#thank u for the prompt this was so fun to write !!!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

maxinesgun · 3 days

Note

hii, i loveddd ur last fic and was wondering if u could write jealous (but sweet) shane?? if ur up for it ofc ! either way btw I LOVE UR WRITING + THANK U FOR WRITING SHANE HER FICS ARE SO RARE

Jealousy, Jealousy | s.m

pairing: shane mccutcheon x fem!reader

contains: jealous!shane, smoking, some fluff, established relationship, oblivious reader, implied nsfw at the end

summary: shane gets jealous when she notices a woman being flirty with you at a coffee shop.

a/n: tysm anon!! love this request because i was definitely planning to write jealous shane are you kidding me? also sorry that the writing has slowed down, school has started back up again and I've been sick for the last week so I've been fighting for my life

word count: 2.1k

It was almost the last straw for you when you reached into your bag and found that your wallet wasn’t there.

The first had been sleeping through your alarm, and the second was when someone had cut you off on the road, prompting you to let out a very rational string of curses. After throwing on the fist decent outfit you’d found in your closet and rushing out of the house faster than you probably ever had in your life, all you wanted was coffee to give you the strength to last through this day. That was why you’d taken your lunch break to head to your and Shane’s favourite coffee shop, conveniently close to your place of work and the gym she frequented.

Apparently, some caffeine was too much to ask for.

“God, I’m sorry, I must have forgotten my wallet,” you sighed to the guy behind the register, feeling more defeated than annoyed as you continued to rummage through your purse, as if expecting it to suddenly appear. You cast a glance over your shoulder to the glass doors hopefully, but Shane wasn’t here yet. She’d texted you saying she’d be there in five minutes or so.

You gave him an apologetic smile and were about to go sit and wait at one of the tables when a voice and a light tap on your shoulder drew your attention. “Excuse me, is this yours?”

The voice belonged to a pretty woman with blonde hair tied up in a ponytail and a smattering of freckles across her high cheekbones. Her smile was sweet and friendly, and she was holding out to you what was, sure enough, your wallet.

You let out a relieved breath, giving her a look of gratitude as you took it from her. “Wow, I thought I lost it. Thank you. Seriously.”

“Found it out in the parking lot,” she said, pointing a thumb over her shoulder. “Trust me, it’s happened to me a few times.” The small laugh she let out was bubbly, the kind that made you want to automatically return it.

“You’re a lifesaver,” you said, holding up the wallet and flashing her a grin before moving back to the register to order your and Shane’s regulars.

You stood by the counter to wait, and when the woman finished ordering for herself, she moved to stand beside you.

“Heading to work?” she asked conversationally, her eyes flicking over your work attire.

You nodded, glancing down at yourself briefly. “Yeah. I’m on my break, actually,” you said with a smile. “I needed a coffee fix. If one more thing went wrong for me today, I’d be driving off a cliff right now.”

She laughed again, a little too hard, in your opinion, at what hadn’t even been all that funny. Still, the smile on your lips grew a bit. Maybe you were just underestimating your own charm, here. “So you work around here?” she asked, to which you nodded. “So do I, actually. I own a flower shop on Millers.”

“No way! I’m down there a lot. You’ll have to tell me what it’s called so I can check it out sometime.”

The conversation flowed easily, drifting from discussing work to what you did for fun nearby. You were a little surprised by how easy it was, normally not being one for small talk in the slightest, but she was warm and attentive, reaching over to touch your arm once or twice as she laughed at some small quip you made.

The door swung open in your peripheral, and you glanced over to see Shane striding over to you with that relaxed, easy swagger she had. You shot her a grin as she made her way over, and she returned it, the corner of her lips crooking up, though you noticed that her eyes were flicking between you and the woman in front of you questioningly.

“Hey,” you greeted her, holding out the coffee you’d ordered for her.

“Hey, sorry I’m late,” she said a little breathlessly, her hand brushing over your back lightly as she took the cup. A light, casually intimate touch. You were so caught up in smiling up at her in admiration that you’d forgotten momentarily that there was someone else standing right there. “Who’s this?” Shane asked, looking from you to the woman with an unreadable expression on her face.

“Oh! Right. This is…” you gestured to the woman, who was now glancing between you and Shane with a faint smile, but your words trailed off as you drew a blank. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I got your name,” you said with a laugh.

“It’s Sam,” she offered with a chuckle. “Or Samantha. But Sam’s fine.”

“Shane,” she introduced herself with a tight smile when Sam’s eyes turned back to her expectantly.

“Sam found my wallet. Apparently I dropped it in the parking lot,” you told Shane, who was taking a sip of her coffee, eyes roving over Sam as if sizing her up. “She was just telling me about the flower shop she owns downtown. We probably passed it before. Isn’t that cool?”

“Very cool,” Shane said in a noncommittal tone, eyebrows raising slightly.

“You should definitely drop by sometime! I’d love to see you there,” Sam said brightly, eyes focused on you. “Bright yellow awning. Can’t miss it. Here, I’ll give you my card.” She began digging around in the satchel hanging from her shoulder. As she did, you felt Shane’s hand on your back again. It snaked around your waist, tugging you against her subtly.

When Sam straightened up, holding out a small business card between two fingers, you took it, eyes scanning over the picture on the front. “Don’t feel obligated to come, of course. I just thought… you know,” she said. You could feel her eyes on you as you flipped it over, murmuring your compliments about how it looked like a cute place. “That is such a pretty necklace on you, by the way,” she smiled, causing you to look up in some surprise as you touched a hand to your chest, flattered by the sudden compliment.

You thanked her just as Shane abruptly turned to you, reaching out to take the business card. “Can I see this?” She took it, studying it for all of two seconds. “Yep, there it is. Yellow awning,” she said flatly, her tone dripping sarcasm as she held up the card. She was smiling, but it was unnaturally tense—the kind of smile you plastered on to hide your irritation. “That is really great. Would you excuse us for a second?”

You looked at her, your brows slightly narrowed in confusion. She clearly wasn’t happy, you could see that much, but you didn’t know why she’d be in such a mood. Before you could open your mouth to say something to her, Sam did first.

“Of course, you probably have somewhere to be! Don’t let me hold you up.” She flashed another sweet smile at the both of you, picking up her coffee. “So nice to meet you!”

You had hardly finished returning her goodbye before you were practically being whisked out the door by Shane, her hand on your waist gentle but firm. “Hey—What are you doing? We just got here,” you protested as she pushed the door open, leading you outside.

“We can sit in my car,” she responded shortly, as if that made any sense at all. You relented, following her over to her car and watching as she pulled the door open and ducked in. You slid into the passenger seat beside her, the doors kept wide open.

You watched as she set her coffee down in the cupholder and immediately began rummaging around in the armrest, the sharp line of her jaw tensed. “Shane,” you said, but either she didn’t hear you or was too distracted to respond as she pulled out her pack of cigarettes, promptly pulling one out and sticking it between her lips.

Your brows raised slightly as she grabbed her lighter and lit up. She rarely smoked in the middle of the day like this. “Shane,” you repeated, a bit louder this time.

“What?” she asked innocently, looking over at you with the cigarette dangling from her lips.

“You want to tell me what that was? What, you didn’t like her?”

She took a long drag before just staring at you for a moment, as if unable to tell whether or not you were joking. “She was hitting on you.”

“What?” You laughed in disbelief. “No she wasn’t.” Sure, she’d been all smiles and had paid you a nice compliment, but that didn’t mean it was flirting.

Shane gave you that deadpan look again. “Yes, she was.”

“Maybe she was just being friendly. How do you know she’s not straight?”

She scoffed. “She’s not straight.”

“She could be straight.”

“I saw where her eyes were going.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, attempting to play at indignant but unable to help the grin that played across your lips. “What are you talking about?”

Shane exhaled, a puff of smoke unfurling from her lips, as her gaze fell very pointedly to your chest before moving back up, the motion exaggerated.

“She was looking at my necklace. She complimented it,” you protested, rolling your eyes.

“Are you kidding? That’s, like, the oldest trick in the book,” Shane pointed out, exasperated. “You want to check out someone’s tits, but you can’t be too obvious, so you focus on the jewelry. ‘Oh, hey, I like your necklace. It looks so pretty on you.’ See what I did there?”

Your gaze trailed from her to a spot out the window as you fell back against your seat, considering her words. It did make sense. And Shane would know, after all. She had probably pulled it herself once or twice.

“Huh,” was all you said, your mind turning over the previous interaction in light of this new information. You weren’t displeased by it; it had been awhile since you’d been flirted with. Or maybe you got hit on all the time but just completely failed to notice, if today was any indication.

“Yeah. Huh.” You felt her gaze lingering on you for a few moments before she turned back to the window, taking another drag. “N’ since when have you ever wanted to go to a flower shop?” she mumbled, disgruntled.

The grouchiness in the remark caught your attention, and you breathed a laugh, leaning over on the armrest. “Oh, come on,” you said teasingly, your grin only growing when she shot you an unamused look. You couldn’t help it—it was cute, the way she was pouting, the little scowl on her face. “I don’t, babe.”

“That’s not what you said in there,” she said stubbornly.

“I promise.” You leaned forward to pinch her cheeks in your hand, just to make her pay attention to you, to which she batted your hand away lightly. Your heart gave a sudden clench of affection as your eyes roamed over her face. “I do kinda like it when you’re jealous, though.” Your voice was soft, teasing.

“I’m not jealous,” she muttered, huffing a little. “I just didn’t like seeing her be all… touchy. And smiley.” She made a face.

You plucked the cigarette out of her hand, leaning back in your seat. With a sound of protest, Shane reached for it, grinning despite herself as she practically fell over you. She braced herself with an arm against the seat, your faces inches apart. “Give that back.”

You held the cigarette out of reach, your other hand coming up to cup her face, your thumb brushing over her lips. God, she was pretty. “You’re right. Only you get to do those things,” you said as you pressed a soft kiss to her mouth. “No one else.” You kissed her again, a little longer this time, and you heard her give a low grumble in her throat as she kissed you back. At the same time, her hand tangled with yours to retrieve the cigarette.

“Yeah?” she said in a low voice when she pulled back, her eyes still glued to your mouth. Her head lifted briefly to give a quick glance around before looking back down at you, that familiar mischievous glint in her eyes. “You want to prove it to me?”

The corner of your lips quirked up, your stomach giving a little flutter at the way she was staring at you. “Prove it to you how?”

She smirked, knowing you knew exactly what she meant. “How much time do you have left?”

You quickly dug around for your phone, clicking it on to check the time, then promptly dropped it back into your purse. You grabbed her cigarette again, this time earning no protest, and tossed it out the door, swinging a leg out and using the heel of your boot to grind it into the pavement. “Enough.”

#shane mccutcheon x reader #shane mccutcheon fic #shane mccutcheon #the l word x reader #the l word fic #wlw #wlw fic #the l word #shane mccutcheon x fem!reader

27 notes · View notes

shitouttabuck · 1 year

Note

oh my god nina!!! 8 for the bedsharing prompts if it takes your fancy <33

thank you sweet peach this scratched an itch !!!

bed-sharing prompts: whispering “Oh, you are going to be very embarrassed when you wake up.”

Eddie’s not old—he’s not even 30, despite the near-constant jokes about his senior citizen-isms he seems incapable of shaking. And he wouldn’t even say he’s a man of creature comforts. He just likes familiarity, and routine, and his own goddamn bed.

Quarantine has brought a lot of change: being away from Chris, living in a single-occupancy apartment with three other people, and sharing a bed with all six-foot-two of Evan Buckley.

Currently, this means waking up at some wretched hour and squinting in the moonlight filtering in through half-open blinds, because the aforementioned best friend has stolen Eddie’s pillow from right under his head yet again.

Eddie groans quietly, easing his neck out of the crick it’s cramped in. He glares at the enormous lump snoring serenely beside him and pats the mattress blindly for his pillow. Eyes adjusting to the dark, he’s greeted by the same sight he’s woken to at ungodly hours thrice this month already: Buck with his gigantic thieving arms wrapped happily around Eddie’s goddamn pillow as he clutches it to his chest, dead to the world.

“Fuck’s sake,” Eddie mutters, reaching out and tugging the end of the pillowcase to no avail. Buck’s vice-grip doesn’t falter even in sleep. Eddie’s usually able to coax it out of his grasp without waking him, but it takes a minute, and their last shift had been a full-body workout from hell, and Eddie just wants to go the fuck back to sleep with a single measly pillow supporting his exhausted head. Surely that’s not too decadent a luxury to expect.

He tugs again, harder and meaner than he normally would. The pillow inches out of Buck’s hold, and Eddie grabs a firmer handful to yank it away, grunting triumphantly when it pops free.

“Hrmmph,” Buck grumbles, crease appearing between his eyebrows. Eddie stills, holding his breath as he gauges Buck’s proximity to consciousness. He thinks he’s in the clear, but then Buck murmurs unhappily and rolls ever-so-slightly towards Eddie.

“S’your turn to be th’ li’l spoon,” he slurs, and Eddie freezes even further. “’M th’ big spoon t’night.” He pats half-heartedly at the mattress between him and Eddie, jaw going slack again after a few seconds.

