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malum-forev · 2 years ago

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First Trimester

(This is a short drabble I couldn’t get out of my head, idk what this is lol)

Bucky kept his head in his hands, eyes closed tightly. His breath ragged.

He could hear Steve’s loud footsteps pacing the room while Sam stood rooted in place. He could hear his friends’ heartbeats thumping rapidly.

“And you two-“ Steve couldn’t get the words out.

“That’s usually how that happens.” Sam retorted sarcastically.

Steve’s hands shot up. “I’m just trying to understand how this happened!”

“Looks like I should have had the birds and the bees conversation with both of you.” Sam rolled his eyes.

“What am I going to do?” Bucky croaked, his throat dry and scratchy. The question was mostly for himself, wondering just how he would manage everything happening in his life.

“You aren’t going to do anything.” Sam ran his hand over his face. “Before you go into crisis mode like a chicken running with its head chopped off, you need to make sure it’s yours.”

Bucky’s eyes snapped open.

“Sam-“ Steve’s cautious tone only made the Falcon more angry.

“Here’s what we know,” Sam’s voice was firm. “You two have got super soldier serum running through your veins, it changed your bodies drastically. Which obviously means your swimmers were altered, doctors told you the probabilities of you two getting someone knocked up are zero.”

“Close to zero.” Steve corrected.

“Whatever,” Sam rolled his eyes again. “Now- this one goes around the tri state are area banging anything with legs.”

Buckys cheeks burned red.

“Two months later, someone comes around saying they’ve got a super soldier baby brewing- does that not sound shady to anyone else?”

Steve rubbed his hand against his chin. “When did Dr. Cho say she could get a paternity test?”

“Two weeks.” Bucky whispered.

“Then these are going to be the most stressful two weeks of your life, kid.” Steve slumped his shoulders.

She hadn’t let the crippling nervousness seep into her body, work, friends and exhaustion had been great distractors. But now, as the steel gates of the Avengers compound opened she felt it.

She was the one who had encouraged a paternity test when she knocked on Bucky’s door weeks ago.

She hadn’t thought twice about missing her period the first month. Long hours at the art gallery we’re to blame, right? But as the days turned into weeks and the strange knot in her throat tightened, she decided to take a test.

Not thinking anything would pop up except the not pregnant label on the plastic test, she left it on the counter and forgot about it. That is, until a three minute timer rang and the scariest word ever written was staring at her. Pregnant.

(Y/n) waited a full week before visiting a gynecologist. Some gel, and ultrasound and some probing later, she was pregnant and that was that. She didn’t even register the bean sized blob on the screen. A muffled sound replaced the cheery doctor’s voice.

“Is Dad excited?” The young doctor smiled. Dad, fuck there’s a dad that needs to be notified.

(Y/n felt as if she’d stuffed a handful of gravel down her throat. She nodded weakly and lied. “He’s ecstatic.”

What she should have said is: he’s terrified.

When Bucky saw (Y/n)’s text on his phone, he’s ego shot up. He whistled as he prepared some eggs that morning, thinking highly of himself.

I don’t usually go back for seconds but I guess I can make an exception. Bucky thought as he shaved his face that morning. He wore a pair of grey sweatpants and a tight shirt, a combination he’d read online was the bee’s knees for getting women riled up these days.

But there might as well have been nothing underneath those boxers he was wearing because the shocking news killed any kind of vibe he had been feeling.

(Y/n) rocked backwards and forwards nervously as she stood in his living room. She didn’t even want to come in but he’d insisted. Now, Bucky was slumped back on his couch with his eyes set on the floor.

“I know this sounds strange-“ she swallowed. “But I don’t usually do what we did, I don’t do one night stands. I love relationships which is why my friends convinced me to sleep with you- not that I needed convincing you’re like so hot but you know what I mean. Well, I guess you don’t know what I mean because you barely know me, barely know I exist.”

“You love relationships?” Bucky’s eyes widened.

“I-well- shit- I shouldn’t have said that. It sounds-“ You sighed deeply, trying to collect her thoughts. “What I’m trying to say is that, you’re the only person I’ve had sex with in- a long time. And I want you to know that I’m not telling you this to make you feel like you have to be involved- that is if we decide to keep it. I just thought you should know that I’m pregnant.”

She tried to make her voice sound firm and confident but her whole body rejected the idea. There was nothing she was more afraid of than this. This life altering decision.

“And you’re thinking of keeping it.” He whispered, blue eyes staring back at her.

(Y/n) nodded slowly then shook her head. “I don’t know. Yes, maybe. I have a stable job, pretty decent insurance and a nice apartment downtown so, I’ve got the basics covered. I’ve always wanted children, not now but- I don’t know.”

“I’m also aware this is insane news so, I understand if you need time to process or decide if you want to- be involved, I guess.”

Bucky slowly nodded. She wrapped her cardigan closer to her body and his whole body jerked up, standing from the couch.

“Ar-are you, showing?” Bucky’s curious tone made her lips tweak upwards.

“It‘s been like two months and it’s the size of a bean so, no.” She tried to lighten the mood.

“You’ve been to the doctor?”

She nodded. “She told me I could have a paternity test done in a couple of weeks, if that’s something you’re interested in.”

Paternity test- paternity. Those words didn’t even seem real to Bucky. It had been such a distant thing that the thought hadn’t registered in his mind yet.

“I’ve got a couple of doctors that would probably know how to handle that-“ he said pointing to her stomach. “With the whole, serum and everything. Would you mind if I talked to them?”

“I don’t mind, whatever’s better for bean, right?”

Bucky’s body was enveloped in a foreign feeling. So different than anything he’d felt before, an unsettling feeling in his stomach that brought goosebumps to his skin.

“The bean?” Bucky furrowed his eyebrows.

“Not the bean. Just, bean.” Her cheeks burned and a smile developed on her lips. “The doctor said it’s going to be a while until I can find out the sex so, I’ve been calling it that. Bean.”

“Bean.” Bucky repeated quietly, fighting from letting out a smile. He couldn’t let himself get involved, not before a decision was made. Did he want to be in bean- the baby’s life? Was he even the father?

(Y/n) and Bucky walked through the white corridors at the Avengers med bay in silence.

Both of them stopped at an opened door.

“You sure you don’t want to come in and check I don’t switch up the viles, rig the paternity results?” She regretted the joke as soon as the words flew out of her mouth. Bucky’s blue eyes widened. She had tried to lighten the mood but the only thing she succeeded was to make Bucky uncomfortable-

“Good thinking,” Bucky’s lips twitched upwards. “I’m sure having my old ass sperm in there was your plan all along.”

She couldn’t help a giggle escape her mouth. Bucky placed his hand on her lower back and lead her into the room.

He held her hand through the procedure and followed her back to her car after everything was done.

“I guess I’ll call you once the results are in.” Bucky bit his bottom lip as she nodded, the tired look on (Y/n) worried him. “I just wanted to say, again, how grateful I am you’re being so cooperative.”

(Y/n) saluted him. “Anything for our troops.”

Bucky tipped his head back with laughter. “Please let me know when you get home safe.”

—

Her feet ached, scratch that, her whole body hurt. (Y/n) usually worked a double shift on Sunday’s to get double pay since that was the day rich people usually liked to shop at the gallery. Even though this was routine for her, she felt extremely tired this time. Pregnancy was starting to take a toll on her body.

(Y/n) heard the rain patter intensify as someone opened the glass doors.

“H-hi.” Was all she heard.

“We’re closed.” She called out but no one answered.

A sopping wet Bucky stood at the front of the gallery.

“Looks like you need to buy an umbrella.” She smiled.

“I’m going to be a dad.” The words came out stuttered, like he was trying to stop them.

Bucky stopped talking the second he received the email. DNA test result came back positive. He was the father. A father. That word echoed through his mind all day but he didn’t tell anyone a single thing, not until he could figure out how to manage the information. Steve would try to find solutions, Sam would freak out, Nat would laugh and Tony would probably ignore him. Each and every one of his friends’ reactions would stress him out more than he already was. He had no one, no one to talk to about this. Except her.

(Y/n) sighed deeply, taking her heels off and walking towards him. Without saying anything, she wrapped her arms around his neck and brought Bucky close to her. The tension he felt between his shoulder blades disappeared the second he was in her arms.

She softly held his face in her hands. “I haven’t decided anything and we still have time to figure out wether or not we want to keep bean-“

“Bean, oh God bean.” Becky’s eyes met hers. I can’t let bean down. He thought.

“I understand if you don’t want to go through with this.”

“Look at me.” Bucky’s voice was hoarse. “I need you to know that I want this- I want bean so much you have no idea. The thought of me having a kid was so lost but you’ve- I- I am forever grateful and indebted with you, you have no idea.”

(Y/n) smiled. “So we’re doing this? We’re having a baby?”

“Let’s have a baby.” He said.

Part 2: Second Trimester

#bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barns x you #bucky fanfic #bucky imagine #bucky x reader #bucky #bucky barnes #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes oneshot

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jebewonmorelike · 2 years ago

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So You Can Do Yours

part two up now: whatever you say, president-nim wc: 2k pronouns: none used; n/a warnings: none? i guess reader is not on good terms with father but to be fair their father is a chairman of a company so he probably is objectively not great; literally fluff and mostly platonic/you're his boss so but suggestion that wookie has a crush on reader at the end... and reader is supposed to be 19; super unrealistic but just a fun little fictional concept lol summary: uselessCEO!reader has fired every new assistant they've had in the past few months, but newassistant!gunwook thinks he might be the right man for the job. ~masterlist~ ♡ ~kofi (no pressure at all)~ this is a cute one :) gunwook is baby. gunwook is son. protect him at all costs. i've been wanting to write more for gunwookie for a while, but i was super hesitant to because i got a really freakish comment about the only small drabble i wrote for him. so five months later i'm ready to try again. please remember this is just a work of fiction and its crazy fluffy. i really hope you like it! also expect more writing from me this month-- i'm taking the rest of summer off from school so. i'll need to stay busy 😤

“President-nim?” A voice calling through the intercom on your desk breaks your concentration. You huff annoyedly as you lean forward and press the microphone button.

“What is it?”

“Your new assistant is here to meet you,” Secretary Lee responds cautiously. You groan; quickly shoving what you had been working on into the hidden compartment of your desk. Not another assistant.

Every Monday for two months now, a new bright-eyed young woman had walked through the doors of your office ready to kick-start her career as a company president's trusty assistant. And sure enough, by that Friday afternoon every single one of them had run out in tears; unable to handle the pressures of the job. Was that pressure almost entirely due to the fact that you had no idea how to do your own job? Unimportant, but--

“Annyeonghaseyo, President-nim!” A male voice shakes you from your internal monologue as you look up to find that a young man in a 90 degree bow has appeared in front of you. He looks up at you, his gaze drifting to your right hand.

You follow his line of sight to find a watercolor brush still in your hand-- dripping a bit onto your desk. Lifting up your desk compartment slightly, you toss the brush in with the others. You clear your throat a bit awkwardly-- smoothing down the lapels of your suit jacket with your fingers. “Annyeonghaseyo,” you mumble.

“I’m your new assistant, Park Gunwook,” he introduces politely, standing up straight. It’s now that you suddenly realize just how young this man appears to be. His face is round with youth and his lips resemble that of a baby chick. “I hope to serve you well.”

“When? After you get out of school each day?” You joke, brow furrowed in suspicion. “How did you get this job, huh? You look like you’re late for hagwon.”

Gunwook’s brow stays raised for a moment, but a surprisingly cheeky smile eventually creeps onto his face. “Couldn’t I ask you the same, President-nim?”

You exhale an unamused laugh. Guess this one thinks he’s clever. “I graduated two and a half years early.”

“That must look impressive on a resume,” he agrees genuinely with a nod. “Your father being the Chairman of the Board also must look pretty impressive on a resume.”

Stunned by this kid’s audacity, you just stare back at him.

“Nothing to be ashamed of President-nim,” he reassures, clasping his hands together behind his back. “I happen to know someone that works here, too.”

Figures. “And which one of those geriatric, good-for-nothing money bags on the Board is your daddy?”

“None of them,” Gunwook says with a smile. “Secretary Lee is my eomma. Might seem small, but a connection’s a connection.”

Secretary Lee hired her own son? After the way she’d watched all of the sobbing girls run out of the building screaming ‘I’M NEVER WORKING EVER AGAIN’’ each week?

What terrible thing had Park Gunwook done to be handed such a fate by his own mother?

You stand up from your desk and meet Gunwook at the front of it. Walking in a tight circle around him, you examine every inch of him curiously as he stands at attention.

“Um, President-nim?” He asks without moving a muscle. “Can I ask what you’re doing?”

“Absolutely not,” you answer, bending down to look at his dress shoes. They’re more than a few years old and definitely not a designer brand, but somehow... they’re condition is nearly immaculate. Not to mention, the black, thin laces are tied in perfectly symmetrical bows. Huh. It’s pretty uncommon for a boy your age to care that much about the tidiness of his shoes.

“Weirdo,” you mutter under your breath as you stand back up. You have to crane your neck a bit to look Gunwook in the eyes; not only is he quite tall, you also realized you’re standing a bit too close to him. Stepping back slightly, you take a seat on your desk-- crossing your arms as you glare at him.

“Something not to your liking, President-nim?” He asks, eyebrows raised in question.

You don’t answer. Instead, you ask a question of your own. “What makes you think you have what it takes to be my assistant?”

“I’ve been President of my class since middle school. I’ve placed in national debate competitions. I’m organized, responsible, and competent,” he responds confidently. But a little mischievous sparkle appears in his eye as he adds, “From what I’ve heard, those are qualities the President's office might need more of.”

“YA! Do you want to die, you little--...” As you threaten him, Gunwook has already gone back to his default polite smiling. “What’s wrong with you, huh? Don’t you know I can blacklist you for life with one phone call? Tell me why I shouldn’t--.”

“President-nim!” Gunwook interrupts your thought excitedly; pointing to a stack of papers sitting on the corner of your desk. “Are those spreadsheets that need executive review? I’m experienced in Excel if you're... too busy for them.”

You frown, picking up the papers in your hand and sifting through them. They are spreadsheets that need executive review. You’ve been putting it off for a week, because, believe it or not, you didn’t get a very spreadsheet-centric education at the fine arts university you attended. To think, you could be painting in your own studio all day every day. But instead your father wanted you to do something “sensible” and “respectable” that “made you worthy of receiving his estate some day”.

Not that you cared much about an inheritance. But at this point it was the least you were owed for sacrificing your life’s passion to goof off in an office for the rest of your life. It wasn’t like you particularly enjoyed being unhelpful or unproductive, but at just shy of twenty years old with a BA in Fine Arts... you hadn’t exactly been well-prepared for such an important job.

You look back up at Gunwook. He’s practically salivating at the mouth to get his hands on your routine paperwork. You hand him the stack of spreadsheets with a sigh: “Knock yourself out.”

Gunwook’s concerningly large hand snatches the papers from yours with lightning speed; hugging them to his chest happily. “Thank you, President-nim! I won’t let you down.”

You’re almost starting to believe him.

“Right,” you agree, chewing your cheek as you walk back behind your desk. “Well, you get to work on those and have them back to me by... Uh...”

You’re struggling to think of a reasonable time frame for the spreadsheet reviews to be completed, since you’d never once been the one to finish them. Gunwook sees this and answers for you, “Tomorrow at noon, I think you were going to say, President-nim?”

“Tomorrow at noon,” you echo with a frown. You’re not sure you like how familiar this kid was becoming with you already, but at least he’d been far more eager to do your executive work for you than anyone had been thus far. You’d know by tomorrow at noon if he was truly capable or not.

“And where should I put them for you if you’re not in your office, President-nim?” He asks thoughtfully.

“Oh, um,” you stumble, looking around for a good spot. You land on the thin drawer at the center of your desk and point to it. “In here is fine.”

Gunwook quickly walks behind your desk to see the drawer, stopping at a respectful distance. He reaches towards the drawer, but when you realize his fingers are pulling the wrong handle-- the top of your desk is already lifting open before you can stop him.

“Whoah,” the boy whispers in awe as he stares at the giant watercolor landscape painting you’d been working on for the last week or so. You both stand in silence for a moment as you watch Gunwook take in every detail of your latest work. “This is incredible.”

“Thank you,” you reply softly-- folding your arms across your chest uncomfortably at the compliment. No one had seen your artwork for a while now; even mentioning it in your father’s presence sent him into a spiral.

“If you’re this talented, then why--... Why are you the president of a tech corporation?” He asks, eyes meeting yours now. He’s curious and concerned and confused. When he realizes he forgot to speak formally, he bows in apology. “I’m sorry, President-nim.”

“Sometimes a 'connection' isn’t what you wanted,” you say after a moment, sitting back down in your desk chair.

Gunwook swallows from beside you, taking a few steps back to the front of your desk. “I’ll help as best as I can, President-nim. I’ll do my work so that you can do yours.”

You blink back at him, a bit speechless. “O-... Okay.”

He bows, another 90 degree one. “Should I get started on these then, President-nim?”

