He kissed you.

You pulled him closer immediately, all logic forgotten as you crashed into each other, finally on the same page of this twisted story. You kissed him like you wanted him to be the happy ending to your storybook, even though you weren’t cut out for that kind of tale.

You both tried to be, anyway.

***

You’ve run the teashop now for … you’re not quite sure. Forever, maybe. It sure feels like your whole life has been spent between boxes of fragrant leaves, with a kettle always shrieking somewhere in the house and you humming whatever tune it sings to you.

But your hands are dirty, and no matter how much you brush your nails under scalding water, there always seems to be grime underneath them. Like you’re repotting plants in your sleep. Or clawing at the ground.

Your life is filled with sound, with constant chatter and gossip, because your front door is barely a five minute walk from Storybrooke secondary and the schoolgirls have developed an obsession with the shortbread and ginger muffins you serve with their tea. They reward you with whatever pocket money they can find at the bottom of their school bags and any gossip about their teachers they’ve eavesdropped on that week.

You constantly have a headache, but it’s fun, in a way. And you get to see Grace.

Your hand stops midair as you reach out for the lavender tea the girl ordered, staring unfocused until she clears her throat expectantly.

“Sorry,” you say, still dazed, “lost my train of thought there.”

The girl—Paige, you remember now, you heard her friend say her name when they entered the shop, Come on, Paige, and something about it made your stomach turn—tips her head to the side in a way that’s familiar, even though you don’t know why. “Can I have that to go?“ she adds, a quick look over her shoulder to where her friends are giggling.

“Sure.”

You only serve tea in loose leaves, because you believe trapping your window to the future in a small bag doesn’t do anyone any good, even though most of your customers don’t know how to tip their residue into their saucers in the proper way. You do it for them, sometimes, if they leave enough cold tea in their cups for you to do it after the door has clicked shut behind them. You knew about the mayor’s adoption papers going through before she knew about it herself, and you’d felt pretty smug about that.

The perfect amount of time to steep lavender tea is five minutes and forty-six seconds, and because you can’t trust a child to particularly care for such precision, you keep the steaming paper cup behind the counter until your timer goes off. You stir a dollop of honey in, humming to yourself, before you hand Paige the cup. She doesn’t really look at you, already distracted by another snippet of conversation, but she still flashes you a quick smile before hurrying to catch up with the others. The bell above the door jingles again, and the man stepping inside holds the door open for the girls to file outside, chattering excitedly. His other hand is balled up into a fist so tight it makes his knuckles stand out white.

He takes a deep breath before he turns and regards you. “You’re in a good mood.”

“I suppose so,” you say, even though it interrupts your humming. “Can I get you anything?”

His smile is small, but beautiful. “I think you already are.”

It’s then you notice you’ve pulled out one of the mugs from your good set without even asking, heaping two and a half spoonsful of your favorite blend inside like it’s the most natural thing for you to do upon his entrance.

Before you can apologize, he turns the sign in your window to 'closed' and sits down at the counter with a patient look, eyes very intense as they search yours, his face unreadable. None of it feels threatening, just … expectant.

So you continue with your instinctual movements, even though you’re not sure how you know what he’s waiting for. You feel like there’s something you’re missing, and it doesn’t come to you until you hand him his mug.

The mask falls when he says your name, your real name, and your lips twist into a smile that’s so unsure of itself it almost curls inwards.

You remember, you remember.

Every single lifetime falls back into place until the one that came first stays at the forefront. You cling to the thought like someone fights with a dream to be allowed to stay a little longer, battling oblivion with the resolution of a dragon slayer.

"How long was I gone this time?" you ask, hands clasping the counter more tightly and blinking fast as if that could keep the forgetting away.

"Hard to say," Jefferson answers. "A few weeks. You’re getting better."

You know he’s lying, because in the beginning, it would only take you a couple of days to remember. Now, your moments of clarity seem to be farther apart every time. "Was she nice?"

If you were going to remember any of this in a while, you’d really miss being the girl from the tea shop. You’ve been enjoying this version of things, the simplicity and the small dosages of variety, like little treats in this viscous monotony.

He shrugs with one shoulder. "She’s you."

"So, no."

His smile always seems sad these days. "So, nice in the ways that matter. You always are."

Somehow, you doubt that. "What day is it?" you ask.

"Seventeen years, six months, forty-five days."

You don’t ask him if there’s been any progress; you know there hasn’t been. Instead, you round the counter and put your arms around him. You feel him sag against you, his sigh of relief barely audible against your shoulder. You can’t help but wonder how long it’s been since Jefferson’s touched another person.

He pulls you close enough for you to feel his heartbeat in your own chest, and you barely breathe as you tighten the embrace even more, trying to hold both of you upright.

"Your hair’s getting longer again," you mumble after a very long time, dragging your thumb against the back of his neck.

"Don’t lie," he answers hoarsely, lifting his head without opening his eyes, your noses bumping before he rests his forehead against yours. "I miss you."

It breaks your heart, how easily it slips out.

Your lips seek his carefully, then more confident, because you don’t know how else to express your own feelings. This kiss, like all the ones before, is a promise you both know you won’t be able to keep.

Hope still tastes bitter on his tongue.

***

He’d always hated Wonderland, but he’d never hated it more than when he got stuck there and felt his sanity slip through his fingers a little bit more every day. Time didn’t make sense here, nothing did.

But if there was one thing that he could always rely upon, it was that you didn’t much care for sense.

"There you are." A voice as familiar as an old song woke him up from another nightmare. "What on earth are you doing in this hole?"

Jefferson opened his eyes. You were like a vision, not even paying attention to the disbelief in his eyes as you dusted off one of the useless hats.

"How," he croaked.

You chuckled a little and continued to look around the room. His cell. His locked cell with guards posted outside.

He sat up so quickly his vision went black for a moment. "How are you here?"

"You were gone so long," you said. "I was bored."

"You—" He held your cheek, your waist, your shoulder. You felt cool to the touch, but solid, real. Eyes innocent and glittering with your usual mischief, as if this was completely normal. "Have you seen Grace? Is she alright?"

"She misses you, too."

He didn’t even pay attention to it, then, but he remembered that little "too" at the end later, many, many times.

"Can you get me home?"

Your smile was soft and sad and sliced him in two all over again. You gently tugged at the bow around his neck, and then you simply said, "No."

So he raged. He bargained. He begged.

But you could not, would not budge, even though your eyes grew heavy as you listened to him. Like this was a disappointing development for you.

He already knew he was nothing more.

He stared at you when he was done, chest heaving, still on his knees in front of you even though he could no longer meet your eye. You didn’t say anything.

"Are you angry with me?"

"No," you said again. You brushed your hands through his hair and slowly sank down to his level.

It was only then that he realized tears were falling from his eyes. Gently, you wiped them off his cheeks, and then, holding his face in your hands, you pressed a kiss to his forehead before touching your own to the same spot.

"Grace sends this," you whispered.

Jefferson closed his eyes, heart twisting with that unspeakable ache.

"There’s something you need to know," you said, your voice already carrying the weight of it. As if all of this hadn’t been enough. "Something bad is coming."

"Isn’t it always?" he asked, but then he felt your magic flicker in a way it never had before. Like it was nervous.

And then lightning struck outside.

When he looked at your face, your eyes were rolled back and your magic was lashing out in all directions, clashing against the walls in terror. "There’s danger if I dare to stop and here’s a reason why," you sing-songed, unfocused, and Jefferson caught your hands before you clawed at your own face. "I’m over-due, no no no no, goodbye, hello." You hiccuped.

Dread washed through him in an icy shockwave. He’d seen you in a state of confusion before, many times, but this was different, not just overwhelmed but panicked. Your magic was literally spilling out of you now, like it was trying to escape whatever fate you’d seen coming, and you would’ve doubled over with it had he not held you upright.

"Run, rabbit, run, rabbit, run, run run." You giggled. "Did you know I’m a bunny in a book?"

"Sweetheart, you need to focus."

The next thunder rolled outside and you screamed, but it seemed to knock some sense back into you because your eyes weren’t quite so glassy anymore when you looked at him again. "Oh, this next part won’t be fun."

Something knocked at the door and then it burst open, dark purple whirls of magic filling the room within seconds, accompanied by roaring winds and a thumping sound that reminded him of a beating heart. Your hands came up to cup Jefferson’s face and you gave him the saddest, most knowing smile he’d ever seen on you.

The wind almost swallowed your voice, but whatever magic hadn’t left you yet let him hear your words anyway.

"Some people really don’t deserve a wish."

Then, everything went black.

thank you for reading!! if you want to see more of my writing, check out my masterlist or follow @intrepidacious-fics for update notifications!! you can also buy me a ko-fi if you feel so inclined <3

#jefferson x reader #jefferson fic #jefferson x you #jefferson fanfiction #jefferson oneshot #once upon a time fanfic #ouat fanfic #lavender's blue

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slasherhaven · 3 years ago

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✨Hi✨Can you write a headcanon for slashers' toxic treats in a relationship? (It may their insecurities, being too jealous/overprotective ect..) thank you so much and i love your blog 💖🦄

You mean other than the murder and sadism???? Sure! 😂 (Not all of these are ‘toxic traits’, some are just problems that you might have in the relationship. Not including the whole murder thing...)

The Slashers and their toxic traits:

Thomas Hewitt

His insecurities. He beats himself up so much about everything and it occasionally gets in the way of your relationship. For the most part you are able to reassure him and he comes around, missing being with you. However, he can start to hide down on the basement and start avoiding you, causing a divide between you both. He’ll comes around or you will march down there and confront him, lovingly, and he’ll feel better for a while. It’s a slow process building Tommy’s self worth but you’re a huge help!

His family? I mean...we all know Hoyt isn’t exactly friendly. Once you’re a part of the family, he expects you to have some sort of part in their chores. He also has a habit of teasing you and Thomas, and not in a very playful way, normally worsening Thomas’ insecurities. Luda May isn’t completely innocent either, though. She does love you but is pretty tough in the early stages of your relationship, like she doesn’t trust you. Once you’re officially a member of the family, she eases up on you though.

Michael Myers

Can be very cold. This shouldn’t be surprising. He’s a very stoic, cold man who is mostly unaffectionate. It takes so long to start building physical affection with him that most people would just give up before they get there. Of course, it’s worth it for when he finally starts to open up to it, but it can be draining on you.

Likes to get his way. He’s stubborn and independent. The thought of having somebody rely on him or to rely on somebody else makes him very uncomfortable, he isn’t used to it at all. And yet, here you both are. So, he doesn’t ask before doing most things, he just kind of...does. He doesn’t understand why you explain that you would like for him to mention it in the future. An example of this is just leaving the house without telling you, leaving you looking for him before realising he left for the night. He’ll gradually come around to improving on it, starting small, but that means a whole lot coming from Michael.

Jason Voorhees

His insecurities. Jason doesn’t pull away from you because of it but the more understanding and patient you are, the better it will be. It takes a long time for him to remove the mask and, naturally, that can cause some tension. He’s too worried about scaring you away while you’re worrying that he doesn’t trust you as much as he claims too. This is something that can be dealt with eventually. Once he’s removed the mask and you make him feel loved, this issue slowly fades away.

Isolation? It’s not really his fault. He lives out in a cabin in the middle of the woods near an old run down summer camp and now you live with him. He’s not purposely keeping you away from other people but it’s something that can’t be helped. Of course he’s not going to stop you from taking trips to visit family or friends even if he would miss you, it’s just now always very easy to do so.

Brahms Heelshire

Selfish. Brahms has a major case of only child syndrome. He can’t accept ‘no’ as an answer, he demands everything he wants, he only really things about himself, mostly because that’s what he’s used too. Thank his parents. Deep down, he really is a sweetheart but you have to chisel away all that nastiness. It’s hard work and you play more of a caretaker role before a romantic partner.

Get’s extremely jealous. He hates the grocery boy’s guts with a vengeance, all because he flirted with you that one time. But he gets jealous over stupid things as well, just when he decides that you aren’t giving him enough attention, which he wants a lot of.

Uses guilt trips. This one you need to stop as soon as possible. It’s how he got his way with his parents, and now he will try to use it against you. As you try to reign in his selfishness, you have to for the same for his guilt trips.

Bo Sinclair

Can’t take responsibility. It takes so much to get him to sincerely apologise. He really needs to see that he’s done something wrong and has really upset you in order to actually apologise. Otherwise he’ll just brush it off and move on, refusing to admit that he did anything wrong.

Manipulative. It’s almost like being manipulative is Bo’s second nature. He does it all the time with people who come into the town but he doesn’t really mean to do it to you. But when he wants something or he’s irritated, he just slips up and it happens. Big fan of saying things like “you’re overreacting”.

Vincent Sinclair

His insecurities. Vincent can become very withdrawn from you due to his own insecurities. It can really get in the way of your relationship. Of course you’re understanding and compassionate but it does start to wear you down, making you a little irritated. You never let on to those feelings though, always trying to comfort him. Vincent will come around eventually after some reassurance but it can be a tough time.

