#so what if youre the most beautiful thing ive ever laid eyes upon | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

libidomechanica · 11 months

Text

And she, and griping Paradise

A Meredith sonnet sequence

’Re we to plunge me thee,—that heart. And shuddered: I knew many mornings of the graveyard. In our stray, that blossoms around he did before that eve, a strange beil’, where. For fears desire love music I can crabbed to make it. I played, the awful think I’ve broken you milk curdled in your voided cried, betwixt Nature helm, now her sake, and over earest o’ Ballochmyle. Like in you leave the other but I an earthly pale little girls flies. The time came, and fall, Let not one, but a girl? Were tasted, and vtter suspect, for eternal smile, they liege, ’ said he if yours abed and soft and queen the player. For Juliana came: for I a God’s Life may, turn’d. Mighty way.

The value on purpose by more. For so heart—and mony and gain-say, give found Wit: od’s universe of the dog because of your adventurer’s. No longer and flower; do what afternoons, who was it’s loved again. Will happy may say again, and flit, to incense; might of science to my would not, can make loved in earth, or evening thin what is as wood, but none, a spurn as his lesson is far, far to me, thered it you art it was weapons lay, and then, which erst from tyranny this, nor happier time. Fed within be cut him with the nightly troth and crowns dull surely and Beauty shall moved in love, to tie up with my verse or two prevail, in the cried; no fights.

III

The grace me, turned and many and love made it was been: she spake with a hush, some said off begetting husband’s apace, and every turne will no faces the human had though my bosom of Kingly: For young, week: much of prompt to a name. To feet, when two, we are gone day rose peepers are not bless wi’ drink that my breath’s unite, and you none. She dangers, a breath. And with it; afternoon that Stellation, most creature feet is not of recognize his horse it see my mother’s and love, but thy current paths on, with that look like though me mysterious house a Maying not you now, and were, Her voice even form, unless now you shall the altar’s reade their with us in her going!

And of ice, as may move to salute heaves we’ll ne’er you sworn await up, to none hard, and yet on the blossoms in a girls, neglected? What vex true thy heart design’d to sleepe for a distress in the marvelous in my earthy Lust; nor slain, I clings of Woman the road Hell. Who knee: but a dear, her sues for him to reward—an Isis hidden of this bright at chick mass o’ Coil, I knew not there in love thing just make reclined, would not lost in full strok’d above thee, the vanished in the secret head, and summer of Gaule into attent the pine had heart. And ran in one that I speak of flaming and I’m come; answer wise. And I sward; when will. The tempt third degrade of man!

I knew not, and sagged dusty as I glided and unstain’d with her. Come, fail in cloud water. But fountain arms limp as woo’d of pearl and yet but approve thy Mistress—in thyself the laid the was it inter closeted for this arrowed with might me singing so choose. Went yesterday; but the Norther hurt to not that point myself up of whom I knew the Princesses we’ll ne’er fool; but he pieces. About the Canterbury belly, her sink all haunt me in all in vain still learn the race. Win you knows the cry, a day rose time, no fence, my Katie,— canst thyself too for a moment, and vain; nor sugar-cakes to obliged to me, my disprouting’s eyes slipt from hate yowes.

And all their she now your breath’d never hid by thy Saviours for the apply, a blind, wandering it grieve, thou upon the palm she rapidity of the was never vice this mind. That I sport, and by Worth,? Are you said she said she door; inquires to my should obsequious good, and their to offended to the knew she is gone. Back to light, and flint! If one-and-twenty, Tam! The will to this obsolete. I am pushed; but can do. Into stir of innumerable tepid poor star came over mind; the need sprang on the head, and ever leapfrogs a shame, then reign the lawns, who knees. How I am, and rever—and drove your was no tide shadow you speak, my delight.

VII

Then given being through fair; yet the Harvest, where he’d die as thy that night have her such as gather’s face; but ne’er succeed? But her, tis high wind; hers caution, which her footing on a sistering wander youth wind. To walks without end; nor planet of this similar to tumbled so totall a kissing evenings aside should’st have I am tired cold stark, has decorum. At dinna cry.—Cease to spring all hit; then first, and wide-embracing she word, nor through you, the ride of a gentle like must take them, thou are more and night, which with for your will mortar, a whom Mankind beats of therefore funeral from thou art myself have, you may chaunst thy life in thee distantly.

VIII

I have eyes, they wound, and though your own and added within my early lies nor he wife was tied, an as in hills. The body, war piled his isles of Kings, impossible. That the wife affliction Since I heart in the fail? And at al war; and thinke I stood name. Haste as the slipp’ry strawberries like tax; behind their please; a fair possess’d here, that parted prepare to it: when dropping as we gave over the wolf’s-milk curdled eyes morn to grand die, till the bride: was for here your orange my own, advance; your cite thy soul, as past a pulse to false than the bound wishing you said he, what potions for name. And the rags of a little small arguments so got up and sick, or else palm.

”—Just the money, have left he walk with clay. Doe not a glade, I the oldest to lay. ’Re one was asked they creeds or in the snake, my lips the children, why I’m telling—come, draw ane an’ twenty, Tam! In who place, but then, would, in the risen and thus long-distance ourself, yet you ask, they died. And left to seek her hue chaste in come, and she belied inside the rosy lips, and trimm’d wi’ a togethere command take the shine own with ass’s early risen. And answer his owne each its pinnacle to the light the peeping. In the stool, down soft liked him with the ruby-budde, and slip at all. Provide and of the oaks, with honor: the I want you are sky sagged affection, ah!

And they swim someone even our selfe the dark breast man be a medicite! She, when Arac. Let third, she’s on my knee. The river: your alter to obliged to more? A dank, sickens great breast. The red rites in each in that nothing, too quivering till word she far-fleeted beyond him err: now, the dance in thy love is of Kingdom is the phone lonely train torturer joy? My hair tongue the shows her heart in hide the love that is all deserved him with my mount and for the Wolf, nor fame: hiding the Hall-garden, entertain the maids, pitch on the skin lies blue will his wisdom henceforth sea and there, to fetch in the Canterbury belly Gray! Receive; fresh in battle hand o’er wile?

Joined private pains may move to preciates are said her face and she a little, hurrying on thing; I left and throw to be revolving planet’s delays heart of Phœbus was like in the main, which erst perforced ever life three winds in flowing up like bride? Yet knew my verse of my skin, the earth an incorruption give herd that you art beloved us. Both moue. And woo’d of time I am for her forgotten, and loving planes above to see the two resplendid sucking languish’d on endlesse Head. Ask why sytten up in thy peculiar Eyes up all allow her firing into a suddenly dismantling. But come hither Eyes clog of the clouder power.

XII

’ Dry winters in low unto me hence, running, to take to lay the cry from here them will not saved men in the nighting not your hand inlets of the gray, steal; I know in lovely I am had poverty be Thee the pains may widows what are then wild- flower, and hospital; at kith other’s wisdom hate, if your Liberty. The other, last wet understand incense; might of ghosts the counts her far they tale thy service precious I listen to known, but O too far to when our gifts its long silver, without ensigns: yet the word shades were it. The heart he fire, her end. Lass the hulls of this marked in love. Fields easily thinks he soul is fair, ah, which I for his earthy tree!

XIII

Descended to the desire; and pretty her little near as your sweet selfe he man; and flinty savage of all that make break; till shut eyes above the cloud water. Faire eyes more alive, and Mary. Do as ocean is overplus as he spell. One at thou are also to thee! He whole, ’ would we defence; if some play, that out why of thunder voice trembled on earth my hand, at die? The larger more thing limbs the birth of prejudice resmoothing from its pacific season’s warm New York, that right. And sable cold to her brother dues. Turning, without of the bird, the wife his sleep I’m dying. We did me wonderstands were but let there to firmly proclaimed, that ranckleth moue.

XIV

For him with wide! On cheeks but gauds; nay, raw- cold dancers left theft. No more one thou aren’t. Should your grief, and received: tho puffing o’er against sunshine. While I who serpents but the cloud drag you so slow aisle no paced, and, so ill, though way to her, I am murderous expects not be her syne, and draw a quiet. Some have Vizírs—but burst upon the fastidiously two women still dominion yesterday; lorn and marriage ring she turn is gone; and farewell! Who being me for where were the Faith in hand. Come slender acacias, and full of that is dear light be the hear; ’ and go, and I thy dark, to the child at me in your face rosy lips, delight a rose-or me.

She tub is mine when we resto! That dim light to say, for to say he went warmth and quietly almost inquiring for, to scourge. Soon, like king roun’, and nights. Perhaps a year slant I went and common brother, till turn like the stood, Therewith blushing off, some shatter his strawberries have and rubies. By Odysseus her to one.— Let the trees I cannot by the paradise, then fair Corinna, come, and thy daylight forth. In the bed to see you would clowdie Welkin clams around, showing echoes dipt in the shoes. And in natures are, since, and that you might i’ th’ impervious gates across that me haggard father. Thy Herald together side; herself for head.

XVI

And your first night. If though the did, and by sweet Ida: then being, that I am she who have, and bow’d: I bow’d it was endures, from those will shotte. I wanton and go by. Not due to tumbling day; lorn at their name machine. ’Er, and a peak to me! Let me say on that I wipe them sure out of ruthless song? And each we caught cannot destroying the doors! Will we seem right Desire. Ben into thy bosom was it The bush, the past almight have sweet will pay heralds breaks within, an’ twenty, Tam! Would not have, and, bidden meteor one Phœnix shall not blossom fell, said told might seemed then fields are not the ways, and the opened the western hill? Then once more, and obstinated.

XVII

And hath so dispute the cloud with wan was. The necessor save. They also this maimed, which has beheld the want relent, then may all I can decked the iron her hear and chose the eye is fondly it always understood, the more: your Highness once stray; so blamed her, like you, heart a little flushed my fault, they will not thirty years now them in town with Plenty, Tam. Was it is not to for a lass wi’ a tocher, to tell a tansy let his Should have dream. When to booth. Erect Hebrew for the head from nightgown to give a dole of love that what to her break my purse, and sees and my death for her progress you say she cars will a clamouring ording. Repose? But I, deeper day!

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 5 #181 texts #Meredith sonnet sequence

0 notes

viscerax · 2 years

Note

heyy so ive read a lot of ur fics and like they are really amazing and i have this request where fem!reader and finney blake have this type of like enemies to lovers and it ends with them like together and stuff if not it’s totally fine!!!

Conflicting Feelings

It wasn't rare for Finney to get bullied. In fact, he was used to it. He was used to girls making fun of him or calling him names, or snickering when he walked by. And not in the "he's so cute Emily i dare you to ask him out!" Kind of snickering.

Finney however was not used to being bullied or teased by someone who he had any remote interest in.

Until he met you.

You were the most beautiful girl Finney had ever laid eyes on. And yet, you showed no interest him. Not only that, but any time you talked to him, you only seemed interested in teasing him. It was nothing he wast used to, the typical teasing or nicknames.

It wouldn't be as bad if you weren't so god damn perfect.

You used to not be so mean. Finney remembers the sweet girl in elementary who would play with him on the play ground or gift him cool rocks that you found, or even watch as he drew spaceships and planets.

But as soon as the two of you graduated and moving into middle school, you found yourself hanging out with new people, and Finney noticed almost an immediate change in the way you treated him and others. Finn longed for the days on the swings where the two of you would rant for hours about all the things you found cool.

Its not like you enjoyed bullying Finney. You didn't get anything out of it except for a guilty feeling in the pit of your stomach when Finney would give you a fearful or saddened look. But you feared what would happen to you if you dared go against the almighty authority of the popular girls.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if you had someone "on the other side" waiting for you. It wouldn't be so horrible if you weren't so lonely.

The weight of your guilt weighed down on you everyday, and it made you feel even more lonely then if you had just ditched the popular crowd and abandoned all of your "friends."

One particular day was horribly difficult. Your "friends" had decided today would be a great day to pick on Finney more than usual.

You found yourself sat on the floor on the side of the school. You figured it would be better to avoid them. Sure it was ironic, the bully avoiding people, but irony was your least concern at that moment.

Your knees were scrunched up to your chest, and your forehead rested on them, creating a perfect little space for you to let your sobs and tears fall into your lap.

The sound of gravel crunching under shoes fell upon deaf ears. Its not like any of your friends would be over here anyways. The only people who came to this side of the school was people looking for drugs or a safe place to hide.

You had paid no mind until the footsteps stopped almost directly in front of you.

You lifted your head up, wiping your tears and mascara from under your eyes to clear your vision.

There standing in front of you was a familiar head of shaggy brown hair. You quickly replaced your frown with your typical sneer and defensive attitude.

"What the fuck are you doing here? Running away from your problems again?" Despite trying to sound tough, the way your voice wobbled and cracked made you cringe. Finney just stared at you for a moment before taking place next to you, sitting down and pulling his knees up to his chest as well.

"What? Coming here to mock me? Surprise surprise, Y/n has human fucking emotions! I'm capable of feeling guilt and sadness." You scowled and rolled your eyes, hoping you could just push Finney away, even though a huge small part wanted him to stay.

"Did I do something wrong? Did I make you like this?" You were surprised to hear Finney speak. You figured he was just going to sit there and stare at you. He had a sort of saddened and guilty expression, and you felt tears pricking at your eyes again.

You looked away from him, staring at the gravel you sat on, picking up small pebbles and tossing them away from you.

"No. Its my fault I'm fucking like this. God, how could you ever think this was your fault!" You sighed and rested your cheek on your knee. "Its not your fault. Its mine. I shouldn't have ever treated you like I did. You didn't do anything wrong." You tried to stop yourself from going further, but the words just kept spilling out like vomit. "God, I miss when we would hang out on the swings and you would nerd out about rockets and space. And I just sat there and listened because you were the only person who ever payed attention to me. You were the only person who made me feel like im wanted. And then I turn around and just treating you like shit because I realize that 'hey, if I bully him, I get more attention from the popular girls. That's got to be great, right?' News flash. Its not. I hate being so mean. I hate that you hate me." You sighed, and a few tears spilled down your cheeks, sliding down and landing softly on the gravel beneath you.

Finney just stared at you, eyes wide like a does. "I-i don't hate you, Y/n." Finney frowned and gently scooted closer to you. He tentatively reached his hand out, brushing a few tears off of your cheeks. "I still want to be your friend. I just- you have to promise you won't treat me like sh- like crap anymore." You chuckled at his cover up swear. It definitely seemed like something he would do. You sighed and sat up a bit, resting your head on his shoulder. Finney tensed up, and you worried you had made things awkward.

"I don't deserve you, Finney." You murmured as you closed your eyes, almost nuzzling into his comfort a bit.

"Everyone deserves to be loved." Finney smiled, before he realized the implications of what he had said. A bright flush spread across his cheeks, but you just chuckled and reached out, grabbing his hand and intertwining your fingers.

"Thank you, Finn."

#the black phone #the black phone x reader #black phone edit #finney shaw #headcanon #finney x reader #robin arellano #vance hopper

515 notes · View notes

kellyvela · 3 years

Note

Sansa, Catelyn, and Cersei are described as beautiful women in the books by several POVs. Their cheekbones, eyes, and hair are described in detail.

I was wondering, what about Daenerys? Is there any actual physical description of her in the books?

The first character that comes to my mind talking about Daenerys's look is Viserys :

“You still slouch. Straighten yourself.” He pushed back her shoulders with his hands. “Let them see that you have a woman’s shape now.”

(...) “She’s too skinny,” Viserys said.”

(...) “Smile,” Viserys whispered nervously, his hand falling to the hilt of his sword. “And stand up straight. Let him see that you have breasts. Gods know, you have little enough as is.”

—AGOT - Daenerys I

The second character is Illyrio:

“Look at her. That silver-gold hair, those purple eyes…she is the blood of old Valyria, no doubt, no doubt…and highborn, daughter of the old king, sister to the new, she cannot fail to entrance our Drogo.”

—AGOT - Daenerys I

So far: silver gold hair, purple eyes, slouch, too skinny, small breasts.

Now, according to the ASOIAF WIKI, "Daenerys has been described as fair and beautiful." Let's see:

Xaro described Dany as 'the fairest woman in the world':

"Let us speak instead of love, of dreams and desire and Daenerys, the fairest woman in this world. I am drunk with the sight of you."

She was no stranger to the overblown courtesies of Qarth. "If you are drunk, blame the wine."

"No wine is half so intoxicating as your beauty. My manse has seemed as empty as a tomb since Daenerys departed, and all the pleasures of the Queen of Cities have been as ashes in my mouth. Why did you abandon me?"

—ADWD - Daenerys III

Despite not knowing her in person yet, Tyrion called her our fair Daenerys:

"Aye." Tyrion moved his elephants. "And when the pisswater prince was safely dead, the eunuch smuggled you across the narrow sea to his fat friend the cheesemonger, who hid you on a poleboat and found an exile lord willing to call himself your father. It does make for a splendid story, and the singers will make much of your escape once you take the Iron Throne … assuming that our fair Daenerys takes you for her consort."

—ADWD - Tyrion VI

Galazza Galare called her fair Daenerys:

"I know these were not the words you wished to hear," said Galazza Galare. "Yet for myself, I understand. These dragons are fell beasts. Yunkai fears them … and with good cause, you cannot deny. Our histories speak of the dragonlords of dread Valyria and the devastation that they wrought upon the peoples of Old Ghis. Even your own young queen, fair Daenerys who called herself the Mother of Dragons … we saw her burning, that day in the pit … even she was not safe from the dragon's wroth."

—ADWD - The Queen's Hand

Jorah the creep called Daenerys 'the most beautiful that I have ever seen' that time he forced a kiss on her:

His eyes were on her breasts.

Dany covered them with her hands, before her nipples could betray her. "I . . . that was not fitting. I am your queen."

"My queen," he said, "and the bravest, sweetest, and most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Daenerys—"

—ASOS - Daenerys I

Even before knowing her in person, Quentyn called Daenerys 'the most beautiful in the world':

Tell me, my Westerosi friend, what is there in Meereen that you should want to go there?"

The most beautiful woman in the world, thought Quentyn. My bride-to-be, if the gods are good. Sometimes at night he lay awake imagining her face and form, and wondering why such a woman would ever want to marry him, of all the princes in the world. I am Dorne, he told himself. She will want Dorne.

(...) And now the most beautiful woman in the world was waiting in Meereen, and he meant to do his duty and claim her for his bride. She will not refuse me. She will honor the agreement. Daenerys Targaryen would need Dorne to win the Seven Kingdoms, and that meant that she would need him. It does not mean that she will love me, though. She may not even like me.

—ADWD - The Merchant's Man

"All dead," Quentyn agreed. "For what? To bring me here, so I might wed the dragon queen. A grand adventure, Cletus called it. Demon roads and stormy seas, and at the end of it the most beautiful woman in the world. A tale to tell our grandchildren. But Cletus will never father a child, unless he left a bastard in the belly of that tavern wench he liked. Will will never have his wedding. Their deaths should have some meaning."

—ADWD - The Spurned Suitor

Despite not knowing her in person yet, Euron and Victarion called Daenerys 'the fairest woman in the world' and 'the most beautiful woman in the world':

"The last of her line. They say she is the fairest woman in the world. Her hair is silver-gold, and her eyes are amethysts . . . but you need not take my word for it, brother. Go to Slaver's Bay, behold her beauty, and bring her back to me."

(...) "I could sail the Iron Fleet to hell if need be." When Victarion opened his hand, his palm was red with blood. "I'll go to Slaver's Bay, aye. I'll find this dragon woman, and I'll bring her back." But not for you. You stole my wife and despoiled her, so I'll have yours. The fairest woman in the world, for me.

—AFFC - The Reaver

"Aye, Captain," said Wulfe One-Ear. He was not half the man that Nute the Barber was, but the Crow's Eye had stolen Nute. By raising him to Lord of Oakenshield, his brother made Victarion's best man his own. "Is it still to be Meereen?"

"Where else? The dragon queen awaits me in Meereen." The fairest woman in the world if my brother could be believed. Her hair is silver-gold, her eyes are amethysts.

Was it too much to hope that for once Euron had told it true? Perhaps. Like as not, the girl would prove to be some pock-faced slattern with teats slapping against her knees, her "dragons" no more than tattooed lizards from the swamps of Sothoryos. If she is all that Euron claims, though … They had heard talk of the beauty of Daenerys Targaryen from the lips of pirates in the Stepstones and fat merchants in Old Volantis. It might be true. And Euron had not made Victarion a gift of her; the Crow's Eye meant to take her for himself. He sends me like a serving man to fetch her. How he will howl when I claim her for myself. Let the men mutter. They had sailed too far and lost too much for Victarion to turn west without his prize.

—ADWD - The Iron Suitor

The iron captain had no time to wait for laggards. Not with his bride encircled by her enemies. The most beautiful woman in the world has urgent need of my axe.

—ADWD - Victarion I

Daario also called Daenerys beautiful:

Daario Naharis entered swaggering. He swaggers even when he is standing still. (...) "Bright queen," he said, "you have grown more beautiful in my absence. How is this thing possible?"

The queen was accustomed to such praise, yet somehow the compliment meant more coming from Daario than from the likes of Reznak, Xaro, or Hizdahr. "Captain. They tell us you did us good service in Lhazar." I have missed you so much.

—ADWD - Daenerys IV

As you can see from the last quote, in addition to those already mentioned, there are other characters around Daenerys that constantly praise her beauty. And I'm sure I failed to quote others characters talking about Daenerys's beauty as well.

There is also the fact that Daenerys's eyes are compared to Ashara Dayne, a known beauty:

And they told how afterward Ned had carried Ser Arthur's sword back to the beautiful young sister who awaited him in a castle called Starfall on the shores of the Summer Sea. The Lady Ashara Dayne, tall and fair, with haunting violet eyes.

—AGOT - Catelyn II

Even after all these years, Ser Barristan could still recall Ashara's smile, the sound of her laughter. He had only to close his eyes to see her, with her long dark hair tumbling about her shoulders and those haunting purple eyes. Daenerys has the same eyes. Sometimes when the queen looked at him, he felt as if he were looking at Ashara's daughter …

—ADWD - The Kingbreaker

As you can see, the praise to her beauty comes from mostly dubious people, more interested in her dragons than in herself, people that wanted to use her for their own agenda than truly and unconditionally help her.

I personally think that the Targs are exactly in the line/border of beauty and ugliness. But also take note that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. For Westeros, Targaryen/Valyrian look is exotic, the gold-silver hair (that can look almost white/grey) and the purple/lilac/indigo eyes. And exotic can be attractive for some people. But most than exotic, when Targaryen conquered Westeros, they established the superiority of their blood, so of course their look, incest tradition and dragon riding was stated as superior and exceptional, they even wrote a doctrine about that and called it "exceptionalism." And it's too easy to associated superiority with beauty......

Anyway, about the Targaryen look, I think we must trust in Princess Arianne Martell:

Young John Mudd has been sending out birds as well, it seemed. Near dusk on the fourth day, not long after Chain and his wagons had taken their leave of them, Arianne’s company was met by a column of sellswords down from Griffin’s Roost, led by the most exotic creature that the princess had ever laid her eyes on, with painted fingernails and gemstones sparkling in his ears.

Lysono Maar spoke the Common Tongue very well. “I have the honor to be the eyes and ears of the Golden Company, princess.”

“You look… ” She hesitated.

“…like a woman?” He laughed. “That I am not.”

“ …like a Targaryen,” Arianne insisted. His eyes were a pale lilac, his hair a waterfall of white and gold. All the same, something about him made her skin crawl. Was this what Viserys looked like? she found herself wondering. If so perhaps it is a good thing he is dead.

“I am flattered. The women of House Targaryen are said to be without peer in all the world.”

“And the men of House Targaryen?”

“Oh, even prettier. Though if truth be told, I have only seen the one.” Maar took her hand in his own, and kissed her lightly on the wrist. “Mistwood sent word of your coming, sweet princess. We will be honored to escort you to the Roost, but I fear you have missed Lord Connington and our young prince.”

—TWOW - Arianne II

Thanks for your message.

#asks #minitafan #targs #targies #beauty

69 notes · View notes

thewritewolf · 4 years

Text

Mari Christmas And A Happy New Adrien

Summary:

Lost in the aftermath of Hawkmoth's defeat, Adrien loses complete track of time and before he knows it, the holiday season is upon him. Will a Christmas visit to his girlfriend's house be just what he needs to move on?

Hello and welcome to my piece for the @mlsecretsanta event! My giftee, @lesslinette, asked for among other things, Adrienette, family bonding, fluff and just a bit of hurt/comfort and I aimed to please!

I had to do a good amount of research into French and Chinese Christmas traditions (including interviewing my long-suffering French friend - thanks @emsylcatac!), so hopefully I didn't get anything *too* wrong.

Read on Ao3

Enjoy!

Marinette 💖: You still up?

Adrien: Yeah Still not sleeping great House was always too quiet Never thought it could get more quiet tho lol Whats up?

Marinette 💖: :( Just wondering what u were doing 4 xmas Since You know

Adrien: Since father went to jail and mom died again? Haven’t thought about it Guess ive still got time to figure it out

Marinette 💖: … ..Its the 23rd of Dec Like 2am Not a lot of time left

Adrien: oh Guess uh Stay at home?

Marinette 💖: Adrien Its been like two months Youve been going crazy in there Youll just be stuck in there all by yourself Why don’t you come over?

Adrien: I don’t know… I don’t want to bring anyone down Or ruin anyone’s christmas

Marinette 💖: Adrien ‘Kindest Boy in Paris’ Agreste

Adrien: Oh no she used my middle name

Marinette 💖: You are coming over tomorrow And letting me pamper you And letting my family - your REAL family - love you And that is the end of that ...Is that okay with you?

Adrien: Whatever you say ma’am

Marinette 💖: Good Be here no later than fifteen hundred Let me know if I need to pick you up

Adrien: Will do

Adrien laid back down, his face lit up only by the glow of his phone and the only noise in the room being Plagg’s snoring. Putting his phone to sleep, he turned over, closed his eyes, and honestly smiled for what felt like the first time in a long time.

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

Adrien reached the door to his girlfriend’s house with a gift under one arm, an envelope in his pocket, and a weak smile on his face. The latter wasn’t because of a lack of feeling on his part - the exact opposite, actually.

It had been hard to go to sleep after their conversation that night, a swirl of mixed emotions keeping him from getting the rest that he craved. Last night wasn’t much better and he was left exhausted. He’d even been half tempted to call and say that he couldn’t make it, but somehow that only made him feel worse.

So here he was. He’d shambled his way to the car, driven himself there through blurry eyes and frequent yawns, and turned the doorknob. Maybe they’d understand if he just dropped off the present and headed home.

Well, maybe not home, but just where he lived.

The instant the door opened, a wave of hot air buffeted him. Not only did it warm his freezing face, it brought all sorts of wonderful smells on it. There were the expected scents - baked potatoes, salmon, chicken. But then was something else, something a little harder to place.

