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desthesleepdeprivedwriter · 3 years ago

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Happy Birthday

It was 3 am, and Purpled wasn't able to sleep.

He was quietly sitting in his room, petting DogChamp while he was sleeping. Purpled eyes couldn't stop staring at the date showing in his communicator, a strange feeling slowly consuming him.

7th of July.

Purpled's birthday.

He sighed, deciding to do the same he did every year: get a small cupcake, place a match on it, and eat in the early morning. It wasn't a big deal, really.

He left his little tent, heading over towards the restaurant in Las Nevadas. It wasn't open for the public yet, but it was the only place they could have access to a proper kitchen. Purpled opened the Staff Only door, hearing the strange banging of pans and someone whispering swears. Probably another resident trying to have a night snack, Purpled couldn't blame them at all. He stepped in and stopped right away.

Well, he didn't expect to see Fundy in an apron, mixing something in a bowl and an immense mess around him.

"Uh… what are you doing here?" Fundy asked, immediately noticing Purpled's presence.

"What are you baking?" Purpled asked back, not wanting to answer.

"I asked first." Fundy replied, crossing his arms.

Purples sighed, no patience for that at the moment. "I just came here to eat something. Now, you go."

Fundy's ears twitched a little before pressing against his head. "I'm… baking a cake." He muttered, going back to mixing the ingredients.

Purpled, for a split of second, got happy with the info, but quickly dismissed it. No way it could be for him, just one person knew his birthday and Fundy certainly wasn't him.

Purpled noticed orange and green food coloring placed on the table, curiosity now flooding in. "So, did you just get a craving for cake in the middle of the night?" he played as a joke, going back to his search for a single cupcake.

"Nah, man… it's my birthday." Fundy replied, still talking in a low voice.

"No way!" Purpled said before he couldn't contain himself, getting himself into a mess as soon as Fundy stared at him, confusion all over his body language.

"What do you mean by 'no way'? It's not like being born on July 7th was a crime."

Purpled pondered his answers.

He could lie, say he didn't expect it, or that Fundy shouldn't bake the cake for his own birthday, or any shitty lie like that.

"It's my birthday too." It's what came out.

Fundy's eyes widened, then a smile appeared, to Purpled's surprise.

"Dude, that's neat!" Fundy said, now moving towards the cabinets in search for something. "Your favorite color is purple, right?" He stopped for a while, and then went back for the search. "Oh Void, that was a stupid question."

Purpled was still in place, watching as the fox picked a purple food coloring and went back to the cake making, adding more ingredients. "I just need to make more batter so we can have more cake, but it will be fine."

"Wait, wait… what are you doing?" Purpled approached Fundy, watching as he divided the dough into three different recipients. "Our birthday cake." He replied, pouring each food coloring into a different bowl and starting to mix.

"So… the colors represent us?" Purpled asked, just so he could be on the same page.

"Yep."

"Orange is you, purple is me."

"Yep."

"So, who is the green one?"

Fundy went silent for a while, and then opened a sad smile.

"Back before the revolution, when it was just us in a van… we didn't have so much money for food." Purpled didn't get the connection, so he kept waiting. "So, there couldn't be two cakes at my and Tubbo's birthday."

Fundy put each batter into a different cooking pan, putting one into the oven.

"So, Wilbur would bake a single cake, two layers, one orange, the other green." Fundy smiled a little, nostalgic. "It became a tradition, even after L'Manberg came to be."

He decided to use the other ovens in the kitchen, placing the other cooking pans.

"Each year, we had our birthday together, no matter what. Even if we were angry at each other, or we had to hide from the big bad dictator. One time, I had to enter his presidential office to force him to take his head out of the papers."

Purpled just listened in silence, quite in awe. Fundy was really someone that had lived through a lot, and somehow, still held on to little comforting traditions. It must be nice, having something like that.

"But… since L'Manberg has been gone…" Fundy sighed. "I kinda haven't celebrated my birthday. I decided to try this year." He laughed quietly. "And hey! This time I have you! It's not so pathetic."

Purpled chuckled, nodding along. "Well, it's the first time I celebrate my birthday with another person. It's not pathetic."

Fundy beamed, still in a good mood, and took the cakes out of the ovens. He waited for a little while, staring at Purpled, who just stared back. "Don't you think you are going to just watch. Come here and help me."

Purpled shrugged, taking a place right beside Fundy. They stacked one cake over the other, and started to decorate.

Minutes later, they had a somewhat pretty cake.

"It works." Fundy says, after thinking a little.

"It's the first time I decorate a cake, so it's beautiful."

"Eehh… At least it will taste good. It has chocolate." Fundy pointed out.

"Aren't foxes allergic to chocolate?"

"Irrelevant ."

They finished the icing and contemplated their creation before Fundy grabbed the plate, leaving the kitchen and hoping that Purpled would follow him, which he quickly did, even if he didn’t know where.

“If I ask where are you going, will you asnwer me?”

“I mean, it’s not only our birthday, is it?” Fundy contemplated as they passed the toll booth, making Purpled think a little. Yeah, it wasn’t only their birthday.

“Hey, so… Can I call someone else?” Purpled asked, communicator in hand already.

Fundy didn’t even finish saying yes and Purpled was already typing someone’s name into his contact info, waiting for just a few seconds until the other person answered his call.

“Punz? I need you to come over. Now.”

Meanwhile, Fundy was standing in front of a wall of lava. The heat was almost uncomfortable and was definitely unwelcoming. But Fundy had to come back home before Yogurt woke up, so he had a schedule to fill.

“Yo, Tubster!”

No replies.

“Cut the scene, I know you are there!”

Still no replies.

“I can literally see your shiny armor on top of the outpost, you idiot!”

Seconds of no answer, and then the lava started to go down. And so there he was, Tubbo Underscore, with the entire glory of someone who hasn’t slept in the last 2 days. Fundy knew that look pretty well.

“Why do you have a cake?”

Not a hello or good night. But Fundy was used to that.

“Do you know what day it is today?”

“Uuuuh…… Juuuuuunee..?”

Fundy waited to see if Tubbo was joking, all that was left it was silence.

“Tubbo…. That’s a month.”

“But it's the right month.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Are you sure of that, boss man?”

Fundy just stared, kinda worried for Tubbo, cake still in hands. “Today is July 7th.”

“Hm…”

They just stood there, Fundy being able to see the cogs turning in Tubbo’s head. Finally, it clicked. “Oh fuck! Today is July 7th!”

“Yes it is!”

“It’s our birthday!”

“Yeah!!!”

“Holy shit… I haven’t celebrated it since…”

Tubbo shut, eyes unfocused. Since L’Manberg was done. Since last time, at a tiny office with the height of presidential work on his shoulders.

“I know, I haven’t either.”

They faced each other again, and it was different now. It was a look that only them could have, suffering all of that. The cramped days at the van, L’Manberg, Schlatt, New L’Manberg. They could say something about it, some apologies, some “I missed it”, but they weren’t like that.

“I have a couple of cookies and regen potions at the back. Want me to get a couple of them for us two?” Tubbo smiled a little, trying to get back to their old routine.

“It's us three. There’s another birthday boy outside.”

“Wait, who?”

Purpled conveniently walked towards Fundy’s side, giving Tubbo a little wave. “Make it four, actually.” He showed the communicator. “I called Punz, also a ‘birthday boy’” He made quote marks in the air.

“Why do so many of us have the same birthday?” Fundy asked to no one in particular. Tubbo just shrugged, but Purpled had something to say about it.

“I mean, it’s not my actual birthday. I have no idea of when my birthday would be in this world.” He casually said, antennas slightly glowing in the night. “So, I just decided to snatch Punz��”

“Dude, I wish it was this easy to change birthdays.” Tubbo said, thinking. I’d change to something like…”

“4/20.”

“Fundy, you’re a genius”

“I know.”

Purpled smiled a little listening to them talking. It was comfortable, somehow, being part of something like that, even for one night. “I should have gone for 10/10” He added to the talk, taking out some blocks and starting to build a little desk for them to place the cake, outside of both Las Nevadas and the Cookie Outpost. Tubbo laughed, thinking about other funny birthdays while automatically helping. Fundy placed the cake on top of the desk, just staring.

“Wait. We have orange, purple and green. What’s Punz’ color?”

Purpled thought about it, but Tubbo already had a solution “The icing is white. He is white. Solved.”

“I’m what?”

Punz appeared out of nowhere, probably from an enderpearl. “You’re white, like the icing.” Tubbo explained.

“Also, you’re a birthday boy.” Fundy helped.

“There’s four of us” Purpled finalized.

Punz just stared at all four, letting out a sigh and taking off his armour. "Really, Purpled? I thought you were in trouble.”

“I’m never in trouble, you should be smarter than this.”

“You just… decided to throw a party?”

Purpled shaked his head, pointing towards Fundy. “It was his idea.”

Punz looked at the other two, they were arguing over the number of candles. Fundy wanted to put only four, Tubbo wanted to put as many as it could fit. For a moment, Punz could see two different people there, fighting over stupid shit as a third one just stared, amused. It was so familiar, but so different. It hurt.

“But hey, you don’t have to stay if you doesn’t wa-”

“Get me a chair, it’s free food.”

Purpled smiled, a real one for once, and gave him a chair.

The four of them sat on the table, Fundy being the one to stood up after finally settling with a normal amount of candles on the cake.

“Ok, now we sing.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“We ain’t singing, bossman”

“It’s sad if it's for ourselves.”

“It’s not??”

Purpled saw this banter would drag until sunrise, so he picked a bottle, catching everyone's attention.

“Lets keep it simple, boys. Happy Birthday to us.”

Punz gave him a small smile back, grabbing a potion for himself. “We made it through another year, what a win.”

Tubbo laughed to himself, joining the toast. “Still one life left, gotta keep like that until next year.”

Fundy was the last one, a grateful smile on his face. “Glad we have each other this time.”

“If the cake is good, I will come to next year’s party.”

“So it was nice meeting you, Punz.” Tubbo joked, making the rest of the table laugh a little.

And there they stayed until the sunrise slowly appeared in the distance, bathing them in a golden, lazy light.

“Damn, this was fun.”

“Not the best cake, but I’ll come back.”

“Fuck off.”

Tubbo was asleep on the table, finally able to relax. Fundy poked him, with no reaction.

“I can carry him inside, don’t worry.” Punz guaranteed, getting up.

“Thanks man, I have to go before my kid wakes up.” Fundy smiled, getting the empty cake plate.

“You have a kid?”

“Yeah, his name is Yogurt and that gremlin needs to be kept on a leash.” Purpled interrupted, earning a weak slap from Fundy. “Shut up, my kid is not a gremlin, he has just a lot of energy.”

Punz laughed, picking up Tubbo like a sack of potatoes, still with no response. “Thanks for the party, guys.”

Fundy smiled back, waving. “Happy birthday, Punz.”

“Happy birthday, boys.”

And they walked in opposite paths.

----------------------------------------

Taglist!

@a-wild-rosette @fishjuice @blipblipimafish @thenerdistrying @beepboopgalaxies (bc i know u like my writing for some reason) @geminisync (bc i want ur clout) @oakskull (bc if i press u enough u will read it <3)

#Not a commission #fundy #tubbo #punz #purpled #dream smp #HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE BIRTHDAY BOYS #hope u guys like it :D #i speedrun this

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sfyristwrites · 3 years ago

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Try Part 2

Terry Pratchett's "Night Watch"

Carrot/Angua

WARNINGS : I didn't remember how... THIS, this was. Okay. I've never written anything like this before. This is a cross between bondage play and the sci-fi trope of “the aliens gave them a chemical that made them have to have sex.”

To cover the important things and maybe sound worse than it is: Third-party non-con touching, and non-con issues raised by the trope, so if that will bother you, please pass this by.

The next morning wasn’t so pleasant. For one thing, she was waking up. For another, she was much less pleasantly naked, with a stone wall at her back instead of Carrot’s warmth. There were also manacles involved.

Iron with silver threads – not a torture, but she was well and truly caught. With that determined, she risked opening her eyes. A dim, low-ceilinged room met them, dripping with condensation. Some kind of cellar, and near the river by the smell.

Her skin was aching with cold against the rough stone. There was a woman watching them from the shadows in the stairwell, and Carrot was beside her, similarly bound against the wall at a right angle to hers.

She did a slow double take as her eyes caught up with her nose. There was a lot of Carrot to be seen on that wall. Long rippling arms and legs, held splayed and tense by his chains. That massive chest and tight stomach and lean, hard hips.

They had been ambushed and they were prisoners, but her breath still caught, and a hot prickle ran between her equally fixed legs. Carrot, bound in chains and the kind of half-aroused her naked body could excuse. She whimpered slightly and forced herself to breathe.

“Ah, the bitch is awake. And in season.” A pleasant, polite voice preceded the bundled form from the stairwell. She hadn’t given the words any pejorative inflection, and she cast Angua a smile as she walked toward Carrot, examining him closely from curled toes to clenched jaw. “He is a fine specimen.”

“It will go easier for you if you let us go now- ” Carrot, as calmly as if he were free and fully dressed.

“I would. But it wasn’t I who took you. I don’t even have a key to the cell, or your manacles.”

“Are you a prisoner?” Carrot asked more quietly, prepared to sympathize and make common cause. Because he was Carrot.

The woman smiled, and turned to study Angua just as closely, and with as much apparent relish. “Of circumstances and birth. I live here, and am safe, and in exchange I provide comfort to prisoners. Do you wish water?”

Angua turned her eyes back to Carrot and remained silent. They’d unmistakably been drugged before, and could hardly fight it again in their position. The water was probably fine. But there was something – the barest trace of a scent she’d never smelled before-

But Carrot’s expression engaged all her attention. That hard jaw was slackening slightly, and he blinked slowly, several times. She searched his face and – his nose. There was a gathering pinkness in the nostrils, a tremor working its way down the nose to meet it. He stared blankly ahead, apparently trying to deny the worsening tremble by force of will.

The strange woman was watching them, but Angua didn’t care. A pleasant pulsing began between her legs as the nostrils began to twitch, once, twice, three times –

“Hahtchoo!!” Carrot’s face froze again as Angua fought to breathe. It was as if a hot band had closed around her breasts. She watched the pink deepen to red, and Carrot fight not to let a muscle move, and the lip arching upward on its own as the nostrils suddenly surrendered to the trembling, darkening another shade as, “Hyahtchih! Hah-hah … Huhhh…” Her nipples were so hard they hurt. Carrot, bound, beautiful, failing to fight off a “Hahtshoosh.”

The woman’s hand touching lightly between her legs jerked her attention closer. Her clitoris was full of blood, and even an uninvited touch brought sensation.

The woman’s smile was bright and innocent. “Oh, that was nice. It pleases you.” She walked over to Carrot, who was staring at her, shocked. She reached and ran a finger behind his balls, then up his shaft, which rose slightly to follow it. “It seems it pleases him, too. That’s always best.” She reached with the finger, now scented by both of them-

And placed it right on the tip of his still lightly quivering nose. Angua couldn’t help it, something was making it hard to think, but the only scent she cared anything about at the moment was reaching out to her body from that wall. She held her breath and stared as his nose mimicked his lower organ, rising as the woman’s finger passed upwards, desperate now for contact, the still reddening flesh beginning to spasm helplessly with every breath.

The woman sniffed, then smiled up at Carrot and ran her finger, much more delicately, back down. Carrot’s entire expression surrendered to give testimony to aching, desperate need. Then the woman got back to the tip, paused consideringly, then rubbed a small, so small, circle. Just the very tip, as the blood continued to heat the nostrils which instantly went into spasms.

Carrot gasped and threw a wild look at Angua, even as his expression weakened, his nose trying desperately to rise into the feathery touch. His entire body was somehow a single plea for relief.

“What do you feel?” the woman asked quietly. Carrot seemed compelled to answer.

“A sn… A snuh… Ahh… My nose. Itches. Huh. … Please.”

Angua gasped and fought against her shackles to clench her thighs.

“What do you ask?”

“I nuh… I nuhhuh. I need to… I need to s- snuh … sn- sn- s- suh-“

Angua moaned.

“I need to sneeze!” he rushed out, giving up any last attempt at composure and straining into the pressure of her finger.

She withdrew it.

Carrot’s eyes widened in naked despair, then tightened to show an agony of disappointed desire.

“What causes this?”

“Pleah! hehhhn… Please?”

She raised her finger, held it just out of reach of the thrust of his straining, pulsing nose. “What?”

“Dry hyehh… bread mo- mo- ahh… Oh!” He froze and drew a long, sniffling breath that seemed to torture him, his nose working furiously. “Mold. Dry bread mold. Please- hyahhh!!“

The finger returned, dodging the lunge to rub and directing instead the pinprick of a nail to scrape up the septum, no soothing intent in the proffered relief. Carrot made a desperate sound and lunged again. The woman hovered just out of reach and waited until he stilled, making wild little sounds, to almost casually place her finger back at the tip and begin rubbing in tiny, firm circles.

The relief on Carrot’s face, the need on the burning edge of satisfaction, made a pounding begin between Angua’s legs, then thundered with the exulted look of release as, out of a deep, drawn-out groan, “Huhhhuhhtsh–tshh- tshh- tshTCH– hahhtchoo!! Huh TSH!! Ihhtsh –huhitshtsh!! TSHH– TSHH!! Tshh-tshh–tshh-hyahhhhtshhooo!!! Snf! Snflsnf! Ssnnff! Snf- snf- snahahhhtshtchoo!!! Hihhtchoo!! Hyatsh!! Oh… Uhhh…”

The woman rubbed his bowed head fondly, then almost absently let her hand fall to rest on his trembling cock. He jerked up and gasped, then shuddered all over as her thumb pressed the slit. His hips rose, and the trembling from the bridge of his nose set the blood red nostrils flaring wildly.

“Come, then,” the woman said kindly, and touched the tip of his nose.

“Ahh- ehheh – Ah! – hyehh– Ahahah! – Hyahhhtshhooo!!! Ahh!”He hung, trembling, in the aftermath of the sneeze and the orgasm, seemingly equally affected by either. The woman patted his head kindly and was rolling Angua’s nipples between her fingers in the next instant.

Angua howled. A part of her mind was observing the events in a combination of intrigue and horror, but every cell in her body rose to the touch, as she closed her eyes and listened to Carrot’s post-coital sniffling, imagining his head against her chest in that state in their own bed.

The woman leaned forward and whispered, “I will make him desperate to sneeze, and desperate to stop, and he will put his nose between your legs and sneeze violently, again and again and- “

“I- I have to…” Carrot’s voice, coming into the fantasy devouring her mind to burn in her veins. He sounded weak and exhausted and precisely like he had in her dreams. “I have to… sneeze… ” he whispered, despairing.

The woman’s fingers found her clitoris in the instant with Carrot’s struggling, over-powering, “Uhhh- ah-ah – hhyehh… Hhytshahhtchoo!!!“

Carrot’s guttural moan was the last thing she heard, the beginnings of a pathetic sniffle, as she threw back her head and howled the joy of coming like an explosion.

They were left alone for some time after that. They hung, barely sensate in their chains, only struggling weakly to straighten occasionally to keep from suffocating, barely coherent enough even for that.

Whatever the strange scent was, the woman seemed to’ve taken it with her as she retreated back into the shadows beneath the stairs. When Angua was finally able to lift her head and get her eyes to focus, she found it much easier to focus her mind as well.

Anger slammed through her veins, more suffocating than the silver. She couldn’t look at Carrot, but her own humiliation gave her a baseline to guess what she would see.

Carrot was such an innocent in some matters, still capable of being reduced to abashed, blushing stutters by Nobby’s secret copy of Klatchian Secret Gardens. To have a strange woman- And in that way- Not to even think about the strangeness of the rest of it yet-

That she had been molested herself, that something had left her so out of herself that she’d given herself to her response to his molestation- none of that was to he considered at all.

“Angua?” His voice was as subdued as she’d anticipated, if a lot more self- possessed. “Are you hurt?”

Not ‘all right’. At least he didn’t try to ask that. “There’s silver in the cuffs; not enough to do much, but I can’t Change. Other than that, just really hacked off.”

“What… something was… Was there magic, or was there something else happening?”

Her chest hurt. He was out the other side of embarrassed into a version of his usually infuriating Carrot imperturbability that made her teeth ache. The wolf wanted blood for the very primal insult done by hurting her mate in such a way.

She tried to think through her rage and the haze over the past few hours. “Not at first. I woke up and was kind of groggy, with whatever that powder was, and the silver. But there was nothing new. Until that woman – she was in the room the whole time, but after she came forward, I smelled something. Nothing I recognized at all.”

Which was unprecedented. It could be magic, maybe some herb witch stuff.

“Is it- is any of the new smell still here ?”

“No.” She looked up finally, studying him from under her eyelashes, wondering at the question. He looked tired, but more composed than he had any right to. He was looking away from her, studying the area under the stairwell intently. “Why?”

He glanced at her, then looked down when he realized her eyes were on him. “It obviously made us extremely susceptible to suggestion. Right now, my mind feels clear.”

“Yeah, me too.” Even if she wished it weren’t.

“I want the woman to come back. I want to talk to her. I think she’s a victim, that she didn’t mean us any harm. I’m not sure – I don’t know if I can trust my instincts.”

And suddenly it made sense that Carrot was so far beyond being disturbed by being touched. He made the world go ’round by his assessments of people, by persisting in them in the face of all evidence until he was proven right. Having that shaken was more of a violation than anything else could be.

This, at least, she could honestly remedy. “Did she speak to you or do anything to you before I woke up?”

“No.”

“When she was- When she did what she- did. Did you feel like she was inside your head? I mean, like a witch. Or was it just- what she said, what she- what she obviously expected.”

He took a while to answer that. Finally, carefully, he said, “I didn’t feel like she was in my head. Or that I was, either. It was like she read me and, and made her, did everything and said everything just right to make my body- make me not just do but want to do- everything.”

They hung there, not looking at one another, and Angua thought the combined heat of their flushed skin was about to set the air on fire. “But it was like she was reading me. And drawing me. Not compelling me.”

That was exactly what Angua had experienced and nothing she wanted to hear. Before he could go on, doing his Carrot thing of worrying things to death, she said, “Well, I want to rip her throat out. So if she doesn’t have some kind of controlling-thoughts-while-touching, then I don’t think we need to worry.”

“Oh.”

Thankfully he stopped at that, and they stood in silence. She heard the clink as Carrot tested his chains. Apparently he was as well-bound as she, because he stopped after a moment. Even if he got loose, she couldn’t imagine how they were going to get out of the cellar.

The stones were the ancient, huge blocks that no amount of crumbling mortar would allow two people to shift, and the only visible door was steel-bound bolted steel. Wherever the woman had retreated to, the whole level was probably the same foundation.

“You want the woman to come back. So you can talk to her.”

“She said she was here because she was safe. Safe from what? That her charge was to offer- comfort. She seemed to be- enjoying, pleased, by our… by our… positive… She didn’t seem to be trying to hurt anyone. I’m not sure she would understand why we would object-“

“No one’s that naive.”

“If this is all she’s ever known… But I was going to say, I’m also not sure if we’ll be able to object once she comes back. I wonder if she even knows she’s doing it.”

Angua bit back another protest and suppressed the tang of fear in her mouth. Carrot wasn’t arguing to defend the woman’s virtue, he was analyzing their situation. His reasonable approach made her teeth grate.

To her eyes, their best bet was in that Vimes had doubtless been turning the city inside out from the moment he got the report on their little disturbance.

Before they could discuss anything further, a sound from under the stairwell drew both their eyes. The shadows seemed to part, and suddenly the woman in her bundle of clothing was standing there as if she had never left.

“‘You are a witch,” Angua growled, starting off the wall to come up against her chains despite herself.

The woman looked at her in unoffended curiosity. She stayed in her spot. “He said “object.” What would you object to? I am here to offer comfort. I bring pleasure – I let you experience your own desires without restraint. In this life I’ve found that little else will ease the suffering of prisoners.”

“In our lives,” Carrot said slowly, “We believe that control over when we indulge our desires is very important. Is she correct? Are you a witch?”

She spread her hands. “I am as I am. I can do only what you have seen. There are those who have desires they would kill before allowing the world to see. Those I do not comfort. Those he deals with.”

“He.”

“He. He is the one who protects me. The one who will return, in time, to speak with you. Until then I will give you what comfort I can.”

“What if-” Carrot spoke hastily, before Angua could do more than lean against her chains again. “What if our comfort would be served by your- not comforting us.”

“It is what I am.” For the first time the woman looked distressed. “I cannot be here with you and let you need. Even now, your thirst gnaws at me. Only your desire to be free can I resist, because I have no power to alleviate it. Will you take water?”

Angua’s throat felt like ashes, so she couldn’t object when Carrot nodded. “We would be grateful for water. Can it be only water, for now?”

The woman looked relieved and more distressed at once. “For now.” She seemed to pick a pail up from the air and moved forward slowly, visibly struggling with something. She held a dipper to Carrot’s lips, then approached Angua even more diffidently. Angua made things easier by leaning slowly into the slack until there was no room left to lunge.

The woman stared at her after she finished swallowing, eyes searching her face. She raised her fingers, but left them hovering just above the skin of Angua’s face. The strange scent, barely discernable as the woman came close, was suddenly in her nose. She snarled before she could stop herself, and the woman hastily backed away.

Her face crumpled in distress, and the scent faded more quickly than her retreat. “Why are you angry?” the voice was almost agonized. “It’s such a simple need, but so strong. You must’ve burned for so long.”

“Whatever you think you know-” Angua cut herself off, but the woman was already answering eagerly.

“You burn for his body, and you burn for the desperation of his reaction. Why do you not want this need satisfied? And you.” She turned to Carrot and raised her hands again. “Your need is even stronger, and even simpler to relieve. You desire to react – you ache for it in your body. It’s a bright, new need. You will never take such comfort from it as you do now, and I can give you that comfort more purely than you will ever find again.”

This time Angua didn’t avert her eyes as the flush gathered in Carrot’s entire body. “You’re right.” He swallowed and raised his head. “I had that – reaction – for the first time in my life last week. It was an unexpected pleasure. Angua is a werewolf – she sees the world in smells. Since then, she’s encouraged me to find a way to repeat the experience, for my pleasure and because she takes pleasure in my pleasure. Which, because of her discernment of scents, I couldn’t hide from her.”

Angua hadn’t even made that connection, but the consideration distracted her from mortification that he had known what she wanted all along.