“Yeah,” you agree, nodding slowly. “Yes. That would be good.”

Gunwook nods. “Thank you, President-nim,” he says, turning and walking towards the door.

“Gunwook-sshi,” you call suddenly, causing the young man to let go of the door handle in his hand and turn around. His eyes are wide as he waits patiently for you to continue. “Why did you apply for this job? Besides the fact that your mother works here.”

The boy smiles, answering simply, “I thought I would be a good fit.”

You exhale a laugh, rolling your eyes. “We’ll see.”

Gunwook’s smile turns to a grin as he nods again-- walking out the door and closing it behind him.

The end of the work day comes surprisingly quickly (and it may or may not have something to do with Gunwook).

Okay, it has everything to do with Gunwook.

To your very pleasant surprise, the teenage boy had been your best assistant yet by a considerable margin. All in the span of six hours, he’d color-coded your weekly schedule, ghostwritten five urgent emails to executives from partner companies, brought you your lunch order exactly how you prefer it, and reorganized your entire desk for you all while you painted next to him.

He didn’t ask you any unnecessary questions or disturb your peace; he just did his work so that you could do yours. Just like he said he would.

The end of the day came so quickly that when Gunwook knocked on your door to ask you if you were heading out for the day, you thought he was making one of his insulting-but-somehow-also-charming remarks about your lack of presidential work ethic again. But glancing at the clock, you see that he’s right-- it’s almost 7 P.M.

“I’m actually gonna keep working for a little while longer,” you respond before you catch Gunwook’s eyebrows raise. “You can go home now though. You have to be well-rested for another day of high school tomorrow.”

He sticks his tongue in his cheek and smiles at the joke. “I actually go to university now, President-nim. Part-time, but still.”

You find yourself trying to picture what Gunwook would look like on a campus: a grey hoodie, jeans, and his hair flopping into his eyes. In another life, one where you had a different father, maybe you’d still be going to university, too. Maybe you would've run into Gunwook and been his sunbae instead of the Guinness World Records holder for youngest president of a national corporation. Would you have noticed each other? Would you have been friends? Rivals? Something else?

Returning his smile, you dismiss, “Have a good night, Gunwook-sshi.”

“Have a good night, President-nim.”

You work on your painting for another hour before finally gathering your things and heading out the door for the night. On your way out, you see Secretary Lee typing away at her desk. When she spots you, she grimaces nervously.

“Oh, President-nim,” she greets as you walk over to her. “I hope you’re not too upset, but I thought that my son could--.”

“Could be the best assistant I’ve ever had?” You finish for her; watching as her face relaxes at your compliment. “You were right. And you better keep up the good work, Secretary Lee: Gunwook-sshi would make a great secretary.”

Secretary Lee swallows and nods at the hint of a threat. “Understood, President-nim.”

You smile, starting to head toward the exit before your curiosity stops you in your tracks. You turn over your shoulder to call, “Secretary-nim?”

She looks at you expectantly; if not also a bit nervously.

“Why did Gunwook-sshi want to be my assistant?”

She considers for a moment before replying, “After your... poor luck... with assistants these past few months, I couldn’t help but think my son had what it takes to change that. He’s always been such an overachiever. But he wasn’t really interested at all at first."

“Why did he change his mind?” You ask; wanting to understand a bit more about the incredibly competent, but slightly odd assistant that showed up at your office today.

Secretary Lee laughs quietly. “Well, to be honest... He only handed me his completed application after...

... I showed him a picture of you.”

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sandwitchstories · 24 days ago

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All questions for the Fic Writing Asks, please. :3

Alright, lets do this!!

Fic Writing Asks!

🧊: How do you get over writer's block? I beat it with a switch and put it in time out. If only it were that easy, right? If writing for a different character or switching to a different WIP doesn't work, I made myself take a break for a day or two and come back to it. Of course during that time I am still constantly thinking about writing, so I jot shit any ideas for scenes/lines/whatever down in sticky notes or a my writing notebook to come back to when I'm ready to give it a try again.

🕯: Do you have anything special to help you get into the Writing Mood? I'm pretty easy lol One of my favorite shows on in the background (lately its been Delicious in Dungeon on repeat), a bowl of weed, my Rengoku wearable blanket, water/coke and snacks. That's generally all I need to get into the mood and to stay in the zones lol

🕸: Do you outline? How detailed? I generally don't. I do have a few AUs where I have created a detailed lore/origin for but only 1 where I have it outlined. And its super detailed with the lore worked in as well.

🗻: What's your greatest strength in writing? I would say dialogue. I think that is something I do well.

❤️‍🩹: What helps you when you lose confidence in your writing abilities? you ( @onwinedarkseas ) hyping me up! lol and I will re-read comments left on my fics. Remind myself I am doing this for fun and i only share it incase there are some other weirdos out there who might enjoy it too.

🕰: Do you participate in writing sprints? I did back in my Fairy Tail days but not since.

🗂: Do you make moodboards for your fics or blorbos? I have never made a mood board.

🍂: What everyday things help inspire you? My husband, Pinterest, sometimes its a good meal or a new song/show I discovered.

🌰: What's something you are working to get better at? Writing more than just smut lol

💬: Do you reread comments? YES

☕️: What time of the day do you prefer to write? I have been a night owl since the moment of my birth.

📚: What are some of the favorite things you've learned while doing research? 1. Kites were outlawed at one time in Japan because people were spending more time flying kites than working. 2. Oiran got to choose who they slept with and it was a whole ass ordeal, not just a meet and bang.

🫖: If you had a tea party with your blorbos you write the most, how would it go? The tea would be cold by the time we got to it because we would be having hot, sweaty, fucking filthy sex.

🎃: Do you write for holiday (Halloween, Christmas, etc) events? If so, what's your favorite work from one of those events? I don't really do events but I do write for the holidays! My favorite one I have written is a Christmas one. Kyojuro Rengoku x Reader NSFW Mistletoe and Idle Hands

🎱: Have you ever had readers correctly guess a twist or reveal in the comments? I don't think so, I don't really get a lot of comments on the ones I write that have twists

📝: Do you prefer planning on a computer or on paper? Computer for sure. I have really bad arthritis in my hands and sometimes its painful for me to write by hand.

❄️: Do you write multi-chapter fics, do you keep an update schedule? I write all the things lol drabbles, imagines, one shots, multi chapter, series - all the things! and absolutely no schedule lol

🍷: Do you ever write while inebriated? I am pretty much perma-stoned. Does that count?

🩻: Has writing a fic ever led to you discovering something about yourself? Yes! Fic is a great place to explore sexuality and kinks in a safe place.

🎭: Do you write vent fics? If so, do you post them? Its not really a vent fic but I wrote Safe In The Arms Of Love when I was having a mental breakdown in the thick of dealing with my brother's meth addiction and the mess he had gotten himself into.

🔥: What's a piece of writing advice you consider bad advice? That the topic/focus of the fic being written should be something that appeals to readers even if it is not something that appeals to/calls to the author.

🧋: What's your most popular fic? According to AO3 statistics - Kudos wise it is I'm No Hero and I'm Not Made Of Stone (Buddy Daddies) and hits wise is Accidentally Happily Ever After (Sanemi Shinazugawa x Reader)

🎵: Do you create playlists for your fics? Nope, I'm boring lol

🧼: Do you ever go back to edit fics or chapters after they've already been posted? All the time. I seem to always find another typo or think of a better way to word something lo

👑: Say 3 things you like about one of your fics. (Asker can add a title of the fic they want the author to talk about.) Hmmmmm which one... Lets do Stoned and Boned ! 1. It came out hot and nasty as fuck. 2. I like the dialogue between reader and SukiePukie. 3. I think I did a good job balancing the intimacy, humor, love and filthiness of this couple.

#witch answers #sandwitchstories #baby's first tumblr homework

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anonimusunnoaniswriting · 7 months ago

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Well here's part 2! ( ≻⸝⸝⸝≺ ྀི)

How can I deny a nice cup of tea and a massage ? There's no way. I thank you dearly.

You and Nanami probably gonna kill me with a huge sermon about not working overtime to which I have been doing more, and my poor health has been less healthy. I should say. But I'm managing it and taking care as much as I can. At some point I'll slow down a bit with the extra shifts.

May I adoringly nickname you as my Wifey now ? Is that okay ? Instead of Workwives we are Ficwives? (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡

Gonna start tagging our conversations as "The Miscellaneous Misadventures and Mischiefs of Noni & Kat", watcha thing about that ?

Take all the time you need about posting fics, sweetie. I follow discontinued stories and some that I have been waiting for idk three+ years to be continued ? I'm very patient in waiting even with my chronic issue problems. Like anxiety. Your slow cooking is worth the wait and it's gonna be delightful! (⁠｡⁠♡⁠‿⁠♡⁠｡⁠)

Please if I start yapping too much just tell.me to shut up that I'll go back to my void corner. But I would like to thank you, Bacon and Mrs Haitch and other dear moots that slowly got me into asking /interacting / talking more around here. You've all been so dear and welcoming ! You have no idea how that has affected me! Idk how many years I've been here, and I'm always dead silent. I just leave little thank you's and a small comment or notes on something. So thank you for adopting this stray cat.

It's wonderful people like you and them and your wonderful stories that have kept me going all these years, doesn't matter if it's an image, drabble, one shot, a whole 100 + chapter fic, that brings so many times comfort from the harsh real life world.

I am immensely grateful to have meet you, and for having you as a friend! And them included. (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)⁠✧⁠*⁠。

Please do be feral ! It can happen always at anytime whatever the circumstances! I love and support feral ladies and everyone else ! Don't hold back ! Go absolutely gnawing feral over the things that matter for you and that you like talking about.

Now pouring the Tea !

I should leave you hanging a bit longer just for the pleasure of torturing you a little bit. But I won't. I might have the murderous resting face but I'm a softie by heart.

What can I say ? Before my brain fried ?

The little bit I observed, because yes I am shy and introvert irl, I barely talk and keep it mostly to myself, but I have a error on my code, depending on what happens, I blush easily (yes yes I know here am I 25+ blushing so bad that sometimes the tip of my ears get pink too, its horrible, there goes my bad face facade through the window) and sometimes my colleagues try to get that reaction out of me, which is hard because I know how to hide well. But sometimes like this, there's no way of denying and oh boy did they get a kick out of it, it was the talk all day. lol

It's a small bakery coffee shop, nothing glamorous or like Starbucks. It's local. Since the town basically revolves around tourism on the weekends usually it cramps up a bit. But mostly it's just the same old costumers.

But this guy never showed up here, on the shop. From the little I could observe, because usually I slyly avoid too eye contact much. He's tall, I would say early 50's ? Dark brown hair with some silverfox strands showing. A five o'clock shadow of a beard. Very well dressed, and accompanied. Yes yes. What you think about this glimpse of him ? I guess handsome in his ways ? Idk. But he was so polite.

Maybe one day I get lucky enough to meet someone with Nanami vibes, and things happens just as you described ?

Thank you for interacting with me ! Form your support and friendliness! I appreciate it so much, blessed be sweetie ! (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)⁠❤

With love,

Kat

My beautiful Love,

You're in the absolute correct place. In a perfect utopia, we would never have to work overtime, we would be fed and taken care of, and the world would not be the shit show that it is today.

Unfortunately, for us, we do not live in such a world and are forced to trudge to our places of work everyday. Slaves chained to a never ending unrewarding system that drains the very soul out of our selves.

Regardless. You must prioritise yourself, my love. You must. Because you are a ray of sunshine in this world and you should never be dimmed.

It goes without saying that I will keep writing. Keep creating. Whether it's a short or long or one like or smau whatever. Writing is everything to me. (It's actually going to be what 10 years of my writing and postings online I think ahahah) And though I'm not big and popular i don't care because interactions like yours MAKE MY DAY.

Darling.

I LOVE coffee shops like that. It sounds like a dream! Oh I'd love to meet "the one" in such a place. I have gobbled more coffee shop au stories than I can count and just love it. Keep em coming. But again, please look after yourself also.

Our Coffee Shop Silver Fox (CSSF) sounds totally daddy! Terribly attractive men who just breeze in and out being polite as shit are my actual honest to god weakness. Like marry me. Right now good sir pit a fucking ring on it.

I don't blame you for being flustered, I would be too!

And I hope you don't mind me saying but, my love, you sound gorgeous jsjs. 🫣🫣🫣

Stay safe, look after yourself, and make sure to drink enough water and eat your meals on time lovey.

Yours, in prose,

Wifey🩷

I wanna tag real quick here @uchihasanctuary and @pseudowho because they deserve to know you're a cutie who thinks about them too. (But we all know u love me mostest, right... ? )

#the adventures of noni and kat #youre not a stray cat. youre my well fed tabby now.#i cant type yhe whole thing baby girl its too long and im dead sleepy.#i love u cutie.#my ficwife.#anonimusunnoan #anonimus answers your questions.#asks

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iamawolfstarsimp · 2 years ago

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Sensative Sirius

Lmaooo i forgot to post this yesterday for happy friday but here it is now lol

Sup bitches im back

Today i present to the class a drabble short fic headcanon thing that took me way too long to both come up with and write

So yeah enjoy

Sirius sat his legs up on the library table that he and Remus (mostly Remus) were using in their quiet corner of the library.

Remus was studying or doing homework or something, Sirius couldn't remember. His boredom had caused him to forget his and Remus' original objective.

He leaned his chair back onto its back two legs and leaned forward and backward, half entertaining himself, half lulling himself to sleep.

He was just starting to drift off when he heard a quiet, excited, squeal.

He inhailed sharply and looked over at Remus who was opening the nearby window to let an owl in that was carrying a package, presumably for Remus.

"What's that?" Sirius asked, snapping all four of his chair legs back onto the ground causing some other people nearby to flinch and the stern librarian to glare at him.

"A package." He responded shortly before practically manhandling the poor owl to get the parcel off of the bird.

"Obviously," Sirius said with an eyeroll. Remus walked over without further explanation and started carefully opening his mystery package.

"Okay fine," Sirius said when Remus didn't tell him what was in it. "I'll play into whatever game you're playing. Dearest Moony, whatever might be in your wrapped parcel."

"Okay, too much Sirius." Remus grinned back at Sirius. "And to answer your question feathers, or to be more specific, quills."

"Ohh.." Sirius watched as Remus pulled out a clear bag of different assorted feathers.

"They're so pretty!" He exclaimed as quietly as he could.

"They're kinda ugly.." Sirius grinned at Remus' horrified expression. "What?! I mean look at that one Moons, it looks like a forest threw up a pixie!"

"It does not!" Remus whisper yelled.

"Does too!" Sirius playfully shooted back.

"It's super soft though! Here, feel-" without warning Remus shoved the feather at Sirius' face, quickly fluttering it around his ears.

"H-hey!" Sirius whined and instantly scrunched up his shoulder to his ears. "Ihit tickles!"

Remus grinned. "I thought you said you didn't have ticklish ears."

"I dohon't!"

"Well all that gigging says otherwise Siri."

Sirius let out a flustered, giggly, whine which, in Remus' opinion was even cuter when Sirius was forced to be quiet.

"I mean I kiss you all the time on your ears and I never get this kind of reaction." He thought out loud. "Maybe I should kiss a little harder, do you think it would tickle if I did that?" He teased.

"Rehehemus, stop."

"Or is it the feather that is reeaally tickling you, hm?" He ignored Sirius' complaint.

"Rehemus I can't k-keheep quiet!" He confessed, using one of his hands to fend off the feather while the other covered his mouth.

"Sucks to be you, I guess." Remus grinned and grabbed another feather to attack his other ear, tickling the opposite ear when Sirius would scrunch up his neck to protect one of them.

This method had Sirius in quiet hysterics, his laughter growing louder by the minute.

"Rehehemus!!" Sirius nodded behind Remus who turned around to have the librarian scowling down at him.

"Uhh.."

Moments later they were kicked out, much to Remus dismay but not surprise. It wasn't his fault that Sirius was so sensitive.

"It's your own fault for getting kicked out of the library." Sirius snarked at him as they walked back up to their dorm. "You wouldn't stop messing with me! How was I supposed to keep quiet for that long?"

"Sounds to me like you want round two." Remus said, quickly fluttering the quill that was still in his grasp against Sirius' ear.

"No!" Sirius shoved away the quill, a giddy grin emplated on his face.

"Well then shut it, alright?" Sirius nodded.

Despite wanting to be mad at Sirius, Remus grinned to himself about how stupid the situation was.

He was also pleased about the new information that he could use against Sirius, tucking it away in his mind.

The information would be useful later.