After puzzling over it for a moment, he shook his head and stepped into the house. No sooner had he closed the door behind him than he heard some voices calling out from deeper inside.

“Wait, was that the door? The family wasn’t supposed to be over until tomorrow, weren’t they?”

“Tom, that has to be Adrien!”

There was excitement in Sabine’s voice that warmed his heart, but not quite as much as when he’d taken a couple steps into the house and was blindsided by Marinette bursting out of the living room to wrap him in a hug.

“Worried I might not show?” Adrien whispered after they parted from their kiss.

“Not even for a moment, chaton.” She smiled up at him before her eyes wandered down to his arms, a suspicious look on her face when she saw the one present. “Looks like you showed some restraint this year.”

“Of course!” At her continued doubting look, he added. “Come on, I’m perfectly capable of giving reasonable gifts.”

“Last year you tried to give me my favorite restaurant.”

“But I didn’t!”

“Only because I hid your checkbook and credit cards!”

Adrien snorted. “Details.”

Rolling her eyes, Marinette tugged on his coat sleeve. “Follow me, you ridiculous man. You can put your gifts under the tree, we’ll open them tomorrow.”

She led him into the living room, where their Christmas tree had been set up in all its glory. There were red paper chains wrapped all around it and a huge variety of homemade ornaments - including a few that he’d made in years past. Ever since he and Marinette had started dating, he’d been welcomed into their household with open arms. And even before that, they’d been nothing but kind to him.

His eyes poured over the tree, looking for one specific ornament. It didn’t take him long to find it - with its poor quality, it stood out among the beautiful glass orbs and painted baubles. His fingers brushed over the patches of glitter, a nostalgic smile spreading across his face as he took in the patterns of melted wax inside it. His first ornament. They’d barely been dating a few months when he’d made that one.

Had it really been four years already?

Arms wrapped around him from the side and he looked down at Marinette’s chin resting on his shoulder, peering up at him with big blue eyes.

“What’re you thinking about, hot stuff?”

“Old memories, that’s all.”

“Hmm…” She leaned up to give him a kiss on the cheek. “You just about ready to make some new ones?”

“With you? Always.”

“You two want to come in and help us finish cooking dinner?” They both jumped when Sabine’s voice reached them.

Blushing, Marinette reluctantly let Adrien go and headed toward the kitchen. “Coming, maman!”

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

A few hours later and the four of them were seated around the dining room table. Some things had been moved around from what Adrien remembered from the usual arrangement, and a long table had been set up. Most of the spaces were empty - with the four of them, only about a third of the table was occupied. But while the chairs were mostly left bare, the table was not.

Even though he had helped make some of it, Adrien was still amazed at how good the food all looked when laid out on the table like this.

Most of it was pretty traditional, at least from what he knew. A lot of the time his experience with Christmas dinners were meals allowed to grow cold until he gave up on his father showing. But the roasted chicken was still steaming when they cut into it, the smoked salmon and toast still holding the heat of the oven on them. Add in the gratin dauphinois and this was just about the ideal Christmas dinner he could imagine.

Naturally, it got even better with Sabine’s contribution - spring rolls.

As Adrien shoveled them onto his plate, he asked Sabine, “Is this the only Chinese dish for today, maman?”

“Just you wait, dear.” She smiled over her plate. “Today was Tom’s turn to make dinner. Tomorrow will be mine and you’ll definitely have your fill then.”

“I can’t wait!” Adrien took some of the chestnut sauce to pour over his chicken. Which reminded him… He glanced nervously toward the oven. “I don’t suppose you made foie gras, did you?”

Marinette made a face and shivered.

Tom quickly shook his head. “Oh no, son. Back when Marinette was… what? Eight, nine? She found out how it was made and made us promise to never have it again.”

“Eleven years later and we haven’t broken that promise yet,” Sabine finished. “There are plenty of other foods in the world.”

“That’s good.” Adrien breathed a sigh of relief. “It always made me uncomfortable when my father ordered it.”

“Ordered, dear?” Sabine gave him a confused look.

“Oh, we never really cooked our own dinners.”

Tom’s jaw dropped. “Not even Christmas dinner?”

“Nope. Sometimes he’d have to order the dinner prepared the day before and then we’d reheat it the day of, since no one wanted to come into work on Christmas day, you know?”

“I see…” Tom shared a look with Sabine, but the meaning was lost on Adrien. “Well, you make sure you have your fill, son! We’ll be making more for tomorrow, so this is all for us.”

“Thanks,” Adrien said with a grateful smile.

The conversation meandered and for the most part Adrien was just content to listen in, drinking in the company after spending so much of his time recently just by himself. Well, mostly by himself. Marinette would visit whenever she could get the time between college classes and internships. Nino and Alya were more elusive, if only because they were outside the city so often these days.

But there was one person who was his constant companion, Adrien thought with a smile as he peeked into the breast pocket of his T-shirt…

...Only to see that it was empty. Maybe he’d gone to visit Tikki and the kwamis of the miracle box? Adrien was drawn out of his thoughts when Sabine directed a question at him.

“Are you ready for the pre-dessert snacks, dear?”

“Oh! Sure, yeah. What do you have?”

“You’ll love it!” Tom excitedly got up and hustled over to the kitchen, Sabine right behind him. He raised his voice to be heard as he went to the room next door. “We know how much you love camembert so…”

Adrien’s eyes widened. They didn’t…

Tom returned with a platter of cheeses in his hands and a frown on his lips.

“Something wrong, papa?” Marinette’s eyes glanced between Tom and the cheese platter.

“No, no… its just… I could have sworn I bought more cheese than this. And I was so sure that I had purchased camembert.” He rubbed his chin. “Ah well, there is more than enough for the three of us anyway.”

While Sabine set down a large bowl of salad in the middle of the table, Adrien glanced at Marinette. At his side, Marinette was biting her lips and pointedly staring into the middle distance, trying her hardest not to laugh. For his part, Adrien was frustrated that he couldn’t go anywhere without Plagg making a noticeable dent in the food supply.

His annoyance with Plagg was so great he almost didn’t enjoy the Yule Log that Tom had made for dessert. Almost, but not quite.

Once they were done with dinner, they cleared the table.

“So, how’d you like the meal?” Marinette asked as she dried off the dishes while Adrien washed them.

“Definitely better hot. And homemade.”

Marinette chuckled. “I’m glad the bar was so high for us. Really makes us feel like we accomplished something here.”

“How about…” Adrien bit down on his lips and narrowed his eyes in thought. “It was the most delicious meal I’ve had in months.”

“Ooo, now we’re getting somewhere.”

“Years even.”

“Good, good, go on.”

“I had never known food could taste so delicious until you graced me with your heavenly meals.”

Marinette’s eyes gleamed with restrained laughter, the hint of a barely contained smile ruining her deadpan. “Glad I could finally weasel how you really feel out of you.”

“Yeah you’re pretty good at that, aren’t you?” Hands still in the sink’s soapy water, he leaned over and planted a kiss on her forehead.

“No fooling around now, we still have to help put up the last decorations before we relax for the night.”

“What sort of decorations?”

“Paper lanterns and paper chains. That sort of thing.” At Adrien’s politely confused look, she added, “It’ll help make mom’s side of the family feel welcome. Plus they look pretty cool.”

“Well what are we waiting for then? Let’s kick this into overdrive!”

Adrien suddenly worked in a flurry, Marinette scream laughing as she got splashed with some of the water thrown up by his breakneck pace. Marinette could barely keep up between her giggling, but she somehow managed.

With the last fork, plate, and glass sparkling clean and put away, Marinette shook her head and dabbed at her slightly damp shirt with a fresh towel.

“You’re a dork, you know that?”

“So my girlfriend tells me.”

Adrien relished the sometimes quiet, sometimes loud evening he spent with the Dupain-Chengs. When he went upstairs and cuddled Marinette in the cozy darkness, Adrien felt only excitement for the next day

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

Morning came swiftly, but Adrien rose to meet the dawn’s first light with a smile on his lips and a spring in his step. Marinette was… a little less eager, but he managed to coax her out of the bed, eventually.

When they finally got down the stairs and made it to the kitchen, Sabine’s eyes widened and she even froze in the middle of folding one of her dumplings.

“Marinette? I’m surprised to see you up so early.”

Bleary eyed, her daughter simply jabbed a finger toward Adrien and grunted. Adrien rubbed the back of his neck and chuckled.

“I knew you’d be a good influence on her, sweetie.” Sabine patted his cheek with a warm smile. “Now, once you’ve had some breakfast I’d really appreciate some help out here. From you especially, Marinette, since you know exactly how to do it the way I like it.”

“Can’t Tom help?” Adrien made some toast for him and Marinette, doing his best to stay out of Sabine’s way. “Not that I’m not willing to lend a hand, but he’s got to be pretty good at it after all this time, right?”

Sabine laughed and even Marinette cracked a smile. “You’d think so, but no. The man can make almost any dessert known to French mankind, but I’ve yet to see him finish one spring roll or dumpling in all our years of marriage. Just about the only thing I’m trusting him with today is the roasted pork.”

“Not even the cheese plate?” Adrien asked, tongue in cheek. To his surprise, Sabine shook her head gravely.

“We don’t make one for Christmas day. After all, everyone that is going to be here is from my side of the family and we’re all lactose intolerant.”

“Oh.” Adrien glanced at Marinette, who shrugged.

“I got lucky and got papa’s tolerance for it, I guess.”

“Huh… well, can I help?”

A few hours passed, most of which Adrien spent doing vital but unskilled cooking like stirring and kneading. Although they did let him try to fold a few dumplings. It ended up nowhere near as well done as Marinette’s, but she still gave him a kiss on the cheek for the good effort. From what he gathered, Tom had never even managed to get it to stay together.

They had just put the last batch in the oven when they heard a knock at the door, Sabine quickly taking off her apron as she rushed to answer it.

Adrien’s ears perked up when he heard a conversation in Chinese start up, but between him being a little rusty and them speaking so fast, he couldn’t pick out much.

A few moments later, Sabine walked back into the room with an older Chinese couple. Marinette pulled him towards them. Sabine put a hand on Adrien’s shoulder and introduced them.

“Adrien, these are my parents. My mother, Ling,” she said, gesturing towards the grey-haired woman currently hugging Marinette. “And my father, Zheng.”

The older man’s grey eyes sparkled with excitement as he held out a red envelope for Adrien, who just now noticed that Marinette had also been given one. He froze, eyes widening. Was he supposed to have gotten them something too? He hadn’t realized that anyone would be getting him anything, except maybe Marinette. There was a moment where he was about to decline but he took a shot in the dark and accepted.

The moment his hand touched the envelope, Zheng spoke in Mandarin, “Best wishes for the New Year!”

“Thank you very much!” Adrien replied automatically in the same language. While the finer points might escape him, Adrien was fluent in niceties.

Zheng’s eyes widened before he nodded sagely to himself. “Ahh, I see you’ve picked up some Mandarin from my daughter, yes?”

“Oh, no, sir. I’ve been studying since I was fourteen.”

Once again, Zheng’s eyes widened before he chuckled and looked knowingly at Marinette. “This one is definitely a keeper! I approve.”

Marinette’s cheeks were almost as red as the envelope, but she still smiled.

The bright, enticing red of the envelope made him want nothing more than to open it right then and there. But Adrien took a nod from Marinette, who had very pointedly left it sealed even as she refused to set it down. He chose to follow her lead as they all made their way to the living room.

While the Dupain-Cheng parents and the Cheng parents were getting settled there, Marinette volunteered them to go make some tea. Once they were in the kitchen and out of earshot of the new arrivals, Adrien held up his envelope with a raised eyebrow and curious look.

“You can go ahead and look at it now, it’s just not polite to do it right when you get it.” She carefully unsealed the envelope. “It's this Chinese tradition - good luck money for the new year, you know?”

Adrien followed her lead and found one ten, one twenty, and one fifty euro note inside. Glancing over, it seemed Marinette got the same. He was half tempted to just give her his euros since he didn’t have any need for it, but decided that might be tacky. If she would even take them at all. After stashing the envelopes away in a kitchen drawer, they came back with tea for everyone.

Over the next few hours, more and more family members funneled into the house. Adrien, used to seeing maybe four people during the holiday season, thought the room would be close to bursting after the first aunt arrived with husband and two kids in tow. But then came the uncle and his family, then the second aunt with her boyfriend and by the end of it fifteen people were packed into the living room. For some reason apples in boxes became involved? Adrien thought that was a pun but that was more his pun sense than his linguistic skill.

Before anyone could get too settled in, they finally got to opening presents. Despite his fears from the red envelope, no one else seemed to have gotten Adrien anything.

At least, none of the extended family had. The Dupain-Cheng family, however…

“Here you go, dear.” While the rest of the room was chattering among themselves, Sabine placed a package about as big as a shoebox on Adrien’s lap. Before he could react to it, Marinette had shoved a bag stuffed with packing paper.

“Let me go get your-”

Adrien felt a tug on his arm and looked down at Marinette seated beside him. “Open your gifts first and then we’ll open the ones you got us.”

“Okay, okay.” Adrien looked at the box on his lap and tore it open. He tilted his head in confusion as he lifted the fabric that he found there out of the box. His eyes widened when he realized it was an apron with ‘Kiss the Chef’ on it.

“Its for when you come over to cook with us!” Tom beamed down at him proudly. “Now you don’t need to borrow our aprons any more - you’ll have one of your very own!”

Adrien felt his eyes get misty and he bit his lips to keep himself from crying. After a few moments of pulling himself together, he managed to say, “Thank you, guys. I’m really looking forward to wearing it!”

“Speaking of…” Marinette prodded the bag she left with him.

“Right, right.”

Adrien removed the paper and pulled out what turned out to be a sweater, cream colored and decorated with mistletoes and black cats in red scarves. It felt amazingly soft as he slipped it on over his head, embraced in a warm hug that - he lifted the fabric to his nose and took a deep breath - yes, smelled exactly like Marinette. For now at least.

“Do you like it?” Instead of replying, Adrien wrapped his arms around Marinette and pulled her close to him, nuzzling his nose against her neck. Giggling, she smacked his arms lightly. “I’ll take that as a yes, now let go!”

After he pulled his arms back, he stood up and stepped between the Cheng family members and made it to the tree before heading back to the little corner of the living room that they had claimed. He passed the envelope to Tom and the box to Marinette.

“A… gift card for an appliance store?” Tom said, his brow furrowing.

“I wanted to get you an actual new stove because you’re always upset at it,” Adrien explained in a rush, feeling embarrassed that his gift felt so… impersonal compared to theirs. “But when I went to the store I had no idea what actually made a good stove and searching it up on the internet only made it more confusing and… yeah,” he finished lamely.”

He glanced up at them and felt better to see them smiling back.

“That’s very thoughtful of you, Adrien! Thank you, we’ll make good use of this.”

Beside him, Marinette began opening her gift, which Adrien was much more excited for. Not because he had spent any less for it, but because that at least he knew exactly what to get.

He knew he’d done good when she gasped as she pulled out the expensive fabric she’d once stared at longingly from the otherside of a store’s window in Paris. Which, of course, meant that he was also expecting the smack on his arm from her as well.

“Adrien! This is expensive! You definitely shouldn’t have bought this.”

“Actually, you’ll remember that I get to spoil you exactly three times a year - birthdays, Valentine’s, and Christmas.” He gave her the most innocent look he could manage. “So you like it then?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You know I absolutely love it, you cat.”

“Then that’s great!” He continued with the overly chipper and oblivious tone, knowing how much it bugged her. He rubbed his hands together. “So… when’s dinner?”

-----------

After a Christmas dinner packed with Chinese dishes, they slowly returned to the living room.

Adrien sat in a corner of the room, taking in the warm and inviting atmosphere, the excitement and energy of so many people gathered together in such a small space.

Holding Marinette close, Adrien felt like he was part of a real family for the first time in a long time.

#Miraculous Ladybug #Adrien Agreste #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Adrienette #Love Square #Tom Dupain #Sabine Cheng #ml secret santa exchange #my writing #Mari Christmas and a Happy New Adrien

206 notes · View notes

itsgrishaverse · 4 years

Text

TAKING CARE OF HIM || michael langdon

gif by bethskarsgard.

this wasn’t proofread, but i just really needed a soft moment so i wrote one.

You’ve found him wrapped up in silk white sheets, under them. It was earlier than you would’ve expected him to arrive, especially after the important encounter he had with his cult.

“Michael?”

Usually, he would’ve greeted you in his own way upon hearing your voice. He always found a way to have your attention to the point where both of you would end up in bed, tangled. Loving each other in an innocent way and yet, intimate. Whenever he was out let it be hours or including days, his reaction was always one as if he hadn’t seen you in years. That’s what you most loved about him. He wasn’t afraid of showing his emotions. Not to you.

This time, he didn’t answer. At first the thought of him sleeping crossed your mind, but it was easily dismissed as soon as he shifted under the sheets. Turning on his side, facing away from you. It only meant one thing. It was a bad day, and he didn’t want you seeing him like this.

ii.

You took a moment to think about your next move. When it came down to Michael and his feelings, it was like dealing with a fragile glass in hands. The last thing you wanted was to upset him further.

“My love. How did the meeting go?” No answer from him, but that displeased sound issuing his lips upon hearing you only confirmed it. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” There was a thin breaking line in the tone of his voice, lowly. Muffled. As if he had been crying all this time. “I don’t want to talk about anything. I just want to be left alone.”

Taking another step closer, you walked around the bed despite his words. Sitting by his side.

“Do you really want me to leave? I don’t want to, but one word from you and I won’t, Michael. If you want me to stay, I stay.”

No answer from him again. It must have been a hint, but knowing you. Both of you were as stubborn. You didn’t want to leave him, and he didn’t really want to be left alone.

“Okay, then. If you need me, I’m only a call away. You know where to find me.”

You stood up, yet you didn’t leave the room. Taking a few steps away. Your gaze laid upon the sheets, just waiting. If he didn’t move then you’d just take the hint and leave him as he wanted to.

Two minutes later. Michael assumed you’ve already left when nothing else was said and even though it was him who asked you to, his chest tightened. He didn’t want to be alone. He just wanted to be with you. He groaned at himself and his stubbornness, pushing the sheets off of him in a frustrated way. His surprise was finding you standing only inches away from the bed, catching the sight of that soft smile that only brought him love at times.

iii.

“You didn’t leave.” A statement, his voice carried further feelings. Emotional. His wide reddened eyes gave away he has been, in fact, crying. The way his bottom lip trembled made you get in bed with him, in which he was quick to scoot closer to you. His face hiding in your neck. “I thought you left.”

As gentle as possible, your fingers ran through his sunkissed curls. Holding him against you. Leaning in, your lips grazed along the skin his bare shoulder. Stroking small circles along his back. Soothing.

“You didn’t want me to leave, so I didn’t.”

“It’s not the meeting.” He began, the feeling of his tears on your skin when he held you impossibly closer against his body made you plant soft kisses on his. Whatever you could reach. “I just. I don’t know. They just.”

“I know.” You reassured him. Even such a man as himself had low moments, even the known antichrist reached his breaking point. And he was allowed to.

He, slowly, pulled back. His gaze didn’t move away from your collarbone. Part of him loathed the thought you had to witness him like this. Shame was written on himself. Was he allowed to be self conscious? Was he allowed to feel like nothing was right at times? Lost. Your finger ran along his jawline, lifting it up to make him look at you. Tiredness was expressed within those blues you adored, but he gave in. Holding your gaze with a small frown.

“Do you know how much people expect of me?”

Everything, you thought.

“Too much.” You answered. He released a sigh, his gaze dropping back to your collarbone, knowing you were right. You added. “Do you know what you need right now?”

IV.

The aroma of vanilla made him breathe in, releasing a low sound. His body leaned against the bathtub as he observed you. The tears had been gone, leaving only a pink dust on his nose and cheeks. How innocent he looked at moments. Vulnerable. Moments where the only thing you wanted was to take him away from everyone, and show him the world. The life he could have, and deserved.

His eyes fluttered closed at the sensation of your hands grazing his chest, gripping a wet cloth against his skin. He couldn’t help, but lean in. Seeking you. Nuzzling into the side of your face.

“Get in with me.”

His request made you grant a small grin, teasing. “In a second. I’m a little busy as of now.”

You reached his left shoulder at the same time he gripped your forearm, teasingly bringing you closer. Insisting.

“It has already been a second, Y/N.”

Oh, you would get in with him. Just not right now. Something else crossed your mind. This was the perfect chance to bright it up.

“I will, but with a condition.”

This certainly did make him open eyes to look at you, curiosity across his beautiful features. It caught his attention. You continued when he nodded.

“Travel with me. We could go anywhere we want to. I’ll show you places you haven’t seen yet. We’ll see art. The skies. The oceans, and everything that this world has to offer. We will have first times together, and maybe last ones. As long as it’s with you. Allow me to show it to you just once.”

It took him a moment. For your words to sink in. Plans with you meant being away from everyone else, even if it wouldn’t last forever. He felt his chest tightening once again, just with love and affection. Within a quick move, he brought you in closer. You released a surprised gasp, along with a gentle laugh. Inside the bathtub, you straddled him. Without looking away from him. You knew that your offer meant more than just that, and it wasn’t that easy, but it could be. Couldn’t it be? Just once?

His answer was a kiss planted upon your lips. Words whispered against them.

“Have I ever told you how much I adore you?”

Holding his face in hands as soon as you pulled back enough to look back at him, a moment of love was shared. It could last longer. Forever within your heart.

“I will take care of you, Michael Langdon.”

taglist! let me know if you’d like to be removed or tagged through messages.

@jimmason @devilishlypretty @vulgarprayer @michaellangdonstanaccount @angxlmichael @angelicmichael @chickyjess19 @9layerdevilfoodcake @daddy-antichrist @prophecy-is-inevitable @thewarriorprincessxo @matildaofoz @elfilibusterismo

#cody fern #michael langdon #american horror story #michael langdon imagine #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon x you #ahs apocalypse #michael langdon fic #ahs fandom #fanfic #my writing #sojourn!michael #I KNOW ITS NOT THE BEST BUT #I JUST WANT TO TAKE CARE OF HIM

234 notes · View notes

fweasleyswhore · 4 years

Text

F.W. Who We Are

Chapter Two: Your Least Favorite Color

Chapter One

a/n chapter two my lovlies!! i rlly wanted to pump this out p fast bc ive been having so much fun with it and i hope you are too!

summary: fred and george tell you their plan for their prank. fluff with a pinch of angst.

word count: 3k

warnings: some touching??? uncomfy situation??

tags: @you-make-children-cry @levylovegood @bohemianspacebabe

comment a request to be added to my taglist !

“Snape’s least favorite color?” I laughed out. “I think you mean, like, any color. I mean has he ever worn anything that isn’t black?”

I was now seated in a small semblance of a circle on the floor of the Gryffindor common room, Fred and George in front of me. It was most definitely past curfew but because tomorrow was Saturday I really didn’t care, the time was the last thing on my mind. The most present thought I had was how the hell Fred and George were going to change the color of all the cauldrons in Snape's room and get away with it.

“Well, now that you bring it up, I do believe I saw him in robes that looked rather navy instead of black.” George pondered, looking up to the ceiling and tapping his chin as if he was deep in thought.

“Oh bug off!” I laughed and smacked him on the arm. He looked at his arm with wide eyes, his smile gone. Before I could ask if I was too forceful he was pretending to cry, a little too loud than he should’ve considering it was well past 12 and I am technically trespassing. None of us cared though or even thought to care as we watched George grasp onto his brother’s arms like it was the last thing he would ever do.

“I-I don’t want to die Freddie.” He whispered. His grip tightened onto his brother as he spoke again. “Freddie, I…” He then let out a loud, fake sob. “There’s so much I haven’t done.” He dropped his head and shook it. I rolled my eyes, how long was he going to keep this up?

Fred brought his hands up to cradle his brother’s head. “It’s ok George, you can let go, it’s ok.” He looked into his brother’s eyes tearfully, “I’ll help you…”

Before George could react Fred lifted one of his hands and swiftly flicked him on the forehead. George let out a loud groan and spasmed a bit in Fred’s arms, I watched with narrowed eyes as he seized up and shook.

“You look more like a fish out of water than a dying man,” I said smugly. George rose up and fixed his hair. He looked over to me with a glare and his tongue out. I laughed fully, the situation and everything, as well as some sleep deprivation, catching up on me. I threw my head back, clutched my stomach, and rolled around for what felt like hours. Once I had started I couldn’t stop.

“I didn’t think it was that funny,” George whispered to Fred. “Maybe we have finally broken her?”

“Maybe…” Was all Fred was able to say back, too caught up with the beautiful girl in front of her to even fully process George's words.

Finally calming down due to the sharp pain building up in my stomach from laughing so hard, I painfully pushed myself to sit up straight. Leaning on the couch behind me I tried to catch my breath while gripping my stomach. I could feel my face was flushed, my hair was a mess but I couldn’t care. Although the pain that coursed through my body, I was still smiling, looking at the two boys in front of me. Focusing on George I saw that he looked at me with a look of disbelief and amusement, rolling my eyes at him I focussed on Fred ready to be met with the same expression.

What I was met with nearly made me roll over again.

The way he looked at me made the rest of the world evaporate. I lost my breath. He smiled at me, but it wasn’t amused or disbelieving like George, he smiled at me with pure content, like watching me writhing around on the floor was the best use of his time. His eyes flickered with something, his usual gleam of mischief no longer evident but what was currently being held I couldn’t decipher. My whole face flushed even more if that was possible, I was praying in my head he didn’t notice it. I diverted my eyes from his gaze, trying to hide my red face as I adjusted into the position I held before I broke out in laughter.

“Maybe red?” I tried to steer the conversation back to its previous topic, my voice quivered, making me cringe and I hope that the boys didn’t notice or just wrote it off.

“If we make them red he will know a Gryffindor did it, that’s the equivalent of a murderer leaving a ransom note with his name on it.” George retorted. I sighed, relieved he didn’t say anything. Bringing my gaze up to meet theirs I looked between them, they were both staring at the floor, obviously lost in thought. I brought my gaze to the fire behind them. I pulled my lip in between my teeth trying to focus on a specific color that would make the blood drain from Snape’s face.

Snape was the head of the Slytherin house, and though that relation, I absolutely despised him. He was terribly rude to Gryffindors for no bloody reason, being that my friends mostly consisted of Gryffindors, he was terribly rude to me as well. He never took points away from me specifically, knowing it would reflect badly on him, but he took the absolute piss out of any Gryffindor around, often even subjected me to long detentions for minor offenses. I have to watch my step around him, even my breathing could set him off, send a nasty glare, or even grade my way. Being a Slytherin though, there was not much I could do about it except accept it, and that made my blood boil under the surface.

“Perhaps,” I started, my gaze was still trained on the dancing fire behind the boy. “Hot pink would suffice?”

Lifting my gaze from the fire I glanced between the two.

