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dyslexicoconut · 1 year ago

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Big Dogs Attack the Pentagon

Chapter 1

“This is such bullshit.” The man let out a long groan as he threw his hands over his face as slowly sank into his office chair. Agent Jack Waters had spent the better part of the last year at his desk, working on filing reports and he still wasn’t adjusted to it. Jack looked at his computer screen, a blank PDF he had been working on for the last hour staring at him. In theory, this was one of the simplest forms that could be done, an evidence acquisition form, but in practice, it proved a most daunting task.

“Another day in paradise?”

Jack peered over his desk from his slouched position and over the cubicle wall as a familiar head looked back at him with a toothy grin.

“Hello Tony,” Jack grumbled.

“What's the matter Waters, a perfectly gloomy afternoon spent under fluorescent lights and in 6 square feet of a cubicle not enough to cheer you up?” Jack let out another groan and sank even further into the chair, barely even sitting in it at this point.

“I know, shocking,” the sarcasm dripping from his words. “This is ridiculous, I shouldn’t even be here.”

“Well clearly someone disagrees with you, Do you ever think-”

“No.”

“That maybe-”

“No.”

“Just maybe-”

“No.”

“They have a point?” Jack forced himself back into a sitting position.

“No, no, no, no they don’t. I can understand a week or two of leave. Maybe, and I mean MAYBE a month, but six? It’s ridiculous! I’m a waste here, there’s someone lesser than me out on the field and I’m taking the seat of some pencil pusher who I’m sure would like to be here more than me.” Jack looked around, his voice getting louder than the hums and beeps of the office ambiance would allow. He turned back to Tony, using a much more controlled voice. “It’s just fucking bullshit.”

“I know buddy, it sucks,” Tony said in as genuine a tone he could muster. “But I’m sure you’re not long for this place, and I doubt they’re holding you for any malicious reason. I’m betting they just lost your paperwork, and this ‘extended leave’ nonsense is just them covering their asses.”

“Yeah maybe,” Jack said, clearly not convinced as he put his head in his hands. A silence fell over them, neither very sure how or interested in continuing to poke this bear. The silence lasted for so long that Jack briefly considered going back to work before Tony thankfully broke the silence.

“Oh, speaking of breakfast, did you hear that they’re taking away the coffee pot from the break room.” as the words left Tony’s mouth Jack whipped his head up, the look on his face as if he’d seen a ghost.

“No, you’re fucking kidding me. Because of Jerry?”

“I mean legally they can’t say that it was because of him for defamation reasons, but I mean yeah what else could possibly cause it?” Jack, in disbelief, stood up and started pacing around his cubicle.

“God I still can’t believe that happened, how does someone almost drown in a coffee pot?” Jack and Tony stepped out of their cubicles and started walking down the aisle.

“Yeah it’s ridiculous,” Tony replied, “but as part of the settlement and just to avoid anything else they’ve taken away all the coffeepots on the inner corridors, so if you want any coffee or tea or any of that shit you have to head all the way to the outer-western corridor.”

“Oh god.” Jack let out a groan that put all his others to shame. “God, how far is that even?” Tony mulled over the question for a moment.

“Hmm, well ballpark if you round the three then you get too fucking far. It’s like a quarter of a mile if you’re being generous, which I am.”

“Jesus Christ,” Jack muttered. “They expect people to walk a half-mile round trip just to get a cup of fucking coffee?

“Yup.”

“And we still can’t bring our own coffee in?”

“Nope.”

“What the fuck are we supposed to do then that’s a ridiculous conflict to have!”

“Well,” Tony whispered, “I hear it’s not official, but supposedly the new batch of interns they brought in are kind of exclusively for running coffee.”

“Huh,” Jack muttered, “that seems like a really convoluted solution to a problem that they kind of manufactured. I mean, it feels like the conflict is kind of forced on us just as a way to put in this new gimmick for no particular reason.”

“I mean yeah I can see that,” Tony replied, “but I guess sometimes that’s how life works, and you kind of need to accept the fact that it’s imperfect and move on. Maybe there will be some purpose for it to exist, and whoever made this decision knows what’s best and we just have to wait for ‘pages to turn,’ as it were.” Jack looked at Tony very quizzically, but eventually just shrugged.

They walked for a bit making idle chitchat before stopping at a large window, overlooking several hundred small white crosses.

“Do you ever really grasp the scope of all this?” Jack asked while staring out the window.

“What do you mean? Tony responded, also not breaking away from the gaze out the window.

“I mean that all my time out in the field was just one random place to another, I never really spent time thinking about where I was.”

“Where you were physically or where you were spiritually?” Another long silence passed, but this one much less uncomfortable.

“ I guess both, I never really stayed anywhere longer than a month, and after that, I was sent right along to the next mission. It always seemed easier to just make no connections or ties to the places I went, and in return, I’ve never really stopped looking forward. I guess in all the time I’ve been here, I never really thought about where ‘here’ was.” They both continued to look over the wave of white crosses and contemplated for a brief moment before Tony slapped Jack on the back.

“Well,” he said, “ That’s the way things happen down here, in The Pentagon, USA we learn to do them a bit differently.” Tony checked his watch and exclaimed, “Speaking of beans it is just about lunchtime, and I’m thinking we go see if we can make one of those interns grab us that coffee.” Tony turned away from the window and started walking, and after the briefest second, just as Jack started to see the world from a new point of view, he snapped out of it.

“Hell yeah Tony, I could use a cuppa joe!” he yelled, quickly catching up.

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hibewriter · 6 months ago

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The Price We Pay

Masterlist Read it on AO3

Shadow & Bone | Darklina | 2.8K | E

Tags: Dubious Consent, Cuckholding, Divorce (Not darklina)

Two Months After It Happened

Malyen never would’ve suggested it. Never would’ve imagined trying it if he knew it would end here. If he knew that he’d be sitting in the lawyers' office, staring blankly at the papers before him. Black ink never looked so daunting. Leaden weight as he read over the contents. He didn’t know much about legalese. Hell, he wasn’t even sure his lawyer was well versed in distinct demands. Checks she didn’t need, half of everything he owned, the house, their dog. They were all going to be hers at the end of the day. Her signature is perfect, looping and slanted at the bottom of the document, a final goodbye. A slap that said you did this to yourself.

The worst part was that she was right. Fifteen years, gone. And he had no one to blame but himself. He sighed as the lawyer shoved the box of tissues his way. The nameless man probably saw it a hundred times. Grown men crying, felled by the women they thought would love them forever. Was Malyen one of those men? Destroyed by a woman’s straying eye? Or was he merely the harbinger of his destruction? Cause after all. It was his idea. Hell, it was his final gift to her. It made sense it would tear them apart.

The Night It Happened

"Bend over Alina, right here."

She didn't even know which way to bend. The darkness caused by the blindfold cast over her eyes made everything so hazy . It was disorienting until her hands found purchase on the edge of something solid, something wooden. Malyen's strong hand pressed delicately in between her shoulder blades, and she sighed, allowing the soft nudge to lay her square onto the surface. The cool wood rubbed roughly against her breast, already cold from the freezing room Mal had taken her to. Was this their anniversary surprise? Why did he blindfold her? Couldn't the room have been warmer?

"Mal–"

"Shhh, Lina, stay still. Don't move."

She heard a rustle, footsteps thudding in whatever room they were in. Drumming her fingers in anticipation of whatever it was that was next. Her breath hitched when a finger slid down her spine, her fingers stilling as she waited. Mal was not normally this forward. Never so… slow . The finger turned into two, then three, then a whole hand, caressing the small of her back, before sliding slowly over the swell of her ass.

She bit her lip, knowing the movements were leaving goosebumps. Knowing he could probably see. Smooth soft caresses of her skin left a trail of fire in their wake. He hadn't even really begun yet. The hand left her, and she whimpered, gripping the edge of whatever surface she was on, before the finger returned, this time running down the crack, a gust of wind expelling from her as it circled her puckered hole, before continuing downward. Through the burgeoning wetness, to place feather-light circles on her clit.

She couldn't help it. The moan that escaped her mouth was met with the reward of pressure. Real pressure as the finger pressed firmer into her clit. It wasn't until she felt the finger switch with a thumb, a finger slipping inside her and causing her to cry out, that she realized.

This was not Mal.

They'd been together fifteen years. Ever since high school ended they'd been sleeping together and he never touched her like this. Not even on their wedding night. Soft and slow as it was supposed to be, ramped into a feverish passion. He was done before midnight. But this…whoever, was perfectly fine taking his time. Perfectly fine adding a second finger to the one already enveloped in her slick heat, slowly pumping away, stretching her, savoring her.

Her hips pressed back on their own accord. Rewarded by a soft hand on her hip, guiding her to fuck herself on those fingers. She barely registered the sounds coming out of her, fingers gripping the wood desperately as the pace increased. She pressed her forehead down, willing over the cool of the wood to help her as she felt the third finger enter her. A choke on her breath as whoever this was continued to pummel her. Was it an angel? She wondered if the saints would ever be so kind. It had to be a devil.

Devil it was. The rising crescendo of her peak came toward her like a stalker in the night, creeping steadily forward as the mystery man behind her played her like a fiddle. Each note he tore out of her was a testament to the sins of God as she begged. For more or less she couldn't be sure, but the hand seemed to. Circling her bud tauntingly, silently willing her to just let go . And she did. A soft tidal wave gushed from her as she felt her body sag against the wood, boneless and light as the fingers coaxed her through her orgasm, soft strokes as they slowly removed themselves until there was but one.

The hand on her hip left, and she heard the distinct sound of a zipper, a buckle? The swishing of fabric before she felt it. The head of the stranger's cock dragged along her slit as he took his hand away. A soft groan filled the room, as she could only imagine him tasting her on his fingers. She whimpered at the sound, wiggling her hips slightly backward to try and entice his favor.

Smack!

The sound reverberated through the room, the sting on her ass, the message clear. Not until I say so . She shouldn't whine. Shouldn't want this stranger to hit her again, to press into her. Yet when his hands found her hips again, holding her steady, she could help the pant, the soft moan that came as he rocked the head into her.

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck too big too big too big . All her brain could think as the thickness of the stranger slowly rocked, inch by inch, into her waiting heat. Shallow thrust as this demon made it fit. She swore. She'd never felt so full. Never felt like this before so when his fingers, the ones soaked in saliva and her came and pressed against her clit, she all but came again. Clenched tight around him as she hoped she made whoever this was, feel , just as out of control as her.

"Fuck…" the low gruff voice, deeper than Mal's, finally spoke holding her hips to his. Her ears perked as they both stood still. She wanted to hear it again. Hear his voice in a way that made sense. She knew that timber. The cadence. But it wasn't until he pulled back, nearly all his cock with him that she nearly cried, the whimpers from her mouth unstoppable until he pushed back in. A harsh thrust pushed her further into the desk. If his hands didn't leave a mark the wood would.

It was on the second thrust that the blindfold was ripped off. The room was hazy, but as her eyes came to focus she realized she was looking into a mirror, bent over the armoire of a hotel suite, looking into her husband's boss's eyes as he fucked into her with zeal. Her mouth hung open, moans escaping her as she reached behind her, grasping his hand as he continued the sharp thrust into her. Aleksander Morozova was fucking her. If she'd had any more wherewithal to look around she would've noticed her husband, sitting with his cock in his hand as Aleksander defiled his wife. And she wanted it.

"I won't bother asking you who's cock you like more, Ms. Orestev. " He murmured, finally pulling her up so their shoulders touched. He used his free hand to palm her breast, smirking as her body shook.

"You're so sensitive for me, when's the last time your husband made you cum like this?"She shook her head, crying out as he pinched her nipple.

"N-never." She moaned, Aleksander smirking against her skin. She watched in their reflection as he toyed with her. Fucking her like she was a sleeve made for him.

"Hear that Malyen? This is how you should be fucking your wife." She started, looking around to see Mal, his face unreadable as he palmed himself. She bit her lip, she should apologize, but Aleksander gave a particularly harsh thrust, and she nearly cried, her free hand tangling in his hair.

"Such a pretty wife. See Malyen," Aleksander taunted, pistoning in her, hitting a spot that knocked her breath away. "She's such a perfect slut for me. And you squandered that for… what is it? Fifteen years today?" Though he wasn't talking to her she nodded. He smirked, stilling and watching as her face contorted into dissatisfaction. She tried to move her hips, fuck herself back on the cock inside her. She should feel embarrassed. Ashamed at trying to chase pleasure from the only person in the room she wasn't supposed to be loyal to. But she wasn't. She just wanted him to never stop.

But he pulled out, turning her around to face him. She was putty in his arms as he picked her up, setting her on the armoire. Her legs instinctively parted as he stood between them, her lips turning red as he entered her again.

"Look at that cock-drunk look Malyen," he said. How was his voice so calm? "I'd bet she'd leave you right now, if I asked her to." He nodded, a smirk befalling his lips as she nodded with him. "Maybe I should. Would you like that, solnishko? " She bit her lips, moaning as he dipped a hand to where they were joined, fingers brushing her clit.

"Wait, Aleksander we didn't talk about –" It almost looked like Mal was going to rise up from the chair, trying to put an end to this.

"Shush Maylen." Aleksander effortlessly turned them, cock still in her as he lowered them to the hotel bed. He took her legs, smooth to his touch, and hoisted them on his shoulders. The smile of the devil on his lips as her hands flew to his stomach, nails scraping the toned skin as he thrust again. Was he deeper? She felt as though he were in her throat, her cunt clenching deliciously around him as he restarted his brutal pace.

"This is what fucking your wife should be Maylen." His voice finally gave way to grunts as he pistoned his hips. "Fuck –" a curse like any other as he leaned forward, bending her in half as he began to kiss her earnestly. Her mind went blank, hands tangling in the silky strands of his hair as she felt it coming. That wave, held back by a tightening coil, is ready to be released. He pulled away from her as she came, her cunt a vice on his cock as he fucked her through it. Her mouth parted, eyes delirious as he continued.

" Saints , Maylen, your wife looks so fucking beautiful when she comes. Maybe I should come inside her, yeah? Give her that baby you've been trying for?" Aleksander hissed, clutching her hips with a grip she knew would bruise.

"Tell me, Alina," he grunted, fucking into her. "Do you want it? Want my cum in your pussy?" She was gasping, his question like lead in the room. Maylen looked sick. It felt like an eternity, before he slapped her, smirk widening as she bit her lip, her eyes glossy as her cunt reflexively tightened. "I know you loved that solnishko , but I asked a question."

"Please– fuck. Please, Sasha , give me your babies." She broke, her back arching as he pumped with renewed vigor. She didn't even notice Mal standing. Didn't notice as he began to pace, trying to ignore what was about to happen. After all, it wasn't like he could stop it. Even as Aleksandar's movements became choppy, he pressed on her little nub again. As she cried another orgasm. Mal couldn't look. Not when Aleksander roared his completion. Not when his wife let another man fall on top of her. Their sweaty bodies were still linked together by a now softening cock. He heard the sloppy kisses, the lazy way Aleksander touched and calmed his wife.

It wasn't until the tears fell from his eyes that Aleksander pulled out his wife. The naked man took a pause, pushing the spend that had begun to leak back into the well-fucked cunt of Maylen's wife, a soft smirk on his face. Maylen flinched when he felt Aleksander's hand clasp his back.

"I think we can all agree that I'm going to be fucking your wife from now on, right Maylen?" Mal looked from his boss, the man who owned everything, to his wife, a dazzled look on her face of bliss. One he'd never been able to give her. He hung his head in shame, wincing at the laugh Aleksander let out. "You don't have permission yet to leave Maylen, I need to teach you just a few more things."

One Month Before It Happened

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The knocking was so soft Aleksander wondered if he dreamt it. He swirled the whiskey glass, watching as the amber liquid slid delicately up the walls of the glass before tumbling down. A tiny wave. A rock in the ocean. But the taps came again, and he sighed, looking at the clock above the door. 6:25 PM . All his workers should've already gone home, yet he had a caller at this hour. One night of peace wasn't enough.

"Come in."

The door creaked open as if it were burdened by the caller. Slow and groaning, protesting its use. But Aleksander merely sipped his whiskey, watching as the worker…what was his name? Maylen? No. Malyen. Watched as Malyen entered, a nervous wreck as he crossed the large office to stand in front of the desk.

"Malyen," Aleksander kept his face cool and controlled as he watched the low employee nod, confirming that he got the name correct. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

The man before him cleared his throat, wringing his hands together. Aleksander noted the calloused fingers, nails a tad too long for proper wear. His poor wife. A man's hands shouldn't scrape.

"I'd like to ask a favor, sir." Malyen coughed, running his hands through his hair. Did the boy ever stop fidgeting? "It's personal. For my wife."

Aleksander raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow. Few employees ever dared ask for personal favors. Genya, a long-time friend, would occasionally ask him to pick up her daughter should he keep her late with work, and he would oblige. Ivan asked if he would like to be a groomsman at his wedding. But again, a long-time friend. Malyen was…hell did he even know what department Malyen was in? Accounting? Quality Control? But Aleks merely gestured to the seat in front of him, an invitation to sit.

"Speak your mind Malyen." He leaned back casually, hand slipping under the desk to bring up another glass. He did not head to the man's shake of the head, simply sliding the glass into his hand once he sat. "Whatever it is, the drink shall help your nerves."

He didn't expect the boy to down it in one gulp. It was sipping whiskey. One of his older ones, from 1935. But, he supposed the man was nervous. The effect took a minute, the two sitting in silence before Malyen finally spoke.

"I want you to fuck my wife."

Aleksander didn't try to stop the abrupt laugh that left his mouth. He watched Malyen's eyes grow wide before he took another sip of whiskey. He poured them both another two fingers from his decanter, almost ignoring what Malyen said, letting the dim lighting of the office serve as a blanket in their conversation.

"And why, praytell, would I do that?" Aleksander mused. He had plenty of reasons why. Company picnics with Malyen's wife's baking. Orestev written neatly in sharpie over the tape on containers lids. Bright sundresses that hugged her form. He may not know much about Malyen, but his wife had long ago been on his periphery. “Your wife –”

“Alina.” Malyen surged forward, hands gripping the edge of the expensive desk. “She um, deserves a good night, right? And I –” Malyen blushed, eyes no longer meeting Aleksander’s. It took a lot not to smirk. Not to laugh. A man was afraid he can’t please his wife. No. Malyen was a man who knew he couldn’t please his wife. And he’d come to Aleksander.

“What makes you think I’d fuck your wife Malyen?” Aleksander put his glass down, intertwining his fingers as he leaned back in his chair. Suddenly Malyen sat stock still, his back straightening and a determined look coming over his features. Aleksander’s eyebrow raised, this employee was hot and cold.

“You haven’t said no yet.”

Silence. Aleksander’s heady gaze watched the confidence dissipate.

“Okay,” Aleksander smirked at the shock that crossed Malyen’s face.

“Okay?”

“Yes. I’ll fuck your wife Malyen.”

Malyen should’ve known to run then. But instead, he shook the man’s hand and sealed his fate.

#fanfiction #darklina #the darkling #alina starkov

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petrikaira · 1 year ago

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The Butler

Chapter 6: Douglas Fir

Pg 2 (Previous, Next)

Rating: T for Teen

His perfectly shiny butler boots slid on the floor. He sank down. A glowing pink hand shot over his head.

“You lie again! Your name was not Butler before-”

“And yours was not Eksender, now were you, Douglas Fir?”

A stranger stood in the servant quarters at the Canis palace. All pink and soft, his voice breaking through the air like a wind chime. Already, Jeff the skeleton guard and Irefi, one of the footmen, were hanging all over the newcomer. Butler’s ears had hurt. He didn’t much care for those that were overly friendly, that shone so brightly in a room.

