#they were already pretty dry and kind of starting to smell a bit like wine lol so theyre deliciously fragrant now im drying them

[hyah-lian]

Do I try to tackle my disaster space and put some things away, doodle with my tablet, play totk, play games on pc, or awkwardly unfocused stare into the void? So many options

[lizzieisright]

Alpha!Abby is such an oddly specific thing to write about, thank you for your service.

I've never sent a request to anyone ever before but I wanted to ask if you can write more alpha!abby.

Ahahaha, it will make more sense if you know that I spent my formative years in SPN and Teen wolf fandoms when they were at their peak, and in and out of kpop fandoms as well. (+ I worked on og story with omegaverse because I wanted wlw with a strong omega lead, which led to me getting really in depth with a/b/o, and now I'm quite fond of it)

Palestine: what can you do

Fri(end)s pt 2

alpha!abby x omega!reader

Summary: after you start dating, the question of sex comes up and Abby finds out you have 0 (zero) experience. So Abby, being an amazing partner, guides you through everything.

Tags: dead dove: do not eat. a/b/o universe (female alphas have dicks), virgin!reader, no hurt only comfort, communication, they're incredibly comfortable with each other. for smut: dry humping, oral (both receiving), fingering (r!receiving), penetrative sex (r!receiving).

a/n: it's a mammoth (8k). I know. I don't know how it happened.

tags: @ushijimaswife-77

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There's no such a big difference between being friends with Abby and dating Abby. It might sound good since you're already super comfortable with each other, but being friends for so long with an alpha who is a player leaves its marks. 

You constantly forget you have a claim on Abby. You see other omegas look at her, smell her, and you don't remember that you are her omega, not other people - you just chuckle and do nothing about it. 

Abby gets confused because she can't stop fucking glaring at other alphas - but Abby is a possessive asshole, she knew it would happen. Still, you don't act like you're a couple sometimes, and it kinda hurts. 

Abby watches how once again you freeze when another omega looks at her, your scent going just a bit sour, but you still do nothing, and Abby presses down her frustration. 

It hits her only after two weeks of you doing it, why you’re doing it. She realises it when you two are sitting in her living room, drinking wine and chatting, like always, and when she does, she is filled with desire to tease you. 

“I have a question.” Abby asks with a cocky grin, and you roll your eyes fondly. “You know you can scent me, right?”

Your eyes go comically big before you understand what she is saying, but then you avoid looking at her - not in a bad manner, but more like you want to hide from her.

“Um. Yeah. Right.” Abby laughs kindly and tugs you so you could sit on her lap. You're clearly embarrassed by your own obliviousness, and Abby wants to tease you so bad. 

“Since we're dating? And I literally told you I'm yours?” You groan and Abby laughs harder. 

“I'm so used to you fucking every pretty omega you see, my mind hasn't caught up yet.” You mutter, trying to defend yourself, but Abby's pretty laugh makes you smile. “Did it upset you?”

“A little. But I knew you wouldn't be cruel like this to me, so I figured you had a different reason.”

Your heart breaks a little and you take Abby's face into your palms, staring into her pretty blue eyes, while her arms are wrapped around your back. 

“I love you.” You say with all your soul. 

Abby blinks, her mouth falls open. She blinks again. Then her whole face goes red. You giggle and kiss her forehead. 

“Thank you.” Abby says eventually and you laugh harder. 

“What kind of response is this?” 

Abby blinks and buries her face in your shoulder, embarrassed.

 “I love you too. And I'm thankful for your love.” 

You giggle and kiss Abby, pressing closer to her as her scent envelopes both of you. Abby holds you so tightly you can't take a full breath, but you don't care, you like being close to her. 

You break the kiss and very tentatively, as if you expect Abby to stop you, rub against her scent glands. Abby's fingers dig into your ass and she sighs, her voice low. The room starts smelling like arousal and Abby chuckles. 

“Have you caught up on the fact that I really want to fuck you or do you need more explicit confirmation for it as well?”

Your face burns with Abby's every word, but then there's a sudden smell of anxiety that makes Abby slow down. 

“We don't have to do anything if you don't want to.” She reassures you, her hand caressing your back to bring you some comfort. Abby really doesn't like being a cause for your anxiety, especially in a topic that requires trust.

“Thanks.” You sigh and cringe at yourself. You're an adult, for fuck’s sake, there's nothing to be ashamed of. “I just.” You take a longer breath. You feel humiliated - not by Abby, never by her, but by some social expectations. “Please don't be weird about it. I'm a virgin.”

Abby freezes. You watch her blank face nervously - you don't know how she'll react. You keep repeating “there's nothing to be ashamed of” over and over in your head, but you start to crumble when Abby stays silent. 

“You're being weird about it.” You chuckle nervously. Abby shakes her head and smiles. 

“Sorry.” She then grins like she won this life. “I know it's stupid, but it makes me happy.” 

You understand what Abby is saying: she is happy you trust her with this. She is also smug as fuck, this asshole, and you don’t say anything more  - you’re not going to boost her ego out of the stratosphere.

“Do you want to have sex someday?” Abby asks gently, watching your face as your scent keeps being sour. She wants to comfort you, any way she can. 

“Yeah. It's not like I don't know what it is, heat really makes you creative. But I've never been with another person. I'm nervous.” You tell Abby honestly. She nods, although your scent tells her you’re more scared than nervous.

“You've never smelled of anxiety before, when I flirted with you. Is it different because now it's a real possibility?” 

You take a moment to think about it, and then nod.

“Yeah. I mean, I knew I wouldn't let us have sex, and you also knew I'd regret it, so I wasn't worried when we'd make out.”

Abby hums, figuring out how to handle this conversation and make you feel safe. 

“What are you nervous about?” 

You take a moment to think - it's not like you haven't spent time worrying about it, but you're not with some imaginary stranger right now, you're with Abby, so you make an effort to pinpoint the exact reason. 

“Doing something wrong. You know how I always have to get everything right on the first try, and I guess sex is not an exception. Plus, you have so much experience and I'd be lying if I said it doesn't make me feel insecure.”

Abby hums again, thinking about your words. 

“Got it. Well, I mean- having experience is great for building confidence and seeing how diverse people can be, but when you come down to it, every person is different. Every time when I was with a new person, it was the first time all over again, except my hands didn't shake and I didn't cum in the first five minutes.”

It makes you feel better and you chuckle. You're grateful for Abby taking such care with her words. 

“Do you know what I like in bed? Do I know what you like in bed? I've got some experience, but we have no experience with each other. You know, even if you weren't a virgin, I'd still be nervous too.”

You laugh at this, not being able to imagine this alpha nervous. Abby doesn't do nervous. She is hot and confident and knows what she is doing. 

“Would you?” You ask sceptically. 

“Of course! You're my dream girl, I want it to be perfect.” 

“You're such a sap.” You shake your head and kiss Abby, the smell of love and affection filling your noses. “Thanks. For being so patient with me.” 

“Shut up, it's basic decency.”

“Well, when you put it this way, thanks for being basically decent with me.”

Abby pouts and you laugh, kissing her again. 

You decide to take it slow so you can get used to being close to Abby in a different way. You talk about it more later on, go on a “let's get tested” date and make a system as Abby would slowly introduce new things to you and you'd tell her if it's something you like or not. 

You're very eager to explore Abby's weak points - seeing what makes her run electric. You get fond of kissing her neck and rubbing circles into her hip bones - it never fails to get a sigh or a grunt out of her. Abby loves how enthusiastic you are, especially when you get all sciency-like with her and experiment on different parts of her body - that's how Abby finds out her sides are actually pretty sensitive. It's more playful than sensual, but you progressively get more comfortable with her. 

Then you start touching each other under your clothes, and Abby has a hard time not growling into your mouth as you trace her newfound sensitive sides with your warm fingertips, while Abby gets to explore your back, running her fingers over your spine. She doesn't hurry into touching your tits under your shirt - only when you hesitantly cup her rib cage with both of your hands and run your thumb under her tits, Abby feels like she is free to do the same. Still, she needs it to be talked about.

“You can touch me, if you want.” Abby rumbles into your neck, sniffing this beautiful scent of arousal and love. “Do you want me to touch your tits?”

“Yeah.” You smile and Abby giggles before carefully cupping you right tit. You copy her and sigh, surprised. “Oh. It feels good. Yours is so soft.”

Abby laughs kindly at your childlike wonder and kisses you. 

“They're sensitive too.” You grin and squeeze Abby's tit, but in your eagerness you do it too hard and Abby jumps. “Easy.”

“Sorry.” You ease up and gently run your fingers over Abby's nipple. “Does it feel good?”

Abby chuckles and runs her thumb over your nipple. You sigh and shudder, suddenly very turned on.

“You tell me. Does it?” 

“Uh- yes.” You pant and Abby keeps brushing her thumb over your nipple, making you squirm. “Shit. I didn't even-” Your hips start to move and Abby watches you as you get desperate and needy. She can fucking smell how wet you are. 

“If you want, you can rub against my thigh. Make yourself cum while I play with your nipples.”

You think about it for a moment. 

“Okay.” You pant, but then you get an even better idea. “Wait, can we, um-” You swallow as you try to get your brain together, a little overwhelmed: Abby's touch is so much more pleasant. “Can you grind against me? So we both cum? Or it doesn't work f-”

You don't get to finish your sentence because Abby turns you on your back and gets between your legs. 

“I fucking love your brain.” 

You grin and let Abby part your legs, even though it makes you nervous. Abby can smell it, so she checks in with you. 

“You okay? Wanna stop?” 

“No, fuck no. Maybe slow down a little?” 

Abby nods and doesn't make any quick movements. She puts your legs over her thighs, letting your knees rest there, but she doesn't move closer until you feel comfortable, caressing your thighs. You can see the tent in her pants and it makes you feel all giddy - you will never get tired of getting Abby hard. 

“Come here.” You tug Abby down and she grins before kissing you. 

Abby holds herself on her forearm while the other arm slowly guides your thigh on her hip, slow enough so you could stop her before she puts all her weight on you - it might feel safe, but it also might feel scary to be caged like this. But you eagerly let her manipulate you and buck your hips - you love having Abby’s weight on you. You can't help but arch into her desperately, keeping your legs spread wide. 

“Fuck, it reminds of that time when you were with me during my heat.” You murmur and brush baby hairs out of Abby's face.

Abby smiles, visibly trying to be all collected and calm for your sake, but her scent betrays her - it's overpowered with lust. Her blue eyes have sprinkles of red in them and you grin. 

“Move, Abby.” You laugh, and Abby laughs too, but then she presses her clothed cock against your covered pussy- “Uh!” 

Abby smirks at you and starts slowly grinding her hips, while you try to not make any embarrassing sounds. It feels amazing, her cock is thick enough to rub you in all the right places, the tip of her dick catching on your clit and making you swallow another whimper. 

“Do you want me to touch your nipples?” 

You nod and Abby slides her hand under your shirt, rubbing and lightly pinching your nipple. You bite your lip before any embarrassing sound can escape, and Abby would find it endearing, but she wants to hear you. 

“Hey, I wanna hear. Let it out. Let me know that I'm making you feel good.” Abby pants. Her cock rubs against your clit just right and you whimper quietly. “Yeah. Good.”

“If you call me- fuck! If you call me good girl I'll-”

“What? You'll cum?”

You buck your hips and glare at Abby: and she knows you're playful, but she's also scared of hurting you with unnecessary teasing. 

“Do you want me to call you a good girl?” Abby asks genuinely and you get all flustered, not answering her question. 

Abby kisses you behind your ear and you shudder. God her cock feels good and it's not even inside you yet, it's absolutely not fair. It is also unfair that Abby makes you feel good and you're doing nothing, so you slide your hands under her shirt and hold her sides, stroking them with your thumb. Abby's pace stutters and you grin. 

“You're a menace.” Abby growls and pinches your nipples a little harder. 

Her grinding gets quicker, bringing you closer to your orgasm. You wish you didn't have two layers of clothing between you, that you could feel Abby for real. 

“Abby-” You whimper her name and Abby grunts, her hand squeezing your tit almost painfully. Her thrusts become erratic and you feel like you're on fire: Abby is cumming, her scent spiking with pleasure. She is going to cum because you said her name, oh god. “Abby, please-” You whimper again and Abby moans, her other hand gripping the blanket you're laying on. Her hips shake as she keeps grinding against you and you buck your hips, wanting to cum with her. 

“Call me-” You ask Abby, desperate, hoping she will understand. 

“Good girl, such a good fucking girl-” Abby growls and you cum with a quiet shriek, your thighs closing on Abby. She watches you like she's obsessed, like she is witnessing a miracle, and her dick keeps twitching and soiling her pants. 

It takes a minute for both of you to even out your breathing, and then you laugh, covering your eyes in embarrassment.

“Wow. You're so fucking hot.” You tell Abby and she kisses your tit through your shirt. “Do you think when we get to real sex it will feel even better?”

“Just because I didn't put my dick in you doesn't mean this wasn't real sex, babe.” Abby murmurs, tired. “Who knows. Maybe you'll try it and feel like this is better. There's only one way to find out.” 

You huff fondly and run your fingers across Abby's shoulders. 

“Have you ever been with virgins before?”

Abby hums in agreement. 

“A few. It was cool.”

“Was it awkward?” You ask out of curiosity: you don't feel awkward with Abby at all. She is your comfort person.

“I mean, not really. It was when one of them didn't tell me she was a virgin and I hurt her. So you know, thanks for telling me.”

“O wow. That must've sucked.”

“Well, we stopped and I ate her out in the end.”

“Oh.” You feel your face warming up. 

Abby catches your little “oh” and looks up, curious. She thinks back to her words and grins. 

“Wanna try? I'd love to eat you out.” 

“Yeah. Sounds great.” You laugh, cringing at yourself kindly. “I feel like we won't go all the way before my heat with all of these things you can show me.”

“We're not going to rush. We'll find plenty of ways to fuck anyway, so if you want me to be with you during your heat, we'll figure it out.” 

“Of course I want you to be with me, you dum-dum. You're my alpha.”

Abby wiggles on top of you and you kiss her head. 

“You're a fucking simp.”

Abby bites your shoulder and you bite her too. 

Now that you two are being more close than before you started dating, you finally feel the pull to mark Abby and glare at other omegas - of course they want Abby, she is fucking perfect, but she is yours. 

You have it on good authority. Abby told you. Herself.

You start scenting Abby and she beams every time. She also notices your glares and she can't be happier - she loves when you get possessive. One night she teaches you how to leave hickeys, and you leave an absolutely gigantic one - you really opened your mouth wide for this one - and Abby, who is notorious for having no shame, feels the need to cover that one up because it's scandalous. You grin, satisfied, every time you look at it and Abby gives up. She stops wearing her turtlenecks. 

After a few months, the campus finally accepts that Abby Anderson is now taken. Omegas stop looking at her like they have a chance, but keep looking at her like she is a god. You don't mind. 

After that time when Abby made you both cum in your pants, you grow impatient. You don't rush with the whole penetration thing - you’ve felt how big Abby is and it is intimidating - but you want to get naked. You want to feel Abby’s skin, and feel her with your lips and feel her lips on you. (You might wanna grind on her cock as well)

“I wanna take my shirt off.” You tell Abby when you're making out in your living room: Abby is half lying on the couch while you're on top of her. 

“Please do.” Abby smirks. 

“I want you to take off your shirt as well.”

Abby doesn't say anything and just tugs her shirt off and then helps you take yours off. Abby stares for a moment, mesmerised by your tits - she knew you didn't have a bra on - they're pretty, they're soft and Abby really wants to play with your nipples and see if you'd be sensitive too when she will use her mouth. 

“Holy fuck, doll. You're fucking beautiful.” Abby marvels and brushes her fingers over your warm skin, going from your shoulders to your hips. 

“Take your bra off.” You nod at Abby's last defence and she takes it off so quickly she almost gets stuck in it. You lie down, pressing your chest on her chest and it feels so good. Abby is so warm and yes, she is pure muscle, her abs and chest are very defined, but she is still very soft. You kiss her shoulder right above her collarbone and Abby grips your waist harder. “Does it feel good?” 

“Yeah.” Abby sighs, happy. “Do you have anything in mind?”

“I want to get fully naked.”

“Jesus Christ.” Abby swallows. “Do you want me to touch you?”

“I thought maybe I should take you on that offer to eat me out?”

The way Abby's eyes don't take even a second to become bright red makes you giggle. Abby tries to suppress her desire to make you submit to her, but you feel her alpha presence getting stronger and more suffocating than ever. You nuzzle into her neck and Abby growls quietly, like a teenager - but you know she is fighting herself on just doing everything her way. You know it's tempting - you can't say you haven't fantasied about Abby just pinning you down and fucking you until you can't take it anymore - but Abby does have amazing self-control. Even if her presence tells you how much she wants to just bend you over and fuck you through this couch, her hands are gentle and she doesn't move. 

“But first let's just get naked.” You smile and Abby nods. 

You both strip completely and you just stare at each other. Your cheeks burn as you trace Abby with your eyes: her long legs, muscular thighs, her half-hard cock with curly blonde pubes around it, the v-line of her hips, her abs, perky little tits, her round, muscular shoulders, her arms. God, her arms. Soft, strong fingers, veiny wrists from lifting weights, chiselled forearms, the curves of her biceps and triceps. Abby looks like a god, her blonde hair almost like a halo, liquid gold around her. You don't want to stop looking, trying to see every mole and every scar on her. 

You get so stuck staring at Abby you don't have a moment to get self-conscious, but then Abby reaches for your hand and the spell breaks. You realise you were just standing there, fully naked, in front of a literal Greek goddess, and your insecurities flare up.

“I really need to hit the gym, huh.” You try to joke, but Abby doesn't buy it. 

“You're perfect.” Abby says with all the love she has in her heart. “I’m so privileged to get to see you like this.”

You chuckle, but hug Abby around her neck as she kisses you softly. She holds your waist, but as you're kissing, her hands start wandering over your hips, your back, stopping at your sides just to feel your curves. It feels good, having her warm strong hands all over you, and you press closer, feeling Abby's cock poke your stomach. Abby hums into the kiss and gently grabs your ass, messaging it. 

“Bedroom?” Abby asks in a raspy voice and you nod. 

You giggle as you walk to the bedroom holding hands, fully naked, and Abby chuckles at you - she loves how much fun you have, how comfortable you are with her. You're still nervous, but you don't smell sour anymore, and it's all Abby needs. 

You climb the bed and watch Abby climb after you with a smile, opening your arms for her as she lies on top of you. You feel her cock and you can't help yourself - you buck your hips and sigh.

“Stop it.” Abby laughs and you buck your hips again. Abby gets harder and her grip on your waist gets tighter. “I'm gonna get you for that.” 

“Yeah?”

Abby wants your cocky smile gone, so she leans to your neck and sucks a hickey into your skin, making you squeak and shudder under her. Abby smiles, her canines grazing your skin and you feel yourself getting wet. Abby is so damn hot. 

“Can I put my mouth on you?”

“Yes, fuck-” You sigh and pet Abby on her head, weaving your fingers into her hair. “Is it okay?”

“Yeah.” 

Abby starts leaving kisses all over your shoulders and chest, avoiding your tits at first, but then she feels confident enough to wrap her lips around your nipple and you gasp. Abby can smell how wet you're getting and she growls, her control slipping away. 

She can't help it: you're pretty, pliant under her, you make the best noises and you're hers. She wants to sink her teeth in you. 

“Fuck, it feels good.” You sigh like you're surprised. Abby chuckles and sucks on your nipple making you sigh louder, not moaning yet, but not quiet anymore. “Are yours this sensitive too?” You manage to ask and then you yelp when Abby gently bites you. 

“Yeah.” Abby frowns when she sees your excited eyes. “No, right now you're just going to lie and be pretty for me.”

Your breath hitches - your body relaxes immediately and your head falls down on the pillow. You feel all fuzzy and horny, ready to do whatever Abby tells you to do, whatever your alpha tells you to do. Your thighs relax and Abby presses closer, her abs pressing against your cunt. The change in your behaviour is so sudden Abby slows down and looks at you, only to groan helplessly: your eyes are golden and pleading, inviting her to destroy you. 

“Breathe.” Abby tells you and you breathe for a minute. Your head gets clearer and the golden of your eyes fades away. 

“What the fuck was that?” You pant, surprised. You don't smell scared or anxious, and Abby can breathe easier.

“I accidentally used my voice on you.” 

“Uh. Okay. So that's how it feels. Cool. Good to know.” Abby laughs and you laugh too before tugging her up and kissing her. Abby is getting impatient, so she breaks the kiss and resumes her trail down your body. She licks your nipple and you squeak again, but then she goes lower, kissing your stomach with an open mouth, biting you gently, while her hands bend your legs. Abby is so close to your pulsing cunt she has to force herself to be slow, and judging by how your scent changes just a little sour, it's for the best. 

“This is embarrassing.” You laugh and cover your eyes when Abby finally moves down and puts your legs on her shoulders. 

Abby kisses your thigh, ignoring the scent of your dripping pussy - she wants to bury her face in you - and then she blows a raspberry on your skin. You jump and laugh, glaring at Abby fondly, but she only blows another one. 

“This is very unsexy of you.”

“Not true. I can smell how horny you're. You liked it.” Abby smirks, noticing how the sour smell left your scent almost completely.

You huff, but all your giggles stop when Abby kisses your thigh lower - you can feel her hair tickling your pussy. She moves lower and you fist the blanket under you: even feeling Abby's head move between your legs is already a lot. But it also so fucking hot, and then you feel her breath on your pubic bone and you grip her hair tighter.

“You smell so fucking good.” Abby says reverently, dragging her nose over your pussy. You're tense, so fucking tense under her, but you don't smell like you're distressed. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, it's just a lot. Every time you move I feel it so intensely.” 

“Take a breath for me and relax.” You listen to Abby and breathe out, relaxing. 

Abby is slow: she kisses all around your pussy, the junction of your thighs, your lips, your pubic bone. You're suffocating in her scent, you feel already devoured by her with the heavy scent of possession and dominance filling your nose. It helps you relax and Abby finally opens your thighs so she could eat you out properly. Her eyes are red and she can't help her growling - god, if you ever want to mate her she'll leave her bite right between your legs, because this pussy is hers. 

Abby licks a long strip from your hole to your clit and you jump, your grip in Abby's hair tight.

“Fuck!” 

Abby doesn't listen anymore: she tasted you and her brain waved goodbye. She licks all of your pussy, rubs your clit gently while you whine above her. You can't keep your legs open, caging her between your thighs, so Abby wraps her arms around them and pins you down, her instincts going berserk with the want to keep you under her control. 

You look at her biceps bulging and roll your eyes in pleasure, letting the word “alpha” escape your mouth. 

Abby's brain short-circuits and she moans into your cunt, humping the bed. You buck your hips in response but she just presses you down and shoves her tongue inside you, moaning at your taste. You squeak and get up on your elbows, overwhelmed: it's too much and absolutely not enough, having Abby's mouth on you, hearing all the noises she makes because of you, smelling her scent dominating you. It's good, it's so good and you feel so empty, you need to have her inside you.

“Abby- fuck-” You screw your eyes shut when she sucks on your clit. “I wanna- want a finger.”

Abby looks up and you fall back on the bed after meeting her feral eyes: you submit to her fully, and Abby smirks, satisfied. Abby moves away and watches your soaked pussy for a moment before caressing it with her fingers, making you twitch when she touches your clit. 

“How many do you usually use?” Abby rasps.

“Two.” You whimper. Abby hums and slowly, very slowly, pushes one finger inside. 

“God, baby.” Abby sighs dreamingly. “So tight.”

“I'm a virgin, Abby.” You giggle, but feeling Abby inside distracts you.

Abby tries not to think how you'll feel around her dick, so hot and tight, clenching around her, but even a glimpse of it makes her hump the bed. She watches your face as you get used to having someone else's finger inside of you, and then she curls her finger gently. You gasp, and nod, humming in approval.

Abby starts moving her finger and curling it, seeing your cum collect at the base of her finger. It takes you little time before you relax and Abby pushes the second finger in. It's tighter and Abby doesn't move her fingers when she smells a faint scent of hurt. 

“Hurts?”

“I like it.” You say shortly, because you do like feeling how Abby stretches you. You think about her dick stretching you and you clench around Abby's fingers, making her growl, her self-control crumbling.

You don't need Abby to be careful, but she still is, curling her fingers gently. You're moaning quietly on every curl and the hurt evaporates from your scent - it's beautiful. Abby puts her mouth back on you and you whine when her thrusts inside you match the pace of her tongue on your clit. 

“Oh my god you'll make me cum.” You whimper and Abby groans, her humping gets more aggressive. You fist the blanket in your fingers, feeling your lower stomach tensing in approaching orgasm. “Shit, oh my god, Abby, please-” 

You grip her hair tighter, practically shoving her face into your cunt and Abby moans again: she loves feeling your fingers in her hair, loves hearing you beg. 

It takes one more gentle curl for your whole body to tense and a loud whimper to escape your throat. Your scent spikes in euphoria and Abby groans when she feels how you pulsate around her fingers. She drags her cock over the covers and shudders, too turned on, while she watches your face. You're fucking divine like this, cumming on her fingers, the only thing keeping you still is Abby's grip on your hips. 

“Abby, oh my god, fuck!” You moan and your hips jump when Abby sucks on your clit, but the pleasure starts to hurt. “It's too much, please-”

Abby moves away and watches your cunt flutter around her fingers rhythmically, drenching her hand. She is spellbound, and for a moment you two are in separate worlds: you're coming down from your high and she is somewhere in her darkest fantasies. Abby will never hurt you, but she cannot not think about fucking you right now, pushing inside you and not letting you escape her, splitting you on her cock. 

You take a big breath to calm yourself down, but then you look at Abby and gulp: her eyes are so dark with something hot and dangerous. It makes you shudder and you remember that she hasn't cum yet. 

“Abby-” Her sharp eyes look up and you feel like you're in front of a predator. “Come here, baby.” 

Abby climbs on top of you, her fingers still trapped inside you, and you kiss her. You feel her cock poking your thigh and suddenly you’re overcome with the need to make her to cum. 

“I wanna fuck you so bad.” Abby admits and licks your neck, half-feral.

“I wanna make you cum.” You tell her and kiss her temple. “Lie down.”

Abby slowly takes her fingers out of you and licks them clean, making your face burn, but you don't stay embarrassed long: Abby lies on her back and you're presented with the magnificence that she is. 

“I'll need your help.” You tell her: even though you're very turned on, you're still intimidated. For a moment you feel like you bit more than you could chew, but Abby gently pets your head and nods.

“Of course. Don't push yourself, doll.” 

You feel easier after that and lean down to kiss Abby's scent glands. She squeezes your thigh and hums in pleasure. You move lower, kissing her sternum and then, like under some spell, you latch onto her nipple. Abby twitches and moans quietly, and your ears ring: it was one thing hearing Abby groan when she was between your legs, and another thing knowing it's your direct actions that make her moan. 

Your eyes fall on her stomach, where the precum is glistening, dripping from her hard, wet cock. Abby is big, fuck she is big, and you mouth salivates. You try not to think how it's going to fit in you one day, but right now you really want to fit it in your mouth. 

You crawl between her legs and Abby gulps while her fingers grab your hair. She is not guiding your head, letting you control the pace. You wrap your fingers around her cock and Abby hisses, so turned on by seeing your hand on her dick. You look up, panicking that you hurt her, but Abby's scent only spikes with joy. 

“Tighter, baby.” Abby pants and you listen, eagerly wrapping your hand tighter and pumping her cock. Abby starts panting, her chest heaving, and you smile. 

“I love seeing you like this.” You murmur and then, in a sudden wave of bravery, you lean down, licking the head of her dick. Abby grips your hair tighter, almost causing pain, but you don't care. 

You take your time to adjust to the velvet soft texture and the salty taste, but the more you lick, the more addicted you get, especially smelling her growing arousal, her desire to break you. 

“Shit, baby.” Abby growls and very lightly pushes your head down: you don't even register it at first, but then you eagerly swallow her down, as much as you can take. Abby moans and her thighs shake: your mouth is hot and wet, and Abby breathes through her nose to not cum immediately. 

You notice and grin before sucking on her head, whirling your tongue slowly. Abby groans, soft delicate sounds falling from her lips and you look up to her, making eye contact.

“I won't last long, babe.” Abby growls and you wiggle your butt, delighted. “Yeah? You like the thought that you can make me cum so soon?” You hum in agreement and Abby's head falls on the pillow. “Shit!” 

This is interesting. You keep moaning around Abby's cock, sucking her off as best as you can, and then you cup her balls gently, scared to hurt her. Abby moans, loud, and you wish you had something inside you right now to compensate for emptiness Abby’s fingers left in you. It's so hot seeing Abby coming undone, Abby, who probably had way better blowjobs in her life, but because it's you, it turns her into a teenager.

“Fuck. Fuck, baby, I'm gonna cum.” Abby moans and you hum again. “Fuck!” 

You let Abby cum in your mouth, even though you don't know quite what to expect - but you feel her balls tighten and her cock pulsate as your mouth gets filled with her cum, and you don’t move away, too greedy. It's a lot, but it's not unpleasant, although you can't keep up and swallow everything. You let her dick out of your mouth and a few spurts end up on your face. 

Abby pants and moans, watching your surprised face: she laughs through her moans and wipes your cheek with a shaking hand. 

“Thank you, baby.” 

You grin and flop on top of Abby, kissing her. You both are covered in cum, and it makes you giggle, knowing you're gonna smell like each other for the next few days.

“Love you.” Abby murmurs, sleepy: she always wants to nap after sex. “How are you feeling?”

“Amazing. Can't wait for you to fuck me properly.”

“Whenever you want, babe. Whenever you want.”

It's ironic, but you have your first “real” sex (cue’s Abby's eye roll) in the morning. It's Saturday and you both sleep in: Abby's holding you close even in her sleep, her arm wrapped around your waist. You wake up earlier than Abby and giggle: not the first time when you wake up with Abby's hard cock pressing into you. You have no idea what she is dreaming about, but you hope it's you. 

And this time, you can actually do something about it. You snuggle closer to her and kiss Abby's scent glands, making her sigh. It makes you grin and you snake your hand down into her boxers, lightly brushing your fingertips over her cock. Abby sighs again and bucks her hips, seeking more, but you stop and kiss her neck again.

“Abby.” You call sweetly, not wanting to startle her, and she hums. “Wake up.”

“What's up?”

“Your dick.”

Abby laughs at this and you smile, happy. 

“Wanna do something about it?” 

You hum and stroke Abby's cock gently, feather like - the quickest way to get her worked up. Her scent gets heavier and you chuckle, gripping her cock tighter. Abby grunts and sneaks her arm behind your back, prodding at your hole - you're wet, your thighs are sticky with your cum.

“Got yourself worked up, huh?” Abby asks, her voice still sleepy and raspy. You nod and wiggle your butt, trying to get her fingers inside you. “How about you ride me?”

You gulp, suddenly extremely turned on, your scent getting thicker with desire, and Abby moves the blanket away. She helps you straddle her and you part your lips so they're on either side of Abby's cock, your clit dragging over her length. It's hot, you love covering Abby in your cum, feeling extremely possessive over her. 

Abby holds your hips in her strong hands and guides your moves on top of her, keeping them slow. You both pant and moan, you twitch when Abby pinches your nipple under your shirt. 

“Take it off.” Abby growls and you smile, a little fuzzy from her voice: she can't always control it, ordering you around. You throw your shirt somewhere and Abby grunts: seeing you on top of her, confident, safe, giggling and moaning, is the best view in her life. 

Abby squeezes your sides when your clit catches on the head of her cock, and when you slide up, you feel her poking your hole. It sends a hot wave down your spine and you try to do it again, slowing down every time you grind back, making Abby's cock press into you. 

Abby catches up on your actions and moans: you are a menace. She wishes you pushed a little harder, pulled her inside, into your tight, hot cunt. 

“Abby-”

“Yeah, baby?” Abby pants, watching your determined face. 

“Fuck me.”

Abby blinks and digs her fingers into your thighs, so fucking turned on: you want to take her. She will finally claim you, she will be the first (and the last) person you trust with this. You still smell a little nervous, but Abby learnt to read it by now: when you're good nervous and bad nervous. This seems to be a "good nervous" scent.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Abby brings you down and kisses you, kneading your ass so you could keep grinding against her, her scent quickly growing agressive. She pushes one finger in carefully and you moan, desperate.

“Abby, please-” You beg and Abby gulps, fighting for her self-control. 

She turns you both and slides down to put her mouth on you, and you whimper when Abby gently sucks on your clit. You're wet and you smell like her, your scents mixing together. It drives Abby crazy: she wants to mate you so fucking bad, she wants you to be hers for the rest of your lives. 