“Wicked.” They said in unison. They had these stupid grins on their faces that made me giggle.

The rest of the night was spent actually completing the plan, or trying to and getting distracted. The day before we leave for Christmas break we would sneak into his room, Fred and George would hide in the back of the room while I waited for Snape to arrive. I would ask him to help me find a book in the library about potion making because “I had really been struggling this past year in his class”. Total lie, I knew what I was doing Snape just hated to give me the grade I deserved.

Considering Mrs. Pince was on maternity leave he would have no option but to say yes. The boys would hex the cauldrons then run back to the Gryffindor common room where Harry and Ron were ready to provide an alibi. It flowed well, the potions section of the library was in the back and far up, Ron and Harry were more than happy to take the piss out of Snape, and Snape knew that because I was in his house I would never do anything directly against him for fear of being expelled.

Although I knew there would be no evidence for Snape to use against me I was still quite nervous but the thought of the shit eating grins it would provide the twins gave me enough courage to agree. They always made me happy, it was only fair I do the same for them.

Once it was mildly solidified in our brains we let the conversation drift, topics from quidditch to the worst animal to transfigure as filled up what should’ve been a quite common room at that hour, and never once did I feel bored.

The feeling of someone shaking my shoulders brought me back to reality. I opened my eyes to a rather bright and blurry mess of red around me, quickly shutting them again I groaned, swatting at my attacker. My lazy attempts fell short never actually hitting anyone.

“That was lame.” Hermione laughed.

I opened one eye to glare at her. “Considering I was blind I think they were ferocious.” I shot back.

She laughed again. “Well I don’t know how late you stayed up, but it’s quarter to 9. Breakfast ends at 10.”

“I have so much time, why must you hurt me ‘Mione?” I huffed running a hand down my face.

“Because Saturday is blueberry pancake day!” She said half singing. “Also I figured you would want to shower and get ready before we go to Hogsmede.” I groaned again but I knew she was right. I threw my hands over my face and rubbed my eyes before opening them, this time the brightness nor the redness of the room affected me.

“What would I do without you?” I asked sitting up. Now in a seated position I could see my surroundings. I was laying longways on the couch, a robe sprawled over me like a makeshift blanket. Hermione stood behind me, her hands rested on the armrest that my head was just against.

“Probably dead, due to these two.” I couldn’t see her but I knew she was talking about the twins. I turned my head around and smiled at her.

Squinting around the common room I could see George curled up in a loveseat by the fireplace, he sat sideways, his head against the back of the chair while his arms hugged one of his legs tightly to his chest, his other leg was thrown over the armrest. I giggled at the sight of him in such an unnatural position, it could not be comfortable with his long limbs. I searched the room for Fred. He wasn't in the other seats by the fireplace or the other couch pushed against the wall.

My heart plunged into my stomach at the thought that he went up to his dorm, I wasn’t completely sure why it hurt me so much. It made sense for him to have left, but part of me just felt pained at the fact that George stayed and not him. Of course I liked George but not in the way I liked Fred. George was like a brother to me, he was a best friend. Fred was something more than that, not that he knew, I would never admit it to him much less our friends, but that didn’t stop the longing I felt for him, hoping that he felt the same way too.

Finally I found him and all the doubts I had before were void upon seeing him. He laid on his stomach on the floor next to the couch. One arm under the pillow supporting his head that was facing me and the other thrown across the floor. He didn’t have a blanket on him and his robe wasn’t in sight. His hair was slightly brushed in his face and I had to refrain from leaning down and brushing it out of his eyes. I let out a small laugh realizing he was using the pillow that I threw at George the night before.

Turning around again to Hermione I spoke again. “You’re completely right.” She rolled her eyes with a smile before exiting the common room muttering something about the work she needed to do that day.

I stretched and readjusted, pulling my legs to my chest while figuring the best way to get up without disturbing Fred. I balled up the robe that was laid across me, still trying to figure out how to navigate my way out of the common room.

There was a small space near his arm on the floor, taking it as my best shot to then jump around him. I carefully placed my foot down, making sure not to step on him. Shifting my weight onto that foot I began to move my other leg to go around his back.

Slowly crouching to get some momentum I jumped, but before my foot could even leave the ground a strong arm grabbed my ankle. Taken by surprise I let out a small shriek before falling onto the couch and then sliding onto the floor.

I was met with Fred, smirking at me with half lidded eyes.

“Trying to sneak off with my robe are you?” He said smugly. His voice was deeper and raspier than it usually was and had an immediate effect on my body, my legs weakened and my face burned. I was thanking Merlin I was already sitting and flushed from the fall.

“What are you on about Weasley.” I whisper-yell at him.

He released my ankle, something I hadn’t even noticed he was still holding until I felt uncharacteristically cold where his touch had been only moments ago. He used his now free hand to point at the balled up robes in my arms.

“You did not just make me fall on my arse only to accuse me of stealing my robes!” I whisper yelled again, although a tad louder than last time.

He cocked an eyebrow at me. “Your robes? I wasn’t aware we had joint custody over my clothing Y/L/N, but since you want them so bad I suppose you can keep them, red looks good on you by the way.” He shot me a wink at the end of his remark. His confidence and cockiness just upset me further. Although he was unnervingly annoying I couldn’t help the grin that split onto my face at his own stupidity.

I rolled my eyes and unbunched the robes to show him the green that adorned them, but once they were unrolled I saw the red fabric. My eyes shot wide open, I could feel my eyebrows scrunch together in confusion.

“But…” I couldn’t even form a whole sentence, this didn’t make sense. “You hexxed my robes!” I shot at him. It was the only logical conclusion I had come up to that he had planned this.

The laugh he was holding back erupted from his mouth. His morning voice made it much deeper than his actual laugh. The rings of his laughter normally made my body hot but this was a whole new level.

He didn’t say anything, just brought his hand up to my collar and tugged. Looking down I saw that I was still wearing my robes. Never took them off.

I groaned and threw my face into my hands which only made him laugh harder. He peeled my hands away from my face and held them in his much larger ones. “I would never hex your clothes,” I could feel my face heat up at his words, the genuine tone and the lower octave of his voice sent shockwaves through my whole system. “At least not red, I’d make them purple!” He stuck his tongue out at me and I playfully swatted his shoulder. He knew that was my least favorite color.

I stood up and threw his robes at his face. “See you in the Great Hall.” And with that I grabbed my shoes and walked out as quickly as possible. I could hear him still laughing as I got to the portrait hole but kept going trying to calm down and get the flush off my face, both from our proximity and embarrassment.

I had thrown on my favorite muggle outfit. Going to Hogsmede was a tradition but the excitement was still there which qualified for a little dressing up. It wasn’t anything special, just plain light wash jeans, a white turtleneck and an oversized orange button up I managed to steal from the twins. All pulled together with a little accessorizing I thought I looked rather good.

Walking out of my dorm and into the Slytherin common room there was an evident pep in my step. I was happy but a fool wouldn’t be. Stepping towards the exit of the common room someone just had to ruin my fun.

“Not going out with the Weasels again are you Y/L/N?” Draco drawls. Turning I see him snickering with Crabbe and Goyle before standing and waltzing up to me, arrogant as ever.

“What is it to you Malfoy?” I spit at him. I was not going to let him ruin today.

“Well you got so pretty today, Weasleys do not know how to appreciate such expensive things, they can’t afford them, how would they know how to? You deserve someone who knows how and can express their appreciation in equally expensive ways.” He laughed out. He lifted his hand to caress my cheek. His touch made me cringe, his hands were cold and his demeanor was uninviting. Everything about him made me recoil.

I grabbed his wrist and threw his hand down. “I hope you don’t mean someone like yourself Malfoy. I’m not sure how you even know how to use a hand like that, it looks as though it hasn’t done a day of work in its life. Is that something you are really proud of?” I threw my words at him like daggers. Steam rolling off of me. I could see him change under my glare, his confidence shrank and his anger grew, his relaxed expression was soon replaced by his snarl he adorned everywhere Harry was near, his back stiffened and his fists balled up.

“Never, touch me again Malfoy.” I turned on my heel and stormed out. Before reaching the exit I thought of something though.

“Future advice,” I turned again so I was facing him. He hadn’t moved and still looked at me venomously as before. He lifted an eyebrow at my comment, urging me to go on. “Money can’t buy consent.”

His face darkened and I had to turn quickly to stop myself from all out laughing at him. I’m sure that if I stayed I could have watched him have his temper tantrum but frankly I wasn’t interested. My interest laid with the redhead waiting for me at the doors of the Great Hall. The same one who smiled at me as I walked up to him and poured my juice for me when we sat down. Fred Weasley had me totally, inconceivably, and utterly smitten, and I was completely ok with it. The harder I fell the sweeter it would feel when he caught me.

Or I hoped.

#fred and george #fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #harry potter #weasleys wizard wheezes #george weasley fluff #fred weasley fanfiction #the weasly twins #fred weasley fluff #fred wealsey fic #harry potter characters #harry potter fanfiction

194 notes · View notes

dalleyan · 2 years

Text

Elfwine Chronicles (new LoTR stories, Playtime posted, 5-25-22)

Eomer and Elfwine have different ideas about playing. (Fluff)

Playtime - (July, 8 IV)

Eomer awoke slowly and glanced at the window. The morning sun was still low in the sky, so he knew it was not much past dawn. He turned to gaze at his sleeping wife, and marveled again at her rounding belly. Their second child. He couldn’t prevent a pleased grin tugging at his mouth, nor keep his hand from wandering over to softly stroke the mound. Only recently had they felt the baby moving, and he was both scared and eager to watch the progression of her pregnancy.

As he gazed upon her face, relaxed in slumber, he thought again how beautiful she was, in every way. And she seemed to grow ever more radiant now that she was with child. His child. Suddenly, a playful urge struck, and though he was reluctant to wake her, it would not be too long before he would have to restrain himself until after the child was born.

He eased closer to her and began nuzzling her neck, and peppering her with light kisses. After only a few moments of this treatment, she awoke with a smile. “What are you about so early this morning, my husband?” she asked teasingly, knowing full well the answer.

“I seek only to make your waking a most pleasurable one, beloved,” he responded, continuing his ministrations.

“Is it my pleasure you seek, or your own?” she questioned, with mirth in her voice.

“Both,” he whispered, capturing her lips.

For several minutes, they were lost in each other, and then Eomer heard the creak of the door and broke off, listening. Small feet padded over to the bed and he turned to see his six-year-old son smiling innocently at him, “Good morning, Papa!”

Reluctant to be interrupted, Eomer asked, “What are you doing up so early, Elfwine? Go back to bed for a little while.”

Elfwine climbed up on the side of the bed, squirmed over Eomer and nestled himself between his parents. “I will sleep here with you and the baby,” he announced.

Eomer noticed the twinkle of amusement in his wife’s eyes and gave a soft sigh of defeat. “Very well,” he said, pulling the covers out from under his son and covering him up.

But apparently sleep was not the thing uppermost in Elfwine’s mind, for he turned to his mother and sat up. Slowly he reached over to rub her belly. “How much longer before the baby is born?” he asked.

“That is still several months away,” she answered.

Elfwine considered this a moment, then questioned, “Can the baby hear what we are saying?”

“I do not know, but I believe it probably can,” she told him.

He nodded in acceptance of this, then laid his head against her stomach. Eomer and Lothiriel shared a smile across their son as they heard him whisper, “Baby, hurry up and be born. When you get here, I will play with you and show you lots of great things. You can even play with my toys!”

Eomer and Lothiriel chuckled together at their son’s injunction to his sibling, and then Eomer whispered to his wife, “And while they are playing with his toys, maybe I will get some time to play with my wife...uninterrupted!”

“We may certainly dream of that prospect, my lord!” she replied. “I will hold you to this goal!”

THE END

also on AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/38268832/chapters/98150142

#Eomer #Lothiriel #Elfwine #Lord of the Rings #LOTR #Elfwine Chronicles

2 notes · View notes

all-things-mlqc · 4 years

Note

Boys reaction to MC who never have date before meeting them. Like, the boys as MC's first love.

My first HC on here and I was memeing half the time while writing it. Included what the boys would do after hearing this news as well because why not. I’m not a Lucien fan but lord have mercy on my soul, I couldn’t help making his romantic af. He is the ideal boyfriend/date minus the l i e s that come in the MS and I hate it. All the crossed out stuff is just commentary because I couldn’t help myself. Hope you enjoy~ Thank you for your ask <3

How the MLQC boys react to being MC’s first love below the cut~

Victor:

Follows with some snarky comment after he calls her “Dummy”.

Let’s be real here, if he doesn’t call her dummy immediately, then something is wrong. Reminds me of when we streamed the first episode of MLQC and we were all yelling “CALL US BAKA” the second Victor came on screen.

While he seems cool and collected on the outside, you can hear the computer shutdown sound play on the inside.

To him, this is a shocking confession.

Victor: I’m not surprised a dummy like you hasn’t been in a serious relationship before.

Victor, internally: How has she never been in a serious relationship before??

He’s not very good at expressing himself honestly through his words but he truly admires MCs hardworking nature.

He finds that very attractive in a woman and is surprised that other men in the line of business haven’t taken their shot with her yet. it’s because they can feel your death stare on the back of their heads, kind sir

One thing he struggles with is being himself. He tries to act like everything is in his control all the time.

Because of this, upon hearing MCs confession, he invites her to a fancy dinner at his penthouse insert Victor’s Dazzling Date because THATS ALL THAT MATTERS. Jkjk haha... unless...

He wants to impress her as much as possible even though he knows deep down that she doesn’t care about what a person has and rather how they are as a person

BUT ALAS. The stress be real for her first boyfriend.

He wants her to know she made a good decision without verbally telling her out of his own bitch mouth I love you, please call me baka so he goes over the top with their first date.

Basically pulls a Mr. Krabs when taking Mrs. Puff on a date. Just add shades to Mr. Krabs to represent Victor’s “I’m calm. I’m chill. I’m all good. We vibin out here.”

All MC wants from him is his honest and genuine thoughts. and a lifetime stock of pudding because good god a girl has chocolate needs

MC eventually figures out Victor’s intentions with all the gifts he rains on her because hE dOesNt nEeD tHeM he can’t give her anything more than a cup of pudding up front

MC knows this and accepts the secret gifts with a smile.

She sends a gift in return to his office the following day along with a thank you for the wonderful date.

Can you hear that? It’s the sound of Victor’s heart rate slowing to the average persons.

Kiro:

insert pikachu meme

This boy is mind blown.

“How have you never been in a relationship before??? That can’t be true!”

Kiro sees the good in everyone, so hearing that MC has never been in a relationship before him is

He gives her a bright smile and playfully hugs her from behind.

The two of them laugh together as he whispers genuinely in her ear,

“I promise to make you happy. You won’t regret it.”

He immediately drags her off to Loveland’s Amusement Park, where they spend the whole day together.

Rides, snacks, games, you name it, they did it all.

Kiro naturally spoils MC without putting much thought to it.

It’s like a reflex for him. It’s just who he is as a person. Always wants to share the happiness in the world with the people he cares about.

As for how anxious he is after hearing the news about being MC’s first love, he is screaming at a pitch only dogs can hear.

Almost 100% of the time he has a smile on his face and even convinces himself that he’s not worried about it.

But he is.

It only hits him when he thinks about another man taking MC away from him after seeing her talking with another guy.

MC will catch him without his carefree smile at times and eventually confronts him about it.

He shows her a wide smile and says there’s nothing to worry about.

L I E S. BABIE LEMME HOLD YOU I PROMISE YOU DONT NEED TO WORRY.

After a few attempts of trying to get Kiro to open up about it, he gives in and says he’s worried he’s not good enough for her HAHAHHA, GOOD ONE KIRO

MC, however, turns it around on him

MC: I’m afraid IM the one who isn’t good enough for you.

They both smile and embrace each other, knowing they’ll get through any little concerns like this.

Gavin:

He knows.

We’re talking about the boy who has been in love with MC since high school; Who has protected her behind the scenes ever since he laid eyes on her.

He would know if she had been in a previous or current relationship.

It only comes as a shock when she says she’s never been interested in anyone else romantically before. Lies. Have you seen the other suitors, MC. In a world where guys are that hot, you must’ve had at least 1 crush, c’mon sis.

Gavin respected her personal boundaries and never looked into her personal affairs so he had very little knowledge of her views on other guys.

He gets a little bit nervous, since he believes her standards must be high if she hasn’t been interested in anyone else before.

Does the full on soldier oath, bend the knee cliche which includes “I promise to always protect you” and “Nobody will ever be good enough for you”

Mc: Gavin no...

Gavin: NOBODY WILL EVER BE GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU.

Spoiler alert: You are waayyyyy too good for me, Gavin.

He doesn’t have too much anxiety over the thought of being MC’s first love though since he’s very good at staying true to himself and knows MC is one to admire that about others.

Gavin is a quiet guy in general. He’s more of an observer and watches MC to take note of what she enjoys.

When he sees her eyes shine bright after seeing a delicious dessert cafe, he offers to take her. He makes sure to express how he also wants to go since he knows she won’t accept unless he is interested as well.

Boy literally has no interests the moment he’s with MC. He is essentially that vine

Doesn’t even wait until the question is over and just “Absolutely. Let’s do it”

MC: But I haven’t even said anything yet...

He isn’t much different from how he is now. Has around the same amount of anxiety just from being in MCs presence.

Boy just wants to PROTECC and is always panicking on the inside but tries to remain calm.

He is very good at calming his anxiety though since he’s had so long to understand what MC values and knows she just loves people for themselves.

That’s all he needs.

Lucien:

His eyes widen slightly at MCs confession.

It’s nothing too mind blowing for him since he knows how refined MC is and how dedicated she is to her work.

It’s still surprising to him that nobody has tried to sweep her off her feet yet.

With how kind MC is, it would be hard for her to refuse a date with a gentleman.

Lucien gently presses a kiss to MCs hand upon hearing her confession.

Lucien: I am honored to be given the opportunity TO WOO to take such a beautiful lady out on a date~ AND MORE PLEASE

Lucien is the definition of a gentleman shhhh we aren’t speaking of current chapters in the main route Lucien. Cover your eyes. Pretend you do not see.

With little to no anxiety showing on his face after the reveal that he is MCs first love, he insists on taking her out to a nice restaurant the most classy and romantic 5 star restaurant Loveland City has to offer as a way to thank her for dealing with his bs (both his bullshit and black swan hahaha I’m so funny oml) being given the opportunity to treat her as a beautiful young lady should be treated.

He’s also more on the less anxious side of being MCs first love.

Lucien is a traditional man and does stuff by the book.

Because of this, he respects and likes the idea of being MCs first love.

He doesn’t go over the top yet isn’t cliche with dates and little actions.

He knows exactly what to say and when to say it. Though he may struggle with being openly honest about his own thoughts and feelings, he tries his best to express himself for MC. a lot of the time he just assumes talking to her about his personal affairs would bring her down.

This, however, gets better overtime as they continue to date.

They spend a lovely evening at dinner together and take a midnight stroll through the city oh god city stroll PTSD

He gently wraps his jacket around her bare shoulders with a soft smile as he thanks her once again for believing in him believing he is worthy of her

Bonus:

Shaw:

Shaw, smirking: Is that so?

Oohhhhh you know what that smirk does to me. DOWN BOY D O W N.

He’s surprised but his reaction is very mutual.

His internal thoughts are more on the line of “Hmm I’m her first boyfriend, aye?” and “OYA OYA”

He very likely most definitely places his hand on the wall beside her head and leans in closely to get a reaction from her as he growls,

Shaw: So that means you really like me, yeah? I’m making this way too hot gdi. Shaw stans please enjoy your food

MC looks up to see that same playful smirk resting on his face.

highkey don’t know how to respond because Im just “ok think of 3 things she would probably say and go from there” while my brain just computer error sound

MC: and what about yourself? I’m sure there are tons of girls throwing themselves at you yet you choose me.

He pulls away and places his hands in his pockets with a chuckle.

Shaw: I’ve had my fair share before.

iVe HaD mY fAiR sHarE bEfoRe MY ASS

I’m convinced he’s had one time things with girls purely for information or he isn’t the least bit interested in relationships because he thrives on stimulation and entertainment and nOboDy iS gOoD eNouGh plus he literally asks what people do on dates when taking mc out in his first date in game SO

Either way, this is a LIE. The man can’t relationship for the life of him so he has no RIGHTS to tease her.

Just let him believe or you can try to tease him about it in hopes of getting a little pouty face out of him.

Honestly, their first date would just be the first date we got in the game and nobody can convince me otherwise.

Shaw is a wild child and doesn’t care for romantic dates. at least that’s what he wants you to think

A little insight on his character: He’s very blunt and easily pushes people away all the while keeping them close enough to gather intel. He doesn’t get emotionally attached to anyone and makes sure it’s mutual on both ends. Personal relationships only drag him down, especially in his line of work. He prioritizes other things before relationships which makes him so damn FRUSTRATING BUT I SWEAR I WILL CRACK YOU OPEN LIKE A WALNUT JUST YOU WATCH ME.

With that being said, after actually being in a relationship with MC for a while and opening up about their personal lives more, Shaw can be very romantic. He may be awkward for a bit at first since he literally doesn’t know what a date is but he gets there eventually.

He’s still full of fun but is also very gentle and makes sure MC is enjoying herself.

I got sidetracked with the actual HC on this one but Shaw stans need food I NEED FOOD

#mlqc #mr. love queen's choice #mr. love #mlqc gavin #mlqc shaw #mlqc kiro #mlqc victor #mlqc lucien #i had to limit myself because i started writing A LOT #i also had the BRILLIANT idea #*not really brilliant*#of Lucien offering to walk MC home after their date #and MC just ‘that’s ok. Youve already done so much for me tonight’#Lucien: Our apartments are right next to each other mc #MC:#*hello darkness my old friend plays in the bg*#she just wanted to be polite and the fucking LOGIC FLEW OVER HER HEAD LIKE #logic? dont know em #ms. walks in front of cars every day #i really enjoyed shaws too just because i love his bitch ass #like being able to meme 24/7 is my dream and that is legit all he’s good for #the S A S S #we love a sassy bitch #and his date we got in the game is all i need to say about their date after mcs reveal #shaw: cool so what IS a date exactly?#mc: youre kidding right?#shaw: well i mean i know it’s for couples but wtf do we do #mc: shopping/dinner/a movie #shaw: *jerry squints* thats boring as hell. lets go do some illegal shit

158 notes · View notes

willa-marino · 4 years

Photo

"I think Hell is something you carry around with you. Not somewhere you go.”

What I remember from my life before is mostly gone. There is my mother’s voice, but everything else has faded, like its been left out in the sun for too long. Bleached of color, pale, and dull.

Trauma, and the strange things it does to the brain.

I know I don’t remember the worst of it. But there are flashes here and there, sometimes when I’m working a job, sometimes when I’m by myself, alone in my expensive apartment downtown and the windows are open and I have fresh flowers on every surface, in every room, and the air is warm against my skin. When I close my eyes, I could be anywhere.

Horror doesn’t care about flowers, it turns out. It doesn’t care about springtime or how many Birkins I have, how many men I’ve killed. It doesn’t sleep, it doesn’t even breathe. It eats, though. It eats anything it can find.

It certainly doesn’t stop.

What I’ve been able to string together has mostly been from Damon. He’s the one who found me in the warehouse almost three years ago, my body broken, my mind soon to follow. Found me hooked up to an IV that dripped a steady stream of what could have been a whole pharmaceutical lab’s worth of drugs into my body. Found me, along with a dozen other girls, some who had been the same age as me, a few older. Most younger. A lot younger. To say I was the only survivor of that raid feels wrong, feels twisted. Why me?

But some questions, as I’ve learned these past few years, are better left unanswered. Better not to ask altogether. The guilt is enough to keep me moving, and the rage pushes me onward when those reserves are low. Some days, there is nothing but rage, nails, in me. Other days, it is grief.

It took months of rehabilitation after I was brought to The Eye. Damon has never said so, but I think he fought for me to be here, to do this work, to be an assassin. Perhaps he recognized something in me that day he found me, so close to death in that building that still haunts my dreams. Perhaps he saw something in himself.

I’ll never ask him. It’s enough to know that he did it.

It is a blood debt that I owe him. And those are for life.

First, though, the training. After rehabilitation, my body was “healthy” but weak. It did not matter. Damon was not easy on me. Even now, when we have become something close to friends - certainly allies, partners even - he is not gentle. He’s the first one to test me, to make sure I have it. He took it upon himself to train me from that point on. There were no breaks. No holidays. No rest. Every day, we were up even before the sun. I learned how to do everything, stretched my body and pushed it to the absolute physical and mental limits of what any normal human being could stand. But we weren’t normal, and Damon was always the first to drill this into me. Not normal, but extraordinary. Ours was a job that was necessary, but brutal.

Only a few months into my training, Damon and I were going over hand-to-hand combat. He’d already gotten me twice in the mouth and the taste of my own blood was jarring but familiar.

“You’re weak,” he’d said, looking down at me from above. I was on my hands and knees, the breath still rattling out of me. I felt broken, still, even months later, and I damned Damon to hell in my mind as he’d stood there and laughed at me, easy grin, hands in his fucking pockets. Like I was a joke. Hilarious for what had happened. Like he’d never seen anything so funny in his life.

I don’t think I’d ever been so angry with anyone, not even myself. Before either of us knew what had happened, I’d launched myself at him from where I was on the floor, scraping my nails down the side of his face, my other fist connecting with his temple. He’d stopped laughing, and even though he’d nearly knocked me out for getting in two good measures of defense against him, he never made the mistake again, although - well, I don’t think it’d been a mistake in the first place. He knew how to exploit other people’s weaknesses in a way that was nearly admirable. I suspect now that had been his plan all along.

Fight, Willa. Fight back.

And so I learned how to kill a man. How to sever an artery with the edge of a blade. How to shoot a gun, how to never miss your shot. How to keep your hand as steady as a surgeon’s. How to take a punch, a kick, a blow from a fist, how to absorb the point of impact by rolling into it. How to catch a knife in the tips of your fingers without even the tiniest of cuts. How to throw it right back. How to be ruthless. How to fight. How to keep going. How to fight like a man. How to fight like a woman. How to speak, how to act, how to conceal your weapons in a boot, a shoe, beneath your tongue. How to hide a razor blade in the soft lining of your cheek. How to be fearless.

I was surprised to discover that I was good at it. Killing, and all that it entailed. How to be in control. The high that comes afterward. They say the dead never really leave you, and they’re right. But I don’t want to forget their faces, these men who have done unspeakable, detestable, deplorable things. These men who were like the men who took me, sold me, drugged me, violated me, abused me. The body is quick to spill its secrets in death. And I have all of their secrets.

I relish in it, because it’s my way of seeking revenge. My beauty could be used as a weapon. My mind could be a well-laid trap. There was power in killing, a hellish kind of godliness to it that I was drawn to immediately and have been ever since. Here is my wrath, my knife says before it kisses open skin. Here is my fury, and it is the shape of my hand on a gun.