“But it is her choice to use her insight to attempt to prompt me to choose to indulge myself. Whatever service you have been forced into, you don’t have to use your insight to demand indulgence. And we can protect you. Come away from here with us. You can live, and never have to participate in harming people ever again.”

The woman shook her head. “I know I offer no harm. I create nothing. Your need burns in me even now. I do not control your reaction – that is in the air itself. You fight it even now. Whether I comfort you in that or not, you will give in. And then your need will burn me, and her need will ignite to burn me. Why- “

“You feel our desires in your own body?” Angua interrupted, horrified.

“Only that you need. And then I discern your need.”

Carrot looked disturbed. “It really seems an odd coincidence. Are you certain you cannot-“

“I am what I am.”

Angua slumped against her wall and closed her eyes. Her need ignited the craziness? So she would control her need. Libido off, right? Right.

Carrot spent a few more minutes making his ”we can help you” pitch, but the woman remained locked in her seemingly honest confusion. When she had finally absorbed that they truly did and would continue to object to her offered “comfort,” she retreated back to her place beneath the stairs, saying only, “I am what I am. I will do what I can do. She sees the truth of the world in scents. I see it in other ways. The truth, now, is that you do not want my comfort.”

She would say nothing else. She disappeared into the shadows again, but this time neither of them were prepared to trust that she was really gone.

Angua couldn’t stop herself from studying Carrot as they stood there in silence, wondering despite herself at his words. He couldn’t have been more clear. He had sneezed for the first time in his life in the granary that day, and it had aroused him. The thought of that, of-

No. No. She would think about that later, after they were free.

Still, she watched him. She couldn’t get it out of her head, what the woman had said, what Carrot had seemed distressed to confirm.

“So, that, mold. You can smell it here?”

She hadn’t meant to ask that. It seemed to startle him, and she saw his penis twitch slightly. Just the thought of it could make him-?

No. No. She was not thinking about this.

“You can’t?” That he could look abashed and incredulous while chained to a wall was ridiculously adorable.

“We’re near the river. I can smell fifty kinds of mold without taking a deep breath. I don’t know which particular one it is. How can you sort it out?”

He swallowed and breathed deeply, and she saw both his nose and his penis suddenly twitch. “By its effect.”

Of course.

“I think we’re both still under some influence. Whether she means for us to be or not.”

He was looking almost cross-eyed down the length of his own nose. She suddenly couldn’t take her own eyes off of it, so he was probably right. The trembling was starting again at the arch, and though he seemed to be keeping his nostrils still by a moral effort, they were shading toward pink again.

“Carrot, I think- I think- “

“I know. I- snnff!” He shivered slightly, then offered her a very small smile. “I’m shackled to a wall, and all I can think about is how much I would like to blow my nose. No one could ever say we don’t have interesting lives.”

She suddenly imagined doing that for him, covering his nose in soft cloth, rubbing lightly-

She groaned and tried desperately to clench her thighs against the pull of the chains. She made herself grit out, “It’s certainly never boring.”

“Angua?”

“Yes?”

“I’m going to- I am going to have to- to sneeze again.” He breathed carefully, started to sniffle again, then breathed out in a huff instead. The word alone brought an even stronger twitch from his penis. “And I can’t seen to control the- other. Either other.”

“Either?” she was beginning to pant as a drawing sensation gathered in her nipples again. She noticed distantly that the woman had reappeared a few feet away, but she couldn’t make herself care. She was aching inside.

“Before, I seemed to have to- to talk about- it.”

“Just- Carrot, just, stop fighting it all.”

“My nose has been itching for so long, and the, the sneezing before, I need to blow my nose so badly, and when I sneeze it’s going to be so wet-“

Somewhere in that explosion of words he’d thrown his head back and relaxed into the wall, his hips thrusting forward as a flood of blood raised him toward full arousal. She shuddered all over and sank down into her chains.

The woman stepped to stand just in front of Carrot. Despite giving herself over to the experience of scent, Angua cracked her eyes in time to see Carrot look down at the woman. He looked tired and flushed, and his expression was a contrasting waver between complete dispassion and wild unspecific hope.

The bridge of his nose trembled, and he was breathing through his mouth to keep from sniffling and irritating nostrils that were shading much more quickly into red this time. The woman didn’t touch him, just stood staring until his breath began to quaver.

“You want my comfort now,” she stated simply. “Tell me how. What, exactly.”

“My nose,” Carrot whispered. His voice was thick with the gathering congestion in his sinuses, and Angua saw a glint of moisture at the rims of his nostrils. “Please. I don’t- heh don’t want to, to s- to-“

Angua couldn’t tell if his hesitation was due to mounting irritation or the mounting arousal at thought of the word or the act. His hips shifted restlessly against cold stone, and Angua growled silently in want.

“-to sn-sneeze hehhhn … like this. A- a handkerchief. Could you- ?”

“You had only to ask.” The woman slowly drew a piece of cloth from her wrappings, only to study it consideringly while Carrot writhed.

“Ah-hah hahh! ” He was sweating in the cool air from the effort not to breathe through his nose. When she just stood there, seemingly lost in contemplation of the fabric, he gasped out, “Pleads! Hur-huh -hurry! Hyahhh– Hah! Huhhhh… Hah!! I’m about to, uhhh…uhhhh– I’m about to, s- snneeze–ahhuh- yihtshhtshtshtshpshhhyitchipshooo!!!Uhhh…..”

The women had moved in the last instant to capture the overpowered nose, and Carrot groaned deeply in relief after bowing his head into the blows and drenching sneezes. He hung there, shuddering, while Angua couldn’t repress a strangled howl.

Carrot started to raise his head from the cloth, but the woman’s hand went with him. He closed his eyes and sniffled deeply, and was so affected by it she saw the tip of his cock begin to glisten as well.

The woman’s hand was moving slowly, stroking the violently quivering bridge, patting at nostrils that spasmed without the help. She kept touching, and touching, and touching, until Carrot struggled away and burst out “nih! No! You hayehh! hehhh- You’re going to- tehh-“

His voice, breaking into breathy weakness, made Angua take a slow, deep breath of her own, and felt sensation flow out through her limbs in a slow wave.

“To make mehh– ehh- ehhuh- ehh!” He was still struggling, just his head, and the woman was wordlessly, patiently, following him, pat pat pat. “Stop…” He managed that clearly, unconvincing, his voice becoming heavy as congestion returned.

And she stopped, pulling her hand away and regarding him calmly as he almost thrashed against the stone. “Tell me what you want.”

His lower body was writhing upward, obvious in its need. Angua’d never seen him so hard. His nostrils were an equally fierce scarlet, his whole face contorting around his trembling, desperate nose. But in proof of his second “either” what he managed after a pleading groan was, “Ask me.”

The woman radiated gentle sympathy. “‘Your nose- what does it feel like? What does it need?”

He closed his eyes and gave several harsh pants, and Angua felt herself come, disappointingly, unspectacularly, in pure conditioned response to Carrot’s completion. She heard a single, sharp, “Tshh!!” She gasped a bit, and sank down into the sharp, shallow pulsing with a swallowed moan.

Her eyes shot open again when his scent didn’t change. He was shuddering, and his penis was glistening, but he’d held himself back from the edge. His eyes were wide and unfocused, and his jaw was slack.

The woman gave him a few moments, and slowly his eyes focused slightly, just enough to show his fevered attention was not with his tormented lower muscle. His voice was low and hoarse. “It- it itches. All the way inside. Up into my head, there, where Abol reached, he reached, ahh!” He bowed his head with a shudder, and Angua felt her body quicken again, raw and unexpected. “And the tip. The tip feels like flame, and so full, m- my nose is so full. Huhh!“

His hands were clenching and twisting, his hips were doing the same, but his attention seemed consumed by the virgin experience of his tormented sinuses. “It’s pressure and it’s so wet and it soothes the itching and makes me itch, and if I sniffle its so wet but it sets me on fire. “

The woman turned to give Angua a small smile. She seemed genuinely delighted by Carrot’s overwrought rambling. Turning back to him, she raised the hand still holding the cloth and asked, “And when you blow?”

He groaned and twisted. Every muscle in his face seemed to’ve woken to give testimony to his continuing, gathering distress. “Such release. From so far inside. And the tip. The flame, the cloth is so cool.” His voice was getting heavier and heavier, and the hint of wetness was touching his nostrils again, sending them into tiny twitches.

“Tshh!! ” She watched him that time, and understood why it hadn’t sent him over the edge before. That was no release, just a harsh payment for momentary reprieve. His head hung, his nostilis flared rhythmically, and he gasped a slow, shuddering breath as his nose began to truly run.

“You want to sniffle,” the woman observed. “Why do you deny yourself?”

“Too- too much… Pleaths.” His eyes were actually pleading now. “Let me- hayhee! Hehhhn… Before I- hahuh- pleads-“

Angua felt absolutly drained, unable to struggle against her bonds, even to clench her thighs. A hot tide was pushing her body somewhere it’d never been.

The woman lifted the cloth above Carrot’s face, and he looked up with a look of almost transcendent hope. With a slow flutter that had him thrusting upward, his entire face a spasm of need centered around his hot, pulsing, trembly nose, she brought her hand down.

She maintained her paced descent, wrapping his nose in the cloth, allowing him room as he shuddered and burrowed, fighting to draw enough air to blow as his breath began hitching frantically, pausing only when his head jerked upward, struggling against his will.

His face cleared the cloth, tendons standing out in his neck evidence of his protest. “heh- heh- heh-! hehhhnn- het! het! No-! Khih-heh-!“

Angua’s hands fisted, and a growl started deep in her chest. She wanted to snatch the cloth from the woman and give Carrot relief. That the woman would only be doing precisely what Carrot desired was a distant thought.

“Hyahhhtshhooo!!! Ahh!” He didn’t avail himself of the handkerchief, but his face looked miserable, and he turned his head back and forth, moaning. “No, I- I can’t. Not… Not… Hehhh! Not again…” He obviously wasn’t breathing through his nose, and it was beginning to drip. “I don’t want to, to- hah! to sneeze like this- oh. Uh. hyahhh!! huh-huh-psh!!”shoo The messy sneeze shook his entire body. He gave another groan and seemed to sink in on himself, expression bereft and miserable, but muscles lower down expressed an entirely opposite sentiment.

He hung there, his breath a series of snuffles, instantly aborted, that rapidly grew more desperate. The woman put a light hand on his bowed head, petting him gently, and brought the cloth butterfly-delicately to his nose, cleaning him up with a quick gesture, then hovering just before him as his nose reacted to the touch with a subtle trembling that seemed to set his veins on fire.

“Blow,” the woman told him.

The command brought his head down with a sag of relief. The touch of the cloth set his breath hitching and he whimpered. “Huh–uh! Huppshsh!!Tshshhh! Tshtshhtshhhhh!!” After the fifth sneeze he managed to blow, caught his breath, and blew again.

The woman gently cleaned him up again, refolded the cloth and gave his flushed but cooling nostrils a final pat. “This mold, it did this to you before?”

“Just once.” His voice was barely audible. “I only – sneezed – once before.”

“I am not causing this difference. Perhaps the longer you’re here- hmm. I have heard of such a thing. Just a tiny bit of something inhaled, for a while, then eventually just a tiny response. But if it happens again, if it happens for hours, if it touches again and again and again, then eventually the response- I believe it’s called hay fever…”

Angua heard Carrot whimper, then his fists clinched and he gave a long, purposeful sniffle that reversed itself into, “itch! itchch! Hsh! Tchhsh!!“

The woman’s free hand fell to the long-neglected need lower down, as Carrot caught his breath and, “Hyahtsh!! Hahahhtsh!! Hyahtshtshh!! Hyahtchoo!! Hahtchootchuh! Hahuh! HyahhCHOO!!! Aaaah!” His final cry rose and then trailed into a gutteral, snuffling groan.

Angua felt a flash of lightning heat and, for the second time in her life and in five minutes, came untouched.

It was a literally screaming improvement over the first time.

"Sorry.”

”No. Sorry, I mean-“

”I know. I mean-“

“Yeah.” Angua pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead, then blew out a short huff of breath and shook her head. ”No. We’re being stupid.”

She’d surfaced from comfortable grayness lying on her side on the cold flagstones, looking into Carrot’s still-slumbering face from a distance of a bare foot or so. She’d started up, a blank redness filling her mind and set on mayhem before any concious thought registered, and had come up against the burn of the silver-threaded manacles after a single long stride.

They weren’t freed; long chains had been attached from the wrist cuffs to the bolts at floor level. There was a bowl with chunks of boiled meat and vegetables that she’d narrowly missed kicking over, and a large tankard of what smelled like rather good ale.

Carrot’s eyes opened as she sank back down, feeling a wave of weariness follow the brief rush. They hadn’t spoken or looked at each other as they’d carefully shifted so they could both reach the food their bodies were crying for, Angua not even concerned, for once, with eating meat in human form. Mumbled apologies came at every accidental brush of fingers, until Angua spoke.

Carrot sighed and sat back slightly, flexing his shoulders against stiffness, gift of the cold and his struggles in his chains. “Is it- ” he stumbled, and then started again more strongly, actually looking directly at her, although she wasn’t at all ready to look at him, yet. “I’m- this is all very- hard,” he said, with typical Carrot understatement.

He gave a frustrated jerk that rattled the chains. “We don’t even know who took us yet, or why, or anything that matters. We haven’t had any time to think. I’m beginning to wonder if that’s not the point of this – all this.” She could feel the heat coming off him as he flushed, fiercely.

“All this,” she agreed softly. Carrot, angry, truly angry, was rare and disconcerting and made the wolf howl deep inside at the cause. She did the harder thing, and spoke reasonably instead of indulging it. She didn’t like the rare times when it was her turn to do that.

“But it isn’t. I think you were right. She really doesn’t understand – anything. Before my brain shorted out, I could smell it. She was – enjoying it all.” And she couldn’t quite keep a growl out of that and didn’t care. “But it was like a child. She isn’t a sadist or a pervert. She doesn’t get it.”

The twitching tension under his skin eased as she looked at him. “So if it is the point, she doesn’t know she’s being used. All right.” He closed his eyes and blew out a breath. “All right. So. That’s what I really thought already. And that’s what makes it all harder. Isn’t it?”

She didn’t answer because it would’ve been a shout, and this was so very much harder for him.

“She is an innocent. She’s exactly what she says she is. Which means it’s all us.”

Angua closed her eyes briefly, but didn’t turn away. Finally, “Yes. All right? Yes. There wasn’t a damn thing in any of it that I didn’t want. Other than her being part of it, and since she’s the one doing the ‘reading’ or whatever… It’s all horrible. It’s force. But once I realized it was only exactly what you wanted- yes, I enjoyed it. Watching you. Whatever that smell is turns off all the inhibitions. You wanted it whether you wanted to or not and that was enough. And I’m sorry.”

“It was what I wanted.” He tried not to, but he ended up staring at his hands. “It was the most perfect- But I wanted it to be you. That was all I could think of. That it should be you. I didn’t care that I hadn’t chosen it.” He swallowed, hard, and his voice continued husky. “She isn’t here, and there’s no smell, and I’m so weary everything aches, but even right now, if I could-“

“Well, we do have a bit more chain.” She meant it lightheartedly, but he looked smaller than he usually did, unlike even those few times she’d seen him frustrated and at a loss and tired enough to let it all get to him. She knew him. A dwarfish upbringing didn’t lend itself to openly considering or discussing sexual appetites, even with the person you indulged them with. Teasing him now wouldn t lighten things up for him. It would just be cruel.

Even as she was thinking that, she realized he was looking directly at her, intensely enough that his body had gone still. And his scent…

”Carrot, good gods… ” lt was somewhere between a breath and a groan, and when she met his gaze it shifted from groan down into growl. The sheer, unbelievable, naked hunger of the man caught her breath in her throat and sent a heat coiling through her she hadn’t imagined she still had the strength for.

Her response, the rising heat, the spreading flush moving over her skin, waking sensation, melting under, welling heat through her veins with her speeding heartbeat, made him groan and curl in on himself, drawing his knees up to wrap his arms tightly around them, pressing his face down for a moment. He raised it, flushed, struggling, his lips tight, writhing, finally smoothing to a smile that hurt her eyes.

”Sorry. I’m not- I shouldn t be -” He shuddered, a subtle deep thing that seemed to shift him to his bones. After an uneven breath, he managed a smile that didn’ t look as if it would break and cut him. Still lost, beyond confusion or frustration but- better. “Angua, I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m sorry.”

She just stared at him until she could breath, then used it to give a low, darkly ironic laugh. ”Carrot, we’ve been attacked, taken, shackled to a wall, had our minds read and our bodies played, and left to lie on cold concrete after being driven to our limits and left in a muddled, hormonal daze. How the hell could you possibly, at this point, begin to know what you’re doing? l don’t even know what I ‘m saying right now, and I can hear myself as l go.”

It got a much, much better smile, actual humor, and she counted it a victory even as she struggled to calm down after giving in to the rant. Finally she added, looking very pointedly at her drink, “If I wasn’t afraid she’d come back and watch, I’d still want to, you know. It was – the most perfect.”

She heard Carrot’s breathing speed up. The scent of his arousal – which had eased only enough that she could make sentences – surged across again, deep down inside her when she drew breath. She expected another apology, more shame.

Instead he said, in a voice that had once led to them having sex against a wall with all their armor still on, “It was. And me, too.”

~~tbc?

There is a partly written Part 3 to this that has sat around for years but may see the light someday soon.

Comments and criticism welcome. ;)

#sfyrist writes #snzfucker #sneeze kink #sneezing #snz kink #cw noncon #cw noncon touching

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wintrcaptn · 5 years ago

Text

Forbidden | Andy Barber

Summary : You used to babysit Jacob when he was younger and had the biggest crush on his dad, Andy. But being in High school at the time, you knew it was just a stupid fantasy that could never happen. Now, six years later, you were visiting your hometown while on winter break. Once you found out the news about Jacob, you knew you had to go check up on them. But things take a turn when you find yourself alone with Andy Barber.

A/N : I have fallen in love with Andy and can’t stop thinking about him. Hope you all enjoy it!!

“I can’t believe this.” You said, sitting across from one of your old high school friends.

“Yeah, it’s so crazy. Didn’t you used to babysit Jacob?” Aria asked.

You could only nod, not knowing what to say.

Suddenly, memories ofJacob flooded your mind. You remembered his sweet innocent smile, and his contagious laugh. Babysitting him never felt like a job. He was easy going and loving. You couldn’t believe he could ever hurt anyone.

“Well I should get going.” She said. “It was nice catching up. Should do this again.”

“Definitely!”

When you arrived back into town, you were so excited to see everyone and be home. But this wasn’t what you had in mind.

The Barber’s were the picture perfect family. The type of family you always wished you had.

A part of you envied Jacob. He had two amazing parents who loved him with everything they had, and the other part envied Laurie. That woman had it all. The job, the house, and especially the dreamy husband.

Andy was definitely your teenage crush. He was all you ever thought about. But being sixteen, you knew it was nothing more than a fantasy.

You sat at the diner for a long moment, before you heard murmurs behind you, speaking about Jacob, pulling you out of your head.

Just then, you knew you had to pay them a visit.

As you pulled up to the familiar house, your stomach churned. It was less inviting than before. Almost like it were haunted.

The picture perfect image, was now gone.

You made you way to the door, heart pounding faster with every step. You weren’t sure why you were nervous, since you have been there hundreds of times before, but this time was different.

Gently, you knocked on the wooden door. The nerves building up inside of you, as you stood there, waiting for an answer.

Andy was startled by the sound, muting the tv he waited for it again. Maybe it was all in his head?

A few seconds later, you knocked again.

He let out a sigh, before groggily propping up to his feet.

Looking through the peephole, he could only see the back of your head. Not knowing exactly who it was, he hesitantly opened the door.

In that moment, you snapped your attention back and met his tired, ocean like eyes. Seeing him there, you were instantly reminded why you liked him so much in high school.

Not much had changed, except for a few crinkles around his eyes. But other than that, he was still handsome as ever.

He couldn’t believe it was you. It had been so long, he almost didn’t recognize that it was you.

“H-Hi, Mr. Barber.” You stammered.

“Wow, Y/N! Is that really you?” He asked, a bit surprised. “I-I can’t believe it—it’s been how many years?”

“Six.” You chuckled, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’m just visiting for the weekend, and thought I’d stop by. Catch up and what not.”

You weren’t sure if you should bring up the case. He looked exhausted, defeated even. You didn’t want to make thingns worse.

Andy wasn’t sure if you had heard about the news or not, but he was in need of a distraction. Something to get his mind off of everything, even if for just a little while.

He stepped off to the side, holding the door open and motioned for you to come in.

You flashed a soft smile and obliged.

The house had a few changes. Little tweaks here and there. The walls had some new photos hanging, and the couches were different. But it still reminded you of The Barber’s. Which felt nice since they were a big part of your life.

“Want something to drink?” He asked, making his way over to the kitchen.

“Water please.”

A soft chuckle escaped him but he didn’t say another word.

“Are Jacob and Mrs. Barber here?”

Andy swallowed hard after those names rolled off your tongue. If only you knew how bad it was, you wouldn’t have asked.

“They—um—they stepped out. Won’t be back for a while.” He said. Dancing around from telling you that in all actuality, they were at Jacob’s therapy session.

In that moment, you realized you were alone with Andy. Alone with the man you secretly wanted in high school.

Suddenly, you were even more nervous than before.

“O-oh.” You exhaled. “S-Should I come back later?”

He furrowed his brows and shook his head. “No, no. It’s fine.” He said. “I could really use some company. Besides, I want to know how you’ve been! You’ve grown up since the last time I saw you.”

And man, did he notice how much you’ve grown.

He had always thought you were beautiful, but never thought to cross the line. It was unethical. And he would never do anything to make you feel unsafe.

But here you were, no longer a girl in high school. He couldn’t help but notice the curves of your legs under your skinny jeans, and the way you lightly bit on your lower lip. It was something he never noticed before until now.

Now you were in your third year at Stanford. You’ve had boyfriends, and been to parties. Even had some crazy stories of your own.

The girl Andy remembers is all grown up. And you were mesmerizing.

His eyes lingered on you, as he took another sip of his beer. You could feel your stomach flutter.

“Yea, last time you saw me, I was about to start my senior year.” You chuckled. “Though it feels like it was just yesterday, I am now half way through my third year at Stanford.”

Andy flashed a smirk, crossing his arms over his chest, taking a seat on the couch.

You were sitting across from him, playing with the rim of the glass.

“That’s really something, Y/N.” He said. “I’m really happy for you.”

The two of you went on, filling in the past six years. Making each other laugh over little embarrassing moments, and awkward stories you had encountered through out your time away.

It was so refreshing for Andy to talk about something that wasn’t about the Murder case.

For a moment, he had almost forgot what it was like to genuinely have a conversation with someone.

Not feeling forced into smiling or having to come up with something to keep the convo going. It was easy, flowing as if you were two best friends.

Even back in high school, you two seem to connect in that sense. Nothing ever felt force. Part of the reason why you fell for the guy.

“Mr. barber, what is—“

“Please call me Andy.” He said cutting you off.

With the way he said his own name, and how he held your gaze, your stomach fluttered immensely, it was becoming a bit hard to concentrate.

“A-Andy.” You said, making him flash a smile. “What is one thing you remember most about me?”

He paused for a moment to think back from years ago. There were so many memories that stood out. Like the one where you two stayed up playing monopoly with Jacob.

But with what was happening right now, he decided to stay with something light hearted.

“I remember you were a big fan of that boy band—what was it, That direction or—“

“One Direction.” You cringed at the memory. “Yeah, wasn’t my proudest moment, but you got to admit they had some great hits!”

“Eh, if you’re into that kind of stuff.”

“I’m sorry, not everyone is stuck in the eighties like you old man.” You teased.

Andy belted our into laughter, his cheeks were hurting from smiling so much. “The eighties were the best!” He cackled. “Besides, I was born in the eighties.”

“Exactly. Old man.”

“Okay. Well, I’m still young at heart, so does that make me cool yet?”

You thought for just a moment, and then shrugged. “If you can name a song from today, I’ll consider it.”

Every time your eyes met, you almost forgot to breathe. And every time he smiled, you swore you felt your heart skip a beat. Here you were again, swooning over him.

But he’s married. And his son is suspected of murder. What the hell were you thinking?!

For a while, you were both caught up in the conversation, you didn’t realize how long you had been there,

Three hours.

“Damn. I can’t believe it’s been that long.” You chuckled. “Who would’ve thought talking to an old man would be so interesting.”

Andy tilted his head back and let out a genuine laugh.

“The older you get, the more stories you have.” He winked. “But on a serious note, I’m glad you stopped by.”

You flashed a smile, walking over to the door with Andy behind you.

“Me too.” You said. “I really missed you.”

Andy cocked a brow, his lips slightly twitching into a smirk.

“I—I mean missed being back here. Feels like old times.”

The two of you stood by the front door, your eyes glanced away, while his stayed on you. The feeling of his gaze made you hot.

Andy wasn’t sure what was happening or why he couldn’t stop thinking what he was thinking. But the longer he stood there, staring at you from you legs to your waist, all the way up to your lips, part of him began to feign for you. Wanting to feel you against him, and taste you.

It were as if he craved you, and having you dangle in front of him, it drove him crazy.

You hesitantly glanced up and met his gaze. And damn, with those alluring eyes of his, you weren’t able to move an inch, let alone, remember to breathe.

Andy couldn’t take it anymore. The tension was beginning to be too much, and all he cared about, all he wanted to do in that very instant was to kiss you. To feel something again. To feel you.

Without taking a second to think about it, he swiftly stepped closer to you and closed the distance.

The moment his lips pressed against yours, chills covered you completely. It didn’t take you long to motion back and give into him, running your hands through his hair, as he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

It was so intoxicating, you were high from it all.

The way his tongue danced along yours, and the way his teeth bit on your lower lip, your thigh clenched, yearning to feel more of him. To feel him press into you, pounding you. Just the thought made a soft moan escape out from your mouth.

The sound of you only made Andy crave you more. His only desire was to take you, right there.

Until footsteps neared and the sound of keys jingle caught your attentions.

Immediately, the two of you parted, trying to catch your breaths.

Andy had wiped his mouth, trying to seem less suspicious while you fixed your hair and stood across from him.

Before the door opened, you shared a glance, immediately feeling guilty.

Laurie was startled when she saw the two of you standing by the door. He brows were scrunched until she realized it was you.

“Oh my gosh, Y/N, you’re all grown up!” She said taking you for a tight hug.

Both you and Andy locked eyes again. This was it, the moment you realized, you were going to hell.