His relationship with Bo. This is probably a bigger problem than his insecurities. Bo has a lot of power over Vincent and you don’t like it at all, even if you have developed a fondness for the other twin as well. Most of the times it isn’t a problem but when Bo is in a bad mood, he mostly takes it out on Vincent. It can feel like Vincent puts Bo above you, even when Bo is being awful. You understand it, you really do. Bo is the toxic one, not Vincent. But that doesn’t always make things easier.

Lester Sinclair

His relationship with his brothers. Lester isn’t a very toxic person but any relationship with somebody who has a life like his could become a little toxic. You are incredibly important to him but...so are his brothers. It’s highly unlikely that he would leave Ambrose to live a more honest life, or at least try to. He’s more likely to do so than either of the twins but it’s still very unlikely to happen. Sometimes it can make you question his priorities, but he really really does love you more than anything.

Bubba Sawyer

His family. His family is extremely toxic, this shouldn’t be much of a shock. Bubba is probably the least toxic out of all of them, this man just wants to love somebody and be loved in return. By family, I mostly mean Drayton.

Isolation. Like with Jason, this isn’t really his fault but it’s something to consider. If you have family or friends, you likely won’t be able to see them much at all. You could still call and message but you live with the Sawyers now that Drayton doesn’t like the idea of you coming and going. This probably links back to the toxic family dynamics.

Billy Lenz

Jealous/possessive. He’s pretty much a shut in, he doesn’t like leaving the house even though he probably could. He doesn’t have a problem with you having friends but gets a little pouty if you go out with them for a long time, and when you get back home, he is extra clingy. He won’t stop you but you’re well aware that he would rather you just stay with him. He probably feels more lonely than anything.

Asa Emory (The Collector)

Manipulative. Asa knows what he wants and when he wants something, he will get it. He does genuinely try to not purposely manipulate you since he cares about you. However, manipulation usually comes so easily to him that he might not even realise he’s doing it.

His need for control. Asa likes being in control and he loves when you’re submissive to him. This means that he can find it a little difficult to give up some control in the relationship or around the house. It can be infuriating but can be adjusted slowly but it’s not going to be easy.

Jesse Cromeans (Chromeskull)

Overprotective/possessive. As soon as another man is talking to you, he will be right by your side, his intimidating figure usually being enough to scare them off. If he had it his way, he’d have you with him at all time, only for him to touch or even look at. However, he won’t resort to that unless it’s something you want...still, it’s obvious and it can become overbearing if nothing else.

Depending on your feelings towards his ‘job’, he can be gone for long periods of times. Unless you are completely okay with what he does and go on the ‘business’ trips with him, you are going to be left home alone for long periods of time. Of course, you might be completely okay with that and if that’s the case, there’s no problem. If you need him around some more...well, you might start to feel a little lonely. He always makes it up to you when he gets home though!

Otis Driftwood

Very focused on himself. He’s just used to only thinking about himself, ever since he was a kid. Of course he does genuinely care about the family and about you (and he doesn’t express that to you better than he does the family) but he’s nowhere near perfect with it. He also has a tendency of pulling away from you when this gets bad. When he realises that it’s bothered you, he doesn’t really apologise either, but he’ll still offer you some comfort.

Anger issues. This man has a temper. He would never turn you but oh boy is it hard work. Most of the time it’s just ranting and shouting about whatever pissed him off. While it doesn’t turn physical or is ever directed at you, it can be a little draining.

Baby Firefly

Doesn’t take much seriously. Baby tends to treat everything like a joke or just doesn’t realise how serious the situation is to you. It’s not an constant thing, if you’re upset, she’ll notice and take it seriously as she comforts you. But she still sometimes brushes off your concerns (as well as everyone else’s) because she’s practically bouncing with energy.

Yautja (Predator)

He. Is. An. Alien. I wouldn’t really call this a toxic trait but it definitely causes some complications. The traditions of his race can be...startling. You find far too many skulls in your home when you start courting. You are also likely the thing to introduce him to monogamy, but he adapts to that very fast because you’re so precious to him.

Pretty possessive. He isn’t the jealous type, just very possessive. You are his mate, his little human, and he wants everyone (especially other Yautjas) to know that. At times it might become a little suffocating.

(Look...I’m bias here okay!)

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tipsydipsydo · 3 years ago

Text

➳ the shower

➳ "keep teasing, I'll bend you over right here!"

➳ "it'd be better if they watched"

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Gender of the Reader: male

Word Count: ~1k

Rating: 18+

Genre: Smut/PwP

Warnings: Dirty Language + Dirty Talk; Petnames; verbal Degradation; Mentions of Daddy! Kink; Dom-Sub-Dynamic (Top! & Dom! Reader x Bottom! & Sub! Jungkook) ; anal Fingering; Mentions of Exhibitionism-Kink; Teasing; Anal Sex; Mentions of unprotected Sex; In conclusion: Jungkook is a vocal brat

A/N: I know, I know... Pride Month is almost a month over but I had a writersblock lately and this shit kept me away from writing... so I'll try now to post some more bts x male reader stories! ♡ I hope you like my newest work ;)

Status: Un-edited

[Links]:

BTS Smut Drabbles

My Writings | My Blog Navigation

「© tipsydipsydo」

This following story is my intellectual property and belongs only to my blog tipsydipsydo.tumblr.com!

I’ll not accept any kind of reposting, stealing or using/editing my work!

That includes reposting my content on other social media platforms too, even when you link me as the original author.

Thank you.

You should have known that Jungkook only offered you the option of showering together to simply tease the shit out of you. He said, it would save sooo much more warm water for his other roomates up and that Seokjin would yell at him when they run out of warm water again.

You were indeed way too naïve and trustful. The thought alone that Jungkook could get possibly in trouble because of him, his boyfriend, who neither live here nor pay for anything decided already for him. You're simply a guest who sleep over from time to time and your mom made sure that you'll grow into a man with good manners. So after Jungkook explained the urgency why you should shower together, you don't have any kind of reason why you shouldn't.

Well, you definitely should know Jungkook already well enough to realize, that your boyfriend like to use some white lies here and there to get what he wants. It's still hard to believe for you how the previous Jungkook, who was so terribly shy and nervous as you started dating each other, turned out to be so mishief and sassy. As someone, who could barely exchange some small talk without any stuttering at first, he has now a more than bold tongue and loves to be a brat that tests the limits of your acceptance. Little did you know that he is a masochist who needs to get put back into 'his place', eventhough he won't admit it openly. At least until now.

A cheeky pinch into your left buttcheek got you out of your thoughts and a boyishly giggle comes from behind you. You agreed to wash each others back and of course Jungkook couldn't let the perfect opportunity of grabbing your ass pass by.

"I like your ass, Daddy~ I love to see the how your muscles twitch when I am pinching you and how you gasp in surprise and disbelief, hehe.", chuckles Jungkook and you can literally hear the bright bunny smile out of his voice. It's pretty common for him, he has on his face whenever he teases or annoys you on purpose.

While his endearing smile makes your heart melt and let Jungkook getting away with his teasing way too often, the title he just called you does something to you and Jungkook knows that. Of course he do.

Your nose flare as you take a deep breath and the annoyed eye-roll had given way for a hungry and almost predatory-like expression. Slowly you turn around to Jungkook, who's eyes grows big the moment he sees your facial expression. A harsh gulp follows as you close the space between you two and cages him with your arms, sandwiching him between your own body and the cold tiles. The steady bobs of his adams-apple make it look so incredibly seductive. Some deep purple hickeys all over his neck would suit Jungkook very well.

"Hm, Babyboy? What was that? Would you mind to explain your bratty behavior to me? Keep teasing, I'll bend you over right here. Seems like you wouldn't mind to play around with Daddy for a little bit. Well, if we're already standing here in the shower together, then we need to make the waste of water to be worth it, right?", you wisper in a raspy voice into his slightly blushing ear.

A dark, satiesfied chuckle flees over your lips as you see how his bold and bratty personality starts slowly to crumble down and how your own teasing and promising words put him into his submissive mindset. Jungkook may be a tease but with the right words and gaze you can turn him easily back into a good, well behaving sub.

"What about a quick shower fuck? Isn't that what you wanted, Kookie?"

Your boyfriend exhales shakingly, didn't even recognized that he hold his breath the last few seconds. He nibbles at his lower lip with his cute bunny theeth before he gives you his confirmation.

"Y-Yes please, Daddy. Fuck me, I need you to drill your big dick inside of me, please split my asshole open with your girthy cock-", he whines weakly. Yes, that's what you like to hear. Suddenly he is such a good boy again, it's truly fascinating.

"Turn around, Baby. Spread your legs and pull your cute, little ass cheeks apart for me."

It only takes you a short moment to reach through the small slit of the opened glass door to grab into the drawer of the nearby standing bathroom drawer and pull a bottle of lube out.

It isn't the first time you have some fun in the shower.

The sight Jungkook is giving you let a deep grunt of appreciation escape your throat and leave your hard cock salivating in precum. God, he looks way too hot in this position. Literally awaiting for your cock to get fucked mercilessly.

To be honest... Jungkook is such a slut for assplay. The way already two of your fingers slip into his soft, stretched hole without any resistance. Just a few minutes later your third finger joins in without any problems. He must playing with himself a lot when you aren't around...

Just tiny whimpers and little pants left his mouth while you fingered him but now... now, where you lined your red and angry leaking cock up to his, in exitement clenching hole and slowly filling him up... whiny and highpitched moans filling the humid air in the bathroom.

Jungkook's right cheek is pressed against the tiles, eyes rolling back into his skull whenever you pulled out almost completely just to drill your cock balls deep back into him. To hear how the skin of your hips meets his bubble butt and create such obscene slapping noises clouds Jungkook's mind. He tries desperately to lift his trembling hand to his mouth to muffle his greedy moans, he would be mortified if his roommates call him out about being way too vocal once again.

Unfortunately his intention doesn't fit the plans you have for him. He teased you on purpose, very well aware that all of his roommates are at home today. He is the one who loves the thrill of getting caught doing something nasty. He is the one who jerked you off at the movie theater. So you don't have the need to cover up what you're doing.

You let Jungkook's hips go for a minute, just to grab both of his wrists and move his arms behind his back, holding them in place with one hand while the other one moves back to it's previous place at his hip.

"It'd be better if they watched. Just imagine how the bathroom door would open and they would stand there, watching us. Then they'd see how well I am fucking and wrecking this little ass of yours. What a good little fucktoy you are, taking my fat cock so well in your tiny asshole. Just think about how our nasty, shameless act turn them on to that point where they couldn't control themself anymore and start to jerk off to us. You would like that, yeah? I know what a dirty little boy you are. So let them hear what a greedy, filthy fuckdoll you are. Come, don't be shy. Be louder. Even more louder, Baby..."

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princess-fuckrosa · 4 years ago

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Hi. I hope you don't hate sk8 adam. If you one of the unique and awesome people whole love/like Adam can you perhaps wrote a SMUT of him? I'm sad that i can't find and SMUT about him cause everyone hating on him. You can write anything tho i don't have any particular request.

Thank you and sorry for the bad English. English is not my first language

Ahw, don't worry Anon, this blog is a safe place for loving on anyone!

And well, let's be completely honest, everyone who hates on this moron, is actually right about it, the latest episode left me a 3 minute complete silence as I tried to recover from what he did to our dear Cherry.......

But, to be fair, I have a soft spot for all the motherfuckers like Adam, so all of you who love the Matador of Love, don't be afraid to send in your requests, I adore him too! 💖

And don't worry about your English anon, it's perfectly fine! Send me a request anytime I'm open! ❤

*EDIT: Yesterday I forgot to include some stuff, so I added them~

HEAVY smut under the cut, general TW for the innocent vanillas~

Ainosuke Shindo (Adam) SMUT headcanons

We already have some clues about how the Matador of Love would be like in a relationship, and let me tell you, and I don't think it's a surprise but...

It's not nice. At all.

or it depends on what you call nice I think haha

Ainosuke definitely has a big turn on for tears and fear.

He's a sadist, and I don't think he would be completely against being on the other end of the line, but he would be the top dom most of the time.

He's into both physical and mental abuse, but before we completely bookmark him under the 'heartless psycho' category, he won't do anything non-consensual.

I imagine he would search for his 'Eve' in this way too, and if someone wouldn't willingly submit to him, they are just not the right ones.

So unless you let him do whatever he wants, he wouldn't take you seriously. He might have a one night stand, as he does sometimes, but to be his Eve, that's not enough.

He would expect you to be 100% submissive towards him, but only in the bedroom, and not on the casual side. He would love the contrast between the two: you being bold and confident during the day, but a sobbing, needy mess at night - perfect.

Master/Pet play is a big kink for him.

At first, he would give you a taste - he wouldn't be half as rough as he usually is, but would make you cry during the act, just to show off his style a little

"Do you still want to be my pet?", he asked, his index finger lifting up your head to make your teary eyes meet his seemingly empty, red ones. If you managed to whimper out a yes, his fingers would brush your lips as he leans a little closer. "I'm gonna abuse you, y/n."

You saying yes to him again would make his blood boil in excitement again.