You take two of her fingers easily, dripping down her palm after all these times Abby fingered you, and Abby licks up all of your cum, addicted to your taste. But then Abby presses the third finger in and you grip her hair, excited. It goes tighter, but you love it - you even get a little sad when the sting of the stretch passes. Abby curls her fingers and you jump, dangerously close to your orgasm.

“Abby- Don't- don't make me cum.” You beg through your moans and Abby looks up.

“Why?”

“Want to cum on your cock.”

Abby would laugh if it didn't turn her on so much. She sucks your clit on purpose and you jump before tugging on her hair.

“I swear to god-” You start your threat but Abby curls her fingers, making you squeak. 

But Abby slows down: she wants you dripping, relaxed and blissed out before she fucks you. She keeps moving her fingers slowly while she licks and sucks on your pussy, and you sigh sweetly above her, your grip on her hair relaxing. Abby is almost lazy, but she watches you intently. You're wet, your cum mixed with her saliva and Abby moans quietly, getting off on the fact that she marked you. Your thighs start twitching soon, and you tug on Abby's hair again. 

“Come here.” You ask, and Abby obeys. She slowly takes her fingers out and kisses you, letting you taste yourself. You moan when you feel Abby's taste lingering as well.

“You're so beautiful.” Abby murmurs into your neck as she nuzzles you, wanting to comfort you and make you feel safe. 

You nuzzle back, grinning: you love how Abby takes care of you. You hug her shoulders and kiss her gently, slowing down as well. Abby snakes her hand between your bodies and slowly circles your clit with her thumb, watching intently as your face changes from pleasure; she tries not to overwhelm you. You sigh softly and Abby chuckles into your shoulder.

“You're cute.”

“Fuck off.” You laugh, embarrassed. Abby laughs too and kisses your tit before gently sucking on your nipple. You thread your fingers through Abby's hair and arch into her. “I love you.”

Abby's scent spikes and you giggle. 

“Love you so much.” She whispers feverishly into your skin. 

She takes a pillow and puts it under your butt, making you comfortable. Both of your clothes are around you and you feel extremely safe. It's Abby, it's your alpha, she will take care of you. You spread your legs and Abby parts your folds, replacing her thumb with her cock. You sigh and shake under her, too sensitive. You love when you grind against each other: it's so intimate and perfect. You know Abby loves it too, your slick making the best sounds for Abby's ears. 

You watch Abby frown and bite her lip to not make any sounds, so you kiss her, not letting her hide from you. Your clit catches on the head of her cock again and you both moan. 

“Come on, baby.” You encourage Abby and she nods, lining up her cock with your hole. 

“If I smell hurt, we're stopping.” She warns you and you nod. You don't want your alpha to know she hurt you during your most vulnerable time either.

Abby doesn't push right away, just lightly pressing on the edges of your hole like you did it yourself before, but when she gets the head of her cock wet enough, she pushes harder. 

“God.” Abby sighs, feeling your tight walls squeeze her cock. You don't smell like pain so Abby pushes further while you cling to her shoulders. “Fuck, you feel amazing.”

You hum, but you're too concentrated on your own feelings: Abby is so big and it's a lot, it's intense and feels so different from her fingers. You're thankful she doesn't go all the way in, giving you time. Abby slowly pushes back and forth, fucking your gently until all of her length is inside you, and you relish in the feeling of her being in you. Abby bottoms out and you cling to her, turned on from being so full, so stretched. It doesn't hurt but it still stings a little - and you like it. You like knowing Abby is a little too big for you. 

“I'm gonna cum.” You whine when Abby slowly thrusts inside. You need one little touch to your clit and you'll come undone, you're sure of it. “Slowly, yeah?”

Abby nods and kisses you as she slowly fucks you; she doesn't go all the way out, letting you get used to it. You moan softly as she moves, her cock touching every nerve ending in your walls. 

“Good?” Abby asks, and you understand that she is nervous. Your heart swells with affection and your scent spikes with love.

“Perfect.” You smile and kiss her. “You can go harder.”

Abby grips your thighs and thrusts hard enough to punch the air out of you. You choke on your moan and Abby pulls out, watching her cock glisten with your cum. It makes her feral and she gets more confident, fucking you harder, letting her hips slap against yours. It's intense and you can't think, overwhelmed by how good it feels, so you let your brain go all fizzy.

“Fuck, Abby, please.” You whine desperately and Abby swallowa, gripping you harder. She doesn't want to hurt you, but you start bucking your hips, trying to get Abby deeper and that's it. 

Abby’s scent changes: it’s suffocating now, bending you to her will, dark and possessive. Abby pins your thighs to the bed and starts hammering inside you, growling on every thrust. She knows you can take it, smells your pleasure, so Abby doesn't restrain herself. She fucks you hard and fast, listening to your whines and whimpers with the only thought in her head:

“Mine.” Abby growls and you bare your throat for her like a good little omega you are. “You were made for my cock, taking it so well on your first try, huh? Good fucking girl.” Abby leans down and sucks a hickey into your scent glands, claiming you.

Your eyes roll into your skull and you claw at Abby's shoulders, so desperate. You're close, but your brain is a mush and you can only beg. Abby smirks and moves her hand down your thigh so she can hold you open and flick your clit with her thumb. 

You shake and cum with a loud moan, spasming around Abby's cock, and she groans. Abby bottoms out and stills, letting herself feel it, how your walls trap her inside. It's better than any of the fantasies she had before: not only you're so tight around her, but you're also so fucking pretty, with her mark blooming on your neck, your throat still bared. You're vulnerable, trusting, and Abby feels honoured she can get you to this point. But then she gets hungry. She starts moving again, and you're lost in your pleasure now: your head is so fuzzy, your cunt is full with your alpha's cock, and all you want now is for Abby to cum deep inside you, claiming you. 

“I'm yours, fuck-” You squeal when Abby thrusts especially deep. 

Abby chuckles and starts thumbing your clit, eager to make you cum again. 

“And I'm yours, pretty girl.” Abby sighs, getting hazy with her own devotion to you, the smell of love almost overpowering lust. “Cum.”

You close your thighs around Abby and cum again, not able to disobey her. It's a neat trick, having Abby use her voice on you, making you even more turned on. Abby moans softly as she tries to fuck you through your orgasm, but you spasm right on her head and she cums with a groan, bottoming out, painting your walls with her cum. You’re still pulsating around her, milking Abby’s cock and she pushes even deeper, until you choke on your moan and press on her shoulder to stop her, but you’re so deliciously tight Abby can’t help herself. She digs her nails into your inner thighs and pulls out just to see her cock covered in your and her cum, mixed together. 

“So fucking pretty.” Abby growls and pushes back in, overstimulating herself. You feel her twitch inside you, and you sigh, also overstimulated.

You're shaking, but you still find some strengh to bring Abby closer, burying your nose in her neck, whining and panting into her ear while she sinks her teeth into your shoulder gently, not causing any pain. 

“Jesus.” You pant as your head clears up. 

“Are you okay?” Abby asks and you chuckle: there she is, your caring soft alpha.

“I’m fucking floating in space, Abby.”

“Good.”

You lie like this for a few minutes before Abby pulls out - you wince, sore, and Abby comforts you with kisses. She insists on helping you in the shower and brings you her softest clothes, and you tease her for being so whipped. Abby rolls her eyes and puts her hoodie on you. It hurts to sit just a bit, but you don’t mind and hiss at Abby when she tries to make it easier for you. 

You’re hers, your body and soul, and you want the evidence of it to be constant. 

[thesexaddictdiaries]

Day 9: Strip Club

It was 2011, and my love for all things the female body and sexual things seem to growing by the day.. I had accepted a job interview in Post Falls Idaho, now this was an opportune time to enjoy some extra curricular activity as I would be staying overnight by myself. I’ve always been a fan of strip clubs but never enjoyed the ones that are essentially topless only.. since I was going to Idaho and their strip club laws are fairly loosely goosey I’d find something that was popular and see what kind of trouble I could stir up, or get into either one. I had found a club called “Stateline showgirls” omg I’m pretty sure hottest girls on the west coast were here! Well prior to leaving I did some homework (I’m kinda nerdy that way) I discovered by reading some blogs that wearing soft exercise pants (still fashionable) no underwear and just looking very clean cut and smell amazing I could have an amazing time.. I walked into this place on a Thursday afternoon.. wasn’t many girls there but was told it got busy the later it got (normal) flash forward a couple hours of throwing 1’s it was roughly 5pm … I was sitting in a booth enjoying some good conversation with one of the waitresses and I saw her.. tall, blonde, absolutely amazing real tits.. and a personality to match.. I quickly made eye contact with her and struck up a conversation.. we ended up doing a few private dances where she found out very quickly that I had done my homework..I’d had a few lap dances that day but this was different… she started grinding on me and being she seemed cool she let me suck on her tits.. that made her grind more… I soon had a fairly good chub going and it was laying just right on my leg… she moaned and smiled.. at one point she said “I think I’m liking this a lot” we must of had 4 or 5 dances and she was clearly enjoying herself.. as the music continued she almost started to dry hump my cock .. (which was hot) she was not far from cumming at this point and my pants were wet with her cum (also hot) .. she moaned and grinded .. her tits bouncing in my face.. she started to cum and with her arms around my neck she arched her back and moaned so loud I thought someone had to of heard that. After the rousing lap dance sessions we had it was time for drinks with a couple of her friends .. I remember sitting on a stool between these two strippers .. one seemed to be drunk and horny.. she reached her hand across and ran it down my crotch brushing my cock… saying “mmm I bet you taste good” I winked and said only one way to find out” she smiled… obviously I was more interested in this woman I’d been with for the past few hours.. I decided to take it up a notch, after one of the dances I asked if I could take her out to dinner… she actually said yes! We had a nice dinner and picked up a bottle of wine on the way back to the hotel.. now the next part I’ll never know why it happened this way but it did, we got back to the room and I was rubbing her massaging her shoulders as we watched something on tv, it was late.. she was drunk off her ass but she asked me wanna take my picture? I was fuck ya!! I’ve always been somewhat of a closet photographer so when she handed me her camera I was like well ok let’s do this! She was a natural! Obviously a performer, then she asked me to come closer to her.. I was already very aroused but trying to keep it together because I didn’t know what she was up for .. she looked at me, slightly bit her lip and pulled me into her.. her soft hands on my face and the taste of her lips were intoxicating! My clothes quickly went every direction.. she was laying in her back as I made my way up her leg slowly with my hands.. gently kissing along the way she gently pulled my head into her pussy to have a taste.. I started to lick and suck on her clit gently and slowly, i put slid two fingers i her dripping wet pussy and immediately found the nickel sized spot that seem to be pulsating ( I knew I’d found my target) she moaned so loud and arched her back as my fingers teased her g spot .. to be continued

[husbandohunter]

Mermaids exist in stardew, yes? So imagine a mermaid farmer for Zhongli, Kaeya and Diluc it could be in Yandere setting or not. I just wanna know their reaction when they found out and how it’ll effect their relationship. Will it brew angst, love, or both

Part of your world [Genshin x Mermaid!Reader]{Stardew Impact series}

Synopsis: You came from the sea and he takes you through a journey of what it was like to live on land despite your differences.

Genre: Fluff

Characters: Diluc, Kaeya, Childe, Zhongli

"I threw in Childe because I had an idea for him xD It's fluff month so everything is going to be happy from now on >.>"

=============================

{Diluc}

It was a hot summer day when Diluc first found you lying unconscious ashore. You had just swam far and wide from the ocean world, the climate deemed unideal for your case. With no one else around, he took the initiative to help you out of your situation.

He shortly found out by the slight appearances of scales gracing your legs that you were neither a human or someone coming from the town nearby. As legendary as mermaids are, Diluc wanted nothing to do with you. His beginning plan was to find your relatives and send you out of his house (Additional work isn’t welcomed when he has so much already). However, you latched onto him pretty quickly since he was the one who saved you.

Here stands a human, a creature that you always wanted to interact with, in your perspective he may look a little stern but he must have plenty of knowledge to offer based on all the antiques he owns.

The only problem was that you two had no way to communicate. Different worlds meant different languages. Whenever Diluc told you that you couldn’t stay, all you did was tilt your head and whenever you tried expressing what you wanted to say, well, normally bubbles would come out of your mouth since they were an indication for your words.

He gave up on trying to kick you out and simply allowed you to take residence as long as you stayed out of his workaholic life. You would tend to his farm while he was absent on other matters and feeding animals in the barn (a lot to do but a win-win situation now that you were able to discover what it was like to live on land at the same time). Though you were also a handful, most of the time Diluc had to excuse himself from his desk when you thought the rake was some sort of hair brush and he forbade you from using the bulldozer. Quite honestly you caused him a lot of stress. He spent most of his hours teaching you and before he knew, it was already a habit of his.

The only words you knew were three words. If you wanted to eat you would say ‘fish’. If you were thirsty, you would say ‘water’. If it was anything else, you would say ‘Diluc.’

He allows you to take long baths since he knows how hydrated mermaids must stay at all times. Orders a pool to be built in his front yard (at least this way helps him save his costly electricity bills). Diluc also borrows books from the library museum for you to read, anything that you would find interesting, (mostly they were about alphabets and picture-based stories (it felt like he was raising a child).)

Easily gets worried when you step into town with him, he keeps a watchful eye in case you collapse and extra bottles when you need a drink. Most of the time, he had to keep an eye on you since you had the natural instinct to waltz into whatever interested you, such as dancing in annual festivities (which you dragged him along of course). It was how he grew attached to your presence because you truly knew how to appreciate the world around you when he himself was too busy to do so.

Two worlds merged and he was learning how to live in yours too, how you perceive things. Building sandcastles, collecting seashells, listening to the echoes resounding within them. Activities he thought were unnecessary suddenly gained the meaning he had lost long ago. Diluc grew too fast at maximum speed, trying to get as many things done as he could, until he was pulled back by the emotional waves of your kindness and compassion, onto the shore he failed to live on. How ironic reality can be.

{Childe}

Everyone knew how much Childe loved to fish. He sets out at sea every evening to capture a batch of flounders, hopefully stumbling upon a legendary one.

In a way, he did. Just not what he expected. What he pulled out of the waters seemed to be a human-sized fish sitting upon the other residues caught in between. ‘A mermaid…?’ he thought, still digesting the fact in front of him. (No wonder the net felt so heavy).

At the same time he wanted to take you with and sell you for a good price but knew how mad Tonia would get when she found out. So he lets you go free. The thing is, you swam behind his boat and followed him back to land. This was how your relationship with Childe started, to this day he continues to jest upon that memory.

Tonia took most of the responsibility to coach you about human life. One of them was table etiquette, before you ate with only your hands which caused a mess. Childe would laugh hysterically at it until Tonia reminded him, “This is also what happens when you use chopsticks, big brother.”

Teucer invites you to basically anything since you have so much patience. Childe shortly realizes that he was soon going to be replaced as the eldest caretaker and you couldn’t even talk at that time. So it was only fair that he included himself in the circle while interacting with your way of communicating: sign language (Surprisingly, he was naturally good at it. Though his movements are rather exaggerated and...ungraceful).

You were nice enough to accompany him to his fishing tasks and soon enough became your daily activities. Childe takes the lead as you follow him from the side, sometimes he lets go of the steering wheel and allows you to push the boat instead (he kept a note to himself that in your mermaid mode, your strength multiplied by a large number). Other times he felt a little risky and decided to jump in the ocean with you for a swimming session. It worried you immensely but your anxiety subsided when you saw how much fun he was having and for the rest of the time, you both explored what the ocean had to offer.

Childe used to be a fish-cook enthusiast. Not anymore (since that day you cried when glancing at the flounder dish he placed on the table). He had to stick to seaweed or any other plant-based meals with a little bit of meat but too much would cause your stomach to churn. Since his siblings complained at the sudden change, he had to make a separate meal plan for them. With a mermaid in the house was certainly high-maintenance indeed.

Cuddling with you in front of the cracking fire blazing under the chimney was one of the calmest moments indulged himself in. He often chooses the life where the waves crash constantly, anticipating a thrilling storm that comes ahead. But you were just a lull at the sea, the mediator he needed in times where his siblings needed a mother-figure. Sometimes he fears that you would leave him and return to where your true family lives but he was grateful that you chose him above all else. He was grateful that by chance, he captured you at sea. One thing he loved about life was the unpredictability the future brings, including the blessings. Even if you were a creature from far away, in your presence he felt like he was truly at home.

{Kaeya}

When the tides rose above his head, Kaeya was sure that he was done for. The surfboard he recently stood upon slips off beneath his feet and he falls into the ocean’s merciless waves. No oxygen, no time to catch his breath amidst the impact, his eyes were slowly closing and the last thing he saw was the sun’s light beyond the heavy surface, along with the murky visual of someone swimming in front of it.

Although he almost drowned, the idea of being saved by a pretty mermaid makes up for the fact (He has a natural tendency to flirt at anything eye-catching even if you were an outlandish being). You on the other hand was confused by his advances as you couldn’t understand a word he was saying, hence you swam away.

Those beginning days when you chose to explore the land, Kaeya remembers how much trouble you had with walking using your new legs. He had to hold both your hands while leading you forward, he found it rather cute when you tighten your grip the moment you felt that he was going to let go (he was only bluffing of course but you still hissed at him). Still, Kaeya ensures that you don’t fall to the ground, he catches you in time when you collapse while laughing, “You’re doing great sweetheart.”

In return you teach him how to read the ocean’s movements so that he won’t drown again. Kaeya spends more time around the beach since he knows that the water bodies are where you were most comfortable with. He tells you that you always smell like saltwater whenever he buries his face in your hair, perhaps that was how he grew attached to the ocean as well.

In summer seasons there were several days where you had to sleep in his bathtub because the air was so dry. As a mermaid, he had to tolerate many of your unique quirks, in this case he had to deal with showering in cold water since you took up all the electricity. Another case was your wine tolerance, no one could challenge you to a drinking contest when your body could sustain large amounts of liquids. Kaeya sometimes jokes if you could turn him into a merman like those in fairytale books so he can have the same experience. You take it as a joke while he was also being half-serious.

When you have to take a temporary trip home, Kaeya visits the dock every evening and waits for you to come back, trying to see any signs of your colourful tail. He glances at the ocean he grew to love, knowing where he stood is as far as he could go and anywhere beyond the boundary was out of his reach. So many people left him in his life and even though he knew you wouldn’t do the same, he still worries. Uncertain if you would abandon him too.

Your existence became the center of his life the moment you chose to walk upon land with him. Side by side, through small hurdles the seashore and hurdles as big as the wave that almost killed him the day he met you, Kaeya keeps them all as if they were the most precious treasure a pirate could find. It didn’t matter if you were different from everyone else because despite your tail, all he could see was you.

{Zhongli}

While Zhongli strolls along the sandy beach, he follows the alluring sound of your singing voice. You sat upon the rock while humming along what seems to be an old folk tune, similar to what Guizhong once sang. The man folds his arms and closes his eyes. Many years have passed since he last heard something like this, “Your voice, it’s very lovely.”

He was a geologist who worked by the museum, collecting different types of rocks and seashells that would wash up shore. You became very familiar with his daily routine that before he pays a visit to the beach again, a pile of interesting rocks would be waiting for him by the docks. It was a gift. And Zhongli would bring snacks like seaweed soup as an accommodation for your kindness.

Unlike Kaeya, when you couldn’t walk because your legs were too weak to be used, Zhongli helps you with every step along the way even if the trip was a slow one. He even offered to have you carried when he saw you were having too much trouble but you insisted on trying. The whole trip that usually took ten minutes was a three hour walk.

Even though he knew many things, your language was not one of them. However he was willing to learn. Both of you have study sessions regarding each other’s culture. For you it’s the way humans drink with cups because of Zhongli being a tea fanatic himself, he even showed you how to hold a tea cup properly. You taught him how to swim since he had been so occupied on land that swimming never crossed his mind. Thankfully he was naturally good at it due to his tall stature (albeit a little scared when diving into an environment unknown and different to him).

Zhongli loves the way you sing and he would ask every time he wanted to read a book. Either under the tree on a warm spring day or on the couch when it was storming outside. Although he intended to get some reading done, Zhongli can’t help but fall asleep. You didn’t want to wake him up (and you could carry him if you wanted to thanks to your mega-mermaid strength) so by morning, you’d find yourselves in the same spot and your lap feeling numb.

Earth and sea were separated for a reason so that the creatures may stay upon the place where they belong. That wasn’t enough to separate you from him though. Zhongli would travel to the sea to see you and you mustered the courage to walk upon the hard surface of land. The two were only parts of the world but together they are part of the world, connected to form a whole new life.

[spxllcxstxr]

Bridge Over Troubled Water • R.L

(Gif not mine)

Requests: can you do a blurb with Remus where the reader is nervous and anxious, maybe has a tough week and he gives her a massage and helps her relax? — anon and Hi! can you write an imagine where the reader is dating Remus and is disappointed in her school grades / results and is overall doubting herself and is disappointed with herself? — @emmaev

Summary: Things are getting really tough. Remus is here for you.

Warnings: mention of food, not eating/skipping a meal, hunger, depression, anxiety, a bit of a panic attack, homework, school, self deprecating thoughts, kinda take how we’re feeling in this pandemic and that’s kinda what this fic is, Snape being an ass for like two sentences, crying

Word Count: 1.7k

A.N: I hope it’s alright that I combined your two requests. But, I decided to make it longer with a lot more comfort. I really hope it’s ok with you guys ❤️ Kinda a vent fic? So that’s why it’s lowkey all over the place and the ending is sorta..abrupt? I hope you like it, though. I wanna say that I’m always here for you guys. This whole thing has been kicking my ass and school has been extremely tough for me, so know that you’re not alone. Know that you’ve got this. I believe wholeheartedly in you. Love you all. ❤️

Title: Simon and Garfunkel - Bridge Over Troubled Water

****

You trudge up the stone steps to the boys dorms, your bag dragging heavily behind you. With your robes slipping from your shoulders and your tie dangling loosely around your neck, you almost consider letting your bag go. Watching the heavy sack of books tumble recklessly down the spiral staircase seems like a great idea to you. However, you make it to the sixth year dorms before you’re able to loosen your grip.

The oak door was closed but not locked. What use was a lock when the door was charmed to singe off the eyebrows of any unwelcome visitor? Thankfully, the boys granted you complete access to their room in third year, so the door couldn’t harm you.

Turning the brass doorknob and stepping through the threshold, you’re greeted by somewhat organized chaos.

Sirius and Peter’s side of the room was a complete disaster while James and Remus’ side was at least nicer to look at. Sure a few books were scattered on the floor and James’ red and yellow underwear was hanging from his bedpost visible to anyone who walked in, but that’s nothing compared to whatever the other two have going on. You don’t even want to look at it, knowing full well that just one tiny glance would make your already terrible day worse.

The room is empty and completely quiet, the boys, just like every other person in the castle, were down in the Great Hall for dinner. At the thought of dinner just downstairs, your stomach grumbles before quickly churning in agony.

Quickly, you dump your bag next to the door and go through Remus’ drawers, searching for that one specific jumper.

It’s the deep blue cable knit one that always smells like him. The jumper is soft and warm and the perfect piece of clothing to cuddle into when you needed a good cry. And Godric, you needed a good, long, ugly cry.

After finding it and throwing it on, you barely lift up your feet walking to your boyfriend’s bed to get swallowed up by his blankets.

The weight of the day hits you full force the moment your head collides with his pillow, and your lips wobbles, the day replaying in your mind.

Your morning started with a Transfiguration exam that definitely was not on what you studied all night for.

Then, your potion bubbled out of your cauldron and started disintegrating the stone flooring, making Slughorn shoot you very disappointed look that made you want to disappear into the Forbidden Forest forever.

Defense Against the Dark Arts turned into a complete disaster as well when Professor Bluebell handed back your essays on inferi, and yours ended up with a spikey red D scrawled angrily on the top. D, which stands for Dreadful, as Snape snidely reminded you from over your shoulder. He flashed you smug little smirk along with the delicate O that adorned his own essay.

And to top it all off, you had to meet up with Flitwick right after classes to go over the vinegar to wine charm that for some reason wouldn’t work for you no matter how hard you tried. And you still weren’t successful.

This was becoming a common occurrence.

You always knew that your N.E.W.T. year was going to be tough, but Merlin, you never expected it to be this awful.

Classes were longer and harder and your professors were relentless and unforgiving with the amount of homework and exams they started handing out.

Sure you had more free periods, but those were filled with research and essays and studying, you had no free time at all—it was all a lie.

You couldn’t escape it. Sleep was just more time to be plagued by anxiety to the point you barely even slept at all. Most of the time you stared blankly up at the ceiling thinking about all the assignments you could be doing instead.

It’s this torturous and vicious cycle that you just can’t get out of.

And your motivation was quickly disappearing.

It was getting tougher and tougher each time to even do your homework. Lifting up your quill and taking out a stack of parchment was just difficult. It took too much energy out of you.

Smothering your face in Remus’ pillow, you groan out your frustration, balling your fists around the frayed sleeves of the jumper.

You’re so wrapped up in your despair and panic that you don’t hear the door creak open and four sets of footfalls and laughter bounce around the room.

“Damn, what’s up with you?” Sirius chuckles. You hear him flop onto his own bed.

You bury your nose in the fabric of the jumper, inhaling the sweet and comforting scent of chocolate and old parchment that always accompanies Remus Lupin.

“Don’t be a git, Pads.” Remus scoffs, making his way towards you.

He crouches down by your head, placing a delicate thumb on your cheekbone.

“Darling, what’s wrong?” His tone turns soft, drenched with concern.

You squeeze your eyes shut tight, tears trickling down the bridge of your nose and dripping down to the white sheets.

“Alright, darling, hold on.” Remus whispers, placing a dainty kiss on your forehead.

He straightens up, knees creaking the way no sixteen year old’s should.

“Alright, lads, clear out.” Remus declares to his friends.

“You can’t kick me out of my room, Moony. No way.” You hear James whine.

“Yes, I can, Prongs, c’mon. Go play chess with Peter or something.”

“But he always beats me.”

“C’mon, Prongsie, we can scam the first years by making them place bets on you winning.” Sirius suggests. His boots click against the floorboards, trailing towards the door.

Peter’s light footsteps follow after them.

“Fine.” James huffs dramatically. “But I’m not sleeping on the couch again, so no funny business.”

The door slams shut and once again you’re met with silence, though you do hear Remus changing out of his uniform and into more comfortable attire.

The bed dips underneath Remus’ weight and his hand gently starts to stroke through your hair.

“Tell me what’s wrong, my love.” Remus mumbles just loud enough for you to hear.

You try to swallow down the lump in the back of your throat.

“Just a very shitty day, Rem.” You manage to croak out, the words choppy and wavering.

Tears begin to flow freely, warm salty streaks making their way down your face in rapid succession.

“Oh darling.” Remus coos, practically pulling you into his arms and between his legs. You bury your face into his neck, tears dampening his scarred flesh. “It’s alright, let it out.” He continues to run your hair between his fingers. “Let it all out...”

“I-I’m just so stupid!” You sob, choking on spit. “Everything’s just getting too much and I can’t fucking take it anymore!”

He squeezes you closer to his chest, opting to stay silent so you can vent everything off of your chest. His cheek is pressed to the top of your head and you’re vaguely aware that you’re being rocked gently back and forth.

“It’s so hard!” You continue to wail, lungs constricting rapidly. It’s a struggle to keep breathing and your words barely come out fully, instead broken fragments are the only things spewing out.

“I’m a failure!” You spit out, face wet with tears.

“You’re not a failure, my love. I promise.” Remus tried to soothe, his voice adopting a small but noticeable waver. His hand rubs your back.

“I am! I’m a disappointment!” You sniff, taking in deep gulps of air.

“Shh...” Remus pulls you back a bit so he can see your entire face.

You already know you look disgusting. Eyes blotchy and red, tears streaming down your face. Snotty, spitty, wobbling, and watery features taking up his entire vision.

“What’s goin’ on in that pretty head of yours, hm? Let me help.” He consoles you softly.

You gaze into his warm honey brown eyes, glistening with his own tears.

You sniff, rubbing the sleeves of Remus’ stolen jumper across your face in an attempt to dry yourself off.

“Everything’s slipping, Rem. My grades, my mental health, everything. And I’m so lost I don’t know what to do anymore.” You confess. “What am I supposed to do?” You bring your hands up to you hair, tugging at your scalp enough for you to feel sparks of pain.

Quickly, his own trembling hands take yours. He stops you from tugging, instead bringing them to rest on his jumper clad chest.

You swallow harshly.

“I’m going to help you, (Y/n)—“

“You can’t help me, Remus! I’m beyond help—“

“No, you’re not.” He retorts lightly. “I’ll help you with homework and help you ask for a few extensions...we can get you back on track.”

“Remus...” Your voice trembles at his kindness.

“I’m sorry.” He rasps out, a tear or two slipping from his waterline. “I’m so so sorry that I didn’t see you suffering like this. Merlin, (Y/n).”

Shaking his head at himself, he brings his forehead down to your own.

“I’ll be better. I’ll be better, I swear.” Remus keeps repeating in a pained mutter.

“It’s not your fault, Rem. I got good at acting like everything was fine.” Your voice cracks.

“Still! I should’ve realized!” He mutters angrily.

“I love you, Remus. I love you so much, please don’t beat yourself up over this.” You plead.

He bites his lip, deciding to drop it, instead focusing on you.

“Why don’t we try to relax, hm? Just take a nice night off?” Remus suggests, pulling away to brush strands of hair away from your sticky face.

“But what about homework—?”

“Tomorrow, love. I think we deserve a break, don’t you?”

You shlyly nod, and he presses his lips to your forehead.

“You’re beautiful, darling.” Remus whispers.

“I just bawled my eyes out, Rem, I’m sure I look like a swamp hag.” You snort.

He brings his hands to your shoulders, rubbing deep circles into your back muscles. The knots start to dissipate.

“Never seen a swamp hag as angelic as you.” Remus flirts. But his voice is so sincere and honest, you have no choice but to somewhat believe him.

“Thank you, Remus.” You smile. “It means so much to me.”

“Anything for the love of my life.” He confesses, trailing his pink lips down your neck. “Now let me hold you close.”

He lays down, resting his head on his pillow, your head resting on his chest.

Things are going to get better.

Probably not tomorrow.

Probably not this week.

But things will.

•

All Character Taglist: @aspiringsloth20

[bisexual-inuyasha]

The Hook

Prompt: “Tell me to stop touching you.” “No.”

Chapter One: Meeting

Ling was supposed to be meeting his future husband. Not right now, but soon. Far too soon.

When he was a child, before his mother had unveiled the curse of his lineage, he had dreamed of love. He had dreamed of sweet arms around his shoulders. He had dreamed of his love’s hair tickling his nose while they laid under the Xing stars and fell asleep.

And now his heart was breaking.

And maybe that was why he was one bottle down on the sweet wine, shirt loose and feet bare in the gardens. His vision blurred, only a little, but that made it easier to pretend the white flowers in the arches were stars. But no amount of drunken stupor could turn alone into not alone.

Inside the palace was a feast. People chattered on without him, somehow not bothering to find him in his own party. So far away but close enough he could still hear the band’s music warbling through the night air. It hadn’t been difficult at all to slip a bottle into his jacket and disappear through the back doors.

He should have grabbed two bottles, he thought. “Maybe I can go back in and leave again.”

“Not a fan of this kind of thing?”

The voice came from somewhere above him. He didn’t feel like turning his head to see who it was. “What?”

“Do you usually make a habit of slipping away and drinking yourself stupid, or is today an exception?” A foot nudged his, the sensation of hard leather unpleasant against his skin. “I don’t think your new husband will approve.”

“Oh, shut up.” Ling closed his eyes. He didn’t recognize the voice. Whoever it was could fuck off. “If you tell on me, I’ll just run away and then what? You’ll look like the guy who ruined the first royal marriage in Xing in almost a hundred years.”

Which was only because the last emperor had married when he was barely more than a child and then not died until he was so decrepit as to be near dust. Still, so few remembered the last wedding that all of Xing was going wild for the chance to celebrate.

“I don’t envy you.” The voice got a lot closer. “Do you have more?”

Ling sighed. The empty bottle waved around, his grip tight on the neck to ensure he didn’t drop it on his head. “No. All empty.”

“Do you want more?” A clinking sounded beside him as the bottle was suddenly gone. “Or do you think you’ll get sick?”

“I am still engaged?”

“Unless the bastard drops dead of a heart attack.”

Ling could see bright blond hair, glowing dully gold in the lamplight. “Well, then. Please, give me more to drink.”

“So polite for an emperor.”

“Politeness is a whole language, and I am fluent.” Ling struggled to push himself up. “I’m only impolite to people I really like.”

