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starkeymeow · 10 months ago

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lover of mine ₍₅₎

drew starkey x actress!reader au

— in which drew and y/n, secretly exes, must fake date in order to keep the peace at a mutual friend’s wedding, but the forced proximity makes them question whether they ever truly moved on.

warnings: sexual themes !! but eek another cliffhanger i fear yall are gonna eat me alive

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authors note: i havent slept and its 8am because ive been writing this for U GUYS 😞 let me know if u would like to be part of the tag list tho thru replies, anons, or dms !! notifications are always on <3

drew jolts awake, his heart racing from whatever dream he’s already forgotten. he blinks against the early light streaming through the curtains, his eyes squinting as he scans the room. instinctively, his hand reaches for your side of the bed, but it’s empty.

“y/n?” he murmurs, sitting up and rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hand. his brain tries to catch up to his surroundings, still sluggish from sleep.

just as he’s about to throw the covers off and go looking for you, the door creaks open. there you are, balancing a tray in your hands with a small but proud grin on your face. his lips curl into an instant smile at the sight of you, and it’s relief that washes over him.

“good morning,” you draw out playfully, your voice teasing as you approach the bed. drew watches, amusement in his eyes.

“what’s all this?” he asks, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes but already intrigued by the spread.

you gesture to the tray proudly, listing off the items you’ve prepared. “made us both some eggs, bacon, toast . . . oh, and fresh fruit,” you say, pointing at the colorful array of berries on the side. “figured i’d bring it to you since you were still sleeping.”

he chuckles, sitting up properly and glancing over at the tray with a grin. “so did the others get the same royal treatment?” he jokes, looking up at you with raised eyebrows.

“obviously.” you nod, a smile tugging at your lips. “the girls and i were up early making breakfast for everyone. the guys are already up and eating, but i thought I’d bring yours here. you know, special delivery.”

he shakes his head, still smiling as he takes it all in. “so, breakfast in bed? don’t mind if i do.”

“shut up,” you say as you crawl onto the bed carefully, setting the tray between you both.

as you settle beside him, drew is already popping a blueberry into his mouth. he chews thoughtfully, an amused look crossing his face. “you know,” he says, pausing to finish his bite before continuing, “you never did stuff like this when we were together.”

you glance at him, casual as ever. “we were always too busy,” you reply nonchalantly, reaching for a piece of bacon. “i don’t think we ever really had time to eat breakfast together in the mornings, or whatever.”

it’s such an offhanded comment, one you barely think twice about, but drew does. his fork hovers mid-air as your words sink in. he realizes how right you are—there was always something else, always a rush to be somewhere or do something. sure, you spent time together, but not like this. not with simple, meaningful moments that could’ve mattered.

his thoughts flicker back to the night before, to the messages he saw on his phone. that nagging feeling from last night returns, tugging at him. he quickly glances over to the nightstand, his head whipping around so fast that it draws your attention immediately.

you laugh, startled by his sudden movement. “dude, are you alright?” there’s amusement in your voice, but you look at him with mild concern.

he blinks, pulling himself together, and his heart beats a little faster. “yeah, yeah, i’m fine,” he replies quickly, trying to shake off the tension that suddenly crept in. he flashes a quick smile, picking up his fork again and taking another bite. “just thought i, like . . . misplaced my phone or something.”

you raise a brow at him but let it slide, not thinking much of it as you continue eating.

drew takes a bite of the eggs, and his eyes flutter shut as he lets out an involuntary moan. his hand flies to his mouth, covering it as he starts to laugh, almost embarrassed by how dramatic his reaction is. “oh my god . . .” he mumbles, shaking his head like he can’t believe it.

you look over at him, confused but amused by his reaction. “what?” you ask, smiling, not quite getting what’s so funny.

he finishes chewing, still grinning, and gestures at the eggs with his fork. “these. i know it has to be you who made the eggs.”

you raise an eyebrow, genuinely puzzled. “what do you mean?”

“there’s just something about the way you make them,” he explains, his voice sincere. “i don’t know what it is, but it’s like i could pick your eggs out of a million different versions. they’re always so . . . perfect. they melt in my mouth every time.”

you laugh, slightly bashful but clearly appreciating the compliment. “whatever,” you say, though you’re smiling. “they’re just eggs.”

he shakes his head, still smiling back at you. “no you’ve got, like, the magic touch or something.”

curious now, you take a bite of your own eggs, chewing thoughtfully before pausing. you look over at him, nodding slowly in agreement.“you’re right. these are good.”

drew laughs at your half-joking realization, and you can’t help but join in. the moment feels light and easy, like a glimpse of what things used to be, even if it’s just for a second. “told you,” he teases, leaning into you as he takes another bite.

you grin, leaning back into him. “okay, fine, maybe i do have a magic touch.”

the laughter fades, leaving a comfortable silence as you take another bite of your breakfast. it’s easy, almost natural, how quickly you fall into this rhythm—like no time has passed. drew shifts beside you, the subtle change in his posture drawing your attention.

he clears his throat, looking over at you. “thanks . . . by the way,” he says, and you look at him as he gestures to the food. “for breakfast. this is really nice.”

you give him a small smile, nudging him playfully with your shoulder. “just don’t get too used to it.”

you’re laughing and singing songs with the girls as you make your way down to the beach. you’re only really carrying your towel with you as you skip down to an open spot. libby’s protecting her large floppy hat as she runs there with you, shouting that you all should make camp here.

you look behind you and wait for the others. you spot drew immediately as he carries the bluetooth speaker in one hand but on his opposite shoulder is the large tote bag you gave him earlier. he posed for you when you said he looked like a mother.

“hurry, hurry, hurry!” you say, mainly to drew, because he has the groups shared essentials. “i can literally feel my skin aging the longer you guys take.”

roman trudges through the sand, clearly not enjoying the trek, even though it’s better than if they didn’t stay at a beach house like they are now. “you know, if you’re so concerned about your skin aging, maybe you should’ve thought about that before today,” he says, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

gia grimaces at how stupid he is. “or maybe you should’ve thought about showering before leaving the house, babe,” she says, then continues walking over until she reaches you and libby.

roman stops in his tracks, feigning offense. “i’m literally holding your second bag to the beach. like who even does that?” he gestures dramatically to the extra tote slung over his shoulder.

theo comes up from behind and pats his shoulder to say that it’s okay as he passes by, so roman mumbles something under his breath as he continues.

eventually, you’re stripping down to your bikini as you watch the waves. you unbutton your shorts and pull them down, shimmying out of them before tossing them onto your towel that’s already been laid out.

you pull your hair away from your face as you look toward the group. “is anyone going in the water?” you ask them, but there’s several no’s and not yet’s that make you frown.

“i’ll go in later maybe,” theo volunteers for you. “i just came down here to bring the chairs and set my towel down but i still need to cook the hotdogs in the backyard.” he’s pointing behind him, and you groan.

“so boring,” you mumble as theo nudges oscar before they start heading back to the house to begin making late lunch already.

“y/n?” gia says as she plans on handing you the sunscreen next. she and roman have already had a turn as they share their towel together. roman looks as grumpy as ever as he rubs the sunscreen into his skin while gia sits pretty and tries to keep her hair out of her face.

you drop to your knees on your towel and shuffle forward to reach for the bottle that gia hands you, and you plant your butt back down on your towel.

drew finishes setting up the speaker for leila to play her music, and he glances over just in time to see you about to apply sunscreen. he hesitates for a moment, then clears his throat, “you want some help?”

you look up, a bit surprised but also amused. “are you volunteering?”

“maybe,” he replies, “just thought i’d help out.”

you bite your lip, considering it. “okay, but just my back, please.” you’ve already squeezed some sunscreen into your hand so you decide to spread it on your legs while he gets to work on your torso.

he steps onto your towel and crouches down behind you. as his hands glide over your skin, you can’t help but sigh in relief. “you’re kinda really good at this. i feel like i’m at a spa.”

drew grins, glancing at you. “guess i’ve picked up a few tricks over the years.”

there’s a moment of playful silence as you finish your legs, and he begins massaging the sunscreen into your shoulders. you tilt your head back a little, relishing in the feeling.

it almost feels nice to recognize the familiar hands across your skin. he’s dipping down toward your chest as he settles down to get closer, reaching around you. you make it easier by leaning back against his chest while watching his hands, making sure he’s not doing anything he shouldn’t be.

but it’s like you’re in a daze as you witness the way he rubs it into your chest, around your bikini top, and down to your waist. he knows your body well enough to know that he’ll cause goosebumps immediately, and he does.

a part of you feels guilty, like it’s almost wrong—but it is all for the plan, right? you make up the excuse for yourself as drew’s hands move back up, edging the bottom of your breasts as your breath hitches. you hear his breathing by your ear as you watch him be so careful, so cautious with where he touches you.

but before it goes any further, he pulls away, and honestly, you think it's a smart choice. you swallow down whatever you just felt as you pull yourself together, and you glance behind you as he gets up. “thanks, star,” you murmur, and you hear a faint ‘uh-huh’ as he sits back to do his own.

you make sure he’s rubbed everything in briefly before turning back to see what he’s doing. he’s already spreading sunscreen onto his arms when he catches your eye, and there’s a smile when he understands the situation.

he nods to the bottle that’s just laying on the towel, and you know what this means. that it’s alright if you want to help him too.

you take the bottle into your own hands and squeeze some out onto your palm, then crawl behind him to sit down. you work on his back for a while, and you can’t help but admire him while he can’t see you.

you notice everything. the way his back muscles flex, how he flinches the moment your hands touch him, but also the way he relaxes into your touch the second after.

he’s waiting patiently for you, and you hear him chuckle a bit after you finish, so you crawl on all fours to sit down in front of him. you give him a look, asking if he’s already done it yet, but he shakes his head.

you smile to yourself as more sunscreen lands in your palm, and you massage it into his shoulders first. he sits up straight for you as you slowly make your way down.

you can’t tell if he’s flexing his abs as a joke but you look up at him and make eye contact, just inches away, and you smile at each other. he’s stupid but it still amuses you regardless.

he leans back and holds himself up by his palms, looking up to the sun. his eyes are clamped shut as he scrunches his nose briefly.

you move your hands lower until you reach his v-line, a little underneath the hem of his shorts. you shouldn’t be going there but you do anyway. he tenses immediately when you start and you know what you’re doing—you can’t help it—but you pull away and spread the remaining sunscreen on his face to make sure he’s fully covered. you feel like a mother when you do, but ignore it.

“i appreciate it, thank you,” he says to you, and you close the sunscreen bottle and toss it back over to one of the open chairs in case anyone else needs it.

with that, you get up, looking toward the water as you adjust your bottoms. you look back at drew, “come on.”

“what?” he says out of habit, before realizing what you’re talking about. “no.”

“come on,” you say again as you walk to him and grab his arms, then his wrists, to pull him onto his feet. you know he’s willing because you’re even able to move him.

you let go of his wrists as you make your way over to the water. “let’s go! just for a bit! you can just dip your feet in.”

drew doesn’t say anything but him rolling his eyes tells you everything. he’s so sassy, but it makes you grin as you hold your hand our for him to take. he’s slow as he walks over, pretending to not want to, and you groan.

“okay then go sit back down if you don’t want t—”

you’re terrified when he starts charging at you, and you scream as you run to the water as if it’ll help you. he runs in there with you, but you’re constantly looking back and going deeper in when you see he’s still determined to catch you.

he’s pretending to be some monster as he fake growls, though it’s just his face with no round, while clawing at the water as he tries to make his way over to you.

the small waves hit your torso and your hair as it splashes up your body. it’s colder than you thought it would be, and your mouth gapes open in shock.

drew ends up catching up to you and he scoops you up with ease since you’re in the water, and you wrap your arms around his neck as he carries you further into the ocean by your bum.

you look toward the group and see what everyone’s doing in just a brief moment—theo and oscar still gone, you see roman even heading back to the house to help probably, gia’s tanning while laying on her towel, then leila and libby are talking while on the beach chairs right beside her.

drew stops walking when you reach a good spot that won’t kill you in a wave. hopefully. but he doesn’t set you down. the water already reaches high on his torso, so he assumes it’s best not to put you down and risk an incoming wave.

you hold on tight as you look out to the horizon, and you pull away to look at him. there’s an instant smile that forms when you’re face-to-face.

“the water feels nice,” you say awkwardly. the ocean is cold against your back but any body part that touches drew’s body is warm. he’s warm. “i’m really glad you came.”

drew cocks his head to the side as he squints his eyes, “i’m pretty sure i had to. leila wanted to go to the beach today so uh . . .”

“no you fucking—” he’s laughing and you have to wait until he’s done. “you know i meant on this trip,” you tell him.

“i’m glad you came too,” drew says, and you pull him closer again, burying yourself between your arm and the side of his head, and you close your eyes as the waves push you back and forth.

hours pass, unexpectedly. you didn’t initially plan on staying there for so long—none of you do, but time just flies. you’ve eaten the hotdogs provided by the boys, which you heard some got burnt thanks to theo.

you played volleyball a bit after, boys vs girls. you wanted to sit out but leila convinced you to stay.

“don’t be such a baby, roman!” you remember gia yelling to her boyfriend from across the net, and then he was hit with the volleyball again.

now it’s nightfall. you’ve all packed up and returned to the house simultaneously to take showers. some stay to talk or build really sad sand castles out of cups from the house while others occup the showers.

“why don’t you and theo just shower together?” you remember libby asking leila as you and her laid on the chairs together while libby was on the floor with said sand castle.

leila grimaces. “washing sand out of his ass is not romantic whether you’re about to be married or not.”

now you’re all clean, dressed in your pajamas with your freshly wet hair as you sit on the floor with leila. drew is already taking his turn in the shower while you discuss the little scrapbook leila brought on the trip.

she said that she bought everything literally on day one, and she hasn’t gotten around to filling it out yet because she doesn’t know how to. she grabbed you to help and you went to your room to see what she had.

there’s different stickers, paint, flowers, glitter, possibly the entire arts and crafts store all over the floor as you two plan even the first page. she had absolutely no idea what she was doing—you’re certain that she went to the store that day and just started grabbing whatever she thought was cute, but you don’t blame her.

“i just want to show this to our kids or something when they’re our age,” leila says as she rearranges the photograph of her and theo when they first started dating, and she frowns at the memory.

“are you thinking about kids?” you ask her as you glue on a piece of paper in the corner of the page that leila insisted was aesthetic.

leila shrugs, “i mean, you know how it is. eventually, just not now. i don’t think theo and i are ready for that.”

“waking up to crying in the middle of the night,” you let her picture it herself as you scrunch your nose up, “when you already haven’t been able to sleep for days.”

“that’s the only part i’m not excited about,” leila tells you, and she pauses as she thinks about it. “besides the vomiting, the screaming, the pooping, so really i—”

“—should not have a child anytime soon,” you cut her off, and she chuckles, nudging you with her shoulder as she plays around with some of the stickers.

leila sighs after a bit and she looks around, but it’s difficult to see right away when all the stuff is on the floor. “what time is it? i feel like it’s getting late, or it’s ice cream sundae time.”

“probably the second one,” you mumble as you look around for your phone. you don’t know where it is but it clearly isn’t there. it must be in one of the tote bags downstairs, but that’s too far away. “hold on.”

you get up and carefully step over the mess you’ve created—though leila’s already collecting everything to call it a night—and approach your side of the bed. your phone isn’t there still and there’s no clock in this particular room.

you take a peek over at drew’s side of the bed. his phone is laid face down on his nightstand, almost about to fall off. you sigh as you grab it and plan on putting it safely on the nightstand after you check the time really quickly.

“it’s just 10,” you tell her.

she nods as she stuffs her bag with more supplies, muttering under her breath, “definitely sundae time.”

you’re about to put his phone down when a notification comes in. he has a million already pending but you don’t even plan on looking at them until this one comes in just now.

‘ are you seriously with her? ’

you furrow your eyebrows as you check the name.

mila?

is this his girl best friend or something?

another notification comes in right after that that you can’t ignore.

‘ i’m going to sleep. just text me tomorrow. ’

‘ please. ’

‘ i miss you. xo ’

the words blur together for a second, but the meaning behind them hits you all at once. he’s been talking to someone else this whole time, since before the plan was even made probably. you feel a twist in your stomach, but you try to steady yourself, taking a slow breath.

you weren’t expecting this, but it’s not like he owes you anything. you knew things had changed between you two, but seeing these messages—it hurts more than you thought it would.

you’ve been getting closer, laughing together, and just being there in the ocean in his embrace . . . and the whole time, someone else has been on the other side of his phone, waiting for him.

if you had known, if drew had told you he was still talking to someone, you never would’ve agreed to this plan.

you feel uncomfortable, a little betrayed, but not heartbroken. it’s not that deep—not yet. but it’s enough to make you feel like you’ve stepped into something you weren’t prepared for.

“you wanna make the sundae with me?” leila’s voice barely rips you from your thoughts as she gathers her things in her bag and stands up, waiting on you.

“what? no, i’m fine,” you tell her. “i’m probably gonna head to bed soon? i don’t know, i’m tired but i’ll let you know. i’ll probably join you, knowing me.”

she smiles at you but leaves it at that, and leaves the room, leaves your thoughts to grow bigger and louder now that you’re alone.

you don’t check any more of his messages, respecting enough of his privacy not to dig. the weight of those few words heavy in the air as you switch his phone off and set it back down on the nightstand.

i miss you. xo

you shake your head, trying to push the thoughts away. this was supposed to be for your friends, just a harmless plan to avoid awkward questions. that’s all. but now, you’re starting to wonder if there’s more going on here than you realized.

this wasn’t part of the plan.

@rubixgsworld @itgirlbrina @thepopcultureaddict @samsmelodrama @kissfinalgirl @itsamegazaddysworld @willowpains @toterry @wearemadeofstardust0 @maybankslover @itneverendshere @httpsdrewstarkey @ilyrafe @cl4uus @sunny1616 @pillowprincess4him @yootvi

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anthotneystark · 1 year ago

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Well, if you're rough and ready for love (Honey, I'm tougher than the rest)

(edit: now on ao3!)

Eddie is suffering.

It’s hardly the first time, but it’s self-inflicted this time. At least it’s not going to physically almost kill him like the bats did.

Emotionally, sure, but not physically. That has to be some kind of win.

“Did you get Vecna’d? Do I have to get my trumpet? I don’t know if you can play Metallica on a horn, but I’ll try if you need me to.”

“Buckley, I would pay money to see you attempt it,” he says absently, his gaze never moving.

“Good, I could use the bonus.”

“Probably a good time to say I’ve only got Monopoly money.”

“Damn, there goes that plan.”

He hums an agreement, startling a moment later when a hand is suddenly blocking his view.

“Stop drooling, it’s not attractive.”

“Nothing about me is attractive to you.”

“Fair, but still. Ew,” she snorts.

“It’s not my fault, I can’t help it. He’s just so….” He doesn’t even have a word for it, so he just sighs.

