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fortheloveoffanfic · 15 days ago

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Letters to Christmas: The Letter

Hozier x fem!reader

Author's note: Defying the logic of mail to bring you this subpar fic.

Fic summary Hozier masterlist

Summary: when Y/n's letter to an old flame ends up in the wrong mail box, Andrew decides to respond to a stranger across the pond.

Warnings: angst

Hey,

I know its been a while and I know I have no right sending this after everything, but its hard to see trees go up and not think about you. You always picked the best ones. I caved last year and got one of those plastic ones, from that department store we always went to. Its tall with frosted tips, and fills up that little space between the window and the fireplace really nicely. And there aren’t any pine needles to get caught in the floorboards, so that’s great too, but it doesn’t smell the same, but I guess a lot of things aren’t the same now. I haven’t decorated it yet, not like it matters, there’s no one but me here to see it and it feels awfully silly to decorate a tree that no one else is gonna see.

How’s the job going? And country living? Hopefully its everything you thought it would be, if there's anyone on this fucked up planet that deserves every shread of happiness that comes their way, its you. You deserve everything you’ve ever wanted. Its funny how I used to know exactly what that was and now…..now we’re practically strangers.

Milo’s gone. I can’t remember if we’ve spoken since it happened, but we should’ve, you were his favorite person. But anyway, he was a happy cat, and it was quiet and easy. He just went to sleep on your chair one night and never woke up, he missed you so much, until the very end.

But enough of that.

If you do reply, send me a picture of an Irish winter, hopefully its prettier than Seattle around this time. Though, it doesn’t take much to be prettier than gray skies and slush on the sidewalk. Tell me about what work’s like, and your life there. Say anything.

I don’t know why I’m writing this, I guess I’m lonely. Or maybe bored, like you said. Maybe I’m looking for something that I only ever had with you – maybe I'll never have it with anyone else.

Love always,

Y/n.

There’s something in-between the penultimate and last paragraphs, but its been scratched off with such vigor that it isn't legible in the slightest. The dark patch of ink almost resembles those redacted documents in movies about rouge spies and wayward government agents and it makes Andrew think that whatever the letter’s author had written there must be so personal that they have no choice but to keep it near and dear. Its a secret that can’t be shared with someone she loves so deeply, so why should she share it with him, a total stranger thousands of miles away from her?

Then it hits him – almost an hour after pouring over this obviously personal letter, scrawled in slanted penmanship that reminds him of his own – these words were never meant for his eyes. He’s a stranger looking in, dragging his thumb along a little bleed in the ink that resembles a tear stain like the intruder he is. Its almost as bad as looking into someone’s window, except this person, whose face he’s never seen and whose voice he may never hear, won’t ever know that he is doing something that borders unspeakable.

Or will she?

Andrew has had the overwhelming urge to pen a response since his first reading of the letter that accidently made its way into his postbox. An accident – it couldn’t have been anything but that. It was addressed to a house one block over; 124 Crescent Avenue – his house is 124 Crenshaw Avenue, so he understands the mistake. Though, when he’d bundled himself up and walked over to Crescent Avenue, the house that the letter should have been delivered to was vacant with a ‘for sale’ sign pitched in the damp grass.

He should have taken it back to the post office, but snow had fallen on his mailbox, and subsequently melted, skewing the name on the front of the envelope so much that he could only make out a couple letters. It would have probably just been stamped with the words 'return to sender’ anyway, so really, he’s doing this person a service by offering them the illusion of receipt.

But that’s just an excuse concocted by prying eyes and a curious mind – and it does not deal with the itch to reply.

There’s just something about the ache welling off the page that resonates with him. Coming off a break-up himself, Andrew understands the sense of hopelessness that gets tangled up in an end. The ‘what if’s and ‘what could I have done?’s. Far too often, he thinks about the things he did that caused the demise of his own relationship;

It had started off as blaming her for not trying hard enough to understand him, but eventually, he’d come to terms with his own, albeit larger, role in the matter. Perhaps he should have tried harder to be someone she could understand.

Most days, Andrew tells himself that he’d do everything in his power to be different if she ever gives him a second – or rather third – chance. Though, he has very little faith in his ability to change. But he does know he’ll do anything to have things go back to the way they were before.

Rereading the bit about Y/n’s store bought tree, Andrew contemplates the amount of time he expends lately, watching his own, undecorated tree and thinking about the woman that used to carefully hang tinsel off the branches and hopes that she’s missing him the way he misses her, if only it would mean that she would allow him some undeserved opportunity for redemption.

Sloane. He was so sure it was going to be her for the rest of his life. They'd been together for so long that he isn't really sure that he quite knows how to do life without her.

The way things were, clearly they weren’t very good so why is he so eager to relive them?

He wonders if the writer of the letter in his hand – Y/n – feels the same way about her nameless person. Does she think about all the things she’d change if she had a second chance? She seems as lonely as he does right now, so perhaps she would.

Andrew wonders what she did to warrant the idea that her letter wouldn’t be welcome. As he does, he runs his thumb over her name at the bottom of the page, and suddenly his imagination is running wild with all sorts of thoughts. He wonders what she’s like, how she sounds and if she’s the sort of person that writes letters often. Maybe it was something special between her and the person she’d been hoping to reach, or maybe its something she just does. Anyhow, he likes it. he’s always wanted someone to write to when he’s away. Most of the people in his life prefer texting, because its faster, and its no easy task to converse via pen and paper when you’re on the road, covering three states in a week.

The rest of the day goes by so listlessly that he can’t help but let his mind stray to the letter over and over. It feels almost comical that he's sparing all this time thinking about words on a page, written by someone he’s never met.

By the time he gets to bed at around one am that night, a good fifteen hours since he first read Y/n’s letter, Andrew is staring at it again. The edges have now been softened by the number of times he'd picked it up and the words "Love always, Y/n" are underlined in his mind like a quiet echo, lingering longer than he liked to admit. He keeps wondering what she’d sound like if he could hear her say it which only serves to make him feel even more like an intruder, a stranger peering into someone else’s heartbreak.

Yet, he can’t shake the pull. It isn’t just her words; its the way they mirror his own thoughts. The hollow ache of losing something—someone—without ever knowing if you could have done better. Her loneliness is so painfully familiar, matching his own.

"She deserves her privacy," he mutters to himself, running his fingers over the previously untouched notebook that he’d brought along to bed. He keeps telling himself he’d only picked up because he’s been meaning to flesh out a couple ideas that have been swirling around over the past week. But the only person he’s lying to is himself, and he’s not doing a very good job of it.

Leaning back against the headboard, he exhaled sharply. "But what if..."

The thought was absurd, but it stuck. What if replying made things better, even if just for her? What if this small act of acknowledgment meant she didn’t have to feel like her words had been sent into the void?

Wouldn’t he like it if someone did it for him? He isn’t quite sure.

Nonetheless, Andrew reaches forward, pulls the notebook onto his lap, and uncaps his pen. The words started slowly, stilted, but they came:

Dear Y/n,

We don’t know each other, and I know I shouldn’t have opened your letter……..

Y/n feels awfully stupid about sending that letter, but what makes her feel even worse is checking her mailbox in the lobby everyday only to find it empty. Its been a week since she sent it off, and she’s almost certain that its reached its destination by now.

Maybe he just doesn’t want to talk to you, a small voice insists. Y/n doesn’t think she has any right to grieve over it, she’s the whole reason their relationship met its ugly demise. It was her selfishness, her stubbornness, her putting her own needs over his. So really, she had absolutely no right to the privilege of his time or attention, but that doesn’t mean she can’t miss him.

Shaking off the memory, she slaps the little, brass door closed, locks it and trudges towards the elevator, defeated. Maybe its time to accept that he is not going to write back – maybe its about time she starts accepting that its over between them. For good, its done; she ruined it. She stomped all over the best thing she’s ever had and there’s no use crying about it now – though, after a couple glasses of wine, she probably will.

For almost ten years, they used to be each other’s everything, doesn’t that mean anything to him anymore?

"Ten years, Y/n. Ten fucking years," he stresses, running worn fingers through his wind touseled hair, "you can write from anywhere in the world. Seattle.....Ireland. Doesn't this - us - mean enough to you for you to give it a try?"

As the dull, metallic doors slide closed, effectively shutting out all the activity in the lobby, Y/n presses the worn button that’ll take her to the seventh floor and just when the elevator starts going up, a familiar Christmas tune comes over the speakers. Pressing her back to the cool reflective wall, she finds herself humming along to it. Even if she isn't in the grandest mood, Ella Fitzgerald’s voice never fails to lighten the weight on her shoulders. For a minute, Y/n shuts her eyes and lets a little fantasy take her;

He’ll write back, say he misses her. In another follow-up letter, she will apologize and ask if there’s still any chance for them. He’ll say yes – in her mind, he always says yes because, sometimes, you can love someone enough to give them a second chance.

In her silly little unmade memory, it all works out somehow. They do the long distance thing for a while, until he’s ready to come home to her.

The ding of the elevator startles Y/n out of thought, and with a jump, she pushes off the wall and awkwardly tugs at her cashmere scarf. “So stupid,” she mutters, shoving the strap of her bag higher up on her shoulder, clad in a heavy, gray long coat. Stepping out into the long hallway, she twists her frame awkwardly to reach into her handbag, rummaging around for her keys.

Y/n is within a few feet of her door, the last one down a hall that houses four other apartments, heeled boots wet with melting snow thumping softly on the long strip of burgundy and gold carpet. “Y/n!” The door right before hers swings open with the sort of enthusiasm that can only be mustered up by her eccentric, and frustratingly nosey, neighbor. “I’ve been waiting for you!”

“Gladis,” Y/n tries to hide her groan under a bubbly smile, “me? Why?” God, please let this be a quick conversation.

“Gosh, I swear, its like I never see you,” the older woman bulldozes right over her earlier question, “I'd never think you lived next door if it wasn’t for all those packages that get dropped off – a little shopping addiction, have we?”

Y/n chuckles wearily, quickly thinking up excuses that would validate an escape from the clutches of small talk with Gladis. “Ha, maybe,” she licks her lips and rubs her thumb along the side of her house key, “you know, i’d love to chat but I have a meeting in…..” pretending to check her watch, she summons a gasp that would make her highschool drama teacher proud, “thirty minutes, so I really should get going.”

“Oh, well, then,” Gladis frowns, “let me just give you this, I think your mail got mixed up in mine,” she explains, handing over a brown envelope littered with stamps on the front. “Coming all the way from Ireland, Peter’s out there, isn’t he?”

The envelope feels heavier than she’d expected. It wasn’t just the weight of the paper; it was the promise of something inside. A response. From Peter? Her heart twisted at the thought, but the handwriting on the front didn’t match his neat, precise script. This was different—messier, almost rushed.

Furrowing her brows, Y/n stares at the address that she’s certain isn’t Peter's. “Huh,” briefly, she glances back up at Gladis, “What? Oh, yeah, he is,” she rattles off, now even more eager to muster up a quick good-bye and be on her way. “Look um, I should go.”

“Oh, of course. Busy busy,” Gladis chuckles softly, then, as Y/n starts walking off, she adds in a tone of pesky judgment, “too busy to even decorate, I see.”

Suppressing the urge to roll her eyes, Y/n slips her key into the lock. Of course, even she can admit how sad and plain her door, lacking a wreath like Gladis’ and her other neighbors, but Y/n just can’t seem to bring herself to decorate. Every time she looks at the boxes she’s pulled out of storage, it makes her a little sad – no Peter to insist on mistletoe in every doorway, or Milo to swat at twinkling lights with his tiny paw. “Yeah,” Y/n licks her lips, “something like that. Take care Gladis,” she manages soberly before slipping inside.

Upon shutting the door, Y/n presses her back to the cool, white-painted oak she gives the brown envelope another long look. She hesitates, her fingers trembling as they finally slide under the flap to tear it open. The crinkle of the paper fills the silence of her apartment as she unfolded the letter, joining the slight shake of her breathing.

Getting it out, the name at the bottom catches her eye first: Andy. Not Peter.

Y/n blinked. Confusion giving way to curiosity as she reads the opening lines.

“We don’t know each other, and I know I shouldn’t have opened your letter...”

A stranger. A stranger had read her words. Her cheeks flushed hot, and she almost crumpled the paper on instinct, shame pooling in her chest. But something stops her. She can’t just do that, not when this stranger has given her time out of his day to offer whatever comfort he can muster up for someone oceans away.

So stumbles out of the foyer and into the living room, dropping herself unceremoniously onto the long sofa as she keeps reading.

Dear Y/n,

We don’t know each other, and I know I shouldn’t have opened your letter but I hope you don’t mind me writing this. I know this is wrong—it wasn’t meant for me, and for that, I’m truly sorry. But I promise you, I tried to do the right thing and take it to its intended address, but the house is empty and up for sale, and the snow has all but ruined the envelope. So here I am, writing to a stranger, hoping I’m not overstepping by responding.

I’m Andy. Well, Andrew. You know, I’m not really sure how to do this.

But your words stayed with me. They remind me of something I’ve lost—or maybe, thrown away. I can’t explain it, but your letter didn’t feel like something I could just set aside. It was raw, honest and that kind of loneliness…….I think understand it. I know what it's like to feel like you’ve screwed everything up. To become a stranger to someone you used to know better than the back of your own hand. Its funny how that happens, how someone can become such a huge part of your life and know everything about you, and you think you know everything about them. And then one day they just…..leave, but you can’t really blame them because its all your fault.

I’m also sorry about your Milo, losing a pet is like losing a piece of your home. But for what its worth, I’m sure he appreciated you being there with him until the end. It's such a simple joy, having someone that stays until the end, not that I would know anything about it. I seem to have a knack for driving people away.

As for your tree, I have to admit that mine’s just as sad. It’s just sitting undecorated in the corner of my living room, looking a bit sorry for itself. I keep telling myself I’ll get around to putting up the lights and ornaments, but it feels strange doing it alone, I used to have someone to help me decorate too. But she’s gone now, and maybe this is my way of avoiding the reminder of what’s missing.

You asked about Irish winters. If I’m being honest, they’re usually pretty gray and the cold kind of seeps into your bones. Wicklow is never short on snow, or rain, so we’re no stranger to slush. And iced-over driveways. But so far, we’ve had a good one this year, no too much rain so the snow stays put – my driveways still frozen, though. Sometimes, at least where I’m from, it gets so quiet, almost like the world’s holding its breath. Its beautiful, its lonely.

I’m not sure why I’m writing this, except that it feels like the right thing to do. I don’t know what you were hoping to find when you sent your letter, but maybe this reply means that neither of us has wasted the effort. If you do write back, I’d like to hear more about your plastic tree—and maybe even see a picture. I’ll send one of mine in return. Let’s make it a contest. May the best tree win.

Take care, Y/n. And thank you for making me feel a little less lonely.

– Andy.

By the time she reaches the end, Y/n’s chest aches in a way that isn’t unpleasant. The tone isn’t mocking or dismissive. Its... kind. Empathetic. This Andy doesn’t know her, but somehow, he understands.

It takes her a handful of minutes to process everything that’s happened; her hope of reconnecting with Peter, this newfound affinity with a man she’s never met. Suddenly, and quite surprisingly, Y/n doesn’t feel the loss so greatly anymore.