“You just told me to shut up.” The blond chuckled.

“And you brought more wine. I obviously have excellent skills of perception.” Ling grabbed the bottle and greedily drank a mouthful.

The stranger only laughed again.

Ling liked the sound of it. He looked at the stranger, struggling to focus. These weren’t exactly small bottles of wine. The man was pretty.

“Thanks, though the last person to call me pretty was a lot smaller than you.” The person took a long, loud drink. Ling hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but he didn’t regret it.

“I’m not going to remember you in the morning, you know.” Ling wiped his arm across his eyes. “In case you’re trying to get some kind of favor.”

The man got quiet, his face suddenly stern. “I’m not trying to get anything from you. You just looked so… scared. When you went outside.”

Ling felt the tears gathering. Why should he care? Why should it matter to him if this stranger saw him cry? An arm wound around his shoulders and Ling cried into a warm chest.

“I’m Edward.” The bottle was pressed back into his hand. “I’m from Xerxes. Or was, I guess.”

Ling thought the name Edward sounded familiar. And if it sounded familiar to him… from Xerxes? He was too drunk to really think it through, but he had a feeling that Edward from Xerxes wasn’t just some guy. “Ed from Xerxes. Do you want to lay down with me?”

“You’re way too drunk for all that.” Ed’s arm swung away from his shoulder. Ling groaned and grabbed the arm again.

“Not like that.” Ling flung himself back, and the stranger Ed followed. “Just lay and look at the stars.”

“Those are flowers,” Ed said but it was too late. Ling was already asleep.

--

He woke up the next morning with a headache that threatened to split his face in two. His mouth was dry. Drool dried on his chin. Someone was moving just outside his view. “Lan Fan?”

“Yes?” His best friend was busy not looking at him.

“How bad did it go last night?”

“Grandfather found you asleep in the garden.” She bit her lip.

“Was I alone?” He had the shape of a memory. Of a person, kind and warm and pretty.

She burned red. She gestured on the chair beside his bed. “You were alone, but.”

A red jacket lay across the back. It was well crafted. Ling got the impression it was also very soft. Bits of grass stuck to the sleeves. “This was covering me?”

“Yes. You were clutching it quite possessively.” She hesitated. “Did… Did anything happen?”

“If I say yes, do I get to not get married?”

“Unfortunately, Sire, I think not.” She reached over and brushed his hair away from his eyes, placing a firm kiss against his forehead. “Though, the fact you didn’t turn into a mess tells me enough.”

Ling rubbed at his eyes. He yawned and tried to ignore the anxiety swelling in his chest. “Well, I guess we best get the day started.”

All his insides felt tangled and wrong. A sour taste permeated his mouth. He swung his feet over the edge of his bed, thumping his feet against the floor. The smooth wood was cold and grounding. He felt a little less wobbly now.

He ran his hand over the jacket, brushing off bits of grass from the sleeves. A lavish dining hall full of people, all there to celebrate his engagement, and only a single person sought him out. He struggled to remember the stranger’s face or his voice or anything. All he could remember was being so alone, and then not, wanting to watch the stars fade into morning. And then nothing.

“Lan Fan, do you know who this belongs to?” Ling picked the jacket up, slid it over his shoulders. It was too small.

“I don’t, Sire.” She chewed on his cheek, a habit she had when she wanted to say something but was too nervous.

“Don’t worry, I’m not. Expecting anything.” He sighed and laid the jacket back onto his chair. “I understand my duty to Xing.”

The words grated against his mouth like nails. He scrubbed the inside of his mouth with a toothbrush. Lan Fan finished fiddling with his breakfast, which he was certainly not touching, and left him to get organized for the day.

He needed to bathe. His hair was filled with small bits of twigs and grass. “Ugh.”

He didn’t have anywhere to be too early this morning. The advisors had assumed he’d be worn out from his party and would need time to recover. They were fully right, of course. Just not for the reason they’d assumed.

He poured perfume and salt into his tub, filling it with the hottest water he could stand. And he spent the next hour scrubbing the sweat and dirt and sick-sweet smell of wine from his body and his hair. Try as he might, he couldn’t scrub himself free of even the vague memories of last night.

“Hm. Red jacket, huh?” He glanced at the chair. It was a nice jacket. Surely whoever was missing it would want it back. And he owed them some kind of thanks for keeping him company. Right? “I’m sure someone knows who you belong to.”

He sat in the bath until it was cool and the bubbles had disappeared. The smell of sandalwood and fire still hung around the room, but his stomach had settled not long after he’d crawled into the water.

Mind made up, Ling pulled a simple white shirt over his head, loose and cool, and shimmied into a simple pair of dark pants. His skin felt raw, everything too sensitive and overstimulated. A dull throbbing ached behind his eyes. Pulling the brush through his hair threatened to throw him into a migraine, so he didn’t risk tying his hair back. He lay back on the bed again for who knows how long, mind drifting through what he was meant to do now and what his options really were.

The late afternoon sun was red, hovering just above setting. Ling had wasted a whole day of his freedom locked away in his room. He’d have to shake himself out of this. He gave himself a full body shake, in each of his limbs and through his hair, imagining all of this feeling falling off his body like water. His mother had taught him that technique, and usually it worked.

Maybe not so well today. Still. He grabbed the jacket from the chair, taking a chance to really look it over. Bright red, finely crafted. Mostly just a rectangle with a long, ruched sleeve holding it together at either end. The fabric was soft, woven. Stitched, very carefully, into the back was the Xerxian lion.

A memory floated up through the haze of last night. It was still soft all around the edges, not quite set, but enough that Ling thought he could at least test it out. Someone had told him they were from Xerxes… or used to be… Someone named Ed. Well, everyone from the party would still be here tonight. A Xingese engagement celebration lasted for a full week. In a usual situation, it would be a week where he and his lover did not see each other, so that they might have a chance to dedicate themselves to their friends and their families, and allow anticipation to grow for the day they saw each other again.

For Ling, the engagement party would end, and he would meet this Amestrian for the first time. From there, he was expected to be united with his husband. And his husband with him.

But already, Ling was getting the shit end of this deal. His husband had chosen him. Ling had been advised that this was a wise match--his future husband’s military strength was impressive, and the man was said to be handsome, if a bit gruff. The advisors had outlined how a marriage of this type would confirm Ling’s rule--no one would be able to challenge his proclamations any more. Not without risking the weight of the Amestrian military crushing them.

It wasn’t how Ling wanted to rule. A people loyal under threat were not loyal at all. But the clans still fought, day to day. And the people were distrustful of him and his youth. The Amestrian he was meant to be marrying was supposed to be older, experienced. It made Ling’s skin crawl.

He’d gone through hell to get here. He’d rather be miserable than let all the lives he took and all the things Lan Fan had endured go to waste. So he’d agreed. Like a man with his neck in the noose, he’d agreed.

Now, though. Now his fingers buzzed with the feel of the fabric. He hadn’t bothered to put on shoes yet. With any luck he’d be mistaken for one of the many guests around and his guards would leave him alone. If he only kept his face out of view.

He didn’t know why he was so interested in whoever owned this jacket. It wouldn’t matter. And if he was right, it would only make it worse.

He began in the west wing, sidling up behind one of his housekeepers who was nosily dusting a very dustless vase. He assumed her diligence had very little to do with the state of his Palace and several-greats-grandfather’s priceless pottery and everything to do with the very loud and unsavory sounds coming from the room behind the vase. “It’s not unusual for people to pair up at these kinds of shindigs, you know.”

Ling kept his voice low, his presence unassuming. She jumped anyway, tossing the duster in her hand clear over his head. It was quite a feat, considering he was at least a foot and half taller than her. She was mousy and plump, every bit the picture of the nosy old woman. “Sire!”

“Well, hello there. You seem quite,” he glanced pointedly at the gleaming vase, “committed to your duties. Would you mind telling me if you recognize this?”

She took one glance at the red jacket and her face relaxed. “Oh, that’s just the Amestrian alchemist's uniform.”

Ling frowned. He would have noticed that. “Are you sure? Look here, it has this lion on the back of it.”

She barely glanced back at it. “It’s been customized. But I just washed about a dozen of those. You can see here how the sleeves have been taken in, so as not to smudge the chalk.”

Ling frowned. “So, is there a Xerxian alchemist in the Amestrian alchemists program?”

“I’m sorry, Sire. Not that I know of.” She eyed the jacket again. “I can take that for you, if you’d like. It needs a good washing.”

Ling pulled it away just before she was able to grab it. He winked at her. Her lined cheeks turned bright red. The jacket flung casually over his shoulder, and he walked quickly away from her. “No, I’d like to return it myself.”

By the time he found someone else to ask, someone who wasn’t a housekeeper or cook or any other nosy body, the sun was sinking. He was nearly out of time. Dinner was starting soon, and he’d have to be dressed and suitable for addressing the people. So he was less smooth this time, when he finally stopped someone who looked not at all familiar. “Do you know whose this is?”

Immediately, he sensed danger. The person he asked grinned, their eyes way too wide and excited to be a casual reaction. Instinctively he pulled the jacket back to his chest. “Yeah, you know. I do. Hold on.”

The person turned back towards the room they’d been coming out of. “Oh, Ed! Someone has something of yours. He’s handsome, too.”

“Al, I swear to God if you’re fucking with me--”

And Ling suddenly had another memory as the golden haired man stuck his face out the door. “You are pretty.”

And then the door slammed in his face. Like, painfully. He rubbed his nose, feeling underneath for blood. Maybe it would bruise.

The door inched open, and Ling saw a still grinning Al. “Sorry about that. He’s not used to people calling him pretty. I’ll send him right out.”

Ling wasn’t standing around for long before the man returned. He covered his nose and held out the jacket. “You left this.”

“I thought you said you weren’t going to remember me.” The man scowled.

“I assume that’s why you left a clue behind?”

“You were completely shitfaced.” The scowl deepened. “I couldn’t just leave you there, uncovered.”

“I get it, you felt sorry for me. I didn’t become Emperor of Xing by getting embarrassed by stuff like that.” Ling ran his hands through his hair. “Would you like to go to dinner with me? I want to repay you for your kindness.”

Al was watching them both with a grin stretched across their face. “Your kindness, Ed.”

“Do they usually act like this?” He wasn’t sure if he was meant to laugh or if he was being laughed at.

“Yes, they do. When it’s me, at least.” Ed rubbed his hand over his face. “Well, I guess. Let’s go.”

Ling looked down at his clothes. “I’m not wearing shoes.”

“Yeah, you should take care of that.” Ed’s scowl was maybe just permanently fixed there. Was it possible Ling was making a mistake?

He’d just opened his mouth to tell Ed that he wasn’t required to eat dinner with him, if he didn’t want. Sometimes that happened too--people assumed when he asked something, that it wasn’t a real question. So he’d stopped asking for things, usually, unless it was an order. Or he was talking to Lan Fan.

Ed waved him off before he could speak, reaching for his jacket. “So, are you ok?”

Ling’s mouth snapped shut. He hadn’t expected that. “What?”

“Are you ok?” Ed gave him a worried look. “You seemed pretty messed up last night. I mean, by the time I found you.”

“I’m doing better.” Ling lied.

“That’s good to know.” Ed shrugged his jacket back on. “I don’t know how often I can get away with sneaking out to the garden with you and drinking ourselves senseless.”

Ling blushed. “Ok, well, you know. You don’t have to remind me.”

“Apparently you remembered all on your own.” Ed shook his head, his blond braid swinging behind him. “So, are you going to change, or are you planning a soft rebellion?”

A soft rebellion sounded nice. Ling did not consider his bare feet to be a soft rebellion. “I’ll be stopping by my room, briefly. Feel free to follow me if you like.”

Ling had meant it as a teasing, assuming that he’d meet Ed in the dining hall. Yet, when he headed down the hallway that led to his rooms, Ed followed behind, ticking off artifacts and paintings on his fingers. The run of his fingertips against the wall sounded unusual.

“Are you wearing… Metal gloves?” Ling paused, listening more closely.

“No, actually. The opposite.” Ed tapped his fingers purposefully on the wall. It made a loud, satisfying tinking sound “Wanna see?”

Ling quirked a brow. “See your hands?”

“Well, hand.” Ed wiggled his fingers on his right hand, a thin white glove covering whatever was making the metallic sound against Ling’s walls. Carefully, one finger at a time, Ed took the gloves off to reveal a metal hand. “See, I’m wearing cloth gloves. What you heard was me.”

Ling moved closer, nearly touching Ed’s fingertips before he caught himself. “Is it ok if I touch it?”

“I--uh, yeah? Most people just do.” Ed rubbed the back of his head with his other hand. “Thanks for asking.”

The gratitude surprised him. “It’s your hand. I wouldn’t be happy if someone just grabbed my hand without warning.”

Ed’s face split into a grin. “You know, you’re right.”

Ling shook his head, placing his hand gently against the metal. Cool, jagged edges pressed back against his palm. “Can you feel my hand?”

He didn’t look up to see if Ed responded. He brushed the tips of the metal caps with his fingertips. They weren’t sharp, like he’d expected. And the oval plate meant to be the base of the thumb was smooth, polished nearly naked by use. It was art, Ling thought to himself. He pressed his hand against Ed’s once more. Art in a more real way than Ling had ever seen--art of a person to a degree he’d never been able to accomplish. His fingers stretched out beyond the edge of the metal, his palm just a smidge wider. “My hands are bigger than yours.”

Ed coughed and pulled his hand back. “You’re... I didn’t expect you to be that interested. Usually it’s, kind of like a. Like a party trick, you know?”

“Are you nervous?” Ling had gotten too close. He stepped back and turned on his heel. “Your arm is beautiful.”

“People don’t usually have an opinion on it.” Ed frowned. “Well, unless they’re automail mechanics, but then it’s nothing like that.”

Ling laughed. “Then what do people usually say?”

Ed considered for a moment. “Nothing. They usually are surprised that I've got a metal arm, say something about how I’m an inspiration or something, and then we move on. Automail mechanics usually go all gaga and ask me for Winry’s number.”

They’d made their way to Ling’s rooms. “Do you feel like an inspiration?”

“No. Can’t say I do.” Ed tapped his fingers. “I have to say, this is an unusual conversation. Let’s change the subject.”

So Ling did. “Well, I’d best get changed. You’re welcome to come in.”

Ed followed him, quietly. Ling flitted around the room, grabbing the most comfortable, passable clothes he could get away with that night. His room still smelled of sandalwood and soap. It was a pleasant smell but heavy and perfumy in a way that made him self conscious. He glanced back after pulling his shirt off to see Ed rustling through his papers on his desk.

“Did you do these?” Ed didn’t touch Ling’s work. Instead he hovered over them, nose nearly touching the charcoal. “No wonder you called my arm art. You probably see art in a lot of things.”

Ling scrambled over to the papers, quickly placing himself between Ed and the desk. “You are an explorer, aren’t you? Ha.”

Hastily, he stacked the papers and shoved them into a drawer.

“What, you don’t like them?”

Ling groaned and closed his eyes. He didn’t want to get into how he felt about his art. He went to rub his hand over his face but flinched as his hand bumped against his bruised nose. “Ow.”

Ed scowled more harshly than Ling had seen him scowl so far. His non-metal hand reached towards Ling’s face. Ling flinched on instinct. But Ed’s touch was gentle as he traced over the light bruise on Ling’s nose.

“I’m sorry about that. You caught me off guard. I didn’t expect you to remember anything.” His thumb pushed a little too hard on the bridge of Ling’s nose and Ling hissed in pain. “I used to be able to help with stuff like this. Nowadays, I’m useless.”

“It’s just a bruise. Don’t be so dramatic.” Ling covered his nose with his hand. It was a mistake--it just hurt again.

“Jeez, no need to get all embarrassed. I’m the dumbass that slammed a door in your face.”

“You were, weren’t you?” Ling hummed, tapping his finger against his chin. “I guess that means you owe me.”

“I don’t do just any kind of favor.” Ed crossed his arms and stood defiantly straight. The pose reminded Ling of a small bird puffing out its chest. “What do you want me to do?”

“Model for me. Just real quick. Your arm, I’ve never seen anything like it. Not up close anyway.” Ling picked up a charcoal left on his desk. “All the tarnishing in the nooks and crannies, all the smooth polish of well used parts. It’s so unique to you--to the actions you’ve taken and the places you’ve been.”

Ed deflated sheepishly. “Oh, that’s all. Ok, then. I mean, I don’t get it really. It’s just automail.”

Ling grinned. “I’ll show you, after I’ve sketched it out.”

Ed looked uncomfortable at first. Then, Ling nudged his shirt sleeve up until the full bottom half of the automail was exposed. Carefully, Ling arranged Ed’s arm to catch the light, to show off all the worn angles. As he sketched, arranged, sketched, and rearranged, Ed settled down. He held his metal arm perfectly still, and laid his head on his other hand, and closed his eyes. Ling almost thought he was asleep, until suddenly, Ed leapt from his chair.

“Dinner!”

And then they were both jumping, Ed all but dashed out the door while Ling slung his robe on.

It wasn’t until he got to dinner that Ling remembered he wasn’t wearing shoes. “Shit.”

They were very late. Late enough that the dining room was full.

“We should have come in separately.” Ed whispered from the side of his mouth. “This is weird.”

Ling didn’t say anything. Lan Fan sat in her usual spot, his empty seat beside her. A familiar face sat across from her, grinning the same wide grin as when Ling first met them. Alphonse. So, the two of them must have been talking when neither he nor Ed showed up on time for dinner. He wasn’t sure how, but Lan Fan must have made some excuse, since everyone was eating. Even if the guests were still staring at them, at least they hadn’t been waiting to start for all this time.

Ling took his seat, careful to never drop his neutral, most royal expression. “How is the food tonight, Lan Fan?”

“Delicious as always, Sire.” Lan Fan took a large bite off her plate. “Though it would have been better warm.”

Her words bite. She’s upset at him. “I’m sorry, Lan Fan.”

Al laughed. “He’s so quick to apologize. My brother is stubborn to the end. He never says anything outright.”

Ling grinned around a mouthful of rice. “An emperor must have some sense of humility. And besides, I got carried away with him. I should have paid closer attention to the time.”

Ed sputtered. He’d forgotten to put on his gloves, so one metal hand waved around with this others. “You can’t just say--do you know how that sounds? It was just art, ok!”

“Art?” Al tapped their plate. It was already empty. “You’re not usually so appreciative of the creative process, Ed. What kept you?”

“I was modeling,” Ed’s voice got smaller and smaller, until it was difficult to hear the last word. He rubbed at his automail, face tinged red. “Anyway, what business is it of yours?”

“To the contrary, Edward Elric. It is everyone’s business where our engaged Emperor disappears to during his celebrations.” Lan Fan put her fork down. “It is something you should be aware of if you choose to become close to the emperor.”

Ling didn’t feel much like eating. She was right, and right not to sugar coat it. But it still hurt. “Usually there are fewer eyes, though it is no less true.”

“Why on earth would I care?” Ed glared at his food, alternating between chowing down on his rice and glaring at whoever dared watch him. “Al, do you want the rest of this stuff?”

Al gladly accepted the grilled pork from Ed’s plate. The rest of the night the conversation stayed civil, the stream of words flowing easily between all of them.

“You know, he draws a lot of pictures of you,” Ed pointed his fork at Lan Fan. “You do a lot of chores. He should be paying you more.”

“I am the highest paid advisor he has. In all of Xing, only Ling is better compensated.” Lan Fan narrowed her eyes. “I go around in his rooms and helping him because he is my friend.”

Ling put his fork down. “My best friend.”

Ed looked between them. “Oh.”

“Not like that, brother.” Al shook their head. “They really are just best friends. Lan Fan is super gay.”

And for some reason, the rest of the dinner, Ed was all smiles. Not a scowl in sight.

Eventually, the food and the small talk was over. People were heading to their rooms. Some were barely able to stand, some leaned a little to casually into the bodies of their partners, and some were already dozing at their tables. The housekeepers would corral the snoozing partygoers into their rooms. Ling was worn out from the previous nights drinking and the up and down of rolling depression and unacceptable adventure of the day.

Lan Fan had already gone for the night, and Al was hovering around Ed to walk back to their rooms. Ling opened his mouth to say his farewells.

“Can you show me the work you did of my arm? I never got to see the end result.” Ed didn’t look at Al. He didn’t even look at Ling. He stared off somewhere near the door, hands tossed over his head. Ling could recognize a carefully casual pose when he saw one. So could Al.

For the first time since Ling met them, Al’s grin faltered. “Are you sure?”

“Don’t be silly, Al. It’s just some pictures.”

Al paused, their face unnaturally stern. Then, they grinned again. “As long as you're sure. Be careful.”

“I didn’t even respond yet.” Ling scoffed.

“Oh, do you have something to do?”

But now the prospect of showing off his work, possibly drawing more of Ed’s arm, maybe even convincing Ed to let him draw his face, had Ling feeling wired. “Uh, well, no. But still, you should have let me answer at least.”

“I’ll expect you back sometime tonight, Ed.” Al waved and headed off to their own room.

Ed just waved himself on, following Ling as they headed back to their room.

“You got away with wearing no shoes through all of dinner.” Ed chuckled.

“Yeah, well. You can get away with a good bit when you’re emperor. People don’t want to point it out, in case it’s something you’re supposed to be doing.”

This time, the walk back to Ling’s room was heavy. There was an expectation, a shared thought neither of them wanted to voice.

“I didn’t realize you’d gotten that much of a look at my drawings. You really liked the ones I did of Lan Fan?” Ling shrugged his robe off. His room was hot, the smell of sandalwood having finally faded, but the humidity lingering.

“You’re talented. I knew who you were drawing straight away.” Ed stretched.

Ling spread the few pages of preliminary sketches he’d gotten done across the work desk. “They aren’t much. I was still working out shapes and angles when you realized it was dinner.”

“Weird how time got away from us.” Ed laughed. “Didn’t realize my arm was so captivating.”

“You are good company,” Ling tapped his charcoal against the paper. “But, now you’ve seen the pictures. I’m sure Al is expecting you.”

It was a direct challenge. Ling wondered if Ed would meet it.

“If I’m such good company, why’re you kicking me out?” Ed scowled again, and this time Ling laughed.

“You make that face too often. Let’s see if I can get a prettier expression.” Ling sidled up against Ed’s side, his lips still split into a smile. “And then maybe I could draw some more pictures?”

“Hey now, how conceited do you think I am?”

Ling darted around Ed, pushing his golden hair away with one hand while tilting his chin with the other. “I think you are conceited enough to invite yourself to the room of an engaged emperor.”

“Well, you wanted me here.”

Ling did, it was true. “Let’s get you posed then.”

“Posed?”

“Look, if you’re going to be here, I’m going to get some practice in.” Ling tapped his hand against Ed’s cheek, sliding through Ed’s hair until he’d smoothed the blond strands behind a scarred shoulder.

And so Ling took full advantage--he drew. He drew Ed’s long hair and strong jaw. He sketched the scars where the automail connected. Ed told him about nerve connectors, and his automail mechanic, and the podunk town he grew up in.

“What about Xerxes?”

“Xerxes hasn’t had a ruler in a long, long time. Eventually, we were whittled down to nothing and Amestris absorbed us.” Ed frowned, and it marred the image he was sketching. “It was going to happen eventually, but. It didn’t make it better.”

“Amestris is quite a greedy nation, isn’t it?” Ling put down his charcoal. There was something he’d wanted to do, from the moment he’d first touched Ed’s metal hand. “First it takes your home. Then it takes me, reaching its claws into Xing. Offering what we want in exchange for everything we already have.”

He slid his hand along the cool metal, pushing the arm up and away. “Can you feel my hand? Is that how the nerve reactors work?”

“A little. It’s like a pressure.” Ed narrowed his eyes at him, suspicious but not worried. “Not like when you touch my other hand.”

Ling nodded, pulling Ed’s other hand to him. He had almost a memory of Ed’s arm around him. Almost a memory of a moment. “Tell me to stop touching you.”

Ed didn’t look away. “No.”

“Then I’m not going to stop.” Ling cupped his hand against Ed’s face. And there, exactly where he wanted them, Ed’s arms wrapped around him.

Tomorrow's problems would come tomorrow. This was what he wanted now.

[afterhoursfic]

Hey! Its been a while. Lost the password for my first account- Guess I'll start off with a prompt! Jaskier and Geralt have just left Posada, but every time Jaskier runs off with someone he comes back with a strong scent of desperation, not to mention he covers himself even when he's getting into the bath before Geralt, and Geralt can't figure out why. That is, until he walks in on Jaskier changing. (1/2)

(2/2) Jaskier's cock is small. And Jaskier is humiliated, and Geralt is... Turned on?? He honestly thinks it's cute, Jaskier's size, how embarrassed he is by it. So, Jaskier is pent up of course. When the witcher asks, he can't exactly say no to fucking. He just wasn't expecting Geralt to be practically worshipping Jaskier, thanking him and praising him for letting him touch him and telling him how cute his cock is. Tbh just a praise fic ive been meaning to prompt someone with for a while-

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I’m sorry this took forever and if it’s not exactly like you asked but I really tried tog give off the whole Geralt loves Jaskier’s little cock vibe so hopefully you enjoy it!

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They’d only been together for two weeks and Geralt had already lost count of how many times Jaskier went off to an alcove or alley with someone. He would be jealous if it wasn’t for the fact that almost every time he came back desperate, edged with just a bit of hurt, and reeking of quickly dissipating arousal, which doesn’t help Geralt’s own need.

At first, he thinks it’s some sort of game? Kink? Whatever it is, and just something Jaskier does, which is to torture himself and Geralt too by proxy, until he gives himself the best orgasms ever apparently, because there are very few occasions where Jaskier comes back, loose with a carefree smile and just oozing satisfaction as if he hadn’t felt it in a decade.

Those are the times Geralt is jealous and he’s half tempted to ask Jaskier how he does it until said bard walks, well storms into their room, the familiar stench of hurt, arousal, and longing soon clouding up the room.

He asks Jaskier if he’s alright of course because he’s not an asshole all the time, but like all the times before Jaskier shrugs him off and tells him he’s fine as he makes a beeline for his bags and the waterskin which contains half a bottle of wine.

They sit there for a few long minutes, Jaskier steadily drinking as Geralt turns his attention to the noises of the town filtering from outside just to distract himself when suddenly Jaskier moves, putting down the waterskin and stretching before he starts undressing.

“D’you mind?” Geralt doesn’t have to ask, he just turns to the bath in the corner of the room, the water stone cold, at least until Geralt flashes igni at it, and he watches as Jaskier sinks into the hot water with a groan and his back turned to him as usual.

It’s not odd per se to want a bit of privacy, but they travel together so it’s inevitable that at some point they’ll get to see everything, hell it was probably the second day they knew each other when Jaskier watched him strip naked to bathe in the river and he earned more than a few compliments. Jaskier was private and that was fair enough, but he’d always shriek and cover himself as if scandalized if Geralt even so much as glanced his way whilst he changed or tried to take a peek.

It was odd though that Jaskier would turn his back to him to get in the bath, only to then turn to face him, if he were embarrassed about his body then why show it off now? All he had to do was sit up in bed and he could catch a glimpse if he wanted, but to each their own. Clearly, Jaskier had no intention to talk about whatever was bothering him for the hundredth time already and so instead he settled back into his bed and left it be for now.

.

He left it for about a day before they were pulling into another village and saw Jaskier charm and flirt his way around the tavern, reeking of arousal, and he pointedly looked away when the woman dragged Jaskier into a backroom already heavily making out and using his hands to work on the ties of her dress whilst her free hand was palming at his cock.

Resigning himself to a night alone Geralt ordered another drink and reached a hand down to shift his cock a little from where it was pressing hard and insistent against the laces of his trousers. It was going to be a long night, especially with the smell of Jaskier’s arousal lingering in the back of his throat.

At least that was until the woman all but charged out of the backroom, her hair loose and dress falling off of her shoulder as Jaskier raced out a second later trying to do up his laces as he tried to catch up with her. Once she’d barged through the front door, Jaskier gave up the chase, staring forlornly at the closed door as if hoping for something else to happen, and after a long moment when it didn’t, he turned and went upstairs to their room, and Geralt briefly noted that burnt, frustrated smell Jaskier seemed to carry more and more these days and he thought he finally knew why.

Seemed to him that Jaskier didn’t have all the prowess he liked to boast about given that this seemed to be a common occurrence. It’s not like Jaskier was a bad lover, he’d heard the bard get a woman off several times on just his tongue, a lot, so much so he felt like he was lacking in the bedroom sometimes, and yet his latest conquest had stormed off and left them both unsatisfied.

He was just drunk enough that he was willing to go for answers, hell if he was desperate enough he’s sure he could talk Jaskier into a mutual hand job, anything to beat the monotony of jerking himself off quietly under the covers every other night.

So, he downed his drink in one, stood up on legs far too steady for what he was about to do, but he was just desperate enough to do it anyway.

For once being a witcher was actually helpful, it meant he could go up the stairs without being heard, so when he barged through their bedroom door, he was met with the sight of Jaskier stood over the bed, whining as he jerked his fist frantically.

Geralt felt his mouth dry at the sight, but he only had another second to savor it before Jaskier was jumping back, hand leaving his cock to try and grab the blankets and cover himself. It was too late though, Geralt couldn’t help the way his eyes shifted to see Jaskier’s cock hard and red, and no bigger than his middle finger, and yet Geralt couldn’t hold back the curse that fumbled out of his mouth as his cock twitched at the sight.

“Fuck Jaskier, this why you can’t get laid?”

“I can get laid just fine, witcher” He watched as Jaskier fumbled his hands in front of him to try and cover up, not that it mattered at this point, he could see the flush on his face, the sweat beading at his temples and smell the mix of arousal and embarrassment all in one. Despite all of this Jaskier was still hard though, shuffling on his feet as if that would help him somehow and Geralt’s mouth watered at imagining the taste of it on his tongue.

Despite the way he tried to hold himself he could hear Jaskier’s jackrabbiting heartbeat, but he didn’t bother mentioning all the times Jaskier had come back to their rooms stinking of arousal, frustration, and embarrassment and being all around unsatisfied because it wouldn’t help him here. Instead, he took a step closer, licking at his lips to taste the arousal in the air as he pointedly looked at Jaskier’s cock, safely hidden behind his hand now and he’s sure he looked desperate as he looked back up into Jaskier’s eyes.

“Can I jerk you off?” His voice is small as if he’s unsure with himself, and he supposes he is, it’s not like he’s ever propositioned Jaskier before and he doesn’t know how he’d take the rejection, if they could even go to being friends afterward.

“Is this some kind of joke, because it’s not very funny”

“Of course not, but you’ve got such a pretty little cock Jaskier, let me get you off, please” They stood staring at each other for a moment before Geralt took a step closer and when Jaskier didn’t shy away he took another step and then another until they were stood directly in front of each other “Say no and I’ll stop, but please let me touch you Jaskier, let me look after you”

He let out his breath when Jaskier nodded his head once, collapsing to his knees immediately and watched Jaskier stumble back a step clearly caught unawares, but then he’s looking up, watching Jaskier’s face as he pulls the bard’s hand away to replace it with his own, pressing his thumb against his slit to coat it with pre so he could slick his hand over his cock.

It was only when Jaskier leaned forward to rest a hand on his shoulder, eyes fluttering closed and a low moan leaving his mouth that Geralt looked away, licked his lips again as he watched his whole fist cover Jaskier’s dick, and started to use just his index finger and thumb to jerk him off so that he could see the slick head of his cock past his fingers and drip pre all over the floor.

He leaned forward to lick off a drop threatening to fall, his tongue just brushing the tip of his cock and caused Jaskier to shudder violently and groan, a testament to how long he’d gone without another’s touch, and he barely restrained himself from putting his mouth over his cock then and there.

“Can I suck you Jaskier? Please let me get my mouth on you, need to taste you, see if you can reach the back of my throat-“

“Yes, fuck yes just do it” He almost didn’t recognize Jaskier’s voice, but he didn’t dwell on it, just pulled his fingers away so he could swallow his cock in one, groaning as he felt the tip just brush the back of his throat, and the salty taste of pre on his tongue before Jaskier’s cock jerked once and with a shudder he came.

Geralt easily swallowed it and kept licking at his slit until Jaskier’s nails started to dig into his shoulder, then he pulled away just enough so he could suck the head of his cock a little bit longer, a spare hand going to roll Jaskier’s balls in his hand, squeezing them just a little to coax a weak spray of come in his mouth before Jaskier grabbed his hair and pulled him off. They both ignored the fact that he whined, although he’s sure Jaskier won’t remember it in his pleasure addled brain.