Eddie grins, just barely containing the snort that bubbles up at Buck’s sleep-talking. There’s enough distance from Ali and even Abby, post-train debacle, that means he can wring weeks’ worth of teasing out of this. Whichever one of them it is Buck’s dreaming of, Eddie thinks multiple nights of interrupted sleep allow him a little good-natured—if merciless—ribbing.

He shifts onto his back, shoving the pillow under his head and shutting his eyes with a sigh, but the movement has Buck mumbling again. His face is mashed into his own pillow, words barely intelligible when he says, “Y’re littler than me. C’mon, lemme be big spoon.”

The snort sneaks out of Eddie then, just a bit. He barely knew either woman, but he can’t quite picture them indulging Buck in this line of conversation. It’s—sweet, if deeply mortifying for Buck himself to know anyone else has heard it.

Buck snuffles discontentedly, forehead scrunching as he reaches out in search of the pillow, still asleep.

“Oh, you are going to be very embarrassed when you wake up,” Eddie whispers, wondering if there’s more entertainment about to be provided and if it’s worth getting up to unplug his phone and catch the tail end of this on video.

“Urgh,” asleep-Buck responds, patting the bed a little more insistently when he’s unsuccessful in his pillow-retrieval endeavours. “Wh’re—c’mere. Eddie. Y’re li’l spoon.”

This time when Eddie freezes, it’s such a sudden locking of every joint in his body that his neck cricks in the opposite direction. He barely feels it, singularly focused on Buck’s latest garbled complaint, because—is Buck awake? Is Buck dreaming about him?

He’s frozen so still he doesn’t realise Buck’s questing hand is now well in range of Eddie himself, and he jolts back into his body when Buck’s strong, calloused fingers wrap around his wrist.

“C’me back,” he whines, tugging at Eddie while shuffling closer at the same time. Eddie holds himself carefully still, hardly daring to breathe as Buck slowly but surely plasters his long, long body along Eddie’s side, hitching one leg over Eddie’s thigh before flinging an arm across his torso and dragging him nearer.

“Mm,” he hums, brow smoothing out. His cheek rests on Eddie’s shoulder, face smushed but seemingly satisfied. Eddie’s arm is trapped between his own side and Buck’s stomach, and he worms it under Buck’s body almost on autopilot, more to get comfortable than anything else. This leaves him basically cradling Buck to him, and Buck gives one final happy grunt before burrowing his face into Eddie’s neck and going limp, a dead weight over Eddie’s right side.

Eddie makes his fingers relax where they’re clutching the back of Buck’s t-shirt. This is—fine. Normal and fine. So Buck isn’t dreaming about cuddling an ex-girlfriend, he’s dreaming about holding Eddie. They’ve been living out of each other’s pockets more than usual recently, leaning on each other a little heavier through a global pandemic and missing Christopher. Eddie’s told himself it’s because of constant proximity, and maybe it is, but whatever the reason, if Buck’s subconscious is embracing that vulnerability in this way, that’s fine. He’s an affectionate guy, and while it’s relatively new for Eddie to be on the receiving end of that from another man, he’s not one to shy away because of someone else’s archaic ideas of masculinity.

And—hold on. Y’re littler than me? Was that what Buck said? Eddie huffs indignantly, and then huffs again for different reasons, feeling his cheeks heat. He doesn’t know why, but he pulls Buck a little closer.

It’s still normal and fine, he finds, turning his head to press his nose into Buck’s curls. That surprises him a little, that there’s no freak-out of any kind accompanying—whatever this is. Buck smells like vanilla, because he used Chim’s fancy shampoo that’s actually Maddie’s fancy shampoo because both of them are missing her something fierce, and he’s definitely drooling onto Eddie’s neck, and now that he’s not sleep-talking he’s back to snoring like a motorcycle, and Eddie’s slipping under before he can marvel any more at just how normal and fine it all is.

When the moonlight is swapped for sunlight, Eddie stirs to Chim singing along to radio in the kitchen downstairs. Buck blinks awake right alongside him, cheek imprinted with creases from Eddie’s collar and turning pink as he hastily peels himself away.

“Oh, um, sorry,” he says, voice rough with sleep. He contorts his body in surprise trying to roll off Eddie’s arm. “Did I—sorry, Eds.”

Eddie works his arm back under Buck, easy and deliberate. “S’fine,” he yawns. “It was my turn to be the little spoon.”

In his peripheral vision, Buck turns a brilliant red, and Eddie gives him a reassuring squeeze before taking great joy in telling him just how embarrassed he should be about the contents of his dreams.

(Buck’s mortification is blessedly short-lived, since the contents of Eddie’s dreams are equally embarrassing in the very exact same way, as it turns out.)

#911 fic #buddie fic #wrote this then had GRUELLING therapy so now posting this and legally u have to be nice. please #i have missed writing silly stuff i know it’s just been a few weeks but this was so fun thank u sami it’s exactly what i needed!#911 #buddie #writing tag #ok running on three hours sleep and a therapy hangover and a regular hangover so. posting and snoozing xoxo #bed sharing prompts #mine

420 notes · View notes

nicoise · 4 months

Note

a kiss to prove you dont have feelings for them !!!!!!!

In an unexpected turn of events, Blaine was manning the kissing booth.

It was possible he’d lost a bet. But he sat behind the counter looking completely at ease among the chapstick tubes and the breathmints and the stupid little privacy curtain. A tacky pink sign decorated with glitter hearts read, PUCKER UP TO SUPPORT MUSIC NITE. It was a dollar for a cheek kiss, five for a “friendly peck,” and ten for “ten seconds in heaven.”

Blaine was an equal opportunity kisser and the booth was quickly becoming a main attraction of the club fair. Kurt found it inexplicably embarrassing, like finding out an indie artist you kept to yourself had gone mainstream.

“It’s really weird that you’re not lining up with the rest of them,” said Santana. “I thought you’d be salivating at the chance to plant one on his doe-eyed oblivious face.”

Kurt bristled. “You make me sound like such a pervert.”

“Well, aren’t you? I bet you couldn’t follow the rules if you were paid to.” At Kurt’s pointed look she said, “What, you think admin would let this happen unchecked? There’s no touching, no tongue, and no going past ten seconds. They have a timer and everything. Literal buzzkill.”

“That’s not what I meant. I can be normal about kissing Blaine,” Kurt said, offended. “I am so normal about kissing Blaine. I just - don’t want to.”

Santana looked unconvinced. “Because you’re incapable of being normal about it.”

“No. Because - because…” Kurt had the feeling that everything he said was playing into Santana’s hands. Santana was about to say something smug but he cut her off. “Shut it. Give me ten dollars and if you’re right I’ll pay you back twenty.”

“Thirty.”

“Twenty five.”

Santana pouted. “Fine.” She fished out a ten dollar bill from an implausible pocket in her skintight dress and did the annoying thing where she held it out to Kurt but hung onto it until Kurt snatched it from her. “Stay safe,” she yelled obnoxiously after him.

So Kurt found himself lining up behind a guy from his music theory class and a group of girls he recognized from Blaine’s social circle. He told himself he could always step out of line and make off with the money but he knew he wouldn’t.

Actually, Kurt let himself be so easily convinced because he felt that one kiss, surrounded by people he knew in passing and constricted by the bureaucracy of a fundraiser, would cure him of romantic delusions. Kurt had too much experience with unrequited love to make the same mistake again, and for all Blaine smiled at him and opened doors for him he was like that with everyone. So it wasn’t a crush. Just an illusion Kurt meant to break.

Kurt was almost at the front of the line when Blaine saw him and gave him a quick blinding smile. Then Blaine turned to take the ten dollar bill from the music theory guy. Was it the same smile he’d given Kurt? There was no time to wonder. Kurt watched as Blaine said something that made the guy give a flustered little nod and then Blaine kissed him. It looked slightly awkward, over the counter, otherwise not touching. Then it was over. Nod, smile, parting wave, not even a trace of a blush on Blaine’s face.

Kurt had signed up to be given the same charity kiss, the same nod, smile, wave. He stepped up to the counter.

“Kurt, hey! Are you here to support the music festival or did you come to see me?” Blaine grinned shamelessly.

It was a joke. He was joking. Kurt retorted, “Are you here to support the music festival or did you lose a bet?”

“Well, Sam was originally supposed to do it, but he has mono, so…” Blaine shrugged, slipping back on script. He gestured at the pink sign. “You have the choice of - “

Kurt slid the ten dollar bill across the counter. There was nothing he felt he could say.

Blaine glanced at it, then at him. There was something oddly heavy in his gaze before it smoothed into what Kurt could only call customer service. He went over the rules while Kurt thought of Sam, and Finn, and the music theory guy, and how there were no stakes in this, no destination.

“Do you want a breathmint?”

Kurt shook his head.

“Okay. Are you ready?”

Kurt was lost for words. What was this, a flu shot?

Blaine caught Kurt’s look of disdain and genuine humor slipped through the protocol. There he was, amused, beautiful. He leaned in, inches away from Kurt’s face. “I’m going to kiss you now,” he whispered.

Kurt stood paralyzed, trying desperately not to let on that his heart was in his throat, waiting, unwilling to want. Then they were kissing.

It was the most anxiety Kurt had ever felt kissing someone. Usually it was easy. It was something to do well, to make good. This wasn’t like that at all.

Blaine’s lips were soft from chapstick. He kissed closemouthed, but so tenderly it felt inappropriate, and he trembled in a way that couldn’t be construed as casual. Kurt couldn’t help himself and broke the hands-off rule to put his hands on Blaine’s shoulders, and Blaine relaxed into the kiss so sweetly with just that one touch it made Kurt’s head spin.

There was no way it was like this for anyone else. The crush, or whatever, that Kurt didn’t want to feel, or only felt occasionally, became undeniable like this, breath caught painfully between them, a sweetness so sharp it stung.

The timer went off. Ten seconds. Kurt let go of Blaine and stepped back, feeling like all the blood in his hands had rushed to his face. He was aware of every point of contact on his skin, the way his clothes rested on him, and wanted so badly to touch Blaine on the other side of the counter that it felt like he’d develop telekinesis willing it to happen.

Through the white noise of the catcalls, Kurt managed to say, “That wasn’t a charity kiss.”

“No,” Blaine admitted. “It wasn’t.” He was dazed and flushed down his neck. Probably everyone was staring. “You should take your money back. I don’t want it.”

“It’s Santana’s money.” Kurt knew he was being awful but clung to it as a way out. “She convinced me - ” He couldn’t say it.

“Don’t try to tell me that meant nothing,” Blaine said, but he said it uncertainly, like he was asking.

It was terrifying, what that did to Kurt. He opened his mouth to say those exact words, “it meant nothing,” but his gaze caught on how Blaine was running his tongue over his lips like he wanted another taste. A gut-punch of longing stole his breath. Kurt leaned in, heart pounding, feeling half crazed, and said in Blaine’s ear, “If I told you to abandon your post right now, would you do it?”

Blaine was nodding before Kurt was even done talking. He flipped the sign to CLOSED, pulled Kurt around to his side of the counter, and slid the privacy curtain shut in front.

Kurt saw what he meant to do. “You’re crazy,” he said, laughing, helpless, but let Blaine take him by the hand as they made a run for it through the back of the booth.

Then they were outside. It was a blazing sun-soaked afternoon and Blaine let Kurt push him against the wall in the middle of the hall and kiss him and kiss him until they ran out of breath, and if there was a destination Kurt felt with stunning certainty they had arrived.

still taking prompts if anyone wants to send me any !!

#klaine #klaine fanfiction #thank u for the prompt this was so fun to write !!!!

57 notes · View notes

red-flagging · 6 months

Note

💛 seb/lewis :-)

(kiss fic prompts!)

a little epilogue to rabbits are chasing :)

Lewis's flight lands at 8:02PM, which means that by 7:31PM, Seb is parked outside the airport arrivals door, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel and scanning the sky for approaching planes.

It's quite silly, getting here so early, but it's not as if there's much left to do at home. There's roast vegetables waiting in the oven, the cauliflower steaks that he started marinating earlier this morning chilling in the fridge. Mina and Ellie are safely ensconced in their duck coop with the heater turned on for the night. The sheets on the guest bed are freshly washed.

The car parked behind him starts up. Its headlights illuminate Seb's cabin. For a moment, he catches a glimpse of himself, harried and too-bright, in the rearview mirror. He scrubs his hands down his face. Christ. Get it together, Sebastian. He is a full 39 years old. Far too old to be getting the same jitters that he did the first time he invited a girl over at age 17, agonizing about what album to have playing when they came back to his room. Lewis is far too old for Seb to be doing all this. Lewis might not even be gay.

His phone buzzes. Seb nearly jumps out of his seat.

Lewis

just landed

getting my luggage now

hows it so freaking cold here

The inside of the car is already fogging up. When he'd asked Lewis to send dates he could come visit and Lewis had said just so you know the next few months are kind of crazy for me, Seb had expected late fall, maybe the holidays. Not the middle of slush season, when all the roads up the mountain have a 50/50 chance of being so muddy that they're undriveable.

Sebastian

I'm outside, in the blue Infiniti :)

He glances back up at himself in the mirror. The scab from where a wood chip caught the corner of his eyebrow while he was sanding the new planter box is almost healed over. His hair looks as good as it's ever going to. If Lewis asks whether he's been using conditioner, he's fucked.

