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alwaysmarveling · 3 years

Text

Socks

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x reader

Warnings: toxic relationships, small mentions of death, gaslighting, fighting, and miscarriage

Word Count: 4k (literally exactly 4k, I’m kinda proud)

A/N: Based on the song “1 Step Forward, 3 Steps Back” by Olivia Rodrigo as suggested by @vancityfire13, I hope this meets all your hopes and expectations <3 also technically this is my first prompt from someone who’s not me??!

You met Wanda at the library. Your legs crossed, eyebrows scrunched, and bottom lip caught between your teeth, you’d settled in the familiar corner of the library's world languages section. That area was always quiet, which you’d found out after many trips to the library as a kid. When the occasional patron did wander through, perusing the shelves, sometimes they brought family or friends, weaving together sounds and syllables that had to be from another language. It was the only sound you’d tolerate while you were immersed in your reading. Well, to be fully honest, you loved it, wondering what the hushed voices were saying, what stories they were telling. So Wanda’s English was a jarring wake-up call.

“I like your socks.” Her eyes flashed to your ankles, leaving you wondering if she was more drawn to the sky blue color or the characters covering it.

You’d noticed the brunette walking the aisles about ten minutes ago. Unlike most, she ran her fingers along the worn spines, seeming only half-interested in what the titles read.

“Thanks.” Your voice was cold, unwelcoming. She gave you a terse nod before heading off, her footsteps silent against the worn carpet. You thought she was gone.

A week later, you were back at your spot. You’d finally finished the work you’d been putting off for weeks, just about to reward yourself with a reread of Little Women, a book you’d read an uncountable number of times since you were a child. She was an unwelcome interruption.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, but-”

“I was looking for a book for my brother. His name is Pietro. Was Pietro. There was a Sokovian fairytale he always loved. Begged my mother to read it to us every night. He could recite it by memory by the time he was five, knew every word. I thought I did too.” Your eyes traced down the curve of her spine. Your mother would have scolded you for standing so poorly.

“I’m sorry for your loss” was all you said, your lips forming a tight line when you finished.

“I couldn’t- I can’t remember the title.”

“I can try to help you find it?” You weren’t sure why you offered, maybe the lost look in her eyes, the growing strength of her accent as she talked, or the way her fingers traced her empty palms. No one should leave a library empty-handed.

“Do you speak Sokovian?” The corners of her eyes creased as you shook your head.

“I suppose you won’t be much help then, will you?” Her words held no bite, only the sadness of a stranger who was trying to hold herself together, her emotions threatening to unravel her at the weakened seams. You matched her facial expression out of sympathy, but she was gone before you had a chance to apologize.

“Do you like Disney?” she had asked you. Her eyes were back on your ankles. You were wearing the same socks as when the two of you first met. You were milliseconds away from answering, your tongue already against the roof of your mouth, ready to shut down the conversation immediately afterward. But then you noticed the way her hands fidgeted in her lap, her fingers always moving, almost like they were dancing. You sighed. You should be nicer; she’d really done nothing wrong.

“It’s alright.” Your shoulders raised and dropped, your answer purposefully vague. “Did you manage to find the book?” The darkening of her eyes was enough to tell you that, no, she hadn’t found it. “What’s the main character’s name?” Her gaze followed you as you pulled out your laptop.

“Boleslav,” she answered finally. Her gaze was timid, unsure. Why were you helping her? You’d been so closed off before.

“Do you know any major points of the story? The names of the other characters?” Before she could answer, you eyed the pillow that sat next to you. She took a seat.

The two of you poured over Google, eventually finding the story and its location in the library. But by that point, you were too wrapped up in your findings on the Internet to get up. Too wrapped up in each other.

---

Wanda insisted she make it up to you, for finding the book for her.

“For helping me find my brother,” she insisted, pulling you out of the library. If she was anyone else, you would have responded by saying that she could make it up to you by leaving you alone with your books, but she wasn’t anyone else. So you let her tug you out of the building, Mirabelle, the librarian, giving you a wink upon seeing you leaving the building with someone else, soft smiles gracing your faces.

You thought she would’ve brought you to coffee, but it seemed you hadn’t yet developed the ability to understand her. She brought you to the city, a small store on the corner. Socks lined the walls, the different colors and patterns flooding your vision.

“Your Disney ones looked old.” You half-nodded as you scanned the store, your hand going limp in hers. You remembered learning about rods and cones in class ages ago, not quite remembering what each one did but remembering that one of them was involved in seeing colors. Those—whatever they were called—must’ve been on overdrive.

You picked one pair for her, and she, one for you. You wore those socks constantly, slipping them over your feet the second they were out of the wash. You never told Wanda about it, but you didn’t have to; her eyes fell to your ankles every time she saw you, a small smile on her face. You didn’t know if you did it for her reaction or simply because you loved them. Maybe it was both.

---

Wanda drew you into her world. Some might have used the word “yanked” given how quickly your relationship moved. But that made it sound involuntary, as if she’d forced you to move in with her when she’d asked you exactly eight months after your first date. And if you’d known she had powers when you first met her, you might’ve agreed. Maybe she’d entranced you and now you were stuck with her, even if you didn’t really want to be.

But the truth was that you did, you wanted to be with her every second you could. And though magic never left her hands when she was with you, even her name was magic, the way those two syllables rang beautifully in the air as she formally introduced herself for the first time. She spoke English when she talked to you, but you swore that whatever left her mouth was a language of her own, so elegant, sweet, and charming in a way that no English speaker could replicate.

But, one night, her words twisted into daggers, punctuated syllables sharpening into dangerous ends, the beginning of each sentence like a handle she grabbed and used to hurt you further, twist until it was lodged as deeply into your chest as it could go.

You weren’t sure what you did to make it happen. Maybe it was just a bad night. She was drunk, after all, home from some party with the Avengers that you hadn’t gone to. The two of you had talked it over before, though, both agreeing that it was too soon in your relationship to attend anything where it’d be publicly released, which was why you were confused about why she was cursing you out for abandoning her, not being there when you needed her.

You promised that you’d be sure to go next time. Wanda just turned around, dismissing you without another word. You weren’t sure what was worse, the silence or her words. She somehow missed the tears that streamed down your face.

The next day, she knocked on your door. This time, she was the one in tears, the rate at which they fell only increasing when she saw how puffy your eyes were.

“I- I’m sorry,” she bumbled, the sounds tumbling out of her mouth like a barrel coming down the Niagara Falls. She couldn’t have stopped them if she tried. You watched her struggle through an apology, something about her insecurities being magnified as she saw all the other couples around her seemingly happy. She just wanted that. And even though her speech was much more clumsy than the usual effortless diction you were used to hearing from her, you allowed her words to draw you in, provide you shelter from the horrors you’d experienced yesterday, when your heart raced and blood rushed your ears and your palms were so sweaty you couldn’t get a grip on anything. You allowed her arms to draw you in, make you feel safe. You allowed her to bring you home.

---

Wanda saw a side of you that no one had ever seen before. Scratch that, Wanda saw all of you. Where others would’ve looked away or missed the true meaning of your words, she dug deeper. You lived your whole life with a mask on, swapping one out for another to appease those around you. Wanda took them all off.

But she didn’t force them off; she made you want to take them off. You were the one who peeled them off one by one, the experience being extremely unnerving every time you revealed that much more of yourself to her, but you always found yourself relieved at the end. Because she accepted you, she loved you.

Right?

---

You called her once, during a mission. It was something the two of you had been doing ever since you started dating. You would ask how she was doing, make sure she was okay, and she’d do the same for you. Of course, when her missions were off-the-grid you didn’t call, but if the two of you were allowed to stay in contact, she insisted that you guys do so.

“I have to make sure my love is okay,” she’d murmured, just before she left for her first mission since the two of you started your relationship. She was holding you in her arms as the two of you swayed back and forth. Your feet were bare for once, the cold kitchen tile underfoot grounding the both of you. Neither of you had wanted to let go; your hands were clasped firmly together around her waist, and hers rested on top of yours. But eventually, the incessant honking from Tony became too much, and the two of you reluctantly moved apart.

“I’ll call you the second I can, yeah? And make sure you call me in the morning when you wake up.”

“I will,” you nodded as Wanda’s hand came up to brush against your cheek.

But somehow she’d forgotten about your agreement, and nothing but annoyance filled your ear, the phone pressed up against it.

“Y/N, I really don’t have time for this right now.” You sucked in a breath, her tone an instant reminder of that night she’d yelled at you. But that was so long ago. And you hadn’t done anything; there wasn’t a party you’d missed since then, not a moment since then that you’d let her feel alone. Or was there?

“I- I’m sorry,” you stuttered. “Should I call you back later?” All you got was a sigh, doubt and panic filling your chest in the momentary silence.

“We’ll see. Goodbye, milaya.” There was barely a pause in between her voice and the disconnect tone. You weren’t sure if the pet name was sincere or a habit leftover from the good times.

Were you still in the good times?

What went wrong?

Where did you go wrong?

She came back from the mission, and all was well again. She spun you around and around, her melodious giggles filling your ears and causing the corners of your mouth to lift. But you couldn’t help your brows from cinching inwards, wondering where this Wanda had been when you’d called. Was it just another fluke, or maybe something you’d imagined?

“I love you, printsessa, so, so much,” Wanda whispered. You loved the way her smooth voice filled your ears, made you feel whole again. Maybe it was the kitchen? Was that the place she felt safe, the place where she felt like she could love you fully? Maybe that’s why she seemed so closed off during the mission. When you didn’t respond, too lost in thought, she spoke up again.

“Detka, d’you know you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me? I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Her eyes sparkled. No red mist emerged from her fingertips, but you swore Wanda’s essence was magic in and of itself. How could you ever deny her?

You surrendered.

“I love you too. More than anything in the world.”

---

The next day, Wanda woke you up with excitement filling her voice, insisting that you come with her to the compound to pick up some of the things she’d left behind.

“I want to show you off,” she’d laughed as she rolled you over.

“We’ve already met, babe. They love me, you’ve said so yourself,” you groaned. She shook her head as she corralled you into the bathroom.

“You haven’t met all of them! Now c’mon, let’s go!” You agreed, and she was right, there were lots of new people there.

“You must be Y/N, right?” You nodded as you shook the man’s hand.

“I’m Clint. I’ve heard, um, lots about you. And your socks.” The two of you laughed at his joke, but something about his chuckle was off. His smile never quite reached his eyes. Wanda whisked you off too soon for you to figure out why though, bringing you over to a rather large man. No, god, he’s a god. Thor, he said. His name is Thor.

“Hi, I’m Y/N,” you’d responded.

“The love of my life,” Wanda sighed, her voice wispy and dreamy. The god’s eyebrows had raised at that.

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you then, Y/N. I didn’t know Wanda was so fortunate as to have a love so strong.” Sometimes you had to remind yourself of that too. “You are very lucky, my friend.” Am I?

You exchanged jokes with Natasha, learned of some of Bruce and Tony’s new projects, listened to stories of Thor’s childhood adventures on Asgard; the night went well. Until it didn’t.

You were yanked into a mostly empty room, the door quickly shut behind you. Was that a flash of red you’d seen in the corner of your eye?

“What did you do?” someone hissed. The voice was familiar, but by this point, you weren’t sure if it filled you with dread or joy when you heard it. Was that part of the excitement of your relationship, trying to figure out the complexities of it all, trying to predict which version of your lover you’d get this time?

“I don’t know,” you whispered. “I didn’t do anything, Wanda, I swear!”

“Then why is Clint telling me to break up with you? What did you say to him?” Your head shook, your whole body shook. This was news to you.

“I didn’t say anything. Please, Wan-”

“How am I supposed to believe that, Y/N? Do you really think he’d just make that up out of nowhere?” You tried to find the words, the ones you should say, the ones she’d want you to say. You had nothing. The witch’s anger grew, her hands slamming down on her sides. “God, Y/N! It’s like sometimes I don’t even know who you are!”

But wait, that was how you felt. Wasn’t it? Or had you dreamed that up too? What had you done?

“Wanda, I promise I didn’t do anything. I’ve been friendly to him all night.”

“So you expect me to believe he’s lying, then.” Your eyes fell to her chest, its rise and fall rapid but deep, going up and down several times before she spoke again. “Y/N, he named his child after my brother. Why would he lie to me?” You could do nothing, say nothing to fix this. You weren’t sure exactly what you did, but you’d messed up. Again.

“Maybe he’s right, then.” Her hand ran through her hair, the brown locks that you loved to twist around your own fingers, play with as she laid in your lap, a show playing in the background. You missed those times.

But weren’t you just doing that last night?

You weren’t sure. It seemed like so long ago.

---

Weeks, months, even a year passed. Wanda had apologized for that night at the compound. She’d also apologized for the countless number of other times the two of you had fought since then. But it was okay, you’d thought, because for all those arguments was an equal number of moments where the two of you laughed so hard you couldn’t breathe, slow-danced at 3 AM, used your hairbrushes as microphones to sing concerts for your millions of fans. At least, you thought it was an equal number. Did number matter anyway?

Wanda went from being your girlfriend, to being your fiancé, to being your wife. Like Thor had said, you were “very lucky.” You are very lucky. Because right now, you’re looking down at the stick in your hand, and there are two lines, not one. The two of you had done something so many couldn’t; that was a huge blessing. And now you had to tell Wanda.

Finding the box was harder than you thought, but the other part was much easier. All you had to do was go to the store Wanda had taken you to all that time ago, the small store on the corner. And when the brunette lifted open the lid to find a pair of socks so tiny they could only be for one thing, one person, one baby, she knew. She was ecstatic. You were relieved.

Four weeks. Four weeks later from that day was the worst day of your life. Just as quickly as the baby had come, it had gone. He or she was gone. Was it your fault? The doctor had been quick to shut those thoughts down, insisting that there were many factors that could’ve caused the miscarriage, but you certainly weren’t one of them.

But Wanda didn’t talk to you for a whole week, spending the nights in the guest bedroom to avoid you. It was the longest the two of you had gone without speaking. That had to mean something, right?

It did. It meant that it shouldn’t have been a surprise when you came home from work the following Monday to find half of the things missing. All of her things.

The box was still there, though; you saw it out of the corner of your eye. It sat on top of a cabinet, the two socks poking out of the top.

The two of you had fallen in love with those tiny socks faster than you’d fallen in love with each other. They held so much love, so much promise. But now they were empty, devoid of anything they might’ve held just hours before. They were nothing more than a painful reminder of what could have been, what should have been. Meanwhile, your own socks were still on, the same ones Wanda had given to you on your first date. You weren’t sure you could take them off if you tried. Was that a reminder too? Did it have significance?

The ticking of the clock suddenly caught your attention. You had been standing at the doorway for thirty minutes, but what were you supposed to do? Were you supposed to go somewhere? Where would you go? Wanda was gone, not leaving any clue as to where she could’ve run off to, and you were alone.

When was the last time you’d been truly alone?

Didn’t you use to like being alone?

You grabbed your keys. You weren’t sure what you were looking for, but whatever it was, you wouldn’t find it here.

You push open the door, always the one on the right. Walk twenty or so steps through the entrance, turn left. Take another left, then walk-

It was different. Completely different. The shelves weren’t the same color, metal had been swapped for wood, the carpet was new; what had happened?

“Y/N, sweetie, is that you?” Mirabelle’s voice. At least she was still here. You turned to face her, taking in her wrinkled face, the tortoiseshell glasses that had been perched on her nose since you met her as a child. “Oh my goodness, it is! We haven’t seen you in ages. We were all so worried.”

“Wha- what happened to the library?” Her kind smile flipped, her lips separated with their corners turning downwards.

“We got a renovation at the end of last year, honey. Didn’t you see it on the news?”

“Right,” you nodded, swallowing again, trying to push down the lump that had been growing in your throat for over an hour. “Um, where’s the world languages section?”

“Upstairs, love. Take two rights and you’ll see it. Enjoy your visit, okay?” You nodded again, pressing your lips into a wavering smile that Mirabelle accepted.

You found the section easily enough, pushing yourself into one of the beanbags that crowded the floor. It was quiet—you supposed not many people came to the library on a late Tuesday afternoon—but something was missing.

No, that wasn’t it. Nothing was missing. Everything had changed, and you couldn’t settle yourself no matter how hard you tried. You couldn’t recognize the white walls or the large windows that surrounded you. You couldn’t recognize the book in your shaking hands; the title read “Little Women,” but it lacked the comfort and familiarity it once brought you. You couldn’t recognize the artwork that hung on the walls, the large signs suspended from the ceiling.

You caught a reflection in the shiny metal of a book cart that lay several feet away from you.

You couldn’t recognize yourself.

When you finally left the library, Mirabelle frowned as she watched you exit the doors, not stopping to check out a book like you always did. No one should ever leave a library empty-handed. You’d forgotten that too.

---

She came back less than a week later, her cheeks tear-stained and her eyes rimmed with red as she stumbled her way through an apology.

“It was a mistake, detka, I promise. I made such an awful mistake, and I’ll never forgive myself. I won’t blame you if you don’t forgive me either.” You stared at her, neither your eyes nor your mouth moving as you tried to take in what she was saying, tried to come up with an adequate response.

Which had changed more, the library or you?

“Please, you’re the only thing that matters in my life. I can’t lose you.” The melody of her once-full voice was broken, the chords fragmented and notes falling out of tune. It was as broken as you’d felt for the past few days. Maybe she understood. But you couldn’t think anymore because you were suddenly in her arms again, her tears soaking your shirt as she sobbed.

The library had been renovated, its modernity and welcoming environment being a major improvement to the once somewhat dilapidated building. You had slipped, your feet wrapped in the socks Wanda had given you as you stumbled down the dark, crooked hallway of your life, trying desperately to get a hand on the wall, grab a solid footing.

You had two options: save yourself or fall.

“Please, Y/N, please. Promise you’ll stay.”

You fell backwards, your head being the first to slam into the floor.

“Of course I’ll stay, Wan. I’d never leave you.”

You weren’t sure if you’d ever get up. After all, changed or not, what’s a library without its books? Who are you without her?

-----

🏷 : @007giu

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff angst #wanda maximoff #avengers x reader #marvel #mcu #I wrote something #alwaysmarveling

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aminiatureworld · 4 years

Text

Shadowed Rationale

Characters: Albedo, Childe, Diluc, gn!reader

Word Count: 3,597

Warnings: Swearing

Premise: Some things aren’t terribly rational. And some responses are even less so. But what other option is there? Revealing yourself can be a terribly embarrassing thing, isn’t it better to hide it?

In which the reader is afraid of the dark.

Author’s Note: I’ve decided to write based off my own prompt every two weeks. Mostly because I realized I can no longer think of ideas, and also cause I’m a bit writer’s blocked and I’d feel bad writing requests right now. This premise is pretty cheesy, but sometimes simple starting points are the best to build upon! Besides it was a really a chance to work on my atmosphere, sometimes putting an image in your mind on paper is quite difficult, especially when it comes with an unsettling sort of mood.

All the characters I chose are characters I saw at least some point in the 1.4 teaser stream (Kaeya, Xiao, and Zhongli are tomorrow). I’m so excited! Although I have to apologize to Venti, sorry I have no idea how to write you so I chose not to.

I realize I idealize some of these characters (ie: Childe) quite a bit. I hope that they still keep their individuality, that they still stay in character. That being said I’m quite happy with how this turned out to be, so I hope you like it.

Albedo

It’s not that you didn’t trust Albedo. Indeed Albedo sometimes felt like the only person in the world you could trust.

It was simply that, though you two had been in a relationship for the past four months or so, you still wanted to impress him in some way. Or at least not seem like a total idiot. And to you the most idiotic thing you could think of was your fear of the dark.

It wasn’t that it was a totally irrational fear, of course humans were afraid of the dark, how else could they have survived this long? It was more that the fear felt irrational now. And besides, you had a vision. Your partner had a vision. You two were more than equipped for anything that might be lurking in the shadows. Besides it’s not as if your fear had a tangible image in your mind. It was more like a cloud, a miasma, which filled you with anxiety.

You knew you should tell him, knew he’d be nothing less than a perfect gentleman about the matter. But your pride was too great, or perhaps it was your embarrassment. Either you said nothing. And here you were now, in Wolvendom, in the middle of the night, desperately trying not to jump at every shadow you passed.

Albedo wasn’t paying the slightest bit of attention to your nervous disposition; once he’d found something to experiment with he developed the slightly unhelpful habit of blocking the rest of the world out completely. Not that that was terrible for you in current circumstances. Maybe you’d make it out of here with your dignity intact.

That optimism however was drowned out by the oppressive anxiety you felt. Though Albedo had assured you that his connections had managed to get Razor’s promise that no wolves would bother the two of you it was still difficult to contain the shiver up your spine every time you heard their distant howling. The landscape didn’t help, comprised of sharp drops and trees which seemed as if they’d never been alive in the first place. The long cavern in which you two walked seemed too vulnerable, too low to the ground with no way to protect yourself either from behind or above. The valleys were crawling with hilichurls, and you’d occasionally see the silhouette of a wolf or two. You could make out the old Monstadt as well, if you gazed westward, and the solitary, crumbling turret cut an eerie figure against the inky sky.

As Albedo studied the lamp grass that was the reason for your expedition – as he’d developed a curiosity in regards to their luminescence, how it was created and how it might be extracted and experimented upon – you looked around you. Though there was nothing in sight to be afraid of you still found yourself going to draw your weapon, though you were loath to actually do so, not wanting to look silly. After all, only a fool would attack the dark.

Luck, however, wasn’t on your side. You seemed to be spotting a figure, appearing at the other side of the valley in which you’d found yourselves in, walking straight towards you. You blinked rapidly, brain desperately trying to choose between whether or not it was a figment of your imagination. Surely it must be? What sort of cloaked figure would be wandering around in the dark? And yet the other half of your mind whispered that it must be something, something or someone, and that something or someone was fast approaching you. Was it? Or were you just imagining it? You truly couldn’t decide. Another howl echoed on the wind. Your senses were becoming too overwhelmed, too confused. Oh why were you there? Why oh why oh why?

You backed up slightly, brain now determined to see the shadow on the horizon as a human. Your hand clutched your weapon and you tried to remember if there was something, anything behind you. A ridge perhaps, so you might not have to worry about what was behind you, might be able in some ways to ground yourself.

Unfortunately luck wasn’t on your side, and instead of finding some point of security you found yourself tripping over your partner.

“Shit.” Albedo let out a curse as you fell backwards, hitting the ground with a loud thud. “My love are you alright?”

You said nothing, instead glancing back towards the other end of the valley. The figure seemed much skinnier from the ground, and for a moment you felt your brain cloud over in confusion. Then, as if all of a sudden your mind had put the pieces together, you felt a rush of relief, swiftly followed by embarrassment. A trunk. It was a tree trunk. Covering your face with your hands you groaned.

“Beloved?” Albedo asked once again. You looked up at him, a feeling of sheepishness and fondness washing over you as you saw the worried expression on his face.

“It’s nothing Albedo, I’m perfectly fine. It’s just… ah,” you let out a sigh, steeling yourself for the interaction you’d specifically hoped wouldn’t happen, “I’m, I’m afraid of the dark. My eyes were playing tricks on me just now, I thought I saw someone walking towards us. But it was just a tree.” You let out an embarrassed sort of sound, once more burying your face in your hands. Damn it. Now what were you going to do?

The feeling of fabric around your shoulders was a surprising one, and you quickly looked up. Albedo was crouching down beside you, having wrapped his coat around you. There was no sense of shame or embarrassment in his eyes, only love and a sense of caring.

“You should’ve told me.” He said, voice soft and warm. “I’m sorry I brought you along when it makes you so uncomfortable.”

“I’m sorry I’m being such a pain,” you replied, “it’s such a stupid fear of mine. That’s why I didn’t tell you. I felt like, like you’d think I was being irrational. Like I was being silly.”

“There’s nothing irrational about being afraid of the dark my love. It can be frightening after all, not being able to use all your senses to their full capacity. And even if it were an irrational fear, I wouldn’t look down on you for it. Alchemists, those who study the world, they cannot expect to always interact with what is perfect, what is always rational or what always makes sense. Neither are they infallible themselves. Besides,” he continued, brushing your hair out of your face, “I’d rather you be cautious over nothing than see you hurt.”