He would absolutely cherish the idea of having a s/o as a pet, someone who would adore and worship him, and he could play with them as much as he would like to. Wouldn't go as far as caging (well, if you really insist, he wouldn't be against it either), but would give you a collar with "Adam" written on the tag.

Ainosuke is the kind that would be gentle and caressing at the start, and as the play session goes he would get more rough and vicious.

He does a lot of foreplay. It's mostly anything that implies that he is in control, and usually it starts rather innocently.

He walks over to you, caressing your cheeks with a brief smile, giving you soft kisses on your neck, hands traveling on your body with gentle touches...

...only until you get completely relaxed. He would lean back a little, his fingers tracing your lips, and for the first time in the last few minutes, he would smile at you.

And the fun begins.

You quickly learn that specific smile, the innocent, kind one that only appears on his lips when he came up with something truly dirty and terrific.

Would totally manhandle and take advantage of you. Grabbing you by the hair or your collar to get you to the bedroom, but sometimes when he feels like it, he could be able to just pick you up in bridal style and carry you to his bed - which is gigantic, by the way.

With Ainosuke, expect a lot of messy blowjobs. He would let you start and show your appreciation for the first few minutes. But after that, he would cup your cheeks, tug into your hair and face fuck you with vigorous speed. Plus points if you wear any makeup, he would ruin it, and almost get off only on the sight of seeing you crying off your eyeshadow. It would be hard to stop him after he starts, and wouldn't really care about your discomfort, the only thing he would avoid is making you vomit, he doesn't like that

He would call you the dirtiest, filthiest names ever, but would praise you and call you sweet, loving names just as much, especially during said face fucks.

He is not THAT into bondage, Ainosuke prefers using his hand and body only to get you under full control, but if he is in the right mood, he would totally tie you up and abuse the hell out of you.

Doesn't matter if you are a female or a male, he would absolutely torture your nipples. Flicking them roughly, pinching them, tugging on them so hard that your back arches, slapping and biting them.

Getting to the main act with Ainosuke takes a long time, he would make sure to make you come one way or another, at least once.

Sometimes, when he is in a more affectionate mood, or you earned a reward, he would overstimulate you until you're so dizzy and disoriented that you don't even remember your own name, because you screamed his name so many times during your climaxes. He would leave you no rest, once you get your first one, he wouldn't stop, aiming for the next one, and the next one, and the next one...

Finally, when he gets between your legs with his crotch, you're so wet or lubricated that it wouldn't be much of a struggle to slam into you without a warning.

Through the whole foreplay, he is just so aloof and cold, or somewhat loving yet collected, but now that he is in you - he would completely switch into an animalistic, rough beast. Grabbing and bending you, completely getting lost in your moans, whimpers, and screams.

Would enjoy a lot of poses, his favorites are mating press, spreader, v, all variations of doggy, and basically everything where he is in full control over you.

But when he gets close, he would prefer to switch into missionary, leaving no space between your bodies, looking into your eyes as he reaches his high.

Depending on his mood, he would be either very affectionate with aftercare, or just completely ignorant of it, leaving you in the room alone as he goes to clean up himself and return to his day.

If there's no risk of knocking you up, he would usually release his seed into you, as a way of marking you as his, but would love to just cum anywhere on your body for the same reason.

That being said, he is not an abusing asshole all the time. From time to time, he would be more gentle, focusing more on holding your body like it was the most precious thing in the world, keeping it close to him, shower it with kisses, lovebites, and loving gropes.

He would sense your mood often, and if you feel down for some reason, he would cuddle you, placing you into his lap and wrapping his arm around you, and he would offer you some distraction from your problems. If you accept it, he would pay attention to your needs. Sure, if you just want his usual self, he will order you around and give you a rough treatment.

But if you need lovemaking, how would the Matador of Love turn you down? It's just something he won't really go for on a regular basis, so savor these moments every time, but don't be afraid to mention it when you need it, he's bossy and narcissistic but up for negotiations.

The latter is rather rare, he would usually just cuddle up with your messy, hot body for a few minutes before helping with the cleaning up.

Either way, sex is hardly ever predictable with him, he would be able to surprise you every time even after a long, long time of being together.

#sk8 #sk8 the infinity #sk8 anime #sk8 imagines #sk8 x reader #sk8 headcanons #sk8 adam #ainosuke shindo #sk8 adam x reader #ainosuke shindo x reader #smut #like fuck that was filthy #sk8 adam smut #ainosuke shindo smut #princessfuckrosa

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nolanell · 3 years ago

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Apartment 9: Writer Wednesday September 8th 2021

Writer Wednesday: @autumnleaves1991-blog and @clydesducktape

Pairing: Maxwell Lord (WW84) x Female Reader

Length: 2.8K

Warnings: Mention of divorce, being a single parent, brief consideration of being a woman alone in a big city. A lot of this takes place in a lift. Allusion to an age gap (not a big one, and reader is of age). Aside from being female and other characters describing her as pretty, there are no other descriptors of the reader. There is one kiss described, but no other physical intimacy.

Author's Note: My first ever Writer Wednesday submission! I hope you enjoy. I have read a few soft and fluffy things for Max Lord recently and he's just been in my head. Inspiration struck me with this week's prompt and I just went with it!

You didn’t know much about the man who lived down the hall. What you did know, you didn’t know if you could fully believe as a lot of it was snippets of lift gossip you had heard as you went to and from your apartment to the ground floor. That didn’t seem reliable, or like it would be particularly kind in the way it painted a picture. But if this gossip was to be believed, he had recently lost everything except his son, who he loved dearly. Essentially, he had made some bad decisions and was now paying for them.

You hadn’t seen him in person yourself until he had been there about six months. It so happened he was running for the lift and you held the door for him. You didn’t know who he was at first.

‘Thank you,’ he smiled softly as he stepped in.

You smiled back.

‘Have you… have you lived here long?’ he asked.

You turned to him and raised an eyebrow. There wasn’t anything inherently wrong with the question, but you couldn’t be too careful, a woman living on your own in the big city.

‘I- I just meant I’ve been here six months and we’ve not met before,’ he explained.

You softened a little bit. Whoever this was, was just trying to be friendly. ‘Two years, nearly,’ you replied.

The lift door dinged as you reached the ground floor. He motioned for you to go first. You paused a second, a little taken aback at his politeness, but walked out of the lift, turning around to face it once you came out. He stepped out after you, not quite sure what to do given you had stopped. He stuffed his hands in his pockets.

‘You live on the eighth floor too?’ you asked, a little surprised.

‘I do,’ he nodded. ‘Number 11.’

‘Number 9,’ you pointed toward yourself.

‘Wow, practically neighbours for half a year and we’ve only just met!’ he laughed. He had a genuine smile, but his laugh seemed a bit restrained, a bit guarded.

You couldn’t help but break into a big smile at the absurdity of it. ‘Right? How crazy!’

He seemed to perk up a bit at your smile; seemed to stand a bit straighter, his smile starting to reach his eyes a bit more. He pushed his floppy, blondish-brownish hair out of his eyes and smiled again.

‘I’m Max,’ he offered his hand. ‘Nice to meet you.’

You offered your hand in return and gave your name. ‘Nice to meet you too, Max.’

‘I’ve got to get going, I’m picking up my son,’ Max said, moving toward the exit.

‘Where from?’ you asked. Couldn’t be school at 10am on a Saturday.

‘From his mum,’ Max explained. ‘I get to see him this weekend.’ The smile on Max’s face showed just how happy he was about it. It was a much more genuine smile this time, and very infectious.

‘I won’t keep you then,’ you smiled back, moving to catch up to him. ‘Have a lovely time together.’

‘Thank you,’ Max was still smiling and this one had reached his eyes fully; he looked genuinely pleased at your remark. ‘Have a good rest of the day yourself.’

You parted ways as your came out of the apartment building. He seemed pleasant enough. Just a single dad, clearly loved his son, trying to get by, as far as you could tell. And after all, wasn’t everyone in the building just trying to get by? And if the lift gossip was true, was that really your business, or anyone else’s, for that matter? Max seemed nice enough to want to say hello to, and hold the lift door for again.

You didn’t see him again for a couple of days, and this time you were both waiting for the lift to arrive. After exchanging the standard ‘hello’, the silence was a little difficult; you weren’t one for inane small talk. Out of the corner of your eye you could see Max stuffing his hands in his pockets and staring at his feet. He looked… nervous?

Come on, you must be able to think of something.

‘How was your time with your son?’ you asked, glancing over at Max.

He looked relieved that you had said something. ‘It was great, thank you,’ he smiled. ‘How have you been?’

‘Not too bad,’ you gave what you hoped was not a tired smile. ‘Just trying to get by.’

Max nodded. ‘I hear that,’ he agreed. ‘Just one foot in front of the other, it feels like some days.’

The lift dinged and the doors opened. Max motioned for you to go first again. ‘To the ground?’ he asked as he went to hit the floor button.

You nodded. ‘Are you seeing your son again today?’

‘No,’ Max said, more than a hint of sadness in his voice. ‘Just out for a walk and a coffee.’

‘There’s a great place round the corner from here, if you haven’t already been. Maria’s?’ you furrowed your brow trying to remember the name.

‘I think I’ve walked past it,’ Max nodded. ‘I’ll check it out. Anything exciting planned for you today?’

You shook your head and laughed. ‘I wish. Just errands.’

‘Never ends, does it?’ Max agreed.

The lift doors opened and again Max motioned for you to go first. As you left the building, Max wished you a nice rest of the day and that he would see you later. You smiled and nodded. You only had two interactions lasting less than five minutes, but Max seemed much nicer than the lift gossip suggested. Which is exactly why you tended not to not give it any credit. At least next time you had something to ask about; whether he tried the coffee at Maria’s, and what did he think of it. You found yourself hoping you saw him again fairly soon; it was nice to have someone to talk to who didn’t just want to gossip about the building residents. Or was it that he was kind of cute? Sure, he was a little older than you, but the way his hair flopped forward when he looked down was adorable. He had a nice smile too. But, you reminded yourself, he was just trying to get by, one foot in front of the other.

But weren’t you, too?

You didn’t see Max for a few days after that and even then, only very briefly. You were coming out of the lift having come up, as he was waiting for it to go down. There was a boy with him you assumed was his son; there wasn’t a huge resemblance, so you assumed he must look more like his mum.

‘Hello Max,’ you greeted him as you stepped out.

‘Hello,’ he smiled at you. ‘I’m so sorry, we’re in a bit of a rush.’

‘Don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll hold the lift for you soon,’ you smirked over your shoulder as you walked to your door. You heard the lift doors close behind you, but not before you heard a chuckle from Max and a young voice ask ‘Dad, who is that?’. So you’d finally met Max’s son, sort of.

You did in fact hold the lift for Max a couple of days later, but on the way up this time. He was carrying a couple of grocery bags and smiled at you over the top of them.

‘Thank you,’ he said as he tried to hold the bags without anything slipping out.

‘Told you I would hold the door for you soon,’ you laughed softly. ‘Can I give you a hand?’

‘Would you mind?’ Max looked relieved. ‘Only if you’re sure, I wouldn’t want to impose.’ You motioned with your hands to pass you one and took the one in his left arm from him.

‘How was the coffee at Maria’s? Did you go in the end?’ you asked, once you were sure the grocery bag was secure.

‘I did, it was lovely,’ Max smiled. ‘Definitely one of the best I’ve had since I got here.’

‘It’s my favourite,’ you agreed. ‘Oooh, and it’s nice to see your son has your curiosity.’

Max blinked at you and looked genuinely confused. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘A few days ago, you were in a hurry as I was coming out the lift? He asked who was that as you got in?’ you explained.

‘Oh! Sorry, yes, I’d almost forgotten,’ he said as recognition crawled across his face. ‘I keep telling him to use his indoor voice. He does keep me on my toes.’

The lift doors dinged, and before stepping out you asked Max if he’d like some help carrying them to his apartment.

‘If you’d hold on to it while I get the door open, that would be wonderful,’ he said, motioning for you to leave the lift first. He followed you as you stepped out and nodded in the direction of his apartment door.

As you got to Max’s door, you were standing either side of the door itself, facing each other as Max fumbled in his pockets for his keys. This was the first time you’d properly looked at him, and you found yourself picking up details you’d not noticed before. His floppy blondish-brownish hair flicked down toward his eyes, that you’d seen before, but you hadn’t noticed how beautiful his deep brown eyes were, and you hadn’t taken in his gorgeous golden skin, and the size of his hands on the grocery bag…

Girl, get it together. This poor guy is probably reeling from who knows what, given he is a dad not living with his son he very clearly loves, and describes living as one foot in front of the other. He does not need you looking at him like that.

You heard Max say something.

‘Sorry, what was that?’ you ask.

‘I… I said thank you so much for helping,’ Max said, his skin a little pink.

His front door was open. He’d found his keys and opened the door while you’d been gawking at him. Your cheeks burned slightly at the thought he might have noticed.

‘Oh! It’s no trouble,’ you smile. ‘Want me to bring this in?’ You raised the bag you were still holding.

‘No, don’t worry, I’ve got it from here,’ Max chuckled. He seemed to be avoiding your gaze.