And did that man really have to wear bright red when his skin was already so blindingly pink? Butler was sure already he would not like him, whoever that was.

“Who is that?” He asked as calm as glass, voice level and even.

Agni had looked over from his lists of servants that he was going through, that he was teaching Butler how to sort and puzzle through. “Hmmm? Oh, yes. Eksender Ryber, our newest footman. I trust you’ll help me train him, Butler.”

Butler’s teeth gnashed. The bastard had made him train him twice! Twice! For one stupid idiot fairy with an ugly ass face- two ugly ass faces? One and the same, one and different- who cared. Ugly as all hell and a bastard to boot.

“Eksender Ryber will do just fine! It is he who will bring you to justice-”

Butler rolled his eyes as he leapt to his feet and yanked open the door to one of the servants hallways between rooms. He didn’t have time to unpack whatever second identity bullshit this was. He knew the man who had kissed the feet of the fae lords like his shadow. He knew the man who had dogged his very step in the Canis palace.

Butler dusted off his work jacket, rolling down to just the impeccable white button up he used for his one day off a week. It was off to play cards with the boys, and then he was going to treat himself to a high dinner in the town proper. A whole chicken, just for himself. One covered in the juicy, cold dollops of its own fat, maybe with a bit of mint. And then, the next day, he would do nothing at all. He turned.

“Butler!” Eksender Ryber had cried, leaning into the doorframe of Butler’s own room.

He wanted to push the man’s stupid arms off his doorway and fling him into the hall, yelling insults. No one interrupted his time for himself like this.

Instead, he drawled “What do you want?”

“I noticed you and I have the same day off, maybe we could go about town together?” Eksender had said, all cocky smiles and glinting, square teeth. Too perfectly white. Too perfect.

Butler’s own smile had grown cocky across his face. He was flattered that someone as brilliantly ugly as Eksender was into him, of course. “Not interested.”

“Please? Think of it as a favor I would owe-”

Butler had pushed past him then. “You’re just not my type, Eksender, and besides, I’m busy.”

Again and again, Eksender had come, begging to go somewhere alone with Butler. He had assumed the man had wanted him carnally. Now he realized that instead of a carnal want, Eksender Ryber had been trying to get him somewhere alone and secluded to drag him back to the fae Kingdom.

The sound of Eksender galumphing grew dimmer as Butler took a turn to the right. If he could make his way to the Butler’s pantry, he would be in the clear. He was sure of it.

(Previous, Next)

#fantasy #the butler #writing #writeblr #writblr #ch 6 #pg 2

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t-o-m-hollands · 4 years ago

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Summery: You and Tom bet on who will touch the other first after he comes home from filming. Both refusing to give in you resort to some teasing measures to get the other one to break.

Pairing; Tom + female reader.

Themes: Light-hearted, lots of teasing. Established relationship. Fluff. Cocky Tom. Cocky reader too, let’s face it. They are both stubborn idiots. Lots of horniness all around. To be honest, very little plot and mostly smut. Bit of fluff as well though.

Warnings: Unprotected sex in established relationship. Masturbation. This work is strictly +18.

A/N: Not beta-read, I’m wine drunk and wrote this in like 2,5 hours so it is what it is.

It was such a stupid fucking bet and he wish he never agreed to it. It is all your fault, he decides, as he watches you bend over into downward dog, your breathing rhythmic and even as you stretch your beautiful body. He tries to look away from your ass, honestly he does, but you’re wearing those light grey yoga pants that practically has him drooling and the fabric is hugging your body so perfectly it would be a crime to look away.

Plus, he’s pretty sure that’s the whole point of you doing this, practicing yoga in the living room right in front of him as he’s supposed to be working. The whole point is to have him staring, so he doesn’t feel too bad about it.

It had all started the week before he was set to return from filming. He had teased you (and sure, in retrospect that was a terrible idea and he should have known better) had said that you would jump him the first chance you got, that he probably wouldn’t even get through the door before you had him out of his jeans. You had retaliated with an accusation that he would be the one all over you and obviously he had to deny that.

It had spiraled, neither one of you willing to give in and admit defeat and now here you are; a full day after his return and he hasn’t as much as hugged you.

Because whoever touches the other first loses the bet.

And now here you are, in front of him; wearing skin tight yoga pants and bending over.

A part of him, the midsection of his body to be precise, wants to just give in; to hand you the victory - fuck his pride. But the part of him, the rational part he likes to think, that has him bashing up golf clubs every time his dad beats him in a golf round; refuses to give in.

So what if he hasn’t seen you, hasn’t felt your body in over three months? Or that he now has your magnificent ass right in his face as he’s trying to concentrate on his dull emails. So what? He’s not faced by that, he’s a man of the world after all.

You lean forwards again until you’re on the ground, turn to your back and start to slowly but steadily push your hips up and down, in what Tom can only assume, is referred to as the ghost fucking position.

“Aren’t you supposed to answer emails?” You ask and he doesn’t even need to look at your face to know that you have a smug smile on your face.

“I am” he mutters, looking away from your body on the floor and back to his phone screen.

You laugh, and he pretends not to hear it, while you pretend that the visible hard-on he’s sporting doesn't make you want to climb into his lap and give in to both of your temptations.

The bet was stupid and totally his idea.

Tom comes out of the shower, drops of water still pouring from his wet hair onto his sculpted chest. The only thing he’s wearing is the white towel wrapped around his waist and the silver Rolex on his wrist. Seeing you standing in the kitchen and slicing tomatoes he sends you his widest smile.

And you thought you were playing unfair with the yoga.

He sits down by the bartop, all bare chested and golden. “Anything I can help with?” he asks as you place the tomatoes in the salad bowl. “A change of music perhaps?”

You throw a left over piece of tomato at him and it hits him square in the chest. He just smiles wider, completely unfaced. “Leave my dinner playlist alone, yeah?” You tell him, resisting the urge to give him the finger.

“So tense” he snickers and leans his head to the side, “I know what could help you relax.”

“Throwing more tomatoes at you? Because we need them in the salad, Thomas.”

He stands up and moves around the kitchen island until he’s behind you, careful as not to touch, framing you against the bench with his strong arms on either side of your body. You can smell him, fresh out of the shower, feel the warm radiate from his body; it is as he’s already holding you. He’s so close, it’s like every cell in your body is reaching out for him.

And it’s been so long.

Three months of twisting and turning alone in bed, of only your own hands as company and him on the phone screen as he encourages you; tells you how goddamn gorgeous you look fucking yourself for him. Three months of only seeing him on the phone; not being able to touch him and feel him for yourself, to taste his skin. To just see him spill all over his own hand instead of being there, catching it all with your tongue.

But it will have to wait a little while longer, because although you might love him, and the way he makes you feel, there’s no way you’re giving in just yet.

Slowly turning around, carefully as not to touch him, you reach for the bottle. “You can open this, since you wanted to help” you say and hand him the wine, “that would help me relax.”

He smiles, unbothered by his failed attempt at luring you to defeat, and steps back. You stir the pasta sauce, trying not to look at his bare chest as he’s leaning over the kitchen counter, looking for something. Finally he finds the corkscrew and sits back again at the bar table. He gets to work with opening the bottle, his strong veined hand wrapped around the throat of the bottle, as the other inserts the screw. His brow is furrowed in concentration and he’s biting his lip. Around his wrist the Rolex watch reflects in the light. Uncorking the bottle he pours blood red liquid into two wine glasses and hands you one before taking a sip from his own, brown eyes looking at you from over the rim of his glass.

“Put a fucking shirt on, Thomas” you mutter, going back to chopping vegetables.

The song and dance of torturing each other continues for the following two days. What goes on between you can only be described as a red-hot war.

“Oh for fuck sake!” Tom’s voice booms over the living room.

“Too direct?” You ask, eyebrow raised.

“No, no not at all” he answers, voice dripping with sarcasm, “no please, keep deep-throating the banana, it’s incredibly subtle.”

Slowly he wakes, blinking into the dark night. The alarm clock on his bedside table tells him that it’s just after 2 am and for a few long seconds he stares at it.

A rustling of sheets beside him in bed and it hits him. He’s home, home in his own bed with you laying next to him, as it should always be. Except that things aren’t the way it should be.

Because of that stupid goddamn bet.

The sheets rustle again and he wonders if you are awake as well. But then he hears it; a soft moan.

Turning over in bed at lighting speed he stares down at you. “Are you fucking touching yourself?” He asks, heatedly.

Your answer is another soft moan as you look up at him, pupils blown wide and lips parted. Tearing of the duvet he looks down at your naked body, at you hand, covered in slick, moving over your clit.

Fuck.

He moves over, leans over you; his legs on either side of yours and his arm on each side of your face, carefully making sure that he isn’t touching you. A slight catch of breath is all the sign you give of having been surprised, your hand keeping it’s gentle pace.

“What are you thinking about?” He asks, voice low in the quiet room.

“You” is your breathless reply, “you touching me.”

“Think this is how I would touch you?” He asks, snickering. He’s holding his body over you, looking into your lust-filled eyes. “I’d go much slower at first, tease you. Slowly move around your clit until your hips are bucking up and you're begging me for more”.

He moves his head, so that his lips are almost touching yours. Almost.

“You’re so good at begging after all” he murmurs against your lips, moving his boxer clad hips so that they almost touch you and you groan, your face telling of vexation and volatile bliss. But you do as he says, follow his instruction with the movement of your hand.

“Good girl” he whispers softly against your lips.

“Then I’d slide one fingers inside that wet cunt, still slow; still teasing.”

You whine, but you do as he says. Slowly you move one finger in and out of yourself, as the other hand is still circling your clit. “Need more” you moan but he just smiles.

“Such a greedy little thing, aren’t you?” He teases with a devilish grin, tilting his head to the side, looking down at you with sparkling eyes. “But your hands are smaller than mine, so maybe you should add another finger.”

You insert your middle finger as well; and moan. “Faster” you beg, but he shakes his head and so a string of curses fall out your mouth and all he can do is smile at it.

“That filthy fucking mouth of yours” me mutters.

“Well if you shove your dick into it instead then this stupid fucking bet will be over and we’ll both get off.”

“You know, I’ve really missed your fantastic sense of humor while I’ve been away” he answers dryly, but with a smile.

“Tom” you whine. “I need more.”

He wants to kiss you so badly, to press his lips against yours and taste you; to remove his boxers and sink into you in one swift movement until your hoarse and wanton whines turn into satisfied moans, soft and sweet like honey.

“Go on then, darling” he says, voice huskier than usual in the dark night. “Speed up for me.”

You do, your body hungry for satisfaction, hunting your orgasm with determent, sharp movements.

“Fuck,” he swears, “fuck you’re soaked.” He looks down at your wet slit, your rapidly moving fingers, your hips bucking up to meet your hand. Looking back into your wild eyes he groans, his mouth still dangerously close to yours.

“The whole room smells of you” he moans, and it’s true. The scent of your arousal mixes with the scent of your perfumed skin and this is the closest he’s been so far to falter; to give in to temptation.

Your head is thrown back against the pillows, throat exposed, soft moans escaping freely. He wants to touch you everywhere, feel the softness of your skin with his rough hands, his wet mouth, his teeth. He’s breathing hard and he hasn’t even been touched, but he feels the want of touching you in his bones.

He wants to wrap his lips around your hardened nipples. To suck, bite, lick and kiss them until you fall over the edge.

“So fucking beautiful” he breathes out. Even if he had wanted to he wouldn't have been able to look away from you. “But it’s my hand your fucking, remember? Think I’d wouldn’t fuck you harder than that?”

And god, he wish it was his hand you were fucking, wish he could feel you come; hot and wet and pulsing around his fingers. Instead he is left to watch. Watch as the movements of your hand speeds up until fucking yourself with a carnal kind of need, until you fall apart at the seams; luscious bliss spreading over your features, and your tense body relaxes until you soften against the mattress; loose limbed and starry eyed.

And he is left to take care of the his erection all on his own.

A thin layer of sweat is covering his chest and his muscles are taut as he forces his arms to carry his weight into another push-up.

“Thirty-six” he groans out, his voice strained and deep from the physical effort, curls of brown hair falling over his face as he lowers himself to the ground again. “Thirty-seven.”

You couldn’t look away even if you tried, your eyes fixed on the muscles of his back, and the way they move as he moves.

You feel agitated and frantic and in that moment you want nothing more than to lay down beneath him; look up at him as move above you with swift, powerful moments. It’s beyond reason, the carnal tug inside you as you watch him and it is absolutely maddening that he hasn’t given in yet to his desire; because you know he desires you, have seen it in his dark eyes, always following you around the room, over the last few days.

But you are not going to be the first one to give in.

“Forty-two” he moans out, and the sound of his heavy breathing and deep groans vibrate somewhere far inside you.

You’re not.

You just need a change of tactic, that’s all.

The pub is packed tonight, but the more secluded pool area section is scarce of people. Tom sips on his beer, scrolling through instagram; waiting for you, as the speakers blast out ‘Galway Girl’ for what feels like the hundredth time since he came in. He’s been visiting a friend while you’ve been at work, having decided this morning to meet up at the pub after for a meal and a game of pool.

A text pops up on the screen, beside your picture. It simply says ‘Look up’.

He does. And fuck.

Oh, fuck no.

Oh, for all that is holy, surely you wouldn’t be that cruel to him.

Not the white shorts.

Not the white shorts you had worn last summer, the ones you know very well turns him on like nothing else. The ones you had worn that time when you had driven down to the beach on bonfire night; the time when you pulled him aside from the rest of the company and he had ended up fucking you against the birch wood tree just some meters away from all your friends, your shorts around your ankles and your nails digging into his back as you tried to bite back you moans.

Surely you wouldn’t be this cruel to him, because he’s pretty sure he’s going to die. He hasn’t had sex in over three months and you show up looking like this and he’s pretty sure he’s going to die.

He’s just not sure about whether this is going to be heaven

or hell.

He watches you as you walk through the pub with long confident strides, the goddamn heels you're wearing extending your legs, and the fabric of the white tank top stretching over your chest. Your lips are painted blood red, as if you are ready for battle.

He’s not the only one in the pub staring at you but you keep your eyes fixed on him, burning into his eyes, as you move across the floor.

“Honey” you greet him. “Got one of those for me as well?” You nod to the beer in his hand, frozen mid movement to his mouth.

“Why?” He asks, trying to regain the upper hand. “Feeling thirsty?”

You laugh dryly, looking down at his crotch, where he’s painfully aware a bulge is showing. Instead of commenting on it he hands you the other beer bottle he ordered and watches as you wrap your red lips around the opening, swallowing down. He feels warm all over in the stuffy pub and he pulls at the collar of his t-shirt.

He reaches for the cue sticks and hands you one. “Alright, darling” he sighs, knowing very well what kind of teasing hell you are about to put him through tonight, “let’s play.”

The playlist has gone from Ed Sheeran songs to Mumford & Sons and the pub is still packed with people, though the pool area remains empty apart from you and Tom. It's warm in there and Tom takes big gulps from his third beer of the night. He can feel sweat forming on his back, his brow, his chest.

You’re not helping the situation. Although he’s pretty certain that helping is opposite of what you’re trying to do.

“You’re so fucking annoying” he whines, as he watches you hit the white ball perfectly, resulting in two of your striped balls ending up in the pockets. He’s leaned back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest and mouth in a thin line.

He fucking hates losing.

“You know what you should do?” You ask, lining up against the table, arched back as you bend over with your cue stick; giving him a full view of your fucking fantastic thighs, “try to fuck it out of me.” You hit another perfect shot and a third ball goes in. You look over your shoulder at him, still bent over the table, and wink.

Standing up straight you turn to him. Swaying your hips to the music you lift the beer bottle to your red lips and you swallow a mouthful. Placing the bottle next to you on the side of the pool table you walk over to him, standing so close you’re almost touching.

Almost

In fact, you might as well be, for he can smell your perfume, mixing with the scent of your shampoo. Can feel the heat radiate of your warm body. It’s been so long since he’s held you and his entire body is painfully aware of it.

With your lips just centimeters from his you whisper; voice husky and low, “I know how bad you want me, honey.” You move your face so that you’re almost kissing the stubble on his cheek, mouth nearly pressed against it.

“You want my hands” you whisper again, looking up at him, your hand hovering right over his erection, carefully as not to touch it, and he nearly bucks out to meet your hand. He’s glad that the area is more secluded, part of the wall hiding the pair of you from view. It feels like there’s just the two of you in the entire world; might as well be for all he cares right now. A blush colours his cheeks as he stares back at you.

“You want my mouth” you breathe against him, your lips curled into an evil smile. “You want my tongue” and you lick your lips before biting it, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“You wish I was on my hands and knees right now, so you could fuck my mouth.” you finish.

His skin feels tight and overheated, but he keeps his tone casual as he replies, “actually I wish you were bent over the table so spank that arse of yours, but sure, I wouldn’t say no to a blowie.”

“What’s stopping you? You think you can hold on forever? You know I’m not going to give in, Tom. You know me. Can you imagine going to sleep tonight? Untouched? Again?”

There’s no use he thinks as he plunges in for a kiss, pulling you tight against him; eager to touch as much as you as possible with impatient hands.

He tried to beat the devil at her own game and he lost.

“Think you lost, honey” you say between kisses as he’s pressing you up against the front door.

“Don’t give a flying fuck love, just keep touching me and I’ll die a happy man.” His voice is breathless and hoarse and his hands are all over you; as if he can’t get enough. Your hand is in his soft hair, holding on, as the other is cupping the bulge in his trousers, stroking him through the fabric as he whimpers in your ear.

“We should probably get inside,” you whisper. “Unless you want your neighbors to witness me give you a hand job on the front steps.”

He groans, but steps away from you. His hair is ruffled and his pupils are blown wide, spit from your previous kissing covering his lower lip. You imagine you look just as disheveled.

“Think you need to learn a lesson in delayed gratification” you tease, not being able to stop yourself.

His eyes go even darker and he takes a step forward again, cups your chin and looks you straight in the eye in a way that has bolts of excitement shoot up your spine. “Before the night is over” he says in a slow, gruff voice, “I will teach you all there is to know about delayed gratification.”

He digs in his pockets, pulls out his keys and unlocks the front door, guiding you in with a hand on your lower back.

He feels as if someone has lit a match under his skin. His whole body is screaming with vehement urgency for yours. His hands can’t get enough of you; his lips never want to leave your soft lips again. Your soft little noises are filling his head and he hardly even registers your hands unzipping his jeans; until you’re pulling them, alongside his boxers, off of him in a sharp tugging notion.

“Filthy girl, I fucking love you” he moans out between kisses as you wrap your soft hand around his hard cock.

He pulls at your tank top and for a moment your skin separates entirely from his as you step away, so that he can remove the fabric from you. Yanking at the goddamn jeans shorts he pulls them down around your ankles and you step out of them. Your underwear soon follows suit along with his t-shirt until you both are free of any inconvenient clothing.

He needs your warm and soft skin pressed against his, needs your soft little moans in his ear as he fucks into you, needs the taste of your sweet skin on his tongue.

He lifts you up on the bed and soon follows suit. Reaching down he slips a finger between your legs, feels how wet and warm and slick you are and groans loudly against your shoulder.

Lining up against you, cock in hand he looks at your lust filled eyes. “Next time I’ll go slow, yeah? I’ll take my time.”

Your answer is your hands on his shoulder, pulling him against you and he slips inside you with an ecstatic moan. You moan as well, wrap your legs around his hips. He starts moving, thrusting in and out of you with greedy dragged out jabs. The wet sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room and mixes with your whimpering mewls.