You found yourself unable to say anything, overcome by his words. It wasn’t that he’d said anything you hadn’t told yourself, you knew after all that being afraid of the dark wasn’t without a purpose, that it wasn’t utterly irrational in itself. But it felt different when Albedo said it. When you said it there was always your anxiety to counter it, when Albedo said it you accepted it as true. For it was Albedo who said it, and he’d never lie to you.

“Thank you.” You mumbled, hugging the coat closer around you, happy to be enveloped in something so familiar and comforting.

“Of course,” Albedo smiled, kissing you on your forehead, “I love you. So very dearly.”

The rest of the night you kept his coat wrapped around you. Although Albedo had quickly reverted to his informative sort of state he hadn’t forgotten what had passed, and every once in a while he’d give you a quick hug, or squeeze your hand in reassurance.

Overall it wasn’t such a terrible night.

Childe

There was no hiding your fears from Childe.

The man was the nosiest – or perhaps most observant – person you’d ever met, and he’d quickly put two and two together as soon as you’d started living together.

Unfortunately for you Childe also had the kind of work schedule that would make a surgeon’s job feel envious. And a part of that schedule entailed you staying up at all hours of the night, trying desperately not to jump at every sound.

You knew that it was going to be one of those nights, and as of such you’d decided to take a nap in the afternoon, so the lack of sleep wouldn’t weigh on you too much. The afternoon sun had been strong, and though you’d decided not to close the curtains you also didn’t bother to keep any of the lights on. After all it wasn’t supposed to be more than an hour long nap or so, and keeping the lights on felt like a bit of waste.

Your regret came the moment you opened your eyes to the pitch black of your room.

How did something change so drastically from daytime to nighttime? All the familiar figures around you seemed to have disappeared, or perhaps it was more accurate to say they’d been transformed. Now even your closet door seemed to have taken on a life of its own, wriggling within its frame as if possessed. The unobstructed window cut harsh lines along your floor, but it was a cloudy sort of night, and every once in a while even the moon would be snuffed out, sending your heart rate skyrocketing once more.

You were utterly and totally paralyzed. At first you’d drawn the covers over your head, hoping to block it all out, but it was a warm evening and quickly you found yourself throwing your blankets off, needing some unobstructed air, met once more with the terror of the dark.

Childe, you wished Childe were here. He always knew how to chase away the dark, how to make the books and the lamps and the dressers go back to their usual selves. His teasing annoyed you sometimes, but now you longed for the distraction. If only he weren’t so late. If only you’d paid better attention to the time, if only.

Your eyes darted around your room, as if seeking out something you knew wasn’t there. You knew that whatever you saw was an illusion, the result of your brain trying to piece something together, something to keep it from getting bored. You knew perfectly well that it was an explainable phenomenon. And yet fear is so very difficult to fight, so though you continued scolding yourself for your nonsensical actions, you also continued to look around, sure that you’d find something if only you paid enough attention.

Time had frozen along with you, and you were so preoccupied with your fear that the door opening came as a terrible shock. You jumped, adrenaline racing through your veins, but the muffled “I’m home” was what you’d been waiting for. You just needed to go greet him. The moment you got out of your room and to the light of the kitchen it’d be alright. But you were still frozen, and though your mind screamed at your limbs to move you found there was no escaping the sort of spell that had been cast by your fear.

The sliver of light from the hallway finally began to eat away at your trance. The door opening to reveal Childe was what completely broke it.

“Darling, what’s wrong?” Childe asked, a look of concerned plastered on his face. You let out a strangled sort of cry as an answer, fumbling off the bed before catapulting straight into his arms, burying your face in his chest. Childe immediately reciprocated the hug, stroking your hair in a soft, soothing motion. It hadn’t taken much to put the pieces together. What else after all could it be.

“It was the dark, wasn’t it?” He asked, whispering a faint “ah” in response to you nodding your head. “It’s okay my darling, I’m here. You don’t have to be afraid anymore, alright? It’s okay, it’s alright. It must’ve been very frightening to be alone.” His voice was almost melodic, the sotto tone slowly coaxing you back to yourself.

How confused would people be, you thought to yourself, how confused they’d be if they realized how kind Childe truly is. But you were grateful for that kindness. Right now it was what you needed. There’d be teasing tomorrow, teasing and bantering, and everything that was the usual Childe. But right now there was only comfort and softness, and you thanked Childe and the archons for it.

The rest of the night was a sedate one. You were both tired, Childe from his work, you from not only yours but the terrible fright you’d had. The two of you had eaten a late dinner, chairs pulled up next to each other, hands intertwining intermittently. There wasn’t much talking, instead you two enjoyed being in each other’s presence; the familiarity and comfort it brought.

Though the night was still warm you found yourself cuddling, arms wrapped around one another, legs tangled together. The beating of Childe’s heart steadied you, his breathing reminded you that he was there, that you were safe now. You didn’t have to fear the demons that your mind imagined. He’d scare them away for you.

It was difficult to keep secrets from Childe, and in the beginning the urge had been there. Who would want a significant other who jumped at shadows and was always spinning tales of the dark in their head? Especially someone like Childe who was so confident, so self-possessed. It was shameful, a part of you told yourself, how could he bear it?

But you were glad he’d figured it out, that you couldn’t keep secrets from him. Because at the end of the day Childe knew you best, knew how to keep the fear and the anxiety at bay, knew that being afraid of the dark, although worth a little teasing, didn’t make you any less of a mature and intelligent human being. And for that you loved him.

You loved him so much.

Diluc

“I know this might be sudden, but I want you to move into the Winery.”

That simple sentence had the adverse effect of completely messing up your life.

Your initial reaction had essentially been to buffer. Living together with Diluc, living with the person you loved above all others, it really seemed like a dream come true. Like something you’d wish to happen without any hope of said wish being realized. And yet it wasn’t a dream. He’d actually asked you. Diluc had actually asked you to live with him.

Once you’d gotten over your initial euphoria however a problem seemed instantly to present itself. That problem being that you were absolutely terrified of the Winery after dark.

I mean, who wouldn’t be? It was an old building, old enough for servants to whisper about lights that turned on without prompting, about footsteps coming down the empty halls, about people of old stepping out of their portraits and dancing the night away. It was absolutely terrifying to you, who already looked upon the dark with no little suspicion. And although the occasional night with Diluc was fine, you weren’t sure if you could deal with waiting in such a vast, creaking space alone.

But you didn’t want to tell Diluc that. Because though you were indeed a bit terrified, living with him did sound heavenly. It was something you dreamed of, and you didn’t want Diluc to come away with the wrong impression, the idea that you somehow thought he was being too familiar or going too fast. The thought of telling Diluc about your predicament never crossed your mind in the span of the conversation. After all it wasn’t as if he could do anything about it, he couldn’t very well redo the entire winery. Besides, it was such a silly fear, telling him about it would feel like you were making a mountain out of a molehill.

Eventually your mind settled on an answer: dragging the matter out. Professing your happiness at the idea you told him that it would require some mulling over, not to mention the paperwork in regards to the apartment you were currently living in. Diluc took it all with perfect understanding, assuring you that he could wait. “Besides,” he’d said, “what’s a little while when compared to the rest of our lives?” You’d blushed profusely at that, burying your face in Diluc’s neck. Yes, it would be alright in the end. And with that you pushed it out of your mind.

For the time being.

Although Diluc had many virtues patience was – perhaps surprisingly – not among them. Not more than three days had passed before he mentioned it again. Not that you were unhappy about it, no it wasn’t that. Nor did you feel pressured by him, you certainly didn’t. It was just the question of the Winery itself, and the fear that hung over your head like a sword. Just some time, a little more time.

The days turned into weeks, then almost a whole month, the whole time being wrapped up in your little song and dance. Diluc was evidently feeling dejected, but though you felt more than a little guilty about the whole matter, you still continued stalling.

Finally though things came to a head.

“My dear I understand if you don’t want to move in, but please just tell me!” Diluc burst out, voice dripping with frustration. “I understand if this is going too fast, I understand if you’re overwhelmed, I understand if you realize you’re not ready. But you must tell me, you must tell me what you’re thinking or else I’ll never be able to put this at rest.”

“It’s not that.” You assured him, shaking your head violently.

“Then what is it?” Your reply stuck in your mouth at his question. Why had it come to this? Conflicting emotions rose inside you, but all of them pointed towards one thing. You needed to tell him the truth. You needed to, or else this was going to turn into one of the stupidest rows you’d ever participated in.

“I… I’m afraid of the dark.” You replied softly, voice petering out to be no more than a whisper. Immediately the look of exasperation on Diluc’s face was replaced by one of concern.

“My dear?”

“I’m afraid of the dark,” you replied, this time with more force, “I’m afraid of the dark and I’m really afraid of the Winery after dark. So that’s why I’ve been putting it off. Not because I don’t want to move in, not because I think this is going too fast, but because the Winery makes me uncomfortable after dark. It’s so creaky and open and old and while that might be charming in the daytime, at night I feel like someone’s watching me.” You hugged yourself slightly, the image placed vividly in your mind. Yes, you did feel like you were being watched. Everywhere you turned you were surrounded by the eyes of those who were long gone, and it frightened you, how terribly it frightened you.

Diluc closed the distance between the two of you, wrapping you in his embrace. You reciprocated immediately, inhaling deeply, comforted by his presence.

“I’m sorry my dear, I didn’t know. If I had I’d have never proposed it.”

“You couldn’t’ve known,” your voice was slightly muffled by his jacket, “besides, I didn’t want to tell you. Because I knew you couldn’t do anything about it.” Lifting your head up you gazed at Diluc, who cupped your face with his hand.

“You don’t have to move in my dear.” Diluc’s voice was soft but firm, there was nothing but sympathy and encouragement in it. You smiled softly, leaning into the palm of his hand.

“But I want to. That’s the problem Diluc, I desperately want to move in. And yet I don’t know what to do. I can’t have you hanging around me each night. You’re the Darknight Hero. I cannot expect you to give that up for me. Even if you said you would I wouldn’t let you. I know how much it matters to you.”

There was a pause before Diluc spoke again. “Then let me suggest this. We see ways that we might accommodate. Perhaps a night lamp or some such thing. Or perhaps I need to pay more attention to the structure of the Winery. We’ll see what we can do together, and if nothing can be solved then we’ll find another way. Is that alright, my dear?”

“That sounds lovely.” You replied, finally smiling in earnest. What did you do to deserve such a human in your life? It felt like too much sometimes. You were experiencing such happiness as you seldom had before, not to such a degree. And you cherished it with all your heart.

It was the evening. You two were getting ready for the night, you preparing to go home, Diluc preparing for the task ahead of him.

“You spoil me terribly, you know.” You said, planting a quick kiss on Diluc’s cheek. Diluc smiled slightly mischievously, leaning down to give you a proper kiss.

“I don’t spoil you.” He finally replied, expression softening to one of fondness. “And if there was anyone in the world worth spoiling it’s you. I love you my dear, I’d do anything for you.”

“And I for you.” Your reply was soft, you yourself overcome by the love you felt.

It’d be alright in the end. If you knew anything, you knew that. It’d be alright. Because you’d have the one you loved most in the world with you every step.

#this title is so pompous...#the other option was 'irrational'#Blatant wish fulfillment when it comes to wearing albedo’s coat #Also is Diluc’s too rushed?#genshin impact #genshin impact fanfiction #albedo #childe #diluc #albedo x reader #childe x reader #diluc x reader #scenarios #my writing

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pluviophile-imagines · 4 years

Note

LOWI CONGRATS ON THE FOLLOWER MILESTONE!! 🥺💞💞💞 u deserve it and so much more!! for the kiss prompt could i get 18 with shinsou ?? 🥺👉👈

TYSM SOFFFF so uh. I’ve been fuckin stupid dkfnskfb my dumbass rlly wrote Shinsou correctly on my master post like a week ago and then still managed to write for Shigaraki instead when it came to the actual piece 😳 so thanks to my handyman brainrot you get two—that’s right, two!—characters for the price of one ur welcome ♥️ I cheated a lil bit so shinsou;s not sitting in the reader’s lap it’s just his head but i think its cute 🥺 also Shiggy’s is like twice as long as ive been trying to write them oops i rlly like the jealous reader premise 👉👈 it’s under the read more bc of that and bc of kiiiinda spoilers? if yall arent caught up to the manga you won’t get it but if u are it’s canonical. Whew that was a lot! Enjoy!

Kisses where one person is sitting in the other’s lap

Shinsou

To say that your relationship with Shinsou is new would be an understatement. You’ve been friends for years—ever since the third year of high school when you’d been assigned to him as his support—but you’ve never been particularly close until recently when you’d once again found yourself working on his hero costume and support items.

He’d only asked you out yesterday after nearly two months of tension-filled glances and fleeting touches. Now, the two of you are watching a movie at your mutual friend Kirishima’s apartment, sitting quite awkwardly on a loveseat and pretending like you don’t want to get closer to each other. You haven’t told your friends yet about your new relationship status, but that’s not entirely what’s holding you two back. If anything, it’s run-of-the-mill first date awkwardness (if watching a movie with six of your closest friends around can be considered a date), too afraid to initiate anything.

The movie’s dull; the two of you have pulled out your phones to snark at each other through text, a strategy you’d begun weeks ago after being hushed one too many times by Kaminari because you were talking too loudly. The bright screens probably aren’t all that much better, but you two are in the back anyway; nobody can see it unless they turn away from the TV.

You risk a glance up and end up locking eyes with Shinsou. Your face heats up, heartbeat quickening, as he gives you a charming smile. You watch him glance around the room, unsure at first why he’s doing it until he turns his attention back to you and slowly, silently, moves over across the loveseat into your personal space.

Your legs are touching now, faces so close your nose is nearly brushing his. One of his hands has come to brace against the armrest you’re leaning on, allowing him to stay leaning in.

“Hey,” he says, little more than a whisper and clearly hushed so the others don’t hear.

“Hey yourself,” you respond, earning yourself a low snort.

Instead of vocally responding, he pushes himself back up to a sitting position and then moves his hands to maneuver your legs until you’re no longer curled up against the couch’s backing but sitting like a normal person.

Then he lays down, head resting on your thighs, and turns to face the movie.

You’re grinning uncontrollably. All possible self-conscious thoughts of the others seeing you are dashed from your mind; you like the weight of him in your lap too much.

You spend much of the rest of the movie like that, easily over half an hour. A few minutes in he reaches down to find your hand and bring it to his hair, encouraging you to stroke it. It’s even softer than you’ve imagined in the past, fluffy and thick and genuinely nice to run your hands though. There’s a surge of contentment that rushes through you, and maybe a little bit of pride at the knowledge that you can do this pretty much any time you want now.

By the end of the film, you’re pretty sure Shinsou’s fallen asleep. He gives you the scare of your life, however, when he grabs your arm as you’re trying to pull away. His eyes open, purple irises trained on you.

What happens next you blame on grogginess, him still not quite being awake. He blames it on you; whenever you mention it, he says he saw you and had become consumed with an overwhelming desire to just lean up and kiss you. Whatever the reason, it’s nice for you.

His hand comes up to the back of your neck, tugging you down just as much as he lifts up. It begins soft, kind of sweet, just lips as the two of you melt into each other—but it doesn’t stay that way for long. Within moments the two of you morph the kiss from a quick peck after a movie to a very passionate makeout, and frankly you’d be more concerned if they hadn’t interrupted the two of you.

You pull away when you hear Kaminari’s wolf whistle, left sitting on the loveseat with a burning face and your boyfriend in your lap, still half asleep.

Shigaraki

You’re not jealous.

No, you’ve been dating Tomura for months. You can’t be jealous when he’s, well, yours, and has been for quite some time. You’re his first relationship, his first everything, and it’s frankly foolish of you to feel this insecure just because some floozy is simpering at him from across the enormous room where you and the rest of the League are scattered about. It’s not like she really wants him, or even knows him; he’s just the hew big-shot leader and she’s decided being his lover sounds good. Too bad that role’s already taken.

Still, there’s a sinking feeling in your chest—an ache in your heart, a burning lump in your throat—that says now that Tomura is Grand Commander he’ll drop you for someone better.

You don’t realize you’re glaring daggers at the woman until she catches your eye. She has no business looking that smug; the only reason she’s allowed in the room is to give Tomura reports. You’re the one lounging next to him as she approaches; he has your legs over his lap, his thumb absent-mindedly rubbing circles on your thigh.

And when she bends down to drop the report on his lap (as if your damn legs aren’t there, you want to scoff) she draws the eyes of every League member except the one she wants, because you’re the one who has Tomura’s attention.

He’s wearing Father, but you’ve long passed being afraid when he looks at you from between those lifeless digits and you can see the expression beneath; those lips tugging down slightly in a pout, brow furrowed, eyes far softer than they have any damn business being while hiding behind the severed hand of his old man. He’s concerned, and a little confused.

Tomura plucks the report from your legs and sets it aside, reaching to pull you fully into his lap. To your surprise he takes Father off, too; he buries his face into your neck to prevent the outsider from seeing, lips just brushing your ear so that you can hear him.

“What’s wrong?”

“Hm?”

“You’ve been pouting ever since the secretary came in, brat.”

Like hell you’re saying anything in front of her. You remain stubbornly silent.

He doesn’t like that, you can tell, but while the secretary’s interest is lost on him he knows you well enough to tell that you’re uncomfortable with her. Presumably that’s why he doesn’t press the issue and kisses you instead.

You don’t expect it. Tomura’s not exactly one to shy away from PDA (you’re sitting in his lap in front of the whole League, for fuck’s sake), but intimacy is something he’s never wanted to take beyond closed doors. When he’s in a sour mood you’ll kiss him sometimes, even in public (he’s invigorated by your affection in many way, but never anything you’d call heated.

This kiss, though, is. It’s anything but chaste, perhaps even downright lewd. He’s all but initiating a makeout with you while Miss Secretary is standing right there. Maybe his affection-motivated ways are rubbing off on you, but it helps more than it probably ought to.

You’re dazed by the time he pulls away. The sound of the door slamming closed snaps you from your trance. The secretary, ploy foiled simply by your annoyed expression, had left. It doesn’t matter. None of this was ever really about her in the first place.

“There,” Tomura says, audibly quite pleased with himself. “She’s gone. Now tell me what’s wrong.”

You sigh, leaning in to tuck your own head into his shoulder. Your voice is muffled when you speak, quiet so that only he can hear.

“It’s dumb.”

“It’s bothering you,” he says simply. There’s an underlying statement there: tell me so I can destroy it for you. In many ways, Tomura is a predictable man.

You know he’s not going to drop it, so you accept your fate. “She was making a pass at you.”

He tenses beneath you, holding you closer. You risk lifting your head from where it’s buried to see the way his nose is scrunched up. “She wasn’t.”

“Yeah, she was.”

There’s a pause, like he’s processing everything you’re saying. Then, seemingly finally registering what exactly is bothering you, his hands move to grip your hips and maneuver you to straddle him, sitting fully on his lap facing him. “Fine. Why’re you pissed about it, then?”

You lean in again, arms coming to wrap around his neck as you bury your face into his chest and try to ignore the tears that are coming. You’d never be able to live it down if any of the others saw you crying over the fucking secretary.

But you know more than anyone thanks to many late nights assuring your boyfriend he’s the only one for you that Tomura can empathize with this insecurity. It’s a little strange how the script has flipped.

“She’s a high ranking MLA member, she probably has some crazy strong quirk. I’m quirkless. I dunno. I guess I’m scared you’ll drop me for someone like her. Like I said, it’s dumb.”

He doesn’t speak for a moment. You sit there, listening to his heartbeat and matching your breathing to his. Then he speaks.

“Your emotions aren’t dumb. It’s okay that you’re feeling this way. Thank you for telling me.” He’s parroting you, you realize; this is what you tell him every time he comes to you for comfort when he’s gotten in a mood. You feel a little fuzzy, warmth flooding your chest. “But I think we both know they’re irrational.”

“Tomura… I—”

“I’m not interested in some lame-ass NPC,” he interrupts, no hesitation and entirely sincere. He doesn’t even need to think about it. “You’re my player two, my endgame. The only thing in this world worth protecting. You really think that secretary can hold a candle to you? I didn’t even notice her. Why would I when you’re here?”

You can’t help it, you surge upward and kiss him, just as passionately as he had you mere moments before. His right hand traces up your spine to find the back of your neck and pull you closer, sending a thrill through your body as your own arms tighten around him.

“Oi! Horndogs! Get a damn room, don’t make us see that!”

You break away at Dabi’s words, panting slightly, and if the sincerity of Tomura’s little rant hadn’t convinced you that his words were true, the look of utter adoration he’s regarding you with would have.

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mindibindi · 3 years

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They are destroying Rebecca’s character this season and this Sam bullshit is the final nail in the coffin for her. What the f*** are they doing to their female lead ??

Well, I suppose this is the danger of offering resolution early in the piece and why so few television writers do it, particularly when it comes to romantic relationships. Because then there is the looming question of What Happens Next. So many writers prove that, while they may have the imaginative juice to create, they don't have what it takes to re-invent.

Whether you understand her as the protagonist or the antagonist of the first season of Ted Lasso, Rebecca's big revenge plot drove s1, gave it a clear narrative arc. This inaugural season likewise gave her character a clear and compelling arc. You could posit that, while Rebecca's pain drove season 1, Ted's pain is meant to be driving season 2...? But whatever Ted is going through does not have as clear-cut an objective so it is not giving the same sense of cohesion or direction. Within her s1 arc, we got to see Rebecca feel angry, frustrated, victorious, smug, thwarted, conflicted, heart-broken and vulnerable. Last season gave Hannah Waddingham so many opportunities to show the range of her skills as an actor and I still hope she wins an Emmy for this performance. But I doubt she will be winning any awards for her performance this season.

Most situation comedies stick to the same situation, snapping their characters back to where they were at the beginning of each episode. Certainly, this formula can become repetitive and dull after years. Ted Lasso received a great deal of praise when it broke this formula by offering resolution at the end of its first season no less. It broke the no-hugging-no-learning mantra of so many sitcoms when it allowed Rebecca to learn from her trauma, come clean and literally embrace Ted as a valuable part of her life. Since her character went on the biggest journey of the season, the question of What Happens Next was always going to be more significant for her than it was for any other character on the show.

Season 1 of Ted Lasso made me fall in love with Hannah Waddingham and the character of Rebecca Welton. But as much as it pains me to say it, in s2 she is nothing like the problematic powerhouse we met in s1. Her friendships with Keeley and Higgins continue on nicely enough. She's had some good moments with characters she had little interaction with in s1, like Roy and Nate. And it was great to meet her mother and god-daughter. But this fleshing out of the character is mostly work around her rather than work that propels her forward in any meaningful way. I understand that some people may be content just to watch Rebecca living her best life after the intensity of last season. But, for me, the pursuit of heterosexual romantic love by a woman to the exclusion of all else is a problematic aim since women have been told for centuries that securing a man is the single most important thing they can achieve in their lives.

Rebecca wants love and doesn't want to be alone. She's stated that, that's canon and that's fine. But romance seems to be Rebecca's ONLY aim, her single focus. We haven't seen her do anything in her role as club owner except make a phone call and look sharp, which I admit she does well. The woman looks INCREDIBLE. But if you are in your right mind (at least in my opinion), you are not expecting this amazing woman to end up with a pretentious windbag, a hot booty call or a wildly inappropriate youngster. So it all seems a bit aimless, purposeless. All of this dithering about with wrong dudes is just a waste of time when we have limited time with these beloved characters. We know we are only getting three short seasons of this show and I don't want to spend a full season watching a previously complex female character stare at her phone, only ever prompted into (questionable) action by her cute best friend. And I DEFINITELY don't want to watch...whatever the fuck they think this thing is with Sam.

