#and still. i feel ridiculous i feel like people are crowding round the door laughing at me

[pinktinselmonstrosity]

did my first run!! question for runners: at what point do u stop feeling silly

[hamsterclaw]

Lonely - a Vows prequel

Yoongi finds a weakness he plans to exploit to the fullest. Another prequel to the events of Vows. Read the rest here.

Pairing: Yoongi x F! reader

Rating: 18+

Word count: 2.6k

Genre: Arranged marriage AU, smut

Warnings: Sex, swearing, bereavement

Yoongi buries his face in your pillow when he’d rather bury it in your neck and breathe in the scent of your skin. 

Your hand leaves his back, and you turn on your side, away from him. 

Yoongi lifts his head to check on you. 

‘You ok?’ he asks.

You don’t even turn to look at him. 

‘I’m fine.’ 

Yoongi’s got his own cum drying on his cock, he knows he needs to get up, clean himself off, but he doesn’t want to go just yet. 

‘You can stay if you want,’ you say, still facing away from him. 

‘I should get cleaned up,’ Yoongi says. 

Too late he realises it sounds like he doesn’t want to stay, when that wasn’t what he’d meant. 

‘Suit yourself,’ you reply. Your voice is flat. 

‘Aren’t you going to even look at me?’ Yoongi asks. It comes out too sharp, he realises as soon as the words leave his lips. 

You turn over to face him. 

‘What’s your problem, Yoongi?’ you ask, your tone frosty. 

Yoongi’s sitting up, but you’re not done yet. 

‘Did you want cuddles too?’ 

There’s so much venom in your voice Yoongi’s taken aback. 

You’re still not done. 

‘I hate flowers,’ you say, wrathful. 

You’re referring to the bouquet of lilies Yoongi sent you a few days ago, he doesn’t even know what possessed him to send them apart from that he’d had a realisation he’s never given you flowers before. 

In that moment Yoongi vows to send you flowers every day, just to piss you off. 

It’s petty and ridiculous, but then, so is he, when it comes to you.

***

There’s a commotion in the hallway, Yoongi can hear your voice. 

A moment later the door to his study slams open, and you’re standing in his doorway. 

‘Husband,’ you say, in the tone one might use to say, ‘cockroach’, ‘was I not clear when I told you that I hate flowers?’ 

Yoongi keeps his expression carefully blank. 

‘You hate flowers?’ he asks, innocently. 

You’re glaring at him so hard Yoongi can feel the heat of your gaze from where you’re standing. 

‘I told you that after we fucked last week,’ you assert. ‘And funnily enough, you’ve sent me flowers every day since.’

You round his desk and get right up in his face. 

‘Stop. Sending. Me. Flowers.’

The words come out staccato, and at the end of your sentence you poke him in the chest.

Yoongi looks down at your hand, surprised.

The words come out before he knows he’s spoken. 

‘No.’ 

The look on your face almost makes him laugh.

Your eyebrows are raised so high they’re practically in your hairline, your lips in an ‘o’. 

‘What did you say?’ you ask.

‘I said ‘no’,’ Yoongi replies. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to get done.’

You let out a strangled cry and stomp out of his office. 

You kick childishly at his house slippers on the way and nearly trip yourself up.

Yoongi’s half-risen from his seat, arm out like he could catch you from here.

You rally and stomp out, slamming the door behind you.

Yoongi rubs a hand over his chest, thinking of how you poked him. 

He decides he likes you when you’re angry.

***

Yoongi looks, bemused, at the huge tents sitting right in the middle of the front lawn of the house, the crowd of people milling around.

They hadn’t been there when he left for work this morning.

He approaches the front of the tents, and is greeted by a bespectacled woman with pink streaks in her hair. 

‘Good evening, are you here to support the event?’ she asks, pleasantly.

Yoongi raises an eyebrow. 

‘You’re using my front lawn as the venue, so yes, you could say that,’ he says, mildly.

Her expression brightens. ‘Ah, you must be Mr Min! Your wife said you were a staunch supporter of our work. Please, have a seat, the dinner’s about to start!’

Yoongi allows himself to be led to a table near the front. To his surprise, Seokjin’s waiting at the table. 

‘What’s going on, Min?’ Seokjin asks. ‘Y/N said you wanted me to come over tonight.’

Yoongi snorts. ‘And you believed her?’

Seokjin, to his credit, looks shamefaced at being so easily hoodwinked. 

‘She has an innocent face,’ Seokjin says. 

Yoongi rolls his eyes. ‘Please tell me you know what’s going on.’

Seokjin passes him a leaflet. ‘I believe we’re raising money for a domestic violence charity.’

‘At least it’s a worthy cause.’ Yoongi looks around the tent, searching for your familiar head.

‘Where is my beloved wife?’ he asks Seokjin.

Seokjin nods, sagely. ‘It’s safer when you have a visual on her,’ he agrees. He tilts his head. ‘Incoming, three o clock.’

Yoongi turns, and as always, the sight of you makes his heart race and his blood pressure spike.

You’re accompanied by a gorgeous man with intense eyes and floppy hair.

‘Hi, Yoongi,’ you say cheerfully. Yoongi notices how you carefully stay out of arm’s reach. ‘This is Taehyung, he’s agreed to sing for us tonight.’

Yoongi very much dislikes how close you and Taehyung are standing. 

‘Pleasure to meet you,’ he says, shaking Taehyung’s hand, squeezing a little harder than necessary.

‘It’s a pleasure to be here,’ Taehyung replies, his voice a smooth baritone that makes Yoongi feel like dropping his own voice a register to match. 

‘Yuna will take you to get set up. Thanks again, Tae,’ you say. 

Tae?

Yoongi realises he’s grinding his teeth and makes a conscious effort to loosen his jaw. 

Seokjin’s grinning at him like a traitorous devil. ‘Is that the Kim Taehyung? I’ve heard great things about his music.’

‘We went to school together,’ you say. ‘He’s always been talented.’

‘How long have you been planning this fundraiser?’ Yoongi asks. 

A waiter materialises with a tray of champagne. Yoongi takes a glass, handing it to you automatically. 

You gulp it down so quickly you have time to grab another glass before the waiter leaves.

‘Just the last week,’ you say, shrugging. There’s a gleam in your eye. ‘It was all the flowers that gave me the idea, actually. I’ve been donating them to a women’s shelter and it struck me that I could do more than giving flowers.’

You fix Yoongi with a look he can’t quite decipher. ‘I was glad the lilies were going to people who would get enjoyment out of them.’

‘Do you dislike all flowers, or just lilies?’ Seokjin asks. 

You give Yoongi a sideways look. ‘Ah, let’s sit, they’re about to serve dinner.’

After dinner, Taehyung takes the small stage. As much as Yoongi hates to admit it, the man has a beautiful voice, and incredible charisma. 

The summer night is warm, balmy, and there’s a gorgeous glow to your skin in the fairy lights strung along the tent.

The smoke of Taehyung’s voice in the romantic ballad he’s singing is the perfect backdrop to what turned out to be an enjoyable evening. 

Yoongi leans back against his seat, arm propped on your seat. He can see the way you’re looking at the people swaying to the music on the makeshift dancefloor. 

‘Would you like to dance?’ he asks.

Your eyes light up. 

‘Yes,’ you reply.

Yoongi feels that familiar pulse of affection for you, the reason he thinks that maybe you and he have a chance of making this arranged marriage work. 

He holds out his hand, and you stare at it for a moment before putting your hand in his.

Yoongi doesn’t think of himself as much of a dancer, but it’s easy enough to pull you close.

You lean against his chest, and Yoongi thinks to himself that he really couldn’t ask for anything more than this. 

Then your arms slide around his waist, and you turn your head slightly into him. Your lips press against his chest for an instant. 

In this moment Yoongi thinks that he would forgive you anything.

‘I donated on our behalf, in my mother’s name, I hope that’s ok,’ you tell him.

Yoongi nods. ‘Of course that’s ok. It’s our money.’

‘I was going to ask —‘ you stop. 

Yoongi waits. 

‘It’s the anniversary of her death tomorrow. Will you come with me to visit her?’

Yoongi’s saddened that you’re asking like he might say no. 

‘Of course,’ he says, gently. ‘I’m honoured that you want me to go with you.’

You’re not looking at him, staring at his shoulder. ‘Thanks, Yoongi.’

Yoongi feels an unfamiliar squeeze in his chest. ‘You don’t have to worry about asking me for things,’ he tells you.

You look up at him, worry in your eyes. 

‘I hid all your left shoes,’ you tell him.

‘I thought it was you,’ Yoongi says, mildly. ‘Luckily I have spare shoes at the office.’

‘I’ll bring them back tonight.’

‘Nah,’ Yoongi replies. ‘You’re sleeping with me tonight.’

The smile you give him is mischievous.

‘Ok,’ you say, nonchalant.

***

Yoongi’s lips have kissed every inch of you, he thinks. 

His hands have learned the shape of you and he hopes that you’ve learned the feel of his touch. 

Yoongi plans on reminding you what he feels like every chance he gets.

His cock throbs inside you. You’re pinned underneath him, making little movements of your hips, sending tendrils of pleasure through him, making his balls tighten until they ache.

Your hands are fluttering along his back like you can’t decide where you want to touch most. 

‘Please Yoongi,’ you plead. Tears are pooled at the corners of your eyes, the skin of your face and chest burning against his.

Yoongi tightens his grip on your wrist. ‘A little more, baby,’ he coaxes. ‘I promise it’ll feel good.’

He pulls out an inch, two, and enters you again, filling you to the brim, relishing your desperate moan.

He can feel your thighs trembling, his hips between them as he takes his time working you up. 

Your eyes fall closed, and Yoongi squeezes your wrist. 

‘Hey. Look at me when I’m fucking you.’

‘It’s too much,’ you cry, ‘I can’t hold it, I’m gonna —-‘

Yoongi can already feel you pulsing around him, tightening around his cock for the second time. 

He doesn’t know if you’re aware how you wrap your whole body around him when you come, your legs around his hips, your arms around his neck, your lips pressed to his. 

He doesn’t know if you’re aware how it drives him crazy, the way you surrender to him completely, trust him to take care of you in this way. 

Yoongi slows his movements, holds himself still within you until you come back down.

Your grip on him loosens. 

‘You’re still hard,’ you murmur. ‘Still so hard.’

You’re slipping onto your knees on the floor in front of him, hand around his cock. 

‘Where do you want to cum, Yoongi?’ you ask, quiet, pliant in a way you never are outside the bedroom. 

You kiss the head of his cock, hand wrapping around him, stroking in the way you’ve learned he likes.

You moan as you lick up his cock. Your spare hand reaches to touch his balls, tugging just enough that Yoongi groans.

He’s aware he hasn’t answered your question.

‘I want to cum inside you,’ he says.

Your eyes darken. ‘Here?’ you ask, and you’re climbing up over him to sit in his lap. 

‘Why do you want to cum inside, Yoongi?’ you ask, voice silken. ‘Wanna fill me up? Wanna put your baby in me?’

‘Fuck,’ Yoongi swears, hands gripping your hips as you ride him. ‘Why does that sound so hot?’

‘I want it,’ you moan, hips working, one hand behind you, balancing so he can watch the way you writhe on his cock. ‘I want your cum, give it to me, Yoongi.’

The pleasure’s building so fast Yoongi just has time to grunt a warning before he’s spilling, cock buried deep inside you. You’re so tight around his cock Yoongi can barely move. 

‘Good girl,’ he praises, voice raspy. ‘Take it all, baby.’

He pulls out, and you moan as he squeezes your hip. ‘Don’t waste it,’ he says. ‘I’m going to the bathroom and when I come back I’m gonna check if you’ve been a good girl and kept it all inside, ok?’

You’re looking at him. ‘Gonna try,’ you say, so serious Yoongi’s both amused and somewhat aroused.

When he gets back you’re still in the same position he left you in.

Yoongi taps your warm thigh. ‘Let me see.’

He watches a trickle of white slide down between your legs and tsks. ‘You said you were going to be a good girl and keep it all, baby.’

You look at him, petulant. ‘It was too much,’ you protest. 

Yoongi can’t believe his ears. ‘Don’t be a brat,’ he says, sternly. ‘Say sorry and I’ll give you more.’

Your lips clamp shut and your eyes flash.

Yoongi reaches between your legs, strokes a thumb over your clit, making your hips dance.

You never do say you’re sorry, but Yoongi gives you more of his cum anyway.

***

Yoongi’s sitting next to you in the back of the car, a bouquet of lilies between you, one of the dozens he’s had sent to you over the last week.

You turn away from the window you’ve been staring out of for the last half hour. 

‘My father will meet us there,’ you tell him.

Yoongi nods. 

Your hand rests on the bouquet, and Yoongi has a sudden urge to put his hand over yours. 

Instead he strokes his thumb over the faint mark he made gripping your wrist yesterday. 

‘Sorry about this,’ he says.

You glance at it like you’ve forgotten it. ‘Oh it’s fine.’ Your lips curve. ‘I enjoyed it.’

Yoongi glances out the window. ‘We’re here.’

Your father is smartly dressed like every other time Yoongi’s seen him. 

Like you, he’s holding a bouquet of lilies. 

He mistakes Yoongi’s expression for one of curiosity. ‘Lilies were her favourite,’ he says.

Yoongi looks at you, stricken.

You’re not looking at him.

The grave of your mother is simple, unostentatious, apart from the bunches of lilies placed in front of it. 

You place your own flowers down, gentle. 

Yoongi bows his head respectfully. He’ll wait with you as long as you need him to.

***

This time, when you’re back in the car and put your hand on the seat between you, Yoongi covers it with his own.

‘I’m sorry,’ he tells you. ‘I didn’t know.’

The look you give him goes a long way towards assuaging the guilt he feels.

‘I didn’t think you did,’ you say, brisk.

‘If you’d said —‘ Yoongi breaks off and starts again.

‘I like making you angry,’ he tells you, honestly, ‘but I would never hurt you on purpose, not like this.’

‘I could have just told you all those lilies were making me sad,’ you reply. ‘Instead of yelling at you, hiding your shoes,’ you pause, wincing slightly, ‘and donating your tickets to that basketball game next week to charity.’

Yoongi blinks. ‘How’d you even know—-‘ he cuts himself off, shaking his head. ‘Seokjin.’

‘Not sure why he still trusts me,’ you say, shrugging.

‘He won’t for much longer,’ Yoongi muses. ‘He doesn’t like bratty behaviour.’

‘Not like you do?’ you ask, feigning innocence.

Yoongi laughs before he can stop himself. 

You look at him for a moment, expression unreadable. ‘I don’t want to hurt you either, Yoongi.’

You turn to look out the window again.

It’s only when the car pulls into your driveway that Yoongi realises he’s held your hand all the way home. 

©hamsterclaw 2022

[fleurywiththesave]

Seeing all these videos of panthers with their babies and how do you feel about writing about this moment 👀 matthew holding his and leon’s baby out there!

Um, thank you for this prompt, I love it. Confession: I had to go look the video up because I’m not on other social media much these days, and it was ridiculously cute. I felt like this needed some backstory and ended up getting a little carried away in the feelings of the whole thing, so I hope it still somewhat resembles what you asked for and that you like it!

It’s not like it’s the first time they’ve taken her out on the ice, but it is the first time thousands of other people will be watching in real time, so Matthew is still nervous. Ryan notices him tapping his feet incessantly in the locker room and laughs.

“They’re always fine,” he says, tone halfway between sympathetic and teasing. “Besides, Drai can always come out and take over if you screw it up.” Matthew throws a ball of tape at his face and doesn’t answer. At least he’s not the only relatively new dad, so he’s not the only one feeling the complexity of the moment.

And at least they let him stop into the room to see Leon and Anna one more time before he has to get on the ice. She’s one of the youngest children in the group, and Matthew gets a funny little knot in his stomach looking at some of his teammates’ older kids. That’s going to be her, eventually. She’s going to go from a little baby always needing to be held to tearing away from them as soon as her feet touch the ice. And that’s going to be him and Leon, experienced parents who at least have some idea what the hell they’re doing, managing spilled juice and eight different bags and fights over toys with ease. After how long it took them just to get here, to this place and time, to this family, it will all be a little bit different tonight and tomorrow and a month from now. Everything is going to keep changing faster than he can blink.

It’s pretty incredible stuff. He wishes he could freeze every moment as it happens and save them all on a shelf, to be replayed over and over again. Burying the hatchet over beers after their second all-star game. Occasional texts that became weekly, became daily, became FaceTime calls and late-night confessions. A first kiss, a first night, a first admission of love. Parents and siblings, teammates and friends. A piece of paper. A ring. A cup and another ring. A little girl.

Leon, and Leon, and Leon.

Matthew had so many fears after Leon’s injury. He’d pushed through the rest of the season, but when he called Matthew a few weeks before his last regulation game and said, “Matty, I’m going to be done after this”, Matthew knew that it was true. And he’d seen how many players lose themselves after retiring, never having made a real plan for life after hockey. He didn’t want Leon to get lost too.

Instead, Leon soaked up the gratitude of the fans in his final game, cheerfully battled through two rounds of playoffs with full awareness that the Oilers wouldn’t be repeating, put the Edmonton house on the market, and walked through the front door in Florida with a “honey, I’m home!” so perfectly sitcommy that he had to have rehearsed it. And then, almost immediately after, “I think it’s time to have a baby.”

Anna, and Anna, and Anna.

“You okay?” Leon asks now, resting the hand not holding Anna on the side of Matthew’s neck. All three of them are in Tkachuk jerseys. It makes Matthew’s heart feel too big for his chest. He runs a hand over her soft hair, already showing signs of curling, and smiles.

“Yeah, I’m good. I’m great.”

Leon brushes a gentle kiss on his forehead. “Just don’t drop her,” he says with a smile, eyes mirthful.

“Bite me.”

“Excuse me, we’re with our child, anything like that is going to have to wait until later.”

Matthew rolls his eyes and leans in for a real kiss. “See you out there.”

It might be his imagination, but the crowd seems twice as loud tonight as usual. He picks out his parents almost immediately and can’t resist stepping back onto the mat and standing by the stairs to talk to them, just for a minute.

“I still remember the first time doing this with each one of you,” Dad says, grinning. Matthew may not remember the first, but he remembers an awful lot of the rest of it. Remembers holding Taryn’s hand as they joined Dad for a final skate. Remember wanting it, all of it, for himself too. Mom’s eyes are suspiciously shiny.

“Don’t tell me you’re already crying,” he says. “Even I’m not crying yet.”

“What a load of bullshit,” she answers shakily. “I can see your face, you know.”

“You see nothing and you can’t prove anything,” he shoots back. She raps the back of his head lightly, then smiles, still teary.

“We’re just so proud of you, honey. Both of you. We’re so glad you get to have this. Enjoy it — it’s such a special time.”

“Thanks, Mom,” he says quietly. “I’m really glad you guys are here.”

The audience goes nuts when the announcer says it’s time to bring out the babies. For some reason, something about athletes with their children seems to stir up some strong feelings for a lot of people.

(Well, okay. It’s not really fair for Matthew to pretend he doesn’t get it. He watches an athlete with his child every single day — he understands the appeal on a molecular level. It’s the reason they had to get a new kitchen table last month.)

By the time Leon gets up to the door and hands Anna over to him, Matthew’s itching to hold her. She’s awake and curious, grabbing at Leon’s beard, turning her head and looking more than a little confused to find herself among so many people. She settles easily into Matthew’s arms. Leon’s face is washed with myriad emotions.

“I know,” Matthew says, tapping their foreheads together. “Me too.”

He holds her tight and they skate out next to Vladi, whose older kids are fascinated by a baby and deeply suspicious when their dad tells them they were once that small. Matthew finds his parents again, his mom FaceTiming Sandra and Peter, and lifts Anna’s hand to wave at them.

Anna, and Anna, and Anna. His daughter. Their daughter.

When he asked Leon whether he had any regrets about his career, he said no at first, then reconsidered. “Except that I wish we could’ve put Anna in the Cup. Guess you’ll have to fix that one for us.”

Matthew guesses he will.

[splitting-infinities]

11 for any pairing for the touches ask game? :)

Hi anon! Thanks for the ask! I’m not sure which of the #11s you meant so I just blended them all in one jonmartin fic, hope that’s ok!

11 hand holding: not wanting to lose each other in a big crowd

11 hugs: clinging to each other

11 kiss: welcome home kisses

11 touching: laying their hand on the other’s neck

---

Their life in the time After starts out like dark, strong tea and water vapor. It’s a lot of heavy words and murky depths when they start couples’ therapy. Eventually, though, they muster through and put in the work. After that initial push, Jon and Martin slide into a new kind of mutual comfort, the way the rounded edge of a mug fits in your palms. From there, things get easier. They get lighter.