It shouldn't feel like this. Seb beat Lewis to Senna's record, and Lewis still laughed at all his jokes the next season. Lewis watched Seb DNF twice in five races and still said in the media pen that he was waiting for the day Seb would be back up on the podium with him. When they inevitably auction off Lewis's Le Mans racesuit, it'll have to be with Seb's snot all over the front of it, because Lewis let Seb sob all over him and then laughed as he wiped sweat off of Seb's cheek with the sleeve. After all that – the fact that he's about to be in Seb's house for the next week shouldn't make Seb feel like he's standing in front of Lewis naked, without even the promise of a fast car or a good competition to distract Lewis from looking right at him.

His phone buzzes again.

Lewis

outside i think

Seb peers through the windscreen. Lewis – or rather, the blurry figure lugging a giant suitcase behind him that he assumes is Lewis – waves at him from the sidewalk. Seb flashes his lights at him twice.

The back door opens and Lewis's head, along with a burst of cold night air, pops in. "Hey," he says, a little breathlessly. "I don't think this is going to fit in the back."

It does, eventually, but not without a fight that involves Seb having to climb into the trunk alongside Lewis's suitcase and physically wrestle it into place while Lewis shoves from behind. They're both out of breath by the time they finally climb back in the front and slam the doors shut.

"You know, there are beds at the farm," Seb points out. "You didn't have to pack your own."

Lewis shakes his head, tugging off his gloves. His coat collar is turned up around his neck. He's wearing an an ear warmer headband, held in place by two butterfly pins. Every other bit of uncovered skin is pink, even with the heat in the car up at full blast. Lewis shoves his fingers in front of the vents and sighs with relief, closing his eyes. "Ugh, thank God," he says. He sounds exhausted. "Listen, you're lucky I fit everything into one." It sounds far less like a joke than Seb would hope. The fact that the fondness in Seb's chest still manages to outweigh the exasperation is probably a sign that Seb's beyond salvation.

"Next time I'll bring a trailer so you can fit your bathtub and toilet, too," he says, reaching for the keys. The engine purrs to life as he flicks the lights back on, then leans forward to scrub the worst of the fog off the windscreen. The thermometer on the dash says it's still 3 degrees outside. They might still be able to make it back before the slush freezes over. "Okay," he says, sitting back down and twisting around to reach for his seatbelt. "Ready to go?"

Lewis doesn't say anything. When Seb looks over, he's staring out the front window, playing with one of his rings.

"Lewis?" Seb asks.

Lewis's head jerks around. "Hm?" he says. "Oh. Yeah." He doesn't move to put on his seatbelt.

Seb frowns. Kills the engine so he can properly turn in his seat. "Lewis," he says. "Is everything –"

Lewis leans across the console and kisses him.

It's barely half a second. Seb still hasn't moved by the time Lewis sits back down on his side of the car.

"Uh," Lewis says, after a second. He clears his throat. "Sorry. I just – Shit. Sorry. The whole way over, all I could think about was – I had to get it over with before I chickened out."

He's fiddling with his rings again, but his eyes stay fixed on Seb's. His jaw is set. He still looks half-ready to bolt through the door behind him, out into the night.

"Well, you don't have to make it sound like taking your medicine, Christ," Seb says hoarsely, and drags Lewis back across the console to kiss him properly.

Lewis's lips are still cold. When Seb opens his mouth, Lewis sighs, pressing in closer with a soft sound that makes Seb want to go twenty years back in time and kick himself for not figuring out how to make Lewis make that noise sooner. His hands settle on Seb's wrists, holding him in place. Seb slides his own hands up, cradling the back of Lewis's head, to return the favor.

When he finally pulls away just far enough to catch his breath, Lewis follows him, close enough that their noses bump. His eyes are wide. This close up, Seb can see the dark circles under them more clearly.

He closes his eyes. Lewis is still there when he opens them.

"How long have you been awake?" he asks.

Lewis blinks. "What," he says. "Are you talking about."

"Sleep deprivation," Seb says. His heart is pounding hard enough that he feels it in his throat. "People start to get delirious when they're tired enough –"

"I was awake for 24 hours and I didn't kiss you at the end," Lewis interrupts, his eyes sharp and bright. "I'm not making the same mistake twice."

Seb opens his mouth and nothing comes out. He tries again. Still nothing.

"Fuck," he says, closing his eyes. "Okay. Okay." He drags himself back upright and reaches for the keys. "We can – tomorrow. But we should – you need to shower. And sleep." Lewis's hand settles on his leg. Seb rests his own on top of it; after a second, he squeezes Lewis's fingers gently. Lewis flips his hand over and laces their fingers together.

"Yeah," Lewis says. His thumb traces over Seb's knuckles. "That – tomorrow sounds good."

The slush crackles under the tires when Seb starts to move. Ahead of them, the headlights carve a path through the darkness. Lewis's hand is a solid, steady weight against his leg. "Okay," Seb says, to himself, to both of them, to no one. Lewis hums softly from his side of the car. He squeezes Seb's knee gently.

Seb closes his eyes for a second. "Okay," he says quietly. "Yeah. Let's go home."

#my fic #collarboen #rpf #sorry to possibly?? retcon the fade to black kiss at the end of rabbits are chasing and be like PSYCH it took 9 months after that...but in #my heart this has always* been the truth #*i came up with it ten minutes into brainstorming this prompt but now i'm attached to it and have accepted it into my heart and home #the post-retirement post-gay awakening post-journey of self acceptance slow burn slash anxiety spiral #that happened over the 9 month interlude on lewis's end is left as a thought experiment for the reader :)#thank u for giving me an excuse to write this autumn :)#i am slowly making my way through the rest of these lol ty to everyone who has sent them in they've been so fun!!#you are welcome to send in more but just be warned that the next batch will probably take. much longer lol. but i will keep doing my best 🫡

75 notes · View notes

wexhappyxfew · 5 months

Note

Kennedy and John with “feeling their pulse” from the prompt list? I love them already

HI ANON!!!! can i just say when i got this prompt request, i was so so excited because o m g i am so glad!!! despite the fact i don't have writing with them out yet (and their only interaction so far was a snippet from a while ago) i am BEYOND EXCITED to put this out!!! :D definitely a fun duo to write and something i'd be happy to go deeper with writing on as well! there is a LOT to unpack haha! please enjoy and thank you so much!

run along lover boy

(a/n): safe to say i could've kept writing these two in every possible way, but i held myself because alas, i have every opportunity to write more for them. so please enjoy my chaotic duo - kennedy farley and bucky egan in stalag talking about the one thing no one seems to want to talk about. enjoy!!! :D

"She's still out there." Lieutenant Bradshaw said quietly from where she stood on the opposite side of the table, her arms crossed over her chest, face both sternly held and downcast, the look in her eyes dismissive and cold, "I saw her when we dropped. She couldn't have been far from me."

Kennedy watched as Annie glanced towards Brady who stood next to her - it was unmistakable not to notice the level of protectiveness Brady had seemingly taken on when Annie showed up to the Stalag, limping and bloodied. And now, it was nearly every time they weren't forced to be apart, they were beside one another. And the look in Brady's eyes said enough these days it seemed.

"How far you thinking, Bradshaw?" Bucky said from behind Kennedy, "You jump outta those things and you're playing with fate."

"A bit more to my right. Bes was to my left, Kennedy closest. Margie was somewhere behind the three of us," Annie said softly, her voice trying to hold. Kennedy watched as Annie glanced around the group, "I tried looking for her, I really did." Kennedy watched as Annie met Kennedy's gaze before looking down again and letting her shoulders fall.

"You did what you could, Annie," Kennedy heard Brady whisper quietly, before squeezing a hand on Annie's shoulder, "that's what matters." Kennedy caught the look Annie and Brady shared, those few extra seconds they held one another's gazes.

"It's Margie Harlowe," Buck said from the other end of the table, "she's still out there. We know that."

"No body ain't a dead body," Hambone said from his own spot opposite Buck, "how far from here you think you dropped?" Annie looked to him and pulled a thinking face across her lips and then sighed.

"Had to be somewhere upwards of 50 miles. We weren't deep into Germany on the mission. Outskirts." Annie offered.

"Yeah, suicide run, if anything," Kennedy offered and sat back in her chair, "gotta hand it to Lieutenant Bradshaw though, she probably was the calmest outta all of us." The group looked to Annie who wearily smiled at the group and nodded.

"Guilty is charged." Annie said and the group seemed to share smiles amongst one another.

"Probably closer to 60," Bessie said from where she laid on one of the higher bunks, flipping through a book, "whatever it was, those Krauts are damn sins. One nearly took out my eye."

"Did he miss the goddamn Lieutenant bar on your neck?" Bucky asked her. Kennedy glanced back and sent Bucky a look who shook it off.

"Buck-" Buck started, but Bucky cut in and stepped forward.

"Any of those sick fuckos try anything with any one of you ladies, you tell anyone of us, alright?" Bucky said, meeting each of their eyes, ending on Kennedy, "You don't know how fucking brain-washed they might be. They even lay a finger on ya, I'll-"

"Hear ya loud and clear, sir," Bessie said, pulling her legs over and hanging off the bunk edge, "Kennedy popped a guy in the balls. Pretty sure we can all do what we can. In a pinch."

"Really." Buck said glancing at her.

"I'm impressed," Bucky said looking down at her from where he leaned back against the bunk, "how hard ya hit him?"

"Did he bleed?" murmured Benny from his own bunk - he wasn't tending well to the Margie news, but he was coping it seemed.

"Oh he bled," Kennedy said, leaning against the table and sending a look to Bucky, "he was on the ground. Beggin' for Ma at some point. Last time one of those Nazi-fucks tries to touch the hair on my head. You do whatever you damn please, but you don't touch the hair."

"I knew I always liked you, Farley." Bucky said with a smirk, Kennedy catching a glance of that grin in her peripheral. He held her gaze a second longer, which she quite enjoyed; the way his eyes lingered a little on her eyes and then the scar on her cheek that was finally healing.

"She's right on that, "Annie said, as Kennedy pulled her gaze from Bucky's face, "they think they can keep doing whatever they want. Don't think it's gotten through their minds yet that we don't put up with that sorta shit."

"Guess that they haven't met a member of Silver Bullets yet and they're finally learning they can't just do whatever they want," Hambone said with a chuckle as he flipped through a mangled deck of cards, "c'mon, Bradshaw, tell me what the one said again?" Annie chuckled.

"The guy said that he was overjoyed to learn that America had things like baseball and cold beer," Annie said, "what a lunatic."

"Hey, don't be knocking it now. They're the gifts that keep on giving." Bucky said, looking at Annie with a smirk, "Ain't that right, Farley." Kennedy rolled her eyes and glanced back at Bucky with a raised brow.

"For some people," Kennedy said, with a knowing look, "if you're team is actually winning, that is." Bucky smirked before looking at the group.

"That's because she's a Red Sox fan." Bucky said, lowering his voice with a chuckle, "Traded Babe Ruth and it was game over for 20 years. Still kinda is." Kennedy leaned back and took a shove at his arm with a roll of her eyes, a few of the guys chuckling around them.

"She'll show up, she has to," Annie said with a firm nod, "I'm gonna go take a walk along the perimeter. Find the Colonel," Annie shrugged her shoulders and sniffled, that damn cold doing its number, "get an eye on some of the higher ups."

"I'm coming with you." Brady said quickly from beside her and Kennedy briefly heard Bucky let out a chuckle.

"Try and figure out who the one guy was who wouldn't stop staring, alright? He got that crazy look in his eye," Kennedy told Annie and Brady watching as they pulled their scarves around their necks and their beanie's on, Annie looking much smaller than Kennedy remembered in her coat now, "taller, teetering son-of-a-bitch."

"Will do," Brady said as he followed Annie out of the room, a few of the others taking that as their note to disperse, settle onto cots or start up games of cards or chess. Kennedy let out a sigh and then turned towards Bucky behind her and raised a brow.

"Really?" she said, her voice unamused, and slightly monotone.

"What?" admonished Bucky, shoving his hands in his pockets, a big, winning grin showing on his face, "Brady's walking around like a love-sick fool, I gotta have a little fun." Kennedy raised her brow further.

"C'mon, tell me you don't hear it at night, 'It's just you and I….here….now.', and all this other lovey-dovey shit, too, Farley," he said, nodding at her, "swear if you heard it yourself, you'd lose your mind to."

"He's been crazy about her since she got here, let them live a bit." Kennedy said, standing to her feet and coming to his side before lowering her voice, "Especially here."

She looked back up at Bucky and noticed how soft his face had grown so close-up. His eyes gently resting on her own, lingering gaze, his presence something back at Thorpe Abbotts she would've scorn about, but something here she was latching onto more often these days.

Even with Bucky's roughhousing and good-natured fun, Kennedy found herself gravitating towards him more often than not these days - she remembered when she'd first come in, barely alive, hoping to get her eyes on even just one of the guys from the 100th who was familiar to her. And Bucky had been the first, pulling her from the arms of the Germans who had been dragging her, forcing her to walk as she was fighting a fever, who immediately had taken her to where the others guys had been, and gotten her soup, water, and watched over her as she rested.