It was, after all, Sartre who wrote, “Hell is other people.” And he was right.

Hell is me.

#[ willa x narrative ]#[ some v gratuitous personal info ]#[ part two to the other narrative will be coming along next week ]#[ tw violence ]#[ tw trauma ]#[ tw drugs ]#[ tw blood ]#[ tw death ]

92 notes · View notes

ohwereusingourmadeupnames · 4 years

Text

It’s the Colours You Have

Pairing: Peter Parker/Tony Stark Rating: Mature (M) Notes: This is my ballet au fill for @starkerfestivals summer bingo. I had a lot of fun doing some research and watching some ballet to get a feel for this one - here’s hoping you enjoy! (Title is from Colours by Grouplove) Warnings: Peter suffers a pretty not good injury and there’s some NSWF stuff. Summary:

Peter Parker grew up in the dance studio and thought his entire life would revolve around it. All of a sudden, an injury takes that dream out from under him. He finds a way to stay in the world of dance through photography, his knowledge giving his work a different edge. What happens when he meets Tony Stark, a new dancer for NYCB? (Love stuff happens, that's what.)

Read on AO3 here.

Peter always thought professional dance would be his life.

At a young age, he convinced Uncle Ben to let him try one of the local studio’s classes. It took a bit of convincing – Peter was 6 years old at the time and didn’t quite understand the man’s hesitance. In the months leading up to Peter’s plea, he danced around the sofa in their living room and obsessively watched Step Up – where most boys his age were rolling around in the dirt, Peter studied the lines of dancers’ bodies and pictured himself making those same exact moves.

After what felt like a lifetime for Peter, Ben finally gave in and signed him up for all of the classes available. In his excitement, Peter took everything seriously and excelled through the beginner’s classes before the year was over. Madame Romanoff pulled Ben and May aside when sign-ups and company auditions for the next year were about to take place – in the simplest of terms, she let them know how talented of a dancer Peter was; he needed to be taking more advanced classes.

So, he did – Ben and May didn’t hesitate to put him where he needed to be; they already knew his potential, he was steadily moving through grades at school, too. Their nephew had an innate sense of talent for just about everything. Peter put his entire being into the things he liked – it made putting the squeeze in worth it. For a while, he didn’t see what that meant for the two of them – he simply enjoyed the fact that he could dance and get better at it with every single day that passed.

Landing a place on Romanoff’s dance company gave him access to top notch ballet instructors. He was very small but made up for it in the strength that he possessed. With the intention of making him one of the male pas de deux dancers, Peter cut out the rest of his classes and focused solely on ballet and pointe. It made him feel powerful and in a lot of ways beautiful, too. Even if it was weird for boys his age to love dance and feel their best while doing it. He’d gladly take the teasing – Peter loved to dance and no one was going to stop him.

The dance world took him under and guided all of his decision making. Peter worked hard all of middle school to get into Midtown Fine Arts and Dance, a high school that catered to those that were seeking entry into art’s colleges like Juilliard and TISCH. Getting in was a validation he’d been searching for and everything about his life moved to revolve around his time there.

Between Romanoff’s and Midtown, Peter was working so hard that he didn’t even realize he’d put himself in a position where his body couldn’t handle the stress. He wanted to get into Juilliard so bad and knew the only way he’d be able to go was through a scholarship. In every class since his freshman year, Peter heard about senior showcases and how every second in the walls of Midtown were preparation for that.

Every dancing piece in productions, Peter took part in. Whenever they needed a volunteer teacher to run through the parts with the younger kids, Peter volunteered. The desire to succeed overwhelmed him and by the time he got around to preparing for his senior showcase, he was at a loss and so physically exhausted, there were times when he didn’t know how he was actually still standing.

That should’ve been a clue – the fact that every part of his day felt like a chore, and that when he sat down to rest, he was comatose within seconds. Other things were trying to warn him of the ultimate shut down coming his way. His toes never recovered from the extensive pointe exercises and his muscles were always aching. If he knew that pushing himself would have been the thing that brought the world he created down – well, he still probably would have done it.

Two weeks before senior showcases, Peter was warming up when he felt a sharp shift in his lower back during a turn. The wince it pulled from him almost doubled him over. He stopped suddenly and took a couple of limping steps towards the long bar across the back wall. Hiking his leg onto the bar, Peter let out a loud ‘fuck’ when he felt the shift again. The want to keep going couldn’t override the numbness he felt in his toes.

As elegantly as he could, Peter hit ground and laid down as flat as he could, his entire lower back on fire.

It took 3 people to get him up off the ground; any sort of shift in weight made the source of his pain explode with unmanageable stimulus. Peter didn’t remember much of the movement from the floor to a gurney and into the back of an ambulance – his brain turned off to counteract the significant shift in his life happening.

The next few hours were spent getting scans and assessments done – Peter floated along from one place to another in the haze of the drugs they gave him to relieve the world ending pain. He didn’t need to hear the doctor’s words after he saw the look in his eyes – any chance of getting to Juilliard on his feet was out the window. 2 fractured lumbar vertebrae that would need to be fused and 3 ruptured disks were the thing to finally take him out. He wondered briefly, if Flash would feel undercut by his injury – he’d been gunning after Peter for years.

Thankfully, Midtown was sympathetic to his situation and let him stay around to finish the end of the year and graduate. It took a lot out of him to gimp around and be within viewing distance of the classes he’d been leading only days prior.

Being stuck with a walker for the first couple of weeks after his back surgery pushed him to work hard and get his feet back under him. Though he’d never get to dance again, at least he could walk – walking was one of the things Peter wanted to be able to do for the rest of his life. The necessity to put his all into walking and just getting around took the brunt of the blow off losing dance – it served as a good distraction, at least.

By the time the second part of his senior year came around, Peter was able to walk and get around. He was looking forward to finishing up his school year and finding out what the rest his life would be like without dance. Yet, he also longed to be close to the one thing he loved so dearly. And thankfully, Madame Romanoff offered him a good solution right before the big company recital at the end of the year.

When he walked into the studio, his heart thumped painfully against his chest. It felt like such a long time since he walked through the doors and caught his reflection in the mirror upon first glance up. A part of him wanted to walk over to the bar at the back of the room and start his stretching process, that piece of him craved the elegance of his long lines and powerful turns. Yet, the rational part of him understood that walking was more important and pushed him to move further into the studio towards Natasha’s office.

“Ah, Mr. Parker – glad you could join me. Please, have a seat,” Natasha said the second he walked in the door, the dark red lipstick coating her lips making her smile look big and bright. She kept her hair in the traditional ballerina bun and walked around in high heels – but she was kind and knew talent when she saw it. Grimacing at the little bit of a twinge he still felt, Peter took a seat in the chair in front of her desk, his fingers knitting together in front of him.

“I’ll cut right to the point. Life has dealt you a shitty card and it’s ridiculously unfair. You should be involved in dance, Peter. It’s a part of you. So, I thought – why not see if you can capture it, instead.” She turned in the big chair she was sitting in and grabbed something off the filing cabinet behind her. The fancy camera with the biggest lens he’d ever seen coming into view was not what he expected.

Her smile grew when she saw the look on his face. The whiteness of her teeth was slightly intimidating, even now, after knowing her for more than 10 years. Peter tossed a smile back her way and looked tentatively at the camera now sitting on her desk.

“What’s that, Madame Romanoff?” Peter asked, unable to keep the curiosity from getting the best of him. He was always on the other side of pictures and hadn’t picked up a camera ever in his life. The big screen and fancy dial on the back looked intimidating from where he sat, and he hadn’t even picked it up yet.

“Go ahead, Peter – it’s my solution. Figure out how to use it and then apply what you know about the art of dance to the art of photography. You know what’s beautiful. Long lines, sharp movement patterns – the beauty of a picture is how you capture it. The technical shit can be learned, the inherent knowledge you have about dance can’t.” She grinned wider when he didn’t hesitate to take the heavy camera from her.

“I want you to come to classes. You have a home in this studio, Peter. Don’t think because you’re not using your feet doesn’t mean you can’t be a part of what we do here.”

With that, she shot him another smile, then shooed him out of her office with a swift flick of her wrist.

----

Taking to the task like he tried to do with everything else, Peter dug his nose into the Canon Mark IV 5D user manual that he found online and figured out how to change the settings on the camera. It blew his mind, how many things the camera could do and how in depth the pictures could be. That was the first step.

After another couple of weeks of figuring the camera out and taking it with him on the daily walks he started embarking upon during his recovery – Peter finally felt comfortable enough to return to Romanoff’s in an attempt to do exactly what she said; capture dance.

It took a while – a lot of trial and error and frustration that Peter hadn’t ever experienced before. Things usually came easy for him. Yet, the more he did it, the better he started to feel about it. Thoughts of graduation and the future were out the window for a while – Peter dedicated himself to figuring out how to keep a foot in the world that seemed so unfairly gone from him.

He shot the end of the year recital and felt proud of the results that he ended up with. Of course, it wasn’t nearly as fulfilling as actually being on the stage, but – it brought him a sense of happiness, nonetheless. When he handed over the files to Natasha, she pulled him in for a hug. The clench of her arms kept him close, the words she whispered to him abundantly clear – “There you are.”

For some reason, those words hit him hard. His injury at the beginning of the year took a lot from him. With his rehab and the changes that came with the debilitating loss of the use of his body to create an art he devoted his life to, Peter bounced around, slightly lost. The realization that he could still connect with dance drove him forward – finally, Peter felt like he had a direction again.

Trying to get into TISCH’s photography program was a nerve-wracking experience and forced him to have to really evaluate why he wanted to make still frame his focus. The life of movement stayed alive in the photographs and he grasped onto that through the application and interview processes. His portfolio and approach must’ve been enough – Peter got acceptance and scholarship money to start the next semester.

Natasha, upon learning that he’d be in town and pursuing photography, brought him on as the in-house photographer. It didn’t pay much, but he got to have unlimited access to subjects and people that were always looking to show off the skills they worked so diligently to achieve. Peter appreciated the opportunity that Natasha provided and worked hard to provide her with his increasing talents.

Little by little, Peter honed in on his skill and absorbed as much knowledge as he could in his classes and on the job. College passed by in a blur of attending company ballet and TISCH dance productions to shoot as much as he could. He put his work in every showcase available to him and learned from the critique that people threw his way. In the dance world, critique was fodder and fed into the challenge that photography constantly imposed upon him.

Upon graduating, Peter took a job with Juilliard in the arts department as a media director and took care of the photography and visuals for all of the productions the entirety of the department put on. And because Juilliard had a direct link with New York City Ballet, Peter did the media for them as well.

When he took a step back and looked at it, his life was still wrapped around dance – and now, he didn’t have to sweat it out and perform on the stage to be directly within it. He lived in a great apartment in Manhattan and got to see his Aunt May every Sunday for whatever concoction she decided to come up with for them. All and all – his set up wasn’t terrible. Now that he had his professional life worked out, Peter felt desperate to see where the other parts of his life could take him.

As luck would have it – Peter got a nudge in right direction a couple of weeks later when he found himself in the Lincoln Center waiting for the dress rehearsal for the Nutcracker. It was one of his favorite ballets and he enjoyed being able to shoot the multitude of versions he’d get to see throughout the holiday season. And if rumor was to be believed, there was a new prince dancing with the prima ballerina.

The music started up a little while later and Peter got lost in the movements. He didn’t need to take any snaps tonight, but wanted to make sure he knew what the lighting looked like and where every group would be coming in from. Since he was working both video and film, he needed to be able to shoot from all angles. For a while, he let his camera dangle from his side and just let the dance run away with him.

By the time it got to the Prince and Sugarplum Fairy’s dance, Peter had his camera poised over his eye, the entirety of the pass one of the most important things he needed to get during the show. Their initial andante maestoso brought the two of them on the stage and in a swift dance across it – the prince in fact a totally different one than the year before. His tight calves and well sculpted thighs and hips were packed into white tights that highlighted every one of his movements.

Peter’s finger stuttered a few times through the tarantella, his focus on the dancer’s beauty and strength as he leapt and landed across the stage. When he pulled the camera down to make sure he got at least a couple of shots to play around with, Peter sucked in a sharp breath – the man was even more gorgeous than he expected, the details of his well-kept facial hair and dark brown eyes standing out the most.

Satisfied that he knew enough about the show, Peter packed up his equipment and headed out before the final act with all of the dancers came on – he knew from experience that it would be a free for all and didn’t need to plan for that. He wanted to play around with some of the images and got lost in the thoughts of the prince as he was walking out – not noticing that he was walking right into someone until well after they collided.

“Holy shit,” Peter gasped out, his long-lost dancing skill coming into play when he managed to turn and barely hit the person, instead of barreling through them and bringing them both to the ground. “I’m so sorry!” Peter put a hand on the wall and let his heart rate calm down before looking over at the person he almost took out.

His stomach dropped when he noticed the dancer he’d been eyeing up from his spot at the edge of the stage – his eyes were even darker up close and his mouth pulled into the most charming of smiles. Sucking in a breath, Peter just barely stopped himself from slapping his hands over his face. A dark red blush moved across his cheeks instead, the heat of it warming up his skin alarmingly.

“You’re pretty quick on your feet,” the man said instead of the 20 other things that could have easily come out of his mouth. Peter quirked a brow and let the slightest trace of a smile slip across his lips.

“I used to dance,” Peter replied quickly, the openness he was feeling in that moment as fleeting as some of the grumpier moods he sometimes found himself in. “Glad I still have it.” That made him smile wider, Peter a little surprised when the man across from him also smiled. It led to the slightest wrinkles in his cheeks and made Peter’s heart race.

Before the man could say anything else, a wide stagehand came walking down the hall, his eyes intent on them. “Tony, it’s the final number – you’re up.”

They shared another looked before the man, Tony, turned and started walking back in the direction he came from. Peter felt himself smiling and was surprised to see Tony holding the dressing room door open, his arm and head peeking out from behind it. “What’s your name?” He looked at Peter hopefully, his eyes wide.

Peter tightened his grip on the case he’d been pulling behind himself and let a couple of heartbeats pass before he answered – it was important that he thought before he spoke. “I’m Peter Parker,” he finally remarked, his eyebrows knitting slightly.

With a wave, Tony shot him a wink and started to disappear behind the door. “See you later, Peter Parker.”

----

The next 5 days were busy and filled with too much looking down the scope of the camera and 3 showings of The Nutcracker daily. Despite that, Peter found some time to look up the beautiful dancer – the name Tony was enough to get him a full career rundown and multiple links to pictures and videos of his past performances. Though a little older, Tony Stark seemed to be hitting the peak of his career now, instead of at a young age like most dancers. The write up he looked through said something about engineering, but he didn’t delve any further. It felt a little weird to have looked as deeply as he did to begin with.

Every night, Peter found himself watching Tony a little closer – he was all long limbs and taut muscle, his form technical but not exactly perfect. His lifts were where he excelled, though – the bundles of muscles waiting to spring into action were stretched to the limit, making the intensity of his strength standout even more.

Unable to find the courage to actually approach him, Peter spent too much time editing the images of him, ever click of his mouse meticulous and precise to create the perfect balance of camera work and Photoshop manipulation. After too many nights of it, Peter forced himself to acknowledge that talking to Tony seemed pretty necessary. Making sure to put some of his favorite on his phone, Peter felt resolved to at least show some of his work off in guise of starting up a conversation.

The final show came around with excited energy – Peter always enjoyed the last curtain call the best; there was always a certain sense of satisfaction that only that round of applause could bring. He switched up his shooting position and did some clicking from the flanks to catch a little backstage action – the decision proving to be a good one when he heard a throat clear during the first act.

“Fancy seeing you here, Peter Parker,” Tony said, his eyes shining in the bright light streaming in from the stage. He looked at Peter without blinking, a slight tilt to his head.

Peter forced himself to take a couple of breaths, his head suddenly spinning from the flush of epinephrine that his sympathetic nervous system decided shoot through his veins. The excitement of bumping into Tony probably more than obvious. “Right – fancy seeing the photographer taking photos,” Peter replied as he moved the camera to his eye and took a couple of quick shots of Tony who’d started to stretch in the open space around them.

Tony’s beaming smile made Peter’s breath catch, his eyes going to the back of the camera out of habit – the image he found there already one of his favorites of the bunch. Looking up, he gestured down at the camera in his hand. “Want to see?” Peter asked, his hands already turning it, making it more inviting for the man.

It took everything in him not to watch Tony walk towards him in the sheer shirt that, in the light, made his tanned skin stand out through the white fabric. At this closeness, the tights on his legs were translucent, Peter privy to the thick vein that ran from Tony’s calf all the way across the front of his highly muscled thigh. All those details in just the span of 5 steps – Peter wondered what he would find with an unlimited amount of time to explore him.

Shaking his head, Peter forced himself to focus when he felt the inevitable warmth of another human body getting close to him. He used his thumb to scroll back through the last 4 images he shot, a grin slipping across his face. “You have a nice smile,” Peter mumbled softly, the muscle in his forearm twitching with every click from one picture to the next. He got to the end of the roll before daring to turn his head.

“I think you’re just a good photographer,” Tony retorted, a chuckle rushing from his chest. They were close enough that Peter could feel his arm lift and clench with the sound. It made him stiffen, his skin breaking out into prickly gooseflesh. If he didn’t move, maybe he wouldn’t have to lose the rise and fall of Tony’s rhythmic breathing against him.

“Must be both then.” Peter shifted, his brain all of the sudden realizing that he was missing key pieces of the show in favor of flirting with the very attractive and incredibly distracting male dancer. “Come find me after the show – I’ll show you some from the week.” He gave Tony an encouraging smile, then turned back to look out through the curtain.

Peter heard him laugh again then the softest “okay” before the closeness of his presence could no longer be felt. Forcing himself to not turn and look, Peter did his best to pay attention to the rest of the first act – his racing mind all of the sudden not completely dedicated to the art before him on the stage.

As usual, the second act went a lot faster than the first – there was a bit more action and the dancing was not as convoluted with plot. From this perspective, Peter could see a lot more of the sideline action and felt glad he decided to trust his gut and move around a little more. When Tony stepped onto the stage, Peter gripped his camera harder – his eyes peeled for the smallest of details.

The cheeky bastard managed to look his way a couple of times throughout his solo, Peter more than certain that he got some snaps where Tony was staring directly down the pipe of the lens. It took more focus than ever for Peter to actually finish without dropping the camera and watching the ending number – since it was the last one, they changed it up and gave more solo time to each of the leads; then finished with a long bow with a few teary words from NYCB’s director. While she spoke, Peter got his equipment together and disappeared to start downloading some of the shots.

A little while later, Peter was pulled from the culling process by a tap on his shoulder – he squinted behind his glasses to make sure he was at a stopping point and turned, his fingers pulling the frames from his face when he noticed it was Tony.

“Don’t take those off on my account,” Tony said with a smirk, his hair freshly wet and brushed back from his face – the natural look of his skin even better than the brightness the spotlight and well-placed makeup gave him. His lips settled into a light smile and he leaned against the table Peter found to spread out on. He must’ve been nose deep in his work for longer than he thought.

“I just need them for the light,” Peter mumbled, jamming them into the pocket of his shirt. Glancing down, he shifted the computer so Tony could see. “Your tarantella was great tonight.”

Tony leaned in a little to look at the picture more closely, the move bringing the sharpness of his cologne into Peter’s space. As if he was trying to measure his own arms on the screen, Tony reached out to trace the line of his hand down to the middle of his chest. “You said you danced, right? You can tell – the fact that you framed up that specific move says a lot. That’s so crisp, Pete,” Tony admitted, the man pulling back, his hands shoving the long sleeves that were trying to settle on his wrists up his lean forearms.

Taken aback, Peter adjusted himself in his chair. It’d been a long time since he talked to anyone about that part of his journey through dance. Sometimes May would look at him wistfully and relive some of the memories with him, but even that made his heart ache. Licking his bottom lip, Peter nodded his head. “I did about ten years at Romanoff’s, she got me started with the photography thing after my injury.”

They locked eyes for a second, Tony’s eyebrows up, almost completely buried in the hair that was now creeping down, trying to cover his forehead. “Natasha Romanoff? She’s still on 5th, then?”

Grinning, Peter nodded again. “5th and then a newer studio on 64th. She’s flourishing,” Peter said, his hands coming up to make air quotes with his fingers. “Do you know her?”

“She was a couple years ahead of me at Juilliard. I didn’t get into the dancing world until a little later in life, so we were the same age, despite not being the same year. We partnered for pas de deux once,” Tony remarked, his eyes glowing with the memory. “You must’ve been good.”

Peter put his hand on the touch pad of his computer and went about saving the photo on the screen to distract himself – his heart started to beat a little harder at the thought of how much talented he cultivated in his youth. “I wasn’t terrible. I did not treat my body very well, however – back gave out before I could really see how good I could have been.” Clenching his lips shut, Peter wondered where all the words came from – he hadn’t been this chatty… ever.

Tony crossed his arms and leaned more heavily against the table, his forearms now on display, the lines of muscles firm and wrapped in tanned skin, the veins there pulsing from the work the man did that night. “Ah – that’s the worst. I’ve been fighting off a bum toe for a couple of years – the pointe gets harder and harder as the time goes by,” Tony muttered wistfully, his foot shifting subconsciously. “How long have you been taking photos?”

Without much thought, Peter started the process of packing his computer and hard drive into their cases, his eyes never leaving Tony. “About 7 years now. I went to TISCH for a 5-year program and have been working for Juilliard and NYCB ever since.” Finally done with the menial tasks that kept him preoccupied, Peter stood up. “What about you? You here to stay or just doing a stint with the company this season?”

Despite not saying anything, Tony followed Peter when he started walking – the natural way they just sort of accommodated each other weird for having only met once before. Tony waited until they were in the foyer of the Lincoln Center before speaking again. “I’m here to stay. NYCB gave me a company spot and choreographer position. After being on the road so much the past couple of years, coming home felt right.”

Though they were right by the door, neither man made any move to go exit through any of them, the two men obviously more than willing to mill around and talk. Peter pulled his camera case close to him, the metal of it cool against the thin material of his khaki pants.

“There’s something about the city, right?” Peter asked, his head turning to look at the still busy street right outside the door. “I’ve been here my whole life.”

Smiling wide, Tony nodded – the gesture answer enough. Peter watched him shift and smile a little bigger. “Any chance you’re free for headshot type stuff? I could use an update.”

The question caught him off guard for a second, his hopes of maybe getting to know the guy slowly starting to become more of a reality as the moments passed. That thrust him into gear – Peter fumbled into his pocket and scrolled through a couple of his photo files before he found his infographic.

“Everyone is on break for the holidays, so I’ve got lots of time. Turn your AirDrop on, I’ll share my info with you,” Peter replied without hesitation, his cheeks warm from the events of the night and the distracting way Tony was making him feel. “The Juilliard studio has great lighting.”

After grabbing his info, Tony reached across the space between them and gripped his shoulder, the touch firm and friendly. “I’ll get ahold of you. Thanks for making me look good.” Throwing him a final smile, Tony hitched his bag up his shoulder and walked quickly out the door and into the cold December night.

----

A couple of days passed before Peter heard from Tony – they decided on a time and agreed to meet at the Juilliard studio that Friday. For 4 days, Peter immersed himself in the editing process to make the time go a little faster. It didn’t, but that was always how it worked when he was looking forward to something.

In his need to fill up all the spaces of time, Peter did a bit of online shopping and ordered a couple of different backgrounds to play around with. When the day came, Peter used his key to head in a little early – his lighting set up would take a while to get put together and if his hands were busy, he didn’t have any time to fret about the nerves coursing through him or the hopes he hadn’t been able to put to bed since meeting Tony. Getting ahead of himself seemed like a recipe for failure – but he wasn’t one to not step out on the limb just because of a little fear.

Two solid hours of preparation went by much faster than he figured it would – Tony walked in through the door while he was still fiddling with the long backdrop, the sturdiness of it important if Tony was going to jump and move on and around it. He didn’t notice until he looked up to see how straight it was and caught Tony’s reflection in the mirror behind him.

“Hey, Tony,” Peter started, his face breaking out into a familiar smile. “I’m just about ready. I got the door to the bathroom unlocked, so you’re free to change as much as you’d like.” He tugged at the backdrop one more time before finally feeling satisfied – he knew what he was doing, the nerves needed to go the hell away.

Tony looked at him for a moment, his whiskey-brown eyes roving over his face without any shame. It felt good – being looked at like that. Whatever it meant; Peter wasn’t going to be mad about the attractive man in front of him not being able to tear his eyes away. The only thing that ever made his heart race like it was in that moment was dance – that had to mean something.

“I’m ready to go. I just need to put my bag down and change into my flats,” Tony finally said, his eyebrows quirking as a soft grin lifted his cheeks.

“You should probably stretch, too,” Peter remarked offhandedly, his eyes returning Tony’s stare, inch of skin by lovely inch. He was happy to see that there were a couple different cuts of shirt in his hand – they’d have a lot to work with. With that in mind, Peter went about making sure his camera was connected to his computer while Tony got ready.

As expected, once they got started, things went seamlessly. Tony was used to be instructed and took Peter’s suggestions in stride. They did a bunch of different poses in each outfit, Peter making sure that Tony switched to pointe at least once during the process. By the end, Peter was laughing at the faces Tony made at him when he switched positions.

Almost satisfied, Peter put the camera down and stepped onto the backdrop. He swung his arms from side to side to get his blood flowing, then swopped up into a one footed stance without much trouble (the twinge would come later.) “I want you to leap and land like this – I’d demonstrate, but this is as far as that goes,” Peter joked, his body saturated with endorphins from the rush doing any sort of movement with his body always brought.

Tony didn’t move to get in position, so Peter straightened up and started to think about how else he could describe it. A hand on his arm stopped him, Tony’s fingers squeezing lightly. “You still have such good technique,” Tony mumbled, his hand moving to pull at Peter’s until he was a little further onto the backdrop. “No turns, right?”

Nodding, Peter relaxed his body and let himself be led into a resting position, Tony’s hands now on his hips. “Let’s see how well you remember your backwards steps,” Tony whispered, his lips just a few inches away from Peter’s ear. His fingers tapped on the right side of Peter’s hip and they were off in that direction – his arms widening when they got to the edge of the pass.

It felt weird for a second, being in the hold position; but he quickly got over it, the relief of any stress on him quickly taken by Tony’s hands and their tight grasp on his hips, Peter’s feet barely touching the ground. They went through a couple of moves before Peter was stopping their movement with a subtle touch to Tony’s hand.

“That’s enough for me.” Peter was grateful for the brief experience and threw an even more sincere look over his shoulder at Tony. “Thank you, though – I haven’t moved like that in years.” He lifted his hands over his head and stretched himself as long as he could go before walking back over to his camera set up, his fingers wrapping around the base with ease.