There are days of searching for the tiniest bookstore they can find in London, dashing past Oxford Circus in an effort to avoid the summer tourist traps. There’s a moment where they almost lose each other; Martin’s warm hand just barely catching and grabbing at Jon’s to keep him from getting buffeted into M&S by a crowd of American tourists in Skechers. It doesn’t hold a candle to Jon pulling Martin out of the Lonely, but there’s something that still feels Right when their hands find purchase and Jon grabs tight. When they’re reunited Jon looks at Martin a little breathless, face flushed. Neither of them pretend it’s just the weather.

-

Their first trip together is dust motes in the air and sunshowers. It’s contemplative, quiet, and rainy. They are back at Daisy’s cabin, a therapist-recommended scar for them to properly confront and close. Neither of them wants to be the first in the door.

It’s a strange thing: the cabin looks unassuming and almost charming from the outside, as if all the time in the Other Place was a mere ghost story. But the ghosts are inside the walls. Inside Jon and Martin’s rapid-beating hearts.

“I’ll go first,” Jon offers. There’s no bravery in his voice. Classic Jon, doing the hard thing because better him than someone else suffering through it. They’re working on that; Martin on accepting that this is Jon’s defense mechanism, and Jon on slowly letting go of those defenses.

Martin shakes his head. “We’re making this bigger than it is. The cabin didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just a cabin. And we’re just people. Nothing is going to hurt us here.” The part that goes unspoken is: I won’t let it.

Jon still looks unsure. He doesn’t move from where he leans against his cane in the dandelion-sprinkled grass. From the sounds of thunder, a storm is brewing on the horizon, but Martin doesn’t dare look up at the sky. Not here.

Then, he gets an idea. “Okay, I’ve got it. Um. Brace yourself.”

Jon squares his shoulders, as if he’s been told to give a spontaneous lecture, only for Martin to bend and hoist him in a bridal carry. They make a sort of makeshift hug as Martin tucks his arms against Jon’s back and under his knees.

“We’ll go in together,” he grins, “one way or another.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Jon sputters good-naturedly. “I love you.” He squirms and flails a bit, trying to find purchase. His cane bonks against the side of the cabin door. They both laugh.

Eventually, they swing the door open. It conjures a flourish of dust and stale air. Martin steps them both over the threshold until they’re met with cool shadow and vivid memories. It’s impossible not to think of the only time they were truly happy before the world ended. Before the cabin became a monument to all they’d lost. Before Jon was robbed of the last of his innocence by a statement that once sat upon that scratched coffee table beside the fireplace.

It’s overwhelming. Martin can’t move out of the doorway. He feels Jon clinging to his shirt, bending in to rest his cheek against Martin’s chest. A sniff. Martin waits.

“Sorry,” Jon says after a while. “It’s a lot.”

“Me too,” Martin says thickly.

“Dust in your eye?” Jon asks, giving him an out.

A watery chuckle. No need to hide it. “No.”

Jon wipes at his eyes with the heel of his hand. “Oh good, me neither.”

“Are you... okay?” Martin asks, tightening his grip on Jon. He’s so warm - the fact shocks him. Jon’s warm and alive. Why is that just hitting him now?

“I will be.” A bit of fabric rustles, and Jon breathes against Martin’s shirt. “I have you.”

“Oh, Jon.”

-

The days in their new flat pass like dripped honey and falling snow. Slow, sweet, and beautiful. They get a cat. And a dog. Despite Jon’s objections to dogs during his and Martin’s initial meet cute, it turns out he really only took issue with the dog being in the Archives. So he welcomes little Chewy into the family rather easily. It takes a bit longer for Lady, their black cat, to accept such an exuberant playmate into her sovereign lands. But it happens all the same.

Jon gets a job at the tiniest bookstore (they finally found it squashed between a crystal shop and a street-wear boutique). Martin gets a job at a library, retreading the old, familiar path of shelving books and directing patrons to the right Dewey Decimal section.

Due to his evening hours, Martin’s the one who comes home later. Jon is usually in the kitchen around that time, puzzling out some new recipe. Cooking has become his favorite pastime. Lady supervises Jon from the top of the cupboards. Chewy disinterestedly gnaws on something forbidden, usually a table leg.

But the moment the three of them hear Martin’s key in the lock, their attention is directed to the door. As Martin stumbles in with groceries, a folded and dripping umbrella, or both, Chewy’s the first to meet him with floppy, imprecise paws sliding every-which-way. Martin bends down to say hello and Chewy bestows wet-nosed kisses to every bit of exposed skin he can reach. Lady doesn’t move from her throne in the kitchen, but gives Martin a look of acknowledgment.

And Jon is there, he’s always going to be there.

He waits for Martin to set down all his stuff, then spreads his arms. Martin meets them, and they embrace. Jon pulls away first, cupping the sides of Martin’s shoulders, running his hands up to the sides of Martin’s neck before cupping his face. “Good day?”

“It is now, yeah,” he beams. “You?”

Jon nods. “It was exceedingly normal and I couldn’t be happier.”

“Normal is good. We like normal,” he says.

Jon puts his hands down and starts gushing to him about whatever’s on the hob. He offers Martin several spoonfuls of something garlicky and savory to taste. The air smells like citrus peels and olives. “Be my sous chef?” he asks.

Martin assents.

This is bliss. This is home.

[queenoftheworldisdead]

Teddy

Notes: This is my entry for @pagesoflauren Prompts:

So, this is love” from “So This is Love” by Ilene Woods and Mike Douglas from Cinderella

“Um, you...you fight good.” from Mulan

“This reminded me of you.”

Warnings: 18 +Only, dark themes, Dubious consent due to alcohol consumption, drunken sex, fingering, out door sex

Summary: a corporate event turns into hazy regret

Dark(maybe more grey) CEO Steve x Reader

🐻

Why they decided to hold a corporate event in the middle of the work week was beyond you. But you could only blame yourself for the alcohol consumption you partook in. Your head and body ached. You had taken a few aspirin before getting to work, but it didn't sooth the pains rippling through your body. Last night was a fog that you could barely piece together, but you weren't worried. You had made it home safe and your office mates had not blown up your phone with anything salacious.

You frowned at the continuous slowed traffic at your cubical when you approached. When you spotted the source you were surprised. A sweet little box with an oversized bow sat on top of your keyboard with a tiny little note. Your coworkers all past your station giggling amongst themselves as they spied it. You felt the heat of all the attention permeate your face as you rushed to stash it away.

Taking your seat before your monitor you hid the parcel. You waited patiently until you felt no one was paying you any mind. Had someone miss placed this? Curious you read the note. “This reminded me of you.” Flipping it over no name.

You untie the bow and opened it carefully.

"Did you like it?" Steve's sudden voice made you bristle.

You fumble with the box, dropping it, spilling the contents as he leaned on your cubical wall.

"Um sorry?" you looked at him confused.

"I was thinking of getting rid of this thing, but now"

he scratched at his beard as you wrinkled your brow at him. His name was called before he could clarify his point. The distraction pulled him away, but not before he shot you a sly wink.

That was strange.

With him away you reached down to pick up the fallen gift. You rose slowly lifting a new coffee mug, turning it you see a yellow cartoon teddy bear smiling at you.

Your eyes grew round as a flood of memories drowned you. Flashes of the night before filled in gaps you had brushed off until now.

🐻

The night before

You were an expert at avoiding company events, but when the email read mandatory you groaned. The biannual event was a must for all employees foreign and domestic.

You didn't hate your company, you actually loved it. Everyone was friendly, it was a stark contrast to the cut throat companies you were used to. It was just that social events made you feel painfully awkward.

The venue was massive. Every odd person asked which office you worked in and what department you belonged to. You smiled and made short talk as you searched for a place to hide until the event was over. It was very draining, being an introvert you could only handle so much social interaction.

The corporate sponsored libations helped get you through the most part. Snatching a drink from every waiter that passed with a tray. It was an easy, trick gulp down the glass then motion to the empty cup before departing the group signaling you are going to find more. An easy out that had you buzzed, but you felt as though you were holding together well. When you found your hiding spot you breathed easier, taking the seat hidden behind a column, you played with your phone until the event whined down.

"Hey your in accounting right?"

You looked up from the phone to find John Walker. He smiled softly, slipping into the empty seat next to you. "Oh no, sorry.."

"Why are you hiding away by yourself?" He cut you off. You reached for your half empty flute and took a big gulp. Swallowing it down before tapping the glass, signaling your exit just as he began to crowd you into the corner space.

"How do you like it here?" He asked you another question stifling your exit. You could feel his breath on your face as you tried to lean away, but his arm stretched out pulling you closer.

A yelp escaped your lips when his other hand found your thigh. You don't want to cause a scene, but you want him to give you space. Your hiding space was too good. No one noticed or cared that you were trapped by a fellow colleague. "I need to-"

John pulled you down when you tried to stand and excuse yourself. "Hey" the scent of his drink finally hit your nose. "You cant leave before we cheers." His grip on you felt so firm that you worried if you upset him, his smile seemed strained and his eyes roamed you uncomfortably. John suddenly lifted the hand from your shoulder and snapped his fingers in the air, signaling a server to bring more drinks to the table. "One more drink huh? Bad luck not to cheers with everyone you know?"

You gripped your phone so hard you felt it imprint on your palm. You just wanted to go home. When the serve dropped the glasses John pushed one at you. To appease him you took it. Maybe he would leave after this. He raised his glass and you did the same. "To a fruitful quarter."

You murmured and repeated him. The glasses clinked before you both took a drink. This drink hit you harder than before, but you chugged it down anyway.

When John finished his glass he cloaked you. His eyes filled with a hunger that had you leaning further back into the back of your chair. He kept coming so close no matter how you shifted in your seat to gain distance. "Please I need to go home" you begged as he roamed up your skirt.

When his eyes bulged you were confused before you felt relief. John fell away from you, hitting the floor hard as a hulk of a man appeared standing over him. John did not appreciate it, hopping to his feet. You tried to stand yourself, but the room spun and swayed with such force you fell back on your seat. John and your savior blurred as you try to focus. You squinted as John pushed back on the stranger only to find his chin connecting with a right hook. His body fell to the floor like a sack of potatoes as you watched everything in slow motion.

It was so surreal seeing John laid out. You looked up to see the founder standing above him. Steve Rogers was the man behind the knockout punch. You snorted, laughing loudly at the ridiculousness. There was no way you saw that correctly.

He turned his attention to you, mouthing words at you, but you couldn't understand them. People began to crowd around John and your table. You were becoming the center of attention and that filled you with an urge to escape.

"I want to go home." You whimpered lowly, as you found it hard to move with so many people around. You reached your limit, there were too many eyes, too many voices, you felt trapped yet again.

"Where do you live?" His voice cut through everyone else. It sounded so concerned yet sweet it set you at ease. You slurred out the destination as he helped you up from the seat.

He felt so warm, firm and safe that you couldn't help, but cuddle into his side as he guided you out.

Your eyes started to feel heavy as your body floated along. “Um, you...you fight good.” you blurted out making him chuckle. "Thank you" you slurred out the complement. Your yawn muffled his response as your eyes closed and you slipped into sleep.

🐻

Your head lolled on the back of the leather seat as a chill nipped at your body. "It's too cold" you groaned missing the warmth that sent you to slumber.

"I miss warm" you whined tilting your head to the side, squinting at the blurry blob that resembled the sun. You reached out to find the source of warmth, but got jerked back by a restraint, you grumbled and frowned when you found a seat belt.

"Hey sleepy head." It sounded like Mr.Rogers. You had heard his voice many times over many corporate calls and monthly meetings, but that was preposterous. There was no way the high powered CEO was talking to you.

"Give me warm" you whined again, your eyes still heavy as you tried to focus on their face. You attempted once more to reach your hand out, this time your finger tips clumsily grazed over a nose before trailing up to gelled hair. "Oop. Watch it you almost blinded me there." He laughed lightly as the car swerved a bit. "Ok ok settled down I'll turn on the AC." The click and whoosh of the heater elevated the chill a bit.

"Sorry I run a little hot. Does this help?"

You hummed with delight as a warm hand reached out to glide up and down your thigh in comforting strokes. Your fingers played in the sleeked geld locks. Your thighs absorb the warmth of his hand as he kneaded your skin.

"You have arrived at your destination" the robotic voice announced.

"Yay!" Clapping your hands together ready to go to bed.

"Don't like parties huh?"

"I like home better." You yawned still very tired.

"Yeah me too" he agreed as the warm hand in your lap left. You whimpered in disappointment as a car door opened and closed. You stayed lazy sat in place too tired to move, closing your eyes welcoming sleep once again.

"Come on let's get you home." He grunted as he reached over you, waking you slightly. The smell of his cologne filled your nose as you heard the distinct click of your seat belt and feel of the strap slide away.

"Who are you?" You genuinely inquired.

He pulled you from the seat and stood you up against the car. Your body sagged, but he kept you standing. "Don't remember me, huh?" He huffed dragging you out. "Steve. Steve Rogers." He told you as he tried to keep you steady while closing the door.

"Your face is soo fluffy" you giggled as you grabbed at his beard. "No! Your not Steve! Your teddy" you dubbed shouting at him, cupping his face as you brought him closer. "You feel so good teddy."

"You think so?" Steve chuckled excepting his new nickname.

Stepping closer he pressed his weight on you and chuckled, boxing you between him and the car. "Fluffy teddy bear man" you giggled again as his cologne once again invaded your nose.

"You smell good too" you confessed as he leaned closer. His lips tilted into a devilish grin as you leaned forward to inhale along his neck. His strong hands held your hips before squeezing when you licked at him. "Tasted good too."

"Bad girl." Steve admonished leaning away from you. "Bad teddy" you frowned, pulling him closer by his blazer. "Keep me warm teddy." You pouted.

"Like that?" Steve questioned as his palms slipped down your waist then road up your thigh. You gasped when he ascended up and under your skirt. You nodded 'yes' allowing his brazened hand to slip into your panties, cupping your mound. The car rocked a bit as he leaned all his weight on you, sinking into you. His bristly beard hairs tickled your neck as you panted wildly into the cold air.

"Do you like how I make you feel?" Steve asked trailing up and over your lips. You moan a 'yes' into his mouth while you pushed into his palm urging him on.

Steve tried to pull his hand from you, but you squeezed your thighs together, not allowing him to retreat. "No teddy don't leave" you begged pouting. Steve smiled at the nickname while plunging deep in your core, curling his digits inside of you.

Your skirt road high off your ass and you felt the chill of the door on your exposed cheeks. You didn't care, you just wanted more. Lifting your leg Steve hooked it around his waist. "I love you teddy" you proclaimed drunk off his touch.

"Oh yeah" he growled in your ear, sending fire down your neck as he kissed you all over. You felt your panties pushed to the side as he pressed his sheathed need on you.

"Ummm mmm" you hummed eager for him to do more. Steve steady you with one hand while his other fumbled with the front of his pants. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders and your hips pushed forward. Waiting impatiently you bite your lip giving him a pleading look. "Love you so much teddy."

"So this is love?" Steve swirled his cock in your juices, teasing as he pressed hard along your eagerness. "Don't tease" you slapped at him frowning. "You want teddy to love you?" he groaned pressing his tip hard against your entrance. You nod 'yes' and hiss as his cock slowly stretched you open. You welcomed the strain while another warmth burst from your core. Your fingers tangled in his hair while Steve kissed you passionately. You panted wildly as Steve picked up speed, rutting you against the car door. "So this..." Steve stretched out each word, thrusting into you hard and deep, your slick him thoroughly. You chanted 'yes' allowing him to rut you against the car. Steve's thickness made you quiver. Despite being out in the world it felt as if you were the only two left on earth. "This is love" he sighed pushing as deep as he could go.

The warmth of him exploded all around you, melting you into him deliciously. You dissolved into him, slipping mindlessly into ecstasy.

🐻

[archived-kin]

one thousand and one nights with you (is not enough to spend)

note from kin: the title is from that song in twisted by starkid, but that’s about as far as the similarity goes

anyway you’re visionless and basically run a little witch shop in mondstadt, with flowers and cool gemstones and mysterious powders and potions and stuff. albedo gets a lot of his alchemy ingredients from you (also he’s dating you but not a lot of people know that)

fandom: genshin impact

character(s): gn! reader, albedo, plus a surprise venti cameo

pairing(s): albedo/reader

warning(s): i don’t know albedo that well so he might be ooc? also this is so cheesy it’s a little ridiculous

genre: fluff

“I’ll be going now, boss!”

You smile and return your assistant’s cheery goodbye wave as he disappears off into the night outside, freshly-filled coin pouch jingling at his hip. As the door swings shut with quiet click, your surroundings fall into quietude.

The candles keeping the room lit are beginning to burn down to stumps, throwing most of your shelves into shadow. You take a sip from the steaming cup sitting on your counter, then stand up to begin taking inventory and closing up shop.

The silence is comforting after such a long day. You’re not entirely sure what brought on the sudden increase in customers, given that your shop is tucked away in a quiet little corner of Mondstadt that not many tend to linger around. That had been a deliberate choice, and so was the lack of advertising - your speciality is the individual, not the crowd.

Still, you can’t say that it isn’t nice to have the increased income. More profit means better wages for your assisstant - and more Mora to buy even more cool things to stock.

You pass about an hour ambling around your shop, rearranging your products and making sure that everything is in order. Then, just as the bat-shaped clock on the wall chimes one o’clock, the bell above the front door jingles, and you hear quiet footsteps enter.

You don’t pay it any mind at first, instead focusing on rearranging the little bottles of various dusts and extracts on one of the ingredients shelves. A hand settles on the small of your back, and you feel the new arrival’s presence come to a stop beside you.

“We’re out of powdered lizard tail,” You say without looking at him.

A pause. Then a quiet chuckle. “That’s how you want to start the night?”

You smirk. “The night started a good while ago, darling.”

Albedo sighs as you turn to face him, though his soft smile betrays his faux-exasperation. “I did tell you I’d be late today.”

“You tell me that you’ll be late every day,” You reply, sliding one final bottle of powdered crystalfly into place, then move over to sit on your front counter. He follows, settling just beside you.

“I have a lot of things that need attending to,” He shrugs, leaning over and snatching your drink without asking. You shake your head, but let him take a sip from it anyway.

His eyes flicker up to look at you over the rim of the mug. “...though, of course, you’re the most important one.”

You laugh and bat at his shoulder. He doesn’t make any effort to avoid it, eyes twinkling as you smile. “Why not come round more often if I’m so important, huh?”

“Do you think I wouldn’t if I could?” He asks with a scoff, setting down the mug and gently nudging you in the side. “We both have jobs, [Name]. We need to actually do them.”

“Oh, I know that,” You return his nudge and hop down from the counter again. Albedo sighs a little at your restlessness, but follows as you swipe the keys from your drawer and open the door again. “But it doesn’t hurt to take a day off every now and then.”

“I’ve already taken far more in the last month than is reasonable,” Albedo says with a shake of his head, stepping out into the street at your indication and waiting as you shut and lock the door. “Grandmaster Jean will get suspicious.”

“Psh,” You dismiss, waving a whimsical hand about and nearly knocking the sign off of your door. “Why is it that you’re not telling her about us, again?”

“She doesn’t exactly like you,” He says, absently linking his hand with yours as the two of you begin walking aimlessly in no direction in particular. He’s removed his gloves, you notice. “You did set up shop without permission when you first got here.”

“Ah, right…” Now that you think about it, you seem to remember her shooting you a rather nasty look when you passed her in the street last week. Why she continues to hold a grudge is lost on you - after all, you did get the necessary documentation and everything eventually… though, to be fair, the method you used wasn’t exactly legal. “...well, forget her.  What do you want to do tonight?”

“Hmm,” He swings your linked hands about for a moment. “I saw a lot of dandelions growing just outside the walls earlier. Why don’t we go pick some seeds?”

“If you want to pick dandelion seeds, why not ask Sucrose?” You ask as he begins leading you in the direction of the main gate. “She’s the one with the Anemo vision.”

“Sucrose?” Albedo repeats, turning his head to look at you. His irises almost seem to glow in the darkness of the night, brighter than any of the stars above - it’d be unsettling if it wasn’t so beautiful. “Why would I want to go seed-picking with her?”

You raise an eyebrow. “...well, I’m assuming you need them for an experiment, and Anemo-blown sunflower seeds are always far more effective in that area.”

“If I needed them for an experiment, I’d just buy them from your shop,” He shakes his head. “This isn’t an ingredient hunt. This is different - it’s special.”

“Special how?” You question as the two of you walk through the gate. Albedo guides you over to a particularly thick cluster of dandelions just a few feet away, nestled in a lush copse of grass.

“Special… like you.” He cups both his hands around one of yours, the one that he’d been holding just before, and guides it over to one of the tallest plants. “Go on, show me that trick again.”