“Fuck me?” He watched Jaskier blink once, then twice as he tried to think over an answer, all whilst Geralt wrapped his fingers around his cock again, ever so slowly moving them whilst he pressed kisses against the tip, down to his balls, and then back up to his hips. It served its purpose of getting Jaskier hard again, he’s sure the bard’s been neglected enough that he’ll be shooting off like a teenager all night. “You want to get your cute, little cock in me? Bet I don’t need much prep, you could just slide in now if you wanted, do you want to? Want to finally have a hole to fuck?”

“Fuck- Geralt I swear if this is-“

“No, no, just need your cock in me, want to come just on your pretty cock, please Jaskier”

“Fucking hells yes, get on the fucking bed before I come again, want to be in you when I do” Geralt didn’t waste a second, using his reflexes to good use as he stripped off his clothes to lay on the bed, and frankly it showed how desperate Jaskier was to get his cock in something because he didn’t even complain about not getting to undress him. There were plenty more nights for that but right now he needed Jaskier’s cock in him and he needed it now.

Although Jaskier probably could just slip his cock into his hole with just a bit of oil, that didn’t stop Jaskier from making quick work of teasing him open on one finger, just one so that he could just about feel the stretch of Jaskier’s cock when he pushes in. Maybe in the morning he’ll wake up early and stretch himself on his own fingers before sitting on Jaskier’s cock to see if he could feel it, and the thought had him moaning and stretching his legs open wider to get Jaskier closer to him, to tell him to get on with it.

Then Geralt was shoved on all fours, his chest pressed into the mattress and he held his breath as he waited to feel when Jaskier would push in. He couldn’t help himself when he looked over his shoulder just as Jaskier was slicking up his cock and lining up with his hole “It’s alright if you’re little cock slips out, I know you can’t help it”

“Shit” That was all he said before Jaskier started pushing in, Geralt could feel it stretching him open a little and he groaned as it pushed deeper until it nestled just below his prostate like the continent's best tease. Jaskier didn’t even have the patience to build up a rhythm, just began fucking with abandon, and thankfully his cock hadn’t slipped out, yet, but Geralt knew he was close, could feel his cock twitch inside him, and hear the groans building in his chest as Jaskier rode him closer to orgasm.

Geralt just clenched around his cock as hard as he could, heard the catch in Jaskier’s breath and the stuttered gasp as he bent over his back and came, still quickly fucking into him until his orgasm ebbed and it was nothing more than the slow drag of Jaskier's cock in his hole, brushing against his prostate on every thrust that had him tense and his own cock leaking onto the sheets beneath him.

“Come on Jaskier, I know you’ve got more than that, finally got someone you can fuck with that pretty little cock of yours, don’t you want to use it?” He was answered as Jaskier just groaned a low yes, feeling him snap his hips against him and hearing the slick squelch of the come in his hole as he set a quick pace, his cock twitching to get hard with every thrust, and Geralt couldn’t help but groan as he rolled his hips back to meet him “That’s it Jaskier, just like that-“

He was cut short by his own groan and Jaskier’s curse when on the next thrust Jaskier pulled out too far, cursing as he fumbled with his cock, smearing it across his ass down to his balls until finally, he managed to get enough control to push it back into his hole, Jaskier’s fingers gripping his hips hard as he started fucking him again.

He was right, Jaskier was eager and pent up enough that he shot off like a teenager for hours, fucking him as a man possessed, and Geralt was lost in it, Jaskier’s cock brushing his prostate with every thrust and left him groaning as Jaskier milked his cock dry. The sheets below him soaked in sweat and come and left him clenching his jaw to stop his snarls escaping, all whilst Jaskier moaned above him, pressing messy kisses along the line of his spine, his neck, until they both were drained physically and metaphorically and collapsed onto the bed in a sweaty heap.

The smell of their come and sweat strong but not as strong as the waves of satisfaction rolling off of Jaskier, of the fatigue and arousal deep in his skin, and he knows in a few hours they’ll be doing all of this again, but at least now he won’t have to scent the burnt edge of frustration to him anymore. All he had to do was get on his knees and give Jaskier his pick of holes and if he were lucky maybe one day, he could get Jaskier on his back so he could milk his cute little cock for hours, or maybe edge him if he wanted to get him as desperate as he was tonight. Either way, he let sleep take him, bone tired as he was if he was going to have the energy to ride Jaskier’s cock in the morning.

[puppy-prose]

How about jaskier is a dragon and determines that Geralt is very much his mate. He wants to make it official by fucking on the summer solstice, as dragons do to get married/bond. Geralt, not knowing that he's Jaskier's mate, is v. Confused when the bard starts pawing at his clothes and whining for his cock and that talk about "make me yours Geralt" but is Very Into It once he realizes just what's going on

ahh my first request!! thank you so, so much!! i hope you enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it!!

Geralt was a witcher—a very good witcher. He could sniff out a bruxae from a mile away; he could track down a wyvern from only a few drops of blood. He knew the differences between rotfiends and ghouls and alghouls, he knew how many spikes were on a manticore’s tail, he knew how to identify and defeat hundreds of monsters, creatures, and beasts of myth. 

So, logically, Geralt knew he was a dragon. Jaskier was sure of it. Right?

He didn’t do a very good job of hiding it. How anyone thought he was human baffled him. He hoarded songs and scents, with his precious lite at the center of it all. Notebooks filled to the brim with lyrics and lines—not all of them his. Bags, once he had settled in with Geralt enough to trust him with it, that were always packed with oils, bath salts, and ointments. His temper, too, easy to flare, but easy to forgive. His affinity for shiny, pretty things. And perhaps the most damning of it all, the way he didn’t always act human. The half-raw meat that he never had a problem devouring; the way he always managed to find his way back to Geralt every spring without fail, no matter where on the Continent the witcher was. His unchanged youthful looks, years and years after they met.

So, Jaskier was reasonably certain, Geralt knew what he was. He’d simply not said anything because it was easier—because Geralt disliked honest and open conversations like that. So Jaskier didn’t bother to bring it up either, content in his companion’s silent acceptance. 

But truth be told, Jaskier wanted more. 

So he asked for it. Subtly, of course. Geralt wasn’t an emotional man—going to him and declaring his love wasn’t exactly an option. So Jaskier started slow, poking and prodding, testing his interests through his kind’s courting traditions. And when his first gift—a pair of gloves made from his own scales, the proud jeweled red dulled and dyed purposefully to keep Geralt safe when he was out stalking beasties—was accepted with a huff, a tiny smile, a roll of the eyes, and Geralt taking awfully good care of them, Jaskier knew his affections were accepted. Perhaps even returned. 

More gifts, more rituals followed. Ointments of his favorite scents, carefully diluted for a witcher’s nose, to sooth his dry hands. Intricate braids done during baths, telling stories in his hair; Dutch braids for devotion, crown braids for loyalty, fishtail braids for patience, lace braids for fidelity, with all of them begrudgingly left alone until the next time he desperately needed a bath. The vernal equinox celebrated together by getting awfully drunk on honey wine, procured from the fae themselves. 

And lastly, a final gift that could be an equivalent to a human’s engagement ring, he offered to Geralt a plaited bracelet made up of his lute strings, worn and representative of himself, a piece of his prized treasure and a piece of himself practically along with it. And Geralt? Well, Geralt accepted. He wore that bracelet every day, even if he pretended, quite transparently, to be only humoring Jaskier and nothing else. And that was that. 

They were mates. 

And today was the summer solstice.

--

Jaskier was antsy. Then again, Geralt was of a mind that Jaskier was always antsy. Fidgety and twitchy, always moving. Like a hummingbird, he thought. It was as if Jaskier expected himself to die if he fell still for even a single minute. But no. This was a different kind of antsy. He’d been extra energetic all day. It was as endearing as it was annoying--though he’d never admit to it.

He’d been whining about leaving the city all day, too. The little bird, always ready to fly away when bored. Gods, Geralt had a hard time hiding his small smiles as Jaskier went on about the boring foods, as he tried to bother him into heading out to the next town as soon as possible. But he’d had to hunt, unfortunately; the city had been plagued with a manticore on its outer regions, and Geralt needed the coin. So he’d had the bard wait for him at the tavern, taken care of the issue, and came back in need of a bath. Jaskier, never one to turn down a bit of pampering whether it was for himself or other people, was happy enough to do so, and they left the city on Jaskier’s insistence in the late afternoon, Geralt’s hair pulled back into a dragon’s braid. 

While he’d expected Jaskier to calm as they got further away from the city, the opposite quickly proved itself true. He became more agitated, more twitchy. It prickled at the sense of amusement and content that generally followed him when Jaskier was involved, and as the sun was setting, Geralt finally pulled to a stop, leading them off into a copse of trees. “Go get wood for a fire,” he told Jaskier, hoping getting the man to sleep early that night would fix the issue. “I’ll find us something to eat.” 

Together, they set up camp. Geralt had a rabbit caught quickly enough, roasted it over the open fire, and the two of them ate. All throughout the meal, Jaskier jabbered as usual--but his foot kept tapping, his fingers kept rubbing together, his words kept stumbling over themselves. And as the sun disappeared beneath the trees, Geralt caught a whiff of burnt rosemary and sweat. For whatever reason, Jaskier was getting himself worked up.

With a frown, concern marring his brow, Geralt used the tip of his boot to push into the meat of Jaskier’s thigh. “What’s wrong?” he demanded, leaving no room for argument. He wasn’t going to allow the bard to wriggle out of this--not when he’d been acting strangely all day.

Cornflower blue eyes turned up to his. “What? Oh--s’nothing.” Jaskier smiled. “Just a bit nervous, I suppose.”

The witcher’s brow arched. “Nervous?” he repeated. Yes, he could smell that. But he hadn’t expected Jaskier to give that feeling up so easily. “What about?”

“Oh, you know.” Jaskier waved his hand at the sky, his eyes catching--glinting--in the rising moon’s light. “Today was the summer solstice.”

Geralt wasn’t following. He blinked. They’d spent many solstices together. Not winter ones; not yet. One day… But plenty of summer ones. “Why?”

Whether it was the right or the wrong thing to say, Geralt couldn’t tell. It drew a laugh from his bard, slightly hysterical though, and he suddenly found himself with Jaskier’s full attention. He didn’t have that very often. The little bird flitted about here and there; he paid attention to Geralt, all the time, but to put all of his focus on him? To see those blue eyes turn focused and determined, to feel Jaskier staring into his very soul? Yeah, that was a bit intimidating. 

“Silly witcher,” Jaskier replied. “This is why, of course.”

In the next moment, too quick for even Geralt’s senses to catch it--though that was likely due to surprise more than anything else--Jaskier was right before him. His breath got stuck in his throat--and then they were kissing. 

Gods, Geralt had dreamed of Jaskier’s mouth on his for years. He’d wondered what it tasted like--sweet like the wine he was so fond of? Fruity and full from his dietary preferences? Deep and heady as the forest that Jaskier continued to force himself into with dogged determination? But no. He’d been wrong. It was, somehow, all of those things, and more. 

He drew back a little for breath at one point, hardly registering that he’d lifted his hand to cup the nape of Jaskier’s neck, that his precocious little bird had pushed his way between his legs, on his knees before the log Geralt was sitting on. But Jaskier didn’t let him go for even long enough to open his eyes, dragging him back into another kiss. It was searing and hot, really hot, and he gave a soft, involuntary groan. 

Finally, though, Jaskier moved back. It was only so he could tug and pull at the leather of Geralt’s armor, swearing under his breath as he pulled at the stubborn closures, swaying close to him and interrupting his own progress. But even with Geralt’s head still reeling from the sudden makeout session, even with him bemused by Jaskier’s usually smooth seducing capabilities turned into him fumbling with a jerkin, he didn’t miss the fact that Jaskier did not look like Jaskier. 

Two horns, ivory, ridged in a spiral growing pattern, protruded from Jaskier’s head. They curved back and downwards towards his skull, before turning back up towards the night sky, the tips deadly sharp. Red scales were slowly emerging from his skin to smatter over his cheeks like rouge, like a glamor being revealed bit by bit, Geralt’s medallion not so much as twitching--ancient magic, powerful magic that slipped by even his detection. And he was fumbling, the witcher realized, because his nails had sharpened, those same jewel-toned scaled stretching up the backs of his hands, disappearing up the pale blue of his doublet. 

“Dammit,” Jaskier whined, impatience thick on him, the nervous scent already beginning to fade away. “Just want you to fuck me, and this stupid--this--fuck!” He turned his eyes up to Geralt, cat-slit pupils just like the witcher’s own blown in the dark of the night, wide with his desire. “Geralt, please,” he begged, leaning in for another kiss--a kiss that Geralt didn’t refuse. And not just because he was caught off-guard by the novel sensation of being kissed with a newly forked tongue. “Please,” he continued when they broke apart, rubbing his cheek against his like a cat, like he was scenting him, the scratch of the scales not at all painful, instead kind of… Nice? “C’mon, help me, please, need you in me so bad…”

A lot of things clicked together in that moment.

Jaskier’s quick loyalty. His ability to walk hours and hours every day, nonstop. His music, the notebooks that he filled and then sent back to Oxenfurt to be kept safe. The bag of oils and creams that Geralt had not been allowed to so much as touch until two years ago, while they’d been traveling together for over a decade. 

The gloves. The vernal equinox. The braids.

Fuck, the bracelet. 

Jaskier saw him as his mate. And he’d been courting him, quietly, without drawing attention to it, for months now. And here they were--Jaskier believing him to have accepted his claim, Jaskier looking to seal their relationship by bonding on the night of the summer solstice, tying them together by the ancient magics of the earth for many, many centuries to come. No wonder the poor bard had been nervous.

Geralt was sort of glad he only realized now what was going on, because he knew he would have been nervous, too.

The revelation settled under his skin with surprising ease. Vesemir, should he ever catch word of how long it took him to identify a dragon that had been living side by side with him for years, would tan his hide. But all Geralt could feel was relief. His little hummingbird--or, he supposed, his little dragon, now--wasn’t going to suffer a mortal’s tragically short life. He’d live for hundreds of years more, thousands even, if he didn’t get himself killed first. And Geralt? Geralt could have every single one of those years if he accepted this. If he chose to become Jaskier’s mate.

It wasn’t really a choice at all.

Geralt’s calloused hand took Jaskier’s chin between his fingers. He dragged him up into another kiss, swallowing down the keen that fell between them, and nipped at Jaskier’s bottom lip as they pulled away. “Needy,” he huffed, a smile twitching at his mouth. He dropped his own hands to his armor; it got tossed to the forest floor quickly, Jaskier’s hands immediately setting upon the pale, scarred skin of his soon-to-be mate.

Feeling a bit vindictive for the years that Jaskier had never outright told him what he was, Geralt got hold of the bard’s doublet. He jerked the edges of it, eyes twinkling in satisfaction as the buttons popped off, no chance against his strength. “Hey,” Jaskier reprimanded, the seriousness he intended to put in his voice severely undercut by the breathy way it came out. “I liked this doublet.”

“I’ll get you a new one,” the witcher replied. 

It brought a smile to his wicked, wicked mouth, and Geralt dove in for yet another bruising kiss. He pushed the doublet off Jaskier’s shoulders, the satin dropping into the dirt with as much care as his armor had gotten, and he managed to wrestle his chemise off between wet kisses. His mouth was red and wet when he pulled back; Geralt didn’t resist the urge to cup his cheek, to drag his thumb over the abused bottom lip. Jaskier, eyes dark, quickly sucked his thumb into his mouth. He had fangs now, Geralt noted absently, pressing the pad down onto his tongue until Jaskier was forced to open his mouth wide. He rubbed a small arc over the muscle, the dragon obediently still. It didn’t stop him from whimpering when drool pooled and dripped from the sides of his mouth, though. 

His thumb was soaked when he pulled it from Jaskier’s tongue. He looked gorgeous--pupils dilated and wanting, chin glistening from the spit, the red of his scales seeming to bleed into the rest of his face for the way his skin was flushed with lust. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier begged. “Please.” 

So Geralt went.

He wrapped an arm around Jaskier’s middle and pushed him back, back, supporting his weight to keep him from slamming into the ground, but none too gentle otherwise. The roughness seemed to excite Jaskier; he moaned and wrapped his legs around the witcher’s waist, those clawed hands finding purchase behind his shoulders. Geralt didn’t mind the sting. He licked his way into Jaskier’s mouth yet again, and then let his mouth trail down, exploring the other parts of him. His scales were rough against his tongue and he had to be mindful of the direction he went to avoid getting scratched; his jaw and throat were velvety soft and tasted of sweet orange and a deep earthy musk. Jaskier’s pulse fluttered under his lips, and he paid special attention to the edges of the scales that had appeared along his collarbone as well, the dragon shivering with delight. 

“Fuck me,” Jaskier pleaded. Geralt reached down between them; his hand was hot over top of Jaskier’s trousers, palming his cock underneath, making the bard’s babbling turn into high pitched whining, hips rocking up. 

“Be patient,” he scolded, biting into his throat, watching a bruise blossom there. What was the use in having a dragon as a mate if he didn’t indulge in his own more animalistic urges? Yes, by the end of tonight, he’d have Jaskier claimed just as thoroughly as Jaskier had claimed him. 

The bard stammered, bereft, when Geralt moved his hand. He forewent telling him to be patient again, instead hooking his fingers into Jaskier’s trousers and yanking them down, shifting until he could get them and his boots and his smallclothes off all in one go. More ruby scales wrapped around the outside of his thighs, dipped into the hollows of his hips--and his dick was definitely part of pieces of him that hadn’t quite stayed human.

Thick, red, ridged, and with a pointed tip, Geralt couldn’t help but smirk as he drew it into his hand. His little dragon cried out and he watched, fascinated, as a pearly few drops of precum beaded at the slit. It wasn’t anything like he’d fantasized about, when he’d taken himself in hand in his weaker moments when the bard was asleep, imagining what Jaskier’s cock might look like. But it was good, better than good, better than anything he could have dreamed of. Smearing his thumb into the wetness, he spread it down Jaskier’s cock, dragging his hand up and down the shaft. A few more drops appeared from the attention, and he did the same with those as well, slicking him up nicely. 

He dropped his hand away, then, to get rid of the rest of his own clothes. Most people didn’t like to see him without clothes. Certainly, they enjoyed his figure, but the scars--the crisscrossing of monsters’ marks, the hunts that had gone wrong, the people that had hunted him instead painting a gruesome picture across his skin. But with Jaskier, it had never been like that. He’d never been bothered. And, considering he was about to fuck a man with scales all over, horns, and a dragon dick, Geralt supposed he wasn’t bothered, either. 

Bare at last, Geralt dragged Jaskier’s hips up close. He wrapped his hand around them both, only just managing it really, and the both of them groaned at the sensation. Heat flourished between them and he jerked them off, stretching out over him to bite his stomach, his chest, his shoulders, his neck. Yes, Jaskier would be a patchwork of bruises come tomorrow morning, and by the way he jerked into each one of them, Geralt had no doubt that he was just as enthusiastic about that prospect as he was. 

But as good as this was, it certainly wasn’t what either of them wanted. So he let go soon, smirking again as he wiped the sticky precum on his hand onto Jaskier’s thigh. “Knees,” he commanded, leaning back onto his own so he could reach for Jaskier’s bag. Might as well use what he had there, after all. Being his mate meant being privy to his hoard. 

For perhaps the first time in his life, Jaskier listened to him. He keened but turned over, propping his hips up onto his knees. His shoulders pressed low, nearly to the dirt, and he rested his forehead on his wrists, the upturn of his horns just barely above the ground. 

Geralt came back to him with a vial of lilac oil. It was one of the ones he’d begun to create for Geralt--that was to say, the scent was heavily diluted, only just strong enough for a hint of smell in consideration of his nose, and perfect for their purposes. He uncorked the vial and used his knees to open Jaskier’s legs wider; his free hand pulled one side of his ass away, leaving him free to get at his puckered hole, where he then dripped the oil down onto. Jaskier gasped and lurched, the liquid no doubt cold, but the witcher held him firm. He lathered up his own fingers, set the glass to the side, and leaned over top of him, licking and kissing the dragon’s scaled shoulder blades as he slowly, slowly sank a finger inside him. 

“Geraaaalt!” Jaskier cried. Gods, if he was already this desperate, panting into the dirt and shivering with a single digit, Geralt couldn’t imagine how he’d be once he actually had his cock inside him. 

“Lucky this is what it is,” he huffed, dragging Jaskier’s ear into his mouth and relishing the cry that came from it. “Otherwise I’d gag you and tie you down, make you learn some patience.” The dragon’s response was to moan wetly, shoulders shuddering, his tapered cock twitching. 

Geralt pressed in a second finger, then. He kept his attention with those bites, scissoring him open, loosening him up. A third joined swiftly after; gods, they were mating, not just fucking. He was going to make sure this was good for Jaskier.

Finally, finally Jaskier was loose enough. He pulled his fingers out and grabbed the vial again, using the rest of it to slick up his cock, the subtle scent sweet between them. His hands found Jaskier’s hips; the dragon’s stomach dropped down further, ass staying in the air. “Breathe,” he said kindly. He waited until Jaskier drew a shaky breath in, out, and then in again before lining up his cock and pushing inside. 

The cry of Geralt’s name was more broken syllables than anything, too loud and desperate to pronounce much of it correctly. “Fuck,” Geralt himself said, bending over the dragon. “Fuckin’ tight, Jask. Godsdammit.” He was so fucking tight, so hot around him, his body giving way each inch to the witcher’s intrusion. Jaskier could only mewl in return, his nails clawing into the rich earth, his sides heaving with each panting breath. 

He bottomed out, and stayed there for a moment. Being inside Jaskier was dizzying, wonderful; he swore he could feel the air turn lighter around them, easier to breath, sparks flickering underneath his skin. Was this the ancient magic, readying to bind them? Or was this just Jaskier, was it just the fact that finally, he could give in to the feelings he’d ignored for so long, the urges he’d repressed, now that he knew not only did Jaskier feel the same way in return, but that he wouldn’t have to face his demise in what would be, for him a blink of the eye? He wasn’t sure. And, well. Quite frankly, in this moment, Geralt didn’t really give a shit.

“Fuck me,” Jaskier finally managed to say. “Geralt, my mate, please, please! Breed me, fill me up, wanna be yours!”

The words shot through him and what little patience he had left quickly fled. “You want to be bred, little dragon?” he asked, fingers tightening, bruising Jaskier’s hips. “Fine.”

A single kiss to his throat, and then Geralt pulled out to just the head of his cock. In one smooth, brutal motion, he slammed back into Jaskier. It sent the dragon rocking forward a few inches--it sent him roaring, the mighty sound seeming to shake the very trees around them. It was fucking hot, Geralt had to admit, and he groaned before he did it again, and again, setting a merciless pace. He’d never been much of a talker during sex, but he found himself rambling now, bearing his weight down on Jaskier, driving into that tight, wet heat. 

“Like it, don’t you, Jask?” he asked, breathing too hard himself to properly bite for the moment, little strands of hair come loose from his braid and before his face, making him look wild, animalistic. “Wanna be bred like the bitch that you are. Fucked in the dirt. Look at you. Such a noble, proud beast. Taking every inch of a beast-slayer’s cock.” Jaskier sobbed, the sound wet, but he kept rocking his hips back into every thrust. They’d traveled together far too long; after the nights Geralt had been forced to listen to through thin inn doors, he knew better than anyone how rough, cruel words could reduce the bard to putty in any man’s hand. The best part? Now they were his hands. And there would never be anyone else. 

The thrill of the thought shot through him. Geralt wrapped his arm tight around his middle; his other hand reached up, grabbing onto the base of one of Jaskier’s horns. He used the leverage to haul him up, going back on his own haunches and making the dragon sit on his lap, his cock driving in deeper, brushing against the bundle of nerves so far inside him. Jaskier thrashed, his nails digging into Geralt’s arm, drawing blood; the witcher didn’t mind, holding him through it, keeping his head still even as he fucked up into him, unforgiving and fast. “You’re mine,” he growled. “All mine.”

Jaskier nodded quickly, gasping for breath, only just getting enough air each time to expel it in some noise or another. The tingling under his skin got stronger--definitely the ancient magic, then. Especially considering he watched as sparks of golden light glittering below Jaskier’s skin, barely noticeable, like the chaos was struggling to burst free at any moment. Geralt suspected he looked much the same. 

“Gonna breed you,” he promised, tightening his arm around him. “Mate you. Make you mine forever.” 

Without warning, he shoved them both to the ground once again. His cock drove into Jaskier and the dragon roared again; Geralt’s hands moved to grab his wrists, push them into the dirt. He used his weight, every inch of their bodies flush together, to keep Jaskier down. And, with the both of them getting closer and closer, he gave in to the beast side of himself. His teeth, sharp and pointed, sliced into the back of Jaskier’s neck. Blood welled up in his mouth immediately, copper and sharp, but he didn’t let go, Jaskier’s pained moan doing little but encouraging him, pinning him against the earth. 

It was too much. Jaskier’s sounds got louder, more desperate, more unhinged, before he screamed, his whole body quivering with the force of his climax. His cock pulsed as he came, streaks of white painting the dirt below and flecking onto his stomach above, too. It made his walls tighten around Geralt--and that was it. He was done for. The witcher growled and bit down tighter, his thrusts growing erratic, wild.

With a snarl, he came. He rocked his hips down into Jaskier as he filled him, splashing hot cum inside him, the dragon whimpering. The tingling grew in intensity for just a moment--and then it faded away, leaving him feeling whole in a place in his very soul he hadn’t realized he’d been empty beforehand. 

A few more little thrusts and then, with care, he slid his teeth from his neck and pulled his softening cock from Jaskier’s tired body. He grabbed a rag from one of the bags and wiped them both down, pausing for a moment to watch his own cum leak out of Jaskier’s red, loose hole and down his thighs, before getting them clean and, with effort, transporting them both into one of the sleeping rolls. 

Face to face with Jaskier, the poor bard blinking slowly, languidly, he couldn’t help but smile and lift his hand. His fingers brushed over the scales on his cheeks, utterly gorgeous. 

“Mm,” the dragon hummed, forcing his eyes to flutter open. “My mate.” Nothing could change that now. Not a mage, not a spell, not even destiny herself. Geralt was his, and he was Geralt’s. End of story.

The smile Geralt gave in return was soft, genuine. His golden gaze was gentle, and he gave a tiny nod. “Yes,” he confirmed, barely a rumble in the night air. “Sleep, now. You deserve the rest.” He let his hand fall to Jaskier’s side instead, holding him close. Jaskier gave a gentle hum, shifted a little bit closer, closed his eyes--and slept.

[downwiththeficness]

A Need So Great-Chapter 14

Summary: Eva Moore is assigned to work the last year of her contract with the DEA in Colombia. She just wants to get to the end of her tenure, but she keeps getting drawn further into a string of murders in the city. It isn’t long before she’s forced to face the ghosts of her past.

Word Count: ~3,300

Warnings: Smut

A/N: For the purposes of this story, Carrillo isn’t married--or, if you like, divorced. A/B/O dynamics are prevalent, and they come with their own warning. The overall rating for this story is Explicit, although not every chapter will contain adult themes.

Taglist: @dirtynerdy98 @1zashreena1 @heresathreebee @deliciouslyclassytrash @maybege @kid-from-new-zealand @clydesducktape @revolution-starter @autumnleaves1991-blog @jedi-mando @buckysalefty @anaeve

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 8.5, 9, 10, 10.5, 11, 12, 13, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21

The ocean was huge. Wind blowing her hair around her face as Eva sat on the cliff’s edge, her feet swinging. The waves were rushing towards her, the tide coming in. She could taste salt in the air, could feel a light spray even from this height. This was really, really nice.

Footsteps sounded behind her, Horacio ambling up the slight incline. He was wearing a t shirt and jeans, a far cry from his normal attire. Eva admired the way the denim clung to his legs, the shirt stretching to accommodate the breadth of his body. She gave him a little wave before turning her attention back to the water. He sat down next to her. They had spent almost a week at the house, their existence a soft moseying pace that belied the very real danger to their lives.

“Do you come here a lot?”

He shook his head, “I used to, back before I took the badge. The work kind of got in the way of taking any time off.”

She had seen that first hand, could tell that he was desperately soaking up the softness of this little hideaway, storing it for when he needed it most. Tucked away as they were, Eva could almost forget all of the turmoil waiting for them when they returned. She imagined he felt nearly the same way.

“Shame that you’re here under these circumstances.  This is a nice place.”

Eva could see him look at her from the corner of her eye. He placed a hand atop hers, “Its not a shame, just a compromise.”

Her mouth thinned, “Still…” She trailed off, not sure where she was going with the sentence.

He squeezed her hand, “Up. Dinner’s ready.”

Eva was not much of a cook, though she was pretty good at making staple foods.  Horacio, on the other hand, clearly learned something from his mother. The way he handled himself in the kitchen was much like he did at work—mission oriented. Eva would sometimes sit at the dining table and flip through an old magazine, not really reading it.  She like to watch him move around, a knife in hand to chop vegetables, or flipping over meat in the pan to brown it.

Today’s meal was a stuffed pepper, spices wafted in the air. He’d made rice to go alongside it. From the cellar, he’d pulled a bottle of wine, two glasses already waiting at their usual spots. Eva couldn’t keep the smile off her face as she sat down.  He’d already plated their food and she leaned down, inhaling.  

“This looks amazing,” she murmured, picking up her fork, “Thank you.”

He made a non-committal sound, as he usually did when she complimented him on his cooking. She cast him a long glance, noting that he was avoiding her gaze by pouring the wine. He did that a lot, took the praise she gave him and pulled it inside himself. She could tell he was pleased by the little flush across his cheeks, but other than that, it was as if he hadn’t heard her. She wondered if that was a product of his life—couldn’t be too eager for approval.

After dinner, Horacio left her on the couch to do a walk of the perimeter, as he did every evening before they locked up. It would take one of his patented interrogation techniques to get her to admit how attractive it was to watch him load a rifle and take the path around the house and out towards the woods.

He would be gone for an hour or so, depending on what he decided needed further investigation. Eva passed the time by taking a long shower and reading yet another way too old magazine in bed. The bedroom windows were open and the breeze was carrying the smell of the ocean inside.

The sun was almost set when he came back, moving into the bedroom and storing the rifle in a case that he kept laying on the chest at the foot of the bed. He straightened and looked at her for a long moment.

“What?” she asked, feeling anxious under his steady stare.

His expression softened, “I like you like this.”

Laughing softly, she lifted a brow, “You mean wearing a t shirt I’ve owned for five years and my hair still wet because I couldn’t be bothered to dry it?”

The corner of his mouth quirked up, “I mean relaxed.”

Eva supposed that she was relaxed, though she had every reason not to be. She liked him relaxed, too.

“I feel safe.”

Jaw going lax, he regarded her for a few more seconds before giving a curt nod and turn, “I’m gonna get cleaned up.”

Eva noticed that he took a little longer in the shower than usual, had done so since they got to the safe house.  She tried not to read into it too deeply, knowing that he was off his schedule. And, everyone needed alone time.

When he left the bathroom, steam billowed out behind him, carrying the scent of his body wash. He was wearing his usual boxer briefs in a deep maroon. It was a good color for him, accenting the warm undertones of his skin. She stared at him, unabashed, and wondered how she’d gotten so lucky as to share a bed with such a beautiful man.

“What?” he asked, noting her look as he crawled in beside her to lay on top of the covers.

Eva set her magazine on the night stand and rolled to her side, bracing on her palm so that she hovered above his prone body.

“I like you like this.”

In the next second, Eva got to see those adorable dimples, his teeth flashing as he smiled. She leaned down and kissed him affectionately.

When he spoke next, his voice reverberated against her ear where it lay on his chest. He toyed with her hand, threading his fingers through it.

“We’ve come a long way these last few months.”

She hummed, nodding. His hand was calloused in a few places, the longer fingers curling over her palm. Her hand looked small when he held it, her wrist even smaller, her forearm positively tiny when compared to his.

“I never would have guessed after that meeting that I’d get to bring you here.”

Eva grinned, looking up at him, “I was a fucking mess after that meeting. I hope you know that.”

The features of his face tightened in a peculiar way, an involuntary twitch.

Eva’s grin widened, “That was an inside thought.”

Laughing, Horacio admitted, “It was.”

“Tell me.”

He started to shake his head, but Eva shifted to her belly, resting her weight on one elbow. She said his name in four long, drawn out, teasing syllables.

Pulling his lips between his teeth and releasing them, he simply said, “I was also a fucking mess.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he echoed, one hand coming up to run over his face, top to bottom. He covered his eyes, chin tilting up, “I…” deep sigh, “I went into rut after that meeting.”

Her brows hit her hairline, “Really?”

He dropped his hand to the pillow beside his head, the fingers relaxed, “I told you it took less than twenty four hours for me to start trying to figure out how to see you again.”

“Yeah,” Eva confirmed, “But I assumed you were just, I don’t know, thinking about me.”