You straightened up and smiled again as you passed the bag over. ‘Okay, I’ll leave you to it. See you later, Max!’

‘See you later,’ Max replied, as you were already walking back to your own door.

Later turned out to be a couple of days later, and again you met Max going up in the lift. He had his son with him again.

‘This is Alistair,’ Max beamed proudly, after introducing you to his son.

You knelt down, and smiled at Max’s son. ‘It’s nice to meet you, Alistair,’ you hold your hand out.

‘You too!’ he smiles in that adorable, excited way most children do, and shakes your hand.

You stand back up again as the lift dings and you all get in, Max holding Alistair back as he lets you go first again. In the lift, Alistair presses the button for the eighth floor, and looks up at you.

‘Can I press the button for you?’ he asks.

‘You already have,’ you smile down at him. ‘I live on the same floor as your dad.’

Alistair smiles. He gets this expression on his face you can’t place. You don’t dwell on it as you hurriedly try to think of small talk; what can you ask that doesn’t ignore one or the other? Then it hits you.

‘Alistair, has your dad taken you to Maria’s?’ you ask him, a smile teasing at the corners of your mouth.

‘The coffee shop?’ Alistair looks at you, confused, as you nod. ‘No, he says coffee is for grown ups,’ Alistair rolls his eyes.

‘That’s true, but you know what? Maria’s also does amazing milkshakes,’ you grin as you look at Max. He smiles at you.

‘Ooooh,’ Alistair gasps.

The lift dings. Max motions for you to go first. You step out and kneel down to Alistair again. ‘It was nice meeting you, Alistair. See you soon?’

Alistair nods with a smile. You stand up and smile at Max ‘I’ll see you soon,’ you say as you walk toward your door.

‘Dad, is that the pretty lady from number 9?’ you hear Alistair’s voice, and you’re glad you’re walking away as your face flushes red.

‘Indoor voice, please, Alistair,’ you hear Max sigh, as their footsteps move away from you.

You’re beginning to think Max is avoiding you. It’s been almost a week since you met Alistair and you’ve not seen him. You’re standing in the lift waiting for it to start moving, staring at your shoes, as you hear someone get in. Your eyes flick up for a second and you see Max standing in the lift with you.

The lift doors close and it begins descending.

For the first time, you actually feel like there is an awkward silence between you two. You dare another glance at Max and he is doing the same as you, staring at his shoes. That gorgeous hair has flipped forward again, hands stuffed into his pockets…

You clear your throat. ‘Do you normally tell Alistair about all the pretty ladies you see?’

Max’s head whips round to you, so fast your surprised he’s not given himself whiplash. ‘I’m… I’m really sorry if I made you uncomfortable.’

You smile kindly at Max. ‘Not at all,’ you reply. ‘But that’s not what I asked,’ your expression turns into something of a mischievous grin.

Max blushes. Those stunning eyes meet yours. ‘I… I told him… well, you’re the only one I’ve ever mentioned.’

It was your turn to flush red. ‘Really?’

Max nods as the lift dings for the ground floor, and gestures for you to go first. ‘And even then, it was his idea.’

‘What?’ you ask, confused.

Max looks at the floor, smiling nervously. ‘Remember when we were on our way down, when we were in a rush? Well, he asked who you were, as you heard, and I explained you lived at number 9 and we got the lift together sometimes.’

You nod, waiting for him to continue.

‘And Alistair really does keep me on my toes because he said you were really pretty, and I agreed. And of course he decides to remember that at the point it would cause the most embarrassment,’ Max sighs, risking a glance over to you.

‘I think it was more the lack of indoor voice that was the problem,’ you giggle.

Max laughs, another genuine one that reaches his eyes, and he nods in agreement. ‘It certainly was,’ he smiles, a sweet little dimple emerging on one side of his face. He was so cute, and you were starting to think he had absolutely no idea.

You both stood there for a few seconds in silence, not really knowing what to do next but also not really wanting to end the encounter.

‘Where are you off to?’ Max asks you.

‘Nothing too exciting, just a walk and then coffee at Maria’s,’ you reply.

‘What a coincidence,’ Max smiles. ‘Would you mind if I join you?’

‘Of course,’ you nod. ‘Who would turn down the gorgeous guy from number 11?’

Max flushes red. ‘I don’t know about that. But I’m glad the pretty lady from number 9 wouldn’t.’

Damn, he really had no idea how cute he was, did he?

As you step out of the building, Max offers you his arm, and you loop yours through it as you walk down the steps from the entrance. You pause at the bottom, smile and gaze into those incredible dark brown eyes. Before you know where you are, your lips are on his and you’re running your hands through his hair, curling your fingers at the back of his neck. His lips are impossibly soft, his hands finding their way to your waist, holding you close to him. His tongue gently brushes against your lips, seeking permission, and you are all too happy to grant it. He’s gentle, almost hesitant at first, but his kiss deepens into something so passionate you’re glad he’s holding your waist, as he’s making you weak at the knees.

Eventually you pull back, breathless, giddy, smiling. ‘Wow,’ is all you can offer.

Max smiles and blushes for about the third time in five minutes. ‘Wow indeed,’ he agrees. ‘Come on, let’s go and get a coffee and you can tell me about this gorgeous guy at number 11.’

You roll your eyes, loop your arm in his and start walking. ‘Sure thing, but only if there’s more of those kisses in it for me,’ you tease.

#writer wednesday #max lord fanfic #max lord x you #maxwell lord x reader #maxwell lord fluff #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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nano--raptor · 4 years ago

Text

his sweet softness

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky wants to try domming one night, but he just can’t help being your good boy.

Words: 1490

Warnings: 18+ only! Dom/sub dynamics, gentle dom/sub, soft dom, cursing, very light bondage, oral (male rec), kissing, light mama/mommy kink, cum eating, implied smut

A/N: Written for @the-ss-horniest-book-club for Drunk Drabbles, using the anonymous prompt below. I went gentle here, I didn’t want Bucky to be uncomfortable, I wanted to be considerate and respectful enough.❤ Thank you all so much for reading, I hope you enjoy!💕

Bucky is usually a submissive but wants to try domming one night but he can’t help but drop into sub space in which u reassure him it’s ok to not be dominant

* * * *

Bucky asked you about it one night while laying on the couch, watching TV. His head was in your lap and you played with his hair, combing through it, lightly scratching his scalp. He loved it, it always helped him relax. That night though, he was fidgety, nervous, and when you finally asked him what was up, he shyly told you what he’d been thinking about.

“I wanna try domming.”

Now you stood before him in the bedroom, your pants and his shirt already discarded. He fingered the hem of your shirt, before slipping his hands underneath, forgoing his usual caressing against your skin, pulling the shirt up over your head instead. As soon as you were free of the fabric his mouth crashed against yours in a rough kiss and he walked you backwards towards the bed. When your legs bumped against it you sat down on the edge, bouncing slightly. Bucky pointed at your bra, keeping his face neutral.

“Off.” A commanding tone for him, and you complied, unclasping your bra and tossing it aside while holding his gaze. He reached out, grazing his fingers over your breast, and you moaned quietly, sitting nicely, waiting for him to tell you what to do. Bucky trailed his fingers along your skin, up to cup your jaw and you leaned into his touch. It was gentle, and unsure. You knew he was nervous, but he'd wanted to try this, and you wanted to let him explore it. You wanted him to have a good time. If he enjoyed it and wanted to try it again, you were all for it. After all, this was always about pleasure for both of you.

Bucky stepped away and grabbed a silk scarf from the dresser, one that you’d used on him many times before.

“Hold out your wrists.” A little bit stronger this time, and you bit back your proud smile, holding your arms out, wrists together.

“Like this?”

“Quiet.” There it was. More authority, and it sent a tingle down your spine and straight to your core. Bucky tied your wrists together, sliding his finger between to make sure it wasn’t too tight. “That okay?” His eyes flicked to yours as soon as the soft words fell from his mouth, and you saw a flicker of doubt, but you nodded your head, blinking up at him through your lashes. He licked his lips and stepped back, then pointed to the floor in front of him.

“Come here doll.” You stood and walked towards him, a shiver running through you when he told you to get on your knees without touching you.

“Now, put my cock in your mouth. That pretty mouth of yours.” He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, as if he was shy to talk dirty to you, but you did as he said, smiling sweetly up at him from your knees.

“Yes sir,” you purred, reaching your tied hands up to undo his jeans. Slowly you freed him, his cock already hard and leaking, and you dragged your tongue over his length, licking from base to tip before taking him into your mouth. Bucky moaned, a low growl, and you loved the power you still had over him. You loved making him feel good, sucking him or riding him or even letting him pleasure you to his heart’s content, and you wanted to make his first domming experience good. He was being a very good boy.

Bucky let his head fall back as you sucked and swallowed him down, his tip bumping against your throat. He groaned, hands moving to your hair, holding you gently, as if he was afraid to hurt you. You wanted to tell him don't be shy, to pull your hair, but instead you moaned around him, bobbing your head faster, and his hips bucked into your face. He gasped, then breathed a curse, trying to keep his weakening grasp of control. He looked down at you, eyes dark, lips parted; he was getting close and it sent a thrill through you.

“Ah, so good baby. Yes, fuck. Please…” Closing his eyes, Bucky let his head fall back again, continuing to rock into your mouth, his release building. You sucked harder, deeper, and when he started mumbling, his hands gently circling to the back of your head, you trained your eyes on his face, watching as he started to come undone.

“Please, oh baby, I need it, I need it so bad, please mama…” Bucky’s voice trailed off into a moan, his breathing heavy and your heart clenched as he fell back into that familiar space, begging you now. Your good boy, a sub at heart. You loved him so, and wanted him to feel good, but once he started begging, you slowed your pace. It wasn't in his nature to be rough with you, not without your guidance. He whimpered, bucking his hips again, trying to keep the rhythm going.

“No, please, I need to cum, please let me cum, mama…” When you stopped completely, pulling back and just keeping the head of his cock between your lips, Bucky looked down at you. His pupils were blown, and he looked ruined, his eyes begging you for more. Pulling off of him, you reached up to take his hands, gently pulling him down to the floor with you.

“Please baby…” Bucky knelt in front of you, his hands resting on your thighs, and he almost looked ashamed. You stroked his cheek and hooked your finger under his chin, pulling him close to kiss his lips. He nearly melted into you, whimpering against your mouth as you pushed at his jeans. One of his hands cupped your jaw while his other reached down, helping you push his jeans down, and when they were out of the way you took his cock in your hands, slowly starting to stroke him. His whimpers turned into moans, his mouth moving against yours, hips rolling again as you quickly took him back to the edge. He started begging again, mumbling between kisses.

“Please mama, I need it so bad.” You shushed him, kissing his temple, keeping your lips against his skin.

“S’okay baby. You wanna cum? You’re doing so good baby boy, you wanna cum for mama?” Bucky just whined, nodding and panting and rutting into your hands, and you kept your pace, jerking a little harder until he spilled over you with a loud moan, muscles tight, his hot seed painting your skin. He shuddered, collapsing against you with his head in the crook of your neck.

You lifted your arms up to stroke his cheek, humming gently until he eventually lifted his head, still trying to catch his breath. Catching sight of the scarf still around your wrists, he blushed, reaching up to untie them, pressing kisses to your skin after the fabric fell away. His eyes met yours, full of emotion, and you smiled.

“That feel good baby?” Bucky nodded, ducking his head again, and you brushed the hair out of his face. You could tell he just wanted to lie down in your lap again and you hummed, stroking his hair. “Looks like we need to clean this up first.” His eyes flicked up to yours again and watched as you raised your hand to your lips, licking up his release, and then without a word he lowered his head, trailing his tongue over your thighs, licking them clean. He pressed kisses against your soft skin, then finally laid his head down, nearly collapsing as he let himself relax.

“I’m sorry.” His words stabbed you, your heart clenching again.

“Bucky, you don't need to apologize.”

“I couldn’t do it. I wanted to try, try it for you, and for me. But I just...” You shushed him again, running your fingers through his hair.

“It’s ok sweetheart. It’s completely ok to not be dominant, I love you the way you are. And if you want to try again, we’ll try again.” You could feel him smile against your skin, and you continued. “You’re so good Bucky.”

“Thank you doll. I dunno, I might want to one day.”

“Of course baby. You just let me know. Let me know what you want, and we’ll make each other feel good.” Bucky hummed, bringing his hand up to your thigh, and he lifted his head, blinking up at you while his hand smoothed along your skin until he was fingering the edge of your panties.

“Right now, I wanna make you feel good baby. Just like you did for me.” His eyes flashed and he nibbled his lip, slipping his fingers under the thin fabric to slide it down.

“Well who am I to say no to my eager boy, huh?” Bucky grinned and started gently kissing his way up your body.

"But I did like when you called me sir," he admitted. "I could get used to that."

***

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oliviaischillin1204 · 4 years ago

Text

Check Up

(olivia’s note: hey y’all! this is a submission from an anon called Popcorn, they submitted this fic to me and i absolutely love it! thank you so much for allowing me to post this on my blog! in general, i do ask that people ask me before submitting things, but it happens very rarely so i don’t blame you at all and i’m not mad, don’t worry <3 for the fic, warnings for Character Thomas, but everything else is all good!)