You laugh a little at his almost childish inflection, but do as he requests anyway. Albedo pulls his hands away from yours and watches as you carefully pluck off the head of the dandelion without disturbing any of its fluff-topped seeds, allowing it to rest on the tips of your fingers.

“There’s no trick to having a delicate hand,” You say as he watches your every move with the utmost concentration. “It just takes practice.”

Carefully securing the little bit of stem left at the bottom of the dandelion head between your index finger and thumb, you slowly raise your hand so that it’s suspended just above Albedo; he ducks his head a little, closing his eyes as you bring up your other hand to ever-so-gently flick the seeds from the head. The seeds drift about in the still night air for a brief moment before landing in Albedo’s blonde hair; their white colour is barely distinguishable against it.

He opens his eyes again as you pull your hands down again, lifting his head slowly so as not to disturb the little decorations you’ve added to it. “...so what did you grant me this time?”

“A good night’s sleep,” You say playfully. “As the seeds are carried away on the wind, so too will all your worldly burdens be blown away.”

He shakes his head, and several seeds are dislodged by the motion, vanishing quickly into the night. “If only it were that easy.”

“Hey, it worked last time,” You counter, sitting down in the grass. Albedo follows suit, reaching out and plucking a dandelion of his own - though with a lot less deftness than you did.

“That wasn’t the dandelions,” He says plainly, blowing lightly on the dandelion and watching the fluff disperse and disappear into the dark. “I just sleep more soundly when you’re beside me.”

You chuckle. “Sweet talker. So you’d sleep like a baby if I was around all the time, then?”

“Perhaps I would half the time,” He answers, smiling in a way that tells you that he knows exactly how sappy what he’s about to say is. “But I wouldn’t sleep nearly as well for the other half. I’d be too busy looking at you.”

Despite already knowing that it was coming, you can’t help but feel your heart flutter slightly at his proclamation. “I could say the same about. Bet you’ve broken a good few hearts with looks like that.”

“Then so be it,” He shrugs, eye-lids falling a little as he gives you a devilish little smirk. “Yours is the only one I care about.”

“When did you get so charming?” You flick him in the nose, effectively wiping off the smug look on his face. “Have you been studying love poems or something?”

“Love poems aren’t really my area,” He says, drawing back and rubbing at his nose a little reproachfully. “But Lisa and Kaeya have been giving me plenty of tips on my… 'romantic endeavours’, as they say.”

“Those two…” You shake your head. Kaeya and Lisa managed to find about your relationship with Albedo almost as soon as he’d confessed to you, though luckily they’d agreed to try not to mention it around Jean. “Have those tips been working?”

“Isn’t that a question for you to answer?” He picks another dandelion and blows it directly at you. “Is your heart being stirred?”

“Not while you’re blowing seeds into my face, it isn’t,” You shield yourself with one hand, pushing it in front of Albedo’s face to obscure his field of vision. “Quit it!”

He does drop the dandelion at your request, but, unusually, doesn’t give you a verbal response. You’re just thinking that he must be planning something when he suddenly leans forward and kisses the centre of your palm.

You immediately pull your hand back, feeling yourself heat up. Albedo leans forward, cocking his head to the side with a smile. “What about now?”

“You’re insufferable,” is your only reply.

Albedo’s smile turns into another smirk. He knows exactly what he’s doing. “I’m yours.”

“Mine, now? How nice,” You say, still trying to act unbothered. You can tell it isn’t working, though.  “Am I allowed to get a refund if you don’t work as expected?”

“Would you ever want to return me?” Albedo counters. You can’t exactly say yes - that’s both mean and untrue -  so you just sigh and shake your head. He smiles, clearly pleased.

You’re about to say something else when you hear a series of uneven footsteps coming from the gate. It doesn’t sound like a Knight of Favonius on patrol - in fact, it sounds more like a drunkard.

Albedo shuffles a little closer to you as a figure stumbles out of the gates. It’s someone you vaguely recognise by their green clothes - the bard who often plays in front of the statue of Barbatos. He’s holding a bottle that’s already half-empty, and you have a feeling that he’s already had a lot more before it.

The bard looks over at you and Albedo, and while you doubt he can recognise your faces what with both the darkness and the distance, it’s obvious enough that the two of you aren’t just a pair of good buddies hanging out. He raises the bottle in your direction with a hiccup.

“Wonderful night to meet a lover!” He calls, voice ringing so loudly that you’re sure that he just woke up a few residents of the city. “May your relationship last long as the wind blows!”

He doesn’t wait for a response before beginning to stumble his way across the bridge. As he goes, he exclaims to no one in particular, “The air is crisp tonight! Such good wine - what a wonderful city!”

He quickly disappears into the darkness. You exchange looks with Albedo. “...how much do you think he drank?”

“Far too much,” He replies amusedly. “He’ll regret it come morning.”

“And it isn’t too far off now,” You say, checking your pocket watch. “Will you be heading back to headquarters tonight?”

He considers, then shakes his head. “I don’t have anything that’ll need attention tomorrow morning. So, if you’ll have me…”

He doesn’t finish, but you already know what he’s asking. “There’s always room for you to stay over - you should know that by now, shouldn’t you?”

He smiles a little bashfully at that, and nods. “I suppose so… thank you.”

“You might as well move in at this point,” You comment, shifting slightly on the spot and patting at his arm. He holds his hand out obligingly, and you thread your fingers through his. “You’ve left at least three sets of pyjamas over already.”

Albedo opens his mouth to respond, and you shake your head, placing the index finger of your free hand to his lips to shush him. “Yeah, yeah, I got it, Grandmaster Jean’ll get suspicious…”

He blows on your finger to get you to retract it. When that doesn’t work, he pretends to bite at it, which is a lot more effective. “...I will tell her eventually. Just not now.”

“While you’re on the rocks,” You say with a nod, squeezing his hand. He sighs and nods as well. “But I still don’t think she’d fire you over who you’re dating.”

“Maybe not, but I don’t want to get any more on her bad side,” He mumbles. “She’s still annoyed about that floor I melted.”

“Didn’t you tell her that I was the one who made you drop the potion?” You ask, thinking back to that particular day - when you’d learnt that Albedo is very susceptible to your flirting when he’s in the middle of an experiment.

He shakes his head with a chuckle. “I didn’t think you’d appreciate me tattling. Besides, it isn’t like she punished me.”

“Well, you’re basically untouchable at the end of the day,” You comment, lying back in the grass and pulling Albedo with you. “It’s them who need you, not the other way around.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” He says, adjusting himself so that the two of you are pressed flush against each other. “If I hadn’t started working for them, we’d never have met.”

“We would have crossed paths eventually,” You say, smiling coyly when he turns his head to face you. “Though better sooner than later, I suppose.”

“Far better sooner,” He says, returning your smile with a much softer one. “I’m glad we did.”

Another dandelion seed drifts out of his hair and lands in the grass as you look at him. You'll be keeping this one for a long time, you decide. Probably forever. You like him.

You think he likes you, too.

[darkverrmin]

A Drunk Witcher

Jaskier finished his performance to a loud round of applause. He thanked the crowd with a brilliant smile and a bow, before turning on his heels and rushing to the door.

He hasn't seen the Witcher since he started playing his third song. It wasn't like Geralt to just disappear during Jaskier's shows. The bard tried not think of different horrible scenarios that were now running through his brain.

Geralt wasn't outside. Jaskier rushed back into the tavern, maybe he missed him.

White hair, grumpy face, two scary swords, white hair, grumpy face, two scary-

Ah, there he was.

Sitting at the far corner of the room, his head on the table.

His head on the table?

"Geralt" Jaskier called him name as he approached him. "Geralt!"

He was about to shake the older man's shoulder, but Geralt already raised his head from the table.

The Witcher stared at him in shock. He blinked twice. "Sorry. Must've fallen asleep".

Jaskier chuckled. "I was worried I lost you back there. Tell me, dear, how much did you drink?"

Geralt pressed his lips. The empty tankards scattered on the table around him said a lot.

"Alright, I'm finished here. It was a good night, folks here are very generous. Now let's get you back to our room".

"Hmm".

Jaskier has never seen Geralt this drunk before. The Witcher leaned on him heavily as Jaskier helped him upstairs to their room.

When they finally shut the door behind them, Geralt put down his swords and plopped onto the bed, face first. Jaskier stared at him for a moment, resisting the urge to chuckle.

Was he supposed to help him undress? At least take his boots off? Would Geralt even let him? Probably not. But there was only one bed and Geralt's ridiculously muscular body was now occupying most of it.

Jaskier approached him cautiously.

"Are you going to sleep like this?"

"Mhhm" Geralt hummed into the blanket. Jaskier did chuckle now, shaking his head.

"At least take your damn boots off the mattress".

Geralt rolled onto his back, his eyes half open. "Mmm help me".

Jaskier raised an eyebrow at him, but complied. He bent down to remove the Witcher's boots and socks, pulling them off his feet.

"There" Jaskier said, placing his hands on his hips. "Do the rest of the clothes yourself. Um, should I get you water?"

"S'fine" Geralt muttered, slowly moving into a sitting position. He crossed his hands over his body, lifting off his shirt. Jaskier looked away.

Geralt pulled the shirt up to his head, struggling with the laces that got caught in his hair. He pulled at the fabric, but it wouldn't come off and his hands slipped. He growled, the shirt now stuck in its place and blocking his vision.

"Jask. Jas. Help"

Jaskier looked back at him and rolled his eyes fondly. "Dear Gods. Don't move".

He removed the offensive shirt from Geralt's body, careful not to tug at his hair.

"Thanks" Geralt mumbled, staring up at him. The smell of alcohol hit Jaskier hard. He was very close to asking the older man why did he drink so much this evening.

Geralt lay back on the bed, unlacing his pants. Too dizzy to take them off, he left them unlaced.

The Witcher closed his eyes, letting out a deep sigh. Jaskier stared down at him with a concerned look, his hands still on his hips.

"You okay?" Jaskier failed not to ask.

Geralt sighed again and to Jaskier's big surprise, actually replied. "Yeh. Just drunk. Mm sorry. Should've thought it through. I was nervous".

Jaskier raised his eyebrows. "Nervous?"

"Crowds make me nervous".

Right. The tavern was crowded today, the audience one of the biggest Jaskier had in the last few months. A lot of faces were friendly, thanks to Jaskier's songs, but there were always people looking at Geralt oddly. And the Witcher's oversensitive senses probably didn't help his mood.

Jaskier rubbed a hand over his face. "I shouldn't have asked you to come. I'm sorry".

"Bullshit. You needed the protection". Geralt opened his eyes in realization. "Fuck. I fell asleep".

He sat up straight, his head spinning, grabbing Jaskier by the wrist. "I fell asleep! Are ye hurt?"

Jaskier gave him half a smile. "No, honey. I'm not hurt. It would have been unfair to ask you to suffer tonight sober. Besides, your mere presence keeps people away from me, so all is good".

"Hmm". Geralt lay back down on the pillow, wincing from a sudden headache.

"Here" Jaskier fetched a goatskin of water from their packs. "Drink this. C'mon".

He helped Geralt sit up, placing a hand between his shoulder blades. Geralt drank, spilling half of the water onto his chin and chest.

Jaskier sighed. "Okay, next time I'm watching you. And I won't take shows with crowds this big like today".

Geralt lay back down, closing his eyes. "We need the coin".

"We can manage" Jaskier huffed. "It's better than to drag your drunk ass up the stairs, darling. You're not a light man".

Geralt smiled lazily, chuckling. Jaskier almost gaped at him.

"Did I just make you laugh?"

Geralt shook his head, eyes still closed.

"Bullshit! I saw you smi-"

"I like when you call me "darling". Feels good".

Jaskier froze in place. Geralt continued.

"Darlin, dear, honey. Mm sometimes "my witcher". I know you call everybody that, well, maybe not "witcher", but I think that when you call me that, it's special".

Jaskier stared at him softly. "It is".

"Mmm". Geralt opened one eye, looking up at Jaskier.

"I know what you're doing, bard".

Jaskier blinked at him. "What?"

Geralt shook his head. "Tearing down walls".

Jaskier was really confused right now. "What?" He repeated.

Geralt rolled his eyes, slightly annoyed. "Walls. All my life I've been building these walls around me". He made a gesture with his hand. "High, thick walls. No one could break them. It felt safe, behind those walls. But sometimes lonely". The Witcher pouted and Jaskier resisted the urge to lean down and kiss him right there and then.

Geralt continued. "So these walls. Ya just came and swoosh" He swung his hand. "Walked right through them. Tore em down. And I'm just standing there. Not knowing to do". He looked back at Jaskier, eyes wide and confused.

"What should I do?"

Jaskier smiled at him gently. "I don't know, dear. What do you want to do?"

Geralt stared at him for a moment, as if processing the question. Finally, he answered.

"I want you".

Jaskier's smile grew bigger. "You already have me".

"No, but I want all of you. To, to be with you".

Jaskier tilted his head to the side. "I'm here. I'm yours. All you ever needed was to ask".

The smile that appeared on Geralt's face was the brightest Jaskier has ever seen. The Witcher propped himself up on one elbow.

"Can I kiss you?"

Jaskier pressed his lips, still smiling, shaking his head lightly. "Not when you're like this, dear. But ask me again tomorrow?"

"Mmm you're no fun".

Jaskier gasped in disbelief. Geralt chuckled.

"Can you hold me at least?"

"Thought you'll never ask. Scoot over".

[mellowswriting]

Desperate

pairing || Javier Peña x fem!Reader

summary ||  It’s been far too long, and you both need to let off some steam.

word count || 6,219

warnings || !!SMUT!! (unsafe sex, dom/sub vibes, innocence kink, fingering, p in v sex, dom!Javier, slight mocking/degradation, overstimulation, some spanking, multiple orgasms, creampie, “beg for it”, egregious use of ‘princesa’ and ‘good girl’ bc I’m a glutton, Javi loves feeling powerful okay), ALCOHOL CONSUMPTION

a/n || I’m amazed at how long this took, but I wanted this to be perfect. I hope my fellow Javi hoes enjoy

Main Masterlist  |  Join the taglist!

It had been weeks since you were able to go out with Javier and spend the night drinking and having a good time. You didn’t blame him, of course. Work was busy for the both of you and you had barely seen each other outside of curling up in bed together at the end of the day. It wasn’t something you had expected, the first time he wrapped his arms around you in bed and fell right asleep. Falling asleep together without at least one round of exhausting sex was unheard of - until it wasn’t. Until it was a rarity for you to fall asleep alone, sex or no sex, and you were craving the feeling of his breath at you neck just as much as you were craving the feeling of his hand sliding under the hem of your underwear. Neither of you said anything about it, too afraid to break the delicate trance of happiness that had enveloped your lives.

Steve had insisted for Javier to bring you to the club with him and Connie, worried that if everyone didn’t let off some steam soon, they would end up at each other’s throats. Steve wasn’t wrong, either. As suddenly and surprisingly sweet the last few weeks had been, all work and no play left Javi a very pent up man, so you accepted enthusiastically when he called you before leaving the office. You were a whirlwind in your apartment as you tried to beat the clock to get ready before your lover arrived, clothes yanked from their neatly organized places as you searched for a very specific dress. One you knew would make Javier lose his mind.

There was no knock at your door when Javi arrived. He simply walked in, something he had done since the very beginning of your little...whatever the hell this was. It was something he loved about you, that you left the door unlocked when you knew he would be on his way. So trusting in him. At first it had made him beyond nervous. What if someone managed to get there before he did, had the luck to try your door one of the few times it wasn’t secure? Why the fuck did you trust him so much? But over time, the worries melted into something soft and appreciative that warmed his chest and scared him even more.

There really was no winning with Javier sometimes.

But he couldn’t even keep that train of thought when he pushed your bedroom door open and saw you bent over to dig through the bottom drawer of your dresser, only in a bra and pair of panties that made his mouth water. So much bare skin, all for him to look at and greedily touch however he wanted. The surprised gasp you gave when Javier’s hand slid down your lower back to grab at the globe of your ass made him smirk, even when you spun around and smacked at his chest with a playful glare.

“God, Javi! You’re lucky I didn’t punch you.” You wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed up on your tiptoes to kiss him, grinning when he yanked you closer to bring you firmly against his chest. He watched as the momentary fear of his abrupt arrival melted away into something soft and happy, and it tugged at his chest. “I’ll be ready in just a second, okay?”

Javi hummed at you in acknowledgement but didn’t let go until you squirmed out of his grip and ushered him out the bedroom door. He would never admit it, but he pouted in the living room while he waited for you. He wanted to watch you get dressed. There really wasn’t a better sight than watching you shimmy into a pair of ridiculously tight jeans.

Watching you emerge from your room in a tight black dress was a close fuckin’ second, though. The muscle in his jaw ticked, his teeth clenched, and to anyone else he probably looked pissed. You knew him too well, though. He was just trying to convince himself not to tear it off of you and fuck you right on the floor in the living room. The harsh exhale that left him when you teasingly beckoned him to follow you towards your door told you that you were in for a long night.

Javier kept at least one hand on you the entire time - through the cab ride, as you waited at the bar for your drinks, even when you slid into a booth with Connie and Steve. It was grounding for the both of you. Javier made you feel safe, just the simplicity of a hand on your thigh or an arm draped over your shoulder. The feeling of your skin helped Javier stay in the moment, kept him from drifting into the mindset of Agent Peña, who would be beyond on edge with all of the people and noise.

“One more shot, and I bet you’ll be able to convince him to dance with you.” Connie grinned conspiratorially, nodding to where Javi was making his way through the crowd with a tray of shots.

“Oh, I could get him to dance with me stone cold sober. Doesn’t take much convincing either.” You said with a small wink and Connie laughed at the way Steve crinkled his nose.

“Yeah, I do not need to see that.” Steve stood and offered Connie his hand with a wag of his eyebrows, leaving you at the table just as Javi set down the drinks. He watched them disappear onto the dancefloor before turning those pretty eyes on you.

“The hell was that about?” Javi grumbled as he handed you one of the shot glasses. He was about to take his own when you leaned forward to speak into his ear, balancing yourself with a hand against his chest.

“They didn’t want to see me all over you.” You spoke low, letting a teasing lilt take over your tone, before you took your shot and sighed harshly at the burn of whiskey. Javi froze in front of you, that hungry glint in his eyes that you absolutely adored, shot glass still hovering at his lips. “Gonna take your shot before or after you get your hands on me?”

The whiskey was tipped back into his mouth before he slammed the glass onto the table so hard you worried he had broken it. You didn’t get the chance to see if he actually did before Javier dragged you away from the table and the only thing you could think about were those strong hands at your waist.

Dancing with Javier always left you breathless. Not from the actual dancing, but from him. The man could make the entire universe shrink to just him and the way he moved against you, the sway of his hips and ease with which he moved your body however he wanted. It was moments like these that reminded you exactly who it was you were messing with. Javier Peña could take whatever he wanted from you. He would only do that if you explicitly told him to, of course, but feeling the flex of his biceps as he curled his arms around your body, the strength in his hands as he grabbed a handful of your ass… it left you yearning.

Anticipation danced down your spine with every graze of his skin against yours, every sharp bite he gave to your neck and shoulders, every grind of his hips against your ass. You turned to face him, winding your arms around his neck to drag him down close enough to almost kiss him. He was expecting you to, you could tell by the way his lips parted and the slight pout of his bottom lip when you didn’t give him what he wanted. Instead, you pressed your forehead to his and drank him in; his eyes were hooded, glazed slightly with alcohol and lust, his curls slightly damp with sweat, chest rolling with each breath. The top buttons of his dress shirt were undone and mischief danced through your veins when you leaned down to press a kiss to his neck and then bite his collarbone just a smidge harder than necessary.

Javi hissed and yanked you back with a fist wrapped in your hair - not exactly something you weren’t used to from your lover. His teeth were bared slightly as he took in your prone form. There was nothing he loved more than seeing you so… obedient for him, even when you were using that mouth of yours in ways he didn’t approve of. He tutted at you, slowly turning your head from side to side as if he was amused by his control over you.

“Careful, princesa.” Javi rasped in your ear. The low tone of his voice made you want to melt right there on the filthy club floor. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

He was expecting a retort, something eloquent and teasing perhaps. You knew this, somewhere in the back of your mind, but all you could think about was the controlling grip he had against your head. Heat and tension began coiling tighter in your belly and any intent to be a tease fell away into need.

“Please,” It came out on an airy exhale, barely audible over the music and raucous sounds of partying. Your lover tilted his head at you, eyebrows drawn together in confusion as if he didn’t understand you, so you licked your lips and tried again. “Javi, please.”