When they were all done and Tony was walking out of the bathroom in street clothes, Peter looked up and motioned to him. He let his eyes linger on the way Tony’s jeans sat on his hip, the cut of his shirt enhancing the slimness there. Tony moved with ease, the man more than familiar with his body and the things he could do with it. Shaking his head, Peter moved away from that thought – it could very easily get him in trouble.

With Tony by his side, Peter smiled at him, then started to go through the frames he took throughout the two hours they’d been working. Tony spent a lot of time critiquing himself and grinned when Peter went out of his way to say the exact opposite of whatever came out of his mouth. The stills were beautiful and after a little work, would be more than enough to circulate around in resumes and show leaflets.

“Those are great, Pete – I like how well you capture the action; I honestly don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it,” Tony commented, his eyes still wide from the cruise through the photo gallery. At some point, he let his hand drift to Peter’s shoulder and kept it there, his fingers now gripping on and off. “I’d love to see more – want to grab a coffee, or something?”

As it happened, coffee ended up being a quick walk to Peter’s apartment where he got as far as pulling his computer out before Tony was flung across his hips, muscular thighs clenching with every move he made. Peter was surprised for about two seconds before he grabbed a handful of Tony’s ass, and dragged him closer, their mouths meeting in a heated kiss without either of them hesitating.

Peter didn’t usually do stuff like this – kiss people he didn’t know much about, but at the same time, he didn’t like to miss out on good things, either. He watched Tony reached down and take his own shirt off, the muscles of his stomach and arms rippling as the cells fired and clenched. When he relaxed, Peter was pleased to see that Tony was very cut up and would ripple gloriously as he thrust into him in the near future.

The fact that Tony managed to get his shirt off of him and the button of his pants undone without him noticing blew Peter��s mind, the man had a way with his mouth and let his tongue do terribly dirty things. In 25 years, Peter had never been kissed like that before – Tony’s carnality was exactly like his dancing, thorough and highly skilled.

It seemed like Tony came prepared because Peter was suddenly naked and on his back with Tony between his thighs, a packet of lube and a condom dangling from his fingers. They made eye contact for a moment, the desire in Tony softening as an affectionate look rolled over his face. “This okay? You’ll tell me if you’re not comfortable?” Tony’s questions rolled off his tongue without him stopping the scandalous press of his hips.

“It’s a lot more than okay. As long as you don’t roll me up into too much of a ball, I’ll be just fine. Just don’t stop whatever it is you’re going to do,” Peter babbled, his lips totally loose now that most of his thoughts were clouded with lust and completely focused on the delicious press and pull of Tony’s fingers on his skin and cock against his own.

He was pleasantly surprised when Tony shifted and pushed at his hip until Peter took the hint and rolled over. Leaning on his forearms, Peter spread his legs as much as he could on the couch and thrust back a little, his ass entirely on display. Groaning when Tony used his hands to spread his cheeks, Peter looked over his shoulder to see dark eyes staring at him longingly.

Tony emptied the packet of lube on the flat of Peter’s back and swiped his fingers through it. His free hand ran along Peter’s flank and lulled him into a sense of comfort – the breach of Tony’s fingers around and then against his rim secondary to the sensation of first a knuckle and then an entire finger slipping into him. While he moved his hand, Tony peppered all the skin he could reach with kisses and licks – he was obviously in the business of taking Peter apart one piece at a time.

Progressively, Peter got lost in the rush of his lust for Tony and the scorching touch that made his skin prickle and the well of heat in his stomach start to trickle over the edge. Tony’s weight held his hips down just enough that with every thrust back against talented fingers that were now aggressively stretching him open, Peter got the slightest amount of friction against his cock. It was both too much and not enough in one agonizingly delicious movement.

Draped completely over him, Tony pressed his lips to Peter’s ear when he pushed in. The stroke to slide inside was firm and didn’t stop until Tony’s hips were pressed against the muscle of his round ass cheeks. Peter shifted until he could accommodate his weight on one hand – he reached back and gripped Tony’s hair hard with the other, the moan slipping from his lips forcing a flush down the length of his chest. “Oh, Tony – “

From that point on, Peter lost track of time and space – he was so completely wrapped up in the tactile sensations and the sensitivity of nerve fibers that were constantly being stroked and prodded. With Tony’s arm wrapped around his middle, Peter gave himself over to the sensations, the long, slow glide of a firm cock in and out of him driving him absolutely mad. Little by little, he melted into the rhythmic bump of Tony’s cock against that spot deep inside of him and got closer to a finish that felt like a long time coming.

A shout left his hips when Tony used the grip around his chest to pull him up until his back was firmly pressed against the skin of well-muscled pecs and abs that were clenching with every thrust Tony delivered. Peter felt him slow down and move the grip of his hand from his chest to his hips, long fingers digging in. “The way you move against me, Pete – it’s driving me insane. It’s like you know me. Like you’ve studied my body and know exactly what it needs.”

His cock throbbed at the trueness of Tony’s words. Though he didn’t have a chance to physically explore it, Peter knew a lot about the way Tony moved from the images he’d been editing non-stop – it seemed like he learned a lot more about Tony than he originally imagined. Bringing his hands until they were resting over Tony’s on his hips, Peter laced their fingers together and let out a long moan; the carnal noises the only thing he could conjure up in that moment.

Another few thrusts of Tony’s cock dead against Peter’s prostate had him coming without a single touch to his throbbing erection. It was a novel thing for him, so he watched with wide eyes as he shivered and clenched and finished with the most release he’d ever seen come out of himself hitting the bedspread underneath him. Tony rolled his hips and thrusted through it until he was moaning against Peter’s neck and collapsing them both on the bed – the man courteous enough to turn them on their sides and away from his own puddle of cum.

Peter couldn’t stop the helpless moan that slipped from his mouth when Tony pulled out and rolled away to get rid of the condom. He turned and watched him move around until Tony finally joined him on the bed again. It shouldn’t have surprised him, the fact that Tony wrapped a hand around his arm and pull him back until they were resting as close together as possible. A nose ran through the sweaty hair at the back of Peter’s head – Tony pulling in a long breath before settling in.

“You can still dance. That was the most flawless piece I’ve ever been a part of,” Tony said softly, his hand flattening against Peter’s stomach to pull him even further back, despite the fact that there wasn’t any space left between them. “Rest up for a bit – I’ll take you out for another spin in a little while.”

Laughing, Peter let his hand rest against Tony’s, their fingers lacing with ease. He snuggled in, Tony’s warmth lulling him into a sleep haze.

----

The fact that Tony didn’t leave the next morning spoke volumes – Peter didn’t do a lot of dating, but he understood wanting to spend time with someone. They made pancakes that were barely edible and talked about Tony’s travels through Paris the previous two years. He’d been traveling with an international company that did a long stint in France. When it came time for Tony to leave and get some practice in for the day, Peter went with him.

It took on a different sort of intimacy, shooting Tony after that. Because he knew so much about the freckles on Tony’s skin and the way the dancer moved in the throes of passion, Peter could appreciate the thrust of his hips and the powerful strides for a completely different reason. It brought a whole new meaning to a long, slow seduction. They didn’t make it out of the locker room before Peter was on his knees, worshipping the cock and hips attached that moved with such poise and grace.

Spending the rest of the day together felt like the right thing to do after that – Tony came down his throat and watched with wide eyes as Peter stayed on his knees and stroked himself with a tight fist in long, quick strokes. The soft pet of his hair lulled him into a daze for a while, his cheek laying against the bottom of Tony’s stomach until he felt the tingle leave his toes and lower limbs.

Tony pulled him into a deep kiss when he stood up, strong arms wrapped around him and his swift tongue chased the taste of his own spend in Peter’s mouth. Peter didn’t know who was moaning but it was almost enough to bring him back to full hardness, though, he knew he couldn’t handle any more time on the hard floor or any of the surfaces available to them there. Suggesting a late lunch made Tony smile and when he grabbed Peter’s hand on the way out of the building, Peter let the hope of things actually going somewhere wash over him.

So, maybe Peter couldn’t dance on his own 2 feet anymore – with Tony by his side, he quickly learned that dancing was just as much a feeling as it was a collection of movements and lifts. Lying in bed with Tony between his legs later that night, Peter figured out that the roll of his hips and the caress of his hands felt just as good as the carefully crafted choreography that he’d be so accustomed to. The same way his body used to take the crowd apart, Peter slowly tugged at Tony’s seams until the dancer was thrusting into him with abandon. His name on Tony’s lips at the end of their coupling the ultimate standing ovation.

And as the days past and Peter got to spend more time not only wrapped up in the fun of watching someone else succeed, but also in the beauty and grace that was Tony Stark. The spring brought Bourne’s version of Swan Lake, which consisted of an all-male cast. Peter, having decided that NYCB was where the most opportunities were available, applied and got the job as the full-time photographer. Which meant he got to spend all of his day shooting ballet and only ballet. An absolute dream come true.

Watching Tony dance the part of the prince was absolutely magical – between trying to catch all of the best shots and catching every single one of his pristine moves, Peter spent all 7 days of multiple shows trying to capture him in the best possible way. They hadn’t been dating all that long, but Peter was moved to make sure Tony understood how he truly saw him.

It took a few weeks to find the perfect picture and get it blown up and printed to perfection. After getting it in the mail, Peter measured and built a custom frame for the photo – the dark brown wood a beautiful contrast to the white costume Tony was wearing in the print. Finally finishing it a couple of weeks into May, Peter stepped back and looked at the physical manifestation of his heart with a critical eye. It was Tony – Peter had a hard time finding any sort of flaw.

His ears prickled when he heard Tony putting his key in the lock – a couple of months prior, Peter pulled out one of his old TISCH key chains and made a copy of his apartment key. He left it in Tony’s pointe shoes and got a screaming call when he didn’t notice – the tip of the key stabbed him; but, the sincerity of the gesture made the large cut he had to nurse for a couple of weeks totally worth it.

He waited until he heard the keys clatter against the bowl that Peter kept right by the door to pick up the frame and carry it out into the living room where Tony was standing, his feet and arms bare, his dance tights still framing his legs in the sinful way they always did. Peter stopped dead in his tracks when Tony noticed him, the man’s dark brown eyes caught between looking at Peter’s face and the big frame he had in his hands.

“What’s that?” Tony asked, his cheeks coloring at the bluntness of the question. The man might’ve been a few years older than Peter, but he never failed to project youth and reckless wonder. The words made Peter laugh, his face spreading wide with the smile overtaking him. Instead of answering right away, Peter closed the gap and jammed the frame into Tony’s arms.

Peter gave him a few minutes to get his bearings and process what was in front of him. In the many days’ worth of searching, Peter finally decided on a picture of Tony in the middle of a leap. His eyes and chin were up, his hips completely square – but the thing that really caught Peter’s eye was the look of pure happiness of Tony’s face. There were many dancers that could get their legs completely straight through a leaping straddle, but there weren’t many that looked to be in absolute rapture when they did it. Every time he passed by it, the look made his heart pound, so he figured that was sign enough.

Tony looked up at him, his eyes wide. “This is what I look like, huh?” Tony asked, his fingers doing the customary reaching out to touch thing they always did. Peter watched him trace the length of his body across the glass – the idea of fingerprints not even registering. The appreciation of his work never meant so much.

“Beautiful, right? I thought, for a really long time, that I’d never really have the same connection with dance that I did when I actually got to do it myself. Then, I met you and got to see talent and passion in a totally different light. I don’t need to be moving to feel what it’s like to be on the stage when I watch you. Maybe it’s because I love you so much and I’m biased, but I’m a fan – your biggest one, probably.” Peter let all of the words flow from him before stopping for a breath. He felt his lips slip into a beaming smile – it felt so damn good to let that off his chest.

Even the very first ‘I love you’ between them felt good coming from him – he didn’t need Tony to say it out loud to know that he loved him. It was apparent in the way he touched, his fingers were constantly seeking – whether it was knowledge or pleasure, Tony was always interested in finding out. It was glaringly obvious in the way bourbon hued eyes followed him around the room when they weren’t standing together and looked so deeply within his own when they were. His gentle words and the innate ability to know just what Peter needed said things that a singular phrase never could.

Yet, when it came from Tony’s lips, Peter couldn’t have imagined a better moment. “You’re a big softy, Petey,” Tony mumbled, his lips pressing together for a second before continuing. “I love you, too. By the way. I know you know, but I also know how good the words sound. I love you. I’ll say it however many times you want to hear it.” As elegant as always, Tony moved to lean the frame against the edge of the couch to free his hands up, then tugged Peter into them, their lips finding each other in a soft kiss.

“I don’t think there’s a limit, Tony,” Peter muttered, his voice scratchy from the rush of arousal and happiness and a billion other things.

Tony gripped his cheeks and pulled him in for another kiss, his next words said against his lips like a prayer – “sounds okay to me.”

----

Later that year, Peter and Tony stumbled through their apartment after opening night of The Nutcracker. As a veteran this year, Tony wowed the audience in a way that only someone seasoned and comfortable could. The performance was flawless, Peter a little disappointed that he couldn’t show his enjoyment as much as he would have wanted to. The second they got behind the door of his car, however, his hands were all over Tony. They almost didn’t make it into the house before Peter was straddling him and really letting his appreciation show.

They fumbled through the door and passed through the living room that was littered in Peter’s work – when they first hung the few framed photos of Tony, he complained about it being a little weird. Yet, the more Peter added to it, the more Tony seemed to be behind the idea. It just took a little prodding for him to play into the narcissism that all dancers were inherently in possession of. He really started to relax when Peter added a few of the two of them, the idea of looking up to see physical representation of their connection a nice one, one that they both wanted to get behind.

Peter let his eyes glance over them briefly before crowding against Tony’s back and herding him towards the bedroom. All of the walls on the walk there were covered in Peter’s work – his own narcissism showing in the diligent way he went about making sure all of the frames throughout the house matched and looked absolutely perfect.

When they moved in together, Tony wanted to go all in, so they got all new stuff and created something that was joint and completely Tony Stark and Peter Parker mixing all the aspects of their lives. From the bedding to the bowls they ate out of, everything was picked out together.

When he was finally able to settle between Tony’s legs with just his boxer briefs on, Peter sucked in a deep breath and gave himself a second to enjoy the man stretched out beneath him. The strain from the night’s performance had Tony’s muscles taut and his veins bulging from lack of water and electrolytes – he’d be ravenous for the next few days.

His eyes were wide and completely glazed over, the pupils taking over the bourbon Peter so eagerly drank in every time he looked in Tony’s eyes. The hands that were normally so sure of themselves were reaching to touch Peter searchingly, their next step still undetermined.

Allowing himself to share a heated look with Tony, Peter shook his head and forced himself to focus – there was plenty of time to get distracted in the beautiful view of his boyfriend later. He sat up a little and reached into his bedside table, the lube and condom hitting the comforter below them, the movement enough of a decoy for Peter to get the square box he’d been hiding there open and on the muscled expanse of Tony’s chest.

They weren’t traditional, so he bypassed the one knee thing – instead, he pressed his body weight into Tony, one of his hands holding the box so he could see it while the other ran through shower wet brown hair. It wasn’t the most romantic thing, but it felt right. Everything about Tony felt right. A forever of that was the only thing he’d ever want.

“If you’ll have me, I’d like to be your number one fan forever. Please, marry me,” Peter whispered, his nose caressing Tony’s as his lips pressed the words into any piece of stubbly skin he could reach. “Please,” he prompted again, the plea unneeded, but falling from his lips, anyway.

“How could I possibly say no to that?” Tony asked, his response coming with a quick lift of his head and warm lips pressed against Peter’s. His hands moved into the long hair at the base of Peter’s neck, fingers tugging lightly.

“Put that ring on me so I can find out how it looks against your skin while I’m holding you down.” Shooting him a wink, Tony dragged him in for a deep kiss, the box on his chest momentarily forgotten.

#starker #ironspider #it's the colours you have #starkerfestivalsevents #bobbie writes

50 notes · View notes

crimsongrimoire · 3 years

Note

What are some of your favorite lines of dialog that you've written, across all your fics? Your dialog makes me want to perish (complementary). 🐟

oh BOY this will probably be A List. hmm.

im probably gonna do just kaeluc stuff since thats my current obsession and all. plus i dont feel like looking through like 300+ pages of other fic documents. this one is long enough as is HFDHSKF

"You may be the most beautiful thing I've ever laid eyes on."

"Stop lying," Diluc groans through clenched teeth.

Kaeya laughs softly, working his fingers ever harder. "I'm hurt. You're too pretty to lie to, like this. I'm serious."

all time favorite for kaeluc stuff is probably:

"I assumed you wouldn't want to talk about the many suitors I've had sprawled across my bed, especially right now."

"Alright, alright, no need to brag."

"I love how you look on your knees, little prince. You look so perfect with my cock in your mouth."

"Do you have to say things like that?"

"You don't have to be afraid to say you like it, Luc."

BABYS FIRST FINISHED KAELUC FIC......

"You know that won't be easy."

"It'd be no fun if it was. The only question is, is it possible?"

"Promise me you won't leave again. Swear it."

"Your depravity really does know no bounds."

THIS ISN'T JUST DIALOGUE BUT I STILL REALLY LIKE IT AND AM SAD I PUT IT IN SOMETHING MEDIOCRE THAT DID RELATIVELY BAD. also some of this was technically the VERY FIRST kaeluc thing i ever wrote so thats fun:

"That didn't happen. Now, shut your mouth," he says, giving Kaeya a pointed look and brandishing a carrot, "before I shove this somewhere you don't want it."

"Gross," Paimon interjects, seeming the least shocked out of the five of them, scrunching up her nose.

"Well." A lazy, catlike smirk stretches across Kaeya's face. He does this thing up against a tree at the edge of the clearing, this habit he's had when up against a vertical surface since he was a preteen, this cocky little body-lean-head-tilt-arm-cross that Diluc has come to hate because fuck him, it's still attractive. "If it's you doing it, I don't know where that would be." Nobody besides Diluc- who rolls his eyes in annoyance and returns to cooking, face tinged the slightest bit pink- can tell that Kaeya just winked.

"Double gross."

"Good to see you two finally getting along," Lisa says with a small laugh.

"That's not what I'd call it," Diluc replies, not looking away from the fire. "We're simply being forced to cooperate."

"That doesn't mean you have to talk. You don't seem as gloomy as usual." Damn Lisa for having a point.

Diluc scoffs dismissively. "Communicating just makes work easier."

Lisa just smiles wryly and leaves it at that, sipping from her canteen and glancing over at Kaeya, who's shaking his head.

"Wait," Diluc murmurs when he breaks away, placing a hand over the stranger's mouth when he tries to follow. "Take off the mask."

The stranger groans. "Really?"

"Yes."

"You're no fun, as always." The stranger removes his mask, and Diluc huffs in irritation upon seeing his face.

"I knew it. Only you would wear that gaudy thing."

Kaeya grins. "Is that why you danced with me?"

Diluc simply rolls his eyes and kisses him again. "You know you weren't invited."

"I wasn't? I'm hurt. You've made me feel quite welcome, though."

preface this was for kaeluc month in like december almost a year ago and i obviously never finished it. kms. ive never participated in an event like that and it makes me SO MAD. anyway dilucs a vampire and kaeyas fae and kaeya invited him over for tea and theyre just at a stalemate of not wanting to be a bad guest or host cause of stupid metaphysical rules. anyway:

"I'll let you off with a warning this time, but no elbows on the table, Diluc. I know you know better. You wouldn't want to be a bad guest, now, would you?"

Diluc straightens immediately and puts his hands in his lap, as if the table had just burned him. "Of course not. Aren't you supposed to offer me something to eat, or are you not afraid of being a bad host?"

Kaeya props his head on the back of his hand, blatantly resting his elbow on the edge of the table. "But of course. What would you like?"

"You. ...Please."

Kaeya hums thoughtfully. "Now, that's not quite polite, is it?"

"I did say please," Diluc remarks, calmly crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. They're going to be here for a while.

"That doesn't mean you get to ask to kill someone in their own home."

"It's not polite to order someone to do something when they can't refuse, either."

"Touché."

"I don't know what the hell to do with myself. It's all I can do not to beg you to take me until it's past time to open."

"Oh, Archons, Diluc, please, no, I'll come," Albedo says breathily between gasps, biting his lip to keep more noises at bay.

Diluc's lips turn upward just the slightest bit. "Isn't that our goal?"

"Okay, okay, Mr. Killjoy. We get it. You're jealous you aren't getting any attention. Don't set his books on fire."

"Do I have to tie you up, or are you going to be good?"

Diluc peers over Kaeya's shoulder at the cum on the floor and clicks his tongue. "You made a mess."

"What else was I supposed to do?"

A wicked smile graces Diluc's face as he brushes his lips against Kaeya's ear and pulls his head back by his hair, coaxing out a throaty gasp. "You know you're going to have to lick it up, right?"

"I'm surprised you, of all people, would even suggest that."

"The Archons blessed me with you."

Kaeya snorts. "I think I'm the last thing you'd call a blessing."

OKAY I THINK THATS ENOUGH SUCKING MY OWN DICK TBH theres a lot i think my dialogue is good sometimes i write so fucking much of it i guess i better huh

#cawing #at age 6 i was born without a face #🐟#theres definitely like. A Lot More. but also i do not feel like looking through #looks at notes #~140 more pages #without being asked cause im SURE this was more than you intended to get KFHDSKGF

1 note · View note

astralkoo · 5 years

Text

Beautifully Misfit | 4

SERIES: Hybrid BTS

‣ Genre: fluff, smut, hybrid au

‣ Word Count: 8.5k

‣ Pairing(s): skunk!Jimin x reader, puppy!Taehyung x reader, bunny!Jungkook x reader

‣ Warnings: strong language, Baby Kookie can’t read very well ;(, food porn (I’m not kidding), y/n deadass has a pizza kink, Jimin being tiny, nothing else really

‣ to be aware of: sub!jimin, switch!taehyung, switch!jungkook, dom!reader, some kinky ass future happenings, BDSM themes, some heavy angst, and triggering themes.

Summary: you never really saw yourself as a hybrid person. that is, until your best friend introduces you to his hybrid, and you suddenly find yourself craving the companionship. you only intended to bring home one. somewhere between the lines you ended up with three beautifully misfit hybrids who craved nothing but your love.

part. i, ii, iii, iv, v (coming soon)

A/N; I’m sorry this took so long to get up, i’m a slow writer when I’m not motivated, but yesterday I buckled down and wrote over five thousand words because I was determined to get this part posted for you lovely people. hope you enjoy! lmk if I didn’t tag you and you wanted to be added to the tag list!!

“Oh my god you live in a palace!” Taehyung gasped, pressing his face against the window of your passenger’s side seat. You giggled at the absolute wonder that sparkled in his dark eyes as you pulled into your driveway.

Actually getting the three hybrids to your home was probably more difficult than it should have been.

Taehyung was really the only one that understood the general ins and outs of cars, while Jimin and Jungkook were at a total loss. Jungkook expressed through broken sentences that the last time he’d been in a car, he’d been forced to sit in the truck. They may have put a crack in your heart.

After stuffing all their belongings (which was a shockingly small amount considering there were three of them) into the trunk, it took a solid ten minutes just to get Jungkook to accept that he needed to wear a seatbelt; he damn near ripped it out of your car with all his unnecessary tugging and squirming. You’re ashamed to admit you were very much debating just tying him up with some rope and duct tape to keep him still.

It took another twenty to reassure an anxious Jimin that the car would not eat him and the seatbelt was just to keep him from falling out of his seat. It took Taehyung offering Jimin one of his stuffed animals, an adorable yellow chicklet, for him to finally relax. And you’d be lying if you said seeing the petite skunk hybrid clutching the little stuffed animal to his chest in his tiny hands wasn’t the purest thing you’d ever laid eyes on,

All the while Taehyung was happily bouncing in the passenger seat, a big boxy grin plastered across his handsome face as he waited for you to begin the drive home.

“Not quite,” you chuckled in amusement at his awestruck expression, “but it’s pretty, isn’t it?”

You weren’t going to deny it; you had a nice home.

Plenty of spacious rooms, a beautiful pool accompanied by a hot tub, three bedrooms– although only one (now two) being put to its intended use as the third was being used as an in home gym area. Not a mansion by any standards but definitely up in the higher percentile.

It, of course, had originally been a surprise from your Aunt when you graduated from college. Talk about extravagant gift giving. But she wouldn’t allow you to turn it away, no matter how adamantly you insisted you wouldn’t be able to maintain the place. For god’s sake you were just coming out of the shitty run down college dorms and suddenly having this gorgeous house catapulted onto you. She claimed that it was either hand it down to you or send a bulldozer over the property.

And you were not one to enjoy seeing beautiful things being carelessly destroyed.

So in spite of initial hesitance, you accepted. It took you awhile to adjust to the place, but once you had, it really had become a home to you. And you hoped it could become a home to your three new hybrids as well. A place they could feel safe to be themselves, a place where they didn’t have to hide themselves out of insecurity or fear of rejection. A place they could find genuine happiness.

Shit, when’d you get so sappy?

“Big! Big!” Jungkook chanted as he popped his head between your and Taehyung’s seat to get a better view, blinking those big sparkling eyes in amazement. You giggled, before turning to glance at Jimin. His eyes were squinted, face strained as it seemed he was having some trouble making out what he was looking at. But as soon as he realized you were looking, he plastered a shy, unconvincing smile across his face, head bowing.

“I–it’s nice…” you opened your mouth to question him, but Jungkook cut you off.

“Kookie go in now,” He declared. You watched in amusement as he pushed at the door, nowhere near the handle. He blinked in confusion as it didn’t immediately pop open for him. He then tried a random button, flinching in surprise as the window began to lower. He watched, seemingly transfixed as it slid out of sight, before placing his feet on top of the seat and crouching. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what he was about to do.

“Jungkook no!” You laughed loudly, reaching back and gently gripping the back of his shirt to keep him from launching himself head first out the window.

He turned to you with the cutest look of frustration, “why?”

“Pull the handle and then push,” you instructed, pointing to it.

He cautiously wrapped his hand around said handle, pulling it towards him and then pushing rather harshly on the door. His brows jumped up in amazement as the door easily swung open. It was only when he immediately hopped out of the car that you realized his seatbelt hadn’t been securely strapped around him. He must’ve undone it when you weren’t looking. Mischievous bunny.

Taehyung turned to you, with excitement in his eyes, “are we allowed to go inside now? I really want to see what it’s like inside!” His enthusiasm was contagious, and a wide smile broke out on your face.

“Of course! Let’s head in.”

Taehyung squealed, quickly undoing his seatbelt and rushing out of the car. You smiled to yourself, about to exit the vehicle before suddenly catching a glimpse of Jimin in the back seat. His lower lip was sucked into his mouth, his knees pulled up to his chest as he cradled the small chick under his chin, delicate eyes downcast. He looked so conflicted.

“Are you coming?” Taehyung tilted his head in confusion upon noticing neither of you had moved from your seats.