Smirking, he said, “Oh, I was.”

Her breath caught a little bit, arousal blooming in her belly as she imagined him in rut, helplessly trying to get off as he thought about her.

Voice dropping low, Eva prompted, “Really?”

His eyes darkened as he tucked her hair behind her ear, “I barely made it home before I—I didn’t even get past the front door. Just dropped down to the floor and thought about how delicious you smelled, the things I wanted to do to you.”

Blood heating in her veins, Eva swallowed around a dry throat, “What kinds of things?”

Horacio’s arm tightened around her, his eyes dropping to her mouth, “That I wanted to kiss you. That I should have thrown you down on that table in front of that idiot manager and fucked you through at least three orgasms.”

Her breath left her in a rush. She worked hard to keep herself calm. He didn’t talk that much about his fantasies, and she was desperate to hear more from him. Eva did not want to interrupt.

She kissed him softly in encouragement, “What else?”

Breathing her name, he ran his thumb over her mouth, “I could scent that you were aroused when you sat down. I wanted to lick that sweetness from the source, use my fingers to scoop it out of you. I spent hours imaging what it would be like to pull your legs over my shoulders and kiss this pretty pussy.”

The fingers of one of his hands had traced up her inner thigh in a lazy caress. He cupped her, massaging very gently. She gasped lifting her leg over his hip to open up for him.

“We’re very lucky you haven’t had a heat cycle yet. Given how I was in my last rut, I’d probably lose my fucking mind.”

Eva flinched, feeling guilty.

“What was that?” he asked, head lifting off the pillow to regard her closely.

She floundered, trying to come up with a suitable lie.

“Eva,” he warned, “What was that?”

Voice small, she said, “I’ve had a heat recently.”

His head cocked to the side, “Before we met?”

She shook her head, “No it was after we met, after we started seeing each other.”

He blinked, “That’s impossible, I would have known.”

Unable to keep eye contact she admitted, “You weren’t there. It was when you were gone for that mission.”

He processed that for several seconds, his eyes narrowing more and more, “Your voice was strange on the phone.”

Eva nodded, “I was on the upswing of it. It got...more interesting over the next few days.”

Horacio’s brows furrowed, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Eva was torn by the honest, confused expression he was giving her, as if he couldn’t even fathom that she’d hide it from him. Guilty, she offered the only explanation she had.

“You were so excited. You said you thought you had a real chance at ending the whole cartel. How could I take that away from you? Especially since we’d only slept together a handful of times. It would have been selfish to ask you to set that aside for me.”

Stop talking, Eva, she thought.

Pushing off with one hand, he rolled her beneath him, resting his weight on his palms. Eva looked up at him silently, trying to gauge his thoughts.

“You’re not going to do that again,” he asserted, the muscles in his jaw ticking, “I will be with you during your next heat, no matter what is going on at the office.”

Lifting a hand, Eva brushed his cheek, his stubble scratching a little.  Since they’d come out here, he hadn’t been shaving every day and she found that she liked that he had something more than a five ‘o clock shadow.

“I’m going to need verbal agreement on this, Eva.”

“Okay,” she replied. “I’ll tell you next time.”

“Good.” He dropped to his elbows, resting a little more of his weight on her, “Now, I told you mine. Its your turn to tell me yours.”

Eva’s face went red hot, heat soaking every pore. Her eyes slid to the side as she contemplated how much information she was going to give him about a heat that she had only a moment ago admitted that she’d had.

Moving in close, his voice a deep rasp, he ordered, “Dime, amorcita. How did you get through it?”

She sucked in a breath, her body curling into him a little bit.  When she tried to rise up to kiss him, he used one hand to hold her down to the mattress, his chin canted down.

Eva’s mind flashed back to that day, her body clenching as she remembered the rush of pleasure, the cramps of pain when she couldn’t assuage the need.

“I slept some, woke up coming. My skin was too sensitive. And, at first, I couldn’t figure out why. It wasn’t until I was on the couch,” she stopped, biting her lip.

Her voice was a raspy thing, the words halting. She cleared her throat, squirming beneath his weight.

Horacio ran a soothing hand down her side, “What happened on the couch?”

“I touched myself, I felt like I would die if I didn’t come.”

Eyes full of fire, he asked, “And, did you make yourself come?”

She nodded.

“How many times?”

“Twice.”

With both hands, he pushed up her t-shirt to rest just underneath her breasts, “What happened next?”

Eva’s fingers curled into fists beside her hips, “You called.”

His eyes shot to hers, “And you lied to me.”

“No,” she cried, “I just...avoided the subject.”

Horacio’s nostrils flared in annoyance, “But, you’re not going to do that again.”

“N—no.”

He gave on sharp nod in acknowledgment of her submission, “Good. What happened after that?”

His hands followed a twin path over her sides to her hips to her thighs, all the way to her knees. Wrapping his hands around them, he pulled them up and over his body, pulling the cradle of her hips into alignment so that she could feel him hardening against her core.

“I had to crawl to the bedroom,” she continued, the flush of her arousal mixing with the feeling of embarrassment. “I didn’t make it to the bed before I had to come again.”

Kissing her collarbone, he asked, “Did you use your fingers?”

She nodded, gripping his biceps for purchase as he scraped his teeth along her skin.

“Did you use your fingers the whole time?”

Swallowing, Eva shook her head, knowing where this was going and completely unable to stop it. He’d gotten into a line of questioning, and she knew he’d see it through to the end.

“What did you use?”

She hesitated long enough that he stopped nuzzling her skin and looked up at her, waiting for an answer. When she didn’t say anything, he moved up her body, kissing her cheek sweetly, then her forehead, her chin, her jaw, everywhere but where she wanted him.

“What did you use?” he repeated, his breath fanning over her lips.

Eva struggled to breathe, “I used a toy—to help.”

Thumb rubbing her bottom lip, eyes focused on that sensitized patch of skin, he asked, “A vibrator?”

She shook her head, tongue peeking out to touch the pad of this thumb, “A dildo.”

With a little groan, he kissed her, putting a little pressure on her jaw so that she would open for him. Pulling in a sharp breath, he leaned back, an arm sneaking around her waist to hold her to him.

“Did it help you get what you needed?”

Again, she shook her head, “It helped some, but I was still hurting through most of it.”

His expression hardened just a bit, a barely perceptible glare. Needing to soothe that ire, Eva reached up with both hands and slid her thumbs into the muscle at the base of his skull, kneading. His eyes closed just a little, jaw relaxing.

“Did it,” he cut himself off with a sigh when she ground a knuckle into the tense muscle. He leaned into it, his head tilting to the side, “Did it have a knot?”

“Yes,” she whispered, biting the inside of her cheek when his hips flexed forward, grinding against her.

He kissed her again, a hard press of his lips, “Did you fuck yourself with it, push it inside you?”

Between kisses, she nodded. The memory of the relieving pressure scoring through her, her body arching up into him.

“But it wasn’t enough.”

It was sentence, a declaration, not a question. He knew it, she knew it.

“No,” she warbled, tilting her hips towards him, hands roaming over his strong shoulders and back, pulling him to her to that the wasn’t an inch between them. “I wanted more. Wanted you.”

In a swift motion, he pulled off her t shirt, throwing it over the side of the bed carelessly. His hands found her breasts, pushing them up to his mouth. Long licks, a pinch of skin, teeth scraping. Eva hissed  a breath, her body fairly vibrating with pleasure.

“You wanted my knot, didn’t you?” When she didn’t reply, he swatted her thigh lightly, drawing her attention, “Didn’t you?”

Her eyes squeezed shut, head thrown back, she made an ‘uh huh’ sound that cracked on the highest pitch.  He was hard against her, his hips rocking in a sharp rhythm that, had he been inside her, would have prodded against her cervix. Sweat beaded on her belly and thighs, pooling in the hollow of her throat. He licked at it, drawing her briefly into his mouth.

“You’d let me do it now, wouldn’t you? Let me knot you in this bed.”

The image seared through her, burning away any restraint she might have had—which was, admittedly, not much to begin with. Feet on the sheets, she used any leverage she could get to put more friction on her cunt, each roll of her hips more frenzied than the last.

“Yes, alpha.”

Growling, Horacio pushed his face into the bend of her neck, hands slipping underneath her and to her shoulders where he held her steady. Mouth opening, he ran his teeth over the long line from shoulder to jaw before settling on the scent gland he’d marked.  Though the bruising had healed, Eva could still see the faint scratch across it where his teeth had dug in. He sucked on it hard, sure enough to leave yet another bruise.

Eva wailed, a broken, sobbing thing, as she came. Nails digging into his back, she bowed up tight.  Distantly, she could heard him praising her, his voice rough.  He let her rut against him until her body eased down from the orgasm, and then he was pushing his briefs down and grasping himself, roughly stroking.

She took in the sight of him, chin down, breathing hard, working to get off. It stunned her how badly she wanted to memorize this moment, and how badly she wanted to seem him come. Both hands caressing downwards, she hooked the fingers of one hand into her panties, pulling them to the side. With two fingers of the other, she slotted them into her folds, opening them up to give him an unobstructed view of how wet he’d made her.

He choked on a gasp, groaning as his fist sped up. It only took a few pumps before he was spilling across her stomach, his head hanging low in relief. When he was spent, he collapsed to his side, trying to catch his breath.

Eva giggled, feeling more than a little lightheaded. He glanced at her, his mouth spreading wide in a smile. He picked up her hand from where it lay at her side, pressing a kiss to the inside of her wrist and holding it to his chest.  She could feel his heart beat beneath his skin, a steadily slowing rhythm.

When he’d calmed a little, he rose and went to the bathroom, bringing a wet cloth to wipe her down. Moving around the room, he closed the windows, locking them tight, before doing the same with the door. After turning off the lights, he eased into the bed and gathered her to his chest.  Eva held his arm to her body, threading her fingers in his.

[atlafan]

Take it Slow - Part Three

a/n: okay this is my first shot at a harry:y/n fic, and it will be multiple parts. y/n had a bad experience with an ex over a year ago, and finally accepts her coworker and good friend Niall’s invitation to go on a blind date with his friend Harry. (Fluff and slight smut? If you squint? )

Part One Part Two

You woke up at eight-thirty so you could shower and get yourself ready for the day. You blow dried your hair and threw some curls in at the ends. You put on some light makeup, and then rummaged through your closest for something cute, but casual to wear for brunch. You decide on a pair of light, high wasted jeans and a black shirt to tuck into them. You grab your white toms and slip them on. Five after ten Harry texts you letting you know he’s downstairs.

He’s standing outside his car. He has a beanie on over his gorgeous hair, a few curls peeking through. Today he has a white t-shirt on with dark blue jeans. He looked heavenly. You could see more of his tattoos peeking through the white fabric. In the light of day you could tell he really did have a lot. Eagerly, you wrap your arms around his neck to give him a hug and a peck on the cheek. He wraps his arms around your waist and gives you a squeeze before letting you go.

“G’morning.” He smiles.

“Morning.” He opens the door for you, closes it, and gets in himself. “So, where are we going for brunch?”

“It’s called Rick’s, it’s really good. I like it because it actually has things I can eat.” He laughs. He starts driving towards the restaurant.

“What can a vegan eat for breakfast? I still eat eggs and stuff.”

“Typically, I’ll go for some fruit, potatoes, maybe even a slice of toast. I also eat beans.”

“That sounds good.”

“On any given day though I usually just make a smoothie.”

“I usually do a smoothie too.”

You pull up to the restaurant. He opens your door for you. He’s such a gentleman. When you enter he takes his beanie off and shakes his hair out. Respectful of the establishment too. It’s a seat yourself kind of place, so you find a booth in the back, and sit down.

A waiter comes over and pours you both some coffee and water, and tells you he’ll be back. You both look over the menu. You agree to split a bowl of fruit. You opt for some oatmeal. You don’t like how greasy omelets tend to be at place likes this. Harry orders beans on gluten-free toast. Your food is brought out pretty quickly. You didn’t realize how hungry you were until you took your first bite of oatmeal.

“Mm, this is perfectly made.”

“Oh good, I’m glad.” He smiles taking a spoon full beans. “So…”

“So?”

“After this I’ll take you to get your car. I’m sure you have things you need to do today, but I was wondering if you had plans tonight?”

“Just had a date with my TV, but I can cancel.” You laugh. “What did you have in mind?”

“Well, I was wondering if you’d like to come to my place. I’d like to cook for you.” Your jaw nearly drops.

“You cook?”

“Sure do. I worked in a bakery as a teenager back in the U.K.”

“Oh, cool. I’d love to do that. Can I bring anything?”

“Just yourself.” He winks.

“No really, I hate showing up empty handed.”

“How about you bring a dessert?”

“What can a vegan eat for dessert?”

“Dark chocolate, fruit?”

“I’ll think of something.”

“Perfect.”

You both continue to eat. He puts his beanie back on when you get outside. He drives you to your car at Pinz. He gets out to let you out.

“You don’t have to keep doing that.” You say, taking his hand to help you out.

“Sure I do, how would I get a proper hug goodbye in?” He says with a smirk on his face. He wraps his arms around you, and you reciprocate.

“Thank you again for breakfast.” You say into his ear, and give him a nice kiss on the cheek.

“You’re more than welcome.” He says looking at you. His lips press to yours, and you happily kiss him back. This time he breaks the kiss first. “Right, well we could be like this all day, so, um, I’ll see you tonight?”

“Yup, what time?” You ask getting into your car.

“Seven?”

“Works for me.”

You stop by the store on your way home. You grab some melting chocolate and some strawberries. When you get home you melt the chocolate and dip the strawberries in it, and pop them in the freezer. You also grabbed some red wine that would taste good with such a dessert. You take the remainder of the day to tidy up, work on some emails, and catch up on a TV show you were desperate to watch on Netflix.

Around five-thirty, you go into your room to look for something to wear. You wanted to look nice, so you decide on a dress. You pull out your navy blue dress that had the buttons down the front. The straps were thick, and it flowed around you down to the midpoint of your thighs. You put on a jean jacket, and slipped your white toms on. Harry texted you his address, and out the door you went with your dessert and wine.

You got to his place promptly at seven. He buzzed you in, and up you went. The door was opened a crack for you. You walked in and closed it behind you.

“Harry?”

“Over here, love.”

He had his back turned to you, as he was just straining some pasta in the sink. He had an apron tied around his waist. He had put a long sleeve button down shirt on, it was blue, not navy though, baby blue. He changed into an unripped pair of black jeans. When he turns around to look at you he rushes over to kiss you on the cheek and take the items out of your full arms.

“That can go in the freezer.” You say pointing to the strawberries. You take your jacket off, and scan his studio apartment.

He had it set up perfectly. The bed was at one end, up against the wall, but still room for someone to walk on both sides of it. In front of the bed was a couch, and in front of that was a coffee table, and a TV mounted to the wall. He had a bureau adjacent to the bed. There was a full bath down a hall way. Opposite the bedroom/living area was a pretty decent sized kitchen. He had a small cart that he used as an island. There was a table that fit four chairs around it. He had camera bags and a giant iMac and desk in the corner next to his bed. He clearly worked at home quite a bit.

“Harry, your place is lovely.” You say walking over to him.

“Thank you. You look beautiful by the way.” You kiss him on the cheek.

“So, what’s for dinner?”

“I made black bean pasta, and roasted some vegetables. I’m just making up the plates now.”

“It smells delicious.”

“Please, have a seat. I can open this wine up.”

“The wine will taste better with dessert.” You say sitting down at the table. He had lit two candles and you feel yourself melt a little. He’s romantic.

“Alright, I have some other wine that will go with this particular dish anyways.”

He brings a plate over to you. You notice he had drizzled some olive oil on top. It looked like something someone could get at a restaurant. He sits down adjacent to you, instead of across, much more intimate.

“This looks amazing, Harry, thank you.”

“Of course, I was happy to do it.” He takes out his phone, and you see him go into the Spotify app. He puts on some light music. You smile at him as you take a bite. You can’t help but moan at how delicious the food it.

“This is delicious!”

“I’m so glad you like it. Sometimes that pasta can be bland.” You love the way he says pasta. It sounds so different from the way you say it.

“S’not bland at all. Lots of flavor. And I love what you put on these veggies. Is that paprika?”

“Yes, and a little chili powder. I didn’t want to use too much because I didn’t know if you liked hot food.”

“Love it, I love spicy food. Hot wings used to be my favorite thing when I used to eat meat. Now I do buffalo cauliflower.”

“You make it yourself?”

“Yup.”

“I’d love to try that sometime.”

“Maybe next weekend I could make it for you.”

“You’d make me wait an entire week?” He asks playfully, shoveling some food into his mouth.

“Wednesday is usually my rest day from the gym, if that works for you.”

“Wednesday it is.” He smiles.

You couldn’t believe how often he already wanted to see you. Your second and third date, now technically fourth, were back to back. It was nice to feel wanted for a change. After you two finish eating, Harry insisted he didn’t want you to help clean up, but you insisted you did because he cooked. You decided on you wash, him dry.

“Care to have dessert over by the sofa?”

“Sure.”

You pad over to the couch, and sit down, crossing your legs at the ankle. You hear Harry pop the cork to the wine you brought. You watch as he takes the chocolate covered strawberries, and puts them on a serving plate. He brings two glasses, the wine, and the dessert over. He pours you each a glass of wine.

“Did you make these?” He asks, pointing to the strawberries.

“Sure did.” You take a sip of the sweet wine. “Here.” You pick one up and hold it in front of his mouth. You expect him to take it from you, but instead he just takes a bite. You feel goosebumps raise on your body. He licks his lips after and takes a sip of the wine.

“You were right, this wine is perfect for dessert. That’s a juicy strawberry.” He picks one up and smiles at you, gesturing for you to do the same as him. You nervously lean forward and take a small bite. The chocolate shell cracks off, and falls onto your dress.

“Oh, shit.” You pick it off and place it onto the napkins on the coffee table. “I guess I could’ve done that more gracefully.” You laugh.

“It’s easier if you bite up here.” He shows you where, eating the rest of the strawberry you just bit into. “Here, try again.” He holds up another for you, and you bite where he showed you, this time not making a mess. “Perfectly executed.” You both laugh.

You guzzle down two glasses of wine like it’s nothing. He does the same, but seems less intoxicated than you. The majority of the strawberries have been eaten. You can’t help but stare at the tattoo on his wrist. It’s an anchor, you reach of his hand and trace over it with your index finger.

“Can I look at the others? The ones on your arms?”

“Sure.” He shrugs his shoulders, stands up, and unbuttons his shirt. He reveals a white t-shirt, and places his button down on the bed. He sits back down and lets you examine him. “Some of them have meaning, and others were just for fun. Do you have any?”

“Oh, god no. Something Niall and I have in common, we’re afraid of needles.” You laugh.

“But your belly button is pierced.” He says raising an eyebrow at you. Your cheeks flush. “Sorry, I noticed it last night while we were playing one of the games.” He smiles nervously.

“It’s alright. Sometimes I forget it’s even there. I got it my first year at college. I got drunk with my friends, and I felt like rebelling against my parents, so I got the one piercing my mom told me I couldn’t have.”

“You’d think she would have told you not to get your nipples done or something.” He takes a sip of wine. Your eyes grow wide. “Sorry, does the word nipple bother you?” You feel your cheeks grow hot.

“Um, no. I just…” You look down at yourself. His eyes grow wide and his mouth falls open.

“Wait a second, so you won’t get a tattoo, but you’re telling me that not only do you have your naval pierced, but your nipples as well?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, I need to hear this story.”

“It was my junior year of college, and all of my friends and I got them done together. I was afraid, I knew it would hurt way more than this.” You point to your stomach. “So we did a bunch of shots and went down to the parlor. The second one hurt worse since I knew what to expect after the first one.”

“Why was that something your friends all wanted to do?”

“Because not everyone was willing to get a tattoo. I think it was the permanence. Piercings can always be taken out. It was sort of childish. I couldn’t wear a bra for over a week, which is not easy to do when you’re, well, chesty, and they burned so bad. They weren’t infected or anything, it was just like this weird sting. Eventually I got used to it, and now I barely remember they’re there.” You laugh, pouring yourself a third glass of wine. You figure you can always uber home if you need to. You top off Harry’s glass. “Don’t tell Niall though, he only knows about the naval.”

“I promise you, I will not mention your nipples to him.” You both laugh. He scoots a little closer to you. “Anything else on your body you’d like to tell me about?”

“Nope, I think that’s it.”

You’re feeling bold, and want him even closer to you. You put your hand on his forearm and rub it lightly back and forth. He takes his other hand and tucks some hair behind your hair.

“Come here.” He says, gesturing to have you scoot closer. He puts his hand on your lower back, and you press your hands to chest. Similar to how you were last night at your place.

He leans in, brushing his nose with yours. You kiss him first, and he pulls you in closer. He leans back against the arm of the couch, and your crawl into his lap, putting your legs on either side of him. You finally part your lips for him. He’s slow at first, sliding his tongue along your bottom lip. You let out a small moan at the motion. His tongue enters your mouth, and you lightly suck on it, causing him to moan into you. You feel him twitch beneath you. You’re practically hovering over him, but you still feel him shift. His hands move up your back, and pull you closer to his chest. Your hands go straight for his hair as he begins to plaster kisses to your jaw, and then to just under your earlobe. He nips and sucks at the skin.

“Oh, Jesus.” You whisper.

“Wrong name, love.” He says into your ear, nibbling on your earlobe.

You moan and press your hips down on to him. Not exactly grinding, but there’s no space between you anymore. Your hands tug at his hair as he bites down on the crook up your neck. It was sure to leave a bruise, but right now you didn’t care. Nothing some makeup up and a high enough shirt couldn’t cover up. He lifts his hips to press into you, and you roll on top of him. The vibration of his moan against your neck runs through your whole body. It makes your mind wander to where else his hot breath, nipping, and sucking would feel good. Your eyes burst open. You can’t think like that, not yet.

“Harry.” It comes out as a whimper, so keeps sucking on your neck, getting a good taste of you. You push back on his chest and grab his face in your hands. His pupils are fully blown, you imagine yours are as well. “I like what we’re doing, but our clothes have to stay on, all of them, okay?”

“Of course. Taking your dress off never even crossed my mind.” He smirks at you.

“Sure it didn’t.” You roll your eyes.

“In all seriousness, I want you to feel comfortable, so if I overstep, please don’t be afraid to tell me, okay? We can stop altogether now if you want.”

“I definitely don’t want that.” You kiss him quick. “I’m just not ready to, um…”

“You don’t have to explain yourself.” He smiles. “I’m happy to just make out.”

Your shoulders lower in relief. You kiss him again, this time sticking your tongue in his mouth. They mold together perfectly. You can taste the chocolate and the wine, and you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t delectable. You could really smell his cologne too, it was intoxicating. You just wanted to berry your face in him. One of his hands slides down to the top of your ass, and gives it gentle squeeze. You lift up a little so he can get a better grip on you. He puts his other hand on your cheek, and laces his fingers in your hair. You moan into his mouth as he starts to suck on your tongue.

You desperately wish you could squeeze your legs together to relieve the pressure that’s been building. You’re certain your panties are soaked at this point. He’s so hard for you, and you want to grind against him to help him relieve his pressure, but you don’t. You know if you start this, you’ll need to finish it. He took a break from your mouth and kissed down to the top of your chest. You knew your skin had to be pink from the alcohol alone. You move to kiss down his neck. You wanted to nip and suck on him the way he did you.

“Oh, fuck.” He says breathless the minute your teeth pinch down on him. He pulls you as close as he possibly can to him. Desperate to feel your breasts against his chest. You start to roll your hips on him, moving back and forth. Your body needs the friction. He grabs your waist to halt your motions. You stop to look at him. His chest is heaving. “If you keep doing this, I’m going to come in my trousers, and I’d rather not make things awkward between us.” He gives you a half smile. You start giggling and rest your forehead on his shoulder. He giggles along with you.

“Guess we should probably cool it for the night then, yeah?”

“I guess that would be the smart choice. I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, but this couch has a pull out if you’d like to stay. I don’t want to send you in an uber home alone at this time of night, and I’m in no condition to drive.” What time is it anyways?

“That’s awfully sweet, but I’d rather go home. I don’t have a toothbrush or anything here.” You smile. “I know who I can call.”

You get off of Harry, careful not ogle at the strain in his pants. You find your phone and call Niall.

“He said he can be here in about fifteen minutes.”

“Sounds good.”

You help Harry clean up the dessert and wine glasses. He gives you some water, and you guzzle it down. You two start to kiss again, slowly but with need, when you’re interrupted by a knock at the door.

“That’ll be him.” Harry says. “Use your key, mate!” Niall keys in. You think it’s cute he has a key to his friend’s apartment. Even Niall doesn’t have a key to your place.

“Oi, lad, what did ya do to my friend? Get her so drunk she couldn’t get home?”

“Everything I did was from my own doing.” You slur, putting your jacket on. “Um, I guess I’ll have to come by tomorrow to get my car. I can just uber for that.”

“I can bring ya by here, (y/n).” Niall says. “Harry and I have plans tomorrow anyways.”

“Perfect.” You and Harry smile at each other. He puts his hands in his pockets and gives Niall a look.

“I’ll go wait in the hall so you two can say g’night.”

You pad over to Harry and give me a deep kiss. Something for him to think about. He gives you a light tap on your bottom.

“I had a great time tonight, thank you for dinner.”

“Thank you for the amazing dessert.” He bites his bottom lip. “Good night.”

“Night.” You blow a kiss at him as you leave.

Thank god Niall was home, and sober. There’s no way you would’ve been able to get home tonight.

“So, I take it you had a nice night?” He asks, as he peels out of the parking lot.

“Mhm, he’s the best.”

“I’m proud of you.”

“For what?”

“For sticking to your not moving too fast thing. Not many women can resist Harry.”

“Trust me, it’s not easy. I gladly would’ve fucked him tonight, but I know it would’ve been too soon.”

“You can do other stuff y’know? He’s a giver, you wouldn’t even have to actually have sex with him.”

“What do you mean he’s a giver?”

Niall holds a hand up and separates two fingers under his chin and makes a licking motion. You scoff and nudge his arm.

“You’re fowl.”

“I’m telling you. I’m sure some heavy petting would be okay to start. You don’t need to hop right on his dick. But you also don’t need to punish yourself.”

“That’s true, and I know I don’t. We’re seeing each other again Wednesday. I’ll see how I feel then.”

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Twisted

Summary: The reader goes to a sleepover at her boyfriend Jensen’s place but the night doesn’t end well when she starts feeling insecure...

Pairing: Jensen x reader

Square: First Time

Word Count: 2,000ish

Warnings: language, implied body image issues, implied smut

A/N: Written for @spndeanbingo​​

It’d been nearly a month of dating Jensen and you honestly couldn’t remember ever being so happy. You actually woke up happy, finding a good morning text from him or a surprise cup of coffee waiting at your desk when you got in to work in the morning every day.

You’d moved up from LA to Vancouver to work in the production office, swapping over to one of the longer run shows on the network. You hadn’t even found out which one until your first day, your new boss staring at you wide eyed as you stared at the man you’d just spilled your thermos all over. You had hoped the guy wasn’t some big shot and you weren’t about to be fired.

Turns out he was one of the freaking leads of the show you were on now and you were ready to start groveling when he chuckled and ducked in the bathroom, out a moment later with some paper towels, trying to dry off your sleeve.

He was absolutely covered and he was trying to clean up the few drops you’d gotten on your shirt.

“What...” you said, the man smiling at you.

“Oh, these clothes aren’t even mine and that’s a pretty shirt,” he said as he patted it dry. “I apologize for being so clumsy.”

Your jaw practically hit the ground, the man still smiling, your boss excusing himself as you cleaned up.

That’d been about five months ago. Somehow over that time, Jensen had become your work friend to best friend to him so shyly kissing you as he walked you home from dinner one night a month back. There wasn’t anything special about that night but everything changed the second he decided to go for it.

The bubbly feeling in you had grown more calm, more relaxed, more at home. Not a whole lot had changed between the two of you but you sat a little closer, touched more, shared the things you kept hidden before. It was so easy to fall into dating it was almost scary.

Until Jensen texted you that morning, asking if you wanted to stay over that night. You responded back of course, not thinking what he was really asking until you were standing at his doorway.

“Hi honey,” he said, giving you a kiss when he opened the door. You smiled as you went inside, setting a small overnight bag down in the foyer, Jensen grabbing it and chucking it in his bedroom as you washed up. 

He was halfway through making dinner so you focused on a side, idly talking about work as you waited for your meal to finish cooking. Jensen kept shooting you side glances all throughout dinner though and well into when you were sat on the couch and watching a movie together.

“Everything alright? You’re pretty quiet tonight, Y/N,” he said. 

“Yeah, I’m great,” you said, giving him a nod. He hummed but started to sit you in front of him, placing his hands on your shoulders and giving them a squeeze.

“You’re so tense,” he said, massaging your shoulders and neck, pressing his thumbs in and helping you unwind some. He did that for a few minutes, pulling you back to sit against him, draping an arm over your waist when you finished. 

You could feel his fingers brushing against your arm, could feel where his arm was resting on the tiny patch of skin on your stomach that had exposed itself. You pulled your shirt down but you kept slumping back and it would rise up again, Jensen making a tsk noise when you fixed it again.

“Alright. You’re all fidgety,” he said as you sat up. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” you said. He stared at you a moment before pursing his lips.

“You don’t...you don’t have to stay over if you don’t want to,” he said softly.

“No, Jensen, I do. I really do,” you said with a smile.

“I’m making you uncomfortable,” he said. 

“Jensen,” you said, closing your eyes. “I want to have sex and do that stuff with you, I do. I just-”

“What?” he said.

“You invited me to sleepover? We’ve been dating a month and haven’t...I thought that’s why you wanted me to come over,” you said. Jensen raised an eyebrow before you saw it click for him, his eyes wandering over to the bedroom door, his lips parting. “That is why I’m spending the night, right?”

“...Sure,” said Jensen, forcing a smile. “I um...” he said, standing up. “I’ll be right back.”

He was up and in his bedroom quickly but you were already on his heels, Jensen frowning when you followed him inside.

“Jensen-”

“Okay, honestly? Sex didn’t even cross my mind. I just thought you’d want to sleepover so we could spend more time together. I thought it’d be nice,” he said, rubbing his arm.

“Oh,” you said. “That’s perfectly okay with me.”

Of course sex hadn’t crossed his mind. I mean, you’d only been dating a month and you knew each other very well and it would be natural to start getting intimate. But that was the exact reason you didn’t want to come over in the first place. 

No one ever thought you were attractive and you sure as hell weren’t getting naked in front of this gorgeous man.

“Y/N?” asked Jensen, waving his hand in front of his face. “Honey?”

“Hm?” 

“I said we don’t have to rush,” he said.

“Yeah. That sounds good,” you said. “Let’s go finish our movie, okay?”

You were both quiet for the rest of the night, Jensen retreating into that little safe place he had, his walls up some, for the first time ever with you and it was bugging the crap out of you.

Had he lied? Was he really just not attracted to you? He called you beautiful and pretty but maybe that was just politeness, not an actual thought from him.

“Jensen, my stomach is feeling off. I think I should go home. We can try this another time,” you said. 

He didn’t even try to get you to stay, simply said to call him if you needed anything. 

You weren’t sure what the hell you needed now.

Jensen texted you a few times throughout the next day but you ignored him, not wanting to lie about being sick, already feeling bad enough that you basically ditched your plans for a Saturday together.

You were sipping on the remnants of the last bit of a bottle of wine and some leftover pizza when your doorbell rang. You answered it slowly, Jensen’s face neutral, holding out a bag, your overnight one.

“You forgot this last night,” he said. You nodded and took it, Jensen glancing down. “Why are you ignoring me today?”

You sighed and waved him into you apartment, ditching your bag on the floor as Jensen wandered into your family room.

“Did I wait too long to make a move? Is that it?” he asked.

“Make a move?” you asked.

“Do you want sex? Is that...” he said.

“Jensen, I don’t care about sex,” you said. 

“It has something to do with last night,” he said.

“Well maybe I don’t think you find me attractive,” you said. He cocked his head, giving you a frown.

“Y/N, you’re gorgeous. You are the most beautiful woman in the world to me. I mean...okay yes, I have thought about you...naked before. I don’t think it’s a bad thing if I thought of my girlfriend while getting off,” he said with a shrug, turning away from you, quickly spinning back around. “I just wanted you to sleepover, that was it. I should have been clearer.”

“You want to see me naked?” you scoffed.

“Uh, not to sound like a total guy but yeah. You’re hot,” he said. “I bet you’re even hotter without clothes.”

“You think I’m hot? Well now I know you’re lying,” you said, scrunching up your face.

“What is going on? Most woman like being told their boyfriends think they’re pretty,” he said.