Frankly, I am still flabbergasted that they have chosen this path. They genuinely seem to think that their audience will enjoy this as some hot romantic adventure...? And hey, a small but vocal minority are. Some diehard fans are trying to hold onto their faith with white knuckles. And the rest of us are just over here in compete and utter shock at the suddenness of the decline in this show's quality and ethics. The latest justification some fans are rather desperately grasping at seems to be that Rebecca's actions stem from her trauma. Now...okay. Trauma can be responsible for many things. But not this. Trauma can make you act in v strange ways but I don't see the connection here. I can clearly see how Rebecca's trauma from her first marriage dictated her actions towards Ted in s1. That is a very clear line to draw. I can see how, after her disastrous marriage, her judgement may be off and she may go for someone like John Wingsnight: someone safe, solid and appropriate. Again, a clear line to draw. I can also see why she would indulge in fun, shallow sexual relationships with the waiter in Liverpool and her booty call from bantr. All normal, understandable behaviour for a woman in her situation. And a v clear narrative line for the writers to draw. No problems there. Her actions in each of these cases can be traced back to Rupert and his abuse. But I cannot for the life of me draw a line between Rupert and Sam. As a traumatic reaction, that does not make a shred of sense to me.

It's true that sometimes those who have been abused become abusers, not that I'm saying Rebecca is abusing Sam in this scenario. What I am saying is that most trauma survivors will go out of their way to avoid becoming anything like their abusers. Most survivors try their damnedest to break the cycle of abuse, not perpetuate it. Most victim-survivors will act, sometimes even to their own detriment, to spare others from being impacted by their pain and trauma. Trauma and abuse does not break your moral compass. If anything, it makes it stronger. Trauma and abuse heightens your sensitivity to what is right, just and honest. Having seen Rebecca ultimately unable to follow through in her trauma-inspired revenge plot on Ted, it does not make sense to me that she is blindly (without any of the nuanced inner conflict of s1 Rebecca) allowing her trauma and abuse to lead her into a situation that not only emulates her ex-husband's hurtful, unethical behaviour, but endangers what is now supposed to be so valuable to her.

All the press for s2 as spruiked Rebecca as a dating disaster but enthusiastically committed to her club. There is a huge difference, however, between charmingly, comedically 'messy' and inept to the point of self-destructive stupidity. I just don't buy her as this dumb. Yet here she is, after all her dealings with the savage British press last season, endangering the reputation of herself, her club and one of its most vulnerable players. Oddly enough, the Rebecca we saw in s1, with her many layers and nuances, seems to me to be a far more moral (not to mention interesting) rendering of this character. This Rebecca was motivated by injustice, she had an acute understanding of what was and wasn't right. It's why she conceived of her revenge plot and also why she ultimately dropped it. It is one thing for writers to propose that there are multiple steps on the way to healing. It is one thing for them to lead a character into a dark forest full of conflict and complication. But, from what I can tell, some people don't know the difference between a dark forest and straight-up bad writing. And it really fucking shows.

#ted lasso #rebecca welton #hannah waddingham #sam obisanya #ask #whoops another long post without a cut #sorry not sorry

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lazywonderlvnd · 4 years

Note

*hesitantly steps in the box* Umm.. soo.. I was listening to Cruel Summer by Taylor Swift again and that song (is awesome btw if you haven't listened to it already) just gives me such MAJOR drarry vibes .. like -

" And I screamed, 'for whatever it's worth I love you, ain't that the worst thing you ever heard?' He looks up grinning like a devil. "

Like if that's not drarry I'd chomp my pillows. So .. *twiddling thumbs* could you pls write something with that line as a prompt?? Pretty please 🥺🥺🥺❤️❤️❤️ maybe use the song as inspiration.. idk? Whatever you like. ALSO, don't forget I STILL LOVE YOU that ain't changing yet and you haven't seen the last of me! Imma tail after you for eternity and you better take that as the threat it is! *throws love at you* BYE!! ❤️❤️ *vaults outside the box*

my sweetest most loved angel!! thank u so much for this prompt based on a BOP i was obsessed w when the album first came out. it got sm longer than it was meant to be, so it can be found on ao3 as well!! i hope u like it ilysm ❤️❤️❤️❤️

warnings for minor drug use (weed) and implied suicide of a minor character (lucius, extremely vague reference but pls be aware!)

rating: e word count: ~5k

When Pansy asked him how it started, Draco discovered that he didn’t know what to tell her.

Technically, though, it had started at Ernie Macmillan’s party in the beginning of summer, with the cloying scent of Freesias and Freedom Roses (“Imported from the States,” Ernie told Draco pompously, when he asked) and all those string-lights dangling from the cedar pergola, perennial balls of fire inside their clear bubbles like tiny trapped suns. Cheap beer in plastic cups, Marlboro cigarettes, and some stupid Muggle game ... darts.

Technically.

* * *

“Get off me, Potter,” Draco says in a failed whisper. He’s laughing and drunk and fuzzy warm under a sprawling summer’s night sky that looks like black paint. Potter tastes like Guinness every time he kisses him, and his hands are surprisingly soft. In direct opposition to his own command he pulls Potter in by the face and glues their mouths back together ravenously. The alcohol makes him sloppy (he likes it, though — the sloppiness of it) and Potter’s skin is warm where Draco slides his hand under an ugly Muggle band T-shirt to touch.

Around the corner, he can hear music coming from the patio where nearly every single one of their former classmates are gathered, drinking and laughing and getting along famously with a much-needed buffer of five years between them and their Hogwarts days.

Much-needed for himself and Potter as well. Apparently.

He sees him sometimes, at get-togethers like this or around the Ministry, once or twice at a dinner party thrown by a mutual friend. They’re always cordial. He hasn’t insulted Potter to his face in five years.

Except for tonight, when he couldn’t help himself loudly drawing attention to the similarities between Potter’s hair and one of the shrubs in the garden. But they’re kissing now round the side of the house and because of that he’s quite glad for his slip. And it’s their five-year reunion, so. What would it be without some bickering between the two of them?

Potter presses him into the bricks and snogs him breathless, only he keeps grinning and laughing and ruining everything just when Draco starts losing himself in it.

“Quit laughing,” he scolds him. “You’re the worst, Potter. No etiquette at all.”

“That’s rude,” Potter says. His breath wafts across Draco’s mouth. His eyes are excessively green behind their round frames, which have not changed since their school days. The scar is mostly hidden beneath his wild fringe, save for the very bottom where it slashes neatly through a dark eyebrow and touches his eyelid. “I can’t help it, I’m pissed good and proper.”

His hand moves to Draco’s hip and even through the thickness of the alcohol coating his brain like a muffler he feels that touch clear and ripe as daybreak.

“So that’s why you’ve decided to snog me rather than …” He waves a hand vaguely, in lieu of the proper witticism with which he might normally have trounced Potter. “You know. Beat me to a pulp.”

“I only did that one time,” Potter says, grinning. Grinning and moving his thumb in circles on Draco’s hip. “And it was because you were being a twat. And I didn’t beat you to a pulp. You’re so dramatic.”

“Semantics,” Draco says. “I had a bloody nose.”

“And you deserved it.”

“Now who’s being rude?”

Potter kisses him again.

Guinness and Freesias.

* * *

“Macmillan’s party,” he told Pansy. “He kissed me.”

“So that’s where you disappeared to.” She looked smug. Her inch-long nails were sharpened to a point and painted a glossy black, and she drummed them against her cheek, the way a cat flicks its tail. “I’m surprised you kept it from me this whole time.”

“Well,” said Draco, lowering his gaze to his glass of wine and watching it flirt dangerously with the lip as he swirled it. His cheeks felt warm, but he wasn’t embarrassed. “We snuck around.”

Right, maybe a little embarrassed. Mostly conflicted.

“Oh?” For a single syllable the laughter underneath was remarkably transparent.

He looked up, eyebrows lifted. “Yes,” he said a little defensively. “For obvious reasons. At first it was just sex. A lot of it, so he usually came here. Apparently Granger and the Weasel are notorious for popping round his place unexpectedly.”

* * *

He feels opened up all over again every time Potter fucks into him, unhurried and so careful. His hand is hot on Draco’s thigh, both of them sticky with sweat and come. This has to be their third round at least, and Draco’s sluggish brain insists it might actually be four.

An open window lets in the late afternoon air, humid and drowsy and perfumed heavily with flowers (a la Macmillan, Draco planted Freesias and Freedom Roses outside his bedroom window and helped them along to full bloom with some careful magic). Potter’s hair is damp with sweat — from exertion and the relentless heat of July — and Draco slides his fingers into it, tangles them and pulls the way he’s learned Potter likes. If he’s honest, he’s harboured a very secret and very desperate yearning to touch Potter’s hair since he was quite young. He doesn’t know why.

Well, maybe he knows why.

Potter makes a quiet, whimpered noise that curls Draco’s toes. He speeds up his hips, closing in on his orgasm and putting his face in Draco’s neck even though it’s too fucking hot for it.

“Fuck,” Draco whines. He tries to lift his leg higher, wrap it around Potter’s waist to get that perfect angle, but they’re too slick with sweat and he lets out a frustrated noise when it falls back to the bed. “Potter,” he says helplessly, arching into each thrust and shaking with the effort. This third (fourth?) orgasm is building too slowly, sitting there hard and stubborn and heavy in his gut and refusing to be coaxed to completion. He’s dripping with the effort, muscles quivering. “Please — I need —”

But he seems to have figured it out for himself. He scoots forward, lifting Draco’s arse higher off the bed and bending him nearly in half. The angle helps him go deeper and he’s suddenly nudging Draco’s oversensitive prostate every time he fucks back in.

“Right there,” Draco gasps, tensing as this new angle lights a fire under his elusive orgasm. His cock is leaking but he doesn’t have the strength or energy to get a hand around it. Potter’s grunting with the effort of fucking him, sweat dripping down his temples and making his neck and torso gleam. “Right there, god, right there, please, I’m so close —”

Potter braces himself and redoubles his efforts, and it’s like he’s reached inside Draco and sunk his claws into that building storm in his belly because suddenly it’s ripped right out of him in a colossal wave of euphoria that approaches too much, cock spurting untouched between them . Potter keeps moving inside him while he rides it out, and at some point he feels the warm, wet explosion of Potter emptying in him, mumbling incoherent things that include Draco’s name.

They come down together too. Draco is clutching Potter’s arms and trying to catch his breath and Potter is trembling and clutching him back like an anchor in a veritable ocean of sensation.

It’s like this every time.

When Potter drops down onto the bed beside him Draco rolls over and kisses him, long and deep and satisfying, and Potter reciprocates with the kind of intensity that is completely unique to him as a person.

“That one was particularly good,” says Potter, and Draco laughs.

When he feels like moving, he knows that Potter will get up and go to Draco’s kitchen and make tea for both of them, and he won’t need to ask what Draco likes, because he remembered after the first time. They’ll drink it naked in bed as the sun sets on another endless summer day and transforms before their eyes into a humid and pungent summer night, in the midst of which they will fuck at least three more times, and Potter will keep smelling like sweat and bergamot and boy, and Draco will keep feeling starved for him.

And they won’t talk about it.

* * *

“And?” Pansy said.

“And what?”

“You said ‘at first,’” she pointed out, and arched a groomed eyebrow. “When did it turn into more than just sex?”

Draco tamped down on a smile, because that would have been more emotion than he cared to show at the moment. To Pansy or to himself.

He swirled his wine again and took a long sip, stalling. He wanted — needed, really — to talk this out with her, but he was becoming aware of an uncomfortable heaviness in his chest which was suggesting to him that he didn’t want to share everything. Not because he was embarrassed, but, well … it was private. It was between him and Harry.

“There was this one night he came over later than he was supposed to because of work,” Draco said. The memory stirred some emotion. He hadn’t thought of it in a while. “He had this bloody huge takeout bag of Thai food.”

* * *

He sets it down on Draco’s desk, takes out a container, and after toeing off his shoes drops sideways onto Draco’s bed with it and uses chopsticks to shovel in a mouthful of noodles. Draco watches this in awe.

“Want some?” Harry asks once he’s swallowed (small blessings). There’s grease around his mouth. “There’s a million other things in the bag but you have to get it yourself. I’m dead tired.”

Draco thinks of asking what the hell is going on, because they’re supposed to be fucking by now, but something stops him. Harry really does look exhausted but quite content eating his Thai food on Draco’s bed, and he doesn’t have the heart to berate him for it or remind him that they’re fuck buddies, not friends, and that if he’d wanted to eat and lounge about perhaps he should’ve stayed at home.

And the food really does smell good.

He gets up and fishes another container out of the bag that turns out to be some sort of heavenly-smelling marinated beef, which he brings back to the bed. Harry’s rolled onto his back and has the container of noodles balanced on his stomach.

“They thought they found a Horcrux on a raid,” he says. His voice is perfectly casual, but Draco thinks he can see something troubled in his eyes. He has one foot crossed over the other and it’s bouncing anxiously; he doesn’t think Harry’s aware of doing it. “Wasn’t. Obviously.”

“But they needed your expert advice to be sure.”

“Yeah.” Harry looks at him, then his food. “Is that the beef?”

“Yes it is.”

“Good?”

“Haven’t tried it yet.”

He opens the container and chooses a piece, but instead of lifting it to his mouth he follows some crazy impulse and hovers it over Harry’s instead.

“Open, Scarhead,” he says. Harry blinks but does it, and Draco drops it in. He smiles, then chews.

“Brilliant.”

* * *

“We ate it instead of fucking. It was the first time I realised something had shifted.”

“And you let it shift?”

The question gave him pause. He didn’t answer right away, mulling it over. It made it sound as if he’d had a choice, and that wasn’t quite right.

“It already had,” he said finally. “It wasn’t a matter of letting it; by the time I noticed, it had already happened. Otherwise he wouldn’t have come over with the food.”

“But you did let it continue,” said Pansy. She wasn’t antagonising him, nor accusing him of anything. She looked amused, but not in a way that was at his expense. Pansy was both a twat and a fiercely good friend, the combination of which meant she would do nothing more or less than hold up a mirror and force you to look at yourself, gruesome as the experience inevitably wound up being. “Even after you realised he had feelings for you.”

Draco swallowed. He’d not heard it said aloud before now.

“Yes,” he said. “It felt good. Knowing he fancied me.”

* * *

Harry’s shameless in his staring.

He stands in the doorway of the ensuite bathroom and watches Draco like he’s been invited to do so. Draco pretends not to notice, stretched out in a tub full of bubbles facing the opposite way. There’s incense burning, and candles. Harry is completely silent, but Draco could feel those eyes on him from across a crowded hall.

They fucked a few hours ago and fell asleep afterwards. Draco pretended not to think about it, but had actually made the conscious decision to let Harry continue sleeping when he woke up and decided he wanted a bath.

When he can’t take it anymore he opens his eyes and tilts his head back and a little to the side, just enough that he gets Potter in his peripherals.

“Well?” he says.

“Well what?”

“Join me, won’t you?”

Harry snorts. Then there’s a quiver of magic in the air, and a small, utilitarian chair appears out of thin air beside the tub. Harry sits down in it. He’s holding the joint they’d only gotten halfway through earlier.

He’s in his jeans and nothing else, all limbs and sparse chest hair, and when he crosses a leg over the other one, elbow resting on his knee as he hits the joint, Draco feels a bone-deep attraction to him that’s beyond physical.

“May I?” Draco asks. Harry hands it over and Draco inhales deeply before returning it. The humidity of the room mixes with the smoke and the smell of marijuana, pungent and cloying like the flowers.

After a length of silence, Draco says, “Will you read me something?”

“Will I what?”

He takes his wand from the floor and Summons a book from the shelf in his room — one of his poetry collections comes sweeping in through the cracked door and into Harry’s lap. Harry sticks the joint between his lips and starts rifling through it with his glasses all fogged up.

When he starts reading Byron (“I had a dream, which was not all a dream”) Draco smiles and sinks deeper into the hot water and bubbles, letting Harry’s voice lull him into a pleasant stupor.

* * *

“So you led him on,” said Pansy. “Because you liked his attention.”

He stared at her, then let his gaze drop to his wine again. Had he?

“It sounds bad when you say it like that.”

“Well,” she said, smiling wryly, “I’m only saying it as you’ve told it to me. Maybe if it sounds bad, it is bad. Some things are that simple, darling. Unless there’s more to it.”

“Like what?” he said, not looking at her. There was a touch of pouty defiance in his voice he knew Pansy would detect instantly. He heard her sigh.

“What exactly happened yesterday, Draco? You didn’t give me any context.”

“What context do you need?” he muttered. “He told me he loved me.”

* * *

They’ve finished an entire bottle of wine between them. He’s not drunk, but he’s pleasantly buzzed. Harry’s sprawled on his back, T-shirt rucked up just below his navel so Draco can see the dark trail of hair leading below his jeans. There’s something implicitly erotic about the movement of his chest when he breathes, his hands folded behind his head, one leg stretched the length of the bed and the other bent at the knee.

He opens his eyes suddenly and grins when he sees Draco looking at him.

“That wine just made me tired,” he says.

“So go to sleep,” says Draco. He takes a last swig, emptying it, and sets the bottle aside on his night table. He stretches his arms over his head and arches his back, yawning widely, thinking perhaps he’ll give into the tempting allure of sleep as well when Harry says, “I told Hermione about us.”

So he’s not sleeping, then. His stomach clenches hard and a completely irrational sense of panic rises in his throat.

“Us?” he says slowly, sitting up straighter. “What ‘us’?”

Harry looks at him upside-down, then rolls over and rises to his knees. He stares at Draco blankly.

“‘What us?’” he repeats.

“Yes,” says Draco. “What ‘us’?”

“Us,” Harry says. His voice is lower than usual. The word is starting to sound weird and lose meaning. “You and me, Draco.”

“‘You and me?’ Harry, there’s no you and me. We’re just fucking. What do you … what do you mean, you told Granger? Told her what?”

Harry looks … well, he looks fucking crushed. And angry. Draco forces himself not to look away.

“I told her I’d been seeing you,” he says quietly. There’s something … not threatening, but close to it, in his voice.

“Sure,” says Draco. “I see you three times a week, sometimes four. I s’pose if you feel the need to fill Granger in on everything you do with every second of your day —”

“Shut up, Draco,” Harry says. “You know what I meant.”

Draco glares at him. He gets off the bed, slightly lightheaded from the wine, horrified by the emotions welling up inside him right behind the panic, and he points at his bedroom door.

“Get out,” he says.

“Are you serious?”

“Go!” he says loudly, voice rising. “If you’re gonna start turning this into something it definitely is not then get out of my flat, Potter.” As usual the window is open, but it’s the third of September and getting chilly finally and Draco’s Freesias and Freedom Roses started wilting last week. There’s a chilly breeze coming into that room that is utterly barren of the sweet smells of summer he associates with Harry these days. “It’s time we ended this anyway,” he says. “Summer’s over.”

“So?” From his position kneeling on Draco’s bed Harry shouldn’t feel imposing at all, but he does. There’s no sparkle of humour in his eyes, none of the softness Draco’s gotten used to seeing there. He looks like someone who’s realised they’ve been betrayed.

Worse than that. Someone who’s been betrayed and realises they should have seen it coming.

“What the fuck does summer have to do with anything?”

“Ever heard of a summer fling, Potter? We’re not ‘seeing each other’.”

Harry finally gets off the bed. Draco’s stomach clenches again, more painfully this time. He doesn’t feel bad, he tells himself — this is Harry’s fault. His fault for making a big deal out of something easy and fun and, most of all, temporary. For ruining this with feelings.

“That’s not what this was,” Harry says. It’s not an argumentative tone; rather, he sounds disappointed. Devastated, and disappointed. And that look of betrayal, like he’s surprised but not … that surprised.

That hurts.

“This was as real as it gets, Draco,” he says matter-of-factly. “You and I don’t have the capability of doing anything as shallow as a fling.”

“Well, Potter,” says Draco, straining to maintain his level voice, “congratulations, because that is the most disgusting, romanticised, Gryffindorian piece of shit I’ve ever heard.”

“Yeah?” He grabs up his wand from the bedside table and stuffs it into his jeans pocket. “Well here’s another: I love you. You complete fucking prick.”

Draco stares after him as he leaves the room, cowed for the moment. He hears Harry take the Floo powder off his mantle, hears the fire start, and then the sound of Potter disappearing.

And he feels hollow suddenly.

* * *

“And he said it completely out of the blue?”

Draco set his wine aside. He was suddenly feeling too sick to put anything else in his body.

“Sort of,” he said quietly, avoiding her eyes. “He was trying to make something out of nothing. He was just making a point, trying to guilt me, I don’t even think he meant it.”

Pansy said nothing for so long that Draco finally looked up. She had an eyebrow raised.

“Do you really believe that?” she said.

Draco didn’t answer right away. He glanced at the bottle of wine on the table and thought about the way it always tasted a little sweeter on Harry’s lips.

“I don’t know,” he said. “No. But it doesn’t change anything. It was a summer thing, not a … a relationship, for crying out loud. Like I’d date Potter.”

“Why not?”

Draco scoffed. “Why not? Pansy, please. He’s a …”

“A …?”

“He’s an idiot! He’s Potter! He’s …” He couldn’t think of the right word, something bad enough to express the audacity, the gall , for Potter to think even for a second that they could …

“Draco Malfoy,” said Pansy. She was smirking. “You love him too.”

Had he felt sick before? Now he was going to be sick.

“I never would’ve imagined it,” she went on, seeming to take pleasure from his outrage and humiliation. The bint. “Look at you, you’re blushing! Oh my god,” she laughed. And then she stopped laughing, and instead the weight of her own words appeared to descend on her. “Oh my god. You do, don’t you? You are arse over tits for Harry Potter —”

He was up and out of his chair before she’d finished the last word, absurdly, embarrassingly on the verge of tears all of a sudden.

“Draco —”

“I’m glad this can serve as your entertainment for the week, Pansy,” he said. A tear rolled down his cheek — could he be any more histrionic? — and he brushed it away furiously.

“Draco, no —”

“Call Blaise, tell him!” he shouted. “You two can have a good laugh over it —”

“Draco —”

“Poor Draco’s fucked himself over again, what a stupid wanker!”

Pansy got up. He slapped her hand away when she reached for him, but she only came at him again and grabbed it this time when he swatted at her, enfolding it in both of hers. He closed his eyes and hiccoughed and two more tears came.

“Darling, will you please listen to me?” she said softly. It sounded eerily like his mother, which only made him feel young and childish. He tugged his arm away and she let him go, but he didn’t move any farther away. “I am not laughing at you,” she told him. “Blaise might, but that’s because Blaise has a black hole for a heart, Draco, the only emotion he’s ever felt is disdain.” Against his will, Draco chuckled wetly. Pansy smiled and took his hand again, tentatively. He allowed it. “ I think it’s lovely that you have feelings for him. I don’t understand what’s got you so upset, I mean … I know it’s Potter, but we’re not teenagers anymore, right? Who cares?”

Draco exhaled a long sigh.

“He let my father go to Azkaban,” he said softly, looking into her eyes. He saw comprehension dawning. “How can I be with someone who could’ve saved my father’s life and chose not to, Pansy?”

“No one could have saved your father, Draco,” said Pansy gravely. His throat was tight, swollen. He hated that he was hanging on her words, looking for truth in them, wanting to hear something that would make this okay. “He would have done the same thing if they’d let him go back to the manor. It’s not your fault or your mum’s or Potter’s.”

“But —”

“But what?” she cut him off sharply. “Draco, please don’t let your father keep controlling your life from the grave! My god, you deserve happiness, don’t you see that? Even if it’s Potter! In fact, I … I think that could be really good.”

“What, being with Potter?”

“Yes, being with Potter,” she said. “Darling, I say this because I love you: you need to grow a pair of bollocks and start taking control of your own life. I’m not finished!” she added when he opened his mouth to retort. “I understand that it feels like a betrayal of your father, I do, and I’m not saying you can’t have your cherished memories of him, but Draco … you cannot live your life in his shadow, doing things because it’s what he’d want or wouldn’t want. I think that choosing to explore these feelings you have for Potter is the bravest and healthiest thing you could possibly do for yourself.”

He stared at her for a long moment, eyes wet though the tears had stopped falling.

“What if it doesn’t last?” he said finally. “What if next week he realises it was a huge mistake?”

“First of all, I doubt that,” said Pansy with a roll of her eyes that was clearly meant to be teasing. “You said you’ve been seeing him all summer, that’s plenty of time to have gotten sick of you. And, even if that did happen, I still think it would be entirely worth that week of being disgustingly in love.”

“Do you?” he drawled.