“Who would have thought. Mr. Anti-Conformity drooling over Jock Extraordinaire. He’s wearing pastels. What have you become?”

“Shut up, he’s your platonic soulmate.”

“He is. And I love him. I just also know that he’s all sporty and preppy.”

“He can be as sporty as he wants as long as he keeps wearing those shorts he had on the other day.”

“Gross.”

“Even you can admit he looked good.”

“Sure, but you’re drooling again.”

He should be allowed a little drool. Steve had looked so biteable.

“He’s not even wearing shorts today, it’s too cold for that, doofus.” It was. Summer had well and truly turned into fall. Shorts had been replaced by jeans (except on the days Steve and Lucas played basketball, then the shorts came back out), polos more often than not were exchanged for sweaters, and by god, it was kissing him even more than the shorts and tank tops of summer had.

(This is without even considering the extreme number of shirts that Steve had sacrificed to become half shirts “for more air flow, because I can’t just walk around shirtless, obviously.” Because it was obvious. Showing his chest was too much, but the soft skin of his stomach, interrupted by the trail of dark hair vanishing under his waist band, wasn’t too much. Obviously.)

It made no sense. It shouldn’t have been worse with less skin showing. But it was because somehow, knowing that the soft knit of those sweaters was covering slowly paling skin, strong muscles and that beautiful, amazing layer of softness that rounded out hard edges…well, it completely ruined his train of thought until he couldn’t remember where he’d been going originally.

Worth it, just getting to imagine how Steve looked under his clothes.

“He’s worn this stuff before, why does it have you in a coma today?” Robin sighs, put upon even though it was her decision to sit with him.

“His hair.” Because that was the kicker today. Because Steve Harrington had never walked outside looking less than completely perfect.

Because Steve somehow managed to look amazing even roughed up and dirty.

Because Stevie was comfortable with himself and picked the clothes he liked and didn’t bother hiding scars that only proved how far he’d be willing to go to protect his loved ones and didn’t care about if he didn’t look perfect.

“He didn’t style it.”

“I can see how you’d get that impression, but I assure you he did.”

“What?!” That makes Eddie finally look at her, nearly falling over where he’s sat.

“Yeah. It��s just not hairspray. He’s trying something new.”

“It works for him.” The response is automatic. Because it’s true. Because poofed up and closer to god could only work on someone as pretty as Steve, and gunked up and water-logged could only work on someone as pretty as Steve, and bedhead could only look that good on someone as pretty as Steve.

Steve is just. So pretty.

But today, today it’s not firmly in place, soft even if it’s not going to move from it’s position. Today it’s not slicked back with water as he pops up from under it to splash one of the kids. Today it’s not half flat from where he slept on it, the same side he’ll leave pressed into Eddie’s shoulder if he’s not quite ready to start the day.

Today, it’s soft, curling around his ears, over his forehead, fluttering in the wind. It’s not the same kind of curly that his own hair is, the chaotic kind that if he tried to brush it, it’d eat the brush. It’s gentler, and he desperately wants to touch it.

“Seriously, I’m worried about your brain right now.”

“My brain is fine.”

“Close your mouth then.” Well, that’s embarrassing. He tosses a glare at her, and it’s just enough time to miss Steve heading their way. He does fall over where he’s sitting this time, but it’s so worth it because it makes Steve laugh.

He’d do an embarrassing amount of things to hear that laugh.

“You okay?” Steve asks, looking so fond and amused at Eddie’s antics that it makes his heart skip a beat.

It’s still surprising, having that look aimed at him, getting it from Steve.

“Fear not, Sir Stevington, I will survive,” he says, pushing himself up dramatically. Steve’s eyes crinkle as he snorts another laugh, and they both ignore Robin quietly bleching.

“Yeah? Good. I’d hate to see you get through everything just to get taken out by your own theatrics,” Steve says. Eddie doesn’t even have time to react – Steve’s smiling and that always slows him down – when his gorgeous, beautiful friend pulls off that pale green sweater and presses it into Eddie’s hands.

“Don’t get cold on me, alright? I saw you shivering,” he says, like he hasn’t just ruffled his own hair once more and completely distracted all of Eddie’s thoughts in the blink of an eye.

And then he’s gone, off to give another attempt at skateboarding (trying to follow Max’s instructions and letting her laugh at him when she hears him fall before she does whatever trick it is perfectly even without her sight), and Eddie is left standing there, watching that perfect, broad back covered by a too tight tee shirt.

“This is a whole new level of pathetic, I think.”

“Shup it,” Eddie says, then freezes, feels her shit-eating grin growing. “Shut up!” He groans.

She can laugh all she wants, he decides, pulling Steve’s sweater over his head. It’s warm with his body heat, smells like his soap and his cologne and him.

She can laugh, he’s got a beautiful boy to watch, one who looks at him with a promise of what’s to come, when the time is right.

#pre steddie #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #platonic stobin #kat writes #eddie is pining and i love him for it #inspired by Joe's hair lately and how totally soft it looks #(he looks so good I love him so much)

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sweetestcaptainhughes · 1 year ago

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Wine Drunk

Word Count - 3600

Warnings - drinking I guess but that's kind of in the title so none.

Summary - A night filled with being wine drunk with Quinn at the lake house and he's letting you live out almost all your creative impulsive ideas.

Author's Note - Just thank you for reading, I've been missing writing for Quinn so I figured I'd throw this together. Also I couldn't contain myself writing this when it came to Trevor and Cole and if your not new here, you will know exactly why as you read this.

masterlist

It was one of those rare nights in the summer lakehouse, where the only people around were people that Quinn considered family. It was nice to be able to see everyone in the summer but just a night where you didn’t feel like you needed to play hostess and could relax was sometimes needed. The only people in the house were you, Quinn, his brothers, Cole and Trevor - chosen family. Although if asked Quinn would not count Trevor as family, but he was considered family to Jack which by extension meant Quinn but if asked would probably refuse to comment. He still hated Trevor for never being able to shut up, although even he will admit he’s more quiet when Cole is around.

Spending the night getting wine drunk with your boyfriend, and hanging out with the boys by the fire is sometimes needed. But, the thing about wine that you always seem to forget is how getting tipsy off wine is different. One moment you feel completely sober and the next your one drink away from going ‘night night’.

That small fact you seemed to forget is how you got here, trying to convince Quinn that it was a great idea for Trevor to teach you how to do a backflip. “Please Quinny, he’s so good at them.” you begged it was obvious to everyone around minus you and Trevor how intoxicated you both were. “He’s the only one who knows how and I wanna learn.” whining towards the end of another act that tells Quinn just how drunk you are.

Quinn, still sitting in his lawn chair, simply pulls you down to sit in his lap. “No not safe baby” he tried to reason but you were still softly protesting while he wrapped you in his arms trying to get you to stop moving. Trevor was also protesting, except he was hushed up quickly when they mentioned his old ankle injury and how he said it hurt after training this morning.

“Man fuck you guys! I’ve been doing them all summer.” he yells. Everyone could tell he was gonna put on a further protest but the pointed look from Cole and Quinn was enough for his ass to sit down right where it was, which just so happened to be on the grass in front of Cole. Trevor was pretty drunk and decided holding his own head up was too much work and used Cole’s legs as a backrest.

Still in that fidgety state, you struggled to stay still espically since you were still annoyed Quinn “stopped me and Trevs fun.” As the boys started getting lost in their own conversation, truly not paying attention to them. An idea popped into your head, a compromise if you will. If Quinn wasn’t going to let you do flips with Trevor you could just do them on Quinn. Immediately you got up from Quinn’s lap, the quick movement you could tell startled Quinn but he didn’t say anything.

“I’m doing a flip, watch me.” in your head you sounded a lot more badass and clear spoken than you actually did. All the boys could understand was “I’m flap watch.” Before Quinn knew it you were facing him and diving head first into his lap, trying to kick your feet up in the process. Quinn truly didn’t know how to respond except to put his hands on your waist to try to support your weight.

“Baby whatcha doing?” he asked softly. He wasn’t annoyed but he also didn’t seem very amused.

“Obviously flips! ME NEXT!” Trevor yelled as he decided to stand up and turn around facing Cole similar to how you did to Quinn a few moments ago.

“Not a chance bud.” Cole deadpanned. Trevor immediately frowned, mumbling about how no one cares about if he has fun tonight and sits back down on the grass.

After your first failed attempt Quinn takes his wine glass that was in his hand and sits it on the ground next to him. He didn’t say anything as you turned around and started dragging the empty lawn chair near you, playing it directly in front of Quinn’s. He knew that you ass wasn’t gonna sit down, but he didn’t know exactly what your drunk train of thought was. “Baby?” he asked softly in a questionable tone, as he eyebrows frowned to try and figure out what you were trying to do. He found himself relatively leaning forward, as your feet stepped on the chair, and you tried to again dive into him in order to do a flip.

All you could do was laugh at yet another failed attempt, Quinn wasn’t as easily amused. Especially when Trevor’s booming laughter was heard as he started screaming, egging you on more longer. “You go glenn coco..” he screamed which caused the other boys to laugh because what the actual fuck did he drink to get this drunk.

Helping you sit still in his lap for a minute, he took the hand that wasn’t on your hip to your face. He leans his forehead to yours and softly asks “baby what are you trying to do?” Although it was clear to you, and Trevor, the rest of the boys were truly clueless on what the end goal was.

“I wanna do flips.” you pout.

“On me??” he lets out a chuckle.

“Well you said none with Trev so I figured this was the best compromise.” you admit, now giggling at your own thought process. “I think I’m a little drunk”, finally admitting what Quinn already knew.

“Maybe a little” he chuckles and that’s when you notice his flushed cheeks, the wine finally catching up to him. “Wanna stay or go to bed?” His head goes to your inner shoulder to rest for a second, leaving a quick open mouth kiss on your collarbone.

“Too much energy to sleep.” you sheepishly admit.

“Alright well what’s something safe we can do? Hmmm..” he asks as his hand that was on your face wraps around you. A small smile spreads across his lips as he sees your face light up with excitement.

“Can we make smores and build a fort?” Quinn would never admit this but he’s pretty sure his chest swelled with love for you at that moment. It’s moments like these where the alcohol gives you liquid courage to act on your brain's creative impulsive thoughts.

“Of course baby, whatever you want.” stealing a quick kiss before you both get up stumbling a little in the process. Once you make your way inside, Quinn goes to the pantry to grab everything needed for S’mores that he just happens to always keep on hand in the summer. Running to the laundry room, you grab all your extra blankets. Quinn notices your heading for the back door with all the blankets and throw pillows from the family room you can carry.

It’s in that moment as he watches you struggle to carry everything to the screen door. With only the top of your head visible due to the many blankets and pillows, he finally realizes he never asked you where you wanted to build this fort. “Hey baby? Where is this fort going?” He can’t help the chuckle escape his mouth as he grabs some stuff from you so he can actually see your face a little while you answer.

“Uhh outside next to the fire.” it’s not what you said that makes Quinn take a step back and laugh but you're almost accusatory tone about why Quinn would even have to ask, as if the most logical place would be next to a bonfire with a bunch of tipsy people. “And before you say anything I was gonna take the cushions of the patio furniture I’m not a monster.” you declared as you walked outside, you could hear Quinn chuckling behind you but chose to ignore him. Finally making it to the boys back at the fire, Luke almost ran into you trying to get the stuff for s'mores from his older brother.

“You know you know where this stuff is kept, Moose you could have gone inside for it.” Quinn continue to chirp his little brother “also don’t eat it all Rusty before Y/N gets at least one or you will be sleeping outside tonight because that’s the last of S’more stuff we have and you will be the one that deals with an emotional Y/N and Trevor if they don’t get any.”

“HEEEY!” Both you and Trevor yell at the same time, you lightly jokingly hit Quinn’s chest, he pulls you into his arms and kisses your forehead.

“We are not emotional Quinn, you are just emotionless.” Trevor is still not letting it go.

“Bro shut up and make your fucking s’more” Jack mumbles, earning a chuckle from everyone around.

“Let’s go get everything else.” As you pull Quinn back with you towards the house, you can hear all the boys still bickering, you're not sure what exactly he said but you know Cole got Trevor to let it go for now at least.

Once you're back on the deck, instead of turning to the couch like Quinn had grabbing pillows you make your way towards the screen door. “Where ya going?” Quinn asks softly.

“Uhh we obviously need more wine. Plus if we were having s’mores it only makes sense to get a more dessert wine.” Turning around to face Quinn with a cheeky grin.

“Says the girl who is literally the pickiest when it comes to any alcohol let alone wine.” He pointedly says as makes his way to you, grabs you and pushes you towards him so your back is pressed flush against his chest. Turning your head Quinn doesn’t miss the opportunity to steal a kiss. Turning you in his arms pressing you lightly against the glass door earning a moan from you which makes his smile more into the kiss. Quinn was a man of few words which was fine because you always joked that you could talk enough for the both of you. After dating for so long, you knew this was his way of saying “I love you” by stealing any kiss he could at any time of the day without physically saying the words, and it’s one of the things you loved most about Quinn.

Making your way slowly inside and to the kitchen you grab another bottle of wine, you went to cork it yourself but Quinn physically grabbed it out of your hands. Grabbing two new glasses since neither of you could tell you where your ones from earlier were. Before you left, you grabbed the rest of the case of the beer. There were only a few left for the boys outside. On your way out both of you grabbed multiple blankets off the couch to build the fort you so desperately wanted. By the time you came back you could tell that the DJ changed from Luke playing soft country music to Cole. All of a sudden your favorite song was playing, you turned to Quinn with a shocked face and begging eyes.

He softly nodded and you dropped all the pillows, quickly hugging him only taking your wine glass you ran towards the boys for your impromptu dance party. But before you could Quinn pulled you back with his hand that was still attached to yours. “I'll make your s’mores for you ok.” Kissing your cheek you pecked his lips as a thank you as you ran towards the boys well all except Luke, he wasn’t a dancer and also way too focused on the midnight s’mores snack he was making.

Quinn watched from a distance with a giant smile plastered on his face with you dancing as he walked towards his youngest brother. Luke was already eating his first s’more as he was roasting marshmallows for his second.. Quinn just shook his head as he started putting marshmallows on a metal stick to roast for your s’more.

“I never thought I’d see it.” Luke exclaims. Quinn only makes a sound of acknowledgement to his brother, as he watches all four of you now dancing and screaming the lyrics to “Imma Be” by Black Eyed Peas.

“The day your girlfriend likes Trevor and Cole more than you.” Luke chirps, a playful smirk on his lips as he glances towards his older brother automatically stepping to the side knowing Quinn’s fist is seconds from hitting his rib.

“Shut up Moosey and focus on not burning your marshmallow which by the way is on fire.” he remarks.

“Oh shit.” he quickly pulls it out of the fire and blows the small fire out. “Well jokes on your Q I like my food crispy.”

“Didn’t know crispy and burnt are the same thing. And she doesn’t like them as much as me. She's just more impulsive and hyper when wine drunk, which I think is adorable.” not noticing how defensive he sounds.

“God you're so whipped, I’m happy for you dude. It’s nice to see you happy.”

Before Quinn could have any type of response he heard the song change again to “You Belong with Me.” by Taylor Swift. Just as Quinn’s finishing up your s’more for you. He hears Jack yell for him.

“QUINN! Your shitty dance moves are needed! I’m not dancing with my future sister in law to this song! This song is strictly for couples or people that want to bone each other!” Finally Quinn makes his way over to you taking your s’more from him and taking a bite. Wrapping your arms around his neck, despite that this isn’t a slow pace song, Quinn’s hands find your hips pulling you close. Before Jack can continue to yell about how he’s sitting this one out, you have to point out the flaw in his logic.

“But Jackey… Cole and Trevor are still dancing and they aren’t a couple or wanna bone.”

Jack just blinks at you and says “I said what I said and I’m right. Now I need to go make a s’more before the human garbage can we left with all the food eats everything.” Both you and Quinn laugh as you get lost in your own little world still aware that Trevor and Cole are screaming the lyrics next to you but they seem even more lost in their own world then you and Quinn. Taking another bite of your s’more you were holding, lightly shoving it in Quinn’s direction. He finishes it for you knowing that’s your way of telling him you didn’t want any left.

“Now my lips are all sticky because you have a terrible aim baby.”

“Here let me fix it.” you mumble as you balance on the balls of your feet and kiss the marshmallow and chocolate leftovers on his lips. The kiss that started as playful slowly started to get heated but you teasingly pulled away before Quinn could get too worked up. “Let’s go make my fort!” you exclaim, quickly turning on your heel and heading towards where you left everything by the fire not even 10 minutes ago.

“Such a fucking tease.” you hear Quinn mumble as he watches you purposely sway your hips, you can’t help the smirk that’s on his lips as Quinn’s reaction every time all you do is simply kiss him. The fort you so desperately wanted turned out to be just some couch cushions long enough for you and Quinn to cuddle as with some blankets thrown on top, both of you being too lazy to put any real effort into it.

Quinn sat down the makeshift fort, as you leaned against him a blanket on top of both of you, even though you really didn’t need it. But you were too lazy to go get a hoodie all the way from your bedroom upstairs. Both of you getting lost in conversation with the group, Trevor and Cole just made it back to the group. Trevor couldn’t help himself from grabbing a blanket that you and Quinn didn’t happen to be using, wrapping it around himself.

“Z.” Cole warned, he really didn’t wanna deal with a moody Quinn, and Quinn was about to say something until your voice interrupted his train of thought.

“It’s fine Z keep it.” Snuggling closer to Quinn as you see Trevor wrap the blanket on himself and sit push Quinn’s now empty chair closer to Cole’s before plopping down. Jack looked at you over the fire, both of you sharing a look as he mouthed “told you” a laugh escaping you at Jack’s antics.

Time seemed to escape you as the bottle of wine you brought out was now half empty and the beers you brought out for the boys were gone. Luke called it a night after all the s’more stuff was gone and moose tracks ice cream from the freezer about 45 minutes ago. Trevor decided it was time to go into the lake, and that is when Cole decided that it was time to take a very drunk Trevor back to their shared room.

“Jack, can you at least help me get him up the stairs.” Cole begged his friend and Trevor was practically half asleep leaning onto Cole complaining about how first it flips and now the whole lake is off limits.

“Naw sorry dude. This one is all you.”

“You're such a dick sometimes.”

“Yes but be careful you might make Trev jealous.” Jack couldn’t help the laugh escape his lips as he walked into the house, waving both you and Quinn goodnight.

From where you and Quinn were now laying down you couldn’t see or hear everything that was happening between Trevor and Cole but you did hear Cole promise Trevor he could go in the lake tomorrow.

Once you both were alone, you glanced up at Quinn, he seemed a little lost in his own world staring at the very end of the fire burning. Deciding to poke his cheek to get his attention. He makes a sound of acknowledgement before he turns his attention fully to you. “Ready for bed baby?” he asks with a yawn escaping his lips.

“Nope.”