“You think I’ll suddenly put out because you said some stuff to me?” you said. “Go brag to your friends?”

“You think I’m the kind of guy that would do something like that?” he snapped back. “I never, ever tell anyone about what the fuck I do with someone in bed. I actually treat my partners with respect.”

“Oh, but I don’t?” you said.

“Don’t worry about me calling you pretty anymore. I never realized you were so vain,” he said, brushing past you, making a beeline for the door. You frowned at him, Jensen stopping when his hand was on the handle, letting it drift off. “Oh, fuck me.”

“Not exactly in the mood,” you snapped back. Jensen shook his head and walked in front of you, getting close and giving you a sad smile, all of his anger gone like that. “What?”

“We have the same silly problem,” he said quietly. “We don’t want the other one to see us naked, do we?”

You looked him up and down, surprised he put it together so quickly but you never in a million years would have thought he had those same thoughts.

“Jensen...” you said. “You...”

“I’m not losing you over this,” he said, stepping back just a second, pushing off his jacket and flannel in one go, grabbing the back of his shirt and pulling it over his head. He sighed and gave you a smile, glancing down at himself. “This is what I was afraid of.”

“But you have a great body, Jensen,” you said. 

“I guess I twisted things around in my head,” he said. “I thought we were getting to that point of wanting to get physical but I couldn’t get myself to bring it up on my own.”

“Come here,” you said, stepping forward, giving him a hug. “You have nothing to worry about. You’re perfect.”

“So are you,” he said.

“I don’t look like you,” you said, ducking your head down.

“You’re right. You look better,” he said, resting his hands on your hips. You felt a simmer in your cheeks but let it give you confidence, your hands pushing his away, your shirt quickly pulled off. “Fuck me.”

“You keep saying that you know,” you said, Jensen smirking as he trailed a finger over your ribs. 

“This was so not the plan,” he said.

“What was the plan?” you asked.

“A nice dinner, light one of those nice smelling candles or something, have the heat in the room already cranked up for you,” he said.

“That sounds very romantic,” you said. “Now get in the bedroom.”

“Jensen,” you hummed, kissing his chest. “Want to stay over tonight?”

“Uh yeah. My ass ain’t leaving this bed,” he said, tickling the inside of your thigh. “You’re so pretty.”

“I’m sorry I acted like that. You’re not a guy that cares about getting in my pants. I know that,” you said.

“We were both silly. We can trust each other,” he said gently, grabbing your waist and pulling you into his side. “Can’t we?”

“Yeah, we can,” you said, offering him a smile. “Never had anything to be worried about at all, did we?”

“Nope,” he said back. “Although, I am getting a little hungry...”

“I can order another pizza and we can take a little break before we have some more fun,” you said.

“Sounds good to me, Y/N.”

[loudsuitlover]

Doctor Harry XVIII.

A/N: Harry meets Indie’s mum. Indie’s mum meets Harry. Indie is no longer Indie. 

INDIE’S POV

Harry and I lie on my bed as we both work on our laptops. He’s gathering some data from his patients’ record for some smart research of his and I’m trying to study Anaesthesiology. It’s very convenient to have him here really because he’s great at explaining and he kisses me after every explanation too.

I haven’t been keeping track of the time, so I didn’t know it was that late until my mum knocks on my door. I give Harry a terrified look but he just smiles and shrugs, letting me decide what to do with my Mum.

“¿Nena?” (Baby?)

“Sí.” (Yes.)

“¿Puedo pasar?” (Can I come in?)

“Eh… Sí, sí, pasa. Estoy con un amigo.” (Uh… Yes, yes, come on in. I’m with a guy friend.”

“Oh, is Jason with you?”

“No, no es Jason, mamá, pasa.” (No, it’s not Jason, mum, come on in.)

“Ah, ¿habla español?”

My mum finally opens the door and her dark eyes set on Harry and me on my bed. He’s sitting down with his back against my headboard and I’ve sat up next to him but there’s still lots of space between us. Nothings looks suspicious, especially for someone as innocent as my mum. She gives him a smile.

“No, no hablo español.” Harry says in a very awkward but very cute Spanish.

I give him an amused, surprised smile and he wiggles his eyebrows.

“Oh, I’m sorry, then.”

“No problem.” He smiles.

“I’m Alicia.”

My mum walks over to my bed and shakes Harry’s hand and I just stare at their interaction. This is so awkward. I’m going to kill her.

“I’m Harry. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too.” She smiles. “Are you staying over for dinner? I just came to ask you what you wanted for dinner and to say hi” she giggles “but I didn’t know you had visit, nena.”

Harry’s eyes set on me as if he was asking for permission. I don’t like that. I guess he’s just sending me an SOS because I don’t think he’s going to want to stay over and have dinner with the Fernandez girls but I like it when he’s his own person and takes his own decisions so I raise my eyebrows.

“Do you want to stay over for dinner?” I ask him.

“If you’re inviting me, then yes.”

“Of course she’s inviting you!” My mum horrifies.

She’s probably freaking out at how blunt I was to Harry. If she knew… Harry grins. There he is, he’s amused with this. He’s probably going to make fun of me for this dinner for ages.

“No se hable más. I’m cooking Spanish food” My mum giggles excitedly and I smile amused. “How do you feel about corvina con esparrágos trigeros?” She asks me for Harry doesn’t understand her.

I nod.

“Ask him.” My mum tells me. “I don’t remember how you say esparrágos trigeros… He pasado demasiado tiempo en España esta vez… Y dile que son españoles, ¿eh? Que son de tu abuelo.” She smiles.

“She asks if you feel like having Spanish wild asparagus.” I smile amused.

This is so Spanish and Harry is so British. I imagine him on my abuelos’ country house and can’t help but smile. They couldn’t talk to one another for my Abuelos don’t speak any English and he’d probably struggle to even introduce himself.

“They’re from my grandpa’s vegetable garden back in Spain.”

“I would love that. Grasias.” He adorably says.

My mum and I both giggle like smitten teenagers before she leaves and Harry gives her a charming smile. We keep silently working until about 45 minutes later, my Mum texts me that dinner is ready.

Harry smiles amused as we make our way downstairs.

“I guess I don’t have to tell you we’re just friends.”

He chuckles.

“Yes, friends who sleep with each other.”

“See? That’s the part my mum is not interested in.”

He smiles.

“Are you afraid I’m going to embarrass you?” He half jokes.

I think I am.

“No, I’m afraid my mum will.”

“I can’t wait for this to begin. Do you think she’ll show me your baby pictures?”

“Just friends.” I point a finger at him right before we make our presence known on the dining table.

Coco is setting empty wine glasses on the table. Oh, boy, she’s going all out. I really hope she at least hasn’t changed her clothes and appears with a red carpet dress and a hairdresser’s bun… She didn’t, thank God.

“Please, take a seat.” She tells us as she sets the corvina on the table.

It reminds me of the gilt-head bream I tried to cook for dinner the other night before Harry and I ended up having sex on my couch and my fish ended up burnt and the bits I could save part of Coco’s salad the next day. She didn’t mention how dry it was, but that was probably because of the amount of olive oil and vinegar I used to season it.

“This smells delicious.” Harry compliments my mum’s cooking playing Prince Charming and she smiles.

Good try, but my Mum already knows she’s a great cook. Still, it was polite.

“Hi, Coco. How are you?”

“Hi, Harry. I’m fine, and you?”

“I’m good, thank you.”

My mum sits down next to Coco leaving Harry a chair next to mine in front of them and tells us to help ourselves. I take Harry’s plate and serve him first under my mum’s attentive stare. This is probably surprising and amusing Harry. I bet he never imagined I would treat him like an actual guest but my family raised me to be a great host.

“Thank you, Blue.” He says.

A timid smirk takes over my lips that he can’t see and I shake my head before I grab my own plate and serve some fish and asparagus for myself.

“How did you call her?” My mum asks.

I tense up. I let him call me Blue because I know what it means to him. It’s that Elvis Presley’s song that he likes and I actually like it when he calls me that. I’d much rather have him calling me Blue than baby in front of my mother anyway. Harry stiffens on his chair though. I’ll let him be nervous for this one. That’s what happens when you overstep.

“Did you call her Blue?” My mum’s eyes widen.

“Isn’t that my name?” I smirk as I sit back down next to him.

“Yes, it is.” She smiles. “It’s just… You… People don’t usually call her that.”

Harry nods.

“I know. She doesn’t actually let me call her that but I knew she wouldn’t call me out in front of you.” He explains.

My mum laughs out loud before she also serves herself some dinner. I can’t believe he just said that. How can he be so shameless?

“Harry, why don’t you bless the table? You know, say thank you for this food.”

His green eyes widen as he stares at me. We’ve never done that in this house but I’ve had dinner with him times enough to know he doesn’t do that either. Coco giggles under her breath. My mum doesn’t say anything because she doesn’t know whether I asked him to do that because that’s something he normally does so I just wait for the fun to begin. He clears his throat.

“I… Uh, I’m sorry but I’ve never done that. I don’t want to like do something bad and be accidentally offensive but you can do it in Spanish if you want.”

“She’s just messing with you, Harry.” My mum swats my head and Coco laughs.

“¡Mamá!”

“De verdad, Blue, ¡qué vergüenza, por Dios! Compórtate.” (Seriously, Blue, that was embarrassing, for the love of God! Behave yourself.)

“Mamá, pero si a Harry le encantan las bromas. Isn’t that right, Harry? Don’t you love jokes?”

“I love a joke as much as the next guy.” He smiles.

“Oh, do you?” My mum smiles. “Then how would you like to hear a funny story about Blue?”

My eyes widen and my cheeks tinge red. Harry lowly chuckles next to me and Coco laughs and shakes her head.

“Eso te pasa por meterte con el invitado.” (That’s what you get for messing with Mum’s guest.)

“I remember this one time when Blue was over sixteen years old.”

“Mamá, no, no, la de la feria no.” (Mum, no, no, not the one on the fair.)

She nods and smiles mischievously.

“We were in Spain for the summer holidays and my family is from a small town in Spain and lots of small towns in Spain have these summer festivities where we have like a fair and free concerts and things like that so we were at the fair and there was this attraction that consisted on punching like a small punching bag that somehow quantifies the strength you have.”

I bring my hand to my face at the memory and Coco starts laughing.

“It was amazing.” She adds.

Harry glances at me with a teasing grin on his pretty face.

“So my son Rio challenged Blue and he hit it first. Blue’s very competitive so she got ready” my mum starts making gestures with her hands imitating me and I purse my lips trying not to smile “and she hit it so hard it effectively stick to the ceiling of the machine” my mum nods “for a few seconds and then when she was being all sassy to Rio because she had won, the punching bag came back and hit her on the back of her head.”

My sister holds her belly as she gives us a demonstration of her silent laughter and Harry laughs out loud too.

“That’s such a great story.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I nod.

“And this is delicious, Alizia. Did I pronounce it right?”

“More or less.” My mum giggles. “You can call me Allie, if that’s easier.”

Well, she really liked Harry. I understand, he’s being all charming and all smiles for my family. And he’s very handsome too. I’m both my mum and my sister are thinking that.

“So, Harry, do you study with Blue?”

His eyebrows raised on his forehead.

“Kind of.” He explains. “I’m a doctor but you know we study all our lives so yeah I study with her sometimes.” He smiles.

“Oh, you’re a doctor already?” My mum nods. “And do you also know Blue’s friends or just her?”

“No, I know them.”

My mum nods. I know that was her way of trying to find out how we met. I also know she probably doesn’t think we’re just friends anymore. I give her a smile and raise my eyebrows at her stare. Oh, no, she’s trying to figure it out.

“And where are you from? I hope you don’t mind me asking.” She smiles.

“I don’t. I’m from Bellamond.”

“Oh” Coco’s lips part as she looks at him as if he had just admit he was raised poor.

She’s so tactless I want to hit her on her head. I kick her under the table and she stiffens and frowns at me. I widen my eyes warningly at her and she just pouts and look away.

“That’s a very nice village.” My mum says. “You know I’ve painted quite a lot there. In that river that goes down the bridge to the train station.”

“Oh, yeah” Harry grins “My mum lives like seven minutes away from that bridge. I used to hang out on the river banks when I was growing up.”

“Oh, you did?” My mum smiles.

“Yes, I wish I could see one of your paintings. I bet they bring me nice memories.”

My mum loves that. He’s good.

“That’s what my paintings are all about.” She celebrates. “Maybe you could bring him to the next exhibit, nena.” She tells me.

“Sure.” I lie.

Of course not. I won’t just walk around with him on my mother’s gallery. That’s not what exclusive friends with benefits do.

“I would love that.” He explains. “Maybe it could be our next date.”

I choke on my corvina. My mum’s eyes widen and her lips part and Coco grins like she was in love. I’m going to press my hands down his throat and kill him.

“I’m kidding.” He explains. “I did say I like a joke.”

“I hate you.”

Coco laughs before she gets up from the table and starts picking it up.

“I’m going out.” She announces.

“With Chicco?”

Coco shakes her head. She waits until my mum is out of the room to tell us.

“Guido asked me out but don’t tell mum. You know how she gets.”

All excited and completely gone planning tacky weddings and doing ceramics. I chuckle.

“Don’t worry.”

“Guido Matteoti?” Harry asks her being the nosy soul he is.

She nods and Harry smiles.

“Well try not to break his heart, Coco.” He warns. “He’s one of the few decent ones of his kind.”

I chuckle while Coco takes both our empty plates and shakes her head.

“You guys are the perfect match.” She says.

I throw my head back and laugh while Harry just grins and raises his eyebrows.

“Too bad we’re just friends.” He shrugs.

This time it’s Coco who laughs before she walks away from the table. Harry slaps my thigh gently before moving his hand up and down grinning at me.

“I didn’t know you were so strong, baby.” He teases me.

I click my tongue and swat his arm.

“Stop it, you idiot.”

He chuckles and rests his left elbow on the table, tilting his body so he’s facing me and he raises his eyebrows as he wriggles his fingers.

“Come on. I’m a right-handed. I’m giving you a leg up.”

I roll my eyes and stare at his hand. He’s going to win. But I still please him and he grins when I hold his hand.

“Okay, ready, set, go.”

I push his hand as hard as I can but he’s not budging. At least he’s not pushing mine back either. I’m frowning and my entire face is wrinkled as I try to push his arm down but he just chuckles.

“Are you done?” He asks me.

I purse my lips and he chuckles.

“Careful, love” he pushes my arm back until it lays on the table easily “wouldn’t want to hurt you.” He chuckles.

“Don’t be so full of yourself, Styles.”

“Styles?” He laughs. “You really are competitive, hey?”

“And you really are conceited.”

He chuckles. He’s about to say something when my mum walks towards the table with two bowls of natillas con galletas and she sets them in front of the two of us.

“I’m taking Coco to her date.” She tells us. “She thinks I don’t know but she’s wearing lip gloss. Una madre sabe esas cosas. Those are natillas, Harry. It’s Blue’s favourite dessert.”

“Gracias, mamá.”

“Grasias, Allie.”

My mum smiles.

“See you, guys. It was very nice meeting you and having you for dinner, Harry. You can come anytime you want.”

“Thank you for having me. Well, it was really delicious so I’d gladly accept any future invites.” He smiles at me.

I roll my eyes. I get a spoonful of natillas so I don’t have to say anything but he’s smiling even if he’s trying not to as he tries my mum’s natillas aka the best dessert in the world.

“Fuck” he frowns but I know that face, that’s his appreciation face.

“I know, it’s the best dessert in the world.”

“It’s delicious” he agrees “but it’s not the best dessert in the world.” He smirks mischievously.

“Pancakes are breakfast, not dessert.”

“Wasn’t talking about pancakes.” His green eyes set on mine.

When I understand he’s talking about me, my cheeks tinge pink and I look away. He’s so dirty.

“You know” I change the topic “I’m a little worried about Marie and your friend.”

“Adam?” He sounds surprised. “Don’t worry about him. He’s harmless. He’s probably not the kind of person you think he is.”

“Why do you say that? Who do you think I think he is?”

He widens his eyes and shakes his head as if he was lost with my question and I chuckle. He’s got the sense of humour of an elderly man.

“You probably think he’s a womanizer selfish prick.” He shrugs. “Just like you think of me.”

I frown. That’s not what I think of him. I mean, it’s not all I think of him. I also think he’s smart and caring and affectionate and lovely but I won’t sweet talk to him.

“He’s not like you think.”

“How is he then?”

Harry shrugs.

“He’s kind.”

“Then how come he doesn’t have a girlfriend? How old is he?”

“He’s twenty-six.” He smirks.

“Why are you smiling? He doesn’t have a girlfriend, does he?”

“No.” He laughs. “It’s just funny how judgy you’re being.”

That offends me. I’m not being judgy, I’m just protecting my friend. Marie goes all out when she’s in love and she falls in love so easily and I do not want this guy to hurt her because she’s one of the best people I know.

“I’m just asking because I care about Marie.”

Harry nods.

“I know.”

“Is he like you?”

“Meaning?” His green eyes set on mine.

“Meaning, does he not do girlfriends either?”

Because that’s not the kind of guy who can be with Marie. His eyes seem to be tremendously amused with this.

“Not at all.” He chuckles. “He had a girlfriend for several years but they broke up after the accident.”

“What accident?”

His green eyes turn darker and he coughs.

“He was in the car with Gemma. I thought you knew.”

“How would I know if you didn’t tell me?”

He shrugs.

“I thought you had put two and two together.”

I shake my head. He gives me a sad smile.

“What I’m worried about” he adds “is your friend.”

“Marie?” I all but yell. “She’s lovely!”

“As lovely as you are? Because in that case we have a problem.”

I roll my eyes. He thinks he’s so funny.

“Real lovely” I defend my friend “she really is lovely. She’s nothing like me.”

It’s true. She isn’t. She’s sweet and caring and affectionate and lovely and lovable. His green eyes study me for the longest minute. I wish I could know what he’s thinking. I give him a questioning look and he sighs and pushes his empty bowl of natillas away from him.

“He’s got erectile dysfunction.” He tells me.

My eyes widen. But he’s twenty-six years old! My lips part. Oh, oh.

“After the accident, he had a lot of internal bleeding and he had a surgery. Well, actually, a few. He’s actually lucky all he got as a repercussion from the accident was that.” Harry explains. “But it’s really hard for him to even open up about it and it’s also hard to find someone who doesn’t care about that.”

“But… Can he not have sex at all?”

Harry sighs.

“Well the penetration is just part of sex and it’s not even mandatory. I mean if anything, the one who has trouble having an orgasm is him but, yes, he can have sex. He just has a prosthesis.”

I nod. I’ll google that afterwards because I have no idea how that works and I’m not about to ask him and make the whole thing even more awkward.

“But it’s still complicated. He’s gone through hell, Blue and I wouldn’t like someone else hurting him.”

The way he worries about him makes my heart swells for him. Granted, nobody wants their friends to suffer but I’ve never heard Harry talk that way about anyone. He really cares about his friend and that’s fucking hot to me. Everything he does is hot to me. Except when he acts like a vain jackass.

“If Marie hurts her, I don’t give a fuck she’s your friend. I want you to know that.”

Is he threatening us?

“Well, the same holds true for you. Marie is not as superficial as you think us posh girls are and even then, Marie is a lot better than me. She’s a lot better than everyone. She would never put someone down because of something like that. And if Adam hurts her, I don’t give a fuck he’s your friend.”

Harry smiles and nods before he leans in and brings his mouth close to mine.

“Give me a kiss.” He demands.

I smile before I do as I’m told and feel him smile against my lips before I lick his and deepen our kiss. He hums on my mouth and his fingers find my ponytail and take it off.

“I love your hair down.” He whispers.

“I’ve noticed.” I giggle.

“You look like an angel.”

He presses his lips against mine again. His hands move down to my ass and he pulls me to him so I stand up and straddle him and he smiles.

“You have nothing on the oven, right?” He jokes.

I laugh but keep kissing him so our teeth collide more than once. He runs his hands down my hair and cups my cheeks as he deepens the kiss. He hums.

“I want you, Blue.”

“Have me then.”

My voice sounds almost adolescent but my pulse sped up and my lungs flap humidly. It’s that easy for him. He just has to say that. He smiles against my lips but his tongue licks mine and his hands caress my back.

“What do you want to do, baby? Or better, what do you want me to do to you?”

I’m already wet. He’s going to dry me like a grape under the sun.

“Don’t be shy, love. Not with me.” He licks my lips. “You asked me to take you bare and to go harder the other night. Are you going to get shy now?”

“That was the heat of the moment.” I joke.

He stiffens under my touch and I know he’s panicking a little but I let him feel my smile against his lips so he knows I’m joking. He squeezes my hips tight as a sweet form of punishment.

“You scared me.” He whimpers like a boy. “You don’t regret it, do you?”

I cup his cheeks with both hands and force him to look at me. I can’t believe he’s second-guessing what happened the other night.

“It was the best sex I’ve ever had.” I confess and he grins.

It was also the first time I had someone bare but I’m not going to tell him that. This is enough confidence boost for today. When I set his face free, he presses a kiss on my cheek.

“Tell me what you want.”

I don’t know why I’m being shy. He has never made me feel anything other than wanted and desired during sex but I have to look away from the intensity of his stare.

“How can you be so shy now if you were yelling for me to go faster just three nights ago?”

“I was very turned on then…”

“And you’re not turned on now?”

Of course I am. My sex is swollen and dripping under my underwear. He would giggle if he touched me now. He grips my hips and lifts me from his lap, sitting me down on the table before he stands between my legs. Pressing one hand on my low back, he pulls me close to him until there’s no air between our bodies.

“I know you are.” He cups my sex through my tights and presses a kiss on my jawline. “Being close to me turns you on. I know it does.”

I clench my teeth but my lustful eyes probably give me away. I hate that he’s so confident about his effect on me. It makes me feel weak that he’s so sure of the power he has over me.

“I know because it’s the same for me.”

His confession parts my lips and I stare at him as if he had just given me the solution to every problem in the world.

“Tell me what you want, baby.” He whispers on my ear. “I’ll do whatever you want. I’m already only yours, you know that.”

His words charm me and with all the confidence I was lacking minutes ago, I wrap my legs around him and pull him closer pressing my knuckles on the back of his thighs. I devour his mouth and he groans but pulls away.

“Talk to me.”

“I… I want you to… Fuck me on this table.”

His pink lips part and his pupils dilate. I don’t know if that was enough. Now that he agreed to have sex only with me, I’m afraid I won’t be enough. After all, I’m not very experienced and I’m afraid he’s afraid to hurt me, what with how careful he’s been with me and all that.

“Baby…” I croon.

His eyes grow darker as I use the pet name he uses with me all the time. I try to go about this in the sexiest way possible. As if I was the one with the situation under control. I press both hands on his chest and licks my lips staring deeply into his eyes.

“I want you to do to me whatever it is you want.” I whisper before I press a kiss on the corner of his mouth and then his cheek and his earlobe. “Whatever turns you on, love” I lick his earlobe “Make me yours…”

“Jesus Christ, Blue.” He gasps.

It’s working? I think it is.

“It’s you.” He says out of breath. “You turn me on all the fucking time, love. With these thighs” he squeezes them against his hips “and this body, love, and the sounds you make… You drive me crazy.”

His fingers caress the skin on the side of my exposed neck as his green eyes study mine.

“Take this off.” He whispers, pulling at my sweater.

“No.”

He panics but I smirk devilishly.

“You do it.”

“Fuck” he giggles “I’m the luckiest man in the world.”

He takes my sweater off and doesn’t waste another second to cup my breasts and squeeze them on his hands. His mouth attacks my neck and I throw my head back and puff air out as he kisses my skin. His hands feel amazing on my breasts. I never thought having my breasts touched could feel this good but every where he places his hands seem to set on fire.

He pulls my skirt up my hips and holds it on my waist and grabs the hem of my tights pulling them harshly down my legs. When I kick them off me, his fingertips find my lace underwear and I hear his breath hitching on his throat. He looks down between my legs so as to see my underwear.

“This is fucking sexy.” He whispers, caressing my underwear with his fingertip.

I cup his cheeks and bring his face closer as my mouth attacks his neck. I kiss, suck and nibble his skin as my hands work on the button and the zipper of his jeans and he growls and squeezes my ass cheeks on his hands.

“You’re killing me, baby.” He groans.

He lets me kiss his neck as I please but when my hand finds his arousal, he growls and turns me around so my belly is against the table.

“I want to fuck you like this.” He whispers on my ear. “Take you from behind and ruin you.”

I moan as he squeezes my breast on his hand.

“So fucking pretty.”

His hand pulls down my undies harshly and he caresses my ass before he slaps me. I gasp and moan at the sudden contact.  

“I love your ass.” He squeezes the flushed skin on his hand. “It’s so perfect.”

“Harry, please, fuck me. I can’t take it anymore.”

I feel his chest rumbling as he laughs behind me.

“Glad to see you’re not shy anymore… Just minutes ago you couldn’t tell me what you wanted and now look at you, begging me to fuck you on your mum’s dining table. Such a dirty girl, Blue… My dirty girl.” With that he thrusts inside, all the way, and my eyes roll to the back of my head.

The feeling is exquisite. Having him inside me, warm and hard, as he holds my hips and move my body up and down against the wooden table. I wish we could stay forever like this, where there’s nothing but him and I’m nothing but the part of me he’s touching.

“Harder, love” I whisper “Fuck me as hard as you can. Ruin me.”

“Fuck, baby.”

He thrusts hard and fast in and out of me and I don’t even know how he can be so good at this. It’s ridiculous. He tangles his fingers on my hair and pull me up the table until my bare back hits his chest and his other hand finds my clit. He presses frenetic circles on my soaked bud of nerves.

“You like it like this?” He groans as he pushes inside me. “You like it when I fuck you hard and fast, don’t you?”

“Yes, yes…” I gasp “God, Harry…”

“I’m not gonna last long, baby. You drove me crazy.” He whimpers. “Are you gonna cum for me?”

“Yes.” I gasp. “Just keep… I’m so close… Fuck, love, you’re amazing.”

“So are you, my love.” He presses a kiss on my shoulder. “Baby, I can’t… Take it. Oh, fuck!”

He all but screams behind me as I come undone. My whole body shakes and my legs fail me so the hand that was on my hair wraps around my waist and keeps me in place. His thrusts become sloppier, slower and deeper as he unloads inside me.

If this isn’t what heaven feels like, I don’t know why the call it paradise.

[apparentlynotreallyfinnish]

Experiments - Part 7

If you want to start from the beginning:

Experiments on Ao3

---

“Is that what you’re gonna wear?” Jessie’s voice stopped Rhett as he was coming down the stairs. She was sitting on the couch, frowning at Rhett. Rhett looked down at his black Mythical t-shirt and sweats. 

“What’s wrong with ‘em?” he asked, confused.

“Isn’t that a bit… casual?” 

“It’s comfy,” Rhett said with a shrug. He wasn’t sure what she was trying to imply. 

He descended the stairs and walked up to her. Jessie yanked on the hem of his t-shirt and looked at it disapprovingly. Rhett ducked down to give her a kiss which she accepted before pushing him back towards the stairs.

“Go put on that new button-up. The green one. Makes your eyes pop. And change into jeans,” she told him and turned back towards the TV.

“Um, why?” 

Jessie’s gaze returned to him and she tilted her head. “Don’t you wanna look good for him?”

Rhett’s cheeks pinkened. “He knows what I look like,” he stammered defensively, staring down at his clothes he’d just thrown on after his shower.

“More reason to put in a little extra effort,” Jessie said. “Go on now.”

Rhett trekked back upstairs and changed his clothes, feeling slightly ridiculous. They were gonna be on the floor of the house sooner or later, why bother? He stopped at the mirror before leaving the bedroom to fix his hair. A quick glance at his new outfit made him admit that Jessie was right. He looked damn good in this shirt. Looking good for Link just had never even occurred to him. Would he care? He probably wouldn’t even notice. A strange, little stab at his heart followed the thought, but he brushed it off as indigestion. 

“I’m going now,” he hollered as he grabbed his little overnight bag before heading to the front door. Jessie stopped him there to give him a hug and one more quick kiss. Rhett held her, smelling her familiar scent. She smelled like home and comfort. She was his sanctuary. And the way she was handling everything that was happening now with Link… Rhett was blown away by her kindness and ability to be so selflessly supportive. She’d even given Rhett some great pointers after he’d told her about the office blow job earlier that week.  

When she tried to step away, Rhett pulled her tighter and buried his face into the crook of her neck. 

“You okay there, big guy?” Jessie whispered, a smile coloring her voice as she gently rubbed Rhett’s hunched back.

“Yeah,” Rhett muttered. “Are you okay?”  

“What do you mean?” she asked back, clearly feigning ignorance. Rhett dragged himself away from her warmth and looked her in the eyes, once again searching for even the smallest hint of discomfort.

“You know what I mean.”

After all these years, her smile still made him feel lighter. She reached up to pinch his cheek. “Yes, I’m okay. Now go make your man happy.”

“He’s not my—”

“Go!”

She chased him out with a playful butt slap and that same smile that had made Rhett fall in love with her decades ago.

— — —

Just like two weeks ago, Link was already at the house when Rhett drove in. He parked his car, jumped out and basically jogged to the door. His heart was hammering when he walked inside and announced himself with a cheeky, “honey, I’m home!”

“In the kitchen!” Link yelled back. Rhett’s good mood immediately took a beating—Link sounded like he was in distress. Rhett dropped his bag onto the floor and rushed into the kitchen. Link was standing with his back turned and making huffs and puffs that could only be described as dad noises.

“What’s wrong?”

“This daggum bottle!” Link growled. He turned and waved a wine bottle in Rhett’s direction. The mouth and neck of the bottle were visibly scuffed.

“I didn’t realize we don’t have a corkscrew here. Shoulda bought one of those cheaper ones with the twisty corks,” Link grumbled. 

Rhett’s lips quirked into a smile and he walked up to Link. Link gave him the bottle and held out the pocket knife he’d been using to try and get it open. Rhett looked at the knife and then at Link’s hands. Link saw the glance and frowned.

“I’m fine! I can use a knife. It’s just a stupid bit for the show.”

“Mmhmm. Want me to ask Christy about that? Or your father-in-law? Gimme,” Rhett ordered, reaching for the knife. Link relinquished the weapon with a pout and hopped on the counter. He swung his legs, heels tapping lightly against the drawers as he watched Rhett work on the bottle.  

“Christy says hi,” Link said after a moment of silence.

“Hi,” Rhett grunted, trying to get the cork out. He finally had to concede that it was too mangled by Link’s attempts. “Gonna have to push it into the bottle, I think,” Rhett mused under his breath. 

“She’d been here last night. Bought new sheets for the bed. She left other things too. Like… lube and stuff.”

Rhett’s heart missed a beat as a hot wave rushed through his body and the knife slipped from his suddenly trembling hand. Link’s eyebrows rose and he smirked.

“Careful there, McLaughlin. Don’t want you falling into my arms just yet.”

Rhett let out a dry bark of a laugh. “I’m not the one that faints at the sight of blood. Ha! There!” He’d finally managed to pop the cork into the bottle. He looked down at the wine and frowned.

“Should we pour this through a sieve? There are a lot of cork pieces in there.”

“You really think we have a sieve here?” Link asked, laughing. “Just pour, we can fish the pieces out with a fork.” 

When they finally had mostly-corkless wine glasses in hand, Link smiled nervously at Rhett and clinked their glasses together.

“Dink it.”

“And sink it,” Rhett said, smiling back at him and he took a small sip. Despite the faint taste of cork, the wine was pretty good. Rhett took another sip and watched with widening eyes as Link gulped down almost half the glass in one go.

“Thirsty, huh?” Rhett teased him. Link’s cheeks flamed and he set the glass back on the counter with a resonant clink. He was still sitting on the counter, legs spread apart enough that Rhett could easily wedge himself between them. So, he did.  

Link’s Adam’s apple bobbed and his smile faltered a bit. Rhett set his wine glass on the counter next to Link’s and lifted his hand to run his fingertips along Link’s bottom lip to brush away a drop of wine. Link’s lips parted and he puffed out a small, shaky breath that jolted Rhett’s cock to life. How could something so small could be so fucking sexy, Rhett had no idea.  

Rhett’s fingers moved to trace along Link’s chin and jaw, finally ending their journey at the nape of his neck, slowly rubbing the sensitive skin at his hairline. Link shivered at the touch.

“How do you wanna do this then?” Rhett asked, voice low and gravelly.

“You know,” Link said, squirming under Rhett’s light touch. “Just… fuck me.” It was almost a plea. Almost like begging, and it made blood rush to Rhett’s dick.