You are so hot and tight and wet around him and the pleasure is so intense it’s bordering on painful. His face is so close to yours, it is as if you are sharing breaths.

He wants to punch himself from denying himself this for several days when he already had to go without for months.

“Did you think your hands could stand in for mine while I was away? That it could measure up at all?” He asks you, voice thick with lust. He’s so full of want for you and you’re all soft noise and wandering hands. Your warm breath on his even warmer skin. His lips on your nipples; kissing, sucking, biting.

You writhe beneath him, unable to lay still as you buck your hips up to meet his; fucking into him. He’s not going to last long but neither is you and holding on is a losing battle. Like he said, next time he will go slower, gentler, softer. Drag it out for an entire night. But you both have too much built up pressure inside you to last now. He feels like a bomb about to go off, sparks of pleasure shooting up his spine, as he fucks into you with even greater force. You’re hot and swollen and hugging onto him so perfectly he feels like he’s going to lose his mind if he doesn’t get to come soon.

But he knows that you are close. Feels it in your nails, dragging along his back, in the sharp movements of your thrusts, in your laboured breathing against his shoulder. He feels it in the way your cunt squeezes around him.

“I’m coming” you whimper and he wants to cry from the relief as he feels you spasm around him.

“Fuck” you moan out as your breathing calms down, and he’s holding you pressed against his chest. “Haven’t had a decent orgasm in months, I wasn’t prepared for that.”

“You really can’t function without me, can you?” he says with a smug smile and honestly, hadn’t you’ve been so blissed out you probably would have bitten him.

A/N: I honestly don’t know if any of this made sense. I’m drunk and tired and I’m going to bed. If you read it, please leave your thoughts.

#tom holland #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland smut #tom holland x you #tom holland x reader

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rodr1cks · 4 years ago

Text

Heather Hills | 2.5k

part two

neighbor trope where you’re in love with Rodrick but he can’t stop pining after Heather Hills, takes place during Dog Days

warnings: noncon touching (our ass gets grabbed), swearing, smut, heather is a huge bitch

Tonight was the night. You picked out a black silk dress that hugged your body perfectly. You looked... nice? Nicer than usual, at least.

Still, your mood was melancholy, you weren’t too excited to watch Rodrick drool over Heather all night. Despite this, you put on a smile and met Rodrick outside.

His band members, Rowley, and Greg were crowded together in the back. They always left the passenger seat to you, such gentlemen. As soon as you opened the door you were bombarded with wolf whistles and crude remarks from his cronies. “Rodrick if you don’t tap that I will!” The guitarist exclaimed while eyeing you up and down.

“Guys, guys stop, please,” Rodrick seemed a little unnerved by the banter. After that, the van was silent all the way to the party.

Upon arrival, you began to unpack the van, unloading equipment. “Hey, hey, hey, pretty girl like you doesn’t need to do the heavy lifting,” the guitarist said to you as he winked. He always went out of his way to make you uncomfortable. You laughed a bit to appease him, then walked away.

Gross.

The band was set up and Rodrick was clearly nervous.

“You don’t understand, y/n. This has to be perfect.”

You knew the importance of this going well but you couldn’t decide if you wanted it to. On one hand, he could get Heather Hills, the girl of his dreams. On the other hand, he’d be crushed. Poor Rodrick has already taken enough beatings from the girls at your school.

“I know, you’ll be great, though,” you were unsure of that statement.

“You always know what to say.”

He walked away, ready to start the set of a lifetime.

The guitarist approached you again. “Wish me luck sexy,” he whispered and smacked your ass playfully. You gasped, tears threatening to form in your eyes.

Just brush it off, you’re okay. You need to enjoy the show.

You tried not to think about his pathetic little mustache and the giant pimple that sat squarely between his eyebrows.

Why did Rodrick hang out with such scum?

The first notes of the song rang through the tent. Rodrick was… singing? Heather Hills did not look amused. Panicking, Rodrick signaled to Greg, “FULL DIAPER!”

Dear god.

Banners unfurled and cannons sounded. It was a complete disaster. Somehow the chocolate fountain went haywire and coated half the crowd with liquid chocolate, including Heather. Shit. Rodrick was done for.

Everybody pitched in with loading the van and you were out of there in no time. You feared Heather would’ve killed the lot of you if you lingered any longer. Greg and Rowley were the only passengers this time. You and Rodrick were in the front seat, not speaking.

“Rodrick, can I tell you something?”

You knew Greg and Rowley were caught up in their own conversation but you didn’t want to risk them overhearing, so you whispered. Rodrick nodded.

“Your guitarist, h-he uhm, he kind of touched me before your set.” Rodrick’s eyes widened. “Where?” he asked you sternly. “He kind of grabbed my ass.” You looked down, embarrassed. “Great, now Heather hates me and I’m short a guitarist.”

On the way back to Rodrick’s, you passed a gas station and you asked him to pull over.

“Rodrick let me out at this gas station, pretty please!”

He groaned and pulled into the lot. You ran in and made a beeline for the fridges in the back.

Where is it, where is it, ah!

Mint chip and cookie dough, both your favorites. You checked out and ran back to the van. Rodrick looked over, delighted when he saw your purchases. “He ruffled your hair and muttered a thank you. You smiled, “And that’s not all,” you pulled out two candy bars for the chocolate coated fugitives in the back.

Rodrick parked on the street in front of The Heffley household.

“Alright, everybody out!”

Greg and Rowley filed out as did you. Rodrick stayed put. “Aren’t you coming?” He nodded at you, “I have something to take care of first. Put the ice cream in the freezer and take a shower. Get that chocolate off of you.” He gestured at your hair and face which were coated in chocolate.

What could he need to do right now? Probably off to find Heather Hills and beg for her highness’ forgiveness.

You did as he said and borrowed his shower for a bit. You felt instant relief as the warm water trickled down your shoulders, chocolate melting away along with your stress. After your shower, you grabbed one of Rodrick’s t-shirts.

Lending you a shirt was the least he could do, considering the hell he’d put you through.

What a fucking night it’s been.

You sat around for a bit, awaiting Rodrick’s return. You heard the door swing open downstairs. He walked up the stairs to his room, ice cream pints in hand. You smiled at him before your gaze lingered down to his knuckles.

“Holy shit, Rodrick. What the fuck did you do?”

He looked down, “Well you told me what my guitarist did to you and I- I couldn’t help it. He needed to know what he did was out of line.”

Your jaw dropped, “So you what? Broke his nose?” He rolled his eyes at your theatrics, “I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.” Had Rodrick really beat somebody up for you?

“So are we gonna eat this ice cream or what?”

You both sat on Rodricks couch, limbs entangled, eating your ice cream. He looked over at you, “Switch?” You shrugged, passing him your mint chip and grabbing his cookie dough. For the next half hour, you both sat in silence, processing the night’s events.

“Hey, I’m sorry about Heather.”

“Y’know, y/n, I realized something while I was performing. Heather Hills wasn’t by the stage cheering me on, Heather Hills doesn’t go out of her way to be kind to my family, Heather Hills wouldn’t look that good that tiny black bikini of yours,” Rodrick smirked, “and most importantly, Heather Hills didn’t buy me my favorite ice cream to make me feel better. Heather Hills doesn’t care for me like you do.”

You weren’t really processing everything. Was he hitting on you? Or flirting or… He cut your thoughts short by grabbing your waist and pulling you on top of him. “Woah what are you-“ He shushed you and grabbed your ice cream from your hand, setting it on the table.

Rodrick grabbed your hands, halting your mindless fiddling. “I’m sorry I didn’t realize how good you are to me earlier, y/n. I know that probably made you feel like dog shit.”

You let out a choked laugh. “Yeah, it did. But, you know now?” He placed one of his large hands on your cheek, using his thumb to stroke your face gently, “Yeah, pretty girl, I do.”

Pretty girl. Your stomach churned and your face turned bright red. Rodrick leaned in slowly and gently kissed you. His lips felt heavenly, they were soft and warm and better than you could’ve imagined. “God I’ve wanted to sink my teeth into you ever since I saw you in that little bathing suit.”

His voice was low and guttural, nothing like you’d heard before. This was a new Rodrick and you had no idea how to react, all you could do was sit there and stutter helplessly.

You could melt. Was this really happening? You had to check.

“Is this really happening?”

You felt him smile. He licked a stripe from your collarbone to your jaw, “You tell me.” You moaned quietly as his grasp on your waist tightened.

“How long have you wanted this, y/n? Wanted me?”

Your stomach clenched at his words, might as well tell the truth. “Since sophomore year. I-I went to one of your gigs and you didn’t see me” His hand moved to your breast and you sucked in a breath. “You looked so good on stage, I knew I wanted your hands all over me,” you managed to gasp out.

“I knew you were there,” he said matter-of-factly. You froze. “I told my mom, part of why she likes you so much, thinks you’re supportive of me or something.”

Is he serious, this is humiliating.

“I remember what you were wearing, too. A little red dress, you stood out. Never knew the neighbor girl cleaned up so nice until that night.”

He must’ve sensed your embarrassment, “Hey, it’s okay, no need to be shy.” You eased up a little bit, your hands finding his hair and gently pulling. “Atta girl.”

As things got more heated, he got more eager. At one point he looked up at you, silently asking for permission to remove your shirt. You nodded, laughing at him, “A gentleman, I see.” He made stern eye contact with you,

“I don’t have to be.”

He tore your (his) shirt over your head and stopped when he found you were wearing nothing underneath.

“Naughty, naughty girl.”

You wanted his shirt off too, along with everything else. You wanted to see him, feel him. You made quick work of removing his t-shirt and discarding it on the floor behind you.

You could feel his hard on through your panties and it was driving you insane. “Rodrick,” you panted, “I need you, please.”

The hand he was using to roll your nipple between his fingers moved to your clit and rubbed gentle circles over it. “Since you asked so nicely,” he grinned.

Your hand flew on top of his and he winced. “Oh shit, right, your hand! I’m so so-,” he flipped you onto your back and stood up from the couch. Your stomach dropped before you understood what he was doing. He fought with his belt for a moment before pulling it off and sliding his jeans and boxers off.

Christ he’s big.

He resumed his position on the couch and began stroking his cock while hovering above you. He leaned down to kiss your collar bone sweetly.

You muttered one last plea before he positioned himself in front of you.

“Are you ready for me, pretty girl?”

God there he goes again.

You arched your back up in response, letting out a small sigh of desperation. This was all so new, you had no idea Rodrick could be so… well spoken?

Rodrick took a deep breath as he bottomed out. The air was knocked out of your lungs. Fucking Christ. He split you in half with ease, groaning as he rolled his hips against you.

“R-Rodrick?” He muttered something indistinct in response. “Is this your first time?” He looked kind of embarrassed. “Yeah, uh, it is, yes.” Part of you was happy it was his first time. The other part of you felt bad for him. You knew that if girls would’ve just given him a chance, they’d see how incredible he was-

You were torn from your thoughts by Rodrick pulling out and slamming back into your willing body. You nearly screamed. He continued at an absolutely brutal pace.

“Jesus christ, Rodrick, never knew you could do this,” you gasped out, eyes rolling back.

He smirked down at you before pulling out, grabbing your hips, and flipping you over onto your hands and knees. Your head was pressed sideways against the arm of the couch but you didn’t care. Rodrick quickly got back to work, fucking you to the beginnings of your orgasm.

“Rodrick, I’m gonna-“ He grabbed your hair and yanked hard so your back was against his chest,

“Cum on my cock.”

That was all it took, you were gone, shaking and pulsing around him.

After a few more strokes, Rodrick was gone, too. He was grabbing your ass and grinding his hips against you as he finished.

Gently, he pulled out. He rubbed a hand over your ass and admired your raw, red skin.

You rolled back over, panting. “My god, y/n, how did I live without this for so long?” You smiled lazily at the ceiling. He kissed you, clearly spent. You both sat on his couch, heavy panting filling the room.

Rodrick looked over at you, “Ice cream?” He stuck the cup filled with melted sludge in your direction. You put your hand up in protest, “No thank you.” He shrugged, “More for me.” Roderick slurped the melted treat from his spoon. You couldn’t help but laugh at him.

God, Heather would despise this man.

“You know Heather slapped Rowley, right?”

“What? no way?” Rodrick laughed.

“She sure did. Don’t worry though, Rowley got to eat chocolate off of Madison.”

You both spent a moment laughing to yourselves.

You were absolutely satisfied, you could’ve fallen asleep right then and there, on Rodrick’s ratty couch.

“Let’s get you to bed y/n.”

“But I don’t wanna go home, Rodrick!” You whined.

“Who said anything about you going home?”

“Y/n, Mom’s at a writing seminar with Manny and Dad’s at some civil war retreat thing.”

Was he inviting you to stay the night? “Call your mom, tell her you’re with your friend… uh… Heather.”

Giggling, you did just that. “Wait a minute, your parents left you alone with Greg?” He swatted at you playfully, giving you a goofy glare.

Rodrick stood up and offered out his hand. You decided to be cocky and deny his help. In your attempt to stand up, you stumbled, nearly eating shit.

“Woah, woah, easy there tiger,” Rodrick said snarkily, grabbing your waist before you hit the ground. You hadn’t expected to be so unstable.

“Alright, do you want my shirt back, gorgeous?” You nodded sleepily.

He grabbed the previously discarded shirt from the ground and slipped it over your head. He then pushed your hair out of your face and placed a gentle kiss onto your forehead.

Rodrick led you over to his bed. It was a twin but you guys would make it work.

He disappeared for a moment and came back with a rag. “C’mere sweetheart. You turned to face him slowly as he sat down on the bed. He began tenderly wiping between your thighs.

“Look at you, so beautiful,” he mused. Out of instinct, you looked away from him. “I mean it, y/n.”

He climbed into bed with you, his lanky limbs making comfort difficult.

“There we go,” he sighed after you both finally found a comfortable position. You closed your eyes and Rodrick began tracing lines over your lightly clothed back. You could hear the summer rain pattering against his window and you sighed out, completely satisfied.

Nearly asleep, you noticed something in the corner of Rodrick’s room. His black and white one star’s with tire marks plastered over them. You rolled your eyes and laughed to yourself.

Heather fucking Hills.

+ literally don’t even speak to me about the grammar or the poorly written smut. act like you do not see it ty. and please send me rq’s!!

#rodrick heffley x reader #rodrick smut #rodrick heffley #diary of a wimpy kid #smut #rodrick fanfiction

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bloody-bee-tea · 3 years ago

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Tattoo

Jiang Cheng decides to get his first tattoo the night he resolves to move out.

There has been a huge fight—yet again—where his father was more concerned with talking about Wei Wuxian, who wasn’t even part of this fight, and where his mother listed every single inadequacy Jiang Cheng apparently had.

And it’s enough.

He’s tired of feeling like shit in his own home and he’s tired of being made to feel like shit and he wants a change.

Which is going to start with him getting a tattoo.

His parents hate tattoos—one of the few things they can agree upon—and Jiang Cheng feels a little thrill going down his back just thinking about getting one.

But soon thinking about it turns into actively imagining, then into planning, and all of a sudden he finds himself in front of a tattoo studio.

Jiang Cheng doesn’t go in that first day; he simply can’t bring himself to. But then he spends another evening in the icy company of his parents, who are no longer speaking to him in the misguided attempt to make him apologize and Jiang Cheng decides that this is it.

He’ll get that tattoo and then he’ll get out of here.

Jiang Cheng goes back to the tattoo studio the next day, and this time he also enters. It’s not at all what he expected to look like, but he scolds himself for even thinking that. Clearly his parents and all their prejudices are way too prevalent in his life if he expected dirty corners and suspicious people everywhere.

What he sees are clean counters, tasteful pics of tattoos and not much else.

Until the most beautiful human being Jiang Cheng has ever seen steps out of a room.

“Hi, there,” the man says and Jiang Cheng does not swoon on the spot. “Do you have an appointment?”

Jiang Cheng slightly shakes his head to clear it and then he squares up.

“No, I don’t. I’d like to make one, though.”

“Alright. Sit for a moment,” the man says, pointing at a couch and then vanishing again.

Jiang Cheng does sit down, unbearably nervous now that he made that very first step and he wrings his hands in his lap. He’s so lost in his own head that he doesn’t even notice when the guy comes back.

“First time?” the guy asks as he puts a glass of water down in front of Jiang Cheng, who nods and gratefully takes the glass to take a sip.

“Yeah. That obvious?” he asks with a small smile and the guy shrugs.

“You get an eye for it, after a while. Nie Mingjue,” he then introduces himself and Jiang Cheng puts the glass back down so that he doesn’t notice how much his hands shake.

“Jiang Cheng.”

“Alright, Jiang Cheng, what do you want?” Nie Mingjue asks, a sketchbook making an appearance and Jiang Cheng swallows heavily.

“Just something small,” Jiang Cheng whispers. “Something I can hide away.”

At that Nie Mingjue pauses.

“I don’t make tattoos that have to be hidden away,” he cautiously says, already closing the sketchbook again.

“Yeah, well, I’m not asking for your opinion here,” Jiang Cheng snaps back before he clenches his jaw and scrubs a hand over his face. “I apologize,” he tacks on, much more quietly, as he gets up. “I’ll get out of your hair.”

“Wait,” Nie Mingjue says, sighing himself. “That was unprofessional of me. I just think—this is art, you know. Something you chose for yourself, something you should be proud of. That’s just usually how this goes. But if it’s private, then that’s perfectly fine. I didn’t mean to be an ass.”

Jiang Cheng slowly sinks back down into the couch at those words and Nie Mingjue opens his sketchbook again.

“Alright,” he slowly says. “I want three little dog paw prints on my hip.”

He didn’t give this too much thought, honestly, but it feels right. It’s been years since he had to give his dogs away for Wei Wuxian’s sake and while he’s not mad at Wei Wuxian for that, he does resent his parents for it.

They were just puppies. There was a chance for Wei Wuxian to get acquainted with dogs that didn’t mean him harm. They could have given them to someone close by, so that Jiang Cheng could have gone there to see them every now and then.

But they didn’t do any of these things and just took the only friends away from Jiang Cheng he had at that time.

He is still resentful about that.

“Like this?” Nie Mingjue asks and shows him the sketch he quickly did.

It’s really just those three paw prints, nothing fancy about it, and Jiang Cheng thinks it’s perfect.

“Yes,” he breathes out and he can’t wait for them to be on his skin.

“This will be quick and I have time now, if you want,” Nie Mingjue offers him and that makes Jiang Cheng freeze.

He did not expect this to happen so soon, but after a moment he finds that it’s the only thing he wants.

“Yes,” he decisively says and Nie Mingjue smiles at him.

Jiang Cheng did not need to know that he has dimples.

“Good,” he nods, before he falls into what Jiang Cheng suspects to be the customary first client talk.

Jiang Cheng does his best to listen and nod at the right moments, but he is distracted by Nie Mingjue and the way he talks and moves and sounds.

In the end Nie Mingjue still seems to be satisfied, because he leads Jiang Cheng towards one of the back rooms where he asks him to take his pants off.

Jiang Cheng freezes again because he did not quite make that connection yet, but of course he’d have to at least take of his pants for this. He sheds them quickly, not looking at Nie Mingjue and reminding himself that he must see this several times a day and that surely Jiang Cheng is nothing special.

He barely realizes that his hands are shaking.

“Are you okay?” Nie Mingjue lowly asks him, clearly picking up on Jiang Cheng’s nerves and Jiang Cheng doesn’t know what to answer him.

In the end, the truth comes spilling out.

“No,” he admits. “My parents are going to disown me for this, should they ever find out. I mean they are going to disown me either way once I move out, but—yeah,” he finishes awkwardly once he realizes that he’s rambling because Nie Mingjue absolutely did not sign up to hear about Jiang Cheng’s fucked up life.