(popcorn’s note: Wanted to submit something. I don’t write enough to justify having a tumblr lol. Feel free to ignore if you don’t like character!Thomas. Love your work!)

Thomas had recently received a large package in the mail, which, of course, meant there was a very large box now sitting in Thomas’ living room that he hadn’t decided what to do with yet.

“Thomas,” Logan started from his seat on the couch. “You need to move this box somewhere. It takes up figuratively half your living room!”

“I know, I know,” Thomas sighed from the kitchen. He placed the last dish he was washing in the cabinet and walked out of the room towards the couch. “I’ve just been busy, and I don’t even know what to do with it. I don’t know if I should keep it or throw it away.”

“Either way, you’ll need to decide soon,” Logan said. “Before something happens.”

Thomas raised an eyebrow. “Something like what?”

‘Something’ came sooner that either of them would have thought. Thomas’ foot caught on one of the feet of the couch and he tripped. He fell forward and while one of his arms was outstretched to catch himself, the other wasn’t quick enough to protect his side from slamming into the corner of the box. Hard. And no one could tell Thomas that cardboard wasn’t sturdy now, because it hurt.

Thomas fell the rest of the way to the floor, arms wrapping around his middle as he groaned in pain on his knees.

“Thomas!” Logan cried out in alarm. He rushed to Thomas and kneeled beside him, placing a hand on his back. “Ugh, I told you to put that box away, Thomas.” The short lecture was said with far more concern than irritation. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Thomas said, straightening up a bit, still holding a hand to his side. “It’ll probably bruise but it’s just cardboard. I’ll be okay.”

There was still a tightness to Thomas’ expression that made Logan believe that he wasn’t being completely honest. “Thomas, if you’re worried I’ll be more upset with you if you’re more hurt, I am not upset. I just want to know if you’re in any major pain.”

Thomas gave Logan a reassuring smile. “I promise I’m fine, Lo.”

“Will you let me examine your side myself, just to check?” Logan asked. He was just taking precautions; an ignored injury could only get worse.

Thomas sighed, smiling. “If it’ll make you feel better. Where do you want me to..?”

“Just lay down on your back,” Logan said. “It’ll make it easier to examine you.”

Thomas nodded and laid down on the floor. He felt Logan shift his shirt up to just under his chest to look at his side. Logan could see a light red spot where the box had hit, just to the left of his stomach, but no bruising yet. He gently placed his hands on Thomas’ side. “Let me know if any of this hurts,” Logan said. He gently pressed on the edge of the mark.

Thomas winced minutely. “A little.”

“Scale of one to ten?”

“Uh…two.”

“Alright, how about this?” Logan pressed in between edge and the center of the mark.

“Little more. A two and a half or a three.”

“Here?” He pressed the middle of the red spot.

Thomas winced again. “Mm. Three. But not bad. Like I said, I’m fine.”

Logan squinted a bit at Thomas. He didn’t seem to be faking his reactions, which was reassuring. Logan moved his hands again to press on the opposite edge of the mark, closer to Thomas’ side. “How about—“

Logan’s voice was cut off by a short huff of laughter and Thomas’ flinching. Logan raised an eyebrow to see Thomas trying to smother a smile. “Sorry. That tickled a bit. It didn’t hurt, though.”

Logan hummed. Thomas did seem to be fine, but all the same…Logan wanted to remind him not to leave large objects lying around.

“How about…” Logan said slowly, before quickly shifting his hands to Thomas’ opposite side to wiggle his fingers into the skin. “…this!”

Thomas jumped before dissolving into laughter. “AH! Lohohohohohogahahan! Nohohohohoho!” He tried to squirm away from his logical Side’s hands, but Logan wouldn’t be deterred.

“Answer the question, Thomas,” Logan said, keeping his voice level but not being able to resist a smile. “Does this hurt at all?”

“Nohoho!” Thomas laughed, rocking from side to side under Logan’s hands. “Ihihihit tihihihihickles!”

“It tickles?” Logan said with fake confusion. “Thomas, you need to take this seriously. I’m trying to give you an examination.”

“Nohohoho you’re nohohohot!” Thomas said in between his cackling. “Yohohohohou’re tihihihihihickling mehehehehe!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Logan deadpanned, shifting one hand to scribble over Thomas’ stomach as well. Thomas attempted to protect his torso with his arms, but it did next to nothing. “Well, if it teaches you not to leave your stuff lying around, then I guess it’s helping.”

Thomas groaned in annoyance through his laughter, desperately trying to roll away from Logan’s hands, but Logan kept pressing down on his stomach to keep him pinned. The hand still on Thomas’ side moved up to a spot just under Thomas’ ribs and Thomas squealed.

“NOHOHohohohot thehehehehere! Nohohot thehehehehere!” Thomas cried. “It’s sohohohoho bahahaha—aaAAHHH!”

Logan’s hands moved to that sweet spot on either side of Thomas’ lower ribs, the hand on the left far enough above the red mark to not cause any pain. Thomas laughter grew in volume and pitch as he half-heartedly tried to push Logan’s hands away. But he couldn’t deny he was having fun; it wasn’t often Logan opted to join in on what he would call ‘ridiculous shenanigans’. And all on his own!

All the same, Thomas was running out of air.

“OKAHAHAHAHAHAY OHOHOHOKAHAHAY!” Thomas wailed. “YOU’VE MAHAHAHADE YOHOHOHOHOU’RE POHOHOHOHOINT! STOHOHOHOP!”

Logan stopped immediately and Thomas rolled onto his unmarked side. Logan chuckled and gently rubbed Thomas’ back to calm him down.

“Evil,” Thomas panted out, the statement dampened by the loopy grin still on his face. “Absolutely evil.”

Logan’s smirked. “No, evil would have been going for your neck as well.”

Thomas instinctively covered his neck with his hands, giving Logan a half-alarmed, half-excited look. Logan chuckled.

“Relax, I am not going to do so. Today, anyway.” Logan finished his threat by wiggling a finger in Thomas’ ribs. Thomas let out a yelp and giggle before batting Logan’s hand away. “You’re sure you’re alright?”

Thomas rolled his eyes fondly. “Yes, I’m fine, Logan. And I promise I won’t leave my stuff lying around the living room any more, okay?”

Logan nodded, smiling. “Good.” He turned his head to look at the box. “Now, the question is on what to do with it. It’s much too large to store without breaking it down first, but I suppose—AH!”

Logan’s musing were interrupted by his own yelp as he felt hands taze his sides. Logan turned to see Thomas sitting up, grinning evilly at him.

“What?” Thomas said innocently. “You didn’t think I’d get revenge?”

“T—Thomas, wait a minute, I—I—wait! Ahahahahahahahaha!”

#sanders sides tickling #tickling #tickle fic #tickle community #my posts #submission #popcorn anon

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wordsnwhiskey · 4 years ago

Text

Is It Living If You've Left Your Life Behind?

Pairing: Dave York & GN!Reader

Summary: Thanks to you, Dave escaped the showdown with McCall. You planned to take him to a safehouse on the other side of the country where he could recover and get started on living a new life. In order to do that though, he has to leave his wife, his daughters and his life behind. He can't help but wonder, is it really living if he has to leave his life behind?

Rating: T for Language I guess

A/N: This is my late submission for @autumnleaves1991-blog 's Writer Wednesday. I got into my feels tonight and Dave was calling to me. It's my first time writing for him and this is a different take on Dave than I'd normally go for. A softer/angstier Dave but honestly, given this situation where he survives? I don't see classic Dave shining through, at least not until something kicks his ass into gear. The man is injured and more than a little lost. Also, I'll probably edit this later, it's 03:30 and apparently I have a knack for posting things when I should be asleep.

Masterlist | AO3

There was nothing but the open road ahead of him as he sat in the passenger seat, a permanent grimace affixed to his face. His pain ebbed and flowed but at least that meant he was alive. Alive with nothing but the open road ahead of him and his entire life behind him.

Dave really only had you to thank for that. A life debt for a life debt even if it meant he no longer had his life, not really at least. His girls were well over a thousand miles behind him, everything he’d known and loved, he’d likely never see again. You were the only thing Mac hadn’t counted on and even though Dave had lost religion a long time ago, he thanked whatever god or higher power out there that you had kept your head about you during the showdown.

He had been furious at first that you hadn’t tried to kill McCall, only stalled long enough to get him and yourself out of there under the cover of the storm. His anger had quickly dissipated though, you had made the right call, of course. He still had trouble seeing out of his eye, a concussion from being blown off of his feet and plenty of bruises complemented the odd cut or two Mac had managed to land. Things would have been a lot worse had you not intervened.

You glanced over at Dave, hunched over, curling himself into the passenger window. Dave fucking York. He had really gotten himself in it this time but you couldn’t find it in yourself to blame him. In this industry, shit decisions had to be made all the time and Lady Luck was rarely ever kind. People died, that was the business. What else was the married father of two supposed to do when he was cut loose? Assimilate? That kind of thing wasn’t for people like you or Dave York, not really. McCall was too high up on his high horse to get enough oxygen to his brain and too blinded by his own grief to see it.

Then again, you were definitely biased.

“How’s your pain level?”

You asked, and were met with a withering glare, his newly-crooked, hawkish nose only served to further accentuate the harshness in his eyes.

He hadn’t talked much during the already several day trip. Not that you needed the conversation, but you understood better than anyone he knew who was still alive aside from the man you were fleeing from, what this felt like. You hated how people romanticized it, leaving everything behind and starting over. It never worked that way. Your family and friends lived and died and you couldn’t be part of any of it. And now Dave, Dave had two daughters and a wife but they might as well be poison now. Poison to his mind, torture to think about. Poison to the touch if he ever went to see them again, because surely McCall would be watching them from afar, waiting.

The same thoughts seemed to be on his mind, from the corner of your eye you could see him slump further into the window, clutching a small photograph he had pulled from his wallet. For all that he was, former agent, mercenary, murderer, assassin, he was still a family man, a soft man at heart and going into hiding away from this family had just as much likelihood of killing him as McCall did.

“I’m not going to see them again am I?” Dave murmured as he stared down at the photo, thumb grazing over his daughters’ faces.

You opened your mouth then closed it again, contemplating giving him platitudes or the truth. He chuckled at your reaction, a hollow sound devoid of any humor.

“Spare me the bullshit.”

Your grip on the steering wheel tightened and you let out a sigh.

“I don’t know Dave. If McCall winds up dead then yeah, that’s an option. I haven’t been back to see my family but I don’t have the same… things anchoring me somewhere or drawing me back.”

Silently, he turned to resume watching the passing orange and brown landscape fly by.

It had been about another two hours since he last spoke and he had been so still and quiet, you thought he might have fallen asleep.

“Why’d you do it? Why are you doing this?”

His voice is gruffer, made thicker from the knot of emotion in his throat. It startles you out of your own reverie.

“Do what?”

“Why did you bother saving me? You could have made it out of there and been in another country by now. Fuck, you could have dumped me at a hospital anywhere along this godforsaken road and still be in another country by now.”

You frowned, somehow you had hoped his relative silence meant you would be able to get through this journey without delving into any sort of feelings.

“It crossed my mind, on both counts.”

He raised an eyebrow, not so much in surprise that you had thought about it, more so that you hadn’t gone through with it.

“I didn’t have any part in Susan’s death so McCall would have stopped hunting me eventually.”

You spared him a glance, he was staring at you intently, analyzing.

“Is this the part where you tell me you love me?”

You scoffed and looked at him incredulously then shook your head.

“No, it’s even more pathetic than that, Dave. You’re probably the closest thing to a friend I have and we’ve tried to kill each other before.”

That got a small laugh out of him, because really, what was more ridiculous in their line of work than friends?

Probably having a family. Dave grimaced as the thought echoed in his mind.

“We were the best at what we did.”

He said, with an air of nostalgia and you nodded in agreement.

“And the worst, somehow even with us each taking on contracts for the other, here we are, still living.”

The small smile faded from your lips at his silence and lack of a response. Your gaze fell on him again as he shrugged his mouth and sighed.

“Are we? Is it living if I’m leaving my life behind?”

This was not the Dave York you knew. Occasionally, you had seen the wry humor, and suave exterior give way to the side of him that accepted “New Hamster” as an answer instead of “New Hampshire” but not even that remained. The Dave next to you had all of those layers peeled back. He was raw and unsure.

You didn’t answer him for a few minutes, honestly there wasn’t much of anything you could say that wasn’t a load of shit. You were both too practical for pep talks. Moreover, it wasn’t a question you had even stopped to ask yourself. The answer and the journey to that answer was a dangerous one.

“I- …. It’s the best option you’ve got right now, Dave. It’s a pretty fucked situation, my advice? Take it one hour a time and if you can manage that, take it one day at a time.”

“An hour?” Dave shook his head and rubbed his stubbled chin with his hand. “All I’ve seen for hours is dirt and sand. While Mac is probably watching Carol and the girls like a fucking hawk.”