“You’ll be a good girl for me tonight, hm?” Javi’s eyes went slightly darker when you nodded at him and he let go of your hair, smoothing his palm over the back of your head. “I’ll tell Murphy we’re leaving. Stay right here.”

With a kiss to your forehead, Javier stepped away from you and disappeared to find his partner and it was as if the world snapped back into place. His presence was all consuming and the moment he would leave it was like the rest of the universe came back into existence, still fuzzy around the edges from his intensity. Having all of that energy focused on you? It was better than any alcohol, any drug.

The entire cab ride to Javier’s apartment was tense and you wanted nothing more than to throw caution to the wind, rip off your seatbelt, and climb into Javier’s lap, but the firm hand on your thigh kept you in place. You almost did exactly that when he let go, but the sight of those talented fingers rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt had your brain short-circuiting. The combination of already being tipsy and Javi’s innate ability to make you horny beyond reason left you dizzy. Javi smirked at the way your lips parted as he slowly exposed his forearms but the teasing words at the tip of his tongue disappeared at the gentle way you touched his inner wrist. Your fingers trailed up into his palm, so soft that it almost tickled, and then flipped his hand in yours to feel the ridges of his knuckles and tendons. So fucking reverent when you looked at him. It lit a fire in his veins.

“You have nice hands.” You said it out of nowhere and Javi frowned, about to ask you what the hell that even meant, but the cab lurched to a stop outside his apartment building. The fire in your eyes returned as if it had never left - it was enough to have him tossing the cabbie his money and dragging you along with him.

A loud bang echoed through his apartment when Javier burst through the door, rushing in backwards just far enough to get the door closed and shove you against it. The air was forced out of you at the impact, but it wasn’t as if you could really catch your breath with his mouth fused against yours to begin with. Javier tapped your thighs and you automatically hopped up, letting him hitch your thighs around his waist and brace your weight against the door. The hard edges of the door bit into your back, sure to leave red marks that Javi would marvel at once the need to bury into each other was sated.

“This...fucking dress.” Javier growled against your lips before he leaned away just enough to glare down at your cleavage and curves as if he were infuriated. You knew better, knew that the heat in his glare was hunger, not anger. His hand groped and massaged at your thighs and ass with a fervor that made you feel beyond desired - every touch was desperate, like he would implode without it. “Get your ass upstairs. I want you on the bed by the time I get up there.”

You shuddered in anticipation as he set you down on your feet, the sharp smack he gave your thigh ushering you towards his bedroom. Before you rounded the corner, Javi called out your name and when you turned to look at him… the man always looked handsome, but in the low light, sleeves rolled up, shirt half unbuttoned and untucked from his slacks, the bulge of his cock against his zipper… he was magnificent.

“Naked.”

You smirked. “Yes, sir.”

You fled to his room before Javier could storm over and snatch you up. That pert little phrase always seemed to make him rougher, needier, and that was just what you were craving from him. You stripped as you went, leaving your heels and dress in the hallway and dropping your lacy underwear right in front of the door. Wasting no time, you crawled up into the center of his bed, tucking your legs off to the side and propping yourself up with one arm. A simple way to pose yourself, accentuating the curve of your hips. Chills washed over your skin in the cool air, but you would be warmed up soon enough. Javi wouldn’t be able to resist such a pretty display for him. Down the hall, you saw the light flick on in the bathroom and could hear the sound of the faucet running, and you couldn’t help but smile knowing that even in his tipsy state, he was washing his hands before he came to fuck you within an inch of your life.

He meandered through the hallway, feigning disinterest as he looked down at the lace at his feet before meeting your eyes, one eyebrow raised. It was the sweet smile you gave him that made him break, the tiniest upward curve to his lips as he made his way to you. Javi intended to kiss you, to have a full on teenage makeout session before he even began exploring the familiarity of your body. It was one of his favorite things after all - the way you would grind against him, the sweet sounds he pulled from your body, the spit-slick and slightly swollen lips - but when he trailed the back of his fingers down your calf, something in him snapped.

A surprised laugh echoed through the bedroom when Javier yanked you onto your back and pulled you right to the edge of the bed, using the hand at your ankle to spread your legs wide for him. Bashfulness bloomed on your face at the sudden exposure, and paired with the way Javier’s sharp gaze watched your every move, every rise and fall of your chest, every tiny twitch of your hips, you felt the heady rush of vulnerability and trust that you could only ever get from Javi.

“Don’t pretend to be shy.” Javier muttered as he fixed his gaze on your core, his nostrils flaring as he took in just how wet and swollen you were for him. All for him. His thumb rubbed at your inner thigh, trailing closer and closer to the one place you needed him to touch, excitement dancing along your skin, and he smirked at the needy cant of your hips. “We both know you want this…”

A plea was at the tip of your tongue, ready to tempt him into giving you what you want, but it was all for naught the moment he slid his fingers through your cunt to tease at your clit. Your eyes slammed shut the moment you felt those calloused fingertips zero in and start to rub in slow circles, your back arching as you gasped out Javi’s name.

“Good girl,” Javier immediately rewarded you by sliding a finger into your wet cunt, reveling in the low whine it drew from you. His other hand palmed your breast possessively, talented fingers tweaking your nipple until you cried out louder for him, a hot shock of pride rocketing through Javi’s chest. You always sound so pretty for him. He wasted no time in setting a steady rhythm, curling his finger on each thrust just to watch the way your jaw dropped open and eyebrows furrowed. You always look so pretty for him, too.

Javier leaned over you to study your face as he used his thumb to rub your clit in time with the strokes he laid into that one spot that made you see stars behind your eyelids, and hell, he needed to see those eyes. You listened so perfectly for him when he told you to open your eyes, his voice low and commanding in that timbre that made you want to spend the rest of your life with him between your thighs. They almost fluttered shut again as Javier slid a second finger in next to the first and his other hand left your breast to grab your jaw in an almost painful grip, stopping the pleasurable roll of his fingers inside of you.

“Keep those pretty eyes open for me, hermosa.” Javi didn’t move again until you nodded as much as you could under his hand, but when he did, it wasn’t the gentle, rhythmic press from before. No, he fucked you with his fingers, curling his fingertips into your g-spot ruthlessly, and fuck, combined with the roll of his thumb over your clit, you were keening underneath him.

Tension tightened low in your belly, euphoria threatening to spill over your entire body and leave you shimmering in its aftermath, and fuck, wait, why was he slowing down?! Your disgruntled whining was muffled by his hand and you were so tempted to reach down between your legs and finish yourself off, but a move like that would leave you with an ass covered in red marks and trembling for release for hours. It was a little game Javi loved to play when he was feeling like a cocky little shit, but he had done this enough times for you to know how to get what you wanted from him.  So instead, you gripped his wrist gently and repositioned his hand so you could draw his fingers into your mouth.

Curses muttered in Spanish were the only response you got, Javi’s dark eyes transfixed on the way you sucked his fingers while still giving him those sweet, innocent eyes. You never looked at anyone the way you looked at him - Javi spent enough time around you to know as much, and he fucking loved it. He felt special, important. Needed. There was nothing prettier than the sight of you writhing and needy beneath him.

He met each roll of your hips with steady thrusts, those talented hands wringing out gasps around his fingers. Never had you met a man who could bring you to the edge with a good finger fucking and just a few filthy praises, but then again, there were no men like Javier Peña, period. Your back arched, pressing you closer to your lover, your hand gripped his wrist tighter, the other tearing at the sheets. He was too fucking good at this, was going to send you over the edge before you could even get in a deep enough breath to warn him. It came out slurred, muddled around his fingers, a steady stream of ‘please, please, please,’ that made Javier groan low in his chest.

“Go on, baby. Cum for me, cum on my fingers.” was growled into your ear, followed by the sharp drag of teeth along your pulse and you shattered beneath him. The tension snapped and you couldn’t even moan, couldn’t cry out under the assault of his fingers riding you through your orgasm and holy fucking shit, there was no way this wouldn’t be the death of you.

Death by orgasm.

Put that on your gravestone.

Coming down from your high felt like being underwater, like the entire world was suspended around you, muffled and not entirely real. It was the drag of Javier’s fingertips up the soft flesh of your stomach, leaving a wet trail to cool on your skin, and the gentle roll of your nipple between his fingers that pulled you towards clarity. Javi’s voice was almost too low to hear over the aftermath of pleasure rushing through your ears as he murmured praise into your sweat-slick skin. He was still stood at the edge of the bed, chest heaving with each harsh breath as he watched you bask in the orgasm his talented fingers drew from you.

You sat up slowly, perched on the edge of the bed with Javier stood between between your open thighs - right where he belonged. The innocence of the gentle smile you gave him, the way your bottom lip was caught between your teeth… it made him want to tear you apart, break you down to your most base state and watch you try to find yourself all over again. The hand on your thigh squeezed lightly when you cupped the tent in his slacks, immediately followed by a hiss through clenched teeth at the expert roll of your wrist.

“Go on,” Javier was no less commanding when his voice was low and raspy. If anything it made you even more compelled to listen to him, to hang off of his every word and follow them to the letter just for the opportunity of being called his good girl again. That’s why you undid the button of his pants with deft fingers, biting back a groan at the sight of his cock bobbing free of its confines to stand proud against his belly, and you leaned forward to lick the slick beading at the tip. Your efforts to please him with your mouth were thwarted by a harsh pull at your hair and you gasped at the sudden pain, ready to whine and beg for him to fuck your mouth without holding back. It was the steeled resolve in his eyes that shut you up. “Later. Wanna bury myself in this pretty cunt.”

The filthiness of his words made you smirk as you got onto your knees and lowered your upper body to be flush with the sheets. If there was one position that made Javi go wild, it was this - the sight of you baring yourself to him, your pussy glistening in the low light, hips swaying slightly as if you were trying to lure him in…

A sharp smack against your ass made you jump in surprise, your surprised gasp morphing into a melodic, excited giggle that had a thrill shivering up Javier’s spine. You were so good to him. So good for him. Javier yanked his pants all the way down and kicked them away as if their very existence in that moment was an insult before he kneeled on the bed, pride flashing through his chest in a searing rush when you whined high in your throat, the tiny sound full of anticipation. He notched the head of his cock right at your entrance, rubbing the sensitive skin there for a heartbeat before thrusting into your wet heat.

Javier filled you in one sure, seemingly unending push forward that made you arch your back even more just to try to fit him, not stopping until his hips were pressed flush against your ass. The fluttering of your cunt around him was always overwhelming from the second he fucked into you, both of your bodies desperate to adjust to the intensity. Javi grinded down against you, teeth clenching at the sweet, intoxicated sounds he pulled from your body.

“Shh, shh, shh.” Javier soothed, his tone just barely teasing as he slid one hand over your hip in circles. “You know you can take it.”

You could only nod in response, your voice stolen by the stretch of his cock. Tremors were already beginning in your thighs from the sheer fullness but that first slow drag as he pulled back to slam into you had your entire body trembling. It was almost too much but somehow not enough all at once, your body keening for more but quivering at the very thought. Javi set about a pace that had your ass juggling with every thrust, shoving you further into the sheets and leaving you to writhe beneath his commanding grip.

The words you tried to get out fizzled out as quickly as they formed. They broke off in the middle and disappeared into the soft cotton you pressed your face further into, almost embarrassed by the sudden fleetingness of your ability to think properly. It was a talent seemingly only possessed by Javier. The grip on your hips where he used you as counterweight to thrust into you that would surely leave bruises, the bite of his short fingernails into the soft skin of your waist and thighs, the way he would grind down against your g-spot until you cried out for him… it was a spell only he could entangle you in.

Javier wasn’t any better. Muddled groans and praise fell from his lips like honey, dripped through you in a sweet, scorching reminder that this was you. You made him lose his mind, made that usually direct and to the point sense of control slip away into something base, instinctual, and absolutely fucking filthy. The thought alone would have been enough to have you writhing and desperate for another orgasm at those talented hands, but combined with the tight grip he had on your body and the eagerness in every thrust had you ready to beg.

And he could tell.

You were yanked up before you could even realize what was happening, the entire world spinning and losing meaning as he guided you up onto your knees. Your head fell back against his shoulder at the hot press of his chest to your back and fuck, Javier loved it. You were his, all for him, and the way you went absolutely limp at the rough way he pleasured you. He braced his forearm just beneath your breasts, the other hand kept you steady at your hip, and he fucked you. Reveled in the breathy moans that were better than any music to have blessed the earth. Drew his hips back just to snap them against you, pounded you with his cock just to hear the way it made you mewl for him. Gritted his teeth against the urge to spill himself right in the tightness of your cunt right then and there. 

“Beg for it.” He commanded, the hand at your hip trailing down to tease at the curls above your sex, so close to giving you want you wanted. You keened against him, hips undulating in stuttered, needy rolls, still unable to force your lips to form a coherent thought. “Go on, princesa. Beg.”

“P-please, I… oh, fuck, please!” Your voice was barely recognizable, followed by a whine when Javier’s pace slowed.

“Please what?” Javier growled into your ear. You shuddered against him, a flash of annoyance at his little game making you reach behind you and bury your hand in his hair just a bit harsher than necessary. The delight you drew from the hiss that followed was short-lived. Javier bit you, that little shit, right on your shoulder in his own form of delicious revenge, the pleasure and pain sparking and morphing together in a heady haze.

“Fuck, please let me cum!” You bit out and fucking finally, Javier dipped his hand lower to swipe two fingers over your swollen clit in fast circles. A choked gasp was all you could manage, your once in tandem thrusts stuttering against the surety in which Javi fucked you.

The tension bordered on too much, hovered in that tricky space between pain and pleasure, your body still sensitive with your first orgasm. You lost yourself in the intensity of it all, the intensity of Javier’s fingers on your clit, of his dick buried inside of you as deep as he could go, of his teeth and tongue working over your neck and shoulder, and you broke. Your body went rigid against him, your orgasm ripping through your entire body like a tidal wave, crashing into you and tearing you apart.

The contrast between the way Javier gently settled you onto your back beneath him versus how hard he thrust back into you would’ve been funny if you hadn’t just came so hard your vision blacked out. This was his favorite way to look at you - eyes glazed over, mouth hung open, breasts jiggling with every push of his cock in your tight little cunt. He feels like a fucking god like this. Lording over you, controlling your body, your pleasure, your every move. Using you for his own release. Fucking you like he didn’t give a shit about you. And you just took it, moaned and whined and cried his name so beautifully, tried feebly to meet his thrusts despite being overstimulated and string out on his dick.

Something dark lurked in the back of Javier’s mind. You never faltered; you just gave and gave to him so freely. He was not a greedy man by nature, but you brought out something primal in him. The more you gave, the more he took. He wanted to see you writhing underneath him, begging him to stop, giving him those pretty wide eyes filled with tears and desperation. So he reached between your bodies and slipped his thumb over your clit.

You lurched forward, your entire body tensing and clenching, and Javier could have came right there at the feeling of your pussy fluttering around his cock. The haziness in your eyes sharpened into clarity, an almost fearful glint taking over them that only fueled Javi’s depravity. He couldn’t see them for long. The moment he began rolling your clit under his thumb, your eyes rolled into the back of your head. Javier bared his teeth at the sight.

“Javi,” You whimpered, grasping at his forearm. “I can’t.”

“You can.” The low timbre of Javier’s voice is what makes you finally focus on him and fuck, he looks so good like this - jaw clenched, the dark fire burning in his eyes ready to consume you whole. The very air about him shimmered with an imposing sense of authority. He snapped his hips against you, slow but deep and harsh, his cock shoving against your cervix almost too hard. “You can and you fucking will.”

Your thighs hitched further up Javier’s waist as you squirmed under the dual assault of his cock stretching you open, fucking you full, and his thumb torturing your already exhausted clit. He grabbed your jaw, surprisingly gentle given the circumstances, and steadied your lolling head.

“Look at me, sweetheart. Open your eyes.” Javi whispered, his voice strained with the effort. There was concern in those pretty brown eyes underneath the need. “Good girl. You remember your safe word, right?”

You nodded rapidly, your breath hitching with each sharp thrust. Javier stared down at you expectantly as if he were waiting for you to give in - but since when were you to turn down an orgasm at the hands of one Javier Peña? You drew your bottom lip between your teeth and the grip on his wrist tightened, your hips slowly rolling in time with his own.

“Make me cum, Javi.”

For half a second, Javier froze, his usually sharp and quick mind falling completely blank, and then something in him breaks. A growl ripped out of his chest and Javier had to bury his face in your neck. If he kept looking at your pretty face contorted in pleasure and pain, he would’ve been done for. Every sensation threatened to be the one that threw you over the edge. The rumble of his chest with each moan, the slick slide of his cock as he fucked you, the sharpness of his teeth against your neck, the magnificent torture of his fingers rolling your clit.

Your third orgasm was shorter than the others, but no less intense. The entire world collapsed in on itself, could have imploded around you and you couldn’t have noticed, not with the way Javier pulled another orgasm from your reluctant, exhausted body. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders as you sunk down into that pleasant, hazy headspace and that was when Javi picked up his pace. It was devastating, your nails digging into his skin hard enough to make him hiss.

He ripped his hand away from your cunt and braced it on your hip as he chased his release in your body. It’s the exhausted pleas you whisper into his ear that has him finishing, burying himself to the hilt and filling you with his cum. Javier collapsed into you, chest to chest, his cock slowly softening inside of you. It took him a moment to realize that you were humming quietly. There was no particular melody, just happy, low humming like the purr of a content cat.

In those moments after, no matter how sore or tired you were, you felt alive, weightless. Like there was nothing else in the universe besides Javier’s weight pressing you into his mattress and the slick feeling of his cum leaking out around his cock. With a deep breath, Javier propped himself up on his elbow to look at you, subtly checking you over to make sure you were okay. The lazy smile you gave him made him grin at you, a light and undeniable happiness settling over him.

He pinched your chin between his thumb and forefinger, settling on his side with his head propped against his fist, and tilted your head towards him to get a good look at that pretty face - eyes half-lidded, lips red and kiss swollen, your skin sweaty and covered in his marks. The pull to kiss you was magnetic, undeniable. It was gentle, almost chaste if he hadn’t just fucked you within an inch of your life.

You absentmindedly trailed your fingers over the ridges in his spine, a simple touch that he had received time and time again from so many lovers that somehow felt like a completely new experience when it came from you. It made him feel loved, special. Safe.

And then it hit him, almost as hard and breathtaking as the time he caught a bullet in his vest right over his ribs, that he didn’t just love things about you. He didn’t just love the way you left your door unlocked for him. He didn’t just love the way you smiled at him when you would catch his eye after being apart. He didn’t just love the way you seemed to only have eyes for him. He didn’t just love the way you laughed at Steve’s antics, or the way the club lights danced in your eyes, or the way you anticipated his every move, every kiss, every thrust, every, every, every…

Javier Pena loved you.

All of those pieces and a thousand more that made you who you are. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once, because Javier Pena didn’t do love, but how could he help himself when you were… well, you. So filthy and sweet and fierce all wrapped up into one beautiful woman, all for him. All his. Staring up at him with those bright, happy eyes as if there wasn’t a place in the world you would rather be than in his bed.

And he was terrified. Of losing you, of scaring you off. Terrified that he could never be worthy of having a person like you. But more than that, he felt lucky. He felt loved and appreciated and cared for, and it was more intoxicating than the whiskey he downed at the club hours earlier.

“I love you.” It was barely above a whisper, his voice still rough, and his heart pounded in his chest so loud he was certain you could hear it. A small, insecure part of him expected you to be disgusted, or to laugh in his face at the very idea, but it was buried under the way you lit up for him even more and reached up to cup his cheek, your fingers rubbing through the stubble he had forgotten to take care of that morning.

“I know.” You whispered. Javi scoffed and rolled his eyes at you, but you could see the relief and affection in his eyes when you didn’t outright reject him. He was easier to read than he realized. “I love you, too.”

[fanfic-me-up]

All The Colors We Cannot See {Bakugou x Reader}

Synopsis: He sees you in the colors that light the sky, and longs for you in the darkness that follows.

Pairing: Pro Hero! Bakugou Katsuki x fem! reader

Warnings: attempted suicide, suicidal thoughts, language

Word Count: 4k+

A/N: This took me like 9 months to complete, but it’s finally here. I didn’t completely stick to the request, but this is what came out. I still hope you like it! Banner made by my amazingly talented friend, go follow her @jm.rvice on instagram! 💖

💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥

Blood pumps to his legs. Cement pounds his feet. Bits of rubble catch in his boots. The first spark of the night shoots up- swallowed whole by the black sky. A trail of embers remains in its wake. 

Katsuki stops. And waits.