Though, the longer Y/n stares at the letter, its neatly folded edges sharp when she drags her fingers along them, the more she starts feeling a tightness in her stomach. The kindness in his tone, the shared loneliness in his admissions, the unexpected warmth that radiated from every line—all of it made her chest ache in ways she couldn’t untangle.

But she can't shake the shame curling in her stomach.

Letting it go, she presses her fingertips to her temples, squeezing her eyes shut. What was I thinking? She hadn’t been thinking, that's the truth. Sending that letter to Peter—an impulse born from desperation and the relentless tug of the holiday season—was foolish enough. But now, knowing a stranger has read her most private thoughts, her rawest emotions? Its borders unbearable.

Her cheeks burn at the memory of her own words, the confessions she’d stupidly spilled without thinking. “Maybe I’m looking for something that I only ever had with you.” How could she have written that? Would she even say that to Peter had they been on the phone, or in the same room? Probably not. And now, Andrew—a stranger—had seen it, read it, felt sorry for her.

She swallows hard, a lump forming in her throat and embarrassment suddenly gives way to anger that boils up and makes her skin hot. “He shouldn’t have opened it,” she mutters to the. “He had no right.” But the protest sounds hollow, even to her own ears. The house was vacant, and the envelope had been damaged by the snow. Andrew’s apology seemed sincere, and his intentions genuine.

But writing back to him feels... wrong. Like a betrayal of something she isn’t ready to let go of. She still loves Peter, these are thoughts meant for him, these feelings belong to him – she can’t just give her innermost thoughts to someone else like that.

Y/n spends so long wrapped up in turmoil that she almost forgets that there were other things besides Andrew’s letter in the envelope, until she goes to move it off her jean-cald lap and two photographs slip out. Drawing in a sharp breath, she collects them off the tweed cushion. The first one is of a backyard she’s never seen before, the pool is covered and there are patches of snow gathered near tall trees with white flecks peppered on the bare bones of ornamental bushes. The yard retreats into what she guesses is the forest, and she wonders what it must be like living so close to wildlife; she’s lived in the city all her life with only a couple vacations to the likes of Aspen and Maine – both with Peter – but seeing that much foliage in person is still foreign to her.

The second picture is of a sparse Christmas tree standing in front of a wide, floor to ceiling window. Its so tall, it almost reaches the high ceilings of what seems like a spacious living room. Her finger traces the outline of the tree, and she thinks back on what he said about not having someone to help him decorate. When Y/n turns it over, there note scrawled on the back and it reads: "Mine’s a little sad too."

Then, for the first time in days, Y/n smiles……and the anger wans.

#hozier #andrew hozier byrne #hozier x reader #hozier x you #hozier x y/n #hozier fanfiction #fanficton #holiday fic #letters to Christmas

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cheeriecherrymain · 1 year ago

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Viktor x Reader (WIP #1 - finished draft)

Pairing: Viktor x fem!Reader Format: bullet-point draft Finished? Not yet, but I need the dopamine lol Rating: 18+ MDNI Content Warnings: accidental aphrodisiacs | mutual pining | incorrect lore/science | allusions to Viktor’s slut era | virgin!Reader | oral (f receiving) | vaginal fingering | (brief) anal fingering (f receiving) | Viktor has a whore mouth and does not shut up | p in v sex | big dick vik lol Summary: Viktor requests your help with something HexTech-related. Your slight-unethical approach to science ends up having...consequences.

---

Pre-Written Segment

The fun thing about working with experimental materials is that you never really know exactly what’s going to happen. You can hypothesize as much as you want, using logic and common sense in an attempt to accurately predict that which is to come. But at the end of the day, when you’re the one discovering new mixtures and compounds, and writing their laws, you’re likely to stumble across surprises.

It’s a weekly occurrence by now: you find something incredibly interesting during your scientific endeavors - like a metal that grows stronger when it’s heated, or a substance that when blended with water, makes it light and fluffy and dry - and you just have to show your best friend.

Every single time you make a discovery, you rush to tell Viktor. You’re fully aware that very little of what you study would ever be useful to him; you’re both scientists in your own right, but your fields are completely different.

And yet, every single time you run pellmell into the lab, with your work clutched tightly in your hands, he humours you. He sighs deeply the second you barge in, but he puts away whatever he was doing and settles in to learn about whatever it is you’ve brought.

He’s resigned about it, you know, but he listens nonetheless.

He slouches back in his chair and leans his cheek on his palm, asking specific questions where they’re appropriate, and otherwise remaining silent while you speak.

Such has been your routine for years now. You know you’re probably a significant annoyance in his life, but you can’t help it - you’re passionate about what you do, and you want to share it with him.

Him. Viktor. The only person who’s ever encouraged you to strive for your goals.

—

Which is why it’s such a shock when he shows up in your lab one afternoon.

Startling your diligent but nervous underlings as he makes his way over to your desk, garnering the attention of the entire room as he stops behind you, clearing his throat when you don’t notice him right away.

You’re certain you look a mess, with your hair sticking out in every direction, and two pairs of goggles balanced carefully on top of each other, lab coat rumpled and your tie folded into a wayward knot around your neck.

“Could you spare a moment of your time?” he wonders, keeping his voice low. “It’s about…”

You watch as he glances over his shoulder, and bite back a snicker when your students suddenly disperse and go back to their studies. Only to pause and peek over again when Viktor’s gaze is back on you.

To their credit, they do try to be subtle in their nosiness - you’ve seen your kids when they’re blatantly asking questions, staring without shame and interrupting you every time they want to know something. That being said, they’re definitely scientists, not spies.

And Viktor knows it, too.

“Perhaps I might explain myself when we’re…less likely to be overheard?” he suggests, once again turning his face to glare over his shoulder. “The matter is confidential, and I’m sure your students are good people, but…”

He sighs softly, and tightens his hand on the grip of his cane.

“Jayce and I have hit an unintentional roadblock, and we can’t proceed until we figure out what’s going on,” he explains. “It’s a little bit out of our area, and though figuring it out would be an entertaining challenge, we don’t have time on our side. Would you come by the lab tonight, if possible?”

You’re surprised that something in their line of work could pertain to your own, but you’ve never been one to resist helping a friend.

“I’ll drop by when my shift is over,” you agree, with a soft smile.

The “I Got Lazy And Decided To Jot Everything Down Instead” Segment

-All this leads to The Reader doing as she’s asked. She still can’t figure out why her help would be needed with a hextech experiment, but she’s not going to pass up the opportunity to spend time with Viktor.

-She arrives at the lab a little later than intended, but only by a couple minutes. The time is inconsequential. She knocks on the door once, before pushing it open and peeking into the room.

R: Viktor? Jayce? Sorry I’m late, I had to help a couple of students with their projects.

-Despite her introduction, nothing is said. There is no movement in the lab, no sound. Even the lights are off, casting the room in a cold and eerie gloom.

-She enters the room, and briefly wonders if perhaps she was TOO late. But then why would the door have been unlocked?

R: Viktor?

-As if on cue, there’s a small clatter as Viktor’s head suddenly shoots off his desk, startling both himself and The Reader. She stares at him with wide eyes, but he only seems perplexed. And dazed. The Reader can’t help but smile.

R: Did you fall asleep?

-He returns her stare for a couple moments, before breaking it to rub at his eyes.

V: It would appear so. Jayce had a prior engagement tonight, and I suppose without his constant chattering, I wasn’t able to keep my head up.

-He looks sheepish.

V: What time is it?

-The Reader shrugs, moving closer.

R: ‘Bout half past eight - not terrible, all things considered. You know, it wouldn’t kill you to lay down every now and again, and get some actual rest. There’s a couch in here for a reason.

-Viktor rolls his eyes at her gentle chastising, though the action isn’t annoyed or malicious. Rather, he seems quite fond of her worrying, despite the fact that such things are usually met with disdain and ignorance.

V: I’m fine, see? Napping at my desk is hardly a bad thing.

-The Reader presses her lips into a thin, disapproving line. She wants to say more, but at the end of the day, the choice is his. She already bothers him enough, with her constant visiting and chatting, and she doesn’t want to give him more reasons to not be around her.

-As if sensing the desire to change the subject, Viktor pipes up.

V: I asked you here for a reason, though.

-He stands, stretches briefly, and leads her over to a small table, upon which a short three-legged stand is set up. Sitting in the crux of its hold is a sphere, about the size of a fist, made out of what appears to be glass.

R: Is…that some kind of jumbo hex crystal?

-Viktor grabs the ball off the stand and inspects it for a couple seconds, then hands it to her.

V: Similar, but no.

-The Reader turns the object over in her hands, studying it closely.

V: It doesn’t generate energy like the crystals are meant to do. Rather, it’s designed to store it, and keep it safe for later use.

-The Reader glances up at him.

R: A battery?

-Viktor nods.

V: Just with a significantly lower decay rate, and less volatility than the traditional hex crystal. If we could implant these into machinery, it would erase the need for fuel, like the original crystals would. It would just be…

R: …less likely to explode?

-He smiles again.

V: Precisely.

-His expression falls slightly, though, as The Reader further inspects the sphere. Rotating it around, and scrutinizing the details, until she finally notices something. Within the orb, a thin sheen of liquid, clear but with the slightest opalescent hue.

R: What’s the stuff on the inside? Does it help store energy?

-Viktor frowns slightly, and sighs.

V: That’s actually why I requested your assistance. When Jayce and I were charging the prototype -the one you’re holding- it…began to fill with gas.

-He takes the orb back.

V: We feared the glass might not hold under the sudden shift in internal pressure, so we stopped the experiment. For now. At least until we can figure out what’s inside, what its purpose is, and how to stop it.

-The Reader nods sagely.

R: And you need my help because…?

-Viktor looks genuinely surprised by her question.

V: You’re adept in chemical science. You study reactions and interactions, and molecular structure. I figured something like this would be easy for you.

-The Reader hums thoughtfully, her mind already going off on its tangents, trying to figure out what the mystery gas-liquid is. She’s never seen something like it, at least not that she remembers.

R: It’s more complicated than you think it is. However, I’ll do my best to help out - so long as you promise not to fuck around with this stuff if I’m not present. I don’t think it’s harmful, but we won’t know until we crack the thing open. And I’ve been wrong before.

-Viktor’s eyes widen at the idea of shattering the orb, but he doesn’t say anything. He knows that the pursuit of knowledge sometimes requires breaking things apart and dissecting them. He eventually nods.

V: I assume you won’t want to open the sphere until you know for certain what’s inside?

-The Reader is surprised now.

R: What? No, I want to crack it tonight. I’m curious. But I do think we should wear gloves. And maybe masks. Goggles too, honestly.

—

-Twenty minutes later, they’re decked out in the best gear they could find. Nothing extraordinary, but hopefully enough to protect them from a little bit of mystery goo.

V: It’s cooled down by now, so disrupting the glass probably won’t be an issue.

-The Reader tosses a towel over the unsuspecting orb anyways, raising a small hammer.

R: It might still be pressurized because of the accumulated fluid. Cover your ears; this won’t be pleasant.

-He does as he’s told for once in his life, and The Reader brings the hammer down.

-As she predicted, the moment the glass cracks, the orb explodes. Not as violently as either of them were preparing for, but certainly very loud. Loud enough that The Reader immediately hisses and drops the hammer, her hands flying to her ears.

-Like some kind of sound grenade, her entire head is left ringing, allowing very little other sound in. Viktor’s attention is on her immediately, neither of them paying attention to the remnants of the sphere. His hands on her shoulders, checking quickly for signs of physical damage.

-His voice is muffled still, but the ringing is thankfully beginning to fade, slowly allowing the world to creep back in.

V: Are you alright? Did any of the debris hit you?

-The concern in his voice is real, his grip on her tight and intense. She’s bordering on hyper-aware of him, though that’s something she deals with frequently. She sighs.

R: I’m okay. The pop took my hearing for a second, but it’s coming back. I…guess we probably should have worn earmuffs too, huh?

-She’s sheepish, and despite their covered faces, they share a goofy grin, which is only obvious based on their body posture. The Reader’s heart is fluttering wildly in her chest now. She’s certain they both look a mess, with all their protective equipment askew, on the brink of laughing wildly.

-Until Viktor pushes the goggles up onto his forehead, and tugs his mask down a little bit. He looks serious all of a sudden, but also looks like he desperately wants to say something. Taking a breath in and opening his mouth.

-Until The Reader stops him abruptly.

R: Do you smell that?

-They both take a deep breath in, curious about the sudden sweet, flowery scent filling the air. They’re distracted for a moment, both of them seemingly growing intoxicated, especially Viktor, who almost seems entranced. Until The Reader gathers her wits, and turns to look at the covered remains of the orb.

-The towel, saturated with an unknown fluid, and a reddish gas pouring forth from it.

R: Shit! Put your mask back up - I think it’s oxidizing.

-She hurries around to grab the glass jar they’d set out earlier, sweeping everything into it with a gloved hand. Even through her mask, she can still smell the deliciously sweet perfume, so delightful that it’s almost making her dizzy.

-But even once the experiment is cleaned up and sealed away, the room is still fogged slightly. She wonders if the gas has changed the temperature, but she doesn’t see how. If anything, the air feels cool on her skin, which has become warm to the touch.

-But she’s worried by the fact that she can still smell whatever chemical was released.

V: Should we crack a window open, perhaps? It’s…a little warm in here.

-She’s relieved that it’s not just her who’s feeling it.

R: We shouldn’t let it spread into the hallway, and we have no idea what might happen if it gets outside.

V: Surely in such a small quantity-

R: It only takes a single bead of mercury to completely destroy a ten tonne aluminum barrel. We don’t know what this stuff is, which means we need to keep it as contained as possible.

-Viktor looks like he wants to argue, but he knows that she’s got a point. He watches silently as she moves over to the backpack she brought, digging out a couple supplies. Little testing kits, by the looks of it, and a fresh notebook.

R: It’ll take more extensive research to figure out what we’re dealing with, more than what I packed. But we should be able to learn a little bit about it, in the meantime.

-She grabs a pen out of her bag as well, and hands the two objects to Viktor. Trying to ignore the electric sensation of their finger brushing for a moment.

R: I’m going to need my hands for this, so do you think you’d be able to take the notes?

-His gaze is trained on where they briefly touched, before snapping up to her face. Dazed, and red on the tips of his ears, he nods.

—

-Over the next half hour, they run their tests. The red mist in the air doesn’t seem to be dissipating or settling, and both of them can smell it clearly. The Reader knows that some of it has gotten through their masks, but her hope is that any harmful properties will be lessened if they’re slightly filtered.

R: Will you read off what we’ve got so far?

V: Should I list ‘lack of focus’ as a side effect?

-The Reader grumbles a little bit.

-They’re both sprawled on the couch now, feverish and sweaty. Both of them have foregone their shoes and outer layers.Viktor’s tie is draped over the arm of the couch, and both of them have their pants and sleeves rolled up as far as they’ll go. Their shirts unbuttoned beyond what is professional, foreheads damp. Protective gear still diligently donned.

V: Fine. Substance: unknown. Oily texture when in liquid form, with the thin consistency of water. Clear in appearance, save for a slight light-reflecting, pearly sheen.