Jacob walked in to the house and flashed a cheeky grin, excited to see you.

When you saw how tall he was and how much he had grown, you were shocked and sad at the same time.

“Y/N!”

Your eyes slightly widened. “Jacob! You’re voice isn’t squeaky anymore! And—and you’re tall!”

He let out a chuckle, and shrugged. “Guess that’s what puberty does to you.”

“Guess so.” You smiled.

Standing there, seeing him after all these years, you still can only see the little boy you use to babysit. The little boy who loved to play board games and tag.

It broke your heart knowing that he was going through this. They all were.

“A-are you staying or—?” Jacob asked.

You shook your head and sighed. “No, I was just about to leave. I’m only here for the weekend, so I’m trying to make my rounds.”

His smile faltered and he glanced down. “Oh, okay.”

You couldn’t help but feel bad. Jacob was still a kid. Still that same little boy. And you were sure, I’m this town, no one was giving him the time of day. No matter what the truth was.

Everyone is so quick to point fingers and they don’t care about what he was going through.

“How about tomorrow I come over and we play monopoly, how does that sound?”

His eyes lit up almost instantly. “That would be cool.” He said. “As long as I get to be the hat.”

“Like always.” You chuckled. “Deal.”

Jacob waved and made his way upstairs. Laurie flashed a soft smile, her eyes looking as tired as Andy’s.

“I should get to bed too.” She said softly. “It was really nice seeing you again Y/N.”

Laurie gave your hand a little squeeze just before heading up to her room. Not once giving Andy the time of day. You were able to sense some tension there but didn’t say a word.

You swallowed hard, it was just the two of you. Again.

“I should go.” You said. “It was really nice to see you.”

Andy reached for your hand, pulling you to face him. Part of him wishing he could kiss you again, but the other part knew he shouldn’t.

“We need to talk about what happened.” He whispered.

Everything was just so complicated but with you, you made everything feel at ease. Like nothing could go wrong . It was hard to explain but being with you, everything felt right.

“There’s nothing to talk about. It was a mistake. It won’t happen again.”

And with that, you pulled out of his grasp and made your way to your car. His eyes lingered on you the entire time until you weren’t visible anymore.

He hated himself in that moment. And not because he kissed you, but because he wanted to do it again. He wanted to feel more of you.

Andy realized that the girl he really wanted, wasn’t his wife. The girl he needed, isn’t the woman sleeping on his bed tonight. And for that, he knew he screwed up.

“Dammit.” He grunted to himself.

——

Chapter Two

#chris evans #andy barber #andy barber imagine #andy barber x reader #defending jacob #defending jacob fanfiction #andy barber fanfiction #chris evans imagine #chris evans x reader #marvel #steve rogers

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years ago

Text

(Un)Fortunate Misunderstanding

Warnings: noncon sexual acts (spanking, blow job)

This is dark!Andy Barber and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your intentions are misunderstood as you struggle to comprehend those of another.

This is for @candy-and-writing‘s 1000 Follower Challenge, I got “Get the fuck out.” + Andy Barber

Note: Okey dokey, more Andy. I’m sorry, I can’t stop but I promise I’ll be mixing it up soon. I have 4 days of camping starting Monday to do nothing but think!

Hope you enjoy it. Thank you. Love you guys!

Please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

Laurie answered the door. You weren’t even sure she heard you knock as she seemed in a rush to get out the door. She smiled and stopped before she could crash into you.

“So sorry about that.” She said sweetly. “I was just running out to get Jacob.”

“He’s not home yet?” You asked.

“Shoot, I thought I messaged you. He’s staying late tonight for tryouts. I told him I’d pick him up.”

“Oh, well how long will that be?” You fiddled with the strap of your bag.

You’d taken the bus all the way there and it wasn’t worth it to go all the way back to campus. While your tutoring gig gave you a little extra cash, it didn’t exactly leave you flush. You smiled awkwardly at Laurie.

“I’m sorry, I’ll just--”

“No, no, it’s my fault. I should have called.” She touched your arm gently. “Come in. You can hang out here. We won’t be more than an hour. He got out early from his last period so he could try out.”

“Okay, I’m sorry, Laurie.”

“Don’t worry about it,” She held the door open and beckoned you in. “You know where everything is. Water in the fridge and some snacks if you like.”

“It’s okay, I’ll do some studying while I wait.” You said.

“Alright,” She stood in the door as she watched you slip out of your shoes. “I’ll try not to be too long. Again, I’m so sorry.”

“That’s alright, Mrs. Barber. Really.” You assured her.

She nodded and carried on out the door. You listened for her car and went to sit at the dining table where you usually did your lessons with Jacob. You sat and pulled out your textbook and turned to the little post-it you’d placed to mark your page.

It didn’t take long to finish the assigned chapter you already started on the bus. You took out your phone and checked your school email and then the few pointless social media notifications that clustered along the upper margin. You set your phone face down and stood. All morning in classes sitting at a desk, then the bus ride over; you were stiff and restless.

You wandered into the living room and paced around. You stopped at the wall of pictures along the far wall; family vacations, birthday parties, Christmases. The Barbers were the idyllic suburban clan. You looked down at the long console table, fresh white tulips stood over the rippled brim of the vase. Beside it, a small mother of pearl tray with an assortment of rings and a single necklace with a large opal stone.

You lifted the chain and admired the clouded streaks of colour. It was pretty. You turned and went to the slatted mirrors hung along the next wall. You held up the chain as if you were wearing it and admired it against the collar of your wool sweater.

“You know, I got that for Laurie for her birthday and she hasn’t worn it once.” Andy’s voice made you wince.

You looked over at him and lowered the necklace. You went back to the table and dropped it back with the rings. You turned back to him and wilted under his steady gaze. It was the first time you’d seen him look so stern. He was usually smiling and telling dad jokes.

“It’s very pretty.” You said as you made to head back to the kitchen. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Came through the back. Laurie left the gate open again.” He moved into you path. “It is a nice necklace. I wouldn’t blame you for wanting it.”

“Well, I was just looking,” You said as you stopped. “I shouldn’t have touched though.”

“No? You sure you didn’t wanna put it on? Maybe tuck in under your shirt?” He ventured. “No one would know the difference. Well, not until it was too late.”

“Mr. Barber, I wouldn’t--”

“I was a college student once. It’s tight. Hard to scrape by.” His lips curved slightly. A dark grin. “Never stole though.”

“Really, I would never do that.” You tried to side step him and he moved with you.

“She wouldn’t notice, I’d just expect you to ask before taking.”

“You know, Mr. Barber, I don’t appreciate the accusation. I was just looking.” You insisted.

“Sure.” His jaw twitched as his grin fell. “You know, I don’t like to be the bad guy but I don’t stand for liars.”

“I am not lying.” You huffed and brushed past him. “You can tell Laurie I left. Or maybe share your theory and tell her you fired me. I won’t be accused of being a thief.”

You went to the table and shoved your textbook into your bag and snatched your phone up. Andy was right there when you turned back. He grabbed your phone and pulled on your bag until it slipped down to your elbow.

“Fire you? Three strikes. I’ll allow you this one but… there has to be punishment.”

You pulled on your bag but he was stronger than you. Very strong.

“Give me my phone, I’m going.” You hissed.

“Come on, we both know you need this job.” He taunted. “You walk out and there’s no coming back, you know that.”

“I wasn’t stealing.” You reached for your phone and he raised it over his head. “Mr. Barber, give me my phone.”

He flung it away and tore your bag from your grasp. His hand went to your arm and he spun you around. You hit the table as he shoved you forward.

“All you have to do is admit it.” He snarled.

“Let me go,” You tried to shake him off as he clung to you. “I didn’t do anything. Mr. Barber, stop! What are you doing?”

“Put your hands on the table.” He ordered.

“I don’t understand. Mr. Barber, this isn’t you-- I didn’t--”

“I see the way you come in here, looking around, like you’re casing the place.” He tutted. “Now you put those hands on the table or I’ll call the police.”

“I didn’t do anything--”

“I won’t say it again. If you won’t confess then you’ll just have to learn the hard way.” He pushed on your shoulder and you slapped your hands onto the table to keep from bending entirely. “So, hands flat.”

He withdrew his hand and you heard a buckle. You turned to look at him as he undid his belt.

“Keep your hands on the table.” He barked.

You pressed your hands flat and turned to stare at the far wall. You listened to the glide of leather from his belt loops and you bit down. You shivered as he moved behind you. He grabbed the back of your jeans and tore them down roughly just below your ass. You reached to pull them back up and he slapped your hand with his belt.

“Move those hands again and I’ll break a finger.” He growled. “Now,” He folded the belt and rested it against your ass, “Count.”

He raised the belt and brought it down. You cried out and your nails dug into the table cloth.

“That’s one,” He said. “Say it.”

“One,” You said through clenched teeth. He lashed you again and you nearly shouted “two.”

“You gotta keep it down,” He warned. “We don’t want everyone knowing you’re a thief.”

“Mr. Barb--”

He whipped you a third time and you gulped before you forced out ‘three’. Then four, five, six. All the way to ten until your legs were ready to collapse. Your ass was so raw you were certain it was bleeding.

He stopped. At last. He hooked his fingers in the loops of your jeans and pulled them back up. You turned to him with a pained hiss as he slid his belt back into place. He buckled it as he tilted his head at your confused distress.

“So, you still innocent?” He asked.

“I didn’t--” You rasped.

“I’m a lawyer. I know a liar when I see one.” He said.

A car door sounded and then another. Voices rose, familiar and footsteps neared the front door. Andy bent to grab your bag and dropped it on one of the chairs around the table. You found your phone face down and your heart sank at the cracked screen. You couldn’t afford a new one.

“I’ll give you a ride home,” He offered as the front door opened. “We can talk then.”

He went through to the living room and you edged forward to watch him through the doorway. He kissed Laurie and patted Jacob on the shoulder. He was back to the Andy Barber you knew. The smiling, laughing father and husband. The family man with a heart of gold.

You whimpered as you sat at the table and lit up your phone. It worked but the screen was a mess. It would have to do for now. You weren’t sure how long you’d have this job.

💎

Your lesson that night seemed to go on forever. Jacob was disinterested in Arthur Miller’s commentary on McCarthyism and Andy made sure to pop in a few times to ‘check on you’. Laurie had excused herself to her office, as she usually did, but her husband seemed almost paranoid about your presence.

You packed up after and said goodbye to Jacob. He was just happy to be done and quickly pulled out his phone as he left you. You followed him out to the living room and were relieved to find it empty. You slid into your shoes and dipped through the door. You’d catch the bus and send an email to Laurie in the morning. You would find a new job.

“Hey,” The door opened again as Andy called after you, keys jingling as he descended the porch steps. “I said I’d drive you home.”

“I have a bus pass.” You kept on.

“It’s dark.” He caught up to you and latched onto your bag, pulling you back. “And we’re not done talking.”

“I told you I didn’t do it,” You ripped your bag away from him. “And then you assaulted me.”

“I punished you. I will again if you keep lying.” He sneered.

“How many times do I have to say it? You walked in on my playing with a necklace. That’s hardly stealing.” You argued.

“A few more minutes, I’m sure…” He grabbed your elbow and turned you round the back of the car. “Get in.” You dug your heels in and he jerked you forward. “Keep fighting. It’s fun.”

He opened the car door and you were barely able to duck your head as he shoved you inside. He slammed the door and nearly caught your fingers. He got in on the other side and shoved the keys in the ignition. The engine whirred to life and he pulled out abruptly.

“So…” He said.

“So…” You echoed. “I already--”

“Deny, deny, deny. You’re digging the hole deeper and deeper.” He growled. “Confess, apologise, and we’re done. You keep your job and maybe I’ll have some peace of mind that you have a degree of honesty.”

You were quiet. You weren’t quite sure why he was so adamant. Why he was so convinced that you were going to steal that necklace. You’d given him no reason to distrust you. He’d always been friendly, kind, and hospitable. It just didn’t make sense.

“I’m waiting.” He said.

“You can let me out here.” You leaned into the door.

“All you have to do is tell the truth.” He coaxed. “Look, I get it. You’re young, you want nice things.”

You shook your head and sniffed. You stared out the window angrily. “Yeah, so? I wouldn’t just take them.”

“I see the way you look at Laurie. You admire her; envy her. You want what she has.” He continued. “The clothes, the jewelry, the house…” He paused and planted his elbow on the console. “Me.”

“Wh-what?” You sputtered. “Are you serious? Mr. Barber, that’s ridiculous.”

“Is it? I’m older but I’m not haggard,” He said. “Neither of us can deny, I’m a pretty decent catch.”

“Please stop so I can get out.” You pleaded.

“It’s cute. A little crush.” His hand slid off the console and crept along your leg. “I got a bit of one myself.”

“Mr. Barber.” His hand stretched over your thigh and he squeezed. “Andy!”

He stopped and you jolted forward against the seatbelt. You peeked out the window. It was your building. You grabbed your bag and undid your belt as you pushed his hand away. You opened the door then froze.

“How do you know where I live?” You looked back at him. “I didn’t tell you.”

“It saved in the GPS when Laurie drove you,” He said smoothly.

“She drove her car.” You climbed out entirely. “I quit.”

You slammed the door and raced away from the car. Your ass was still sore and you winced as your panties rubbed against the tender skin. You swept inside the lobby of the building and let yourself in the heavy metal door. You climbed the stairs to your floor as tears pricked at your eyes.

You closed yourself into your room and dropped your bag. You held your head in your hands and tried not to scream. How could a perfectly normal day go so wrong?

You took out your phone and felt the screen. Ugh, you should have put a protector on it. Always pressing your luck. You set it on your small desk and sat on your narrow single bed. You’d wake up tomorrow and start again. The only thing that would be different was the Barbers. They’d be easy enough to forget about. You had classes and you were sure there was some other job you could find in between.

Well, the welts on your ass might remind you of the day’s shit show.

Three loud knocks shook your door. You flinched and stood. You crossed the room and opened the door, just a crack. It was Andy and he looked as agitated as before.

“How did you get up here?” You leaned on the door as his hand rested on the other side.

“Let me in.” He demanded. “We aren’t done.”

“No,” You pushed the door closed but it didn’t click. He flung it open and you stumbled back. “Get the fuck out.”

“When I’m done here.” He said calmly as he shut the door. He turned the lock decisively. “Promise.”

“I’ll scream.” You threatened. “I’ll call campus security.”

“You won’t.” He stormed forward and grabbed you. “What you’re going to do is get down on your knees and make up for your sticky fingers with that pretty little mouth.”

“Mr. Barber,” Your voice rose. “Get--”

He clapped his hand over your mouth before you could shout. He walked you backwards until you were against the wall. He pinned you there and leaned down to whisper in your ear.

“You see what happens, little girl. I’ll tell Laurie about what you did then I’ll tell her you tricked me into coming up here and then turned on me when I refused you. The cops will eat it up, too. I got a few friends on the force. Friends of the family, even.”

You blinked at him and your eyes swam with tears. The sheer anger in his face was terrifying. The unyielding strength in hands was more so.

“So, are you going to be good?” He snarled. “Show me I can trust you?”

You stared at him then nodded. He slowly dropped his hand and smirked as he backed away. Again, his hands went to his belt. You closed your eyes and braced yourself. This couldn’t be real. It couldn’t.

He unzipped his pants. You heard it. You couldn’t look at him as you dropped to your knees. The thin carpet did little to pad your descent.

He stood over you and stepped closer. Your vision cleared and you were staring at his cock. His hand wrapped around it as he stroked himself. He reached out to pet your cheek.

“No time to waste,” He hummed. “I gotta be home before Laurie gets worried.”

“Please, don’t say her name.” You begged.

“I won’t say much once you get started.”

You lowered your lashes. You reticently licked your licks and got closer. You grasped him as his hand fell away. You exhaled with a shudder and closed your eyes completely.

You licked his tip and he groaned. The sound made you shiver. His other hand slipped behind your head as he urged you on. You opened wider as he met your throat and you gagged. He eased off but pushed back in until he slid down your throat. You felt even more like retching.

“Oh, ho,” He uttered. “Wow, I never thought-- you’re such a sweet little thing, I didn’t expect--”

He puffed as he rocked into your mouth. The sloppy noises filled your ears and floated through the room. You gripped the top of his pants, the leather of his belt against your palm as he sped up.

You let out breathless groans around him and he clutched your head tighter with a hand on either side. You struggled to get air as he guided you up and down his length.

“Oh god, here it comes.” He growled. “Here it--”

He pulled out of your mouth and held your head with one hand as he stroked himself. Your eyes fluttered as he came across your face, streaks of semen from forehead to chin.

He pressed his thumb along your lips and pushed a string of his salty cum into your mouth. He sighed as he gazed down at you.

“You see what happens when you touch what isn’t yours?” He purred. “I’ll see you on Wednesday. Jacob’s unit test is the next day.” He pulled his hand away as his cum cooled on your skin. “Don’t be late.”

#andy barber #dark andy barber #dark!andy barber #andy barber x reader #dark!andy barber x reader #dark andy barber x reader #fic #au #one shot #Defending Jacob #dark!fic #dark fic

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annabethy · 4 years ago

Text

under the mistletoe, watching the fire glow: day 1

Day 01/25 Days of Christmas: Charcter A ad Character B, sworn enemies, are chosen to prepare the company Christmas party,, percabeth

“Chase!”

Annabeth doesn’t bother hiding the sneer that forms across her face at the sound of their voice. As Percy slides in front of her, his face is all too bright and cheerful. Her eyes linger on his torso, covered in a green Christmas sweater with plastic ruffles hanging off of it that makes her want to throw up.

“Why the face?” Percy asks. He leans over onto the desk she’s standing behind, carelessly shoving aside her blueprints. She nearly smacks him as she watches the papers go flying. Annabeth’s pretty sure he has a degree in marine biology, so what he’s doing working for an architecture firm, she will never know.

“It’s because I have to look the devil reincarnate in the eyes,” she deadpans.

“Oh, that’s not nice.” Percy grins wider. “I prefer to be called the Grinch. Christmas festivities, and all that.”

“I have a few words I could call you,” she agrees. “The Grinch is generous.”

“So grumpy.” Percy’s fingers wander around her desk, plucking an ornament off of the company’s mini tree. “So I need to talk to you.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“I’ll have you fired,” he threatens, but he doesn’t seem the slightest bit upset. Annabeth will never understand how he is able to keep such a calm façade when he’s around her. From the moment he walked into that office, she has hated the arrogance with which he walked, and she had no trouble making it known. There hadn’t been a specific starting point to their rivalry, but it was there, and it burned brighter than the North star.

“What do you want?”

“You see, I was talking to Chiron,” he starts, and the twinkle in his eye has her terrified, rightfully so. “And he mentioned that he’s not prepared for the company Christmas party. I was all oh yeah, I can help out, and he was like you should totally do it, and I was like oh, sure thing, but then, get this—”

Annabeth has an inkling as to where this is going.

“He says you have to help me.”

“Jackson.”

“Yes?”

“Would you like be murdered so close to Christmas? Never get to see your poor mother again?”

“I would not like that, no, but I hardly think you’re capable of homicide.”

“You’d be surprised what I’m capable of,” she says. “Something about Christmas transforms me into Rudolph with rabies. It’s bad.”

“You’re too cute,” he coos.

She is tempted to bite him, and she has to retrain herself from doing just that when he pokes her on the nose.

“Anyways, you don’t have a choice. He said you have to.”

“Why me? Why not literally any other employee here.”

“I have no idea,” he says. “I tried talking him out of it.”

Her eye twitches. “Why do I get the feeling that you didn’t?”

“You always get the feeling that I didn’t, or I did, or whatever the wrong choice is. You just have it out for me.”

She doesn’t think that’s necessarily true. She only points him out when he does something wrong, which is all the time. And sure, maybe she spends extra time pointedly looking for anything she can call him out for, but she likes to call that keeping him on edge. Someone had to keep this kid in check if he wasn’t going to himself.

“So once your shift is over, don’t leave. Meet me in the conference room on the third floor, West wing.” “I will not be meeting you there.”

“Yes, you will because Chiron says you have to.” He suddenly sets the ornament back onto the tree, ever so gently, and leans in close. She is too stubborn to move away so he ends up whispering in her ear, his warm breath tickling her. “You may not listen to me, but we all know that you’ll do whatever he says. So. Five o’clock. See you there.”

Annabeth promises herself throughout the rest of the day that she won’t go. She doesn’t always have to listen to her boss, and it’s not like he’d fire her or anything if she didn’t show — she worked too hard to get where she is, and he is well aware of the rivalry going on between them.

Still, as she walks down the hall to the conference room, she can’t say she’s surprised. Chiron has done so much for her, and if she has to succumb to a few hours of torture to make up for it, then that’s exactly what she’ll do.

As she enters the room, she is met with the sight of Percy in the middle of the room, surrounded by the largest assortment of rainbow lights and garland that she has ever seen in her entire life. For a moment, she forgets about the fact that she is forced to be here. Instead, she focuses on the sparkle and joy she can just feel in the room, and the smile of pure excitement that is on his face.

“Where did you get all of this?” she asks, stepping inside. She has to make her way over a few glass decorations splattered about, but she makes it without completely dying.

“I went shopping,” he says, gleeful. He picks a string of lights up, inspecting it closely before dropping it back down onto his lap. Annabeth sits near him, but still far away that he can’t ‘accidentally’ choke her with Christmas lights.

“You paid for all of this?”

“Stole the company card. Where do you think I’ve been all day?”

And it dawns on her that he really hasn’t been there for most of the day. It’s no wonder it had been so quiet; he hadn’t been pestering her every two seconds.

She hums. “So what am I supposed to do?”

“Desperate to leave?”

“With you here? Of course.”

Percy frowns but doesn’t say anything about it. “Just make this place look pretty.”

She tries her best, but it’s admittedly not very good. It kind of looks like Santa Claus and his elves threw a very messy tantrum. She stands next to Percy to inspect the final product. She can feel her ears tinging red.

“I don’t understand what happened here,” he says, baffled.

“I think my decorating skills were corrupted by your severe incompetence.” Percy smirks but turns to face her. “My severe incompetence?”

“Yes.”

“May I ask what I did this time?”

“What?”

“You’re always insulting me. Why?”

“Because—” She gestures vaguely. “You’re you.”

“I’m me?”

Her mind blanks. “Uh… ugly.”

Percy guffaws, but he doesn’t seem offended. “All this time I thought you hated me, but it’s actually because I’m ugly?” He whistles. “I don’t know whether to feel relieved or depressed.”

“Bit of both, perhaps.” Annabeth knows for a fact that her face is redder than the mistletoe along the edges of the room. Everything she could complain about and has complained about, and she says that he’s ugly? The one thing that he’s actually not? She may not like him, but even she can appreciate his sharp jawline and striking eyes.

“So if I were less ugly, you would stop calling me incompetent?”

“Exactly.”

“Ah.” Percy elbows her, and she squirms. “And here I was, thinking we were mortal enemies.”

“Oh, we are. I can’t be associated with ugly monsters.”

“Damn, Annabeth. Way to put salt in the wound.”

“You could always just insult me back.”

“Why would I do that?”

“You always do.”

At that, Percy faces her again, alarmed. “I do not.”

“Yes, you do!”

“I’m careful with my words. I may tease you, but I have never called you names.”

She tries to prove him wrong, but she suddenly can’t think of a single instance where he’s actually said something blatantly rude. It turns out she’s just a raging asshole.

“Call me ugly.”

Percy blinks. “What?”

“Now you made me feel bad, so say something mean. Make me cry. You have full permission.”

“I wouldn’t want to lie to you.”

It takes a second before she gathers what he’s saying, and she’s suddenly blushing from something entirely different than embarrassment. “You think I’m pretty?”

“I thought that was obvious.”

“I— no?”

Percy stares at her for what feels like an eternity. “I’ve been flirting with you since forever.”

She snorts. “I like to poke you on the nose and play with your hair. I wink at you, like, every day!”

“I thought you were just bullying me.”

“I’m sorry, but that does not qualify as bullying.”

“You made Chiron demand I decorate for a Christmas party.”

“Yeah, he never said that. He actually has no idea you’re here right now.”

“You did this!?”

“I wanted to spend time with you?” he tries in excuse.

“But we don’t like each other!”

“I thought we were always messing around. I didn’t know you actually despised me.”

She doesn’t know that she despises him. Strongly dislikes, maybe, but she doesn’t think she actually hates him. Now that she’s here, staring him in his green eyes, feeling like a kicked puppy is staring straight at her, she doesn’t know if she actually even disliked him, or was just too stuck to her pride to acknowledge that he wasn’t a terrible person.

“I don’t hate you.”

He sniffs. “Well now I don’t believe you.”

“Oh, you toddler.”

And somehow, Percy still smiles. She’ll never know how he keeps with the cheer. “So what I’m hearing is that we’re friends.”

Percy is too good for her. She insults him to his face and he just smiles through it. He doesn’t hesitate to reassure her, and now that she thinks of it, he never has. When she’s struggling to walk through the halls, Percy is always the first to help her carry her things, even when she hurls her nasty words his way. And the one time she was sick, he was the one to sit her down and drive her home. He’s always been so generous even when she doesn’t deserve it, and she doesn’t understand why she’s never seen it before.

It’s like something inside of her has shifted, like these few hours spent alone with him have suddenly erased everything she thought in the past. It makes sense, now that she realizes that the past was nothing more than an image she was too stubborn to replace.

“No?” Percy smiles. “I get it. You want to be my girlfriend.” She holds up a hand. “Wait a second—”

“Even better! My wife!”

She chokes, laughing. She thinks this might be the first time she let herself genuinely smile at something he’s said. It’s a nice feeling. “Let’s start with friends.”

Percy steps forwards, towering over her. “Oh, I’m so going to make you my girlfriend.”

Annabeth wants to protest, but with the look that he’s giving her now, making her legs go weak, she thinks that it just might be possible in this Christmas magic.

“Guess what,” he whispers, now directly beside her.

She trembles, a foreign chill shooting down her back. “What?”

“Mistletoe.”

She looks up, expecting to find the small plant being held above her head, but instead she is met with the sound of Percy laughing. “Made you look.”

She laughs along with him, shoving his chest playfully. “This is why I hate you.”

“Except you don’t hate me,” he says, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her in for a side hug. “You love me.”

“Sure,” she says.

“So you should kiss me then. If you love me, and all.”

If it had been two hours earlier, she would’ve said not a chance, but something’s changed. She isn’t sure what it is or when exactly it had happened between then and now, but something seemed to click. It has her reaching onto her toes to press a sweet kiss to his cheek, right on the dimple that appears as his face morphs into the kindest, gentlest smile.