“Yes! I do!” She picked up his discarded wine glass from before and held it up. “Does the effect of alcohol last forever?”

“No …”

“Of course not! And we don’t expect it to. We expect to have fun while we’re drunk and it’ll last as long as it lasts.”

“Dating someone isn’t like being drunk, Pansy,” Draco said sourly.

“Oh, that’s not the point ,” she huffed. “We don’t do things because we know they’ll last forever, we do them because we want to. In the moment.”

“Sounds irresponsible.”

“Well, of course it is,” she scoffed. “Love is completely irresponsible, that’s the fun of it, Draco. Now take this,” she shoved the glass of wine into his hand, almost spilling it. “Drink up, and then get your arse over to his flat and fix this.”

* * *

Granger opened the door. Draco sighed.

“Hello, Granger,” he said lamely. Her raised eyebrows said she was surprised and thoroughly unimpressed by his appearance.

“Malfoy,” she said.

“Is Potter in?”

“I guess that depends.”

“On?”

She looked at him, dark brown eyes impenetrable. Then she closed the front door behind her.

“What do you want?” she asked.

“To talk to him,” he said tightly. As if this whole thing wasn’t bad enough, now he had to pass a test to get past Granger the bridge troll. “I thought he told you —”

“He did,” she said flatly. “And about yesterday.”

“Well I’m here to apologise,” said Draco. Granger’s eyebrows lifted again. Still unimpressed. “And to tell him …” He sighed again and broke eye contact, willing himself not to give up, not to take this as a sign he should just go home and ream into Pansy for giving him such bad advice.

“Malfoy.” He looked up. Her voice was softer now, and her eyes seemed a little less hard. “What are you doing? You really hurt him, you know.”

“I know,” he said stiffly. “I said I’m here to apologise.”

“Well he doesn’t need an apology,” she said. “If you’re only going to let him down again —”

“I’m not.” He rubbed his forehead and looked at her again, exasperated, defeated. “I’ve … had some sense talked into me.”

She looked like it was the last thing she’d been expecting.

“Have you?”

“Yes,” he said. “So would you please get him for me before I lose my nerve?”

It was the right thing to say. Her expression melted into something much softer and he fancied he even saw the beginnings of a smile.

“Can I ask who affected this change of heart?”

“Pansy,” he said. And, when Granger seemed taken aback, “She’s very wise when she feels like it.”

“I see. Well …” She still looked a bit conflicted, eyeing him and then putting her hand on the doorknob. “All right. I’ll tell him you’re here, anyway, but he was really hurt, Malfoy. I don’t know if he’ll want to hear it.”

“I’ll take my chances,” he said.

Granger eyed him another moment and then went back inside, shutting the door behind her. Draco only had to wait a minute before it was opening again, and this time Harry came out. The sight of him made Draco’s heart feel tender and sore.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi, Potter.”

He waited to see if Harry would say anything else but he didn’t. He only stared at Draco expectantly, arms folded, in all ways closed off.

“I came to apologise,” said Draco.

“Well you can keep it,” said Harry. “I don’t need an apology because you told me the truth.”

“It wasn’t the truth, Potter,” Draco said quietly. “Opposite, really.”

Harry was silent. Then, “You made me feel like shit, Draco.”

“I know. I’m sorry. You freaked me out, springing it on me like that.”

A beat, then two, and then suddenly Harry was dropping his arms and sighing and he looked at Draco with so much vulnerability he nearly had to turn away from it.

“I didn’t mean to tell you …” He licked his lips, scratched his arm. It reminded Draco that beneath everything, Harry was still the same awkward dorky leader-of-the-losers he’d always been, just with a bit more confidence now and the title of Official Saviour of the Wizarding World. “I wouldn’t have said that if … I was just angry.”

He didn’t need to ask what Harry was referring to.

“I know.”

“Not that I didn’t … I mean, I … I do —”

“Please don’t say it again,” Draco said. Harry laughed.

“Right. I just meant … I really do have feelings for you, Draco. Like … mad, crazy feelings, y’know? I don’t want it to be a fling.”

“It wasn’t a fling,” he said. He moved a little closer and Harry watched him carefully, eyes flickering once down to Draco’s mouth. “I didn’t even sleep with anyone else the whole time.”

“Well that’s good to know,” said Harry sardonically. But he was smiling, so Draco found himself smiling tentatively as well.

“I wanna be with you, Potter. Properly. I thought …” But he shakes his head, deciding that now isn’t the time to explain about his father. “I thought it was a stupid idea. Now I realise that it probably is, but that I don’t really care much. I’ve decided to ignore my better judgment this one time.”

“That’s quite Gryffindor of you,” Harry commented drily.

“Yes, well.”

“So I go against your better judgment, then?”

“Potter,” Draco sighed. “Please, I don’t mean it like —”

“I’m taking the piss, Draco,” Harry cut him off. He reached for Draco’s waist and pulled him close, and before Draco could get his breath back from a short, surprised intake of breath Harry’s mouth was on his, warm and familiar and soothing. He brought his hands to Harry’s face and kissed back without bothering to hide his overwhelming relief.

Harry chased his mouth when he pulled away and Draco breathed out a laugh, holding him at bay with a hand on his chest.

“We have plenty of time,” he said. “D’you wanna come over later tonight, after your friends leave?”

“What? No, come in.” He took Draco’s hand and gestured with his head towards the door. “Please. It’s just Ron and Hermione. They know everything.”

“Really?” Draco drawled. “And you think Weasley won’t try to kill me?”

“I promise not to let him,” Harry grinned. “Please, Draco. You said you wanted to do this properly, right?”

He thought of what Pansy said about being irresponsible, and decided it was worth a try at least.

“Okay,” he said. Harry beamed and tugged him inside.

Towards his ultimate downfall or towards the beginning of the rest of his life, he didn’t know. That, as Pansy would have said, was the fun of it.

#anna writes #answered #drarry fic #god i had sm fun writing this tysm for the prompt 😩

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moral-turpitudes · 4 years

Text

Silver Linings: Part 1

Masterlist | Rules | Peaky Prompts

A/N: Excuse any of my terrible math skills and if this seems rushed. This is the best I could come up with lol, I hope you all like it though!

Trigger Warnings: Swearing, Angst, Slight Fighting, Descriptions of Drug Use, Drinking, Familial Drama, Fluff, Mentions of Adoption, etc.

Word Count: 3,972

Characters: Alfie Solomons x Adopted Daughter!Reader + Michael Gray x Alfie’s Adopted Daughter!Reader

Summary: After growing tired of hiding, Y/N decides to venture out from the back of her fathers shop, not knowing she’d quite literally fall for one of her father’s enemies who happened to be lurking around the corner. But with tensions growing between the two families, one decision could change the course of their lives as they know it, for better and for worse.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | *Part 4* | Part 5

“Alright Y/N, now when you aim you gotta line yer eyes up with the sight. Take a deep breath, and on that exhale of yours yer gonna pull that little trigger right there.” Alfie said, the teenage girl only coming up to around his chest, her hands shaking slightly as she aimed the small hand gun for one of the flour sacks in the back of the shop. With a small exhale she fired, the bullet whirling through the air and into the target she’d helped draw on it the day before.

“See that’s not so hard innit?” He asked, smiling at the new light in his life.

Y/N heard her father calling for her upstairs, bringing her out of her daydreams from years ago. That was during the first week she’d lived with him after he adopted her from the nearby orphanage. She had no adoptive mother, and no other friends except their dog Cyril, seeing as she had to be practically hidden away on a daily basis. The only time she really went out was to work in her fathers shop, where she’d do her best to avoid being spotted by her fathers business partners-some of which who had strained relationships with him and his men.

Shaking the memory from her brain, she hesitantly walked up the stairs, the creaking of the wood announcing her arrival.

“There you are love. Listen...I’m having Mr. Shelby come by soon so you’ll have to work in the back alright? I know you’ll get me for it later but I’ll make up for it mmkay?” He said, looking his now 21 year old daughter in the eyes. People often found him intimidating, but over the years she grew used to him, knowing deep down he was a sweet person. With every interaction she observed, she could see the pain in his eyes over not being able to really introduce her, knowing it would put her at risk. But deep down there was a mutual understanding between them that it was going to be inevitable that someone would find out, but neither of them thought it would be so soon.

With a sigh, she reluctantly walked towards the back where the other “bakers” worked the ovens and inspected shipments. While she organized bricks of cocaine for shipment, she felt her stomach drop as she realized she’d left her gloves in the front of the shop. She often hated the texture of the bricks as she packed them away, the fabric gloves being her only solace when she was given the task.

Swallowing hard, she nervously crept around the corner, eyeing Thomas Shelby and some of the other blinders in her fathers office as she continued, not noticing the man she collided with as she stumbled back slightly.

“Oi! I’m so sorry sir...wasn’t even fuckin’ looking.” She said, brushing a stray hair from her face and tightening her apron around her waist.

“No problem love, you alright?” He asked, looking concerned as he adjusted his well tailored suit.

“Y-yeah. Just looking for my gloves. I have to go.” She said, knowing she wasn’t supposed to be out for long while the blinders were there, yet trying to not look the dashing man in the eyes.

As she walked away, his eyes followed her to her station where she usually rolled dough and decorated pastries, grabbing her gloves which were tinted white from the previous cocaine shipment she handled earlier in the morning.

“Hey...miss? Before you go...what’s your name?” He asked, a crooked smile spreading across his features as she neared him.

“Uhm...it’s Y/N. What’s yours? You don’t look like you’re from ‘round here.” She said.

“I’m Michael, Michael Gray. I’m with the blinders.” He said.

“Oh....um, well I have to get going. It was nice meeting you...Michael.” She said, awkwardly putting on the gloves as he recognized the powder falling off them.

“What do you around here anyway? I know that’s not flour on those gloves.” He said with a smirk. She swallowed hard before answering, her eyes flicking to the window of her fathers office.

“Um...I bake, and...I organize things. Listen...I really do have to go. I’ll see you ‘round sometime, yeah?” She asked. He followed her gaze to the window, noticing the nervous look on her face.

“Alright. See you around, Y/N.” He said with a wink, walking back to his lookout spot in the corner.

She smirked slightly as she passed him, reluctantly heading straight to the back, the other workers paying her no mind as she resumed packing the bricks.

As she worked, she could hear shouts coming from her fathers office, her stomach tightening in knots at the tension she could see forming in the room. Thomas and him standing close to each other, most likely mumbling threats under their breaths. A few moments later, she saw the men exit the tattered room, putting their razored caps on and storming out the door. Michael ultimately leaving with them, but catching her staring as he looked back towards the room she was in. She smiled lightly as he smirked, shutting the door behind him.

She shook her head as she turned back, getting the rest of her packing done while shaking away the thought of someone like him ever taking an interest. She knew her father dealt in dangerous business, so she wasn’t afraid of the blinders and her father doing business necessarily, but she couldn’t deny that them feuding terrified her, knowing even one slip-up could put her or her father at risk. Blowing their years-long cover.

As she was lost in thought, Alfie walked down after they left, smiling as he grabbed a bottle of rum from one of the crates and locking it back.

“You don’t have to organize all those love. How about we go call it a day aye? I know you’re probably wanting summing’ because your old man made ya work back ‘ere all day.” He said. His words annoying to her ears as of late as she grew bored of her life at the shop and at home. One question forever buzzing in the back of her mind as she continued her monotonous tasks.

“I was wondering something....” She said, taking her gloves off and turning towards him.

“Yeah? Wondering about work or what? I’m all ears now you know.” He said, taking a swig from the bottle in his hand.

Her stomach tightened again as she looked her loving, yet over-protective father in the eyes.

“I was uh...wondering how you would feel if I moved out?” She asked, the thought barely working its way through her anxious mind before spewing out of her mouth.

“What?” He asked, his eyes squinting as he cocked his head to the side.

“I-I just think since I’m an adult now, I’d like to have a place of my own. That way I won’t come between ya and the business as much. I’m tired of hiding, dad.” She said, throwing the gloves on the table as she sat next to him.

“What devils gotten into your bones? Have you been sniffing the snow or drinking me rum?” He asked.

“No dad....I just...I just want to be more independent that’s all.” She said.

“I’ll tell ya what...if you pack the snow for the next month I’ll up your pay so you can get you a place. I’ll chip in some too but getting it on your own will be good for ya. I taught you to shoot but I didn’t teach ya about life aye?” He said.

“No not really. But spare me the lectures. Let’s get home. I’m starving.” She said.

“Alright. Let’s get on with it then.” He said, walking with his cane as they made their way to the car.

As the next few weeks passed, she found herself going into work with a smile. Knowing she’d get to work towards her own place, and for the chance to see the dapper blinder who’d been making regular appearances lately, and to her surprise, for more than business reasons.

He’d been sent by Thomas to crunch numbers and talk bets with Alfie, knowing that he was sent to handle more of the legitimate business than the illegal stuff.

But if Y/N learned anything throughout her years, it was knowing when to make herself known.

She waited until Alfie closed his office door, watching Michael walk down the creaky steps as she did a small whistle.

He turned around and grinned, walking towards her, as was becoming their habit recently.

“Y/N, didn’t think you were here, love. Must’ve been in the back again aye?” He asked, quietly. She nodded and led him to one of the women’s lavatories.

“W-why are we in here? I haven’t even taken you on a date.” He asked, a mischievous grin on his lips.

“Shh. There’s no other place right now for us to go. I haven’t told him.” She said.

“Told who?” He asked.

“My-my father. Alfie.” She said, nervously biting her lip as she removed her hand from his. Crossing her arms over her chest.

“Wait...your father is Alfie fucking Solomons?” He asked, his face hardening at the fact. His usual happy demeanor fading.

“Well, adoptive father. He uh adopted me when I was 16 from an orphanage ’round here. He wanted to protect me...from uh...people like you. I guess he’s had some bad history with the blinders and other groups so I’ve been most my life, just working here to pass the time.” She said.

“People like me? What...are you afraid of me?” He asked.

“What? No! I’ve been around dangerous men all my life. I’m just saying that your blinder cousins may not take a liking to me and neither will my father to you. I just have a bad feeling about it.” She said.

“So...what are we to do? Fucking talk in the bathroom every week or what?” He asked, a small smirk playing at his lips.

“We’ll do what I do best. We’ll have to hide.” She said. He looked at her with a confused expression as he put his hand on her hips.

“I get off at 4pm and my father won’t be home until late at night. I usually go straight home, but meet me at the warehouse later around 7pm, yeah?” She asked, seeing him smirk.

“Michael I’m deadly serious. If Thomas or my father finds out we’re as good as dead.” She said.

“Fine...I’ll meet you, but I want you to bring some of the snow. Can you sneak it out?” He asked.

“Yeah. Alright, now go, the workers are coming down the hall.” She said, hearing the plethora of Alfie’s men stomping down the dark hall, making it easier for Michael to slip out un-noticed.

“See you then, Y/N.” He said, pecking her cheek before he left.

She rubbed the spot, her cheeks flushing at the brief contact.

“Y/N?” Alfie’s voice rang from the hall, making her heart race as she thought of all the reasons he could be asking for her, internally praying that it wasn’t because he caught Michael leaving.

“Yeah dad?” She asked, quickly stepping out of the restroom.

“Thought ya ran off love. I was just gonna remind ya I’m working late again.” He said.

“Alright, how many nights are you working late?” She asked.

“Well, probably every day for this month. Thomas and the rest of his blinders are damn near making me lose me mind.” He said.

“Oh...ok. Well I’ll keep an eye on Cyril then. Is it ok if I go out to the shops later? Been wanting to stock up for the new place, for whenever I get it.” She said.

“I mean I’m not going to be there so I can’t stop ya can’t I? You can but remember your gun and that knife. You remember how to use it aye?” He asked.

“Yes dad, I can’t really forget stabbing a man for you, nor can I forget putting a bullet through his head.” She said, shivering slightly at the memory of when things got tense at the shop with a disgruntled employee. Alfie had beaten the man unconscious and dragged the man to the back, telling her that it would be good practice. And it was, but after it was done, she vowed to herself that she’d never use such weapons unless she had to.

“Right, well I have to go deal with some business. I’ll let you off at 4 like usual alright?” He asked.

“Okay, thanks dad. I’ll see you...I guess tomorrow depending on how late you get in.” She said giving him a hug before walking back to her station.

The last few hours dragged on as she reminisced over the past couple of weeks. Her heart skipped a beat thinking about how they’d secretly talk and make out behind the shop where her dad couldn’t see, and how on days like today she had to drag him into the restroom as her heart beat out of her chest at the rebelliousness of it all. It was nothing compared to what she planned to get away with tonight, and for hopefully weeks to come, but it was a small step towards her independence, even if they had to hide their relationship from the world.

As the clock struck 4 she headed towards the back of the building, snagging a bottle of rum from an opened crate and replacing it with one that had just came off the line for the night. Shoving the bottle in her purse as she grabbed a rather small brick of cocaine, it being one of the various runts in the pile they’d received that day.

With quick steps, she went out the door and down to the car that was waiting for her. The purse growing slightly heavy as she continued on. Her father didn’t want her walking home alone of course, and so he arranged for one of his men to routinely take her home, ultimately becoming a blessing and a curse for her independence she was so desperately trying to achieve.

“Hello Tim, I have an odd request today.” She said, counting the huge wad of cash in her purse she’d managed to save up well before asking about apartments

“What’s that Ms.Solomons?” He asked, hid old face wrinkling with a smile.

“Can we stop by the housing department? I’ve had my eye on an apartment for a few weeks. Don’t worry though, I’ve already gotten my fathers approval.” She said, pulling off her biggest lie yet.

“Alright, after that do you wish to go home? He asked.

“Yes please.” She said, watching as the streets zipped by.

Once at the housing department, she told the landlord where she’d like to stay and she followed her to the requested location. Her eyes lit up as she saw the rather grand place. It was just close enough that her father needn’t worry too much while also being just enough of a distance away from the shops she loved going to. It was a rather safe area given the town and her fathers plethora of men protecting her, but she enjoyed the new sense of independence as she gave the woman a cash deposit, along with enough for the years rent.

The woman’s eyes lit up as she saw the amount of cash, Y/N rather un-phased given her fathers business.

“Are you sure Ms.? This is so much in advance.” She said.

“Yes. When shall I move in?” She asked. Checking her watch and seeing it was just after 5pm.

“Oh I’d say ‘round any time next week. Here’s your key, just drop by before you begin moving in.” She said with a smile as she got in her car and left.

“Alright Tim, I’m ready to go home.” She said, a satisfied smile on her face.

“I’m impressed. You got this place yourself? Alfie must be proud.” He said.

“Mhmm.” Y/N said, nervously fidgeting with her hands as she remembered the lie. He’d have her neck if he knew she’d already bought the place earlier than he would’ve liked. But what could it hurt?

The minutes passed rather quickly as she was dropped off at her house, walking inside to see Cyril’s tail wagging as she came through the front door. The house was dimly lit and quiet, just as she’d left it that morning. She played with him and made sure his water bowl was filled, seeing as the maid would help feed him later, but she still loved helping wherever she could.

“Ms. Y/N, I have your dress ready. I’ll feed the dog later and make sure the house is kept before leaving. I hope you enjoy your date.” The older woman said, a genuine smile on her face.

“Thank you so much. I can’t tell you how much you’ve helped me these last few weeks. Here.” She said, giving her a few slips of cash from her purse.

“Just as a thank you. I’ll be moving in next week to my apartment. Dad doesn’t know though so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell him.” She said.

The maids eyes widened at the cash in her hand, agreeing with a small smile and a quick nod before returning to her duties. As much as she loved this house, she wanted to do things on her own terms. She wanted to meet people on her own terms, and finally not hide herself. To make more friends than just the maid. To start actually living.

With an excited smile she ran up the stairs, putting the casual dress on and doing her makeup, deciding to leave her hair as-is, then anxiously making her way outside. The purses weight tugging at her shoulder as she walked down the quiet streets, her gun in her purse and her small knife in hand.

Once she neared the warehouse, she sat around the back, taking a swig of the rum before Michael got there to calm her nerves.

She watched the sun set over Camden Town, the birds songs ending as the insects buzzed about, the air turning a bit colder as she looked at her watch. It was just after 7pm, her heart sinking in her chest as she thought he’d stood her up. But after a few moments, she heard footsteps, making her panic slightly not knowing who was behind them. She carefully drew her gun, aiming at the man as he walked closer, his hands soon up in surrender.

“Y/N? It’s me. Michael.” He said, a smirk on his face, lowering his hands.

“I figured you were ‘round back, didn’t think you’d try to shoot me though.” He said.

“Sorry. You never know out here.” She said, putting her gun away and retrieving the cocaine and rum.

“You carried all that here? I’m impressed.” He said, inspecting the cocaine as she opened the bottle, taking another swig from it. She cringed internally as the liquid burned her throat. She’d only drank a few times, not to any huge extent, but now that she was older and more capable, she figured she at least could drink how she pleased.

“How’d you score this rum?” He asked, taking a swig from the bottle as well.

“I stole it from my dads stash in the back. And that coke is one of the runts of the batch, it was too small to pack in the big crates. Figured I’d bring the whole thing since you seemed to know about it a couple weeks ago.” She said, smirking at the memory of their first awkward meeting.

“Have you tried it?” He asked, leaning back against the wall of the warehouse.

“No.” She said turning away from his gaze as she nervously brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

“It’s easy. Watch.” He said, unwrapping it and shaving off a sliver of the white substance with her knife. He sat it on top of the brick and made sure it was all crushed, forming it in a straight line.

He handed her the brick carefully as she held it up towards his face, him inhaling the powder through his nose in one fell swoop.

“You want me to shove that shit up my nose? Are you mad?” She asked, giggling as she took another swig from the rum.

“Yeah. Can’t hide from everything love.” He said, his words hitting home probably more than he realized.

“Alright, if I die, my fathers gonna have your head on a spike.” She said.

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take.” He said, preparing a smaller amount of the drug and holding it up to where she could inhale it through her nose. Her nostril burned as she did so, the foreign particles lacing their way through her system.

She laughed and shook her head, wiping her nose of any excess powder as she looked up at Michael who was chuckling slightly.

“That was so odd. I’m not doing that again. Not right now anyway.” She said, handing him the bottle of rum as she curled up next to him. It had only been about a month since they’d met, but even then, their interactions became more frequent.

Over the next few weeks, it was as if they’d known each other for years the way they got on. His aunt Polly eventually seeing a spark in his eye that wasn’t there before, and the same went for Alfie.

“You’ve met someone. I can tell.” Polly said one night, catching him coming in drunk on more than one occasion.

“Yeah I did. Tommy can’t do anything about it. It’s not his concern so don’t go telling him.” He said as he stumbled into the house.

As Michael grappled with the weight of seeing an adversaries daughter, Y/N had gradually moved things into her apartment with the help of her driver, all under her fathers nose. But she knew that once her room was more vacant, he’d catch on. Knowing if the blinders didn’t anger him enough, her leaving suddenly surely would.

One night after a drunken date with her mystery boyfriend, Alfie confronted her. Holding the small brick they’d chipped away at over the previous weeks.

“Oi! You wanna explain this? No daughter of mine is going to be sneaking drugs in me house. Do you really think I’m dumb? Cuz I guarantee you I’m not. This can’t happen. Not under my roof.” He said, lighting his cigar.

“Well if you didn’t want to pack it anyway I thought I might as well put it to good use. But uh, I’ll be sneaking it under me own roof from now on. I’ve bought a place if you couldn’t already tell from barging in my room to find that.” She said, folding her arms like she often did when she was frustrated.

Alfie stepped closer to her, his eyes not leaving hers as she barely flinched.

“I’ll find out who you’re doing all this for. Once I do, you’ll wish ya never stole a thing.” He said, walking towards his chair he usually sat on in their grand living room.

Y/N shook her head and chuckled to herself, stomping off towards her room. Her mind raced as she thought about what to do, grabbing what was left of her clothes and hurling them into her suitcases, deciding to leave the house for good in the morning.

Alfie sighed and sat back in his chair as he heard Y/N rummaging around upstairs. The sweet girl he helped raise all of a sudden wanting to leave the nest.

It seemed like everything was fine in their lives until the peaky fucking blinders waltzed into his shop. Not caring who they destroyed as long as they got their money, their rum, or their drugs.