“Are you safe at home?” Nie Mingjue asks and Jiang Cheng catches him quickly checking him over as if he’s looking for bruises.

“Physically yes,” Jiang Cheng gives back as his eyes start to burn. “Emotionally not so much,” he adds in a whisper, admitting to this for the first time out loud, and he sways into Nie Mingjue when he clasps his shoulder.

“But you’re taking steps,” he says and it’s not a question.

“I’m taking steps,” Jiang Cheng agrees and finally gets on the cot, ready to get this first rebellious step done.

“Good,” Nie Mingjue says, clearly still worried, but also satisfied and when he starts the tattoo gun they don’t talk much more.

~*~*~

Jiang Cheng is struggling. He feels isolated and lonely and like his parents scathing silence is going to suffocate him one of these days, even after he moved out, and there’s only one thing Jiang Cheng can think of doing.

He finds himself back at Nie Mingjue’s tattoo studio.

“Back so soon,” Nie Mingjue greets him with and Jiang Cheng realizes that it has only been three months since he got the paw prints.

It feels like so much longer, with everything that happened.

“Yeah,” Jiang Cheng awkwardly says and sinks down in the couch again. “I want something bigger.”

“Something you can’t hide,” Nie Mingjue replies, even as he sits down with his sketchbook. “How is that situation going?”

“I moved out. I’m not talking to my parents. But—” he trails off, unsure if he should really just unload all of his bullshit on this stranger.

“But there’s a lot of shit to unlearn and figure out for yourself, especially if this has been going on for a while,” Nie Mingjue says with an understanding nod and when Jiang Cheng stares at him, Nie Mingjue shrugs awkwardly.

“My brother has an interest in psychology and he loves using me as his sounding board. It only got worse when he took up some classes at university.”

“Ah, I see,” Jiang Cheng says and then sighs. “I’m deciding if it’s worth going to see someone,” he then admits lowly and cringes immediately afterwards. “I’m sorry, this is not what I’m here for and it’s absolutely not your job to listen to me.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised how many people see this as a therapy session,” Nie Mingjue gives back, and while Jiang Cheng would usually recoil at that, it doesn’t sound judging.

“But I’m here for this,” Jiang Cheng says and puts a slip of paper on the table.

He’s by no means an artist, but he has always enjoyed doodling and he’s perfectly capable of designing his own tattoo, especially when he gives it more than just a few days thought.

“That is bigger,” Nie Mingjue says with a raised eyebrow as he picks the paper up. “Much more difficult to hide.”

“No more hiding,” Jiang Cheng resolutely says. “I want it to curl around my arm, the head on the back of my hand.”

“Really big then. From shoulder to hand?”

“Yes.”

“Mh,” Nie Mingjue hums as he starts to sketch something.

When he turns the sketchbook to Jiang Cheng it’s still the snake and nothing fundamentally has changed, but it still looks better than the basic design Jiang Cheng came up with.

He itches with the need to get this on his arm.

“Yes,” he breathes out, reaching out to brush his hand over the sketch. “Please.”

“You’ll need an appointment for this one,” Nie Mingjue says as he gets up to schedule Jiang Cheng in.

It takes Nie Mingjue three sessions to get the snake done and Jiang Cheng loves it more than he thought possible.

~*~*~

Jiang Cheng takes his time for the third tattoo. He takes his time to get used to living alone, takes his time to figure out if he really wants to go for a business degree and most importantly, he takes his time to get back together with his siblings.

They didn’t quite fall out when Jiang Cheng moved out, but he kept his distance for a while and now he doesn’t.

Now he welcomes them into his home and his new life and he sits Wei Wuxian down to have a real talk; one where he doesn’t allow Wei Wuxian to laugh everything away—either his own pain or Jiang Cheng’s—and afterwards they feel like family again.

Jiang Cheng briefly debates if he wants to do the same with his parents, but he finds that he couldn’t care less.

He can barely think about them without getting angry or nauseous or both and he figures it’s not worth it. Not now and maybe not ever.

So instead of wasting more thoughts on that Jiang Cheng finds himself back at Nie Mingjue’s studio.

“It does get quite addicting, doesn’t it?” Nie Mingjue asks him with a smirk when Jiang Cheng steps inside and Jiang Cheng shrugs.

“Especially when you finally figure your life out for yourself,” he gives back and he has to admit that for the first time he’s not nervous as he sits down on the couch.

He knows what he wants and he knows what to expect.

It leaves him time to appreciate Nie Mingjue, though, and that makes Jiang Cheng’s stomach flutter.

There are tattoos on Nie Mingjue as well; making their way down his arms and one peeking out of the collar of his shirt. Jiang Cheng finds that he wants to see all of them.

“Okay, hit me,” Nie Mingjue says as he sits down as well and Jiang Cheng gives him his sketch.

Three lotus pods for him and his siblings. Jiang Cheng does only have good memories of them picking lotus seeds, and especially of Jiang Yanli’s soup.

“Next you’re going to learn how to tattoo yourself and then I’ll be out of a job,” Nie Mingjue grumbles as he takes the sketch and Jiang Cheng smiles with pride.

He did put an awful lot of work into this.

“I want it on my calf,” he tells Nie Mingjue who nods.

“Easy enough, but you need an appointment.”

“Sure,” Jiang Cheng shrugs and his eyes drop to Nie Mingjue’s hands, which are still holding his sketch.

Honestly, Jiang Cheng did not expect his heart to beat faster at that, or the thought that Nie Mingjue will put his hands on Jiang Cheng’s skin soon enough but he’s not going to stop it either.

The pods don’t take much time at all once the appointment comes around, and soon enough Jiang Cheng is stepping out on the street with one tattoo more.

It feels like he’s reclaiming bits and pieces of himself with every tattoo that he gets and he honestly doesn’t want it to stop.

It’s only a little bit because he wants to continue seeing Nie Mingjue.

~*~*~

“You’re going to be a regular soon,” Nie Mingjue says with a smile when Jiang Cheng steps into the by now so familiar studio yet again and he frowns, affronted.

“It’s my fourth time. How much more do I have to come by to be considered a regular?”

“Well, the true regulars drop by just to say hello, too,” Nie Mingjue says, clearly trying for nonchalant but Jiang Cheng sees the tension in his shoulders.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he says, but he still sits down on the couch. “But today I’m here for an appointment.”

“Do I even need to bring my sketchbook?” Nie Mingjue asks, clearly remembering that there was nothing for him to do the last time Jiang Cheng came by but Jiang Cheng nods.

“I just have an idea. I need you to draw it.”

“Oh, alright,” Nie Mingjue says, and is quick to retrieve the book before he sits down. “What do you want?”

“I want water, or waves, under my collarbone,” Jiang Cheng says and points at the spot.

It hasn’t been that long since he started to swim again, but he already knows that it will be a big part of his life from now on.

Jiang Cheng used to love it, until his parents made it into a competition between him and Wei Wuxian and pressured him to do better and better. Jiang Cheng stopped after one too many silver medals and he never picked it up again, too afraid of falling back into old habits, of feeling like shit for doing something just for fun, no matter how much he loved it.

But he picked swimming up again, and it turns out he’s still good and he still loves it. Even more now that he can just do it for fun and challenge himself if he feels like it.

And he wants a tattoo for it as well. It’s another piece of himself he reclaimed after all.

“Like so?” Nie Mingjue asks, showing Jiang Cheng the rough sketch.

It’s a little bit too stylized for Jiang Cheng’s taste and he tells Nie Mingjue so, who turns the page and starts again.

When he shows Jiang Cheng the new sketch, it looks more realistic and it’s exactly what Jiang Cheng wants.

“Yes,” he breathes out and smiles.

That one feels just as right as his other tattoos had.

“Water, huh?” Nie Mingjue asks, quite awkwardly Jiang Cheng thinks but he smiles at Nie Mingjue.

“I recently re-found my love for swimming,” he tells him. “It helps that my parents are not yelling at me to win a gold medal.”

“Did you use to? Win gold medals?”

“No. My brother did though, which both my parents used to rub in, in very different way. I stopped because they made me dread going into the water but now that I’m just doing it for fun,” he awkwardly trails off. “I still love it.”

“That’s good to hear,” Nie Mingjue tells him and Jiang Cheng is surprised when Nie Mingjue squeezes his shoulder. “I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but you do look better. Definitely happier than the first time you came in.”

It makes Jiang Cheng flush, because he didn’t know that it had been that bad or that Nie Mingjue had been paying attention to him.

“I am. Better. Still on the way with a lot of things, but definitely better,” Jiang Cheng gives back and he tries very hard not to think about the fact that he still doesn’t know what he wants to do with his future or if he wants to get a dog, despite Wei Wuxian’s fear, or if he’ll ever be man enough to ask Nie Mingjue out on a date.

But slow steps. First he gets this tattoo and then he can think about what comes after.

~*~*~

Jiang Cheng never gave much thought to his sexuality beyond the fact that it wouldn’t matter who he brings home; his parents were surely going to hate them, just because it was Jiang Cheng who introduced them.

He had looked at a few boys during school, but his mother had made it very clear that Jiang Cheng was going to get married to a business woman of her choosing, producing heirs for the company as soon as he could, and Jiang Cheng didn’t think much beyond that except ‘Fuck no’.

But now he has time to re-evaluate his sexuality and while he would probably label himself as bisexual at the moment he’s very definitely Nie Mingjue-sexual.

Not that he’s ever going to mention that to the man himself.

He’s standing in front of the tattoo studio yet again, even though he doesn’t have plans for a new tattoo yet. But Nie Mingjue had said regulars came by whenever, and Jiang Cheng wants to have that connection with Nie Mingjue.

He just can’t bring himself to make the first step.

So instead of going in, he walks up and down on the other side of the studio, berating himself that he just can’t bring himself to do it, but just as he is about to turn around and go home, Nie Mingjue steps out and walks straight up to him.

“Nervous?” Nie Mingjue asks with a teasing smile and Jiang Cheng deflates.

“I’m not quite sure how to make friends,” he admits and then wishes the ground would swallow him, because Nie Mingjue never said anything about being friends and it’s not quite what Jiang Cheng wants anyway.

“Usually you start talking to them,” Nie Mingjue says and steers Jiang Cheng towards a coffee shop.

“About what?” Jiang Cheng helplessly asks but he allows Nie Mingjue to lead the way.

“How was your day?” Nie Mingjue starts and Jiang Cheng finds that talking to Nie Mingjue over a cup of coffee is one of the easiest things he has done.

They start to do it weekly.

~*~*~

“Wanyin,” Nie Mingjue warmly greets him when Jiang Cheng steps into the studio again but he frowns when Jiang Cheng sits down on the couch. “You didn’t say anything about a new tattoo.”

It almost sounds accusing and Jiang Cheng helplessly shrugs.

“I woke up with the burning need to get one, so here I am.”

“Ah, a true addict,” Nie Mingjue says with a shake of his head, but he does get his sketchbook and sits down with him. “What’s it gonna be this time?”

Jiang Cheng takes a moment to gather his thoughts, letting his eyes wander over the tattoos on Nie Mingjue’s arms and he wonders if he can ever bring himself to ask to see them up close. To learn the story behind them.

“I want a lotus flower in the middle of my back,” Jiang Cheng finally says and it’s just because he still has his eyes on Nie Mingjue’s arms that he sees him jerk at his words.

“Between your shoulder blades?” Nie Mingjue asks to clarify and Jiang Cheng nods, finally looking up.

“Yes. And I want it in colour, too.”

It is the family crest and Jiang Cheng was torn about that for a long time, but it’s still his family and it’s still such a big part of himself that he needs to reclaim. Especially since his father does still want him as the head of the company and Jiang Cheng decided to do it.

“Oh, dear gods,” Nie Mingjue mumbles and Jiang Cheng frowns, torn out of his thoughts.

“Something wrong with that?” he wants to know but Nie Mingjue is quick to shake his head.

“No, not at all,” he says, busying himself with his pencil.

They fall into an uneasy silence and Jiang Cheng wonders what he did wrong to make Nie Mingjue respond like this, but before he can come up with a plausible explanation, Nie Mingjue gives him the sketchbook.

“Fuck,” Jiang Cheng breathes out. “It’s gorgeous.”

He didn’t dare imagine the design too much, because he wanted Nie Mingjue to create it, but Jiang Cheng did not imagine this.

“Yeah?” Nie Mingjue asks and Jiang Cheng frowns when he hears his voice crack.

“Yes! When can we do it?” he asks, suddenly eager to get it done as quickly as possible.

“I have time today, if you’re really sure,” Nie Mingjue gives back and Jiang Cheng practically beams at him, which clearly is answer enough.

“Alright, get ready then,” Nie Mingjue says with a nod of his head towards the same back room they always use and Jiang Cheng eagerly makes his way over there.

He’s just taking off his shirt when he hears Nie Mingjue come back in, mostly because he hears the muttered “Fuck”.

“Mingjue?” Jiang Cheng asks, turning around, his shirt still around his arms. “Is something wrong?”

“Wanyin, you can’t do that to me,” Nie Mingjue breathes out, his eyes trailing over first his tattoos that Nie Mingjue himself put there and then towards his shoulders and back.

“Do what?” Jiang Cheng asks, honestly confused, but there’s something in Nie Mingjue’s gaze that makes him go hot all over.

“You can’t let me mark you up all the time and then not go on a date with me,” Nie Mingjue says, finally meeting Jiang Cheng’s eyes and it takes Jiang Cheng a moment to smile at him.

But once he starts, he can’t stop.

“Well, you’d have to ask for me to say yes,” he tells Nie Mingjue, finally taking his shirt off. “Why now, though?”

“Now,” Nie Mingjue huffs out and steps close, dropping a quick kiss to Jiang Cheng’s head, catching him completely off guard with that. “As if I didn’t want to ask you since that first time you came into my studio.”

Jiang Cheng can’t hide his blush, he’s sure of that, but when Nie Mingjue’s gaze goes soft, he finds that he doesn’t mind.

“Okay, but why now?” he asks again, though he couldn’t be happier despite the fact that Nie Mingjue still didn’t ask him out.

“You look happier, more grounded,” Nie Mingjue tells him. “And honestly, I’m only human. There’s only so much self-control I have, especially if you’ll allow me to mark up that masterpiece of a back.”

“I swim a lot,” Jiang Cheng says, smug as anything, because Nie Mingjue looks like he could bench press Jiang Cheng if he really wanted to and to hear that he likes how Jiang Cheng looks, that’s quite the ego boost.

“I see,” Nie Mingjue says, though he sounds strangled. “Go on a date with me, Wanyin,” Nie Mingjue then says, and Jiang Cheng likes the fact that it’s not even really a question.

“Weekly dates are not enough for you?” he teases Nie Mingjue, absolutely delighted by how this is going and he enjoys seeing Nie Mingjue flounder for a bit.

“You owe me at least twelve kisses then,” Nie Mingjue finally says, sounding absolutely indignant and Jiang Cheng chuckles.

“You only want one kiss per date? That’s quite disappointing, really,” Jiang Cheng says with a smile and Nie Mingjue rolls his eyes.

“We’re working our way up, once it’s officially a date and not just coffee. But you can owe me all the kisses you want.”

“I think I like that,” Jiang Cheng happily says and leans in to get started on repaying his debt right that instant.

It leaves Jiang Cheng breathless when they part and he’s strangely relieved to see that Nie Mingjue is not doing that much better himself.

“Your hand will be steady enough for this, right?” Jiang Cheng can’t help but to ask, because he wants that tattoo now and he would be disappointed if Nie Mingjue said no.

“I’m a professional,” Nie Mingjue huffs out, even as he gently cups Jiang Cheng’s cheek in his hand. “I managed to keep a steady hand all the other times, too, didn’t I?”

“That you did,” Jiang Cheng gives back and nuzzles into the hand.

They lose themselves a little bit in each other for a while, but eventually Nie Mingjue does get to prove that he has a steady hand, despite the circumstances.

Once the lotus flower on Jiang Cheng’s back is done, they go on their first official dinner date.

~*~*~

On their one year anniversary, Jiang Cheng gets Nie Mingjue to tattoo a green band around his right arm and Nie Mingjue manages to make it look like it’s shining from the inside.

Jiang Cheng catches Nie Mingjue wiping away a tear once he’s done and he would tease him for it, but since Jiang Cheng cried when Nie Mingjue revealed that the frog over his heart was for Jiang Cheng, he fears he has no leg to stand on.

Paw Prints Snake, expect imagine this spanning down the whole arm Lotus Pods Water, under Jiang Cheng's collarbone Lotus Flower, except it's in the middle of Jiang Cheng's back Green Band, there's no real pic for this, but imagine this ring as a tattoo around Jiang Cheng's forearm, because Mingjue's name is made up out of the characters for 'bright, shining' and 'jade ring' if google didn't lie to me

Link to my ko-fi on the sidebar!

#bt writes #mingcheng #the untamed #mdzs #modern au #getting together #healing #tattoos #first kiss

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spicycreativity · 3 years ago

Text

Good Omens but Make It Moceit (unfinished)

I said I would do it and I tried very, very hard but it's not looking like I'm going to be able to finish because ✨mental health reasons✨

Here's what I have so far (about 8k words)

EDEN

It is a little-known theological fact that the invention of the hypothetical coincided nearly perfectly with the invention of the thunderstorm, the latter being a rather effable invention of God, all things considered, and the former springing forth from the troubled mind of Phaedaël, the angel of the Eastern gate. The first drops of rain pattered to the ground and he curved one wing upward to protect his head. Addressing his companion, he said, "I'm sorry, but I don't think I should be talking to you."

"Oh, and what a shame," cooed the serpent, who hadn't yet chosen a name, "and here I was so hoping you'd wring the details out of me."

"Oh," said the angel, considering this. He shifted uncomfortably, and made a face like he'd just been forced to swallow something bitter. "Well… What did you say to her?"

"Don't patronize me," said the serpent. He paused. "I don't suppose you could enlighten me, angel, on what's so bad about knowing the difference between good and evil?"

"They broke the rules," said the angel firmly.

"I don't suppose it matters that the rule was arbitrary?" The angel drew in a breath to reply, but the serpent cut him off, looking him up and down suddenly as though seeing him for the first time. A sly smile tugged at his lips. "Lose something?"

"No!" said the angel, far too quickly.

"Oh, come on. Lying doesn't become an angel."

"It's not a lie!" the angel insisted.

"Well, then. Please do tell me what happened to that flaming sword of yours."

The rain began to fall in earnest. A thunderclap sounded overhead. The angel said, "What if you had an opportunity to help someone--"

"What if?" repeated the serpent incredulously.

"What if," persisted the angel, "someone could benefit from something you were supposed to have, but weren't really using?"

The serpent began to laugh. "Don't tell me you gave it--" he gestured into the distance-- "to them?" A few more hysterical cackles escaped his chest, but he swallowed the rest down at the anguished look on the angel's face. "Oh, relax. If you did it, it can't have been bad, can it? Angels don't do bad."

"And demons don't do good?" the angel looked at the serpent with uncertainty.

"Oh, yes," purred the serpent, "we're wicked to the core."

The angel went silent, considering this.

The thunder roared, the rain came down harder, the serpent remained, and the angel very gently lifted his other wing to keep his companion dry.

Who, after all, prayed for the Devil?

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

God (God)

Logan (Patton's overseer)

Satan (A Fallen Angel; The Fallen Angel, one might say)

Remus (Janus' overseer)

Janus (An angel who did not so much fall as back away muttering "I'm really going to do it this time; no one try to stop me")

Roman (a lover)

Virgil (an Antichrist)

Dog (hellhound, hellraiser, and sleeping partner)

21 YEARS AGO

In the Valendale Regional Military Cemetery lurked a demon.