Back at Thorpe Abbotts, he'd been someone she could throw a bit of flirty words and teasing nature around, just for fun.

Now, he was the one who had pulled her from those few days of being lost, sick and far from home and in the hands of the Germans.

"You have to remember the first time you were in love, John," Kennedy said as she leaned on the bunk beside Bucky and surveyed the small bunk room, "all those butterflies, that lusting feeling, c'mon, with a face like that, you oughta know." She looked to him with a grin, but instead was met with a sour-looking frown. Her smile fell.

"Seems I forgot to do that." Bucky said, reaching up to rub a finger along his upper lip and then sighed, sending her a glance, "And the butterflies, or whatever the fuck you're supposed to feel." Kennedy stared at him and waited until he met her gaze fully.

"Let me guess, you got a cushy guy back home, your Ma set up for you from the country club, and just broke a guys heart before you came out here," Bucky said, his tone falling into a somewhat jealous and distant mantra, "you don't even gotta tell me. Look at you, any guy woulda been lucky to know you." Kennedy stared at him, her heart beginning to race the longer she stared at him and his stupid pretty face.

"No actually." Kennedy said, about just as firmly and slightly cold right back, "Guys at the country club were stuck-up twits anyway. Only heartbreaking that was going on was mine." Bucky looked her way and opened his mouth, before closing it again.

"Yep," Kennedy said with a nod, "strung me on like fish to a hook with bait. Showered me in love or whatever the fuck he called it. He stole a whole lot from me that I'll never get back. Youth, whatever else." Bucky was rather intently staring at her and refusing to look away.

"What the hell was his name?" Bucky said, his jaw clenched a bit tighter, his shoulders broader as he had turned to look at her now, watching her with a look that was enough to make her insides twist.

"Stephen." Kennedy said and then shrugged, "It's stupid anyway. First love is a load of bullshit half the time." Bucky was still staring at her and she was sure anymore of looking into his eyes and she wouldn't hold back. Whatever she was feeling.

"Anyway," Kennedy said looking away and grabbing some of the canteens from the table, seemingly catching Bucky off guard with her sudden dismissal of the conversation, "I'll go refill some of the water. I'll be back." With that she turned, heart pounding.

"Wait, Farley-" Bucky said, reaching out to grab her free hand, his large fingers clasping around her wrist, his hand hot, sending goosebumps all over her form. She turned to him and watched as his wheels turned, trying to figure out whatever he was thinking of saying.

"I shouldn't have said that about you - the country club bullshit, and he sounds like a complete asshole. Steve - whatever the fuck his name was." Bucky said and then righted himself, his grip loosening, but not free, "I'll come with you. To get the water." She stared at him, mildly surprised, but almost not. He'd been giving her that quiet look for days now. Whatever it meant. Enough it made her pulse race. And she knew he could feel it. Kennedy smirked at him and then reached forward, pulling her hand from his loose grasp and grabbed a few more canteens and placed it into his arms.

"How chivalrous." she said, before giving him a smile and heading out the door. Bucky stood there silent for a moment, and was left with a snort from Bessie on the top bunk.

"What?" grumbled Bucky, glancing over towards the woman - whom he hadn't realized was still here nor paying attention. Bessie chuckled and flipped a page in her book and smiled.

"Nothing." she said with a chuckle, before glancing over at him, "Run along, lover boy."

46 notes · View notes

corvase · 2 years

Text

medic x always getting sick married couple au

feel free to use btw love u guys if ur reading this i’m so grateful for the support (i’m putting this here bc no one reads my regular posts) anyways i’m so grateful take care and plz enjoy my prompts :)

one character calling the other like “… babe.” and they’re like “if you’re sick….. i swear—“

character a doing their best to hide their coughs and sneezes/make them as quiet as possible but character b takes one look at them and says “you’re sick😐.”

“taking care of you is a full time job for me.” “…… i love u.” “love you, too.”

OKOK LISTEN… the medic is the one who doesn’t really show emotion and the sick one is a bubbly one who never shuts up but the medic doesn’t play when it comes to them

^ “where were you???? i’ve been looking for you everywhere!” and the other one is like covered in sticks and mud just like “hehe i fell down a hill” and the medic is plotting how to murder a hill

“i’m glad i married a medic.”

“i cant believe you pretended to be sick so i would come home early.”

then a response of “i can’t believe it worked.”

the medic is at work and their colleague just gives them this look and they just KNOW their spouse is in the lobby with a broken arm or something

the medic character bundling the other up with a million layers before they even step foot outside

and the other one is just like “babe it’s 24 degrees”

someone telling them “you need to go to the hospital” and they’re like “no, i need to see my spouse”

character b walks in, takes one look at the uneaten medicine and turns off the tv. character a is like “do you MIND??” and b is like “do YOU mind taking medicine?”

“i think i have a fever.” and a sigh like “i’ll get the meds.”

“i’m glad you’re a super handsome pretty beautiful amazing doctor. what would i do when i get sick if i didn’t have you?” “you’d be rubbing ointment on your forehead thinking it would lower your fever, probably.” “…. low but true.”

797 notes · View notes

astrobei · 2 years

Note

hi suni astrobi my beloved dear suni ❤️🫂

sending you a valentine's day prompt because i can annnnnd.

i challenge you to write miwi bc i need more miwi in my life. you can do whatever you want with this, but i want to see little baby will making a valentine's day card for his best friend, mike. bonus points if it has like paladin mike and dragons and all that other good ole fashioned dnd goodness.

hi andi andiwriteordie my beloved dear andi <3 happy valentine's day !! as a special present for you, here is my first ever attempt at writing miwi :^)

On Sunday night, Will’s mom brings home a bag of candy.

This, obviously, grabs his attention before anything else– brightly packaged somethings that crinkle loudly when his mom puts the bag down on the kitchen table. He can see them peeking out through the thin white plastic of the Melvald’s bag, and immediately perks up.

“What are those?” he asks, because it’s not rare for his mom to bring stuff back from work– especially on late nights like this, when she knows that Jonathan is busy with homework and no one’s had a chance to cook dinner, not when she’s been out all day and his dad is– well. His dad sure isn’t about to cook dinner, and Will has learned how to heat stuff up in the microwave but they’re currently out of everything that he can stick in a microwave. Will expects her to whip out a couple of TV dinners, and he kind of hopes she will, because it’s late and he’s hungry.

He peers over the long end of the table, trying to catch a glimpse, because the TV dinners don’t usually look like this– all pink and red and crinkly. His mom laughs, then holds the bag open by the handles so he can look inside. “Candy,” she says, “for your class Valentine’s Day party tomorrow.”

Will stopped listening after the word candy. He doesn’t know what Valentine’s Day is, and he doesn’t really care, because the bag is full of the brightly wrapped candies and chocolates that he saw in the store the other day when his mom took him inside. “Whoa,” he breathes out, and reaches out to stick a hand into the bag, even if just to make sure that what he’s seeing is real. A whole bag, full of candy. The wrappers crinkle some more, loud under his palm, and he pulls out a heart-shaped lollipop, flat and an almost aggressive shade of red. “Is this for us?”

“Oh, no way,” his mom laughs some more. “This much candy? All your teeth are going to fall out.”

Will grins. “My teeth are already falling out,” he says, pointing to where he’d lost his first one just a couple of weeks ago. He’s still not used to it, the strange space in his mouth where there didn’t use to be one before. He sticks the tip of his tongue into the gap there, and his mom rolls her eyes good-naturedly.

“Maybe that’s because of all the candy you ate at Halloween,” she says, and leans over to ruffle his hair. “It’s not good for you!”

“Danny in my class already lost three teeth,” Will mopes, “and he got three dollars from the tooth fairy, so maybe if mine fall out too–”

“The tooth fairy will refuse to give you money because you let your teeth rot on purpose,” Joyce says, and Will slumps into the chair next to her, pouting. “It goes against the tooth fairy laws.”

Will might only be six, but he knows that there’s no such thing as tooth fairy laws. There can’t be rules just for one person. That’s ridiculous. He tucks the lollipop from earlier into his pocket before his mom can see, though. Just in case. “What’s the candy for?”

“It’s Valentine’s Day tomorrow,” his mom says, walking over to the kitchen and opening the fridge door. “Your class is having a party, and these are for your friends.”

Will frowns. “What’s– Valentine’s Day?”

“It’s a holiday about celebrating the people you love.” Joyce emerges with a loaf of bread and a few slices of cheese. “Grilled cheese okay for dinner?”

They’ve had grilled cheese for about four days in a row now, but Will doesn’t mind. His mom makes them perfect. He nods. “Yeah!”

“You have to eat the crusts this time,” she says. “Don’t think I didn’t see you throw them away last time.”

Shoot. So close.

“Fine,” Will agrees, then leans over to pluck another candy out of the bag. It’s pink this time. He thinks it might be strawberry-flavored. Will isn’t the biggest fan of strawberry, but candy is candy after all.

“I heard that,” his mom chides, back still turned to him, as the candy wrapper crinkles loudly under his fingers. “Put the candy back, Will.”

No! So close again. Will scowls at the traitorous sweet in his hand and tosses it back in the bag. “How did you even hear that?”

“I have superpowers, remember?” Joyce points to her ears and shoots him a wink. She’s probably right, Will thinks glumly. His mom has ears on the back of her head– or whatever it is they say.

“Why do my kids in my class get candy and I don’t?”

“They’ll give you candy too,” Joyce assured him, flipping a sandwich over in the pan. “That’s the whole point! You trade candy and Valentine’s Day cards.”

Cards? “What kind of cards?”

“You can look in the bag. I picked some of those up on the way back from work.”

Will sticks his arm bag in the bag and shuffles it around, until soft cellophane gives way to the sharp edge of cardstock. He pulls one out– “Be mine,” he reads aloud, then wrinkles up his nose in confusion. “Huh?”

“Cheesy, huh?” Joyce slides a plate in front of him, and smiles. “Speaking of cheesy–”

Dinner! Will’s stomach rumbles, and in the face of a perfectly made grilled cheese sandwich, thoughts of Valentine’s Day slip instantly out of his mind.

—

They don’t stay out for long, though.

“Jonathan?”

Jonathan’s room door is open, and he has his back to the door, but he turns around as Will peers through the doorway. “Oh. Hey, Will.”

Will shuffles his feet, hesitating. Is this a stupid question to ask? Surely Jonathan won’t think he’s stupid. Jonathan never thinks Will is stupid, even when Will asks dumb questions or says dumb things or acts super annoying. “What’s Valentine’s Day?” he blurts out.

Jonathan raises his eyebrows. “Huh?”

Maybe Jonathan doesn’t know. That’s a weird thought, though, because Jonathan knows everything. He’s in third grade now, which seems big and grown up and far away. It’s old enough for your grade to have an actual number. Not like kindergarten, which Jonathan says is, like, zero grade. “Valentine’s Day,” Will says again. Mom had been so vague about it, and he’s still not sure what’s up with the lovey-dovey stuff. Maybe Jonathan can help. “What is it?”

“Um,” Jonathan says. “It’s– the holiday of love, I guess?”

Oh. That’s lame. “Ew,” Will says, making a face. “That’s gross.”

“Tell me about it,” Jonathan sighs. “Why are you asking?”

“I have to celebrate with my class tomorrow,” Will sighs. “And mom got candy but I’m not allowed to eat any.”

Jonathan makes a sympathetic noise. “Lame.”

“I know!” Will exclaims. “And I don’t even– love anybody. Gross.”

“Well,” Jonathan says thoughtfully, “it doesn’t have to be love love. It can be, um. Any kind of special somebody.”

“Special somebody?” That’s a weird thing to call someone. “Huh?”

“You know. Is there someone special to you? Someone you really like?”

Will likes a lot of people. His teacher is really nice. He likes mom’s boss at the store, because sometimes he lets Will pick out a piece of candy from the display. He likes Jonathan, and he likes his mom, of course. But people who are special–

“Mike,” Will decides immediately. It’s an obvious choice, because Will hadn’t ever had best friends before Mike came into his life earlier this year. They do everything together– playing at recess, eating lunch, sleeping over at each other’s house. The other kids in the class even talk about them like they’re one person– MikeandWill– which makes Will smile. It’s nice to feel like he’s a part of something. Mike is special. Mike makes him feel special.

Something funny happens to Jonathan’s face, super fast, and then it goes back to normal. “There you go,” he says, then nods. “You can make something for Mike.”

“Like what?”

“Um, I don’t know. Draw him a card?”

“Mom already bought cards,” Will sighs.

“Make him a special one,” Jonathan shrugs. “Because he’s– um. Your special somebody.”

Will grins, wide enough that he knows his missing tooth gap is showing. Sue him. He thinks it’s cool, even if Jonathan has, like, five of them and doesn’t care. “Thanks, Jonathan!”

“Uh, yeah!” Jonathan sounds a little confused as he calls after him, but Will is already on his way to his own room. “You’re welcome!”

When Will gets back to his room, he pulls out his crayons and his paper, sits down at his desk, and–

He stops.

Oh no.

What is he supposed to put on a card? For Mike, especially, who’s one of the coolest people Will knows. What if he thinks it’s lame? What if he doesn’t want a card? What if whatever Will makes is so boring and awful that Mike laughs?