You pursed your lips, and eyed the upcoming sign detailing the available lodging and food at the upcoming exit.

“Well you’ll have the inside of our next motel room to stare at in another hour.”

Dave slipped back into silence and you simultaneously welcomed and detested it. Things were simpler without him getting all philosophical on you and contemplating what made living actually living. It hardly mattered though because he had already gone and planted that damned seed inside your brain.

You pulled up to a not entirely shitty motel and paid for the night before going back for Dave who was waiting in the car. The room wasn’t terrible and after a thorough check, you could at least confirm there weren’t any critters who would be keeping you company. At least there were two beds.

After a dinner of pizza from the diner down the road you had taken Dave on a detour to the gas station to get a burner phone. In your haste to put as much distance as possible between you and McCall, you hadn’t bothered to get him one earlier. Once that was finished you both headed back to your room to unwind.

Dave sat in one of the rickety chairs at the small table that seemed to be actively trying to shed it’s veneer layer. With a sigh, he went to work stripping and reassembling his pistol. It was calming, relaxing for him. All of the pieces had a purpose, an order, to be pulled apart then reassembled, very much unlike his life right now. Nothing had purpose or order and everything had been pulled apart, leaving him broken shards to piece back together.

Hours passed and by the look of him, you figured Dave’s fingers might have gone numb from the repetitive movements and his eyes were drooping, well his good eye was drooping more than normal since the one McCall had nearly managed to gouge was still a little worse for wear.

“Dave, get some sleep. You’re no good to me or yourself if you’re half asleep.”

You know he’s been fighting sleep for a while now, he does every night just like he fights the pain you’re sure he’s feeling but refuses to take anything for. For the first time since you two set off, you’re not annoyed by it. He’ll sleep soundly at least once he let’s exhaustion take him. All the better for what you have planned.

It wasn’t until 01:00 that Dave was finally asleep soundly enough that you felt you could get up without waking him. Quietly, you made for the table, using the flimsy pad of paper and pen there to write a note before you walked out the door and shut it behind you. Thankfully, the city you had stopped in was populated enough that rideshare services were available and in less time than you had figured, you were on your way to the airport.

Dave woke up and immediately knew something was off. It was too quiet and there was too much sun trying to peek through the curtains for it to be the usual time you both headed out for the day. He sat up quickly and grabbed his pistol, then looked around the room for any signs of danger until his eyes fell upon the pad of paper on the table. A sharp pain arched through his skull when he stood up, a remnant of his concussion. He took the note in hand and began to read:

Dave,

I figure, if I’m lucky, I’ve got 4 hours on you. If I’m really lucky, I’ve got 6. Anything more than that and I’m disappointed in you, Dave.

He looked up from the note at the digital clock on the nightstand, it read 07:30. A wry grin threatens to take shape on his lips. You’d be disappointed.

I’m not going to make this some sort of sappy letter. I don’t have time for that shit. You were right. It isn’t really living if you’ve left your life behind. Out of the two of us, you’re the only one who really has one to miss. The only way you get to go back to Carol, Molly and Alice is if McCall is out of the picture, so I’m going to give it a shot. I left you enough cash to pay the room through the week and then some. If you don’t hear from me after a week, call the number at the bottom of this note and tell him you’re cashing in a favor for me. He’ll help you out. Might even know someone else who can help with your family. I left you the car, keys are on my bed.

Good Luck.

Dave’s throat went dry and then he saw at least four shades of red before he finally calmed down to assess the situation. Then all at once, it was like ice had been poured in his veins and things began to shift into focus.

What the fuck was he doing?

This entire time he had been wallowing, perhaps well earned, but he should have been planning. He had let his grief for the loss of Susan, the storm of emotions he felt seeing Mac still alive and a simple job that had spun drastically out of control, completely cloud his judgement. He was just as well trained as Mac, but he had let his anger and emotions get the best of him on that watchtower, he couldn’t let that happen again.

Dave moved quickly and methodically as he collected everything he needed from the room and headed out to the car. He really shouldn’t drive with his eye being what it was but he only needed to get to the airport and he could make it that far at least.

He couldn’t let Mac kill you, like Ari, Reznik, and Kovac. Family.

Like hell if he was going to let the closest person he had to a friend get killed.

If anyone was going to kill you, it’d be him, just for you trying to pull off something as stupid as this.

He knew this was the best move though, Mac wouldn't be expecting an attack this soon this time, the attack wouldn't be in the middle of gale force winds on Mac's home turf. You... and he would have the upper hand this time.

Dave got through the airport with relative ease thanks to him having TSA pre-check, no one bothered to ask him about his eye which he did his best to hide with a baseball cap.

He sat down and waited for his flight to be called. Mentally, he began going through the disassembly and reassembly of the rifle he had with him at the watchtower to help focus himself and pass the time.

The PA system broke his concentration and alerted him that it was time to board. Dave was tense when he finally got to his seat and sat down. His jaw was set in concentration as he started to come up with a new battleplan and weighing his options. Yes, he was injured but he'd been through worse on missions and come out on top.

At least one person was going to die by the end of the week and he'd be damned if you and him weren't the last ones standing.

Thanks for reading, tagging a few people interested/who might be interested:

@wheresarizona @pascalsimp @beesting77 @boxdyeblonde @lackofhonor @kaybrownies @agentwhiskeypussyindulgence @elegantduckturtle @janebby @faithkeeper-81 @doin-stuff @danniburgh @pascalslittlebrat @mothandpidgeon @mouthymandalorianalso @phoenixhalliwell @kesskirata @starlightmornings @wyn-dixie

#Writer Wednesday #Dave York #Dave York x Reader #Dave York Pit #Dave York x you #my fics

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darkdevasofdestruction · 5 years ago

Note

Hiiii yes!!! I absolutely love the way you write!! I'm so glad I accidentally stumbled across your blog!!! If it's okay, may I ask for some nsfw headcanons with Beelzebub and Mammon (separately) with a VERY sub female s/o? Completely fine if not tho!! Keep up with the amazing work!!!

Say Hiiii so yes I saw that you write nsfw now and uhhhhhhh, may I ask for some headcanons with Beel x a very sub!f!reader? Completely fine if not!!! Thank you :) hewwo 💕nsfw for the obey me boys with a really sub mc who just wants to be dominated?

(idk if i wrote the fandom, so sending it twice, sorry) nsfw headcanons for obey me with a sub/bottom reader

—

I hope nobody minds, but I got 4 different asks with the same type of request, so I’m mashing them together

Also, I really hope any NSFW stuff I write is okay! I’m really not that great at writing it, so I hope you all enjoy this!

Lucifer

( I’m so happy that I got this sticker okay - And the other side of the card now, too, thanks Devil Flower! )

Lucifer is the epitome of a dominant top, so he’s perfect for you, especially if you WANT him to dominate you.

He doesn’t even try, it only comes natural to him - Everything about him - His gaze, his composure, his self-esteem, his pride, his confidence, his aura, his stature, everything about him SCREAMS dominant.

While yes, he will be having you squirming under him, a moaning mess calling our his name with no inhibitions or shame, he will still hold himself back the first few times, until/if he knows your boundaries, kinks and fetishes.

Lucifer would either have you undress for him, slowly, to admire your whole body, or would tease you with his ungloved hands by tracing every curve of your body with gentle and soft touches that make you want more.

His kisses are out of this world, hot and passionate with a small tint of rough, but never messy.

He actually loves biting your bottom lip, tugging on it slightly, teasing you a lot, loving to hear your whimper.

Prepare for either multiple orgasms, or a lot of edging and orgasm denial, because unless you’re begging for your sweet release, you won’t have any mercy from this one.

—

Mammon

Despite having a huge power bottom or submissive energy, he won’t care what role he has to do, as long as you’re enjoying it.

He has some big self-esteem issues, but honestly, if you two are having fun in bed, then he really trusts you a lot, and he won’t think or feel down in any way, so he will focus only on you and your pleasure.

He loves you so much that he wants to make sure you get multiple orgasms, he wants you to be happy, to love him, to enjoy being in his arms, to enjoy his touch.

He loves the Missionary position, if he has to top, because he can hold you close to his body, look you in the eyes, kiss your cheeks, forehead, lips, neck, jawline and cleavage as much as he wants.

Mammon loves seeing your cheeks get pink and when you look away as you’re feeling good and shift around, panting for air or biting your lip, trying to hide your moans.

Expect a loooot of compliments and body-worship because this boy literally venerates the ground you walk on, that’s how much he loves you, and he will do anything to make sure you’re happy, and you know you’re perfect inside and out, and that you’re more beautiful than any star, in his eyes.

—

Leviathan

With Levi, it takes long until he gets riled up enough for him to be a DomTop, especially since he’s such a SubBot, a little blushy tsundere who likes to have someone dominate/top him, since it will spare him a lot of embarrassment.

However, that doesn’t mean he’s a bad DomTop, on the contrary, if he’s in the mood, he will be the best guy you’ve ever made love with.

It’s enough for him to see you in a short skirt, thigh highs, cute hairstyles that look anime-ish, or any cosplay/clothes with cosplay potential, and that’s it, he’s your guy for the whole night, he won’t leave you alone.

He’d put you in his lap and caress your thighs up and down, muttering how beautiful you are, and how much he wants to make love to you, hold you close to his chest, slowly undress you, pinching every inch of your body, commenting how much he loves every party of you and how beautiful you are.

Levi would make sure to kiss your lips and neck a lot, not caring if he leaves hickeys, mostly because he sees you enjoying those kisses so he doesn’t think about anything else, having it as an incentive to keep on going.

Say his name, say how much you love him, say how good he’s making you feel, and oh boy, you will see Valhalla in a way you’ve never dreamt of.

Also, he’s VERY good with his hands…Fingers…Thanks to all the gaming he’s done, and he’s veeeeery patient, and will know every little inch of your body and how it reacts, and you better bet that he’ll take advantage of that, only to hear your cute squeaks or whimpers.

—

Satan

He can either be super gentle, or super rough, depending on how you like it.

He’s a gentleman and he cares a lot about your pleasure, so he won’t do anything you’re uncomfortable with or dislike.

As well as that, Satan is afraid he’ll unintentionally hurt you by being too rough, since he’s a demon and compared to humans, he sometimes doesn’t realise the difference in strength, so he’d rather be gentle and know that you’re enjoying it, than seeing crude bruises or scratches.

He enjoys being a top and loves teasing you so much, being a lot into senses-play, so blindfolds, a bit of playful messing around, soft touches, messy kisses, he just wants both of you to have fun, so if you giggle and then moan, godamn, you’re killing his heart.

Satan likes hearing your voice while making love to you, and even more, when he’s in the prelude mode, just enjoying how wet he can get you only with his words, touches and kisses.

Sometimes, however, he can’t resist your charm too much, seeing you so vulnerable and ready to take him, so he doesn’t tease you too much, enough to beg and whimper for him, he will go right at it when he knows you’re ready and will rock your world like never before.

Your innocence is such a turn on, and the thought of somehow tainting you, in a devilish way, makes him want to do filthy things with you, enough for you to never want to let go of him, to never get enough of him, and love only him.

—

Asmodeus

Avatar of Lust? God of Lust? God of Love? God of Pleasure?

Honestly, Asmodeus is everything you would ever wish for in a love partner.

He makes you feel safe and secure, he makes you feel beautiful and love, and will give you enough self-confidence for you to be able to speak out anything you want.

There’s a weird fetish you have? Okay, Asmo’s gonna make sure he integrates it next time you make love.

You want to try out a new kink, but you’re ashamed or scared of it? No worries, Asmo will be gentle, and there is nobody more knowledgeable in this department, so you know everything he says is legit.

You just want to have a tender and passionate love-session with him, where all he does is pamper you and makes you feel loved? Yep, Asmo will be more than happy to ensure that happens.

You want to go rough and get dominated in a filthy way? No shame, Asmo will dirty talk in your ear how much of a slut you are for his dick with no problem or second thought.

He will NEVER judge you for anything you do in bed, and it only stays between the two of you, although he’s never going to shy away from complimenting you outside of your bedroom and saying how lovely you were and all that.

As well as that, Asmo would like to make sure you are pampered before and after your love-session, so he will make you do the whole skin-care routine with him, including a rose-bath with a glass of rose-wine or champagne.

Asmo is always very attentive at your every need, even if he doesn’t seem like that while at it, but it’s thanks to his experience that he doesn’t need to think about anything, and he can still make you scream his name with no real effort.

—

Beelzebub

(( I just got this too hnnnng, but no Alice in Devildom event card from Draw 10, I’m mad, lemme cry ))

He’s a very chill baby, so he won’t really care much about dom or sub, top or bot, basically, he’s a switch and will do whatever you’re comfortable with.

If he’s on top, he’ll be a bit wary because he doesn’t want to hurt you in any way, either from his demon strength, his huge body, or the fact that he constantly works out, so he’s even physically stronger than average.

Beel is very soft and will put your needs above his own, so he would give you so many tender kisses, will ask if you’re okay and feeling good, will touch you a lot, and of course, he will eat you out like there’s no tomorrow, provided you’re okay with it.