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagines #peaky blinders fanfic #michael gray x female!reader #michael gray x reader #michael gray x y/n #michael gray #katiesfics #alfie solomons #alfie solomons x adopted daughter!reader

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some-kindofgnome · 4 years

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Kinktober #4: Control Yourself: Bucky Barnes

In which you are incapable of controlling the weather.

Characters: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader

Warnings: smut (18+ please!) dom!Bucky/bratty sub!reader, discipline, spanking, choking, emotions, mentions of anxiety, aftercare

Notes: Here it is- the first Marvel fic of the month! If you’ve been loving the MHA stuff so far, I’m thrilled, and I thank you in advance for accommodating my multifandom ass. If you’re more of a Marvel person, this one’s for you!

Today’s prompt was “spanking/choking,” so... both is good.

Kinktober Masterlist

“It’s not letting up any time soon.”

You pull the blanket a little tighter around your shoulders to ward off the chill that wafts from the frosted glass in front of you. It’s dark out there, but in the faint glow of the porch light you can see that the blizzard is unrelenting.

It’s easy to see that you will not be getting Stateside tonight.

“Dammit!”

You twist from the window and the blanket whirls behind you like a cape. You can feel cold anxiety twisting its fingers around your heart, curling its way up your windpipe. You can’t help it. You hate it when things go wrong.

“You’re doing it again.”

Bucky’s voice pipes up from the loveseat across the room. The cabin that you’re stationed in for the night is barely twelve feet by twelve feet- just enough room for a double bed, tiny kitchen, a loveseat and a rug parked in front of a big wood stove.

“Am not.”

He lifts his eyes from the book he’d been paging through before- some crumbling classic piece that neither of you had heard of- and though his gaze is soft, his jaw is set.

“Are too.”

“It doesn’t count when the situation calls for it.” Your voice breaks into the upper register as you cross a few steps back towards him, coming to stand on the edge of the rug with the blanket wrapped tightly around your shoulders.

“The situation is out of your control,” he retorts. “There’s nothing you can do about the snow.”

He licks his lips and his gaze flicks over your body. There’s not much to look at, when you’re wrapped up to the chin in such a massive throw, but you can tell he’s not just checking you out. He can read you like a book, and that’s exactly what he’s doing right now.

“Sit,” he prompts, softer than before. “Might as well settle in.”

But you’re not ready to give in just yet.

“I’m allowed to feel this way.”

“I never said you weren’t.” He shifts a little in his seat, bringing his eyes back to the book and flipping forward a few pages. He always does that when he’s bored with a story; he flips forward to see if he’s got anything to look forward to.

“But you’re acting like it.”

“Sweetheart, you and I both know that I am not out to stop that. I just don’t want you to spend the whole night letting something you can’t change keep you from relaxing a little.”

You needed the rest, too. Part of the reason you were so wound up was the mission you’d come back from. Bullets flew over the fate of a heavily armoured briefcase and your getaway car was a snowmobile- just the sort of thing to fray your nerves. In the field you were iron solid. But once you were safe… it could be difficult to process sometimes.

“So you’re trying to change the way I feel. You’re trying to tell me not to be anxious anymore. You of all people should know that it’s not as simple as that.”

His eyes drag from the book again, and this time he’s agitated. Your chest thrills. One step closer to getting what you hadn’t realize you wanted, until he gave you a taste of it with his gaze.

Unfortunately, he picks up on that. He quirks a brow and narrows his eyes, looking you over again.

“I understand,” he growls with a feral edge to his voice that you’re suddenly not sure you wanted to provoke.

“It’s not that,” you snap and your cheeks heat in defense. But it’s too late. He’s already smirking, snapping the book shut and rising from the loveseat with embers smouldering in his silvery gaze.

He comes to stand in front of you, towering over you like the mountain of a man he is. He’s always leaned into a haphazard sort of lumberjack aesthetic, and that effect is amplified tenfold against the backdrop of a snowy cabin and a blazing fire. Burning wood that he chopped earlier that afternoon.

Okay, so maybe you have a thing for lumberjacks.

He growls your name with such a deep edge of baritone that it draws your attention right back to him. He’s got his stern face on. The one he always makes when you’re behaving this way. You know he’s only doing this because he knows it’s what you need- and you do need it, badly, even if you’re not ready to ask for it.

“Drop the blanket.” He growls like a drill sergeant and your body keens. You sink your teeth into your lower lip, hesitate for half a heartbeat, then release your grip on the corners of the broad knit. It slips over your shoulders and pools in a half-moon at your feet. As it draws away from your skin, it reveals the underwear you’ve got on underneath. The rest of your clothes are draped neatly by the fire, drying out from the spill you took in the wet snow.

Black bra. Black thong. Practical, for missions. But it doesn’t exactly keep you well-covered.

Bucky’s seen you in less.

“That’s better,” he rumbles. He reaches forward and takes you by the hips, stroking his thumbs over the skin just above your waistband. He reaches up and cups your cheek, tilting your face toward him. It’s warm, by the hearth, but you’re still shivering.

You’re already starting to break down.

“I’ve got you,” he coos. He leans down and kisses your forehead, the strands of his unbound hair brushing your cheek. In the next instant, he’s scooped you into his arms and he lays you face down on the bed, running one hand in and out of the curve of your spine. You tuck your knees underneath your body and push your hips up.

You know how this works. You’re ready to give in.

“I’m gonna give you five,” he grunts, already running his fingers over your ass. He slips his fingertips playfully under the edges of your underwear, snapping the elastic against your skin and making you jump. You can’t feel him behind you, but you know he’s getting excited already.

He hooks two fingers into the waistband of your panties and pulls them down over your ass. He never takes them all the way off; he only pulls them down enough to expose you, for extra humiliation.

And if that’s not enough, he draws his palm over your bare ass, and you can hear him rumbling his appreciation. He’s never actually told you this before but based on the grabbing and the slapping and the pinching- sometimes in public- your ass is one of his favourite parts of your body.

He draws his hand back and pauses, just to torture you that much longer.

“Count for me, sweetness.”

His palm- flesh, not metal, thank God- connects with your backside, sending a thrill of pain through your whole body. The sting sets in like an afterthought and you whimper, tucking your hands under the pillow that you’ve buried your face into.

“One.” The word is muffled, but it’s enough for him, and he soothes your ass with another delicate stroke of his palm before he’s pulling it back again.

Smack.

“T-two.”

This time, his palm connects with the tender spot where your backside meets the back of your thigh, and your hips jolt forward in surprise. Your spine goes concave and you push your chest into the mattress, squeezing your eyes shut.

He was right about this. You’re in agony, but at least you’re not thinking about the snow.

“You with me, sweetness?” He runs his hand up your spine, fingers curling gently around the back of your neck and making you groan.

“’M good,” you promise. You lift your chin and you can hear him smirking over your shoulder.

“That’s my girl.”

His metal hand slips under your left arm, fingers dancing up your sternum before they close around your throat. You choke on a breath but quickly realize that he’s not squeezing. Not yet, anyway.

“Almost there,” he promises. His flesh hand slides down your back again and lifts away from your skin. “Count of three, sweetness. One…”

He smacks you on two and you were fucking ready for it this time. But that doesn’t stop your body from jerking forward into his metal palm, sucking in a panicked breath and loving the way the air seems to rush past his fingers. They tighten, restricting your breath just a little and you let your eyes fall shut.

“Three,” you gasp, not even hiding it anymore. You’re blissed out. You don’t care. He knew he could do this to you.

“Almost there,” he repeats, holding you fast. His metal fingers tighten just a little more and your pulse is racing beneath his smooth thumb.

The next one comes hard, relentlessly so, and you cry out hoarsely, letting tears blur your vision. You want to be tough for him but it hurts too much and you’re feeling delicate and he always knows how to unlock it when you need a cry. Your feelings get bound up inside you so tightly sometimes- he’s the only one who can unravel them.

“One more,” he murmurs, and he’s stroking your back with his flesh hand in broad circles, loosening his grip on your throat as you choke and gasp for breath. “You can do it, sweetness. My strong girl. You can handle one more.”

“D-do it,” you plead, because he’ll worry if you don’t say something. He stays where he is for a minute, whispering softly to you. Then he shifts and lifts his hand. And you wait.

Smack.

“Five,” you sob, and then you’re collapsing onto the mattress and he’s collapsing beside you, pulling your body into his chest and wrapping all his limbs around you. He holds you tight and strokes your hair as you cry, letting the stress of the mission, the weather, and everything else wash over you.

He doesn’t say anything to you, just holds you, shushing you quietly when the sobs wrack your body too tightly to let anything else in.

Once your cries have quieted into soft little hiccups, he kisses your forehead and pulls away just enough to see your tear-soaked face.

“Better?” He asks, so tenderly it’s hard to imagine he had you by the throat just a few minutes ago. But that’s the nature of your relationship. He knows how to take you apart, but he’s the only one who can put you back together.

You cast your gaze over his face. He looks considerably more relaxed than before, too, and you let a sleepy smile stretch your features. You snuggle in close, as he draws the blankets over you. He casts another glance at the fire- whatever he sees, he decides it can wait, because he rolls onto his side and pulls you back against his chest, draping a heavy arm over your torso.

“Better,” you sigh, letting your eyes fall shut. You sleep through the night.

When you wake up in the morning, the storm has passed. The sun beams through the dusty cabin, splashing brilliant gold across the bedspread.

#bucky barnes/reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky/reader #bucky barnes/you #bucky barnes #reader insert #kinktober #jbbKinktober2020 #marvel #mcu #mcu fanfiction #marvel kinktober #marvel fanfic #readerfic

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readerinsertfanfiction · 4 years

Note

Neeeeeeemo darling❤❤❤! Eeeeeeeep😆😆😆 okay i know i should probs be sleeping buuuut😅😅😅 hehehe yeah😅last spam for the night, else ima kick myself tomorrow for staying up past bedtime 😅😅😅 anyways! 😂😂😂

Could i pretty please with all the candy ontop request a comfort fic with my dearest Theo (hehehe cause no spam would be complete witbout my dearest theodorkus) ❤❤❤❤so basically i loved ya nobu comfort fic so much and like.... my heart melts just as much with fics where the suitors gets comforted and built up🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺😳😳😳😳plus i feel like Theo needs one big hug for all the shit he goes through and has gone thru! Plus his work o holiness ❤❤☺😳

😳hehehe love ya to infinity! Hehehe okay i am finally off to bed😅for reals this time😅😅can ya tell i was thinking about that nobu comfort fic you did😅😅😅and then was like u know who else needs cuddles 😂😂//insert that meme of remembering unfinished homework 😂😂❤😳pfffffft whooooops left ya another essay 😅😅😅😳😳😳😳 night darling Nemo❤❤❤❤may u go to bed early and have sweet dreams🍁❤🥺

Zetaaaaa-daaaaarling!!! Y u no sleep? No kicking yourself, only sleeping more and less gym time and more me-time! 😂😂😂

I’m surprised that the comfort the suitor fics are getting popular now, because it isn’t like it is the first time I write them, just the first time I wrote for Nobu, I guess. 😂😂😂

I lub your rambles, Zeta-dearest. They’re so cute and really brightens the mood and makes your requests not so standard as well (and gives me a reason to talk more as well because apparently Tumblr still thinks I’m an oyster 😅😅😅).

Fandom: Ikemen Vampire

Character: Theodor(k)us van Gogh

Prompt: Some comfort for the dork

When Theo woke up that day he knew that there was something off. The cool of the morning chilled him, his blankets were not enough, and there was an empty space next to him. A space usually occupied by you, but Theo knew that you had to leave early today. Yet, the space was glaring at him, the spot already cool from the heat that had evaporated.

Even the colours of the world seemed a little dimmer, duller. The garden wasn’t as captivating, his brother’s paintings didn’t fill him with the joy and spark he usually felt. And then there was the light throbbing of his scar. It felt sore and tender as the man groaned into his pillow, wondering what the day had planned for him.

"Sorry, they're a little burned," Sebastian had apologised at the breakfast table, horrifying him further. Was this how his entire day was to go? The bottle of maple syrup that Theo was so known to love was also half empty, though in the back of his mind an annoying voice told him to cheer up, followed by your chipper encouraging one;

'Kop op! You can still pour it!'

Theodorus wondered when you would return. He knew that you lived your own life just like he had his own. He even admired you for it, encouraging you to pursue your own path despite the strange times. But without you by his side Theo’s day felt off, strange, and it was the space next to him that he was missing. It felt as if eons had passed since he had felt your warmth, but he knew that he was being dramatic if he were to express it.

'Of all days to be busy…' he thought. A gentle press onto his shoulder followed and the sunny smile of his brother came into view.

"Goedemorgen Theo," Vincent chirped, but even his beloved brother's winning smile didn't help defrost the chill within. As if the chill he had frozen over instead, holding him hostage in this state of demurity and slight helplessness.

"Are you alright?" Vincent had questioned, those clear blue eyes nothing but sincerity and worry. It made Theo feel even worse who could only grimace back at his older brother and reassure the man that he was, perhaps just a little tired.

“The old chap is missing his darling,” Arthur had beamed up instead, hoping to draw out a reaction from Theo. The silence he was met with and the solemn confirmation within those dark blue eyes of the Dutchman floored even the infamous author, however. This had been a look that Theo hadn’t worn in a long while, at least not since you entered into his life.

Theo wasn’t the type to wear his emotions openly. Guarded as he was he kept them all securely locked away, sometimes even from himself as he didn’t want to be reminded of his own darkness and traumas. It had taken him so long to finally open up to you, and even then he had moments in which he relapsed.

Even the pompous asses of the Académie seemed to have taken note of his solemnity, for once keeping out of his way as they stared after him, striding in and out of the place as chitchats were kept to a bare minimum. A reaction that was for the best, for Theo didn’t feel like barking for once. Not at them, or at anyone.

“A note?”

The folded piece of paper stretched out to him came from a young boy that the two of you had helped. A budding talent, Theo had only needed to see the sand drawings the boy had made with his stick and an apprenticeship later the boy had turned into a little friend.

“I was told to give this one if you’re sad,” the boy explained, earning a quirk from Theo’s brows as he held out his hand, picking the note with his other.

“And if I was not?” he inquired, but the boy didn’t need that many words to understand what the art-dealer wanted;

“Then there was none, other than to tell you to ditch your hat.”

The child was much too witty as well, but the man let it slide as he chuckled, a grin spreading over his face for the first time of the day. With a tip of his hat the male turned away, leaving the last ignored as he unfolded the note;

‘Lonely? Ditch the hat. :) <3’

This earned another chuckle from the man, your familiar hand and the strange symbols that were supposed to mean something lifted something within him. When he looked up from the note the sky seemed a little bluer and the sun a bit brighter.

Adjusting his hat Theo pulled the piece off, looking down at the gray cap that matched his suit so well. “If that would summon you,” he contemplated. He often ignored your jabs at his hat, finding nothing wrong with the piece. But if he had to choose between the two of you his choice would have been easily made. It didn’t matter how attached he pretended to be, there were other hats, but there was only one you.

“Did you ditch it?” your voice popped up, your figure peeking up at him from behind as your face fell at the sight of the hat in his hands, “at least it isn’t on your head,” you pouted, rather disappointed, though grimaced at him all the same as Theo stared at you rather dumbfounded.

“Surprise?” you tell the man with a chuckle as you move your hands in the air, “I just finished, let’s go home together?”

Theo didn’t need to be asked a second time. Nor did he manage to answer in a smart quip or with his usual classics. The hat dropped out of his hand and arms wrapped around you, pulling you in and close as he felt himself defrost against your warmth. An exhale of relief followed after as now the man felt whole once more. A huff from your side filled with mirth ringing in his ears and committed to memory.

“Oh, who is the pup now,” you jovially exclaim, but you pat his back all the same. Comforting the man that would never admit the gloom and doom of the hours spent without you.

#ikevam theo #ikevamp theo #ikemen theo #ikemen vampire theo #ikemen vampire #ikevam #ikevamp #ikevam x reader #ikevamp x reader #ikemen vampire x reader

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wlntrsldler · 4 years

Text

unrequited (draco malfoy/ cedric diggory series)

PROMPT: You and Cedric grew up together. After the tragedy of the Triwizard Tournament, you’re left feeling empty without your best friend. Draco Malfoy steps into the picture. Will the feelings be reciprocated? Or will it be unrequited?

WARNINGS: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, angst, fluff, sadness???

PAIRING: draco malfoy x reader and cedric diggory x reader; hufflepuff reader

WC: 2.1K+

UNREQUITED MASTERLIST

UNREQUITED PLAYLISTS (SEND ME SONGS!)

PART 8

Much to your dismay, you and Draco went back to acting like you didn’t know each other after that night. He avoided you at all costs, even going as far as moving his seat in Potions. Snape caught on after a while, eyeing Draco from the other side of the room when he would try to subtly look at you.

He stopped looking at you in the Great Hall, changing his seat so his back was facing you. You didn’t know what happened or what you did, but it bothered you. He closed himself off again, reverting back to the Draco you despised. Although he no longer made fun of you and your friends, it still hurt knowing that he acted like you didn’t exist.

You were in your dormitory, doing some last minute packing. Everyone else was already off on their way home for the holidays. The Weasleys, Hermione and Harry left for the Burrow some time ago, leaving you to yourself as you said you had to take care of something beforehand. You wanted to go somewhere before the holidays.

You placed the last sweater into your backpack, letting out a breath of relief that you were finally done with packing. You always hated packing, that’s why you pushed it off to the very last minute. You zipped up your backpack and placed it at the foot of your bed, mentally scolding yourself for working to fit everything in one bag. You knew your back was going to kill you.

You tugged your coat on, double checking to see if you had everything. The golden bottle of cologne stood lonesome on your desk, reminding you that you had to pack it. You walked over, getting a hold of the bottle and spritizing some on. Chamomile and honey, just how you like it.

“Y/N?”

Startled, you dropped the bottle, the contents spilling out of the broken glass. You turned around, surprised that there were even still people in the castle. You saw Draco standing by the doorway, eyes apologetic when he saw the wet stain on the floor caused by your cologne. You scolded, “Merlin, Draco. Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“Sorry,” He apologized, awkwardly standing by the door.

You knelt down and picked up the large pieces, tossing them in the trash. You wiped up the cologne, cursing that you had to wait until you got back to pick up a new bottle. “What are you doing here?”

“I just wanted to wish you a Happy Christmas.” Draco stated. “I know it’s been really weird between us and I just-” He took in a breath. “I just wanted to say have a Happy Christmas.”

“I wonder why it’s been weird.” You snapped, picking up your bag to make your way out of the dormitories. “Seriously, Draco. What the hell is wrong with you?”

He groaned, shutting the door behind him. He approached you, not wanting to startle you so he calmed himself down before he stopped in front of you. “I know, Y/N. I’ve been an arse. I just-”

“You what?”

“Let me finish.” He huffed, crossing his arms over his chest like a child. “I just can’t talk about the Dark Lord and stuff like that. I get a squirmy.”

“Squirmy?”

“Yeah, you know like… I get weir-”

You cut him off again, “I know what it means, Draco. I’m asking, why?”

He groaned again, rubbing his eyes with his palms.”That’s- It’s complicated.”

“I hate that phrase.”

He cocked an eyebrow, “Well, there’s no better way of saying it.”

“I guess.”

“Y/N,” His voice was calmer now. He sounded more at ease than before. He stepped towards you, grabbing you by the shoulders to steady you. “It’s complicated, okay? I just can’t talk about it. Especially not with you.”

You stared at his hands on your body. You couldn’t help but smile at how absurd you two must look right now. Draco Malfoy, the touch starved boy, holding onto you like a lifeline with the most worried look on his face that anyone has ever seen, in the middle of a Hufflepuff girl dormitory. His eyes were pleading, expensive shoes getting stained by the leftover cologne you didn’t wipe clean, and his fingers digging into your skin, but not to the point where it hurt. You don’t know how you got here, but you did.

You chuckled, raising your hand to place it on top of his- less cold than you remembered. “Okay, Draco.”

He smiled, eyes darting down to where you touched him. “Okay.”

You moved his hand to intertwine your fingers, an action that seemed so natural. You hummed in appreciation as he rubbed his thumb over the top of your hand. You traced the veins on his hand with your other hand, drawing figure-eights on his pale skin. He shivered under your feather light touch. You both looked up at the same time, eyes twinkling with something new. You didn’t know what it was but it was nice. Being with Draco, this Draco, was nice.

You stood there for a while, just smiling at each other like fools. You tried to look away so many times but his smile was addicting. It was a crime that he didn’t do it more often. His smile was contagious. And when he let out a genuine laugh at how long you two held your stares, probably realizing how stupid you were both acting, you could’ve swore your heart fluttered in your chest. Draco Malfoy, you thought, who would’ve known?

“Well,” He started, backing away but his sheepish smile remained on his face. “Happy Christmas, Y/N. I’ll see you after the holidays. Enjoy your time with the Weasleys.”

Your smile faltered a bit, not wanting him to go so soon, but it was progress. You’d take it over nothing. “Bye Draco. Enjoy your holiday, as well.”

He gave you a courteous nod before walking out of your dormitory, shutting the door quietly behind him. The castle was quiet enough that you heard his footsteps receding down the hallway. You plopped down on your bed, unable to stop smiling and replaying the scene that happened in front of you. What the hell was going on?

You left the castle an hour after your encounter with Draco. You made your way to the cemetery where Cedric was put to rest. It was your first time going since the funeral and a part of you felt guilty because of it. You knew you should’ve been there more often and visited him but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Seeing his name engraved in the stone made it too real and for a long time you weren’t ready to face a reality that didn’t have Cedric in it.

You knew he would’ve wanted you to continue living. He always found the value of life, always telling you to look on the bright side of things. He was a glass half-full type of person, always was. He would joke around when you were younger that if he were to die early, he wanted you to keep him in the back of your mind, but never let his death keep you from being happy. He would’ve been disappointed in you, the first few months of his death, because you did exactly what he said not to do. But now, you tried to obey his wishes.

You felt the snowfall as you walked towards the gates of the cemetery. You carried your backpack with your clothes on your back, unable to feel the pain as the lines of tombstones made you feel numb. You’d only been there once but it was like your feet knew exactly where to go.

Nobody was around, which made sense. It was cold out and the snow kept falling with no hesitations. Everyone was indoors, snuggled up in blankets with their loved ones. You saw some indents of footsteps going in and out of the cemetery. You studied them for a moment. One set of footprints belonged to a child; you could tell because it was so small. It reminded you of yours when you first buried your mother in the Muggle cemetery, holding your aunt’s hand tightly as you cried into your shoulder.

You saw a field of flowers by one tombstone and you knew it was Cedric’s. Your heart skipped when you saw how many people still thought of him. It made you feel like you weren’t alone, for once. Like you weren’t crazy for always thinking of him, dreaming of him, almost feeling his touch. Maybe nobody else missed him in the same way as you did, but it was comforting to know that other people missed him too. Was that horrible?

You sat in front of the tombstone, Cedric’s name seemed to blind you. You felt tears prick your eyes as they danced over the fresh flowers people left on his grave. A few from some Hufflepuffs, a bouquet from Mr. Diggory, and one from the Trio and the twins. You smiled, knowing they stopped by before you did to pay their respects. You really did have the best of friends.

“Hey Ced,” You greeted, unable to stop the tears from falling. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around lately. I couldn’t bring myself to see you. Selfish, right? You’re the one who died and I’m the one who’s acting like her life is over.” You chuckled, half expecting him to laugh with you. He always laughed at your pitiful jokes.

“Um, a lot has changed, Ced. Christmas is a few days from now and I know you won’t be there to wake me up. I haven’t seen your dad in a while. It’s gonna be weird without his pancakes.” You bit your lip, uncontrollably shaking. “I’m spending it with the Weasley’s, though, Harry and Hermione, too. They help a lot. They help me a lot.”

You cleared your throat, digging through your bag to pull out his journal. “I hope you don’t mind but I-I’ve been reading your journal. Your dad gave it to me for my birthday this year. It makes me feel like you’re still around. Like sometimes, I talk to myself, out loud, because I think you’re gonna reply and I look next to me and you’re not there. And I just-” You stopped for a second, trying to steady your voice. “And I just miss you, Ced. I don’t know life without you. You’re my best friend and you’re supposed to be here. You know? You arse. You’re supposed to be here and tell me everything’s gonna be okay and that you love me and this is just a bad dream.”