-He tugs at his collar a bit.

V: When the liquid comes into contact with oxygen, or perhaps carbon dioxide, it reacts violently and quickly starts forming a red gas that hangs low in the air. It appears slightly heavier than oxygen, but prolonged exposure suggests it mingles with the particles, rather than consuming or bonding with them. Without external prompting, however, the gas does not naturally disperse and instead remains in a cloud-like formation.

-He turns the page with a shaking hand.

V: In…in liquid form, a particular scent is unable to be discerned, due to it’s volatility with breathable air. The gas, on the other hand, has a strong, sweet smell. Like a confectioners kitchen, or fresh-blooming lilacs. It permeates the room, but is not overpowering to the senses.

-The Reader nods along as he speaks, a little dazed and distracted. The sound of Viktor’s voice is intoxicating to her - he always is, always affecting her in some kind of way. But never like this - never to such a desperate, unhinged extent.

V: While the gas doesn’t immediately appear to be toxic, it does seem to have an effect on the human body. Raising the core temperature by no more than two degrees, it seems to also cause some delay in cognitive function. Perhaps because of the fever, but perhaps because there is another reaction going on in the brain, or the nervous system. Long-term effects are unknown.

-He swallows hard, his throat clicking slightly with how dry it is.

V: The gas…doesn’t appear to…to…

-He pauses a moment, taking a breath.

V: The gas doesn’t appear to have a taste, and the liquid is undetermined. Effects may be different if ingested, rather than inhaled.

-He lets the notebook lay flat on his lap, his head falling back to rest on the couch. Displaying the pale expanse of his throat. The Reader’s heart flutters.

V: Is there anything else you would like to add?

-He sounds breathless.

R: Muh…

-It takes her a second to gather her thoughts.

R: Muscle weakness. And slight tremors. Increased heart rate, and possibly elevated blood pressure.

-He hastily scribbles it down. The Reader tries paying attention to her body, to what’s going on, but it proves fruitless and embarrassing. She’s a scientist, but she still doesn’t want to admit all the ways that she seems to be altered.

-Increased sensitivity to the world around her, the crawling, tight feeling in her lower abdomen - it’s been a while since she’s felt this amount of physical desire, but she recognizes it nonetheless. Lust. Made worse by Viktor’s presence, and her pre-existing feelings for him.

V: You’re distracted again.

-The Reader pops back to attention, and Viktor huffs a laugh, a sound which sends little chills all through her body.

V: I said, is there anything else you can think of?

-The Reader swallows thickly, and despite their mutual face coverings, she feels as though he’s staring right at her.

R: I- um. No. No, not unless you want to add anything.

-He apparently stares at her for a few more seconds, before turning to the notebook to begin writing. Extensively.

-The Reader watches for a moment, before her thoughts and eyes inevitably start wandering. Observing his hands while he works, nimble and dextrous. Trailing up slender forearms, noting all the little dots and freckles.

-Up to his shoulders, surprisingly broad for his lean stature, the sharp edge of his collarbone visible where his shirt is undone. His throat, where she wants to leave countless bruises.

-A new wave of warmth washes over her, then, making it particularly hard to breathe, her chest tight and her throat dry and sticky.

-Suddenly choking on nothing, she fights with her mask for a couple seconds before ripping it off, coughing. Drawing the attention of Viktor. He appears to be startled or concerned by her sudden lack of protective face-wear, but more-so with the fact that she momentarily lost the ability to breathe.

-He reaches towards her out of instinct, but he pauses just before they touch, thinking about his actions before pulling back slightly. As if he couldn’t stand to lay a hand on her.

-Anxiety begins to bubble up. Has he noticed how she’s feeling? Is he put off by it? Angry? Disgusted? He doesn’t say anything, but she can feel his gaze on her. Pensive. Contemplating.

-And then, all at once, The Reader feels dizzy. But not nauseated. Like she’s floating, or embraced in a warm hug. It’s dazzling, and addicting. Is she dying? Is she slowly asphyxiating, after all? What a way to go.

-She briefly notices Viktor making to remove his mask alongside her, but she’s quick to raise a bumbling hand.

R: Keep it on, V.

-He hooks his fingers beneath it.

V: It’s not going to kill us-

R: It’s certainly doing something, though.

-Figuring there’s no sense in hiding it any longer, she yoinks the goggles off her head and sets them on the arm of the couch. She’s utterly faded, and as much is obvious. Her eyes are lidded, and her pupils are blown wide.

-Viktor observes her for a moment, before pulling his own eyewear off, followed by the mask. He flops back into the couch cushions, while the gas takes full effect over him. His breath catches in his throat, before he relaxes fully and goes boneless.

V: Do you…supposed we have mistakenly created a drug?

-The Reader hums halfheartedly.

R: We don’t know the full effects of it yet. For all we know, this is how it kills us.

-He sighs.

V: I have my doubts.

R: I thought I was the expert?

V: You are - I just-

-He sighs again, louder.

V: It’s obviously having an effect on the nervous system - otherwise it wouldn’t feel like this. Every neurotoxin I can think of will kill you in under ten minutes - or at the very least, render you unconscious.

-The Reader swats at him

R: Firstly, there are so many neurotoxins that don’t follow that rule. Secondly, where have you seen this stuff before?

V: I haven’t seen it! I’m just saying - poisons have their limitations, and their rules-

R: Rules are meant to be broken. That’s literally what hextech does.

V: I- you’re not wrong, but-

R: But what? Nothing else created in this lab behaves exactly the way it’s expected to. Why would this be any different?

-Viktor appears to be growing frustrated, agitated, perhaps because of the gas.

V: Hextech still follows the laws of physics-

R: Does it? The hex crystals: a source of perpetual energy, explosive and volatile, yet with no other energetic decay or radiation output?

V: Why do you know so much about physics?!

R: I study chemicals and molecules for a living! I have to know how things behave!

-They’re both riled up at this point, though The Reader can’t really discern why. She feels the same as before - she’s not even upset or angry. She feels good. They’re both sat up straighter, leaning slightly towards each other, like some kind of violent flirtation game.

-They stare at each other for a couple moments, not a word uttered between them. Breathing softly, gauging the other’s reactions and movements. And then, in a split second, Viktor’s hands are on her. Brazenly linking his fingers behind her neck, pulling her closer to mesh their lips together.

CHAPTER TWO (THE PORN CHAPTER)

-It’s hardly even a kiss. Their mouths are open, teeth clicking once or twice, allowing the obscene sensation of tongues sliding together, breath mingling. The Reader gives in immediately, clutching hard at the loose fabric of his open shirt, pulling blindly at it until more buttons pop open.

-She’s positively feverish now, though Viktor hardly seems cool against her, meaning they share a temperature.

-Their lips part for the briefest moment, so Viktor can untuck The Readers shirt and start on the remainder of the clasps. The Reader quickly busies herself with other activities, namely in the form of sucking a dark bruise onto the perfect column of Viktor’s throat.

-A groan rumbles forth, and his hands still for a moment.

-Before he collects himself a little, and continues with his task. Both of them pulling at each other’s clothing, shamelessly groping the flesh and fat hidden beneath.

-All the dizziness from before has changed, morphed into fluttering pulses that travel down every nerve, lit up by each desperate touch, coalescing lower. She still feels elated, high even, especially by the fact that Viktor is actually here with her.

-But rationality is screaming in the back of her mind, beneath all the desperation and desire. Her anxiety, her fear, growing louder and louder. Viktor’s fingers, reaching for the clasp of her bra.

R: Wait.

-He stills immediately, though she can feel the tremble of his body against her own. He peers up at her, pleading, desperate, searching. Waiting.

R: If - if this stuff is acting like an…aphrodisiac…then you’re under its effects.

-Upon hearing her words, he scoffs quietly, and continues with his previous ministrations. Unhooking the clasp with concerning ease.

R: Viktor-

V: If I am under some kind of spell, then certainly you are, too. And yet you only worry about my state of mind?

-The Reader backs away slightly, shame and embarrassment crawling up the back of her throat. Even as she helps him shrug her garments off.

R: It’s different.

-Viktor seems perturbed, pausing again.

V: Why? We both inhaled the smoke. We’re both-

R: It’s just different, okay?

V: Why?

-She’s surprised by the sudden ferocity with which he grips her jaw, nearly forcing her to look at him. The shame bubbles over, and her eyes fill with tears, knowing that he’ll reject her. Knowing he doesn’t feel the same way. That he might even consider it all a hindrance.

R: Because I don’t need a stupid drug to feel like this about you! I don’t need it to want this! And you-

-She sighs sharply, hiding a sniffle, and moves to get off his lap while she avoids eye contact.

R: We shouldn’t be doing this. If you were in your right mind, you wouldn’t want this-

-She’s once again shocked by how hard he grips her, dextrous hands finding firm purchase on the fat on her hips. Pulling her back down towards him, down harder, grinding her clothed core against him, where he’s obviously hard for her.

V: You think that this-

-He rolls his hips into her

V: Is because of a drug?

-He walks his hands up her sides, until he’s able to squeeze at her breasts, kneading her tenderly and flicking his thumbs over her sensitive buds.

V: You think I don’t struggle to remain professional, every time you’re around? The way your pants hug your thighs? The angelic sound of your voice? The scent of your perfume when you lean over my shoulder to watch me work?

-The Reader whines quietly, warmth rising to her cheeks. He catches one of her nipples between his finger and thumb, rolling it around, plucking, squeezing.

V: You think that I don’t take myself in hand the moment I’m alone. Finding my release with your name on my tongue?

-He pinches hard, until she squeals and squirms, and he has mercy. At least until moving to the other side.

V: You think I wouldn’t readily bend you over and greedily take whichever hole you’d let me have? Your mouth? Your perfect cunt? Fuck, your ass would squeeze so tight around me.

-The Reader lets out a shaky, desperate noise, her underwear fully soaked through. Viktor leans forward and wraps his lips around one bud, wetting it with his tongue before sucking it into his mouth. The Reader tentatively knits her fingers into his hair, gently stroking the soft, fluffy strands.

R: How was I supposed to know you wanted that? I’ve thought for years that you were only tolerating me - that you were too nice to tell me to fuck off-

-He pulls off of her with a wet pop, almost looking angry.

V: You’re the brightest part of my life. Your kindness. Your humour. Your creativity and ingenuity.

-He leans forward to press an open mouthed kiss to the trembling column of her throat. Nipping slightly.

V: I’ll fuck you until you believe me - and whenever you want after that. I’ll fill your tight little cunt up-

-The Reader warbles at the promise, grinding down against his thigh, desperate for friction of any kind.

V: Or your ass - you’d look so perfect, split open on my cock, with my come dripping out of you.

-The Reader has no idea where the utter filth is coming from, but she’s not complaining.

V: I’ll bring you pleasure; again and again and again, until you soak the sheets - or the floor, the carpet, I don’t care where we are.

-He’s only speaking to her, close to her ear. She’s only grinding against his thigh. And yet she’s so close to coming. Trembling and shaking, whining, gripping his shoulder for balance.

R: I- I’ve never…

V: Never what, milý?

R: Never…n…

-She’s wholeheartedly embarrassed to admit her thoughts. However, he needs to know what he’s working with, needs to know about her inexperience and worries.

R: I’ve never done any of that. I’ve…never even had sex.

-It makes him pause for a moment, his movements faltering, but not for long. Not until he returns with full force, doubling his efforts, squeezing her hips as he helps her grind down against him.

V: You’d let me be your first?

-The Reader huffs a laugh.

R: You’d be my only, if I had my way.

-He groans quietly, and coaxes her up off his lap so she’s standing in front of him. So he can fiddle with the buttons on her trousers, popping them open before sliding them down her legs, along with her ruined panties.

-He watches with rapt attention as a gooey string stretches between the soaked fabric and her pussy. Until he’s unable to help himself, and leans forward to shove his tongue between her folds.

-The Reader cries out the moment he makes contact, swiping over delicate skin a few times, before zeroing in on her swollen, puffy clit. He holds her close by the hips, not allowing her to escape his unrelenting feast.

-She’s just about to come, embarrassingly fast, when he suddenly pulls away and stares up at her with the most fucked out expression. His lips slick with her essence.

V: You’ve really never…? None of it?

-The Reader shakes her head.

V: Not even on your own?

-The Reader shakes her head again

V: You’ve never pressed a couple fingers into your ass?

-She shakes her head a third time, growing more flustered.

V: Or come so hard you squirted all over your hand? Not even-

-The Reader feels like she’s about to combust at the mere suggestion of such things. Of course she’s been curious in the past, she’s just been slightly intimidated, not knowing where to start.

R: I could never figure it out! It’s not like I’ve had any kind of reliable source on how to do it! Besides… I’ve…

-She grows shy

R: I’ve heard a lots of guys say they think that kind of thing is gross, and messy-

-He brings his mouth to her again, keeping eye contact, once again working her up to the edge before pulling away completely.

V: Sex is messy, milý. No matter how you go about it - it’s sweaty and sticky, and someone is always slippery.

-The Reader snorts a laugh, some of her tension dissipating when he smiles up at her, warm and entranced.

V: That’s part of what makes it pleasurable. Getting to reduce your partner to such a state - it’s vulnerable, it’s trusting. Even when there aren’t feelings involved, it’s fun.

-The Reader hums a little bit, some of her insecurity rising up again. She tries to hide it, but Viktor knows her well, and takes note of it immediately. Laying a kiss to the soft of her tummy, staring patiently up at her.

V: You’re thinking too hard again. What’s bothering you?

-The Reader chews the inside of her cheek. Contemplating.

R: You just…seem to know a lot about this kind of thing. I feel kind of inadequate.

-She sighs.

R: It’s stupid, I know-

-He pulls her back down into his lap, not seeming to care that she’s soaking his trousers. Encircling his arms around her waist, he brings her into a sweet kiss, tender and gentle.

V: I will not lie to you: I’ve been with…several people. Intoxicated one-night stands, hook-ups with a couple of my old classmates from when I first started at the academy.

-He kisses her again.

V: Trysts that were most certainly entertaining. But…not particularly meaningful.

-He holds her close, letting his head come to rest in the crook of her neck, his hair and breath tickling her skin.

V: If this isn’t something you’re ready for, we can stop. We can go back to our rooms for the night, or you can come over and we can talk.

-He kisses her collarbone.

V: Even if sex is something you never want, that’s okay. I just…I want you. Whatever you’re willing to give me. I’ll happily take it.

-The Reader’s eyes nearly well up with tears again, this time from sentimental emotion, and the genuine love she has for Viktor.

-She cups his jaw, and tilts his face towards her.

R: You say all this like you weren’t just about to make me come.

-They stare at each other for half a moment, before they start giggling and snickering, dispelling nearly all of the tension that had accumulated. Filling both of them with a distinct fondness for one another, and their situation.

R: I want you, Viktor. Tonight, and every night after this - I want everything with you. Sex, romance, that dorky couples’ shit.

-They smile at each other again, but it’s significantly softer this time, warm and affectionate and full of love. Their next kiss is gentle and sweet, explorative and more thorough.

-But it’s not long before their minds start getting addled again, and their touches become harder, hands wandering and grabbing. The Reader tries grinding down against Viktor again, but unlike before, he now holds her in place.