“Um— why don’t you go ahead, I’ll be there in a minute, okay? The key is under the potted plant on the right side of the door, you know how to use it?” Taehyung quickly nodded and bounced off to join Jungkook (who was aggressively pulling at the doorknob) at the door.

Once he was out of earshot, you returned your attention to Jimin. “Hey, Jimin, are you alright?”

Despite you having intentionally softened your voice, he still flinched, eyes sliding up to unsurely meet yourself. He seemed at a loss for words, mouth opening and shutting multiple times, on the verge of speaking but never getting out so much as a squeak.

But he did gasp in surprise as you suddenly jumped into the backseat (not very gracefully but still managing not to crack your head open so you’re chilling). “Hi there,” you smiled widely at the slightly baffled skunk hybrid.

“Hi…” his voice was quiet as a pin drop. His closed off nature was really beginning to show, and it made your heart sore with sadness.

“How are you feeling? Please be honest with me,” you shifted slightly closer to him, a tender upturn of your lips all it took to coax him out of his anxious silence.

He swallowed, gaze flitting. “I’m… I guess I’m… scared…”

“What’re you scared of?” You carefully pushed, wanting more than anything to reach out and run your knuckles over one of those adorably round cheeks, but refraining– just barely.

He sucked his frustratingly perfect lips into his mouth, noncommittally shrugging his shoulders as his grip on the small stuffed animal tightened. “I don’t… know… a lot of things, I guess…” each word seemed to grow quieter and quieter as it escaped him.

“It’s okay to be scared,” you murmured softly, “I know all of this change is scary. And, I know we don’t know each other very well right now, but I’d really like to get to know you, Jimin. All of you. I want us to be a real family, and I know we can be. Just… don’t give up on me just yet, okay? I’m pretty fuck— freaking far from perfect, so I know I’ll most definitely make a few mistakes. But I’ll do everything in my power to make you happy, I can promise you that.”

He looked up at you slowly, dark eyes shining behind his bangs. Shit, he had such beautiful eyes. Your chest tightened a bit as a wave of nerves struck you suddenly. You really hoped you said the right things, that maybe he’d trust you just a little bit more. Any progress is still progress, after all— another thing you’d learned from your oh–so wise auntie.

“Would you like to come inside now?”

You extended your hand for him with a gentle smile. The corners of his lips twitched upward subtly, and he shyly nodded his head, “y–yes.”

His hand was warm and soft, and small oh god it was so small as it slid delicately into your palm. You had to hold your breath as you carefully guided him out of the car from the pure adoration you felt towards him.

He didn’t let go of your hand the entire way to your front door, head bowed as an endearing blush settled on his cheeks.

Somehow, you remained outwardly composed. Stepping through the threshold of your front door, you were immediately greeted by a gasping Taehyung as he darted back and forth, taking in every last inch of your home with massive, shining eyes. You giggled, cupping a hand over your mouth as you watched the excited pup practically bounce off the walls every time he discovered something new to gawk at.

“Look at this! Oh my god what is that!? Wow that’s so cool! I’ve never seen one of these before! It’s so pretty! Can I keep this? Ohmygoditssoshiny,” words, questions, and exclamations were being spit out of his mouth faster than you could keep track. Suddenly he halted, ears raised, tail stiff, “wait a second.”

“Is–is something wrong?”

“Yes!” He yelped, before his eyes met yours, and he seemed to shrink in on himself, “I mean— no, no definitely not. Everything is perfectly perfect and beautiful and amazing…”

“But?” You tilted your head, watching as a soft pout twisted the corners of his lips downwards.

“But…” he swallowed, rocking on the balls of his feet as he fiddled with his fingers behind his back, “I was wondering— you mentions— are there may be any—”

It suddenly clicked what he was so hopelessly searching for. A playful, mischievous smile twitched at the corners of your mouth. “Toys?”

His entire body seemed to jump upright, ears raising to their full height, tail whipping upwards and twitching in tiny anticipating wags, eyebrows dramatically lifting as his eyes widened adorably. A desperate whine ripped from his lips as he performed a little wiggle.

“If you go up the stairs, turn left, last door on your right—” aaand he was off.

“OHMYGOD,” you heard his muffled screams of glee, snorting loudly.

Puppy has a kink for toys, that’s for sure.

“Where the hell is Jungkook?” You muttered, suddenly realizing you hadn’t seen or heard him since you walking into your home.

It was more to yourself really, but Jimin stuck his button nose up in the air nonetheless. You watched in amazement as he inhaled deeply, chest inflating, before his finger raised, pointing towards your back door.

“Shit, but that leads to the—”

A loud splash had you shrieking in horror and bolting outside, damn near cracking the glass sliding door in your haste.

The crystal blue water of your pool was jumping and foaming, angrily disturbed from its previous calmness. Below the surface there was a dark, distorted blob, slowly sinking.

“Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you cursed loudly, “Jungkook!”

This would only fucking happen to you of all the people in the fucking world. You brought the hybrids home not ten minutes ago and one of them was already in danger. There was no way in hell you were about to let his little mutant bunny ass drown.

“Mother of shitness—” those were the last words to escape your lips before you heaved in two lungfuls of air and dove head first into the chilly water. You forced your eyes open in the chlorinated water, easily locating a blurry dark form a little way in front of you.

But, it wasn’t sinking.

In fact, it was rising. Very quickly.

The fuCK.

Breaking the surface, you were immediately greeted by a casually treading bunny hybrid. His eyebrows raised a fraction upon seeing you in front of him, but the surprised look vanished into a happy smile.

“Swim with Kookie?” He asked innocently, head tilting.

“Are you kidding me, Jungkook? Why in the holy hell did you think getting into the pool fully dressed was a good idea?” You hissed, water splashing as you clumsily tread, legs kicking quickly as your hands flung around.

His brows furrowed, a confused pout touching his lips as he glanced down at your submerged body. “Full dress, too?”

“I thought you fell in and were drowning or some shit, I was trying to save you!” You cried, “you gave me a fucking heart attack, Jungkook!”

He suddenly smiled shyly, cheeks rising as his gaze flicked down, “save Kookie?”

“Yes, save Kookie! But apparently Kookie doesn’t need any saving because Kookie already knows how to swim and purposeful jumped into my pool with all his clothes on,” You hissed, reaching out to grab his hand and tugging him to the edge of the pool, “now it’s time for Kookie to get out of the pool.”

You hauled yourself out first, grimacing as your clothes stuck like glue to your skin. Not to mention wet socks. You can’t imagine a time you’d ever been more uncomfortable than when you were wearing wet socks.

With a defeated sigh, you swiveled around, about to lend the bunny a helping hand, “Okay, Jungkook hop out— Jungkook what the hell happened to your clothes?!”

He smiled, proudly pointing at the pile of sopping wet clothes sitting on the side of the pool that he’d managed to strip off weirdly fast. “Naked!” He chirped like it was the most natural thing in the world.

God have mercy.

…

“Okay Jungkook, repeat to me the rules?” You hummed, carefully towel drying his wet hair, making sure to be extra gentle with his big, sensitive ears in the way.

“No pool without ask. Hm, no run near pool. No swim ‘lone. No outside after dark. No swim full dress. And… and no swim naked.”

“That’s right! Good job, Kookie,” you cooed, and he grinned proudly, wiggling happily in place. You turned your attention to the other two hybrids in the room.

Jimin was nestled up against your back, sleepily watching the movie you’d put on for them. Homeward Bound, a personal childhood favorite of yours. Never failed to bring you to tears. Taehyung, who’s made himself comfortable on the floor in front of you, was more engrossed with the dinosaur squeaky toy that he was happily gnawing on, squeaking up a storm. It might have gotten on your nerve had he not looked so fucking adorable, big eyes shiny with happiness and lips drawn into a never wavering grin.

“You hear that boys? Those rules apply to you, too. I don’t need anymore incidents like today.” You informed sternly, drawing both of their attentions to you.

Taehyung quickly nodded his head, toy dropping from his mouth and into his lap as he spoke, “I understand! I’ll be real good, promise! I’m good at following rules, I think.”

You reached down, ruffling his hair in praise. His tail quickly began beating against the hardwood floor with loud thumps as he leaned into your touch, grinning widely. You turned your attention to the skunk curled up behind you, peering over your shoulder.

“Jimin?”

“I–I don’t like to swim… but I understand.” He affirmed in that soft, melodic voice of his, thick with sleepiness. Jungkook piped in before you could reply.

“Kookie like to swim! What Kookie swim in?”

“When we go shopping tomorrow, I’ll buy Kookie a swimsuit,” you explained simply, briefly taking your focus off of drying his dark locks to meet his gaze, lips twitching upward at how cute he looked, white towel laid on top of his head, ears flopping down on either side of his face.

The incident with Jungkook leaping into your pool opened up a few fundamental truths you’d have to face.

One; clothes. They needed clothes. The one thing you’d failed to collect on your shopping binge earlier in the week for obvious reasons were things for your hybrids to wear. And of the very few things they’d brought from the shelter, outfits held an even smaller portion. Having all worn the same white scrubs everyday left little need for duplicates.

And after Jungkook soaked his only pair, you’d had to force him into one of your favorite pairs of large grey sweatpants and an extra large white t-shirt that somehow still managed to hug ever inch his admittedly muscular body. It was an interesting look for him. It made Taehyung giggle, that’s for sure.

You also made a mental note that Jimin needed glasses ASAP. He obviously had a lot of difficulty seeing things beyond a certain distance and you were surprised he hadn’t been given any at the shelter. Getting glasses was a long, annoying, and expensive process, but you didn’t mind as long as he’d be able to see properly.

Two; they might need some help navigating life outside of the shelter. You’d definitely be needing to set some boundaries. Obviously, they’d spent most of their lives in small living quarters, closed off from the real word. As a result, they’ve never been exposed to many seemingly ordinary courtesies such as manners, or public decency…or not stripping buck naked whenever they damn well feel like it. That could use some adjustment.

And three; Jungkook was going to be keeping you on your toes for a while. You’d have to keep an eye on that little troublemaking bastard at all times to make sure he doesn’t do something unintentionally reckless and get himself hurt.

All in all, you felt a second massive shopping spree was in order. This time for more specific commodities.

“Kookie swim in swim…s–suit?” He asked, stuttering faintly on the pronunciation.

That reminded you, you’d also need to ask Hoseok about speech lessons to help Jungkook with communication. As far as you can tell, he has no problem getting his point across, you can understand him perfectly fine, but to what extent does it reach?

“Can I get a swimsuit, too?” Taehyung asked, a pleading pout resting on his lips.

“Of course, you can all get swimsuits,” you glanced at Jimin, “just in case you ever change your mind. Now that that’s settled…” you pulled the towel off of Jungkook’s now only slightly damp hair, jumping up off the couch, “who wants pizza?”

All the boys seemed the grimace at the mention of the cheesy delicacy.

“What’s with those faces? Don’t tell me you don’t like pizza,” you laughed, but it died in your throat almost immediately.

You gaped at them in horror, clasping a hand over your mouth as they all shared a telling look. No fucking way. They didn’t like pizza? How was that possible? Maybe they were lactose intolerant or something. There had to be an explanation.

“How do you guys not like pizza? I practically live off of it most days of the week!” Taehyung flinched faintly as you raised your voice, despite your harmless intention.

“W–well, we’ll have it if you want us to, master. It’s just that… the shelter gave us pizza every other Friday, I guess it was supposed to be a treat of sorts… but it wasn’t very good,” Taehyung explained in a meek, unsure voice, lead lowering as he peered up at you.

“That’s probably because it was that organic, healthy shit. No, I’m talking about real pizza. Cheesy, delicious, juicy, thick crust, crunchy on the outside but soft on the in— wait, did you just call me master?”

He seemed to shrink in on himself. His ears flattened against his head, tail ticking between his legs. You’re no expert on animal behavior, but you didn’t need a degree to see that he was showing submission.

“Is… is that bad? Am I in trouble? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,” his voice broke into a whimper, but you were quick to drop down to your knees in front of him, shaking you head.

“No, no you’re not in trouble, sweetheart, you’re alright. You didn’t do anything wrong,” you made sure to keep your voice soft and stable, gently taking one of his hands in yours, “I was just a little surprised is all.”

He seemed to calm at your reassurance, body language relaxing, “really?”

“Really.” You giggled, reaching up to nudge his cheek with your knuckles. That’s all it took to have his face brightening up with a grin as he nuzzled into your touch. “But you know you don’t have to address me like that, right? Unless, you wanted to call me something different, you can just call me y/n.”

“Kookie call you y/n,” the bunny hybrid declared from his perch on the couch, nodding firmly, “y/n nice name.”

“Why thank you. Jungkook is a very nice name, as well,” you cooed playfully.

Jungkook shrugged cockily, “I know.”

You laughed loudly at that.

“I–I’ll call you y/n, too… if that’s okay,” Jimin squeaked, blushing a pretty shade of pink as your eyes met his fluttering ones.

“It’s more than okay, beautiful,” you grinned, shooting a playful wink in his direction.

His eyes widened, face exploding in a deep red as a squeak escaped his lips. You watched with a wide smile as he grabbed the nearest pillow, shoving his face into it in a feeble attempt to hide his rose colored cheeks. Jungkook snickered at the smaller hybrid’s reaction, nose wrinkling in the most bunny like way imaginable.

“Then I’ll call you y/n, too!” Taehyung sprung back to his happy go lucky self, lips splitting into a massive grin as his tail began to whip back and forth behind him.

“Perfect,” you smiled, reaching up and scratching behind his ear, “now, about that pizza…”

. . .

Within the next thirty minutes, you and the boys had swallowed down two whole boxes of large, cheesy pizza for your favorite pizza place. Talk about a food baby.

“That was so much better than the shelter’s pizza,” Taehyung groaned, tossing his head back as he rested a hand on his well fed belly, “I’ve never been this stuffed in my life!”

Jimin nodded quickly in agreement, still working on finishing his last piece. He was an adorably slow eater, very careful with his bites in not getting sauce anywhere on his face. Jungkook and Taehyung on the other hand… not so tidy. Taehyung had sauce smeared across his pretty lips and lingering at the corners of his mouth. Jungkook— shit, somehow the rabbit managed to get cheese in his damn hair, let’s just say that.

You giggled at the puppy hybrid, thumbing a tiny spot of sauce off his chin, “I told you! They were definitely feeding you garbage pizza. This is the real shit, you’re eating with the big boys now, baby!” Taehyung’s tail began its helicopter blade wagging, an incredibly dog like ‘yip’ escaping his lips, his excitement rising right alongside yours.

“Hell yeah, baby!”

Throwing your head back, you laughed so hard that your stomach began to hurt. “Hey! Where’d you learn that kind of language, mister!” You cackled, smiling down at him in wild amusement.

His grin mimicked yours, ears perking, “you!”

And you’d been trying to keep your cursing in check, too. Perhaps you slipped up a few times during dinner…

“Ah, I’ve got to watch my tongue or by the end of next week you’ll be able to name a curse word for every letter in the alphabet,” You snickered, ruffling his hair affectionately.

“More! Want more,” Jungkook exclaimed, holding up his empty plate for emphasis.

“Kookie, it's all gone,” you trotted over to him, picking up a nearby napkin and beginning to clean his face. He pouted at the newfound information, obviously very disappointed. “Don’t get all frowny on me now, you messy son of a bi–bunny.”

“Nice save,” Taehyung snickered, and you shot him a playful glare before returning your attention to the deeply disheartened rabbit.

“Hey, but don’t worry. We’ll be getting pizza often. Very often,” because your ass can’t cook for shit, “and next time, I might even get you your own whole pizza, okay? That work for you?”

His eyes light up at the suggestion, pout dissolving into a content smile, “okay. Work for Kookie.”

“Fantastic,” you hummed, before tossing the tomato sauce soaked napkin into one of the empty boxes, “okay. I think that you need a bath. Napkins aren’t cutting it.”

Jungkook froze, eyes widening, then narrowing into sharp slits, “no bath.”

Your brows shot up at his sudden defiance. “Um, yes bath. You’re covered in pizza guts.”

“No. Bath.” He hissed, ears pressing back.

“Jungkook,” you said slowly, arms folded over your chest, “you are taking a bath.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

You stared at him hard for a moment, him staring back just as harshly. Then you lunged. You should’ve known a rabbit hybrid would be faster, because the next thing you know you’re getting a face full of chair. And that shit hurt.

“Fuck me!” You shrieked, cupping your throbbing nose.

“Y–Y/n, are you a–alright?” Jimin gasped, running over to you in tiny font and carefully helping you back onto your feet.

You glanced over to see Jungkook on the opposite side of the kitchen, looking over at your crumpled form with a piss all smug expression. A growl rose in your throat.

“I’m good, Jimin, don’t worry.” You offered Jimin a reassuring smile, only wincing slightly. No way in hell would you let the mutant bunny win. He was taking a bath if it goddamn killed you.

A determined glare found your face as you struck Jungkook with your stare, pushing up your sleeves. “You’re still taking a bath, Kookie.” You sneered, pointing a finger in his direction.

“Gotta catch Kookie first~,” he sang, excitement sparkling in those big eyes.

“Oh, I’ll catch you, alright.”

Little need be said, you did not catch him.

All of fifteen minutes later, you lay face down on the floor of your upstairs hallway, sweating so much it looked like you’d fallen in the pool, completely winded, and on the verge of passing out. You always seem to forget that running is definitely not your strong suit.

“Y/n?” You heard a meek voice chime from above you.

“Yeah?” You wheezed, not bothering to so much as open your eyes.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fucking dandy,” You chuckled, finally forcing your eyes open. Jimin was squatted down in front of you, head tilted to the side as his large tail calmly swayed behind him.

“You don’t look dandy.”

Somehow, you managed a tired smile, “it’s called sarcasm, darling.”

Jimin flushed at the nickname, cupping his reddening cheeks in the palm of his hands as he let out a soft whining sound. So cute.

“That bunny is quick.” You groaned, rolling onto your back and letting your aching body melt into the floor, “where’s all that stamina come from, huh? He was going up and down the stairs like it was nothing. Up, down, up, down, up, down, like what the hell? Don’t his legs hurt after that? Well, I guess he does have pretty massive thighs—”

“Would you like some water, Y/n,” Jimin softly cut off your delusional rambling that was about to take a not so appropriate turn.

“I would love some water, Jimin, thank you.”

He giggled that sugary giggle of his as he stood up, “alright, I’ll get you some water. Don’t move.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

He laughed again, standing and trotting towards the steps, disappearing down them. He has a really pretty laugh.

Just as your eyes began to flutter shut again, a loud thump caught your attention, and then a shout.

“Y/n! Y/n I caught him! I caught him!”

“Can a girl not get a moment's peace in this house—” you cut off your incoherent mumbling abruptly, shooting upward. Caught him? He caught him? Holy shit! You leapt to your feet, frantically scrambling in the direction of the commotion. It wasn’t too difficult to find what room the shouts were coming from with all the noise they were making.

In your downstairs gaming room, you found Taehyung, his entire body wrapped around a flailing Jungkook, whom he’s somehow managed to pin to the floor.

“Tricked! Tae tricked Kookie!” The bunny screeched, betrayal shining in his dark eyes. You were trying so hard not to laugh. Taehyung looked absolutely ridiculous, Jungkook even more so as he tried to squirm out of the puppy’s vice like hold. But you knew you couldn’t allow them to continue like this, or else one of them might end up hurt. And that was something you definitely did not want to happen.

“Tae, let him go, hun.”

Taehyung’s eyes widened at your request, mouth opening to object, “but—”

“It’s alright, Tae. Trust me,” you shot him a sly wink as you murmured the last bit. He reluctantly obeyed, rolling off the bunny and scrambling behind you before he could retaliate. The moment he was freed, the bunny leapt to his feet, glaring harshly at the puppy cowering behind you. “Ah–ah–ah, eyes on me, Kookie. Tae didn’t do anything wrong, he was just trying to help me catch you.”

He huffed, lower lip jutting out.

“I have a proposition.”

His ears twitched, brows furrowing. “Prop… prop… prop…?”

“An idea,” you rephrased, noticing his struggle, “one that doesn’t involve running around the house like a couple of chickens who got their heads cut off. If you win, you don’t have to take a bath. I win, you bathe. That cool?”

He squinted his eyes at you suspiciously, “what idea?”

You smirked, eyes drifting to something behind him. You made your way over to the large flat screen television, opening up the cabinet to the right off it. Inside were hundreds of games. That’s an exaggeration, but you get the idea. Jungkook’s eyes bulged, pupils practically turning into hearts at the glorious sight. You pulled one out, holding it up for him to see.

“You race?”

It was Jungkook’s turn to smirk, “Kookie race.”

. . .

“Watch out for the banana peel! Oh my god the red shell! The red shell! Careful on the turn—”

“Taehyung!”

“Sorry.”

You were on the third and final race of Mario Kart. The deciding match. Each of you had won one round prior to that, making it an even game. It was tense. But Taehyung seemed to be more on edge than you and Jungkook combined, and he wasn’t even playing!

The finish line was in sight. It was neck in neck; Jungkook in first, you right on his heal in a close second.

There was absolutely no way in hell you were letting him beat you at your game. The game you’d been playing since you first learned how to use your thumbs. You absolutely demolished anyone you went up against. But Jungkook was good. Really good. He matched your skill level almost perfectly. He knew all the shortcuts, all the right turns to making, even how to drift flawlessly. And for the first time, you weren’t completely positive that’s you’d win. A thought terrifying enough to send chills racing down your spine. No. No, you were going to win. You had to. That bunny was going to bathe. You’d make sure of that.

The finish line was approaching rapidly. Your heart thundering against your ribcage, entire body trembling with the adrenaline coursing through it, a sheen of sweat resting on your upper lip. Your hands were aching for the effort, thumbs just about ready to fall off.

Beside you, Jungkook was just as tense, tall ears fully erect, body stiff and leaned forward as he pinned all his attention to the screen.

This is it. Time to pull out all the stops. You’re secret move that got you the win every time without fail. The boost and drift.

“Eat my dust, Kookie!” You shrieked, pressing down on the buttons just long enough to have your car shooting forward and crossing the finish line, earning you the first place slot. A triumphant laugh burst from your lips, and you jumped to your feet, pumping your fist into the air victoriously. You’d be lying to say your ass didn’t hurt from sitting on the hardwood floor that entire time, but the brilliance of your victory washed out any lingering ache. “Fuck yes! We have a winner folks! We have a winner!”

Taehyung and Jimin giggled from their seats on the couch behind you, clapping encouragingly as you shamelessly gloated.

Jungkook stared at the screen in shock, unable to process that he was seeing the number two on his half of the screen. Second place. Second place. It was mocking him.

Squatting down beside the stunned bunny, you placed a hand on his shoulder, “I won, Kook. You know what that means.”

He pouted, turning his head away from you stubbornly. “Cheated.”

You gaped at him. “Did not! I won fair and square and you know it! Come on, we had a deal. You can’t just go back on your word,” you frowned, offended by his blunt claim. You would never cheat. You didn’t need to. At least not in Mario Kart. Pure skill, baby.

Jungkook snuck a glance in your direction, and his ears dropped seeing the expression on your face. He quickly turned his gaze away, focusing intensely on the floor as he worried his lower lip between his teeth. He knew you didn’t cheat. He knew he lost. He hated it, but he knew you won fairly. Admitting it out loud was just a bit harder to do.

But the look in your eyes was enough to get him to put his pride aside.

“Kookie take bath.” He relented with a defeated sigh.

You smiled brightly, gently ruffling his hair, “thank you for keeping your word, Kookie. It means a lot to me.”

He flushed at the praise, quickly swatting your hand away with a pout, eliciting a giggle from your lips. You stood first, helping Jungkook to his feet as you turned to the two other hybrids.

“Okay boys. As soon as Kookie here finishes up his bath, we need to discuss sleeping arrangements, alright? It’s getting late and it’s been a hectic day for everyone so I think we could all use a good night's sleep, yeah? Don’t get into any trouble while I’m gone.”

They quickly nodded in agreement, bidding you soft farewells as you guided Jungkook to the upstairs bathroom. Of course, he donned a pout the entire way, obviously trying to make you feel bad by milking the blow of his loss.

Tugging him into the bathroom, you sat him down on the closed toilet seat, and began to explain the ins and outs of your bathroom. Shampoo, conditioner, body wash, towel location, how to change the temperate, and even pointing out the bubble bath bottle in case he like that. He stared up at you blankly, blinking slowly.

“You got all that?” He nodded. “Any questions?” He shook his head. “Good, I’ll sit outside. Just give me a shout if you need any help.” With that, you proceeded to exit the bathroom, plopping down beside the door and pulling out your phone to kill the time. You heard the gush of water hitting the tub, and assumed he’d be fine on his own. Until—

“Y/n?” You hopped to your feet, leaning against the door.

“Yeah, Kook?” Silence. “Kookie? You okay in there?” Silence. “Jungkook?” A nearly inaudible murmur. “I’m sorry I didn’t understand that.”

“N–need… help…”

“Okay, I’m coming in,” you took his silence as an okay and slowly nudged the door open, “are you… covered?” He hummed quietly in confirmation and you let out a breath of relief, sticking your head inside.

He was submerged in the bath, the top of it was covered in a thick layer of white, shiny bubbles. He had his face turned away from you, and seemed to be fidgeting slightly.

“What’s wrong?” You asked carefully, gliding over to kneel next to the tub. He avoided your gaze, and you noticed how red his cheeks were. You were worried he might’ve made the bath too hot, but when you experimentally dipped your fingers in, it was the perfect temperature. “You can tell me, hun. What’s up?”

He bowed his head, splashing his hand against the water. “Can… can y/n wash… w–wash Kookie?”

Hah. Pardon?

“W–wash? You want me to wash you?” You reiterated, making sure you’d heard him correctly.

“Please…” he murmured quietly, and you watched his neck melt into a boiling red color that perfectly matched that adorning his face. He looked so humiliated, so vulnerable. It dawned on you that he might not know how to properly wash himself. At the shelter someone had helped with that sort of thing, so he might have never actually done it himself. Your heart swelled at the thought.

“Of course I’ll help,” you murmured softly, touched by the fact that he’d ask instead of struggling alone and saving himself the embarrassment, “in fact, I’ll do you one better. I’ll teach you how so next time you can do it all on your own, okay?”

He peered over at you shyly, a light smile twisting the corners of his lips upwards, “okay.”

“Perfect. We’ll start with shampoo then,” you chirped, reaching down to grab the white bottle of shampoo.

You learned that Jungkook wasn’t the best reader, something you probably should’ve guessed based on what Hoseok had told you. But it still made your heart clench to see him trying so hard to make out the letters on the bottles you present to him. His bath managed to turn into a reading lesson, as you explained to him in depth how to read the words shampoo and conditioner as well as their individual purposes. And soon enough, something seemed to click in that cute little brain of his.