You could almost hear his voice, calm and steady, telling you to take a deep breath. He always did that whenever you grew frustrated with him, which he hates to admit, happened a lot. You would be so close to throwing things at him when he pissed you off and he would wrap his arms around you, let you cry and ruin his clothes, while helping you match your breathing with his. Cedric was always so good with that. Always so good with you.

But he wasn’t there now. And it was unfair of you, you know it was, but you couldn’t help it. You were mad. You were angry. You were hurt that he had to die and leave you to figure life out without him. You lost so many people and loved so hard only for love to spit in your face. You always thought Cedric would be the last person to go.

Yes, you were selfish. Unfair. Cruel. But dammit, Cedric’s gone. And you were by yourself.

Your voice grew louder, “You’re supposed to hold me and tell me I’m overreacting. That’s what we do, Ced! We don’t leave each other. You never left me before. Why did you have to go?” Your voice cracked, hands trembling. You noticed how loud you were when the birds flew away at the sound of your voice. You whispered, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell.”

You sniffled, wiping your nose on your coat. “Ced, I wish you were here. I wish it everyday. There’s nothing I wouldn’t give to have you back just for a day, even. An hour. A minute. Anything, Cedric Diggory. I just… I want more time with you. I didn’t get to say goodbye.”

You placed your palm on his tombstone, like how you used to do on his chest to feel his heart beating under you. “I didn’t get to tell you that I love you back.”

A/N: sorry if i spam you guys with updates but i literally LOVE writing this fic. the minute i hit over 2K words and i like the way i ended the chapter, i publish it right away. so if there’s some errors im so sorry. im just too excited LOL.

TAGLIST IS OPEN! SEND AN ASK!

@melancholiaflowers @jjjmaybank @marshxx @truly-insatiable @poisoned-pineapple @i-mmunity @p0gue420 @dark-night-sky-99 @hvrcruxes @youareinllve @messenough

#harry potter #harry potter fanfic #harry potter series #draco malfoy #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy fanfic #draco malfoy series #draco malfoy x yn #draco malfoy imagine #cedric diggory #cedric diggory fanfic #cedric diggory x reader #cedric diggory imagine #cedric diggory series #cedric diggory x yn #unrequited fic #frances writes

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hungryflowers · 3 years

Text

You’re Different Backstage

Title: You’re Different Backstage

Rating: Explicit (NSFW)

Continuity/Fandom: Balan Wonderworld

Character Relationship(s): “Balance” Balan/Lance

Character(s): Balan, Lance

A/N: This is going to be my FIRST NSFW submission for this fandom. Do not come at me with the torches, pitch forks, knives or shotguns. I, very recently, sent myself down the rabbit hole of Balance (Balan/Lance) and kept wondering: how nice would it be to see some good ol’ fashion sexy time with the two of them? Since no one has done it yet, I thought, why don’t I? What’s stopping me? Who can stop me? NOBODY!!! So I did this. And it took me 10 days to do, so please accept my thing!! Also, also, this will probably be the longest porn w/o plot I’ve ever written. Hence why it took nearly ten days. The editing alone was bananas!! Another thing, I’d like to apologize in advance if I offend anyone here who is Non-Binary or go by They/Them pronouns. Since Lance is canonically non-binary, I tried to keep it as close to the orientation as possible. This was real hard as I usually default to male pronouns for both of them.

However, I didn’t do the same for Balan, as he does tend to go by more male pronouns than Lance does even though they are also androgynous in appearance. Maestro is a more masculine term even if neither of them actually are. Another big thing: Balan’s genitals here. Since they don’t have actual default genitalia, I like to think that he has the ability to oscillate his genitals. He can have male and female parts just not at the same time. With that out of the way, please indulge in this steamy lil’ fan fic. And yes, I take criticism.

Other/Warning(s): Massive smut warning!! Penetrative sex, Oral and Cunnilingus, Some minor swearing, graphic depictions of sexual situations as well as multiple orgasms.

Lance didn’t enjoy setting the ‘mood’ as others had assumed it. They weren’t deeply inclined to romantic, or sappy gestures like the better half of themselves had been. Balan seemed better at the sentimental side of affirmations of love and adoration. Or of praises and well-wishes that devolved into lasting conversations of love and happiness.

No. No such things came out of Lance. They never gave in the way Balan would crave it. All they have ever wished for in turn was the physical catharsis of those suppressed feelings. Lance never called it love. Far be it from them to say what it wasn’t, but call it what it is. For them, it was just sex. The debasing art form of it too; bed-rocking, sloppy and wet, body tingling sex. That kind one would have as a means to purge the physical, mental garbage of the day and get back to work. The sex that revolved around more the need to take and not deal in the emotional ramifications. Lance’s fangs would draw in a wicked grin, the idea of that perfect, lasting till the morning time sex rarely sounding so bad. They had raptured, fantasized of the feel of Balan’s more delicate, tender frame mashed into theirs as he was ridden to a mind-blowing high that could leave them both speechless for a long while.

They would languish in these thoughts. The perverse nature of them driving him to do insane things in search of the release from the monstrous, bone-rattling ache. For now, Lance busied themselves to look away... their thoughts hazy and muddled with the resurfacing gnaw of pursuing pleasure. Their mouth ducked into their tattered caplet, hiding the baring growl that prickled at those lips. Soft, ocean-colored eyes hardened with shock, and some surprise as they locked with Balan’s. They must’ve been so entranced with the inner turmoil, Lance never registered the glance the maestro was giving them. The Maestro of Wonderworld’s presence did things to Lance. Things they acknowledged and didn’t like. Gods, who decided to torment them so by making this being so damned beautiful and siren-like? How dare he sit with an air so casual, it appeared nothing ever bothered him? Damn him. Damn his soft, luscious and devilish curves; feminine in some ways while masculine in others. But moreover, damn those goddamn large and intelligent yellow eyes.

Golden pools shimmered deliciously in the lamplight of the slow evening. The theater was always quiet at night. It was period of reflection, relaxation. Or maybe a time to finish some old project. Maybe begin anew. For Balan tonight however, it was his time to catch up on a few good reads. He hadn’t picked up a good novel in some time. Usually the only papers he read were his rough drafts of scripts and plans. But he loved to read. When he didn’t harass Lance with trivial tasks, or for the nuisance of conversation, Balan read. If not that, he wrote. He was a maestro of the craft; short stories, full-lengths, prompts and scenarios, or sometimes just a journal entry. On this night he didn’t busy himself with putting quill to parchment.

Balan's mouth opened, a sound coming out but no words. He wasn’t entirely sure how to ask about Lance’s wellbeing with being snapped at. The other appearing to be in a dour mood tonight. Placing the book on the small, rounded oak table Balan unfolded his legs to stand. He stretched idly, rubbing at the back of his top hat before pulling it off his head to fluff out his bouncy mint-colored dreads. Humming a little tune, Balan rummaged through his showman jacket, pulling out a golden rubber band to tie his long dreads back. The tendrils folded down his shoulders neatly once they were out of the way, exposing the intricately made heart marking atop his dark forehead.

His eyes fanned over the negati’s hidden features before he walked over to the bar on the far side of the room. Opening one of the cabinets, he pulled out an aged bottle of wine; the label slightly tarnished and dusty read in calligraphic silver “Caraveét”. He grabbed gold-rimmed chalices, pouring the shimmering iris colored wine into each of the glasses. He grinned, smelling the sweet and tart flavors. He took a slow sip from his glass before tapping the bar table with his gloved fingers, the racketing bring Lance out of their stupor.

“Did you want some?”, He inquired, hoping the swirling liquid would ease the storm that ravaged the negati, “You seem a bit broody tonight. Perhaps, a couple of glasses should ease both our minds.” The maestro chuckled giddily raising his glass as it gleamed in the low light.

Lance regarded the glass, then the maestro as he walked over to them. The tentacles on their back lashed so abruptly, Lance had to do a non-verbal apology when they knocked over a few chairs by accident. They weren’t brooding. Not even mad, but they were feeling something. Just not sure how to find the words for it.

Balan’s eyes drifted to Lance’s, regarding them. Waiting for them to answer the question they most likely didn’t hear in the first place.

“What?” The tone was not to be a biting, agitated type yet Lance couldn’t make themselves look at Balan, knowing full well the turmoil they were in.

“Nothing... I was just asking if you would like a glass of wine? You are more the brooding lot than usual. Drink with me.” Balan’s playful baritone voice felt like velvet as it caressed their ears. That voice caused Lance to sulk further more, hiding their face inside the caplet as the thoughts, seeming to feel more like whispers of temptation, dominated their rational thinking.

He took the offered glass yet chose not to drink of any of it. Instead he loomed over the rim as Balan took a long swig of his.

Lance licked at their lips, unknowing of the gesture. They would give more than anything to kiss the taste off of Balan’s lips. Or just to kiss them at all. They had wondered what it would be like to feel the maestro’s lips tentatively licking, caressing theirs in a heated lip-lock. The maddening thoughts came back tenfold, causing the other in audible snarl, attempting to shut them away.

“Lance... are you okay?” They heard Balan on the bridge of their conscious, the other’s voice like a muddling hum as they stood up quickly to move in front of Balan. The other, not knowing how to judge the move, backed into the bar, his glass still in hand while he searched the eyes of Lance. They appeared to be wild, nearly frantic with an energy Lance never expressed.

Lance leered at the other silently before pushing himself right into the maestro’s form; trapping him in front of the wood lacquer. Balan’s fleeing gaze made Lance smile. Not grin... smile. His mouth perking with something that could not be said as his hands went to Balan’s cravat, pulling the other slowly toward him.

“No...”, Lance confessed, eyes lulling closed dreamily, “I am not okay. And you are to blame.” That smile showed off the fangs, the points flitting in the soft lamplight.

Balan could not fully process what was going on before Lance leaned in fully to capture the other’s lips. Night after night, they had dreamt up this moment and even now they cannot believe they had gotten this far. It was far better than any dream or wish; light blue eyes sliding closed as a slender tongue went past the maestro’s parted, stunned mouth. That moment caused a ripple of shock to seize Balan, contents of his glass spilling onto the floor, no doubt leaving a stain that’ll have to be dealt with. He didn’t even have the knowledge of dropping it, yellow eyes staring at Lance’s softened face before he willed himself to kiss back. His hands, once frozen indecisively, pulled Lance in close.

Neither were sure how it had come to this, but Balan didn’t have the heart in him to make Lance stop. A small purr rumbled the kiss as Lance began to pull off. They disconnected breathlessly, only the small tail of spittle between them. Their breaths were heavy and hot, burning like steam with each exhale. It took the maestro to gather his bearings before his mouth was able to work again.

“W-Why am I to blame?? Lance what’s happened to you?” Balan felt as if he knew what was about to happen, and tried his best to make it all make sense. He was normally in a lot more control in surprise like situations; yet here... he was unable to predict the sheer tumbling force that Lance was portraying.

“You’ll understand soon enough,” Lance whispered, deftly kissing down Balan’s neck, inky-black hair brushing amethyst sparkled cheeks, “I’ll make you understand.” They said louder with a growl that exposed fangs.

Purrs rumble through Lance as they fumbled with anything that would be able to get Balan’s ensemble off. Instantly they are met with resistance as Balan shoves at them, hands going to the sharp shoulders defensively.

“Lance! What do you think you’re doing?!” Balan exclaimed, standing his ground before Lance doubles their efforts to expose the maestro. They are only slimly successful when get to expose Balan’s upper shoulder; the tear just big enough to reveal swirling lines of golden runes, “Have you lost your mind?!”

The other refuses to answer him, bringing themselves flush against Balan to kiss down the exposed markings.

Had they managed to lose their mind? Lance would have to give that some thought later on. In the afterglow. But first, they’d have to get down from the tantalizing high that has them under a spell. Their lips brushed softly down the exposed skin, running lightly over the maestro’s clothed arm. Gods, both of them just had on too many layers. Lance flared up, frustrated by the inability to firmly feel the decadent skin.

“Lance, let me go!” Balan demanded, the command in his voice barely swaying Lance to push off him. He was losing control of the situation. And the scary part of it was that was what he wanted. Balan would have been lying to himself if he said that he didn’t want this. Yet to get it from Lance this way was never a part of the plan.

“You don’t want me to let you go.” Lance stated, eyes twinkling with more than just mischief behind them.

“Yes I do!” Balan choked out, his act and bravado beginning to fail him.

“Then why are you pulling yourself into me?” Lance chuckled, allowing their hands to wander down Balan’s waist.

“I’m-” He stammered not expecting to see or know that he had been pulling Lance closer the entire time. Forbid it all, he wanted this negati more than anything right now. And he was showing how badly. Damn his body for this. He was normally in better control of his reactions, this lapse should not have been tolerated.

His be-speckled face shown with the brewing embarrassment of being caught before shoving himself a bit harder, finally escaping Lance’s grasp. The poor thing looked a fright; face flushing a deep violet, hair askew as it rolled down his shoulders and back, teeth clenched in discomfort as he attempted to steady his breathing. His chest must’ve rattled from the urge to scream at Lance. Instead he stamped off, refusing to let Lance see how flustered he became. He’ll have to be in his room for a while to work out the steam that began to build.

He didn’t get far as a few tendrils of inky black wrapped around the other’s waist. He could hardly make a verbal protest while being pulled back into the other’s form. Large claws going up his neck, arresting Balan’s smooth belly as the tendrils dipped further. The tentacles moved lively, squeezing and pulling on the other as Lance’s hands swept and groomed over the maestro’s suit. When one hand dipped between Balan’s legs, he seized up.

Yellow eyes dilated, Lance’s touch freezing his mind. The groan that escaped him was not intended yet was enough to make Lance’s groin ache. He was going to force those sounds out of Balan. In one way or the other. Their night was going to be fulled with these delicious noises. The tendrils smoothed over him, probing the other perversely.

“Lance...please.” Balan became unaware of what he was begging for. He wanted this to stop, but he also felt like he’d regret refusing. This Lance... was much different than the one he’d encountered previously. The change felt real jarring; since they never made moves into his personal space. For anything. Least of all... This! He wanted to see where this could go. How much better it could get.

His own hands skimmed over Lance’s suit, prompting the other to loosen their grip as Balan slid away from the tendrils. Balan took one coil in between his fingers, golden eyes gazing into the blue ones. The heat behind the other’s eyes made Lance shudder, a harsh sigh coming from his mouth as Balan took the tip of Lance’s tendril into his. The look stayed as the tendril came from Balan’s mouth, his tongue connecting it. The appendage darted out to swipe at the excess spittle left behind, the maestro’s eyes still glowing with a renewed heat.

The action prompted a sneer from Lance’s features, their hand waving for a portal to open up behind Balan. The maestro gasped, turning to the hazy violet-colored portal. The shout of shock was to be expected as he was shoved right through it, the residual tethers of Lance’s self control snapping audibly as it receded.

The overwhelmed, unknowing audience of Tims sat, wiggled, waddled and creeped up to sit in the place both beings had been.

______________________________

It was not the fall that left him breathless as he landed on the massive expanse of what felt like a lavish bed. It wasn’t the deep contrasting colors of purple and gold accents that were illuminated by rainbow-esque runes and paintings of Negati markings throughout the immense, intimate space. Nor was it the pulsating rivets of scarlet that blended salaciously with the black and purple blankets and amassing of huge, plumy pillows.

Lance himself left him utter breathless; transfixing him, mesmerizing him with the oscillating negati runes that gleamed in the room. Lance had never done this display before. Their runes barely pulsed or shined vibrantly whenever they were around each other. Evermore rarer when he was alone. The runes gave him an ethereal hue that the nighttime sky couldn’t rival. He brushed that thought away as Lance struggled out of their wardrobe, hardly mindful of seams, buttons or zippers as the top half of his shorn cloak was disposed of somewhere in the low lit room. Balan flinched yet shuddered at the ferocity Lance had showcased in removing his own tunic and darker colored vest from underneath. With his chest exposed; the tapestry of rune lines and fuchsia gleaming in the violet backdrop of the room, he was on Balan.

The maestro’s bright color scheme contrasted a great deal with the whole room, snow white wrapped in gold and scarlet with the fettering of navy with his undershirt. The colors screamed obnoxiously in comparison, and Lance wanted them all off. Balan looked on, dazed by the negati while Lance’s -no longer gloved, dark- fingers delved to pull apart the top of the collar, effortlessly tearing it asunder, a low suffering sound coming from the maestro but not much else. He would figure that Lance would be like this. There was no such thing as intimacy or care with the negati. Everything he touched broke in his hands. Balan knows well that this time will be no different.

Those warmed hands skimmed over the prone body, fingers probing through the opened seams of the tattered clothings. They tickled him, a warm and fuzzy sensation spreading throughout the squirming frame. Balan felt lips on his chest, hands assisting in the pleasing endeavor while the other arched and shook. His mouth opened in an exhalation of steaming desire. When Lance pinched a nipple, Balan shot upwards in heated rebellion, forcing Lance to restrain him with his tendrils.

He was about to demand that Lance release him yet was cowed into silence by a startling growl, “This ends if you keep moving.” That voice, their voice had done something to the maestro. In other instances, Balan would have fought Lance until the other relented control, but during this... he went oddly still, placate as Lance continued to trace a trail of kisses down his chest. He brought his hips forward and up as the negati began kissing down his belly, stopping shy of the seam of his pants. Warm hands went into the other’s pants, the kindled heat coming off of Balan’s genitals enough to make Lance purr.

The maestro struggled against the hold as Lance pulled his pants down, heeled boots joining them as pile on the floor; kissing trails down his waist and down his legs. When the teeth pricked his skin, Balan thrashed. His face aglow with purplish speckles that brightened with his flush. He sparkled everywhere; cheeks, chest, hips and down the markings of his illuminated, swirling markings. Even the tendrils of his hair began to glow a slight with the forbidden heat. The hold on the restraints doubled.

“What did I just say?” Lance growled, the reverberating making Balan tense.

“L-Lance! Lance...”, Balan was calling to him yet couldn’t reach him as the negati roughly rid him of his clothing. Nearly naked, Balan shivered in the cool of the room as well as under the heated gaze of the negati, whom crawled up his frame to, again, kiss and lick at his newly glowing speckles, “Please... don’t stop! Please, Lance.” The maestro whispered pleas were a shock to the negati’s ears. He still wanted to punish him for fighting but couldn’t bring himself to do it. He was becoming so lost to the feelings.

“Save your voice, pet...”, Lance whispered as his fingers slipped past the maestro’s brightly colored panties, feeling him for the first time, “It is too premature for you to be screaming for me now.” He chuckled more as his folds became reactive to the fingers smoothing them over, luscious wetness forming inside the panties.

Balan’s eyes widened, the shock of Lance’s finger boldly touching him made him to squirm, his own palm moving atop the negati’s. Much to Lance’s surprise, he didn’t hinder him yet chose to guide his fingers even closer, near enough for them to breach the delectable, delicate walls. Sun-yellow eyes rolled back once he felt one fingertip push its way inside, stopping short of sinking in completely. The maestro’s moan was unabashedly loud, body rolling in venture of more fingers. Lance marveled with fascination at the other’s willingness; form softening as he shook his head to and fro in delirium. He couldn’t stop shaking, lithe body aroused as the finger came from his wet sex. He smelt utterly delicious, dripping the natural nectar like a perfectly ripe fruit. His tongue slipped out to have a taste of it... and it had been everything he had hoped for.

The aroma of the finest wine with the scintillating notes of vanilla and lavender. His cock pulsed in his own pants, over eager for its own taste.

In horny glee, Lance yanked off the maestro’s panties, tossing the last piece of clothing into the darkness of his chambers in order to marvel at the most succulent sight in between the other’s rune spiraled legs. The plump lips of the vulva were just perfect enough to kiss, the natural wetness dribbling onto the blankets, glittering a soft purple as it did. The negati locked eyes with the heated, glazed expression before moving to take Balan’s mouth in a heated, soft kiss. The other kissed back with more fervor than before, free hand going behind Lance’s head to drag him down.

They pulled away with a long, loud sigh. The other scoring hot in contrast to the sheets beneath. Balan splayed his legs more, allowing for more room.

Lance grabbed up his thighs roughly, pulling him to the end of the bed to comfortably rest on their knees. Without much warning, Lance dipped his mouth right onto the humming lips of his vulva. That tongue went right to work at lapping up the sticky juices in and around those lips, a soft chuckle coming out of Lance as Balan shouted in lewd desire. His giant hands went right to Lance’s head, twining his fingers in the other’s hair as he shook and shimmied to the lapping tongue, hips arching to bring those lips closer to his pussy.

Lance focused on the luscious flavor of his cunt, dragging Balan closer to them as the maestro attempted to pull back. Their grasp got tighter the harder Balan fought against the hold. He felt the other’s grip in his hair, the tugging just enough to keep Lance deep. He lost his mind to Lance’s teeth grazing the top of his clit before sucking hard on his folds.

“Gods! Uhh, huh, L-L-Lance!”, Balan stammered, the corner of his eyes prickling with unshed tears while he fought and screamed into Lance’s lips. He was in heaven, but damn him if he’d admit that to the Negati. Balan flailed his head, mint-colored dreads going all over as he lost all semblance of control, “Dear gods Lance! Please! I cannot take...!” Balan pleaded for him to stop, to show any mercy on him as an intense rush of savage, carnal desire shot through him. When the other didn’t heed him, he wept. A startled sob ripped from his gasping maw as he arched into Lance’s rippling tongue.

Lance backed off in order to awe at the loss of self control Balan was beginning to display. He took in the panting, shaking mess of a maestro before his very eyes; mouth hanging open as he greedily swallowed gulps of air, body aquiver with mind melting lust, hands holding his head like a vice as those sinful thighs wrapped around him. The sight of him made the negati moan unintentionally, tongue plundering the maestro. The vibrations of it caused Balan to clench on him and scream, both hands abandoning Lance’s hair to slide against the cooler sheets.

“Oh! Oh gods, please, please...” The maestro whimpered, body relishing in that feeling while his mind boiled in intensity.

Lance, accounting for Balan’s behavior, moaned louder and longer against the lips of Balan’s clit, as well as kept their tongue inside with the intent to find his G-spot. They kept at it for sometime, their tongue buried deep as their hands massaged over Balan’s heated, dark thighs. They kept the maestro as close as they could as they tongued the bundle of nerves located far up the other’s pelvis.

“Wait! Wait! Lance please... don’t...please-” He hardly could finish the plea as instant rapture shot through his frame, causing him to clench on Lance’s tongue in a spine-melting orgasm. His mouth hung open in a room-rocking cry as his body snapped rigid, arms behind him as he grasped tight on the sheets. His chest thudded rapidly to his erratic breathing. His flesh clenching and tingling around Lance’s tongue the climax continued through him. There would be no reprieve however as he became rigged again, legs snapping around Lance’s head suddenly with another powerful orgasm.

Lance had not stopped even through the second climax. Not even with Balan wailing in what could be felt as pain. The silky walls gushed with his essence, the liquid sex simmering on the negati’s tongue as they drank it. A pleasured laugh rippled through them as they pressed hard kisses to the top of Balan’s pussy. Kissing it several more times as Balan screamed at them in another language. They still didn’t stop as he felt the other kicking at them with feverish intent. When he almost clambered away, Lance reinforced their hold to plunge their tongue into him again.

“For gods sake Lance! I can’t take anymore! Stop, please! I beg of you!” He wailed as tears streamed down his face.

An empathetic grimace came to Lance’s face as they finally relinquished his hold on the thoroughly ruined maestro. Their lips were deliciously wet with the slick of the other’s sex, the taste even better than the wine he captured on Balan’s lips only moments ago. He watched him roll on the sheets, finding some balance of his overheated body and the cold contrast of the dark sheets. Deliriously, he crooned and purred as he came down from the high. It took him about five minutes total to calm himself. And then he smacked Lance’s shoulder. Hard.

“Bastard! I told you to stop! What in the hell would it have taken for you to listen to me?!” He hissed, eyes narrowing darkly as he sat up. He seemed the opposite of pleased at the moment. A contrast that Lance felt prepared to deal with. Can’t please some people. The sentiment literal in Balan’s case.