Will shakes his head. No, he thinks. Mike won’t laugh at him. Mike would never laugh at him, and that’s why he’s so special– everyone else laughs at Will, sometimes, about his clothes or his hair or the way he talks. But Mike doesn’t. Mike thinks he’s cool, and Mike thinks he’s fun, and Mike likes all the same stuff as he does– the kind of stuff that everyone else in their class thinks is lame but Mike doesn’t.

Will stares down at the blank sheet of colored paper. Blue, because Mike likes blue. And Will’s got a twenty-four pack of crayons and he doesn’t know what color to draw in, but everything else, the candies and the cards in mom’s bag, had been red or pink, so maybe Will should draw in red or pink too. And– everything else had, like, hearts on it, so maybe he can start there.

“For Mike,” Will says aloud, slowly and carefully, as he writes the words at the top of the paper. He’s pretty sure he spelled it right. He knows he’s got Mike’s name correct, at least. F-O-R. For.

Yeah. That looks okay.

The heart is next. Will tries to make it big enough to take up most of the page, where the paper has been folded in half down the middle. It’s a little lumpy, but– yeah. You can totally tell it’s a heart.

Probably.

He opens the card to the inside, and pauses again. Great, he thinks, because what is he supposed to write on the inside? He’d already drawn a heart on the front, and it would probably be a little lame to draw another one on the inside.

“Think,” he groans out loud, putting the red crayon down and peering into the box. Half of them are broken, and some others are worn down to nubs, so it’s not even like he has a lot of options here.

What sort of stuff does Mike even like? Mostly the same stuff Will does, but then maybe that would be like Will is making a card for himself, and not for Mike. He looks at the paper some more, like maybe something will appear on it, fully-formed, if he stares long enough.

Nope. Nothing.

Will sighs, and thinks harder.

Mike had liked that book they read in class last week– something about a knight rescuing a princess from a tower. Will hadn’t really been paying attention, because it was kind of boring and, like, sappy and about love, but Mike had been totally into it. Will had looked over during group reading time and his eyes had been huge and his jaw had been, like, on the floor. Will didn’t really get the appeal, because, again, it had been totally cheesy and sappy and gross. But Mike had found a stick at recess an hour later and brandished it like a sword, and Will had been too busy laughing to properly express how lame he thought the whole thing was.

It wasn’t lame when Mike did it, though. That’s why Mike is special– nothing’s lame when he does it.

Will picks up a crayon. He has an idea.

—

Don’t think it’s lame, Will prays, fighting every instinct in his body that’s telling him to squeeze his eyes shut and hold his breath. Please don’t think it’s lame.

Mike hasn’t said anything yet. Maybe he really does think it’s lame.

Will is starting to wish that maybe the asphalt of the playground could just open up and swallow him whole. Mike totally thinks it’s lame. Maybe Mike didn’t even want a card. Maybe Mike is weirded out. Maybe Mike–

“Did you really make this?”

Will blinks. Mike doesn’t sound weirded out. He sounds– impressed? Maybe?

“Um. Yes,” he says anyway. Mike’s eyes are wide where he’s staring at the card in front of him, and Will holds his breath after all– just a little– for one second, then two, then–

“Will!” Mike says, face breaking out into the biggest smile Will has literally ever seen him smile. “This is awesome!”

Oh, thank god. “Really?” Will can’t keep the relief out of his voice when he asks.

“Yeah!” Mike nods rapidly, never once taking his eyes off the paper. “This is awesome!”

“You already said that,” Will points out, but he’s smiling now too. “You really don’t think it’s lame?”

“No way!” Mike points at the crayon outline of a figure against the blue paper. “Is that me?”

“Duh,” Will says, pointing to where he had drawn an arrow and written Mike. Just in case there was any confusion. “It’s you as the knight. From the story.”

“I love the knight from the story,” Mike announces, and Will immediately feels like a million pounds of weight has been lifted off his shoulders. Thank god.

“I know,” Will giggles. “You almost killed me with the stick you were waving around.”

Mike gasps. “Excuse you. It was a sword.”

“Sure,” Will says. “Okay. It was a sword.”

Mike looks like he’s going to say something else, and then he stops. He shakes his head. His voice is quieter now when he says, “You really made this for me?”

Will doesn’t know why they keep coming back to this. Obviously he made this for Mike. That’s why he’d labeled the drawing with his name. Mike. He’d meant for that to help, in case there was any confusion, but maybe he hadn’t labeled it well enough. Maybe two arrows next time. Or maybe he should add Mike’s last name, just in case Mike thought he made it for the other Mike in their class. “Duh,” he says again, because he isn’t sure what about this Mike isn’t understanding. “It’s for– Valentine’s Day.”

Mike goes a little pink. Will’s not sure why, because they’ve been sitting in one spot for all of recess so far, and Mike hasn’t been running around at all. “Really?”

“Jonathan said I should make a card for someone special.” Will tugs nervously at the zipper on his jacket. Why is he nervous? It’s only Mike. “And I think you’re special.”

Mike’s mouth drops open. He closes it, then opens it again, in an excellent imitation of their class goldfish Bubbles. “Really?”

Maybe Mike’s words just aren’t working today. Will feels like that a lot. He gets it. “Duh,” he says, for the third and hopefully final time. “You’re my best friend.”

“Wow,” Mike breathes out. “You’re an awesome artist, Will.”

“Really?”

Okay, maybe it’s Will’s turn for his brain to stop working. He’s not sure what’s so awesome about his drawing. You can barely even tell it’s Mike.

“Um, yeah,” Mike stares, like this is obvious or something. “You can totally tell it’s me! No one else in our class can draw this good. You should do it more. I think you could get, like, famous or something.”

Will doesn’t know about all that, but something warm and fuzzy is swelling up inside him anyway. Surprised and pleased at the praise. “Oh. Thanks, Mike.”

“I wish I made you something,” Mike says sadly, still staring down at the card, like he’s trying to absorb it with his eyes. “My mom just made me get the ones from the store for everyone.”

“It’s okay!” Will smiles. Really, he doesn’t need a card from Mike. He’s just happy Mike liked it.

“You can have my Reese’s,” Mike offers. He doesn’t fold the card up and put it in his pocket like Will thought he might, but holds it carefully in both hands and looks over at him, eyes wide. “Someone gave me one for our candy exchange, but I think you like them more than me.”

Will grins. “Okay!”

Mike hesitates, then suddenly, moves forward and throws his arms around Will’s shoulders. It’s sudden enough for Will to stumble backwards, a little caught off-guard by the puffy weight of Mike’s jacket and body against his. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Will,” Mike says. “You’re my best friend too.”

#oh this was so fun #unexpectedly hard but in the best way #i don't know how to write little kids #i'm so scared of making them sound too baby #but hopefully !! this was good #thank u sm for this prompt andi it was so so so cute #happy valentine's day i love u much #mwah <3 #byler #mike wheeler #will byers #miwi #fun sized fics #fic #ok byebye #/astro posts

202 notes · View notes

sentientsky · 9 months

Text

a tiny little ficlet based on this lovely comment from @queer4cryptids on this post! (i accidentally made it angsty, i’m so sorry!! but there’s comfort and gay yearning in there, i swear!) when the night falls low and settles against the side of the Earth; when the the dark begins to carry a certain weight, he shifts his stance. he lets himself breathe air he doesn't really need into lungs that exist simply by virtue of his inclination to breath. it's the same pattern Crowley's watched unfold a hundred million times times over—the stretching of a thread until it frays, three women, a set of blades; a wicked inevitability carried in the lines of time-weathered hands.

and still it never changes, never lessens the welling of grief that builds and breaks in his chest, that stagnates and stratifies like layers of sand upon gravel upon so many eons since he first fell from the sky and lost the right to mourn a woman hungry only for bread and a little kindness.

he leans back against a headstone, swallowing down a familiar hollowness. the sparrows have all taken root in the knots of tree trunks. the moon blinks back at him, clouds swaying like an eyelid closing to sleep.

he turns his face away from the light, sucks in breath for which he still has no need. the rough-hewn granite is going to scuff his coat; he knows this with the certainty of having lived in a world full of serrated edges for so many years. and yet he doesn't care. Crowley can't find it in him to give a damn because finally, finally he's there. he's there and he's real and tangible and it's been eleven months, two weeks, and four days since he's last felt the warmth of angelic skin so close to his own. not that he's been keeping count, of course. and Aziraphale's got that faraway look again. the one pressed into the lines of his face in the aftermath of a flood that tilted against the sky; the same one Crowley saw in the stark daylight of a death warrant unfurled and stamped with the name of the holy Mother herself. it's the same, hollow, teeth-gritted look Crowley himself wore as he stood on a hillside reeking of freshly-cut wood, bearing witness to yet another child of the Almighty thrown to the wolves. Aziraphale turns, then, and blue eyes meet black lenses meet amber-gold. "Crowley—" Aziraphale manages, choking it out in a half-whisper, like it hurts—like it scrapes his throat with bits of barbed wire. and, just like that, something in him is breaking and the oak trees are all whispering dangerous things and still, still he can't find a version of this story in which he doesn't lean closer, doesn't press himself forward into air that smells of earl grey tea and old books and something celestial and hallowed and holy underneath it all. and as though he's drowning—as though the moon doesn't watch them with a flickering gaze and the trees can't hear the brush of skin meeting skin—Aziraphale presses his fingertips to the side of Crowley's wrist. he moves no further. the air holds still, time seeming to freeze around them. it's intentional, he realizes; it's fire and it's heat and it's utterly fucking terrifying. even now, so far above ground, Crowley can nearly feel the weight of hellish eyes on his back. a shudder runs the length of his body. and yet. in the atomic space of that hungry, desperate, throat-baring yet, he turns his hand, trembling, to the side. he finds the angel's touch like a bird bearing North—like a compass forever calibrated to a single, fixed point.

"I know—" he rasps. “Angel, I know.” he twines his fingers with Aziraphale's, and it's positively electric. every cell in his tragically, wonderfully human body has turned pure gold, conducted and galvanized and sparking. a sharp, stilted inhale; a quiet anticipation carved out in the space between their pressed hands (and palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss...). the graveyard is still. the grief is there, still. the grief might always be there. but the sharp edges dull, the welling in his chest grows steady and slow and gentle. and the world becomes a little less difficult to bear with the two of them holding it up.

#WOAH THIS GOT OUT OF HAND (pun not intended but hehe). this was supposed to be little but then i kept thinking of stuff to add #thank u for the prompt!!! it was rly fun to write hehe!!#i have a couple papers due rly soon so i probably won't get around to tackling the other prompt for a few days. but it's coming!! dw lol!#might throw this one up on ao3 idk lol. i'd have to properly edit it tho instead of just word barfing onto the page afjldjasjsalkd #also ik this was supposed to be cute and fluffy but i apparently have this ability to take anything meant to be adorable and make it angsty #good fucking night heheheh i'm going to SLEEP #good omens #crowley #ineffable husbands #good omens 2 #aziracrow #aziraphale #go2 #ineffable lovers #ineffable wives #good omens season 2 #gomens #gomens 2 #aziraphale x crowley #good omens ficlet #good omens fic #gomens fic #good omens fanfiction #good omens poetry #my words #wren writes crow #good omens 2 ficlet #david tennant #michael sheen #crowley x aziraphale

38 notes · View notes

tickle-bugs · 1 year

Note

I have a Glinda and Elphaba prompt idea! Feel free to change things or take anything out. My prompt is semi based on the scene in the show where Glinda tells Elphaba that they should share secrets with eachother. Glinda’s secret is that she is really ticklish so of course Elphaba has to take advantage of that. Elphaba then shares her secret which is that she has never been tickled so Glinda (with Elphaba’s permission) helps Elphaba learn what being tickled feels like.

Secrets, Secrets

“Your very first party? Your very first party ever?! How do you feel?” Glinda bounces around in front of Elphaba’s bed.

“Different.” Elphaba crosses her legs beneath her. She tracks Glinda back and forth, back and forth.

“Of course you do! Elphie—“ Glinda comes to a screeching halt, blinking her big, sparkly eyes— “Can I call you Elphie?”

“It’s a bit…perky.” Elphaba grimaces as supportively as she can.

“To christen our new friendship, we should…tell each other something we’ve never told anyone.” Glinda flops onto Elphaba’s bed and they both bounce. She grabs for Elphaba’s hands, loud and insistent.

“I’ll go first. Fiyero and I are going to be married!” Glinda squeals.

“He’s asked you already?” Elphaba frowns.

“No, he doesn’t know yet.”

“Then that’s not much of a secret, is it?” Elphaba raises her eyebrow. Glinda pouts. She hums to herself in thought as her eyes scan the room.

“Fine…I keep a reserve of extra glitter for formal events.” She gestures to a small tub on her shelf that’s genuinely emitting a low level of light.

“No.”

“I’m a natural blonde?” Glinda tries.

“Definitely not.”

“I am—“

“It’s not a secret, Galinda.” Elphaba pulls on one of her ringlets. She pouts, then gasps with an idea.

“My entrance essay was called ‘Wands: Need They Have a Point?’” She gestures as if the title would appear in the air.

“I was there when you announced that.” Elphaba snickers.