Well, he lurked as best as he was able, given that the ambiance was all off for lurking. He had fudged the timing a little, being unaccustomed to the nature of the passage of time on Earth, and had accidentally arrived just in time to witness a beautiful sunrise over Florida's eastern coast. Half the sky was a magnificent golden ocean with waves of orange and pink. The military cemetery had also been a mistake, though this one bothered him less. While he had been hoping for something a little more ancient and decrepit, he soon began to console himself by playing hopscotch on the clean, flat grave markers, delighting in the muddy bootprints he left behind him.

Besides, he liked the way 'military cemetery' rolled off the tongue.

When he inevitably got bored of desecrating graves, he threw himself down in the grass and began to look for worms and bugs with which he might decorate his uniform.

This was Remus, a Duke of Hell.

He found a worm and began to speak to it, watching it writhe around in his palm. "I'm so bored."

He spent a good few seconds coming up with a voice to use to represent the worm, then asked himself in a high-pitched squeak, "Why's that, your

Grace?"

Remus cupped the worm in his hands and rolled over, nearly kicking the basket he'd brought with him. This bothered him less than it rightfully should have, considering what was inside. He only gave a blithe "Oops!" and returned his attention to the worm. "That little subordinate of mine is making me wait!"

The worm said, "You should punish him!"

"Good idea!" Remus exclaimed, stroking the worm with his fingertip. "What do you think, should I spank him? Make him kiss my boots? Or--" He cut himself off, having just caught sight of flashing red and blue lights in the near distance. Sirens had been echoing on and off throughout the night, but they were very near now. "There's my bitch!" he said with undisguised affection. He put the worm in his pocket and stood up.

The Interstate Highway System was ostensibly developed under the command of United States President Dwight D Eisenhower in order to facilitate the movement of personal use vehicles, public transportation vehicles, and self-propelled field artillery across the country. This project, as anyone who has ever attempted to traverse the Interstate Highway System can tell you, was a catastrophic failure. The criss-crossing network of freeways, highways, turnpikes, and byways is frequently backed up with bumper-to-bumper traffic.

What most hapless travelers of the Interstate Highway System do not know is that the cloverleaf interchange, one of the most commonly-used interchanges in city planning, is also the exact same shape as the sigil det in the written language of the Church of the Black Clock. Written correctly, it means "black fire upon my enemies, devour their souls!" (Note: Written incorrectly, it reads "kneel, gay men.") Every day, commuters slow traffic via their own ill-wishes on fellow drivers, granted life by the sigil. (It is a known fact that every driver on the freeway considers every other driver on the freeway an enemy).

It was one of Janus' most diabolical achievements. He was quite proud of himself, not only in the end result but in his methods. While a lesser demon might have had to go to the trouble of hands-on work: hacking computers, making bribes, and, Satan-forbid, possibly even sneaking out at night to move marker pegs by hand, all Janus had had to do was talk. He was quite good at getting people to do his bidding once he got his foot in the door.

Something Janus had inexplicably failed to account for was the fact that he, too, would occasionally need to use the freeway system. Such was the curse of Janus' great evil deeds: more often than not, they slalomed between his legs like a wily terrier and bit him squarely on the ass.

The irony snuck up on him sometimes.

Janus had dark hair and high cheekbones. His eyes and tongue were really only unusual if you looked at them twice, and he had a tendency to hiss when he forgot himself. He looked far too young, far too handsome, and far too svelte for the 1957 Cadillac Deville he was driving, bearing no resemblance at all to the sort of wealthy, elderly man who deals in classic cars.

He checked his watch, which also seemed too old for him, and glanced at the rearview mirror. Normally he enjoyed the minor thrill of having cops on his tail, but his exit was coming up and he did have someplace to be.

What he did next lacked imagination, but it got the job done: With one complicated hand gesture, he turned both officers into pigs and gently glided their cars to the shoulder. Then he turned on his blinker and took his exit.

Remus watched the police lights disappear with impassivity, bouncing on his toes. When Janus finally emerged through the wrought iron gates, having bent reality to get past them, he raised his arms and shouted, "Hail Satan!"

Janus acknowledged this with two lifted fingers. "So sorry I'm late," he said, bringing his hand smoothly upward to tip his hat, "it's just that I don't value your time in comparison to mine." The sarcastic inflection was so light the words could very well be sincere. But of course Janus always meant every word of what he'd said. (Now that's

sarcastic inflection)!

Remus gave a feral grin. Janus was his favorite subordinate. "Wanna see my worm?"

Millennia of acquaintanceship had freed Janus from the notion that he needed to be polite to Remus. The demon was as twisted as they came and nearly immune to flattery. "As much as I'd love to, shouldn't we get this over with?"

"Yeah, yeah." Remus looked around. "Hm, now where did I put the basket?"

The basket was currently sitting atop the headstone for a General T. Pratchett. Janus spied it first and indicated it to Remus with a flicker of his yellow irises, careful not to let a trace of his hesitancy show on his face. He didn't even let himself hesitate when Remus, who had hopscotched over to the basket and then back over to Janus, thrust it out to him.

"So this is really it," Janus murmured, wrapping both gloved hands around the handle of the basket. Then he began to work. "What a high honor."

"So they say," Remus said.

"Remus, be honest with me." Brief pause, just enough for Remus to wonder at the weight in Janus' voice. "Did you pull some strings to ensure I was the one who got this task? Do I owe you a favor?"

"Are you about to thank me?" Remus asked, tilting his head. Addressing the worm in his breast pocket, he said, "Listen up, this should be good."

"So you did?"

"Of course not."

Here it was. After a few seconds of rallying, his ace: "So why me?"

"You've been in the field the longest." Remus' grin widened to an impossible degree and he grabbed Janus by the lapels of his immaculate suit jacket, coming nose to nose. "Some of us think you're getting soft."

Janus smiled back, the unblinking predator's grin of a snake about to strike, and hefted the basket. "We'll see about that." And he extricated his lapels from Remus' grasp and turned to leave.

"You didn't say hi to my worm!" Remus called after him. Janus did not reply. Remus fished the worm out of his pocket. "How rude."

"The nerve of some demons," agreed the worm.

The Cadillac's speedometer hit 110. Janus fumbled for the volume knob with a shaking hand. The radio was permanently set to 98.5 The Jukebox, which only ever seemed to play Queen.

"Shit," Janus muttered as majestic panned harmonies began to emanate from his speakers. "Shit-shit-shit. Why now? Why me?"

BECAUSE, came the harmonic vocals, YOU'VE EARNED IT.

Janus bit down on his tongue to keep from swearing. Communication via electronics had been another one of his ideas, hoping he'd be issued a BlackBerry or a Nokia. But no. Instead, upper management just cut into whatever he was listening to at the time and twisted it. "Thank you very much, my lord," he said, working very very hard to instill his voice with the proper amount of unctuous ooze.

THIS IS IMPORTANT, JANUS.

"Yes, my lord."

THIS IS THE BIG ONE.

"Yes, my lord."

AND YOU UNDERSTAND, JANUS, THAT IF THIS GOES WRONG, EVERYONE INVOLVED WILL BE PUNISHED. EVEN YOU. ESPECIALLY YOU.

"I understand."

GOOD. YOUR INSTRUCTIONS.

And suddenly, he just knew. A new Queen song began to play on 98.5 The Jukebox, and Janus hissed and slammed the heel of his hand against the steering wheel. "What was the point of all that, then?" he demanded of Freddie Mercury.

Freddie Mercury replied, "Don't stop me now! 'Cause I'm havin' a good time!"

Janus rolled his eyes and changed lanes without signaling. He had been instructed to head straight to a hospital on the edge of town. It was technically in an unincorporated community called Misty, but for all intents and purposes, Misty was Valendale. If he kept up this pace (the needle of the speedometer now closer to 130), he could be there in five minutes. Joy.

It had all been going so well, too. He'd really hit his stride in the 21st century, and now here was Hell pulling the rug out from under his shiny Armani brogues. Armageddon. What a nightmare.

In the Publix baking aisle, two angels stood side by side. One of them was Phaedaël, who had lately adopted the name 'Patton,' feeling it suited his corporation.

The other had been christened 'Loirea' once upon a time. As Heaven began to

modernize, Loirea had been the first among the angels to adapt to the changes being made. He had even taken on the name 'Logan' as a show of good faith.

Both of the angels were human-shaped, having discovered early on that it's much easier to get things done when you have limbs as opposed to flaming wheels of eyes and animal heads poking out at odd angles.

Both wore glasses. Patton's glasses were round, wire-rimmed things, of the sort usually found on kindly old librarians and stern but fair headmasters of all-boy's boarding schools. Logan's glasses were made of shiny black plastic and looked like they could draw blood if strategically applied to a sufficiently tender area.

Patton was, at the moment, holding a bag a semolina flour under one arm and awkwardly attempting to explain himself. "It's called 'cooking.' It's actually really clever, you take ingredients and combine them--"

"Why?" Logan interrupted

"Oh, uh, well," Patton hesitated, shamefaced, "it makes food."

"Eating," Logan said in such a forceful tone of dismissal that three boxes of brownie mix turned to ash behind him. "I don't understand why you waste your time."

"It helps me blend in," Patton said with a sheepish smile. Everything from his shoes to his shirt was a shade of white or blue; he'd never been comfortable dealing in gray areas.

"I see." Logan adjusted his tie. "Well, I'll let you get back to it in a moment. I just came to pass on a message: Our intel has given us reason to believe that Armageddon is underway."

"Oh," said Patton vaguely, staring at a bag of something labeled 'pasta flour.' "Oh!"

"We'd like for you to keep an eye on Janus. He's a demon; he's on a similar mission to yours."

"I, uh," Patton swallowed hard, staring right through the pasta flour, "I've heard of him."

"Good." Logan put his hand on Patton's shoulder and looked him dead in the eye. "Patton."

"Y-yes?"

"When I say 'keep an eye on' I mean I want you to watch him. It's a figure of speech."

Patton nodded, forcing his mouth to curve into a pale imitation of a smile. Logan nodded back and vanished.

"Well," Patton said to the pasta flour, "fiddlesticks."

Brother Emile Analogical had been raised a Satanist. There is no such thing as an orthodox Satanist, but if there was, that would be the kind of Satanism that Brother Emile's parents had practiced. He had graduated with unspectacular grades, joined the Paralleling Order of Saint Botild, and promptly moved from Nebraska to Florida: more specifically, to the unincorporated community of Misty in the greater Valendale area. The climate had taken some getting used to, not to mention the long, black robes he had to wear, but he had survived the transition and found himself a good fit for the Paralleling Order.

Note: Saint Botild Comminalitus of Malmö was reputed to have been martyred in the middle of the fifth century, for reasons unclear. It is said that the Lord granted him the power to draw parallels and connections between topics; his last words are reported to have been "This reminds me of that one story about Loptr, when he--" Then his assailants lit the pyre.

At the moment, Brother Emile was thinking about the tall, dark figure stalking down the hallways at him holding a basket, likening him to a Scooby-Doo villain, the way the shadows seemed to stick to him.

"Jinkies!" said Brother Emile once the figure was in earshot.

Janus raised an eyebrow at him over the tops of his sunglasses. "Hello."

Unphased by the cold greeting, Brother Emile pointed to the basket. "Is that the fairly odd baby?" he asked in a high-pitched coo that indicated he already suspected the answer.

"No," said Janus, rolling his eyes. "It's a basket of kittens I saved from drowning. Aren't you wondering why I'm all wet?"

"You're," Brother Emile started, and Janus braced himself, fearing the last frayed thread of his patience might snap if the sentence ended with the word 'dry,' "a Mister Grumpy Gills, aren't you?'

Janus thrust the basket at Brother Emile and did not dignify him with any answer more notable than a slight thinning of

his lips.

Brother Emile drew back the blankets and began to babble at the sleeping Antichrist. Janus took the opportunity to flee.

"Look at you," Brother Emile said happily. "Sleeping in a pic-a-nic basket, huh, Boo-boo?"

After a few more moments of cooing, babytalk, and Boomerang references, he remembered himself and found a wheeled bassinet for the baby Antichrist.

There is a game, common among carnies and street magicians in which a ball is hidden under cups and shuffled around. Unbeknownst to himself, the two sets of new parents, and all the friars at St Botild's, Brother Emile Analogical was about to become a mark.

And Hell had had nothing to do with it.

same rate, and good and evil had a knack for balancing themselves out in the grand scheme of things. And this left Janus and Patton free to pursue other passions, which somehow resulted in the two of them spending a great deal of time in each other's company.

silence. "It's not even that I disagree with you," he said apologetically. "It's just, well, you know, I'm not allowed to disobey."

his hazelnut hot chocolate. "What's a shame?"

Janus nodded. "Roman Dowling."

Roman was about to turn 21, and lived his life according to the belief that everyone over the age of 30 was, in some degree, an 'elder').

wanna do that."

"Roman!"

people; every social interaction, no matter how minor, always kept his body as tense as wire.

#sanders sides #moceit #this is a pastiche meaning it's not my usual writing style #basically i deliberately wrote in the style of pratchett/gaiman #just in case you were wondering lmao #anyway you can bug me about finishing it if the urge strikes you; i'm not one of those people who gets mad about stuff like that #it certainly won't hurt #i really do want to finish but at the moment im not really in a place where i feel like i can make art #spicypost #spicywrites #i guess i'll throw in some character tags #janus sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #remus sanders #virgil sanders #logan sanders

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aelingalathyniusrailme · 3 years ago

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If you find me at the edge, we’ll jump together.

Gwynriel pirate au pt 8- you don’t know who I am.

this chapters a little bit shorter because the part that’s coming next would have made it way too long. also check out the other parts. pt 1, pt 2, pt 3, pt 4, pt 5, pt 6, pt 7

Gwyn’s eyes narrowed and Azriel swore there was venom in her gaze. If he was being perfectly honest, he was slightly turned on.

“Alright, I’ll bite. Why do we need you?” She spat out. Her words were icy, not the passionate, flirty pirate he had come to know, but someone different. Someone new.

Perhaps new was the wrong word, perhaps he had just peeled away another of her many layers. And perhaps, as the days of their time together grew shorter, he had become more and more interested to find who, and what lay beneath.

His mind was an absolute atrocity. Split between the pirate captain he couldn’t rid himself of, his second with secrets and lies curved around his every word, and the fae female before him, who shared history with each of them.

Feyre. It appeared Nesta’s sister was just as lethal as she was, but where Nesta was cruel words and brute strength, Feyre was power of a different kind. Fae.

The first of the archeron’s was ruthless and cold while the third was as immortal as she was dangerous, with a slight superiority complex. Some morbid interest had him curious as to what the second archeron sister would be like.

At that moment Azriel sneezed, interrupting the stare down going on between Berdara and the assassin. He looked around and found the culprit. In a vase on the a shelf was a bouquet of roses. Damn his fucking allergies.

Gwyn turned to him and everything about her softened, amused.

You alright? she snorted a little

Yes I am perfectly fine thank you for asking.

Well this is good news, the infamous pirate captain can be brought down with a simple flower.

A wretched flower.

“Excuse me.” Feyre seemed very agitated. “I would appreciate it if you two could stop looking at each other for one moment.”

Azriel swore he could see Gwyn blush slightly.

“Yes of course, our apologies, please continue.”

“Please don’t” Gwyn mumbled for only Az to hear. His lips twitched in agreement.

“Now you two have half of what you need but you certainly cannot acquire the huge hall with a measly half.”

She paused for a dramatic second. “You have the map and while I’m sure that the phoenix piss worked wonders in uncovering the sigil of The Dragon. But I’m sure you know it does not actually lead you to Amren herself.”

Gwyn and Azriel shared a look. “Oh,” Feyre frowned. “I guess you didn't know that. But you must have known that her island moves with the storm and is constantly moving and the only way to track it down is to use the compass.”

“No, you didn’t know that either?” Feyre’s frown turned upwards in a devilish smirk. “One more piece of information I suppose you need to know. Only a pure blooded fae can use the compass.”

“And why is that?”

“Like calls to like, power recognizes power.”

“Someone’s quite full of herself.”

“I simply speak the truth.”

“Sure you do.”

Azriel sighed, this back and forth would accomplish nothing and he had treasure to find. “How about Captain Berdara and I discuss your proposition in private?”

“What is there to discuss?”

Azriel smiled charmingly, “Not that you aren’t delightful company, but plenty.” Out of the corner of his eye, he swore he saw Gwyn frown.

Feyre looked him over, and then turned her gaze to Gwyn, curling her lip in disgust as she walked out the door. Her footsteps became faint and Gwyn blurted, “Absolutely fucking not.”

Gwyn took a breath, trying to regain her composure, “I do not work with people with conflicting interests.”

“We need her.” He was sure of it, Azriel trusted his gut instincts and his instincts were telling him she was telling the truth, or at least some form of it. Although he far from trusted her. Azriel had learned a long time ago that the only people he could regularly rely on were himself and his crew.

She swallowed, her eyes turning steel, and her gaze becoming daggers, “No.” She turned away, about to walk out the door. Her shoulders back and her chin high. Even in her moments of vulnerability she would not sacrifice her pride.

“Gwyn.” The sound of her name from his lips was enough to stop her.

Her voice was faint, the words barely there, “What did you just say.”

His words softened, “Gwyn.” He said again as she breathed in sharply, “I will not pretend as if I understand you even remotely.” She snorted. “But I do not believe you are the kind of person to be swayed from your goals. You go after what you want with a ferocity that could rival any. And I know you want this.” Gwyn shifted on her feet as if preparing for a fight. It was a nervous tic, he realized. “Whoever you were when you knew that woman is not who you are now.”

“And who am I now?”

“Infuriating, stubborn, a royal pain in my ass.” She laughed weakly. “You’re a lot of things Berdara, but you are not stupid and you know as well as I that we require her services.”

“So what is it you said to me? Ah yes suck it up and think of the money.”

Gwyn flexed her fingers and squared her shoulders, clearly still itching for a fight. But then she did something unexpected, her body relaxed and she exhaled slowly. “You’re right.”

Azriel was pretty sure he was having a stroke. “I’m sorry, say that again but slower this time.”

In a flash she had him pinned to the table with her knee pressing on his chest and a dagger to his throat. “I’ve said those words three other times in my life, every one of them ended up with their heads on the ground and their balls in the sea. Don’t make me regret it and don’t expect it again.”

He believed every word and yet the dagger was held with almost no pressure so he smirked in agreement, “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

She got off of him and wiped her clothes, “To be clear we are going to screw over feyre archeron right?”

“You have to ask?”

Gwyn’s smile was one of pure insanity as she murmured, “Maybe this will be fun after all.”

He walked to the door and opened it, standing to the side as he held out his hand mockingly, “Your majesty,” She breezed through the door without giving him so much as a glance and when they found Feyre and their combined crew, god Azriel despised this women.

Feyre was holding Cassian, a man who was double her size, by the ankles as others watched with bored expressions on their faces. Cassian was grinning like an idiot, Nesta however, looked like she was 0.2 seconds away from throwing a knife into her sister's chest. Azriel didn’t blame her.

“Feyre, drop it.” Gwyn scolded.

“What am I? A dog?” She growled.

“That’s an insult to dogs.” Nesta muttered.

Gwyn laughed but instead of continuing this useless back and forth she spoke again, “Feyre if you acquire us this compass and prove that it works as you say it does, then we will agree to your terms.”

“Thought you might say something like that.”

“Well?” He asked.

“Well, a certain day court event will be expecting a few more members.”

Rhysand, surprisingly, groaned, “Oh my god no.”

Emerie questioned, “Wait what?”

“Feyre darling is taking us to the sun ball.”