Hope you liked

#sirius black #remus lupin #wolfstar #marauders #tickle fic #tickle fluff #sfw tickling community #marauders era #wolfstar fic #fluff #sfw tickling #happy friday #my writing

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sunakore · 3 months ago

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Bit of info for my main OCs :)

helloo. i might post a drabble later idk. but here is some info on my ocs! im working on worldbuilding, but its obviously not even close to being fleshed out yet. siiiiighs

(expect there to be either changes or updates on my characters. ill probably make a separate post on what they look like but there'll be no art) (i wish i had the motivation to art 💔)

Main OCs:

Nalani [he/they], 21

Icarus [he/him], 19

Santez [he/him], 19

Marelle [she/zir], 22

Aeloa [she/her], 19

Rene [they/he], 20

They're self-appointed demon hunters! Well...I don't know what they really hunt yet. just work with me here lmao. demons in this world are just any big bad creatures, and I'll probably find a name for them. They also do hunt titans, which also will eventually have a name...but titans are much more ancient and intelligent. and big. theyre big boys.

because i haven't touched on their abilities (which is very not obvious from my writing) in ANY of my drabbles...since ive been focused on character interactions and all, here they are. shoving them in your amazing face.

-Nalani can absorb and store cold temperatures in his blood, and then channel it back out in the form of ice. So, they can basically manipulate ice, even fucking bend it (awesome!!) in whatever shape he wants. He could remake the sphinx of giza on a good day. Because of his ability he can also withstand freezing temperatures like a boss. He can't store too much cold in his body, though, cause it can only tolerate so much.

-Icarus...has no ability. Deadass. No sudden awakening or aha! i secretly have an ability and you never knew it! No. None of that. i mean hes cool i guess...

-Santez has like...some kinetic absorption thing. he can absorb impact directed towards him and bounce it back. The more he uses it without break, the more weakened his ability will become. So rest = good, which is something he never does so yay.

-Marelle can warp the perception of someone, but she has to actually be aware of the knowledge ze's trying to warp, and has to emotionally resonate with how the person feels about said knowledge. She doesn't have high emotional intelligence, so. Yeah. If she overuses zir ability then she'll become emotionally drained.

-Aeloa can connect with creatures and influence them. She also can with demons, but that depends on their mental strength. Her ability usually only works on weak demons. Animals are naturally drawn to her because she's a disney princess in her own right. She can understand what animals she's connected with are feeling and saying.

-Rene is a shapeshifter, but not quite!!! They can only add on and modify characteristics and not change into a whole new form. He can't remove them, so if they give themself a bird leg then aaah you're stuck like that for a few hours buddy :D. Giving themself too many characteristics at once will temporarily destabilize his ability. So call it a mini shapeshifting ability. and no, they aren't a furry

im not gonna go over relationships since ill establish that in my writing. but heyyy heres some random info about the characters:

they all live together in a house they rented. they split the rent and everyone has to pitch in. usually they collect horns, fangs, or skins from 'demons' and sell it since they can be turned into valuable resources (usually for magic purposes, ill think about that later lol).

-their home is in a forest a few miles from a suburban hill. its also on a high hill above the city, so if you reach the edge of the forest then you can get a view of the city lights. my fantasy bro

-nalani's basically the parent of the house. he's the only one who knows how to cook and drive. he doesnt trust anybody behind the wheel. they tried to get the others to cook a meal and they cooked a fire. he makes them do chores tho

-everyone has their own rooms. marelle likes to sleep in the bathtub, for some reason. santez was banished to the basement cause he kept blasting music at 2 in the morning.

-rene drinks a lot. the legal age to drink is 18 at wherever the fuck they live, so dont worry about that.

-santez listens to lady gaga. and he also has a serious addiction to staying up until 72 hours.

-icarus is very skilled, which is how he keeps up with the others and their abilities. he's kind of the tech guy? he's really good with mechanics. he spends a lot of time working on tools for fighting and defense. and developing stupid pointless softwares. he also studies 'titans' and their old ass civilization from any artifacts he can find.

-aeloa likes drawing, but doesnt like showing people her artworks. she's very passionate when it comes to art, since it's something she loved as a kid. she draws yuri /j

-everyone likes chocolate. if someone has a chocolate cake that shit gonna get stolen like it's in a tom and jerry episode. everyone keeps their secret stashes. they also try to find each other's secret stashes. all the time.

-marelle's a NERDDD. she reads non-fiction and stuff, nerd!! ze might drop the most baffling word in the dictionary during a casual conversation. she's very intelligent, which makes zir bad at explaining things in a way that's simple for others. when icarus explains things he's just extremely vague and absurd in his wording and doesnt offer any context at all.

Bdays :3

format is month/day

Nalani: 4/15

Icarus: 9/2

Santez: 1/18

Marelle: 12/23

Aeloa: 3/27

Rene: 2/7

okay thats all for now lol im working on a magic system and i either will post it...or start mentioning magic in my drabbles without making it an info dump somehow

#oc #ocs #original character #info dump #what am i doing #believe in me guys trust #questioning everything #its a hobby #writing #not really

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genshingarbage · 2 years ago

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Temptress. ||Drabbles-NSFW||

Reader x Genshin Men

WOAh! Whats this?! a post???? Must be a dream looool anyway, So yea, no idea where this sprouted from, but they're small drabble length scenarios that have floated around in my head for literal months, so I decided fuck it might as well just write it all down, I like to think of whore like things about the men in Genshin sooo, why not just do some drabbles of reader being a whore with several of 'em lmao some may be longer than others/more detailed, some may be more focused on reader truly being just a pet/whore but in a way all the men do sorta I guess, care, for you lol in their own, uhm, personal ways, in fact some may even come off as more fluffy smut than smut smut as I am probably gonna edit this as I'm writing so, yea, also it may not contain all the boys as well... there is a lot of them now and trying to cram it all in for all the boys is kinda difficult now lmao however hope you like whatever this is lmao also Merry Christmas~ - Mod Diluc.

Diluc

Mondstadt was now silent, the night sky had made its arrival and it being a weekday an all even the city of freedom had to follow some basic rules; which was simply sleep because you have work tomorrow, duh. Not a single soul was to be found strolling the streets anymore, well, except one... "Damn you, woman." Okay, two.

Your hands was pressed against the cold surface of the darkened behind of Angel's Share, one of the last establishments to close so late at night, most of the customers inside, drunk or tipsy had already began their dizzy wobbling back to their homes, all, except you.

You had stubbornly refused the whole night to move from a certain stool at a certain table, in full view of a certain red haired man at the bar, constant threatening glares from his crimson fire eyes did little to warn you and wave you off, you remained sat, smug little smirk an all.

And thanks to your little rebellion of not leaving it costed said man that owned Angel's Share a rather unfortunate amount of potential paying customers, which to his obvious position made him rather, angry.

So as a show of how frustrated you had made him all night; being the sly temptress that you are, licking your lips, stealing glances, blowing kisses, hiking up your foot against your other leg to give him a full on showing of your lace panties between your thick thighs that barely remained in your black stockings, you were now bent over, hands pressed against a building, being pounded mercilessly by the red haired man, Diluc Ragnvindr.

His trousers hung down loosely around his waist, his hands having a vice grip on you leaving you no room to even wriggle, your cheek had began to hurt from being pressed against the bricks outer layer for so long. The slapping of his hips meeting yours were echoing more than he'd like, he had a reputation to up hold after all, so with that in mind he bent down over your arched back and pressed his clothed chest against your back.

One hand remained against your thick and curvaceous thigh as the other slithered up past your belly and under your blouse to where your breasts sat confined.

"Stubborn slut." His voice was laced with a certain venom as his slender fingers groped into your breast, kneading the flesh as he pulled himself even closer to you. His words of degradation did nothing but spur the fire in your burning core, if he truly did hate you that would hurt, but when fucking you it sure felt like he did, and it felt good.

He began to practically hump and rut into you from behind now, squeezing your thigh and using it as leverage to force you back onto his throbbing cock with every thrust, the wetness of your slick coated him nicely and allowed him to thrust with blissful ease.

"So damn wet, aren't you?" he spat through gritted teeth, his hand slapping your thigh before squeezing it hard as he continued his pace.

"Should finish with you and leave you begging, then maybe you'd get it through that whore mind of yours to stop interfering with my business just because your hungry for some cock!" He growled lowly, the threat almost sounding genuine, you whimpered softly and shook your head.

You lust ridden and dizzy glare back at him with such a pleading look didn't work on him anymore, but beg or not he would never actually leave you high and dry, he was just too, soft, for such a cruel act.

With every thrust your legs faltered in their strength, he really was big, and thick to add to it and the way he angled and piston into your hips left no room for you to even breathe, but he is right, you were so hungry for this, for him, no one gets you off as well as he does, such a talent he possesses. Maybe if he didn't do such a good job you wouldn't always crawl back for more.

A drop of sweat fell from the red haired mans face as he remained hunched over you like a wolf mounted atop it's bitch, grunting and growling with anger mixed with now sexual frustration.

This had already been going on for far longer than you could remember, your brain becoming too thoroughly fucked out to care anymore, then your eyes widen, just as you was about to cry out in ecstasy a hand grips strongly round your mouth, two fingers sinking past your lips and capturing your tongue.

"Silence, slut, I don't need Mondstadt waking up to the sounds of a needy whore." The man behind you spoke in a low husky tone right at your ear as he continued to mercilessly pound you through your orgasm into overstimulation and possibly another orgasm.

"Feeling good, Hmm? Tsk." He bit your ear lobe, hard, and began to suck on it roughly as his pace quickened and you could tell by his insistent throbbing he was about to-

With a low groan you felt it, hot and sticky coating the backs of your thighs and legs as a guttural growl left him. Then you felt him tear away from you as if you was too hot to touch right now, afraid to get burnt and consumed by your feverish neediness.

Turning around with a slight pout you didn't get to reach a second orgasm he merely scoffed as he pulled his trousers back up and fixed himself instantly, as if he hadn't just abused your now dripping hole for the past what? Thirty minutes?

He already began to turn away from you to walk back around and go back inside Angel's Share to properly finish locking up, and as he did he spoke in a monotone voice.

"I'm warning you Y/N, Don't do that again." and with that he disappeared like always after these fun little encounters you had with him.

You pulled your panties back up and neatly pushed your skirt back down and over your now sticky thighs and giggled licking your lips. His 'Don't do that again' merely meant, 'same time tomorrow.'

And tomorrow you would be back for sure.

Kaeya

You closed your eyes and calmed your breathing as best as you could, focusing fully on your task at hand; to not gag. But that proved difficult when Kaeya Alberich, Calvary Captain of the Knights of Favonious had his rather thick and long cock buried deep down your throat.

There you sat, between his thighs under a table in Angel's Share, nestled away from public eyes, barely. You couldn't complain however, since this had been your idea right from the start, when the silver tongued devil before you actually for once wasn't in the mood to fool around, solemn look on his face you'd decided you didn't like such an expression on such a pretty face.

You ignored his tired refusals and weak attempts to move away or grab your head and stop you, but silly Kaeya, he's played this game before with you so much now you know all his buttons to press and flick, and it started with a simple kitten lick to the top of his weeping head of his cock that he tried to act wasn't already hard from the moment you'd sat down with him in the tavern.

"Such a... naughty girl." he spoke softly, as to not drawn any unwanted attention, luckily he was on the upper floor, which was normally less busy anyway, but still, it only took one peek to see your knelt down self gagging and swallowing on him like a hungry hound.

You rubbed your tongue on the underneath of his shaft and the man above you hissed gently, clenching his fist on the table before bringing his other hand down under to roughly ball a fist of your hair into, yanking your face flush against his base leaving you to jerk slightly and gag ever so slightly.

"Watch it princess." is all he gave as a warning before releasing your hair and allowing you to pull away and catch your breath as quietly as possible, though you couldn't help the smirk that crept onto your face, you loved when he treated you rough like this, putting you in your place, sometimes you thought maybe the pirate actually had grown a soft spot for you, his favourite little plaything.

Having caught your breath you gave no warning prior before sucking him back down all the way to the base causing him to now jerk, the mug of Death After Noon nearly slipping from his grasp, his furrowed his brows and slammed the mug down, looking around he saw he was the only one up here with you right now, good.

He fisted your hair again and yanked your head up out from under the table, you blinked a few times as the light dangling from the ceiling burned your vision from having been under a dark table for so long, face flushed and lips puffy and wet he merely examined your face before drawing closer.

"Stop testing my patience today Y/N, you will not like the end result do I make myself clear?" You looked up into his lust filled but suddenly dangerous icy cold glare in his blue eye and nodded licking your lips slowly, he brought his other hand to your face and slowly rubbed his thumb along your swollen bottom lip, a gentle hum of approval emitting from him.

"Open." is all he said, to which you obeyed, opening your mouth and sticking your tongue out.

He smirked at your obedience, he remembered how nervous and shy you first was when suggested such acts with you, my how you've grown into his perfect cock toy.

He then spat into your mouth with almost a look of disgust but you'd grown use to his domineering stare during such moments, all it did now was turn you on, you closed your mouth and swallowed it happily which he then smirked at, tugging your head up and giving you an ice cold stinging kiss that left you breathless before dropping your head back down below the table.

"There's my good princess, now, back to it Y/N" he said as he took another sip of his favourite drink after a long days work, with his pretty little princess helping him unwind, such a good life to be living.

And there you sat back between his thighs and sucking deeply on his pulsing cock, thinking the exact same thought, such a good life to be living.

Childe

Oh god, make it stop, archons have mercy on me please!

Your pleas fell on deaf ears however, you'd given up begging the tall, lean ginger that sat knelt behind you for mercy hours ago, resorting to the archons for a saving grace now. The slapping sounds resounding all around the room, the room that reeked of nothing but sex and sweat now, how many times had you cum? how many times had he cum again?

Your muscles ached and wept inside for just a moments rest, but they weren't anywhere near as sore as your insides where, and your dripping abused sex, the squelching as his thick veiny length continued to endlessly thrust in an out, your slick, and both of your mixed releases becoming immensely perfect lubricant for his ongoing assault at your insides.

His pace hadn't wavered in the slightest since he'd first tossed you on this bed, your final resting place it was starting to look like however, your head drooped down, your damp hair sticking to your shining sweat coated skin and pooling around your neck and shoulders, one arm coiled round your head in a petty attempt to keep you propped up, the other bent behind you and pinned to your lower back by one of his strong hands, long fingers determined on a goal keeping your hand and arm prisoner.

"Ch- Childe please, 'm... so ...c-cl-" a sudden smack to your rear causing you to yelp and cut your own sentence off, moans immediately breaking through after as his thrust get even faster. As if he was trying to damn you into oblivion by his cock alone.

"Ajax, milaya (dear), told you so many times before." he sounded hoarse, rough, but so damn sexy, the manly grunts and growls seeping from his lips as he selfishly slapped into your behind with each frantic thrust left you speechless, and nearly breathless too.

"A- Aja-ax! Please, I am about to c-" a sudden grip to your chin and a demanding tug forced your silence and sights to look behind you, the sight almost made you cum alone, a beautiful dusted shade of pink across his cheeks, his auburn hair dishevelled and unruly, lifeless ocean eyes drowning in lust and greed with a soft shine of sweat glistening off his skin, his jacket nearly fully discarded now as it drape on his arms already having slipped from his shoulders, his toned and muscular chest and abs constantly coming into view as his jacket lay open.

"Then cum, little zayka (bunny)" he gruffly commanded and that was your undoing, crying out in a plea, pleasure? You truly didn't know at this point, but it hit you, so damn hard and fast, your whole body convulsing against your will as you came for the Nth time today, his hand caging yours finally let go and slithered up tightly squeezing your shoulder, somewhat steadying your shudders and shivers as your body became victim to another hard orgasm.

Pushing with force he broke your weak attempt of propping yourself up, falling flat into the mattress now that was utterly soiled with too many bodily fluids to decipher at this moment. Your cheek pressed into the softness as you felt the weight dip either side your head, opening your glossy and dazed eyes you saw one of his hands, the one still confined in a glove pressed flatly into the mattress beside you.

From above Tartaglia now looked ready in position to start doing push-ups, one of his many basic warm up exercises in the early morning. However the only difference now was he wasn't out in the morning chill, but in a stuffy and stagnant aired room above a quickly melting minded woman that he enjoyed watching fall further into damnation.

"Good, good girl, so obedient for me aren't you?" An almost sadistic smile crept onto the gingers face as he loomed above you like a lion above its dinner, he breathed in deeply through his nose, a deep guttural inhale that left him shakily exhaling as he was becoming intoxicated in all that was you.

Soft whimpers is all you replied with now, you were slipping so fast into madness, your body hurt, it stung with aches and soreness, it begged so dearly to have rest now, but it couldn't deny the gut twisting pleasure that kept being forced onto it, your mind was torn and confused and left you more lost than when this all started, you found it easier to just stop thinking now.

"So beautiful, perfect." he murmured to himself, you'd not had guessed it was about you until you felt dotting caresses to your head and cheek that felt entirely out of place right now. He was petting you like you were some magical creature that he'd nurtured back to health and grown a sense of parenthood for, it felt uncanny to his normal flirtatious playboy style void of any deeper meaning.

With a slight reposition of balance you felt his thick length wedge deeper into your battered insides, reminding you of your situation. How did it get this way? All you remember now as hazy as it was, is you merely saying you felt you had no purpose in this world anymore, having retired from your assassination workforce, realising you no longer had a calling, for your call was always to be the sirens song of death to others, with no victims left to sing too, you were left abandoned. A performer with no audience, on a stage barely intact anymore.