“There,” she says softly. “A kiss.”

Percy bites his lower lip and shakes his head. There is a look on his face — adoration, she thinks. A voice whispers love. “I’m going to make you fall in love with me, Annabeth Chase.”

It doesn’t take long at all.

#percabeth #percy jackson #annabeth chase #pjo #Percy jackson and the olympians #my writing

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agent-cupcake · 4 years ago

Text

Garreg Mach Café Episode Two: Lucky Seven (Yuri x Reader)

The first thing you learned about him —one of the very few things you knew about him— was that he liked sugar. A lot. You didn’t work the counter most of the time, you just made the drinks. So, you didn’t know who had ordered the heart attack inducing Ruined Sky Strawberry Frappe, only that someone was looking for a cavity. Vanilla bean coffee, three pumps of vanilla syrup, and strawberry puree with ice blended and topped with whipped cream, hazelnut drizzle, strawberry drizzle, and red sprinkles.

The second thing you learned about him was his name. Or, more accurately, his lack thereof. People regularly used dumb names. It didn’t really bug you, there was no shame in entertaining someone who thought making a barista call out a drink for Phun E. Monki was the peak of modern entertainment. Not so surprisingly, you saw a lot of hipster and nerd traffic through the café so references and jokes weren’t at all unheard of. Really, this one wasn’t even that bad. Comparatively.

“Ruined Sky Strawberry Frappe for Arsène Lupin,” you called, turning around.

“That’s mine,” the waiting customer responded. Shockingly, it was not the top-hat wearing gentleman thief who stood at the counter waiting for his drink. Neither was it the dweeb you expected. Your Arsène Lupin —that is, the man standing on the other side of the glistening lacquered wood countertop— certainly wasn’t normal, but not in the way you had initially assumed.

The third thing you learned about him was that he was disarmingly beautiful. He stood casually; his arms crossed with one of his hands resting lightly on his chin as he watched with a half-smile that you would have sworn had a mischievous glint. Waiting to see if the little joke got a reaction, you figured.

Well, who were you to deny him that? Pushing down the instinctual nerves of talking to someone who belonged more in the technicolor light of your two-past-midnight Instagram escapades rather than the academia chic café, you smiled back. “Here you go, Monsieur Lupin.”

That made his lips twitch in amusement, which shouldn’t have been as gratifying as it was. “Thanks,” Arsène said warmly, wrapping his fingers around the cup. It wasn’t like you were intentionally trying to notice, but his fingers were long and thin, the nails neat and manicured. Pretty hands. Attractive hands. You wondered if they were soft, or as strong as they looked, or what they might feel like-

Nope. No. You needed God.

Or Tinder

“I hope you enjoy,” you said, trying to act like you hadn’t just committed some obscene thought crime. He was supposed to leave after that. People got their drinks and either sat down or left. But he didn’t, meeting your eyes with an even gaze. Their violet coloring was striking, drawn out by the purple eyeshadow smoked out over his pale eyelids. The makeup should have been off-putting, you were less than uninterested in the pierced hoard of e-boys that had saturated the modern alternative dating market, but it wasn’t. Not on him, at least.

“This is a cute place,” Arsène said. But he wasn’t looking around the cafe, he was staring directly at you. Which… you weren’t sure if you were to buy into your ego telling you he was flirting or your paranoia that he was laughing at you. “Is it usually this busy?”

Flirting was better, for your sanity’s sake if nothing else, so you smiled, doing a quick check to make sure you weren’t missing any customers. The guy working the register was looking at his phone under the counter.

“You know, you shouldn’t pick such an obvious pseudonym when you’re canvassing a business,” you said playfully. “Charm will only get you so far.”

That made him laugh, his appraising eyes sparkling with amusement as he stabbed a straw past the whipped cream of his drink. “In my experience, charm will get you anywhere.”

“For you, maybe,” you allowed, feeling a little more emboldened by that response. Lowering your voice slightly, you leaned in as if to conspire. “I guess the real question is what you’re stealing, Monsieur Lupin, hearts or jewels?”

“Jewels, usually,” Arsène told you without missing a beat. “I have no need to steal the hearts.” He shrugged one shoulder carelessly, casually. “I collect enough of them as it is.”

A corny, over-confident line like that should have made you laugh. Unfortunately, you kind of believed it. So you raised a skeptical eyebrow. “That goes against the spirit of being a Phantom Thief, doesn’t it?”

“Why, do you want me to steal your heart?” Arsène asked. He didn’t sound serious, exactly, but neither was the question joking enough to keep a flush from crawling up your cheeks.

“Baristas don’t have hearts,” you told him theatrically, rejecting your silly reaction. “It’s a void of caffeine, student debt, and the disappointment of our parents.”

Arsène was about to respond when you heard the door jingle open. You turned, looking over your shoulder at the customers who had stepped up to the register. “It looks like you’re needed,” he said, following your eye line.

“Yeah,” you said, feeling a strange stab of disappointment. Which was dumb. A little bit of banter with a handsome stranger was nice, but it shouldn’t have been anything else.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be back,” Arsène said, smirking in a way that made you think he’d seen your dismayed reaction. “Thanks for the drink.”

He raised the cup like a toast goodbye, and you wished him a good day. It was completely ridiculous, but that quick and strange interaction played on loop in your head for the rest of the day. You went from embarrassed, to amused, to insecure, and back again dozens of times. By the next day, you weren’t sure what to think about it and you hated to think that you were watching for him, but-

Well, you were.

The fourth thing you learned about him was that he had a schedule, a specific time slot that seemed to be allocated to getting an overly sugary drink at your little cafe.

“Noa Fruit and Caramel Macchiato for Mr Pink,” you called, already expecting to see his smile based on the name alone. Not that the preparation did a whole lot in lessening the effects. Today Arsène, or Mr Pink, wore a dark striped button up tucked into black pants. The top buttons were undone, showing off the elegant column of his neck and the framing lines of his collarbones. His skin was so pale, like it had never seen the sun, the color perfectly even and milky.

“That’s mine,” he said. Redundantly. Of course it was his.

To think that you’d done your makeup with more care than usual today was embarrassing, but you were glad for it as you passed the drink to him. “Reservoir Dogs, right?” you asked, forcing yourself to not be flustered.

“Very good,” he said in a voice that was borderline condescending.

“You thought I wouldn’t know? I serve coffee in downtown, knowing Tarantino is practically a job requirement,” you said. Arsène laughed warmly, a sound that was somewhere between amusement and mocking, a sound that invited a mess of fluttery nerves to dance around in your stomach which you covered with a smile. “Mr Pink, though… he’s a long way off from being a gentleman thief.”

“Let’s just say that I’ve fallen from grace,” Arsène said, his smile an odd combination of mirth and mystery. “Lupin is... more of an ideal. Reality is hardly ever so romantic.”

“Cheers to that,” you said wryly.

“Although if I had to emulate one of them, I’d far prefer it to be the gentleman,” he said, dropping a few dollars in your tip jar. Cheeky. “Thanks for the treat.”

“Oh… Yeah,” you said, not even thinking to point out that it was your job. Unless he wasn’t talking about the coffee, which was even more baffling. “Have a nice day.”

After that came a lineup of sugary drink orders under the names of famous thieves. Some references you knew immediately, others you had to google later. And always, always, he just about made your heart stop with that smile.

It was… Maybe a week later? Your Arsène had become something like an expectation. Which was ridiculous. And stupid. But it was true, and he hadn’t been in the day before which affected you far more than you dared admit. Seeing the familiar purple head in the lineup of waiting customers was more relieving than it should have been.

A Vanilla Wyvern Wing Latte for Danny Ocean, this time. Unfortunately, there was a swath of customer’s orders that needed filling so you couldn’t give it to him personally, sliding it across the counter before rushing back to the blender. That kind of disappointed you, especially since you hadn’t seen him the day before, until you realized that he had taken a seat along the bar, writing something in a notebook and sipping on the creamy white latte.

Waiting for you? Pushing down the spark of excitement you felt about that, you finished up the orders. After that, you took a breath, grabbing a rag to at least seem productive as you inched towards him.

“You’re awfully far from Vegas, Mr Ocean,” you said. Although you called him that, you still thought of him as Arsène Lupin. Your Arsène.

He looked up from his notebook, the end of his pen pushed against his lip in a distracting way. They were so pink. And shapely, his top lip curved by a perfectly symmetrical cupids bow that no amount of lip kits could falsify. And… And you were staring. Again. He obviously noticed, what with the way he grinned when you forced your eyes up to his, but he gracefully didn’t point it out.

“Casinos are nothing more than a party trick,” he told you lightly, flipping his pen through his fingers before letting it drop to the paper. “I’ve got my eye on something far more valuable.” His eyes were burning into yours as he spoke.

That was the fifth thing you learned about him. Arsène could make anything sound like a double entendre. You thought of yourself as being somewhat difficult to ruffle, but even the most innocuous of comments from him could make your cheeks warm. It was the tone of his smooth, lovely voice. Always speaking under his breath, or low enough that you found yourself leaning in.

“Jewels, right?” you asked, playing it cool because you refused to fall prey to what you knew was a purposeful attempt to throw you off balance. “I heard there was an exhibit coming to town.”

“I’m not really interested in that sort of thing,” Arsène said with a little wave of his elegant hand. “You know the reprehensible means they use to get them, don’t you? So beautiful... but stained with blood. Not too dissimilar from myself, I suppose.”

That momentarily tripped you up. He sounded so genuine, even with the little quip of a joke. Most people couldn’t pull off saying something so nakedly edgy. Maybe it only worked because he was pretty, and you were a fool. So you just smiled. “You really ought to work on this whole subterfuge thing.”

Arsène’s eyes met yours. So intense. “And how would you recommend I do that?”

“Misdirection,” you told him, refocusing on wiping up the counter to avoid his gaze. “The names are bad enough. You’ve gotta at least pretend to be an upstanding member of society, right?”

“Do you think I’m not?” he asked lightly, his head falling to the side, hand braced against his cheek casually. “And here I thought I was perfectly amicable.”

“Oh,” you said. Did he sound offended? You quickly backtracked. “I didn’t mean to imply that I don’t think you are, it’s just that what you said-”

“I’m kidding,” Arsène said, the slightly concerned expression slipping from his face like an easily discarded mask.

You winced, internally kicking yourself. “Ah, sorry.”

“Don’t worry. That was cute,” Arsène said with that oddly infuriating unreadable grin and shutting his notebook to stand up.

“You’re leaving?” you asked, almost confused that he’d wait only to cut the conversation short.

“Haven’t you realized? I’m a wanted man. As much as I’d love to stay and chat, I’ve got things to do,” he said. “Speaking of that, I hope you didn’t miss me too much yesterday. This project is more difficult than I anticipated.”

“That’s fine, it’s not like I expect you to come by,” you said. You lied.

“No?” Arsène asked. He didn’t believe you, that much was obvious. “Fine, then. I’m not afraid to admit that I missed you. I’ll definitely see you tomorrow, though.”

“Can’t wait,” you said. And, despite the half-sarcastic affect you tried to put on, you meant it.

It only settled after he’d already left what he really had said. Missed you. Not for the first time, you toyed with the idea of giving him your number. Then again, maybe you were misreading the situation. After all, you didn’t even know his name.

Still, true to his word, he came around the same time the next day.

This time, it was a Cinnamon Dust Frappe for Garrett. Arsène, or Garrett, was wearing a sweater today in a nod to the rainy weather. Just like everything else he wore, it was entirely in service of his allure, a dark knit with leather elbow patches. White clips kept a section of his hair out of his face, which was curling at the ends. From the humidity? Or perhaps he usually straightened it?

“It took me a minute,” you admitted as you handed him his drink, “Garrett. That’s Thief, right? I have to be honest; you don’t really strike me as the gamer type.”

“I’m full of surprises,” he responded. After a moment, he added, “I haven’t got much time for games these days, but I have some fond memories from when I was a kid.”

“Probably why you’re a criminal,” you said.

If you weren’t mistaken, his eyes widened for a fraction of a second in something like surprise before that was composed into something else, his laughter driving it away. “You might be on to something with that. Video games do make kids violent, after all.”

“So, tomorrow, will it be Ezio? Or Corvo… He’s got a bit of thievery under his belt.”

Arsène scoffed. “I’d never do the same trick twice.”

That made you smile. “I look forward to it.”

After he left, you realized that you’d learned the sixth thing about him. It was such a small and mundane detail, but there was something charming and oddly intimate to imagine Arsène as a kid playing video games.

The next day, you were working register while helping to train the newbie in making drinks. It was cold. Slushy snow half-heartedly sprinkled down outside, and the heater was desperately trying, and failing, to keep the cafe warm. The repairman wouldn’t come until the following morning. All in all, your mood was rather poor.

Until the door opened and a familiar face stepped up to the counter.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you up here,” Arsène said.

“Desperate times,” you said with a shrug. He smiled at that, looking up at the menu contemplatively.

“I’ll have…” he said, “a Mockingbird Mocha Hot Chocolate. Medium.”

“And who might you be today?” you asked professionally, the Sharpie point poised over the side of the cardboard hot drinks cup.

“Prometheus,” he said without hesitation.

You blinked, caught off guard for a second as you tried to figure out the reference. That was… clever. The original thief. You couldn’t help but shake your head in amusement as you scribbled that on the side of the cup. The newbie already knew how to make the drink, leaving you with nothing to do. The cafe was quiet today, a rarity. It was the poor weather. People dropped in to get hot drinks, but you didn’t blame them for not sticking around. Arsène was dressed for the cold, wearing a white cape coat that was either incredibly trendy or strangely fringe. Of course, it worked perfectly on him. He looked ready to hop into a new age fashion catalog for outerwear.

“From gentleman thief to a gangster to god… Moving up in the world, are we?” you asked to fill the silence.

“On the contrary,” Arsène told you “There’s no power in being a god nobody believes in.”

“I’d definitely believe in you if you could warm it up in here,” you told him. “I’ve been freezing all day.”

“I’m sure I could think of a few ways to warm you up,” Arsène said, smirking, his eyes dancing with mischievous amusement. “After all, I’m the one who stole the first flame.”

A shaky exhale left your mouth, becoming something like an awkward laugh because he definitely had you going for a second and you knew it was on purpose but still. “That’s what you meant. Right.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What did you think I was talking about?”

“Here you go,” the newbie said with absolutely perfect timing, handing Arsène his drink. At least your blush was keeping you warm.

“Thank you,” Arsène said, meeting her eyes. You were pretty sure you saw her swoon, which made sense. That was the most practical response to him, after all. He looked back to you. “Try to keep warm, I’d hate for you to be calling in sick.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you said. He grinned, wishing the both of you a good day. And you did warm up. By thinking of all the ways he could keep you warm. At this point, even God Himself probably couldn’t do much about your sinful thoughts.

The next day was another cold one, meaning that it was slow. Because of that, your boss had decided that only one person was needed, and you didn’t mind if that was you. Paid hours were always welcome. More than that, and you hated yourself for it, you hoped to see your Arsène. You’d been scrolling on your phone under the register when the door opened. Winter rushed in like it had been chomping at the bit for the chance, called forth with the jingling of bells. Arsène had arrived right on time, wearing that white cloak coat and tall white heeled boots. Snowflakes shined in his hair, quick to melt in the warmth of the repaired heater. By now, you should have been immune. But you weren’t.

“Alone today?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Eerie, isn’t it?” you replied, gesturing to the empty cafe. “Not that I mind, now that the heater is fixed… What will you be having today?”

“A medium Caramel Leclair Latte,” he said.

“And your name…?”

“Yuri,” he said, which you scribbled onto the cardboard.

“All right… Just gimme a second,” you said. The drink was oddly tame for him, and a lot easier to make. You were pretty sure you could whip up a latte in your sleep. He waited without saying anything, but you could feel him watching. The music was too quiet to be a distraction and you were incredibly aware that it was just the two of you which was stupid because the counter practically put you in a different realm of reality, but-

You forced your thoughts to focus on something else, considering the name he’d given you. It was oddly unassuming, at least by the standards of other names he’d given you. You couldn’t recognize it as anything in particular, either. It was Russian. Or Japanese. It being the name of a Russian thief probably made the most sense contextually, but you were drawing a blank as to the specific reference.

“I can’t figure it out,” you admitted when you finished the drink and set it on the counter between you, “who are you impersonating today?”

Arsène blinked, a second of confusion passing before his lips quirked up just a bit. “Myself, actually. I figured it was time to give you my name. You can call me Yuri. Yuri Leclerc, to be precise.”

That was the seventh thing you learned about him. Your stomach clenched. Out of nerves or excitement or happiness, you couldn’t tell. You smiled, feeling something giddy fuzz in your head. “Well... It... It’s good to meet you, Yuri Leclerc.” Yes, you liked that name. It was better than all the others, even better than Arsène.

“The pleasure is all mine,” Yuri replied smoothly.

“So… Is there a reason for this momentous revelation?” you asked.

Some of the mirth drained from his eyes as he slid two of the little coffee straws into the lid. “I’m leaving town.”

The disappointment that struck you was beyond silly, it wasn’t like you had any claim to him. You’d only just learned his name for God’s sake. “Did the police finally catch up with you?” you asked with a smile, trying to be playful.

“Not yet,” Yuri said. “I prefer to leave before they catch wise.”

“I can never tell if you’re joking or not,” you told him, shaking your head. Sure, he was smiling, but, well, he smiled a lot. It was always unreadable. Amusement at something. Life itself, maybe.

“For your own sake,” Yuri said, his eyes fixing on yours, “you should always assume I am.”

Because that really cleared it up. You decided not to worry about it too much. “But you are leaving, that’s not pretend?”

“Yeah.”

Your heart sank all over again. Stupid, stupid. At least you finally knew his name.

That made for seven things you knew about him. That was enough, wasn’t it? Lucky sevens and all that? Without thinking too hard about it, you grabbed one of the embossed café cards and a pen, scribbling your name and phone number on the back. “If you’re ever back in town or whatever, this is me,” you told him, handing it over. “Or I dunno, I get vacation time. Maybe it’d be fun to take a trip to Almyra or Albinea or wherever gentleman thieves go until the heat dies down.”

Yuri looked at the card for a long moment before tucking it into his wallet, smiling. You felt like you could read this smile, it was warm and friendly. More real than his others, the emotion catching in his eyes, too. “I wonder, do you mean that?”

“Do you want me to?”

“I might.”

“Then I do,” you said with a shrug, like it was easy as that and unsure exactly how much of what you said was strictly playful. It didn’t really matter because it made Yuri smile all over again and the look was fond enough to make your heart seize.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said. “Until then, do you by any chance watch the news?”

“The news?” you asked, confused by the shift in topic. “Not if I can help it.”

“Well, you should, at least for a few days.”

“Am I gonna turn it on and see your mugshot slapped all over some headline about a bank robbery or something?” you asked, mostly joking. Mostly.

“What would have ever given you the impression that I’d do something like that?” he asked, feigning a tone of offense.

“Steal something?” you asked.

“Get caught,” he corrected.

You laughed, thinking of something clever to respond with. Unfortunately, the door opened to admit a trio of bundled up students, killing the moment before you spoke.

“That’s my cue,” Yuri said, picking up his coffee. “Don’t miss me too much until we meet again, yeah?”

“Only as long as you promise not to forget me,” you told him.

“It’s a deal, then.”

“Goodbye, Yuri.”

“Goodbye,” he echoed, his eyes meeting yours and voice gentle. Intimate, almost. Then he was gone, a flash of violet and white disappearing into the winter cold.

It was silly, but you kept an eye on the news like he told you, curious to know if anything would come of it or if you’d just fallen for a cute guy’s ruse. But, no, something did happen. A huge theft. The jewel exhibit that had been about to roll out downtown had been robbed. Such a feat was meant to be impossible, there was seemingly no way it could have been done. But it had and there were no suspects, no public leads. And, not surprisingly, no mugshots.

#fire emblem three houses #fe3h #yuri leclerc #yuris leclair #fe yuri #yuri leclerc x reader #yuris leclair x reader #fe yuri x reader #YOU'VE BEEN HIT BY #YOU'VE BEEN STRUCK BY #ive had this idea in my head for so long #admittedly i'm not sure it turned out the way i wanted but i can't tell why #iS thIs a pERsoNa rEFeRenCe? yes

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sometimesiwrite · 3 years ago

Text

The Way It Is

Prompt: Fake Dating

Pairing: Lambert & Essi Other Characters: Julian (Jaskier), Eskel/Geralt

Rating: Teen Content Warnings: No Archive Warnings; platonic/queerplatonic dynamics; pressure to engage sexually; coarse language; alcohol/intoxication; modern AU.

Summary: When Essi and Lambert are setup on a blind date, they don’t expect to get along as well as they do. However, when they decide to keep their relationship platonic and non-romantic, they realize they might face some uncomfortable pressure. For the sake of simplicity, they decide to tell people they’re dating, but is it sustainable?

@witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo

Essi fidgeted with the bent corner of her cafe menu, looking around at the various styles of local artworks hanging on the walls. She was early by about ten minutes, but that didn’t stop her from checking the pearlescent dial of her watch every thirty seconds. Finally, the bell above the door tinkled and a man walked in. Essi could tell from the way he was looking around that he was there to meet someone—her. The only other people sitting alone in the cafe were working on laptops and tablets; no one else waiting for a date. And this man was most certainly looking for one.

He was handsome in a ruffled sort of way, though he’d clearly put in a bit of effort. His black casual dress shirt and slim light-wash jeans fit his lean frame impeccably, and a subtle quantity of mousse was clearly doing its best to tame his short, scruffy brown hair. Even his bristly beard appeared to have been trimmed recently. Though there was nothing particularly remarkable about his clothing, there was something striking about the way he carried himself, a devil-may-care sort of presence that Essi appreciated. For a blind date, she thought, it certainly could be worse. Allegedly, they knew each other, at least based on his abruptly out-of-the-blue text, and the closer she looked, the more her memory of him crystalized.

A loud ping! emitted from Essi’s phone and the man looked up from his own cellular device, clearly having just texted.

“Uh, Essi? Essi Daven, right?” He took a step towards her and leaned in, pointing to his phone screen.

“Yes,” Essi stood to shake his hand, “hi.”

“Nice to see you again. Lambert.”

They sat down awkwardly, both struggling to find the will for smalltalk.

“So…” Lambert had become keenly interested in a black-and-white digital photograph behind Essi’s shoulder.

“Listen,” Essi could feel the words start to tumble out of her mouth, and it was too late to do anything about it. Lambert raised an eyebrow, “I don’t really know how to say this, so I’m just going to be honest and probably regret it later: I don’t really do this. Dating. I find it strange and uncomfortable and if I’m perfectly honest I think I’d rather die.” She didn’t cringe apologetically, which would have been the expected behaviour to accompany an outpouring of disinterest. Instead she stared at him, wide-eyed, lips slightly pursed as a muscle in her neck twitched, waiting for his response.

Lambert laughed. Genuinely laughed—a joyful release of tension and dread, “Oh, thank Fuck!” Essi blinked in pleasant surprise and watched as Lambert began to relax.

“Excuse me?” Her startlingly blue eyes widened in amusement.

“No, no, I just mean—I would absolutely and one-hundred percent, without a doubt, rather die in a hole than date,” Lambert slotted the edge of the menu under his fingernails and let his eyes wander a little more freely around the cafe.

“So then… why?”

Hm. Direct, frank, amusing lack of filter… the memories were starting to come back from what limited, heavily inebriated, time they’d spent together.

There was something about the straightforwardness of this endearingly odd woman that made Lambert feel infinitely more comfortable. Usually, any kind of interaction with the potential of building mutual interest made him feel like he was playing a game he didn’t know the rules to. The signals, the code words that never meant what they said: having sex on the first date means you’re a slut; not having sex on the third date means you’re a prude; grabbing coffee means this; having dinner means that; if they your arm but don’t invite you up, it means that they’re actually a KGB operative and need to give you the launch codes for a super secret missile...

Fuck that, we have words for a reason. Say what you mean and don’t waste my time. For that reason alone, Essi was already scoring quite well in Lambert’s books.

He shrugged, “You somehow remembered me from the KM Christmas party almost six months ago, and still asked for my number. I figure that at least deserves a coffee and a conversation.”

Essi was bewildered, “I didn’t ask for your number, you texted me.”

Lambert shook his head, “Impossible. No offense, but I absolutely guarantee you I did not.” He produced their short text exchange and scrolled to the top of their conversation:

Hi, is this Lambert? From the KM Christmas party?

You might not remember me, we got talking about

the political situation in Kashmir after about…

Too many drinks. Eeep!

Anyway, I’d love to get a coffee sometime, if

you’re interested.

Sorry, this is Essi Daven.

You called me Goldilocks at one point and

seemed amused XD

Hope you’re well!

Essi snatched Lambert’s phone, shocked and slightly outraged as she reached for her own device, opening her thread with Lambert. The text at the top was not from her, but from the man across from her:

Yeah, hi, this is

Lambert-from-the-KM-Christmas-party.

As it happens, I remember you and our

conversation quite well. Not many folks

happily get into drunken political discussions

You know what, I wouldn’t mind grabbing a

coffee.

Let me know if you’re free in the next couple

weeks!

Lambert gestured emphatically at Essi’s phone screen, “In what world is this an acceptable way to ask someone out?! I wouldn’t have said yes to that!”

“I don’t know,” Essi fired back, “It was straightforward! I found it charming, okay? Is that a crime?”

“No, but I have some serious concerns about your taste in men.”

“Like you’re in such a fine position to judge after the hollow, paltry invitation you accepted—which I absolutely did not write, by the way. I want to make that perfectly clear.”

“Alright, alright, cool your jets, we’ve got bigger fish to fry.” Lambert narrowed his eyes as he passed Essi’s phone back to her, “You didn't fire the first shot, so who texted me from your phone and cleared the history?”

Essi nibbled the inside of her cheek, “I can think of a few.”

“Okay, next question,” Lambert pocketed his phone, “who added you to my contacts before you texted. Because we did not exchange numbers six months ago, but your name was already there when I received it.”

Essi shrugged, “Who has access to your phone?”

“I dunno. Really just Eskel and Geralt and neither of them would—”

“Geralt.”

“Why him?”

Essi’s bright blue eyes turned steely and murderous, “Julian… They’re working together.”

“Wait, wait, wait. Are you telling me that Geralt the-last-thing-I-need Rivia and Julian Alfred these-aren't-my-pants Pankratz think we're so helplessly undateable that they decided to secretly set us up?”