“You are so—“ Glinda cuts herself off with a little growly noise that makes Elphaba snicker harder— “I have nothing else to share. My life is a beautifully open book.”

“Dig deep, Galinda. Surely you’ve got something.” Elphaba pokes her stomach and Glinda jumps. She does it again, then again, and keeps going until a stream of squeaky snickers fills the air.

“E-Elphie, that tickles! Let me think!” Glinda swats her hands away.

“Now there’s a secret.” Elphaba grins.

“You wouldn’t dare.” Glinda narrows her eyes.

“Wouldn’t I?” Elphaba mimics the pitch of her voice. Glinda splutters in offense, and then she’s spluttering with laughter as the poking resumes.

“I’ll turn you into a frog!” Glinda shrieks. Elphaba snorts and keeps poking at her waist. It starts to get less and less effective, especially as Elphaba’s touch gets harder. She frowns, but persists.

“Y’know, I—eep! I expected you to be better at this.” Glinda still jumps at every poke, even as her laughter grows quiet. Elphaba recoils as if she’s been burned.

“Oh. You don’t know how, do you?” Glinda murmurs. Elphaba turns sharply away. It’s a silly thing to cry over, but her nose stings with the promise of tears. She can’t help it.

“Well, because I am so noble and full of dignification…I will assist.” Glinda bows. She takes Elphaba’s hands and places them gently at her waist. Elphaba considers tearing her hands away, but Glinda’s gaze is warm.

“Now wiggle your fingers. Gently.” Glinda holds Elphaba’s wrists and nods in encouragement. Elphaba presses her lips together.

“Like this?”

Glinda collapses with a bubbly yelp. Elphaba immediately lets go.

“Did I hurt you?” Elphaba leans over her.

“No, no—you’re just a quick learner.” Glinda looks up with a dazzling smile, her curls fanned around her on the bed.

“Oh.” Elphaba flushes a dark green. Glinda could be so much, sometimes.

“Okay! Your turn!” Glinda boops Elphaba’s nose.

“My turn?” Elphaba swats her hand away but doesn’t break focus.

“For a secret, silly!”

“Oh, I don’t really…have one. I think.” Elphaba fiddles with her fingers.

“Well, I’ll make this easy for you. I expect a rain check on a real secret later.” Glinda scoots so she can sit against the headboard. Her glossy smile tilts into something devious.

“Are you ticklish, Elphie?” Glinda’s voice catches teasingly on her name. It steals the breath from her lungs.

“Isn’t everyone?”

“Dodging the question. Interesting.” Glinda smirks, leaning close. Her eyes rove over Elphaba’s already-warm face.

“I don’t know. I’ve never been…people usually don’t want to be that close to me. Let alone touch me.” Elphaba sniffs bitterly, dropping her gaze.

“That’s a shame.” Glinda says firmly. She stays close. Something in Elphaba flutters.

“May I?” Glinda hovers her fingers over Elphaba’s stomach. Elphaba nods and exhales shakily.

Glinda must not like that shakiness though, because she frowns deeply and takes Elphaba’s hands instead. She clutches one and spiders her fingers across the palm of the other, tracing up and down from elbow to fingertip.

“How’s that feel?” Glinda hums.

“It’s…I…” Elphaba’s nose scrunches. Her smile breaks little by little, like the first sunbeams over the horizon. She tries to keep it together, but her lungs keep doing this indomitable shivery thing she can’t kick. Her whole body trembles with the force of restraining herself.

“I’m barely trying to tickle you. I’m trying to take it easy on you,” Glinda snickers, her glittery nails dancing across Elphaba’s hand.

“I-It can’t possibly get worse than this.” Elphaba peeks at her through one eye.

“Don’t speak so soon!” Glinda says cheerfully, squeezing Elphaba’s side with a viciousness that contradicts everything ‘good’ about her. Elphaba crumples into a fit of ringing laughter.

She wants to crawl out of her skin hearing her own laugh, the shrieky, cackly thing that it is, but every ounce of her self control has fled her. She falls backwards on the bed and Glinda crawls on top of her, tickling with reckless abandon. Elphaba tries to curl up, but she folds right into Glinda’s waiting hands.

Elphaba throws her head back and snorts twice in a row. Glinda gasps.

“You are adorable.” She whispers gleefully. Elphaba hides behind her hands. Glinda tries to pull them away to no avail.

“Kill me,” Elphaba groans, muffled. She resists Glinda until pointed nails poke just right into her ribs and she screeches, immediately flailing to defend herself. Glinda catches her wrists easily and pins them down to the bed.

Elphaba lets out a stream of nervous giggles, hearty and tumbling. Glinda flops on top of her with a dramatic wail. Elphaba’s hand finds her back instinctively.

“What’s happening?” Elphaba hums, confused but not surprised.

“You’re so cute, you don’t understand.” Glinda pops up in a distressed bounce of curls and ruffles. “I just want to tickle you for the rest of eternity.”

And tickle she does. Elphaba squirms and giggles, tossing her head back and forth. Glinda coos at her, terrifying in her accuracy. Feeling another snort coming on, Elphaba grabs Glinda’s hands and pulls them away.

“W-Well, if you keep doing that, you’ll kill me, and you need me for your sorcery tutorial.” Elphaba points at her, eyes wide with a giddy sort of desperation she’s never felt before. Glinda pretends to think hard, but really, she’s smiling.

“You drive a hard bargain, Miss Thropp. I’ll think about it.” Glinda brushes Elphaba’s hair out of her face. Elphaba deflates in relief.

Then: a suspicious tickle at her kneecap makes her release that snort she’d been desperate to suffocate. Glinda cackles evilly.

“W-Wait, Galinda—“

“Oh, you didn’t think I was going to think about it now, did you?”

#my fics #wicked #ticklish!elphaba #ticklish!glinda #glinda upland #elphaba thropp #thank u for this cute prompt!!!!#im incapable of writing them as just friends i swear #they always gotta be a little fruity idk #no but fr they are so much fun to write??? agh

84 notes · View notes

padfootastic · 1 year

Note

james potter and Severus snape , word: potioneer

Please and ty ❤👀

hohohooo sadie coming in strong 👀 i’m so sorry i couldn’t help dunking on snape, he’s just so,,,,,easy to pick on 💀

Little known fact about James: just because he didn’t like potions, doesn’t mean he wasn’t damned good at it. He’d learnt at the knee of Fleamont Potter, the greatest potioneer of the last century, after all.

Snape realises this only a few minutes into their combined brew. He’d ranted and raged but Slughorn refused to part them.

“You better not mess this up for me, Potter,” he snarled, instead. The unbothered smirk he gets in return only infuriates him further.

“You’re slicing the root too thick, Snape,” Potter replied coolly before quirking his eyebrow in judgement. “And those beetle eyes, little squished, don’t you think?”

In the end, Snape had fumed his way through the prep, the easy competence pf Potter’s brewing—and his valid criticism—only increasing his ire.

“Excellent,” Slughorn announced with a simpering smile. “Of course, no surprise there, eh, Mr. Potter.”

“You flatter me, Professor,” Potter demurred but the glint in his eye as he winked at Snape was pure arrogance. Bastard.

Send me a drabble prompt!!

#james potter #severus snape #helpppp how do u end these 😭😭#that bastard is so abrupt #what #i need to read more drabbles i think #figure out how this is done #not easy man #but def fun lol #anyway. it’s my hc that james was ace at potions. in the way privilege and genetics does.#but he didn’t care for it too much so most people didn’t realise #snape was one of them #until this assignment lol #thanks for the prompt sadie!!#pen’s asks #pen’s writing #ask game

40 notes · View notes

actual-bill-potts · 1 year

Note

i just read your finrod-re-embodiment prompt fill and I'm having all the emotions </3 (loved it a lot, I will re-read this so often, I already know that!)

For another Finrod-related prompt: anything about his friendship with Turgon, maybe?

(I'm very partial to any "Finrod survives and is brought to Gondolin for some reason"-aus, if you need more incentive, but I'd be happy about anything! From fluffy early childhood in Valinor days, to "where did my best friend vanish to I miss him"-angst.)

-finnritter

Turgon had once loved the Eagles of Beleriand: the hope they represented, the promise that the Noldor were not completely abandoned by the Valar. He still trusted them, and honored them for their help. But ever since they had come bearing his father's body, he could no longer feel joy at their coming. His father's chest had been crushed in; blood had encrusted his mouth and run down his neck; the bones of his legs had been shattered beyond repair. His death must have been agony.

Nothing would ever erase the sight from his mind, and no matter how he tried he could not stop wondering: if you could bear my father away from that battle, why did you wait until he was dead? Perhaps it was a disloyal thought, to the Eagles who had indeed risked much to retrieve his father's body, and to his father who would have been furious to have been ripped from the battle he had chosen; but he did not care.

So when he saw an Eagle circling, and was able to discern a limp body clutched in its claws, his only thought was: not again. And then as the Eagle descended, he caught a white-gold flash of hair and began running for the hill-top on which they customarily landed, heedless of his startled guards or the flashes on concerned recognition on the faces of his people. His mind was wiped clean of all but a burning urgency. He was aware of a cresting wave of grief, growing in strength in a corner of his mind - but he would not mourn until he was sure. He would not. He would not.

He reached the top of the hill just seconds after the Eagle landed, his hair blowing back by the wind from its wings. He bowed hastily and then hastened closer.

The Eagle had deposited its burden on the ground, a bloody heap of rags and limbs in disarray. The one ear visible through a tangled mass of dirtied golden hair was cruelly torn.

This was not Finrod. Surely it could not be Finrod. Finrod was motion and laughter, beauty and song, always arrayed in gauze and gems; this Elf had had misery carved into the jagged lines of his bones.

The Eagle bowed its head to him. The Lord of Wolves has suffered a great defeat, it said in rasping Eagle-speech, and left this one behind. We recognized him.

With that it departed, and Turgon with shaking hands reached out and rolled the body onto its back.

The delicate lines of Finrod's face stared back at him, thin and bloodied and so very, very still.

But there is not room for another monument next to Atar's, Turgon thought, miserably and inconsequentially. There was a great scream building in his throat, but he could not let it out. I shall have to find another spot. Perhaps I will have it encrusted with pearls. He would like that. His head was pounding. He could not move. He could not speak.

Footsteps behind him; his retinue had arrived. "My King!" Culúrien in the lead said; then, sounding astonished, "What has happened? Who is that? We must summon the healers! Cyruion, Eruion, go the healers' wing and tell them to come at once to the Eagles' Hill! Go, now!"

The sound of the chosen messengers retreated quickly, but Turgon took no notice. "There is no need, Culúrien," he forced out, "he is dead, do you not see?"

"But he is not dead!" Culúrien exclaimed. "My King, he breathes!"

It could not be. He had prayed for this, when he saw Elenwë's still body, and Aredhel's, and his father's. His prayers had never been answered.

But now he was looking for it, he could see it: the faintest rising and falling of Finrod's chest. His head spun.

But there is so much blood, he thought, how can he be alive?

Finrod's chest continued to rise and fall. Suddenly his hand twitched - Turgon saw with a flash of nausea that it was mangled, the white of bone shining oddly through his palm - and he let out a quiet cry.

Turgon was not entirely aware of having moved, but he was suddenly kneeling at Finrod's side, one hand in his friend's filthy hair.

"It will be all right," he said, like a prayer. "It will be all right. My dear friend, you will be all right."

Finrod's lips moved, soundlessly. Then his eyes opened.

"Turgon...?" he breathed. "There was...an Eagle..."

"Yes," Turgon said, "The Eagle brought you here, to my city. To Gondolin. Here you will be safe. Just - hold on. Don't try to move," he added hastily, seeing Finrod gathering himself as if to sit up.

Finrod stilled, breathing harshly. "Wouldn't...dream of it..." he said.

Behind him, Turgon heard the approaching footsteps. "The healers are here, Finrod," he said gently, and moved to get up.

But Finrod reached out with his undamaged hand, hissing through his teeth as he did so. "Please," he said, voice growing fainter with every word, "Please - don't leave. My friend - I have missed you."

"I won't leave," Turgon said, and meant it. He grasped Finrod's undamaged hand, and held it as the healers lifted Finrod onto a litter and bore him back to the city; as they bandaged his wounds and set his broken bones, and stitched together the deep marks of teeth and claws all over his shoulders and chest; and he was holding Finrod's hand when his friend woke next.

Finrod's smile, now lopsided by a scar that split his upper lip, was still as brilliant as he remembered; and the pressure of his fingers, though thinner and more bare of rings than Turgon had ever seen, was a warm and familiar weight.

"I am relieved," Turgon said, "that I no longer need to order an absurd amount of pearls for your burial mound."

Finrod frowned slightly. "What?"

"Oh, nothing," Turgon returned, and laughed. Something within him that had been frozen since his father's death seemed to be cracking open, flooding his chest with light.

He laughed again, because he could. It felt like a miracle.

#turgon #finrod #im sorry finritter this doesnt actually feature that much turgon/finrod interaction #but it's what came to my mind #i hope u like!!!#i may follow up on this at some point cuz i really like the idea #my writing #the silmarillion #silm fic #tysm for the prompt! this was fun to think abt and write #and thanks also for the compliment!!! i am so glad u enjoy my little stories!!