A second passes- the crowd silent in anticipation. No one can see the spark, but everyone knows it’s there… waiting…  for the right time to explode. And just when the darkness thinks it has won, an enormous burst of light blankets the sky. In that moment, it’s so bright that Katsuki can see the skyline. Like paint splattered on a blank canvas, the sky now bleeds in red, and the explosion leaves an imprint the size of a supernova long after it’s gone. 

The crowd applauds. 

A roar is ripped from Katsuki’s throat. He pounds at the brick wall again and again, despite blood trickling down his fists. He rips his cochlear and smashes it against the wall. A sick satisfaction settles within him. The ringing that greets him is like a devil sucking on the lobe, whispering tempestuous nothings into his ear. 

Katsuki continues his ascent, taking steps by three until he reaches the top. The poor door is yanked off its hinges, but it doesn’t even cross Katsuki’s mind as he’s hit by everything all at once. Smoke slithers down his throat, roasted yakitori wafts up his nose, the rhythmic booms caress his ear, and the lavender shaded sky comforts his eyes. From up here, the people below remind Katsuki of the dots he used to see after he ignited a big explosion- how the dots blur, mix, and separate in one fluid motion again and again. 

His phone ringing is a distant echo. They’re looking for him no doubt, but who the hell cares. Not like they’d find him up here. This was yours and Katsuki’s place.

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

He’d blow himself up if he missed even a second. 

His lungs burned. They ached for a clean breath, yet inhaled the stench of nitroglycerin-like sweat. He could’ve just blasted himself to the top and saved himself the trouble, but fuck. That. Katsuki thrived on a challenge. He loved the rush of adrenaline more than his own mother. (He’d never tell her that- she’d kill him before he reached this goddamn roof.)

He threw himself against the door in time to see the first burst of citrine hit the sky. But he also saw you, a trespasser, standing on the ledge and looking like you were about to kill yourself. You didn’t flinch at the sonic boom (like most people) nor cringe at the heat. It was like you thought the beauty outweighed its destruction. 

All that said you were fucking stupid.

“Oi! Get down from there!” 

You were immersed in skylight, and though your back was turned, Katsuki knew you were staring up in awe; your eyes reminiscent of glassy pools reflecting red, yellow, blue and all the possibilities they create. 

“Fuckin’ hell…” Katsuki muttered. He just wanted to enjoy the show in his spot. Alone. Like he did every year. “Oi, lady! You wanna kill yourself? Do it on some other roof dammit!” 

You jumped at the blasted words, losing your balance and falling off the ledge. Katsuki expected you to scream, to gasp, to cry... anything but fucking wink on your way down like playing with death is just some fucking game. But Katsuki had no time to think before he blasted himself across the roof to grab your hand- but you didn’t need it. You threw a safety line in mid-air, hooked it to the ledge with skillful precision, and used the leverage to hurl yourself back up. You landed on the ledge like a ballerina tip-toeing on a tightrope. The sheer turn of events rendered Katsuki speechless. 

 “Phew! That was fun! Let’s do it again sometime, yeah?” You wrapped the safety chord before bouncing up to Katsuki.

The fuck?

How did you…? 

 You didn’t seem to notice Katsuki’s loss for words.

“I’ve never met someone with a quirk like yours. You could put on your very own firework show!”

You tried grabbing his hand, but Katsuki’s growl stopped you. The flickers popping in his hands were a sign to back the fuck off.

You’re scared. Good, Katsuki thought.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m a bit of a pyro.” You sheepishly smiled, twirling a pink and yellow band around your finger. (You’d later twirl your wedding ring the same way.) 

Katsuki’s growl cut in its tracks. You weren’t scared like he thought, in fact, you looked lost in his sparks- your eyes zooming back and forth, trying to catch each and every one. Katsuki killed his sparks, causing you to look up at him in disappointment.

“I can’t. Mine don’t change color,” he muttered. 

Fireworks always fascinated Katsuki. As a child, he wished his explosions could change color. He imagined people looking up in awe when his sparks rained down. They’d recognize the power and the beauty.

“Hmm…color is what makes a firework...” you trailed off.

“No shit,” Katsuki snorted. How stupid are you? 

“Hold out your hands.” 

Katsuki crossed his arms, “No.”

“Oh, c’mon! Gimme your hands!” You bounced up and down, overcome with excitement. Katsuki stepped back but immediately stopped himself because Bakugou Katsuki never backs down. 

“I’m not giving you anything, woman. You’re fuckin’ weird for jumpin’ off roofs and asking for stranger’s hands. Stay the fuck away from me. In fact, this is my fuckin’ roof. Find your own.” Katsuki looked down to see his hands popping. It must’ve happened on instinct- a defense mechanism to scare off the extras who won’t leave him the fuck alone. 

Except it didn’t work on you. You only came closer. 

“Do you want to burn in color or not?” 

Katsuki saw flashes of himself in your eyes everytime a firework went off. A hunger burned in the pit of his stomach- one he’s felt countless times during battle, but this one was different. This strange warmth made him feel like jumping off the roof himself, and if he put all his might into it, he could brush the spark of a firework from fifty feet above.

“Yes,” he said. 

“Then you’re gonna have to trust me.”

“Trust you!?” Katsuki shook his head, “I don’t even know you!”

“That’s half the fun, isn’t it?” You giggled, “Now hold still.” 

Katsuki grumbled how ridiculous this was, and that whatever you tried wouldn’t work, but you ignored him in favor of pulling his hands and laying them face up. You nodded and Katsuki sighed, activating his quirk anyway because what the hell.

You’re entranced from the moment flickers popped, one by one, in his hands. They died as quickly as they were born, but still left their mark in the air. 

Katsuki’s sparks faltered as cool fingertips brushed against his wrist. 

“It’s okay, keep going,” you encourage, and he does. 

He can’t pinpoint exactly when the change happened. Like all change, he blinked and suddenly his sparks burned in color. Angry red, rooted in tormented crimson, ravished the usual, boring, orange of his sparks. 

Katsuki laughed in disbelief because how is this real? Yellow began to flicker in and out of the red, until it finally caught like a flame and engulfed the red like a warm blanket. Pink and light green began to swirl around the yellow, and the firework show Katsuki had been looking forward to all year didn’t hold a candle to the fireworks fluttering in the palms of his hands.

Katsuki looked up at you. 

Who the fuck are you? 

You giggled at his awed expression, “Our very own firework show.”

And that’s how you spent the rest of the night. His hands in yours while he burned in color for the first time.

Katsuki later discovered you could read emotions through auras. The aura becomes visible, allowing you to color a person’s quirk.

He also discovered that you didn’t need to hold his hand for it to work.

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

A round of fireworks triggers the ringing in Katsuki’s ear. He throws his head back in ecstasy and prays the sensation tickles his eardrum for a little longer- enough to shut the part of his brain that keeps remembering you. 

Katsuki pulls the pistol out. The leather grip, so slick with sweat, that Katsuki has to wipe his hand to make sure he doesn’t accidentally set off his quirk. 

He’s not an amateur. He’s held a gun before. Every pro-hero has to undergo weapons training, but he’s never used one in combat. His quirk was always more than enough. But there’s something inherently dangerous about a gun. His quirk is an extension of himself, but a gun is a separate entity altogether- and it was designed to kill. 

Growing up, adults would praise Katsuki for his quirk. They’d say, “With a quirk like that, you’re destined to become a hero!” But they were still afraid to get too close. They saw his quirk as a weapon that was designed to destroy. And soon enough, Katsuki became the embodiment of just that. But he always felt incomplete. He wanted to be a hero like All Might. One that people looked up to- in awe of their power, not in fear of it.

That’s why he loved fireworks. The only explosion that makes people stop and stare, instead of running away, in fear for their lives.

You were the first and only person to see the beauty in his quirk.

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

“What’s your favorite color?” 

Such a basic question that Katsuki should already have the answer to. But color meant so much more to you. You saw the world in a way that made everyone else seem colorblind. 

You twirled that same pink and yellow band around your finger as Katsuki twirled the ring in his pocket. You leaned in closer, basking in the warmth radiating from Katsuki. He watched how your eyes never left the sky, and he was content with missing the show if it meant he can watch you instead. He caught glimpses of you only when lit by a firework. He made sure not to blink during those moments else he’d miss you. Your expressions mixed and swirled as the fireworks continued, but you never lost the primary color of mesmerization painting your face.

“Blue,” you said. Katsuki had to lean in to listen; your voice an ember in a sea of fire. “But not sky blue like on a sunny day. It’s nice, but I much prefer the darker washes of blue, deep like sapphire.”

Blue, the color of sadness. 

“Why blue?” Katsuki asked. The ring in his pocket danced between his fingers.

You turned back to the fireworks. You always made sure to think before you speak when answering a question that mattered.

“Because there’s always an interesting story behind an aura of such sorrow, more importantly, there’s always a light at the end of the tunnel.”

“So your favorite color isn’t blue, it’s yellow,” Katsuki cut in, but you shook your head.

“There’s nowhere to go but down with yellow. Yellow is the epitome of brightness and joy, and when you crash during the high, you crash hard. But when you’re drowning in deep blue, as I’ve seen many people do, you’re at the lowest of lows- you really can’t get any lower in this life. But when an aura- and I’ve only seen this once- when an aura changes from the deepest of sapphire to sunrise yellow- well it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

The twirling of the ring in his pocket stopped. 

“That is why I believe blue is the true color of hope,” you whispered.

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

Katsuki should feel the smooth texture of leather as he grips the gun in his hand. He should feel the weight of the gun as he brings it to his temple. But he’s numb to it all. It’s like an invisible string, pulling at his muscles, directing his body how to move. His mind goes blank for the first time, and all the inner-turmoil he’s been unable to escape just straight up… stops. It’s like he’s floating in a body of water with no current. Complete and utter stillness.

It scares the fuck outta him, but it feels good. 

As he’s about to turn the safety off, his phone rings again, snapping him back to reality. Katsuki guts his phone.

“Die!” 

The phone slides down the door like a dead pidgeon. 

“God-fuckin’-damn it...” He pushes the barrel back to his temple, craving that mind-numbing stillness once more. Anything to stop the feelings that just won’t seem to go away. 

The fireworks crescendo as the show reaches its climax. The colors begin to mix and blur together so much that it becomes too convoluted to look at. An infinite regress of color swirling in Katsuki’s mind.

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

You glowed on purpose so Katsuki could find you. He spotted you from miles away, like a beacon of light in the middle of a storm. The melancholic blue of your aura contrasted against the raging reds that painted the sky.

Katsuki ran. He pushed and pushed past his limit, harder than any battle he’s fought in. He could’ve made it if he used his quirk, but he was in a crowded marketplace with too many people. He ripped off his gauntlets and threw them in a random alley. He immediately gained speed. A couple more feet and one minute left.

He should’ve saved his breath. If he did, he would’ve caught you in time. But he had to make sure you knew he was there. You looked down at the sound of your name. He could barely make out your face, but you saw him. He knew you saw him because your aura changed from that melancholic blue to sunrise yellow in an instant. Everyone around him gasped at the flood of light emanating from above. 

You were right. It was the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

If Katsuki produced a strong enough blast, he could make his way to the top and get you out before the bomb went off. At this point, he didn’t care who else might get hurt in the process. Next to him, Kirishima knew what Katsuki was thinking. He hardened himself to block Katsuki’s takeoff.

“Don’t do it, bro.”

“Get outta my way.”

“You can’t make it.”

“Yes I can.”

“You’ll both die.”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP” Katsuki pushed him away, and prepared to blast himself, when two other heroes stepped in to hold him down, but no one stood a chance when Katsuki goes feral. Explosions erupted, not enough to seriously hurt, but enough to get people to back the fuck off. Even Kirishima (whose quirk is to literally be a human barricade) was having trouble blocking Katsuki. One more blast was enough to send Kirishima back and Katsuki used that half a second to blast off. But suddenly he couldn’t. He tried and he tried, but his quirk refused to work. A growl escaped from low in his throat as he whipped his head around, trying to find the cause to his problem so he could decimate it. 

Target acquired. 

Katsuki was about to march right up to his high school homeroom teacher and deck him right in his fuckin’ face, but before he could, he was held down once again.

He couldn’t fight three pro-heroes off without his quirk. He couldn’t get to you without his quirk. All Katsuki could do was look up and watch you die. 

Five seconds left.

He saw it in your face. The moment you realized he wouldn’t be able to save you. The yellow of your aura growing dimmer and dimmer.

Three.

You smiled through your tears.

Two.

And winked. 

One.

Then closed your eyes as you took your last breath.

The darkness that followed was unbearable.

A cacophonous wail erupted from Katsuki’s throat- loud enough to go up against any explosion. He couldn’t help but fall to his knees, unable to hold himself up any longer. He still wasn’t able to use his quirk and that only frustrated him more. 

He’d never felt so helpless in his life.

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

He hardly uses his quirk anymore because he sees you in the sparks. He’s got no drive to be Number 1 if you’re not here to watch him do it. His will to live is gone without you and that scares the fuck outta him. He hates you for filling his head with ridiculous bullshit. He hates you for opening his mind to the possibility of love, and hope, and shit that shouldn’t matter but it fuckin’ does for some goddamn reason. He hates you. He hates you. He hates you.

That same cacophonous wail erupts from his very core. The gun falls from his hands, to the ground. It could’ve gone off at that moment and Katsuki would never know. 

His focus zeroes on his hands. How tense they get when he flexes them, how the vein protrudes from his wrist, and how his glands secrete sweat from his palms. He points them to the sky, and a familiar rush of power, that he hasn’t felt in months, surges through him. His blood boils from under his skin and he’s literally shaking from the intensity. Like a volcano spewing hot-blooded lava after an eternity of dormancy, he shoots blinding white heat into the black night.

The color from the fireworks surround his explosions as if they’re echoing his sentiment. Hot red dominates the sky- reminding Katsuki of the sky that night. This causes Katsuki to rattle off explosions quicker, setting off one after another in a staccato rhythm. The crimson sky ravishes all other color. 

If only he saved his breath. If only he’d taken off his gauntlets sooner. If only he ran a little faster. If only he blasted himself a second earlier. If only he didn’t stay back at work that day. If only he turned right instead of left at that goddamn intersection. If only he picked up the ingredients for your favorite meal the day before so he could go straight home. If only he didn’t have to drive back to the market because he fuckin’ forgot the milk again. If only he decided it was still worth it to pick you up from work early like he planned. If only he cared more about your anniversary than about cracking Top 10. If only he went to more of your art shows instead of taking extra patrols. If only he went on that trip to New York with you instead of cancelling last minute because the agency needed him. If only he realized that you meant more to him than being Number 1 before it was too late.

Little by little the crimson wash is buried by the black night and Katsuki’s eyes hurt just staring into the black abyss. It’s suffocating him, weighing his chest down and making it hard to breathe. It’s enough to drop him to his knees, just like he did that night.

You and Katsuki had long talks about your future plans. How you fit into his life, and how he fit into yours. When you’d be able to properly settle down and have kids. You accepted that the first couple years into his career would be the toughest on your marriage. Katsuki would spend more time at the agency than at home with you. Relationships with pro-heroes were like that. But you respected his ambitions. You understood the amount of time that was required to fulfill those ambitions. You never held it over him, never guilted him into spending more time with you, and never made him choose between you or his career. You loved him enough to share him with the rest of the world. You were never each other’s other halves. Instead, you co-existed as separate individuals who made the best team Katsuki’s ever been a part of. 

Yellow begins to flicker in and out, but it’s muted behind the black veil of regret. The more Katsuki thinks of your empathy and your love, the stronger the yellow becomes. It finally brightens the black sky, to the point that Katsuki almost has to cover his eyes because it’s like looking into the sun in the middle of the day. 

And that’s when it clicks.

He’s burning in color.

You must be conducting this masterpiece from above, using the sky as your canvas and coloring the emotions coming from within him.

He kills his explosions as quickly as he fired them. The fireworks come to an end at the same time. The crowd’s cheers is a fly on the wall to Katsuki.

He falls back, lying flat on the ground and looking up at the sky still shaded in yellow. His chest heaves as he tries to get his breathing back to normal, and the sloppy mixture of sweat and tears continue to slide down his face. The cool breeze is a blessing against the nape of his neck.

He struggles to hold his hands up, they shake as he brings them up to his face. He reignites his quirk with the last bit of strength. The sparks lack their usual vigor as they flutter lazily in his palms. They remind him of fireflies swirling in a jar. For once, the orange doesn’t piss him off. 

Has anyone else seen his quirk like this? When he’s not trying to intimidate or take down a villain? The only person he could think of was you. Maybe his quirk wouldn’t be seen as a weapon, maybe he wouldn’t be seen as a villain, if the world saw what he’s seeing right now.

Katsuki sits in this revelation, and the calm that washes over him is nothing like the numbness from before. He’s far from being okay, and he still longs for you in these moments, but Katsuki has a hunch that if you were here right now - holding his hands in yours- his sparks would be burning in your favorite color. And he’s okay with that.

“That is why I believe blue is the true color of hope.”

Katsuki’s phone goes off even in its broken state. His eyes dart between the phone and the gun. He groans as he gets up. His limbs, heavy, after exerting himself. He picks up his phone.

“Hey. Yeah, man, I’m fine, don’t worry about it.” 

Katsuki’s about to hang up when he takes a look at the gun. A reminder of what he was about to do. A decision he could never come back from.

 If things turned out different, he would not be here right now.  

Just the thought is enough to make Katsuki slide down the wall. He takes a deep breath- his heart beating rapidly at what he’s about to admit aloud for the first time.

“Actually, I’m not okay. I need you to come get me.”

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

The Plus Ultra Chronicle

Musutafu Tower Attack: 06/18/2020

WHEN HOPE PREVAILS:

A DAY OF REMEMBRANCE

By: Yamamoto Ichika

06/18/2021

Today marks the one year anniversary of the 2020 Musutafu Tower Attack. Hundreds gathered this morning in remembrance of the lives lost that night. Several people who’ve lost loved ones in the attack have already come forward with statements.

Of those people, Number 7 Hero, Dynamight, has chosen to sit down with The Plus Ultra Chronicle for an all-exclusive interview. His late wife, Bakugou Y/N, was among the citizens that were held hostage that night. After taking a year sabbatical, he has decided to return to the field of pro-hero work. Here is a snippet of that interview; you can find the full interview here. 

“Thank you, Dynamight, for sitting down with us. It is truly an honor. The people want to know- what are your thoughts on what occurred that night? Can you take us through what happened?”

“It was hard on us all. Whether you were at home watching on a screen or out there in person. All of us heroes felt like sh*t- unable to do anything. It’s even worse when you had a personal attachment to a victim like I did.”

“It must’ve been difficult as a hero- having to make quick decisions that forced you to separate your personal life from the objectivity of the situation.”

“If I’m being honest, I couldn’t, and it took a toll on me.”

“Is that why you took the sabbatical?”

“Yes. I constantly questioned the validity of my title. Whether or not I deserved to be called a ‘hero’ if I couldn’t save the one person I vowed to always protect.”

“You’ll be returning to the field next month, and with a new addition to your hero costume. An amulet of what looks to be a blue-colored spark attached to the left side of your chest. It stands out against the black, orange, and green of your costume. What is the meaning of this?” 

“When I was at my lowest, my failures were all I could see. But someone once told me that you can’t get any lower when you’re at that point. The only real change you can make is to acknowledge and move forward.” 

“A symbol of hope is definitely something we all need right now. What made you decide to finally give an official statement?”

“It is my responsibility to protect the citizens of Japan so this never happens again. But I also think it is important for people to see the shortcomings of the heroes they look up to. We’re human too. We f*ck up. I used to think that made someone weak. Now, I see it as part of the journey. The testament of a true hero.”

[batgurl1989]

How to Make an Announcement

Summary: Henry takes you to the market on your first public outing together as a couple.

Word Count: 1700

Warnings: none

A/N: This was a super vivid dream I had last night, and I couldn't resist sharing it. It has not been proofread, so all the mistakes are my own. If you want to be added to my taglist, let me know. I am also open to requests.

Taglist: @rmtndew @henrynerdfan @cynic-spirit @princesssterek @daddys-littlewhitegirl @diegos-butt

I gripped his hand tightly in my lap as we drove toward the open air market. Nerves were sending jittery butterflies into flight. His thumb traced soothing patterns on the back of my hand, but they did little to calm my thoughts. I felt like I was going to be sick, but knew it was all in my head. How had I let him talk me into this?

Oh right! Because it was Henry, and I was following his lead when it came to our relationship.

The pandemic had made dating easier. We had holed up in his house when the Witcher filming had shut down. It was easy to forget he was ridiculously famous, and I was basically a nobody when we were alone together with Kal in the house. But the lockdown had been lifted, and Henry decided it was time to venture out. Perhaps let the world in on our relationship status. Up until today, Henry had maintained that he was single. 