-She’s puzzled for a moment, pulling back to ask him what he’s doing, but she doesn’t get the chance. He dips a hand between her legs and strokes a finger through her folds, still dripping for him. His finger catches on her clit, and she lets out an involuntary gasp.

-His lips find her neck, leaving a slew of wet kisses over every area he can reach, while he slowly slides a finger into her. It’s not much of a touch, and she knows she can fit more, but every sensation seems to be amplified under the effects of the mysterious gas.

-He pumps tentatively into her, mostly just feeling how she clenches around him, getting used to how hot she is, and how slick. After a moment he adds a second digit, and that’s when he really starts trying to bring her pleasure.

-Crooking his fingers within her to nudge up against her sweet spot, as well as spreading them apart to help stretch her open and prepare her for what’s to come. Marvelling at the obscene sounds emanating from her, the delicious squelch of her cunt and the breathless little moans falling past her lips.

-She wants to roll her hips down on his fingers, to try and coax him deeper, but he keeps his other hand tight on her hip, making sure she stays still despite the fact that she’s trembling with effort. She keens when he picks up speed, slowly beginning to build up her orgasm again.

R: Viktor…

-She’s bordering on whiny, but neither of them really mind. Instead, he lays a kiss in between her breasts, and then peeks up at her with mischief.

V: Do you think you could take another one?

-It takes her a moment to figure out what he’s talking about, but once it clicks, she hastily nods, on the verge of begging him for it. Thankfully, he’s merciful, and wastes no time slipping a third finger into her.

-She definitely feels the stretch this time, whimpering softly when he starts spreading all three digits open, stretching her further than she’s ever gone on her own. It burns so good, but it’s nothing compared to when he curls them inside her.

-The stretch, coupled with the relentless press against her g-spot and the grind of his palm against her slick clit, is enough to send her over the edge. It’s sudden and almost startling, washing over her like a wave and sending warmth rolling down every nerve.

-She’s not really aware of what kinds of sounds she’s making, or what she looks like, far too focused on the feelings echoing through her body, everything made stronger by the drug.

-Until she slouches forward, breathless and boneless against Viktor. He wraps his arms around her, holding her tightly while she tries to regain her composure, though she can feel him smirking into the skin of her shoulder.

R: Mmn…

-He chuckles airily

V: Surely it wasn’t so good that you’ve lost consciousness?

-His tone is playful and joking, but The Reader wonders if there’s not some vague insecurity hidden beneath it. She stirs a little bit, drawing back from him so she can plant a kiss on his cheek, and his other cheek, and every feature of his face until she gets to his lips.

R: It’s good. Because it’s you, it’s good.

-She reassures him, before drawing him into yet another kiss. They stay like that for a little while, and though The Reader’s head has cleared slightly, Viktor’s surely hasn’t.

-His skin is still hot to the touch, and his hands tremor slightly when he touches her. She can tell that he’s trying to follow her lead, to not press for more if she’s not the one asking for it, and while she’s grateful he’s being patient and respectful, she wants him to feel good too.

R: You’re allowed to touch me, you know?

-Her tone is gentle and quiet, but Viktor looks puzzled. She stoops down and lays a kiss just beneath his jaw.

R: I can tell that you’re holding yourself back. But you can touch me - however you want, wherever you want.

V: You have no idea what I want. I don’t want to pressure you into things you’re not ready for-

-The Reader sets her forehead against his, looking him in the eye. Her tone is firm.

R: I meant it, when I said I want everything with you. If you think I don’t know something, then tell me. Tell me what you want, tell me all the things you’ve thought about doing with me - doing to me. Trust me to speak up if I don’t like something.

-He groans, a low sound rumbling from his chest, and in an instant, her weight is thrown sideways onto the couch. It’s lumpy and a little uncomfortable, but she doesn’t care, not with the way that Viktor takes up space above her.

-Her legs, held open by his slender hips, the perfect position for him to shove his pants down to the middle of his thighs and free his cock. Thick and heavy, flushed the prettiest shade of red at the tip. He gives himself a couple strokes, and then lets it lay against the slick flesh of her pussy.

V: There isn’t enough time in one night to tell you all the things I want to do to you.

-He rolls his hips a little bit, his cock gliding effortlessly through her folds, sliding against her clit.

V: Every night, there’s a new thought in my mind, a new vision of you. Bent over my desk, crying out for more even though your ass is already split open on my cock. Or helplessly restrained, your legs held wide so I can bring you pleasure again, and again, and again - no matter how much you squirm.

-The Reader clenches around nothing, the ideas turning her on more than she ever expected they would. Filthy thoughts, but strikingly delicious, considering she’s the main focus of them.

-He presses the blunt head of his cock against her hole, but doesn’t quite push inside.

V: I’ve thought about keeping you under my desk during the day, looking all pretty with your mouth full of my cock. Or slipping my hand beneath those short little skirts you like to wear, working you up to the edge but never letting you come.

-The Reader wiggles a little bit, trying to encourage him to slide into her.

V: I’ve also wondered what you’d look like if both your holes were stuffed. I…am not particularly keen on sharing, though.

-The Reader whines.

R: You could make a replica, if you- if you wanted to.

-He seems to genuinely ponder it for a moment, his mind trailing away to how he might go about doing such a thing, especially in secret, since it would be hard to explain. The Reader whines again.

R: Viktor..

-His attention snaps back to her, and she stares up at him.

R: Fuck me.

-He looks like he wants to tease her more, to tell her more about his imagination, but his patience has apparently run out. He grips his cock and slides the head through her folds a couple times again, gathering some of her wetness to make everything go smoother.

-The pressure against her is dull, but it doesn’t take much for her to open up. His cock slowly stretching her open, more than his fingers had prepared her for - it burns, but in the best way possible, making her feel fuller than she’s ever been, than she ever imagined she would.

-She whimpers quietly, and Viktor pauses, looking to her face to gauge her reaction. But once he sees that she’s not in pain, he continues. Deeper and deeper into her, filling her until she can nearly feel it in her throat. He seems to be going on forever.

-Until finally, his hips meet the backs of her thighs, and his movements still. The Reader cracks her eyes open, only to groan slightly at the sight of Viktor in front of her. His hair mussed and in disarray, his grip tight behind the backs of her knees, holding her open.

-His expression, wholly and entirely fucked out, debauched and without a single care. He stares shamelessly down at her, leering over every inch of her body, particularly at where they’re now joined.

-He reaches down to stroke the pad of his thumb over her puffy clit, startling her slightly, and making her jolt. But he’s quick to hold her down, keeping her still with one hand while he continuously flicks and abuses her bud.

-Feeling the way she clenches around him, the way her breath catches in her throat, half-releasing broken cries and sobs of pleasure. As if he truly enjoys torturing her in the most delicious way possible.

-He relents after a couple moments, allowing her a brief respite to calm down. But not for long. It doesn’t take long for him to start fucking her in earnest, pulling out almost all the way before quickly sliding back home.

-He pulls a startled cry from her when he first fucks into her, and a pitiful wail when he finds a relentless pace. Hard and fast, keeping her legs held open and her body nearly bent in half, plunging as deep as he possibly can. Again and again.

-The Reader can barely breathe, the breath punched out of her with each thrust. Her entire body is trembling, every nerve alight with bliss. She grips blindly at Viktor’s forearms, only to ground herself, rather than trying to push him away. Her nails digging into his skin, only seeming to spur him on.

-And then, all at once, her world is turning again. Viktor releases her and quickly helps her flip over, onto her knees and elbows with her ass raised in the air.

-And then he’s back inside her, resuming his pace. The new angle makes The Reader squeak pathetically, as he repeatedly slides over her sweet spot. The obscene noise of wet skin slapping echoing throughout the lab.

-She knows that she’s dripping onto the couch beneath her, but she can’t find it in herself to be embarrassed about it, or even really care. All she wants is to feel good, by Viktor’s hand, and watch as he loses himself to the pleasure as well.

-She slips an arm beneath herself, hoping to get some friction on her clit, desperate for her own release again. But a hand colliding hard with her ass cheek startles her out of it, stinging hot enough to make her gasp.

V: Keep your hands by your head, milý. You’ll come when I say you can come.

-She whines softly.

R: But-

-Another harsh smack. She’s embarrassed by how tightly the action makes her clench, and by the fact that Viktor notices.

-His pace never falters, even as he lays the palm of his hand hard against her again. And again. And again.

V: You’re so sweet during the day.

-A smack

V: So compassionate, and gentle.

-A smack

V: But you’re really a slut, aren’t you?

-Another smack, and The Reader whines.

V: Doing exactly what I tell you to, letting me stuff you full over and over again. Squeezing around me so perfectly.

-He massages the now-tender meat of her ass, soothing the sharp bite of his hand.

-Even without a single touch on her clit, The Reader isn’t sure how long she’s going to last. She feels like she’s about to burst, like she’s never felt before. Nothing like the orgasms she’s had on her own.

-She barely even notices the wet pop behind her, too dazed to take note of much else. But she definitely tenses slightly when something wet glides against her asshole. Persistent and warm, soaking the velvety flesh.

-She whimpers when it breaches the ring of muscle, slowly, sliding into her where she’s never been touched. It’s the strangest sensation, though not a bad one. It sends little goosebumps all over her body. And it takes a moment, but eventually she realizes it’s Viktor’s thumb, spreading her open.

V: I’d love to have you here…

-His words are punctuated with the movement of his digit, allowing it to slide in and out of her in time with his thrusts.

V: But not tonight.

-He leans down and presses a kiss in between her shoulder blades, his movements slowing down for a moment, and The Reader whines at the loss.

V: Not enough patience, right now.

-He straightens up again, and resumes fucking her, with a renewed vigor. Removing his thumb from her, watching as she squeezes around nothing. Gripping her hips to pull her back to him.

-The Reader is nearly boneless with the onslaught of pleasure, and it’s all she can do just to breathe properly, allowing him to do whatever he pleases to her, enjoying every moment of it.

-Then, the grip on her hips tightens by a fraction, and Viktor’s pace begins to grow sloppy and uneven. She knows that he’s close, and, willing to risk his ire, she tentatively slips her arm beneath herself again, in an attempt to rub her clit.

-He notices.

V: You just can’t help yourself, can you?

-He’s breathless and rough. But he doesn’t try to dissuade her this time.

V: Come for me, then. Fuck - let me feel you-

-All it takes is a couple swipes of her fingers, and her entire mind goes blank. The outside world fades out of focus, and all she can feel is the blinding pleasure of her orgasm, more intense than she’s ever experienced. Knowing Viktor is the one who’s made her feel like this. Finally.

-His thrusts falter for a second, growing quicker for the briefest moment, before he pushes in as deep as he can, and stills. Nails digging into the fat of The Reader’s hips, a debauched, broken cry falling past his lips, while he curls inwards, his forehead coming to rest against her back. Hair tickling her skin.

-Both of them stay there for what seems like forever, trembling and catching their breath, letting their orgasms run their course and gradually dissipate. Letting the world fade back in, and their minds clear.

-Slowly, tenderly, Viktor wraps his arms around her waist, carefully pulling her up into a sitting position, and then coaxing her backwards. The two of them now reclining somewhat comfortably against the arm of the couch, with her back on his chest.

-He lays kiss after kiss on her exposed shoulders and neck, on any piece of skin his lips can reach. Stroking his hands over her abdomen and sides. Neither of them say anything for a little while, not having the mind yet to form words. Not even having the wherewithal to pull out of her.

-After a couple minutes of gentle touches and affection, though, they’re finally able to speak.

V: It…wasn’t too much, was it?

-The Reader hums

V: If it was too much, you need to tell me - I won’t go so far next time-

-A grin stretches across The Reader’s face, and she turns slightly towards him.

R: Next time?

-He presses a kiss to her cheek.

V: Of course ‘next time’. I told you earlier, yes? I want you. All of you, for as long as you’ll have me.

-The Reader’s heart swells with warmth, filling with love and affection. She squirms around in his grasp so she can lay more comfortably over his chest. Both of them wince when he finally slides out of her, and his spend dribbles after.

R: We have so much cleaning to do.

-Viktor presses a kiss to her hair, and then to her lips.

V: No more than any other experiment would warrant. We have the rest of the night to make things presentable, though, so…let’s stay like this a little while?

#viktor x reader #viktor arcane x reader #arcane x reader #viktor WIPS #cherry WIPS #im definitely gonna finish this one eventually #but for now i just need to do SOMETHING with it #viktor nsft

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1000roughdrafts · 10 months ago

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Supporting Characters x Reader Master List

Lots of stuff in here - Gabriel x Reader, John Winchester x Reader, Rowena x Reader, Charlie x Reader, Donna x Reader, Crowley x Reader, and more (general/no pairings)

Remember that there are some 18+ explicit works, so please heed all warnings!

Gabriel X Reader

💘Coffee Shop ~ fluff, Gabriel is very much alive and just full of surprises, isn’t he?

John Winchester x Reader

Mini Series xx

💚Stop Asking Me To Come Back ~ flangst, kissing; Y/N and John have always had a cat and mouse chase type of relationship, where one runs and the other chases, and vice versa, but typically fall into a Dom/Sub type of relationship. John is tired of the games and when Y/N realizes she wants something more she’s too little too late.

💚Stop Asking Me To Come Back (2) ~ 18+, smut

Wayward Women x Reader

Charlie x Reader

💖Confessions ~ one shot, flangst, heavy topics; You were best friends with Charlie since elementary school. One day, she just vanished. During the years you spent without her, you went down a dark path that brought you onto a road of addiction. Now she has returned to spend a day with you and talk about all the years that have passed without each other.

Rowena x Reader

💖What Happens During Research ~ fluff; no plot, just silliness

💖 You Look Yummy ~ 18+ 100% smut literally nothing but sex

Donna X Reader

💖Don’t Leave Me, Not Again ~ flangst; When a hunt in Minnesota goes awry and the Winchester’s go silent, you ask your ex-girlfriend, Donna, for help

Crowley x Reader

One Shots xx Both 18+ / Explicit

Hush - unprotected vaginal penetration, oral sex (female receiving), BDSM, this isnt ddlg but it kinda has that vibe, a bit of an OOC Crowley,

A Night With The King - Request from Anon: Can I have Crowley flirting with a v nervous and quiet reader? Maybe w a splash of Dean jealousy because he’s been pining after her forever?

General:Supernatual x Reader (no pairings)

💛Cop Car ~ (Dean, Sam, Reader) Drabble; reader stole a cop car and Dean wants to drive it.

💛Saving Dean ~(Dean, Reader, Sam) imagine

💛Live and Let Die ~(Sam, Dean, LittleSister!Reader) angstish,fluff; After years of arguing with your older brothers, they finally let you go out and hunt on your own, but it was nothing like what you expected. After killing your first demon, you call them up for some comfort.

💛Cherry Pie ~ Drabble; Dean loves pie, what else can I say?

💛It’s Time to Let Me Go ~ angst; Raphael has started a war with only one request to end it all: you. Are Sam and Dean willing to let you go to save the world?

💛Hi Dad ~ Drabble; based off of this prompt - “She stared at him, holding her favorite teddy bear in one hand and his pistol in the other. “Hi dad,” she whispered.