You couldn't decipher the look on his face back then as he went silent, an eerie shadow of ominous tension exuding from him after the words left your mouth. Within mere seconds he had you naked and forced onto the bed in the shared room you both occupied, common occurrence for you both whenever you crossed paths, you had an ongoing fling with him after all. But he'd never been this intense with you before, sure he always fucked you good and proper, with that scary unending stamina of his, but this felt far more goal orientated than ever before now.

A sudden deep chuckle from him dragged you back to the now, as if he too had been lost temporarily in a deep trance, now back with full clarity he'd yet to enlighten you on, but you felt it was about to be shone on you no matter what your protests could've, if it even existed, been.

"You never were a little zayka (bunny) were you Y/N? No, you kill too easily, show no remorse for something innocent like that, but you're so sly, stealthy even, that sharp witted tongue as stinging as your knives that claimed so many lives, no, not a zayka (bunny) at all, but you know what you are?" He sounded so, serious... strong, possessive.

Before you could question his motives for this speech and demand a conclusion his thrusts suddenly started up again, this time slow, painfully slow, but deliciously deep and hard. Rhythmic slapping of your rear as his waist slammed down into you with full force now, his position allowing him to sink deeper and deeper inside your warmth. You began to moan loudly, desperately as he reached new depths within you. Feeling his weight press down into you as he laid almost on you now, his arm slowly slinking round your neck as if getting you into a headlock ready to strangle.

His teeth nibbling against your earlobe as he pants hot bated breaths beside your flushed cheek, so close, so hot, his smell, his weight, him, so much to take in...

"You're my malenʹka lysytsya (little fox), you're mine, all mine, always will be mine, now and forever milaya (dear)." His voice now a husky hot whisper against your ear, cheating entirely as he knows how weak in the knees you become to him using his native language to pet name you and praise you, you began to know what some of them meant, having him repeat them so often to you, it was bound to happen, but that... whatever he just said? 'malenʹka lysytsya' you'd never heard that one...

As if reading your mind he let out a soft chuckle, far too innocent and full of boyish charm for what he was literally doing to you right now. "It means little fox Y/N, bunny doesn't suit a killer, but a hunter in the shadows whose mastery lies in stealth and deceit, fox suits you perfectly, don't you think?" He asked it so nonchalantly as if he wasn't balls deep inside you right now, literally keeping you under him in a tight grip.

You blinked to try clear your vision, but blurry it remained, tears constantly swelling from painful yet blissful overstimulation to your abused body now. He was a harbinger, he was ruthless in battle and an expert with his weapons, and he seemed to dance that dance well, to avoid death, for your first meeting with him was purely because you'd been commissioned to off the young Harbinger. What a joke that ended up, duelling him when he easily caught you trying to stalk him in the shadows, fighting you was capable of, but the element of surprise was your best weapon and he'd disarmed it instantaneously.

Having fallen to the floor and accepting bitter defeat you awaited the sealing blow that was to end you, fully aware of what this work entails if you're to fail, but it never came, instead you felt a hand slink into your own and yank you back up to your feet, amused and lovestruck lifeless blue eyes gleaming back at you. That is how it started, in return for not killing you, you became, friends with benefits, often meeting up with each other when stressed and wanting a way to get out, at first it was just him summoning onto you, but when you grew to like his company and after a certain night where he became nothing but a selfless giver fixated on making you almost die from pleasure, you concluded this wasn't such a bad alternative, plus he was attractive obviously and somewhat... well, ... likeable.

You moaned again loudly as you felt him begin to thrust more harder and faster into you now. Splitting you apart inside and making home in your deepest most intimate places, you felt it, the buzz of another orgasm building, you loved it, but dreaded it all the same for it was becoming ten too many now.

"Come back with me." you heard his gruff voice beside your ear again, your head being forced to remain still as he rutted into you hard and fast. You continued to moan and blinked several times, did you hear that right?

"Y/N, be mine, come back with me, to my homeland, Snezhnaya. You have no reason to remain here anymore, or anywhere, the only place you're ever going to be needed is with me, by my side, in my home, be mine, become a mother to our children-"

"A-ajax?! children wh-what?!"

"Come now little lysytsya (fox) after how many times I have came inside you tonight, you really believe you aren't getting pregnant?"

"I can just go to BuBu Pharmacy and-"

"Over my dead body."

He began to pick up pace now, frighteningly so, drawing your orgasm horrifically nearer at breaking speeds. What had gotten into him?! more importantly what had gotten into you? Why did the sound of becoming his woman and bearing his children sound so inviting to you all of a sudden?

"Sl-slow down A, Ajax... I am gonna c-cum again-eng..."

"Let's, mmh, make a bet then my beautiful milaya (dear), last longer than me, and you're free to go, but if you cum before me, that is your eternal promise to forever holding loyalty to me and me only, and becoming mother to our beautiful multiple children." He chuckled gutturally as he finished having seen the red flush spread like wildfire over your cheeks as you became insanely embarrassed at all these far too loving and endearing promises to what is suppose to be mindless sex only! Wait a fucking second, Did he say multiple children?!

You growled out in a broken and shaky agreement to his proposal not that you had any choice but too from your current position, with that he beamed a far too overly energetic grin before piston slamming into you. Deep, so damn deep and hard, so fast too, dear archons above you wasn't gonna last for shit, why did you even think you could?!

Like clockwork he began to mutter praises into your ear, breath hot and hoarse, coaxing your orgasm closer every native word he rolled off his tongue. It was useless because with in only a few minutes and some perfectly deep angled rolls of his hips you melted and fell apart beneath him, moaning out loudly and shuddering aggressively yet again, your orgasm rattling you entirely, his grip around your neck never did cease.

"Good, gooood girl, my good girl, you hear that milaya (dear)? You're mine now, forever. Sucks to lose, but man do I love always winning." So cocky, you tried to groan but it came out a garbled whimper as your orgasm was still wrecking havoc on your poor body. Then the final straw snapped your sanity as he let out a deep groan finally cumming in you, letting his thick white ropes of seed paint and smother your insides, filling you to the brim yet again, he was right- you were definitely gonna be pregnant after this.

You felt so thoroughly fucked now, so dizzy, tired and exhausted, you felt the tempting blanket of slumber beginning to wrap around you. That and he was fucking you into unconsciousness at this point, he didn't stop thrusting, albeit he'd slowed down a bit, became softer, but movement was still apparent within him as he rested his head between your shoulder blades, panting deeply and heavily.

Finally releasing your head you dropped on to the mattress instantly and you heard him chuckle softly, warmly.

"Rest milaya (dear), you'll need it, it is a long trip back to Snezhnaya, rest." And you couldn't help but obey the order for it sounded too sweet to refuse, as you began to rapidly drift off into sleep the last coherent thought in you mind was; you wouldn't mind having a boy as your first child.

Ayato

Smack!

A loud moan erupted from your lips as your bare ass jiggled and your skin rippled down from the initial contact.

Smack!

Again you moaned loudly as you were sure the cheeks of your ass were becoming red raw now.

"What are you?" A stern voice bellowed out above you.

You sniffled.

Smack!

You moaned.

"What are you?" The stern voice repeated, sounding more serious.

"I- I'm sorry!" You whined out through pained sobs. You ass stinging something beyond comprehension right now, and your slick growing more by the second between your thighs.

"That's right, and why are you sorry?" The voice continued to bark out questions demanding answers.

"Be- beause-" you sniffled again finding it hard to find your words.

Smack!

You moaned out again and attempted to wriggle free from the Lords lap only to have him grab you by your neck and keep you forced bent over his knees.

"Now you try to escape your punishment for your little outburst too? Insane to think it possible with me young lady." Lord Kamisato growls as he deftly shoves two of his fingers into your soaking and unsuspecting sex.

A wanton moan escapes you as he finally gives attention to where you've been dying for it the past forty-five minutes. He curls his fingers constantly in a come hither motion, pressing against so many of your sweet spots that he was far too privy of now.

He tuts and then stops his actions as soon as sees you melting into it too much. You whine but before you can continue your pitiful protest he shushes you loudly.

"Silence, focus your mind Y/N, this is a punishment, remember that. Don't you dare cum unless I say you can, do I make myself clear?" He groans lowly awaiting your response.

You do not want to agree, you know if you do he will edge and tease you for hours, but this is the price you pay for calling him a stubborn man child in front of his subordinates and colleagues, and practically humiliating him in front of people he tries his best to keep reputation upheld with.

Smack!

You moan out again as he roughly curls his fingers inside you and slaps your ass again, ignoring your sobs and broken garbled moans.

"Do I make myself clear!" He hisses it at you now and for once you actually realise you may have gone a step overboard with your games on the young Lord's patience this time.

"Y-yes sir!" you sob out and inhaled deeply.

"Prepare yourself Y/N, I am not going easy on you this time. Time you learned your place, maid."

||Special Guest Appearance|| Wanderer

"Brat." The young small looking boy spat the harsh words out from under you, and not because you was topping, absolutely not. He had you on top, faced away from him, but his pelvis was suspended up by the balls of heels as he slammed up into you, lifting and slamming you back down, like you was nothing but a toy to him.

He was mostly intact, his clothes still on just his cock springing out from the top of his shorts to impale into your quivering sex. You however was a hot sweaty mess, clothes half hanging off, your breasts on display bouncing with every hard slap up into you and your bottoms long since thrown along the bedroom floor somewhere.

You continued to moan, tears falling from your eyes, it was starting to hurt, you just wanted to cum so bad now... but every time you felt close-

All movement stopped. You couldn't help but let out a soft sob as you felt your high slowly dissolve painstakingly away. Why must he be so cruel? Sure, you may have been teasing him a bit too much today but this was borderline torture of the sickest degree now, and he says he's a changed man, bullshit.

Suddenly just when your breathing had gone back to normal he picked up pace again, hard, fast and deep, continuous thrust up into you as he pulled you down onto him. Starting the build up all over again, you shook your head as you slightly sob-moaned out, so happy for the pleasure building again but distraught knowing he's only going to leave you hanging yet again.

"Tears, tsk, pathetic." he scoffed sounding completely undisturbed from the exertion on his body as he continuously thrusted up into you in such a position. For a man of such short stature he sure did pack a lot of muscle behind those garments, his fragile look was merely a trick to the eye, a trick he revelled in using to his advantage.

It worked on you like a charm after all, for you never would expected to be in the predicament you're in now just from making some light jabs about him being a 'scrawny puppet.' But as much as you hated to admit it, he sure did excel in having devastating strength and power, remaining half suspended in the air by just the balls of his heels; while slamming you up and down into his throbbing length like a flimsy dummy.

But you had zero time to fully praise him on his outstanding physique, for, he gave little to no care toward the torture and abuse he currently was thrusting into your own this very moment. How he managed to keep himself perfectly angled to reach all your sweetest spots inside was true sadism, for he did it not to help you reach your climax, merely to have you teetering on the precipice only to coldly drag you back.

You squeezed your eyes shut and shakily inhaled before holding your breath, a poor and futile attempt to force focus elsewhere, anywhere but right now, right here with him. If you could just think of nasty things and frightful occurrences maybe you could detour all of this-

"Cute." You heard him gruffly scoff from beneath you, still sounding entirely unaffected through this entire situation, from the smug snicker that slowly seeped from his voice you dreaded the fact that you knew, he knew, what you was desperately trying to do right now. That you were trying to will his sultry siren moves on your body out of your senses, ignore the singing melody of deceitful promises to hold your hand and lead you above the fluffy clouds you found yourself stagnant and forever floating in, to that white static of buzzing euphoria.

You were simply trapped in purgatory, made to feel all the delicious tremors and shudders that attacked your body from all angles, but denied that mind frazzling release. It was seriously starting to drain you of energy, your sanity dwindling in his truly unforgiveable grip, that he had so tightly locked around you, your very being right now.

"Said some hurtful things to me Y/N, puppet or not, still hurts my feelings ya know~" his voice mockingly rose in pitch as he feigned a pout, the sarcasm that dripped from every word like wet paint down a wall, too viscous to dry in time, it made you more angry than anything else now, how he lectures you and now taunts with your dwindling sanity at a time, like this.

"Y-yea? Well it's probably b-because you're a puppet that you cannot g-, g- get me off, in f-fact, can y-you even c-cum yourself r-robot boy? Psh." You spoke through shaky breaths and wobbly gasps, your voice wavering continuously as you did, you sounded far from threatening, more winded and void of any air in your lungs, but hopefully you'd irked that blown out ego of his.

All movement stopped, not abruptly, more so it died down gradually but still rather fast, which was odd given you hadn't reached the very peak of your climb to climax yet, did he slip out of tune with your own body just then? Assuming you'd gotten close when you hadn't, not so smart after all is he, hmph.

"I see." A low thrumming growl seeped from the boy beneath you, the words so quite you only heard them because no movement was being made anymore, it sounded like the words were meant for him more than you however, but that was proven wrong when in the blink of an eye and a gust of cold wind you were swirled round, back laying flushed against the soft mattress beneath you, the boy now above you, caging you in.

"W-wanderer?" Your voice was barely above a whisper as you saw the dim glow of something dangerous spinning in his dark purple eyes, he said nothing in response, merely lifted his head to grab his hat and for once carelessly drop it to the floor, he treated that hat like a second appendage, such unnecessary respect for the item, so seeing him so careless toward it now left you lost for words.

You hadn't even noticed he'd pulled out of you until you felt the glorious burning sensation of him pushing back inside you, your slick so plentiful he slipped back in with ease, for the first few inches at least- wait, there was more!?

He kept sinking deeper, deeper and deeper, kept go-ing, oh! Now having bottomed out in you entirely, reaching unfathomable depths within your moist spasming walls, it dawned on you how much he'd held back on you, how much he'd spared you from right now, and every time that had ever been before, he refused to ever fully strip, refused to ever let you see him naked or even glance at his what from feeling alone now concluded was a clearly thick and massive length.

Always remaining mostly dressed and concealed from your sights you'd never gotten to see his actual size, so you never would've guessed he was so well endowed. But you sure as fuck were feeling it now as it bulged inside you and kept you spread apart for his unimaginable girth that throbbed deep in your very being now.

So deep he was that the slightest thrust he made had your eyes rolling back and your eyelids fluttering, mimicking the way your walls fluttered in a pleasure wracked frenzy around him as he did.

"Can't get you off, huh?" He repeated your words back to you, not that you could in anyway respond now, your brain slowly frying what coherent sanity you had left, your vision blurred immensely but through the onslaught of swelling tears in your eyes from the scary pleasure that pulled you deeper down into the abyss, you could see his smug smirk staring down at you, how easily you unravelled your needy whimpering self beneath the porcelain doll now, no more bite in you, nothing but broken submission.

During your hazy dance in ecstasy your hand weakly lifted up and absentmindedly stroked through his indigo hair, soft and velvety in your touch, your hand dropping to gently cup and stroke his cheek a few frail times before dropping back down, a rare act of tenderness from you indeed, between the pair of you it was always sharp sarcasm and primal lust is all, but your eyes were out of focus, somewhere, far, far away, so it was a shame you missed the dazed expression of disbelief in the dolls face as he glared down at you, his look almost akin to warmth and softness toward you.

He didn't press on the matter, he decided he'd let you have that one broad move against him, not that it mattered, nor would he let it happen again.

His soft gaze as brief as it was, was then replaced with a deadly determination instead. "Don't you worry Y/N, I can cum alright." He punctuated the words with a deep intrusive thrust somewhere inside that he really shouldn't be able to reach let alone remain embedded in, a wanton moan ripping from you as that thrust alone reeled you into a sudden shudder and buzz.

"And how deep." he sneered the response out after watching your face contort and morph into so many beautiful faces for him to see, how pretty you looked finally shutting up and taking his cock in its fully entirety, how he'd always wanted it to be. He despised you'd got under his glass skin, made him, feel, for you, not that he'd ever admit it to you, but now he had the perfect reason to keep you by his side, always.

"I'll have you drunk on my cock in no more time, Y/N, besides, you're not bad on the eyes and I've revealed too much to you to ever let you go now, so congratulations Y/N, you just got upgraded to my personal cum bucket."

As you felt your climax ruthlessly climbing up and ready to burst at the seams, what he was saying didn't matter anymore, in fact... you rather enjoyed the sound of it.

||Special Guest Appearance|| Pantalone

The sounds of scribbling pen against paper echoed through a nearly empty hall, the source of the sound coming from none other than Pantalone's office, in the headquarters for the Harbingers. That and, a low buzzing vibration from a dildo that was wedged deeply into your dripping sex as you sat on the sofa legs spread eagle.

Face flushed pink as you moaned and mewled, your juices constantly dripping out causing vulgar squelching sounds, the room positively reeked of your musky scent, and maybe a year ago this would've killed you from embarrassment but now, it just fried your already sex addled brain further into the dark desires of bliss.