Tagging: @imsointobooks @meher-sumedha @himadrij @gwynrielsupremacy @ipsa-est-lux-plenae @flora-shadowshine @allthebooksunderthemoon @valkygwyn @bookish-isha @lattristantketchup @generalnesta @brieq @sv0430 @carsonjade12523 @aelinismyreligion @gwynrielisunmatched @shisingh @sarcasticsugarcookie @feyretale (let me know if you want to be added or removed.”

#gwynriel #gwyn berdara #azriel #gwynriel pirate au #nessian #feysand #nesta archeron #feyre archeron #cassian #rhysand #emerie

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raendown · 3 years ago

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A story for @insaneflowergirl as part of the @madatobigiftexchange! Only took me six days to realize it’s June. A grand improvement over the last couple months. xD

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 4049 Rated: T+ Fandom: Naruto Summary: Trapped together by an avalanche in the middle of a mission, Madara and Tobirama make a passing attempt at dealing with the discovery that they are soulmates. And also the discovery that there is only one bed to share for the night.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Warmth in Winter Hearts

“I don’t suppose if I happened to suggest laying down to rest you might actually listen?”

“You’re not my mother!”

Tobirama pressed the bridge of his nose tightly between two fingers and breathed slowly. “Gods but I hope not. I have neither the parts nor the patience for that.”

Across the cavern Madara scowled, looking very much like he was only moments away from sticking out his tongue. If he were perfectly honest Tobirama would not have been surprised in the least to see that sort of childish behavior after the emotionally taxing week they’d been going through. Getting put on a mission together was bad enough; they fought like cats and dogs in the tower with separate offices to retreat to, how Hashirama expected them to survive an entire month out here in the wilderness together was a mystery. Yet the worst part had to be getting snowed in separate from the man they were meant to be escorting with no way to make sure the idiot was still alive.

“When we get out of here,” Madara growled, “I’m going to tear out that asshole’s hair strand by strand.”

“I’m not sure how much of a threat that is.”

“Excuse you, that is a terrifying threat.”

“Not everyone is as attached to their hair as you are,” Tobirama pointed out.

He was already turning away to build up the meager fire he’d hastily thrown together upon realizing they were trapped in here. Still, he could practically feel the weight of dark eyes glaring at him from across the cave, probably staring at the back of head and judging the hair that he kept short purely for utilitarian purposes. If he hadn’t looked so ridiculous the one time he’d shaved it all off he would just do away with the stuff all together. What good did hair really do him? Not much. If his head got cold he could always throw on a hat. Beyond that he’d never found much of a use for it.

“Maybe if you took better care of yours then you’d understand.”

“I very much doubt that,” Tobirama murmured under his breath.

The glaring intensified but he refused to take the bait. Feeding the fire and making sure they stayed warm throughout the night was much more important than tending to the quicksilver emotions of a man who, until today, had been nothing but a thorn in his side at every turn. If not for this blasted mission he never would have been anything else. Tobirama closed his eyes and counted his breaths in and out, in and out, slowly, evenly, searching for the calm balance that so many people mistook for unfeeling cold. It hadn’t been so difficult to center himself in years.

As much as he tried, however, calm remained far beyond his reach. He could keep a placid expression for the idiot across the room but on the inside his emotions were tumbling over each other like a business of ferrets all fighting over the same morsel of food. They were soulmates. Even in his own head that felt strange to admit. So many years spent glaring across the battlefield, several more glaring across council tables and mokuton sturdy desks, only now to discover their connection mere hours before they got themselves trapped inside a system of caves by nothing more than a raging blizzard. Honestly if he weren’t so angry at the timing of it all Tobirama might have been impressed by the sheer volume of snow Mother Nature had seen fit to dump over their heads without warning. More so than the weather he was angry at their client. When he’d told that fool to stay close it had been for his own safety, not to ruffle his overinflated ego without reason. Now he’d trapped himself somewhere else in these caves by dashing off just before an avalanche of snow collapsed over the entrance. Madara had offered to melt through it all but there was little point. There would always be more to come down on top.

Either their client would be dead of cold in the morning or he wouldn’t. Being here with them wouldn’t do much to change that outcome when he’d already declared that he would rather freeze to death than seek body heat from, in his words, lowly shinobi types. Tobirama would rather lose the income from this mission than let such an asshole touch him after words like that.

“Ugh.” Behind him Madara sniffed a couple of times. “These smell terrible.”

“Probably because you’re still bleeding inside them.” Tobirama didn’t even need to turn around to know what the other was talking about. He’d wrapped those bandages himself only hours before.

“I should probably change them. But it’s so cold…”

Standing up to brush the snow from his knees, Tobirama nodded shortly. “Cold indeed. An excellent excuse not to care for your wounds. I’ll be sure to share that one with Izuna when he asks how I could allow you to come home with blood poisoning.”

A smile flickered across his face when the snuffling turned in to barely muted grumbling, probably a bad mockery of him since that was usually Madara’s last defense against being told to do something he already knew he should have been doing. It only took another minute or two of waiting before heavy footsteps were thumping across the snow-dusted rock to pause just at his back. The hand that shoved itself in to his view looked like some child’s imaginative drawing of a zombie, covered as it was in off-white linen turned black in some places with drying blood.

“If you’re so worried for me then do something about it yourself!”

“Use your manners if you want help.”

“Fuck you!” Madara snatched his hand back. When Tobirama looked he was cradling it to his chest with a pout that looked all the more ridiculous than usual when set above a full suit of battle-worn armor. “I’ll just do it myself then!”

“Will you now?”

A raised eyebrow sent his companion storming off to where they had scraped the snow off a few square feet of ground. Dark mutterings made a lovely background tune as Madara dug through both of their packs trying to find the rest of their medical supplies. When he found them he gave a vicious little noise of triumph and then flopped down on to a nearby rock to pick at the knot on the back of his injured hand. It was hardly the only injury either of them had suffered during the past week of escorting their jittery client through one of the most dangerous sections of the border with Yugakure, just the most serious since it hampered the grip Madara needed on his infamous gunbai. He’d trained himself to use the other hand like most shinobi did but his effectiveness in battle was markedly different when doing so, forcing Tobirama to take point constantly rather than switching out by turns.

“Don’t forget the ointment,” Tobirama called over helpfully, not bothering to hide a snicker when Madara lifted his head to glare in response.

“I know that!”

“Ah so you were leaving it behind in the pack, what, to keep it warm?”

Madara tore off a strip of bandage and hauled it ineffectually through the air, shouting, “Leave me alone!”

He should. In truth he really should leave the man alone. Both of them needed a little time to process the discovery of their unexpected connection. Unfortunately Tobirama didn’t have nearly half the interpersonal skills his brother did, he’d never really learned when to leave well enough alone, so instead of giving them both a little space he watched the fluttering bandage until it hit the ground and then lifted his face with a smirk.

“Very effective. I’m all but shaking in my boots.”

“You will be if you ever let me catch you on the training fields alone!”

“Go on then, we’re alone right now.”

“Fuck off!” Madara grunted.

Tobirama peeked over his shoulder to make sure the fire wasn’t going to collapse on itself and then turned back to his mission partner. “I don’t think I will. You are literally my only entertainment right now.”

“I am not your entertainment!”

“No, you’re right. You’re more like a natural disaster that I just can’t help watching. It’s human nature, you know? Like a morbid curiosity.”

Even as he spoke the words he knew he was being an ass but, as he’d said, it wasn’t like there was much else for him to do in this godforsaken cave. He might as well get a few licks in while he still had the energy. Watching Madara’s ears turn red with anger was just as fascinating as it had ever been, though having to force his mind away from examining why he was so fascinated was new.

“If anyone here is morbid it’s you!”

“Well I’m not denying that.”

“Be more insulted!” Madara screeched. “I hate when you do that!”

Tobirama folded his arms and lifted one hand to tap at his chin. “Do what, pray tell?”

“You’re always so fucking unflappable! Just- just- it isn’t fair! Be...flapped! Or something!”

“Flapped?” He’d never heard anything so ridiculous in his life. It was perfectly reasonable that he should throw his head back and start laughing, thoroughly amused by his companion’s loss for words. Madara didn’t seem to appreciate his reaction but really that wasn’t far out of the ordinary. For the most part Madara had never seemed to appreciate much about him at all and until recently that hadn’t exactly bothered him.

Right now the only thing flapping was Madara’s jaw as the man tried several times to come up with a response, any response at all. In the end he simply tossed the end of the bandage roll in Tobirama’s direction with lethal force and snatched the closest bedroll, storming off to spread it out across the space kicked free of snow.

It was a shame to have his entertainment taken away so quickly, even more of a shame to know that if he also tried to bed down right now the only spot to do so would be within range of Madara’s vengeful hands, so Tobirama was left very suddenly with the echoes of his own laughter and little else. The grin on his face turned rapidly in to a scowl. Patient he might be when the situation called for it but he’d never been a fan of keeping the company of his own thoughts. Books were much more pleasant. Much less likely to spiral out of control in to dangerous places or earn him another lecture from his older brother. Not having his library at hand was certainly the worst part of any mission he’d ever taken, filled as they usually were with down time in which he had little to do but plan his next move or stare aimlessly at the surroundings.

As much as it would probably be more interesting to wander off and explore how far back these caves actually went he didn’t think it was in his best interests to take the chance at getting lost. If nothing else Madara would definitely tell on him when they got back to the village.

For a minute or so their little cavern was filled with the rustling of Madara settling himself down to sleep, wrenching the blankets off again when he realized he hadn’t put away all the medical supplies, then fussing at them to cover himself a second time. Once he finally settled down for good there was nothing but the sound of the fire crackling merrily away. Sealed off as they were from the rest of the world, the fire was their only source of light. If not for the fact that the caves obviously went pretty deep in to the mountain it would have been a very poor idea indeed to let it keep burning away all their oxygen. Tobirama was grateful he didn’t need to put it out. Aside from giving him something to listen to besides the inside of his own head it also gave him something to look at. Or rather it gave him a bit of light by which to stare off in his partner’s direction, studying the length of Madara's body and the shapes he made under the regulation wool blanket.

Not a good idea. Definitely not a good idea. Tobirama jerked his eyes away as soon as he realized what he was doing. Better if there had been no fire. He’d rather be blind for lack of light and leave himself at the mercy of the Sharingan for seeing any possible threats than to sit here and stare across the snowy rock like some lovelorn maiden. No matter what discoveries had been made that day they were not some pair of star crossed lovers. There was no need for whatever dramatics his face had just been doing.

Digging both hands in to his eyes with a sigh, Tobirama decided it was probably best if he just went to sleep too. It was still too early for him to be very tired but falling asleep would at least stop him from following wherever the hell his thoughts had just been trying to go. Somewhere much too thespian for his tastes. He wasn't his brother, after all, there was no need for him to sit here and analyze his feelings or some other such nonsense. If the fire burnt down while they slept and he woke to darkness, well, he did still have Madara with him; just because he was rightfully leery of the Sharingan’s powers didn’t mean he was above taking advantage of them when he needed to. Perhaps a little mean when the man was injured by, hey, he wasn’t the one who could see in the dark and that was hardly his own fault.

Another sigh caught at the edges of his teeth and slipped out sounding more like a hiss when he pushed himself up on to his feet, striding over towards their packs with careful footsteps. There was no telling what sort of uneven ground could be hiding under all this snow. So far away from the dancing flames his already poor vision was even worse so at first Tobirama assumed that Madara had simply kicked everything out of place while looking for the bandages. It wasn’t until he gathered all of the packs together and dug through every one of them that he realized one very important item was missing.

His eyes snapped over to the prone figure only feet away. Madara lay stretched out and perfectly still on top of his bed roll. Or, more accurately, the only bedroll. In all the kerfuffle of their client running off and the avalanche trapping them in it appeared they had lost not only some of the food they’d been carrying but also their second sleeping mat.

If not for the snow on the ground it wouldn’t have been such a big deal. He still had a blanket and it wasn’t like he’d never bedded down for the night without something comfortable to lie on, catching a few hours up a tree whenever he had to and doing so without complaint. The problem was that lying down on frozen rock had only one outcome and with both of them already injured in various ways he certainly couldn’t take the risk of waking up with pneumonia when there was a perfectly viable - if crushingly embarrassing - solution snoozing peacefully right there. He really hoped Madara wasn’t too comfy just yet.

“What?” his partner snarled when he was nudged lightly with one foot.

“Shove over,” Tobirama demanded.

“The fuck? There is literally a whole cave of space, go make your bed somewhere else.”

“Can’t. I have to share your bed so shove over, Uchiha.”

Madara snapped upright so fast they both heard something in his back pop, though neither paid it much attention. “You fucking what now?”

“There appears to be a distinct lack of a second bedroll anywhere so unless you want me sneezing all over your bandages when I inevitably have to change them you will shove the hell over.” Tobirama crossed both arms over his chest like they could hold in all the confusing emotions trying very hard to bubble their way to the surface.

He wasn’t sure what to think of the way Madara’s jaw hung open wordlessly, couldn’t properly make out the nuances of that expression without more light to see by. Maybe if he weren’t standing at such an angle as to throw the other man in shadow- but to step aside now so he could see better would be to admit how bad his eyes really were and that was a weakness he’d never bothered to share even with his own brother. He settled instead for standing his ground until that rounded jaw snapped shut again for Madara to harrumph loudly.

“Fucking- are you serious? This is ridiculous! Where did the other bedroll go?”

“Probably lost in the snow somewhere but I would honestly much rather be sleeping right now than trying to guess at things I may never have an answer to. So. Shove. Over. I will not say it again.”

Ignoring Madara’s voice shouting in his ear was as easy as tuning him out, a feat barely comparable to the task of tuning out Hashirama in the middle of high drama. Tobirama untied his armor and set it all aside carefully. By the time he turned back he noticed that, although the screaming hadn’t so much as paused, Madara had gone ahead and moved over a few inches anyway. He did give vent to a few choked noises when Tobirama slid in under the covers with him but it wasn’t difficult to parse out why. Tobirama was still up on one elbow when he paused to examine their situation.

Which way was he supposed to face? They would both be warmer if he faced inwards and curled himself around Madara’s back but such a position felt much too intimate. Facing away from each other would be blessedly less intimate but there wasn’t exactly a whole lot of space on the mat beneath them and it would take only a single shift for one of them to roll away from the other, taking all the blankets with them. Sleeping on his back was generally the way he preferred but, again, space was the main issue. He would have to lay half on the snow to do that.

“Just...just pick something and go to sleep,” Madara grumbled.

“Eager to cuddle?” Tobirama snapped at him, a response born more of habit than any particular ire.

“Fuck off!”

Just for that Tobirama slumped down on to his right side and made sure to curl in as close as possible, grinning viciously to himself as the other man stiffened noticeably. He himself was far from immune to the awkwardness but petty spite had always driven him faster than any care for his own comfort. If Madara hated this then he would lie here awake all night before he rolled over to make them both comfortable.

It would have been nice, he admitted silently after several minutes, having enough mercy in his soul to relent and just roll over. Tomorrow promised to be an absolute bastard of a day, not least because the task of digging them out of this place would undoubtedly fall mostly on his own shoulders. He definitely could use some rest before tackling that. Instead he lay there with eyes wide open staring at the back of Madara’s head and wondering what reactions he might get if he pulled on some of that bristling hair. Almost as though the man could hear his thoughts Madara curled in to himself a little tighter. The movement was an innocent one. The way it pushed Madara’s rump in to the cradle of Tobirama’s hips was most decidedly not an innocent result even if it was obviously unintentional.

“Nnngg!?”

“Very intelligent,” Tobirama breathed, not wanting to speak louder for fear the sudden rush of want running through him might be heard in his voice.

“That wasn’t- I didn’t- fuck off, Senju!”

“I will have you know that it is taking all of my energy not to instinctually respond with an implication you would rather I fuck you instead.”

Madara’s screech could probably be heard through the several feet of snow blocking their cave entrance. “It doesn’t count if you still say it you idiot!”

Yet for all the screaming protests he went on to ring both of their ears with, Madara’s reaction notably lacked one thing. He never once tried to move away. Oh he waved the arm he wasn’t lying on and jawed until Tobirama began to wonder if he wasn’t wearing down the bones of his own skull from overuse but not once did he so much as tilt his hips in to a different position.

Such telling body language gave Tobirama all the clues he needed to figure out exactly what he’d missed in their earlier conversation. It was possible these types of clues were something he’d been missing in all of their past interactions, body language he never noticed simply because he tried to look at the other man as little as possible. To his shame such a habit had been built entirely on the premise that Madara hated it when people didn’t pay attention to him. From now on he promised himself he would pay closer attention - even if he might not let Madara see such efforts. Just because he was begrudgingly interested didn’t mean he was willing to set that spite down just yet. Some habits took longer to break than others.

And some would never fade but maybe that was more of a personal failing than anything else.

“White flag.” The words were out and hanging in the air before Tobirama even realized his mouth had decided to speak before his brain had a proper sentence ready. In front of him Madara stiffened impossibly further.

“The hell are you on about?”

“I...am waving a white flag. We both need rest. This is, ah, comfortable enough. Let’s just put any further arguments or conversations on hold until tomorrow and go to sleep.”

Madara seemed to chew that over for a moment until he asked very quietly, “Like this?”

“I am comfortable if you are.”

He half expected to have the man roll over and deck him in the face for such presumptions. When the silence began to stretch he wondered if he was meant to take it as agreement until he heard very quiet words drift back to caress his ears, a softer sound than he had ever heard from this man in his life.

“Your arms’ll go numb sleeping like that. Might as well...might as well stretch them out.”

“Ah. I didn’t presume-”

Tobirama cleared his throat before very carefully shifting back to make room for where both of his arms were folded tightly against Madara’s back. When he stretched one out neither of them said anything about Madara lifting his head to make room for it beneath the pillow they shared. And when he stretched the other out with very delicate movements they both remained utterly silent as he laid it gently across Madara’s waist.

It was the subtle relaxing of all the muscles pressed up against his front that finally made everything click. Oh but he was a blind man. A very blind man with terrible vision to boot. If anyone asked he was going to blame every misunderstanding on the man in his arms with zero shame.

Tomorrow they would wake to fight their way past the snow and put in at least a token effort to find their wayward client. Somewhere along the way they would search for the supplies that got lost in the shuffle. But as he closed his eyes Tobirama smiled to realize neither one of them was likely to put a whole lot of work in to finding that second bedroll they had lost, not when it seemed their newly discovered bond was something Madara wanted much more than he’d let on before.

#rae writes #madatobi #madara #tobirama #soulmate au #fanfiction #madatobi gift exchange 2021

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redgillan · 5 years ago

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Under Pastel Skies - 2

Sugar daddy!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Modern!AU Bucky doesn’t need anyone, especially not a sugar baby. He isn’t that desperate… but she smiles so sweetly and she’s endearingly awkward, and he’s so lonely. She’s an artist, a painter, the type of person who always puts others before herself. Throwing caution to the wind Bucky offers her a place to live, a place where she can finally paint whatever her heart desires. He doesn’t need much in return; a friend, a muse.

Word Count: 2,024

Warnings: none

A/N: I’m just going to remind you that this sugar daddy fic isn’t about smut. I love smut but it’s not what I’m focusing on here.

Bucky stood under the glass awning in front of the hotel, the neon green light illuminating the path to the automatic doors. He forced his eyes closed and listened to the sound of rain hitting the glass shelter.

It was just after 6:30 in the morning and he had been standing there for over ten minutes, trying to work up the courage to enter the building. He was sweating, trembling, breathing like he’d just run a marathon. Every sound around him seemed amplified; cars honking, people talking or listening to music. It was hell.