💛Little Tree Part One | Part Two ~ Being a sheriff in a small town, you were surprised when a body was found, making it the first murder in over 50 years. The alarm bells really went off when the FBI showed up as quick as they did. Despite your initial thoughts, you were lucky that they had. (completed)

💛 Coming Out - Request from @the-nb-florist "I was wondering if you could make a brotherly sam and dean where the reader comes out as Non Binary? The Reader is like Fem but they identify more with mass stuff. I just want supper fluff and sweet. Thank you so much!!"

#supernatural fan fiction #sam winchester #dean winchester #gabriel x reader #crowley x reader smut #john winchester #john winchester x reader #fluff #angst #charlie x reader supernatural #rowena x reader #donna x reader supernatural #wlw #supernatural fandom #spn #supernatural #supernatural fan fic #fanfic

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self-shipping-doll13 · 1 month ago

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Halloween Drabble

Wc: 771

Blackness reigned in the skies. This late in the year, all the leaves had been shaken from the trees, profound in their nakedness. In the white ghoulish glow of the streetlights they looked like tall, bristly hairbrushes jutting out of the ground. Wayward sycamore seeds and pine cones littered the pavement as I walked, and the air smelled of rot.

But I had a slice of cake wrapped up in tin foil, meant for two. A plastic bag crinkled at my thighs, and the wind whistled shrilly as I reached the end of the avenue. It found chinks in my jacket and snuck in. Creaking open the gate, I stuffed my hands under my arms to preserve warmth as I pressed the doorbell.

“Hey. You’re here.”

I grinned as I kissed his cheek. “It’s so nice to see you.” The warmth that flooded my chest had nothing to do with his body heat.

“You too… C’mon, get inside.” He tugged, urging me into the shelter of the house. I sighed in relief, and Ivar shouldered the door shut as I took off my scarf. Sparse Halloween decorations hung limply from the archways. At least someone in the house was passingly fond of the spooky season, I thought with a smile.

Coffee was one thing that never seemed to leave Ivar’s bloodstream. It had been that way since we met. Now, I could tolerate it so long as the taste was faint. The leftover cake—a remnant of what dad chanced to buy cheap in a petrol station—was a pretty good, sugary compromise. In the kitchen, Ivar wielded the kitchen knife like a murder weapon. While finding cold drinks in the fridge, I snapped my head around to the thunk he made on the chopping board as he divided it in half.

Ivar glanced up at me. “You’re staring at me now.”

“Only because you’re being so violent with that knife.”

“Who, me? I’m gentle, I’m always gentle,” he drawled in a sarcastic manner, tossing the knife in the sink. “I’m just cutting it. It’s all going to get eaten anyway.”

Instinctively I went to rinse it. “True enough.” My eyes flicked to the triangular slices. I peeled off a bit of icing. “Here, have a bite, see if you actually like it.”

He looked amusedly at the fragile sliver of cake. “What, like a little taste test? See if it’s up to my standards?”

“You know I just like doing this,” I said mischievously.

And he liked me doing it. He gripped his crutch, tilting his head towards my pinched fingers. For all his roughness with the knife, it was gentle as a kiss.

“Sweet,” he granted me as he licked his lips, hand on my wrist. “But I can barely pick up the coffee.”

“That’s why it’s so tasty.” Grinning, I nudged a crumbling piece onto my plate, sucking clingy crumbs from my thumb.

As promised, the rest of the house was empty aside from us, and shadows crept up from dark crevices. By the warm glow of a tall shaded lamp, I arranged snacks and drinks on a low table in the living room. “Shocks me that you haven’t seen the OG Halloween before,” I said while he set up the TV. “And it’s a classic, too.”

“It’s an old movie,” Ivar shrugged.

“Old movies are the best. You like Die Hard, right?”

And I knew I would be eager to sit down in a few months for a viewing of that with him. Easing, he seemed relieved to take weight off his legs when he sat down. I draped myself lightly over the setter, my cheek pressed up against the soft material of his charcoal grey sweater. One hand came up to idly rub my calf, stroking up to my knee, my thigh.

The beginning credits were so nostalgic to hear. That piano accompanied by those haunting synths, the carved Jack-O-Lantern rotting . My slice of cake was small so I savoured it, letting tiny bits of icing melt on my tongue. Sweeter still was the rapid beating of his heart that betrayed him, the pockets of stolen laughter as he sneered at the occasionally cheesy 70s acting.

Embarrassingly, I nodded off as The Shape was prowling Haddonfield. The lateness of the hour, the drowsiness of a busy week and the absentminded caress of his hands was a sedative. Ivar woke me during the end credits with a flick of my braid, he pointed out a spot of drool on his jumper, ribbed me, and said that next time he hoped I’d stay awake long enough to watch his favourites with him.

Dividers by @/thecutestgrotto

#⛏️🪢#☕️ au

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themculibrary · 1 year ago

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Fluff Masterlist 2

part one

Action (ao3) - EmilyWeaslette mj/peter N/R, 95k

Summary: Peter stepping into the limelight, as seen through videos.

a kiss a day (anything for kate bishop) (ao3) - dare121 yelena/kate T, 49k

Summary: Adjusting her fake glasses, Kate moves in the direction of the nearest painting and settles herself in front of it, doing her best to look like she’s taking notes on the notepad in her hands. The lanyard around her neck swings uncomfortably close to the rope that separates herself from the art on display as she tries to take in her surroundings at the same time. She only spares a glance at the picture, and squints at the three alien creatures on it that mostly resemble common house cats, while being just off enough to unnerve the observer.

have a seat, dad (ao3) - haveufoundwhaturlookingfor harley/peter G, 1k

Summary: Peter tells Tony that he's going to be a grandpa.

Hello Midtown High (ao3) - AmyR G, 20k

Summary: This is basically domestic Avengers and Peter Parker, with a slight smattering of the Field Trip trope thrown in. It's really just domestic Avengers though.

History's Gayer Than You Think (Or So MJ Says) (ao3) - lattely (orphan_account) steve/bucky T, 4k

Summary: Peter Parker has never witnessed a proposal. Until one day, he finds himself inches away from history building itself with the help of a ring box, when all he was up for was watching a movie.

just know you're not alone (ao3) - haveufoundwhaturlookingfor tony/sam T, 10k

Summary: Tony was settling into his new life being an Avenger. Everything was going fine, great even, and then suddenly a kid was thrown into the picture. Peter Parker becomes Tony’s world, and he’s doing everything he can to keep his son out of the spotlight. Unfortunately, some things don’t always go to plan. But would it really be such a bad thing if his fellow Avengers found out about his son?

Kissblocked! (ao3) - impravidus harley/peter G, 4k

Summary: 5 times harley was interrupted trying to kiss peter for the first time and the 1 time he wasn't (and was)

NOT Just Married (ao3) - relenafanel steve/bucky M, 7k

Summary: Also known as the feel-good fluffy ficlet relenafanel promised after the end-credit scene of new Bucky feels from hell... Because I have your back and know you need recovery comedic AUs about BFFs being dumb in Vegas.

perfectly right wrong number (ao3) - melonbutterfly steve/bucky T, 31k

Summary: It all starts because Steve is too dumb to handle his smartphone.

A wrong number AU in which Bucky Barnes doesn't enter Steve's life (meaning: Bucky wasn't born until the eighties, but Steve is still Captain America) until Steve accidentally dials the wrong number. Wherein there is a lot of texting, some advice via Natasha and Darcy, a bit of pining, and a first date in an amusement park. Oh, and on top of being a disabled veteran, Bucky is a professional catwalker. Literally.

Peter Parker's Home for the Wayward Villain (ao3) - BeanieBaby peter/wade, steve/bucky, pepper/tony T, 90k

Summary: A really long redemption story.

research and disaster (ao3) - blueh T, 9k

Summary: the interns at Stark Industries have some questions about Peter Parker. The answers aren’t quite what they expect.

Say You Don't Know Me (or Recognize My Face) (ao3) - ShowMeAHero matt/foggy G, 2k

Summary: Daredevil is kind of dark and broody. He doesn't want anyone to know his real name, he never smiles, and he has kind of a loner attitude.

Matt Murdock, on the other hand, is completely unrecognizable to Jessica the first time she really sees him.

The Great Disney Marathon (ao3) - MisguidedFeelingsofaDreamWeaver30 steve/natasha, scott/hope, gamora/peter, pepper/tony T, 26k

Summary: The Avengers embark on a mission: The Great Disney Marathon. As they watch, they find themselves comparing their lives to the animated stories onscreen.

Inspired by the many parallels between Marvel and Disney.

Prompts filled: Domestic Avengers, Romanogers, Peter Parker, Tony Stark

The Less You Know (ao3) - Nokomis G, 3k

Summary: Peter comes to regret telling the Avengers about the Captain America PSAs.

This Wasn't What the Brochure Promised (ao3) - kahn steve/tony T, 7k

Summary: "Do you think this is still a training exercise, or did we just get our asses handed to us by actual bad guys?" asked Clint.

Tony, Steve, Clint and Bruce spend quality time together in a cave. Tony does not build another arc reactor (even if he sort of needs one). Steve is all Protective Leader. Clint is terrifyingly good with a knife. Bruce bleeds and snarks. There is banter and embarassing amounts of schmoop and the boys get very touchy-feely.

Three Men in a VW (ao3) - Brokenpitchpipe steve/bucky T, 3k

Summary: Steve steps back into the car and closes the door, lips still tingling.

“You don’t like blondes,” Bucky says.

Sam chokes.

who's the kid? (ao3) - haveufoundwhaturlookingfor N/R, 2k

Summary: The Avengers arrive back at the tower after everything that's happened with the Sokovia Accords. They expect everything to be the same, but it's not. Now there's a kid living at the tower and the Avengers think he's more than just Tony's "personal assistant". Natasha and Wanda are determined to find out the truth.

#themculibrary #masterlists #marvel #mcu #fluff #fluff masterlist

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julek · 2 years ago

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some soft, pining jaskel, because i love them. 2K, T, light angst with a happy ending. read on ao3!

Jaskier watches the drizzle fall down on the small town from his perch on the windowsill.

There’s a small square, broken cobblestones and a worn flag pole, no flag to wave proudly in the wind. In the late hours of the evening, no children are playing in it, making up castles and pirate ships out of juniper branches and long scraps of cloth they’ve undoubtedly swiped from a seamstress’ shop. A few couples are walking under the rain, hand in hand, trying to get to the inn as soon as possible, the promise of fire and food lingering in the air.

As if conjured by divine intervention, the door creaks open, and in walks Eskel, armored-up and, apart from slightly muddy, looking very intact, holding two plates of still-steaming stew in his hands.

“Still up?”

Jaskier’s heart squeezes in his chest at the sight.

“I am,” he replies, moving away from the windowsill and sitting down on the bed. “Wanted to wait for you.”

There were drowners in a nearby pond, and Eskel had been contracted to kill them. It’s almost an innocuous task, Jaskier knows, but he can’t help the knot in his stomach each time he pats Scorpion’s neck and bids the Witcher farewell, not knowing whether he’ll witness his return.

(Either because he’s been killed, or because he’s left Jaskier behind).

(Neither option is particularly thrilling).

But here Eskel stands, a lopsided smile on his face as he hands Jaskier his meal — because he knows Jaskier hasn’t eaten, because they eat together, because Eskel makes sure to come back for it — and sits down on the floor to enjoy his own.

“How did it go?” Jaskier says softly in between bites. “Any wayward bastard try to get a chunk out of you?”

Eskel shakes his head, chuckling lowly. “All vital organs in place. It was a small nest.”

Jaskier hums thoughtfully.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Eskel notices, because of course he does. “Did anything happen while I was away?”

“Not at all,” Jaskier says truthfully. “It’s just my poet’s heart, dear. There’s nothing like a rainy night for melancholy to strike.” He aims for a smile. “It’ll pass.”

“Okay,” Eskel replies.

They eat the rest of their meal in comfortable silence, and Jaskier offers to take their bowls down to the barkeep. When he comes back, Eskel’s armor is neatly piled onto a chair and he’s standing in the room shirtless, looking at himself in the small mirror by the table.

“What is it?” Jaskier asks. “Did you hurt yourself?”

Eskel shakes his head, turning his torso slightly to the side. “It’s nothing, little bird. Just checking on the scarring of the ghoul wound from the other day.”

Ah, yes — the one Jaskier had sewn back together. He moves closer to check for himself, and, sure enough, the edges of the scar are bright pink and healing, the knotted skin raised slightly.

He almost brings his hand up to touch it, but takes it back at the last second.

There’s something between them. Something soft and tentative, something he dares not name. It’s been brewing for a while, now — probably since the day they met, when Jaskier’s eyes were full of sorrow and Eskel’s side was bleeding, and their gazes had met with a gentle familiarity that did not belong to strangers, that did not belong to them. It’s probably been there forever, the warmth of those golden eyes that seeps into Jaskier’s skin on the best of days, that mellows his nerves on the worst ones. The sweetness of a smile, the comfort of their hands brushing over a lazily-built fire.

But he can’t name it, can’t give into it. Can’t risk it by leaping too far, by jumping in head-first and breaking his skull on cobblestones — because Eskel is gentle and he is kind, kind enough to softly extricate himself from the all-consuming hurricane of Jaskier’s heart before it all becomes too much; because he would never hurt Jaskier, and that, above all, is what hurts him the most.

So he lowers his hand, and Eskel pulls his shirt back on, and he finds himself saying, “I’m going to bed.”

Eskel nods at him. “I’ll be a minute.”

And that’s when Jaskier remembers that they’re currently in a small inn in the town of Asscrack of Nowhere, which means they’re sharing a bed, because it’s either that or one of them spending the night with Scorpion.

And they’re friends, and they’ve shared before, so it shouldn’t be a problem.

Except Jaskier was right, and his soft plum of a heart cannot ignore a rainy day and pass up on the opportunity to let itself be consumed by the familiar dull ache of heartbreak, and he’s scared the melancholy will leak out of himself and soak the pillows and the bedsheets, and maybe even seep into Eskel’s skin, and he could never forgive himself for making him blue — which is what hurts him the most.

But he doesn’t have time to change his mind, because Eskel is taking off his boots and preparing himself for bed, and Jaskier really doesn’t want to sleep in the stables, so he steels himself for a sleepless night and morose pining.

He lays back on his side of the bed (though it’s so tiny, it practically has but one side) and closes his eyes, feigning tiredness from the day. He feels the dip on the mattress as Eskel lays down as well, but doesn’t feel surrounded by darkness as he should.

He opens his eyes, and Eskel is looking at him.

“What?” He asks, his voice raspy, softer than he intended.

Eskel lays down on his side, really looking at him. “Tell me what’s wrong,” he murmurs. “Please.”

His skin is golden brown in the candlelight, his eyes full of genuine concern, and Jaskier loves him so much it hurts to breathe. Their legs are touching, Eskel’s forearm grazing Jaskier’s hand.

It’s too much.

It’s not enough.

“Nothing is wrong,” he lies, because he has to, because he wants to keep this a little longer. Because it’ll be inevitably taken away, sooner or later, and he wants to revel in it a little longer. “I’m fine.”

Eskel, because he knows him, doesn’t buy into his brittle smile. He brings his hand up to Jaskier’s jaw.