There he sat, Lord Pantalone, comfortably behind his desk scribbling away on documents and spreadsheets, securing further details, data and funds for the Fatui and her Majesty the Tsaritsa. A swift nonchalant push of his glasses back up the ridge of his nose where they'd momentarily slipped down and sip of his black coffee is the only extra movement he made before going back to work.

You continued to moan and whine as you thrusted the vibrating dildo continuously into your aching core, you'd been edging yourself for nearly three hours now, his orders, and you would be a fool to disobey, not that you ever wanted too; not after his last punishment anyway.

In a way you had asked for this, acting so needy to him and distracting him from his very important work, you should've known better, silly girl. But then again he cannot be mad, you're just a Fatui secretary after all, you'd not a clue how to run such errands he must do daily, but still, respect is key to this man and you'd shown none of it while wagging your ass around his office and speaking in a seductive manner all day.

You could feel the orgasm tipping over the edge yet again, right at your peak, your moans picked up in tone and your legs began to shake, your vision finally going blurry for the Nth time this hour, so close, just a bit longer-

"Stop." You heard his voice clearer than the ringing in your ears of your nearing release, a pitiful and needy whine escaped your lips as you reluctantly pulled the vibrator out from your now twitching opening that was completely slick with your arousal.

"S-...sir pl-"

"Did I give you permission to speak?" He quickly interjected with an all too kind sounding voice to which you slowly shook your head no.

"Mmh, then pray tell, why are your lips moving and why is there sound coming out?" He looked up at you now, that sinister grin on his face like always, to an outsider it seems warm, charming, welcoming even, but to those who know this man, it is merely a mask, almost unremovable like its part of his attire now, to always, be, smiling.

You opened your mouth about to speak but something about his aura made you shut your mouth again, that smile, though he hasn't moved, hasn't changed expression, didn't even raise his voice, you felt deeply in trouble and scared all over, so you remained dead silent.

He simply flared his nostrils as he sighed out slowly, almost humming gently, his smile still there, as he stood from his desk and stretched slowly, the crack of his arms, back and legs an indicator to how long he had been seated today, too long, for even his liking.

He glanced out his window and saw the night sky had blanketed over Teyvat now, perfect he mused to himself as he clapped his hands together in a pleased manner which only made you sink further into doubt and fear. To which he soon clocked onto fast.

"Oh my sweet flower, why so scared hm? You act as if I plan something disastrous, come now." His voice was so smooth, almost like butter, but behind that honey woven voice lay poison and you knew it. You loved it.

He beamed a more genuine smile at you now unable to hide his amusement as he walked around his desk to his cupboard of- well archon knows really, no one is ever allowed to see inside there, period. But you heard it, the slight jingle, and you swallowed down thickly, fear settling in with a pulsing sense of excitement too.

As he turned your eyes fixated on it instantly, the pink dog leash and collar with a baby pink jingling bell that had 'Flower' carved in cursive over it, it was all yours, he so happily said the day he showed you it, bought it custom made just for you! Lucky girl!

When he sat you on his lap that one lonely dark night, asking what your favourite colour is, and your favourite hobby, you didn't think saying pink and picking flowers would have led to all this, but here you are, and deep down, you were happy about it now? Maybe he finally had broken you in, because all you ever wished was for his appraisal now, approval and attention, much like a dog.

He clicked his finger and aimed his index toward the floor by his shoe, and you knew what that meant, you began to slowly close your legs to make your attempt to get off the couch but his tut and sigh stopped you.

Looking at him, collar spinning round his long slender index finger, that had caused you to orgasm more times than you can remember now, his foot tapping impatiently you suddenly realised. Still afraid to speak you spread your legs back open for his full viewing pleasure as you stuck the dildo back in and switched it back on.

Now with a constant muffled buzz and your small whimpers and moans as you slowly crawled over to him he smiled and hummed once again. Placing the collar round your neck and clipping the leash like a cherry on top of a cake he stood back up.

"Good girl, such a precious flower you are, now come, let us go for a walk, you have been showing too much energy around here recently and it is becoming rather distracting, best we fix that now." With a curt tug of your collar followed by a jingle of your bell you began to crawl behind him slowly out his office and into the cold hallway that laid barren and silent.

You are his good girl after all, and as much as he adores seeing you like this, he would much rather keep it to his eyes only, that is why these calming walks only happen at midnight, when everyone is asleep, or away.

See, he does care.

||Special Guest Appearance|| Dottore

You don't know what he'd injected into you, but it made you horny, fast, desperately so, the moment the needle left your skin your body set itself ablaze with a hunger and desire that threatened to consume you in seconds if you didn't find any sort of friction to ease your burning coiled tension inside.

Falling to your knees and clutching at your stomach as it warped round your very muscles and brain and began to make your mind spin till dizzy, wanting The Doctor to just fuck you then and there, you weakly tugged at his coat, to which he joyfully hummed in response as he set the empty needle down.

"Yes? What is it Y/N." he asked all too carelessly for your liking right now.

"N- need you..." you could barely speak now, you didn't wanna waste time talking! Just wanted him fucking into you good and proper.

"Need me? My dear, you'll have to be more informative than that, need me for what exactly?" His grin only widened, his sharp canines on full display as he peered down at you, not that you could see his eyes, but the way he wore that beak like mask certainly made him look like a bird of prey zeroing in on its prey; you.

"T-touch me, pl-please..." you whimpered, begging with all your might, you could already feel your slick pooling in your underwear, it felt hot, uncomfortable, unbearable.

"Oh I'd be more than happy too dear, if you swear your loyalty to me, now, and not that insufferable man." You knew who he meant, for it was your higher ranking officer in charge of your unit, Sir Capitano.

Il Dottore has had his eye on you for so long now, and ever since finding out you would be working for the knight he has clearly shown his anger to it, demanding your Captain hand you over to him to which he would always refuse before continuing with his day.

"Such a needy little brat, aren't you" The masked, blue haired man hummed down at you, creepy shark toothed grin an all. You merely mewled in response however as you continued to hump yourself shamefully against his leg and shoe.

You didn't think that offering to help Sir Dottore once with his medical report that it would lead to this, being drugged into a raging intoxication of desire and want. Rutting against the mans shoe like a horny rabid animal.

"I won't offer my shoe to you forever dear, so either swear loyalty to me now or leave my office at once." The threat alone had your heart tightening in embarrassment and worry, there was no way in Celestia itself you would walk out here like this!

You wanted to remain loyal to Capitano, you really did, but the drug became too much, your brain had long since lost to it, your body even quicker, you just wanted this man to do all sorts of unspeakable things to you now to relieve you of this burning inside.

"Fine! I- I hereby swear my undying loyalty to you Sir Il Dottore!" you cried it out sounding far more needy than you'd ever heard yourself before.

"Good, good girl." he never did drop his scary grin as he was swift with his actions of bending down and scooping your sweating weak body up and laying you out on his desk, almost like a patient about to undergo surgery.

"That stupid monster, he never did know how to treat such a beautiful specimen, I will open your eyes to wonder you never would've known existed my sweet girl, my loyal subject." he spoke with an eerie tone of endearment that you would've normally found distasteful but now, hearing such beautiful promises set your insides ablaze even hotter.

It took record time for Dottore to have you naked on his desk, nestled between your thighs, his trousers now loosely hung round his lower waist, his thick veiny erection rubbing and pressing against your hot, achy sex that was coated in your slick arousal, desperate to feel him fill you up.

"Close your eyes my beautiful subject, allow yourself to sink into the mind destroying pleasure, that I your new master, and much more generous leader is going to suffocate you in." it sounded like a promise, but also a threat but it also sounded just, so fucking good and you wanted it bad.

When you closed your eyes you heard an animalistic growl leave the man, your obedience seemed to further boost his crazy ego but it probably meant a better thorough fucking for you, so ego boost him all the way man!

When you felt him slowly push inside you, spreading you open and filling you all the way deep inside, till his base press flush against you, you shuddered hard and couldn't help the mind breaking orgasm that simply rocked and cascaded all over your body like a mini seizure. It frightened you almost with how intense it was and all he'd done was enter you!

You heard a dry chuckle from Dottore now and then his deep husky voice.

"Dirty girl, enjoy it, because there is so, so much more from where that came from, you're not leaving here till all you know is the feel of me, and my cock inside you, little slut."

The sudden name calling only fanned your flames of want, and the promise of more of those scarily intense orgasms made your stomach flip inside, yea... you think you can get use to serving Dottore instead now.

755 notes · View notes

lemonluvgirl · 2 years ago

Note

I feel like you are a legend in the THG fanfic community. I’ve started posting recently, but do you have any tips for writing fan fiction in this fandom? <3

Wait, I'm legendary?

When did this happen???? 😳 Did I miss a memo or something?

Lol I barely started writing fanfiction 2 years ago 😅 so I guess I don't feel qualified to be called legendary! But hey, thank you so much for the compliment!

Hopefully none of the OG thg fanfic authors will be offended, I just imagine people like:

But on a more serious note, you said you wanted advice for writing in the Fandom. Even though I'm still relatively new to this, I will try my best to give you the advice I would have liked to receive when I started writing and engaging with the Fandom community.

1. Write for yourself: Seriously. Don't write the majority of your stuff so you can get kudos and likes. Write what makes you happy, and invest time in writing stories you enjoy and love. Because at the end of the day social media and statistics are fickle and don't often accurately reflect the impact your writing can have on the world at large.

I learned this the hard way. It was an uncomfortable lesson, but suffice to say that these days I am definitely more focused on the stories that inspire me everyday, the ones that live rent free in my head and are just begging to be put down on paper, or typed out on my keyboard. And I am loads happier because of that choice.

2. You do not have to answer every prompt or ask that finds its way into your inbox. It's OK to leave some things on the backburner and focus on your priorities. Fanfiction is a hobby and most people aren’t getting paid for doing it. (Almost no one I know or have heard of) I personally try to answer all my asks, even if only to say I'm not interested in writing the story the reader is requesting. But I've also just flat out deleted some rude or offensive asks before. I do not obligate myself to respond to rude anons or their questions.

3. It's OK to take breaks from writing. For your mental health, for your well being, and also when you just don't have the time or energy to churn out a chapter every weekend. Again, fanfiction is a free gift, not an obligation. Don't get sucked into the pressure to perform or feel guilty if real life circumstances make it hard or impossible to write.

4. Don't delete your old/first fics. The better you get at writing the more you will be tempted to do this, but trust me, there will be people who love your early stuff, grammar errors and all. Don't deny them the privilege of reading your first story. Even if it is tropey or whatever. Let it stand as a testament to how much you've grown and how much you love this universe. The Fandom will love you for your authenticity and realness.

5. Take chances. Write that dark or slightly weird fic. Write that PWP smut fic. Publish your spotify inspiration playlist. Send your fave author a chat or inbox question. Make connections, laugh at the weirdness or mundane aspects of your hyperfixations. Write 10 stories about the one bed trope. Write 100 enemies to lovers fics. Just do whatever makes you happy and allows you to be creative. Make friends and reach out to your fellow writers. Literally 99% of people I've met in the Fandom are freaking awesome and I do not regret any of the connections I've made in the 2 years since I joined.

6. Just have fun. Real life is full of so much negativity and hardships, and fanfiction should be about enjoying the journey of the characters and the story. All of this is literally just for fun. Publishing on Ao3 or FFN or here on Tumblr, is simply for enjoyment, its not a job or a career. So enjoy it! 😉 Make memes and gifs and chapter covers and mood boards. Write drabbles and weird snippets of dialogue. Let it all out, and say what you want to say. Somewhere out there, there is a reader who will fall in love with your words if you just have the courage to set them free.

#lemonluvanswers #ask answered #my writting #advice #fandom #thg fandom #community #fanfiction

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taegularities · 2 years ago

Note

i think i included this as an option last time and you picked the other one so i'm throwing it in again lol say drabble for the first time they slept together at that party? 🥰

fic: songs about you

pairing: fwb!tae x reader, childhood best friends to lovers; fluff, smut warnings: sexual tension, unprotected sex, manhandling, rough sex, fingering, crying, big dick tae, masturbation, drunk and bathroom sex (i seem to love that), they're also so cute :((( wc: 1.7k a/n: awh i remember that it was one of the options 🥺 and you know i love that couple so much, i'll keep coming back to them <333 btw ari, please tell me why this almost made me cry lolll. this took ages omg... also, unedited !!

ask my character! <3

"You remember when you'd invite me to those events during senior year?" you ask, closing your tired eyes for a moment.

Taehyung is as gone as you, perceiving his surroundings in a neverclearing blur. He looks at you with confusion in his starry pupils, and hums, "Hmm?"

"You'd take me to those parties, and I'd hate it here."

"Still hate it?"

"Despise it. You rich people spend money on parties that no one will remember."

"Ouch," Taehyung jokes, "it's not like I'm the host. No need to diss me."

"Well, your eighteenth birthday party was a lot more fun when we went to that burger place. The official, fancy one? Eh."

In your head, your speech is clear, but you bet that you're mumbling and swallowing words; not that it's any kind of challenge to him. He'd understand through your movements alone.

"Tell me then," he says, the tone of his voice shifting. His eyes are dazy, and his breath smells like bitter alcohol. "What was so great about the burger night?"

Your and Taehyung's friendship dates back to an easier time. When you'd gather with your friends, hunched over your homework and projects. Living through high school days, complaining about its pain as though no bigger issues existed.

Back then, you guess they didn't.

Taehyung liked to play the piano to you. The feeling that engulfed your heart back then, listening to every gentle note he gifted you, was still a veiled one.

Today, things have changed. Realities have shifted. Maybe you're not head over heels in love with him – maybe – but you still know what lingers in your heart.

And the inebriated version of you has a lot less inhibitions; a lot less fears to voice her mind.

So you say, "It was just us. You and me. The entire night felt a little different, you know? Maybe because the diner was empty that time..."

"It was empty. I liked it, too."

You move a little, though you soon realise that you shouldn't have – because the world is spinning.

"But it was the first time that I really hoped for you to kiss me."

Wait. What?

Why are you saying that? For fuck's sake.

"Kiss you?" Taehyung asks. When you look at him, his forehead is wrinkled in confusion.

Oh God, what have you done?

"I'm sorry," you hurry to exclaim.

"No, I... wait, tell me more about this."

"...Why?"

"I just. It's not every day that your best friend says anything like that."

"It's so dumb. I know, it's really fucking stupid."

"No, I..."

He gulps. Looks around. The guests are busy conversing, fake laughing, stepping onto their own dresses, discussing whatever the party's purpose might be.

But Taehyung's focus is somewhere else.

Which he proves when snatches the glass off your hand, placing it along with his own on a nearby table.

And then, he's pulling you away from the crowd, somewhere where none of you will be missed.

Your heart bursts behind your chest, hand clutching his in anticipation.

"What are you doing?" you inquire, slower in your heels than him.

"You just..." he shakes his head, whispering your name. Halts when you reach the bathroom, rushing to open the door and pull you inside. "You can't say that and expect me to stay calm."

"Why are you... not ca–"

"I–" He's breathing heavily, blinking slowly. Holding you against the door, not entirely sure what he's supposed to do.

"Why did you never tell me about that?" he prods.

"I... didn't think it was necess–"

"It's important. Of course it is."

And that's all you get. There's no more chance to say much more; the palms on your waist silence you.

So does the way he pins you harder against the door.

And so does the plush mouth that falls on yours, hard and greedy.

Whatever you thought how this evening might evolve... that wasn't it.

The following minutes, the entire night pass in a dense fog. You barely breathe – he doesn't let you.

He explores your body. Kissing up and down your skin. Sheds your clothes, touches every part that you need touched. You've dreamed of this before.

You didn't think it'd actually happen. Ever.

"I've fucked so many women, wishing they were you," he admits at some point, fucked out and drunk beyond belief.

Until now, most of his and your utterances consisted of moans, each others' names, crude curses. Until now, you blamed the booze, the effect it has on you, the craze that flows through your veins.

But the way he's looking at you now... despite his lewd statement... it's something else–

"Have you?" you want to know; a tight knot builds in your tummy.

"This is unreal."

"Tae..." You squirm in his grip, gasping when curled fingers press against a spot inside you. "Fuck me, please. No more wishes... I'm here now."

"Are you sure? God, I..."

"I am," you promise immediately, "I am. I... thought about this a lot." He stares at you in silence and tenderness. Like he can't believe what you're saying. "And besides... I've always wanted to be the one to wet your dick."

Taehyung chuckles, a deep, soft sound directly from his chest. He looks sweet like that, but when his lips return to your neck, his demeanour changes.

Buried in your skin, pecking your shoulder, he guides his cock to your clit. He doesn't do much yet – except for the torturous teasing, rubbing the head against your nub, toying with your patience.

And when he's had enough, he leans back.

A strong hand turns you swiftly, pressing your cheek against the door and pulling your ass back until you're angled. Palms firmly against the door.

His length continues to prod your entrance, never quite shoving it inside, no matter how wet you already are.

But he breaks. Of course he does.

You hear him spit into his palm, and close your eyes in anticipation, taking a deep breath before he finally gives in.

You saw his member just a minute ago – if it's anyhow as menacing as it looks, you're screwed in the best way possible.