“Oh yeah and what do you wanna do?” shyly he asks as he pulls you closer to him by the back of your upper thighs.

“I’m hungry.”

“Oh really?” a smirk on his lips as he leans up for a kiss.

“Nooo not like that Quinny. I want food! I want pizza.”

“Pizza.” a chuckle escaping his lips as he glances at his phone. “Baby it is literally almost 1:30 in the morning this isn’t the city. I don’t know if any place is open for pizza.”

He hates the small frown and pout that’s plastered on your lips as he glances back at you. “Can you check?” you whine a pout on your lips. Quinn keeps one hand wrapped around you as he looks at every delivery service app he has, for pizza at this hour.

“I found something surprising. Do you want a personal or share?” Before you even respond verbally Quinn glances up at you and sees your face.

“Right. Two personal pizzas - mine gluten free and yours not. Do you want your usual?” Nodding your head yes, Quinn finalizes the order. “Should be here in 45 minutes.”

“45 MINUTES???” The shock in your voice is very clear, not sure if it’s your brain still used to living in a city or your drunk mind but that seems forever away.

“Like I said, we're not in Van anymore honey, this is kind of the middle of nowhere.”

“Yeah I can tell.” you drunkenly admit as you lift your head up and look out to the lake as if you're looking for more developed land you won’t find, leading Quinn to smile at you lovingly.

“Let’s go inside baby.” he whispers, kissing the crown of your head as you both get inside and drunkenly stumble inside. Before you knew it the pizza was here and you spent the remainder of the night until you passed out sitting criss-cross applesauce and gossiping about what you think Jack meant about Trevor and Cole. Well before Quinn told you he was going to projectile vomit all over the bed if you continued to talk about your theories. Laughing, you promised to stop and only gossip about it with Jack and Luke.

Yawning loudly all of a sudden once your stomach was full, Quinn decided it was time to call it a night for both of you. Not before making you get up and wash your face and brush your teeth. Although most of his drunkenness had worn off, he quickly found out yours had not and getting you ready for bed was no easy task. Finally, finishing you climbed into bed as Quinn came to your side of bed and gave you some advil to take now to get ahead of the headache you were bound to have hungover. That’s the last thing you remember as you heard Quinn turn on the shower for himself and you fell asleep. Quinn found you laying starfish in the middle of the bed 30 minutes later and took a picture because he found it hilarious before gently moving you to one side and pulling your back to his chest. He kissed your shoulder as he felt you stir “just me, go back to bed.”

“Okay, love you.” you mumbled already allowing sleep to lore you back into the comforting darkness.

“Love you too baby. More than you know.” as Quinn closed his eyes and let his body fall into the familiar slumper state.

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gublernatural · 1 year ago

Note

Hiii! I absolutely love your writing and I was wondering if you could write something about Spencer reid and reader who have just started dating and they get into their first ever argument and it’s a bit angsty but cute(?) cause he gets all worried while reader is more experienced in the relationship department so she (or gn!reader, your choice) doesn’t worry as much cause she knows it doesn’t mean they’re over? And then he gets all pouty and clingy when they make up cause he hated being far from her sm🫶 I know its very specific and idk weird so its totally okay if you don’t wanna write it but I’d really appreciate it!!!

as an insecure certified lover girl i love this request and i am so sorry it took me so long to get to <3

spencer was not expecting you to leave. to argue, to complain, even to berate, but to leave? the thought the didn’t even cross his mind.

the argument had started over something stupid, probably like a teasing remark that had gone too far, or the fact that he had been nagging you about doing the dishes. he wasn’t sure. all that filled his mind now was the fact that you walked out the door and slammed it behind you. he wasn’t sure where you went to, or if you were coming back.

yet, he was frozen in place. his knees had begun to shake as tears started to well up in his eyes. for a genius, you are really fucking stupid, he thought. he couldn’t believe he blew things with you, already.

you two hadn’t officially been together long. only around 3 months, but had spent much more time together prior to that. he was truly falling for you, something he wasn’t expecting to do. he loved the way you laughed and the way you listened to him. he loved that you were always there to greet him with a wide smile and a tight hug when you he came back from cases. he loved being around you and he loved the positive energy you put out.

and he just ruined all of that over some stupid argument.

spencer was rarely one to be unsure. after all, he is a genius, so there wasn’t many things he didn’t know. but, standing alone in front of his apartment door, he was clueless. should he run after you? should he wait it out? should he start packing up all of the things you’ve left at his apartment over these three months? he didn’t know.

so, like with most things he didn’t know, he was going to research. sure, to the common person googling “what to do after a fight with your girlfriend” would be corny, maybe even a little dumb, but not to spencer. when he couldn’t figure stuff out, he found other sources that could. so that’s what he was trying to do now.

much to spencer’s dismay, he was met with a whole bunch of editorials. not a single academic paper, dissertation, or research project had been conducted on the topic. so, he took what he could get and began reading over the newest People Magazine article titled “steps to making your girlfriend happy after being a bad boyfriend”.

he wasn’t sure how long he’d been reading, or how many different pop culture magazine websites he’d accidentally signed up for on his old desktop by the time his phone rang. it startled him, but he moved quickly to get it, assuming it was hotch calling him to come in for a case.

his heart sped up but his stomach dropped when he saw your first name, with the little otter emoji next to it. you had picked it, spencer didn’t even know there was an otter emoji.

his thumb slid over the answer button as quickly as he could move it, but once he brought the phone up to his ear, spencer couldn’t find any words.

the line was silent for a minute. you weren’t sure if he was even breathing on the other side. you wanted to give yourself time to cool off, separate from spencer. his little remark about your poor cooking skills had gotten to you, and you didn’t want it to become a massive argument. you didn’t know that spencer had spiraled after you left.

“are you going to come over or what?” you couldn’t help but let the residual anger you were holding slip out. despite this, spencer’s breath caught in his throat. you heard him take a deep exhale before saying, “you want me to come over?”

the desperation in his voice was so apparent, it broke your heart. any anger you were holding onto, or any bitterness about the comment he made completely wiped away when you heard spencer’s voice. you guessed that he had probably been crying. you softened your tone, and spoke slowly as you answered him, “of course i want you to come over, spence. we don’t get to have two sleepovers in a row very often.”

spencer’s hand was shaking as he listened to your words. he thought for sure you were going to break up with him. all he said was, “i’m on my way.” before hanging up.

you shouldn’t have been surprised at spencer throwing himself in your arms when you opened the door for him. he always craved physical touch, despite his fear of germs. he knew you and he cherished you, and all he wanted was to be close to you.

your hand snaked around his back as he buried his head in your shoulder. you tried to pretend you couldn’t feel the tears escaping from him. he wasn’t sobbing, there was just other way for him to have the emotional release he needed than to allow his tears to fall. your hand rubbed lovingly over his back, letting him adjust to being back with you.

“i’m so sorry,” he muttered against you. his hands were balled up between you two and you could feel him nervously squeezing his fists tighter. “spencer, it’s okay,” you assured.

you pulled away from him, only to wipe his tears away and move his hair out of his face. despite his height, he looked so tiny and vulnerable. “i didn’t mean to upset you,” he whined. “it’s okay,” you repeated, grabbing his hand to move him to the sofa.

you sat across from him, but he stared at the floor. “i thought you were breaking up with me,” he muttered. his voice was quiet and gentle. you couldn’t help but laugh at his statement. “why would i do that?” you moved closer to him, tucking his hair behind his ear to get him to look at you. “i-i don’t know! you just left and you were angry and i thought you weren’t coming back,” tears were filling up his eyes again as he finally met your gaze.

“spence,” you cooed, “couples fight and sometimes they need space. a little argument like that is nothing. we’re okay,” you promised him. he nodded, then reached out to pull you into his chest. “i don’t like when you storm out like that,” he said. “‘m sorry,” you mumbled against him. he just nodded and pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

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breakmeoff · 1 month ago

Text

Blow

pairing: jackson wang x fem!reader

warnings: swearing, SMUT: toxic reader, public groping, hands stuff (m. receiving), switch!jackson, degradation kink, rough unprotected p in v, spanking. MDNI, 18+ only

word count: 4.4k

synopsis: jackson can't count how many times he's tried to quit you, but the hold you have over him is impossible to resist. you know how much he is still addicted to you, and you can't help yourself from trying to make him blow.

note: this fic is loosely based off of the song blow, and in no way am i insinuating this is how he would behave in the real world. and if any woman treated him this way irl i'd hunt her down and gut her like a fish. 😇🤭 as always, thx for reading :)

Masterlist

Present Moment - The Gym

Jackson’s feet repeatedly hit the belt of the treadmill at a steady pace, maintaining his running speed of 6 to 7 miles per hour. Cardio had always been in his daily regimen, though he had been going at it for longer than his usual 20 minutes.

Tuning out the noise around him with his Beats headphones sitting over his black baseball cap, keeping time with the pumping trap music, Jackson’s eyes focused on the street outside of the window he was facing. Well, less focused than glazed over, his mind obviously somewhere else.

Having joined this gym several years ago and staying on a consistent schedule when he wasn’t traveling, Jackson had come to befriend others who worked out simultaneously on a similar basis. Like many other fitness enthusiasts who were members at this particular location, their habitual routine made it easy to form a bond.

Jackson’s closest gym friend, well… truly real friend at this point, was Henry - general counsel for some tech company he could never remember the name of. On any usual day, Jackson would crack a joke when Henry walked in late, or would rib him about being out of shape if he missed one too many days in their pattern. Today however, Jackson’s consciousness was nowhere to be found.

“Yo Jacks!” Henry called out to his friend, only to be met with silence. Figuring he just had his music up too loud, Henry walked a little bit closer and tried again. “Jackson!” Still… nothing.

Finally, Henry walked up to Jackson’s machine and stepped just to the side, enough to wave his hand in front of his friend’s face. “Yooooo… twinkle, twinkle, where’s the k-pop star?”

“Fuck!” Jackson yelled, ripping his head phones off and was startled so abruptly he nearly tripped on the treadmill belt. Bracing himself with a white-knuckled grip on the machine’s handrails, he stepped off onto the side rails while clicking the speed button down on the digital screen.

With a deep laugh, Henry used his clean towel to whip Jackson in the arm now that he was back in the real world and at a pace that he could hold his composure. “You were fuckin’ comatose there, man.”

“Gonna give me a fuckin’ heart attack, shit…” he sighed, grabbing his own towel from the handle near the control panel on the front of the machine and wiped his brow.

“My bad, my bad…” his friend repeated, holding his hands up in surrender as he turned and walked over to the chest press not too far away. After adjusting the seat to the correct height, Henry sat down and faced Jackson again who was now reaching for his water bottle and stepping off of the treadmill. “What’s got you all… that?” He asked, waving his hand dramatically in Jackson’s direction.

After chugging a half of his bottle, Jackson side eyed his friend and swallowed. “Nothin’ man… just slept like shit.”

Raising both of his arms to grasp the handlebars on the piece of equipment, Henry lifted a brow. “Long night?”

“You could say that…” Jackson started, lifting his hat and readjusting it on his head. “Passed out in the back of my car.”

Henry snorted, shaking his head as he began his reps. “Better you than me. But shit, why didn’t you just call a fuckin’ ride share?”

“If I wasn’t fucking wasted, I probably would’ve. Way smarter idea than waking up in my back seat blacked out from the night before.” Tipping the water bottle back up to his lips, he finished the remaining liquid in two long drinks.

After finishing his first set, Henry brought the machine back into resting position and paused, eyeing Jackson more scrutinously. “This has Y/N written all over it…”

Turning his back on his friend, Jackson walked over to the lat pulldown machine, straddling the seat until he bent down to sit on it.

“Jackson…” Henry’s voice was low, accusatory. “Tell me you didn’t let her sink her vicious little claws into you again…?”

Jackson reached up to the handlebars and pulled them down. “Who… my dirty little secret that keeps me awake?” He muttered, eyes focused on the mirror across the room, unable to make eye contact with his friend.

“Fuuuck… dude, she’s gonna ruin your life, I keep telling you to let her go.”

Turning to look over at Henry, Jackson lifted the corners of his lips in a mocking laugh. “Yeah but you know what? I got a problem… think I’m into it,” he said with an unconvincing smile, poorly justifying his actions.

Henry scoffed, setting himself up to do his second set of reps on the machine he was seated at. “Damn right you got a problem…”

Letting go of the handlebar on the lat machine, Jackson dropped his head in shame, resting both of his hands on his thighs as he groaned loudly at himself. “Dude, I even felt her coming and I couldn’t escape…”

“At least you can admit you fucked up,” he said between reps, exhaling heavily.

Still not yet lifting his head, Jackson growled at himself in frustration, ripping his hat off the top of his head and threw it aggressively at the wall nearest him. “I did it again. I’m in the belly of the beast. Again.”

Henry shifted his gaze over to Jackson who was clearly going through it, and moved the handlebars back to their resting position, dropping his own hands to his lap. “What’s so special about her? You’re normally so fuckin disciplined, I don’t get it with her…”

Squinting his eyes shut, Jackson inhaled deeply, held it for a few seconds and exhaled shakily. “She’s like a drug.” Finally shifting in his seat, he angled his body to face Henry fully, getting more animated with his hand motions.

“Or… or you know like the moment when you first take a drag off of a cigarette after the longest time? And it’s just like… everything?”

Letting his eyes flutter shut, he straightened his posture, mimicking bringing a cigarette to his lips. “I take a hit… and let it burn my lips…” fully going on with the story, Jackson slowly licked his lower lip.

“I breathe her in,” Jackson paused, inhaling again dramatically, holding his breath. “...and I hold it in my chest,” he continued through gritted teeth, his chest puffed out with the inhale.

Henry quickly interrupted, “Aaaand then you die of lung cancer because you have a horrible addiction that’s gonna kill ya!”

Jackson exhaled, eyes open, slumping back into his previous position of despair and regret. “Yeah well I don’t think they’ve come up with any patches yet for manipulative bitch exes.”

Rubbing his hand over his face, he mumbled to himself before shifting back in the correct position on his machine again. “How'd I let it get this far?”

Last Night - The Club

Perched on a barstool at the end of the overcrowded space, Jackson lifted his head and casually waved over one of the bartenders. ‘Another Henny please… neat.” he asked, motioning to his now empty double-old fashioned glass. The bartender nodded in acknowledgement, and Jackson shifted in his seat to look over his shoulder at the dance floor.

Nodding his head to the beat of the music, he idly tapped on the bartop as he looked around over the rim of his black rimmed Gentle Monster sunglasses. A few moments later, he heard the bartender return with his new glass and he reached for it with a smile. Before Jackson could spin back around, the hair on the back of his neck stood up and he shivered involuntarily.

“Come here often?” The voice was syrupy sweet, laced with something devious, and oh too familiar. Pushing his frames back up further on his nose to hide his eyes behind the black lenses, he barely turned his head over his shoulder and saw you.

He didn’t even let his attention linger on you for more than a second before he turned back around, facing the bar, and brought his glass to his lips, taking a small sip.

“Aww, c’mon Jacky,” you said sweetly, placing your hand gently on his shoulder in an attempt to get him to turn back to you. “Not even a hello?”

Every time he ran into you, the same thing always happened. He’d drink too much and you’d sucker him back into you like the evil succubus you were. Not this time, he was determined.

“Sorry, I don’t speak Conniving Shrew.” Jackson said blankly, still not shifting to face you.

“Don’t be like that Baby…” you said, moving so now you were standing just to his side, facing him fully. “You know you miss me.”

Taking another sip of the strong brown alcohol, Jackson gave one short nod of his head. “Yeah. Like the black plague.”

With Jackson’s glass still in his hand, elbow resting on the bartop, you reached forward and took the vessel from him. His eyes, invisible behind his sunglasses, followed your movements. Bringing the rim of the glass to your lips, you took a small sip of the amber liquid and let it linger on your tongue before swallowing.

“Mm… still drinking the good stuff.” You said appreciatively. Before handing the glass back to him though, you lightly drug the tip of your tongue against the outside of the glass, collecting any droplets that remained on the rim.

Jackson kept his expression blank, though he retrieved the double old fashioned that you’d just defiled and brought it back to his own lips, silently praying that the alcohol would soon take effect to help him cope with this bitch.

“Ugh, fuck…” Jackson said, crinkling his nose in disgust after taking a sip from the same area your lips and tongue previously were. “You taste like cigarettes…”

“Oh please,” you said, rolling your eyes. “I bet if I…” pausing, your eyes shifted to his baggy black shorts and without permission or warning, began digging into one of his oversized pockets.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Jackson said, pissed off, raising his arms like he couldn’t believe you had the gall. Just as he was about to grab your hand from his lap, you pulled it back with a nicotine vape pen dangling from between two long, slender, perfectly manicured fingers. “Bingo.”

”Yeah well when your cancer sticks start tasting like Watermelon Ice then maybe you won’t be so disgusting,” he snapped, yanking his vape back from you. “I’d also appreciate you not trying to grab my dick anymore, thanks.”

“Hmm, well maybe not Watermelon Ice but…” you said softer, shifting further into his space, brushing your lips against his ear, “you didn’t seem to mind when I tasted like that Blow Me Blueberry cock ring you loved so much.”

Jackson’s jaw tensed with your wet, hot breath against his skin. Closing his eyes to try to steady his slightly elevated heart rate, he lowered his glass to the bartop. Clearing his throat, he craned his neck, stretching out his taut muscles. “Turns out I have a new allergy to fake.”

Your arms slowly moved to drape over his shoulders, leaning against his side, so close that your breasts pressed against his bicep. “Loosen up, Jacky. We had some good times, remember?”

Inhaling sharply, Jackson turned his head and eyesight to focus on the back of the bar and his drink in front of him again, trying to ignore the fact that you were clinging to him.

Inching forward again, you pressed your plush lips, stained bright red, against the side of his neck just below his ear. Jackson’s eyes fluttered shut with the gentle pressure, clenching both of his hands into fists. Right against the spot you’d just left a light lipstick mark, you blew cold air lightly against him causing his skin to erupt in goosebumps.

Giggling softly at his reaction, you whispered again, voice thick with saccharine. “See, I still know what makes you tick.”

With a smirk playing on your lips, you turn fully towards the bar, elbows resting on the sticky wooden top. Tossing your hair over your shoulder nearest to him, Jackson can’t help but get a whiff of the recognizable, sweet scent of your products - sugary vanilla mixed with a hint of something floral.

The bartender made his way over to you, and standing on your tiptoes, you leaned further over the counter to get a better look at some of the bottles. With your arms accidentally pushing your breasts together from the low cut neckline of your dress, and the dangerously short hemline which was inching up your backside the further you bent over, it was obvious from anyone paying attention that you were looking to get some.

Lifting your eyes to the bartender who was obviously staring down your dress, you flashed him a bright smile, exaggerating your position even more. “Can we get 2 shots of Moutai, please? And stick it on his tab.” You added with a wink, pointing your thumb over to Jackson.