“I don’t like seeing you like this,” he whispers, his voice low as his thumb brushes against Jaskier’s cheekbone. “Like the light has been pulled out of you. You haven’t been singing.”

He hasn’t — he’s been too worried he’ll spill his heart on a tavern floor in between silly ditties. He couldn’t risk it.

“Listen,” Eskel says, pulling his hand back. Jaskier misses its warmth immediately. “We can head to a bigger city, tomorrow. I could drop you off in Oxenfurt, if—”

“Drop me off?” Jaskier’s heart skips a beat. He’d thought— he’d thought he’d have more time. “Why?”

There’s a complicated look on Eskel’s face. Pleading, almost. “Jask, it’s obvious you haven’t been feeling yourself lately, and you won’t talk to me about it— I can tell when I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

Jaskier sits up on the bed. “Overstayed your welcome? What are you talking about?”

Eskel mirrors him. “You don’t want to travel with me anymore, and it’s fine, Jask— I can’t say I blame you. This is hardly the glamorous life you’re aiming for.”

Jaskier does not understand. “I’m— you— where did you get that idea?”

Eskel looks uncomfortable. He scratches at his scar. “We… You don’t seem like yourself. You don’t sing around me anymore, and you snap your songbook shut every time I enter the room, and you put as much distance between us as you can. Jask, I— I won’t hold you here against your wishes. You can leave.”

“But I don’t want to leave!” Jaskier says, aware that he sounds a little bit unhinged. “I want to stay with you!”

A frown knits Eskel’s brow, his voice a hushed murmur. “But you won’t let me near.”

“Well, that’s because— because—” He can’t say it, he can’t, but Eskel looks hurt, and he can’t keep hurting him, he won’t— “I want you near.”

“Well, you have a weird way of showing it,” Eskel replies, growing more confused by the minute.

“I want you near,” Jaskier repeats, and takes one of Eskel’s hands in his. Holds it like it’s the last time, because maybe it will be. “Because I— I have feelings for you.”

Golden eyes widen.

“Oh.”

“I needed to be distant with you, because— well, you know me. Always wearing my heart on my sleeve,” Jaskier admits, aware that he sounds pleading now too, stumbling to explain himself. “And if I got too close, you’d notice. You’d see— And I didn’t want you to send me away.”

“Why would I send you away?”

“Well— because,” Jaskier says lamely. “Because I’m annoying and a liability and I’m always causing you trouble and you were probably planning on leaving me in the next town anyway?”

Eskel looks at him.

He still hasn’t dropped his hand.

“Jask,” he says softly, and they’re close, so close Jaskier can feel his breath on his cheek, “do you know how to check for Dopplers?”

Jaskier frowns, confused by the non-sequitur. “Silver to their skin.”

“If I ever,” Eskel murmurs, pressing their foreheads together, “ever, leave you, run your dagger through my neck.”

And then his words melt into a kiss.

It’s a soft thing, delicate and passionate and so warm, like a sugarcube melting between their lips, and Jaskier feels lightheaded from it all. He kisses him back, deep and sure, and Eskel’s hands have wandered to his waist, rubbing against the bare skin, and Jaskier’s fingers are tangled in his Witcher’s hair, and they have all the time in the world, Jaskier knows, but he doesn’t want to stop.

He has to, though.

“Eskel,” he says against his lips.

“Mmm,” Eskel says, kissing him again.

“Eskel.”

“Mmmm.”

Jaskier pulls back, holding Eskel’s jaw in his hands. The bastard’s grinning.

“Eskel,” he says, one final time.

“Mm,” Eskel says back, looking extremely pleased with himself. His thumb is still rubbing at Jaskier’s waist, and it’s extremely distracting.

“I love you,” Jaskier says.

It’s been on the tip of his tongue for so long, it feels like breathing out after taking a long dive, watching the words float up in the air between their mouths.

Eskel smiles, and it pulls at his scar.

Jaskier kisses it.

They kiss until they can’t think of doing anything else, until the world has gone blank and there’s nothing in it but them, laying down on a tiny inn bed in the middle of nowhere, trading slow kisses like they’re afraid they’ll fade with time, the candle burning all the way down.

In the darkness, Eskel’s mouth finds Jaskier’s skin with ease. His cheek, his nose, his forehead, the tender underside of his jaw. The crook of his elbow, the hollow of his throat. All of it, he kisses, leaving behind a trail of love-warmed skin.

Jaskier does the same with him. His lips follow the pattern of Eskel’s scars, leaving tender kisses along their lines, finally able to worship the spots he’d ached to touch — his collarbone, the column of his neck, his broken knuckles.

They stop eventually, because Jaskier starts yawning and Eskel laughs at him and pulls him up into a final kiss before wrapping his arms around him, and Jaskier feels the warmth enter his bones and, for the first time, is sure it will never leave.

“I’m yours, you know,” Eskel whispers into his hair. “You claimed me the day we met.”

“How so?” Jaskier says around a yawn.

Eskel nuzzles into his neck. “You saw me bleeding and didn’t hesitate for a moment,” he murmurs. “Just grabbed my pack and demanded I give you needle and thread.”

Jaskier hums. “I can be very demanding when I need to be.”

“I know,” Eskel says, pressing a kiss to Jaskier’s palm.

“If you’re mine,” Jaskier whispers, eyes closed, “then you must know, I’m yours too.”

“I would like that.”

“Good,” Jaskier says, cuddling closer to him. “Now that we’ve said it all, and I’ve ensured you can’t leave…”

Eskel frowns. “What…?”

Jaskier presses his cold feet to Eskel’s calves.

“You bastard—”

#mywriting #jaskier x eskel #jaskel #jaskel fanfic #i have NOT checked this for mistakes and will be doing so tomorrow #i hope u all like it! i'm v soft for them they deserve only good things

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dreadysficrecs · 3 years ago

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Stucky Fic Rec List #30

Tuesday, February 1

🍑 if devotion is a river, then i'm floating away by @peachsteve - [Explicit; 4,6k words]

[Modern AU; A/B/O; Alpha!Steve x Omega!Bucky; Established Relationship; Mating Cycles/In Rut; Domestic Fluff; Slice of Life; Possessive Steve Rogers; Protective Steve Rogers; Licking; Nesting; Explicit Sexual Content; Bottom!Bucky; Knotting; Mating Bites; Mentions of Mpreg; Sappy Ending]

Ruts are often told as times when alpha’s instincts come to the forefront, leaving them almost feral, aggressive and angry. But he knows that��s not true, at least, not for Steve.

He’s still instinct led, biologically driven to mate his omega, but in Bucky’s humble opinion, ruts tend to make him a little stupid.

or; a day in the life of bucky barnes dealing with his ridiculous alpha in rut.

💫 Soldier Boy (come on home to me) by Enochianess - [Teen; 1,5k words]

[Modern AU; Established Relationship; Reunions; Airports; Kissing; Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts]

Bucky hates airports, but today is special – today, his husband comes back from war.

Bucky gets to take Steve home.

🍋At Your Service by @musette22 - [Teen; 1,2k words]

[Shrunkyclunks; Meet-Cute; Meet-Ugly; Fake/Pretend Relationship; Fluff and Humour]

Written for the Mash-up Game prompt 'Awful First Meeting & Fake Dating' on Tumblr.

☀️Tell Me What Your Heart Says by @hanitrash - [Explicit; 5k words]

[Canon Divergence; Friends to Lovers; Wakanda Stucky; Recovering Bucky; Nomad Steve; Christmas Party; Mutual Pining; Misunderstandings; Idiots in Love; Declarations of Love; First Time Together; Explicit Sexual Content; Bottom!Bucky]

Bucky eyes him up and down, and Steve fidgets, suddenly worried that his outfit doesn't look good.

“Is it too much?” he asks, tugging at the collar of the linen shirt.

“I mean. If you’re going for stuffy old man, yes. Undo this button.” Bucky steps into Steve’s space and reaches up, popping the top button of the shirt. “This one, too.” His hand lingers, the tips of his fingers burning Steve’s chest where they brush against the bare skin he’s just revealed. “Better,” he breathes, and their eyes meet.

Steve licks his lips and Bucky clears his throat as he steps back. “That’s a good color on you,” Bucky says, his voice rough. “Matches your eyes. Goes well with the dark gray pants. Although Natasha may have something to say about you not having any Christmas colors on.”

Steve grins and pulls up a pant leg to reveal garish socks, bright green with reindeer on them, Santa hats on their heads and Christmas lights tangled in their antlers.

Steve and Bucky celebrate their first Christmas together since the war, and one of them finally gets the nerve to make a move on the other.

🍦Gunpowder Ice Cream by Defiler_Wyrm - [Teen; 1k words]

[Canon Divergence; Established Relationship; Domestic Fluff; Curtain Fic; Implied Genderqueer Bucky; Soft Bucky Barnes; Tickling; Mild Sexual Content]

“You keep that up you’re gonna end up with a pudgy midway,” Steve teased.

Bucky didn’t even glance over. He just squirmed down deeper into the blanket and licked his spoon.

“That’s right. I’m gonna get fat,” he declared, to all appearances ignoring Steve’s sputter of laughter. “I’m gonna stop doing a thousand crunches a day and let my belly get all soft. What’re you gonna do then, punk?”

🎈hindsight twenty-twenty by @rohkeutta - [Mature; 3k words]

[Modern AU; Friends to Lovers; New Year's Eve; Bearded Steve Rogers; Mutual Pining; Fluff and Humour; Love Confessions; Getting Together; Mild Sexual Content; Happy Ending]

Their last New Year’s Eve of the decade is quiet.

🍷the purest devotion in me by @wayward-lives - [Mature; 1,1k words]

[Modern AU; Established Relationship; Old Married Couple; Silver Fox Steve; Mob Boss Steve; Age Difference; Slice of Life; Fluff; Implied Sexual Content; Lingerie; Softe and Warme]

Even after all these years, Bucky doesn't fully understand why Steve chose him of all people. Why Steve, at thirty-five and in the prime of his life, looked at twenty-three-year-old Bucky, fresh out of college and still with baby fat clinging to his jaw and hips, and fell in love. Sure, Steve's managed to fuck and spoil most of the self-doubt out of Bucky over the past six years, but sometimes Bucky still wonders. Even now, when Bucky's grown into his skin and Steve's beard is showing more silver than it used to, Bucky doubts his worth. Never Steve, though - there's no way for him to look at Steve and see anything but fierce love and devotion staring back.

❄️ january by theyarenotfree - [Gen; 1k words]

[Modern AU; Meet-Cute; Snowball Fight; Fluff and Humour]

The man stumbles, makes a weird muffled noise, and Bucky watches in horror as the guy’s foot slips and he lands flat on his back in a pile of snow. There’s a soft groan from the man, and then nothing.

“Oh my god,” Bucky says, mortified.

🧸All You Need is Love. And Bacon. by misdirectedhex - [Mature; 2,1k words]

[Canon Divergence; Established Relationship; Chubby Bucky Barnes; Insecure Bucky Barnes; Body Postive Steve; Hurt/Comfort; Idiots in Love; Fluff]

Bucky starts feeling like he's gotten too comfortable in his new life, but Steve is there to remind him that's not possible.

#stucky fanfic #stucky fic rec #fic rec #rec list #dready's fic recs

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jobean12-blog · 4 years ago

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My Girl

Pairing: Bucky x reader (red henley super delicious beefy bucky)

Word Count: 1,360

Summary: Bucky wants you to be his girl but he’s a chicken. That is, until someone makes a HUGE mistake and he goes into protective!bucky mode!

Author’s Note: This is for the HBC’s @the-ss-horniest-book-club drunk drabble clean up and the prompt below! Love when Bucky swoops in to save the day especially when mutual pining is involved! Hope you enjoy this anon and thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤❤❤

Warnings: soft, fluffy shy Bucky, lots of the sweet stuff, Bucky being a doofus and tiny angst for a second but protective!bucky fixes everything! :)

Bucky quietly removes his hoodie and drapes it over your sleeping form, tucking the ends around you before gently brushing the hair from your face. “What are you doin’ Buck?” Steve’s question surprises him, and he swings around to glare, “will you keep it down punk! Y/n is passed out, don’t wake her up!”

Steve shoots Bucky a knowing look and shakes his head, “come on man, when are you gonna ask her out!?” Bucky immediately covers his lips with a finger, hurrying over to Steve and punching him in the arm. “Shut it. If you wake her, I’ll knock you out. She’s been working so hard this week.”

Rubbing his bicep Steve snips back, “skirting my question again I see.” Bucky pulls the bag of chips out of Steve’s hands and takes a handful, whispering through his munching, “when I’m ready. Every time I try and bring it up, I sound like a bumbling idiot.” With a quiet laugh Steve agrees, punching Bucky back before grabbing the chip bag and walking off.

“Hey Buck, what are you snacking on?” At the sound of your voice Bucky whips his head around to see you walking over with his hoodie wrapped around you. “You look really cute.” It slips out and before he can stop himself he keeps going, “you had no blanket and I couldn’t find one and I didn’t want you to be cold so I covered you with that. I hope we didn’t wake you. Did we wake you?”

He takes a breath and dips his head, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly feeling a bit embarrassed. “Thank you! It’s perfect and warm and it smells nice.” He looks up and smiles, that sweet smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes and makes his nose scrunch up. “And no. You didn’t wake me. My stomach did!” You giggle and start to rummage around the kitchen, searching for something to eat.

“Want some pancakes? I’ll make ‘em!” You perk up at Bucky’s offer and ask, “what can I do to help?” The next two hours go by in a flash while you cook and eat way too many pancakes, really enjoying your time together. Bucky walks you back to your room, shuffling his feet and looking awkward again. “Thanks for eating with me. That was fun.” You smile, “it really was, and you make delicious pancakes! Thanks!”

You start to take off his hoodie, but he stops you, “you can keep it, this way you aren’t cold tonight.” Your cheeks warm at his sweetness and you take a step closer, letting your eyes drift to his lips, “thanks Buck.” He reaches out a hand and pulls the hoodie higher onto your shoulder, lingering a moment longer before pulling away and saying, “sweet dreams. Goodnight!” With those last words he rushes down the hallway and you sigh, deflating and pushing the door open.

“Nat, he had the perfect chance last night! I even leaned in and took a good look at those beautiful lips and nothing. He practically ran off! He’s just a nice guy. He would have given his hoodie to anyone. It’s not because he actually likes me. I don’t have a chance.” Nat makes a disgruntled sound, clearly displeased with how your night went. “I’m going to ask that cute agent, Chris, if he wants to come hangout and watch a movie tomorrow. What have I got to lose?” She agrees and wishes you luck as you hang up and get ready for the day.

“I’m telling ya Steve, she was literally waiting for me to kiss her and I chickened out and literally ran down the hall. It was awful. She probably liked the pancakes more than me! Argh!” Bucky drops his head, letting his hair fall in front of his face to hopefully hide some of his shame. “She definitely thinks I’m a total idiot now.” Steve pats him on the back, looking apologetic but not disagreeing, “come on punk, let’s go train. Maybe you’ll feel better if you punch me some more.”