Quite literally.

"Careful, yeah? You'll tell me when it's too much?" he says. His voice is strained. He's heavy breathing.

"Mhmm..."

And that's when you mewl.

Louder than before, shaking in your spot.

Taehyung is quick to slap a hand against your mouth, muffling your sounds as he dives in inch by inch. "Nod if you're okay."

You do. Though you can't suppress the constant moans that fall out of you. And he makes sure to silence that sound.

There's something about it.

Having your best friend and long-time crush fuck you against the door. Thrust into you gently first, before he picks up on pace and rails you into oblivion. The way he's controlling you and your undying moans, hand never leaving your lips.

The tears that escape your eyes fall on his fingers, and when he notices the sensation, he tenses. "You good?"

You nod hastily, sure that your make up's smeared. God, you'll need to leave after that.

"Good. Holy fuck, that's hot."

Which is when you realise that he didn't tense solely because he was worried.

But because he's enjoying your reaction.

Of course he is. Kinky bastard.

"More? Harder?"

His suggestions come broken, every other syllable swallowed. Fuck, he's battering your pussy. Ruining you, slamming his hips against your ass.

Shit, how did you get here?

You nod once more, and he laughs, presumably surprised that he's still not pushed you to your limits.

Delightful.

So he drills you rougher, burying himself to the hilt, balls deep inside you; breathing hard, losing his mind when your fingers shift to your clit.

A minute later, you're coming undone – swaying so hard that you reckon you must be moving in circles, until you realise that it's just in your head.

Mind empty, you let the high ebb down; he’s still fucking you, chasing his own release, guiding you through your orgasm.

And when he pushes in one last time, remaining in you with his entire cock buried, you think you’re dreaming.

The deep, reverberating groans of his are insanely dizzying. You can’t do this. You can’t– how did you–

You didn’t know. You didn’t know that intimacy with him entailed all that. Where was this insanity all your life? Why didn’t you reveal your thoughts to him earlier?

Fuck.

“How... was that?” he dares to question.

“It was...”

“What you imagined? What you wanted?” There’s cockiness in his voice. But somehow, there’s worry, too. “Better... worse?”

“It was– just right.”

“Okay. Good.”

He remains in the position, leaning in to kiss your shoulder, your back, your arms. Then, he pulls out, immediately backing away to grab some toilet paper. He cleans you up; you wince.

And then, he says, “Look at me.”

You turn around; the ache between your legs is too tangible. You’ll feel it harder tomorrow, you know.

Still swaying, you slip your eyelids open. Gaze into his; there’s affection and post-coital bliss in his stare. Something you can’t decipher as he brushes your hair back.

Thumbs wipe the remnants of your tears away, hopefully clearing your cheeks of the make up.

You don’t know what he’s thinking until he claims, “You’ve always been so pretty, Swan.”

Your eyes widen; you put your palm on his hand, lifting it to your lips to plant a gentle kiss on his skin. “And you, Tae.”

“Do you wanna leave?”

“Yeah,” you answer, no hesitation in your words. “Please.”

And so you do.

Goodbyes are uttered in a hurry, the car ride in some cab a faint memory.

At his place, you fall into each other deeper. Kiss every inch of him, hugging him close, moaning the night away.

To you, this is still just a drunken night’s mistake. You’re sure you’ll talk about it in the morning. Think about the next steps in your relationship.

You’ll wonder what the hell happened, and how a single confession could lead to something this big.

You won’t know that it’s the beginning of something you’ll never be able to fathom.

Or that there’s unbearable pain ahead. Joy. Lust. Love.

Or that you’ll become his song; the very last he’ll ever play on loop.

–

i’ll edit this later, but oh my god i hope it was okay !!! some quick smut :’) lemme know what u think <3

#oh also i've already quite a few drabble requests in the inbox mwahaha thank you guys 👀 so send in questions too!#would be even easier than drabbles <33 #*amc #notes for rid 🌹#ari <3 #taehyung smut #bts smut #taehyung fluff

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blossom-hwa · 3 years ago

Note

Lina!! While I stew over your title (well actually I'm going to sleep because it's like 1am here) I thought I'd give you one of mine to swap now so that you don't have to wait until I'm done lol

How do we feel about "lavender mist" ?

this... is likely not what you imagined when you came up with that title. unfortunately I’m not sorry :) anyway, check out casey’s original drabble here (it’s super fucking cute), and I hope you enjoy this reinterpretation of the title <3

half inspired by a post apocalyptic universe @sleepyowlwrites shared with me some time ago - thanks for that, sleepy 💕💕

wc: 1.7k ~ no pairing (main characters: taehyun and beomgyu) ~ apocalypse!au ~ triggers: cursing, mentions of blood and guns, character death, zombies ~ txt masterlist

~ As the world falls, Taehyun keeps moving on.

[ lavender mist ] The end of the world isn’t as barren as Taehyun thought it would be.

Every apocalyptic movie he remembers - and to be fair, his memory is a bit fuzzy after years of trudging along cracked sidewalks and empty streets - painted the world as something gray, dusty, bleak, as though with the collapse of humanity, the earth would collapse too. Taehyun would watch, heart in his throat as survivors did everything they could to continue living even though the warm embrace of Mother Earth had long turned cold as marble. With the loss of her favorite children, the human race, she had lost the will to live as well.

What bullshit.

The earth survived perfectly fine by itself for millions of years before humanity decided to encroach on its territory. It never needed mankind, probably never even wanted it - one glance around at the overgrown grass and flowers and trees, weeds shooting up from sidewalk cracks and tangling around abandoned cars and homes, tells all.

The earth never needed humans. Probably never wanted them, either.

And if that’s the case, Taehyun doesn’t really know why he keeps trying to survive.

But then again, there are a lot of things he doesn’t know. Why he isn’t dead yet. Why everyone around him is gone but he still stays. Why the sun beats so ungodly hot during the summer and the wind whips so unbearably cold in the winter. Why he keeps moving instead of staying in one place, running from ghosts that don’t exist.

Why he keeps an empty can of lavender scented Febreze in his bag, its mist long since dispersed into the world from the day Beomgyu plucked it off a mostly barren supermarket shelf and, despite Taehyun’s raised eyebrows and obvious concern for the state of his sanity, shoved it in his bag.

“I don’t know!” Beomgyu had said, hands raised in mock indignation when Taehyun asked him hours later after the generally unsuccessful supermarket raid. “Don’t interrogate me!”

“I wasn’t interrogating. I just want to know,” Taehyun had replied, deadpan as ever even as he tried to hide a smile. Things may have changed, but Beomgyu was always the same - loud-mouthed, chaotic, random, always fueled by some desire to care, even if he didn’t know it.

The hands came down but Beomgyu’s smile stayed even as he shrugged. “I don’t know,” he’d repeated. “It was just there, so I took it.” Taehyun had snorted at that (that’s the most Beomgyu reply ever), but he wasn’t done. “I guess I just... didn’t want to leave with nothing at all.”

“Do you even know how it smells?”

“... Look, it has to be better than whatever the fuck is outside.”

It is better, but mostly because it’s hard not to be better than the stench of rotten corpses mixed with the tang of dried blood and coupled with the scent of blooming flowers in the wind that somehow makes it all worse. Strong, too - clearly a year of sitting unused on a shelf hadn’t done much to dampen its scent. The first time Beomgyu sprays it, more on accident than anything else, he and Taehyun have to stifle coughs and sneezes for too many minutes as the mist tickles their noses.

And yet they keep it.

Which is weird, because most useless things that Taehyun (and Beomgyu, despite his inner child) would put in the same category as questionable Febreze get left behind. There’s no space for luxuries in their bags, no jewelry or money or anything that would’ve had value before the world went to shit - even the two dingy string bracelets braided with five different colors that used to dangle around their wrists have since frayed to the point of falling off. Things like Febreze should never have held a place in their lives.

But Beomgyu carves a place for its too strong flowery sweet scent, a tiny puff into the air nearby when they’re finally safe from a zombie attack, a small spray to freshen up their latest shelter as much as they can after sweeping one too many piles of dirt out the door. And as they keep struggling through the barren world, emptying the can on their way, Taehyun has to wonder - when humanity has completely fallen and another race takes up the earth, what will they be remembered by? Will it be broken braided bracelets threaded in five different colors fallen by the side of the road? Will it be photos of the dead left in abandoned frames in abandoned homes, or stuffed in dirty bags and soiled by dust and rain?

Will it be an empty can of lavender mist at the bottom of a survivor’s bag, the strong, sweet scent of home still a wisp in the air?

Beomgyu had always had more hope than Taehyun. He believed that maybe one day humanity would return, would learn from its previous mistakes of greed and fortune to create a world better than this one. Taehyun asks him about this more than once - it’s fascinating to him, Beomgyu’s patient optimism even as the world seems to grow harsher and more unforgiving of humanity’s transgressions with every day that passes. His answer is always the same.

“I think we still have good in this world.” Taehyun can picture dark, playful eyes staring into his, the barest wisp of a smile on Beomgyu’s lips. Beautiful as always, not in spite of the dirt caking his skin and the exhaustion weighing down his face but because of it - the struggle that forged a diamond sparkling in the ashes of the earth. “We’ve survived this long, Taehyun. I have to believe that someday, we’ll come back.”

Relentless optimism, even where Taehyun only saw death and disaster in every street they passed, every horde they escaped, every undead life they took to ensure the continuation of their own. No matter what he said in his moments of despair, Beomgyu always gave him comfort in the weight of his hand in his, in the press of his body against Taehyun’s during cold nights, in the brief dusting of lavender mist into the air...

And one day, the scent isn’t too strong. It isn’t too sweet. It’s a break, a respite, a piece of the old world that miraculously wasn’t lost even in the wake of disaster.

It smells like home.

When Taehyun looks at Beomgyu then - really looks at Beomgyu - as he sprays small bursts of mist into the air of their new makeshift shelter, it only takes him a minute to realize that Beomgyu feels this way, too. That he’s probably felt it for a long time.

Maybe that’s why Taehyun isn’t surprised to find the empty can in Beomgyu’s bag, long after he’d sprayed the last of its scent into the air. He blinks a little when it comes out in his hand and for a moment he thinks he should be surprised, given how the two of them had gotten rid of waste wherever they could, but somehow this souvenir of sentiment surpasses that. A reminder, however small, of home.

He tries the valve, even though he knows it’s empty. Nothing comes out.

It’s been three days since Beomgyu has gone. Three days since he showed Taehyun the bite, three days since he guided the gun towards his head, three days since Taehyun pulled the trigger and watched Beomgyu’s body collapse to the ground, a final small smile on his face.

Only then, with the empty metal can in his hand, does Taehyun finally cry.

For his parents, who were at work when the outbreak got to them and never managed to get out alive.

For his friends who passed first, three of the five strings that frayed over the years until the knotted bracelet fell off his wrist, one of them disappeared, the other two confirmed dead.

For Beomgyu, the fourth string, his only family left, his last thread of hope in this apocalyptic world.

For him, Taehyun, the fifth string and the last one alive, so far from home and never to return.

Taehyun cries for the hope Beomgyu carried that was destroyed three days ago with the bullet he shot with his very own hands. A bullet that took the last of everything he had, leaving him with -

Nothing.

(What will the world remember him by when he goes?)

When Taehyun wakes the next day, eyes red and cheeks sticky with tears, something in him begs to stay still. What use is there in forging on, in living when everything else has been lost, when there’s nothing left to survive for?

(A crumpled family photo drenched by rain?)

Is there even a point?

(Or a braid of five frayed strings, buried under the dust by the road?

But he rolls over. Stands. Places the empty can back in Beomgyu’s bag, picks it up along with his. Slings them over his back.

And starts walking.

(Perhaps a can of lavender mist at the bottom of a beaten-up bag, a scent that belongs to loss, but that also belongs to hope.)

Maybe Taehyun does know why, then, why he has to keep going. Because while there is nothing left for him, there is still something left for Beomgyu. A hope. A dream. A wish. A prayer whispered on lavender scented air, too sweet and too strong and still smelling of home - a prayer that the world will come back someday.

And if it does, even if it’s only in the last moments of Taehyun’s life, he has to see it. For Beomgyu.

So as the sun beats harsh on his brow, branches catching on his clothes with the snarl of animals and the undead alike sounding faint in his ears, all Taehyun can do is forge on through the strangling arms of Mother Nature, slogging through overgrown grass with sweat in his hair, cuts on his skin, tears in his eyes -

And the scent of lavender mist in his nose, no matter where he goes.

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 hug for Taehyun, also 1 prayer for some fluff thoughts bc I have too many angst ideas and I need some softness in my life)

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diavorchid · 2 years ago

Text

listen i know it's very absurd but. I'm not immune to 11.11 okay.

i feel like those socialites sending sponsorship in the hunger games but instead i'm sending a pack of Pocky via the wonderful time-travel method aka drawing lmao. also i didn't mean it but somehow the color turned out like ouran uniform.... [gasp] ouran au?? /j

they're in boarding school age with Art around 2 years younger?? i hope i managed to present their essence in their younger vers

short drabble under cut because ofc i can't help myself. warning for crack lol.

[ao3 link now i guess]

—

"Hey, John! What you've got there?"

He looked behind to the source of the cheerful voice and sighed internally. That young man again. John held himself back from attributing the adjectives such like "annoying" or "a prick" because he seemed sincere enough so far.

Then again Father had taught him better, that you could never know.

And maybe that kid — Arthur? — does deserve it, at least a little. After all, Arthur had deliberately caught him red-handed trying to break into some restricted school building, and he's still on edge and weary if Arthur would report him.

Albeit this isn't the time to think about it, because literally thirty seconds ago something just abruptly appeared in the sky and fell down right before his feet.

A peach-colored small box with big letters spelling "POCKY" on its front. John didn't know what it is, but it does sound stupid.

"I'm not sure," John said, "It just fell from the sky."

"Neat," Arthur said, intrigued.

John picked up the box and observed it from all its sides. There are some texts he couldn't read but overall, it seemed harmless.

"I think it's edible," he suggested, and began prying it open. Inside, he found a bunch of long biscuit sticks covered in a layer of cream for the most part. He remembered the image of strawberry on the box and concluded it's strawberry flavoured.

John took one out and stared at it for a second, not realising Arthur had bent down to take a closer look.

He shrugged, "Might as well try it," then put it in his mouth.

"Wait, you can't just shove anything you found on the ground into your mouth—" Arthur said frantically, and John just gave him a look. Arthur sighed, "At least, I won't let you do it alone!"

Arthur dove in and unintentionally pushed John to the ground, back against the wall. He put his hands by both of John's sides for support.

Then joined his mouth at the other end of the same stick John was biting.

Huh, pretty sweet, Arthur thought, and decided to take more bites and kept drawing closer to—

John yelped back and hit his head against the wall, biting off the biscuit stick in the process. "W-What are you doing?!"

Arthur looked at John, and only then realised how close he was. He could practically see the face in front of him turning the same colour as the mysterious box. "Just having a snack," he smirked.

John shoved the box in his hand against Arthur's chest, and tried to push Arthur's body in the process. "Help yourself, there's a bunch left!"

Arthur retreated and took a spot on the ground to sit, but John scrambled himself off the ground and started to stand up. He held onto John's wrist, "Where do you think you're going?"

"Away from here — let me go," John almost whined.

"This is yours, you found it."

"I don't care, I just gave it to you."

"You're getting me a present already?" Arthur gasped playfully, "As your friend, I'm touched. Thank you."

John really wanted to put that attribute now on the face in front of him. He thought he deserved it, as a treat.

"Whatever — just let me go."

"I will — after you and I finish eating this," Arthur shook the box in his hand, "My first decree as your friend: we're having a snack together at recess in school ground!"

The grip on his wrist was strong, but John was sure he could tackle himself out of it with some effort. Yet... yet — there's something in the gaze that Arthur was sending him right now, the curved up of the line at the edge of his mouth, full of confidence but John could swear it just twitched for a fraction of second — that made him yearned to let his guard down.

...So he did. Just this once, he assured himself, nothing could come out of this, right?

John sighed. "Fine," he said, lowering himself to the ground to sit at his previous spot, "Let's get this over with."

Arthur picked one out of the box, and put it in his mouth, "Here," he pointed at the stick in his mouth, "Do you want to share this again—"

"—Do it again, and I'm leaving," John cut him short, as he reached into the box and took one out for himself.

Now that he's actually tasting it without some kid trying to eat him, hey, it's pretty sweet.

Staying here together might not be the worst idea, after all.

#dracula daily #arthur holmwood #jack seward #john seward #holmward #dracula fanfic #i guess?? for organizing on my part at least #dracula fanart #my art #my fic #my post #i feel like i need a new tag for dracula #artjack

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rebrandedbard · 4 years ago

Note

If you are still writing 14?

Okay so this one accidentally went from a drabble to an actual fic whoops. The cure is totally inspired by the Rapunzel fairy tale, spoiler alert, where the prince falls in the thorn bushes around the tower and Rapunzel’s tears fall into his eyes, curing him.