Ever the gentleman, and not a stupid or blind man, Jackson noticed your dress creeping up your thighs and quickly shifted off of his barstool to stand behind you, protecting your ‘virtue’ from any unwanted eyes. Watching the swift change in his position, you glanced over your shoulder to him and laughed. “I’m a big girl, Jacky. I know what I’m doing. You don’t need to protect me.”

“Oh, cool. So I’ll just let you flash your bare ass to the club then?” He asked sarcastically, faking a step to the side to let you resume your position.

“Nah, you’re right. This is better.” Pushing yourself back from the bar a tiny bit, you moved to brush your ass against the front of his shorts. Instinctively, Jackson’s hands lifted to either side of him, not wanting to give you the wrong impression that he was enjoying your over the top advancements.

The bartender returned with the two shot glasses, which you reached for before turning around, fully facing Jackson again. His eyes, still hidden behind his dark lense sunglasses, picked up on the two small glasses in your hands. “You know that shit’s strong right? And I’m not taking care of you if you pass out in a corner somewhere.”

With a giggle, you shook your head. “That’s why one of them is for you, silly. We’re gonna party like we used to.”

“Ahh… no, I’m good.” Jackson reached for his glass of Henny on the bar, and held it against his chest like a form of protection.

“C’mon Jacky,” you pouted. Jackson just stared at you, silently wondering how he ever fell for your phony tactics. But, seeing as you weren’t about to leave him alone any time soon, he reached for the shot glass.

“Nuh uh!” Your smile was wicked, one eyebrow lifted teasingly. “Not gonna make it that easy for you.”

Rolling his eyes, he groaned at your brattiness. “Fuck. Fine. Let’s get this over with.” There had always been a certain way the two of you enjoyed shots historically. And simply taking them out of the glass was never an option with you.

Pulling your lower lip between your teeth as your grin grew, you looked down to the front of your dress and tucked one of the cold shot glasses between your breasts, resting perfectly in your cleavage.

“You’re fucking annoying, you know that?” Jackson deadpanned, sighing in disappointment.

“Yep, don’t care. Quit your sniveling and drink up, baby.”

Sucking in a breath, Jackson leaned forward and wrapped his lips around the rim of the glass perched securely between your tits, brushing his nose against the soft skin between them before tipping his head back and swallowing the harsh, burning clear liquid with the shot glass still between his teeth.

Once the glass was empty, he reached up and grabbed it from between his lips, hissing harshly at the sting of the 106 proof liquor. Cringing slightly from the burn, he shook his head and dropped his eyes back down to you. With a nod of his head, he motioned towards the other full glass between your fingers. “Your turn.”

“Yep, and I choose to take it from there…” you lifted your empty hand, pointing at his mouth, one of your fingers lightly flicking his bottom lip.

“You’re insane.” Jackson said, not moving from where he stood.

Your hand near his face went to rest on his shoulder while the other brought the shot glass closer to his lips. “Tip your head back like a good boy…”

A cold shiver ran down Jackson’s spine with your praise, another involuntary move he hated that gave him away. With a grunt of frustration, he lowered his jaw and tipped his head back just enough.

Leaning forward, you poured the cold, clear liquid onto his tongue with a smug smile. Once it was emptied into his mouth and his lips closed, your hand that was previously on his shoulder went to the back of his head, and you tugged him closer to you, pressing your warm lips roughly against his own.

With a gentle brush of your tongue against his lip, he took the hint and opened his mouth again to transfer the Moutai into your mouth. With a satisfied moan, you swallowed as quickly as you could, hardly giving him a chance to back away before your tongue slid into his mouth.

After his initial shock and instinct to back away, Jackson’s eyes fluttered shut with the familiar taste of liquor, hint of menthol cigarettes, and something specifically you. Despite his best intentions, he’d always been weak for you.

Lifting his free hand, he moved it to the side of your face, thumb gently caressing your cheek close to where your lips met, shifting his feet closer to you as he tilted his head, deepening the intense kiss. With a deep groan, Jackson pulled his lips away, forehead resting against yours. “Fuck… you pull me back every time I quit you.”

“Stop resisting it…” you purred. Taking a baby step back, you tipped the bottom of his glass of Hennessy, hinting to him to finish what remained. Jackson obliged, tipping his head back to swallow the rest of the deep amber liquid.

Once the glass was empty, you reached up for it and placed it, along with the two empty shot glasses, on the bartop. Turning back to face him, you outstretched your hand, grasping Jackson’s and pulled him away from the bar.

Like a lovesick, lost puppy, Jackson dutifully followed behind you. Finally stepping down a dark hallway towards the restrooms, you walked like you were on a mission, but were halted when he yanked your arm to stop you. Backing you up against one of the walls, Jackson placed both of his hands flat against the hard surface on either side of your head, caging you in.

Tipping your head back to look up at him, you frowned, noticing those black sunglasses still hiding his eyes from you. Lifting a hand, you reached for his frames and he grabbed your wrist quickly, pushing it against the wall behind you. A dark smile spread across your face, loving his attempt at taking control of the situation. Little did he realize, you still had him in the palm of your hand - almost.

“What’s wrong, Jacks? Cat got your tongue?” You teased, your free hand now pressing flat against his chest. Jackson swallowed and you watched his Adam's apple bob up and down, a hint that his resolve might be weakening.

Your fingertips slowly began to trail down the front of his body, past his belt, and just over the soft fabric of his shorts before you pressed your palm roughly against his stiffening cock. Sucking in a harsh breath between his teeth, he dropped his head to look down at your hand now rubbing over him.

Unable to help himself, he shifted his hips closer to you, pressing further into your hand. Arching your back off of the wall, you tried to draw him closer to you, your grip over his length getting firmer as you whispered to him. “I know you miss me, Baby. Let me take good care of you again.”

Jackson moaned lowly, lifting his head just enough to lean over and pressed his warm, wet, parted lips against your collarbone. “Girl, you got me dripping sweat…”

Testing him, you tried to pull your arm down from his grasp and were surprised when you met little to no opposition. Reaching your newly freed hand forward, you grasped the waist of his shorts and boxers, pulling them away from his body.

Your hand that was previously groping him through his clothing now slid effortlessly down the front of his body, your palm hot against his bare abdomen. Jackson made a strangled noise as you wrapped your fingers around his shaft and slowly began stroking his length.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were actually enjoying this,” you whispered, the palm of your hand now caressing the head of his cock, the precum smearing between your hand and his heated flesh.

Increasing the pressure and speed of your movements, you reached with your free hand to grip his chin between your index finger and thumb, tilting his head up to force him to look at you once again. The look on his face was dripping with want, his plush lips parted in a breathless gasp, chest rising and falling heavily.

A dark, sinful, dry laugh slipped past your lips. Tilting your head to the side, you studied his face, still gripping his chin with one hand and pumping up and down his slick cock with the other. “Look at you, like putty in my hands… I bet you’d do almost anything for me right now, huh?”

Jackson’s hips jerked further into your hand sloppily, your words always doing something to him. The heady combination of your skillful hands, cold teasing and the thrill of knowing anyone could walk by and see you in a compromised position was dizzying. “Tell me what to do,” he panted, sweat starting to bead along his hairline. “I’ll do anything…”

Letting go of his chin, you leaned forward, ghosting your lips over his neck tortuously slowly. Humming against his flesh, more sensitive than ever, you murmured. “First… you’re gonna make a mess in your pants,” Jackson moaned loudly, absently fucking himself in your hand. “And then you’re going to take me into the bathroom and fuck me hard enough I’ll forget my own name.”

Noticing the sporadic movement of his hips, you could tell that he was getting close. But you also knew you didn’t want to give it to him that easily. “Fuck, fuck, I’m…” Jackson stuttered, pressing more of his weight into his hands against the wall.

“Don’t stop baby, shit, don’t stop now…” Huffing out a breath, you could see his eyebrows pinching together, about to lose himself. “Shit, you got me ready to…” and at that exact moment, you stopped your hand and pulled it out of his pants.

Jackson lifted his head to look at you again, his sunglasses sliding down his nose, breathing heavily and knuckles turning white they were clenched so hard. “What the fuck, Y/N?” He cursed at you, groaning loudly in frustration.

“Bathroom. Now.” Grunting, Jackson shifted himself in his pants and then grabbed your wrist and forcefully pulled you into the nearest single occupant restroom. Slamming the door shut behind you, he roughly grabbed your hips and backed you up against the sink.

“You’re such a fucking bitch…” he said through gritted teeth.

“And you fucking love it,” you seethed in reply.

Spinning you around, he placed his hand on your back between your shoulder blades and pushed you down into a bent position, gripping onto the sides of the sink. You lifted your head just enough to look into the mirror in front of you, watching the darkened expression on Jackson’s face.

Roughly forcing the hem of your short dress over the curve of your ass, he laughed mirthlessly. “Of course you’re not wearing any panties. God, you’re so desperate.” Jackson said dismissively, running one of his hands over the curve of your ass before spanking it hard, causing you to jolt forward further over the sink with a filthy moan.

“Worst fucking part is I fall for it every,” he paused, smacking his hand against your ass again. “...fucking,” smack, “time,” smack.

By this point you were starting to writhe under his hand still pressing you down and the sting against your ass.

Dropping his hand to the front of his shorts, he swiftly unbuttoned them and drug the zipper down, pulling them and his boxers down just enough to let his cock spring out from its confines.

“Every time… let you play me like an instrument,” he seethed, bending his knees a little to angle himself better, pressing the tip of his angry red cock against your now soaked entrance. “But I’m addicted to it,” Jackson grunted, fucking his entire length into you in one brutal thrust.

You cried out beneath him, straightening your arms in an attempt to push yourself up from being so far bent over. Watching you try to gain some sort of control back, Jackson reached forward and grabbed a fistful of your hair and pushed your cheek flat against the dirty, cold porcelain right next to the faucet. “Ohhh no… you and your body feels like disrespect, and I’m fucking tired of it.”

“Jackson,” you whimpered, eyes squinting shut at his powerful thrusts, relentlessly fucking into your tight cunt.

His whole body tensed up, determined to make you feel every last inch of him. “You wanted this,” he growled, his hips slapping against your ass cheeks with his force. “You begged for this, remember?”

His pace was ruthless, somehow fucking into you deeper each time. Every roll of his hips was precise, and he knew exactly how to get you to start to crumble for him.

“Hate that I’m addicted to it, your filthy, tight pussy…” Jackson sputtered, his hand between your shoulder blades moved down to your lower back, forcing you to arch beneath his touch.

You began babbling desperately, fully at his disposal, and despite the tears forming in the corner of your eyes, you loved every second of it. And just took it.

Jackson’s movements became erratic, a thin sheen of sweat spreading across his exposed skin. Through gritted teeth, he dangerously rasped between grunts. “At least this time,” he paused, fully seated inside your throbbing cunt as he pulled your head back forcefully with his grip in your hair. “I’m the one who controls when I blow.”

tag list: @angel-writes-here @jqtsblyth @magicshuhua

let me know if you'd like to be added!

#jackson wang x reader #jackson wang ff #jackson wang fanfic #got7 jackson #jackson wang #got7 jackson wang #jackson wang smut #jackson wang x female reader #the magic man fanfic #Spotify

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isasweetie · 5 months ago

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so, how did kitty!reader and john b meet ?

you truly were like a cat, prowling through the crowds of people at the boneyard. you had snuck out of the house an hour ago because god knows your father, deputy shoupe, would never let you leave the house to go to a keg party hosted by the pogues. especially because a man had just been found dead in the ocean after the hurricane, your father would take no risks with his innocent and sheltered daughter.

shoupe couldn’t tell you what to do. he’d always tried, but you made up her mind a long time ago that you were better off without his judgement.

you walked over to the pogues, sneaking up behind them to ask for a beer. you were quiet, but less like a stray cat, and more like a black panther. the pogues were startled when youshe appeared behind them, because you’re quiet, even in her black kitten heels.

they seem to be on edge for whatever reason. you’re an innocent-looking girl, they have to reason to be tense. they usually wouldn’t give a fuck if you were the deputy’s daughter, but they’re already on the run, and they can’t take any chances.

so john b does something that normally jj would do in this situation — he charms the enemy. “hey pretty, do you want a beer?” he offers.

“yes please,” you say gently, confident and meek at the same time.

he nods and pours one for you, then hands you the full solo cup. “thanks,” you say, then turn to go. no, he can’t let you leave yet. what if he’s made a bad impression, then something goes wrong with the cops, and you do nothing to protect him?

“hey, wait,” he grabs your shoulder to spin you around. “d’you wanna hang out with me? it’s boring handing out beers here on my own,” he smiles and it’s so sweet.

“i’m actually looking for a friend—“

he shakes his head no and interrupts you. “i’d just love to get to know you better, s’all,”

you gaze up at him, hesitant and on guard, but you nod. he’s cute and he seems nice enough. “okay,” you stand beside him.

“i’m john b routledge,” he introduces while handing a beer to some touron.

you blink up at him, eyebrows furrowed. “big john’s son?”

“yeah, that’s me.”

“oh,” you say. “my dad talks about you,”

“good things?”

“not so much.”

he laughs and you don’t expect it. usually when you find out the deputy of your town hates you, you don’t find it funny. but john b is different — in a good way. that laugh makes you like him instantly, because you realize you’re not the only person who doesn’t worship your dad.

“yeah, figured, your pops doesn’t like me very much,” he shrugs.

“why not?” he’s noticed all your answers are short. you remind him of kiara, a bit closed off.

“nothin’ serious, pretty girl, don’t worry about it. i just don’t wanna be put in fucking foster care, and shoupe and plumb don’t like me living on my own,”

“oh.”

you hear your friend call to you when she spots you in the crowd. you glance up at john b, as if you’re… asking for permission to leave him for your friend? you’re just so used to an overbearing single father, that being around any man makes you think they’ll act the same. truthfully, john b normally would act like that. you’re sweet and innocent and he wants to bring you out of your shell. of course shoupe would be protective, anyone would! but, topper thornton calls his name from another direction, and he knows something will go down.

“yeah, don’t worry, you can go,” he assures.

you nod up at him. “it was nice to meet you john b. i’ll see you around?”

“‘course you will,” he agrees, staring at topper coming closer.

he doesn’t realize just yet how everything is about to go down, and he’ll be seeing you around and begging for help to escape your father before you both know it.

#౨ৎ isa writes #౨ৎ kitty!reader #⋆˚࿔ john b 𝜗𝜚˚⋆#obx #outer banks #john b x fem!reader #john b prompt #john b x you #john b fluff #john b fanfiction #john b routledge #john b outer banks #john b x reader #john b fanfic #john b obx #chase stokes