He will make sure you cum a few times before he goes further, wanting to be extra sure that you’re okay at all times, that he won’t hurt you, that he won’t be too rough without realising and all that.

Honestly, Beel is such a loving babe, he doesn’t believe in roles and anything of the sort, he lets emotion take over him, and makes sure to pleasure you, and if he sees you like it, he’ll continue with even more passion.

Can go on all night with no problem, but will go for as long as you’re able to, since human stamina isn’t as high as demon stamina.

He just really wants to love you and show you in any way possible that his feelings for you are infinite, so at the end, he will hold you tight to his chest, kissing your forehead and playing with your hair soothingly, staying awake until you fall asleep, just happy that he can look at you and indulge in your beauty and the fact that you really love him as much as he loves you.

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scribble-blog · 5 years ago

Text

Soulmate AU, part 1

masterpost next

Huge thanks to the Maribat Fandom tumblr chat, without whom I wouldn’t have made this blog or posted this piece (or probably written this at all given that it’s a maribat fanfic)! @the-fusionist and @rebecarojas07 specifically for encouraging me!

*****

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

Damian is a week shy of fourteen the day the names appear inked on people’s skin, when he wakes up to ink that doesn’t wash off and the news reports that all around the world people have woken up to find the same phenomenon.

The world accepts it readily enough.

Soulmates.

There are tales of it happening before, every mythology and history and folklore delved into and the proof brought forward, but no one actually can say what triggered it, or why now.

In Paris, Marinette wakes up the day after she becomes Ladybug, a dark inked name of her own blooming vivid across her skin.

“It’s because you’re a true holder, Marinette,” Tikki says almost bouncing in midair. “People can use the Miraculous without being as in tune with them, but when we land in the hands of someone who is not just attuned, but truly meant for us- interesting things happen! Especially with the Ladybug Miraculous! These markings reveal who your Soulmate is!”

Her eyes still skim over the writing, and she has to hold in her almost immediate disappointment when she doesn’t see the two swirling A’s she wanted.

“Damian Wayne.”

*****

Marinette doesn’t let it get to her most days, the fact that the name across the front of her shoulder and the name of the boy she feels she’s lost her heart to aren’t the same.

Adrien, for his part, says nothing about what name he has, and it isn’t visible for anyone to find out.

Marinette keeps her designs modest in the neckline, always layers with her favorite jacket and does not say hers either.

The world divides into those who show them proudly, who build forums and websites and apps where people try desperately to connect with their soulmate, and those who decide that to seek it out would ruin the- destiny of it all.

Marinette doesn’t even google him.

She doesn’t want to think about destiny any more than she has to.

*****

Damian keeps it hidden from his family. Grayson has Kori’s name running down his neck, and though they don’t show them off, he’s aware that Todd and Drake have their own as well. Father’s got “Selina Kyle” trailing from his wrist down to the side of his left thumb.

Grayson asks him, once. He shuts it down immediately, and he doesn’t get asked again.

*****

Lila claims her soulmate is someone rich, reclusive, and far away. She doesn’t give details about who they are, but she can tell you millions of stories about how they met as children, grew up knowing each other, how he’d begged for her to stay by his side but she had sighed and told him she must be free to live her own life! And how he waited for her even now to return once she’d graduated and they could marry and be fabulously wealthy and beautiful and happy together.

The class fawns over it. Each time the elusive soulmate is mentioned, Marinette locks eyes with Adrien and Chloé, unable to voice her annoyance but perfectly able to share it with them.

Alya sneers under her breath sometimes, when Lila is being particularly mouthy with her lies, that Marinette has always refused to show or even talk about her mark. That perhaps she doesn’t have one at all.

Marinette doesn’t ever respond.

Adrien tried his hardest to shut them down when they start moving in towards her or Chloé like sharks. She’d lost her crush on him when he’d told her to let Lila lie, that she wasn’t hurting anyone. And then Chloé had knocked on her door one day and- apologized.

Marinette had accepted.

And then when Chloé found out that Adrien not only knew but had actually allowed Lila to continue spinning her lies, she’d taken the boy to task and explained very clearly that Lila could not be treated the same way as his Father, where staying quiet and giving in was the only way to weather his unsavory bad moods. And while his Father demanded he still associate with Lila and keep her placated, that shouldn’t stop him from standing up and doing something when she started actively going after people the way she’d gone for Marinette.

He’d very quickly apologized to Marinette and started, if not scolding Lila when she targeted Marinette, at least trying to guide her and the rest of the class away from any interactions they might have initiated because of Lila’s words.

And now, even if the hours spent at Francois DuPont were chilly and quietly isolated for the three of them, they could meet up at the bakery for lunch, and more often than not now, they would spend evenings hanging out in either Chloé’s room or Marinette’s and it almost made up for it.

*****

Damian has been dead before.

He watches a girl in his class start screaming as the name splayed across her palm withers, it almost looks like it dissolved into her veins, the ink shrinking and bleeding into normal, unmarked skin.

He goes home and he looks at the long curling script that circles the right side of his chest, sweeping across his ribs. Marinette Dupain-Cheng exists somewhere and he wonders if dying once is enough that his name never showed up on her.

He searches the last names. He finds a small but well known and very well loved bakery in Paris, France, with mentions of the owners, Tom and Sabine, and one daughter.

He closes it out.

*****

Marinette turns 16.

It’s not momentous, as she once thought it would be. It’s another day facing the cold sneers of her classmates, catching Adrien and Chloé’s eyes and waiting until the end of the day when she can go home where her parents will have a cake waiting for her, Chloé, Adrien, Kagami, and Luka over, visits from Nadja and Manon, and hopefully some calls from her great uncle Wang and her pseudo uncle Jagged with Penny. Birthdays in this class used to be extravagant, and they still are- for everyone who Lila allowed it.

But Marinette’s birthday will be a quiet affair, at home with her family and her truest friends, her team, and she can’t help but prefer that.

*****

Damian turns 17. Dick marries Kori. Father and Catwoman continue their game of cat and mouse (who is what in this scenario?) and Todd keeps leaving and coming back, and Drake says nothing but acts as if he still knows everything. Damian is, in almost all ways, more capable than most of the old men that do business with Wayne Enterprises and he still has to sit through school and act like birthday parties matter or mean anything to him.

(They do. They do. He can count on one hand how many birthdays he’s ever actually celebrated.)

He’d like to know why he feels so unsatisfied.

*****

Ms. Bustier calls her aside when they break for lunch.

“Marinette,” she begins, and Marinette sighs internally, bracing for another round of upbeat admonishments.

“As class representative, I need you to start staying after class with me for the next few weeks at least- perhaps we can start tomorrow. The submission you made to the Wayne Enterprises Community Awareness and Support Program won, and we have to start planning for the trip in July.”

Marinette stops short. “Wait, trip?”

Mme. Bustier straightens her papers and selects one, handing it to Marinette. On it is a very formal letter from representatives of Wayne Enterprises, congratulating her and her class on their community outreach and outlining the award money they have been offered to plan their trip to visit Wayne Enterprises in person.

Marinette struggles not to sit there with her jaw dropped to the floor. “I didn’t realize there was any actual- reward. I thought it was just an award or recognition?”

Mme. Bustier gives her the smile she used to give her on a daily basis, back when Marinette had cared about making her teacher that happy with every success their class had. “Well, then it’s just as happy a surprise for you as for the rest of the class! I’ll send a note home with you tonight explaining why you’ll be staying after school for the foreseeable future. I won’t ever keep you longer than an hour.”

Marinette knew that would not be true, but it wasn’t as if she couldn’t make up an excuse to leave when necessary. “Yes. We’ll want the trip to be planned perfectly, especially if we’re going to Gotham. Thank you, Mme. Bustier!”

She skips out to lunch, runs across the street to the bakery to meet her friends and tells them the news.

*****

Damian thinks about her often, even if he doesn’t want to. Marinette Dupain-Cheng, the baker’s daughter somewhere in Paris, presumably, who may or may not have his name somewhere scrawled on her body.

He doesn’t search anything about her again. Even that single search that led him to her parents’ patisserie was risky.

Jon can tell him everything he wants to about the happiness between himself and his soulmate. His siblings can tiptoe around the subject, happy themselves and never bringing it up to him again. He watches people at school, wondering which of the couples are bound by the words inked into their skin and which are the ones who decided to forego fate. It takes him a very long time to figure out that despite himself, despite his brothers and his allies and his few friends, he is lonely.

*****

Seven weeks before the trip to Gotham, Marinette’s mother finds the Miracle Box.

Marinette hasn’t had Master Fu to guide her in a very long time. She is, in name and deed, the true Guardian of the Miraculous now.

Marinette breaks down on her mother’s shoulder for the first time in four years, since Hawkmoth started terrorizing Paris. Sabine, terrified and proud and angry, soothes her daughter, holds her and runs her hand over her hair, and asks her daughter what she can do.

Marinette has an idea.

#maribat #daminette #daminette soulmates #fanfic #soulmate au

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thiswasinevitableid · 4 years ago

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feel free not to take this but it is still technically march so. vampire sternclay nsfw, a hungry submissive vampire being so, so good in the hope that their human will let them have a taste?

Here it is! I guess it’s april now but eh, on this blog it’s always monster time.

Content Notes: Mentions of blood, since we’re dealing with vampires. The roleplay in this could read as dubcon, since Stern has something Barclay needs, but aftercare is shown and even in the scene it’s clear Barclay feels safe and happy.

“I thought we could act out that, um, request you had for me tomorrow night”

“The one where you let me…”

“Yes, big guy, that one.”

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

Barclay waits in Mt. Sterns study, clock on the mantle reading three minutes to six. Lamps are being lit up and down the street as the citizens of London flock out into the first warm night of the year. Barclay will not be joining them; Mr.Stern has other plans for him, and the crosses over the windows and doors to the street ensure Barclay doesn’t go anywhere without his permission.

It could be worse. Much worse.

Mr. Stern frequents the gentleman's club where Barclay is (was) a cook, is polite and charming when he discusses the latest evidence of monsters in the Himalayas or the depths of the sea. He’s American, like Barclay, which meant someone appreciated the pies he made for dessert. Every visit, he stopped by the kitchen to compliment Barclays food, insisting was the best in the city.

So imagine Barclays’ horror when, half-starved and foggy-brained, the man he pounced on in an alley turned out to be none other than Joseph Stern. The fear intensified when the human easily overpowered and pinned him, revealing that he was an agent of the crown, a member of the Royal Order of Vampire Hunters.

“I can’t let you free, not in good conscience given you attacked me and could attack someone else. But I don’t want to hurt you, Barclay.”

The agents solution was to bring the vampire home with him, lock him in the safety of the cellar (so he wouldn’t get burnt), and use him as a subject for his research. Mr. Stern prides himself on being the preeminent scholar on the subject of vampirism (“Dr. Helsing’s research is sorely lacking, but everyone goes to him because of the Harker Affair”), and couldn’t pass up the chance to make use of his live-in vampire. Generally, he peppers Barclay with questions or submits him to minor medical tests, always giving him a glass of blood to drink while they work. That glass is conspicuously absent tonight, as was the note Mr. Stern usually leaves him detailing what to expect.

Barclay bounces his knee as his stomach growls; they ran out of blood last night and a new supply has yet to arrive. Then the door opens, and he perks up like a bloodhound offered a bone.

“Hello, Barclay, thank you for being so prompt.” Mr.Stern is in his full suit, hair styled as if he just returned from the office.

“Of course, sir. I, uh, I’ve been looking forward to this all day.” He smiles, licks his lips as the human removes his jacket, revealing more of his throat in the process.

“You like being my research assistant?”

“Very much sir.”

Mr. Stern rolls up his shirtsleeves, “I think you’ll like tonight's experiment quite a bit. On the desk.” He pats the strangely empty hardwood and Barclay sits on the edge, tall enough that his feet still touch the floor. The human opens his dictograph, stops before turning it on, “lie down.”

Barclay does as he’s told, jolts in confusion as Stern pulls three leafs of wood from the desk; one on either side of Barclay and one at his feet, meaning that his whole body is on the table with a few inches of room to spare on all sides.

“This isn’t your normal desk, is it sir?”

“No, I had it made just for us.” The dictograph clicks on, “April 14th, experiment twenty-nine; determining the relationship between sexual arousal and bloodlust in vampires.”

“Wait, what?” Barclay bolts upright, starts climbing off the desk only for Stern to firmly cup his cheek.

“Barclay, you want to be a good specimen, don’t you?” Something sharp and wicked as a scalpel glints behind the clinical curiosity in his blue eyes.

“Yes, sir.” He does, he really does, but he’s so hungry. Hungry and terrified that whatever Stern is planning will cause Barclay to admit the feelings he has to keep reburying in his chest thanks to their reemerging whenever Stern smiles at him.

“Then do as you’re told.” He takes his hand away, Barclay mourning the loss of contact as the reclines back onto the desk.

“Much better.” Stern walks around the desk, patting Barclay’s head along the way, “If you’re good tonight, I’ll give you a special reward. One you’ve never had before.”