14. “Hey, I’m with you, okay? Always.”

wc: 4444 which is an awesome number I’m so happy lol

Robbed Blind

Someone botches a spell to steal Jaskier’s artistic vision and he’s cursed with blindness. Thankfully, he falls into the company of Ciri and Lambert. They journey safely to Kaer Morhen, but what could be the cure to his affliction?

She had found him, tripping over the strings of destiny, in Drakenborg. He’d been on his way to Oxenfurt when the curse took hold, and he had gone no further. Jaskier was haggard, gaunt, and looked quite worn. His hair lay flat from constant fussing. It was a habit Ciri remembered well from his visits, always combing a nervous hand through his hair before a performance. She had never seen it look so lifeless. He needed a mirror, she thought. She would soon realize that a mirror would serve him no purpose.

He was blind. He startled when she ran to him, throwing her arms around his waist. She’d been so relieved to see a friendly face that she’d run right into his arms, nearly knocking him from the stool in the corner of the tavern. Why should he not catch her as he’d always done? He’d been looking directly at her; she thought he’d merely not recognized her beneath the mud and hood.

“Let me go! Who are you? Stop—stop this now or I’ll give you such a wallop, I’ll—!”

“Jaskier!” Ciri cried, shocked. She flinched away from him as he elbowed her roughly against her temple. She rubbed the spot, standing out of reach.

Jaskier straightened up at once. “Is that—? Little cub, is that you?” he asked. He turned his head as if searching for her and reached out a hand, feeling the air. It was nowhere near.

Ciri took his hand. During their long weeks of travel, she refused to let it go again. She became his eyes, and together they started for Oxenfurt and the safety of its halls.

He’d woken up blind one day, he explained. No warning or explanation. The mage had told him what magic was at play. Someone had tried to steal his artistic vision and the enchantment had gone wrong, stealing from him his very sight.

“Is there not a cure?” Ciri asked.

Jaskier shook his head. “The mage said it was a botched spell. There’s no telling what will fix it, only that it must have something to do with artistic vision. The mage suggested it might be cured by the old methods: kisses and the like; gazing upon true beauty.”

He squinted and took her face between his hands. “I’m looking and looking at you as hard as I can, and I remember you were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen when you were first born. So what do mages know? Have you become a pox-faced adolescent or scraggly Medusa? Ah,” he chuckled, “but you’d still be a fairytale princess in my eyes if you had the face of a basilisk.”

She laughed and squirmed out of his hands. “You were always very good at Blind Man’s Bluff. Do you remember when we used to play it? Back then, you were always stumbling; you aren’t stumbling as much anymore.”

“I’ve grown used to it, I suppose. But you are a princess—do you suppose a kiss from you might cure me? How are you with frogs? Ever wake a sleeping prince?”

“No, but we may try it. There’s magic in me of a sort, I know. Here, kneel a moment.”

Jaskier knelt on the dry road and closed his eyes, tapping the lid. “Right here. Give it a go,” he said encouragingly. “If it doesn’t work, we’ll practice on a frog and work our way up.”

Ciri kissed both eyes to be sure. “Alright. Open them. Do you see anything?”

She tried not to get her hopes up, watching Jaskier squeeze his eyes tight. He opened them, blinked several times, and gave her a sad smile.

“Not to worry, we’ll find a pond in no time,” he joked, trying to keep the mood light.

“Well! I go to find a cat and find a lioness instead. And a songbird. Must be my lucky day.”

Ciri put herself between the stranger and Jaskier, waving a large branch in warning. “Keep away,” she growled. “If you come any closer, I’ll scream.”

The scruffy man put his hands up and grinned. “I’ve heard what sort of screaming runs in your family. Trust me, I would rather not be around for one of them. Heard it knocked pretty boy flat on his back at your mother’s little Surprise party.”

Jaskier put a hand on Ciri’s shoulder. “Wait a moment,” he said. “I know that moniker. Geralt complained of it before.” He was quiet a moment, stirring up a memory. Then, he lit up, asking excitedly, “Did you say you were looking for a cat? A cat witcher, by chance?”

“Why? Find one up a tree?” the stranger pressed.

Jaskier patted Ciri’s shoulder and strode forward, extending a hand. “You must be Lambert! I’ve heard—” his hand buckled against Lambert’s chest, his stride clearing the distance too quickly “—oh, my apologies. I’ve heard about you before. I was hoping to see you under better circumstances if I ever got the chance. Or to see you at all, really. Damnable timing.”

Lambert looked at him, then took his hand. Ciri watched as the understanding settled in, for Jaskier was staring straight at the man’s forehead, a near lucky guess of his eye line. Lambert wore an expression of pity freely, knowing Jaskier could not see it, though his tone was light and cocky as before. “I always wondered what you saw in that sourpuss, following him as long as you did; now I know you didn’t see anything after all,” he joked.

Jaskier snorted. “It’s new.”

“Ah, so you’ve been blinded by love, have you?”

Jaskier flapped his hand until he felt the brush of Ciri’s sleeve at his side, then he tugged her forward and presented her. He cleared his throat, a tad flushed. “May I introduce Her Royal Highness, Princess Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, the Lion Cub of Cintra. Geralt’s child Surprise.”

Ciri tossed her branch aside. “You know Geralt,” she said.

“They’re brothers.”

Lambert sneered. “He got all the looks, Eskel got the talent, but I got the brains.”

“What little there were to be had,” Jaskier added.

“Oh, ho! You’ll fit right in at the keep, talking like that.”

There was a pregnant pause between the three of them. Jaskier nudged Ciri gently forward. “She’ll be safe there. And her wit is more cutting than mine.”

Ciri turned at once to protest. “But what about Ox—”

“And so would you,” Lambert cut in. “A dull knife and a dull wit can be sharpened, and I’d rather keep two knives in my belt than one, whatever their make. Don’t start that maudlin shit with me; you’re coming along.”

Jaskier opened his mouth to protest and Lambert raised a hand. Then, realizing how ineffective that was against one who could not see it, he recovered and smacked the side of Jaskier’s head to shut him up before he started.

“Come on; it’s a long and dull road we have ahead of us, and you’re my entertainment. I want to hear every embarrassing story you can supply. I’ve long run out of blackmail and I’m in need of fresh material. Besides, what better bait for a cat than a twittering bird? If you sing loud enough, we might pick him up along the way.”

They were all together in the great hall when at last he came. The figure stood in the doorway, a black dot against the stark white of winter outside. A pair of bags dropped with a thundering bang upon the floor, the sound echoing throughout the room, and the figure bundled up by the fire started awake in fright.

Jaskier patted the blanket beside him, made frantic by his sudden awakening. “Ciri? Ciri!” he called, for she had been asleep next to him what seemed only moments ago.

She paused only a moment to stare at the imposing figure in the light. Something in her shouted, compelling her to go to him. But Jaskier called for her in that voice wrought with panic once more. She flew from the circle of wolves to his side, abandoning her hand of cards, disregarding the man of destiny at the door.

“I’m here,” she said, taking his hands. “Hey, I’m with you, okay? Always. I’m not going anywhere.” She and the others looked at each other, looked at Geralt, and said not a word.

Jaskier settled and took a deep breath. “I heard something crash. I dreamed—but never mind that.” He sighed, pressing his head to their joined hands. “I’m sorry. I know it’s safe here. I’m just not used to you wandering off just yet.”

“I know.” She stroked his hair gently. It was soft again, though not as silky as before. Lambert and Eskel had drawn him a bath for the first time in a long while, but he had not his customary soaps and oils. He was … less bright, his appearance dulled with his mood.

Vesemir had examined him. Countless hours, the wolves had huddled together in the old library, trying to find a cure for Jaskier’s condition to no avail. As time went by, the reality of his situation weighed on Jaskier. He could no longer read his notebook, nor write his music to be remembered. Ciri read his notes aloud and studied the art so she might transcribe them for him, but it was obvious how he felt.

“I don’t want to be a burden,” he’d said.

And now he gave her that same false smile, the one that failed to meet his eyes. She missed the lines in the corners and wished they might come back. Perhaps they’d flown off with the crows, frightened of the winter snow.

“Go back to your game,” he whispered. “I’ll head up to bed.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” she offered.

He shook his head. “I know the way now. If someone will take me to the stairwell?” he prompted, raising a hand.

Ciri looked at Geralt. There was so little she knew of him—stories and songs … words spared in rumors and stolen from conversations where she lingered unnoticed to listen. What she knew of the wolf and bard she had pieced together with care. For all the tales Jaskier would tell, he would not disparage Geralt before her, and he would not tell the story of the dragon hunt. But dwarves talk. Stories travel and lesser bards would imitate the songs of greater. Witchers collect news of other witchers, and two adults would speak as adults when ale made easy speech. Jaskier had confided in Lambert those tearing words once flung at him upon the mountain. And thus she had put the final piece into place of the great mystery between them.

‘If life could give me one blessing…’

“Who will take him?” she asked. She kept Geralt’s eyes as she rose to her feet. “Who will take him into his hands?”

It was only the barest movement, but she swore she saw the wolf of legend flinch.

Jaskier sat up with a huff. “You make it sound so dramatic. Are we playing at a quest now? Very well, who is my knight errant? The princess has thus decreed a quest is in order: a quest up the perilous tower steps, my-my! Such a task!”

“I should think a white knight is the one suited best for the task,” Vesemir grunted. He shuffled his hand, eyes narrowed at Geralt.

The white knight in question let his cloak fall. He shook the snow from his arms and dusted them slowly, looking at each watching face in turn. His hesitation was clear. When none moved to claim Jaskier, he stepped forward cautiously. Without a word, he took Jaskier’s hand and lifted him to his feet.

Jaskier clapped an arm around his shoulder, hands patting the edge of his long hair. “Ah, thank you, Vesemir,” he said. His hand slipped from Geralt’s armour and he made a face, flicking his wet hand in the air. He prodded the armour curiously. “You’re soaked; I thought you said you’d sent Eskel for the firewood.” He prodded again and bumped against Geralt’s shoulder pad. He pinched it between his fingers, figuring out its shape. He hummed curiously. “What are you wearing? Did you go hunting?”

Geralt stared. Jaskier was not looking at him. Geralt looked at the circle of men by the fireside and there sat Vesemir in silence, watching. He was struck dumb. What … game was this?

“A knight needs a knight’s armour,” Lambert called.

Jaskier laughed. “Oh, of course. Such a soft touch; did you get all dressed up for Ciri? Have I woken in the middle of a game?”

Eskel tossed a card in the middle of the circle. “Yes,” he answered, “but we’ve just started on another, different game.”

“Very cold and calculated,” Ciri agreed.

“Cold and calculated. So a snowball fight has become a snowball war, no doubt born of the most complicated strategies. Shame on the lot of you. You ought to let your elders warm themselves before sending them on tasks. You’re young; you’ve got legs,” Jaskier scolded.

“It was his idea,” Eskel replied.

Vesemir nodded, keeping silent as the game unravelled.

Jaskier looped his arm through Geralt’s and stood straight and tall in an affected manner. “Come, my good knight,” he said, “and let us bid good night to these slacking youths.”

He started to walk in the general direction of the stair, Geralt turning them with truer aim. Geralt looked over his shoulder at the others, frowning. This was not the sort of confrontation he expected when next he saw Jaskier. If he ever saw him. And here was his child Surprise in their midst without a word of greeting or explanation, and the bard, the two of them together and settled within the walls of the keep.

It was too perplexing for him to puzzle out. And Jaskier was acting strangely. Where were his speeches? Geralt had expected him to argue on sight, or else to pretend all was right and greet him, “Geralt! How good to see you,” or, “Fancy meeting you here,” and play off the mountain like it never happened. Or at the very least to ignore him. But to call him Vesemir and take to his arm? What joke was he playing at?

The answer came as Jaskier dodged the first step and nearly fumbled upon the stair. He clung to Geralt’s arm with a cry and his other hand shot out to grope the wall. He flailed for it, feeling his way from the step outward, then sliding his hand up the side of it. He turned his head, looked at Geralt and laughed. “I’m still not used to these uneven steps,” he said. “Give me time and I’ll be able to find my way around unassisted. By next week, I’ll be able to navigate every pool in the hot springs, then you four will never see me fully dressed again!”

Geralt raised a hand to Jaskier’s face. He rested a thumb just beneath his eye. They were as blue as ever, nothing seemed amiss, and yet …

Jaskier’s smile weakened. He closed his eyes and pushed the hand away. “I know the three of you are working hard to find a cure. I know the jokes fall flat. But I must make them. If I don’t … Vesemir, if I can’t make light of it, the darkness I see will be all I have left.”

He turned toward the stair again, hand firm on Geralt’s arm, the other on the wall. “Right then. Up we go. Just one at a time,” he said. He stepped tentatively forwards, prodding his foot before him until he nudged the base of the first step. “Got it. First is always hardest, isn’t it?”

They carried on. Two steps, three, one after the other slowly. They were uneven by design: a final defense against those who would try to invade their stronghold. The spiral stair favored those who walked it every day, gave advantage to the men who would be at the top, swinging their swords to fight back those who would dare trespass unwitting. It was difficult enough for any stranger with sight. With Jaskier, it was a quest in itself.

Midway up, Geralt thought to carry him. They were going so slowly; it would have been easiest that way. He nearly offered, but stopped. If he spoke, Jaskier would know him. He began to reach an arm out to simply lift him, but Jaskier fumbled once more, his knee hitting the step with a mumbled curse. And Geralt heard him muttering through his teeth as he crouched upon the stair.

“I will learn,” he hissed. “This will not stop me. I refuse to be a burden to anyone. Never again.” He touched his forehead to the step and Geralt put a hand to his back. He was trembling.

When Jaskier rose again, he did not take Geralt’s arm. He reached out and took hold of the wall on either side, arms stretched wide to hold himself up. He proceeded to climb the stair alone. When Geralt reached out to help, Jaskier waved him away.

“No,” he whispered. “We’re nearly at the top. Just let me do this much. Please.”

And Geralt let his hand fall away.

Jaskier reached the landing with a powerful stomp, expecting a final step. He breathed a sigh of relief and sagged against the right wall. Geralt followed behind and patted his shoulder. Small congratulations. From there, Jaskier walked down the corridor, tapping when he came upon a wooden door. He passed three, tapped each with his knuckles, counting. When he reached the forth door, he opened it. In this space, he walked with ease away from the wall. He flopped confidently upon the bed and rested a moment as one does after a long journey.

He shucked off his doublet and loosened the laces of his boots. He set these aside at the very foot of the bed where they might easily be found again. He undid the back lace of his trousers, paused, and inclined his head toward the door.

“Are you still there, Vesemir?” he asked.

Geralt did not know how to respond. He stood fixed in the doorway, but dropped his eyes to his feet modestly. After a moment’s wait, Jaskier finished undressing and climbed beneath the heavy furs. A memory stirred—that was not the final task of the evening. What was the last of their routine each night? What was left undone that made this finality seem so abrupt? Geralt realized it in the darkness of the room. He had no candle to blow out.

The truth struck Geralt sharp as a blade to his gut. He stole through the door, walking quietly toward the bed. He sat on the edge, the furs rumpled beneath him, and listened to Jaskier’s breathing. He was not yet asleep—would never be, so soon—but he did not stir.

Geralt took his hand gently.

Jaskier squeezed it back.

“I only wish that had not been the last I’d seen of him,” Jaskier whispered. “I try to remember his smile now. For all my poetry, I can’t remember it clearly. His smiles were so rare, but I don’t suppose you need me to tell you. Or perhaps you do. I don’t know if he smiled here; I know nothing his life in this place. Were you so fortunate that they were commonplace?”

Silent footsteps creeped up the stair. Ciri had waited long enough to follow. Geralt heard no sign of her under the ringing words of Jaskier’s speech. Though he spoke no louder than the breath of the wind, every last syllable echoed like a clap of thunder in his ears.

Jaskier slipped his hand free and turned on his pillow, hugging it close. “I wish I might at least see Ciri now, know how she’s grown. They change so quickly at that age. Does she look like her mother? Does she look like him? Destiny makes strange things of those it touches. She was beginning to look like him, I once thought.”

She saw him well enough, looking through the open door. She crouched behind the wall, listening as she always did in secret, for the things he would not burden her with.

“I always did wonder what you looked like. Geralt spoke once to me of his brothers, his mentor. You’re still stories to me in ways. I know you have long hair, grey with age. I know Lambert is shorn, Eskel is shaggy. I know your voices, your height, and a hundred other things. But do you share his eyes? What color is the armour you wear? How does the sun set over the mountainside? The carpets before the hearth—what pattern is woven there? What thousands of stories do you keep in that library? What do the monsters look like illustrated in the great bestiary?”

He buried his face in his pillow. His voice was muffled, but both Geralt and Ciri could hear the husk in it. “I won’t feel sorry for myself. It doesn’t mean anything—just idle curiosity. It doesn’t matter how the carpet is woven or if you wear brown shirts or red. I’ve seen a lifetime of sunrises and sunsets and stars. I don’t want them!” he barked. He writhed on the bed, his face falling from the pillow, stained with tears. “I don’t! I never needed them, not one! I don’t care—I don’t! None of them are important!”