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peaches2217 · 4 months ago

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On (Wo)manhood: An Unexpected Continuation

~~~

“I think I’m a woman,” Luigi blurts out over a table strewn with pizza crusts.

He meets Mario’s eyes with a confidence that startles even him; though his muscles are tense with anticipation, he knows he’s ready. This isn’t the first time he’s saying any of this aloud. His audience this time around might be less prepared, more confused, but he won’t respond with any sort of vitriol. What’s there to be afraid of?

Surprising him even further, Mario doesn’t act confused in the slightest. Judging by the way his eyes widen, and the way his mustache curls as a smile tugs at his lips, he looks…proud?

“Whoa.” He stuffs what remains of the slice in his hand into his mouth before leaning across the table, pulling his knees onto the cushion in order to reach Luigi. “Vat’ch big newsh!” he cheers, clapping his brother’s shoulder. “I’m proud a’ya, bro!”

“Um—” is Luigi’s highly intelligent and well thought-out response.

This is… not exactly the reaction he was expecting.

Suddenly Mario is beset by a coughing fit, just long enough to distract Luigi from his own thoughts (or lack thereof), but Mario waves him off when he tries to assist.

"Sis," he amends once he catches his breath. Despite nearly choking on a hurriedly-chewed crust, he’s smiling. “I’m, uh, probably gonna slip up now and then — but I’ll do my best to get it right! No matter what, you’ll always be my bro—twin. You'll always be my twin.”

He plops back into his seat and slaps the side of his head, playing up the exasperation that Luigi must be mirroring himself.

"What matters most," he affirms gently, "is that you're happy. It's gonna take some getting used to, but I'm here for you every step of the way, so—"

Luigi, unsure what else to do, slumps forward and drags his palms over his face with a sigh. Probably not the reaction Mario was looking for, either.

“You can still call me bro,” he mumbles into his hands.

“…What’s wrong?” Mario’s admiration is tinged with worry now. “I— I’m sorry, Weegee, I promise, I didn’t mean to. I’m gonna keep—”

“It’s not that,” Luigi is quick to amend. He’s spent the past week rehearsing, preparing an answer for every single possible question, and it’s taken all of thirty seconds for Mario to whip out the I love you and accept you just as you are speech.

All that preparation, and for what? It all feels like a waste now.

“I just… thought this would take longer.” I thought I’d have more time to figure it out, too, he adds to himself.

“Longer to do what?”

Luigi lowers his hands so he can tap his fingers against the tabletop. He’d been counting on finding a more definitive answer somewhere in the midst of Mario’s questioning. So much for that.

“You can still call me bro.” He slumps back into his seat. The weight that’s been lifted from his chest makes him feel free — a little too free. He feels like he could float away any moment, and he hates not feeling connected to gravity. “I have no clue what I am.”

Only now does Mario look confused. “I thought you said—”

“I said I think I am. I don’t know anything beyond that.” Luigi snags a stray crust, tears off a piece, and pops it into his mouth. “No’fer lack’a trying.”

Mario doesn’t respond. He instead hums tunelessly, resting his chin atop interlaced fingers, elbows planted on the table. His lips pull into a thin line and his eyes dart from focal point to focal point, never resting in one place long. It isn’t long before Luigi finds himself doing the same thing.

“Does Peasley know?” Mario finally asks.

“He’s the first person I told,” Luigi says. “You’re the second.”

“What’d he say?”

“He was… he was okay with it.”

More than okay, he thinks to add. For reasons he’ll never truly understand, his husband worships the ground he walks on. He’s already commissioned a dress in celebration of Luigi's mere questioning — the epitome of fine craftsmanship, but leagues above what he deserves for something so uncertain.

"What do you think, my darling?"

The garment had been laid out on the bedspread, a multi-colored swath of silk and lace that was apparently all for him. It had been overwhelming, to say the least.

"But I still have no clue what to come out as!" Luigi had said. "And that's considering I even come out at all!"

Without a moment's hesitation, Peasley took his hand in his. He pressed a kiss to Luigi's knuckles as he chuckled.

"Once we cross that bridge, I'll have another commissioned," he assured Luigi, flashing that dazzling smile of his. "Anything for you, my Princess."

“Well, yeah, duh.” Mario’s voice pulls Luigi back into the present, back into the corner booth of a cozy Toad Town pizzeria. “I wouldn’t expect anything less. But what he say?”

“What do you mean?��

“Like… did he have any suggestions?”

Luigi gulps.

“Perhaps you’re both," Peasley had proposed. "Prince, Princess. Doesn't matter so long as it's you."

The more Luigi considers it, the more enamored he’s become with that suggestion. Maybe he is both. Maybe he doesn’t have to be solely a man or a woman or some secret third option. Maybe a man can be a woman, too. Maybe he doesn’t have to forfeit any part of himself.

Maybe. That’s where he’s stuck. There’s still a part of him — a very small but very, very loud part of him — that insists his logic makes no sense. Maybe he is a man that’s also a woman…

“Or maybe I’m just nuts and he’s going along with my delusions because he’s too stupidly in love for his own good.”

By the time Luigi finishes his rant, his arms are folded on the table, his cheek resting against his left forearm. He waits in silence so Mario can process everything that’s just been dumped on him. In the meantime, he contemplates the golden band on his ring finger; it glimmers in the overhead lights, dazzling and comforting.

“Oh, c’mon. You really think he’d do that?”

Luigi looks back up at his brother without lifting his head, and he’s met with that same unwavering confidence he himself exuded ten minutes earlier.

“Luigi, you know that’s not how he plays. From what I’m hearing, everything he said seemed sincere.”

Only now does Luigi lift his head. It’s not so much that he doubts his husband, it’s just… sometimes, he doubts himself more than he can trust anyone else. “You think?”

Mario takes a swig from a formerly-forgotten glass of cola, clearing his throat as he swallows. “And just from what I’m hearing,” he says, “I think he’s right.”

Luigi’s breath catches in his throat. “You do?”

“You shoulda seen yourself, bro. Telling me all that about being a guy and a girl at the same time? You looked so happy! And you sounded so sure of yourself, too.”

A shy smile tugs at Luigi’s lips. “Guess I’m just worried it doesn’t make much sense.”

Mario shrugs. “You know what else doesn’t make much sense? Falling into a pipe, getting spit out in a fantasy world, and marrying into royalty. But look where we’re at now!”

At this, Luigi laughs, the lingering darkness of self-doubt disipating into mist. Put that way, perhaps it’s not too far-fetched an idea.

“So?” Plucking a stray crust from the metal platter between them, he raises his eyebrows, fixing Luigi with a good-humored smile. “What do you say, sis?”

Sis. It’s strange, but it feels right, every bit as right as bro. “I say…” He mirrors his twin’s actions and claims a crust for himself. “…I’ve got a lot to think about.”

Mario is undaunted by his evasive answer. He knows. Now the ball is back in Luigi’s court. It’s just a matter of accepting himself as he is, and condensing all these feelings into a few decisive words, and maybe talking Peasley down from spending another chunk of the royal treasury on yet another gown.

It might take some more time, but that’s okay.

No matter what, he won’t be alone.

No matter what, he’ll be loved.

The twins toast each other before scarfing their crusts down, and once more, the night is filled with laughter.

#sometimes ya just gotta write a sequel to a mini fic a year and a half later y'know?#huge huge HUGE shoutout to eleventhourfactor for her help and edits!! this was literally unreadable before I ran it by her #thank you!!!#super mario bros #smb #mario and luigi #m&l superstar saga #luigi x peasley #luisley #peaches' fancy fics #mario #luigi

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rillils · 6 months ago

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pairing: Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes rating: T wordcount: 2121 tags: established relationship, tooth-rotting fluff, kid fic, Bucky's metal arm, domestic boys my beloved notes: this smol thing is just an attempt at getting me out of an agonizing writer's block. it fills my @stuckybingo card square O2 - Touching foreheads, and my @wintershieldbingo card square Fluff. I also used this amazing post as a reference for Bucky's (most recent) metal arm. summary: Now, at sixteen months old, Sarah refuses to be laid in her crib for the night unless the arm is laid down beside her. Nineteen pounds of unyielding vibranium, with a grip that could crush a human skull as effortlessly as it could an egg, and she makes it look almost precious. Endearing. Something to be loved; worthy of being loved because she loves it.

You can read it on AO3, or under the cut!

It’s not that Bucky means to circle back to the nursery, tonight. In fact, he ought to head straight to bed and catch some hard-earned zee’s while he still has the chance, now that the princess’ diaper’s been changed, and his teeth have been brushed minty-fresh and his sleep shirt is not smeared with drool, snot, or sticky remnants of Sarah’s dinner. But the pull is too strong, and so here he stands, one-armed and bone-tired and hovering by Sarah’s crib like a lovestruck puppy, unable to walk away. Again.

Yes, it’s a curious predicament.

Made so much more curious by the odd presence in his daughter’s bed – a lumbering silhouette of gleaming metal, peeking out from under Sarah’s favorite blanket like a second, strange-looking baby, that she demanded to have with her.

That one right there, that’s a recent development, and one Bucky can’t truly make sense of just yet. But he can’t look away.

It ties a knot in his chest, his heart squeezed tight in the middle, between his lungs and his stomach and the cage of his ribs, beating wild and fluttery and disbelieving at the sight. At the sharp, cutting tenderness of his daughter wrapped protectively around the log-shape of his prosthetic arm, her little body curled like a parenthesis around it; her tiny fingers splayed over the glossy black plates of his bicep, her warm breath misting the rounded swell where his shoulder is.

It nearly hurts to see it; but it’s a sweet hurt, this one.

The first time Sarah saw Bucky pop the arm out its socket, she was four months old and sitting back against Steve’s chest, happily gnawing on her own dimpled fist as Papa bounced her gently in his arms.

Bucky hadn’t meant to show her; not yet, at least.

He’d been so careful up until then, almost to the point of paranoia, only ever removing the prosthesis when Sarah was already asleep, and dutifully slipping it back on for her late-night feedings; too scared that she might cry, startled by the anomaly of it all; afraid, or so he told himself, that she might simply be too young to understand.

“I just don’t think she’s ready to see that,” he’d shrugged at Steve’s prodding, just a few nights before, curled up in bed with the metal arm still firmly on, comfort be damned, because Sarah had only just dozed off again with a full tummy and a clean diaper, and the sun was about to rise anyway.

Steve had gathered him close, his broad chest pressed like a shield against Bucky’s back, and he’d threaded their fingers, warm flesh and gold-rimmed vibranium, together.

He hadn’t made Bucky say it out loud. That he wasn’t ready yet. Ready to be the thing their daughter was afraid of. The thing that made their sweet baby cry and twist away in fear, sobbing, seeking safety and shelter in somebody else.

But Steve had known.

Bucky had felt it. In the comforting hold of Steve’s arm wrapped around his waist. In the enveloping warmth of Steve’s voice as he rumbled, soft into the tousled fall of Bucky’s hair, their heads sharing one pillow, “It’s all right, Buck. You’ll choose when.”

And then one night, Bucky had simply forgotten himself.

He hadn’t even realized what he’d done, not until Sarah had abandoned her drool-coated fist to burst into happy, cascading, heart-squeezing giggles.

Bucky had seen his own surprise mirrored on Steve’s face. Steve’s mouth was agape, his eyes wide with shocked delight – while Bucky himself stood frozen from head to toe like a deer in the headlights, the metal arm still gripped in his hand.

Steve had spoken first, hot on the heels of their daughter’s first laugh.

“Oh my god, Buck– Do it– do it again.”

And cautiously, careful not to feed the little bubble of hope already blooming in his chest, Bucky had. Eyes locked on their baby, he’d allowed the arm to click back into place; and then, with a trembling hand, he’d popped it off again.

Sarah had lost it, erupting into peals and peals of these sweet, full-bellied giggles that made her little tummy shake under Steve’s hand, and something – something had come loose inside Bucky’s chest. A weight that had been sitting on top of his lungs for longer than he’d realized, stunting his every breath.

He’d cried, after.

He’d wet Steve’s shoulder with his tears, and then he’d laughed, his cheeks still glistening, raking his flesh-and-bone fingers through his hair, almost hysterical with relief.

“Thank God,” he’d half-chuckled, half-sobbed, his face cupped in Steve’s big hands, Steve’s lips warm and soothing against his brow. “Thank God...”

Now, at sixteen months old, Sarah refuses to be laid in her crib for the night unless the arm is laid down beside her.

Nineteen pounds of unyielding vibranium, with a grip that could crush a human skull as effortlessly as it could an egg, and she makes it look almost precious. Endearing. Something to be loved; worthy of being loved because she loves it.

She takes after Steve in that respect.

She can’t have missed Steve’s open doting on Bucky’s artificial arm, he muses: she’s been exposed to it her whole life. Every day since they brought her home, she has been the primary witness to Steve’s relentless displays of affection.

Before she could ever even process her surroundings, she was already watching Papa pepper feather-light kisses up Dada’s shiny metal arm, or lace their mismatched fingers together, or bring Dada’s metal hand to his lips to kiss the black and gold of Dada’s knuckles.

Maybe it was Steve, then: consistently, unwittingly teaching their daughter that this strange part of Dada can be loved, too. Maybe this is all his doing. Or maybe, maybe Sarah decided that all on her own. After all, Bucky muses with no small amount of pride, she’s proving herself to be just as willful a creature as her father ever was.

He reaches down to stroke the softness of her hair, cradling the back of her head in his palm.

His baby. His sweet little weirdo.

“You know you’ve been standing there for like twenty minutes now, right?”

The voice comes in a soft octave, one notch louder than a whisper, but no more than a gentle rumble.

Bucky turns his head, and he finds Steve exactly where he expected to find him: his big body leaned leisurely against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest and a knowing smile curling his lips. Bucky hasn’t been seventeen for a long, long time; but the whispering flutter he feels now in his heart knows no age.

“Shut it, Rogers,” Bucky teases back just as softly, straightening up with one last caress to Sarah’s wispy hair. “Like I didn’t catch you doing the exact same thing just a couple nights ago.”

Steve pushes himself off the doorframe, hands held up palms-out, briefly ducking his head in a humble “guilty as charged” gesture.

“She asleep?” he asks, approaching Bucky and the crib on soundless socked feet.

Bucky nods. He can’t stop his gaze from traveling back to Sarah’s slumbering frame, sweet and cozy under her blanket.

“Out like a light,” he says, and if it sounds even half as hopelessly fond as he thinks it does, well, that can’t be helped, now can it.

He feels Stee’s arms loop around his waist, soon followed by the familiar jut of Steve’s chin hooking over his shoulder, locking the embrace in. It’s a gentle hold, Steve’s thickly muscled arms fitted just snugly enough around him, and Bucky sinks into it with a pleased sigh, happy to soak up all the warmth Steve is so generously offering.

His only hand settles over Steve’s own, where it rests against Bucky’s stomach, his thumb stroking absently over the downy hairs dusting Steve’s wrist.

“I don’t get it,” he speaks quietly into the comfortable silence. “She could have her pick of stuffed toys to sleep with. I mean, we’ve got ourselves a whole-ass zoo up there,” he adds, gesturing towards the shelf currently hosting a small army of stuffed bears, penguins, unicorns, the odd shark, two giraffes, and a pink crocodile he won for her at a fair, which Sarah barely ever deigned with a passing glance, “every shape, size and color under the sun, but nope. She has to cuddle up with the lump of metal.”

“It’s not just any lump of metal,” Steve corrects him, with a meaningful squeeze of his arms around Bucky’s middle. “It’s you. Smells like you. Feels like you. It’s like you’re right there with her, holding her.” His lips know a spot hidden in the crook of Bucky’s neck, and they find it now to place a kiss there; the warmth of it tingles right under Bucky’s skin, dancing like so many sparks of gold down his spine. “That shit beats a measly teddy bear one thousand to nothing, honey.”

That gets a chuckle out of Bucky. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” And he can’t see Steve’s face, but he can hear the smile in his voice when Steve speaks, pouring sweet mumblings in Bucky’s ear as he rocks their bodies gently in his embrace. “This way, she can fall asleep knowing that daddy is here, that daddy loves her. That he’ll keep her safe from harm.”

It feels like a sin to disturb this, but Bucky turns around within the circle of Steve’s arms, coming face-to-face with him. There, there’s the smile he couldn’t see before, private and sweet and only meant for him to see, so genuine it reaches up to the crinkles of Steve’s eyes.

If he were to touch his face right now, Bucky’s sure he’d find that same shape on his own lips.

“You really think so?”

“Absolutely.” Steve’s hands come to rest on Bucky’s hips, giving them a little squeeze hello. “Trust me, I’m an expert,” he murmurs, shining those luminous, earnest eyes of his on Bucky like they won’t steal the breath right out of his lungs. “I know what it’s like to feel safe in your arms.”

Bucky couldn’t say which of them leans in first, but their foreheads touch; and he can see the minute quiver in Steve’s eyelashes, when Steve’s eyes slip closed. Feels the ghost of Steve’s breath, grazing hot like a kiss against his skin.

Steve’s voice drops, ever softer.

“Only place I ever felt safe in my whole life, Buck.”

And it’s lucky, truly – lucky that Steve’s one of the only two people in the whole world capable of cracking Bucky’s heart open like this, and fill it with an ache as sweet as the one pulsing inside him now. And it’s unfair, so cruelly unfair of Steve to make him feel so tender he might just come apart, like he’s a wad of cotton candy and Steve is water, and the first cooling touch of him will dissolve Bucky into drops of pure sugar–

–now, in this moment where everything speaks of home, and they’re standing right here, breathing each other’s air, whisper-talking in their tried and true “the baby is sleeping” voices, socked feet on the cold floor and flecks of copper glinting in Steve’s beard when the lamplight hits it just right, and Bucky never imagined that love could make you feel so full it actually hurts.

He cups the back of Steve’s head, sinking his fingers in the dark gold of Steve’s hair.

“You gettin’ sentimental on me, Stevie?”

Steve chuckles under his breath, leaning back just so he has enough room to gaze into Bucky’s eyes.

“Always, honey. Can’t help but.”

“Well,” Bucky says, casting one last glance towards their sleeping daughter. “I got another arm right here, if you were wantin’ something wrapped around you tonight. Maybe not quite so shiny as the other one, but it still does the trick. Whaddya say, sweetheart?”

Steve looks at him, his eyebrows pinched together and that soft, tiny crease in between that Bucky knows so well, the one that tells him of Steve’s unabashed fondness when Steve himself can’t; the one that tells him, I love you, before Steve has even lined up the words on his tongue.

Bucky wants to kiss him.

Bucky forgets, sometimes, that he can kiss him. That he gets to kiss him, and when he doesn’t, it’s only because Steve beat him to it and kissed him first.

Steve doesn’t kiss him now, though his eyes say that he wants to, with every fiber of his heart he wants to.

“Yeah,” he rasps, soft as a breath and painfully tender. “Yeah, I’ll take that. If you don’t mind.”

Bucky, Steve will learn, does not mind at all.

#stucky #stevebucky #stuckybingo #wintershieldbingo #rillers scribbles #my nerves are all over the place for this one ashdaksdlskd #i wanna ramble but also i wanna hide under the nearest rock forever #aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa anxiety #*lies on the floor*

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devnmon · 1 month ago

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sweet candy kisses

sam drake x reader

warnings: teasing, blowjob, dirty talk, deepthroating

summary: you've been eating lollipops all day long, imagining it was your boyfriend, sam. unfortunately for you, he's fed up with how much your so called innocent candy eating has turned him on.

wc: 2.2k

It’s not Sam’s fault you had a sweet tooth for lollipops.

Though it might’ve been… when he couldn’t look at you for too long as you sucked on one. You could’ve chosen any other candy to eat all day long.

But those suckers? They were ruining his life.

Did you have to always have one in your mouth when he was around you?

God, you were hot.

It’s like you knew when he had his eyes on you; you’d swirl your tongue around the candy and run it down your tongue. His cock throbbed every time he imagined himself in your mouth instead.

Your lips puckered around the sweet sugar– suckling like it was the one thing you were made to do. Made to have his cock in your mouth– the candy. Have the candy in your mouth.

The way this was wrecking him was obscene. Depraved and perverted, more like. Your saliva covering the candy and your lips, he’d bet money you tasted exactly like that if he kissed you afterwards.

You were eating candy, for Christ’s sake. Doing so innocently was debatable. The lewd thoughts that wrecked his mind were truly only his to blame. It was dangerous even looking in your direction, because no matter if you ate five of those candies in one day, you’d pop another between your lips just to wreck him.

Sam’s heart pounded whenever he had to share the same space with you around the house during the day. Avoiding even looking your way when he heard the sounds you made as your tongue swirled around the candy. When he allowed himself a glance, the shine of your saliva dripping from your chin had him swallowing thickly and excusing himself from the room.

He locked himself in the bathroom, bulge already growing to be a nuisance. If you kept this up all day, he wouldn’t be sure to what ability he’d be able to contain himself. They were just little balls of sugar on a stick, so why was he fantasizing about putting his cock down your throat? To have you look up at him with doe eyes and swollen lips with the warmth of your mouth around him?