He desperately wanted to take a cab ride back to Brooklyn and hide in his apartment. Bucky had a strict routine -get up at six, eat, shave, shower, go for a walk, etc- and he needed it to keep his mind focused and his body healthy. Though lately, his therapist had encouraged him to stray from his routine if he felt like it. And he wanted to, but his body wasn’t cooperating.

Instead he just stood here, stuck between two choices that terrified him. He could go back home and hate himself for taking the ‘easy way out’, or he could take the plunge and enter the building. He had come here on a whim, but now that he was here he felt as if he really needed to see you. He didn’t even know if you were working.

He looked over his shoulder, he could almost see the metaphorical pack of wolves waiting for him. It would be easy to give in and let them take him. He could go back to his old life, his old habits, or he could jump off that metaphorical cliff and hope for the best.

Your chances are infinite. Anything can happen.

“Can I help you, sir?”

Bucky greeted the receptionist with a smile. He asked if he could have breakfast at the hotel restaurant and she agreed before leading him to the Bar Lounge.

The room was large, with row after row of square tables perfectly aligned. There were a few more private seats close to the bar and an oval buffet in the middle of the room. A woman in a dark grey suit scooped a small portion of scrambled eggs onto her plate next to two slices of toasted white bread. She raised her gaze to his and nodded in greeting.

The swing door that led to the kitchen burst open and Bucky turned his attention to the sound. You were carrying a large tank of orange juice to the buffet table, a pen tucked behind your ear and a piece of paper between your lips. There was a slight furrow between your brows as you set the tank on the table.

Your scuffed boots were gone, replaced by black ballet flats. Your pencil skirt rose up as you stretched to reach the highest part of the buffet. Bucky hastily looked away from your bare legs, not wanting to look like a total creep. Once you were done, you smoothed down your skirt and tucked your white shirt into your skirt.

Your hair was brushed away from your face and your lips were painted red, something dark and empowering, and it contrasted beautifully with your strict, uninspiring uniform, which only intended to erase any sense of individuality.

“Hi, how can I h- Hey, I know you,” you said, approaching him. “You’re Bucky.”

He bashfully looked at his shoes. “Yeah, hi.” He cleared his throat and raised his gaze to yours. “I was hoping to run into you. I, uh, I can’t stop thinking about our talk.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I was rude and brusque, and you were incredibly nice. I really feel like an ass.”

You chuckled. “It’s fine. Honestly, I was nervous, too. You should have seen me –I was a complete mess.”

“Could have fooled me,” he replied with a grin. “Though you did say that meeting me was like choosing between a pack of wolves or jumping off a cliff.”

“Gosh!” You facepalmed. “See? A complete mess!” You gestured to the table behind you. “Have you eaten yet? Sit down, it’s on me.” He opened his mouth to protest but you cut him off. “You paid for the taxi. It’s only fair.”

Amused, he shook his head and followed you to the buffet table. Everything looked and smelled delicious. He spotted several glass cereal dispensers filled with frosted flakes, Cap'n Crunch, Lucky Charms and good old Fruit Loops.

“We also have French toasts, pancakes, croissants, turnovers, omelettes, eggs, four different types of bread with margarine, butter, jam, Nutella, or marmalade,” you said without pausing for a breath, “freshly sliced fruits, a variety of yogurts, granola, oatmeal, orange juice, apple juice, Danish pastries, muffins and a great selection of teas.”

“And that’s it?” Bucky asked, his face breaking into a teasing smile. You liked the way his eyes crinkled at the corners right before he smiled.

You pouted your lips while you thought. “Actually no, we also have scrambled eggs –which, frankly, I don’t recommend. They come in a plastic bag and we have to heat them up in the microwave. It’s a little gross. You can try the sausage and bacon though, unless you don’t eat meat.”

“And coffee?” He found your flustered reaction to his teasing absolutely adorable.

“Yes, of course,” you said, biting your bottom lip. “Sorry, I get a little excited sometimes.”

“I understand,” he nodded. “That’s a pretty great buffet, though I’ll stay clear of the scrambled eggs.”

You took a few steps toward the kitchen and turned back to him, a little apologetic cringe on your face. “Um, how do you take your coffee? Expresso, Americano, latte, cappuccino, macchiato, mocha, ristretto-” you paused to take a breath “-or iced coffee?”

A laugh bubbled out of him. He couldn’t help it, you were just too endearing. “Black,” he said, grinning. “I know I’m boring.”

“Oh, no! You’re not boring,” you rushed to say, then realized what he was doing. “Ugh, you’re messing with me, aren’t you?”

“A little.” His nose scrunched up as he said it.

You went to the kitchen to make his cup of coffee and Bucky began to browse the length of the buffet table. Scooping food onto his plate with only one hand proved more challenging than he expected, and he was glad that the lounge was mostly empty.

He could feel the lady in the grey suit’s eyes on him as he moved around. He set his plate on the bar, removed the glass lid, scooped up two hefty pancakes and stacked them on his plate. They looked pretty fluffy, it wouldn’t be hard to cut them with the edge of a fork. Then he replaced the lid and moved his plate closer to the maple syrup bottle.

He glanced at the woman who hastily looked away as if she hadn’t been staring at him the whole time. Annoyed, he kept looking at her while he poured maple syrup over his pancakes. He hated when people stared at him as if he were a freak. He narrowed his eyes menacingly and grinned to himself when she started fidgeting in her seat.

“You must really love maple syrup.”

Bucky paused at the sound of your voice, his features immediately softened. He looked down at his plate and realised he had drowned his pancakes in a gooey river of maple syrup. He must have spaced out during his staring contest with the business woman.

He had a strange look in his eyes, his expression a mix of confusion and anguish. Finally his eyes found yours and you smiled warmly at him, making him fight back a blink. You pried the bottle out of his rigid hand, and he let you take it.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice weak.

You weren’t sure what he was apologizing for but it wasn’t something you were going to analyse right now. “There’s a cup of coffee waiting for you. Best cup in Manhattan.”

He laughed, the crinkles were back. “You’re an angel.”

Bucky returned to his table and loaded his coffee with three teaspoons of sugar before he took a sip. He had always preferred sweet to savoury, and coffee was way too bitter for him.

There wasn’t much to do in the lounge. The television was behind him, the sound kept to a minimum. The lady in the grey suit left soon after and Bucky watched you clean her table.

You moved back and forth between the main room and the kitchen, going about your work and occasionally shooting him a smile. The food was good, not spectacular, but still better than his usual breakfast –two slices of toasted white bread with butter and a cup of coffee.

“Do you need anything else?” you asked, standing next to his table.

“Company?” he said with a hopeful look. “Please.”

You offered him a pained grimace when he gestured at the seat across from him. “I’m not allowed to sit. Sorry.”

It was hard to resist his puppy dog eyes but you needed to keep your job if you wanted to be able to afford your own place.

“Do you like working here?”

“It’s okay,” you shrugged. “I’m glad I have a job.”

“Sam mentioned you’re an artist.”

You shyly looked around you, you were the only two people in the room now. “I haven’t painted since I got this job,” you revealed. “I’m pretty sure my artist membership card has been cancelled.”

“Nope, those are for life.”

You laughed. “I hope so.”

You looked at each other before he asked, “Do you have any pictures of your work?”

You were genuinely surprised that someone wanted to see your work. Usually people offered a half-hearted ‘oh, that nice. I paint, too, occasionally” and changed the subject. You patted your pockets, searching for your phone, and groaned when you remembered that it was in your locker.

“I don’t have my phone with me but wait-” You took a napkin from the table and started writing. “This is my Instagram. I do a bit of everything, mostly landscapes and portraits.”

Bucky took the piece of paper and, before he could comment, a family of four walked into the lounge area. You apologized to him and walked over to the family, greeting them with a smile and asking them if they had a good night’s sleep.

The children looked like walking zombies until they spotted the cereal bar, and then chaos ensued. More people went down to breakfast and you didn’t have time to chat with him anymore.

He stayed a little longer, watching you help the kids pour cereal and milk into their bowls. A man who didn’t speak English very well asked you a question and you froze, trying to make him understand since you didn’t speak his language. Bucky smiled when you mimed the answer. The man laughed and gave you a thumb’s up.

There was something about you, something soft and caring, that made people at ease. Even when people started complaining that the platter of scrambled eggs was empty, you defused the situation so smoothly that they left with a smile on their face. It was the kind of person you were, kind-hearted and willing to help.

An angel.

When you looked in his direction again, Bucky was gone. You felt a pang of disappointment that he hadn’t said goodbye, but you had been so busy that even if he had been trying to get your attention, chances are you wouldn’t have noticed him.

Pouting exaggeratedly to yourself, you went to his table with your tray and a clean rag to collect the dirty dishes. You moved the unfolded napkin and what you saw underneath made you stop. You blinked, once, twice, three times, certain that you were hallucinating. You scooped up the bills and counted them.

$300

Your eyes were the size of saucers as you ran back to the lobby. You checked outside for Bucky but he was gone. You stood there, under the glass awning, with a bewildered look on your face, still clutching the bills.

Part 3

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #marvel #bucky barnes x reader #marvel imagine #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel imagines #bucky barnes imagine #redgillan #redgillanwrites

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writtenonreceipts · 4 years ago

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Square One

Of all the tropes I love the most in fanfiction, single parent au’s are at the top but they are few and far between. I took matters into my own hands here. IDK how many chapters this will be to be perfectly honest. IDK how consistent I’ll be on updates, so prompts are always welcome for this fic or just in general too. Enjoy. Based on characters from the Throne of Glass Series

An Elorcan fic

Warnings: None

A warm breeze billowed around Lorcan Salvaterre as he got out of his weary old truck. The door creaked loudly as he slammed it shut and moved through the parking lot of Riftfold Elementary School.

As he popped the collar of his jacket, Lorcan muttered a curse. The last thing he wanted to deal with was picking up his son early from school. It wasn’t that Lorcan didn’t love his son and was eager to see him. But the circumstances were less than ideal.

Running a hand through his hair, Lorcan entered the front office of the school to find his son slumped down low in a chair. His son was distinctly looking away from everyone. Especially the girl beside him. At six years old, his son had too much attitude for his own good and Lorcan wasn’t sure how he was going to handle it. Tavish, unfortunately, was more like him than Lorcan wanted to admit. He had the same black hair, same broody temperament, same penchant to get into trouble.

Really, Lorcan shouldn’t have been surprised his son had ended up in the principal’s office in just the second week of school. It was a miracle that Tavish had made it this long.

It was of course Lorcan's fault too. He didn’t know how to be a father and it showed.

Principle Havilliard, who had to be at least three years younger than Lorcan stepped from his office. He was dressed in a blue button up and slacks looking far more pleased about the day than anyone should.

“Lorcan, thanks for making it so quick,” Dorian said. He extended a hand, which Lorcan shook hesitantly. The two were barely acquaintances and if Lorcan was being honest was fine with that. “We’re still waiting for Marion’s mom.”

Lorcan glanced at the girl and froze. Another curse rose on his lips. He knew exactly who the girl was and who her mother was. Marion had her mother's large brown eyes and thick dark hair and pale skin. Despite the serious expression in her eyes she seemed like a sweet girl. As far as Lorcan could remember, Tavish hadn’t had any issues with her before.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” a woman burst into the office. She was small, her dark hair swept into a messy bun. She still wore a black apron slung on her hips, a myriad of pens and straws sticking out from the pockets.

“Hey Elide,” Dorian greeted.

She shook his hand and offered another apology before her eyes landed on Lorcan.

Elide Lochan was an enigma. She was smart and capable with a silver tongue of fire. And yet, Lorcan never knew for sure what she was thinking. He didn’t really know how she ended up barreling into his life but he did know neither of them were comfortable with the other.

At least she managed a slight smile in his direction before she glanced anxiously to her daughter. Marion quickly became invested in her shoes. Lorcan felt his gut drop when he got a good look at the woman and he realized that he knew who she was.

“What happened?” Elide asked. She only spared a brief look to Lorcan before turning away. It was easy to see the discomfort in her eyes. Not unexpected. Lorcan was nearly six-foot-seven, built to play football and had plenty of scars from a rough childhood. He wasn’t the kindest looking man.

Dorian sighed and stuffed his hands in his back pockets. “Marion? Would you like to start?”

“She’ll tell it wrong!” Tavish exclaimed. He finally unwound himself from his seat and sat up. His hair fell in his eyes but he hastily brushed it away. “It wasn’t my fault.”

Marion shrank back into her seat, finally looking at her mother.

“Tavish,” Lorcan warned, “Principal Havilliard asked Marion to speak.”

His son sighed far too loudly and flung himself backward into the chair.

“It’s okay, baby,” Elide said softly as she knelt next to her daughter's chair and patted her knee gently. "Tell me what happened."

Lorcan watched the girl sit forward in her chair, instinctively leaning towards her mother.

"They took my stuffed animal," Marion said.

It was then that noticed the small plush dog clutched beneath Marion's arm. Elide let out a long breath.

"And?"

"They threw it in the mud." Tears began running down Marion's cheeks. "I asked them not to, I used my words like you said."

"I know baby," Elise whispered. Lorcan could see the sorrow and pain flash across the young mother's face. He'd never officially met Elide Lochan before. Only once and Lorcan had made himself look like a bigger ass than usual.

"Tavish told them not to," Marion added. "But they didn't listen."

Tavish sat up a little straighter at Marion's admission, slight pride on his face.

"They were being really mean," the boy said. "And we're not supposed to be mean. Even though you brought a stuffed animal to school."

"It was for show and tell!"

"You're supposed to bring something cool like a rock or a worm."

Marion made a face and shook her head rapidly. “Ew.”

While Tavish threw his hands up in an exasperated sort of way, Lorcan noticed the small smile flash on Elide’s face as she stood. She was young, younger than Lorcan had initially realized, but that didn’t seem to change the hard resolve she held on to.

“So, what’s the plan Dorian?” Elide asked. “It doesn’t seem like they actually have a problem with each other.”

Lorcan tried not to react to the casual way Elide spoke the principal's name. Of course she knew him. If Elide Lochan was friends with the same people Lorcan knew--she would know Dorian.

“Right,” Dorian said, clearing his throat. “Let's go into my office for this. Candice can watch the kids for a minute.”

The receptionist gave a little wave from behind her desk and brandished a few coloring books and crayons. This wasn’t good.

Lorcan glanced at Tavish who did not seem pleased with the arrangement. But the only other option was to take his kid and run. Which admittedly would not reflect well on him.

It seemed Elide held the same reservations as she wound her fingers together. She ultimately agreed with a nod and untied the apron from her waist and folded it the best she could while following Dorian into his office.

Once the door was shut and they were all settled in their seats, Dorian spoke.

“I don’t really know how to say this,” the young man said leaning forward slightly, “but from what Mrs. Talon has said both Marion and Tavish struggle with making friends.”

Lorcan was glad he wasn’t the only one who winced. Beside him, Elide pursed her lips as she stared at the principal.

“They would both benefit from having someone to talk to in and outside of class,” Dorian continued, “and I think they could potentially get along pretty well.”

“Really?” Elide asked. She crinkled her nose and jutted her thumb at Lorcan. “Because I hate him.”

“You know the fourth of July thing wasn’t my fault,” Lorcan said with a glare.

“Oh do I?”

“Please Lochan.”

“You’re just mad because the girls soccer team kicked ass this summer.”

“If I remember correctly, you did a lot of heavy flirting with the refs all summer long.”

Her dark brown eyes bore into him with enough intensity that Lorcan was sure he would combust.

“Seriously?” Dorian asked. He had a slightly bemused expression on his face as he glanced between the two of them. “Maybe I should assign the two of you as buddies for the school year.”

“No.” Lorcan and Elide said at the same time.

Dorian grinned. “Fine. But I do think you two should make an effort in seeing if Tavish and Marion can be friends. It might make them do better in class and stay out of trouble.”

Lorcan loosed a breath. He wanted what was best for his son. He also knew that his son, like him, struggled with basic human interaction sometimes. And if this would help Tavish bridge gaps in how he interacted with other kids--well it was something Lorcan would see to.

“We can try,” Elide said finally. She ran a hand through her ponytail, trying to keep the loose tendrils under control.

“Sure,” Lorcan said.

Dorian nodded. “Good. Let me know how it goes. If it’s an utter disaster, I know Mrs. Talon will let me know and we can try something else for them.”

Lorcan decided then and there the arrangement would only last a week.

Of all the humans Elide had to deal with she would have rather it be someone other than Lorcan Salvaterre.

As she left Dorian’s office, her stomach cramped with unease panic. Marion was struggling more than she’d realized. Why had she brought her favorite stuffed animal to school? Usually Marion was more cautious than that. The girl was absolutely obsessed with the thing and would never want anything to happen to it.

“Momma?” Marion chirped.

Pulled from her thoughts, Elide looked to her daughter. The girl was already standing with her backpack ready to go.

“Is it time to go?”

Elide wiped the worry from her face and nodded. “Of course, baby.”

Still stretched out on the floor, Tavish scribbled all over his piece of paper with a black crayon. He did so with such fury that it was a miracle he didn’t rip a hole in the paper.

“Black’s his favorite color,” Marion said. She tilted her head to the side and puckered her mouth. “I dunno why.”

“It’s a blackhole!” Tavish yelled. He very carefully ripped his black picture from the coloring book and held it up. “It eats everything! Like a vacuum.”

Elide was surprised when Marion let out a giggle and shook her head softly. Oh dear. The two of them were going to become friends and then Elide was going to have to deal with Lorcan Salvaterre for the rest of her life. Oh hell.

It wasn’t until they were out in the parking lot that Elide turned to Lorcan.

It had been a few weeks since she’d seen him. Not since the last game of the little league soccer tournament. And of course her girl’s had kicked ass. But being so near Lorcan again was unsettling. Mostly because she never knew what he was thinking. He was impossible to read, to know.

“I’m taking Marion to the park on Saturday,” Elide said reluctantly, “to kick a ball around, have some fun.”

Lorcan raised a brow. “Not working?”

Sighing, Elide shook her head. She tried not to let the comment bother her. It was common knowledge to anyone who knew her, even briefly, that she worked multiple jobs. She didn’t have a choice, really. But it was not something she liked talking about.

“No,” she said lightly. “Not this weekend. You and Tavish are welcome to join us.”

She watched as Lorcan ran a hand over his stubbled chin.

“You really want to go along with this?” he asked.

“If it means helping my daughter, yes.”

“You hate me,” Lorcan reminded her.

Elide cracked a smile while Tavish and Marion examined rocks piled at the edge of the parking lot. She had the sense that he was teasing her because for all of Lorcan Salvaterre’s bravado--it was obvious he cared for his son and would walk through fire for the boy.

“And you hate me,” Elide said. She called out for Marion while turning to her beat up car that could possibly break down at any moment. “At least we have something in common.”

Marion ran over and tossed her bag into the car before settling in her seat. Elide offered a brief, pained, smile to Lorcan before getting in the car herself.

She was able to hold herself together until she pulled out of the lot and onto the main street. It was then that she let a tear leak from her eye. Breathing heavily, she brushed her cheek. There was no reason for her to be upset. Marion wasn’t really in trouble at school. Work was fine with letting her leave her shift early. Salvaterre hadn’t been a complete ass.

There was no reason for her to be upset.

“Momma?”

Elide looked at her daughter through the rearview mirror. “Yeah baby?”

“I’m sorry I got in trouble.”

“No baby, you did nothing wrong,” Elide assured her.

“Then why did you come?” Marion asked. She was taking care to pick off dried mud from the stuffed animal, her little fingers making very little progress.

“Principal Havilliard just wanted me there, to make sure you were okay.” Elide wiped another tear from her cheek.