Geralt rushed forward and took Jaskier in his arms. Jaskier struggled, beating at his chest, and refused to be coddled. “No!” he wailed. “Don’t comfort me, I don’t need it! I don’t want it! I will not be pitied!” But for his hard words, he clung to Geralt’s armour, sobbing against his shoulder. “It’s unnecessary. It’s just a bunch of poetry. Useless poetry and songs.”

Jaskier pulled away, Geralt’s hands trailing from his back to his shoulders as he sat up. Geralt held him there before he could retreat more. Before he could think twice of it, Geralt leaned in, his hands cupping Jaskier’s face on either side.

“Vese—”

Something warm and wet fell onto Jaskier’s lashes. He heard a shaky breath, felt the warmth of it upon his face. Another hot tear fell into his other eye and he blinked in surprise, for it was not his own. He sat perfectly still in shock, blinking the falling tears away.

“They were never useless,” Geralt said. “They were always important—all of them.”

Jaskier twitched, raising his head by instinct up to look at the man who held him now. “You were—!”

“I’m sorry. For not speaking before. For … not speaking then. After. And for saying what I did that day.” He wiped the tears beneath Jaskier’s eyes away, an expression of pain twisting his hollowed features. “If I’d not sent you away—I don’t know what’s become of you, but I might have—I could have tried to prevent it. You would still have your sight.”

Jaskier covered Geralt’s hands. “No, Geralt. This is none of your doing. You can’t—”

A loud bump from the hall startled him. Jaskier turned at once to look.

“Ciri,” he breathed.

Ciri had a finger to her mouth and was glaring up at a tall man. They both cowed back, being caught. Jaskier looked between them as Geralt’s hands slipped away. He stood, walking toward them. He looked at Ciri, gaping, their eyes perfectly aligned. Jaskier fell to his knees before her and took her hands without fumbling.

“Ciri,” he said. “You’re so … my good gods, you’ve grown.”

All were still as he reached out, touching her face as though she were made of glass. He smoothed her hair away, taking all of her in. He laughed, new tears falling as he pulled her close and crushed her in his arms. “You’re so beautiful!” he cried. He stroked her hair, cradling her against him as tight as he dared. “And you!” He looked up at the witcher in the hall, reaching out to him and taking his hand. “Which one are you? Say something now, quickly. Let me hear your voice and know you.”

“Eskel,” he answered. And then Jaskier was up on his feet, pulling him into another embrace.

“Eskel!” Jaskier cheered. “Eskel, you look even more heroic than I ever imagined! Oh, let me look at you. Oh, oh! Lambert! Vesemir! Where are you, come forward!”

He dashed into the hall, only to turn on his heel for another look at Eskel, for just one more eyeful of Ciri. Over her shoulder, he saw Geralt sitting there on the bed, his yellow eyes wide, the tears still clinging to his chin.

“Oh,” Jaskier whispered. “Oh, I see. I see.”

He walked forward, gliding a hand beneath Geralt’s jaw. He touched his eyes with his other hand. Carefully, he wiped the last of Geralt’s tears away. It dangled, a little drop at the tip of his finger and he brought it close. He closed his hands around it, cradled them to his chest.

Geralt stood slowly before him. And he smiled.

Ciri tugged at Jaskier’s shirt, her head turned away politely. She cleared her throat and said, “Jaskier? Lambert and Vesemir are on their way up. And you’re … well, you’re not at your most presentable.”

Eskel averted his eyes, his back turned to the scene, however touching. “You might want to get a bit more dressed. And quickly,” he added, for Jaskier was standing in his smallclothes.

Jaskier snorted. “All of you, turn away for decency’s sake! We’re having a moment, here.”

“And what about me?” Geralt asked. “Shall I look away?”

It was nothing but empty jest and Jaskier smiled. “No,” he replied. “No, you’re looking where you’re needed. But I suppose to be fair …”

He clapped a hand over Geralt’s eyes. He leaned forward, whispering against Geralt’s lips. “There. Now no one can see. No one … but me.”

There were no witnesses to that first kiss. It was a secret Jaskier kept for himself.

However, the second, third, and forth had quite a startled audience, as Geralt and Jaskier both fell deaf to the clatter of footsteps in the hall. Ciri took it upon herself to usher the others from the room, explaining on the way. After all, with the curse lifted, she no longer needed to be Jaskier’s eyes. His mouth, however, was currently occupied.

Send me a drabble prompt!

#my fic #drabbles #witcher #the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #cirilla fiona elen riannon #lambert #eskel #vesemir #I'd tag aiden but he's really only mentioned in passing #ew I came back to look at this and the scene breaks did not transfer over #fixed it now

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gentlemancrow · 4 years ago

Note

idk if you’re still taking requests so no pressure but maybe jmart 18 about jon’s scars? or,,, honestly however you wanna interpret that lol

Hehe bet you thought you weren't getting one. But of COURSE you're getting one! <3 HERE YOU GO!! Sorry it is late I am not a fast writer haha! This was a VERY interesting one to interpret and I got a little wonky and metaphysical there for a bit WHICH I LOVE and THE IDEA MIGHT HAVE BEEN A BIT LONG FOR A DRABBLE BUT! It's soft and I'm soft and I enjoyed this one SO SO MUCH ; w ; I hope you do too!!

Jon had Seen enough. Martin had decided that long ago. He had witnessed enough, been forced to witness enough, been the vessel into which literally everything had funneled into in an unrelenting typhoon of unspeakable, unfathomable horrific knowledge comprehensible only to him long enough that he damn well deserved the luxury of imperception. He had earned the right to not notice when Martin accidentally bought the wrong brand of chai, the one he insisted tasted like someone rubbed a stick of cinnamon on plasterboard and jammed it in a cardamom pod, but honestly tasted just like the one he preferred. The universe, whichever one they happened to be in now, owed him not realizing the buttons on his cardigan were one off until they were about to head out and Martin had to fix them, fingers humming with the warmth of him lingering in the cashmere every time. He deserved to forget his keys and then also have to go back to check that their flat door was locked twice, just to be sure. He deserved tossing cabbage in the trolley at the market, only to get home and realize it was a head of iceberg lettuce instead, and also he had completely forgotten the onion anyway so back he would have to go. Tiny and insignificant, patently human foibles that any normal person might tally up to a really rotten day overall and gripe about over a glass of Châteauneuf-du-Pape he had won as gleaming, pyrrhic badges on the ruins of his humanity yanked back from the claws of the yawning, devouring dark matter of the cosmos and stitched painstakingly back together with love.

But mostly Jon deserved to not notice the way people looked at him.

He need not see the painted-on expressions of strangers that ran the gamut from quiet pity, to voyeuristic curiosity, to outright revulsion that Martin could not help but see everywhere they went. They had no idea. Not even the slightest inkling of what, exactly, had composed that magnum opus of horror and pain scarred resplendently on his flesh, his bones, his sinews and synapses. To even try know was to go mad, the mind looping through and around and between consciousness and logic and love and fear and philosophy and metacognition until it squeezed into an ouroboros black hole singularity of dense unknowing that collapsed in on itself and perished in cataclysm. They had merely gotten lucky that being extruded through the plumbings of creation seemed to straighten out their fibers enough to be woven back into the fabric of reality, but they were too kinked and snagged and gnarled to ever lay fully flat again. And that was why they stared.

The invasive beings of Jon and Martin had come to mutual terms with it long ago, but they also knew they would be forever incongruous with an innocent world, with a world where they did not belong and that collectively looked at them both like an ontological cancer, benign but festering and ugly. They would never know the thing that crouched behind the stars with pointed knees and elbows that even then, groped to find their new world in the lightless vast, and Jon deserved to not perceive any hints of that either. He deserved their quiet, their peace, their wordless human acceptance.

Jon deserved to be innocently chewing a periwinkle-painted thumbnail in front of the ice cream counter, just as he was that gossamer spring afternoon, turning woeful and forever mismatched brown and green eyes at his husband and asking if he should get mint chip or rum raisin before deciding, actually, could he have a sample of the salted caramel ribbon first? He pointed eagerly at the various frozen tubs behind the glass with his gnarled right hand, where the fingers never did quite open or close properly again, and missed in his wonderment at the veritable cornucopia of sweet delights available to him the mingled look of pity and horror on the cashier’s face as she doled out samples at his request. Martin lurked protectively behind, silent, sentinel, seeing it all, a hot brand of fury boring its way through his chest as he glared icy blue daggers at the clueless young woman, who only compounded her crimes by complimenting the permanent white forelock in his ginger curls as she took his order.

Martin snatched his double scoop of rocky road and pralines and cream out of her hand with a withering scowl and said nothing. Jon, frowning in the dread shadow of Martin’s hushed wrath and finally deciding on just the mint chip, took it upon himself to pay while the poor young woman skirted around both their gazes. They took their ice cream to enjoy in the balmy sun on the metal patio tables outside the shop under a cloud of unspoken insults and slander which Jon was more than happy to pop open the conversational umbrella beneath before the downpour.

“Something wrong?” he asked solicitously.

“Nope. I’m fine,” came the curt answer, suspiciously also lacking in eye contact as Martin stabbed his pink spoon into the rocky road.

Jon’s mismatched eyes narrowed shrewdly. There was one thing that never escaped his notice, even now, and that was the painfully obvious way Martin always broadcast his inner hurts and the physical language of his turmoil he had become fluent in over the years.

“Okay, yes you are probably fine. And I’m guessing it has nothing to do with you actually, because you’re angry and you rarely get angry on your own behalf, which means it’s probably something to do with me or some perceived slight. What happened in there? Did someone make a snide remark about my eccentric ice cream selection? The long skirt on a warm spring day? Oh, no, I’ve got it. It was probably the earrings, yes? I knew I should have gone with the feathers instead of hoops, matches the outfit much better.”

The corner of Martin’s mouth quirked up in a hapless, crooked smile as Jon coaxed a laugh out of him, and he looked up into his gaze adoringly to grant him unspoken conciliation.

“No, no not at all. Nothing like that. It’s nothing, love. It’s not a big deal. Just low blood sugar or something. Just eat your nasty mint chip or rum raisin or whatever that unholy concoction is,” Martin snorted, gesturing at his cup.

“Liar,” Jon crooned with loving reproachment, reaching out to thumb a little bit of rum raisin on the tip of Martin’s nose as punishment.

Even breathed with such unfettered, undying affection, Martin hated that word. He hated how transparent he still was to the man he loved, how much he still truly saw him, saw through him. At least all it took to compel him now was a little melted ice cream rubbed clean off his nose and a winsome smile with love-puddled green and brown eyes.

“Okay, okay… fine,” he admitted with a resigned smirk and a sigh, “I don’t like the way they look at you. Okay? That’s all.”

Jon’s brow knitted together curiously.

“Hmm? Who? What do you mean?” he asked.

“Everyone!” Martin finally effused in frustration, “Everywhere! They look at you like you’re… like you’re damaged goods! Like you’re some pitiful beaten animal on the street, or worse, like you’re some sort of- some sort of um…”

“…Monster?” supplied Jon, lips pursed and lids drooping.

“…I wasn’t going to say that,” Martin stammered.

“What other word is there?”

“Fine, they look at you like you’re a monster. They take one look at your face or your throat or your… your hand. And I can just see it on their faces. They look at you like you’re a monster, and I hate it. You don’t deserve that. You never did! They don’t even know you! They don’t know what happened to you…! And sorry, Jon, but I get angry about it because it’s not fair, and I can’t exactly go about lobbing right hooks into the faces of everyone who even looks at you cross-eyed, now can I? Much as I’d like to…"

Jon went quiet as he listened, dabbling first in the rum raisin, then indulging in a little mint chip chaser, cocking his head to the side thoughtfully as he nibbled on the plastic spoon.

“Is that what you see?”

The color rolled out from Martin’s freckled cheeks along with the very spirit from his eyes in a fog, his entire mien awash in pallor.

“What? How could you say that to me? I would NEVER think that about you, Jon! How could you ever think I would think that? I-I know I said some awful things in the past about your scars, but I-“

“No no! Martin, no! Of course not! I know you would never!” Jon cut in, reaching across the table to snatch his hand and squeeze it reassuringly, rubbing his knuckles and over his wedding ring, “You misunderstand! I was asking if that’s what you see in their eyes?”

Martin clung to Jon’s hand, heart palpitating and breath easing.

“Oh…” he blurted dumbly, flushing with lively hues of reds and golds once more, “I-? Of course I do, what else could it be?”

“I don’t see that. I don’t see that at all,” Jon answered simply, “It’s… hard to describe but, damaged goods, disgust, morbid curiosity, those are all… Hard things. They have sharp edges. And when people here look at me, I don’t feel anything hard or sharp, it feels… soft? It feels gentle.”

Shaking his head, Martin frowned.

“Gentle? How is openly gawking at someone’s scars in any way gentle?”

“It’s just a feeling I have. I suppose,” Jon mused, thumbing at his beard with his free hand as he constructed an analogy that would make sense in his mind, “Mmm… Think of it like this. Humans, life, we’re all very visually oriented creatures, right? We respond to visual cues in our environments that are universally understood. We wear these rings so that everyone knows we belong together, just the same as bright colors usually mean poison, or how specialized feathers, or horns, or dewlaps and the like let others know they’d be a good mate, or how some things look like eyes or like entirely different creatures to scare off predators, and so on.”

The creases in Martin’s forehead only deepened in confusion.

“Okay sure, but scars aren’t a natural adaptation? We don’t look at scars the same way we look at pretty eyes on a moth wing or something.”

“I know that, that’s not what I’m saying,” Jon reiterated tenderly, “What I’m saying is I’ve always felt like my scars are a visual cue, but one that says to others ‘treat me gently’, because clearly I haven’t been. And it’s… well it’s been quite nice. You were about to tear that poor girl’s head off, but didn’t you see how she not only gave me about six samples when the sign clearly said two per customer, but then she also gave me the rum raisin ‘by mistake’ and then conveniently forgot to charge for it?”

“Wh-did she?” Martin gasped in shock, rewinding the transaction to remember that indeed, Jon had only asked for mint chip, but there was clearly also a generous scoop of rum raisin in his cup, ”She did… No I… I guess I didn’t notice…”

Jon let Martin’s hand go to cup his cheek pointedly in his scarred palm, running his thumb over the soft curve of his cheek and the spray of his ruddy freckles comfortingly.

“You want to know what I think? I think what you perceive as disgust or aversion or even pity is just fear, like you had. Fear of pain, fear of disfigurement, of fallibility. People are always afraid of seeing what can become of their mortal bodies, but that has nothing to do with me, or being disgusted by me. People are, at their cores, good and gentle, Martin. I know they are, we both do. They see me, my cane, my limp, my hand, my gray hair, my face, and they don’t even ask, they just know, on some primal level, that life was not kind to me. And so in some tiny way, like free rum raisin, they almost always try to give something back to me.”

Jon had known. He had noticed. It had never escaped his perception as Martin had assumed. Jon had known all along, but it was only Martin who still saw daggers in the smiles of strangers while he had taken the last vestiges of his powers irrevocably branded on his body and soul and sowed something delicate and beautiful and blossoming in his new earth. Martin had made a weapon. Perhaps no less delicate and beautiful, but still cold and sharp and deadly. The razor white edge of the sun through frigid fog.

“I’m so sorry, Jon,” Martin choked, his throat pinching shut with the threat of tears, “I-I had no idea…. I-I only thought…”

“It’s alright, please don’t cry, darling, you have nothing to be sorry for. I understand. You only thought you were protecting me. I protected you for so long, when you were desperate to do the same for me, to save me, but had no power to do either. Now you’ve got your turn to do the protecting in earnest, and honestly, it’s a… can I- can I say hot? Can I say it’s a hot look on you? Or is that weird?” Jon asked, tips of his ears blushing coyly.

Martin managed a laugh as he sniffed back the tears and thumbed both sets of lashes dry under his spectacles.

“It’s a little weird for you, in particular, to say it, just because it’s you. But I’ll take it.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Perhaps then, Martin thought as Jon leaned over their whimsical little metal table outside an ice cream parlor by a park with a striped canopy above them and birds singing and kissed his tears away and then kissed his lips into a smile, that sharp things needn’t always be weapons. Perhaps his sword was, in reality, a spade, or a hoe, something to tend and nurture the new and fragile happiness Jon had tilled. Gentle things deserved gentle protection, and he was still going to devote every iota of his being to protecting Jon until the end of their days. After all, as they finally got to enjoy their slightly melted ice cream, Jon still dribbled a bit of rum raisin down his beard and carried on none the wiser. Martin let him go on like that, blissfully unaware, talking about Polyphemus moths and the myth of the cyclops and something about someone going about as Nobody, until he finally reached out with a napkin to attentively wipe it away.

Other than a gracefully paced ‘oh, thank you dear,’ Jon never missed a beat.

#The Magnus Archives #TMA #JonMartin #Jmart #Fan fic #Crow Writes #Ask Drabble #Fricklefracklefloof

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