He couldn’t be more turned on by it.

Sam was getting quite fed up and swore to put you in your place once the day was over. How dare you unknowingly turn him on from just eating candy? How dare your tongue swirl around the sweetness and not give him the same treatment?

Jealous of a piece of candy. What a day.

He’d have to pull it together until it was over. Sam ran a hand through his brown hair and did everything he could to conceal his hard on as he left the bathroom and returned to his daily routine.

The sun met the horizon soon enough, and you both settled in for the night.

Sam had sat in the corner of your bedroom, cigarette in hand, just waiting for you to enter. Once you did, he didn’t make a sound.

You hadn’t heard him until he started fidgeting with his lighter, flicking the metal casing open and closed and when it startled you, he remained unscathed.

“Sam! What’re you doing sitting there in the dark like that? You almost gave me a heart attack!”

“Just… waitin’ for you.” His low voice cut through the tension in the room.

Your hand was over your heart, beating fast under your palm as you exhaled.

“Jesus…”

As you started to get undressed and into your nighttime clothes, Sam stood up slowly and observed you. There was clearly no evidence you’d been affected by what you did all day to him.

Silently padding over to you, he placed his hands on your waist as you pulled a new shirt on.

“You really… don’t know, do you?” He spoke into your ear behind you.

“Know what?” You remained facing the dresser, folding your clothes to put away.

“How worked up you’ve had me all day.”

Sam almost growls the sentence into your ear, a shiver running up your spine. Then he pressed his crotch against your behind, his hardness a clear sign of just how pent up he was.

“Hm? How did I do that?”

“Oh, you knew exactly what you were doin’. I couldn’t even look at you half the time today. You spent half the day sucking on those–”

“On what, Sam?”

You smirked knowingly.

“Those fucking lollipops. Don’t even try to play dumb, sweetheart.”

Of course you were doing it purposely, why else would you eat five in one day? Not just for the taste, but to spend the day imagining it be him in your mouth instead brought the filthiest desires to mind.

You turned around to face him, a cocky look on your face. Oh, how he could make you regret teasing him so very quickly.

“Well, you got me. What’re you gonna do about it?”

“I already know you wanna suck me off. I mean, considering it’s your fault I’ve been hard all day. I was just waitin’ for you to ask.”

“Can I–”

But he would never make it that easy for you.

“Ah ah.”

In one fluid motion, Sam pulled you flush against him, tent in his pants more apparent than ever through his pants. The button down he’d been wearing all day was undone and the sleeves were rolled to put his strong forearms on display, ones he knew you loved to look at so much. Sam’s gorgeous figure sent a heat running throughout your entire body and you couldn’t help but get an eyeful of him when he inched closer to you. His hands ran up your sides, sneaking one of his legs in between yours as he pushed you against the wall.

“It’s only fair, baby. You tease me, I tease you right back.”

“Sam…” you whined, “I just wanna get you off.”

“Oh yeah?”

You nodded vigorously.An immodest look on his face, his hands found your ass and gripped with his large palms. Sam’s large hands rubbed around the plush of your behind, his breathing getting heavier the more he imagined you on your knees.

Just the friction of the callouses on his hands was enough to make your legs weak that you almost slid down the wall. But he holds you up, dragging his hands upwards to grip your waist again, tighter than before. His palms ride upwards, slipping his thumbs under your shirt. Goosebumps rose all across your body, his soft yet fiery touch setting your body aflame. Your lips press together in order to keep silent with how he’s running his hands all over your body.

“Oh now… don’t you keep those pretty little sounds from me, honey.” One of his fingers lifted your chin up to meet his eye. Those hazel eyes of his had so much control over you that a switch flipped in your mind upon his command, exhaling a whimper immediately after.

It’s like music to his ears, he’s fascinated with what your voice does to him so immediately. Sam’s hands finally continue travelling under your shirt, grasping at the plush of your breasts and toying with your hardened nipples before pulling your shirt all the way over your head.

Sam’s hands found your waist again, backing up with you in his grasp before he sat on the mattress with you standing in front of him. His eyes dragged up and down your figure again, drinking you in like it was the last time he’d ever lay eyes on you.

“God, you’re perfect. Why you gotta tease me all day, I’ll never know…”

Sam gripped your waist until he was sitting on the mattress with you standing in front of him.

“On your knees then, darlin’.”

His low voice made your whole body heat up, slinking down onto the floor from his lap.

“You know what to do…”

Eager hands found the outline of his cock, begging to be released. Before even reaching for his belt, you leaned up and dragged your lips across his hardness through the fabric. Sam’s head fell backwards in pleasure, your touch much too overwhelming to stop you from teasing him even more. Sam exhaled a growl, to which your hands found his belt finally.

The clinking metal was enough to possess you to pull down both his pants and boxers with one motion. His length sprung up from its confining cloth and you could understand his frustrations entirely in that moment. He was already fully hard, the pink tip seemingly red and swollen from hours of teasing and precum already leaked from his tip.

“Look at what you do to me, baby…”

“Pretty…”

“Would look even prettier in your mouth.” He smirked, nonchalantly giving you direction.

The warmth of his length in your hand was gratifying more than anything else. Once you ran your thumb over the vein he exhaled shakily.

You wasted no more time, sticking out your tongue to lick all the way up from his base and swirl around his tip just like you did to those candies all day long. Leaving a kiss before traveling back down with your tongue, you ran your fingers over his sack just to push him a little further.

Enveloping him in your mouth was the most satisfying feeling all day, after scheming to tease him and getting your way. Your warm mouth made his chest burn with a longing to run his hand through your hair and press his tip to the back of your throat.

The friction of your lips up and down his shaft felt divine.

It was as if he was being blessed with all the luck he hadn’t had for so many years on end. His hips threaten to stutter– they almost do, but he catches himself before he can lose control. You’re aiming to please him, what kind of a man would he be if he rushed through all you were giving him?

His frustration relieved itself as your mouth moved on him, everything pent up washed away every time your tongue slid down the underside of his cock.

Sam’s large hand ran through your hair affectionately, bunching your hair up in his palm as an act of service. He was almost sent over the edge when you caught his eyes looking down at you, lips swollen from the delicious friction you’ve brought him.

“Ohh shit, sweetheart…” he groans, exhaling sharply when you run your fingers over his soft skin again. Sam’s head falls back, eyes shut in complete and utter satisfaction.

“Wh-why didn’t you just tell me… you wanted to do this… why go- ah… out of your way to tease me all day long…”

You came up off of him, the sight of you enough for him to burst right there.

“Cause teasing you is so much fun, baby…”

Baby… god. And your voice was so beautifully hoarse. He was really wrapped around your finger.

Your hand wrapped around his base, thumb running up the underside of his tip.

“Do that again- Shit, just like that, right there.”

So you did as he said, but this time with your tongue and the large man above you whimpered. It was filled with raw pleasure and it couldn’t have turned you on more.

Your lips closed around his tip again, humming with content at his body giving him away so completely. The glisten of sweat on his forehead and down his chest, his knuckles turning white from his grip on the mattress, the quickened breathing and his hooded eyes.

He was so, so close.

Sam’s desperation couldn’t be held back any more, to which he ended up pushing you further down to test the waters. When you made no move of discomfort, his next press was a bit rougher, pushing his length to the back of your throat.

The sound it made was so damn vulgar that he whimpered from it again. Your fingers brushed over his sack to spur him on an inch further. His grip on your hair tightened while his cock throbbed, and he moved you up and down his length under his own strength.

“There you go, you can take it– fuck… Just a– just a little more, baby…”

Your lips pressing to his base at a quickened speed while your tongue moved along his shaft was enough to send him over the edge. A couple more curses fell from his lips before he pressed you all the way down and shot his warm seed down your throat. Sam’s mind shut off and all he was experiencing at that moment was white hot bliss as his cock throbbed and he emptied himself between your lips.

Before he pulled you back, you swallowed around his length and then lifted off of him entirely.

The sight of you with saliva running down your chin, swollen lips and tears pricked in your eyes almost made him grow hard again.

You sat silently, listening to him pant and catch his breath before leaning down and pulling you up into his lap.

“God, that was amazing, baby. I love you.”

“I love you too, Sam.” You blushed, arms wrapped draped over his shoulders to play with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“You are so not getting away with teasing me though.” He chuckled, grabbing your waist and throwing you onto your back below him. You giggled as he did so, kissing him again and preparing yourself for whatever he had in store.

Sam wouldn’t let up this time.

#devnmon writes #ryes ff #sam drake x reader #sam drake smut #uncharted smut fic #samuel drake x reader #dividers by enchanthings-a

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bunnyreaper · 2 years ago

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𝓷𝓸𝓫𝓸𝓭𝔂 𝓭𝓸𝓮𝓼 𝓲𝓽 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓭𝓸

𝒶 𝒿𝑜𝒽𝓃 𝓅𝓇𝒾𝒸𝑒 𝓍 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇 𝓈𝑒𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓈

𝓅𝓉 2 𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒

wc - 5.2k

warnings - 18+/nsfw (eventually), mentions of cheating (not from reader or john), age gap (older male younger female), future daddy kink, mentions of blood

notes - back at it again in dilfville, hopefully, this chapter is worth the wait! ♥ also on ao3! ♥

How easy it is to forget about the outside world with John by your side is startling. Everything other than him melts away into the background, and in the safety and comfort of his home, the two of you exist in your own little peaceful bubble.

In the back of your mind, you know it'll eventually sink to the ground and violently pop, but for now, the two of you float—suspended in tranquility. Your day goes by so easily, as you rest on the couch and watch TV with John—phone forgotten about, troubles set aside.

John makes it easy to forget. He's always had this way about him, like his mere presence lifts a weight off your shoulders while he carries it, carries you, just for a while, and allows your world to be a little lighter.

It's later into the evening when you finally find yourself compelled to get off of the couch and actually do something with your day, when John pulls you out of the reverie you'd settled into together.

"I should get on with dinner." He says, slapping his thighs before he rises from the comfort of the couch and the warmth of being your human footrest.

You're quick to rise too, sitting up straight as you try to recall him to the couch before he can make too much of a fuss. The guilt of taking advantage of his hospitality is already eating at you—regardless of how illogical it may be.

"Let me do it." You plead. "You're kind enough to let me stay here, at least let me repay you."

John pauses, his eyes narrowing at you briefly before one of his thick eyebrows arches. "Darling, aren't you bloody sick of cooking?"

Even when he's giving so much, he's still exceedingly considerate.

"Only when cooking for a man who doesn't appreciate me, otherwise I enjoy it." You climb to your feet with a smile, making your way over to John to gently push him in the direction of the kitchen. Whilst he moves with a stubbornness, you know he's still letting you push him, otherwise you know you wouldn't be able to move him an inch.

A smirk tugs at his lips, hidden behind his thick beard as he finds himself amused by your antics. The levity you bring to his otherwise burden-filled life is not something that goes unrecognised by him—not now, not ever.

Finally, he truly relents, letting you direct you both into the kitchen, moving himself enough to make your job of pushing him easier. "If you want to help, I wouldn't mind your company."

Your hands withdraw from the warm, broad expanse of his back and settle by your sides, as you feel the need to pull away from him the second it's no longer necessary—scared by how good the physicality felt, even if it was entirely playful in nature. It's been so long since you felt so light and got to share it with someone else, an age since you indulged in light-hearted touch.

"What's on the menu?" You ask as you move to the sink and force yourself into doing something to keep you busy—tackling the dishes seems like a good idea for being both helpful and suitably occupied.

John makes his way to the fridge, swinging open the heavy door of the American-style fridge-freezer with ease, and immediately moving to grab fresh ingredients. "Spag Bol."

"Ooh, your signature dish." You coo, recalling fondly the many occasions he has hosted you for dinner in the past.

Dinners had become a regular thing when John and James had been getting to know each other, with you often there as a buffer—not that you did it begrudgingly or ever minded so much. Getting to know John was an unexpected delight, and as the two of you recently agreed, a friendship had formed—regardless of your relationship with his son. You'd spent many nights over at his for dinner or drinks—good food and delightful conversation, memories you treasured.

Even in the beginning, John's protective and caring nature had extended to you almost immediately—a natural extension, you’d presumed, of his growing bond with his biological son. He'd dropped off meals for you when you were sick, memorised your tea and coffee preferences, always took the time to buy you a thoughtful gift for Christmas and birthdays.

John cuts through your trip down memory lane with the thud of him putting a pile of ingredients down on the countertop. "Well, I know you love it so much. Went to the shops last night to get everything."

An exasperated sigh leaves you. For a man so good at taking care of others, there were times when John Price's self-care was severely lacking. As the sink fills with sudsy, hot water, you pin John with your most intimidating glare. "When do you ever even sleep, John?"

He returns your look for the briefest moment, then smirks at your attempt to look authoritative. "I sleep plenty, don't you worry."

A realisation seems to strike him a moment later.

John heads over to the record player in the corner, flipping the switch and setting down the needle.

It's easy for John to succumb to the relaxed atmosphere of his kitchen—music playing and you by his side. His fingers drum against the turntable stand as the opening notes of the rock-reggae fill the room and quiet any further chastisement from you.

"Young teacher, the subject of schoolgirl fantasy—" John's voice carries louder than the vocals, a smooth tone you've heard so rarely before—John only sings when he feels most at peace.

Whilst his voice is beautiful, the subject matter of the song almost feels inappropriate in the moment, though the way your cheeks flush makes you think it's just you projecting.

"Oh my god, John." You groan playfully, rolling your eyes and watching as he sways his hips ever so slightly as he makes his way back over to you, still softly singing the words.

He stops singing as he steps beside you at the sink, leaning onto the counter slightly with a hint of a smirk on his face and an incredible amount of mirth in his eyes. For once, he seems so light.

"Never had a crush on an older man?" He asks, his tone light and yet still with a hint of teasing. Perhaps he thinks your opposition to the song is your lack of relating to it, rather than the fact you relate a little too much.

You're not sure when it really started, or when it escalated uncontrollably, but lately, you've been looking at John in a different light. It's probably the combination of the heartbreak, the sleep deprivation, and the beard. You were always a sucker for a gruff-looking, unavailable older gent.

And now here one is singing a song about forbidden love, lovers separated by age—like he knows what you're thinking, what you're feeling.

"Obviously I have." You scoff, almost dismissively, as you turn to slip the first few dishes into the water. John stays silent for a moment, and curiosity gets the better of you. "Ever had a crush on a younger woman?"

He barks out a laugh, pushing himself away from the counter as you see him shake his head and suck in his lips. "No comment."

Your mind starts to wander, as you try to think about what kind of woman catches John Price's eye. His circumstances are difficult and his standards clearly high, as he hasn't been in a relationship in the years you've known. John nudges you with his hip, as he leans over the sink to start washing his hands.

His warmth is overwhelming beside you, and only spreading further. You try to focus on anything but his large hands, as he covers them in the suds he works up from the soap. You try not to stare at the way he grips the bar, and practically chokes the block with his fingers, nor how he works the creamy lather up his hairy forearms.

But you’d be lying if you said the plate in your hands got any cleaner. Of course, you could blame your stillness on courtesy—you're just giving him the space he needs to wash his hands so he can get on with cooking, nothing more.

"Zenyatta Mondatta is a classic." He all but whispers from above you, as if he still feels the need to justify his album choice.

"Best album the year you were born?"

"I was born 81, not 80, bun." He tuts, shaking off the excess wetness from his hand before he reaches around you to grab the hand towel from where it's threaded through the handle of the cupboard beside you.

Your grip on the plate tightens exponentially despite the slippery surface, as a cascade of shivers passes over your body and pools low in your gut.

The tension in your body feels like it's ready to snap at any moment, and yet just before it can, John pulls away, and a cold sweeps back in.

"Don't stand, don't stand so close to me." His singing almost taunts you as he saunters back over to his ingredients and gets to work.

You try to focus again on the dishes in the sink. Yet, you couldn't wipe the wide smile off your face if you tried, exhilarated by life's simple pleasures—by the way, it seems that colour is starting to bleed back into your life in all these little moments. A flurry of feelings you haven't felt in so long floods you, too.

"Forgot how much I love being in the kitchen with other people." You laugh, verbalising your happiness in a fairly throwaway comment.

"Kitchens are the heart of the home, as they say." John replies, and you can tell he's smiling fondly, probably recalling the nights spent at his kitchen island with you, James, and the other people lucky enough to be in his life.

After a moment, he continues on, yet his tone is more somber than before. "You know, sweetheart, I wish I'd have known sooner how he really treated you."

You wonder if it would've made a difference.

"He's just not for me, he's not necessarily bad just... okay, I mean besides the cheating." You say, wrinkling your nose with disgust—still, you find yourself making excuses for him, finding ways to soften the blow.

John sighs. "You give him too much credit, love."

It feels wrong somehow to open up to John about this, despite his soothing on the matter. "It wasn't fair for me to talk to you about that stuff, even if you do give the best advice. Still doesn't feel fair, really." You grumble as you scrub at a bowl, removing the dirt.

"And what about what's fair and best for you, hmm?" John's chopping grows louder, more erratic, as his frustration flows through his arm and his wrath is taken out on the raw onions. "For crying out loud, the lad cheated on you. I have half a mind to go over there myself to finish what we started earlier."

You shrug, entirely uncertain of how to untangle the messy web that is your emotions. Guilt, relief, anger, and peace all swirl together, with no one feeling jumping out clearly and continuously beyond the others.

"Look at me," John calls your attention to him, only speaking again once you do. The look on his face is deeply sincere, his eyes betraying the emotion within. "Once you're on your feet again, if you want nothing to do with me, all you have to do is say. Otherwise, I'll be in your life for as long as you let me."

Fuck.

"That's reassuring." You nod, smiling genuinely, yet you try to restrain it lest you betray how much it really means to you. "Yeah, I guess, as you said earlier, we're friends."

You say it more to convince yourself, as it's a truth that isn't going to change regardless of a silly schoolgirl crush.

"Not planning on changing that unless you are, love." John smiles.

See, you say to yourself, he's all but confirmed it too. "I'm glad some things are going to stay the same..." You mutter, though there is some sincerity and reality to your statement. "Especially when everything else is about to get turned upside down."

"I suspect you'll be better off when the dust settles."

"I hope so."

You turn back to the dishes, trying to focus on the music rather than the thoughts that battle against John's soothing words. His quiet company helps stave off some of the discontent, the sound of him cooking and singing quietly providing a safety blanket around you.

"Do have to let you know I got the call, leaving sooner than I would've liked."

"When?" You feel yourself stiffen. Every time John leaves, you're always a little on edge—and yet, with the circumstances, this time just feels worse.

"Tomorrow." He admits softly.

"You've only been back a matter of days." Your heart pangs.

He scoffs. "No rest for the wicked, eh?"

"It's gonna feel weird getting settled in here, but especially alone." You offer up your honesty, in the hopes it'll alleviate the gentle crushing of your chest, yet you try to remain stony-faced.

"One big change at a time, love." John's voice is soothing, as he attempts to reassure you. "Change of scenery, then change of roommate. It'll give you a chance to just be free of Price men for a moment."

"He's not really a Price..." You sigh, because maybe if he were, things would've been different. If John had raised him... would he be a better man? Not that you believe his mother is to blame for his issues, but you know from James' occasional rants that he didn't have a male figure he respected growing up.

"I suppose not." Behind your back, John shrugs. "Point still stands, though. While I'm not thrilled about the idea of you being all alone, at least it gives you some space to think of what comes next."