“Eskel doesn’t know me that well; he wouldn’t try to set you up with someone he hadn’t vetted. Who did you talk to first when you got that text from me?”

Lambert’s eyes widened, “Holy shit, they’re working together.”

Essi nodded, a flood of embarrassment warming her cheeks. “Sorry to waste your time. You’re very nice but, um, I should just…” she got up to leave.

“Wh-hey, hold up. I mean, if you wanna go, go, that's fine, but there's something you might want to know first.”

Essi tossed her yellow bangs out of her eyes, “Oh? What's that?”

“This,” Lambert produced an Amex credit card from his breast pocket, “is Geralt's.” The cheeky glint in his eyes was a very convincing argument.

“Fine then. Coffee and a conversation.”

The coffee was hot and decent, and the conversation meandered through the usual topics of music, movies, and television, but also dipped into deeper waters as they grew more comfortable with each other’s company. Of course, it didn’t hurt that neither of them had any stakes in the outcome of this “date”. It made it easier to be frank and open, which in turn led to them quickly enjoying their time together. So much so that coffee turned into lunch, which turned into a long walk in the pleasant weather, which finally landed them outside Essi’s apartment, just around dinner time.

“I have to say, this was actually a pleasant encounter,” she said, turning to face him with a characteristic toss of her bangs.

“Yeah, who’d’ve thought two people forced together by meddling friends would actually find it enjoyable?”

“In light of that,” Essi squared her shoulders and found Lambert’s hazel-brown eyes, “I think it’s fair to say I want to see you again.”

He cringed regretfully and scratched the back of his head, “Ahh, yeah, so… I don’t know if that’s really--”

“Oh, relax,” Essi smirked with a casual touch to Lambert’s forearm. “I don't mean like that. I just mean--you're interesting and fun and, well I don't have many close friends and I feel like we connected well today.”

“Well…”

“I'll make it even simpler: I absolutely, one-hundred percent, am not interested in dating you.”

“Easy there, you know I love it when people get all straightforward with me.”

“I mean it, I just want to be friends,” she toyed back, trying her best to look sultry. It kind of worked.

Lambert bit his lower lip in mock arousal, “Mmm, oh yeah...”

She swayed her shoulders forward and back, doing her best to emulate the seductive actresses and models of the 1950s, “I want to Netflix and chill with a documentary about Soviet propaganda.”

Her last comment prompted a playfully stern look from her companion, “Careful now, you’re wading into actual turn-on territory.”

“You're such a weirdo,” Essi chuckled, giving him an endeared shove. “Seriously, though, would you like to do this again? Friends?”

He nodded sincerely, “Yeah, I think I'd really like that. Just one problem, though.”

“If we claim not to be interested in each other but keep hanging out we’ll never hear the end of it?”

“Bingo.”

Essi hummed thoughtfully and nibbled the inside of her bottom lip, “Well… we could always… pretend?”

***

“Sounds like you two are hitting it off. I’m glad. I know Essi’s been feeling a little isolated between work and being new to the city.” Geralt closed the fridge with his foot and headed towards the sofa, popcorn in one hand, three beers in the other. “I’ll take my card back, by the way.”

Lambert reluctantly handed the Amex back in exchange for a beer and perched on the arm of the sofa. “She’s really something. We’re, uh—yeah, hitting it off is a good word.”

And hitting it off, they were. The last ten days since their first “date” had been more enjoyable than all the dates he’d had in the last year combined. Essi was a fantastic companion: sharp, witty, kind, took no bullshit… They had done absolutely nothing but hang out, and no one had pried them for many details about the nature of their relationship. As far as their friend group was concerned, they were simply dating in the way that most adults dated. This also meant more time to themselves without unwanted interruptions (namely Julian barging in with his spare key to gossip about whatever fires were currently alight on twitter). The first night Lambert had been over, it took Julian all of five minutes to “grab something from the fridge” before parting with a knowing wink.

To her credit and imagination, Essi had expertly fielded her cousin’s initial barrage of questions when she first announced their “involvement.” It wasn’t that she didn’t like her cousin, Essi adored Julian, but she was also the first to admit that the man had no boundaries. What he lacked in that arena, he certainly made up for with opinions, which he was always more than happy to bestow on his younger cousin—usually dating advice, almost always unsolicited. Lambert had a much easier time convincing his side that he and Essi were taking it easy to see where things went. Between Eskel being a consummate gentleman and Geralt having his own Delicate Sensibilities, neither of them had demanded any details.

“As long as you’re both happy and everything’s healthy, that’s all that matters,” Geralt’s partner reiterated, reaching into the bowl on Geralt’s lap.

“Jesus, Eskel, you sound like my Nonna.”

“That's no way to talk to your father,” Geralt smirked into his hand of popcorn

“You're no better,” Lambert took a swig from his beer, lips popping as he lowered the bottle. “I swear, you've turned into a couple of mother hens since you two got together. Quit fussing and watch the game.”

Geralt put his arm around Eskel’s shoulders, “We have gotten a little soft haven’t we?”

Eskel huffed out a laugh, “Probably. Hey, Lambert, don't fuck it up or I'll kick your ass into next week.”

“Thank you. See? Was that so hard?”

“Eh,” Eskel shrugged, helping himself to another handful of popcorn, “I stand by my original statement. Geralt agrees.”

“It's true,” he said between mouthfuls. “Essi’s a good woman. Smart, talented, kind, attractive.”

Eskel cleared his throat.

“Eskel, she is, it's just a statement of fact it doesn't mean that she doesn’t have other…”

“I know it doesn't but I still think you could bear to be a little more…”

“Funny thing,” Lambert interrupted, “I still can’t figure out how this smart, talented, kind, attractive woman’s number programmed itself into my phone. Because I may have been drunk the night we first met, but I have never in my life forgotten a successful number grab. Fess up, fellas. Who was it?”

Eskel’s eyes widened, “Geralt, you didn’t.”

“I… may have… helped Julian gain access to Lambert’s phone.”

“Unbelievable. The betrayal,” Lambert shook his head, eyes still on the game. “If only there was some way to square things up…”

“You charged everything to my company card, didn’t you?”

“First two dates and a fresh pair of pants. Thanks, bud.” Geralt accepted a pat on the back as Eskel began gently but sternly berating him.

Lambert shook his head, smirking as he took another swig of beer, leaving the two lovebirds to bicker amongst themselves. His hip pocket buzzed and he checked his phone: Essi.

Next Wednesday? Pizza and a movie? Still can't believe you haven't seen Ocean’s Eleven.

Yeah, okay, fine. Jeez :P 7:30 my place? I'll provide beverages.

If by ‘beverages’ you mean watery beer…

Fuck off, I'll get the good stuff. Unless you prefer Arbor Mist or some shit.

*gasps* I am offended! (but also it's delicious)

*sigh* do you want me to get you some?

*turtles into hoodie* ...peach or cherry pls?

Haha okay, fine, I'll get a bottle. Can't promise I won't judge you forever, though ;)

It's okay, I deserve it. g2g, see you tomorrow! xox

***

Lambert groaned contentedly, massaging his stomach as he sprawled back on his aging brown sofa, long legs resting habitually on the coffee table. The now-empty pizza box lay abandoned on the far edge, accompanied by four empty beer bottles, and a nearly-empty, unfavourably warm Peach Arbor Mist. The toilet flushed and Essi emerged. Her dark gold hair had long ago been pulled into a messy bun, but her indigo skinny jeans had been replaced by soft-looking grey leggings.

Lambert shook his head in amusement as she settled back next to him on the couch, "I still can't believe you brought your own lounge pants"

"That's because I'm a genius," she quipped, crossing her legs and adjusting the height of her waistband. "Besides, when else will I have the opportunity to actually be comfortable during a date?"

"You took your bra off, too, didn't you?" Lambert asked without missing a beat, eyes never leaving the screen.

"Yup!" Essi confirmed, her sparkling blue eyes glinting with joy as she raised her glass to her lips.

The movie continued as the new friends settled into comfortable silence, their food-drowsy, alcohol-fuzzy states lulling them into a new level of comfortability around each other. Legs fell asleep, positions were adjusted, and shoulders leaned on as the two sought maximum comfort for minimum effort. Soon, an arm was around Essi's shoulder as she settled her cheek on a comfortable spot on Lambert's chest.

"You good?" Lambert asked, only half-irritated at her seemingly endless search for the perfect angle.

"I'm sorry, I thought I'd found a good spot, but..." A few more adjustments of her head and Lambert couldn't take it anymore.

"Jesus, woman, here. Get up for a sec."

Essi sat up as Lambert rearranged himself into a sort of semi-recline with one foot on the floor so his other leg could make room for the tiny pain-in-the-ass that was taking up the rest of the couch space. At his invitation, she wriggled up to the crook of his arm and quickly settled in. Lambert hadn't really thought about what they were doing. Not when Essi had harmlessly leaned against his arm; not when their weight settled into each other; not when Lambert had put his arm around her; not even as he was rearranging to get to where they were now. It had all just... happened. Now, though, with Essi lying still, Lambert felt the weight and warmth of her body shifting gently against his, and it dawned on him that this had the potential to be, well, weird.

But the strange thing was, it didn't feel weird. He'd fucking cuddled before, but there was always a sense of holding back, a tension in his body, being on the lookout for signals from the other person to move onto the Next Step. But now, he actually felt comfortable. There wasn't anything that was supposed to happen after this. Nobody was asking anything of him, no one sending signals he could pick up on but never read properly, no sinking feelings of dread as the other person moved in for a kiss that always felt too soon. Essi was just there, breathing, content. And Lambert was relaxed.

The woman half-on top of him gave a twitch as the credits started to roll, and Lambert let out a private laugh, "Hey, Sleeping Beauty, show's over."

Essi inhaled heavily through her nose and lifted herself up, "Hmmm?"

"Movie's over."

"Did I fall asleep? I'm sorry!" she sat and rubbed her eyes, taking a sip of water to rinse the stale taste from her mouth.

"Eh, only a little." Lambert exited Netflix and tossed the remote back on to the table. "Thought you might wanna start heading home before it gets too late."

Essi nodded in response as she grabbed the pizza box and brought it to the kitchen trash, leaving Lambert to bring the empties.

"You going to finish this atrocity of a beverage?" Lambert waggled the near-empty wine bottle at Essi as he passed on his way to the sink. She merely scowled and shook her head, letting him pour it down the drain 'where it belonged anyway'.

Essi gathered her things and met Lambert by his front door, checking her pockets for her phone and keys one last time before putting her shoes on.

"You okay to walk? Want me to come with?"

It was only 10:30 on a weeknight, and she appreciated the gesture all the same, but it was fine to walk. "Thanks, though. And thank you for tonight. I really needed to get out of the house. I hope, um..."

She trailed off, not sure how to ask. She didn't have the same physical boundaries that most others seemed to have. She was affectionate—often overly so, and it had led to more than a few misunderstandings in the past. She didn't want Lambert to feel as though she had ulterior motives when the simple fact of the matter was that she hadn't really been thinking. Between the instant relief of not actually being on a date and Lambert's easy manner all evening, she'd forgotten that most friendships didn’t generally involve that much physical contact. Would Lambert be confused now? Thinking they were onto something more than friendship? Had he been wanting more? Had she pushed past a point of no return and doomed their friendship?

She inhaled, "Were you comfortable tonight?"

For a split second, Lambert flailed, wondering whether he’d made her uncomfortable. Fuck, she'd seemed comfortable, if anything it felt like he’d been following her lead but maybe...

"I—yeah. That was, I enjoyed that. Were... were you not—?"

Essi smiled and Lambert relaxed again, "No, I was. I wanted to ask in case, that's all. Boundaries and all that. I'll text you when I'm home."

Lambert opened the door and waved her off toward the elevator, "'Kay. 'Night!"

The door clicked shut.

Okay, alright. Fine. Did they cuddle? Yes. Did he enjoy it? Fuck yes. He absolutely didn’t care what anyone might think about how he chose to enjoy his time with other people. However, this didn’t stop him from acknowledging that he was in uncharted friendship territory. More than anything, he was worried about how Essi really felt. Of course, she had no reason not to be honest with him. But the last thing he wanted to do was play fast and loose with someone’s emotions, especially not a friend, and definitely not one as close as Essi. Time would tell. As Lambert’s head hit the pillow, the memory of her warmth and weight settled over him again, and he slept soundly for the first time in months.

***

“Yes Poppet, but have you slept together yet? Honestly, you’ve been dating for almost three weeks now, what could you possibly be waiting for?”

Oh, I don’t know, hell to freeze over? You to mind your own business? Whichever comes first…

“I mean, you clearly adore one another, I’ve never seen you happier. What’s there to lose?’”

Essi scoffed.

Julian placed his hands on her shoulders, “I know it’s been a while for you, but I think you can afford to let yourself go a little, have some fun, hm? Besides, it’s better to find out sooner rather than later if you’re sexually incompatible.”

She took a deep breath, “That’s a very good point, Julian, I’ll think about that.” The dating act was starting to wear a little thin, but it was worth not having to explain to anyone that they weren’t doing exactly what it looked like they were doing.

Julian took time to give his cousin a scrutinizing look, “Well, by the look of things it won’t be long anyway. If you spend all of your time together as tangled up as you were the other night when I came over, it’ll happen sooner rather than later. Just trust your gut, and when in doubt, a little hint never goes awry.”

Needless to say, Essi more or less ignored her cousin’s advice.

As the weeks stretched on, it became evident that they were quickly becoming what most people would consider to be more than friends. The first time they pulled the covers back and climbed into bed, each on their half of the mattress, they were aware that yet another boundary of friendship had been pushed a little farther into the grey zone. But, they woke up the next morning feeling happy, content, and refreshed, and surely there was nothing wrong with two people sharing a comfortable bed. Essi had woken up with crust in her eyes and her nightgown bunched around her waist. Lambert had woken up with morning wood and his hair a mess. Neither of them cared. People wake up in the morning, big deal.

Still, it didn’t stop the questioning that oscillated in the background of Lambert’s mind. Was he unknowingly leading Essi on by allowing her so much closeness without a clearly defined relationship? She’d made her own disinterest clear enough on their first “date”, but feelings change over time. What she’d told him three weeks ago might not be true anymore…

And then there was that soft warm tingle in the middle of his chest every time she lay her head in his lap, every time he ran his fingers through her hair. He knew he wasn't in love. Not that he was an expert, but what was all that "when you know, you know" bullshit if he couldn’t trust his own feelings? He loved her, sure, but more like a... not a sister, that would be weird. He didn't know what like. Whatever. Fuck it. Eskel had said it best three weeks ago: “As long as you're happy and everything’s healthy, that’s all that matters.” Yeah, sure. We’ll stick with that.

As far as Lambert and Essi were concerned, it was what it was, and whatever it was was working… wasn’t it?

***

"Fuckin' finally!"

The door to Essi's apartment clicked closed as the tenant wilted against it, emitting an exhausted groan, "Two. Hours. It took me two hours to get home!" She toed off her penny loafers and abandoned her purse and jacket in a pile by the front door, ignoring the hook three inches to her left. She flopped heavily onto her living room carpet.

"I see you found my spare key," she added, not at all surprised that Lambert had managed to let himself in.

"Yeah, you should probably put that in a less obvious spot," he answered, crossing to the door to hang her things up. "So, I see it's a lying on the floor kind of evening. Can I interest you in a drink to start? Vodka pairs well with the general vibe of Done-With-This-Shit, or we also have tequila if you feel like shouting out the window after a couple shots. Alternatively, there's gin if you want to cry later."

Essi smiled with her eyes closed, feeling her body slowly relaxing into the spongy throw rug underneath her, "You know me so well."

"Vodka?"

"Vodka. Euch, I need to vacuum!," Essi peeled herself to a seated position as clinks and clatters began in the kitchen. She hopped in the shower to rinse the day off, and after a few minutes, there was a knock on the bathroom door.

"Yeeees?" she called, playfully.

"Drink delivery!" Lambert hollered back, "you want this now or later?"

"Why are you so good to me?"

There was a draught of cool air as Lambert opened the bathroom door, "Because you only marginally annoy me. Here," he passed his hand between the shower wall and the opaque fish-scale-patterned curtain. "What's on the docket for tonight?"

Essi groaned, "I don't know, I'm sorry. I used all my brain cells trying not to murder people on the streetcar."

"Okay," Lambert sat on the lidded toilet, "here's the thing. I kinda maybe figured that might be the case so I kinda maybe picked up a few things to make dinner."

A shampoo-piled head poked out from behind the curtain, "You're kidding."

"Nuh-uh."

"I love you."

Lambert chuckled, "Yeah, you're alright. Come on, hurry up, this bathroom's a fuckin’ sauna, and I don’t want the croutons to get soggy." Essi burbled an answer about conditioner and almost done, and Lambert took that as his cue to leave.

Dinner was simple: pan fried Salmon with crispy skin (delicate and buttery on the inside); wax beans in butter (tender and not overcooked); grilled brussels sprouts (just beginning to brown on the edges); and a fresh caesar salad. Everything done to perfection. Full, content, and ready to take their relaxation to the next step they settled themselves on Essi’s blue-grey sectional to begin the arduous task of deciding what to watch.

This was proving particularly difficult with the addition of Essi's caveat that whatever they chose not be "too plot-heavy" which so far had included Masterchef, an interior design show, and program about shepherding in the Orkneys.

"Sweetheart, you gotta give me some slack here. I thought I was on track with the sheep!"

"I know, I'm sorry!" Essi muffled into his shirt sleeve. "I do like animals..." She gasped loudly. "BLUE PLANET."

Lambert stopped the endless scrolling and pushed play as the soothing voice of David Attenborough filled the small living room.

"Hey! Why'd you pause it?"

Lambert was standing up, "If we're going to do this, then we're doing it right. Hang on."

Essi slumped on the sofa as the microwave kicked on. In a few minutes, there was popcorn in their laps and half a bottle of vodka on the table with an ice bucket and lemon wedges in a bowl. Lambert read off his phone screen.

"We will take a drink when:

-David says 'Extraordinary' -David uses a clear understatement such as 'But then again, living in an active volcano is not without its risks' -An animal is being eaten -An animal is mating -There is sped up footage of a plant growing."

"Oh no," Essi lamented, chewing her popcorn ungracefully, "I'm going to get so drunk."

"You got it, Goldilocks. Fill up."

And with that, they were off, taking it slow with their vodka twists, but nonetheless feeling the warm buzz start to tingle under their skin. The box of microwave popcorn was empty by halfway through, and the remains of Essi's exhaustion had almost dispersed entirely.

"Ooh! Understatement! Drink!!"

By ten o’clock, pink-cheeked and feeling boisterous, they had finished with their favourite parts of Blue Planet, or at least the ones they had patience for, and had moved on to Planet Earth II.

“Holy fuck, that’s a lot of snakes—Go, you little fucker! Go!”

The drama on the screen had caused the two to separate from one another while Lambert invested himself in the success of the small lizard. Once the baby Galapagos Iguana had made it to safety, they were once again able to recline without Essi risking an elbow to the face.

She bundled against him, scooting farther between his legs where he leaned in the corner of the sectional. He gathered her hair and draped it over her left shoulder so it wouldn't get caught in his buttons—they'd learned that the hard way. It was still damp, cool to the touch, and smelled like verbena sea salt shampoo. He felt a pulse of affection ripple through him as her weight resettled. He loved that feeling. It had taken some time to get used to it. But now it was high on his list of favourite things. He was happy. And it was healthy. And that really was all that mattered.

Right?

Eskel’s words turned themselves around again in his mind as he wrapped his arm around the front of Essi’s shoulders. He let himself indulge in the texture of her cotton knit nightshirt under his fingers. He relished in the peace of mind at being able to just be there with someone who meant something to him and made absolutely no demands. He let himself relax.

Essi felt a kiss land on the top of her head with a playful, "Muwah!"

She giggled quietly, "Thank you!" Then, upon further thought… Did he want to kiss her? Her mind did a double take as she tried to get on top of the ball.

It wasn’t impossible. They were close after all, and she wasn’t opposed to the idea. She’d recently found herself in a balancing act of realizing she could, in theory, have a deeper kind of feeling for Lambert. Only if, for whatever reason, it turned out he felt the same way. These weren’t the helpless uncontrollable feelings of ride-or-die infatuation; they were malleable, translatable, general feelings of affection and fondness that belonged in any number of different relationships and dynamics.

No sense risking it, she thought. They'd found a liminal space of comfort and safety that she'd never experienced with anyone else before, and if the options were between being a little confused and ruining everything, the choice was an easy one. Then again, if Lambert was developing feelings for her, she didn’t want to miss an opportunity. Shit. Her cheeks burned as she felt the question rise closer to her lips.

"Lambert?" she sat up abruptly and turned to her friend who was still moulded into the corner of the couch, watching the mating rituals of exotic birds with bewildered skepticism.

He jolted at Essi’s sudden movement, "Hello, yes."

Her bright blue eyes were now slightly unfocused, "Do you—? Nevermind." She lay back against him, suddenly skittish..

"Mm, nah, try again," he said, sluggishly. "What’s up, buttercup?"

She swayed a little when she sat up, "Are you happy with what we are?"

Lambert blinked, caught slightly off-guard. The question was easy enough to answer, "Yeah! I mean I don’t know what the fuck we are, but I’m feeling pretty good about it. Shit, why? Are you not? I can be less… whatever. Or… more?" It wasn’t like he was repulsed by the idea of anything else happening between them—in theory it was a possibility. In practice, however...

Essi put an emphatic hand on Lambert’s knee, her glassy eyes going wide, "Do you want more?"

"What? No! I dunno, I—maybe. I haven’t really thought about it. I mean…” Lambert searched Essi’s face for any clue that might help him know how to proceed, “I don’t not want anything else. Fuck, I don’t know! I’m used to doing things the other way around. You know the drill: uncomfortable date, smoosh faces together, have sex, hope feelings fall out. Lather-rinse-repeat. I dunno, do we have to… But what if we try something and...? I don’t wanna lose this."

Essi leaned in close and whispered, “I have an idea.”

"Why do I feel like I'm going to regret this?"

"We should kiss."

Lambert nearly swallowed an ice cube, "What?!"

"Just once. Quickly. Just... in case."

"You want me, Lambert, to kiss you, Essi Daven, on the lips."

She nodded sincerely, "For science."

There was a brief pause during which Essi felt the beginnings of panic brewing in her stomach, but by the time she'd finished grappling with potential consequences, Lambert was filling their glasses.

"Alright. Fine. My friend wants me to kiss her for science? Fuck it. I'll drink to that."

They downed their drinks and squared up, knee to knee on the edge of the sofa as they each prepared for their best form—or as good as they could offer given the circumstances. They counted down, 3-2-1...

The kiss was quick, over as soon as it had begun, and both friends pulled away with questioning looks. Inconclusive. They tried again for a little longer, still returning with the same quizzical expressions. They went in for a third time, committing more thoroughly, and for a brief moment it seemed they might have found the semblance of a spark. But it didn’t build. It felt… fine? But no different than if they were lying together on the sofa. It was just another thing they were doing. They each tried to find the right word for what they were feeling, but were soon distracted by the oddness of it all.

Essi started to giggle. Less than a second later, Lambert joined her, and they both pulled away, thoroughly satisfied that their experiment had yielded a strong No on the subject of More. There was a dull thud as Essi slid from the couch and onto the floor, still holding her drink in one hand and laughing hysterically.

Lambert sighed and shook his head, "I think it’s time we got you to bed."

Headaches and dry mouths greeted the two friends the next morning when they blinked awake. Essi’s hair was a cotton-candy mess, having still been slightly damp when Lambert put her to bed. The brunet himself didn’t look much different from his usual scruffy state as he gathered Essi up in an armful of duvet and squeezed tight.

“Gods, Lambert, I still need to breathe,” Essi chuckled, pressing her back into his chest.

“You’ll get over it,” he teased and self-indulgently nuzzled even closer. “You feeling alright? I mean, aside from the hangover. About last night?”

“Oh no,” Essi groaned, “I’m so sorry, Lambert. I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s just—you kissed my head and then that got me wondering about whether you might want something else, and then I didn’t really know what was happening and—”

“Hey, easy on the rambling, okay, I’m running on limited brain cells, here. Look,” Lambert sat up to find those big blue eyes, now shining brightly, “I have no idea what the fuck this is that we’ve got going on, but I like it fine just the way it is.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And we can keep talking about that. Just, you know, maybe next time something’s on your mind, don’t wait ‘til we’re wasted at 2am?”

“Okay, deal. Can we go get bacon now?”

Lambert chuckled, “Yeah, alright, fine. Make me put pants on, I see how it is.”

Their conversation continued over strong coffee and eggs benedicts. Between their check-in that morning and everything that had happened the previous night, it was well-established that they were perfectly happy where they were. Rather, the main topic of conversation was their growing desire to level with their friends about the nature of their relationship. Eskel and Geralt, they both agreed, would be the easiest—Lambert could tell them that evening. Julian and Essi’s friends on the other hand would be a little more difficult.

Telling Julian together would be best, Essi thought. He was bound to have questions, and if both she and Lambert were there to answer them definitively and explain that no, they didn’t have secret feelings for one another; and yes, they really were just friends and not at all interested in exploring the relationship further thank you very much. Exactly when this discussion with Julian would occur still wasn’t clear. Realistically, they could pick any time, but they decided to wait until Lambert could tell the Old Men. At least then they were assured some less invasive support.

Their reaction was easy enough to predict: Eskel reassuringly repeated his standby “As long as you’re both happy with things…” and twirled a forkful of pasta; Geralt tilted his head thoughtfully and said, “That sounds very nice. I’m happy for you.” Lambert had expected mild disapproval, concern that they were deviating too far from the norm and into a complex dynamic that would be too messy to manage. Instead, Geralt simply said it ‘sounded very nice.’ Lambert smiled into the open refrigerator on his way to get a beer.

The following weekend was Julian’s birthday, and, as per their annual tradition, the group all gathered on Friday evening at the birthday boy’s favourite restaurant—Vegelbud’s. The two decided to tell him the week after his birthday so as not to detract from his Big 3-0. Just one more week, and it would all be in the open. Easy breasy.

The afternoon of the dinner, Eskel and Geralt received a group text: Haven’t told Julian the details yet. Keep the beans to yourselves please (I’m looking at you, @Eskel).

“Why me?” Eskel turned to Geralt over his paperwork, looking a little hurt.

Geralt chuckled, “You have a slight tendency to overshare when you want to be supportive.”