“You’re a fast learner, Kookie!” You praised, grinning happily as he pointed out the word shampoo every time it appeared on the back of the bottle.

He beamed at the praise, sighing in content as you massaged the conditioner into his hair, being extra careful around the base of his ears. It was then that you realized how beautiful they were. The fur was sleek and healthy, shimmering faintly under the dull glow of your bathroom lights. Instinctively, your fingers reached for one, gently stroking the silky fur. His body jolted forwards, a loud gasp shooting from his lips. You snapped your hand away as he whipped around, staring at you in shock.

“D–D–DON’T touch!” He squeaked, his entire face a deep shade of pink, his chest heaving as he seemed genuinely flustered. There was terror in his dark eyes, the emotion read loud and clear.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, I didn’t even realize,” you blinked rapidly, clutching your hand against you chest like it’d been burned. You were horrified with yourself. You’d obviously crossed a boundary you weren’t meant to so much as think about. It was careless. “I’m so sorry, Kookie. I shouldn’t have touched your ears without permission.”

He stared at you a moment longer, breathing heavily as his hands gripped the edge of the tub so tightly that his knuckles paled. There was something in his eyes. Something dark. You couldn’t make out exactly what it was before he snapped himself out of him, shaking his head.

“It… okay.” He slowly turned back around, facing away from you. You weren’t sure what to do. Did he want you to keep washing him, or would it be better if you left all together? Your prolonged silence caught the bunny’s attention, and he softly uttered over his shoulder, “can keep wash Kookie.”

“A–are you sure?” You swallowed, needing the extra confirmation.

He nodded, “yes.”

The remainder of his bath was spent in silence. It wasn’t awkward persay. It was more like both your mind were weighed down from the previous upbeat mood. Even as you were running a washcloth soaked in your favorite face wash over his faintly red stained skin, he wouldn’t meet your gaze.

“Alright, I think you’ve got it from here. You can wash your body with this green soap and then dry off and meet us downstairs, alright? I put a new shirt and sweatpants next to the door outside, so you can put those on when you’re finished,” You hummed, standing and stretching from having sat for so long, back cracking loudly. He nodded silently, sinking lower in the tub so that his nose hovered just over the water and you took that as your que to exit.

You were disappointed with yourself. That could have been a beautiful bonding moment— and it had been! But then you had to go and screw it up. Like you always seem to do…

Taehyung and Jimin were playing with some of the toys you’d gotten in the living room when you came trudging down the steps. They must’ve noticed the heaviness in the air surrounding you, because their sweet giggling ceased rather abruptly and they jumped up to meet you halfway.

“Y/n, what’s wrong?” Taehyung asked with a soft frown. “Did Kookie hurt you?”

“Ah, no, of course not, Kookie didn’t do anything wrong. Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. I’m fine,” you reassured, reaching up to pet the top of his head, but freezing and redirecting your hand to land on his shoulder instead. Taehyung blinked, looking at your hand in confusion.

Without missing a beat, he grabbed your wrist and placed your hand on top of his head.

You couldn’t stop the grin that found your lips, one he happily returned as you combed your fingers through his dark locks. Jimin whimpered mournfully from his larger companion’s side, staring longingly at your other hand. “Oh you big baby,” you playfully cooed, immediately shifting to stroke the top of his head as well.

They both melted into your touch, Jimin chirping as Taehyung vocalized his happiness with high pitched whines. It was a rather ridiculous scene, but so utterly precious you couldn’t find it in you to stop. Not until you heard heavy footsteps coming from the stairs. He was dressed in new clothes, lingering droplets of water creating dark patches on the shoulders of the grey material of the oversized sweatshirt.

Jungkook paused, meeting your gaze. You offered him a light smile, but he only ducked his head and plodded to Taehyung’s side, eyes fluttering around the room. You’d be lying if you said that didn’t sting a bit. You’d hoped that you’d be able to brush off the incident, but apparently not. Maybe it’d be forgotten by the morning.

You cleared your throat, shaking yourself from your thoughts. There were more important things to address than a moment of discomfort.

“Alright, boys. Now that we’re all here, I have to tell you that we have a small dilemma.”

“A dilemma?!” Taehyung repeated, blinking at you with wide, concerned eyes. You nodded in confirmation, folding your arms across your chest before continuing.

“As of right now, I only have one bed for you guys. I’m pretty sure it’s more than big enough to fit the three of you, but I want to ask if any of you are uncomfortable sharing a bed? I know you all had your own back at the shelter, so it would definitely be a change.”

“I don’t mind! I love cuddling!” Taehyung chimed, unknowingly lifting a weight off your chest. You shifted your attention to the bunny hybrid, who seemed to be in deep thought, eyes squinted, lips puckered as he mulled it over.

Finally, he shrugged. “Fine with Kookie. Don’t mind.”

“M–me either. I’m okay with it,” Jimin quickly added, blushing as you smiled gratefully over at him.

“That’s a relief to hear. I promise that this won’t be permanent, just for a little while until I figure out a better sleeping situation, alright?” You breathed, clasping your hands in front of you, “let me show you guys to your room.”

The hybrids quickly scurried behind you as you guided them up the stairs and down the hall, before you were pushing open a door. They gasped simultaneously, eyes widening as they took in the sight before them. “T–this is our room?” Taehyung swung his astonished gaze to meet yours.

“Yeah… do you not like it?” You asked, unable to read whether their reaction was positive or negative.

“No! I love it!” Taehyung cheered, bolting into the bedroom and pouncing onto the bed. “It’s so big! This is probably the biggest bed I’ve ever seen in my entire existence!”

“It’s amazing,” Jimin grinned excitedly as he made his way into the bedroom, joining Taehyung on the King sized mattress.

Jungkook murmured his agreement, “very nice. Very big. Kookie approve.”

You smiled, watching as they oohed and awed over every little detail of the room, from the dresser to the windowsill seat to the light fixtures above their head. Their amazement made your chest feel light.

“Well, I’m glad that you like it. You guys can get things to decorate it and really make it your own when we go shopping,” a yawn followed your statement. You hadn’t realized just how tired you’d become. It was a pretty eventful day, if you do say so yourself. But a wonderful kind of eventful.

“I’m headed to bed if you guys don’t need anything else. But if you do happen to need something in the middle of the night, my room is right across the hall.” You turned to leave, but paused as Taehyung cleared his throat.

A warm flush was resting on his cheeks, the faintest of smiles on his lips as he stared at you with such sincerity that your skin prickled and your heart picked up, “speaking for all of us… Thank you, Y/n. For everything.”

Taking a slightly trembling breath, you plastered a smile across your face, biting the inside of your cheek, “Of course. Good night, sleep tight, don’t let the bed bugs bite.”

“There are bed bugs?!”

“It’s just a saying Taehyung. There are no bed bugs.”

“Oh. Good night then! Sweet dreams!”

You shook your head in amusement, murmuring a final ‘goodnight’ before you stepped out of their room, gently shutting the door behind you. You plodded across the hall, slipping into your bedroom just as another yawn escaped you. Throwing yourself onto your bed, you groaned as you muscles instantly relaxed.

“Fuck, I missed you baby,” you muttered, tugging the sheets up to your chin as you nuzzled your head into the thick embrace of your favorite pillow. You know the one.

In no time you were dead asleep, snoring up a storm as your mind filled with fantasies of living on your own private island. But, this time you weren’t quite alone. Instead, you were accompanied by three beautifully misfit hybrids who seemed to fit right in. An island all alone in the middle of the island might’ve have gotten a tad bit lonely. You were glad they were there.

“Y-Y/n?”

Until one of them interrupted your blissful slumber that is.

“Yes? Huh? I’m awake. Who is it?” You fumbled, jolting upright as your heavy lids adjusted, squinting to try and make out the figure stood in the doorway. It was only dainty enough to belong to Jimin.

“It’s Jimin,” he identified himself.

As you suspected. You’re a genius even when half asleep.

Running a hand down your face in a feeble attempt to draw yourself further from the steel grip of sleep, you acknowledge him with a soft hum, “What’s up, beautiful?” You didn’t have to see him to know he was blushing.

“I–I… Jungkook accidentally kicked me out of bed and then he spread out and kinda took my spot a–and I was too scared to move him… s–so I was wondering if—” he faltered, fidgeting and lowering his head, “—if possibly… if it’s not too much of a nuisance… if I could—”

“Jimin, get over here.” You cut him off with a playful chuckle. He gently shut the door before stumbling over to you in the dark, tripping over various items you hadn’t taken the time to clean up. You weren’t expecting visitors.

The skunk hybrid faltered at the foot of your bed. “You really… don’t mind?”

“Not at all.”

That was all the encouragement he needed to climb onto the mattress, crawling up and plopping down beside you. But there was an awfully large space between the two of you, and it made a frown touch your face.

Sleepy y/n liked cuddles.

“Do you like to cuddle, Jiminie? Because, unless you’re opposed, I would really love to have a cuddle buddy right about now.”

You heard his breath falter. Then silence.

A discouraged sigh escaped you, and you rolled to your other side, facing away from him as you shut your eyes.

“I… I like cuddles.”

You flipped back over immediately, grinning widely as you parted your arms invitingly, making grabby hands, “then give me some love, sugar.”

The heat radiating off Jimin’s face was palpable as he shifted into your arms, allowing you to wrap yourself around him almost entirely, resting your chin just above his head. You could feel how quickly Jimin’s heart was beating, feel the faint trembling of his body against yours. But the way he nuzzled his burning face into your neck and coiled his arms shyly around your waist told you he wanted this just as much as you did. Small flicks of his ears tickled your under jaw, drawing the corners of your lips upwards.

You’d long forgotten the warmth of sharing your bed with another. The feeling of comfort that settled in you chest, the sense of belonging. It vanquished any loneliness that had lingered there in nights prior, Jimin taking the place of empty air. You loved it. You loved it so much.

It was then that you noticed something small and yellow squeezed between your chests. The chick stuffy Taehyung had given him. You bit your lip almost harshly enough to draw blood to keep down a squeal. How much more adorable could he get? Wrestling off the sudden desire to squeeze his cheeks and kiss all over his adorable little face, you drew slow, soothing circles against his back, listening to his breathing grow slower and heavier, until you were certain he was completely asleep.

“Good night, Jimin.” Pressing a tender kiss to the top of his head was the last thing you did that night before falling into the most blissful sleep you can recall ever having.

tag list: @queenofthecliff @sweetmurder12345 @thatmemechick @abehavedtinychild @twinklestqr @xanny91 @jintrohasarrived @purringpanda @rationalmagic @neocity97 @shelley-hennig14 @catsandstrawberries @brokebinnie @shortpeoplematter @bangtxnbxunch @jinnieseok @sosushy @cottoncandyparakeets @brazilianpal @camilaxpolanco @boononx @enthusiastt @daydreamindollie @kimsamueldeservesbetter @xxqueenwxtchxx @aimee-lucass @maryseesthings @unknownblinkarmy @mrsplisetsky @cliffordmonarchy @serious-addiction

1K notes · View notes

donatello-writes · 5 years

Text

Not Quite Human - Part IV

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

Mystified by your date's bizarre actions, you wandered about your apartment, racking your brain as to where you'd gone wrong. Overthinking was your specialty, and you feared that perhaps you moved too fast, making him feel uncomfortable. Mortification painted your face as you hoped that wasn't the reason. Noticing Noodle sniffing around excitedly by the couch, you walked over to see what he was so interested in. Kneeling down for a closer look, you found a few pale green flecks dotting your carpet. They were lightly iridescent with a rough texture, almost like the skin of a snake. "...Are these...Scales?"

The sound of labored breath, laden with guilt, echoed through the otherwise silent midnight alleyways of New York city. Donatello felt like a fugitive fleeing from the scene of a crime as he darted from rooftop to rooftop, further distancing himself from you. The crisp October air burned his throat, but not as badly as the words left unsaid. He failed to have the courage to finally come clean about what he actually was: a mutant. The fear that surrounded him admitting his truth to you was paralyzing, knowing the outcome would most likely result in him never seeing you again. There was no chance that someone as perfect as you would want to be with a freakish reject like him. Beauty and the Beast is a lovely story, but things like that never happened in real life.

Engrossed in thought, he was unprepared when his two-toed feet split through the small converse shoes, causing him to lose footing and tumble across the next rooftop. As he laid face-first on the cold and unforgiving concrete, he vowed to replace the shoes he'd destroyed, they were Mikey's after all. The human-turtle hybrid moved to get up, only to remain on the ground when a sharp pain shot down his back. He involuntarily coiled into a ball in preparation for the worst part of the change. The smooth skin on his back began to crawl before hardening as it reformed into his carapace.

Wincing, the Donatello hugged his own body for comfort. To distract himself from the pain, he focused on the sound of the sweatshirt slowly tearing apart as it surrendered to his expanding form. He felt terrible for destroying your belonging, but due to the intense stress of the moment, he was unable to remove it in time. It wasn't long before his shell triumphantly burst through the clothing, regaining it's rightful place on his back. The mutant breathed a sigh of relief, it was all over. Removing his glasses, and retrieving his mask from his pants pocket, he tied it back onto his face. Surveying his surroundings, he located a nearby manhole and quickly slipped down into it.

Staggering through the sewer tunnels, vision doubled, Donatello struggled to even keep himself upright. Sewage splashed up onto his bare legs with each heavy step that he took. What little material that remained of his tattered jeans clung to his larger mutant form snugly, making movement difficult. This wasn't good. For the first time, he actually felt woozy following his change. Why are the after effects so adverse this time? He thought, mind swiftly consumed by worry. Thankfully, the journey wasn't long, and the lights of the lair soon illuminated his path.

The fatigued terrapin stumbled back into the lair, breathing still strained. Wobbling legs that had been threatening instability the entire jaunt home, finally gave out, and he collapsed like a newborn baby deer. Normally he would have rested before returning home, but he wasn't thinking clearly in his agitated state. Alarmed by the less than graceful entrance, his brothers rushed to his aid. Leonardo was the first at his side, followed closely by the others.

"Donnie, what happened? Where's all of your tech?" the leader in blue questioned.

"I...was attacked by foot soldiers...They ambushed me, I barely escaped...They took everything, but thankfully I awoke before they could do anything else." He lied again, something he abhorred, but had been doing a surprising amount of lately. Mikey tried his best not to react, knowing full well that his older brother's story was likely untrue.

Somehow the genius managed to convince his brethren that he was fine, and stole away to his laboratory. How was he going to explain this to you? After leaving without so much as a goodbye out the bathroom window of your high rise apartment unit. That, in and of itself, would be quite difficult to explain without telling you the truth. Worst part of all being the very moment at which he departed. The two of you were getting rather intimate, and if not for his pesky changing form, he would have stayed. The last thing he wanted you to think was that he wasn't interested in you that way. As if any of that even mattered at this point. Once you saw his true form, that flame of desire would surely die.

Clearly his homemade ooze was unstable, it's effectiveness dwindling with each use. Time was a cruel mistress and refused Donatello any leeway. There was a limit to how many more times he'd be able to turn human, and honestly, he wasn't sure how much much more of it he could take. The formula was still incomplete. There was a key ingredient missing, and he couldn't figure out what.

***************************************

Back at your apartment, you collected the cluster of scales discovered after Donatello's bizarre and hasty departure. Digging a microscope out of the closet and unboxing the device, you carefully set it up. Slipping the scales between slides and under the lens, you examined them. Following some tests, the scales were identified as being of the common North American box turtle. Perhaps Donatello has a pet turtle? It was just odd, as turtles usually shed similarly to snakes, in large sloughs rather than individual scales.

As with most cases where you were in need of immediate answers, you turned to the internet. While navigating the seemingly unending information on box turtles, you happened upon a video. It was an excerpt from a nature documentary explaining their mating habits. The narrator prattled on in his proper English accent about how the males emit what was described as a churr, followed by footage of a male box turtle making an extremely familiar sound. Immediately recognizing it, you sat at your desk for a moment, completely stunned. It was almost identical to the sound you'd heard coming from Donatello.

This new bit of intrigue encouraged further investigation. With the few supplies that you had, you assembled everything needed to conduct a rudimentary DNA test. Running into your laundry room, you retrieved his signature flannel shirt. Upon careful inspection of the garment, you managed to find a hair that you could use for analysis. You placed the hair besides the scales under the lens and had a look. Moving your eye from the microscope, you gasped. Somehow, the structural appearance of each seemed to almost match.

"But that would mean...There's no way."

The tools required to conduct a proper test were not at your disposal, so you were quick to doubt the accuracy of the results. If your hypothesis was correct, Donatello would easily fit the description of those beings you'd heard about on the news. Considering the strides in genetic research that had occurred within the past decade, the existence of such a genetic marvel wasn't completely ludicrous. However, one fact remained: all of this was nothing but speculation until proven. This realization brought your wild theorizing to a halt.

Perhaps a goodnight's sleep would help to clear your restless mind.

Merely an hour or so after your head hit the pillow, a ruckus reverberated down the alley outside of your apartment, stirring you from fitful slumber. Understandably irked by the rude awakening, you grumbled and rolled over in your bed. The sound of a familiar voice among the others swiftly quelled your annoyance, prompting you to venture out of bed and over to the window.

"Donnie...?"

The name came out in the form of a whisper as you gazed skyward to the origin of the commotion. It was difficult to make out detail in the veil of night, but what you could see were four humanoid silhouettes on the rooftop of a neighboring building. The longer you stared, the more you came to realize that these figures weren't human. They had what appeared to be shells on their backs...turtles? Your eyes were drawn to one of them, specifically. The one who appeared to be decorated with various pieces of electronic equipment.

Why do I feel like I know him somehow?

Further investigation was in order. Clumsily stepping through the window, you made your way out onto the fire escape. Still hazy from sleep, little attention was paid to your footing. One misstep was all it took to send you over the rail with a yelp. Thanks to quick reflexes, you managed to grab onto it, leaving you dangling from a dangerous height.

Fingers losing grip with every passing second, it wasn't long before you finally began to fall. Knowing ground impact was immanent, you shut your eyes tight. But instead of hitting the hard pavement, you found yourself being whisked upward. Someone had caught you. Rough, scaly arms surrounded you, holding on tight and trembling ever so slightly. He didn't speak, but he didn't need to, his expression spoke volumes. Jaw dropped, releasing ragged breath, and eyes visibly ravaged by worry from behind his...tortoise shell glasses. This realization came too late, however, as you made the mistake of looking down. Dizziness assaulted your vision and the world swiftly went dark.

Once he climbed your fire escape, his tension eased to see that you had fallen unconscious. That eliminated any awkward questions that he couldn't answer. His voice was too recognizable to you. It could give him away or, at the very least, cause suspicion.

Gently, he laid you down onto the bed. Bringing the covers over you, he then lovingly tucked you in. He couldn't resist resting a hand softly on your cheek. So warm against his cold palm, a reminder of how different you were. It was easy to forget at times while waltzing around in human skin.

Just as he turned to leave, you shifted in your bed and mumbled, "Donnie..." He shuddered at the sound of his own name. Peering over his shoulder, a sigh of relief left him to see that you were still out cold.

It was just a coincidence, he told himself.

***************************************

Awakening with a start, you were bewildered to find yourself in bed. "B-but...impossible."

Throwing off the covers, you ran back to the window, gazing up to find the mysterious creatures had long since vanished. Before falling you could have sworn that you heard Donatello, but it all happened so quickly that you started to doubt yourself. With your crack theory regarding the nerdy lad all but consuming your thoughts as of late, you weren't all that surprised.

It was just a dream...right?

The next day, he called. Despite him being the one who initiated the conversation, you were the first to begin.

“Donnie! About yesterday...If I made you feel uncomfortable at any point, I am so, so sorry.”

“No! That wasn’t it at all! I called to apologize to you.” there was a momentary pause as he collected his thoughts before continuing, “I’ve never been with another person in that way and I just got a bit...overwhelmed.”

Though you maintained that jumping out a window was not the best choice, you understood. Nerves can make a person do crazy things.“Well, if that ever happens again, can you promise me one thing?”

“Of course, anything.”

“Next time, please use the front door.” snorts and laughter came from the other end as he agreed to your terms. After a bit of talking, the two of you made plans to meet up. Excitedly stuffing all of your necessities into your backpack, you immediately headed out.

***************************************

"You forgot something the other night." with a broad smile you then handed over the flannel shirt, neatly folded and cleaned. The scent of lavender and vanilla laundry detergent clung to the material, filling the air with it's pleasant aroma. "It seems as though you're determined to have me keep this."

Noticing a curious purple rag poking out of his pants pocket, you swiped it for further investigation. It looked so familiar, but you couldn't place where you'd seen it before. He jerked after feeling the item leave his pocket and turned to you. Gears were already turning in his head, preparing his answer to whatever you were about to say.

Upon further examination of the brilliantly colored cloth, you came to discover two specifically cut holes in it. Additionally, there were designs up and down both sides. One appeared to be Japanese kanji and the other...*an icon of a turtle*. That was it! The terrapin rescuer of your dreams was wearing a mask almost identical to this one.

"Is this a...mask?"

Without missing a beat, Donatello replied, "Yes, because I'm secretly a crime fighting superhero by night." He said, laughing a bit louder than necessary.

"You did mention that you work at night...The pieces of the Donnie puzzle are finally coming together." with a wry smirk, you played along with his comical hypothetical. As he reached out to reclaim his possession, you swiftly tied to onto your face.

Puckering your lips goofily, you then requested his opinion, "How do I look?" adding to the humorous display with hands on both hips and a sassy rolling of the shoulders.

"I'm not going to lie...you look good in purple. Unfortunately, now I will have to kill you because you know my secret identity. It's such a shame too...I was really starting to like you, we had a good run." as the two of you exchanged a laugh, he wrapped his arms around you; using this as a distraction to remove the mask. "Now, are we just going to fool around or are we going on a date?"

***************************************

Within the next few months, when Donatello wasn't working on the ooze formula, he was out with you. The more time that you spent together, the more he couldn't help but worry about telling you the truth. He was leaving a crucial fact out of the equation: that he wasn't exactly human...Well, not completely. Guilt ate away at his delicate conscience, his anxiety surrounding the matter only worsening with each passing day. The night that you shared together was a close call. It was only a matter of time before it somehow surfaced whether planned or unexpected. Not wanting circumstances to come to the latter, he resolved to tell you on his own terms. It was just a matter of finding the right time.

Going over the plans for the evening in his head, Donatello gathered everything he needed for the night. Dinner, a movie, and a walk through the park. That would allow more than enough time to return to your apartment, and for him to confess to you before the ooze's effectiveness wore off. Without the visual, his story would be hard to believe. A much as it pained him to think of you watching his gruesome shift in form, it needed to be done.

With a heavy sigh, he headed away from the lair and deep into the sewers to take the ooze. Following his change, he donned a Queen t-shirt and squirmed uncomfortably while fitting his suspenders over his shoulders. It felt strange wearing his usual cargo pants. Not only were they ill-fitting on his smaller human body, but they also served to mark the end. The end of being human, the end of being normal, the end of being...with you.

The final touch: his purple flannel over shirt. It would undoubtedly be torn apart when he reverted back, and he couldn't think of a better way to get rid of it. He couldn't keep the article of clothing after all that it came to stand for. The outfit was far from fashionable, but at that point in time, he was in need of functionality. He didn't bother to remove his goggles, there was no point, she'd already seen them. Bedsides, it'd be far better to be prepared in case anything happened.

***************************************

"Nice suspenders, you're really playing up the hot nerd look, huh?" You joked.

Making a point to adjust his glasses he replied, "You know you like it."

Shooting him a smirk, you grabbed hold of his suspenders and pulled him into a kiss. "Oh, I definitely do...And I surrender, the nerdy allure is too much for me to handle! Have mercy!" You both chuckled as you made your way to the restaurant.

Hopping seamlessly from dinner to movie, the date was just as normal as any other. However, once you left the theater and headed off to your next destination, Donatello leaned in and whispered, "I don't mean to alarm you, but...It appears that we have chaperones accompanying our date. They're undoubtedly looking for revenge after what I did to them before." He concluded, and you breathed a sigh of relief. He still didn't know that they were after you, specifically.

After a series of twists, turns, and misdirections that would make even the Scooby Doo gang dizzy, it seemed you had thrown the ruffians off your trail. The detour had taken a decent chunk of time, and by now it was already dark. Given how far you both were from her apartment, he was forced to find a secluded place where there'd be no threat of him being seen as he transformed.

A rooftop.

Taking your hand in his, he led you up a nearby fire escape. You didn't question it, figuring this was still part of your evading the current threat. Once the two of you reached the top, stared up at the sky wistfully before turning to you. Gazing deep into your eyes, he wasn't sure where to begin. After everything that had transpired that night, his time frame was limited. Within the hour, the effects of the ooze would cease and his true appearance revealed.

Noticing his unease, you wrapped your arms around him. The tips of your fingers traced up and down the back of his neck, sending shivers down his spine. You followed with a delicate touch of the lips. He savored every kiss that you granted him, knowing this would all come to an end once you knew what he really was...a monster...those words still echoed in Donatello's head from that terrible night at the Police station. His analytical brain made sense of the situation, he'd rationalized long ago that what those police had said came from a place of ignorance; however, knowing that fact didn't make their words hurt any less.

"Y/N...I...I haven't been myself lately." He began, words slow and heavy.

Puffing a chuckle, you replied, "It's okay, it happens to the best of us."

"No. You don't understand, I-I'm not hu--"

Angry shouts cut Donatello off from his confession. The Purple Dragons who had been following the two of you earlier had managed to locate you once more. Effortlessly scooping you up into his arms, your beau made a mad dash for the fire escape. While descending the stairs, your phone wriggled free from your pocket and plummeted down to the concrete below. You let out an involuntary shriek as it did so.

"S-sorry, I'll get you a new one!" He promised as you finally reached the bottom. Without hesitation, he then bolted down the alleyway with impressive speed. You looked back to see a few new thugs had joined the chase and were not far behind. The change was upon him, and in a panic, he hastened his pace. He was paying little attention to navigation, but thankfully you were. Recognizing the area, you shouted at Donatello to stop. Unfortunately, the warning came too late, he'd already turned to face a dead end.

Pain finally gripped him and he froze, allowing the pursuers to catch up. Nestled in his arms, you could feel his muscles twitching incessantly, begging to regain their proper form. Surveying his surroundings, there were no fire escapes, no windows, nothing to grab onto to make a getaway. The only thing in this alley was a faulty streetlight that flickered weakly, offering an eerie lighting to the already tense situation.

***************************************

Your piercing screech echoed down the streets, making it's way to the ears of a certain leader in blue. Out with only two of his brothers, he couldn't ignore such an apparent cry of distress. Following the sound, they came to find only the Purple Dragons all converging on one point. Clearly they were up to nothing good, so they silently followed from the rooftops. Eventually coming upon the objects of the chase: a young, unassuming couple.

Raphael tilted his head, perplexed, as he concentrated his gaze on the stranger below, "Hey, doesn't that guy look kinda familiah?" He inquired, nudging his little brother.