They head down to the gym and Bucky perks up when he sees you there, talking with one of the agents. He watches as you smile and chat, your hands moving this way and that. “Wait, what? Are you asking me out?” Bucky’s stomach sinks when he sees you shake your head yes, confirming his worst nightmare. “Ugh no, you’re ugly. Not interested.” With that Chris walks away, still looking shocked until he sees Bucky.

You rush by them in a blur of blue and before Bucky can even think to chase after you, he has Chris pinned to the mat, a heavy knee on his chest and his metal hand at his throat. “What did you just say to her?” Chris can barely speak with Bucky’s fingers tightening around his neck and Steve quickly jumps in. “Take it easy Bucky, let him explain himself.”

Steve stands next to Bucky looking equally as intimidating, “well.” Chris sucks in a breath and tries to get some air before he rasps out, “she’s wearing your hoodie and I saw you guys hanging out last night. I figured she was your girl, and I didn’t want you to kick my ass for hanging out with her.” Bucky’s look softens at the thought of you being his girl, but it quickly disappears when he says, “and you thought telling her she was ugly was a better way to handle it. What the fuck?”

Bucky’s voice is loud, booming through the gym and Steve has to calm him down again. “You’re right Buck, just don’t kill him.” Chris tries to sit up, but Bucky pushes down harder with his knee, “do you know how upset she must be right now. You better go apologize and explain yourself before I do fucking kill you.”

The second Bucky eases up Chris scrambles away and runs up the stairs, Bucky hot on his heels. He waits while Chris explains what happened and apologizes profusely, adding in that he thinks you’re really beautiful. He gulps and looks to Bucky, cringing at the now murderous look on his face, “see, now he’s gonna kill me anyway because I said that! But it’s true! You are beautiful! I was just so scared of him kicking my ass I said the opposite because I wasn’t thinking.”

You start to giggle, much to the surprise of both men, “ok Chris. I get it. He can be pretty scary. But it did hurt my feelings, even if you were just trying to save your life.” Chris apologizes one last time and goes to hug you, thinking better of it and waving before he runs off. You pull Bucky’s hoodie tighter around your body and shift your weight, hoping Bucky will talk to you now.

Thankfully, he walks over, wrapping you in his arms and crushing you to his chest. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles into your hair, sniffing it before pulling away. “Did you just sniff my hair?” He laughs, tucking it behind your ear, “yea, sorry again. I just can’t seem to get this right, can I?” Your fingers play with the hem of his tee shirt, “get what right?”

Your coy look has Bucky cupping your cheek and brushing his thumb along your jaw, “I think you’re amazing and I’ve been wanting to ask you out for weeks but every time I try I just can’t seem to get it right. I end up sounding like a total idiot. And then when I heard what Chris said I just lost it. I never want you to hear those words again, there is nothing further from the truth. You’re gorgeous.”

Your hand wraps around his wrist and you rest your cheek against his palm, closing your eyes. “He thought I was your girl, and he was so scared. It doesn’t excuse what he said but it is kinda funny.” Bucky backs you up to the wall, leaning closer to your lips when he whispers, “would you be my girl?” Tilting your head forward you brush your lips to his, “I thought you’d never ask.”

@addikted-2-dopamine @bugsbucky @bisousbucky @book-dragon-13 @buckstaybucky @buckys-henley @breezy1415 @chuuulip @eurynome827 @harrysthiccthighss @hawksmagnolia @hiddles-rose @hailmary-yramliah @ikaris-whore @jhangelface0523 @jewels2876 @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @loricameback @lookiamtrying @lokilvrr @littledarlinhavefaithinme @littleredstarfish @lorilane33 @marvelandotherfandomimagines @marvelgirl7 @nano--raptor @pinkdiamond1016 @randomfandompenguin @sallycanwait68 @tuiccim @the-wayward-robot @this-kitten-is-smitten @yansi1923

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willowbird · 4 years ago

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hi! im a sucker for mutual pining so can i ask for roommates!au+ childhood friends + “you know i’ll do anything for you.” for pynch? 💛

You sure can lovely, you know I'll do anything for you 😉 (see what I did there?)

I also decided to make this a sick fic because I can. Hope you enjoy!

Ronan Lynch woke up feeling like death warmed over. Now this wasn't an altogether unfamiliar sensation, but it usually followed a night of heavy drinking and too many tacos sourced from questionable food trucks. Last night Ronan had been fucking responsible, thank you. He could have gone out and gotten trashed with some not-quite-friends he knew from around town. Instead, he had specifically stayed home and not gotten shit-faced because he had important shit to do today.

See, responsible. He could do it. Fuck you, Declan.

With an enthusiastic groan of anguish, Ronan rolled over and made to push himself up into a sitting position. His hand slipped off the edge of the bed in the attempt, however, and two seconds later he was in a heap on the floor with absolutely no energy nor motivation to try again.

At least, not until he heard a light knock on the door followed by a familiar voice calling, "Ronan? You alright in there?"

"Fuck," he grumbled to himself - except his face was trapped between his arm and the floor, so it came out more like 'frushk'.

The door creaked open and Ronan managed to summon the energy to lift his arm just enough to see Adam's bare feet peak into the room. How had he never noticed how elegant Adam's ankles were? The man could be a dancer if he wanted to, Ronan was sure of it - not that he knew anything about dancing or what dancers bodies should look like. Adam was wearing his pajama pants still, which was odd because Adam was always up way before Ronan and was usually fully dressed by the time Ronan dragged his ass out of bed - which he only ever did when the time was still in single-digits if he had absolutely no other choice (or if Adam was making breakfast... so... almost every day, but then he went back to bed). It was a shame, though, because Adam's calves were elegant, too. One wouldn't think men's calves could be pretty, but Adam's were. They fit the line of his legs like calligraphy, gently curving while holding all of this strength. That was to say nothing for his thighs. Ronan would happily be crushed by Adam's thighs.

"Um..." said Adam, and Ronan realized that he'd grabbed the hem of Adam's pant leg and was lifting it up, his body attempting to listen to his (likely fever-induced) inner ramblings and desire to see more of Adam's (perfect) legs.

With no energy to explain or defend himself, Ronan grunted and just let his hand drop back to the floor. A moment later he felt the air shift around him and when he realized he'd closed his eyes he forcibly peeled them open again to see that Adam had crouched down beside him.

Ah fuck, look at that bedhead. This was unfair. Ronan should get to see Adam's cute bedhead every day. But no, Adam had to be one of those people who got up at the asscrack of fucking dawn. He had to be one of those jerks who owned a comb. Despicable.

Adam caught his hand, the wayward limb having lifted to reach for aforementioned cute bedhead against Ronan's will.

"Alright, come on now Lynch, let's get you back in bed." Adam's voice was soft and very close now, which was funny because Adam was supposed to be far away. Adam was always too far away. Except this next time when Ronan opened his eyes he realized that Adam wasn't far away at all, he was right there, with his arm around Ronan, helping him sit up.

"When'd you get buff, Parrish?" Ronan grumbled as Adam all but deadlifted him from the floor to get him back on the bed.

Adam's quiet chuckle brushed against the side of Ronan's neck like a kiss. "What, did you think me going to the gym four days a week was for show? Gotta be able to lug your ass around."

"You calling me fat?"

"Yes."

"Bitch."

This time, Adam's laugh was a bit more full but it stayed quiet, like Adam knew about the angry cotton that had taken over the inside of Ronan's skull and didn't want to antagonize it.

Ronan was horizontal the next time he opened his eyes and Adam was woefully far away. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, adjusting the covers, which really wasn't all that far, but look -- it was too far. His hands were eager to obey his inner ramblings apparently, because without Ronan's say-so they had lifted again, reaching for Adam.

Adam caught them easily in his own and squeezed. "I hope you didn't have any big plans today, Lynch. You've definitely got a fever."

"No I don't," Ronan protested, half-distracted by how nicely his and Adam's hands fit together. He'd almost forgotten that, how good it felt to hold Adam's hand. They used to hold hands all the time when they were kids -- because that's what kids did. He remembered always reaching for Adam's hand. Sometimes to pull him up when he fell down, sometimes to grab him to go play, sometimes just because it felt... good to do it. They've been best friends since the summer before kindergarten, them and Gansey and Noah. But it was always Adam's hand Ronan wanted to hold.

But boys don't hold other boys' hands once you reach a certain age. Which, actually, was utter and complete bullshit and Ronan was going to do something about that as soon as he was able to get vertical again. He didn't know what, but he would come up with something, dammit.

"--nan? Ronan? Hey, you still with me?"

Ronan blinked away some cobwebs and focused back up at Adam's face, which was drawn together in concern. "The fuck you talking about Parrish," he rasped out. "I didn't go anywhere."

One of those strong, elegant hands dropped his - but before Ronan could mourn the loss it reached forward to press gently to his forehead, then to his cheek. "Maybe I should take you to the doctor," Adam said through a frown.

"'m fine," Ronan growled out with attempted authority. Adam only stared at him and Ronan rolled his eyes. "It's just... just a stupid cold or something."

Adam was already shaking his head. It took all of Ronan's willpower not to whine when he pulled his hand away, but he managed.

"What're you doing?" he grumbled suspiciously as Adam produced his phone from the pocket of his sweatshirt.

"Texting my boss."

The shock of confusion that lanced through him at that was sharp enough to kickstart his brain and wake him up a little bit. "What? Why?"

Adam gave him another look, and damnit if the man didn't look like a sexy, disapproving librarian - even without the glasses. "Ronan, you're sick. If that fever gets any higher you really will have to go to the doctor."

"So?" Something was not computing. Why should Ronan's stupid body being stupid sick have anything to do with Adam texting his boss? Did Adam's boss know something about fevers?

"So I'm not leaving you by yourself all day."

"You're asking your boss to hire a fucking babysitter?"

"No you ass, I'm calling off for the day."

Ronan blinked. He closed his eyes, counted to three, then opened them again - but Adam was still there. He was looking down at his phone, swiping across it as a message came in. Then he gave a nod and looked back at Ronan. "And it's done."

"Wait. What?"

Adam's expression clouded with worry again, lips pursing and brow drawing in. "Ronan, I just told you..."

"Shit. Fuck. Yeah, I got that. Wait. You're calling in?" Adam Parrish had never called off of work a day in his life. Ronan would know - since he'd been a part of it for about twenty years now. Three weeks after they'd moved in together, Adam had come down with strep throat and had still tried to go into work. His boss had ended up calling Ronan to come haul his ass out of there since Ronan was listed as his emergency contact.

"I'm going to call the doctor..."

Ronan cut him off with a wave of his hand. "I'm not a fucking amnesiac, Parrish. Why the fuck would you call off work for my sorry ass?"

Adam gave him a look, then, and it was a look that had the rest of Ronan's confused protest dying before it even reached the tip of his tongue. When Adam spoke, his voice was softer and his hands - his hands - had abandoned the phone and had returned to take both of Ronan's.

"C'mon, Ro," he said in that quiet, steady voice, "you know I'll do anything for you. Don't you?"

Ronan's throat constricted and his hands curled into fists, except Adam's hands were already tangled in them so he only ended up gripping those hands tighter. It took a moment for him to process that, his brain addled by fever and distracted by confusion.

When the words and the tone and the look in those blue of blue of blue eyes finally clicked, Ronan swallowed hard. Then he opened his mouth, maybe to say 'no I don't' or 'do you mean that the same way I do?' or 'if you fucking no-homo me on this shit Parrish I will kick your ass'. Instead, he rasped out a dazed, "What the fuck time is it?"

Adam blinked, then gave a tired grin and shook his head. "A little after five."

"...AM? Five in the fucking morning? Jesus Christ."

"Don't blame me on this one, Lynch. You're the one who threw yourself out of bed before I even had a chance to shower."

Ronan snorted, then looked up at the other man through bleary eyes, considering his options here. After a long moment of deliberation (that honestly might not have been that long, considering how wobbly his interpretation of time was this morning), Ronan laboriously shifted his body over on the bed so that he was tucked more against the wall. He then patted the newly empty space beside him. "C'mon."

Adam looked at him, then the bed, then at him. "What?"

"Should I call the doctor?" Ronan mocked, then rolled his eyes. "Come on. You don't have to work, and you're up to early. This way you can make sure I don't die in my sleep."

"Not funny, Lynch," Adam warned - but he also set his phone on the bedside table and crawled onto the bed, letting Ronan hold the covers up for him so he could sink into the warmth. Their apartment was too drafty for Adam's bird blood to put up with that sleeping on top of the covers shit. Besides, they'd had how many sleepovers growing up? Sharing a bed was nothing new to them.

The flutter in Ronan's chest when Adam met his eyes, that wasn't all that new either.

"Go back to sleep, Ro. I'm right here."

Ronan sighed, but being given that permission to say 'fuck it' to the rest of the day and just sleep off the haze of sickness clinging to the backs of his eyelids and slinking down his spine was enough to sap the rest of his energy. He closed his eyes, sleep already tugging at him. Later, he wouldn't remember whether or not the soft press of chapped lips to his forehead was real or a dream.

Fun little prompt thingies

#asks #of stars and moon #ficlet prompts #trc fanfic #pynch #ronan lynch #adam parrish #sick fic #childhood friends #roommates fic #also they share a bed #and there's a forehead kiss #pining #lots of pining

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spiltscribbles · 4 years ago

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Worth It

~Notes: Oof, I know I have so many prompts in my inbox and I appreciate them so much! But I wanted to write something after dinner in dedication and a gift to the lovely Remus-John-Lupin!!!!!!!<3<3<3 I love you RJ and I appreciate you and your friendship so fucking much, so this is just a strange little gift from me to you in thanks for how kind you’ve always been to me since I joined this crazy fandom, ILY and you’re my favorite slag!!!!

Sirius silently reminds himself that he in fact likes Lily, he thinks she’s a total knock out and is happy that his brother is finally getting to date the girl of his dreams. He likes her damn it,! And one does not commit battery to folks that they like.

Assured that his pure irritation won’t bleed through his words, Sirius tries again in his most charming of inflections. “All I want is his number.”

“No,” she repeats, casually steadfast while poking at her salad— Not even bothering to flick her gaze up at an increasingly irate Sirius.

“Why are you being so fucking difficult!”

“Why are you still bitching about this,” she counters, finally giving him her undivided attention, even if it’s her glaring at him like she’d like to skewer Sirius on a stick.

“Hey guys, let’s chill.” James tries to mediate, laughing awkwardly between the pair of them, hand raised in concession and glasses going a bit skewed.

They promptly ignore him.

“I like him. What is so difficult to understand Evans? Aren’t you like supposed to be some brainiac or some shit?”

“It’s been like two months Black,” she says pointedly, grip on her fork tightening while her mouth curls unpleasantly. “That’s way past your ordinary infatuations, so why the hell do you still even care.”

Sirius bares his teeth, pinning her with a glower that once made an old school yard bully of Regulus’s actually piss his pants. So of course Lily doesn’t even flinch. “He’s cute.”

“You’re a dog.”

“You’re being a total ass.”

“And you’re a bastard.”

“But you love me though.”

“Just barely.”

“So you’ll give me Remus’s number?”

“Dream on.” she says with a lofty sniff and haughty flip of the hair, discarding her barely eaten lunch before swaggering over to where a group of her friends from the STEM club are sat, including Alice Flores and Dorcas Meadowes.