“You were fine with me not a few minutes ago.” Lance jabbed as they groaned at the pressing of that erection against their tight pants. The glare Balan shot at Lance made the other’s ears pin low.

“That was before I had two orgasms in a row, heathen! You should have more respect for me. And be more receptive Lance. This isn’t just about you!!” He snapped. Nope. None too pleased at all.

Lance blinked, “This... wasn’t about me. Trust that if it were; I would’ve fucked you through this bed. The only reason I didn’t do that is because I want to see you cum. I’ve only ever heard that-”

“Wait, wait a minute. You’ve heard me climax?” Balan started, a touch confused.

“In your bedroom, when you think you’re alone. True, there are no visitors around but someone was always in the theater,” Lance purred as soft as a breeze. The negati smiled at the brightening embarrassment on Balan’s face, wishing now he had his hat to hide it. It softened them so seeing the normally composed, bombastic maestro reduced to a shivering, blushing mess. Gingerly as allowed, Lance caught Balan’s face, causing the other to look at them, “I guess I just wanted to put the face to the voice. And I am not disappointed.”

Lance leaned over to kiss the still warm cheek of the maestro as the other side-eyed him, the smallest smile forming.

“I’m... not used to this side of you. You’re normally so far away from me. In fact doing you’re very best to stay out of my sight. Even when I want you there. You know...”, A slow pause before Balan finished the thought, “You are different... too bad we both have to be backstage to see it.”

“I’m different backstage?!”, Lance’s long ears perked at the comment, not ever having someone feel or compare the sentiment, “I’ll remember that then. Do you want me to continue then? Or would you rather sulk about how I never know about your needs and cues?” Lance’s eyes sparkled with a mischief that could rival Balan’s.

“Yes, damn you. That...was a genuine experience.” He giggled, the noise a delight to Lance’s ears, leaning back on the plushy pillows, tendrils sprawling out comfortably behind him. With a singular exhale Balan relaxed against the sheets, hands going in his hair, fiddling with and tossing a singular white sliver of his tendrils. Only... it wasn’t his hair, Lance noticed and then raised an unseen brow in suspicion.

“Is that... an ear?” They breathed a laugh as Balan hid it in his hair again. When he sat up, it confirmed everything that Lance thought prior; he had the same ears as they did, a slight longer, floppier and appeared to be super soft. The negati’s eyes sparkled as they pulled out the hidden appendages, wondering why they hadn’t noticed them until now.

“I-I-I never liked them. They’re long, cumbersome and don’t fit under my hat properly. So I just have been tying them back along with my dreadlocks. Wha? Why are you pulling them?!” Balan shrieked, his sensitive membranes folding as Lance fiddled with them. The stark white with the hue of light green made the ears stand out, the occasional flap picking up the slightest noise.

“Why hide them? I think they’re absolutely wonderful.” Lance emphasized as they waggled their own long, dark ears. Their ears sat higher than the maestro’s and didn’t bend as much. He crawled over to the negati, aligning his hips in between the others legs with care. Their pulsing erection awoke his deepest desires, causing Lance to grind their clothed crotch into Balan’s exposed one. He gasps weakly, feeling the outline of the negati’s cock against his sensitive folds, gloved hands moving up Lance’s arms to bring them in for a deep kiss.

Consumed by more the kiss than the passion behind it Lance drove their tongue deep into Balan’s mouth, tasting the other’s breath and intermingling the taste of his fluid sex. Balan’s tongue stuck out as Lance’s lips engulfed them, teeth grazing over the appendage while Balan groaned hotly. He brought his head higher, the expert work of that tongue making him drunker than any alcohol. The longer it went, the more impatient the maestro became; his hands going from Lance’s arms to dip into their pants to rip out the other’s cock.

Lance’s eyes flew open as hands peeled off their pants and pulled out their cock, the member free from the strain at last. They’d never lie to themselves about not feeling relieved. The darker phallus was impressive at best; thick in girth and longer than Balan’s, some negati rune marks trailed on either sides of their crotch and lower hips, and the tip looked spire like yet appeared to be soft to the touch. Balan would find out soon enough.

“I get it. This is moving too slow. But I thought that you’d appreciate it.” Lance inquired, chest rippling in steady laughter. It felt like a punishment for forcing Balan to ride out his first orgasms.

Balan didn’t speak as he shoved Lance over, raising himself atop the other. Seated on their lap Balan took in the sight of his paramour, and just how dazzling they appeared. Chest rising and falling with softened breaths, the runes coming to life again in a brief flashes of multicolored lights, but he couldn’t stop looking at the other’s face. The heart marking atop his forehead blazing almost vermillion instead of the darker pink it usually was, their small fangs bared, glittering in the soft purple hue of the bed chambers.

He leant down, kissing the long neck, chest, pressing his lips hard onto his ribs and trailed a heated kiss down their pelvis; stopping just short of that maleness. He spared them a coy heated glance before kissing the drooling tip, eyes going to Lance to see their reaction. The other tensed, mewling the moment they felt those lips, tip swelling on demand.

“I’m going to suck the soul out of you. Just as you had did to me.” The heat in those words made it more fact than statement and Lance couldn’t wait long enough. They could have never imagined having the current maestro of Wonderworld’s mouth on their dick. To be honest, they could not imagine any of this happening right now. There was something so decadent and sinful about the way Balan talked dirty. Such things were just never heard from such an angelic mouth.

He stopped thinking altogether as Balan removed his gloves, throwing them onto one bedside table to fist his thickness roughly, stroking the lengthy girth. Thumbing over the head, he gauged how steady Lance was, the swelling member making the maestro’s mouth drip with unshed spittle. From the way he opened his mouth and sucked in them in deeply, Lance could have sworn that he had done this before yet can never remember a time this would ever happen.

“Ohhh yes! Balan...” Lance’s lungs stopped working the second Balan’s tongue encircled the head and bobbled repeatedly, his saliva silkening his hot length. Lance shuddered, moaning deeply as the tendrils on their back came back to life and spread across Balan’s pussy, massaging the outer vulva instead of the velvet walls. The sensation caused the maestro to moan around the dick in his mouth, a chain reactive shiver from Lance followed.

Balan slowly rocked on the tentacles that fondled on his folds as he swallowed down more of Lance, lips almost resting on their crotch before pulling off. Soon the maestro began working his hands with his tongue, hands pulling at the medium sized balls as the underside of the long cock was stroked by Balan’s tongue.

The tentacles worked Balan harder, the other groaning loudly with the near penetration on one tendril. The movement caused Lance to swear, hands digging into his hair, pushing the mint colored coils out of his face.

“Don’t stop Balan! Please don’t stop!”, Lance cried as they got closer to an explosive release. The vision of seeing cum painting the maestro’s immaculate, lovely face caused a shudder to surge out unconsciously. The tentacles groped the silky vulva with an intensity that caused Balan to pull off the other’s cock to choke out a cry.

“Lance!,” Balan called, drippings of drool falling onto the sheets as he shivered on the tentacles that never penetrated. He growled low as he pushed himself back on the largest of the tentacles, the bulb going right into his pussy, slicked with the welcomed wetness, “Ha, oh yess.” He crooned before stuffing the throbbing cock back into his mouth, pumping and sucking with the same vigor as the tentacle inside.

Lance mumbled something in a different language, thrusting into Balan’s warm mouth, along with the tentacle slipping through the sticky mess seeping from his tightening walls. They could barely muster the maestro’s name as a ringing sound flushed through their ears, body going tight as a bow while Balan swallowed down the cock fully. Their hands dug into the other’s hair making sure Balan was close enough to swallow all of the rich, violet colored seed as it splashed down his throat. The tentacle widened inside of his pussy, pushing on the clit with the vibration of its master’s climax.

They thrashed in zeal as Balan continued to suck them dry, not worried about the veiny tentacle that fucked him deep. He was determined to live up to his statement; soft, warm hands smoothing over Lance’s sharp hips as he swallowed him down more, moaning and whimpering as the length sputtered more seed. When the tentacle pushed more into the G-spot, Balan cried out, forcing his hips down to rock with his new orgasm. He had to get the cock out of his mouth in order breathe a bit proper as his walls vibrated with the climax.

The room became blanketed in a contented silence as they both came from their highs; Lance’s chest heaving air as Balan sat on their hips to find his mind. He purred with fervor as the tentacle slipped out of his cunt.

“That was good, yes?” Balan inquired, eyes wide and soft, body just as soft and pliant as he awaited a reply. The poor darling was self-conscious. A trait he never displayed when performing for anyone, nor anything.

Lance’s laugh brightened the maestro’s be-speckled face, ears twitching with the tenor of sound.

“That was the best head I’ve ever gotten, my lune-light. And you did what you said you would do.” Lance spoke breathlessly while they leant up to brush their forehead against Balan’s. The feathery kiss, as well as the compliment, drove the other to keen delightedly, ears flapping in exuberance.

“Your... ears. They flap whenever you’re excited or praised don’t they?” Oh, Lance was about to be so evil now. The sly grin invited as much.

Balan nodded his head, not even knowing he was acknowledging the question, smiling and flushing like mad as he did.

“Look at you. Flushed, heated and so devilishly handsome. A most salacious siren you turned into,” Lance growled as they pulled himself up but kept Balan in his lap, “A gorgeous being like you deserves to be drenched in the most opulent of pleasures. The thickest form of desire. Do you want me to worship you?” That damning voice caused Balan to shudder and grasp them in desperation.

“Yes! Worship me, worship my very body, revere it!”, He shouted, no longer bringing himself to care about anything other than the euphoria, “I want to feel you in me, on me, all over me!” Heat basked from his body as his ears flapped, mouth open in heavy pants. His naked cunt rocked on Lance’s cock, not sinking in fully. The movement caused Lance to spur into action, going on their knees to better to better position Balan, the maestro spreading his thighs eagerly on Lance’s lap.

Lance’s fingers intertwined with Balan’s, his hands warm and only touch wet. They pressed their teeth into the skin, reveling in the dark wrists that glowed subtly with golden accents and swirling patterns. Lance repeated the motion, tongue lapping at both wrists, palms and fingers. Lance felt the smoothness of the maestro’s beautiful hands. Their eyes shimmering in reverence as they pressed sweet kisses to each fingertip slowly. Their own hands felt up his palms; still so warm and just as silky soft. That tongue continued to trace the long golden lines, taking his time to press his lips into his wrists.

“Balan...” There weren’t enough words for Lance to say, or piece together for the time spent with each other. Nothing could prepare either of them for the sheer intensity of this new emotion. Melding of carnal lusts neither have the ability to describe. So for the first time tonight... Lance stopped talking. Letting only their bodies say so much more.

Steadying him, Lance brought Balan down on the hard thickness slowly, agonizing slow. The maestro’s glint was hot and heady, hands going to Lance’s shoulders as support. Lance heaved a hot moan, aligning the next thrust directly into the maestro. There wasn’t a need to test if the other was ready for it or not; his tightness giving way subtly with each small piston. The fiery gaze of Balan soften into kindled embers once he was fully seated on the other’s cock. He was starting to perspire, a reaction that Balan never had to anything in his life. Rushing sweat beaded down his neck, his chest and around his waist glazing him in a hue of condensation that began to make his body slippery.

They stayed in each other’s laps for a second before Lance thrust upwards, igniting Balan’s tongue again. He cried out in another language, most likely a swear considering the dialect. He groaned weakly, his body submitting to the roughness Lance invited with each movement. The moment Lance had worked out the rhythm the thrusts became harsher, more precise, pinpointing the exact spot to hammer him into a delectable frenzy. Lance’s breaths got rougher, louder, more of their teeth becoming exposed as they snarled in ecstasy.

Balan could barely hold on. Literally. His grip on Lance’s shoulders loosened each time the negati impaled him, the motions making him too sensitive, body on fire. Though barely cognitive, Balan did his best to rock up to meet with his thorough pounding. Moving his hips at an angle, Balan caught the ribs of Lance’s spired phallus, screaming out as it stabbed him.

The maestro’s screams did something primal to Lance, the sex-fueled fire warping and corrupting their licentious mind.

“You like it?”, The negati spoke deeply, the baritone voice smokey and laced like a honey-tipped whiskey glass, “Look at yourself. Becoming undone with just my cock. You cannot comprehend how fucking devilish you are! Siren!” Lance dragged Balan down, further stabbing him with the rigged member. They were so close yet weren’t about to go if Balan didn’t first. They were going to see the maestro climax on his dick. There would be nothing to stop it now. Astoundingly, Balan replied to the question, voice much like Lance’s yet tremulous in its form.

“Yes! I love it, I love you!,” His gaze meets the others in an embrace that Lance cannot escape from, “I love you so much, don’t stop please.” The plea is whispered as the remainder of Balan’s self control is pounded out of him. His lanky legs surrounding the negati, forcing them to stay the course as his cunt devours them hungrily.

It becomes too much for Lance; the fucking, the confession... just the sounds of Balan’s voice as they fuck. They snap forward hard, cock slamming the maestro’s pelvis as they climax, taking Balan right with them. The guttural snarl that surges from Lance actually scares Balan, those golden eyes wide with an erotic fear of the other before it fades with a deep-bodied orgasm that reverberates through his soul. He wails out, the pleasure so cavernous it eats him alive, body stiffening to the point of pain, absolution and exultation drowning him in high waves. His clit sucks Lance of everything; reason, sense, the will to stop. He trembles at the feeling of the other’s seed shooting inside of him, viscous ropes of cum shoot forth as Lance loses the rhythm of their own thrusts.

They stop fully when Balan’s cunt loosens its hold, the negati falling forward atop the messy sheets. Balan makes a cry of something between pain and pleasure when he is flopped on his back with Lance atop him. Lance’s member has yet to soften inside the other’s creamy walls, the spired tip rubbing on Balan’s g-spot.

The room falls silent again, save for the heavy pants and breathless laughs from the two. Neither recovering fast enough as the euphoria drains all other sensations from their bones. Lance’s spine is dexterous as wet spaghetti, mouth open in loud gulps of air. Balan fares no better, legs twitching uncontrollably. Bare chest dripping with sweat, golden markings along his arms and stomach gleaming and flickering in the contrasting violet lights. His coils are drenched as well, pouring over his eyes and messily over his face. Speckled markings aglow with the shades of amethyst make him look pulchritudinous.

Lance raise themselves up, both of their hands going on either side of the exhausted maestro’s supine form, loins still burning from the near volcanic heat from their fucking. They readjust their position, body flush to the other, seeming to never be close enough. They smile softly as Balan smiled chastely at them.

“That was fantastic... honestly the best sex I’ve ever had.” Balan complimented, his eyes not as glazed from before.

“Good to know, but I hope you didn’t start thinking it was over?” Lance drawled, the tone eerily lustful.

Balan stares quizzically. How could anyone want another go after that?

“You want to go again?”

“Just one more?,” Lance breathily laughed as their hips rock gently, phallus a touch harder than prior, “If it helps, you can lie on your back and I’ll handle the rest.” They lean over Balan, kissing his cheeks and the heart on his forehead.

Balan rolled his eyes. He wasn’t complaining about another time, but his body sure was. He internally decided one more bout wouldn’t cause too much strain.

“Lancelot, the insatiable one. Who knew you’d be addicted to my cunt?” Balan chuckled; the nickname still an endearment to Lance. It would be rude to lie about how the name made them warm on the inside. And hearing that sugared voice utter it with a playful air softened the negati.

“Not just your cunt... but you as well. I love you too.” The words came out before Lance knew. Their lips moved yet didn’t have any prior knowledge of it until seeing the way Balan stiffened, long ears swaying upwards at the words.

Both of their chests fluttered; Lance never expected to say those words during sex. This...this was not supposed to be about love. And yet, it was all Lance had on their mind. They had Balan now. All they would have to do is love him. In more than this way. With all of this joy they had felt in the confession, the familiar ick of something tar-like bubbled to the surface. Lance’s mind honed in on all the deprecating things the voice said.

‘What? You can love? Oh Lance... it will be ruined by you so soon.’

‘You once loved...and look at what it turned you into!’

‘This is sex Lance... that’s all it will. ever. be.’

‘He can only feel pity for loving a monster like you’.

The voices began to make Lance physically sick. No matter how hard Lance tried, they wouldn’t be willed quiet. They began to tremble uselessly, a sob retching from the negati as those thoughts and words; their own words swallowed them.

The maestro lunged forward, planting a kiss on the other’s lips. The cathartic heat that came from it brought Lance out of their head, focusing on the other below them. They both stayed lip-locked for a moment, Balan kissing as if Lance were about to drown any minute. The kiss saving them from themselves for a moment like this. The voices dissipated, barely a hum coming from the back of Lance’s mind. They didn’t matter. Only Balan did. The kiss ending when Balan pressed those lips to the fuchsia colored heart atop Lance’s brow.

The touch was so gentle. So tender that it made Lance’s heart swell.

They looked down at Balan, who smiled pleasantly back at them. The look of love so much more than it could ever be. ‘It’s okay. You’re okay’ is what those golden pools spoke even if Lance didn’t hear it aloud. There wouldn’t be a need to.

In spite of how small it was; Lance smiled. The motion felt real. He hadn’t had a genuine smile in over a thousand years. Gods, when was the last time he felt pure happiness unfold in his heart? There’d be a time and place to think on that later as they shifted Balan’s hips more, grinding forward, hips shifting to reawaken his long erection. The stings of pleasure rode through Balan, arms going behind his head to grab for the jumbled mess of velvet purple blankets. A small whine went past his lips as Lance’s midline bumped against Balan’s pelvis again, causing a flare of scorching desire to arise. The maestro never subdued, or otherwise suppressed his moans. He would allow Lance the ability to hear how he felt for him.

The negati gripped Balan beneath his thighs, pulling his legs away so they could splay open. The new position allowed Balan to relax instead of trying to readjust too often.

A surprised gasp from the maestro made Lance look at his face; the beatific expression of this dazzling, bewitching and downright mesmeric creature spurring Lance to pump into him harder. The be-speckled maestro had his eyes closed, turning out the warm, shimmering pools of the richest gold many would never see.

“Please lune-light, open your eyes for me.” The reciprocal adulation of love Lance gave could break someone’s heart and warm another’s but it was his tone that made Balan’s eyes open; aroused and so husky. When he looked upon the negati, a form of ardor seeped through him. A shy smile graced his features as he nuzzled into Lance’s chest.

“Ohhh, say that again. Call me that again,” He whispered as his body arched with the deeper, slower thrusts, “I need to hear it again, Lance.” He began pining for the sound of the other’s voice, chest heaving in irregular patterns. Long ears flicked up, picking up the sounds of Lance’s exertions as they grounded each other closer to climax.

“Lune-light...my lovely lune-light, you are so stunning.” Lance cooed, eyes warm as they watched Balan’s ears flap in jubilance. They fucked into him harder, faster when Balan’s hands went from the sheets to cling to Lance’s arms in order to steady himself. He was succumbing again, mind lost as avaricious lust ensnared his visage.

Lance repositioned one hand to grab the maestro’s tight waist and underneath his back, slowing their thrusts first in order to shift a portion of their weight to sink in deeper. They kissed the inner thigh of Balan’s left leg as the other hand grabbed there and held him tight. The new position brought Balan’s ass up from the bed, both legs hanging on either side of Lance as they brought their pelvis’s together. The negati had to get to their knees for the next part to become effective, sprawling their hips a little. When they had gotten in position, they leant over to press another reverent kiss to Balan’s forehead, the friction causing the maestro to growl.

“Move. Lance, I beg you.” Balan’s resistance melted a long time ago as his hands tightened around Lance’s upper arms.

When they move, Balan’s equilibrium gets flipped upside down. The position had the maestro screaming so loud, Lance tipped their ears down to block out the sound. The reaction was instant, the gorgeous being’s mouth flying open as he threw his head back with each stroke. His hands scrambled for purchase of the negati as he began thrusting back on the other’s cock. Body spasming at the rippling sensations.

The change in position did wonders for Lance as well; they were able to take in all of the other’s grace, elegance and succulent desire. The screams of pure ecstasy powered Lance onward, eyes half-lidding as they aimed their thrusts. Lance felt the maestro’s bruising grasp loosen, the body tightening from the exertion. He looked as if he was going to lose his mind again; assuming he had ever found it after the first few times.

“Look at this.... look at you,” Lance growled, hands leaving Balan’s waist to drag the other further down, “This is what I have been wishing for. I’ve have been waiting for you and this! Gods, now that I have you, I’m not letting you go.” The negati enunciated a portion of their words with alternating thrusts that caused Balan to spasm around them erratically, the maestro’s head swaying, more mooring, like a boat on torrential waters.

Balan tried to stutter something in response. There could not be any words he could be able to use in a circumstance like this. The euphoria blanketing his headspace, only the want for this to never end on Balan’s mind. He wished he could stay like this forever; being loved in between his legs the way that Lance was loving him. Tears welled up but were blinked back. That familiar entrapment, that build was upon him now. A spring ready for release as Balan angled himself to meet a harsher thrust from Lance. He didn’t know what to do with his hands so he tugged on the negati for some leverage. And he tugged at him desperately.

“I-I-I can’t-- hold it back much! Lance, I need this! I can’t hold back! Oh my gods!” Balan’s pleasured whimpers were music to the other, the noise causing Lance to pulsate inside those divine walls. He was about to let it all go. Neither of them capable of denying their animalistic need for a blissful finish.

“Do not hold back my lune-light! I want us to be in climax together. I’m ready, just like you are. Lock me inside your heaven!” Lance yelled, throwing their head back unabashedly for the final few thrusts.

Something in the gravelly tone caused Balan to relent all self control at that moment, the high octane pressure rushing from his pelvis, seeping into his blood in a body rattling orgasm. He screamed, more belted out his release, muscles contracting and constricting in a severe, mind-numbing vice. He could no longer keep his eyes open, passion scalding his insides making his body heat unbearable.

He kept spasming, helpless as Lance roared one last time, pinning Balan’s softened frame to theirs in a rough, possessing manner. They dove off the pinnacle with as much fury and need as Balan did. Their fingers dug into the tender skin, maw wide with a roar that shook the room. The negati’s own form convulsing and seizing as Balan’s cunt squeezed their cock to the point where it ached. They shuddered with the intensity and rush of seed; feeling way too hot inside of the maestro, shooting deep inside, not stopping even as Lance humped Balan through their own climax.

When they were sure they had nothing left to give Lance let Balan go, the other’s spent body flopping atop the bedspread. The negati pushed back their inky dreads back from the sweat drenched face, eyes slightly glazed. They shook with the inglorious feeling of satisfaction before pulling out of Balan’s thoroughly ruined cunt, their cum drooling out in delectable, erotic ribbons. The scent of the intermingling sex made the cock twitch. Without a thought given, Lance’s pointer finger went past the swollen, beat-up lips of the maestro’s pussy; swiping the oversensitive folds for just a taste of the cream.

Balan yelled, overstimulated and a touch annoyed, kicking at Lance.

“Fucking stop! You’re going to kill me!” Balan cursed, his chest heaving. He was the perfect picture of the word ‘ruined’; mint-colored coils askew all over his face, sublime form thrumming with the residual orgasm.

“Would this have not been the best death to have?” Lance giggled sweetly, tongue slipping out to lap at the mixed cream of their sex. The taste was of it was so divine, it couldn’t be described. When their legs regained function Lance dipped into the conjoined bathroom. Balan barely registered the sound of water coming from a faucet. Though he wasn’t going to register anything for a while. His eyes slipped closed, breathing becoming more steady as the high simmered out of his frame. He didn’t hear Lance’s footfalls when the other returned into the room yet the feeling of the cold, damp cloth felt exquisite on his hypersensitive skin. He smiled happily as the cloth went over his face, chest, arms and even his back, swiping away as much sweat that wasn’t collected by the sullied bedsheets.

He winced as the cloth went between his legs, touches kept tender and dainty while the negati cleaned his clit. The movements were apologetic in the sense of the rough handling. With the remnants of their sex thoroughly cleaned, Lance threw the dirty cloth into a hamper nearby and crawled into bed. They felt the need to say something to Balan, yet was not prepared to see the other fully asleep. The smile remained on his face as he dreamt soundly. Safely.