There was no reason for her to be upset.

“Mommy, why are you crying?”

Elide bit down on her lower lip and did her best to laugh. “I just missed you today, that’s all.”

Marion made a small noise before speaking again. “Can we go to Auntie Manon’s? I wanna see the puppy.”

“I’m sure you do,” Elide chuckled. Her best friend had adopted a new dog and puppy was not an accurate description for the creature. Putting on her best smile and cheery voice she glanced back at her daughter. “Let’s go see that puppy then.”

Again, I’m not sure where this is going, but felt the need to write elorcan and a single parent au, haha...thanks for reading! My ask box is always open for this fic or any other too.

tags: @tottenhamboys20 @morganofthewildfire @aelinchocolatelover @more-espresso-less-depresso-xx

#elorcan #elide lochan #lorcan salvaterre #elorcan au #throne of glass fanfiction #the fanfic no one asked for continues #the fanfic no one asked for #single parent au #throne of glass #queen of shadows #square one

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qvid-pro-qvo · 4 years ago

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Hello sweetie. May I have 7) “I dreamt about you last night.”, 14) “Can I have this dance?”, “I couldn’t live without you.” and “I’m yours, in every way possible.” with Sonny Carisi (I'm heads over heels for that man) with female reader, please. Thanks :) - @reading--mermaid

for @reading--mermaid. sonny carisi x female!reader.

word count: 2240

rating: e for everyone, because a wedding brings everyone together, for better or for worse, but in this case definitely for the better (pretty much fluff! tw: mentions of alcohol.)

For the moment, you remember why you wish you could be an only child.

“You’re bringing your boyfriend. No ifs, ands, or buts about it.”

“You know, when I dreamt about you last night, I completely forgot about the part where you’re absolutely insane,” you comment mildly. Your hand reaches for your glass, and Jane just sighs. “Guess it just slipped my mind.”

“Uh-huh. So he’s coming, then?”

Your sister is glaring at you from across the table, but you don’t look at her, focusing instead on the brunch menu.

“Seems like I might try the scallops today,” you hum, and she just rolls her eyes.

“You’re allergic to seafood, dumbass, and you’re bringing your boyfriend.”

“No, I’m not, Jane.” Your voice is firm, and when she narrows her eyes at you, it’s your turn to give the dramatic roll. “Look. I don’t want to bring him. Barb’s my friend, and I love her, and I’m excited for her, but that wedding is going to be shitshow. The last thing I want is to scare him off because dear old Uncle Phil decides to get too rowdy and Aunt Julia decides to drink two bottles of wine instead of one at the reception.”

“That’s just how weddings work,” Jane counters, and when you open your mouth again to argue, she raises her hand. “It’s a shitshow, but it’s sweet. You’re a bridesmaid, sweetheart. And unless you want one of the bridal party trying to flirt with you all night, your boyfriend is the perfect protection. Plus, I want to meet him!”

With a sigh, you lift up your hand to tie your hair back, your scrunchie forcing the mess into a bun. “You’ve met him,” you say, with no lack of petulance, but Jane just sighs.

“Once. For like, ten minutes, in passing. You’re both always busy, and not only that, but I know Mom and Dad wouldn’t mind meeting the guy that you’re basically swooning over every time you talk to them on the phone. How long’s it been that you’ve been gushing about him? A year?”

That makes your brows raise, and Jane can surely see them even over the menu. “They’re coming, then? For sure?”

“For sure. Uncle Phil paid for their flight. Said he wanted the whole family there, and that means every brother they can manage.” There’s a moment of silence as Jane glances around. The waiter still hasn’t come for your order, and so she busies herself with a drink of water before speaking again, letting you ruminate on the fact. “Just. Think about it. Please? For me?”

So, you do. You think. And while the prospect of Sonny meeting your… eclectic family is terrifying; you can’t help but think that he’s… well. He’s Sonny. And when you think about him meeting your parents, finally…

With a sigh, you put down the menu, interlock your fingers, and when you look up, your sister is flashing her puppy eyes at you.

“Fine. Fine! I’ll ask. And if he’s not busy, which he always is, I’ll bring him,” you relent, just to get her to stop looking at you like that. There are practically tears in her eyes. Immediately she breaks out into a grin, a little cackle added on. “But you owe me the name of your firstborn. I don’t care what David says, sister’s honor.”

“No shit,” Jane returns. You shake on it, making you chuckle. “Easiest deal I’ve ever made.”

Sonny says yes. Immediately. No hesitation. It’s a testament to how fantastic he is that when you bring it up over takeout that night, he seems absolutely delighted at the prospect.

Of course, you try to warn him.

“You might not be available the day of,” you point out.

His response is easy as he takes off his jacket, drapes it over the back of your couch. “If you give me the date, I’ll take time off right now. Liv’ll be fine with it, you know that.”

“My parents will be there,” you warn, and while the moment gives him pause, he ends it with a smile.

“Good.”

Good. Good. To meeting the parents? You want to poke him, see if he’s an alien or something, but he’s still smiling and all you really can do is kiss him for it.

“You know, all of my family is a pain in the ass,” you state bluntly, a last ditch effort. He snorts, and you reach to stab him with your plastic fork, the takeout he brought home not yet opened up and dug into. “I’m serious! It’ll be a mess, okay, and if I can spare you that –“

He just chuckles, reaching to pull you into his embrace. You melt into it – by this point his button down is off, leaving just his undershirt. He smells like home, and you can’t help but sink into the feeling. “Sweetheart, that’s family. Trust me, all right? You’ve met my sisters, you’ve met my parents. It’s about time that I return the favor.”

When he kisses your temple, you’re realizing with a twist of your lips that he’s unfortunately pretty damn great.

“You know, you won’t be able to really talk to me until the first dances,” you tell him, just for shits and giggles, and that earns you another kiss, this one on your cheek, your neck, your jaw, behind your ear.

“But I’ll be able to see you.”

So, it’s done. The car is rented, the hotel is booked, and when the weekend of comes around, and the two of you hop into your car and make the three-hour ride up.

Of course, the wedding is about as much of a pain as you expected it to be.

It should be noted that you love being there for your cousin, and she looks absolutely stunning her gown. It’s not the gown, or your own dress (which is plain and deep burgundy, styled perfectly with a matching lip). It’s not the ceremony, which makes you tear up, as her and her wife seal the deal with a kiss that you hoot and holler at. It’s not the food or the drinks or the venue or anything else that came together for Barb’s perfect day.

It’s the family.

Aunt Julia goes just as hard as you expect her to. Uncle Phil’s jokes are crude, but… inevitably get a laugh from one side of the family or the other. Your nieces are chaos incarnate, and half your time as bridesmaid is spent wrangling the dog that was made the ring bearer, your bathrobe getting caught on every doorhandle in the place. By the time the reception comes around, you’re exhausted and close to tipping over, navigating the intricacies of a big family with poise and grace you’re sure God probably gave you just for that day or something.

It’s a mess.

It’s your mess.

And Sonny, that day? Well. Sonny… is Sonny.

Sonny helps you catch the dog the first time it escapes (and the second time, and the third time). Sonny, due to some last-minute stomach bug, ends up helping out as usher, and makes every single family member he escorts to their row and aisle and seat smile. Sonny, at his place at the table where your parents sit, spends the whole night chatting them up, and you and your sister at the table with the bride and groom, can only watch from a distance.

“He’s crushing it,” Jane tells you. David’s sitting there, too, and he’s also enraptured with your boyfriend. The weariness of the day starts to wear off, and now that the pictures are done the drink in front of you is white wine and your belly is full. “Don’t look now, but I think Dad’s writing the invitations for Thanksgiving.”

There’s a pride that fills you, then. It’s been coming the whole day, but in that moment, you feel like you’re about to burst. You’re grinning, and when he glances over to where you are, well.

“You know what? Let him,” you say, and your eyes don’t leave Sonny as he winks and goes back to his story. “He really is crushing it.”

Soon the meal is done. There’s cake, and laughter, and you watch as Barb shoves her piece into Meredith’s face with unbridled glee. At that point you look around for your boyfriend, but he’s nowhere to be found. Neither are your parents for that matter, and you’re sliding out of your heels so you can troll around, eating cake, looking around for them.

Eventually, though, they come back. It’s in the middle of the first dance when you feel the familiar presence behind you, and his hands move to wrap around your waist as you watch the brides sway together, the rest of their lives ahead of them.

“Just in time,” you tease. “I thought I’d have to go solo out there.”

He turns you, so your vision of the brides is now full of him. You haven’t got to linger on it yet, but right here and now, he looks stunning. While the men in the bridal parties have black suits, Sonny’s is a beautiful navy, with a pocket square that matches the color of your dress (you’re almost ninety percent sure it’s from that lawyer he knows, but you don’t bring it up, kind of hoping he’ll keep the full ensemble). “And keep the world from seeing my awesome dance moves? No way.”

You giggle. The wine, the meal, the end of the day approaching. You’re loose, and he’s smiling, which makes you grin. “Saw you dodging the chocolatey fingers of my nieces and baby cousins,” you point out, and his eyes widen for a second before he glances around, peeks over your shoulder.

“Yeah, just, uh, don’t tell ‘em where I am. I think it’s part of their game to see who gets the most fingerprints on me by the end of the night.”

The DJ announces the end of the first dance, welcoming the bridal parties onto the floor. Sonny lights up at this, and offers his hand to you. “Can I have this dance, beautiful?”

Your smile softens, just a tad. “I thought you’d never ask.”

The music is slow, but not glacial, and Sonny starts it off by holding you proper. Soon enough, though, you’re moving into each other, and your head is resting on his shoulder, the slow sway of the brides what you’re mimicking. It’s gentle, and sweet, and for the moment you allow yourself to close your eyes.

Everything else slips away. All that’s left is the music and Sonny against you. Your dress brushes against your feet, still bare and cold against the dance floor, but nothing can bring you out of this ecstasy.

His voice is low against your ear, almost raspy as the song fades into something new, and the DJ announces the rest of the group can join with their significant others. “You know, I had a good time with your parents,” he murmurs, and you laugh lazily against him.

“I noticed. Be careful, I think my mom was thinking of kidnapping you so you can tell her all the Carisi family recipes.”

“Now those are top secret,” he informs you, seriousness in his tone, and when you pull back to look at him there’s mirth, even with his little pout.

“Obviously. I’ll distract, and you’ll hit the road.”

He laughs now, and it’s easy. It’s like breathing, the two of you. “Right. Well. We did talk about other things, while I was ensuring the safety of my family’s legacy.”

That peaks your interest, and you raise a manicured brow. “Like what?”

For a moment, he pauses. He’s caught, looking at you, under the lights, and for a moment you think he’s not going to say anything at all. But then he leans in, presses your foreheads together, and the world stops.

“I told ‘em… I told ‘em I’m yours, in every way possible. I told ‘em how I couldn’t live without you, and I told ‘em how I don’t want to.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and when you blink a couple of tears fall. “Sonny…”

“I told them, how one day, I’m gonna propose, and I’m gonna ask you to marry me. And I told them, how I really, really, hope you say yes.” His voice is definitely raw, now, and your swallow is tight. “You don’t have to say anything right now. Of course not, I’m not proposing now, but. I just… I need you to know how much you mean to me. How much being a part of your family, how much it means to me. And… I hope you want to be a part of mine.”

The slow music ends. The DJ is cheering now, and the crowd is clapping, and soon something more upbeat starts. But you’re stopped, in the middle of the dance floor, and before you can think you’re pulling him into a deep kiss, pressing up into it on your toes.

When you pull back, your mascara is running. But you don’t care. You couldn’t possibly care less. “If you think I’m saying anything but yes, whenever the hell you ask me, Dominick, I –“

He kisses you again. And when the world fades away once more, it’s because the two of you know that your whole lives are ahead of you, too.

#prompt fill #sonny carisi x reader #sonny carisi #dominick carisi jr #female!reader #law and order: svu #my fic #fluff #tw alcohol #mentions of alcohol

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awanderingdeal · 4 years ago

Text

In which Sirius takes back Halloween

My fic for the fabulous fic -o-ween! This is not even remotely scary and is basically a big fluff ball. I hope you enjoy your Halloween as much as Sirius and co!

A big shout out to @ais-for-alex for being my beta for this fic. I did make a couple of changes as I was re-reading this morning (who can resist) so any mistakes are most likely my fault.😂

And finally, a massive thank you to @lumosinlove for lending us these wonderful characters to play with. They really have been a massive part of my lockdown sanity.

Rating: G

CW: Food mentions

“Do you think I should sell this house?” Sirius mused, tapping his long fingers against the rim of his mug.

Remus looked up slowly from his tablet, from which he’d been reading the daily news. “Why would you want to do that?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s just so big, you know,” Sirius shrugged, taking a second to formulate his thoughts into a coherent reply. “I kind of just brought it as an act of rebellion when I got my first pay check. We’re never really here and even when we are, we use what, maybe five of the rooms.” He leaned back in his chair, pushing his hair back off his face. “It just feels so soulless,” he finished, glancing at Remus to gauge his reaction. His boyfriend was as impossible to read as ever, not giving an ounce away until he opened his mouth to speak.

“So, give it soul then.” Remus said, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Like you said we’re never here. But we could be. We can make memories here if you want to,” he smiled gently at the thought. “Maybe, we could start with me officially moving my stuff in here?” he added, biting into a doughnut casually. If Sirius didn’t know Remus better he would have thought that the monumentality of the question had bypassed him.

Sirius wrapped his arms around Remus's waist pulling him close, smiling into his curls at the memory. It had taken place two years ago now and of course, Remus had been right. Sirius couldn’t imagine living anywhere else now. A crunching sound interrupted his thoughts. He shook his head, but didn’t comment on his boyfriend’s breakfast, a leftover toffee apple, knowing from previous experiences that it would only encourage him to make worse choices.

The conversation in his memory had been the reason that he’d first thrown his annual Halloween bonanza, a tradition (if something that had only been done twice could be called a tradition) that was quickly becoming infamous. It was a family affair with all the team bringing their loved ones to enjoy what was quite frankly, an outrageous display of wealth. Each year, Remus and he turned their back garden into a fete with, pumpkin carving, a hay maze, apple bobbing, spooky cupcake decorating and face painting to name but a few things. No expense was spared. But it wasn’t about the money really.

A soft kiss to his jawline pulled him out of his thoughts again. Remus sighed contentedly and leaned into his chest, body warmth radiating between them. Sirius glanced down at the shorter man, giving him a reassuring smile. Remus could always tell when he was in his own head.

“Just thinking about last night,” Sirius hummed, his eyes flickering to the giant corkboard on the wall. It was currently monopolized by the polaroids that had been taken the previous evening. The collection showcased exactly what the party was all about.

It was the photo of Logan, his teeth clenched around an apple, sticky liquid dripping down his chin and eyes glimmering with competition. Next to it, the photo of Katie Dumais hugging a huge, black stuffed dog, almost the same size as her.

“Logan won me a new stuffie!” she had beamed as the photo was taken. Logan, much to Katie’s distain, ruffled her hair and told her, “N’importe quoi pour vous.” Anything for you.

It was the image of a frantic James declaring, “I have lost my child!” Olli and Timmy laughing in the background because they could see a tiny Harry dressed as a pumpkin toddling around behind his father.

It was the one of Talker, for once sitting still, albeit in a chair designed for small children, his eyes closed but his mouth moving. Across from him, Noelle’s expression was fondly exasperated as she tried to finish painting his face. Another photo evidenced that she had been successful; there were two matching skeletons (Thomas and little Xavi) with faces warped by laughter.

It was the collection of photos towards the top of the corkboard. Reg and Leo. Reg and Celeste. Reg and Jules. And his personal favourite, Reg and Remus.

“I love this one,” Sirius said aloud, his fingers reaching out to brush the picture he was referring to. Even now it still baffled him to see his brother interacting with his boyfriend so casually. At this point the two men had their own relationship outside of Sirius, founded on nerdy things that he failed to understand. His heart swelled as he took in the image of the two most important people in his life.

“It’s a great photo,” Remus agreed. He and Regulus had their heads close together, hands waving as they enthusiastically discussed something. Remus had a smug expression on his face, Reg looked disgruntled. The photo captured their personalities fantastically. “I think this is my favourite,” Remus added, pointing out a different polaroid.

This one was taken inside. An entanglement of blankets and sleeping children. Smitty’s youngest, Noah, had started it. He’d crashed around 9pm after an almighty sugar rush, and his father had laid him down in the quiet of the lounge to sleep. Katya Ivanov and Katie Dumais followed soon after. Harry had put up a valiant effort not to join them. In fact, there was a photo a little to the left of Sirius rocking his godson who was fighting his drooping eyelids. Never the less, he ended up in the pile too.

“One day, we will have one of our own to add to that pile,” Remus smiled, giving Sirius a squeeze.

“One day,” Sirius agreed, wiping a thumb across Remus's lips to remove a trace of toffee. "We better go and wake those two up. Marcie will be here soon – she won’t want to clean around them,” Sirius declared, his head inclining towards the lounge. Remus chuckled in response, spinning in Sirius’s arms and taking his hand to lead him to the other room. Sirius allowed himself to be led, picking up the camera from the counter as he passed.

The camera flashed and pushed out a photo with a click. Sirius grinned, shaking the small square whilst it developed. Slowly it revealed two men curled into one another, the taller of the them had his arms wrapped around the smaller. They looked peaceful. Remus tried to wake them up gently, but apparently the small shake to Kuny’s shoulder was enough to startle the pair. A string of Russian – almost certainly profanities – left Kuny’s mouth as he pulled himself away from Nado. Sirius noted the blush that spread over Kuny’s cheeks as he realised how entwined they had been.

“Right boys. I hate to kick you out but my housekeeper will be here soon and she does not need to be subjected to your hungover asses,” Sirius said, although he didn’t sound regretful at all.

Nado grumbled, showing Sirius his middle finger and sweeping his hair back of his face. “Come on Koon, I’ll drop you home.”

Leaving Remus to deal with their two unexpected guests, Sirius wandered back into his kitchen to pin the photo he had just taken with the rest. There wasn’t a lot of room left, but he managed to squeeze it between a photo of Natalie and Kasey holding their carved pumpkins, and a particularly sweet one of the cubs. Finn’s lips were pressed against Leo’s nose, red from the cold. Logan cocooned between them, resting his head on Finn’s chest. Sirius couldn’t help but smile as he realized that none of them were wearing the same sweaters they had arrived in, seemingly having swapped them over the course of the evening.

Remus came back soon enough, shaking his head and huffing out a laugh. Sirius didn't want to know. “They'll be gone soon. We should pick up. Marcie isn't paid enough to deal with…this" Remus said, gesturing towards the chaos of the kitchen. Sirius looked around, a grimace forming on his face before he nodded his agreement. The floor was littered with costume parts, either lost or removed as games were played and alcohol was drunk – devil horns here and iron man’s mask there. There was a stain on the rug where a bowl of perfectly spiced pumpkin soup had been spilt. Toilet paper had managed to make its way into the craziest of places, casualties of the mummy competition. Popcorn crunched under his feet – the impromptu viewing of ‘The Nightmare Before Christmas’ had happened two rooms over - how popcorn had ended up in the kitchen, Sirius did not know.

Despite it all, Sirius would do it all again tomorrow. Growing up, Halloween had been characterized by loneliness and jealousy. His overly religious parents had declared the holiday heinous and banned even mentions of the event. In the supermarket, they snatched offered candy out of his hand and Sirius had listened on wistfully as the other children spoke about their hauls. The memories made him a little sad, but it was okay now, Sirius had reclaimed it – Halloween was his again.

#sweaterweater #coast to coast #fic-o-ween #food mentions #slightly edited 24/02/21

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