“I do?” He turned on the bar stool to follow his partner on the way upstairs.

“It’s not a bad thing, but…” Geralt sighed, “Lambert has always needed to feel in control of situations like this. He doesn’t want one of us bringing this up before he’s ready to talk about it, especially in a public place, you know how he gets when he feels cornered. And Julian is Essi’s cousin…”

Eskel raised a hand, “You’re right, you’re right. All points taken. Are you showering?”

Geralt smirked as he headed for the stairs, “Come on then.”

Four hours later and halfway through dinner, everything had gone swimmingly. The food had been expectedly delicious, the company and conversation excellent, and so far no one had felt the need to bring up Essi and Lambert’s relationship on any level. That is until Julian got a few drinks under his belt, and decided it was time to document the occasion. Geralt and Eskel were the first victims.

“Aww just look at you two! So in love, so vivacious and full of adoration,” Julian held up his phone as Geralt touched the side of his head to Eskel’s. Beep-Chk! A perfect image of a happy couple was captured and posted to Instagram (#julianturns30 #dinneratvagelbuds #dinnerout #cutiesofinstagram #favoriteotp #gaycouplesofinstagram #livelaughlove…). There were a few more photos of the three of them together, the white chocolate raspberry cheesecake with the candle in it, a group shot taken by the waiter. It was all so close to being over, Essi could practically taste the refuge of the streetcar.

"Come on, lovebirds, show us a smooch!" Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no. Essi’s stomach lurched and she felt her cheeks start to warm. Lambert’s hand landed gently on her knee under the table, his fingers pressing firmly into her leg as she desperately tried to think of something to say.

"Oh, um..."

Across the table, Geralt and Eskel shared a wordless communication: de-escalate, distract, redirect.

“You’ll want to eat that cheesecake before it gets warm” Geralt offered. “I hear it’s so light it’ll disintegrate in a heartbeat.” Eskel nodded in encouragement, taking a bite of his own.

“I know, I know,” Julian shrugged, “Just a quick one. Say Cheese!”

"Not right now, Julian," Essi tilted her head, her eyes flashing a little.

"Oh come on, Poppet! I know you don't like PDA, it's just one little picture--"

“Don’t call me Poppet.”

Eskel cleared his throat loudly, "Doesn't seem they're that keen on it. Maybe let's try for one another time."

"It's past your one-month-a-versary, let everyone see how in love you are."

"Julian," Geralt growled, "leave it."

Julian covered his mouth in alarm, "I’m so sorry, have you not used that word yet? I didn’t mean anything by it, I just want the world to see how happy my beautiful cousin is!"

“Really Julian, it’s not necessary we—” Essi’s fingernails were starting to dig into Lambert’s palm from the sheer effort of maintaining composure. She wasn’t sure whether she wanted to cry or disappear, and with neither of those being an option, it seemed the only possible escape was for them to kiss. They’d done it before. No big deal. It would feel off, but they’d just go back to her place and drink about it after.

“Essi, what’s the matter with you, it’s just one little picture, and we all know you’re not camera-shy. On three, ready? One, two…”

"For fuck's sake we're not dating!"

The table all silently turned their attention to Essi whose cheeks had been turning progressively redder.

“What?” Her cousin laughed incredulously.

“We’re not a couple, Julian. We’re friends. We have been from the beginning, but we didn’t want to tell you because we knew you wouldn’t fucking leave us alone until you could boast about having set us up.”

Lambert shared a brief look with Eskel before lowering his eyes to the tablecloth, his hand still firmly clutched in Essi’s.

Julian gaped, “So, it was all… the cuddling, the laughing, that time I came over and you were asleep on the couch, that was all… a ruse?”

“No, Julian, that was real. I told you, we’re friends.”

“That’s not friends! Since when have friends watched a movie half-on-top of each other?”

“Two people can enjoy each other's company lying flat, Julian,” Eskel’s rich voice interjected across the table and the discussion ground to a halt.

Geralt shrugged with his tea at his lips, “It is the twenty-first century after all.”

Julian’s cornflower blue eyes flitted back and forth between the two friends, utterly bewildered. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Well what with your complete and utter invasion of privacy for the sake of hooking us up, we didn’t necessarily trust you to believe us,” Essi answered curtly, her hand shaking slightly.

“Poppet, you could have just told me—”

“Stop. Calling me that. And I did tell you, Julian!” she exploded. “I told you the first day I moved here. The first. Day. I said, ‘Julian, I think I want to take a break from dating until I’ve been settled for a year.’ And what did you do? Conspired with my well-meaning former mentor to hook me up with someone I had one good conversation with at a Christmas party. And do you know what? We are happy. But we’re happy in our own way. And maybe our boundaries with each other seem a little strange to you, but we’re not fooling ourselves. We don’t want to kiss each other, we don’t want to have sex, and we don’t want a relationship. And even though it’s absolutely none of your damn business, I’ll tell you anyway: we’ve talked about it. All of it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I don’t think I want to be here anymore.”

The chair legs scraped against the floor of the restaurant as Essi stood to leave, throwing her purse over her shoulder as she went. Lambert looked hesitantly around the table, “I should probably, you know…” He gestured after Essi with his thumb. Eskel gave Lambert the go ahead and he quickly stood to follow his friend out of the restaurant, leaving a very stunned Julian with the other two. He found her perched on the parking barrier in the small lot to the left of the front doors. He called to her and she looked up. Eyes shining, mascara running...

“Ah shit, you know I’m no good with this kind of thing.”

“I’m sorry, Lambert, I just—” she blew her nose, “—he just wouldn’t stop and I didn’t know what to do or say, and it all just came pouring out. I didn’t want it to. The whole time I was begging myself to stop, but I just couldn’t, it’s been bottled up for so long and-and—but it’s his birthday, and—oh, he must feel so awful! I didn’t want to make him feel bad, but—and with Eskel and Geralt there too! They must think I’m horrible! I’m so sorry, Lambert, I didn’t want it to be like this, I wanted to have him over and sit him down and be patient, and instead I’ve just made a complete mess of things. And on his birthday! It’s his birthday, oh God, this is the worst thing I could have done.” Essi choked back bitter tears as she tried desperately to stem the flow with her soggy tissue, “Are you upset with me, Lambert? If you are, I understand. Maybe we should take a break of some kind, you know. Not see each other for a while and—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold it right there. Look, I’m probably not going to say any of the right stuff here, but I am absolutely not upset with you. You got that? And for what it’s worth, I don’t think us taking a break from spending time together is going to do anything. Unless you’re looking to punish yourself by taking away a nice thing which, okay. But the fact that you’re willing to ditch me instead of Arbor Mist says something about our friendship I’m not too pleased with.”

Essi turned her wide, pleading, bloodshot eyes to Lambert who cracked a smile, “Jesus, I’m kidding! You adorable fucking mess, c’mere.” He pulled his petite friend into a hug and rested his chin on the top of her head until she quieted down. Neither of them was quite sure how much time had gone by, but Essi found herself wishing it had been long enough for everyone to have gone home so she didn’t have to face whatever aftermath she’d left behind.

Meanwhile, Eskel and Geralt had settled the bill and offered to give Julian a lift back to their place for a night cap, not wanting to leave the evening on such an unsettled note. Essi needed space, and whatever company she needed, Lambert was clearly capable of providing. It was for the best, they suggested, and dissuaded Julian from trying to call her.

“Best to sleep on things,” Geralt said, tucking his card back into his wallet and giving the waiter a nod in gratitude. “We can meet for coffee this weekend and sort this out. For now, just let her cool down.”

Eskel clapped Julian encouragingly on the shoulder as they made their way into the damp summer night air. As they turned into the parking lot, they came face-to-face with Essi and Lambert who had clearly just turned to come back inside. Both cousins looked like they had seen better days: Essi’s eyes were puffy and red, her cheeks blotchy and streaked with inky makeup stains; Julian was perhaps less dishevelled, but the dark circles under his eyes were more pronounced, his boyish features now dejectedly weighted down with remorse and hurt.

“Juian, I’m so sorry, I didn’t—”

Essi’s cousin raised his hand, “Don’t. Please don’t. Essi, I am so, so sorry. I never meant to push you like that, I didn't realize... you both have been so happy this last month and—"

"It's okay, really, we can talk about this all another time. I'm just so sorry I ruined your birthday. We wanted to sit down with you and talk properly but..." Essi's tears welled up again, and Julian smiled weakly.

"But we both did what we always do?"

She sniffed, nodding emphatically with a tearful, "Yeah.” Julian pulled his cousin into a fond embrace while the other three clumped together to watch the reconciliation.

“Oh! Here,” Essi reached into her purse and pulled out a small, neatly-wrapped box. “Happy birthday!”

Julian opened his gift without a second thought, his face brightening instantly. The box contained a set of premium ultra-light guitar strings and a pair of concert tickets. The perfect gift. Overwhelmed with gratitude, and the atmosphere having been recovered, Julian suggested they all attend brunch together that Sunday morning, his treat by way of apology. Geralt offered to split the bill as a peace offering for his part in the initial setup, and the five made a date.

A fresh start, a promise of spending time together with fewer secrets and, Julian conceded, a few more boundaries.

#witcher rarepair summer bingo #wrsb #Platonic #queerplatonic #no romo #Geralt/Eskel #Essbert #Gereskel #Jaskier #Julian Alfred Pankratz #alcohol #drunkenness #Essi & Lambert #Essi Daven #Lambert

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citygirlinschool · 3 years ago

Text

Breaking Bad

Read it on Ao3

Original bingo

“Are you sure you don’t want to come?”

“I have got two research papers pending, I am falling behind on my thesis and I have to submit Mr D’s essay on Monday. So yes, I am not coming.” Frank resisted the urge to physically pick up the boy from his bed and throw him out.

He could if he wanted to. Leo was a tiny slip of a thing, all wild curls and ADHD. And gods did the boy tempt him to do some serious bodily harm to him.

“Come on man you haven’t come to a single party since well... ever. This one is supposed to be real rager.”

With a jerked motion he stood up from his desk, threw his door open and marched towards the kitchen.

“Is that supposed to be a No?” There was ruffling of sheets and Oh my Gods he was wearing shoes the whole time.

His eyes twitched and he slammed the glass on the counter with more force than necessary. A drink, that’s what he needs.

“Mixed signals buddy.” And there he was in all his flannel glory, and those hideous pun t-shirt (Never trust an atom, they make up everything). Never would he have guessed the devil would be a elf in science pun t-shirts.

“No, Valdez. I am not coming to your rager party.” He made towards the refrigerator.

“Whatever man your loss.”

There was an audible slam of the door as the fridge door fell of it’s hinges and over a startled Frank, followed by a crash of food spilling on to the floor.

“LEO!”

“So, what was it this time?”

“He broke the fridge.” Frank stabbed his food gloomily.

“And?” Percy waved a ketchup covered fry.

“He fixed the AC.” Frank mumbled.

“That’s good right?”

“After he broke it.” He snorted.

Percy was in the year above him. Swim team captain and marine biology major. They met by accident and hit it off immediately.

They made it a point to meet in the dinner near the college campus once a week, or when they could.

“What else?” he drawled lazily, and Frank would feel guilty about turning all these meetings into venting sessions, except Percy wasn’t the type to entertain people just because it’s polite, so he probably didn’t mind.

“He brought someone back to the dorm. Again. Some blondie, Maria. This is the third this month. And it’s distracting, and I have told him clearly to bring someone when I am gone… How does he even land these many?”

“He is kinda cute?” Percy shrugged.

Frank pulled a face. “He has a horrible track record. Can you believe he flirted with Ms Grace?”

“To be fair he flirts with everybody. I don’t think it counts.”

“Still. That’s the Thalia Grace.”

“Touché. Talked to the Dean?”

“Jason said, only Octavian is vacant. And that guy is… creepy.”

Percy nodded solemnly. “Heard he guts plush toys to some cult god he worships.”

Frank looked at him wide eyes, and just like that Leo was forgotten.

At least until he reached back to his dorm.

“Frankie! You are back.” Leo flashed him his infuriating smirk that he knows gets on his every nerves. “Hazel was just leaving.” And that asshole turns to her, “Until you changed your mind and decided to stay.”

He flirts with everybody; it doesn’t mean anything. Percy’s voice echoed warningly in his mind.

Hazel flushes, and looks down. Those flawless curls hiding reddened cheeks. “Thanks for the offer but I can’t stay past curfew.”

“Aw.” Leo leans forward, “That’s not a no.” he wiggled his eyebrows. “Don’t be stickler for rules, get that enough from Frankie boo here.”

This time Frank’s cheeks heat up. “Leo.” He hopes he would stop.

“Fine, Fine. Goodnight, Hazel.”

“Bye, Leo.” She presses her books to her chest, and Frank shuffles hurriedly to the side as Hazel moves past him.

He slams the door once Hazel is past.

“So,” Leo straightens from where he was leaning against the wall. “Somebody has got a crush.”

“Don’t.”

“Cant blame you, she is a real looker.”

“Oh, come on, don’t play.” He stalks back towards his room, his back toward the Latino. “You already knew that.”

“I did?” there it is again, the annoying mocking tone he didn’t bother dignifying with a reply. But that didn’t deter Leo from barging in his room behind him either.

“I mean, were all those lectures ignored in the favour of staring at the back of her head, and doodling H+F in the back of your notebook, did give me an inclination but thought they stood for Himbo plus- “

“Shut up, asshole.” He whirled around. “You know I freaking liked her.” He stalked towards him.

“Oh yeah like how you knew my Chatelier’s experiment made twelve percent of my grade?”

“I apologized for it.” He spit back in his face, grabbing his forearms.

“That doesn’t make up for it, jerk.” He hissed back.

Blood roared in his veins, drowning out any further jabbing remarks from the squirming boy in his arms.

Gods the things he would do to shut him up.

“-and would you please let me go, I am pretty sure this counts as phys- Mmph! ”

He kissed him. That annoying fucking mouth, with those pretty fucking lips. He bit on his lips tugging at them, pressing that tiny body against his.

He kissed him. Fuck.

Frank stumbled back in horror. “Shit I am sorry, I didn’t- “

“Oh no.” Leo lunged at him, and he stumbled back in surprise, catching his hips. “You would be sorry when I am done with you.”

Harsh demanding lips pressed against him, a sharp nip and the metallic tang of blood spilled on his tongue, making him curse.

The heels of Leo’s feet dug in his back, “Bed, bed, bed!” He panted, slim but strong fingers tugging at his hair painfully, tilting it back. He grabbed his lips in another kiss that had his dick aching in his pants.

Frank stumbled blindly towards his twin bed, his hands groping the Latino’s ass, as they both fell on the congested bed in tangle of limbs.

Leo’s hand left his hair and trailed over his collar, clever fingers making a quick job of his shirt, hips shamelessly grinding in his abdomen.

“Come on, man, get naked.” He ran his fingers over his chest, tweaking his nipples.

“Leo.” He pulled back, “Aren’t we going a bit fast.”

Leo’s lips pulled back in a condescending sneer, “You sure you wanna be a cock blocker.”

His hand snaked down to the bulge in his pants, and he involuntarily humped forward into the pressure. “I already hate you enough.”

That was a reminder enough. The clothes were gotten rid of in a flurry of uncoordinated limbs, and broken buttons, until a very naked Frank, had a very naked Leo in his lap.

He dug his teeth into the hollow of his collar bones, and Leo hissed, but didn’t stop the wild rhythm of his hips. Frank’s hand squeezed the ample flesh in his hands and parting them.

The head of his cock slipped between them, sliding over the fuzzy hole.

Leo’s hips stuttered, and he exhaled shakily, fingers digging in his shoulders hard enough that Frank knew they would leave welts.

“Lube? Tell me you have lube” his voice was so deep; it had his cock twitching.

“Top drawer, in the back.” He mumbled, leaning back until he was laying down as Leo stretched over him, searching his drawer.

He couldn’t help but mouth over his well formed abdomen, for his deceptively short stature he was strong. Lithe muscles and surprisingly broad shoulders.

Fuck he hated him so much.

There was a click of lube opening, as Leo pulled back, his fingers dripping with lube.

He leaned forward, one hand beside his head while he reached behind him.

Frank knew the exact moment Leo’s fingers breached him. His eyebrows furrowed, jaw clenched and his breathing became a tad bit heavier.

He reached up, pressing a sweet almost a innocent kiss against his lips, and for a moment Leo let him.

“Let me do it.”

And just like that Leo pulled away.

His weeping cock bobbed proudly between his supple thighs, his dusky nipple looked raw and abused, there was a myriad of hickies littering his chest and his hair was wilder than usual.

Yet, that jerk had the audacity to smirk mockingly at him.

“Not your girlfriend, Zhang. So don’t treat me like it.” he must have done something inside him cause his eyes fluttered for a moment. “Besides- Ah” his back arched, “we are doing this by-mmh- my rules, cause clearly you are as clueless in this-Ah!”

“What is your problem.” Frank had jostled his fingers out of him as he flipped them over. “I am just trying to be nice.” He snarled.

“No what you’re trying to do.” A lube covered finger smeared across his neck, “is fucking coddle me.” He spat.

“I am not coddling you.” He glared indignantly at the infuriating boy underneath him.

“Oh yeah? What is this? Fucking me? Please, you are not even in me.” He sneered mockingly.

“I am- I don’t –” Leo mercifully cut his spluttering off with a kiss.

“God I didn’t know I had to just spread my legs to get underneath your skin.”

He would have tried replying, except Leo had wrapped his lubed up hand around his dick, slicking it up with quick efficient strokes, and Frank had been so painfully hard all this time all he could do was helplessly jerk forward into the warm wet hole, until Leo tightened his grip. “Don’t come.” He warned, as he guided him to his stretched hole.

Frank to his dying day would deny the sound he emitted when his head slipped in.

A loud unashamed sound, as his head dropped onto Leo’s shoulder, as he panted harshly. Leo was tighter and hotter then anything he had ever felt before. And so deliciously soft.

He wouldn’t have been able to stop the unrelenting rolls of his hips as he pushed deeper if he wanted to.

Like he had no control over his hips, he pushed in inch after inch, as Leo’s back arched off the bed until Frank bottomed out.

For a moment Frank could just lay still and shiver so as to not bust a nut, Leo as so tight around him, it was probably painful for him.

“Move, move, move, jackass.” Or maybe not.

“Oh, gods fuck me, or I am gonna fuck up your laptop and not repair- Oh yesss!” Leo’s eyes rolled back in his head, as Frank pulled out almost all the way and then pushing in rapidly.

“Why can’t you shut up for a moment.” Frank picked up his pace. “For once –mmh” his nipped at his ear, “just shut up- ah fuck- and moan.”

“Maybe- mmph- Maybe if you put all that beef - oh Dios- and man boobs (he gripped said boobs) to use than I will.”

Frank dug his teeth right below his ears, just shy of tearing skin, but definitely marring the skin, as he readjusted his grip, hooking his hands underneath his knees and practically folding the twink (because that’s what Leo fucking Valdez is and Frank is tired of lying) in half.

He must have hit his prostrate with the deeper angle cause Leo made a he- would- never- admit- it- but- adorable high-pitched sound, his hands flying between his legs, except Frank slapped it away and wrapped his own hand around his flushed, almost painfully purple cock.

Much to his pleasure Leo hooked his own hand underneath his knees, holding himself open.

“Didn’t know” he panted, “all it took was a good dicking down to shut you up.”

Leo’s eyes opened up to slits, in what he thinks is a glare, but it is hard to take him seriously on good days, even harder with his cock stupid bambi eyes, and drool covered chin.

Fuck! This is the hottest thing ever and Frank hates him so much.

Frank lost his carefully maintained rhythm, finally rutting in abandon. The bed creaked threateningly, the headboard banging fiercely with the force of his thrusts.

Paired with the slick sound of where Frank was jerking Leo off, slap of skin against skin and squelch of Frank fucking Leo, it sounded like a cheap porno.

Harsh breathing was littered with moans and litany of curses. There tongues ran sloppily against each other, Leo tweaked his nipples, clenching down on Frank as they both hurtled toward the peak like freight train.

The orgasm was a bang.

Literally.

In hindsight, two fully grown men fucking on a barely hanging on twin bed was not the wisest plan. But what can he say? Leo brings out the worst in him.

“Did it?” Frank muttered tiredly. All he wanted to do was sleep.

“Get off.” Leo’s voice was slurred and strained, “You are suffocating me. And you are sleeping on the couch.”

“What was it this time?”

“The bed.”

“Leo broke your bed?”

“Something like that.” Frank mumbled.

#percy jackon and the olympians #heroes of olympus #frank zhang #leo valdez #freo #kinktoberverse2021

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banditthewriter · 4 years ago

Text

Trust Is Earned - Charles Vane - 5

And here we have part five which means we’re half way through! As always, thank you to the readers!

Warning: Violence against the reader. Also fake dating trope but like, is that a warning a promise?

*gif not mine*

Enjoy!

------

Vane’s tent hadn’t moved but it felt like it was such a long walk. It also felt like everyone was staring at you, although you were sure that was just in your imagination. You smiled and nodded in greeting to a few people as you passed them, but most people paid you no mind. It was getting dark, although still a while before the sun was down completely, so people were preparing for whatever they had planned for the night.

It didn’t occur to you that Vane might not be alone until you got to the opening of his tent. It was pulled open so you could see inside and thankfully not see anyone in there besides the captain.

You weren’t sure your plan would work if he had someone in his bed.

He turned when you cleared your throat, obviously startled to see you there.

“Are you–”

“Just, uh, one moment,” you said before you entered into the tent so that you could release the cord that held the covering. It closed over the doorway to alert people not to intrude or disturb unless it was life or death.

You turned back to him and took a few steps further inside. And then a few more until you were closer to where he was sitting with some papers in front of him.

“There’s something we need to talk about I think.”

His hand twitched on the table as if he wanted nothing more than to reach over for the bottle of rum next to him, but instead he turned to face you. He waved one hand for you to go on.

Now if only you had thought about how to word this on your way here.

“I had a talk with Eleanor Guthrie a little while ago. It seems she saw the two of us sneak off the beach in the same direction and she’s… come up with her own ideas as to why.”

He sat up, his hands pressed onto his knees as he stared at you.

“Does she suspect we’re working together?”

You hoped that you didn’t wince as you said this next part.

“She thinks we’re seeing each other. Or at least sleeping together.” You let him reel from that one for a second before you continued, “She said that your hauls have gotten less impressive and, well, she intimated about a worry about your ability to lead and that she wouldn’t be surprised if a vote was called to replace you.”

There, you’d gotten it all out in one go. Now you just needed to broach the reason you came here now instead of telling him this in a letter or through a third party like Rackham.

“The crew doesn’t care that we’re splitting the haul as long as they get paid. And since we started this partnership, they are making more than they ever did with Eleanor. They aren’t looking to vote me out. My question is what she can do about my ability to lead.”

This was not the direction you had planned for, but it made sense that this was his worry. You put your own thoughts to the back so that you could help him plan for this.

“She’s not supposed to have any pull over the crews, but I guess if she loses faith in your abilities as captain she can try to depose you.”

He shook his head, but you didn’t think he was turning down what you had said. It seemed he was thinking ahead as well.

“The crew wouldn’t go for that. Like I said, I’m the reason they are making as much as they are right now.”

Part of the reason, but you weren’t about to point that out. He had a point though.

“What about an embargo? She could withhold sale of your goods, encouraging merchants to do the same unless the crew turns against you.”

He stood up and started to pace away from you.

“She could. The bitch would,” he admitted venomously as he turned back towards you. “And then she’d want to know why the crew still wouldn’t turn against me. If it comes to that, it’ll come out that I’m selling to you as well.”

Which would put a nice little target on your front door. You’d been working with your contacts to come up with a protection plan for yourself, but it wasn’t easy. They needed to get men to you but they needed ones that they could trust. Loyalty wasn’t exactly for sale.

“If it comes to that, I’ll deal with the consequences on my end,” you said with a wave of your hand. Might as well throw out the reason you came here. “The reason I’m here is regarding the first part of what she told me.”

He tilted his head as he looked at you.

“She thinks we’re fucking. And this upsets you.”

After your reaction the night of the storm, you understood why he thought that way. You weren’t about to get into the intricacies of it. Instead you put your hands on the table to offer your newest proposition.

“I suggest we let her think that, actually. Instead of secret meetings and codes, we become a little more… obvious. Make her think that we’re sleeping together so that she won’t suspect the truth. That should gain us a little more time before she figures out what’s really going on.”

You weren’t sure that Vane could look more shocked if you had told him that he was going to have to make The Ranger fly instead of sail. It didn’t take long for him to have that cocky look on his face once more.

“If she believes that, others will too. The whole of Nassau will think we’re fucking.”

Yes, you were aware of that. Which of course meant some uncomfortable conversations with Billy were in your future, but you didn’t want to think about that right then.

“We’ll have to play into the part a bit. We can have these kinds of discussions at the shop and I’ll lock up for the time. People can think what they want then.”

He moved over to the comfortable looking pallet that was obviously where he slept. He looked from you to it and then back to you again.

“If I were taking you to bed, what do you think we’d be doing if you came to my tent like this?”

The shop gave you privacy where no one could hear anything. You knew for a fact that people in these tents could be heard from people outside. You drew the line at faking sex and the other option… wasn’t an option.

“Don’t you know Vane? Ladies prefer to make love in their own beds.” You gave him a smile and turned back towards the opening of the tent. “I’ll send for you when I have your next lead. If this plan displeases you, send Rackham and Bonny like usual. I will continue to work on my own safety contingencies.”

You slipped through the opening and out of the tent. There were a few people that saw your departure, but none of them said anything to you.

Whether your presence there would reach Eleanor Guthrie or not, at least you had done what you had come to the beach to do. The plan wasn’t foolproof of course, there were plenty of things that could cause a problem, but you were juggling a lot at the moment.

You were doing the best you could with what you had.

------

The tavern was more packed than you had seen it in a long time. The sun was still up so you had stopped by for a quick meal with some of your friends and other merchants. While the alcohol flowed freely, you stuck to water. Most of the patrons remembered the last time you had freely drank at the tavern and how quickly you had gotten drunk.

You were a little ashamed to say that you had slept with someone but you weren’t sure who it was. You’d woken up at the inn feeling well and truly fucked, happily so, but no sign of your partner. No one could remember who you had gone to the inn with but since Mr. Noonan only employed female whores and you could vaguely remember a male body from that night, you could rest assured that you hadn’t paid for it.

Since that night you hadn’t had another drink. While you didn’t mind anonymous sex, especially anonymous sex that made you feel as good as that had, you didn’t like the feeling of not knowing what had happened.