“Here? Against the counter?” Rhett asked, pressing a teasing kiss against Link’s t-shirt-covered collarbone. Link gasped, possibly more at Rhett’s words than the kiss, and Rhett’s hand dropped from his neck to his lower back. A rough pull brought them chest to chest and drew a small “oh” from Link. Rhett could feel Link’s erection rubbing against his stomach. His hands were slowly moving up and down Link’s legs, his thumbs pressing into the inner thighs, fingers moving closer and closer to his bulge with each pass. Link’s eyes were closed and he was breathing through an open mouth. 

“Well?” Rhett asked, when he got no answer.

“No. Not here. Bed,” Link mumbled. Rhett tried to step away to move the night along, but Link’s hands shot up and he pulled Rhett back to him. 

“Not yet,” Link said.

“You wanna drink the rest of your wine?” Rhett asked. Link’s hands were sliding up his chest, rubbing his pecs through his shirt on the way before they ended up around his shoulders.

“No. I don’t want anymore wine. I want—”

Rhett’s hands had found a place on Link’s waist and he paused to marvel at how well they fit around him.

“You want what?” Rhett husked.

“I want you to kiss me,” Link whispered. Rhett’s gaze jumped to Link’s face. 

“What?” he asked, his mouth suddenly dry despite the just-sipped wine. Link’s eyes shone in the low light of the kitchen and he licked his lips before answering.

“Isn’t it a bit weird that we haven’t? I mean, your cock’s been in my mouth and I came inside yours, but we’ve never…” Link’s words died on his lips and he shrugged, looking embarrassed over his request.

Rhett wasn’t sure why he was so hesitant to do this. He’d come here tonight, more than ready to stick his dick inside Link’s asshole but kissing him? For some reason, that scared him more than anything.

“A little weird, yeah,” he murmured, trying to buy some time. 

Man up, McLaughlin, and kiss the guy! 

Rhett took a deep breath, readying himself. Link cupped his face and slowly ran his fingers through his beard, sending pleasant tingles down his spine and up to the crown of his head. It brought back a vivid memory of how it had felt when Link had held onto Rhett’s hair when Rhett was sucking him off at the office. The memory of Link’s cock filling his mouth combined with his proximity now was making Rhett dizzy.

“This felt pretty dang amazing down there,” Link said, tangling his fingers into Rhett’s beard and tugging it gently to pull him closer. “I wanna know how it feels up here.” 

Link’s gaze flicked from Rhett’s eyes down to his mouth and his tongue peeked between his lips to wet them. Rhett felt himself being pulled to him like they were magnetized. A small part of him feared this would change everything. Another part, a long-dormant one, whispered that deep down he’d always known this was going to happen eventually.

Rhett saw Link’s eyes widen before he closed his own and brushed their lips together. Link’s mouth opened, filling Rhett’s with the taste of wine and mint and Link. The soft touch of Link’s lips set him on fire. He was dying a slow death, scorched by the pyre of realization that this was what had been missing from his life. 

The epiphany was too much. His chest was crushing under the weight of it. Rhett had to pull away before he’d get totally consumed by it. He was thankful for the counter he could lean against because his legs had somehow turned into jello.

“Is that what you wanted?” Rhett asked, trying to pull his lips onto a casual smile. It was a shaky one at best, but maybe Link wouldn’t notice.

Link’s eyes fluttered open and he licked his lips slowly as if savoring the taste Rhett’s kiss had left there. Rhett realized he was gripping Link’s waist too hard and one by one, forced his fingers to relax.

“It was alright,” Link said, corner of his lips tugging up. “Nothing to write home about.”

Rhett scoffed. “Excuse me?”

“You call that a kiss? That’s how you kiss a cousin,” Link said, eyes twinkling with mischief. Rhett snorted.

“Wow. Your relationship with your cousins must be radically different from mine,” Rhett said, arching his brow. Link just shrugged and smiled that teasing smile of his. Rhett knew what he was doing, but it was impossible not to fall for it.

“Fine. If you think that was weak, let me show you a real kiss,” he huffed and cupped Link’s face. The flash of elation on Link’s features punched the air out of Rhett’s lungs and he had to take a deep breath before diving into another kiss.

Rhett moved in fierce and determined to kiss Link’s socks off. Their mouths slotted together and Rhett’s thumb slowly brushed along Link’s chin as he licked his way into Link’s mouth. Link’s tongue met him halfway and with soft sweeps, Rhett coaxed it into his own mouth and gave it a long, soft suck. A breathy moan rumbled out of Link’s throat and he grabbed a fistful of Rhett’s shirt to pull them closer. Link’s legs wrapped around Rhett’s hips and Rhett’s hand dropped to Link’s lower back to pull him closer to the edge of the counter. Rhett imagined that he could feel Link’s cock throbbing through his jeans, just as his was.

When they finally parted, Link was staring at him, his lips slippery and deliciously pink, eyes blown black and his whole body keening towards Rhett.

Rhett’s breath caught. Link was beautiful. He’d always been beautiful.

“How about that then?” Rhett asked, breathless. Link swallowed down hard and nodded. 

“Better,” he whispered, eyes never leaving Rhett’s lips.

“Bed?” Rhett offered with a hopeful and lust-filled voice. 

“Yeah,” Link sighed. “Let’s go.” 

[no6secretsanta]

Day off.

Hey, it’s me, Apricot! I was so happy when I received the e-mail that you were my giftie @marykedoesart . I hope you like it!! <3

(from ApricotMori_ (twitter))

- Oh, boys! It’s such a shame you have to go, but don’t forget to come back soon, alright, Shion? And Nezumi…

- Yes, madam? 

- I know how happy you make my son and that brings me joy all the time, but that doesn’t mean you can’t hurt me… Stop buying those muffins near your home and come visit me. I’ll give you fresher ones for free, alright? 

Karan’s voice was sweet and caring, filled with that tender mother-like tone she has always had. Yet there was a little drop of anger noise between those words. She was smiling widely, her eyes were hidden by the curvature on her lips, and she was caressing Nezumi’s cheek. However… Shion was aware of how those words pierced Nezumi’s cool mask and shattered it.

That’s how her mother was like, a kindhearted woman, but also a strong one who would not accept anything but the best for those she appreciated dearly. And, yes, her muffins were the best around the city, and, yes, she appreciated Nezumi a lot. Shion would sometimes joke about how she just quitted on being his mother, because she put Nezumi under her wing. How could she take for granted that he tasted somebody else’s muffins?

“Elyurias was scary, but your mother has some guts”, Nezumi once admitted to Shion, so Shion couldn’t help but laugh at the image exposed right in front of his eyes.

Nezumi’s façade was somber and he was frightened because he couldn’t just play a stage to run away; Karan knew him better. She would immediately perceive it. 

- Mom, it’s been my fault. He never eats them, it’s me who asks him to go and buy some when I have to work until midnight… Stop scaring him.

- Oh! So Nezumi, are my muffins still your favorite ones?

- Of course, my dearest lady. They always have been and they always will be.

Nezumi bent down with his right palm against his chest, as elegant as someone from the realms.

He never lied; it was nothing else, but the truth. He wasn’t picky with food, but when it came to muffins that weren’t Karan’s, he would find all the excuses: too dry or not sweet enough, or whatever else. Those were the only exception.

They shared their farewells. The two boys started walking downhill with paper bags full of bread and Nezumi’s favorite desserts. The food was fresh, the smell was soothing, and it was still warm, so the bags felt nice against their torsos. It contrasted perfectly with the night that was starting to fall over them. As it grew darker, people would come back to their homes to get dinner, so the streets were kind of lonely except for the two figures that were walking and talking something unimportant, but still could steal some laughter; once or twice.

- If Your Majesty wants to, there’s no way this faithful servant could stop him… But, for real, Shion, the last time that didn’t turn out well. 

- I’m not sixteen anymore… Besides, if I start rubbing my nose with yours again, you can now just kiss me.

- Hmph.

Nezumi smirked. “Who has given so much confidence to this hopeless idiot?” he thought while grabbing Shion’s paper bags.

A bell announced Shion’s arrival to the liquor store, an item a little too classic for that kind of business, but it was good that some places still had those old rarities.

The city that once existed inside big walls was no longer there. It turned out way better than Nezumi could have expected. It grew at a record rate and now tall buildings full of better and eco-friendly technology stood there. Poverty was a word that couldn’t be used; everyone could afford to cover all their necessities without any class distinctions. People were able to choose their path and chase after their dreams out of government influence. 

After so many years, people that were from West Block and people that were from No. 6 had come to understand each other’s destinies. None of the citizens arbitrarily decided nor pulled the trigger of the lives each had to endure. It was all government faults and it had been clarified, cleaned, and restructured.

Forgiveness came; hatred and revenge was something from the past. When Nezumi first stepped into No. 6, he inhaled deeply; the fragrance of freedom, the sense of safety, and the vibes of certainty. It invaded him like air inside his lungs.

After more than 12 years later from that step, he still felt the same way. It was good. No, it was beyond good. Not the city conditions precisely, but to trust and rely on someone and received foremost from that someone. What a lesson life had given him. No. Nezumi didn’t believe in destiny or faith, the lesson was given by no one else, but Shion. 

He still could only trust and rely only on Shion, and even if there was only one person to trust, Nezumi could also come with some more forgiveness about his past choices.

- Nezumi, mmh, why are you smiling so peacefully? 

Shion came out with bottles of what seemed to be grape juice, but it was wine; the cheapest kind. He couldn’t be entrusted to do that task because he would go in and buy the one already known. Shion only had alcohol at West Block, that particular day, next to Nezumi. None of them had money to waste, so they accepted Rikiga’s gift: the cheapest wine and also the only one that could be found on those God forgotten streets. 

Shion had opportunities to learn the names of other types and brands of alcohol at some fancy reunions he was invited to, but he didn’t try them. Not once. He wanted to preserve the flavor from the one that tasted like treasured memories.

- You’re starting to lose your sight sense. You are not getting any younger, Shion. You should go to the doctor to do a checkup.

- Hahaha. We are the same age, Nez-

- Whatever. Give me that bag, your doll prince hands will tear.

- I no longer have those hands. Don’t be silly, Nezumi. Better use your free hand to hold mine.

- Mngh… Gotcha, prince.

Shion found that abrupt answer: weird. It did not matter how pierced Nezumi’s tongue was, he would always let Shion speaks before giving a comeback. However, even if it was weird Nezumi was smiling so relaxed and he seemed to be lost in his thoughts. It had to mean he was letting himself be comfortable around the idea surrounding his mind. It was a good sign.

Nezumi still has a hard time putting his guard down, but he’s been able to do it lately, and that was what mattered… But still was an opportunity for Shion to tease him a little bit.

- Maybe you were thinking of me. 

- You think too highly of yourself.

- I’ve learned from the best.

- You’re a fast learner with theory, but not an accurate one with practice.

- Remember your words, Nezumi.

- I always do.

They arrived home.

A small mouse, black and fast, had given his welcome and earned a piece of bread… There was no way that tiny friend would let Shion or Nezumi step inside if they didn’t greet him with some treat first. Maybe that little mouse stayed next to Shion just to have a life free pass to try what Cravat always did when delivering the letters back on the days they lived at the bunker.

- You spoiled him. Such an obedient mouse turned into a brat at the hands of another brat. What a tragedy!

 Nezumi said and put everything in their kitchen while Shion took a bath. Later they just changed roles. 

“They were still in the happier stage of love. They were full of brave illusions, so that the communion of self with self seemed to be on a plane where no other human relations mattered”

“I don’t ask you to love me always like this, but I ask you to remember. Somewhere inside of me there will always be the person I am tonight”.

- Tender is the night, F. Scott Fitzgerald

- Remind me again why are we reading this book? When we finish it, you will be crying like a little girl.

- I don’t care. I pretty much just like listening to you.

- What am I going to do with that cheesy mouth of yours?

- I have some ideas, but we can discuss them later when we go to bed.

- Mmnh, mmnh.

- … And I wanted you to listen to that quote.

- You still are an airhead, jeez. Shion, we’re not 16 anymore. Shion, you’ve changed. And so did I. We became more mature; more adult-like. But your naive essence remains the same… Pretty much. Quite impressive if you ask me.

- Hey! That was meant to be cute all the way.

Nezumi was absolutely teasing him, having his small revenge for a couple of hours ago. He was more than charmed by Shion’s idea to spend the night. And… the cheesy mouth had been cute all the way. Yes. Nezumi still has a hard time taking sweet actions, but he, at least, could acknowledge them. Specially when they came from his unique airhead: Shion.

With a smile on his face and his body stuffed with good humor, he filled two cups with the crimson liquor and gave one to Shion.

- Yeah, yeah. Look if you try to bite me just once, this wine will end up as your personal hair dye.

- This hair you love so much? 

- You’re right. Your pastel yellow pajama pants will be, then. Why do you have such a bad sense of fashion anyway?

- I don’t know, probably because I have no eyes for anything that is not you.

- For real, Shion? Are you trying to flirt with me that way? Tsk, tsk, it’s worse than Shakespeare.

- It still is the truth. 

- Hopeless.

- …ly in love.

- Oh, shut up! You’re scaring Tsukiyo.

Contrary to his words, the mouse was having a good time with a few more pieces of bread. Tsukiyo cheep cheep-ed and it sent the two boys into a burst of hysterical laughter.

They hadn’t even tasted the wine, and they were already having a good time. 

They wanted to remember something tasted and shared more than 12 years ago. Something that, at the time, brought them eases and some sort of comfort from everything that had been going on, and they succeeded. They succeeded at being two dorky teenagers when they deserved it. They teased each other, they fell on the floor and they laughed when life wasn’t being any good. By that time, alcohol was a small escape, more like an excuse because it was not the way to; kind of an accessory. By this time, as accessories just decor, wine was again unnecessary. It also turned out it wasn’t to their liking. The two cups just cooled down at the table when Nezumi thought of something that also made the two of them happy back on those days.

A dance.

With the widest smile, Nezumi took Shion and pulled him closer. Just like that day, Nezumi had a crave to feel Shion’s warmth against his. 

- Let’s see how much your Majesty has improved.

- …

Shion wanted to say he never danced again after that day, but once again, as it always happens, he got lost in the pair of grey eyes that looked deeply into him.

After so much time spent together, Shion could, at least, recognize his silly grin and react differently than just standing there thunderstruck and unable to move.

Their feet waltzed around. Nezumi’s movement was elegant and even more precise than when they were 16 years old, and something melted inside Shion’s heart.  “On his travels… he danced. There were times he was so carefree he would just… dance”.

Shion giggled and let the sudden twirls of his heart guided his steps. They had no music. The only rythm heard was their foot stepping here and there, Nezumi’s one, two, three, and Shion’s silly laughter.

- What is it, my stubborn child? Tell me so I can laugh with you. - It’s nothing, Nezumi. You’ve become better at this and I haven’t. That’s it. - I wouldn’t say that. I’m quite impressed by his Majesty’s performance. And Nezumi did start laughing at the unison with Shion. It was so easy to be together, so easy to enjoy their presences, to be gentle and kind to each other.

Nezumi’s heart was also melting while dancing. For similar, yet, somehow, different reasons. He was feeling some sort of happiness. There was still a long way for him to go through, but after so many years of hatred and guilt, he had slowly learned to move on from the darkness and let the light come into his life.

It was such a ridiculous way to explain it, but Nezumi couldn’t help it. Some things are just the way they are… and it was the most accurate way to express the process he accidentally went through on his travel.

He left for the sake of running away from a tumult of overwhelming feelings and as an unexpected consequence: he freed himself from chains that were holding him, blinding him and pining him down as some kind of martyr.

He wasn’t a martyr anymore. He deserved to make his own life choices and enjoy new experiences… He called it hope and hope brought him freedom.

Freedom brought him back to Shion.

Shion had also changed. At first glance, Shion would look like he had been sharpened by a knife, but then he would smile and make the whole world stop for a while. He turned calculative, strong, determined and even ambitious, but he was still the warm human being Nezumi met at 12 years old, he was still the warm human being who came back from hell.

Shion never lost his humanity. He found a meaning to this world while restructuring the city. A meaning he told Nezumi would rather keep to himself.

It was fine that way for Nezumi. But sometimes he would just wonder… or maybe he was just projecting his discoveries onto Shion: Shion also found freedom.

Maybe he wanted to experience all the shapes and shades of humanity that were attached to this lifetime. 

- Would you life to travel this time with me?

- I’d love to.

Maybe such an intense, expansive, and complex experience was a good starting point to approach all the variating tones of life. Nezumi once had a taste.

-… and I love you.

- Shion you keep on being so cheesy.

-…

- But I love you too.

And as Fitzgerald would agree, even if the way they loved each other had changed, changed or would change, they’ll remember that somewhere inside of them they would always be the same as they were when they met… when they saved each other’s life and when they drifted apart, and, of course, when reunion came.

[welllpthisishappening]

Winning a World Series has its benefits. 

Backpage spreads in New York tabloids, a parade, a seemingly never-ending amount of champagne. And a trip to Disney World. Emma was fairly certain that was a joke. Until she’s standing outside of Hollywood Studios and Killian has done research about rides and that’s kind of messing with her head a bit. 

As is everyone’s determination to get the high score on the Buzz Lightyear ride in Magic Kingdom. 

Because while you can take the baseball player off the diamond, you apparently can’t take the competition out of the athlete. Even at Disney World. 

----

Rating: Honestly like the lowest level T. Mostly for the trash talk.  Word Count: 7.7K AN: Oh hai there, internet! Approximately a million years ago I asked for prompts before Justin and I went to Disney for Christmas and @distant-rose​​ sent me this: “Babes, love of my internet life, am I allowed to prompt you? In honor of Gerrit Cole becoming a Yankees, may I ask for a combo of Killian in pinstripes and a Disney World Christmas if possible? Bonus points for Captain Cobra goodness. Love you! Have I mentioned that?“ Because of who I am as a person, this is...only kind of that. Instead it’s in that one baseball ‘verse where Killian’s on the Yankees and David is on the Red Sox and this whole story is honestly almost too autobiographical. Anyway, I did this instead of work today. 

|| Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll ||

----

She kind of thought it was an urban legend. 

Something spoken in hushed whispers, nothing more than a photo-op or overblown publicity stunt for corporate America with hats that no one really wanted to wear and t-shirts already damp from on-field champagne celebrations. 

Emma has never been happier to have been proved wrong. 

Even if she’s also pretty positive that her championship t-shirt will never be entirely dry again. Or smell like anything except champagne. 

She’s not sure she’s done anything except smile in the last forty-eight hours. 

Between the parade and the photo-ops that did happen, flashing lights and back-page spreads, she’s admittedly a little exhausted and just a little overwhelmed, but Killian’s arm also seems to be glued to her shoulders and that’s kind of nice. Especially because it’s a little colder in Florida than she thought it would be. 

They’ve won a World Series. 

And now they’re going to Disney World. 

Or, well—they’re already in Disney World. The specifics aren’t important. It’s very early in the morning, Emma figures that’s enough of an excuse. 

And they keep drinking champagne. 

And sparkling wine. 

Just a seemingly never-ending supply of sparkling wine. From the Italy pavilion in EPCOT. 

It keeps getting delivered to their room. 

“Should have brought a jacket,” Killian mutters, mostly into Emma's hair and she doesn’t have to glance up to know he’s doing that stupid thing with his mouth. Also known as smiling. Smirking, even. 

“No one likes a told you so,” she argues.

“Is that a phrase?” Emma makes a noise in the back of her throat, flicking her finger against Killian’s chest when he actually has the gall to laugh at her. “Shut up, World Series champion. And stop moving so much. You keep shifting and shaking and then you take the heat with you.” “Am I the heat in this scenario?” “There’s a joke about the hot corner here,” David says. He’s got his own arm around Mary Margaret, her head drifting towards his shoulder every few moments and Leo fell asleep almost as soon as they left the hotel. 

Very early. 

Earlier than—actually, Emma has no idea what time it is, and she cannot quite wrap her mind around the number of people who are also here, all of them mulling around the still-locked entrance to Hollywood Studios with their phones out, like they’re waiting for instructions or something. 

Killian taps his thumb on his phone. More than once. And sighs, more than once. “Was that you making the joke?” he asks suddenly, as if he’s only just processed David’s words. 

“Slow on the uptake, huh?” “It’s because we haven’t gotten any coffee yet,” Mary Margaret mumbles. The words are difficult to hear when they’re mostly spoken into David’s t-shirt and none of them had explicitly decided not to wear team-branded merchandise, but they’ve only been stopped for autographs twice and it’s been kind of fun to just...celebrate. 

Emma’s not sure this exact scenario falls under that umbrella. 

“We had to do it this way,” Killian says, not for the first time and Emma knows she nods in something almost resembling placating spousal support. Her hair moves, at least. And the kid in her arms barely stirs, falling asleep a few minutes after Leo because it might not even be six in the morning yet. 

“So we’ve heard, babe,” she says. “Super serious business.” He scowls. Emma still hasn’t looked up yet. 

“If we got here after the park opened,” Killian starts, and David might groan weakly because they really have heard the explanation half a dozen times already, “then the boarding parties would have already been filled and we wouldn’t be able to get on this ride that—” “—TripAdvisor has called the start of a new generation of rides,” Mary Margaret and Emma say in tandem. 

Killian clicks his tongue. 

“Did we offend you, Mr. World Series MVP?” Emma asks, all innocence and her chin digging into Killian when she, finally, tilts her head up. 

He is, in fact, scowling. But it’s also kind of cute and also kind of endearing and Ellie keeps burrowing herself close to Emma, which does something to the overall state of her heart, so she can’t really be that upset about anything. 

People aren’t allowed to be upset at Disney World, anyway. 

By like—rule. Of humans, or whatever. 

“Can you say boarding parties again, though?” Mark Margaret asks, not quite able to get the words out without laughing. 

Killian huffs. “You guys are the Star Wars nerds, not me. I am doing this for you. Plus, the internet really thinks this is the greatest ride ever made.” “They said exactly?” “Who is the internet in this scenario?” Emma asks. “Is that just—like did they poll people? Babe, are you looking up polls about Star Wars rides?” “It’s supposed to be better than the Avatar one,” Killian reasons. 

“Yeah, well, no one actually remembers the plot of Avatar, that’s why. Just that one scene with the tree and Zoe Saldana’s character and—” Emma cuts herself off when Ellie moves again, a knee to her side and sleep-tinged words pressed to the side of her neck. There’s hair dangerously close to her mouth now. 

Mary Margaret’s shoulders are shaking. “And is the phrase boarding party better or worse than referring to the internet in the collective?”

“I don’t think you’re as tired as you claim to be,” Killian says. “If you can use the word collective like that.” “Feel free to be impressed by extensive knowledge of the English language.” “I absolutely am.” “And speaking of World Series MVP,” David adds, “couldn’t you have pulled some strings or something here?” “That’s a Pinocchio joke,” Emma mutters, the muscles in her cheeks threatening to stage some kind of biological mutiny when her smile stretches even wider. Killian’s expression changes slightly, not quite the smirk or even the put-upon frustration from their teasing because he really has researched this Star Wars ride more than all of them combined. 

If they don’t get a good boarding party, Emma’s going to force the Disney people to give them more sparkling wine. 

On principle. 

“You think you’re very funny, don’t you?” Emma shrugs. “I think I know I’m funny and David thinks you should have used your World Series clout—” “—Oh that’s a good word too,” Mary Margaret says. 

“To get first dibs on the fancy Star Wars ride,” Emma continues. “And then we wouldn’t have to get out of bed so early because the pillows here are ridiculous.” “Is ridiculous good in this scenario?” Killian asks. 

“Was that not obvious?”

“What do you think it is about the pillows, exactly? Overall neck support? Fluffiness? Just vacation-pillow characteristics?” “Vacation-pillow is definitely the lamest thing you’ve said so far today,” Emma laughs, a soft sigh of thanks when Killian pulls Ellie into his arms. There’s no threat of hair in her mouth anymore, and a chance to give her arms a rest, but it also means that she’s now responsible for Killian’s phone and whatever it will do once Hollywood Studios does, actually, open. 

“Maybe we can ask the Boardwalk people where they get their pillows,” Killian suggests. “Stock up or something.” “You say that like I’m not actually going to do it.” “Oh, no I’ve got every belief that you’ll one-hundred percent do it, but—” “—Why didn’t we tell the Boardwalk people that we were very athletic and very important and use that to get on Rise of the Resistance first?” David interrupts. “Also, I just want it noted for the record that the clown in the pool is super freaky.” “Super freaky is definitely a lamer string of words than vacation-pillow, don’t you think?” Killian asks Emma. She has to bite the inside of her lip to stop from laughing 

Cackling, maybe. 

It’s too early in the morning for cackling.

“And,” he adds, “while I do agree with the inherent creepiness of the pool-clown—” “—Oh, God, don’t say it like that,” Mary Margaret says, “that makes it even worse.” Killian lifts his eyebrows. Emma’s going to bite her lower lip in half. “We didn’t tell anyone that we wanted special treatment because then we’d have to act like we’re special.” “That’s decidedly self-effacing, World Series MVP.” “C’mon, now you’re just showing off,” Emma accuses, fingers reaching up to toy with the ring that’s fallen over the front of her shirt. Killian’s eyebrows shift again. 

“It’s not,” he says. “It’s just—do you guys want to be taking pictures the whole time we’re here? None of us are really going to wear team stuff and—” “—That’s just because David is embarrassed to wear team stuff,” Emma points. “Sucks to lose in the Wild Card, doesn’t it, Nolan?

David sneers. “I think I’m the heat in that joke from before. Depending on what I’m throwing. Definitely if it’s a slider.” “What?” “I”m too tired to go over this with you again. Also, your phone is doing something.”

Emma startles at the vibration she hadn’t really noticed before, arm practically flying into Killian’s bicep like he’ll be able to do something or fix something and it has been kind of nice to just be in their own Disney bubble for the last forty-eight hours. 

Even with the freaky pool clown. 

She can’t fathom the person who approved that. 

It’s enormous. 

And freaky as all fuck. 

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” Killian chants, and Emma is honestly impressed when he manages to find her hand and keep Ellie from waking up, tugging her towards the gates while Mary Margaret and David do their best to keep up. Leo is definitely awake now. And does not sound particularly pleased to be there. 

Killian is bobbing on the balls of his feet as soon as they get in line, an excitement that’s catching, even as they scan their MagicBands to get into the park — which may be the single most endearing thing Emma has ever seen, even with the World Series and the parade and the whole arm around her shoulder thing. 

Her face muscles are never going to recover from this trip. 

The ride is pretty damn cool. 

It’s long and requires more walking than Emma is entirely ready for, but she and Mary Margaret boo Kylo Ren like he’s actually there and not some computer fabrication and Ellie gasps and giggles at least fifteen different times when they start flying away from the First Order, so that’s just about the best thing that’s ever happened. 

And David gets yelled at by a Stormtrooper. 

“It’s because he’s short,” Emma mutters, tugging lightly on Killian’s shirtsleeve. “Get it?” Killian hums. “We’ve already decided you’re hysterical, love. You don’t have to keep trying to prove it.” “What’s that about the inherent competitive nature of athletes?” “Too many words.” “Right, right, right,” Emma nods. She tilts her head again, even as they file off the ride and their boarding party hadn’t been until that afternoon. They’re all well-rested and ready for more park and more wine and it doesn’t take long for her to press her lips to the side of Killian’s cheek. “And here I thought the playoffs were over. You’re all scruff over here, Jones.” “Who’s scruffy looking?” Emma rolls her eyes, but her heart is definitely threatening to explode in her chest and maybe there’s something to be sad for mid-day naps and vacation pillows. Like they make everything better. Winning the World Series probably didn’t hurt either. “I love you.”

That makes Killian grin. “I know.” “Idiot.” “Exactly that,” he agrees, arm finding its way back around her shoulder as he hitches Ellie against his side and kisses exactly where his lips land. On the top of Emma’s hair. 

They get a picture in front of Rey’s speeder. 

“I don’t think you’re supposed to hold it like that,” Emma says. “Wouldn’t the ions cut off your arm pretty quickly?” Killian blinks. “Do ions make up a lightsaber?” “No,” David answers, but he’s also holding his lightsaber by resting it on his shoulder like it’s a makeshift bat, which Emma figures proves her point. 

“You are not a lightsaber expert,” Emma argues. “Plus you picked a dumb color.” “Blue is not a dumb color!” “Eh…” David huffs — like this is actually some sort of insulting conversation. Emma smiles. Like she’s won. Something. Maybe blue milk from that one drink stand. 

Killian claims the internet liked blue better than green. 

“Lightsabers are fueled by kyber crystals,” Mary Margaret announces, shrugging when she’s met with three identical stunned faces. She clicks her tongue when none of them show any sign of moving, frozen in the middle of the line for Smuggler’s Run and Emma is admittedly more excited to fly the Millennium Falcon than she is about—

Much of anything. 

Except maybe the World Series. 

Winning a championship is definitely better than flying the Millennium Falcon. Probably. She’s sure. Kind of. After all, she’s only done one so far. 

“Why do you know that?” David balks. “How do you know that?” Mary Margaret waves her phone in his face. “Killian isn’t the only one who can claim the internet as support for his argument. Also, now we have a dinner reservation.” “Where?” “The Grand Floridian Cafe, which means we can go to Magic Kingdom at night and—” “—Churros?” Emma finishes, and it comes out like a question, but it’s really more like a demand and Mary Margaret winks. With a rather pointed finger added for extra agreement. 

“You two are obsessed,” David sighs. 

“You ate an entire thing on your own the other night!”

“Only because Leo couldn’t possibly be expected to eat all of them on his own.” “Yuh huh, whatever you have to keep telling yourself. What was that about offseason workouts?” Killian has to duck his head against Emma’s shoulder to avoid drawing attention to them, but his laugh is still pretty loud and Mary Margaret’s shoulders are doing that thing again and—“You know what?” David challenges. “I’m going to make sure that I get to be captain of the Millennium Falcon and then I’m going to fly us directly into Hyperspace.” “Is that not the point of the ride?” Emma asks, eyes flitting towards Killian. 

He shakes his head. “Part of the ride. And you’re not captain of the Millennium Falcon, Nolan. Only Han Solo gets to be that.” “Babe, are you offended on behalf of Han Solo, right now?” “You get to be a pilot.” “God, that sounds like a lot of responsibility.” He hums again, another kiss to the curve of her jaw and fingers that dance up Ellie’s back. She giggles. “We”ll make sure you’re an engineer, huh, Swan?” 

“Pity role.” “I want to shoot something,” Mary Margaret announces. 

“I think we can do that.”

They do just that. 

Switching cards and they’re not really supposed to do that, but this is vacation and maybe everything that happens after that is some sort of vacation-type karmic retribution. 

Because the switch is the start of their problems — if that’s even the right term. It’s not, but Emma’s way too busy laughing and shouting and flying through Hyperspace is exactly as cool as she thought it would have been when she was nine. 

But there is something to be said for the inherent competitive nature of athletes. 

And Killian and David have always been on the close-to-insane end of that particular spectrum. 

“Shoot, shoot, shoot,” David yells, sitting at the front of the cockpit, and that might not be the right term either. “We’re getting hit! Shields down! Shields down!” “Repeating it more than once does not reinforce your point,” Killian grumbles. He’s sitting opposite of Mary Margaret, stabbing his finger into the button that controls his makeshift gun and there are definitely tears in Emma’s eyes. 

Ellie is giggling again, all but slamming her hands flat against the console of buttons, while Leo’s concept of steering threatens to drive them into a black hole. 

Drive probably isn’t the right term for a spaceship anyway. 

The cockpit shakes again — David shouting some words and mumbling others, still aware of the kids and the overall Disney-vibe they’re going for, but Emma can see just how straight his shoulders have gone. He hits another button, twisting so he can yell— “Can you two just hold it steady, please?” “Captaincy has gone to his head,” Mary Margaret mumbles, and Emma can just make out the exact way Killian’s lips twitch. “Maybe we should stage a mutiny or something.” ��Do you know how to do that?” “Get off the ride eventually?” “Oh, yeah good call.” “Watch out for that space garbage,” Emma yells, pointing at the screen and David curses again. Ellie laughs. Loudly. And she barely notices her own button, lighting up, which is apparently some indication that she’s supposed to do something, but Emma was never much of a video game kid and she’s not a professional athlete either, so she figures her hand-eye coordination is allowed to be less-than-impressive. 

They get hit by the space garbage. 

Even as they’re getting ready to go back to Hyperspace. “Emma, can you not be the worst engineer on this ship?” David cries. “Fix our shields!” “You are taking this way too seriously,” Emma shouts back, but she’s a little worried she’s actually going to break her button. So, maybe they’re all competitive idiots. 

Ellie is definitely a better engineer than she is. 