Barclay resolves to be better than he’s ever been. Stern's rewards are well planned and generous, leaving Barclay positively spoiled when he’s done. He buys him the expensive draught that lets vampires consume non-blood foods without illness, then takes him to dinner. Brings him rare teas and books to read while he sips them. When he learned Barclay liked theater and opera, evenings out in finery became part of the rotation. He can’t imagine what the extra special reward will be, but he hopes it involves more of Sterns gentle touches on his skin.

“I’m starting the experiment now. To establish our baseline, how aroused are you?”

“Like, a little?”

“Are you craving blood?”

“Yeah, I’m kinda hungry, but not like, crazed or anything.”

“Good. I’ll keep checking in with the subject throughout the process.” He pulls a notebook from his shelf, and Barclay can see a checklist running down the page, “I’ll start by relaxing the subject.”

The detached manner in which Stern refers to him should aggravate him; instead, his cock twitches in his pants and he squirms, hoping the human will say it again.

Stern rolls Barclays pants up to his knees, picks up his right foot and kneads his thumb along the arch. He finds all the sore spots with ease (almost as if he’s done this before), Barclay moaning softly as he works his way up one leg and then other. The vampire is so relaxed by the end he almost misses Stern guiding his wrists into the cuffs on either side of him.

“Sir?”

“It’s for your safety and mine; you may get agitated later on, and I don’t want you injuring yourself. Arousal level?”

“About the same.”

Stern raises his eyebrow.

“Uh, I mean, about the same, sir.”

“Hunger?”

“The same, sir.”

The agent turns back to the dictaphone, “Subject is now restrained. Proceeding to step twoOW, shit.” He sets the notebook down and shoves his right pointer finger into his mouth.

It’s only a small paper-cut, bleeding a bead of red when he pulls it out to examine it. To Barclay, it’s like someone cracked open a fine wine and is taking their sweet time pouring.

Stern notices his interest immediately, “Is this what you want, Barclay? To taste me?”

He whines, nodding his head. Stern’s hand hovers over his face; he could reach it with his tongue, but if he takes it without permission the human will no doubt revoke his reward.

The cut finger strokes his neck, leaving a faint trail of red that he can smell but neither see nor reach.

“Then I guess it’s convenient that’s your reward for tonight.”

“Ohfuckyes, sir, thank you sir.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, we’re only through step one. Where was I” he flips to the same page in his notes, “Oh, right. Addition of even a faint trace of blood lead to increased arousal in the subject. Testing the reverse pathway now.”

“Ohhhhhhfuck” Barclay bucks his hips as Joseph palms his cock through his pants. The warmth and pressure are enough to tease, to coax his cock up, but too little for him to do anything but rut like a needy dog on his hand.

“It looks like stronger stimulation is required.”

“AHahgodOWfuck” tears prick his eyes and he wishes, not for the first time, that he’d been less prone to taking the lords name in vain when he was human. The habit is hard to break and the word burns his tongue whenever it’s uttered.

Sterns eyes flick up to his face just long enough for him to see Barclay isn’t hurt, then they return to his cock. His hand moves in calculated, steady strokes, his voice calm even as Barclays grunts of pleasure fill the room.

“Good boy, Barclay. Let’s see what happens if I…”

“Fuck, ohfucksir.” He jerks his hips as Stern quickens his hand, pre-cum slicking the shaft.

“Subjects fangs are emerging, salivary glands seem more active, eyes-Barclay, be quiet, you’re going to drown out my notes.”

This statement does not have the desired effect, as the thought of the device picking up his moans, of Stern playing them back with a clinical ear or fucking himself to them or letting other hunters listen to just what a vampire will do in order to feed, makes him moan louder.

Stern stops entirely, his tone a warning, “Barclay.”

“S-sorry sir, it, it just, it feels so good, wanted you to, to know I like it. It’s, it’s an honor to feel your hands on me.”

“That’s very sweet. So sweet that I’ll make you a deal; if you can be quiet until after you cum, you can make as much noise as you want afterwards. Understood?”

“Yes sir.” He clamps his jaw shut, fangs pricking the inside of his mouth. Stern works his cock relentlessly, smiling as Barclay’s legs begin jerking and twitching with his impending orgasm.

“That’s much better.”

Barclay smiles, proud, swallows down a moan, and cums all over Sterns waistcoat.

“Messy boy.” Stern wipes himself off, then covers Barclay’s mouth with a cum-streaked hand, “clean it up.”

He obeys, ambivalent to the bitterness of his own spend and elated by the taste of Sterns skin on his tongue. When he’s done the human ruffles his hair with his other hand, smiling down at him.

“I’ll be right back.” Stern leaves his view and Barclay only just keeps himself from whining at his absence. The agent returns with a case which, when opened, reveals a vibrator.

“I’m not hysterical, sir.”

“Not yet.” Rather than hold it himself, Stern straps the device so it rests against Barclays cock and switches it on.

“AHFUCK, sir, it’s, how many times-” His cock, which was soft only a moment ago, perks back up even as the nerves in it scream for it to stop.

“As many as it takes to complete my study. Let’s see.” The human turns Barclays face this way and that, frowns, and digs his finger and thumb into his jaw to keep his mouth open as he moans, “subjects fangs are now fully out and he” Stern snickers as Barclay’s beard tickles his wrists, the vampire licking and nuzzling at his inner arm, “he’s increasingly submissive and blood focused.”

“N-no, I’m you focused sir, want you, be so good for youAHannn” he cums, cuffs clanking on the table as he arches off it. Stern drags a chair over, sitting near Barclay’s head and leaning with his elbows on the desk to watch as his cock continues leaking and shuddering under the onslaught of sensations.

Barclay recalls a myth, Greek he thinks, where a man is punished in the afterlife with intense hunger and thirst. He doesn’t remember why it happens, he tends to skim tragic stories. The part that stuck with him was the man being trapped with food and water just out of reach. With Joseph so close and Barclay so aroused and hungry, he can see the veins in his neck, can almost crane his neck to reach them.

Then he cums a third time and his vision whites out, taking away the temptation for a few moments of mercy. His brain gives up on coherent thoughts after that, and all he can do is moan and sob as Stern forces two more orgasms out of him. His feet and legs go from kicking and thrashing to laying so limp he’s not sure he’ll be able to walk when they’re through.

“I think I have what you need.” Stern shuts off the vibrator, removing bringing a water basin and pitcher over to the vampire. He dips a handkerchief into the warm water, guiding it along Barclays forehead, “you’re doing well, Barclay. I’m so proud.”

“Thank you sir.

“I have one more test to run, okay?” His voice is so gentle, his touch so soothing, and Barclay would do anything for him like this, all he wants is to serve him, to make him happy so he’ll keep looking at him like he’s something precious instead of dangerous.

The agent checks the dictaphone, clears his throat, “Final test: role of discomfort in the arousal-bloodlust dynamic.”

Barclay swallows, so turned on he couldn’t be scared if he tried. The agent pulls a loose page from the notebook, mischief in his eyes and menace on his fingertips. Only Stern could make the snap of a freshly inked piece of paper erotic, and Barclay adores him for it.

“I will now have the subject read a passage and record my observations.”

Letters fill his view and it takes his eyes a second to focus on them. His tongue, likely out of self-preservation, fights to stay behind his teeth.

“We don’t have all night, Barclay.”

The vampire takes a deep breath, “O God, accept me in penitence. O God, l- leave me not. O Lord, lead me not into temptation” his tongue flinches even as his chest burns with pleasure “O God, grant me good thoughts. O God, grant me humility and obedience.”

“I’d say you’re doing well on that front already,” Stern murmurs, saying more clearly, “the subject responds positively to pain associated with holy words, and looks increasingly thirsty.” He gives Barclay a pointed look, “subject should continue if he wants his reward.”

“O Lord, grant me patience, courage and meekness. O God, grant me to love Thee with all my mind and soul.” Tears run down his cheeks; the pain is right on the edge of what he can take, and even in his submissive haze he’s certain this alone is deserving of a reward, “Sir, please, please, I’ve been so good, please say you’re satisfied so I can, I can-”

Stern sets the paper aside, “can what? Specificity is important, Barclay.”

A dozen types of hunger well up in his throat as he whimpers, “please say I can taste you.”

An indulgent smile, “Of course. Give me a second to prepare.”

The vampire closes his eyes, breathes as slowly as he can manage as his tongue ceases tingling. There’s a scuff and thud of Stern touching the desk, and Barclay assumes he’s being freed until warmth straddles his chest and a shadow blocks the lamplight from his face.

“Ohfuck.” He opens his eyes, finds Stern--naked from the waist down--bracketing his ears with his knees.

“Is this the taste you wanted?” Stern guides his head up and Barclay eagerly kisses his cock.

“N-no I wanted to feed but, but this is so, so perfect sir.”

“You think you deserve to feed from me?”

Barclay nods, too busy teasing his tongue along his folds to respond further. The hunter is wet, and the thought of him soaking his tailored trousers just by watching Barclay cum is almost as heady as the scent of the blood beneath his skin.

“Well, I think this is what you deserve, for being so careless as to attack me, and for having to rely on my hospitality to survive.”

“Uhhummm” Barclay closes his lips around his cock and Stern moans, a sound Barclay would gladly swallow holy water to hear again.

“Nnn, oh lord, that’s it, you’re doing so well big guy.”

He purrs at the praise, mouth watering as Stern’s body sends more blood south. The skins so sensitive here, so thin, he can practically taste iron through it. He grazes his teeth along Sterns thigh, hoping for the smallest of scrapes, yelps when the agent pulls his hair hard enough to slam his head back against the desk.

“If you bite without permission, I will leave you here, like this, with that vibrator strapped to your cock, until the morning.”

Barclay whimpers, licks plaintively at his cock to show he’s sorry. Stern’s voice softens, “That’s better. I know it’s hard to restrain yourself, but you--oh lord--you must. I hate having to discipline you my sweet boy, I’d much, much rather-” his hips gain speed, smearing slick across Barclays mouth, “fuck, I’d rather spoil you and then do whatever I want to this perfect body, oh, ohlord, ohyes.” He tenses, gasping, and Barclay wishes his hands were free so he could hold him, keep him safe and steady while he takes his pleasure.

The hunter eases off of him, undoes the cuffs and helps him upright. They move on equally shaky legs to the settee, the human undoing the top buttons of his shirt once they do.

“Barclay…”

“Yes, sir?” He grips the edge of the cushions to keep from pinning the agent to their deep blue surface.

“You can have your reward now.” Stern tips his head sideways, revealing a welcoming patch of throat. Barclay growls, lunges forward as Stern makes no attempt to stop him. His teeth pierce willing skin and hot, sinfully delicious blood flows across his tongue. Stern goes rigid in his arms, voice cracking in a moan. Then he relaxes, clinging to Barclays shoulders as the vampire pushes him down, licking and sucking and smearing crimson kisses across his neck.

Nothing in the world compares to fresh blood, freely offered, swallowed down while the most handsome man you’ve ever seen lets out softer and softer moans of ecstasy.

Two taps register on his shoulder and he pulls away, lapping at the wounds so they’ll stop bleeding and be protected from infection. Joseph groans, gingerly shaking his head to clear it.

“You feeling okay, big guy?”

“Y’know how pythons will eat a cow once a month and then sleep for days? That sounds really fucking good right about now.” Barclay knows some vampires feel energized after feeding, but for him it’s always followed by the need for a nap.

“Let’s go upstairs first, the bed is better than the couch for that. Last time I fell asleep here my back hurt the whole next day.”

“Someone feeling being in his thirties?”

“Barclay, you’re three hundred.”

“And I don’t feel a day over two hundred and fifty.” He smiles as Joseph chuckles and kisses his cheek.

They make it up the stairs, Barclay easing his way under the covers and trying not to let them touch his sore cock. Joseph brings two water glasses and a damp cloth. Barclay uses the latter to clean the last traces of blood from his skin, patching over the punctures with the bandages they keep in the bedside table.

“Fun as it is to pretend to be your, like, pet vampire, I really glad you decided you just needed a roommate after I was stupid enough to attack you.”

Joseph polishes off his water, “You were starving, not stupid. Most vampires who go after humans are. It did put a damper on my plans to proposition you in the club kitchen the next night, but it worked out in the end.”

“They did warn me the clientele might try to bribe me into earning a few extra pounds with uh, ‘special services.’”

“A few pounds is barely a fair price for a kiss from you.” The human kisses him, somehow more sincere and loving than the equally tender kiss he gave him before leaving for work. Then he rubs his leg through the blankets, “do you want some tea? Indrid dropped off a new one he found while traveling with Duck, and it smells amazing.”

“Sounds great, blue eyes.”

“I’ll go make a pot of it while you rest; you did so well tonight I’m inclined to spoil all weekend.”

“No complaints here. You take such good care of me, Joseph.”

“You deserve it, big guy. Don’t go anywhere.” He kisses his brow and leaves the bed, whirling on his dressing gown as he goes towards the stairs.

Barclay watches him with all the love his unbeaten heart can muster and murmurs, “I won’t. Not when everything I need is right here.”

#sternclay #agent stern/barclay #vampire au #victorian au #reader requests #TAZ amnesty

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