The conversations flowed as freely as anything else. You had been involved in a lively debate about the price of sugarcane for half the meal. It gave you a good distraction from your new reality.

As more men started to flow into the tavern, you started to feel like you were being watched.

It wasn’t an uncommon feeling in Nassau, but you had learned to trust your instincts. Everything in you right then was telling you to leave.

You finished your meal and paid, making excuses to the friends you had joined for the meal. Their night was just beginning but you were ready to head home for the night. It wasn’t very adventurous but you had enough adventure in your days working with Vane under everyone’s noses.

As you turned to leave, you nearly ran straight into Jack Rackham with Anne Bonny at his side. He smiled at you the moment he saw who it was, his face almost breaking at the force.

“If it isn’t the lovely Y/N herself. I was just telling Anne that I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages. Our captain has been monopolizing your time, hasn’t he?”

That’s what the exaggerated smile and loud voice was for. He was giving you Vane’s response in public, ensuring that tongues would be wagging before you even made it to the street. It’d only been a day since you had given him the proposition but he didn’t seem to want to wait for you to reach out to him.

Vane really did nothing by halves, did he?

“Always a pleasure Jack. Miss Bonny,” you said to Anne, showing her a bit more respect since you were more frightened of her than of the quartermaster.

But your friendly nature and the informal way you addressed Rackham, uncommon for you to interact with any pirate that way except Billy, would definitely throw gunpowder on the fire.

Rackham’s smile softened to something a little more honest. Even Anne gave you a bit of a smile as you passed them. If your informal greeting to Jack didn’t set tongues wagging, Anne’s variable bear hug of a smile would do so.

It would seem that for all intents and purposes, you were Charles Vane’s new mistress.

------

Footsteps. As you walked to your shop up the long, winding road, you heard footsteps behind you. You hadn’t turned to look, not wanting to let the person know that you heard them, but you made sure that your steps were a little longer and faster.

With your shop in view, you almost broke into a run, but it was too late. A hand went around your throat at the same time that someone rushed in front of you to cut off your escape. It meant at least two attackers, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t more.

You didn’t have your pistol on you. Not even a knife. The only thing you had were your fists and your wits. You swung back with all of your strength and landed your elbow against the jaw of the man who held you. He swore vehemently and then wrapped his arms around you, your arms pinned to your sides as he lifted you up like that. It gave you leverage to kick out at the other man that approached, catching him in the face with your left heel.

The sound of a broken nose echoed in your ears but you didn’t care. All you cared about was not letting this progress any further.

“Stop fucking fighting or I’ll slit your throat.”

You felt a blade against your throat and immediately stopped squirming in case the blade cut into you. The man whose face you had kicked looked like he wanted to kill you, blood running down his face and shirt. Instead he pointed his own knife at you.

“You should gut the bitch,” he growled to the man that held you.

“It’s not off the table,” the one that held you spat as he squeezed you with the arm not holding the knife. “She wouldn’t be able to give Vane our message like that though.”

“It’d send a message sure enough.”

You were about to scream. Not even ten minutes after Jack Rackham had proved to the whole of the tavern that you were Vane’s woman, you were attacked in the woods on your way to your home. If this is what Eleanor had been warning you about, you might just take your pistol with you to the tavern next time.

“You tell Charles Vane that he’s to step down as captain of The Ranger. He hasn’t brought shit to Nassau in months and it’s not to be tolerated. If he doesn’t, we’re going to come to your little shop and set it on fire while you sleep.”

“We know you live there too,” the man in front of you spat, blood spraying onto your face.

If they were giving you a message for Vane, that meant they weren’t going to kill you. You just needed to keep from pissing them off any further and they’d let you go.

The one holding you ran a hand up your side until he got to the top of your bodice, pulling as if he wanted to rip it off of you. Your fight or flight instincts kicked in and you started to squirm, the knife cutting into your throat a bit as you did.

A fist crashed into your face. Then again. Next was a boot to your stomach when you fell to the ground. A boot to your back followed as you curled in to protect your stomach. You couldn’t breathe, the pain too much, but nothing else came. When you peeked out from where your face was almost squashed into the dirt, you saw the backs of the two men as they went back through the woods.

You quickly stood up, your legs shaking and barely holding your weight. All you needed was to get to your shop and then you’d be safe. Relatively. It felt like a journey across a continent rather than just a few yards, but finally you were there. Hands shaking and covered in dirt, you fished out your keys and let yourself into the shop.

Tonight you’d see to your injuries. Tomorrow you’d have a word with Vane. This… was not going to happen again.

------

“What the fuck happened to you?”

You looked up from where you were trying to load your pistol. One eye was swollen but not completely closed at least. You had a busted lip as well. To round that out, it hurt to breathe, your back felt like hell, and you had to tie a cloth around your neck because the cut there was deeper than you had thought.

If you looked like you felt, you didn’t blame Rackham for his shock.

“I’m to be a messenger for your captain,” you said with a wince as you sat up in the chair a bit more. Normally you didn’t sit when you were in the shop, but right then you weren’t sure you could stand. “Do you mind loading this pistol for me? I can’t seem to stop shaking long enough and I’d hate for it to accidentally go off on me.”

He said something to Anne Bonny who you hadn’t even noticed. She turned and made her way out of the shop, leaving just you and Jack.

If you were going to be pretending to fuck his captain, you might as well actually refer to him by his first name.

Jack took the pistol from you and went through the motions of loading it for you. You leaned back into the chair and let out a whimper as it stretched out the muscles of your back.

“Again, the fuck happened to you? What do you mean you’re to be a messenger for Charles?”

You reached up and gingerly touched the skin under your eye. You hadn’t looked in the mirror this morning, not wanting to see just how bad the damage was.

“Last night on my way back here, I was set upon by two… men. I didn’t recognize either of them, but they knew me. And they wanted me to pass a message to Vane.”

“What message is that?”

You swallowed thickly as you accepted the pistol back from Jack.

“He’s to step down as captain of The Ranger.”

Jack swore a colorful amount. Then he looked back at you.

“And if he doesn’t?”

You laughed, wincing and pressing a hand to your side as you did so.

“They’ll come and set fire to my shop while I’m sleeping.”

Had you thought that Jack’s first swears were colorful? This put a whole new meaning to the term. There might have even been a few new swear words created this go around.

You watched him as he paced through your shop. You wanted to ask why he was still there, but you had a feeling you knew. Just like you had a feeling that you knew where Anne had disappeared to.

Sure enough not long after she had disappeared did she return, one fuming captain with her. The shop seemed to grow smaller as Vane stalked forward.

“What the fuck happened here?”

You wanted to laugh but you were worried if you did, it might turn into tears. Instead you gestured at Jack.

“As I was just telling your quartermaster, I’m to be a messenger for you. You’re to step down as captain of The Ranger due to you not bringing in as much to Nassau anymore. If you don’t, they’ll come back and set my shop on fire.”

“While she’s in it,” Jack added when it seemed like you weren’t going to.

Vane swore simply, but it was efficient.

“What I don’t get is that we’re bringing in probably more to Nassau. Why would someone want him to step down for that?”

You looked over at Anne and shook your head.

“It wasn’t one of your crew, not that I recognized at least. I think it might have been someone working for Eleanor Guthrie.”

That… was not a name you should have mentioned around the three of them. Suddenly your store became a cacophony of noise as the three of them all yelled back and forth. You didn’t even try to follow but you did put a stop to it by slamming your hand against the counter you were sat at.

“Enough. Fuck, my head is killing me already, I don’t need this shit. Listen,” you added a little softer because your head was pounding, “Eleanor said something when she talked to me that day. It was after she said that she wouldn’t be surprised if they called a vote on you. She said that she didn’t want something to happen to me because I was tangled up with you.”

Vane took a few steps towards you.

“You think she had someone go after you to get to me?”

You shook your head. Although you wouldn’t normally put that past Eleanor, right then it didn’t feel right.

“I think she genuinely doesn’t want anything to happen to me because while she doesn’t exactly like me, I’m a necessary evil in her eyes. I think she hired some men to pass a message on to you and they decided to deviate and go after me. Maybe they thought I was an easier target than Captain Vane himself.”

“That… makes sense, I’m sorry to say,” Jack said with a frown as he looked over at his captain. “Some of the crew had mentioned that some people on the beach had been asking why you’re still captain if we aren’t bringing in bigger hauls. Since the men are getting paid, they are keeping their mouths shut. Maybe if they weren’t able to incite a vote, they decided to demand one instead.”

Vane spun around and slammed his fist into the wall of the shop.

“Oi, there’s been enough damage to my shop by The Ranger crew without you adding to it,” you said as you stood up and went around the counter. “What’s done is done, now we need to figure out what we’re going to do about it. If anyone has any plans, please speak up. As long as it doesn’t end up with me burning alive in my sleep.”

Vane spun back to face you. He marched to clear the short distance between the two of you, Anne and Jack both stepping back to give him the space. In spite of the fury on his face, his hand was gentle as he raised your chin to look at the damage.

“What did they look like?”

His voice was so soft, another difference to the rage in his eyes. You reached up and tugged self consciously at the cloth on your neck. It drew his eyes there and he moved your hand so that he could tug it down a bit to see what it was hiding.

If you’d thought he’d been furious before. Seeing the slit across your neck and the knowledge of how close you had come to dying had apparently reignited that fire.

“What. Did they. Look like.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a demand.

You quietly gave the description as best you could. The problem was that most of the men on the island were fairly similar looking.

“I kicked one in the face, broke his nose. There was blood everywhere. If you can find someone with a recently broken nose, you’ll probably find his partner with him. Stray dogs tend to roam in packs,” you said lowly as you pulled away from Vane and went back to the counter.

He said something to Jack and Anne that you didn’t hear, but they both nodded their head before they turned to leave the shop. Alone with Vane, you found yourself curiously nervous.

Why was it that you always felt this way when he was around?

“Did anything else happen?”

Anything else? You wondered what he thought you were leaving out but then you saw the look on his face. Uncomfortable but earnest.

It clicked into place.

“No, nothing else. There’d be more damage than a broken nose if they had done that.”

Vane nodded his approval of that. He looked at the pistol that you had placed on the counter and then back to you. He bent down and pulled something from the top of his boot before he held it out to you.

Hilt first, he held a long dagger in hand. You looked up at him and then back to the dagger.

“Take it. You need to be able to protect yourself. A dagger doesn’t need to be reloaded.”

No, just thrust into its target.

You accepted the dagger from him. The weight of it was strange in your hand, but not unknown. You’d held daggers before, used to carry them when you did your deliveries. You had become complacent in Nassau, had gotten too comfortable and felt too safe. You wouldn’t make that mistake again.

“What happens now?”

Vane approached until he was right in front of you.

“We’ll find them and I’ll kill them.”

You’d know that from the moment you saw his face. No one could go off and make a move against any captain like they had done, much less against Captain Vane.

“And if they are working for Eleanor?”

His face changed at that. So many emotions crossed his face that you barely had the chance to catch them before they were gone.

“I’ll handle it.”

He started to leave but you reached out and grabbed his wrist.

“Charles,” you started, not even realizing that you’d used his first name for the first time, “you can’t go against her like that. She’ll–”

He turned back to you, his hand going up to grab your chin to stop you from speaking. The touch and the closeness was so intimate that for a brief moment you thought he might lean in to kiss you. Instead he let his hand go up to brush your hair back from your face.

“I’ll handle it.”

It wasn’t a clarification, but you realized what he was really saying.

Trust. You had to trust him to handle it. So you closed your eyes and gave a quick nod. When you opened your eyes, it was to see him disappear out of the shop.

Now you just had to wait to see what happened next.

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#charles vane #charles vane imagine #charles vane x reader #charles vane fanfic #black sails imagine #my writing #trust is earned

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trashscenariihxh · 5 years ago

Text

Chrollo NSFW

In which Chrollo plays the long con and pretends to be nice to achieve his ends. He’s also really into sleeping with married people. Adultery is his kink.

You were a good wife. Respectful, patient, loyal. Faithful. In the ten years (ten? already?) of your marriage, you’d never once strayed. You’d appreciated attractive men, and been flattered by their advances, but you’d never seriously entertained the idea of taking them up on their offers. All this changed the evening of your husband’s firm’s holiday party, when your husband handed you a glass of champagne and introduced you to the latest addition to the company. You hadn’t known at the time, but moment you’d shaken Mr. Lucilfer’s hand and looked into those large, grey eyes of his, you were hooked.

It had started slowly. A chance conversation here, a hand on your shoulder there... a cup of coffee while you waited for your husband to finish with a client. You enjoyed talking with him; Chrollo was charismatic and attentive, wickedly clever. So unlike your husband’s other coworkers. So unlike your husband.

Being the wife of an investment banker at one of the most prestigious firms in Yorknew City certainly had its perks, but having an attentive partner was not one of them.

When Chrollo asked for your number one day over coffee, you’d blushed and muttered that it was wildly inappropriate. You gave him your number the next day.

You didn’t text much. Not at first. Just the occasional idle question about each other’s day, a book recommendation, a tentative invitation to lunch. When you told Chrollo about your husband’s upcoming business trip, you really didn’t mean anything by it. Your invitation for him to come over wasn’t meant to be taken seriously, and the fact that Chrollo showed up with wine was purely coincidental. Two glasses in, you thought nothing of it when Chrollo’s hand brushed against your thigh. After the third glass, you offered to take him on a tour of the house. After all, where was the harm in that?

“Are you going to show me the bedroom?” Chrollo joked in that almost-completely-serious way of his.

You giggled. “Certainly not. That’s extremely inappropriate.”

“Pity.”

There was something about Chrollo’s voice that gave you pause; when you gave him a questioning look he smiled, rested a friendly hand on your shoulder and uttered a soft “joking.” You smiled back, choosing to ignore the tingling warmth that spread throughout your body at his touch.

“And here we have my husband’s office.” You opened the door and gestured inside.

“Very nice, mind if I have a look inside?”

You shrugged and stepped to the side to let Chrollo past you.

“So this is his office too?” Chrollo turned to you and gave a soft chuckle. “Doesn’t he work enough already?”

“I guess he does.” You walked over to your husband’s impeccably organized desk. “He likes to work in here on weekends and holidays, though you’re right, he mostly just stays late at the office.”

“Does he just bring work home, then?” Chrollo was examining the bookcase.

“Yeah. But he keeps copies of everything in his desk. Account information and such.” You shrugged. “I guess he figures it’s safer here.” A tiny wave of sadness washed over you, then. How long had it been since you and your husband had eaten a proper meal together? How many times had he come home after midnight, only to hole himself up in his office?

“He’s probably right. Very sensible of him.” Chrollo’s smile faded when he turned to you again. “Did I say something wrong, ____?”

You shook your head. “No, it’s nothing.” You turned to leave, muttering something about showing him the rest of the house, but a light grip on your wrist held you in place. You tried to pull out of his grasp, but Chrollo’s grip was surprisingly strong for such a delicate-looking man. “H-hey...”

“____... what is it?” Chrollo’s grey eyes pierced yours with unexpected intensity. When you failed to answer, he sighed and gave you a sad smile. “You’re lonely.”

“What?” Your eyes widened in shock at the bluntness of the question. “Lonely? I-I...”

“It’s obvious, ____,” Chrollo persisted, not loosening his grip on your wrist in the slightest. “You’re desperately lonely. Neglected. Untouched.” He tugged slightly, and you found yourself moving closer to him, despite every fiber of your conscience screaming for you to pull away and leave.

“Chrollo...”

“And how can you not be?” Chrollo continued, ignoring your halfhearted protest. “Your husband is always working. Always at the office, while his gorgeous wife is at home in an empty bed.”

Your words stuck in your throat, and a pit formed in your stomach when the horrible, ruthlessly painful truth of the situation slammed into you. You wanted Chrollo. Badly. When you finally managed to speak, your voice was a barely recognizable whisper. “I-I love my husband...”

“Do you?” Chrollo paused, waiting patiently for an answer.

“Yes...” Your eyes began to blur with tears of guilt.

Chrollo released his hold on your wrist and brought his hands to your shoulders, running them lightly down your arms. “Tell me, ____, when’s the last time he touched you?” He moved his hands to your waist and drew you in even closer. “Hm?” He leaned in and pressed his lips to your neck before moving to kiss the skin just below your earlobe. “When’s the last time he fucked you?”

His words sent a shiver of need coursing through your body; you suddenly felt chilly and searingly hot all at once. When Chrollo continued to murmur into your ear, you felt your knees start to buckle.

“I mean, really fucked you.” Chrollo began to kiss your neck again, while his hand snaked around you to lightly cup your ass. “Properly. Like a loving husband should.” He trailed kisses along your jawline before finally pressing his lips to yours.

You melted into the kiss, and all hope of resistance fell away.

With his hands on your hips, Chrollo continued to deepen the kiss while backing you up against the side of your husband’s desk. Strong hands lifted you up onto it before continuing to roam your body. With surprising speed, Chrollo unbuttoned the first few buttons of your blouse before reaching inside to fondle your breasts. Chrollo didn’t bother to try to unhook your bra, opting instead to yank the cups down and pull your breasts from the top. He broke the kiss for a moment so he could stare at your tits while he continued to squeeze and play with them, finally dipping down to suck at your nipples.

Your hands were busy too; you ran them up and down his back, over his neck, and tangled them in his hair. You wanted more of him. All of him. You parted your legs a little wider to allow Chrollo to get even closer, an invitation he gladly took. He kissed you again, this time pushing your back down onto the desk and hiking your skirt up around your hips.

“____,” he murmured, reaching between your legs and stroking your wet, neglected cunt through your underwear. “You’re already so wet,” he observed, adjusting your legs so he could slide your underwear off before spreading them again and settling between them. His still-clothed cock pressed against you as he leaned down to kiss you again. “Has it really been such a long time for you?” He dipped down to kiss along your collarbone while he quickly unbuckled his belt and slid his trousers down.

Words failed you again; you could only moan helplessly and squirm under Chrollo’s touch. You stiffened when you felt the head of his cock press against your entrance, and gasped when Chrollo pushed inside. It had been far too long since you’d had a man inside you.

Chrollo’s cock twitched impatiently as he gave you a moment to adjust. He only allotted you a moment, though, and quickly set a fast, hard pace, pushing his hips forward to get as deep as he could.

You wrapped your legs around his waist and reached up to grab his shoulders so you could tug him down for another searing kiss. Your hands ran down his back, feeling the way his muscles tensed and twitched as he fucked into you.

“You’re so tight,” Chrollo panted into your neck, pushing as deep inside as he could. “You must have been so cock-starved, _____.” When you could only moan in response, he continued. “Did he ever make you moan like this? Does your husband know that you can sound like such a whore?”

In all honesty, you’d had no idea that you could sound like this for anyone. Then again, until twenty minutes ago you had no idea you could ever be unfaithful to your husband. That you were so easy.

Heat pooled between your legs; your core was tightening, a searingly hot spring winding closer to the breaking point. You dug your fingers into Chrollo’s shoulders and whined as he continued to bottom out again and again.

“You like that?” Chrollo rasped, breath hitching as he drove into you even harder.

“Y-yeah!” You managed to force the words out as you wrapped your legs even tighter around his waist as your cunt clenched tighter around his cock.

“Are you going to cum for me?” Chrollo drew back and stood up, one hand on your hip to hold you steady and another reaching down to pay attention to your hitherto neglected clit.

“Yes!” You squeezed your eyes shut and arched up against him.

“Who’s making you cum?”

“You are.”

“Look at me.”

With effort, you opened your eyes and stared blearily up at him. “Please, Chrollo...”

“Say my name again.” He slammed into you with a particularly hard thrust.

“Ah! Chrollo!” You cried out, far more loudly than you’d intended.

“Again!” Another thrust.

“Chro-ah! Chrollo!”

One more thrust, and you came with a shout, spasming and shaking, your breaths coming in desperate, frantic gasps.

“Ah.... _____....” Chrollo fell forward again, his mouth found your neck once more and his bit down, hard. He gave a few more shuddering, seething thrusts before coming undone inside you with a deep groan.

You held each other for a few moments before coming apart and straightening yourselves up. It wasn’t until you felt Chrollo’s sticky release running out of you that the enormity of what you’d just done came crashing into you. “Shit...”

Chrollo seemed to notice your sudden concern. “____?”

You ran your fingers through your hair as you struggled to come to terms with the fact that you’d just had completely unprotected sex with your husband’s coworker. On his desk, no less. Biting your lip, you hastily buttoned up your blouse. “I think you’d better leave.”

“Leave? Now? Why?”

“You know why.”

Chrollo reached out and ran his fingers through your hair as he regarded you thoughtfully. “If it’s guilt you’re feeling,” he ventured, watching your face closely, “what’s done is done.”

You sighed. “I’m going to take a bath. And I hope you’re gone when I’m finished.”

***

The following week, Chrollo resigned, abruptly leaving the firm without so much as a goodbye. He never texted you again, either. Not that you tried to reach him. Two days after Chrollo disappeared, several of the biggest accounts managed by your husband were hacked, resulting in the loss of billions of Jenny. Your husband assured you that it was the work of some particularly malicious hackers, but you weren’t so sure. They say hindsight is 20/20, and when you looked back on that fateful weekend, you wondered why Chrollo had taken such an interest in your husband’s office. You also wondered if it was just a coincidence, but a good deal of your jewelry had suddenly gone missing. You never told your husband this, of course, blaming the sudden disappearances on your own forgetfulness, but you wondered. Deep down, you knew.

#smuttastic #chrollo lucilfer

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side-effect-of-the-meds · 5 years ago

Note

PLEASE write about Andrew & Jean being chaotic and bitter bffs on the same team the power they would have the intimidation level the fashionable goth energy,,, w ow also I want Andrew to learn French so badly which we all know he would if Jean started insulting him in French

IT WON’T BE UP ANY TIME SOON but I’m writing a fic about Andrew visiting Renee’s for winter break in his final year of college in which he’s forced to spend the week sharing a space with Jean.

Over the course of said week, they form a tentative alliance that’s essentially that We’re Not So Different You And I bit by John Mulaney

Anyway, that’s like mid-way through Andrew’s fourth year. They don’t speak again until a little before Andrew’s graduation. The Foxes have just won the Championships they made it to finals last year and lost the last game :’( and so they’re having a party. Andrew needed some air so he stepped outside and, a little while later, he hears footsteps on the porch behind him. Jean sits down, leaving some space between the two of them so as not to crowd Andrew, and just sort of slides a piece of paper over. Andrew keeps up his cool guy facade for a while, assuming Jean will break first. He does.

“Would you just look at it?” Jean snarled. Andrew flicked him a cool look before, picking up the paper painstakingly slowly. He held it up to his own face, not bothering to actually read it. “Illiterate too, I see.” Andrew could barely keep the scowl off his face. He squinted at the stack of papers he picked up.

“Why?” he asked.

“Our goalkeep is, how you say? A piece of shit.”

“You’re giving him more credit than he deserves,” Andrew cut in, his lips curling in a sneer.

“I’m getting tired of being the last line of defense. It’s hard not having anyone to watch your back,” Jean said, shooting a meaningful look at Andrew. He elected to ignore it in favor of taking another drag of his cigarette. Jean muttered something that sounded like a curse before standing up and disappearing back into Abby’s house.

A month later, Jean stepped out of his apartment wondering which horrid little monsters the Cardinals had signed now. Turning towards the stairs, he found his answer waiting for him.

“There’s no point in both of us driving down there. You make breakfast and I’ll drive,” the gremlin said. It wasn’t an offer or even a demand. He said it as though he were stating a fact.

“The arrogance of Americans never fails to amaze me,” Jean shot back.

“You’ve got dual citizenship, Frenchie. I’m sorry to say it, but that makes you one of us.” With that, the little monster turned on his heel and headed down the stairs. Jean muttered a steady stream of curses as he followed Andrew out to the Maserati

Having Andrew on his team is literally the worst. All he ever does is laze around. Sometimes, he’ll just lay down in the middle of the goal and stare at the ceiling. Jean gets a lot of shit for it bc he’s the one that recommended him for the line. It’s the day of their first game and tensions are high at practice when Jean loses his temper. He picks up an exy ball and hurls it at Andrew. Without even looking up, Andrew catches it with one hand. He stands slowly and throws it back so fast that Jean doesn’t have time to react. The ball wedges itself into the grate of his helmet, the force of it knocking him off his feet. Everyone assumes that Andrew isn’t going to play that night or will just be his asshole self but, when Jean finds himself struggling to hold the line, Andrew gets sent out and he’s an absolute monster in the goal. Every shot that comes his way gets deflected all the way down the court. The last goal of the night is made in the final seven seconds when Andrew slams a shot all the way down the court into the opposing goal. It lights up red and the crowd loses their shit. Exhausted, Jean collapses on the floor.

“It’s hard not having anyone to have your back,” Andrew said as he passed by. By the time Jean found his voice, Andrew was already gone. Catching a ride home with one of the strikers, Jean felt a tightness in his chest. Andrew was an annoyingly lazy little bastard but Jean should have trusted him.

Jean doesn’t know how to apologize. Words are wasted on the likes of Andrew so he says nothing. He wakes early to make breakfast the next morning and says a silent prayer. Andrew is never late to anything but, when 6:30 rolls around and he isn’t there Jean’s heart plummets. He leaves the plate out on the counter while he eats. The ticking of the clock is deafeningly loud. At 6:47 there’s a knock at the door and Jean nearly faceplants in his hurry to answer it.

“Your food’s gone cold,” Jean blurted out. Andrew turned a glare on him but said nothing as he shouldered his way into the apartment. Dark circles rimmed his eyes. His shoulders sagged, weighed down by exhaustion. There was no way he’d gotten a wink of sleep last night.

“Moreau,” a voice said from the door. Jean whipped around to see Matt Boyd standing at the door. How he’d missed such a tall person standing in his doorway, Jean didn’t know. “Mind if I come in?” Jean stepped aside and Matt moved in.

“Are you hungry?” Jean asked, haltingly. Boyd was the starting backliner for the Virginia Cavaliers, a whole state over. What the hell was he doing here?

“I could eat,” Matt said brightly. He grabbed hold of a chair and dragged it over to where Andrew sat.

“Not out of my plate,” Andrew snapped when Matt made to steal his eggs. Jean made his way to the kitchen to fix a third plate. From the dining room he could hear Andrew’s voice and Boyd’s laughter. Handing the plate over to him, Jean took his seat at the far end of the table. For the next quarter of an hour, Boyd rambled on about something or the other. If you asked Jean what he’d talked about, he wouldn’t have been able to say. He was far too absorbed in watching Andrew.