I wasn't anxious in the beginning to let the world know that I was with Henry. Sure my family knew, but they had kept it to themselves. It was hard to keep hiding the fact that I was dating Henry when I had been living with the guy for months. Mom was just happy I was happy, and I really was. Logically I knew when we became exclusive and then officially dating, that eventually, if I wanted to stay with Henry, his fans would learn about us. But that was the thing about the lockdown, there was no rush to announce it. No pressure from reporters on red carpets or in interviews. 

But today Henry woke up and decided it was time. Of course, if I truly didn't want to, he wasn't going to push me into this outing. But how could I say no to those blue eyes and charming smile that I had come to love so much? 

That didn't stop the worry from building up inside me, though. No matter how much I tried to fool myself, and how much I knew in my mind that this was for the best, my stomach had other plans. 

"You still okay, love?" Henry asked me, his gaze flashing over to me before turning back to the road. I plastered a smile on my face, trying to convince myself as much as him that I was fine. But the grip I had on his hand was giving me away. "I can turn around if you really don't want to do this."

"It's not that I don't want to." I nibbled on my lower lip. I had been trying to come up with the right words to explain my feelings, but so far hadn't. Taking a deep breath, I decided to just wing it. "Do you remember when you weren't famous? How it felt? The anonymity of it? That's what I have right now. And it's comfortable. However, since I want to be with you, I know I have to lose some of that. It's just hard to take the first step out of my comfort zone." 

Henry was quiet for a long moment after, though in reality it was probably less than a minute. I bit my lip harder, feeling the first bubbles of a freak out churning inside me as I watched him make his decision. 

"I want to go to the market with you." I blurted out before he could say anything. I gripped his hand harder if it was possible, worried that he would pull away from me. In my mind, I knew he wouldn't. Henry had always been hyper considerate; always a gentleman. He didn't want to rush me into anything I didn't want to do, but this was something I did want to do. "I promise, this is what I want."

"If you change your mind..." Henry let the rest of his sentence hang as he continued to drive us toward the market. I knew what he meant; one word from me, and we were out of there. 

When we pulled into the dirt parking lot of the open air market, Henry tugged a baseball cap on, covering what I lovingly called his pandemic curls. I didn't need a hat to help disguise me. No one here knew who I was, but I wondered how long that would last for. Henry opened the car door for me, offering me his hand. My grip on it was significantly looser than it had been on the drive. We were doing this, and it was going to be fine. Smiling up at him, we slipped our masks on and walked over to the bustling market.

The lockdown had been lifted, but there were still plenty of policies in place about social distancing and wearing a mask. Everyone at the market was abiding by these, so the stress of being in public was less than what it would have been in a grocery store. Vendors were all wearing gloves and masks, and no one was handling food they didn't intend to buy. I felt myself relax, and begin to actually enjoy being out of the house for the first time since the pandemic began. 

Between the mask and the hat, not many people recognized Henry. And the ones that thought he looked familiar didn't say anything. It was hard to tell for sure that it was him. Sure he had been posting to Instagram while wearing a mask, but the hat seemed to throw people off. We went up to several vendors, buying fresh veggies and bread for the house. No one seemed to realize who they were selling their goods to. 

I watched Henry in awe. He seemed to be enjoying his rare moment of anonymity along with me. He probably didn't get many opportunities like this anymore. Between being Superman, Sherlock, and now Geralt, he touched on so many different fandoms that it was hard to find someone who didn't know him. I hadn't been with him out in public before, so I never realized how differently he cared himself when he knew the world was watching. Of course, he was still ridiculously polite and considerate. It wasn't so much how he acted or what he said that changed. I couldn't quite put my finger on what was different, but there was something. 

He caught me staring at him, a smile twinkling in his eyes. Wrapping his free arm around me, he guided me toward the edge of the market, where there was less of a crowd. He pulled out his phone, and opened the camera to selfie mode. 

"Are you ready?" Henry asked, as he held the phone away from us, angling it so that we were both in the frame. 

"Definitely." And I wasn't lying. I finally felt ready to take this next step. I looked up at him, so he could see how serious I was. His hand on my hip squeezed, pulling me closer. I knew if it wasn't for the masks, he would have kissed me. 

He popped his hat off, his curls a wild mess in the breeze. I laughed, and that was when he decided to take the picture. I caught a glimpse of it as he pulled his phone toward himself to get a look at the picture. We both looked happy even with our masks on. My eyes were crinkled and you could tell I was laughing. 

"That one is a keeper." Henry tilted the phone so I could see it better. It hit me in that moment. I was dating Henry Cavill, and with a push of a few buttons, the world would know too. And I wasn't scared. I was happy our secret would be out. He typed up a caption, and tagged the market to drum up some business for them, before tucking his phone back in his pocket. "Ready to head home?" 

"Only if you are? Did we get everything we needed?" I didn't want to rush us, and I was enjoying being out with him perhaps a little too much. 

"We can keep looking." Though he said we could stay, he took us back to the car. Popping the trunk, we unloaded our arms of the food we had already bought. I turned to head back to the market, "But first."

He pulled me to him with one arm, while he pulled my mask down. He pulled his mask down, kissing me deeply. His tongue explored my mouth as I melted against him. It suddenly didn't matter that we were in public, putting our relationship on display. When Henry kissed me like that, the world faded away, and I knew only him. My favourite book series popped into my head whenever this happened. One day you may kiss a man you can't breathe without, and find breath is of little consequence. Henry Cavill may just very well be my Barrons. 

He finished the thorough kiss with a few quick pecks before he pulled away. He slipped his mask back up over his mouth and nose as I did the same. Turning we went to go back to the market. I spied a few people near their cars, mouths wide open staring at us. They knew who he was. Henry hadn't put his hat back on, in fact I think he left it in the car. And he had just had his mask pulled down. 

"Busted." I giggled quietly, nodding subtly to the people who were still staring. Henry laughed, pulling me tight to his side as we continued into the market for a second round.

By the time we got home, his Instagram was blowing up with questions about my identity, and what kind of relationship we had. Were we just friends? Did I work with him? Henry and I cuddled up on the couch with Kal to flick through some of the comments. Henry had learned not to read them all in one go as he had many followers. But as he scrolled through, I noticed one person saying they saw us kissing in the parking lot. I guess his fans knew now what I was to Henry. 

He loves me.  

[hoe-doroki]

Hi there! I don't think I've requested anything from you before ( my memory is awful though)

Anyhow I was wondering if I could get some Izuku smut with a female reader.

The scene is youre out with your girls, ( mina, hagakure, Momo) at the club having a good time. You see this green eyed stranger looking at you across the room.

His boys hype him up to ask you to dance and it ends up turning into following him back home ( I LIVE for soft dom! Deku!)

Thanks for taking the time to read and answer this!

Ugh, sorry this took so long, nonnie! You sent this in just as I was being eaten alive by a fic that’s wayyyyy longer than it needs to be. But I’m here now and you said the magic words: soft dom. Yesssss. I went college!AU for this and I hate clubs (drinking, dancing, flirting, no thanks) so I projected that on the reader a bit. Oopsie! It was hard to keep Izuku in character for this, but I did my best. Anyway, hope you like!

minors do not interact

warnings: 18+, Kaminari and M*neta leering, spanking, slight exhibitionism, alcohol (not drunk sex, though), dirty talk

rating: explicit, 18+

wc: 5k

edit: I no longer write x reader but here’s my old masterlist - mobile | desktop

Sometimes people looked at you, Mina, Momo, and Tooru and wondered how you were friends. People who had only known each of you as you were in college could never put it together. But the answer was simple: you’d been friends since high school. You were rapidly becoming different people, but those three were still your girls through and through.

That was how you, Mina, Tooru, and Momo ended up in the club that day. Two friends who really wanted to go—Mina and Tooru—and two friends who really didn’t—you and Momo. These things happen when you become friends years before you could be allowed in any club. Your college friends never would have invited you on an excursion like this—hell, none of them would ever be seen at a club either. But when Mina and Tooru showed up at your door begging you to go out and experience your twenties, you couldn’t say no. Now you were spilling out of the car Mina had called and walking on high heeled booties to a club you’d heard of but never been to.

“Obviously you actually wanted to go, Momo, otherwise you wouldn’t be wearing a top like that.”

Tooru wasn’t hiding the fact that she was ogling Momo’s very prominently displayed chest, all but bursting out of the deep v-neck she had paired with a short skirt.

“It’s only sensible for me to wear a top like this,” Momo said, her voice firm despite awkward fidgets to put her breasts a little more away. “Places like these are so hot that a shirt with a higher neckline would be soaked with cleavage sweat in a minute.”

“Mhmm, right,” Tooru said, flouncing away in her own crop top and shorts, eager to enter the club.

You’d gone simple, just tossing on a bodycon dress that you’d ordinarily pair with a sweater and tights, but that Mina had convinced you to wear on its own tonight. You crossed your arms, the chill of the evening seeping past the thin fabric even just in the short time it took to get from the heated car to the sweaty bar.

Tooru had run to the door and was nearly bouncing, waiting for the rest of you to catch up. Mina jogged over to her, looking the coolest of all of you in her black mesh crop top with nothing but a bra underneath and shorts that had the lacy scalloped hem of her underwear peaking out the top of. You hurried after them, just eager to get out of the cold. Tooru whipped the door open and the three of you piled in all at once, flashed your IDs, and then you were in.

The sound of the bass had thrummed loudly even outside, but once inside, your senses were overloaded. The music was deafening, the smell of alcohol bitter and heady, and the heat of sweaty bodies oppressive as Mina grabbed your wrist and dragged you through the crowd.

Even with Mina clearing the way, you had to elbow your way to the bar. This was the easiest part of the night—a task, something to do aside from trying and failing to work up the nerve to dance. Over the music, you yelled, “Whiskey ginger, well is fine,” to the bartender and turned to your girlfriends.

Mina and Tooru were already swinging their hips as they waited for their drinks, shimmying against each other to the beat. You and Momo were a little stiffer, not quite having the nerve or confidence to let your bodies be taken by the music.

“Girl’s night!” Mina cheered once everyone had a drink in hand. Glasses clinked and Tooru took a healthy gulp of her drink

“Can’t dance if you’re worried about spilling your drink,” Tooru said.

“Not with that attitude!” Mina said. She thrust her beer bottle in the air and then grabbed Tooru’s hand and the two of them stumbled into the mass of writhing bodies.

“You gonna follow them?” Momo asked, chewing on the straw of her drink.

“Not yet.” You had to shuffle away from the bar to make room for other patrons, moving to lean against one of the walls. “Maybe a bit of liquid courage.”

“It probably would have been wiser to do shots.”

You looked around, noticing how many people were already sending glances Momo’s way. You could draw direct lines all around the room between men’s leering eyes and Momo’s partially exposed chest, already beginning to glisten with sweat. You pursed your lips. It was nice to have Momo around as a fellow shy dancer, but it was discouraging to always be the one next to the prettiest girl in the room. People were looking right through you.

“You’ll probably get some sent your way soon enough,” you muttered.

“What?” Momo asked, her voice loud over the music.

“Nothing!” you replied. You squeezed the lime wedge into your drink and swirled it, drinking thirstily.

You hoped for one of two things. For the night to pass by quickly or for, unlikely though it was, something exciting to happen. Bars and clubs were predictable. Just once, you wanted to be surprised.

“Woah, look at her.”

Midoriya tried and failed to follow his friend’s gaze into one of the dark corners of the bar. Mineta was a good foot shorter than Midoriya, so it was hard to tell exactly where his line of sight was taking him. Kaminari seemed to hone in right away, though, pointing eagerly at the wall near the bar.

“Good find, Mineta,” Kaminari said. “Damn she’s hot.”

Midoriya followed Kaminari’s finger and noticed two girls huddled close together, sipping their drinks and observing the crowd, occasionally leaning over to talk to each other. One was dressed in a top and skirt and the other in a tight dress. The second girl’s hips were moving to the beat just slightly, as though she might not even know herself that she was doing it. She laughed at something her friend said, smile opening wide and fearlessly.

“Wow,” Midoriya said, eyes locked on her.

“What, did Mineta finally find a girl to meet your ridiculously high standards?” Kaminari asked, clapping Midoriya on the back.

“Maybe,” Midoriya murmured, watching as she waved to some other girls in the crowd.

“About time,” Mineta said. “I’ve never seen more perfect tits in my life.”

That snapped Midoriya out of his focus and he looked down at his friend, whose eyes were unblinking, scarily locked straight ahead. “What?”

“That plunging neckline perfectly showing what it would look like if I had my hands on either side of them,” he continued, his voice distant. Luckily, Kaminari smacked him upside the head.

“If you’re saying it loud enough to be heard over the music, you’re saying it too loud,” Kaminari chastised. “Besides, if Midoriya finally found a girl he likes, you should give him first dibs.”

“What?” Mineta asked, turning towards Kaminari, outraged.

“Wait, wait, I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” Midoriya said, waving his hands in front of him before his friends could have it out. “The girl I was looking at isn’t wearing a plunging neckline. Look there.”

Midoriya pointed in your direction as subtly as he could, smiling as he caught another glimpse of your beautiful laugh.

“Oh, her friend,” Mineta said.

“Yeah, that tracks,” Kaminari added, looking between Midoriya and you. “Well, you should go for it, man! Try your luck!”

Midoriya looked at Kaminari, brows furrowed. “Did you guys invite me just to get me laid or something?”

“Of course not,” Mineta said. “Your innocent face makes us look less like two fuckboys and the girls will trust us more. You’re our cover.”

“Purely selfish reasons then, okay,” Midoriya muttered. “Okay, yeah, I’ll go talk to her.”

“Do it!” Kaminari said, giving you a thumbs up. He kicked the back of Midoriya’s calf and sent him tumbling into the crowd. Amidst a song of sorrys, Midoriya made his uncertain way toward you.

Three men had already tried their luck with Momo in as many songs. She’d kindly refused each advance—no level of drunkenness had ever led Momo to so much as a sloppy makeout and you weren’t sure how many times hell would have to freeze over for that to change. You joked about each of the guys and their sad pick-up attempts, but, still, it had you feeling low. None of the guys even pretended to be interested in you. They went straight for Momo, trying their darndest to keep their eyes on hers and not drift south.

“Hello, uh, miss…”

You nearly rolled your eyes as you looked up from your drink, half gone already, to find another sucker that Momo would have to reject. As soon as your eyes landed on him, you were struck by how different this one was from the others. He didn’t look like the usual meathead dude-bro who swung by. He had a round face and freckles smattered under the roundest green eyes you’d ever seen. He looked sheepish already, anticipating the rejection he’d get from talking to a girl so far out of his league.

You felt the jolt of an elbow in your ribs and looked at Momo who was giving you intense eyes, eyebrows raised. She looked at you and then at the boy with the green hair, tilting her head, and suddenly you realized that you were “miss.”

“Oh, hello,” you said, unable to hide the confusion on your face.

“I’m Izuku,” the man said, smiling softly at you. “Would you, um, care to dance?”

You smiled. It sounded like this boy was expecting a waltz instead of the hips that were grinding against each other in the middle of this dance floor.

“I’m… not sure,” you said, so unfamiliar with the procedure here that you were floundering.  “You see, I don’t really dance.”

The boy breathed out what looked to be a sigh of relief and you suddenly noticed the muscles bulging under his t-shirt. His cute, innocent face was hiding a man who was seriously stacked. “The truth is, I don’t usually dance either. I was pressured into coming here by some friends.”

You looked over at Momo. “We know the feeling.”

“Ah, I’m so sorry, I didn’t get your names,” Izuku said, suddenly looking between the two of you.

Momo looked at you for a second then said, “I’m Momo and this is Y/N. It’s nice to meet you, Izuku.”

“You as well,” Izuku said to Momo before turning back to you. “You know, the thing about dancing is that if you just start and let go of everything, it can actually be kind of fun.”

This boy sounded just like Mina, the same argument she made every time she dragged you and Momo to one of these things. Sometimes you managed to let your guard down enough to enjoy it, sometimes not.

“It’s also more fun with someone else.”

Izuku was looking at you hopefully, and that just made his eyes even wider, such a dark forest green in the dim light of the club. You could feel yourself being pulled to him, like a string between you growing taut when Momo put a hand on your arm. “I’ll hold your drink and just come back when you want it, okay?”

Momo was giving you an intent gaze and you knew she was offering you an out. Try dancing with the boy and, if it wasn’t turning out well, say that you needed to go back to your friend. Easy.

“Okay,” you said, taking one more sip before handing your drink off to her. Then you extended you hand toward Izuku, who took it with his broadest smile yet, and led you into the mosh pit.

There was no sign of Mina or Tooru anywhere, haven fallen invisible in the throng of people. So it was just you and Izuku and a hundred strangers, all feeling the music sync with their heartbeats and then their hips, sending them moving.

You started facing each other, your hips moving from side to side, the rhythm slowly moving up so that your shoulders were shimmying, head bobbing. Izuku grinned, bopping along excitedly. He wasn’t a smooth dancer, not cool or rhythmic, but he didn’t seem to care. He put his hands lightly on your hips, encouraging you to move a little more. Asking you to let go.

You let your hips follow his touch and laughed when he rocked you from side to side, totally out of line with anything that might be sensual or suggestive. It was silly and you realized that maybe you’d been putting too much pressure to look a certain way, to be a certain kind of person. Music was for everyone, dancing was for everyone. Izuku seemed to know that already.

You wrapped your arms around his waist, giving yourself into the joy as the two of you rocked, free of expectation or anyone else’s experience. Before you knew it, the music had changed, the next song slightly slower, and your motions smoothed out to match. Izuku slid one of his hands back into yours and raised it over your head, initiating a turn. You went along and the next thing you knew, your back was pressed against his muscular chest, hips moving in tandem.

“Is this okay?” he asked.

“Mhmm.”

You could feel all corners of him pressed against you and you couldn’t help but push back into him. His chest was broader than it seemed, and you could feel the crease of his pecs, of his abs. His hands were on your hips, strong arms brushing your sides. You brought one hand up to touch his bare bicep, feeling how hard it was even unflexed.

Suddenly, you could feel Izuku’s breath on your jaw, the flutter of his lips brushing against the sensitive skin. You tilted your head, exposing the long column of your neck to him. He took that as invitation enough and pressed a kiss to it. He kissed up to your jawline and just behind your ear. He gave the lightest of sucks before you pulled away and offered him your mouth.

He took it eagerly, your lips moving at the same pace as your gyrating hips. You lost yourself in the feeling, the anonymity of kissing, hidden in a crowd of people. The rhythmic dance of your hips lulling you into a kind of easy complacency as you felt Izuku’s hand on the back of your neck, keeping your lips against his. The other one crept forward on your thigh, awfully close to your center, to the hem of your too-short skirt. He never breached either line, though. Just kept his hand there, suggesting where it could go.

“Come home with me,” you whispered when you separated for breath.

“What?” Izuku asked, face flushed, voice just carrying over the music.

You twisted back around so that you were face to face so that you could press your lips right up against his ear. “Come home with me, Izuku.”

You called for a car and sent Momo a text saying that you were going home. You hoped that Momo, Mina, and Tooru wouldn’t want to come back to your shared home anytime soon—Momo was smart enough to figure that out herself.

Twenty minutes later and you were home, you were horny, and you had someone willing and able to solve that.

“You’re not drunk, are you?” Izuku asked while you unlocked the door and ushered him in, kicking off your shoes as quickly as you could.

“Half a drink,” you said quickly. “You?”

“None.”

“Perfect,” you said, and you wrapped your arms around him once again, pulling him in for a kiss.

Izuku did you one better, grabbing hold of your thighs and picking you up like you weighed nothing. Your dress rose up over your hips and your center fell right against his crotch, grinding into it.

You were ready to give directions to your room, but Izuku didn’t carry you further than the living room before slamming your back against a wall and pressing his hips into yours. You gasped at the impact, but it was nothing painful—just surprising. Izuku dug his fingers into your thighs and said, “You seemed awfully eager for this. Desperate enough to handle a little roughness, princess? Or did you think this was gonna be easy?”

The epithet of princess send your heart plunging to your core, heat spreading throughout you. His voice was low, much lower than it had been at the club and your thighs clenched around him. “I thought…maybe…”

He’d been so sweet at the club, shy almost. You tasted his tongue on yours and he hadn’t been lying—no alcohol. The only taste passing between the two of you was the tang from your whiskey ginger. But now his grip on you and the low growl in his voice was telling you another story.

“Do you wanna be rough or do you wanna be a little princess? Or maybe both?”

“Both,” you keened desperately, breathlessly.

“I shoulda known, you grinding down on my cock like that,” he said, nibbling your exposed neck. “Can’t wait for me to fuck you, can you?”

He pulled back so you slid an inch down the wall, but his grip was tight enough to keep you from falling any further. Then his hips slammed back into yours, as though you were fucking already.