66 notes · View notes

sga-owns-my-soul · 1 year

Note

kiss numbers: 36, mcshep

yessssss i always love an excuse to write a good mcshep fic

36- To Give Up Control

"I didn't fucking ask for this, you know."

Rodney looked at the Major, hurt and confusion radiating on his face.

"Uhh, you kind of did? I mean, you actually very explicitly asked me to come out and have a beer with you, so I'm not sure what exactly you mean by that," Rodney responded, and John let out a frustrated huff.

"No, I mean this," his arm waved around, encompassing the general space around them, "coming to Atlantis, being in command of an entire goddamn base of people, including civilians." John slammed back the rest of his beer- his second beer, Rodney noticed, and he was reaching for a third- and ran a hand through his hair.

"Oh," Rodney said, because he wasn't sure what else to say.

"I just... My career was practically over, I was banished to Antarctica, and then all because I sat in the wrong chair, I'm suddenly in charge of keeping people alive in a war I accidentally started in another galaxy? What the fuck, man?" John wasn't normally so honest or vocal about, well, anything, but the beer must have been enough to make the words start flowing, because now it seemed he couldn't stop.

"Every choice I make has such huge consequences now. It feels like I've been forced into playing God, like I'm... Like I'm somehow worthy of deciding who lives and who dies. No one should have that much power, that much control. Every choice I make feels wrong, but doing nothing is somehow always worse. I just wish, for 5 fucking seconds, I didn't have to make the life changing decisions. I wish I didn't have to be in control."

Rodney still isn't sure what made him act. He isn't sure he'll ever know, between the beer and the odd moment of calm peacefulness that seemed so rare in the Pegasus galaxy and the intensity John was speaking with- but something told him it was the right thing to do.

He took John's beer out of his hand right before he raised it to his lips, setting it aside as John gave him a confused look.

"Rodney, what are you-" John's words were cut off by Rodney's lips on his, his hands pushing John's shoulders back to lay against the ground of the pier. The tiniest sigh came from John as he went limp on the ground, completely at Rodney's will.

Rodney kissed him harder, moving to straddle John's hips to get a better angle. John's hips bucked up in response. Rodney's hand ran through John's hair, pulling slightly at the base as he started kissing down his jaw. John moaned.

"I'll take control. You don't have to make any decisions, any choices with me. I'll decide for you, all you'll have to do is relax. Just relax, John," Rodney whispered in his ear, and John melted against him.

#oooh this one was fun #such a good prompt omg #u know i love writing mcshep so thank u #so good i love these!!!!#john sheppard #rodney mckay #sga fic #sga #mcshep #ask meme #my writing

25 notes · View notes

thelawsofdaylight · 1 year

Link

Relationship: Enjolras & Grantaire Wordcount: 3,912 Chapters: 2/2

They’ll later learn it was an act of sabotage. Since their maiden voyage, the Musain and her crew have managed to establish themselves as one of the most prolific rebel groups in the galaxy. Such a feat does not come without making enemies.

That’s later, though.

In the present, Enjolras tries to keep his calm as he watches Grantaire float further and further away from the hull of the shuttle, knowing that the longer he waits to act, the less chance Grantaire has of making it back alive.

___

Or, a Les Amis in space AU wherein a scheduled maintenance check goes horribly wrong and Enjolras becomes Grantaire's only hope of a rescue. Written for @racetrackthehiggins as part of the Discorinthe Anniversary Exchange!

#les mis #les amis #enjolras #grantaire #enjoltaire #exr #my writing #SURPRISE ANOTHER FIC #i hope this goes some way to explaining why roads is taking so long. good reasons i promise!!!! back to it now these are up and done!!!!!#also thank u gabe for planting the idea of space pirates in my mind with your prompt. so so so fun #*banging pots and pans* come get ur hurt/comfort!!!!!! in SPACE!!!!!!!1

31 notes · View notes

and-its-with-one-l-bitch · 3 months

Note

i NEED to see a titoshaundi proposal for the prompt thingy pretty pleasee 🫶🏻

Prompt 31 - Proposal - 1.6k words, post-SR2.

The linen curtains sway in the breeze behind them, the soft glow of twilight illuminating the rooftop balcony of the fancy hotel they're staying in. The Saints make big money, and now they spend big money, and Shaundi? Hell, she's a celebrity now, nothing but the best for her. She's dressed like you wouldn't believe, the curls of her hair tied back into a loose ponytail and her dress tailored to perfection. It's purple and shimmers in the low light as she leans back in her dining chair, a faint smile on her face as she watches Tito across the table they share. He's dressed nicer than usual, shoved into classy clothes that don't quite seem to fit his frame, too tight in the shoulders and too baggy around his waist, but he's clean and tidy and fidgeting with the box under the table. Shaundi loves to watch him. "You know, when you showed up here, it was a surprise," she begins, straightening in her chair and leaning towards him, "a good one. After all we've been through, dinner dates were not what I expected. You've changed." She remarks with something lingering between admiration and confusion. "What happened?"

Tito swallows, hard, and quickly runs the back of his sleeve over his forehead as a feeling of dread and anticipation settles in his chest. He's got to be cool. Taking a deep breath, he shakes his head and forces a smile onto his face, digging down into the same reserves that got him through all the shit with Maero to steel himself for what comes next. "Shaundi," he begins, reaching out for her hands and taking a hold of them harder than he means to, "you and me, we've been around this city too many times to count. Y- uh, you mean so much... to me." He stumbles over his words, laughs with a little frustration, and powers on. "I can't imagine facing the future with no- with anybody else." With sweaty hands, he picks the ring box up out of his lap and places it on the table, something still too tense about his posture. "I want to spend the rest of my life, no matter how long, with you." Tito says with a smile, and across the candle-lit table, she brings a hand to her lips, a single tear glistening in the corner of her eye. Pressing on, he opens the ring box to reveal an enormous, diamond-studded band, pushing the box across the table. "You've been with me through thick and thin, Shaundi. I can't imagine my life without you. Will you—"

"CUT!" Comes the bellowing voice of the director, booming through the megaphone he absolutely does not need and only adding to the migraine currently making Tito's head spin. The illusion of intimacy, however fragile, is shattered immediately. He grits his teeth and prepares to listen to the little man squeal. "What the fuck was that?!" The director snaps, hopping off of his squeaky chair as he comes waddling to the table. Glancing at Shaundi, Tito spots her rolling her eyes before dropping her chin onto her steepled hands. "It's meant to be emotional! Passionate! You sound like you're gonna puke!" Cries the director, his hands in the air like he's begging for God's intervention. Tito's jaw tightens in time with his fists, his face growing hot. He never wanted to get involved with this show - shit, he could have never heard about it again and been at peace, but oh no, he had to be a pest, had to keep showing up on set and picking on the producers, had to keep dropping in to make sure Shaundi was fine. She always told him she was when he called her on the phone. Funny how he never believed her. Guess his face became too familiar on set, gave the producers too many ideas, and with enough convincing from the star herself ("It'll do wonders for the ratings, Boss!") he relented and agreed to the stupid script. Turns out reality TV isn't all that real.

"I just... don't think it makes sense." Tito says through clenched teeth, every instinct telling him to lash out at the angry director in his face, but something about Shaundi's expression holds him back. She looks almost... sad. "Look, Stilwater knows me as a shit-head, right? You think a suit and some emotional music is gonna make them forget Shivington?"

The director waves the script under Tito's nose. "Showbiz, kid. You know that prick with the shiny hair, Josh Birk, hottest thing on TV right now? Guess what he did before TV? Not fuckin' charity work, I'll tell you that. You've got to sell the lines."

"I am sellin' the lines!" Tito protests, rising from his seat to stand over the director as he feels his temper flare. Thing is, he really is doing the best he can. Never was much of an actor, but these words? He'd mean them, in another context, maybe in another life, but here? Surrounded by cameras and vultures? He feels boxed in, prodded. Searching for an anchor before he starts to lose his cool in a more permanent way, he looks to Shaundi for help and finds her giving him a sympathetic look that begs for him to just give it another shot. Ever since she showed him that she's the brains between them - at least a dozen times by now - he's been loath to refuse any of her ideas, and the pleading in her green eyes does him no favors. Snapping his mouth shut with an audible clack, he straightens out his shirt and slowly sits back down. The director scurries back to his chair.

"Take it from the top, people!" Orders the spiteful little man Tito has quickly grown to hate, waiting for the crew to settle back into their places; Tito takes a little bit longer to settle down and pretend like he doesn't feel sick to his stomach, but then the cameras are rolling again and he doesn't have much choice. From the top. One more time. Play the charade just once more.

"Shaundi," Tito says through the same tight smile he had on before, "you mean... God, what am I fucking saying?" He mumbles, planting his palms on the table. "You don't even know how many times you've saved my ass. The world wants you wrapped up in a bow and put on screen but I fuckin' miss you. Have I told you that? I don't wanna lose you. I know I'm shitty at this stuff," he scoffs a little, "but you always let me get away with it. You do mean the world to me. I'm sorry I don't show that enough."

Shaundi's eyes are narrowed, but there's a tiny smile twitching at the corner of her glittered lips. Wildly off-script but finally feeling like he's making sense, Tito takes another breath to finish the scene, the scenario, whatever, when, "CUT! Jesus, is this amateur hour?" The director's in his face again, and this time Tito's really pissed off, whatever confidence he'd clawed back snuffed out by the reddened face of the shouting man and his megaphone. Shaundi looks defeated; she'd been invested too, maybe hoping for an end to the never-ending work day. The director raises the megaphone to his lips but doesn't get the chance to start yelling again, not before Tito has snatched the damn thing out of his hands and tossed it over the penthouse railing. It's a miracle the table and the director don't follow, with Tito grinding his teeth to keep from committing a serious crime on camera. He stands up and shoves the director out of his space, but stops short of storming off. He looks to Shaundi, still sitting pretty as a picture in her glistening dress but looking exhausted.

"I'm sorry." Tito says quietly, feeling the fight go out of him as his shoulders sag. She offers a wry smile as she stands up, brushing out any wrinkles in her perfect dress as she rounds the table. "I hate the cameras." Tito whispers as she gets closer, and she hooks his arm without a word. "Can we go?"

Shaundi gives the director an icy, arched-brow stare that quells any argument, but her disappointment and fatigue are evident in every movement. She pats Tito's arm and steers him past the cameras into the back of the set, finally letting out a heavy sigh once she's sure they're alone. "God, I need a smoke." She groans, letting go of Tito as she comes to lean against a wall, hands on her knees. She looks up at him through fake lashes and begins to cringe. "I'm sorry I put you through all that. I know the show pisses you off."

"No, it's just," he sighs, feeling awkward now that it's just them, "I'm not made for the celebrity shit. You're good, you know? You're a real... star?" He says uncertainly, the words uncomfortable in his mouth as he says them, but Shaundi just laughs. She looks a little brighter as she stands up straight.

"You wanna get outta here?" She asks coyly.

"Where you thinking?"

"You still got that shitty apartment in the Red Light district?"

"Sure. It's still got that mold problem, though." He says, and even if he doesn't realise it, she's got his defenses down again. He feels relaxed. Shaundi grins, grabs his hand and tugs until he's following obediently. Glancing up at him, she's smiling again.

"Perfect. I stashed some weed in your dresser a few months back. I don't wanna hear any hang-ups; you are going to smoke that shit with me, we are gonna watch a shitty movie on that busted television, and we're gonna forget about all this. You with me?"

Leaving the set and trailing behind her, fingers hooked loosely together, he feels in this moment that he'd do anything he was told. "Yes, Boss." He says with a dopey, lopsided smile. "Wait, my dresser?"

#OOOOOH this was so fun. Alternate cut where Tito throws him over the balcony >>>>.#THANK U CARRIE FOR THE PROMPT!!!! MWAH.#saints row #saints row 2 #boss: tito menendez #shaundi #boss x shaundi #writing

3 notes · View notes

snailor-bee · 2 years

Text

Aphrodisiac Fueled Dreams

I have FINALLY finished the last raffle winner's request! I'm so sorry my lovely @childofblackmaria for taking SUCH a long time with this! As I felt awful about it, I asked if I could write her OC rather than an xReader because every time I thought about the prompt, I imagined her OC, so why not just do that? Luckily Lale agreed! I had a lot of fun with this. <3

F!OCxRayleigh / NSFW / 2.9k

Summary: Accidentally spilling aphrodisiac on Rayleigh and herself, Renge really wasn't expecting today to turn out like this. But some hidden part of herself is sure glad it did... Warnings: Aphrodisiac however it's consensual, choking, some clawing down back mentioned. If there's anything else let me know and I'll add!

The excited chittering of the Roger Pirates filled the air as they divvied up a treasure hoard. Yellow eyes with slitted pupils took in the scene from where the owner was perched on a nearby rock, watching idly. Pointed nailed dug slightly into her cheek where she rested it against her palm.

Renge’s fluffy white spotted ears twitched right before Rayleigh came up behind her. She tried to suppress the swoosh of excitement from her long spotted leopard’s tail but was sure he noticed anyway.

He was kind enough not to mention it.