The usual tension that pervaded his form had fallen away. Despite the obvious lack of sleep, Andrew seemed far more relaxed than usual. Every now and again, Jean saw his lips twitch up into the barest hint of a smile. From what he’d heard, Andrew had never had a good relationship with any of his teammates save Josten. But that made sense. Neil was his lover. What was it about Boyd that softened him so much?

As soon as breakfast was finished and the plates cleaned, Jean disappeared back into his room to grab his phone. By the time he’d returned, both Andrew and Boyd were gone from the dining room. Jean found the pair blocking the open door. He stopped short when he heard Boyd’s voice.

“I’ve missed you so much, Andy.” His words shook Jean to his core.

“Yes or no?” Andrew asked quietly. Jean watched in stunned silence as Matt leaned down, mumbling yes a hair’s breadth away from Andrew’s lips. The second the word left his mouth, Andrew closed the distance between them. A soft moan slipped from Boyd’s lips and Jean watched in horror as he tangled his hands in Andrew’s hair. “Stop staring, Moreau,” Andrew said as he broke the kiss.

“I thought that you and Josten-”

“We are,” Andrew cut in dismissively. “Matt is too.”

“Oh,” was all Jean could think to say. Back at the Nest, there had been no exclusive relationships. While most relationships in the real world weren’t like that, Jean had heard there were still a few. Boyd said his goodbyes before heading down the hall to the back stairwell. Andrew started off in the other direction. Jean had to run after him once he’d locked the door. Neither of them spoke in the car. They never did but there was a weight to the silence now that Jean didn’t know what to do about. A thousand small talk topics flitted through his head but he knew Andrew wouldn’t appreciate any of it so he kept his mouth shut, contenting himself to stare out the window.

Jean is ready to run by the time that they pull up at the court but he doesn't. He needs to prove that he’s going to have Andrew’s back so he stays with him.

It’s kind of awkward for a while. Andrew doesn’t like having Jean towering over him from behind bc it makes him feel vulnerable so he’s always really tense.

The turning point in their relationship is when a striker from another team tries to start a twitter feud with Andrew. He gets asked about it in an interview and the interviewer pulls a Kathy Ferdinand and reveals that the striker is backstage. Jean is sitting with Andrew for the interview and when they try to start shit live on air, Jean snaps. He cuts the striker a new one, roasting them within an inch of their life and the interview is forced to end bc the striker throws a punch. Andrew steps in front of Jean, catching the punch with ease and judo flipping them.

Neither of them really acknowledge that it happened but, when Andrew comes to breakfast the following Monday, he brings a loaf of sweet bread that he baked over the weekend.

Things kind of settle after that. Sometimes Andrew leaves recipes for foods he wants and Jean starts filling their silences with something other than the news. He complains about Americans and moons over Jeremy and starts teaching Andrew French too.

Jean has his own tiktok and most of his vids are of himself cooking and have Andrew reacting at the end but there’s a few subsections tho. One of them is Andrew and Jean and their baking escapades. It’s always super messy. Another is their ‘date nights’. On the weekends, the two of them get a little extra dressed up and go out to sample new restaurants. They’re both massive foodies so they like to try new restaurants together. Andrew is a surprisingly picky eater and listening to him critic food is the most Jean has ever heard him speak. Platonic dates are actually incredibly nice n more ppl need to indulge in them.

The final subsection is fashion/makeup. Jean likes to do makeup bc… why not? Sometimes, he manages to convince Andrew to let him be his model and does some really interesting looks on Andrew. Those videos never see the light of day but it’s something they do and it’s very important to Andrew. There’s something very intimate about letting Jean touch his face for hours on end but it also kind of feels nice. Also he loves the way Neil and Matt fawn over him when he skypes them with his makeup done. The fashion videos, however, do go up. The two of them go to the mall p often and take turns styling each other. They do style challenges too where they’re both given the same horrible item (something like crocs or a really ugly sweater) and they have to make the other person look good in them.

They do little nice things for each other. When Neil has a game against Bluefield, Jean gets Andrew front row tickets for him and manages to convince Matt to come down too. Andrew learns how to make french pastries that he leaves on Jean’s counter pretty often bc it reminds him of home. He also gets Allison to help him pull some strings and arrange for Jean to spend Christmas break in France with Jeremy. Jean doesn’t cry but he does tear up a little bit.

Andrew is still a menace and you see that on his tiktok. He rigs ridiculous pranks like setting up a tripwire to dump glue and feather on him or wrapping all his stuff in plastic wrap.

#just a pipe dream #all for the game #the foxhole court #aftg #tfc #andrew minyard #all for the gay #andrew joseph minyard #neil josten #the foxes #matt boyd #mandreil #jean moreau #reveal to me your deepest desires

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goldenraeofsun · 4 years ago

Text

would you have me, would you want me?

Part I

Castiel wipes his sweaty hands on his slacks.

He tugs at the tie strangling him, and runs a hand through his hair. He grimaces. So much for all the preparation he put into his appearance in front of the mirror twenty minutes ago.

He inhales a deep breath and steps inside his high school for the first time in ten years.

The fluorescent lighting doesn’t do the old halls any favors, and the entryway, at least, smells violently of lemon-scented cleaner. There have been a few pathetic attempts at livening up the stubbornly beige walls - colorful signs mark the way to the gym, like Castiel would ever forget even after ten years.

It’s strange to see the place so empty.

“Hello!” Becky, their alumni representative, waves him over to a table just inside the entryway. It’s completely cluttered with bits of paper and blank name tags. “Are you here for the reunion?”

Castiel coughs. “Yes.”

“So glad to have you here,” Becky says as Castiel drags his feet closer. “Name?”

“Castiel Novak?”

“Oh!” Becky says, her eyes widening. “I hardly recognized you without the books, and the coat, and the...” she gestures vaguely to her own face, which Castiel takes to mean the semi-permanent scowl he wore all throughout high school. Before Castiel can react, she ducks her head and drags her finger down a clipboard. “Alright, Castiel, I’ll mark you down as present. Fill out a name tag if you want, and here are your tickets for your two drinks. Would you like to enter the fundraising raffle? We’re hoping to send the volleyball team to nationals this year.”

Castiel quails under Becky’s doe eyes and forks over ten dollars for the raffle. He also writes out a name tag, since his classmates might have the same reaction as Becky.

Armed with his name tag and drinks tickets, he follows the signs to the gym.

* * *

Cas wipes his sweaty hands on his slacks.

He shouldn’t have agreed to this. He doesn’t go to parties. He is not a partier. The closest he’s ever come to one was after his brother’s graduation, but that was eleven years ago. Cas was seven.

Cas successfully avoided all high school parties for the past three and a half years, but apparently nothing lasts forever.

Biting his lip, he presses down hard on Tessa’s doorbell.

The door opens, and Cas barely has enough time to school his face into a less terrified expression before Tessa appears. “You’re not the pizza man,” she says, frowning.

Cas blinks at her. “I... sorry?” He offers the wine Uncle Marv gifted his parents, the one Cas’s mother promised never to drink in a million years.

Tessa’s face brightens as she takes it from him. “Who invited you?”

“Dean - Dean Winchester,” Cas says, like there could be any other Dean that mattered at Edlund High.

Tessa opens the door wider, calling over her shoulder, “Dean!”

Cas steps inside without waiting for Dean to rescue him. Dean is probably too occupied to see him inside - or so Cas assumes. He’s never been to a party like this before, but even the senior year loner hears about the types of things Dean gets up to at events like these.

Cas follows Tessa past a flight of roped-off stairs further into the house. The noise and the people hit him full force in a dimly lit living room. Music blasts from speakers connected to a massive entertainment center. The whole area is jam-packed with teenagers and smells strongly of beer and hormones. Cas scans the crowd, recognizing more faces than not, to his relief.

“Kitchen’s that way,” Tessa says loudly, pointing to a door, bright light spilling from beyond. “If you want to get a drink, be my guest.” She shoulders past a group of girls from Cas’s homeroom and disappears from sight.

Cas heads for the kitchen. Maybe he can clear his head there and come up with a plan. Or maybe he can get drunk enough not to care about all the bad decisions that led him here.

* * *

Castiel turns at the sound of his name.

He spins around in place, searching the faces in the gym for one he recognizes.

“Cas, you made it!”

Castiel stumbles as Charlie’s arms wrap around him. “I didn’t think you’d come,” she says as she steps away, a broad grin stretching across her face.

“I live in the next school district over. I’m sure people traveled farther than that.”

“Yeah, but,” Charlie says awkwardly, “I know high school wasn’t the best time for you.”

Castiel’s mouth twitches. “Only the last few months of senior year. The rest went well enough.” He scans the gym before meeting Charlie’s knowing gaze.

Charlie winks at him. It’s not like she couldn’t put the pieces together herself. Most of their points of conversation revolve around a shared high school experience, so naturally Dean comes up once or twice (or a dozen times) during their sporadic get togethers.

It was even nice, sometimes, since Charlie is the only person from his teenage years he sees anymore.

“I know what you’re talking about,” Charlie says with a shudder. “I got bangs for senior year. Bangs.”

Castiel smiles weakly. “You could have made worse decisions.”

"If we’re going to talk about how dumb we were as teenagers, then I’m going to need another drink,” Charlie says as they make their way to the makeshift bar. “Don’t worry,” she says in an undertone, “He’s not here yet.”

“He’s coming?”

Charlie throws him a look. “Dude, he’s the newest hire in the English department. There’s no way he got out of attending his own reunion.”

Castiel absentmindedly nods along as he looks around. There’s a slideshow projecting onto a far wall, showing candid shots from ten years ago. About fifty people mill around the gym, chatting in little groups, nobody Castiel recognizes. More than a few people huddle over their own on their phones, ignoring everyone else.

He asks, “Is this typically what happens at these things?”

“How should I know?” Charlie says as they get in line. “This is my first reunion too.”

Castiel turns to her. “You didn’t go to our five year?”

Charlie wrinkles her nose. “I was kind of in hot water for hacking into NORAD so I laid low in Norway until everything died down.”

Castiel shakes his head. “Why would a tech consultant for Roman Enterprises hack into NORAD?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Charlie shoots back.

Castiel has no retort prepared, so he steps up to trade his ticket for a glass of cheap wine. “How is Dorothy doing?”

“She’s good. Away at a meteorology conference, but those’re the hazards of dating a nerd.” Charlie exhales a long-suffering sigh, watching with mild interest as the bartender pours out Castiel’s glass.

Castiel snorts. “I wouldn’t know.”

Charlie elbows him playfully in the side. “’Course you don’t. You always liked them dumber, didn’t you?”

“Dean wasn’t dumb.”

Charlie cackles as she hands over her own ticket to the bartender. “I didn’t say anyone’s name.”

* * *

Cas turns at the sound of his name.

“Dean?” he answers.

Tessa’s kitchen is only slightly quieter than the living room, but not much. There are fewer people here, though, which leaves Cas some breathing room.

Dean strides up to him, a red cup of something in his hand and a grin on his face. Party-goer Dean doesn’t look any different than Student Dean, clad in worn jeans and his favorite Led Zeppelin short sleeved shirt. “Hey, man. I didn’t think you’d actually come.”

“Of course,” Cas says, clutching his own drink tightly. “You invited me.”

“Yeah, well,” Dean says, his gaze skittering away, “this isn’t your usual scene, though.”

“I can try new things.” Cas takes a sip of his punch and makes a face at the overwhelmingly sweet taste. “It is our senior year, so I thought it might be time.”

“Whatever, man,” Dean says with a laugh, “as long as it got you out of the library.”

Cas’s frown deepens. “What’s wrong with the library?”

“Nothing,” Dean says, eyes widening. He raises his free hand, palm out, in a gesture of no-harm. “It’s just not the sort of place you’d go for a good time, you know what I mean?”

Cas’s eyes narrow. “I’ve had plenty of good times in the library.”

Dean snorts a laugh. “Not the kind I was talking about, Cas.”

Cas hasn’t ever gotten blown in the book stacks of the library like some pornography had indicated was possible, but he won’t call his time spent there a total waste. He says, “If it hadn’t been for our enjoyable tutoring sessions in the library, I wouldn’t be here.”

Dean beams at him. “Yeah, I’m kind of sorry they’re over, but I guess our grades don’t matter any more.”

“What?” Cas blinks at him. “Our grades matter.”

“Dude, it’s April.”

“Colleges can still rescind acceptance letters.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Come on, you nerd,” he grabs Cas by the hand. “We can’t block the line to the booze or Tessa'll murder me.”

Cas lets himself get led back out into the living room, a bemused expression on his face. The music and the chatter of a dozen different conversations hit him like a palpable slap to the face.

“What do we do now?” Cas asks loudly, as he throws back the rest of his cup of punch. It is much more tolerable in larger, quicker doses.

Dean glances around before leaning closer so Cas could hear him. “Whatever you want.”

Cas shivers as Dean’s breath ghosts over his ear and down his neck.

“We got the dancers, the stoners, the wallflowers,” Dean points each out, “the horndogs...”

Cas tears his gaze away from Charlie and Gilda, entwined on the couch. “Where do you fall?”

“Me?” Dean asks, surprised. He holds up his drink, a smile playing around his lips. “It’s a little early to tell. This is only my third one. Speaking of,” he takes Cas’s drink and drains it, “We should get you another one. You’re barely caught up to me.”

Cas dumbly takes his cup back. If he refills this cup, his lips might touch the same surface Dean’s had. The ghost of a kiss.

It was a technique old Hollywood films used to indicate romantic attraction, since kissing on-screen was heavily restricted. Characters would share cigarettes, food, and drinks instead of touching, especially if the relationship was taboo and wouldn’t pass the censors.

Cas stares up at Dean, uncomprehending.

“Come on, man,” Dean says as he nudges Cas back towards the kitchen. “Before all the good booze is gone.”

* * *

Castiel chokes on his drink.

Charlie gives him a few hard whacks on the back, giggling under her breath. “I know Dean’s hot and all, but that doesn’t mean you have to do a spit take when you see him.”

“I was surprised,” Castiel says defensively as he desperately tries to regain his composure.

“Uh huh.” Charlie smirks, eyebrows waggling. “Want me to call him over? I don’t think he’s spotted us yet.”

Castiel swallows down the rising tide of panic in the back of his throat. For God’s sake, he’s nearly thirty years old. He can’t go to pieces over Dean Winchester, not again.

It’s just been a while. He hasn’t had a boyfriend in several years. All his friends, Charlie included, are taken or aromantic, and lately Castiel’s been feeling like the odd bachelor out.

Dean probably isn’t all Castiel has been building up in his head. It’s been ten years, after all. Dean must have changed.

Castiel certainly has. He’s no longer the loner who filled his life with facts and grades instead of friends. Well, he still has school, but at least this time around he’s the one grading tests instead of being graded.

But it’s Dean. The one who got away - or ran away, in Dean’s case.

Charlie waves and calls Dean’s name, and, before Castiel can wrap his head around what’s happening, Dean is in front of them, in all his glory. Ten years older, but no less handsome. He still has those barely-there freckles splattered across his cheeks.

“So how’ve you been?” Dean asks Charlie.

“Can’t complain.” Charlie shakes her head. “I got a new haircut.”

“The bob suits you, Red,” Dean says, grinning as he reaches out to ruffle it.

Charlie dodges, one finger in his face in warning. “You touch it and you die, Handmaiden. It doesn’t look this natural naturally.”

“Fair,” Dean says, hands in the air.

Castiel watches them both, a sinking feeling in his gut. He’s been here before, watching from the sidelines as Dean joked and teased his friends. In the same room but also miles away.

He shouldn’t have expected any different.

Ten years, and nothing has changed.

But then Charlie punches Dean in the arm, throwing a significant look at Castiel, and Castiel’s mood sinks lower. He doesn’t need Charlie to make Dean pay attention to him; that wasn’t the point of coming here tonight.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean says quietly.

Castiel clears his throat. “Hello, Dean.”

Onto Part II

#destiel fanfic #fanfic #destiel #high school reunion #high school au #teacher castiel #flashbacks like woah #teacher dean #loner castiel #popular dean #human au #would you have me would you want me #the story of us verse #rae writes fic

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blog-sliverofjade · 4 years ago

Text

7: Tête Dure Minous

Pairing: Remi Denier x OFC

Summary: Lorel Maddox just wants to live as a human, run her bakery in peace, and forget. Unfortunately, the alpha of the local leopard pack has very different ideas.

Remi Denier doesn’t know what to make of the female Changeling who wants nothing to do with him or the RainFire pack. He does know that he has a driving need to protect her. Even if it’s from herself.

While they’re embroiled in a battle of wills, there’s a war brewing on the horizon. The outside threat could not only destroy everything they hold dear, but tear apart the fragile new bonds of the Trinity Accord, plunging the world into bloodshed to rival the Territorial Wars of centuries past.

Word count: 2018

Content warning: Racist cop

Hearth Fires Masterlist

Beta read by the wonderful pandabearer

Lorel bared her teeth at him when a wave of power washed into the shop; it tasted wild, male, and lethal. She tore her attention away from the cop in time to see Remi stalking through the open door. Her cat went from snarling and ready to pounce to wary watchfulness in the presence of a bigger predator. She hated that some of her anxiety eased the moment she caught his scent, but at least her cat’s homicidal urges went from screaming to a dull roar.

And damned if she wasn’t relieved to see Denier, like he was some sort of knight in shining armour. Or, rather, a knight in jeans and a t-shirt. Said jeans hung low on his hips, emphasizing his narrow waist in contrast to the breadth of his chest. The black t-shirt clung to the ridges and hollows of his densely muscled chest and wide shoulders.

“Mr. Denier, she here one of your’n?” Shank turned square to him and jerked his head in Lorelei’s direction.

“All changelings in Swain County are mine.”

She opened her mouth to protest the hard, possessive statement, but Remi cut her off with a look, the cat rising in his eyes. Although they never changed colour, her own cat recognized his and urged her to back down. The animal usually urged the opposite; the sudden shift in temperament had her scrabbling to regain her equilibrium after she’d prepared to fight for control.

Even though the sheriff was human, some latent instincts must have sensed something because he dropped his folded arms to hook his thumbs behind his belt. Remi’s gaze didn’t stray from Shaw’s, but she had no doubt that he was keeping careful track of the cop’s hands in relation to his weapons.

“Ya need to get your girl in line. Had a call she was intimidatin’ folk.” Shank levelled him with a hard look below thick, dark brows.

The thought that either of them believed she was under his protection soothed something within that she hadn’t even known had been stretched taut. The relief was like setting down a burden she’d been carrying for so long she only recognized the strain once it was gone. And that set her teeth on edge.

“The CCTV footage doesn’t corroborate the allegation.” There was a drawl to his voice, but it lacked the thickness of the bayou it’d had when they first met.

“Yer a big guy, what a young girl’d find intimidatin’ you’d hardly sneeze at,” he shrugged.

“Are charges being pressed?” Remi merely tilted his head and, somehow, she knew that his leopard was close to the surface even though his eyes continued to remain completely human.

Some long-buried instinct in Shaw must have recognized it, too, because the hand closest to his stunner twitched. Claws burst from Lorel’s fingertips. For once, she didn’t try to force them back in. Remi, however, kept his hands in his pockets. Only a fool would miss the lethal threat hidden beneath the lazy demeanour. How on earth he managed to hold the alpha’s stare, full of barely restrained savagery, she had no idea.

“Naw, I think we’ll let this’un go with a warnin’.” Shaw shrugged and resettled his hat. “But you best show your girl how things are ‘round here.”

Shocked speechless by the blatant paternalism, she could only gape at him.

“Oh? And just how are ‘things ‘round here’?” Remi’s tone was deceptively calm, but whatever the other man saw on his face had drained the blood from his own.

“Well, that… you see…” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he gulped. “You can’t just go ‘round intimidating people you don’t like!”

“I think you should take your own advice, officer.” The predator was present in his voice. “Cher, why don’t you make a copy of that video for Sheriff Shaw here?” He never looked away from the cop so the silent snarl she threw his way went unnoticed.

“Testosterone’s getting thick in here anyway,” she muttered in a volume pitched for his ears alone.

Once Lorelei was out of the room, the red haze fogging his mind cleared a little and he could think clearly again. Shaw, on the other hand, realized he was alone in a room with a leopard in human skin, which meant he was less likely to do something stupid to prove his masculinity in front of a third, feminine party. Men could usually be counted on to pull supremely senseless stunts when it came to pretty women. Such as issuing premature ultimatums instead of merely taking the measure of a prospective packmate.

“Now look here…” the sheriff licked his lips.

“I assume the human will be charged with filing a false report?” He leaned against the cash counter, bracing his hands against the edge, palms down. The relaxed stance fooled Shaw into downgrading his threat level and puffed up accordingly, crowding the alpha’s space. Remi barely avoided rolling his eyes. His leopard didn’t take it as a challenge, merely huffed and sat down to scratch behind an ear.

“We have to dispatch a car ‘cause if something happens, we could be held liable if we don’t. We don’t want people to avoid callin’ if they see something suspicious.” Remi wondered if the sheriff realized just how much of a stereotype of the rural hick cop he was, despite his law degree. When he’d decided to found RainFire, he’d compiled dossiers on the local Enforcement brass and he knew that Shaw was well-educated. Was it a deliberate good ole’ boy ruse to put the humans at ease?

Lorelei returned with the data chip and his leopard snapped to attention, snarling a warning at the male in the room. Neither half of him wanted the cop anywhere near the curvy redhead. Remi caught the eye of Sugiyama through the door, which was still propped open, and waved him over. The lieutenant accepted the chip and promised it would be entered into the incident report, ignoring his superior who clearly smelled displeased. Scenting no lie from the officer, his leopard settled somewhat.

“Now I assume that Ms. Maddox is free to resume business unless ya’ll have any further questions.” It wasn’t so much a question as it was a threat.

Though Shaw was pissed at the brusque dismissal, he strode out of the bakery. Sugiyama lingered to thank Lorelei for her hospitality and cooperation. Remi crushed the urge to throw the officer bodily out of the shop. He could probably hit Shaw like a bowling pin with the lieutenant as the ball.

“Thank you for your concern, Mr. Denier,” she said stiffly and smoothed her apron. Today, it was patterned with autumn leaves and edged in yellow worn over a russet dress. He wondered what he would find if he tugged on the satin tie and parted that modest Peter Pan collar to lick at the freckles that peppered her neck. Were there more scattered across her creamy breasts? Did they trail across her soft stomach to…

“Mr. Denier, was there something I can help you with?” By the sharp arch of her brow, she was repeating the question. Unlike Shaw, she wasn’t afraid of being alone with him although she was at the other end of the hierarchy. Even with all the training in the world, a submissive could never hope to win against an alpha leopard in a physical battle. And yet still she defied him while maintaining all outward propriety that could never be mistaken for an actual challenge.

“There’s no need to be so formal, please, call me Remi.” It was an obvious ploy to keep him at arm’s length. If she thought that would work, well, she had another thing coming. He intended to solve the mystery of this woman who played at being human, needed to figure out why his cat wanted to hunt her in the most sensual way.

“Was there anything you require?” Icy haughtiness that would have done those few who still clung to Silence proud. Coaxing her out of her shell was going to be fun.

“A ‘thank you’ would be nice.” A slow, feline smile curved his lips.

“For what? Barging in here and claiming responsibility for me like I’m a child?” That was interesting. Most submissives liked feeling safe and protected, that she found it upsetting was another facet to the puzzle of Lorelei Caine/Maddox.

“Keeping you from assaulting a law Enforcement officer.” It had been obvious that she wanted to go for Shaw’s throat the second he walked in.

“Thank you, Mr. Denier, for sweeping in here uninvited and undermining my authority in my own business. I am ever so grateful you patted me on the head and shooed me away while you menfolk postured at each other.” Her tone was sweet enough to drizzle over one of her confections and the drama was so over the top it would have done Scarlett O’Hara proud. Any minute now he expected her to start soliloquizing about root vegetables. “Since you’re marking your territory and all, I think the sheriff peed on that tree over there in case you feel the need to over-mark.”

“Il y a pas de quoi. Next time Shaw wants to cause a fuss, he’ll have to notify RainFire.” She blinked, considering the ramifications of having a pack of predatory changelings on her side when it came to dealing with the bigoted sheriff. “One of the benefits of pack is protection.” It was not just a case of safety in numbers. Dominants lived to defend their pack, the need to protect ingrained into the core of who they were.

“It was one person. Besides, you can’t be there 24/7,” she said dismissively.

The cat didn’t like the insinuation that he couldn’t protect this stubborn woman who regarded him with eyes of cool slate ringed with Prussian blue.

“No one messes with RainFire.” Any and all challenges were met with swift and brutal force. Yet the challenge of Lorelei was one that couldn’t be resolved with violence. Not as the initial offensive, anyway.

“You make it sound like you’re running a protection racket. Should I pay protection money in cookies? Are you going to shake down the grocery store for milk, too?” Cocking a hip, she braced a fist on it and gestured in the direction of the grocer with her other hand.

“What if next time it’s someone with a gun?” The blood drained away from her face and he bristled at the spike of doubt in her luscious sugar and spice scent. At their first meeting, he’d thought that the smell was from her array of goods; now he knew that it was part of her. When he’d walked in, the sweetness had been tainted with a hint of something foul that nearly left an aftertaste. That note quickly faded while he dealt with Shaw and he wasn’t yet certain whence it came.

“Then it’s a good thing I keep a hot pot of tea going.” She glanced at the faintly steaming kettle within arm’s reach. As a makeshift defensive strategy, he had to admit it wasn’t half bad. A faceful of scalding liquid would give even him pause.

“A clever answer,” he mused. “Do you have one for me?”

A faint vertical line formed on her brow. Normally she took care to avoid meeting his gaze in case his leopard took it as a provocation, she did so now with remote appraisal.

“Are you going to kill me if I decline your offer?”

“Only if it’s necessary. Why? Do you plan on hurting my people, t-minou? You’ll find we’re not easy prey.” He knew his eyes flashed cat bright as he stalked closer to her. Wide-eyed, she mirrored his movements until she bumped up against the counter. Bones pushed up against her skin from the grip she had on the white ashwood. The pulse of her heart was a fluttering butterfly under the thin skin of her throat, the sound of it like the hoofbeats of a racehorse.

“If you’re calling my bluff, cher, this is a game you won’t win.”

Tête Dure - Hardheaded

Minou(s) - Cat(s)

T - Small, shortened form of petite

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