“Shit,” you whispered as he bit down on your collarbone.

“If you’re good, I’ll give you what you want,” he said. “If you’re not, it’s going to be a very long night.”

That half threat was almost enough to trigger your backtalk, see exactly what he had in mind to turn this night into a long one. But, by the same coin, you wanted to see what he had planned already.

“I’m good,” you whimpered.

“You are?” Izuku asked. “Prove it.”

He pressed his chest into yours, and you felt your breasts flatten against his pecs, your ribs trapped from a deep breath by his thick forearms.

“Strip and suck my cock.”

You unwrapped your legs from his waist and he released you to the ground. Your dress was stretchy and off in an instant, thrown to the floor, panties soon to follow. Then you were on your knees undoing his dark jeans and pulling out his long, plump cock.

“That’s a good girl,” he said, stroking your hair.

Preening at the praise, you wrapped your lips around your teeth, and swallowed him as far as you could go in one go. You wanted to be a good girl, after all.

“Shit,” Izuku said, keeping a light grip on the back of your head, but letting you do what you want, setting your own pace. You wasted no time with playful licks and kisses, immediately bobbing your head up and down and stroking the rest with your hand.

The noises that Izuku made, little huffs and whines, were cute, showing glimpses of the shy boy who had approached you at the club. He took off his shirt and you could see his abs in all their glory, even better than you’d imagined. As you sucked him off, you brought a hand up to the ridges of his lower abs and rubbed lightly, enjoying the hard muscle. After a trip down to his balls, sucking one into his mouth and you kept up your firm strokes, Izuku pulled you off, breathing heavily.

“That’s good. You’ve proven that you’re a good girl, princess.”

“I did?” you asked shyly, giving his cock a long lick just to make sure.

“Yes,” Izuku shuddered. “Stand against the wall.”

“Here?” you asked.

There were windows all over your living room, giving a clear view to the street and, more importantly, from the street into your apartment. More than that, there was no telling when your housemates would get home and, even if they knew you’d brought a boy home, they’d hardly expect him to be fucking you in the living room.

“Was I unclear, princess?”

“No,” you said, and you went to stand facing the wall. Izuku came up behind you and knocked your legs further apart, and then reached in front of you, rubbing two fingers from your slit up to your clit in a couple firm strokes. You gasped, your head falling forward, but before you could get used to the rough touch, he was gone.

“Where do you keep your condoms?” he asked casually.

“In my nightstand,” you said, moving to stand straight. He pushed your hands back against the wall, warning you not to move.

“Which room is yours?”

“The far one on the left,” you said, only turning your head to look over your shoulder.

“Good,” he said. “Don’t move.”

Then he was gone, leaving you naked, legs spread in your living room. You could feel how drenched you were—Izuku had taken a whole globule of your wetness and spread it all over your pussy. Now, standing spread, you could feel the cold air from the room on you when all you wanted was heat.

Izuku took his time in coming back, slow footfalls making their way back to the living room. You saw a box of condoms drop on the couch next to you and heard the telltale sound of one of the packages being ripped open. The next thing you knew, Izuku’s hands were on your hips, just like at the club, only now his cock was free, sliding in the slick of your pussy.

You gasped, pushing harder against the wall and thrusting your ass back toward Izuku. “Please,” you whimpered.

“Oh, you don’t have to ask,” Izuku said casually. “I know exactly what your slutty pussy wants. I can feel it dripping all over my cock. And you’ve been very good, princess, but that doesn’t mean that you’re in charge. Understand?”

“Yes, Izuku.”

You were pushed forward by the sudden force of a slap against your ass, then Izuku’s chest pressing firmly back into yours, his teeth by your ear. “Yes, who?”

“Yes, sir,” you whispered.

“That’s better.”

He went back to thrusting, one of his hands snaking around your front, through your curls to spread your lips. Your puffy clit was exposed to the air and Izuku’s fingers spreading the skin provided just the slightest bit of pressure, but not nearly enough. You whined, bending more into him, aching for more contact than the occasional brush of his cock skating across your clit. But you wanted to be a good girl too.

“Okay, sweetheart,” Izuku said, his thrusts coming to a stop as the head of his cock butterflied your opening. “You’ve been very patient. Are you ready for your reward?”

“Yes, sir,” you breathed.

You groaned in relief as he split you open, sinking into you just as he pulled his fingers in a hard, slow stroke up your clit.

“You like that, princess?” Izuku asked, making his thrusts slow and deep, his finger’s strokes on your clit languid and intentional.

“Yes,” you moaned, rocking your weight back onto your heels as you met Izuku’s every plunge.

“You feel so good,” Izuku said, his voice becoming softer and more breathy as he got lost in the feel of you. His right hand began spinning circles on your clit, the left wrapped around your middle, fingertips rubbing almost tenderly along your side.

You could only pant, leaning your head back on his shoulder as Izuku’s thrusts sped up, your climax rising within you. “Fuck,” you murmured as his left hand fell to your hip, changing the angle so that he was now pounding your g-spot with every go. He continued like that for a minute, each hit bringing you higher and higher until he suddenly stopped.

“What?” you asked, and the next thing you knew, you were being pushed to the arm of your couch, a hand to the small of your back pressing your spine parallel to the floor, and—before you knew what was happening—he was back in you, going full speed.

You gasped, your head falling down, nipples rubbing against the fabric of the couch as your tits were sent swinging. That sensation caught you, sending fresh sparks through you.

“Are you close, Princess?” Izuku breathed, his quick thrusts breaking his voice.

“Yes, sir.”

“Touch yourself, then.”

You followed his instruction immediately, snaking your hand down to your clit and rubbing it with your practiced touch. The feeling of your cold fingers against your scorching clit, Izuku’s hot cock railing in and out of you, and the occasional spark of your nipples rubbing against the couch had you on the edge of your peak in no time.

“You gonna cum, baby? You gonna cum on my cock?”

“Yes,” you whispered, the heat in your stomach burning, almost unbearable as you reached your cusp.

“I’m close too, Y/N,” Izuku whispered. “God, you’re so perfect.”

He leaned forward and pressed a kiss onto your shoulder just as you shattered around him, keening as you rubbed yourself through your orgasm.

“Fuck,” he said, and you felt his thrusts become jagged, barely leaving you every time before plunging balls deep back into you. He shuddered and, before long, he finished too, taking slow, easy thrusts in and out of you before falling fully on your back, wrapping his arms around your middle.

He stayed there for just a moment before pulling out, taking off his condom and knotting it. You’d collapsed onto the arm of your sofa, face falling down the side as you tried to get your breath back under you, the feeling back into your legs.

“Was that too much?” Izuku asked, his voice soft and gentle again as he came in front of you, gently putting his fingers under your chin to bring your face back to him.

“No, that was amazing,” you said.

Izuku smiled and brought your lips to his for a quick kiss. “I’m glad. Where do you keep your water glasses?”

“Cabinet above the sink.”

“Great.”

Izuku gave you another kiss, this time on the cheek, and then he was gone. You stayed still for a few more moments, your breath back in both hands, the heat seeping from your face slowly but steadily. You pressed yourself up, curling your spine like a cat to fight against the deep sway you’d had against the couch and the wall and gave a little shimmy to work out the kinks. You took a quick trip to the bathroom, then you went around and scooped up all the pieces of clothing that had been thrown hither and yon and carted them back to your room. You’d just flipped on the light switch and dropped them in a pile on the floor when Izuku came back with a glass of water and a wash cloth.

“You got up,” he said.

“I just didn’t want my roommates to get home to find me fucked out against the couch,” you said with a smile, taking the glass he handed to you. “We have house rules.”

“That’s fair,” Izuku said as you took a glug of water. “Lie back on the bed.”

His voice was far less demanding than before, but you went along anyway. You set the water glass on the nightstand and then lay down, allowing Izuku to spread your legs. Some of the old heat returned to your face and you looked away from him as he took the washcloth to your center.

“There’s no need to be embarrassed,” he said.

“It’s just different,” you squeaked. “After we’re done…In the full light and you’re just down there looking at me.”

“It’s only for a moment longer,” Izuku said as he cleaned you. True to his word, he took the washcloth away after a moment, pressed a kiss to the inside of your thigh, and said, “You’re beautiful.”

The washcloth was added to the stack of clothes on the floor, and then Izuku was back in front of you, running his fingers lightly along the outside of your thigh.

“Thanks for tonight,” he said softly.

You sat up, putting a hand on his arm. “Stay.”

“Can I?”

His eyes were wide and innocent, like he hadn’t just fucked you raw in plain sight of the neighbors. Like he hadn’t spanked you and called you princess.

“Of course,” you said.

“I’m glad.” He smiled. “Cuddling is kind of my favorite part.”

“Is it, now?”

“I’ll prove it,” Izuku said, flipping off the light and climbing into bed behind you as you settled in. Then he had you wrapped tight in his arms, pulled flush against his chest. He let out a deep, satisfied sigh into your neck and said, “It’s just the best.”

“It kind of is,” you said, snuggling back against him.

There were a few more murmurs shared between you two but, slowly, the words fell loose, eyes falling closed. Your breathing evened out, and then there was nothing but Izuku’s arms and breath around yours.

“There’s a box of condoms on the couch!” you heard Mina screech a couple hours later, jolting you out of your deep sleep. You felt Izuku’s arms tighten protectively around you as he too let out a sharp intake of breath. “Our girl fucked!”

“Ooh, what a surprise!” Tooru cheered.

“Out here?” you heard Momo groan, her voice much more tired than Mina’s or Tooru’s.

“Dammit,” you whispered, and Izuku giggled behind you.

“That was my fault, I’m sorry.”

“Shh, just go back to sleep,” you said. “If we wake up early, we can sneak you out before any of them are up.”

“So long as I get to see you again,” Izuku murmured, nuzzling back into your shoulder.

Your chest warmed and you pulled Izuku’s arms closer against you, gripping them tightly before your hold fell lax in sleep. Tooru was right—you’d gotten the surprise you’d wanted.

“Definitely.”

[samstree]

Hug a Witcher Day (1/3)

Jaskier writes a new song ‘Hug a Witcher Day.’ It gains insane popularity and Geralt finds himself hugged by random strangers on one day every year. He just wishes a particular bard would hug him too.

By one person’s popular demand, I present to you a touch-starved Geralt, a cheeky Jaskier and a lot of pining. 

fluff, hand holding, sharing clothes, yearning, 3k, rated G

read on AO3

It is the most ordinary morning.

The wind is picking up after last night’s rain, a common occurrence in the fall, bringing nice moisture in the air all the way from the sea. The last of the heat washed away to reveal crisp blue sky, stretching all the way to meet the mountain range.

It’s an ordinary morning, except everyone is staring at Geralt.

The inn is not busy this early in the morning, but a few patrons have risen for the first meal of the day. As the witcher sits down at a table, the atmosphere changes instantly. The conversation hushes and eyes start turning in his direction. Some are even giggling with their friends upon seeing him.

Although, there’s no malice, no fear, or disdain.

Only amusement.

It won’t be the first time that a crowd finds a witcher to be a curious sight. Although it is unusual for a town of this scale to have never seen one of them before.

So Geralt pays no mind. He only wants to finish his porridge in peace. His stomach has been rumbling since he missed dinner last night. The hunt took way longer than he anticipated, and by the time he returned, the inn had long since stopped serving. Although the maid—a young girl no more than sixteen—promised to give him an extra portion at breakfast.

Even she’s staring too.

The girl takes a look at Geralt’s finished bowl and hurries to fetch another from the kitchen. She carries the porridge and an extra loaf of rye bread to his table with a smile that gradually lights up her whole face.

Geralt nods as she puts them down, confused at the good mood of this whole establishment.

His confusion grows when she doesn’t leave. Instead, the girl lingers a moment, as if working up her courage, before bending down to circle her arms around Geralt.

He has to fight every instinct in his body to stay still and let her hug him. Her arms are squeezing gently, not the too-tight kink. Her curled locks are all over his face. When she pulls back, her round cheeks are flushed like a beet, the grin now carrying a hint of embarrassment.

“Why—”

“Thank you, master witcher!” she exclaims chirpily.

“What for?” he frowns.

“For getting rid of the fiend, of course!” She’s almost taking offense at the question. “Right before today, no less.”

“What’s so special about today?”

“It’s the day before Saovine, sir. Do you not know?”

Well…no. The passage of time registers too vaguely when he’s traveling alone from one town to another. The contract last night was no different from the last five.

Geralt doesn’t want to think about how monotonous the path is without a companion, or he’ll have to admit to himself that he’s missing the bard and his ridiculous songs and too-loud playing. He won’t do it, even in the safety of his own mind.

Still, her answer doesn’t explain anything.

“The day before Saovine!” she must be seeing his silence as an encouragement to continue. “It’s Hug a Witcher Day!”

Geralt drops the spoon into the porridge. Biting back a curse in a child’s company, he fumbles to fish it out.

“Hug a—what?”

“It’s how the song goes! Hug a witcher and thank him for the work he’s done. All the monster-killing in the past year!” Her smile turns to a tiny frown. “And you, sir, just killed that fiend for us last night. As the lyrics say, it’s only right that I hug you!”

“It was…my job. And why does it have to be Saovine?”

“It’s the day before Saovine, sir. It’s the last holiday before witchers rest for the winter. It’s only right to thank them now.” she proclaims proudly. “Have you really not heard ‘Hug a Witcher’?”

Should he have? Before asking the next question, Geralt has an inkling that he already knows the answer.

“Whose song is it?”

“Who else? Your bard of course. Master Jaskier the bard!”

The words your bard somehow lands on a soft spot in Geralt’s chest.

Although Jaskier hasn’t traveled with him for months. Geralt doesn’t pay attention to the bard’s new hits because they will eventually reach his ears anyway. Jaskier can never pass an opportunity to serenade him with every new composition when they are alone by a campfire, looking for the witcher’s personal reviews no matter how well-received by the public they appear to be.

“Hmm.” Geralt calculates the distance between where he is and Oxenfurt. This ‘Hug a Witcher’ song, in fact, is spreading faster than any of Jaskier’s famous ballads.

A hug can’t be worse than being tossed coins, right?

 *

It keeps happening for the rest of the day.

First, it’s the stable hand. Geralt is just trying to load his pack onto Roach when the young lad comes in. He doesn’t try to hug Geralt, only giving him a polite nod.

“Thank you. For your work, sir,” the lad says, before helping Geralt saddle the mare. “Like the song says, eh? Thank a witcher so no monster will plague you in the coming year.”

And then, it’s a few small children. A flock of them suddenly come out of nowhere and just… cling to his legs.

“Thank you master wiiiiitcheeeeer!” They shout in unison and drag the last few syllables longer and longer. And then the group disperses just as quickly as they gathered, giggling and running off to an alley.

All except one.

The smallest one stays at his feet, looking up and staring at him.

“Hug!” the boy stretches out his short arms.

Geralt blinks.

The boy stares, eyes wide and expectant.

So Geralt has no choice but to bend down and let the boy wrap those short arms around his neck.

“You’re welc—"

It’s over in a second and the child is rejoining his friends, who are now peaking their heads out of the corner of the alley. Excited squeals erupt among them.

Geralt feels the corners of his lips tugging upwards.

When he gets to the market, a few shop owners are smiling so brightly and offering discounts. Roach gets a horseshoe and an apple for free within the first hour. The silversmith shouts out thanks before jogging up to him and pulls him in for a bear hug.

“Hug a witcher for luck,” she says.

“No, it’s for good harvests!” an old man corrects her.

They keep coming.

But everyone has a different reason and it makes Geralt wonder how many versions Jaskier has for this one song. Or, he dreads to think, how long it is.

“Hug a witcher and death will avoid your door.”

“Hug a witcher for a merciful winter.”

“Hug a witcher for good rain!”

“Thank you, master witcher.”

“Thanks, sir, for your service!”

 *

“Geralt! You need to control your bard!”

Lambert growls as he slams into the heavy wooden door of Kaer Morhen keep, stamping his foot to shake off the snow.

Turning another page of the book, Geralt refuses to look at his younger brother when he’s in a grouchy mood.

“What did he do?” he asks nonchalantly.

“You know—" Lambert grits his teeth. “—what he did.”

The youngest wolf sits down, crowding Geralt’s space, his cloak still wet from the storm outside. Geralt raises an eyebrow but stays on the book. He is not going to make it easier for his brother.

After seconds of silence, Lambert finally gives in. “His song!”

“You can’t possibly be mad about Hug a Witcher.” Eskel walks in and also sits at the table, the sewing kit and a ripped shirt in hand. “It’s a good one.”

“I’m a witcher! They saw me and tried to hug me!”

“So?”

Like Geralt, Eskel only fuels the youngest wolf’s exasperation. He even starts to thread the needle, completely unfazed.

“So?” Lambert pulls off his cloak and the water splashes all over Geralt’s book. “For a whole day, people tried to touch me. A whole day, Geralt! All thanks to your bard and his blasted song! I couldn’t even get out of town without those folks jumping on me.”

“And? I don’t know about you, but I appreciate some showing of gratitude. Thank your bard for me, will you?” Eskel nudges at Geralt.

“Hmm.”

“I don’t care,” Lambert continues, pointing a finger at Geralt. “Tell the bard to stop this nonsense, or I will stop him myself and he won’t be as pretty afterwards.”

Geralt finally dogears the page and faces his brother’s tantrum. He wonders if the crease between his eyebrows is tight enough to crack a walnut—it might be fun to try one day. “Or you can just not let them,” he deadpans.

“What?”

“You are a witcher, the best one among us—according to yourself.” Geralt tilts his head, squinting. “Are you telling me you couldn’t fend off some villagers who were only trying to give you a squeeze?”

Lambert’s face stills, his index finger hanging in the air. In front of Geralt’s unblinking eyes, his face turns redder and redder.

“Urgh,” with an annoyed wave, Lambert storms off the same way he stormed in, all the while muttering all kinds of colorful curses.

Geralt purses his lips as to not let out a too-obviously laugh, but at the corner of his eyes, he notices Eskel shaking his head in amusement.

“All jokes aside, I liked the song.”

Geralt shrugs.

“Jaskier knows how to make them go around.”

“No, I like the day that came with the song. Just about a decade ago, people barely thanked us for a job well done, but now? Lambert is a prick, but I don’t mind having a pat on the back after spending a whole year on the path. Don’t you think?”

“Hmm.” He shrugs again.

Eskel has put down his needlework and is observing him intently. Both of his brothers are so weird about this, Geralt reckons, but on opposite sides of weird. Maybe that’ll be the bard’s review when they meet in the spring.

“Maybe you are indifferent because your bard already knows to appreciate you, wolf. Being your barker and all. Was he thrilled to see the rest of the world catch on?”

Geralt frowns while opening the book again, not sure where this is going.

“Jaskier wasn’t with me during Saovine.”

“No?” Eskel is moving into his space too. Urgh, the two of them. “You bard got the whole continent to hug you, but he wasn’t there to give you one himself?”

“No.”

A sudden surge of irritation rises, but Geralt isn’t sure why. All he wants to do is read the damn book without his brothers nagging him about how terrible or how amazing this ridiculous day is.

“Hmm.” Eskel mirrors his hum. Every time the older witcher does this is because he’s trying to figure out something, and Geralt has no intention of finding out.

“I’ll read elsewhere.” With a loud snap of the book, Geralt leaves the room in a few quick strides.

He has a feeling that this lousy mood might stick with him for a while yet. At least until he can leave Eskel’s inexplicable prodding and Lambert’s grumpy ass behind.

*

“I know you don’t like the touchy mushy stuff, Geralt. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know they would actually hug you all day long!”

Jaskier looks so contrite that his hands are reined in from his full-body gestures, and that’s how Geralt knows the guilt is genuine. His fingers are fidgeting with the hemline of his winter doublet and his hands, exposed in the chill, are turning red.

It’s still quite early in the spring, since Geralt has come to find the bard in Oxenfurt as soon as the ground thawed. A cold spell is hitting the town pretty hard, although Jaskier is sure that it’ll be the last one before green returns to this town.

It doesn’t help that snow has been steadily falling and melting at the same time during their stroll around campus. The bard shivers a little.

“It’s fine,” Geralt says, taking off his own scarf and wrapping it around Jaskier’s neck.

“It is not! Once again, I have been so focused on my professional achievements and forgotten about the impact those songs have on you. All of you.”

Jaskier helps Geralt adjust the scarf so it covers all of his neck and the lower half of his face. It’s made of the warmest yarn Vesemir keeps at Kaer Morhen, but the plain color is a stark contrast against the delicate design of the bard’s fur-lined doublet. In comparison, Geralt’s scarf looks too coarse to be there, but Jaskier seems content enough to bury his face into the material, letting out a soft sigh.