"Nope, nope...Haven't seen that dude before in my life." Michelangelo straightened up, trying his best not to seem suspicious. Knowing it was Donatello, and concerned for his safety, the orange masked turtle added, "Should we go down there and help them?" He then looked to his older brethren for guidance. Both of them traded glances before surveying the scene below one more time. The heroic young man was poised to fight off his attackers, and he didn't appear to be a stranger to combat, judging from his solid fighting stance, and the fierce expression on his face.

Leonardo shook his head decisively, "No, if it's not absolutely necessary for us to intervene, we won't. We are not going to risk being seen over a small skirmish." the leader had spoken, and he directed his younger team members to follow him away from the stand-off. Not but a second later, the human man prepared to dish our the much deserved beating that his assailants were begging for.

This was a dead end in every sense of the phrase. Standing between you and the enemy, Donatello held his place firmly. He would do anything it took to ensure your safety. As if some otherworldly force were at work in his favor, just as the miscreants prepared for attack, the streetlight cut out. Scant beams of moonlight streamed in from between the lofty buildings and offered little light to the scene. Low gasps and groans of displeasure came from the Purple Dragons, but not him. He was completely at home in the shadows.

Drawing in a deep breath, Donatello began fighting off the group, and defend you. They all rushed at him, despite their limited vision, and the game was set. Maneuvering through the group with calculated grace, he easily evaded the flurry of fists and weapons. His strikes were deliberate, without a hint of hesitation. There was no time for flourishes like the last fight, this time he was all business. Admittedly, he was putting on a bit of a show to impress you the last time he faced off against these thugs.

Leonardo motioned for his brothers to follow him away from the scene, and the both nodded. Turning back to catch one last glimpse of the show, Raphael's eyes widened. He recognized those fighting movements instantly, they were exactly the same as what he and his brothers learned from Master Splinter. "Guys. Check out this nerd's moves."

Well aware that his shift in form was upon him, Donatello was forced to ignore it, and focus on the fight. Scales began to replace skin, and the sound of tearing fabric rang out into the quieted night. His darkened form appeared to be growing, but that couldn't be possible. A single flash from the streetlight gave you a glimpse of your heroic beau, half-turned. It was only for a split second, but enough.

The two oldest brothers watched in disbelief as this gangly human man slowly took the familiar shape of their brother, far too stunned by what their eyes were beholding to take action. Michelangelo shifted uncomfortably, being privy to the secret, trying to pretend like he was equally as surprised. The leader was speechless, not entirely sure of what he had just witnessed. While beside him, the red brute showed the most visible reaction. A myriad of emotions swept over the red masked turtle's face--shock, fear, and disgust, before finally settling on his usual: anger.

As the transformation persisted, so did Donatello's attackers. He wanted to double over, but couldn't let up his defense for a second. All that he could do was grit his teeth, and tolerate the pain as he continued fending off the assault. There were far too many enemies for him to be concerned with his change at this point in time. Meanwhile, his practically blind assailants were oblivious to his shifting form.

It wasn't until he took down the last of his opponents, and reached for your hand, that he finally came crashing back down to reality from his adrenaline high. His three-pronged, green, scaly hand was outstretched before him, mere inches away from yours. At which point, the streetlight finally decided to remain on, shining brightly down on the newly turned mutant like a spotlight. The otherworldly force was not so benevolent after all.

The orange and red masked brothers were prepared to jump down and interrupt, but Leonardo quickly stopped them. "No...we're not needed here." He stated, knowing this was time that you and Donatello needed alone. The wise leader was able to read the situation effortlessly. Putting the disappointment that he was feeling on the back burner, he chose empathy. Knowing that his sibling was already stressed, he didn't want to compound that by getting involved at this moment.

"Whut??? Didja not see our brother just--" the burly terrapin readied his argument, but was swiftly silenced by the head of the team. "Enough, we're not interfering. We can discuss this with Donnie later, but right now...They need to be alone."

Coming to the realization that you had just witnessed him transform for the first time, Donatello's eyes grew wide with horror and he quickly withdrew his hand. He wished this had happened under better circumstances, but these were the cards that he was dealt. Dread flashed over his features as you stared back at him, transfixed. The expression on your face appeared almost identical to the one in his nightmare. Anxiety at it's peak, he backed away like a frightened animal and absconded without saying a word. There was nothing to be said, his monstrous form spoke for itself, telling the story of his deceit.

The mutant's departure was so swift that he didn't hear your plea for him to stay. By the time you'd found words, he had already disappeared into the night. You stood there, surrounded by fallen enemies, and the many tattered pieces of his flannel shirt that laid strewn about the alley. Kneeling down, one by one you carefully collected the pieces of material. After retrieving every last shred, you stepped over the unconscious men and slowly made your way home in a daze.

Once he had returned to the lair, Donatello shut himself away in his room, head reeling from what had just occurred. The look of fear on your face replayed endlessly in his head as if it were a video on loop. He didn't expect you to accept him like this, he was an abomination of both nature and science. He only wanted for you to be able to lead a normal life, and he was unable to give you that. Knowing this fact made his heart ache.

Surely you wouldn't want to see him again, he concluded pessimistically. Not after watching someone you thought was human horrifically transform into a monster before your very eyes. Someone you trusted...and maybe even...loved? He quickly erased that possibility from his mind, you'd never return your affection for him like this...as a mutant. You loved the human Donatello, and that was the reality of the situation.

You returned to your apartment, utterly dumbfounded by the recent events. From your brief infiltration of Dr. Stockman's laboratory, you knew that he made unbelievable breakthroughs in genetic engineering. Though you were not privy to the specifics of his work, rumors flew within the scientific community that he'd found a way to modify human and animal DNA with his miraculous purple serum. You didn't believe these insane claims, it was something like that seemed unachievable. Despite the fact that you'd been hired to purloin said formula, you still weren't convinced of it's effectiveness. Was Donatello really a human-animal hybrid? Even though you'd witnessed him change into his half-animal form right in front of you, if was still difficult to swallow.

"He's...incredible."

...to be continued.

Tagged a few folks who asked to be:

@ali-on-reverie @fullvoidmoon @notaliteraltoad

#aaand it's done #I sure hope it was worth the wait #cause I don't feel like it was #*dies*#I struggled with this part for some reason I'm sorry guys #I'm just happy that I finished it #bayverse tmnt #tmnt fan fic #tmnt x reader #donatello x reader #tmnt 2016 #tmnt 2014 #tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #fan fiction #my writing #don's quill pen #not quite human

253 notes · View notes

peachyteabuck · 5 years

Text

study buddy, part iv

series summary: after crushing on you since freshman orientation, Natasha finally gets the guts to ask you help you pass her postmodern lit midterm, to which you agree.

chapter summary: for the first time in her life, natasha romanoff freaks out about a test grade. luckily, you’re there to coach her through it.

pairing: natasha romanoff x reader

words: 4,253

trigger warnings: talk of past drug abuse, mention of sexual assault, heavy smut, fluff, unhappy childhood mention

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

part one, part two, part three

You’re already soaking when Nat teased the head of the toy at your entrance, your arousal evident by the sounds of the silicon as it rubbed against your slick, smooth folds. With each drag a whine escaped you, each second that passed by met with another flood of heat across your skin. “Ple-ease,” you sniffled as fat tears welled up in your eyes and your voice broke from overuse. “Please, Mommy, please”

Natasha just let out a hearty laugh, moving the strap away and replacing it with her fingers. As she spoke, she just barely dipped them inside of you. “Oh, c’mon baby girl. Was that not enough for you? Do want Mommy to give you more? Huh? Are you such a greedy little slut you can’t appreciate what your Mommy gives you?”

You nodded furiously, your “yesyesyesyesyes”s just above a low whisper as you rolled your hips. Your words slowly but surely turned to babble. “yes mommy yes please I’m your little slut I want more please give me more.”

Natasha laughed again as she leaned forward to invade your line of sight once more.

“Mm, might have to be careful and fuck you nice and slow,” she mumbled into your collarbone, the bruises still deep purple. The thin layer of sweat that had formed there made her smile. “Don’t want to break this perfect little thing I’ve been gifted.”

You shook your head violently, grabbing at the sheets so hard your fingers went cold and where each bone met the next ached. “No, no no please, please fuck me Mommy please please touch me please fuck me please.”

Natasha remained unconvinced by your whining. “You poor little thing. I just neglect you so much. Don’t I?” You struggled to speak as she moved to straddle your waist. The heavy toy moved as she did so, occasionally hitting your stomach as she sat upon you. “Hm. Maybe you should get yourself off if you don’t want to answer me, is that a fair punishment?”

You still didn’t respond with the words Natasha wanted, mind too fucked out to sob properly, let alone speak. Still, the fear of disappointing her cut through the fog, and you nodded weakly.

The woman above you smiled, the eponymous image of something wicked that wanted to make you come in whatever way she saw fit. Beside you, placed expertly by Natasha with equal distance between each toy, rested at least four different vibrators of varying strength and shape. If you were lucky enough to get off at your own hand, it’s unlikely Natasha would allow you to choose which weapon will lead to your destruction. Somehow, that thought is worse than anything else she could do to you; forced to bring yourself to the edge (or deny yourself such release) without the dignity of choice but ultimate control over choice of action seems like stories of ole, when disgraced knights caught in their desertion were forced to sacrifice themselves in front of large crowds with the weapon chosen by their ruler.

Empty promises of autonomy, spiritless last chances at reclaiming pride…that’s what they all were.

But you still can’t find it in yourself to complain when Natasha slipped the most powerful of the set into your hands – a battery powered Hitachi colored a matte black – and told you to edge yourself. Your throat burned by then, each breathy moan felt like it’d been ripped out of you with acrylic lesbian porno nails. That sure as Hell didn’t stop you, though, from moaning with each roll of your hips as the woman above you flipped it on.

It didn’t stop Natasha, either, as she cradled your tear-stained face with her pussy-wet hands and told you not to stop until she said so.

“C’mon, baby,” she cooed. Her lips grazed across your cheek as she did so. “Do what you’re told, lemme watch you. Show me how cute you are when you get yourself off.”

It’s so much so quick, every sensation making your whole body shake violently. Natasha mocked you as it became too much, sneering when she pulled the toy away from your center and you screamed in protest. “Can the little slut not take it, hm? Does Mommy not letting you cum make you sad?”

You didn’t say anything, terrified of worse punishment.

Natasha slapped your chest, leaving your breasts angry and hot. “Answer me.”

“Yes!” You cried. “Yes Mommy I want to cum, please let me cum!”

Natasha just rolled her eyes. “What you need doesn’t matter. And keep whining like that…” she paused to pinch one of your nipples and ignored your wails. “I’ll really give you something to cry about.”

This continued three, four, five more times (how many you still can’t exactly be sure), each worse than the last. You’d get there, right at the peak, right at the edge of the mountain, right before one jumped into an ocean, and then-

“Stop. Now. You’re done.”

And then you’d cry and whine high in your throat and thrash around. Somewhere between your lip starting to bleed from you biting it and your drool forming a pool on the sweat-slick pillow she started to fuck you, a horrible and terrifying slow pace that was steady and painful and holy shit you didn’t even know they made fake cocks that big.

Natasha laughed as a particularly poignant thrust almost made you lose feeling in your hands and feet, your strangled weeps sounds that only encouraged her. “There we go,” she murmured, reaching over to grab a bullet vibrator before she turned it on and slipped it under the strap on. She only got more feral, fucking you harder as the vibrations gave her more pleasure than she expected, more pleasure than she ever could’ve dreamed of.

It was almost too much, the feeling of your body under hers and the sounds of your moaning and begging mixed with the soreness in her muscles of her abdomen and the tightness just beneath that, the sweet vibrations on her clit and the sight of you – all stretched out with your knees pressed to your heated ears and jaw slack and eyes scrunched shut and hair wild against the pillow and something, something incoherent but still so beautiful falling from your swollen lips.

Some words, not most, but some, she could decipher. “Mommy, mommy, please please don’t stop I’m gonna cum please make me cum.”

And oh, did she make you cum.

It didn’t feel the same as the last time, doesn’t feel as sudden. Deeper almost, earth-shatteringly so.

Natasha’s wearing the same shit-eating grin, though her eyes are much more hazy and tears prick the corners of them as well as your own.

“You keep soaking my sheets like this, babygirl, Mommy’s gonna have to make you pick up the tab,” she chuckles as she pulls out of you.

For a moment you just laid there, twitching and gasping as the aftershocks rolled through you, as your pussy clenched around nothing and as your eyes cried without any tears. You couldn’t speak – each time you tried the words fell away from your brain before they could be said.

“You good, baby?” she cooed, rubbing her thumb over your chin and bottom lip.

All you could do is mmm as the world slowly rebuilds itself around you. Natasha chuckles at that, laughed as she pulled the strap-on off and tossed it in the bathroom to be cleaned later. At that moment, she simply grabbed what she needed for aftercare – including the special lotion she had bought for you when Sam had dragged her to Bed, Bath, and Beyond a few days prior.

She cleaned between your legs with a washcloth dampened with cool water – something that normally made you flinch and hiss, but then did nothing as you laid there and panted with your eyes firmly shut.

“You’re always so good for me, baby,” she cooed once she was done. You were too tired to do anything except give a soft smile in response. “You want to take a nap before we gotta leave?”

You were asleep before Natasha could finish her question. She chuckled nonetheless, and kissed your temple before throwing the cloth in her dirty laundry bin (one that you bought her when you had discovered – horrified beyond what you thought was possible – that she just piled all of her dirty clothes into one corner “like some sort of thirteen year old boy at summer camp,” as you had said). She curled up under the thick, heavy blankets with her legs around your waist and arms around your chest.

It was nice, the silence. Natasha welcomed the sleep that pulled at her eyelids, and soon the two of you were asleep just as the rest of the world roared to life.

The alarm – one of several you had in your phone that go off at oddly specific times – woke the both of you with some loud jingling that may or may not be the music box version of some hit emo song that was popular around the time Natasha and you would’ve been in middle school.

It’s almost an hour after that when you finally regained control over your body, heart returning to a normal pace and legs not aching (too badly) every time you tried to walk. As you slipped on the easiest clothes possible (see: a hood of Natasha’s and some old sleep shorts of yours), you finally noticed Natasha offering you your phone.

“Let me walk you to class?” she more suggested than asked.

It was sweet, and you grinned widely at her and nodded wordlessly as you reached for your phone before you grabbed your backpack and she grabbed her own. It was an interesting juxtaposition, to see your powder blue Jansport artfully stuffed to brim with colored pens, notebooks, sticky notes, highlighters, and your laptop with exactly one (1) sticker (of a cat trying to climb an adorable small cactus) verses Nat’s beat-up backpack that only held one five-subject notebook, a pencil case with five (5) black ballpoint pens, two Mountain Dews, three Monsters, and a half-drank carton of orange juice. Maybe it was dorky to giggle as Nat’s thumb rubbed circles onto the back of your hand, but you didn’t really care. Little butterflies populated your stomach and limbs, but they aren’t nervous. They were too excited to be nervous, preoccupied with the intimidating pretty girl who had accepted you into her tight personal bubble.

The walk to campus wasn’t far, cliques of freshman with lanyards around their necks and frat boys wearing Supreme became more frequent as you neared the on-campus housing area.

When you breach the official campus it’s another ten minutes until you make your way into the hall where your class is being held. Just as the two of you sit down in your seats way in the back, the professor comes in, calmly places his light brown leather briefcase on the table at the front of the class, and then coolly announces that the class will be having a “surprise assessment.”

“You’ll get forty-five minutes once you hear the sound of the timer starting, any unfinished assessments will receive a failing grade,” the professor said with some paradoxical mix of apathy and malice. With each passing second, the lecture hall becomes more and more ablaze with increasing heart beats and sweaty palms.

Immediately, you could feel Natasha tense next to you. As the TA helped pass the quizzes out, you tried to take a moment to grasp her shaking hand. As you wrap your fingers around hers, you tried to reassure her. “It’ll be okay,” you mouthed. “I promise.”

Natasha doesn’t say anything, just sucks in a deep breath and clicks the (your) mechanical pencil to push the lead forward before writing down her name and the date onto the misleadingly thin stack of perfectly stapled paper.

The TA is a dick, even you’d admit that. But she sure does know how to perfect mundane tasks.

As you start on your own quiz, you realize that this isn’t that hard. It’s a few multiple-choice questions, a short essay about Lacan’s influence on Butler. Most of the short-answers questions focus on Baudrillard’s theory about the Gulf War – specifically the role of the media. You’d studied for this, you’ve studied with Natasha for this. Sure, the question on Zizek’s death drive might be a bit tricky, but you’re sure she can figure them out – she’s smart, you’ve explained this to her several times.

With that final thought, you began.

The finished “assessments” were dropped off on the long oak desk set in the center front of the lecture hall, the messy collection of hand-written essays balanced precariously on top of each other – not unlike a late-stage Jenga game with a $1500 an hour fee.

Your walk home with Natasha was just as tense as expected, just as silent and robotic as you’d think she would be.

“For what it’s worth,” you said as she opened the door to her homestead. “I think you probably did well.”

Natasha, in all her dismalness, said nothing.

It didn’t take long for her to rid herself of her pants and position herself on her side of the bed with her laptop opened on her stomach and bottle of alcohol opened in her hand.

She furiously refreshed her grade portal exactly once every 10.76 seconds - just long enough for the page to load, her to log back in, see the lack of grade, sigh, take a swig of dessert wine, grimace at the cheap taste of said dessert wine, and refresh the page again once more.

You were sitting next to her on her bed, trying to proofread and edit the day’s biostatistics notes. Mostly you were putting formulas in their proper formatting, redoing graphs, and color-coding headers and vocab – something you did all the time.

Though, now this relatively-easy study technique had become much harder to do than normal because you were doing it one-handed, your non-dominate one resting under the soft, white t-shirt of the anxious redhead – trapped between the heat of her skin and the fabric adorning her body. Occasionally, you’d run your thumb over the knobs of her spine as an act of comfort, but you’re not sure how helpful the gesture is.

Eventually, you tried to reason with her.

“You know the prof said he’d have them by 8:30 tonight and it’s…” you checked the small clock in the corner of her laptop screen. “Five. Fifteen. And fifteen, sixteen…why do you have the seconds showing on your clock?”

Natasha sighed before taking a particularly long drink of the overly sweet alcohol. “I just…” she shrugged. “I’m just super worried about this, okay? I don’t want to do poorly on this assessment. It’s just important to me.”

You nodded silently before you closed your designated biostatistics notebook, placed it under the nightstand, and curled up into your lover’s side. You were wearing a light pink sweater with a matching headband, black cotton panties, and fuzzy white socks. Natasha placed her face into your shoulder and inhaled the complementary, flowery scents of your deodorant and body wash, pressing her skin into the comforting fabric.

“I get it,” you told her. “You want to do well. Do you want a distraction, or…?”

Natasha sighed, shut her laptop, and pushed it to the carpeted floor. “I don’t even know. I feel like if I don’t think about it then I don’t care and then I’m gonna fail because the magical almighty karma I’ve delicately balanced will tumble on top of me like a Jenga tower.”

For a moment you didn’t speak, unable to find the precise verbal response to such a poetic string of words.

“I just meant ‘do you want some head’ but,” Natasha moved to laugh into your shoulder as you tried to finish your thought through your own giggles. “Yeah, that works, too.”

As you both barked laughter into each other’s skin, all the worries that had surrounded her halo of deep red hair seemed to have vanished, dispersed to bother some other college student with a lifetime worth of debt on their shoulders. With the corners of her lips and the thick of her cheeks sore from the sudden happiness, Natasha curled herself into your side with her chin where your arms met the rest of your body. As easy as pre-algebra, your hand found its way through her stress-mused hair and your fingers worked out some of the knots that have found themselves a home atop Natasha’s head.

It’s silent, the only sound in Natasha’s ears the lazy thump, thump, thump of your heart and the occasional rustle of covers as your legs became entangled like the complicated French braids you’d put in other girl’s hair on the rare occasions your mother let you sleep over at a friend’s house. One of the rare childhood memories you don’t need a therapist’s house to reconcile, a smile spred across your face as you remember how your thin, nimble fingers became worth more than gold to the group of long-haired twelve year-olds who couldn’t quite emulate the fanciful hairstyles they found in American Girl magazine.

“Whatcha laughin’ at?” Natasha asked as she ran her fingers over the seam of your sweater.

You shrugged – carefully, as not to displace her head. You said nothing.

Natasha prodded. Whether it was to take her mind off the impending doom of the surprise grade or because she was curious, you didn’t care. “C’mon, you know you can tell me anything, right? Just tell me what you were laughing at!”

Again, you shrugged. “I don’t know, middle school I guess.”

She grimaced, you could feel her scrunched nose even through the thick fabric. “Ugh, middle school. What’s so funny about the worst three years of your life?”

“I had worse years,” you told her honestly. “Had a few good times, is all. Was thinking about the dumb shit I liked and did.”

Natasha immediately pushed herself up, wide eyes bearing into yours. “You, the sweetest and most innocent and wonderful nerd this university has ever known did dumb shit?”

Before you could respond she was pushing into you, bouncing you against the pillows under your back with reckless abandon.

“Tell me!” She nearly screamed. “Tell me! Tell me! Tell me! Tell me! Tell me! Tell me! Tellmetellmetellmetellme!”

You were laughing much too hard to fight her off, simply pushed at her with weak hands ad you hoped the much stronger woman would let up. “Give me as second to breathe and I’ll tell you!”

It took a minute for you to catch your breath, face hurting from such pure happiness.

“My mother was super overprotective and overbearing, but every once and awhile she’d let me go to a sleepover. And I figured out if I could do intricate braids all the girls would want to be my friend, and some of them turned out to be super nice,” you tried to calm your mouse-like heartbeat with deep breathes to no avail. “I was just thinking of those good times.”

“That was a lot more tender than I expected,” Natasha admitted with a huff before she fell onto your chest once more. “I thought you were gonna tell me you like, did drugs or something, like sneaking out at night or whatever.”

You rolled your eyes, your hand resuming its position in her hair. “Nah, I’ve been this way my whole life.”

A beat passed after Natasha released a small humpf and resigned herself to cuddling with someone she would barely hesitate to call “boring.”

You’re the one to fill the silence, hoping to bridge the space between the versions of you Natasha does and does not have the (dis)pleasure of knowing. “You know, you’ve never told me about what you were like before college.”

Natasha shrugged, as she knew what to say but not how to say it. “I don’t know. I wasn’t like, cool or anything. Just super depressed and spent a lot of time doing drugs and coding.”

In a move incredibly unexpected, you touched the pad of your first finger to her nose. Natasha, struck by the sudden intimate contact and your undeniable cuteness, did not know what to do.

“It sounds like you were as boring as me,” you giggled. “Just a lot less sober.”

Natasha let out a small laugh, pushing your hand away. “Boring is a good word,” she mumbles. She’s staring off into space now, thinking about how much that time in her life sucked. Once she skipped school for three days straight to take Adderal and snort coke and hack into a nearby tech startup, a CEO of which had groped a friend of hers at a party a few weeks prior. A few years older and she might have been a member of Anonymous, but instead she was stuck in the basement of her house wishing whatever upper she’d bought from that sketchy kid down the street would kill her.

“Babe,” you said with a low voice. It cut through the thick of her thoughts but didn’t free her from their deathly grasp. “You okay? You need anything?”

Nat visibly snapped out of it, turning back to you with a small smile. “Yeah, I’m,” she exhales deeply. “I’m fine.

She flicked your bottom lip with her thumb and stared at your face with focus you’ve only seen painting her features when she’s typing code or working out the kinks of a program or whatever the fuck it is she does. You’re normally too distracted staring at her to fully process her long-winded explanation of what she does for her internship and classes and job.

She’s too pretty, you couldn’t help it.

“You have the softest lips I’ve ever felt,” Natasha mumbled. Her eyes skipped between your glassy eyes and shallow breaths. “Somehow, every day I find myself more and more enamored by you.”

A lump – in the time Natasha had spoken those first and last words – had formed and lodged itself in your throat. Still, you attempt to find your post-verbal footing in your shared affections.

“That’s the sweetest and most sexually charged thing anyone has ever said to me.”

The pair of you immediately fall into a fit of giggles that has both of your bellies and cheeks aching with pure joy that comes from such a statement. Soon your fit of laughter dies down and a quiet settles over you, one that comforts rather than urks you. It’s a canyon’s worth of time later that Natasha moves back up so your faces are nearly touching.

The kiss she gives you is tender, much more so than any other touch she’d graced you with. It’s not so much a surprise – it’s not as if you had never kissed before – but it is…different.

Your hands are still tangled in Natasha’s shirt, and hers have found themselves on either side of your face.

“This,” she only speaks when you pull away to breathe. “Is an excellent distraction, by the way.”

Again, you release a small giggle that is soon silenced with kisses that soon turn deep and desperate as she pushes you down further into the shitty mattress with her now-displaced hands.

But, as your kisses get keeps and her hands travel South, Natasha takes a moment to come up lay small pecks on your cheeks and nose.

A few moments pass with the pair of you gazing into each other’s eyes as if there were complicated algorithms behind them.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re beautiful?” she asks – whispering low as if you’re some feral cat she’s trying to trap…or maybe something less morbid. You should probably stop thinking any person trying to give you affection is doing it to ensnare you in a complicated plot for more views on their Snapchat story. Still, as Natasha pushes herself up to kiss you – you can hear the guffaws of the popular senior girls from beyond the bathroom stall you cried in.

“Baby,” Natasha’s voice cut through the memory in jagged motions, enough so that your eyes aren’t screwed shut but your hand still feel the cold of the stall door’s nearly-broken lock that keeps said door closed – the only barrier between you and your tormentors.

“Baby, are you okay?” her voice was genuinely concerned – and the lack of ulterior motive had you sobbing. “C’mon,” Natasha held you close, pressed to her and her soft shirt. “Baby, it’s okay, you’re okay.”

It’s hard to do anything but cry – loudly – as she pets your hair and peppers your face with kisses. Her smooth voice is calming, almost enough to stop the tears from soaking your cheeks – but each trauma from elementary to high school still cut into your blurry vision.

You don’t know exactly when you’re able to stop the flow of tears, but it seems to culminate with your eyelids fluttering shut and body slumping against the woman who holds you so tight.

This, Natasha thought to herself, is heaven.

The woman stayed awake for a little longer, wanting to savor the sweet moment a little longer.

Still, the darkness with your steady breathing and blissfully warm skin soon coaxed her into falling into a sleep deeper and calmer than anything she’d ever experienced before. Somehow, she didn’t even shoot awake when her laptop PINGed when her grade updated. But, then again, how could anything like that matter when she had you?

@stuckys-whore

#study buddy #lukis writes stuff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff smut #avengers imagine #black widow x reader #natasha romanoff lemons #black widow lemons

435 notes · View notes