“Got you something,” Rayleigh said with a smile and she took a moment to admire him. Blond hair was swept back from his face, except for a single curl. Oh, how she ached to reach out and tuck it behind his ear, to have permission to touch him like that. His glasses flashed in the sun, temporarily blocking his sea-foam grey eyes and the scar that bisected one eye.

Her eyes drop down from his—handsome, some hidden part of herself whispered—face to Rayleigh’s outstretched hand. He held out a shiny glass bottle in the shape of a heart with a stopper on the top. It was a deep purple and as she took it, liquid sloshed inside.

“What it is?” Renge asked.

Unbeknownst to her, her cat ears perked up with interest and Rayleigh had to suppress a chuckle at the sight of her slitted eyes widening in interest. She liked it then, good.

“Not sure,” he answered as he crouched down next to her, so they were more at eye level. “Found it with the rest, I’d be careful—”

Rayleigh was cut off as Renge, who had been attempting to pull out the stopper while he talked, finally managed to open it but spilled the liquid over the two of them. Honestly, he’d been expecting perfume but the smell that filled his nose was earthy only slightly tempered by the scent of roses. Musky, in a strange way.

It was thicker too, he noticed, dragging his fingers through his soaked shirt, the fabric sticking to his skin in an uncomfortable way.

“Should it be tingling?” Renge asked with alarm and met his eyes with a concerned look. He frowned.

“Let’s ask Crocus.”

The news was not good and Renge shifted from foot to foot nervously as Crocus examined them before taking them both to the side to tell them gravely that it was an aphrodisiac. There was nothing he could do, they just had to let it wear off naturally.

“It might be painful alone,” Crocus said very seriously. “I would suggest getting a partner to help… ease the effects.”

Walking back to the ship together was an awkward affair. They both knew what was about to happen.

Already her skin was buzzing from where the aphrodisiac had soaked in, leaving it sticky and wet. Her tail swished back and forth in an aggressive motion. She wished she could calm down, be composed about this but all she could think about was running her hands over Rayleigh’s bare skin at last and the thought alone made her shiver, her body pulsing with desire that grew and grew the more time passed.

“We don’t have to do this,” Rayleigh whispered suddenly, breaking her out of her thoughts. They had made it onto the ship while she was still lollygagging. “I don’t want to force you—”

“Don’t, Renge interrupted firmly. Softening her voice she stepped closer, allowing herself to run a hand up his clothed arm. Staring up at his eyes, they were swirling with unease but also—and her gut clenched at the sight—naked desire. “I’ve always been attracted to you,” she admitted honestly and his eyes widened. Butterflies threatened to burst out of her stomach, but she soldiered on.

“So please, don’t make it sound like you’re forcing this on me. I don’t love how it came about but I’m not angry about it.” Silently, Renge begged with her eyes for him to save her from this conversation, awkwardness clogging up her throat. She was afraid to keep talking, worried about the word vomit it was sure to become.

Her back hit the wood of the wall and warm lips descended over hers. Immediately Renge moaned, her hands grabbing onto his shoulders and her eyes closing, happy to just sink into Rayleigh’s kiss and feel the heat within her rise higher and higher.

Rayleigh worked a thigh between her legs and she gasped into the warmth of his mouth. He used the opportunity to slither his tongue inside. Behind her closed lids, her eyes rolled back as the taste of him filled her mouth for the first time. He rubbed his thigh back and forth and she could feel her underwear quickly getting soaked with the force of his kiss and the muscle pressing up against her cunt. She bucked against it, wanting more friction.

When they broke apart to breathe heavily in the limited space between them, Renge felt fire roaring in her veins. It felt like one of her heats and she whimpered.

“Rayleigh.”

He growled, the sound dark and deep sent a thrill through her before strong hands grasped her upper arms and dragged her down the hall. “Bed,” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to her.

They crashed into Rayleigh’s room, the smell of him overtaking her senses.

Why did it feel like one of her heats? Renge wondered distantly. She wasn’t due for one for a while yet. It had to be the aphrodisiac forcing her into one. Snarling at the thought, she whipped around and crashed her lips back against Rayleigh’s, desperate for the taste of him. It didn’t matter, none of the reasonings or whys mattered at all. Not in the face of getting what she had wanted for so long.

It was hard to think past the aphrodisiac roaring in his system, or else, Rayleigh thought that’s what it was. It could have just been Renge, eager and willing as she basically ripped his shirt off his shoulders, buttons going flying and the way her lips greedily sought his own. Her claws ripped into the fabric, and he started in on his trousers, cock already hard and swollen, tenting the fabric. He ducked down to mouth at her neck, dragging his teeth over the skin there and felt more than heard her answering mewl.

As he gently guided her towards the bed, he managed to kick off his boots before his pants and boxers shortly followed. When the back of her knees hit the edge of the mattress, Renge yelped as she fell onto her back. By then his shirt was a lost cause, ripped to shreds and he reached up to tear the rest off.

Looking down, he licked his lips at the sight before him. Renge, tan skin so beautiful against the white of her chest band. He ran the palm of his hand over the soft curve of her stomach before her hands desperately started pushing down at the waistband and he rushed to help her out of her purple pants.

Before long Rayleigh had her stripped completely bare, her chest heaving, nipples already perked up in the air of the room, and his eyes followed the flush that made its way down her chest.

She whined high in her throat, her hands reaching for him and Rayleigh hurried onto his knees beside the bed frame, cursing under his breath as his knees crashed a little too roughly on the wood. Running a soothing hand up the sides of her thighs, Renge hardly seemed to notice as she instantly buried her hands into his hair and tugged urgently towards her core.

He would have liked to savor this moment more, take his time pulling her apart, ripping release after release on his face but Renge was constantly whimpering, legs thrown over his shoulders and her hands still tugging. It seemed like she couldn’t wait.

For a moment, Rayleigh wondered why he wasn’t feeling the effects as much as Renge clearly was. Maybe because she got doused more in the liquid or—

With a huff of impatience, Renge reached down a hand and spread her pussy open for him, dark pubes shimmering with the proof of her desire and all thought went out the window as Rayleigh dove in, silently thanking any gods that were listening for the meal. His eyelashes fluttered as he inhaled the heady musk of her and she mewled her approval above him as he buried his mouth over her dripping pussy.

He dragged the flat of his tongue over her folds drinking her in as her hips bucked against his face. Automatically he wrapped his arms around the back of her thighs, hands resting on her hips to keep her down against the bed, tugging her closer to the edge so he could better run his tongue over her.

Renge fought against him, back arching but she was no match for his strength. Idly Rayleigh hoped he wasn’t leaving bruises with his fingers as he shoved his tongue inside and started pistoning in and out of her core while she screeched.

Loud, he thought with approval. Her tail whipped against his chest before coming to wrap around a forearm as he pulled back just enough to wrap his lips around her clit and sucked, groaning along with the sound of her moans.

The soft feel of her fur against his arm as the tip brushed against his throat made him wonder what it would be like to feel it wrapped around his neck, how tight she could wrap it before—

Renge sobbed as it felt like electricity shot down her spine as she came, Rayleigh’s mouth working her through it. Even as her body sagged and he pulled away, her skin prickled unpleasantly, the push of her heat keeping her largely unsatisfied. It wasn’t enough, not even close.

Her legs fell off his shoulders but Ray didn’t get far before she wrapped them around his waist and tugged him closer until he fell over her. He grinned down at her.

“Needing something?”

“You,” Renge answered immediately, and his grin grew wider.

“Well, I’d love to but currently I’m a bit trapped.” He wiggled an arm where her tail was still wrapped around the forearm.

All her limbs felt far away and Renge’s brow furrowed as she struggled through the daze that pulsed through her to figure out where exactly her tail was. Finally she unwrapped him and he surged to kiss her, making her moan.

Desperately their tongues rubbed against each other as her hands came up to bury themselves into golden locks. When something hard pressed momentarily against her clit before backing off she gasped loud enough to break apart their lips.

“Rayleigh,” she whined, trying to open her legs even wider, fingers interlocked behind his neck as she looked down the line of her body.

Renge swallowed as she finally took in his cock. Before she was to distracted to really notice but now it was hard to tear her eyes away from the light blond pubes that led down to a truly impressive dick dangling between her open legs. She licked her lips and tilted her hips up, trying to meet him. Rayleigh chuckled above her before a hand wrapped itself around the base and started guiding it towards her pussy.

It was hard to think past the roaring in her veins so when his cockhead nudged her entrance, she tilted her head back with a groan. Finally, finally his cock slowly started to breech her walls, even just the tip enough to feel like a stretch. Renge growled in the back of her throat before hooking her legs around his waist and forcing him closer, making him slam his cock fully inside her in one swift thrust.

The sudden stretch of his dick made stars appear in her vision as she felt herself clamp down on him, the feeling of finally being full made her arch her spine with a loud cry, clawing her nails down his back as an orgasm ripped through her.

Rayleigh hissed at the pain but Renge hardly seemed to notice past her cries. Her walls fluttered around him with the force of her orgasm and Rayleigh had to breathe through it so he didn’t just start pounding away and cum immediately. The fact she came just on his cock alone was making his head dizzy.

When she finally relaxed a fraction, he did an experimental thrust and Renge moaned before lifting her ass to meet him and he figured she was ready enough. Bracing his hands next to her head, he was careful not to pull on the thick black hair that billowed out over the bedsheets.

For a moment he took the time to look at her, panting back at him, eyes half-lidded and the yellow almost completely taken over by black, with her inky hair spilled out over his fingers, a flash of white among the dark. Her white ears twitched and he was struck by the impulse to touch them.

Reaching out with one hand, he rubbed one and she meowed before turning her head and burying her teeth into the wrist of his other hand. He cursed but didn’t let up on stroking one furry ear. It was so soft beneath his fingers.

Renge let go of his wrist and shook her head until he released her ear. She worked her hands down and hiked up her thighs. “Fuck me, Ray, please,” she begged and all was lost.

“Yeah?” he gasped, hips already starting up a steady rhythm, a bit shallow but it was enough to get her to cry out again. “Want my cock so badly do you, kitten?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” she replied immediately and Rayleigh increased his pace, the wet sound of her pussy filling the room with each thrust.

He seriously wouldn’t last long; the intensity of the situation, the way she begged and moaned beneath him, and the fact he got to have Renge like this was all culminating into feeling like he was going to burst at any second. But he wanted to make this good for her, wanted to feel her cum again.

With that in mind, he wrapped a hand around her throat, loosely at first to see how she’d respond.

Immediately her eyes rolled back and she tilted her head, baring her neck even more. “Harder,” she demanded.

Rayleigh didn’t need any more encouragement. Quickly he slammed inside while he tightened his fingers around her throat. Renge gasped for air, eyes filling up with tears and all the while Ray was muttering.

“You take me so well, pussy so tight around me. I’ve been wanting this for a while now, did you too? Can’t believe I finally get to see you like this. You’re so good, Renge. The best for me.”

He could feel his release crawling up his spine. “Baby, I’m close are you?” Ray tightened his fingers once more feeling the way her throat fluttered underneath them. Some distant part of his mind worried about leaving bruises, about being too rough, but Renge lifted her thighs up even higher with a garbled whine.

That was it for him. He thrusted, once, twice, before slamming inside as deep as he could go with a low groan as he spilled himself inside her warm walls. He ground his cock that much more inside her, wanting to get that last bit of friction before his body relaxed with a sigh.

Releasing her throat, he collapsed on top of Renge’s body, suddenly feeling the way sweat was sticking to his skin and to hers. Her hands came up and sharp nails started lightly stroking down his back, making him hum with pleasure.

“You okay? I can move,” he offered but couldn’t get far as a leg flung itself over the back of his thigh.

“Don’t you dare,” Renge said. He lifted himself enough to see her face, flushed with red but smiling wide. “I think that stuff kicked off my heat. I hope you’re able to go again because I’ll be ready again soon.” She wiggled her hips, jostling his cock that was still inside her, her fangs flashing in the light.

He couldn’t help it, he burst out in laughter, feeling warmth and happiness course through him. “You’ll be the death of me.” Rayleigh leaned closer, breath just barely ghosting over her lips. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Renge giggled before they kissed once more.

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

“Oh no, Buggy you idiot!” Shanks cried out in a panic as Buggy shrieked beside him.

“No I’m not, you take that back!”

“Doc! Buggy got that same stuff on us that Renge had!! What do we do!?”

Crocus laughed as the two boys ran up to him, looking frantic. “Oh you’ll be fine, it’s nothing just some old lubricant.”

“Lubricant?” Roger repeated. “But I thought you said it was—"

“Oh please,” Crocus said with a roll of his eyes. “You’ve seen the way those two have been dancing around each other and making eyes. It’s been driving everyone mad. Figured this would be the fastest way to get it going.”

Roger blinked once before he leaned back with a roar of laughter. “Good thinking doc!”

Crocus grinned. “Just maybe don’t go back to the ship for a coupla hours.”

Buggy and Shanks grumbled, pulling away sticky wet clothes from their skin but decided it was best to heed the warning.

#bee smut #bee writes #bee writing #one piece x reader #rayleigh #rayleigh x OC #oc x reyleigh #one piece oc #for lale #happy with how this turned out even if i took forever on it haha #the prompt was so fun! thanks for letting me write Renge ;u;

66 notes · View notes