The maestro rarely slept so seeing him do so, even in the other’s bed, was recherché. The moment a surprise to see with their own eyes. It warmed their heart in so many ways. Lance wondered inwardly if their heart could get any fuller. Carefully, as to not wake him, they slid Balan’s frame underneath the heavy blankets, keeping his head low to rest it against the larger puffy pillows.

As much as Lance tried, they couldn’t lie to themselves about how adorable and desirable this being was. Is... and still will be. They could make up some spun tale about how Balan lusted for the feeling of this sex. And yet, they wouldn’t. They weren’t going to deny the affirmations and litanies of love, passion and reverence he bestowed. In this way, Lance loved Balan. Balan had loved them too. This new feeling blossomed and flowed within them. It was all Lance cared about and would gift this love in kind to Balan tenfold. It was definitely what they both deserved.

For now, Lance snuggled into the maestro, a happy little smile playing on their cheeks whilst pressing their face into the other’s neck. The mint-colored coils of the other’s hair fell in a tangle on Lance’s face, making them wrinkle their nose.

“I...love you, lune-light...”, Lance whispered pressing a singular reverent kiss to the glowing heart on Balan’s forehead, the mark shimmering against the darkness. The negati nuzzled the sleeping being, arms crossing Balan’s chest to swaddle him close to their body, “I don’t know if you had heard me, but I just hope you know.”

Unknown to Lance, Balan had heard him. His own smile was genial and kind, taking the affirmation as it was. There was no need for Lance to explain themselves. Such things like this rarely, if ever, happened. So Balan accepted this. He had openly accepted that Lance is, and will remain, worthy of love.

“I love you.” The enamored statement was simple, sweet and soft-sounding. So such so that Balan wasn’t sure Lance heard him, the negati was already snoring before he could say anymore. With an exhale, Balan’s eyes slipped shut once more. His own hands went around to hold Lance’s closer to his body. Their combined warmth radiating soothingly as they slept throughout the rest of the night.

#balan wonderworld #balan #balan wonderworld lance #Lance #nsft #lemon

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homeformyheart · 3 years

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sparring partner - adam du mortain x f!detective (twc)

author’s note: thank you for the request, @crackerdumortain and @kelseaaa for the brainstorm!! sorry this took foreverrrr. also, this was supposed to be mostly smut but as always, i got carried away with the leadup. this is my first time writing smut for these two so…forgive any weirdness. hope you all enjoy!

copyright: all characters, except my oc detective, are owned by mishka jenkins @seraphinitegames. series/pairing: the wayhaven chronicles – adam du mortain x f!detective (regina bishop) rating/warnings: 18+; explicit smut; ns*w noted between the 🔥⚡ and ❄💧 icons (minors dni) based on/prompt: nsfw prompts // 9. for sparring to turn into sex word count: 1.7k summary: adam and regina spar for a bit before things get hot (deep romance).

sparring partner

regina let out a string of curses and loud grunts as she continued a series of jabs and practiced footwork against one of the punching bags in the training room. even with carefully wrapped hands and protective gloves, she knew she was being a little reckless with her punches, letting her frustration and anger from a week of failed missions and a patronizing mother fuel her movements.

she was so consumed with channeling her emotions into the punching bag that she failed to notice adam slip into the room and wrap his wrists. nor did she notice how his gaze followed her movements, eyeing how her chest heaved against the confines of her sports bra, sweat dripping down her toned stomach and disappearing underneath the band of her very tight workout shorts.

his eyes snapped up when regina let out a loud cry, spinning and landing a kick into the side of the bag, sending it swinging parallel to the ground. even he was impressed, given the weight of the bag and her being human.

“i don’t think the bag is an adequate sparring partner,” he teased, walking over to her.

regina whirled around, the last of her anger leaving her in a breathy laugh. she put her hands on her hips and raised an eyebrow in a way that was meant to challenge him. “oh? i guess i should see if morgan will spar with me then.”

adam’s smirk turned into an annoyed frown as he peeled off his shirt and widened his stance. he couldn’t help but glance over her body, the sweat glistening on her chest and stomach, the scent of it growing in his nose as she stepped closer to him.

regina knew she hit a sore spot and chuckled quietly to herself before shifting into an offensive stance, tossing her gloves on the floor. she moved first, attempting to land a blow to his stomach, then his side, before aiming for his unprotected chin. a normal opponent – and by normal, she meant human – wouldn’t have been able to dodge all those blows, but of course, adam was able to block and sidestep each of her moves before she could blink.

he stayed mostly on the defensive, catching and releasing her sidekicks and uppercuts before stepping away, matching her blow for block with ease. it could almost be seen as a synchronized dance, if she wasn’t actually trying to land a blow and starting to get frustrated. her fatigue was showing, and it didn’t take long before adam had her in a loose headlock, holding her shoulders firmly against his chest with one arm, while the other pinned her left arm against his side, hand hovering over her stomach.

she tilted her back against his shoulder so she could look at him, lowering her right hand to rest on his. regina pressed his hand against her stomach and nudged it down until adam’s splayed fingers reached the elastic band of her shorts. as she predicted, he froze and loosened his grip on her shoulders. regina tucked her foot between his legs, positioning her knee behind his and curling her foot around his ankle. she yanked her leg forward and swiveled out of his grip, pushing back against his chest.

he still had a hand on her hip as he fell backward, bringing her down with him and holding her against his body so that she’d land on top of him instead of awkwardly on the floor.

“you have improved significantly,” adam noted as he looked up at her, no small amount of pride in his voice and face.

regina couldn’t help but preen a little as she straddled him and sat up. “really?” she asked, letting out a breathy laugh.

“for a human,” he corrected cheekily, his dimples deepening as his smirk grew.

“when will you just admit that i got the best of you?” regina panted, her chest heaving noticeably even through her sports bra. she pinned his arms down and leaned forward so she could look him directly in the eyes.

🔥⚡🔥⚡

adam was all too aware of her chest bumping against his. she was the best of him but he couldn’t quite articulate his thoughts at the sight of her. “i, well—,” he stammered before letting out a low growl and flipping them, pinning her arms above her head and hovering over her.

“you are far too distracting for your own good,” he muttered.

regina’s eyes dropped to his lips and trailed down his muscled, shirtless body.

“i’m distracting? have you seen yourself?” she huffed.

his green eyes glittered with need as he stared at her parted lips, her chest still heaving against his. she pulled herself up despite her arms being pinned down and kissed him, swallowing his groan as he kissed her back with an intensity that quickly filled her core. she squirmed against his grip and wrapped her legs around his back, tugging him toward her.

she ground her hips against his, smirking against his lips as he growled. she let out a whine as he pulled away to kiss her jaw and work his way down her neck. she let out a soft gasp as he sucked at the sensitive center of her collarbone before continuing south.

he groaned at the feel of her bare skin against his. the smell of her sweat mixing with her already enticing scent sent his hypersenses into overdrive, filling his lungs to capacity until she consumed him from the inside out. all he could breathe was her.

“this is in the way,” adam growled, tugging at the material of her bra and ripping it quickly down the middle before his lips descended on her nipples.

“oh,” she breathed, her body jolting in surprise at the sudden feel of cold air against her hot skin before she smirked. “impatient, are we?”

adam slowed his movements for a second to gaze at her with a tenderness that made her forget where they were. “yes. i could live for another thousand years and never have enough of you.”

regina didn’t think she’d ever get used to the way he looked at her as though she was his reason for existing.

but the moment to dwell on it passed as adam made quick work of the rest of their clothing before leaning back over her to resume his ministrations down her trembling body.

he sat up on his knees and pulled her into his lap, waiting until her ankles hooked around his back and her arms went around his neck before capturing her lips hungrily. he kissed her again and again, stealing each breath from her until regina thought her lungs were going to burst.

adam stood, and before regina could even register the movement, he slammed her against the wall without breaking their kiss, cradling her head with one arm to soften the blow.

she wrapped her arms tightly around him, feeling safe and secure between him and the wall. adam moved his hips against hers, rubbing against her core and groaning at how wet she was. regina broke off their kiss and nipped at his ear, tugging it gently between her teeth.

“i need you,” she murmured, the feel of his hard cock against her but not in her wasn’t enough.

“you have me,” he muttered back, so softly that she almost missed it.

adam positioned himself at her core and slowly pushed himself in, giving her time adjust to the angle as he lowered his arms to her thighs. regina quickly squeezed her legs and locked her ankles behind him, her heels digging into his ass and pulling him forward.

he moved slowly at first, drawing himself almost all the way out before thrusting back in. it didn’t take long before he picked up speed, letting out a soft groan with every deep thrust, her walls squeezing against him in perfect sync.

“you’re not going to hurt me,” regina gasped quietly, one hand clutching the back of his head while the other scratched at his back.

that was always what held him back from being as rough as they both liked sometimes, the fear that he’d unintentionally hurt her. but she didn’t need to encourage him this time, regina’s sweat and natural smell completely overpowered his senses until he was deeply entrenched in her.

he began thrusting harder and faster, her slick walls squeezing tighter as she mouthed at his neck in an attempt to muffle her moans. he could feel her muscles begin to tense against him as she dragged her fingernails up his back. he lowered his head to her shoulder and bit gently, not enough to break skin, but to let her know he was there, and that he was close.

she lifted her head and kissed him hard as the pressure building in her stomach released, mumbling words of love into his mouth as she came. he could feel her walls clench around his cock and with a few more, hard thrusts, he followed her over the edge, whispering his love back to her.

she kissed him softly where his shoulder met his neck before slumping against him, breathing heavily in time with the sound of his rapid heartbeat.

after a few moments, he released his hold on her so she could lower her feet back onto the floor. she took a step and stumbled; her legs still weak from their tryst. adam’s arm tightened against her waist and held her up, the pleased smirk on his face dimpling his skin.

she smiled knowingly at him before grabbing his shirt and pulling it over her head, the large fabric easily reaching her thighs. she grabbed her ripped sports bra and underwear before sauntering back to adam, who had slipped back into his cargo pants.

he looked at her inquiringly, one eyebrow raised as she tucked her clothes into one of his pockets.

“i don’t think you want the rest of the team seeing my underwear, even if they’ll figure out what just happened as soon as they step into the training room,” she said with a laugh.

adam’s cheeks turned pink as he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “you do have a point. i should clean up after us,” he said.

regina chuckled and grabbed his hand. “or… you could join me in the shower for round two?”

he smirked and tucked one arm under her knees to pick her up, holding his shirt firmly against her thigh as he raced to the bath.

❄💧❄💧

permatag: @kelseaaa; @kat-tia801; @anotherbeingsworld; @crackerdumortain; @gloynporslen; @sosolenoo; @alyssalauren; @wayhavenots; @gingerbreton; @takemyopenheart; @fhauvilles; @writer-ish;

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bluenet13 · 3 years

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As Tears Go By

Written for @badthingshappenbingo

Fandom: NCIS Los Angeles

Characters: Marty Deeks, Kensi Blye.

Prompt: Trying Not to Cry

Summary: Losing his job at LAPD forces Deeks to make comparisons to the one man he never wants to feel similar to. But sometimes all that is needed is some perspective, and luckily Kensi is there to help. (Set in December of season 12, after Deeks is fired from LAPD and before Hetty offers him a position at FLETC).

Links: ff.net - AO3

"Hey baby, I'm almost ready." Pants on but still in her bra, Kensi continued to towel dry her hair as she walked outside of the bathroom. Stopping shortly as she noticed Deeks still in bed. "Why aren't you ready? Are you feeling alright?"

Not able to ignore her concern any longer, Kensi reached a hand towards her husband's forehand, looking for signs of a fever that weren't going to be there. Deeks' disinterest when she had offered to shower together should have been a red flag but she had decided to play it cool and accept his explanation that he had taken a late shower when he came home from tending the bar. But now, finding the usual early riser and basically Santa's little helper still tangled in their bed sheets when they were supposed to be going out to pick their tree, Kensi realized she was missing something.

Mumbling something to himself, Deeks swatted Kensi's hand away and turned to stare at the opposite side of the room. "I'm okay," he eventually whispered, his words understandable this time around.

Nodding and sighing at the same time, Kensi tried to tamper down her emotions, walking back to the bathroom and continuing to get dressed. Maybe Deeks was really tired and just needed five more minutes.

Dressed and ready, Kensi picked his pants that accentuated his body in all the right places and the blue sweatshirt she loved as it made the color in his eyes bright even shinier, and dropped the clothes on the bed, partially over Deeks so he would get the hint, then left the room to make some coffee. Hoping the scent of fresh brew would do the trick and push Deeks out of bed.

Thirty minutes, two cups of coffee, and three pastries later, Kensi gave up hoping time would be enough, and decided to take matters into her own hands. "Hey Deeks, I brought you a coffee," Kensi said as she came into the room.

Mumbling again, Deeks pointed to the nightstand with disinterest, promptly dropping his arm back into the bed.

At a loss of what else to try, Kensi sat on the bed and began playing with Deeks' blonde locks. "Baby, what's going on? Talk to me. Did something happen at the bar? Are you feeling unwell?"

"I'm okay, Kens," Deeks said, doing his best to sound more convincing this time, but still continuing to stare at the wall, practically raising an invisible wall in between them, and now raising a million red flags in Kensi's mind.

"Then what's going on? Last week you kept going on and on about picking the best and biggest tree in the lot. You even wanted to get it before Thanksgiving and I had to convince you to wait a little bit longer. Now, you don't even want to get out of bed. So, what's happening here? What am I missing?" Kensi's tone had gone lower with each new word, her last question barely above a whisper. "Please, baby, let me in. Let me help." She added after some minutes had passed and Deeks hadn't spoken a single word.

"I just don't think we should be spending money on a tree right now," Deeks admitted softly.

"What? Why n...?" Kensi cut her question short as realization dawned on her. Deeks was a jokester but he felt things strongly and his emotions ran deeper than most. "Is this about LAPD? Deeks, we already spoke about that, we know it's temporary."

"And what if it isn't?" Deeks asked with a pained exhale, "we shouldn't be making emotional purchases when we're living on one salary alone. We also want to buy a house and start a family. All that takes money... money we don't have. Especially once my situation becomes permanent, and we both know it probably will. I mean, the only person that could have defended me left to become Commander of SWAT." As if an invisible barrier had lifted with the admission, Deeks finally got out of bed and sat next to Kensi. A hand searching for hers, while the other nervously played with the hem of the sweatshirt Kensi had brought him.

Having finally gotten to the root of the matter, Kensi allowed herself a brief smile to herself, before it turned sad and dejected, as she realized she couldn't offer Deeks the certainty and finality he needed. So she tried what she thought was the next best thing. "I'm sorry about Bates, Deeks. I know he gave you crap constantly but I also know he was good to you when it mattered. Even then, what you mean and what you have done for the LAPD is still true, regardless of your relationship with him, and they're fools if they don't realize what they would be losing if they let you go," Kensi began angrily, then softened her tone. "As for us, the house can wait until your situation is straightened out. We still have my Federal Agent salary. It's not as lucrative working for the government, but it's more than enough to get the tree. It really doesn't cost that much and if anything, it shouldn't be more than the overtime I worked for the last two cases alone."

"Living off my salary's wife is not really how I imagined life would be in my forties," Deeks said, but the harsh nature of his words softened by the way his voice began to break at the end.

"Where is this coming from, Deeks? Since when do you compare yourself to women in that way?" Kensi had other, more hostile words in mind, but her intention was to help Deeks, not start an argument. But his words had brought back old memories of dealing with sexist cops and misogynist men when starting her career in law enforcement, and she would be lying if she said it didn't sting.

Pulling back his hand from Kensi's, Deeks ran it through his face, then over his eyes in frustration. "I'm sorry, Kens. I didn't mean it that way. It's just…" A lump pressed it way up his throat and his eyes glazed over with tears, but he wiped them angrily. "My father also lost his job once. And that's when everything changed," Deeks said in a single exhale. And with his last word, his shoulders sagged, as his eyes began to cloud again and his breath hitched.

And there it was. The real reason behind Deeks' attitude. The honesty and sadness in his words, making Kensi's anger evaporate in a second, because she knew how much it must have hurt Deeks to make that admission.

"Oh, baby, you're nothing like your father." Bidding herself some time to find better words, Kensi pulled Deeks into her arms. Her heart breaking as he tensed at the same time a soft sniff escaped him.

"I might not be. But the situation is." Deeks closed his eyes as he continued, feeling the tears that were already pressing against his lids. "He was never the best father, but he was good and he always tried his best. We were happy. Then one year he lost his job, and at first, he tried again. But eventually he grew frustrated and began taking it on my mom. Then on me. By that time, he had already spent all his nights drinking his savings away at the local bar and there was no going back." When Deeks was done, he opened his eyes again and rubbed them with a heavy sigh.

"Deeks, baby, wait. Your situations are nothing alike. Many people lose their jobs but it's not the end of the line. Just a temporary setback." Not all people lose their jobs and become your father, she wanted to add, but decided against it. Drawing back, she took Deeks by the shoulders and stared at his blue eyes deeply, hoping that in her steady gaze he would find proof to believe her words were nothing but the truth.

"Maybe I'm not drinking it per se, but I saw alcohol destroy my father, and for some time, my mother too. And what did I do? Pour our savings into the very same thing that was my family's downfall." With that admission, Deeks' eyes again filled with tears, but he squeezed them shut, refusing to let any of them fall. As a child he had cried for his father, but as an adult he had promised himself to never shed another tear for the man.

"The Squid and the Dagger is not that. I admit, at first I didn't see it. But now I do. Your bar, our bar... is not a place for drunkards and violent men. It's a place for family, and joy and fun. When have we seen the team out of work so often? When have we spent so much family time with them? Never. Your idea, your dream, did that. It gave us the place we all needed to feel welcomed and at home. It gave Nell and Callen a place to mourn when they lost their mother and father. It gave Sam a place to start a new relationship away from the places he used to frequent with Michelle. It's giving Eric a place to see us and stay close to the team now that he's a billionaire and his calling in life has grown from just doing good with NCIS. It's giving us a new purpose, and a place to have the family we lacked before."

"But, we already have NCIS for that. We have OSP and the boatshed," Deeks tried to argue. Then he sniffed again, eyes burning.

"NCIS is where we work, Deeks. But it's not a home. It took me a long time to realize that. You're my home, and Callen, Sam, Hetty, Eric, Nell, even Fatima, and Roundtree. You taught me that Deeks, you just need to remember." Squeezing Deeks' shoulders, Kensi hoped he could feel the conviction behind her words, because when she had been at her lowest, Deeks had taught her the meaning of home, and she won't let him forget now. "One time you told me that you were already home, but that didn't mean NCIS as a location, it meant the team. It meant us, even if "us" didn't exist at the time in the way it does now. The feeling of home doesn't come from NCIS, but we do live it every day we're at the bar. The Squid and the Dagger means family."

Deeks nodded, but his eyes, the window to his soul, still looked troubled. Clouded not only by the tears he still kept from falling, but its familiar blue, darkened by the memories of his painful past.

Still seeing that uncertainty in Deeks' eyes, Kensi decided to throw a hail mary. "The Squid and the Dagger is not even the type of bar your dad would have frequented. I have the feeling he might have even hated it." Kensi continued to pile her arguments, still hoping the conviction and certainty in her words would help Deeks as much as the meaning behind them. "Plus, it's been a couple years already and we have never even had a fight or incident at the bar."

Deeks chuckled but before he could say anything Kensi beat him to it. "And Callen and Arkady playing pool doesn't count. The game just got a little heated." Deeks' raised eyebrows had been a total giveaway about where his mind had gone and nobody knew him better than Kensi.

"Too bad Callen and Arkady alone can't keep the bar afloat. Maybe if Hetty and Anna joined them. But who knows where they are now." Deeks shrugged sadly, tears still pricking at the corner of his eyes.

"We're coming off a bad year, baby. Stay at home orders sure did a number on the bar, but that's behind us now. Things will only get better from here." Deeks' attempt at a joke was a good sign but Kensi wasn't ready for teasing just yet. She knew Deeks always resorted to humor when talks got too personal, even when things still bothered him, and she was determined to avoid that today.

"And, you're definitely right. Brandel would have really hated The Squid and the Dagger. He wasn't really into the ocean aesthetics and our decorations surely wouldn't have been to his taste." Deeks went right over Kensi's last statement, drawing comfort from the realization her words brought him and choosing to focus on that lighthearted part of her arguments.

"Deeks," Kensi started, in a confident but soft tone, "come on, baby. You know I'm right about more than just that. You will never be like him, regardless of what happens with LAPD. You can always find a new purpose, be it with NCIS as an agent, again in the law, or something else entirely. What matters is not the job you do, but what's inside... the strength of your character, and you never have to worry about that." Kensi tried again, hoping to get Deeks to open up a little more before his perfectly constructed mask was back in its place.

Deeks nodded with a tearful smile, a single tear sliding down his face. This time, it was not for his father, but in gratitude for the woman sitting beside him. So this one time, he let it roll. Hoping it would also take with it the memories of Brandel that had just resurfaced. "Thanks, Kens. And that's only one reason why I love you. Your trust in me means more than I could say."

"And don't ever forget it," Kensi said proudly, pulling Deeks towards her and giving him another hug. Because sometimes that's all a man needed. "And for whatever it's worth, our bar will never be a symbol of your father or the awful things he did to you and Roberta. Things are tough this year, but the Squid will resurface." Kensi wished she could promise that it would, but this year had shown them that life was even more unpredictable than they thought and sometimes shit just happened. And you couldn't do anything about it, only hope that life would eventually get better and the good shoe would drop to balance it all out.

"Too bad we didn't name it The Phoenix and the Dagger, or we could have said the bar would be reborn from its metaphorical ashes." Deeks corrected with a chuckle, the familiar spark in his eyes returning as the morning light reflected off his unshed tears.

"Yeah, too bad," Kensi quipped sarcastically. "I knew I shouldn't have let you watch that Harry Potter marathon. That sounds like a name straight out of a Rowling's book."

"Oh, Harry Potter. Maybe we should add trivia night to the bar. I'm sure Brandel would have hated that too," Deeks proposed with fake enthusiasm, but a very real new purpose to turn his bar into everything Brandel wasn't. "Maybe Callen and Arkady would like it too… that way we can avoid any more pool incidents," he added with a slight grimace.

"I'm sure Callen and Arkady would manage to turn even trivia into a bar brawl. Maybe we just need to find Anna so she can keep her boys in line," Kensi shot back, deciding progress enough had been made and now she could lighten up and banter with Deeks. At least she now knew what was up in Deeks' mind so she could keep an eye on him and any more signs of his old demons making a return.

"Anna would probably join them and cause even greater havoc," Deeks said matter-of-factly. He then pulled Kensi towards him and kissed her passionately.

"What was that for?" Kensi asked, when they parted for breath.

"To say thank you, for everything," Deeks breathed out, pulling Kensi all the way towards him and deepening the kiss.

"Whoa there cowboy. Slow your roll. Time to get dressed and go for that Christmas tree," Kensi cut in, when his movements had become more intense and exploratory.

"We already waited a week, I'm sure we can wait one more day," Deeks said with a shrug, his hands already beginning to lift the hem of Kensi's shirt.

Looking directly at Deeks, Kensi could still see the glistening of tears in his eyes. But instead, she decided to focus on the hunger and love reflected in there too. Every word she had said was something she now believed to her core, and even if it had taken her a long time to realize it, she now knew that NCIS, or the LAPD for that matter, were not, and had never been, their home. They had only been a pathway to each other. And they were together now, so where they worked didn't really matter. Whatever happened, they would be okay.

So, letting her resolve crumble, Kensi took Deeks' hand and let herself be pulled towards their bed, lips crashing, and only parting for a moment so Kensi could move her hands to either side of Deeks' face to softly wipe any remaining tears from his eyes. With that done, Kensi gave in happily, letting her shirt be lifted as she began her own exploration of Deeks' body.

2020 had been a year to forget, but they hoped 2021 would be one to remember, starting with this very moment, and whenever that was done, with the two of them going together to buy the prettiest tree in the lot.

#NCIS Los Angeles #ncis la fanfiction #bad things happen bingo #Marty Deeks #kensi blye #densi #densi fanfic

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