And they all gasp and groan as if they’re actually landing as soon as the ship skids to a stop at the drop-off point they’ve been trying to get to for the entire ride. Emma jerks forward, the seat belt digging into her stomach and her heart beating quickly, a mix of adrenaline and fun and—

“Best captain in the galaxy,” David announces.

Mary Margaret boos him. 

“Traitor!” “You come back here and fight the First Order then,” she challenges, Killian unbuckling so he can grab Ellie and they can get off the ride and Emma isn’t surprised when he mumbles—

“We’re going to have to take him down a peg, don’t you think, love?” Emma grins. “Game on, MVP.”

It goes from there. 

They’re all competitive idiots and this is an amusement park, so there’s not competition that’s immediately obvious, but they manage to find their fair share. 

And make it when they can’t find it. 

David eats more churros in Magic Kingdom later that night. 

And they discover Buzz Lightyear Laser Blast. 

Complete with its tallied score. 

And names for reaching certain levels of points. 

“Oh God,” Emma sighs when they get off, the closest cast member smiling at her and telling her to have a magical night. 

Mary Margaret hums in understanding. “How long do you think it takes for them to start looking up cheat codes?” “Killian looked up tips on how to pull that string thing faster on Toy Story Mania last night, so…” “I told you that in confidence, Swan,” Killian yells, a few steps ahead of them with his hand tangled in Ellie’s. Her sparkle-covered ears are threatening to fall on the ground. 

Emma shakes her head when Mary Margaret glances in her direction. “He thought he was being very secret, looking stuff up under the cloak of darkness, but—” “—David’s been practicing rope-tugging rhythm.” “Are you kidding me?” “Would I do that?” “We’re going to ride the People Mover now,” David announces, like that will end the conversation or distract Emma from how frustratingly and impressively competitive they all are. She had not been good at the Buzz Lightyear ride. At all. 

She’s not even sure where she’s aiming her laser thing in the picture. 

“No one is against that,” Mary Margaret reasons. “As long as we don’t have to ride The Carousel of—” “—Don’t say it,” Killian warns. “It’ll get stuck in our head and there’ll be singing and—”

It’s too late. 

The damage has been done. 

Mary Margaret at least has the common decency to look repentant — as both Ellie and Leo do, in fact, start singing at the top of their lungs, heads tilted back as soon as they step on the automatic track up towards the People Mover. 

“There’s a great big beautiful tomorrow,” they start, and Emma tries to get her phone out before anyone notices. Both Killian and David beat her to it. 

Stupid athletes. 

“Shining at the end of every day,” she joins. Killian’s eyes get bluer, she’s sure. Bright under the night-time lights of Tomorrowland, a place that is very quickly becoming one of her favorite spots in all of the parks. 

Killian slings an arm over her shoulder. And holds the phone in front of them. 

“There’s a great, big beautiful tomorrow,” he half-sings under his breath, grinning when Emma’s lips graze his cheek. “And tomorrow’s just a dream away,” Emma finishes. She nips at the side of his ear, only stumbling slightly when they twist into the cars and the carts and she’s really got to learn the right terminology for all these things. 

Killian looks up Buzz Lightyear cheat codes later. 

After they eat more churros. 

Obviously. 

“I can’t believe we waited in line for that,” Killian grouses, that particular string of words becoming something of a mantra as they make their way back towards Fantasyland.

“You’ve got to let it go, babe,” Emma says. “And technically we didn’t wait. We had fast-passes. Can you imagine if we had to wait as long as everyone else?”

That’s also not the first time she’s said that. 

Mary Margaret’s hand is over her mouth. 

“It was so dumb, though!” “It wasn’t dumb,” Emma argues. “It was—magical. We flew over London!” “We moved at a snail’s pace over London and saw vaguely racist depictions of that one part of Neverland while the sound of that cast member telling us to watch our step played on loop in every single corner of my mind.” “You’re very dramatic. Is it because you want a turkey leg?” “I do not want a turkey leg.” “No?” “No,” Killian echoes. “I want to know why anyone in their right mind would wait an hour and a half for Peter Pan’s garbage ride of garbage.” “You should suggest they call it that from now on.” “Don’t think I won’t. I’m a very important athlete, you know?” “If that’s how we choose to use our athlete powers, then I’m going to be really annoyed,” David says. “Plus—Peter Pan was not It’s a Small World, so let’s count our blessings, huh?” “You guys are ruining this,” Emma grumbles. 

“And,” Mary Margaret adds, “people wait even longer for the Seven Dwarves this is not actually a roller coaster ride. So, comparatively speaking.” Emma groans. “Where is your sense of magic, grown adults? Also, the queue line for Seven Dwarves was actually pretty cool.”

“The line for Big Thunder Mountain is shorter all the time. And a better ride.” “This is true, Swan,” Killian agrees, and Emma may be looking for as much magic as she can get on this trip, but she also wasn’t born yesterday. 

She narrows her eyes, twisting her lips with as much judgment as she can get until Killian’s eyes flicker towards his shoes and the tips of his ears go red. “That wouldn’t have anything to do with how much you enjoy Splash Mountain, would it? Mr. MVP? Or how much closer that is to Pirates of the Caribbean?”

“No comment.” “Yuh huh.” “Em,” Mary Margaret reasons, “we are this close to getting perfect photos on all of those rides.” “You’re a competitive weirdo too!”

Mary Margaret does an admirable job of looking legitimately hurt, and it really does smell very strongly of turkey legs in this part of the park. “Mama, mama, mama,” Ellie chants, yanking on Emma’s necklace until she nearly chokes and there’s a very well-placed shoe in her side suddenly. “Can’t we go see Rapunzel now?”

“That’s what we’re doing, kid,” Emma says. “We’ll get better pictures with her and Tiana than we will on any other ride, right?”

Ellie nods enthusiastically, and they’d been pretty good about the lack of team-branded so far, but she’s a kid and she wanted to wear Killian’s number that morning, which was honestly just more than Emma was capable of dealing with. So. Whatever. 

It’s cute. 

Magical, even. 

And there isn’t much of a wait at Princess Fairytale Hall, but they still have to stop in some kind of pre-meeting chamber, Ellie talking a mile a minute about Rapunzel and Flynn and do you think she’ll have a frying pan, mama?

Rapunzel does have a frying pan. 

Definitely magical. 

Emma’s mouth drops despite her own proclamations to adult, Ellie running forward as quickly as her legs can carry her. So she can immediately throw herself forward. 

Directly into Rapunzel’s arms. 

“Oh shit,” Emma breathes, but Rapunzel is smiling and doesn’t seem all that surprised and Mary Margaret has her phone out. 

When she and David were very little, Ruth had taken both him and Emma to Disney World, but over the years her memories had grown a little fuzzy and a little distant and she’d never been particularly inclined to come back. She thought this whole trip was a photo-op not more than two weeks ago. 

And yet. 

In that moment, in the middle of goddamn Princess Fairytale Hall, with her daughter still hugging Rapunzel and David trying to get Leo to walk forward, Emma has to blink more than once to stop herself from crying over the memories she’s certain will plaster themselves on every corner of her brain from here on out. 

Except she’ll eventually think of a better way to describe that. 

“I think I may have a new favorite ride,” Killian mutters, hand on Emma’s hip and his lips half an inch from her ear and it’s all she can do to nod. 

And sniffle. 

“What was that about magic?” he adds. 

She swats at his chest, but he catches her around the wrist because he’s really a very good third baseman and has much better hand-eye coordination than Emma could ever hope to achieve. “I love you a lot, you know that?” 

“Yeah,” Emma nods. “And I want really good pictures of this.”

Rapunzel lets Ellie hold the frying pan. 

They fine-tune the Splash Mountain photo two days later. 

“Get ready,” David yells from his spot in the front row, and Emma sits up a little straighter out of instinct. 

The doors open and the vultures at the top of the hill make some kind of vulture-type sound, Killian whispering instructions in Ellie’s ear. 

Seriously, Emma’s smile is going to get stuck on her face. 

It’s not the worst thing in the world. 

“No.” “Come on!” “Absolutely not, Swan.” Emma pouts, but Killian doesn’t do much more than shake his head brusquely, the hint of something close to a smirk tugging at the ends of his mouth. “Nope,” he says, popping his lips on the word for emphasis. “Not until you stop reeking of something that would freeze a vampire in his and or her tracks.” “Gender inclusive, huh?” “Something like that.” “You really aren’t going to make out with me?” “No,” Killian says again even as the smirk wins out. “You ate nothing but garlic naan and dipped it in that one sauce that had legitimate cloves of garlic in it.” “It was good!” “I’m not suggesting otherwise. I’m just telling you that you—” “—Reek?” Emma suggests. She grabs another slice of naan, and Mary Margaret and David had taken both Ellie and Leo to see the animals from the windows on the other side of the restaurant. They’ve been here four times already. Mostly because Emma is somewhere in the realm of obsessed with this naan appetizer. 

Plus, Ellie and Leo both love Animal Kingdom. 

Ellie’s a big fan of giraffes, only she can’t quite figure out the word yet and that’s only kind of painfully adorable. And Leo’s eyes go wide as saucers every time they see some kind of new animal, hands flat on the glass a few hours earlier when they’d wandered around what Killian’s phone told them was actually called Gorilla Falls. 

“That’s rude, you know,” Emma says. “No, rude would be telling you that you aren’t very good at the ring toss part of Toy Story Mania.” “Tower of Terror is way more fun.”

“We’ll go on Tower of Terror later.” “Yeah?” “Yeah,” Killian confirms, sliding a package of gum he definitely didn’t buy at Disney World across the table. They don’t sell gum at Disney World. 

Emma turns at just the right moment on Tower of Terror. 

So her World Series-winning, MVP, definitely the best third baseman in the league husband can kiss her when the camera goes off. 

It makes David groan. 

Loudly. 

“I think we’re winning,” Emma murmurs, already saving the picture to her phone. 

Killian nods, still close enough that his nose brushes her cheek. “Absolutely. And you don’t reek of garlic anymore. Now, we just have to get you better at Toy Story.”

She finishes last in their car. 

Every time they ride that night. 

They ride four times. 

And the competition continues — as it’s apt to do, really, because of who they are as people, some fundamental something that also apparently requires them to play miniature golf. 

“This is pretty on point for offseason athletes, Em,” David reasons, and it’s not a lightsaber, but he’s got his club propped on his shoulder again. “Just think, it could be real golf. Now you get to battle for supremacy too.” “Do you hear yourself? Honestly? On this course that has hippos wearing ballet shoes?”

“That’s just a Fantasia thing,” Mary Margaret says. “At least there isn’t that Hell monster. That’d be a lot for me to deal with.” “I’m sorry what?” Killian asks. He’s crouched between Ellie and Leo, trying to show them how to swing their clubs and they’re really going to have to lock down on that six-stroke maximum. 

The guy at the cash register had recognized them. 

That’s three photos and one autograph for the entire trip so far. 

It’s not bad, really. 

“You know,” Mary Margaret continues, clicking her tongue when Leo’s backswing threatens to take out several bits of landscaping, “at the end of Fantasia. It’s like the devil or something.” “You’re making that up.” “I’m not! It was terrifying. Honestly, I used to hide behind my couch until the song was over and all the people started singing Ave Maria.” “You’re making this up,” Emma accuses. 

“I’m not! Look it up. Honestly screw Walt Disney for that part of Fantasia.” “I think you’re the only person in the world who has opinions on Fantasia.” “Look it up!” Emma sighs, but does as instructed, swiping away from notifications telling her she’s got even more pictures available on her MyDisneyExperience app. They really have gotten very good at trying to one-up each other on photos. 

Another competition. 

Seriously, they’re all so messed up. 

“Oh, wow,” Emma mutters, flinching slightly when she sees what can only be described as the devil or something. It’s got horns. “That is terrifying. Why is this in a children’s movie?” “Would we call Fantasia a children’s movie?” David asks. 

“It’s Disney, isn’t it?” “Screw Walt Disney,” Mary Margaret repeats slowly, making sure to emphasize every syllable. Killian almost falls over when he laughs. “Actually, you know what? This is how I’m going to get my revenge. I’m going to absolutely wreck the course record on this mini golf…” “Course?” Killian suggests.

“Yeah, exactly that.”

“Competitive weirdos, the lot of you,” Emma grumbles.

“Do you not want to see Mary Margaret take out her childhood anger on plastic hippos in ballet shoes, Swan?” “Well, when you put it like that.” “Let’s go,” Mary Margaret calls, already standing at the first-hole green. “I’ve got a vendetta to settle!”

And it’s not a course record — probably, they don’t really have the wherewithal or even the athletic pull to demand that kind of knowledge, but Mary Margaret beats them all soundly and makes Killian take her picture with the scorecard. 

And it keeps going. 

They ride more rides. They hum the song from Carousel of Progress without actually meaning to. They take pictures and meet princesses, eat their way around the world in EPCOT and then drink their way around the world, because those are the rules, toasting MVP awards and world championships and that makes David gag a little, but Emma laughs and kisses Killian and he gags again, but then she’s too busy making out with her husband to really be worried about...anything. 

Plus the sparkling wine selection in the Italy pavilion really is other level. 

The whole thing is something close to perfect. 

Emma is starting to wonder if anyone will notice if she just steals those pillows. 

David and Killian keep looking up cheats on Toy Story Mania. 

They trade top scores on Buzz Lightyear, and Emma isn’t entirely surprised that by the time their final night rolls around they’re locked in some New York-Boston battle, complete with mumbled trash talk and pointed glares, each of them demanding just one more time, c’mon, like they’re the children in this family 

The actual children are much more interested in getting back on the Dumbo ride. 

Or eating more churros. 

Honestly, the number of churros they’ve consumed in the last eight days must be some kind of Disney World record. 

And it’s starting to get late, both Ellie and Leo showcasing consistently fluttering eyelashes, heads on shoulders and fingers curling into the back of shirts and Emma hopes she doesn’t cry during the fireworks. 

That would almost be too cliché. 

“Just,” Killian says, grunting softly when Ellie’s chin threatens to dig into his collarbone, “one more time and we can break the tie and then we’ll have—” “—Bragging rights?” Emma asks knowingly.

“I mean…” He can’t shrug when there’s a kid draped over his right shoulder, but an attempt is made all the same and David is wearing a Sox hat. Emma figures that’s what tips the scales, so to speak. 

“I’m already getting in line,” David announces. “So, either Jones gets with the program, or—” “—That is the oldest sentence I have ever heard.” “I found a new spot to shoot at that will practically give me immediate Galactic Hero status.” Emma doesn’t freeze, per se. That would be insane. And the last thing she is is insane. Naturally competitive, maybe, and a little tired, but that good kind of tired that comes from good kind of things, a pleasant ache in the back of her legs and heaviness to her muscles and her eyes flit towards Killian immediately. 

He smirks. 

“It’s the hat, huh?” 

Killian tries to shrug again, Ellie grumbling at the movement. “Sorry, love,” he mumbles, resting his cheek against their daughter’s head so he can level Emma with that very specific stare. Like Game Seven and two outs with a runner in scoring position and probably some joke about hitting against the shift. “You did promise we’d bring him down a peg, Swan.” “I mean I thought losing in the Wild Card game would have done that already.” “I heard that,” David yells, impatience wafting off him while he waits at the end of the line. “And I think you guys are just stalling.”

Mary Margaret lets out what Emma can only hope is a fake gasp, and Leo has definitely fallen asleep already. 

Killian’s smirk gets more pronounced. 

Tommorowland is absolutely Emma’s favorite part of Magic Kingdom. 

“What do you say to a combined effort, Nolan?” Killian asks, not taking her eyes away from Emma. She might swoon a little. She’ll blame the smirk. “We add up the collective scores of your car and whichever team comes out on top has to buy a snack of the winner’s choosing.” “You just want more churros,” David says. 

Emma clicks her tongue. “We're also offering to buy you churros." “Which isn’t going to happen,” Killian says, nudging on Emma’s back until she starts walking again. “But it’s nice that we’re acting like you’ve got a chance.”

David rolls his eyes. “Wow, that’s scathing.” “And not an agreement yet. What’s the matter, ace? You nervous you can’t win when this becomes a team sport?” “Was that an insult?” “Honestly babe,” Emma mumbles, not sure if the animatronic Buzz Lightyear in line has always been this loud or it’s just because they may actually be the only people in line. It’s late. “Also, did you call him ace?” “That makes sense,” Killian objects. “Ace of the staff and number-one pitcher and—” “—Insults are not insults, if you have to explain them,” Mary Margaret says, sliding into the next available car and holding her hands up so the cast member can slam it closed. “Also, you guys suck and we’re going to win. We did research.” “David did research,” Emma argues. “You’re just hanging on for the glory.”

“Go Sox, go!” “That’s not even a cheer!” “I love when you get belligerent like this,” Killian grins, nipping at Emma’s lower lip when his mouth finds hers. 

“It’s bad trash talk.” “Mmhm, you’re a very good trash talker, Swan.” “Flattery will get you everywhere.” “Aim for the Z, huh?”

Her muscles aren’t quite as tired anymore — an adrenaline that usually only comes when Killian takes a ridiculously large lead off second, but this is still kind of fun and maybe as magical as everything else and she really likes winning. 

With Killian. 

On, like principle or something. 

“Try to find the strike zone, Nolan,” Killian yells, but they’re already moving and Ellie’s head keeps lolling between his side and Emma’s. She starts slamming her thumb into the button. 

If asked, Emma will never be entirely sure if that’s what does it. Her vaguely over-excited thumb or the sheer determination to win, driving her to start shooting at things before they’ve even really gotten into the first room, but whatever it is proves to be important and some kind of game-changer because— “Shit,” Killian gasps, gritting his teeth as soon as the word is out of his mouth. Ellie looks up at him. “Don’t repeat that.”

She laughs. She’s got no idea what’s going on. 

Neither does Emma, really. 

“What’s your deal?” she asks, thumb still moving quickly enough that she’s briefly worried about dislocating it. “Are you not shooting things right now?” Killian shakes his head slowly before nodding towards the soft red glow of their respective score screens. “Oh shit,” Emma gasps. “Seriously, Ellie, do not say that around Uncle David.”

Emma blinks more than once — like that will get the score to change and not continue climbing. It does the second thing, a number she’s never seen on her side of the car before, already over seven-hundred thousand and they’re not even out of the first room yet. 

“What happened?” she snaps. “I—is it a glitch or something?” Killian clicks his tongue in reproach. “Swan, you’ve got to be more confident in your talent than that.”

“I didn’t do anything!” “I think you hit David’s secret big-money targets.” “That’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever said. Worse than vacation-pillows.” “I asked one of the people at the desk, they said we could get pillows online.” Her heart explodes. Like it’s been shot by Buzz Lightyear’s laser. She’s only slightly confident she’ll come up with better analogies at some point. 

And Emma’s score is cresting eight-hundred thousand now. 

“Just keep shooting, love,” Killian says, joy in the words and the overall width of his smile and something, something, magic. Or luck. 

Emma keeps shooting. 

And her laugh seems to soar out of her, ignoring the pain in her right thumb and the dig of Ellie’s shoe in her left thigh when she scrambles onto Killian’s lap, which is definitely breaking the rules, but can I shoot, daddy and Killian is nothing short of a pushover, so. 

Emma keeps shooting. 

With Ellie and Killian and she’s not sure who grabs the joystick when they reach that one tunnel that’s supposed to look like space, but then they’re spinning and there’s more laughter and it’s good, great, everything Emma thought vacation should be. 

Especially after winning the World Series. 

But then animatronic Zurg is yelling at them, the flash of the camera making Emma blink and Killian’s trying to direct Ellie’s hands on the laser gun, but she’s got her own ideas and—

“Swan.” Emma hums, shaking her right hand gently before she realizes that Killian is trying to take a picture of their score screen before it disappears. 

Nine-hundred thousand, nine-hundred and ninety-nine. 

“No way,” Emma laughs. “That’s—” “—Galactic Hero,” Killian finishes, grinning like an idiot. “You, my love, appear to be a Galactic Hero. And probably the savior of the Universe.” “Do those go together?” “Undoubtedly.” “What is this?” David shouts, standing at the end of the moving sidewalk. 

Emma beams. “What was your score, Nolan?” He scowls. 

“Only space ace,” Mary Margaret mutters, and Killian’s laugh threatens to do damage to Emma’s ear drums. “But that was better than me. I only got like two-hundred thousand, which is just—embarrassing, honestly.” “Seriously,” Killian nods, directing them towards the pictures so Ellie can scan her MagicBand. “I think you get a button, Swan.”

David’s eyes bug. “No.” “You going to be ok, over there ace? Space ace?” “Stop it. That’s not—” “—Excuse me,” Killian says, getting the attention of the nearest cast member. “What happens if we’ve got a Galactic Hero in our midst?” To her credit, Jenny the cast member — whose name tag informs them that she’s from Maine — doesn’t look anything but overjoyed by Emma’s recent achievement, gasping like this is a serious thing or they’ve won something equivalent to another World Series, but Killian’s smile suggests just that and there is a pin involved. 

“Congratulations,” Jenny says enthusiastically. Both Ellie and Leo cheer, any hint of exhaustion gone in the pomp of becoming a Galactic Hero. 

“Thanks,” Emma mutters. Her cheeks are very warm all of the sudden. 

Killian makes her put the pin on. 

And she definitely cries during the fireworks, especially when Tinker Bell flies out of the castle — something about memories and moments and beating Boston. Even when Boston is just her brother and his internet research. 

“You’re thinking,” Killian says, a few moments after the fireworks have ended and people have started to make a mad dash for the exit. “You ok?” Emma shakes her head, but her cheeks are still warm and Ellie’s head is on her shoulder. “Swan, c’mon, love it’s—” “—Did I steal your Buzz Lightyear thunder?” “What a sentence.” “I’m serious. I mean I knew we were doing joint stuff because you thought Mary Margaret would bring down the team, but—” “—Well that’s an accusation.” “Tell me I’m wrong,” Emma challenges.

Killian squeezes one eye shut. “The thought had maybe crossed my mind.” “Exactly! You’re—I mean, the inherent competitive nature of athletes is no joke and you and David have been going at it all week.”

“That was fun, though. I wouldn’t have been totally upset if he beat me.”

“Say that again with a straight face.” “Ok,” Killian sighs. “I would have been annoyed if your brother beat me, but I’m not even remotely upset that you did. Team New York has reigned supreme on whatever planet Buzz Lightyear is from.” “Star Command?” “Nah, that’s just where he works.” “I don’t know enough about the mythos of Toy Story,” Emma admits, not able to stop her laugh. Killian kisses her forehead. ‘You’re sure, though? You looked up stuff and I just started shooting things and got the high-score you couldn’t.”

He chuckles, fingers drifting dangerously high up her side. Especially when they’re still surrounded by so many people. 

And that Walt Disney statue. 

“Well, when you trash talk like that,” Killian starts. He has to shift Ellie so he can crowd closer to Emma, the toes of his shoes threatening to rest on the top of hers. “But, no, Swan. I am not upset that you hit a high score I didn’t. I am very proud of your ability to defend the galaxy and my own trash-talking honor. Plus, the deal was a team, right? That’s kind of how it works.” She may be crying. 

Again. 

Peak cliché. 

“I love you,” Emma says. “I’m glad you won a World Series so we got to come to Disney World.” “Yeah, that’s totally why I did it. And I love you too.” And it’s not like she’s not expecting the kiss, but there is a kid between them and that Walt Disney statue, so Emma can’t quite help the gasp she lets out when Killian ducks his head. But then her hands are moving and he makes that one specific noise when her fingers find his hair, tugging him closer, like he’d have any objections. 

Her back noticeably arches. 

At the same time she presses up on her toes. 

A flash goes off somewhere. “Damn,” Emma mumbles, mostly into Killian’s mouth and she’s going to blame David’s hat. He’s a few feet away. Buying churros. 

“Ah, it was only a matter of time,” Killian reasons. His fingers dance up Ellie’s back again, drifting across his number and his name and Emma’s blushing for a whole other reason. “Plus, if that’s the picture they want, I’m only too willing to start making out with you again.” “Yeah? No garlic, huh?” “Eh, post-celebration I’d even be willing to risk the garlic.” “Charmer,” Emma mumbles, but then she’s pushing up again and kissing Killian again and she can’t really think when his tongue sweeps across her lips. Something about a home run or bases-clearing double or Galactic Hero status on the Buzz Lightyear ride in Magic Kingdom. 

“Although,” she adds, “might not be a bad idea to give social media something to work with. I bet they’d appreciate it.” Killian arches an eyebrow. “What did you have in mind?”

They take a family photo in front of the castle. 

With the lights of Main Street around them and Ellie’s shirt obvious. 

And Emma’s pin. 

She laughs when she sees the caption later, head already on pillows she won’t actually have to steal — 

World Series Champ and Galactic Hero. Talk about keeping up with the Jones’es. 

[poorlittleangels]

Spared the pain

Hi all, here's a little something I've been working on lately. It's about my OC Calen, a young man who works as a teacher at a boarding school alongside his friend Daniel. One night he returns from dinner with Daniel and his wife Eline feeling less than well. And so ...

Content warning: hospital, medicine (pills, injections), mentions of death/wanting to die, extreme pain, vomit

---

He lifted his shirt to look at his stomach. It was very slender and pale, a soft, smooth underbelly marked only by a trail of light hair leading between his legs and a vaguely heart-shaped birthmark on the right side. He rubbed at his stomach gently in an attempt to soothe the pain, wondering what could be causing it. He had eaten quite a heavy dinner at Daniel and Eline's home, and perhaps the cream sauce and spices weren't agreeing with him. That, or he had overindulged on desserts and a cup too much of wine, and was paying his due penance for it. How could you blame him, anyway? It wasn't his fault Eline made such a rich coconut cake, and he hasn't drank in months. He sighed and pushed himself off the bed, clutching at his abdomen. He would be alright, he supposed, if he used the bathroom, washed up, and had a good long rest. Very little couldn't be made better with a hot bath and a good night's sleep.

After he'd taken his bath, he dressed in clean white pajamas and warm socks. He made himself a cup of mint tea, hoping it would settle his stomach, and took some stomach medicine as well, just for good measure. The two little pink pills didn't go down easily, though. He felt nauseated putting anything in his mouth.

Finally, he drained the last sip of his mug and settled into bed for the night, content but still feeling a nagging ache in his midsection. Lying on his side, he could hear it making gurgling noises, feel it squeezing gases around, working extra hard to digest his meal. Sweating slightly, shaking a bit when the pain grew, he tried to ignore the pain and distract himself to fall asleep.

He eventually succeeded, since he found himself awake the next day with light pouring in through the curtains. The very first thing he noticed was the pain. Oh, gods, please, the pain! It was worse than anything he'd felt in his life, somehow worse than when he'd broken his arm as a child, or the migraine that left him immobile for two days. This was a different breed of dragon. His organs felt like they'd been twisted inside out and set afire. His stomach, especially, right under his ribs, was cramping so furiously it brought the first tears to his eyes. His intestines writhed like angry snakes and his whole belly felt uncomfortably full and heavy, gurgling and blooming with new pain as his guts shifted around.

The more aware he became, the worse the pain became as well. Never being one to tolerate pain well, now Calen was unsure if he could stay conscious. Tears leaked down his cheeks and chin and pooled on his pillow, making his cheeks and nose sticky. He cried out into the dim room, whimpering and moaning. He could barely move, let alone speak a coherent sentence, and screaming was his only distraction and relief.

The second thing he became aware of was a tightness in his throat. His mouth had started to fill with a metallic saliva and his hands were shaking. Something felt like it was threatening to come up. He managed to lean over the edge of the bed and reach his wastebasket under his chair, dragging it to the edge of the bed. Unable to sit up, he leaned his face over the bin and sighed shallow, shaking breaths until he coughed and finally vomited.

A torrent of puke hit the plastic liner of the bin, white and sticky like porridge and with soft chunks of half-digested food. A little trail of pink in there, too- some red wine making its way back up. Calen's stomach squeezed in on itself, driving the liquid up his gullet and past his lips violently. The pain seized him even more, and he was feeling faint. He hung his head over the bin, sobbing in between vomiting, gagging at the horrible smell. He begged the gods for the pain to stop, to pass out, to die. It was simply too much to bear. He eventually must've exhausted himself, or been in so much pain, that he fell unconscious, head on his arm, facing a basket of his own puke.

The next hours passed in misery. Once in a while Calen would awaken, get sick again, and be unable to escape the pain tearing his stomach up. He no longer was aware of the room around him, of anything but his own blinding pain. He screamed and cried without deciding to; it was simply all he could do, to survive moment to moment. Sweat poured down his brow and his throat had gone hoarse from his crying and the bitter dregs of bile he spit up. He couldn't breathe, couldn't move, couldn't even lay a hand on his stomach without it cramping even more horribly. And then, his pleading and prayers would come true for a few minutes, and he'd succumb to the pain and mercifully black out, going limp, only for things to start back up in due time, even when his body had nothing at all left to give.

He awoke later to a soft, gentle noise. The voice was familiar, deep and a bit rough, but spoke barely above a whisper. It took some concentration to understand it.

"Calen? Calen, are you awake? Oh, dear..."

He heard plastic crinkling and then someone's footsteps in the kitchen. His visitor must have tied up the bag of vomit and thrown it out for him. They returned to his bedside.

His body was completely exhausted. He didn't have the strength to open his eyes. He felt a warm touch on his shoulder, a hand rubbing his back.

"Calen, it's Daniel. Can you hear me? Gods, you look awful..."

With some effort he managed to open his eyes. Daniel was sitting on the edge of his bed, face sunk with concern. The room was pale gray and smelled of sick. He could make out the clock; it was a little past noon.

"There you are. I've been so worried. When you didn't show up today the main office called you three times, but when you didn't pick up they asked me to come check on you. My, I'm glad I did... You look like you've been suffering..."

He pressed the back of his hand to Calen's forehead. "Hm, you don't feel warm... But you've been vomiting, yes?"

Calen nodded. Suddenly he curled in on himself, attacked by a sudden cramp. Tears stung his dry eyes and a gasp escapes his lips. The pain refused to relent. He tried to scream, but his throat was raw. Daniel's eyes widened in shock.

"Calen? Calen, what's wrong? Is your stomach okay?"

"H-hurts..." He whined. "Hurts so bad... Please, please make it stop, just make it stop, I can't take it anymore, it won't stop..."

Daniel's tone dropped to a grave note. "Calen, I think we ought to get you to the hospital."

Calen didn't reply. Really, he couldn't articulate himself because of the pain. He continued whimpering, wailing, begging for mercy.

Daniel had taken his telephone and called for a doctor, his hand rubbing between Calen's shoulderblades, trying desperately to soothe him even a bit. Calen was barely aware of what was happening. He heard footsteps coming up the stairs, new voices. He felt cool, gloved hands on his arms, and something prickly pushed into the inside of his elbow. After that, the world grew dimmer and dimmer. The pain dulled to a low throb, and his eyes grew very heavy. Before he knew it he was in a heavy, dresmless sleep.

He awoke, eyes shut, in a bright room. It smelled of cleaning products and something slightly sour. People were walking in and out and in a hall outside. He must be in a hospital. For some reason his limbs were leaden and even to move was an enormous effort. He couldn't think properly either.

"Sir?" someone said "Calen Callophan?"

He pried his eyes open with a massive effort. A nurse was standing over his bed, some kind of monitor in his hand.

"You're finally awake. That's good. Don't be alarmed. You're on some pretty heavy painkillers right now and you might be feeling a little loopy."

"W-what happened?" He coughed, his throat feeling very dry. The nurse handed him a glass of water, which he graciously accepted. The nurse took his temperature and blood pressure and counted his heartbeats, and, satisfied with the results, put away his instruments.

"You've contracted a rare stomach infection and you'll need to be on pain medicine for a few days before you can go home and work. We don't have a cure for it, so you'll just need to wait it out."

"Am I going to be okay? How long was I out?" Calen was beginning to feel quite tired already, and his eyes had trouble focusing.

"You've been sedated for about five hours. It's almost dinnertime. We'll have you try some broth and juice, if you feel up to it."

So the days passed, Calen awake for little of the day, the medicine in his veins needing to be so strong to spare him the pain that he could only manage an hour or so of wakefulness at a time. It wasn't all bad, though. He drank hot broth and cool juice and, when he could manage that, a bit of porridge. Daniel or Eline stopped by a few times to see him, Daniel brining him a few yellow chrysanthemums in a vase, Eline brining some of her homemade clear soup, which he found delicious and nourishing. She fretted now more than ever about how thin he was and how she wouldn't stand to see him lose any weight. He was grateful, and with their best efforts he actually managed to put on a pound or two, owing to how little activity he was doing. By the time he could return to work he felt far better, though still recovering strength and needing plenty of rest at nights. Slowly he recovered fully, though, not meaning to offend Eline, he did swear off coconut cake for a while after.