"I guess it does." You sigh and try to focus on that thought—time to figure things out and feel the relief of being free. A wry laugh leaves you when you realise John has managed to reframe his departure as a positive thing. "Fuck, I hate how you always make me feel better."

"Hah, add it to my list of crimes."

A beat passes before a stray thought pops into your head. "If you're headed back, does that mean you'll be shaving?"

You crane your head around just in time to see John pause, turn, and stroke at his beard.

"Don't know. What do you think?" He continues to stroke at the grown-out brown hair, as you get lost taking in his features and the way that they seem to look so different with his new, fluffier style.

"Feel like you've been staring at it a lot, not sure if it's a good thing or a bad thing." He chuckles, his smile tight-lipped and a touch self-conscious in a way that only you can bring out of him.

"Somehow, it makes you look..." Your brain scrambles for an adjective that isn't 'daddier'. "... younger?"

On anyone else, a full beard would likely age them, but compared to John's usual old-timey war general look, it gives him more of a casual, handsome look. You remind yourself to ask for pictures of what he looked like before he grew facial hair.

"Ageing myself prematurely with the mutton chops, then?" He frowns ever so slightly, though you know his pout is completely playful.

You throw your head back with a laugh. "Thought that's why you did it, to really solidify your authority."

"Don't need any kind of facial hair for that, love." He purrs, sending a shiver down your spine.

You force your attention back to the dishes and school your expression into something more neutral, dunking in all the cutlery in at once as you desperately begin to clean. It's a clear attempt to make sure John doesn't notice your reaction to his words.

"Whatever you say, John." You mutter, trying to end the conversation before it spirals any further out of control.

He laughs, hums, then casually says something you never expected. "Mmm, now that's what I like to hear."

"Ow, fuck!" You yell as pain sears through your skin, a knife hidden in the soapy water slicing through your skin at the momentary distraction.

John is over in a flash, coming to your aid and pulling your hand into his grasp so he can inspect the wounds. "Christ, love, are you alright?"

"Fine, I mean, it's only small." Each word is through gritted teeth, as you try to tough it out in front of John.

Despite the fact the incisions across your fingers aren't particularly deep, they bead with crimson blood and pulse with stinging pain.

"Right, that's enough. Sit down." One of John's hands remains holding your hand while the other settles on your shoulder, and he manoeuvres you to one of the stools at the kitchen island. He pays no mind to the way your soaked arm drips onto his t-shirt and jeans, too focused on his mission.

"Yes, sir." You say absentmindedly, feeling like one of his men—you don't notice the way he stiffens, his touch getting a fraction tighter, as his body and mind jolt at such simple words.

He doesn't meet your eye, instead inspecting the cuts before turning to grab the first aid kit he keeps under the sink. "Doesn't look like it'll need stitches."

"This isn't a battlefield injury, John, and I'm not a child!" You can't help but pout exaggeratedly, as not only does it convey your meaning, but it helps disguise your wince as John cleans, dries, and dresses your cuts.

"No more washing up. Don't give me that look." He fixes you with a look and a stern point that just dares you to challenge him, and for a moment, you glare right back at him.

In the end, you know you stand no chance of winning against the formidable foe that is protective, Papa Bear John Price. One time you insisted on washing up after he cooked, and he followed you into the kitchen to turn off the water main, just to show you how serious he was that you sit down and fucking relax.

"Fine." You sigh, as John's moment as a nurse comes to a close, with him finishing your dressings and packing away the first aid kit.

"Sit pretty. Food won't be too long." He tells you before he returns to the pans on the hob, checking on the spaghetti and stirring the bolognese.

The fragrance from the stewing sauce surrounds you, making your mouth water in anticipation of John's signature dish. It doesn't distract you from the pain completely, but it at least gives you something to focus on as you try to ignore it.

"Can I... ask something that I've been wondering about for a while?" You ask, propping your head on your non-injured hand as you watch John work.

"Of course." He nods, eyes flickering to meet yours briefly.

"Have you and James' mum ever talked about... you know, everything?" You resist the urge to pick at the medical tape securing the bandage to your skin, as you know that eventually it's going to come off. "I don't know why I never asked before, guess I felt awkward, and I tried asking James, but he never wanted to talk about it."

John pauses, taking a moment to think. "We met for coffee once, after I first found out. She was very apologetic, explained her side of things."

It's easy for you to tell, having grown accustomed to his expressions, that there's more to the story than he lets on. John always tends to play his cards close to his chest when it comes to his inner workings, asking more questions than he ever answers, but you're used to that look in his eyes whenever there's something he's holding back.

At least, you like to think so. If you're good at telling when he's withholding, you're even better at not pressing him, at least under usual circumstances. Today, something compels you to ask more.

"Do you... resent her for what she did?"

"No." He answers, a little too quickly, before rolling his shoulders and straightening his posture. "Maybe I should, maybe I should resent the fact I missed his childhood. I suppose I do, but I would never have had the life I've had otherwise."

"Figured I might still have the chance to be a dad, but would've never had the chances I did had I not joined the army."

The insight into John's mind is fascinating, intoxicating, even. It's hard to imagine him as anything other than a captain, even if father and family man suits him quite well too.

"You wouldn't have joined up if you'd known?" You ask, questions still tumbling out of you as curiosity about John leaks out of every pore.

"No." He pauses, pressing his hands into the counter. Finally, he looks at you with stormy, emotion-filled eyes. "Would've stayed, married her. Done the right thing." It looks like it pains him to admit it, as his brows furrow and his lips tighten.

"Wow. Must be weird seeing her now, knowing she could've been your wife." You probably shouldn't have said it aloud, but the thought of that different reality is so jarring to you that it slips before you can stop it.

"She's a stranger, really." He shrugs.

"A stranger you had sex with... once upon a time." You say, squinting as you try to imagine John and James's mum sharing anything beyond pleasant smiles and polite small talk.

"Barely." A dismissive scoff leaves him, as he picks up the wooden spoon and returns his attention to his cooking.

"Barely? What does that mean?"

"Well, it was only once, and even then... every man has to learn somehow, love." John says the words as if they're so casual, yet they cause heat to rush to your cheeks.

"Your son still hasn't learned at all." You say the words without thinking, a tinge of bitter resentment bursting through. "Sorry, fuck."

"S'fine." John tries his hardest to stifle the smile that tugs at the corner of his lips, practically throwing himself into grabbing bowls and cutlery to serve up the meal. "He really didn't know how to handle you, did he, love?"

Your chest seizes once more—guilt, indignation, amusement, confusion. There's a hope within you that when the dust is all settled, you'll end up with someone like John, someone who can treat you better.

"No, he didn't..." You admit weakly, before checking yourself. "Sorry, I think the pain and the blood loss are making me woozy. I'm gonna stop talking now."

John only smiles understandingly, eyes shining with mirth, as he passes you an oversized bowl filled with delicious spaghetti. He takes a seat beside you, knee knocking into yours as he makes himself comfortable— his warmth feeling too close for comfort and yet not close enough at all.

"Eat up, darling girl."

********

You and John finish up your meal in companionable silence, accompanied by the rest of the tracks on the current vinyl. As always, John's cooking leaves you full and satisfied, warm from the inside out.

Once more, you're banned from washing dishes and were only able to get on drying duty after begging John and pulling out your most convincing doe eyes. The night ended with you both turning in sooner than usual, in anticipation of John's departure the next morning.

Usually, you last saw John off when he came to visit you and James, putting on a brave face and wishing him well. You're thankful that with the new proximity, you can at least fret in the privacy of your new bedroom, away from John's worrying eyes—the last thing he needs to see before he leaves is your tear-stained cheeks.

Sleep doesn't come easily, as you toss and turn in bed and try not to think of being alone in the coming days, or the possibility of something happening to John.

When sleep finally does come, you wake in a panic—sweaty and dry-mouthed. The nightmare that plagued you is hard to recall, the only thing burning in your mind is the final scene. You have to flee into the night, and you're desperate to grab something to cover up with so you don't freeze to death—you can't find anything warm anywhere. The image quickly fades away as you blink your eyes open.

You roll over to the side of the bed, clutching your phone and practically burning your eyes when the screen blares into your corneas.

3:59. 16 minutes to your alarm.

With John's departure fast approaching, you throw yourself out of bed, grabbing your cardigan and wrapping it around yourself before you head in the direction of John's room.

The door is closed firmly, likely to quiet any noise he makes from rustling around in preparation. You knock lightly on the wood, waiting for John to call you in.

You step in, taking in John's appearance. It seems he decided to keep the outgrown facial hair after all, the fluffy beard leading down to the chest hair poking out from the top of a soft grey cotton tee.

The dog tags around his neck are the only nod to his upcoming deployment, as he leaves John behind and heads off to become Captain Price.

He smiles as soon as he sees you, though it doesn't escape your notice that it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Hope I didn't wake you."

"Nah, can't sleep." You explain, as you make your way further into the room and perch yourself on the end of John's bed gingerly. "Figured I'd make you sick of me, so you're glad to be away."

You peer into the holdall that John's currently packing things into, inspecting his contents and mentally ticking items off a checklist.

"Don't think anything could make me glad of that, love." He frowns, pausing as he expertly folds a t-shirt and places it in his bag. "Especially at a time like this."

"I'll be fine." You say it for his sake, even if you don't entirely believe it. Your number one priority right now is sending him off with a smile.

As you spot one of his signature beanies poking out of a side pocket, you pluck it off the duvet and pull it over your bedhead. "Maybe I'll just run riot while you're gone, throw all your cigars in the bin, and steal every beanie you own."

That brings a smirk out of him, the worry clearing from his eyes. "Evil girl."

"Yeah, I'm a right menace." You confirm, a gleeful smile spreading across your face unrestrained.

Several things stand out to you in the bag or surrounding it—the sunglasses case, a tan-coloured rag, and John's beloved boonie hat. Your quick inspection gives you an insight into where John is headed—flip-flops again, you joke to yourself.

"Guessing you're off to some shitty desert then." You comment, not intending to pry any further.

"Feel like I never leave them." He notes—that wry smile returning to his face as he meets your gaze.

"Have you packed your sun cream?" You ask, half joking and half serious.

"Wouldn't hear the end of it if I didn't, hmm?" He chuckles knowingly, likely recalling the last time he came home with a sunburn and was met with your impassioned rant. He'd learned his lesson at least.

"And the moisturiser we got you for Christmas?"

"Already packed." He pats the toiletry bag on the bed, and you rush to pick it up, unzip it, and verify his claim.

"Lip balm?" You ask, peering up at him with a mischievous grin, just waiting for his reaction.

"Now you're just taking the piss."

You pull your beanie down low on your forehead, just as you've seen John wear it, then you cross your arms across your chest and drop your voice. "Sorry lads, cover my six, gotta get my Burts Bees on."

At that, he belly laughs. "I'd never live it down, and you wouldn't do that to me, would you?"

You rise from the bed, laughing with him, before you remove the beanie and reach up to place it over his head instead. "No, Captain." You whisper, grin bright.

"You're a handful, love." Despite his words, the fondness in his voice is clear as day.

You tap his cheek playfully before stepping away. "Well, fear not, like I said, you're rid of me for a little while."

"Desert doesn't seem so bad now you mention it." John rolls his eyes playfully, before turning to add the final items and zipping up the bag beside him.

"Have you got everything you need?" You ask, instinct taking over as you begin to fret over ensuring everything is perfect for John's departure.

"I do know how to pack for myself, but if you want me to humour you..." John's hands fall to the zip, ready to tear the bag open if it would rid you of the concerned frown growing on your face.

You back away, hands raised. Point taken, you think to yourself. "I'm used to fussing, okay."

"You and me both." He nods, then shoulders the bag and gestures for you to head out of the room.

You lead the way like heading up a death march, slow gait and head lowered, knowing what's to come. With each step, a sense of dread grows within you. John is leaving, and there's seemingly an unspoken agreement between you both that something about this time feels more severe.

When you both reach the door, John shrugs on his sherpa-lined jacket, ties up his boots, and stands as he summons up the nerve to leave.

Once again, a half-hearted smile graces his face, as he reaches out to rub at your arm. "I'll call you when I'm headed back from base, yeah?"

You nod, blinking back the tears that threaten to bead in your eyes, once more putting on a brave face. The mention of his call makes your mind flicker to your usual routine.

"Will you be going to see—"

"No love. I'll be coming straight home." He interrupts, squeezing you before withdrawing as if it burns to touch you.

"Stay safe, John." You whisper, the words you say every time coming easily. You swear to yourself that the words act as protection, or at least, you hope they do.

"Always, love." He nods, leaning forward to press a quick kiss to your forehead. Then, he opens the door and steps over the threshold. "Anything you need, I'll get back to you when I can, yeah?"

"Yeah." You nod, struggling to get out even a word as your throat tightens.

"See you soon, darling girl." He calls out, and you watch him until his truck pulls out of the street and off toward danger.

#captain price x reader #john price x reader #captain john price x reader #captain price #captain john price #john price #call of duty x reader #nobody does it like you do #call of duty fanfiction #spotify

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fluffy-feathers23 · 3 months ago

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ISAT Critterbeast AU - Siffrin

Animal: Guinea Pig

initially i chose guinea pig simply because it''s funny to make them a hamster, but Siffrin denies looking like a hamster in canon so i chose something that looks similar

in the context of Siffrin being a hamster, it's like the time loop is them running on a wheel to me, visually. running and running with nowhere to actually go, but you can't stop until you get somewhere.

There's also the other meaning of being a "guinea pig", only there as someone to mess with. make into something else. make fun of them. especially in later acts, where they start leaning into the "performance"

When really excited about something (and sometimes when startled), Sif hops around and jumps up to a foot off the ground, which is called "pop-corning". They can also make flawless guinea pig noises, for obvious reasons.

The worse Siffrin feels mentally the colder they feel physically, which is more noticeable the worse it gets. It starts around mid-act 2, but Siffrin himself doesn't even notice it until act 3, and by act 4, they're visibly shivering whenever they stop moving, and every part of their body feels cold to the touch under their cloak, despite the thermo-regulation Crafted into it.

In act 5, Siffrin is constantly shivering, everything feels like ice, and it doesn't truly stop in act 6 or even post-game, though it does continue to only show up when they feel generally bad.

In addition, the colder they feel, the hotter everything else feels - all sources of warmth turn into a raging fire, including party member's healing abilities, which fill Siffrin's entire body with the heat of all the stars in the universe until they're over.

Completely refuses to drink Sweet Tonics or eat most sweet foods post-game. If it tastes too much like just sugar, or stars forbid, winds up burnt, he just can't handle it anymore.

Quite some time post-loops, Isabeau, SIffrin, and Loop give each other sun moon & star themed bonding earrings! Here's a post about that :3

#fluffy's drawing board #isat #in stars and time #isat siffrin #isat spoilers #isat au #isat critterbeast au #critterbeast au #critterbeast siffrin

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vaporwavebeach-writes · 6 months ago

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Ghost Story

BTAA Scarecrow x Reader

Summary: After a drug deal, you two watch A Christmas Carol (and make out)

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: Enjoy this late as BALLS Christmas post 😭😭 Merry LATE Christmas @tr4sh-pl4nt I was ur secret Santa (nobody is surprised)

Despite the cloudy skies and flurries of snow, a soft reflection of the frost outside streams a bit of light into the office as you pull back the blinds. The sidewalks and alleys are empty- nary a car on the street. If you didn’t know any better, you would’ve thought you were in Silent Hill rather than Gotham City. There’s nothing but grey, blistery, snowy solitude. This was good. With nobody around, this was sure to be an easy buy.

“Something on your mind?” He pipes up.

Snapping the shade back into place, you look back to see that he’s found the stash. In a small, plastic bag, the pills are on the desk. “No, I’m all good.”

He clicks his tongue with a wry grin. “If it’s the cops you’re worried about, don’t be. There’s gonna be a huge storm tonight- I doubt the pigs would leave the barn; freezing their butts off to go after a low-life like you.”

“Low-life? Look who’s talking,” You glare, making your way over to the desk. “Scarecrow.”

As your hand goes to reach for the pills, his thin fingers come into view, sliding the bag back.

“You fuck. I already payed.” Your eyes stare daggers into his clinical gaze. There’s a knowing smirk on his face and you brace yourself for whatever psychological games he decides to play with you now.

“Look,” he slides the bag off the desk and in between his slender fingers, as if dangling it just out of reach. “I’m not dumb enough to mess with a tweaker and their drugs, but humor me for a moment, won’t you?”

“You have five seconds to give me my-”

“Have you ever seen A Christmas Carol?” He’s completely unfazed by the threat, pulling out a DVD copy of the film.

“What?” Any aggression from within you begins to dissipate, turning into utter bewilderment.

“A Christmas Carol,” he repeats. “Y’know, a grizzled, selfish old miser who is haunted by three spirits who represent the ever-changing stages of his life? How each journey into his past, present, and future make him reevaluate the way he lives his life and treats others and learns the true meaning of Christmas?”

“Yeah, I know, I know.”

“Well forget it.” He slides the DVD into the video player, watching it click into place. “Sure, it’s a classic holiday tale, but it’s so much more than that.” He springs up, flicking off the lights. “It’s a horror story.”

The blue glow from the old television illuminated the office as it came to life with some static and a startling pop. You began to wonder how old that damn thing was until you found yourself standing alone with Crane on the empty couch. Although the room was dark, you could feel Dr. Crane’s piercing gaze beckoning you over. Hesitantly, you sit on the other end of the couch.

As the film begins, the Disney logo catches your eye. “Horror story my ass…” you mutter.

“What was that?” He quips, wondering how he heard you.

“Horror story my ASS.” You annunciate clearly. Shifting in your seat you turn to him. “A Disney movie? You refuse to give me my shit for this?” You laugh bitterly.

“Oh,” he chuckles darkly. “You really don’t have any idea of what we’re about to get into, do you?”

“What the fuck on God’s green earth are you talking about?”

“Scoff all you want,” he grins, turning down the volume. “This version of the film truly captures the true essence of fear better than its other iterations. Narratively speaking, the film remains pretty faithful to the original novella by Charles Dickens, which obviously is something to be expected from any adaptation, but it’s especially crucial here to really showcase the specific fears of the time.”

“Well yeah it might be accurate, but doesn’t everyone collectively agree that this one sucks?” You reply. “I mean, look at the creepy ass mocap, it’s literally the same shit as the Polar Express-”

“Oh right!” He shifts excitedly. “The visuals only contribute to terror! Sure, motion capture gets a bad rap because it’s a little off-putting, but it really works in a film like this- perfectly seasoned with that uncanny valley effect. It really adds to the flavor of dread.”

“Whatever man,” you scoff. “It’s just some story about an old man.” You turn your attention back to the movie, straining to listen to the low volume despite Jonathan’s chatter.

He clears his throat. “An old man- who you may find, has far similar fears to you than you may think.”

You cock your head to the side, turning to him. “You callin’ me an old man?”

The sound of his laughter fills your ears. “Oh no, not at all.” He wipes a tear from his eye. “It’s just so painfully human.”

“Human?”

“Scrooge isn’t taught redemption, he’s simply being driven by fear.” He leans back on the couch. “The ghosts don’t just visit him to bring awareness to his cold heart, but they dismantle him- tearing away layers and layers of his psyche until there’s nothing left but his raw fear. It’s fascinating, really. How the fear completely reshapes his attitude in the waking world.”

You find yourself leaning back as he moves his way closer to you, only to be caught by the end of the couch.

“And you wanna know what the real scary thing is? It’s the fact that we could all end up just like him- Alone. Forgotten. Unloved. It’s a common fear that drives us all, isn’t it? The fear of abandonment? Being left behind.” You can feel the heat radiating from his body with every word spoken.