“Guess you’re back to square one Pads.” James says, unhelpful as fuck, so Sirius only flips him off before snatching back his calculus homework from a pitiful looking Peter.

“Fuck this.”

Sirius thinks of himself as a reasonable sort of guy.

He isn’t one for holding grudges or obsessing over perceived slights. He’s brilliant whether he’s playing linebacker on the field or taking a exam in class.

For fuck’s sake, Sirius can be plumped down in any and all social situations without warning, and can have the room eating out the palm of his hand within the first five minutes.

In layman’s terms, he’s decent and driven and downright charismatic. Mix this all together, and well Sirius thinks he’s a pretty fantastic fucking package— if he does say so himself. He can have his pick of the lot, truly. Especially when walking down the halls flocked by his best friend turned second brother on one end and little Petey, who’s a great hype man, on the other. So its only poetic justice that the one person who’s been able to swallow up all his attention is the one person who doesn’t even give him a second glance most days.

And that’s fucking ridiculous.

This is ridiculous! He is fucking ridiculous! No, record scratch. Remus fucking Lupin is the most ridiculous part of this all!

Remus lupin with his delightfully disheveled hair the color of gold and his crooked grin that’s everything darling in the world, and his big doe eyes that sometimes flare with green specs when he’s especially passionate in class or when he’s chatting with Lily in the halls. Remus lupin who’s only just moved here to Murray Hill from a small town in southern Illinois and who toppled Sirius’s world upside-down while he was at it.

The first time they met was completely on accident.

It was the week before classes began, and Sirius had only just come back from his family trip to their villa in Rome, and he was only meant to meet James at the coffee shop that Lily was working at now. They were suppose to head to the city and go out drinking to celebrate the start of their senior year. Sirius was suppose to find a nice, college aged girl to fuck because he’s given up on the boring lot that infests Hogwarts these days. It was suppose to be easy and fun and he was suppose to stay stringless and unattached as ever.

But that didn’t happen.

Instead, Sirius walked into the Howling Moon and was met by the sight of the most lovely, most gorgeous boy he’s ever met. Hand to God, it felt like one of those slow motion moments in a Romantic Comedy when the disgruntled, wayward lead first sets their eyes on that love interest— the one to out shine all others, the one who turns everything inside out and makes it all glitter gold.

“Hey there,” Remus had grinned like the fucking sun, slipping the pen from his ear and hand poised over the cups lining the counter. “What can I get ya?”

“Oh, erm— Yeah. Just a caramel macchiato, iced.”Sirius’s ordinarily smooth baritone almost fucking cracked while ordering, and Remus’s beautiful eyes had glittered.

“Would’ve taken you for a dark roast sort of guy.” He said, and Sirius swears that it was playful and flirtatious and a little mischievous too.

Sirius was in love.

“I’ve been known to partake in sweets, you know, if they catch my eye,” he replied, eyes lingering meaningfully up and down Remus’s slighter frame.

“What a come on,” Remus had laughed, head thrown back to show off his long neck and Sirius was so fucking gobsmacked at how it quite literally sounded like all the most splendid instruments woven together.

He had ducked his head, so unordinary bashful but so beyond pleased. “What can I say beautiful, you bring it out of me.”

“”Cute.” Remus had chuckled, cheeks going a fetching red and scribbling down the order. “Definitely one of the more interesting one liners I’ve gotten today.”

Sirius ignored the flare of jealousy over that, considering that he hasn’t gotten to even kiss him yet, and he should probably take this slow if he doesn’t want to screw it up. “Has anyone of those bastards mentioned how your eyes put the brownies on sale to shame?”

“No one as hot as you if I’m being honest,” Remus retorted, ringing him up and sinking his teeth into his plump bottom lip. And fuck, Sirius knew he was in trouble from then on.

They had talked for over half an hour about nothing at all in that tiny bistro while Remus was busy exchanging the coffee pots for a fresh batch and rearranging the baked goods, and it was amazing.

Sirius has always been someone who couldn’t sit still, who had to be fluttering all over the place to feel like he was actually headed somewhere, like he was getting something finished. But for the first time in too long, just sitting there, still and silent and besotted while Remus chatted about his hometown and moving half way across the country and his eccentric mother— Well Sirius felt completely balanced, completely calm. He felt like just as long as Remus was their chatting with him and smiling in that beguiling way of his, that Sirius could actually breathe without pressure. Like he knew what it meant to have a center.

So of course, right when he decided that he was going to snatch him up— to ask him out on a date before anyone else from their shitty class filled with degenerates and dick heads could— Lily of all people had swaggered in, and gave him a caustic sort of glower that plainly said, keep the fuck away.

Ordinarily Sirius would’ve completely ignored her warning, would’ve unashamedly and excitedly chased after the cutest fucking boy he’s ever laid his eyes on with an absurd sort of zeal. But he under estimated just how much sway Lily was able to cater with Remus in the few weeks they worked with one another before he had met him. So instead of starting off the year with a brand new, insanely pretty boyfriend wrapped around one arm, Sirius has just spent the past nine weeks pining like a fucking love sick loser. Like he was starring in some cheesy John Hughes movie from the damn 80s!

And this will not do, this is not all right, not okay at all.

Sirius needs to figure out a way to get close to Remus, and outside of Lily’s overbearing claws. Something that only Remus likes, that Sirius can partake in to prove himself worthy.

As he promenades down the hall towards his free period, Sirius creates a mental check list of the things he knows Remus enjoys.

Remus enjoys poetry, and Sirius knows that he’s part of the school’s award winning Forensics team. But they meet during the football practices so Sirius couldn’t even try to impress him in that arena until the spring. He also knows that Remus likes history, that he’s going to end up majoring in classics in University, but Sirius really doubts his ability to memorize the Iliad in the matter of a few hours— He’s good, but not that good.

“Jesus fuck is this hard,” he mutters nastily to himself, tugging at the ends of his dark hair before ramming straight into a display outside the southern wing of their preparatory school’s building.

He winces, not so much for the throbbing in his toes, but because of Marlene’s snappish attitude when he makes it so that the table shakes.

“Keep your head out your ass Black,” she scolds before going back to filing her nails. And Sirius is about to snipe right back at her— That is until he catches on the bright poster adorned with small rainbows and the words, GSA FOOD DRIVE spelt out in large lettering.

And oh!

“Eureka!”

“Pardon?” Marlene asks, nose wrinkled indelicately as she eyes him like he’s about to puke on her brand new Doc Martens again like last weekend. Holy shit, she should really get over it by now.

But Sirius is smart enough and tactful enough not to mention his thoughts on the matter, only smiles down at her with pure elation. “Marls, what if I said I had a brilliant idea to help our lovely GSA.”

“I’d accuse you to only doing it to try and get in Lupin’s pants since he’s our new VP.”

Sirius grapples for his chest, feigning indignant. “You pain me my old friend.”

Marlene snorts. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

“That’s neither here nor there.”

“So are your chances with Lupin.”

“You’re a sick fuck McKinnon.”

“What do you want from me you gnat.”

“Let me help with the fundraiser.”

“What’s in it for me?”

“I’ll tell Lily to get Meadowes to notice you?”

Marlene glares at him now. “We’ve been fucking for like a month you prick.”

“Oh— Erm, then for some of that good old Bi unity?”

Marlene suddenly looks so very shrewd and Sirius hates how every fucking woman in his life could eat him whole for breakfast. “Absolutely not.”

“Fine, what the fuck do you want.”

“You cover Fabian’s costs for the goods when we go to that rave for 2KBABY in January.”

“Eh, didn’t you guys use to fuck?”

“Yes. But I don’t see the connection?”

“He won’t even give you a discount on the good shit?”

“Oh he does,” she leers, blue eyes glinting wickedly in the hallway light. “But I’d rather see you pay full price for’m.”

Sirius glares down at her, and repeats himself. “You. Are. A. Sick. Fuck.”

Marlene just lies back in her seat and returns to manicuring her nails. “Well if cheekbones isn’t worth the bother?”

“Fine,” Sirius all but growls out. “But we do this my way.”

“Scout’s honor handsome,” she absolutely beams, and Sirius reminds himself that this is all for Remus and that’s worth it at the end of the day.

It’s a week later, right before Thanksgiving break hits, and Sirius is sat in front of the cafeteria, smirking at the line of mostly pink faced girls and a few others amongst their midst, who have all queued up in front of him. A dollar in each of their hands, though he does see that a few have fives and even tens or more, and he doesn’t know how to subtly tell them that all he’s promising is a quick peck of his lips, and absolutely no other groping— including of his legendary ass or admittedly perfect abs.

“You’re just really enjoying yourself, aren’t you.” James hisses besides him after the latest girl— a blonde sophomore who’s decked out in Lulu Lemon for their only non uniform day of the week— scurries off. “Just a ego trip.”

“Jealous Jamie darling?” Sirius boasts, tipping back on his chair while Marlene collects the cash from the next five in line so that they can clammer closer towards him.

“I can’t believe all of them want to kiss you,” Peter marvels, round eyes completely in aw.

“I can’t believe you think this is how to get Remus’s attention,” Lily interjects huffily, lips set in a moody pout while perched on James’s lap to Sirius’s left.

“I bet you would’ve been in line if you weren’t dating Jamie here.” Sirius counters, smug as all get out, and laughing when all Lily deigns as a adequate response is her middle finger.

Sirius is on cloud nine. He can’t believe he didn’t think of this sooner! Remus loves all this shit, from the club to the charity. This is perfect! This basically guarantees that he’ll finally get a good smooch on him. And once their lips finally touch, Remus will surely feel the swarm of butterflies in his gut just like in those Harleyquin romance novels his cousin Narcissa would always read with a dreamy look on her face during their various Family vacations.

“You’re not gonna get him this way.”

“He’s not gonna know what hit’m Evans,” Sirius retorts, completely self assured.

One should never bet against Lily Marie Evans.

Sirius knows this now. But he still hates it with the passion of a thousand burning suns.

By the end of the lunch hour, Sirius’s earned over sixty bucks to the GSA’s fundraiser fund, and absolutely zero potential boyfriends who look like golden angels and make Sirius’s knees weak.

“I told you,” Lily says in that sing-song sort of voice that is so not appreciated right now. “Remus is not the type to kiss you in front of a huge crowd and after like a bunch of others. That’s not his style.”

Sirius is moody as all get out, and he’s irritated that he’s just wasted five dozen perfectly fine kisses on folks who aren’t Remus, so he doesn’t bother to hide his irritation when he gripes back at her, “Then tell me what the fuck is his style.”

Miraculously, that actually proved enough to get Lily to slow down her stroll, and cock her head curiously at him. “You actually care.”

“What the fuck have I been trying to tell you Evans!” He nearly shouts.

“I just thought— You know. That it was a game.”

Sirius’s face goes stoney, and he juts his chin away from her. “It’s not always a fucking game, all right. It’s not a game with him— I like him. I like Remus.”

“Oh,” Lily says very quietly, her face pulled in a thousand different directions before settling on something akin to solemn. “You should go to the music room for your free period today.”

Sirius quirks a brow at her, frowning while he asks, “Why?”

“Just trust me S,” she says, reaching over her hand to squeeze his forearm.

Sirius watches her walk off, hand in hand with James, and he feels a strange twisting to his heart when he imagines a very similar image— only with him and Remus and punctuated by plenty of kisses to the cheek, and jawline and lips too.

The music room is towards the back of the school, in a separate building along with the theatre and main auditorium.

The early autumnal chill lashes against Sirius’s face while he makes the track to the room, continuously chanting to himself that he actually trusts Lily and this is gonna be worth it if there’s a merciful God up there.

Once Sirius clammers in doors, he rubs his cold hands together, and shakes out his hair.

The first thing he hears is the soft strumming of a guitar, and finds himself in front of the music room after following its melodic toon.

Through the window he can spot the form of Remus bent over the instrument, his thick curls getting in his eyes and his steady hands plucking a few chords as he sits cross legged atop the piano.

Sirius feels his heart lodging in his throat at the sight of him, so beautiful and perfect and warm looking in that scarlet sweater. And he knows in his bones that this is some sort of unspoken blessing that Lily’s given him, so with a deep breath, Sirius opens the door and strolls in.

Remus starts slightly, going flushed once his eyes catch on Sirius’s own.

“Oh Sirius,” he greets, the corners of his mouth tipping into a smile that doesn’t ring true. “You pulled away from the haram?”

“That’s a bit much? Calling them a haram,” Sirius says cooly, hitching up besides him and swinging his long legs. “I just did it to help you.”

“Oh— Yeah,” Remus nods. “The GSA appreciates all the help we can get.” His words are quiet, and he’s rinsing a hand through his curls, so Sirius can tell that he’s a bit nervous. And it’s impossibly cute, but also not on. He doubts that he’ll ever get his kiss if Remus won’t even look at him in the eyes.

Gingerly, Sirius sets the pad of his pointer finger beneath Remus’s chin, lifting his gaze upwards. “Not the GSA— Though I appreciate the club’s work and your part in that.”

“Oh,” Remus says again, lips pursed and his throat pulsing when he swallows down. “Then—“

“I did it for you Remus,” Sirius repeats heatedly. “I did it because I’ve been mad for you since ever meeting you in August, and I can’t get your fucking face or name or lips or ass out of my head. And I thought that if maybe I pulled a dumb stunt like that, you would actually kiss me along with the lot of those idiots who can’t even hold a candle to you.”

“M—My ass?” Remus questions, voice going pitchy and face bright with emotion.

Sirius laughs, booming and bombastic. “You have the best ass I’ve ever seen Remus Lupin and it’s really obscene.”

Remus shoulder checks him, looking down and then back up through his lashes at Sirius and it’s a sight Sirius wish he can keep with him for the rest of his days.

“So you thought I’d want our first kiss to happen after you’ve just made out with half the school?”

Sirius grimaces, bending down so that their lips are only inches apart. “Listen, I can be a complete dumb ass on occasion.”

“Don’t forget arrogant.”

“Okay, fair.”

“And brash too.”

“Right.”

“Also you tend—“

Sirius places a soft hand over Remus’s supple lips, glaring teasingly at the other boy, who’s grinning like the cat who’s caught the canary, his eyes teeming with laughter.

Remus Lupin is going to be the death of him, Sirius knows it.

“Listen Lupin, I’d like a shred of self respect here, so I can actually muster up the courage to ask you out on a proper date already.”

Remus perks at that, so Sirius moves his grasp.

“You wanna ask me out?”

“Depends…. You wanna continue that little rant until I’m blue balled and gutless.”

“Hmm,” Remus inches closer, setting his hand over Sirius’s on the piano. “Nah, I think I’d rather do this.”

He leans forwards and Sirius barely has enough time to gather his bearings when he feels Remus’s mouth over his own and it’s literally every starlit promise and sugar burnt secret and sunlit afternoon all rolled into one. And Sirius feels his heart thud an uneven staccato when he grabs for either end of Remus’s waistline and plunges his tongue into his own and he lets himself get lost in the overwhelming feeling of it all.

#WOLFSTAR #REMUS LUPIN #SIRIUS BLACK #MARAUDERS #HARRY POTTER SERIES #💜rj💜#SPILT INK

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