You blink, at a loss for words. It’s starting to feel all too real. “I,” you stutter. “I’m not sure what this has to do with me.”

“Oh, but it has everything to do with you.” His voice is low, as you feel yourself be closed in. “That invisibility,” he lets the words linger on his tongue. “Something that most people prefer to ignore, but it’s still there isn’t it? Lurking.”

His eyes stare within the confines of your soul. You look away from his prying eyes, but you can still feel his gaze on you like a searchlight.

You can feel your chin between his fingers as he gently forces you to look at him. “I think this little arrangement we have- these little meetings, it’s more than just a drug deal isn’t it? I think you want more than just drugs.”

Suddenly the office didn’t feel so chilly anymore. The closeness of his breath on the shell of your ear made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. He’s right. You do want more.

Your hands slide up his long arms, feeling the fabric of his shirt beneath your palms. Resting your fingers on his shoulders, you pull him closer. You speak up, words barely a whisper. “So, you gonna give me my drugs or not?”

“I’d thought you’d never ask.” A knowing grin graces his silhouetted frame.

Pulling the bag from his pocket, he opens the seal, taking out a small, ghost-shaped tablet and places it on his tongue. At first you were confused as to why he was breaking into your stash until you felt the harsh press of his lips against yours.

Pulling him closer into you, you allow your hands to slip under his shirt, feeling his flesh on your fingertips. In turn, he runs his hand through your hair while the other snakes its way down your spine, cradling the small of your back. His grip is firm, fingers digging into you, showing no sign of letting go.

Quickly, he nips at your lower lip. As you whine at sting, you fall victim to his plan when he slips his tongue into your mouth. You can feel him transfer the tablet to you, swallowing it down with his guidance. In retaliation, you sink your nails into the skin of his back, feeling him hiss into the kiss as he pulls away with a chuckle.

Breathless from the kiss, he wraps an arm around you. “Maybe this will help you understand Scrooge’s fear.” He grabs the remote, adjusting the film’s volume back to normal.

At this point you could give less of a shit about the movie. You allow yourself to fall into Jonathan’s side. You’re not sure if it’s from the pill or the kiss as you let yourself be overtaken by the waves of euphoria and adrenaline.

#btaa scarecrow #btaa scarecrow x reader #jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane x you #jonathan crane smut #scarecrow x reader #batman the audio adventures #batman rogues x reader #jonathan crane #batman rogues smut #mia writes batman!!!

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loquatsloquatsloquats · 3 months ago

Text

A Truth Truly Unparalleled

A Truthless Recluse & Sage of Truth Hurt/Comfort Fic (Not rly Romatic ShadowVanilla, more Mutual-Pining TruthlessSage. It's Based On Their In-Game Alternate-Universe Costume-Story)

Ao3 Link

“I did not take you as a questionnaire yourself, Sage.”

In the midst of the usual routine of this humble scholar, The Sage of Truth, it had somehow escaped his notice how the sky had darkened once more. He'd just gotten so caught up in giving a little pop-quiz to his last little truth seeker of the day!

Gripping his key-shaped staff, he found himself turning in the same direction he always does. The Truthless Recluse always arrived in same way from the same direction. A leisurely stroll through the worries of the townsfolk, and west. “Apologizes, apologies! Do accept my apologies!” The Sage swore to, twirling his staff at his side. “I was not expecting a visit from you this casual evening.”

The dark-cloaked scoffed, “We are not friends, Sage. And omission is a form of deception.”

“Ohho!” The Sage would emote, summoning a simple cup and latte in his other hand. “What an interesting analysis! Perhaps you'd be up for a discussion on the matter? Hm?” The Sage would pry, a knowing smile appearing on his face. A discussion, in this case, was a stand in for a debate. Which they both knew full well that The Truthless Recluse would avoid.

The other, as expected, averted his eyes from them. Yes, all of them. Even the uncharacteristically erratic ones on his staff found their prying gazes elsewhere. “I have no interest in arguing with you. I just made a statement.”

“Two statements, actually!” The Sage corrected, taking a sip from his newly summoned beverage. “You mentioned how you rarely see me ask questions, and stated your accusation of me avoiding your previous remark as if it were a question!” The Sage would simply speak, taking yet another sip. Jellybean lattes with an extra shot of espresso! Ah! Never gets old!

The Recluse would bring his main two eyes back to The Sage, and The Sage would return his glare with sparkling wonder.

The Sage sipped his latte once more to purposefully create a noise of pondering, maintaining his smile towards the other. “In fact, I've been meaning to ask you, friend; What truth has bothered you so?”

The bluntness of the question seemed to startle The Recluse, and for a moment, The Sage felt an ounce of shame… yet intrigue. So it rattled them, rather than just perturbed. How curious! Then again, it could just be the dramatic topic alteration. He hopes to learn more either way!

Still, The Sage felt the other's glare harden, yet his own persistent smile proved it would not sway his curiosity. “You would not understand, nor will I allow you to try and comprehend. I know your nature well, scholar; this is something beyond you, and you and I both know it.” The Recluse's grip on his staff tightened, all three of it’s eyes now remaining upon The Sage.

“Keeping the truth from I? How thoughtful! A further testament to your own truth! Bravo, applause!” At this point, The Sage of Truth was testing the waters. They both knew all too well. Even as The Truthless Recluse's expression changed to a scowl, that same persistent smile of wonder remained upon The Sage. He would keep testing these limits, he would keep engaging these debates. Until he reaches the answer so secretly kept, or until eternity itself seizes to be.

The Sage chose to float away from his position at the town square, soaring for but a moment before landing gracefully on the pavement, just an arms-length away from whom he truly hoped would be his debate partner of the day. “I, friend, am The Sage of Truth! I can handle whatever reality you bear alone behind your eyes.”

Much to The Truthless Recluse's dismay, The debate had already begun.

The Recluse gave a deep-chested sigh, already deciding he would much rather just get this over with. “No, you cannot.”

Upon the other's reply and correlated acceptance of the debate, The Sage's smile grew to a beaming grin. Finally! A true debate with the one and only Truthless Recluse! Oh- this was guaranteed to be a memory everlasting! One to shape any and all truths inbound!

The Sage's gleaming excitement only served to annoy The Recluse, so he quickly decided it would be best to compose himself before continuing. Yet- it was just so difficult! He had been waiting for the other to finally accept a conversation with him- he'd’ve even accepted an argument if that's what it took! But to fully agree to entertain this humble Sage of Truth with a debate from the one and only!? He could not contain his excitement no matter how much he tried!

“Alright! No backsies then!” He'd exclaim rather quickly to get some of his energy out, giving a quick ahem for a dramatic flair.

By this point, all in the townsquare who'd yet to retreat into their homes from the evening had taken notice of the discussion. All eyes were on them, viewing with either boundless wonder, or endless worry. And yet, as much as The Sage wielded compassion, he could not bring himself to care for the feelings of the townsfolk. Only the dark-cloaked figure in front of him mattered.

The Sage of Truth pulled out all the stops to make sure he didn't squeal in excitement, instead putting on a more consistent pose. Excited, but more composed. Taking the last sip of his latte and returning the cup from whence it came. “Alright, alright. Without telling me then, just what exactly about this truth do you believe I cannot handle? And, if there are multiple ways, we can discuss them one by one. I will do my best to debunk your theories, and you will do your best to dissuade me!” The Sage held out a hand. “To a good debate?”

And… for the first time… The Sage of Truth saw the smile of The Truthless Recluse. A glare still engraved into his eyes, and yet his smile was so much softer… it was like an endless field of milkcrown flowers, watching each and every bloom with a new appreciation for the simplest of life… it was like the gleaming sun in the aftermath of a snowfall, glistening and glittering endlessly upon the untouched white floors… it was like- he was truly- happy!.. Was he? From what? What brought about such a breathtaking expression? Or was it a happy smile at all? Had The Sage been focusing so much upon the other's lips that he'd forgotten to gaze upon their eyes?

He, in his moment of enthrallment, hardly noticed his hand being taken in reply. He just barely caught the next set of words, but thankfully, was able to use them to ground himself. “To a… good debate… to you too?” The Recluse had clearly noticed his enthrallment by now, clearly causing an oddity to his returned sentence.

The Sage would repeat his vocalization of an ahem, “Yes, yes; let us begin!”

“I am The Sage of Truth, I wield knowledge practically unparalleled. I have seen many cruel truths, and beautiful lies. I have witnessed the journey and crumbling of much throughout the ages.” He would state, using his staff to point to himself, then The Recluse.. “I myself bear cruel truths, same as you, what is one more to acquire?” is the question that would complete his beginning portion of the debate. Leaving room for his opponent to bring forth his own remarks and dissuadements.

The Truthless Recluse offered a simple nod to begin his segment, “I have no doubts. But even still; are you a Sage of Truth, or a Sage of Knowledge? You say you bear both Truths and Lies, yet what you define yourself with in action is knowledge at the whims of both.” He began, sharpening his expression to be followed by his next accusation, “If you are a being of knowledge, you can be tampered with; something I would not dare to do. If you are a being of Truth and Deceit, that means you can lie; and thus, I have no reason to trust you with what I know.”

“Astute observation!” He would praise, keeping his gleaming expression clear. “However, your answer is found clearly in my name! The Sage of Truth! My truth is to share the endless reaches of knowledge with the world, or at least all who find themselves curious! I bring with me knowledge, but at heart, I am a being of truth! A Sage of Truth, in fact!” He explained, fidgeting with his staff.

The Recluse, unexpectedly or not, scoffed at his answer. “So you already admit I have no reason to trust you.” He sneered, almost seeming to glare through the scholar. Though, it was clear to them both The Recluse had something more he wanted to say.

Note, they shall hopefully loop back to that!

“Not in this case, no. You speak as if me having the capability to lie is any different than anyone else's. I am The Sage of Truth, how many times must I introduce myself? Tisk, tisk!” He'd sassily remark, giving his staff a twirl much like he'd been doing earlier. “I have the capacity to deceive, but in a scenario like this? Never! I must admit, I can be rather greedy when more knowledge escapes my grasp, especially ones of truth!”

“Surely I, The Sage of Truth's, own excitement to learn must be proof enough I am not lying of my capabilities to bear the information gained?”

“You say that,” The Truthless Recluse began, “yet you contradict yourself. One sentence, you compare yourself to mortals. The next, this revered Sage. Are you no different than these townsfolk, and thus, no greater? or are you a grand being above what any of them can comprehend, and thus, shouldn't be trying to teach them at all?” The Recluse gained an… almost too obvious grimace when referring to The Sage as ‘above comprehension’, further proving to The Sage that whatever Truth The other had gained had truly shaken them, even beyond what The Sage could have hypothesized.

Still, The Truthless Recluse deserves an answer. “I, friend, am both. I hail from a peak so tall and narrow… you know it well-” admittedly surprisingly, caused The Recluse to flinch. And yet, this was an opportunity for The Sage. “-See? And yet you only flinch! The Truthless Recluse, a being supposedly without any truths, personal or fundamental, are handling yet another harsh truth so well!”

“Surely, the same would be true for I, The Sage of Truth?!”

“Stop calling yourself that.”

This… caused The Sage to flinch, breaking whatever tangent they'd gone on, and leaving them to just stare into his opponent's boundless glares. The town was in perpetual silence, no mortals daring to speak in the midst of the following moments.

“I- I beg of your pardon?” He spoke, the metaphor clear yet felt so- odd escaping him. He could not understand. They- they were counterparts! He was of Truth, the other of Absence. What of their titles of all things factored into this state? He needed to know-!

“I will not grant you a pardon, but I will grant you a choice.” The other began, their persistent glare truly piercing through his dough. “Will you bear my Truth upon your shoulders? Or your own Truth upon your mind?”

“Which one do you believe you can withstand?”

Normally, he would have some witty remarks, some declaration of might, a counter of undeniable righteousness. However, this time, he could hardly sound out a syllable. He had so many more questions! Why did the topic change so drastically? Why was The Recluse so determined to end the debate this way? Why did he truly have nothing else to say?

Think logically now- if The Recluse is so open to a debate, even if this short, surely a conversation later is no different? Yes, assume that for now. Now, what truth would be harder to gain? Something he could perhaps one day pry out of his counterpart? Or… something he doesn't know about himself?

Finally, with an answer, he cleared his throat. “Well, well, well! You've diverted my intrigue, friend! Bravo, bravo, I suppose you might've won this particular section of debate. Now… Tell me then, what could I possibly not know about myself? My own truth?” He spoke, his tone originally cheerily pointing… and yet seamlessly flowing into a serious tone usually unseen. He wasn't a joyous bringer of knowledge in his moment, but instead, it's serious receiver.

“Are you certain?” The Recluse questioned thoughtfully, his glare finally softening. “This was my point of no return.”

The added information did nothing to dissuade him. “I am certain.” He had already decided. He needed to know.

The Truthless Recluse would now approach the scholar. Because of The Sage of Truth's previous placements, it only took a few steps for them to be face to face. They then used the hand not holding his staff to reach towards the other's own unused hand… why? Was it an attempt to warn him? His last reminder to back out. Was it an attempt to comfort him? To prepare him for what was about to be said. Or was it a dramatic effect? Something to showcase to him that everything he thought he once knew was about to be tossed away.

Morbid as it may be; he felt suspense, he felt excitement- he felt ready.

He, The Sage of Truth, was not.

“Then, I ask a question. One simple thing for everyone in this village. One so simple that almost anyone in the world can answer. Anyone… except for me and you.”

There was a pause, and the tiniest gleam would appear in The Truthless Recluse's eyes. Concern, worry, doubt… sorrow, shame… guilt.

This was his last chance to back out.

He would not.

“What is your name?”

…silence. Then laughter. Booming, beaming laughter the village knew all too well. Doing nothing to lighten the atmosphere, and yet bringing minor relief regardless. “That's it? That's your grand question? My name? The one I've told you so many times???”

He was cut off, his own hand being forced to cover his mouth by the other. “The Sage of Truth, is a title. Your title, yes, but not a name. What is your name?”

…silence befell the village once again. This time, there was no one who could break it. The Sage of Truth now faced a reality that… really did reshape him for whatever futures would arise.

The Sage of Truth… had no name.

He was nothing more than a truth… there was no person behind his purpose… he was just a wall full of answers, stationed to be read like a book to any whom wander past.

He was The Sage of Truth.

But he was not a person.

The Truthless Recluse let go of his hand… and The Sage fell to the floor. The hand that had been moved over his mouth not moving even an inch.

The Truthless Recluse sat with him. Not side by side, but face to face. Both of their respective staffs lay forgotten at their sides. Amidst the stunned townsfolk, the shock of The Sage, and the eerie apathy of The Recluse, the only sound throughout the square was The Sage's rushed breaths.

The sky darkened further. Whether it was the work of the rising moon, or The Truthless Recluse, none could tell. “How does it feel? To know you are only an archetype? A tool of destiny? A background character of your own life? A robot with only a self-assigned purpose to guide you?”

The Sage had no answer.

“I am sorry.”

As the first tears began to fall from his eyes, somehow, even the expressions of the other's gaze earlier could not have prepared him for… an apology. And yet, with the hand still over his mouth, and a mind racing to find any semblance of him within it, he could not muster up the will to ask.

Thankfully, the other seemed to already plan to show him some mercy. “I know it is hard. I felt it too, once. I am sorry for sharing this truth with you. Our truth. One we can never go back from.”

It was at this point, The Sage was truly given no chance to reply, as the other’s robed arms wrapped around his form and gently tugged him onto their lap. He was being cradled. As silly as it was, as it could've been, The Sage found himself breaking down in the other's arms. His entire world had shattered before a mere question… he found comfort in the darkness of the other's satin attire. What was once just a comically large hat provided shade from the prying light of the evening sun. What was once just an overly dramatic cape became his shielding blanket from the worried gazes of those around. What was once a pointlessly depressing color palette was now a wondrous reminder of an endless night sky full of stars.

And, of course, there was The Truthless Recluse himself. Eyes so usually dark he compared them to shadows, now a boundless beauty he could not pry his own gaze from. Even as his entire face contorted to account for his tears, the other's eyes became his lifeline.

He even still managed to learn more about the other, ironically enough. About how, despite a small breeze, the other's drooping hair never seemed to shift. Only the strand at his eyes seemed to sway. About how, after the other had removed his hat and begun movements through his gleaming hair, he could hardly tell where The Recluse's hands ended and where their sleeves began. The other's hands just as soft as the satin of their clothes, contrasting so much with his usual demeanor. About how, as one could imagine with so many layers of smooth fabric, just laying there felt like resting upon the coziest bed in the world.

One question emerged. How could someone usually so cold and distant be so- delicate? Precise? Caring?

Perfect?

And yet, it all just made him cry harder.

His entire existence, a self-assigned duty he just decided to fulfill. His truth. Was it really his? It had to be! He decided to do this! But then… who was he? The Sage of Truth is just what everyone calls him. A title both publicly and personally assigned, but not a name. It was an identifier, but not an identity-

The Truthless Recluse… was this what they'd felt? It can't be-... who were they before The Truthless Recluse? Was he, too, just a title? Or did he have a name? Was his own truth to stop others from reaching The Peak of Truth self assigned, or discovered to be his intended purpose that he'd originally strayed from? Just who were they, The Truthless Recluse?

…Just who was he, The Sage of Truth?

“Friend.”

The Sage, against all emotion, perked up at that one word. Conscious attention returning to where his gaze had remained. Eyes meeting eyes. Friend. So he finally called him a friend…

The Truthless Recluse would bring both hands to his face, using their thumbs to carefully pry falling tears away from his eyes and sweep them away. Their gaze no longer had a harsh glare like it did before, but something so much softer, kind even. Just as The Sage seemed awestruck by this newfound gentleness from the other, The Recluse seemed to stare at him in waiting, waiting for a response to make it clear The Sage was ready for conversation again.

The Sage would only offer a nod for the other to begin.

The other would accept this.

“Dearest Sage, I hold no animosity with these next words, and I beg of you not to take them that way.” The Truthless Recluse worded carefully, ever so quiet in his volume, ever so gentle in his words, ever so soft in his voice… The Sage could not help but just- melt in the other's arms and listen in. “Your title is The Sage of Truth. As much as my own purpose detests it, I would not dare take that title away from you by force. The same way, as much as you continue to offer your debates, you would not dare to alter my own.”

“Your title can be just as useful as a name, but it will never be the same as one. My dearest counterpart… you have three options. Listen closely.”

“Your first option; Continue Onwards. Today never happened. You are The Sage of Truth, no more, no less. It is an average evening, and your lectures of the day have just concluded.” The Truthless Recluse would begin to list. The Sage couldn't help but grimace. As much as it was an okay option, it was neither ideal, nor feasible now. The Sage of Truth knew too much to go back.

The other seemed to understand, and moved on. “Your second option, most likely unwanted, but still available; Forsake Your Truth. Begin anew. Discard your title, and create a name. Stop teaching knowledge, and find a new purpose.” The Sage of Truth truly hated that option, if the first he merely brushed away, this second was met with distain. He could not abandon all his little truth seekers! He would not abandon all his wondrous scholars to be! He shall not abandon himself.

“The third,” The Truthless Recluse began without warning. “is to Follow Me.”

“...Follow you?”

“Follow me back to the peak. I shall not share any more truths with you, if you desire to learn, you must discover them on your own. Manage your time as an ever-learning ever-teaching Sage of Truth. And… a normal individual, same as anyone else, just trying to find themself and their place in the world. One to be created however you see fit.”

“Sage of Truth, I informally invite you back to your origin place.”

…

The day ended, the same as any other. And the next one began… The Sage of Truth was nowhere to be found.

#not really shadowvanilla as it's for their costume-story rather than canon-them; but i'll tag it anyways #shadowvanilla #truthlessage #shadow milk cookie #pure vanilla cookie #cookie run #cookie run kingdom #crk #sage of truth #truthless recluse #Loquat Writes Stuff

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