His hands still look cold, so Geralt removes his gloves as well.

“Eskel likes it. The song and the day.”

Those words seem to lighten Jaskier’s mood. His eyebrows raise ever so slightly.

“Really? He likes Hug a Witcher day?”

“Mm-hmm.”

The bard flexes his stiff hands before sliding into the leather gloves. They fit surprisingly well with Jaskier’s long fingers, only a bit loose on the wrists, so Geralt makes sure to fasten the cords. He then holds both Jaskier’s hands between his palms, just to warm them up a little.

Can’t let a lutenist complain about frostbite on his fingers.

“Says it’s nice to be appreciated for all the hard work he’s done. The hugs aren’t bad either,” Geralt explains. “Eskel never minded them anyway.”

“And you?” Despite his slight apprehension, Jaskier’s eyes are filled with careful hope. “Do you mind them?”

With a final squeeze, Geralt lets go.

“I told you it’s fine.”

“You don’t have to say it to make me feel better, my dear. I know how you don’t like people touching you,” the bard says, reaching out to brush off some snowflakes on Geralt’s shoulder with a gloved hand.

Geralt frowns, looks down to Jaskier’s casual touch on his shoulder, and then back to his concerned blue eyes.

Why on earth does Jaskier think he hates touches? The bard himself touches him all the time, at least in the past couple of years. Not at the beginning though, when they were barely friends and Geralt told him to fuck off all the time and not to feed Roach treats and—

And when Geralt punched him in the gut just to drive him away.

He’s seen Jaskier hug so many people, countless flings, long-term lovers, his parents, cousins, even other bards. He’s seen Jaskier hug Essi just this morning while being teased by her relentlessly about something Geralt didn’t understand. Must have been an inside joke.

But never him.

Jaskier never hugs him.

The realization sinks Geralt’s heart somehow. The cold wind suddenly cuts a lot more brutally on his bare neck and hands.

He doesn’t mind a little nip when Jaskier is the more sensitive one, being human and all. But at this moment, with the bard all bundled up in a soft doublet with those feathery puffs on his shoulders, he looks like he can give great hugs.

Jaskier looks so…huggable.

Geralt wonders what it would be like to take Jaskier in his arms and squish him over those thick, airy clothes. He wonders if he can bury his nose into his scarf—now it would smell like a mixture of Jaskier’s floral scent and the wood ash that always lingers around Geralt’s person. He would pull away to see Jaskier’s cheeks painted pink in the cold air and snow melting on his long lashes—

“You are just saying it, aren’t you? I have deeply offended you.” Jaskier interrupts those wandering thoughts because he has taken the silence as anger. His expression can only be described as crestfallen. “I’m sorry. Please don’t be too mad. I cannot lose my best friend. I simply cannot take it, Geralt! I will die of a broken heart!”

The plea is so dramatic that Geralt lets out a chuckle.

“Will you relax?” he pats Jaskier on his puffy sleeve. “I’m not mad, little poet. It truly is fine. Some children hugging me on the leg is not the end of the world.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Somehow, Geralt knows that if Jaskier decides to also give him a hug that day, it won’t be the worst thing either. Hug a witcher to thank him, it’s the bard’s own words. He’s protected Jaskier from angry spouses so many times it will definitely warrant a hug, right?

“Good, then.” Jaskier lowers his face into the scarf again, pretending to hide from a draft, but Geralt can see the faint smile around the corners of his eyes. “I’m glad your brothers also enjoyed my contribution to what will become the next official holiday.”

“Oh no, that’s just Eskel. You should avoid Lambert this year.” Geralt grimaces. “Maybe the next few years too.”

Jaskier is taken aback but recovers quickly.

“Well, I’ve got you to protect me from his wrath, my friend who’s not angry with me.” The smile, this time, is genuine and brightens up Jaskier’s whole being. His arms stretch out in a pose once more. “Where shall we go when spring comes? You know, when it really comes.”

Jaskier grimaces at the sky as if judging it for the untimely harsh weather blocking their way.

“Hmm.”

Geralt is in no hurry to determine the where of their journey this year, but the when of it…

A sudden ache in his chest tells him that maybe he should stick with Jaskier until Saovine.

Or at least the day before.

---

Tagging: @wanderlust-t @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard​ @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @percy-jackson-is-sexy- @constantlytiredpigeon @behonesthowsmysinging

Please feel free to tell me if you want to be removed or added to the list <3

[hobidreams]

october 1865.

you never thought you would smile like this again, but here you are. and here he is, by your side.

pairing: joseon king!yoongi x reader genre: fluffy fluff words: 5k 😳 contains: historical au, chuseok date!, eunuch kim!, so much cuteness, guest appearances hehe

moonlit throne index. this is drabble 13. start from the beginning?

“How do I look, mom?”

Standing before the mirror, you nervously smooth the delicate sash of the pink hanbok for the hundredth time, careful not to lean down too much and dislocate the floral ornament carefully pinned in your hair. There have been doves fluttering in your stomach the entire afternoon; you don’t know if you tied this correctly or if your hair is braided right, and you can’t ask any of your nearby neighbours for fear of discovery that your plans are different than theirs tonight. Mother would know exactly what to do and what to say to make you feel at ease. But want you want most is for her to see you all grown up like this. Finally able to properly wear the outfit you coveted for so long, and hold your head high in it too. You think she’d be proud.

You manage a smile as you run your fingertips along the edge of the ornament, a gift from mother on your twelfth birthday. It’s almost been a year since her passing, and you still miss her more than anything. But you also know now that the best way to honor her is to be happy, and to carry on her work, her legacy. So far, you’ve begrudgingly won a few scraps of respect from the male physicians, and it’s a start.

“I hope you’re doing well up there,” you say, letting your gaze drift out the window to the beaming Chuseok moon, hoping the wind might take your words and your love all the way to her.

“Hey. Are you ready?”

You are grateful that the door is closed because the way you snap to attention is frankly embarrassing.

"Yes, just a moment, seja-jeonha!" you say in a nervous half-whisper, half-exclamation as you allow yourself one last glimpse at the mirror. This is going to be fine. You're going to be relaxed and have a good time, even if you are sneaking out of the palace with arguably the second most important person in the country.

Putting on a smile that hopefully looks effortless, you pull open the door and practically gasp out loud at the sight of him.

It's perhaps the first time you've seen the prince out of the traditional royal robes. It's an excellent disguise -- the clothes of a young yangban lord, done in a deep-dyed scarlet that contrasts his usual navy. A cinched belt fastens the coat deftly, juxtaposed against the dragging, silky sleeves beside it, making him seem somehow more elegant in the way he holds himself. Completing the look is the gat that sits atop his head, its wide-brim tilted low so it covers enough of his face that he wouldn't be recognized, at least not to anyone who spared him a passing glance (not that they would know his face to begin with). The gat strap hangs low in front of his chest, the intricate beading betraying just how truly expensive this hat is. He is, in short, unfairly, unfathomably handsome.

You are forever grateful that you chose to dress up; if nothing else, at least you will look suitable standing next to him, at least for a night.

If Yoongi thinks anything of your outfit, he covers it with a slight cough, his cheeks faintly reddened from the cold. “Good. Come on. We have to be quick.”

You nod, following him out into the night air.

With swift steps and strategic maneuvering, it doesn't take you long to reach one side of the imposing wall that separates palace from town. There, you find a familiar face waiting for you.

"Good evening," Eunuch Kim says with a bow. He’s wearing a different, muted set of green robes and donned a gat as well. “As you instructed, the select guards have been informed to keep quiet, and all else has been taken care of. Let us go."

He likely insisted on coming, as one of the caveats for your illicit excursion. You don't mind, since this isn't the first time he's had to do such a thing, always so worried about his rebellious, stubborn charge. You watch as he lets Yoongi go past first, then gestures for you.

“You look lovely tonight, uinyeo-nim,” Eunuch Kim says, and you share a small, furtive smile that feels like he’s cheering you on. Then you step past the official gates, feeling so acutely the pattering of your pulse because this is truly happening.

For the first handful of minutes, you remain both terrified and anticipatory that you'll be snatched back by the royal guard and accused of kidnapping the prince or something equally ridiculous as being on an actual outing with him. Beside you, Yoongi doesn't seem to have these worries as he walks by your side (though still a respectful, proper distance apart), letting his arms slightly swing while he kicks up dust with his slippers.

Just as you're wondering if you're being an awful companion and not making conversation, he says, "haven't been outside the palace in ages."

“Me too. It's… a little strange, having all this freedom to roam and do what I want. Even if it’s just for a night.”

“I'll say.” Yoongi makes an exasperated noise. “There are too many rules in that place. Can't do anything without being watched.” He gives a minor tilt of his head towards your chaperone, though it's more a tease rather than actually spiteful. Eunuch Kim, for his own sake, pretends not to see or hear the jab.

You smile. “It's for your safety, seja-jeonha.”

“So they say. But they'll regret it when I die of boredom first.”

He rolls his eyes and you laugh, and the palpitations in your stomach ease just like that.

As you draw ever closer to the town, the harmony of string and wind instruments crescendo and build with the jubilant chatter of the townspeople. It's getting to you in the best of ways; you're becoming so elated at the prospect of the festivities that you start to speed up, soon practically rushing towards the town square at a pace that forces Yoongi and Eunuch Kim to run to follow.

"…Wow!"

At the base of the square, your entire face brightens with the wondrous sight unfolding before you. There are people everywhere. Some down celebratory alcohol, others munch on sweet treats, and more still singing along to the traditional folk tunes with robust vibrato, regardless of whether they’re on key or not. You can’t find a single frown amidst all this mirth, and that’s just the way you like it. It’s overwhelming: the sights, the sounds, and the mouthwatering smell of something delicious and fried.

Yoongi eventually jogs up to you, forced to inhale a few quick breaths to refill his lungs. “Are you that hungry?” He asks, the corner of his lips curling up.

Oh god, you just made the prince run.

"No...! Not at all! I’m deeply sorry, seja-jeonha. I got too excited, didn’t I?”

“Not at all. Shall we get something to eat first then?”

You avert your eyes, though you really haven’t had dinner tonight. “No, please. Let us do what you would like.”

Yoongi grins as if it is of no consequence. “What I want? Well, then, I want to go this way.”

As is his habit, he begins to walk in the direction he chooses without notice, though this time he has to weave through the people that crowd the area. His disguise is working well; he is largely ignored as he passes, leading your little group all the way to an open alleyway where stalls line each side, lit up with lamps and vividly colored banners.

A twinge of sadness squeezes your heart as you look at the spread. You faintly remember a decade ago that there used to be a full row of assorted delicacies and sweets for purchase; now it’s mostly merchants with tables of books and hairpins, food becoming too scarce for most to sell with the grain shortage, even if they need the funds. Still, everyone seems to be doing their best with what they’ve got.

Sudden shouts ring out right beside you, nearly blowing your ears out with how loud they are.

“Jeon! Freshly fried shrimp and fish jeon for sale!”

“Hot, hot, hot nokdujeon over here!”

“Gaah!” you exclaim, eyes wide. You wouldn’t be surprised if the monks up the mountain heard about this jeon! When you turn to see who the hell is making all this commotion, you’re met with the scowling faces of two men, glaring furiously at each other in-between tending to their sizzling pans in adjacent stalls. The bearded one looks about seconds away from giving the other younger man a good smack with the fishing rod leaning on the wall behind him.

Said younger man gives a snicker. “No wonder my sales are beating yours. Why would anyone want your shrimp when they could have my delicious mung beans?”

“Say that again, if you dare.”

“Why would anyone want your gross shrimp when—”

“Yah, you can take your beans and shove them right up your nasty sokgot—”

“Excuse me,” Yoongi cuts in between them with a smirk. “I’ll take two orders of each. Preferably not ones shoved anywhere.” He drops coins on both counters, more than enough to cover the food.

“Ahem.” They levy two very similar glares at each other before beginning to package the orders for consumption, switching to polite honorifics in the process. “Yes, sir!”

“Right away, sir!”

They work deftly, obviously very practiced in the art. Neither of them drop so much as a crumb, even though they seem to be racing.

"My lord, here is your order," Fish Jeon says, only to be roughly shoved aside by Mung Bean in a rush to hand over the goods first.

"Please enjoy, sir!"

Yoongi takes the round and crispy nokdujeon, all wrapped in parchment paper. His amused chuckling makes you feel a little warmer, a bit fonder than you should. Especially when he then promptly passes the package to you.

"Seja--" You cut yourself off before you make the mistake. "Um. My lord, this is for me?" You ask, even though you're practically drooling at the scent.

"Did I give it to someone else? Eat."

He turns, hands off one of the assorted jeon plates to Eunuch Kim behind him, who accepts gratefully with a bow.

You, and your stomach, don’t need to be told twice. After blowing on the golden batter, you take a generous bite, accidentally smearing a bit of it on your cheek in the process but god, it tastes incredible. Mung Bean may be loud, but he clearly doesn’t tell lies. You have to hold yourself back from inhaling the pancake whole, instead savoring each nibble on your tongue.

“Come on. Keep going before the crowd grows,” Yoongi says, urging you forward with a jerk of his chin before biting into his own pancake. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him smile this much before, and it’s with slight regret that you tear your eyes away to look where you’re going.

From behind you as you start to walk, you hear, "Jungkook, you brat, shouldn't you be more respectful to your elders?!"

"Whatever, hyungnim. Nokdujeon! Better-than-his-fish nokdujeon!"

There is a very distinctive thwap as you move into the merchant area.

The first booth you come to belongs to a woman that you recognize, selling the latest romance novel by a rising author, Taehyun. She recognizes you too, waving you over with enthusiasm. “Oh, hello! We just received this last week. A tale of forbidden love between a yangban lady and a fisherman! Full of tension and…” she lowers her voice conspiratorially, “more than a few kisses!”

“Do people actually read things like this?” Yoongi mutters, staring at the covers.

“Huh? No! Well, hah, I certainly don’t!” You hope your face looks plausibly innocent. “But thank you,” you turn to say to the woman before hurriedly walking on before she can expose your ruse. The prince doesn’t need to know about the precious books you keep in a secret stash in your room. A lady can’t only study all day, right?

(You make a mental note to come back to town and pick up a copy later.)

Down the row you go, reluctantly finishing off the pancake on the way. Yoongi hands you the entire second plate of jeon not long after. “I don’t want it,” he says, watching you brighten at the prospect of more food. He does end up stealing a piece of shrimp from within your grasp later, throwing it casually into his mouth before you can even react.

The next display to really catch your attention is one laden with delicately handcrafted ornaments, pins, bracelets, and perfumes. “Wow!” You gush, leaning over the table as you try to calculate how much money you brought with you because you want it all, even though you rarely have the occasion to dress up. Still, you want at least something as a keepsake, to hold your memories of this precious day. Yoongi stops and waits for you; you forget it should be the other way around.

“Oh my, Eun-a-ssi? Is that you?”

What? You look up, breath hitched.

“Oh, my apologies.” The woman behind the booth is elderly, her hair grey, eyes wrinkling warmly as she smiles. “My mistake. My eyesight isn’t what it was. You… look a lot like a woman I know. I haven’t seen her in a long time now.”

“Eun-a… Eun-a was my mother,” you murmur. “She passed away last year.”

The woman’s eyes widen as she clutches her hands to her chest. “She did? Oh… Oh no… I’m so sorry, child. Then you must be—” She thinks for a moment, then says your name. You nod, and a small smile slips back on her lips, though now tinged with sadness. You know the feeling. “My name is Hong Sook-ja. I used to live right here in town with Eun-a-ssi, until all those years ago when she moved into the palace and I moved to the countryside. Your mother used to bring you into town for Chuseok and we got to know each other then. These days, I just come back every once in a while to see my granddaughter and great-grandson, so I must have missed the news.”

“It’s alright, Sook-ja-ssi. Mom lived well,” you say, ignoring the twinge in your chest. Any glimpse into mother’s life before she had you fills you with a certain homesickness, alongside the joy. “She was happy. And I’m sure she’d be happy to know that you are living well too.”

“Good. Good. She deserved happiness.” Sook-ja sighs, letting the information sink in. Only after one last kind smile does she finally seem to notice Yoongi standing beside you, trying his best not to intrude. “Now, is this handsome lord your companion? Perhaps your betrothed?”

“N-No!” You immediately cry, not wanting Yoongi to misunderstand, to think that his rank could be dragged so low as to match yours. Sook-ja should know that these class lines, even between yangban and cheonmin, are not so easily crossed. But the mischief in her gaze seems to suggest she doesn’t care much about that. “No, we’re just out. Together.”

“Yes. Out. Together,” Yoongi echoes, just as the door behind Sook-ja starts to open with a noisy creak.

A young woman dressed in a pretty hanbok steps out of the house with a smile. “Grandma, are you interrogating the customers again… Oh, hey! Kim-nim!”

All three of you turn your heads to look at Eunuch Kim, who couldn’t look more surprised at the woman’s appearance if Yoongi started growing a tail. He flusters, stepping back as if that could protect him. “Ahh, Chun-ja-ssi…! You’re, um, here! And you look, wow—” He almost drops the last piece of jeon altogether. “I was not expecting you to be here— I mean, not that I was thinking of you being elsewhere— Uh, not that I think about you that often—”

“This is my granddaughter,” Sook-ja explains, saving the poor man. “Chun-ja. She and her son, Han-jae, are the best parts of my life. She’s so clever, she can even read and write, you know!”

Chun-ja flushes under the praise. “My grandmother likes to exaggerate. But it’s very nice to meet you both,” she says, bowing in greeting as Sook-ja excuses herself, exiting through the same door.

Yoongi is once again smirking. “So, how do you know Kim-nim?”

“Mm, it was about two years ago? I was helping one of the merchants bring grain into the palace. Kim-nim saw me struggling with a particularly heavy pot, and so he helped me carry it. Since then, we chat for a bit every time he’s in town on an errand, and exchange the occasional letter! When he remembers to write me back, that is. Though his letters are often so lovely that I don’t mind the wait.” Chun-ja offers Eunuch Kim a grin that he can’t quite return with ease.

Yoongi has to work hard to keep his face relatively straight as he says, “hmm. So that is why he’s always disappearing from the palace with those weak excuses? And using all that ink? He always said it was for something important.”

“Seja— My lord! Please!” Spare me, Eunuch Kim’s wilted expression pleads. You have to hide your amusement behind a hand, lest you burst out with inappropriate laughter.

Once again, Sook-ja comes to the rescue as she shuffles out of the house, holding two familiar objects that make your eyes light up. “You’re both in luck. I knew we had a few extra this year, even after that rascal great-grandson of mine ruined a few with his roughhousing. He’d still be causing trouble if he weren’t off with his friends right now.” Sook-ja sighs. “I wish my grandson were still around to scold him. But anyway, I’d be happy if you’d take them!”

“Wish lanterns!” You exclaim, taking the lightly orange cloth contraption with glee. “Oh, I haven’t seen these up close in years.” The palace celebrations don’t usually include them, leaving you to try and catch the sight of the tiny, almost imperceptible lights floating into the sky from so far away. You’ve always loved the thought of the lamps surging towards that boundless sky, endlessly drifting, free to follow the wind.

“Do you know how to start it?” Chun-ja asks. You shake your head. “Let me show you.”

As Chun-ja explains the mechanisms behind the lantern to you, Yoongi reaches for his coin pouch. “We must give you something in exchange.” Yoongi produces several mun coins that are at least five times the lanterns’ actual worth, and tries to give them to her.

Sook-ja pushes his hand away. “No, no, it’s a present!”

“I insist.” Yoongi tries again, only to be rejected, again. He wonders if she would be so obstinate if she knew who he really was. (Probably yes.) “Alright… What if I take another item from the table to make it a fair trade?”

“Stubborn, aren’t you?” Sook-ja bursts into laughter, her belly shaking beneath her skirt. “Fine. Take your pick!”

Yoongi barely scans the accessories; he snatches up the bracelet you were looking at before and tucks it into his jeogori with a secret smile. “Thank you.”

“Thank you,” Sook-ja says warmly, before her smile dips down conspiratorially. “It’ll look good on her. Anyway, have fun! Enjoy the night.”

“I’m sure we will.” Yoongi shifts his attention to you. “All done? Then let’s keep going.”

“Yes, my lord,” you say, happily clutching the lanterns. “Thank you so much, Sook-ja-ssi. Chun-ja-ssi.”

Chun-ja beams. “Our pleasure. I hope we see each other in town again soon. And Kim-nim, don’t forget your letters!”

“Yes, of course, I will. I mean, I won’t. Forget, that is. Uh, I’ll write. G-Goodbye.” Eunuch Kim bows twice in quick succession before hurrying after you two, trying his best not to look back for one last glimpse of what he’s left behind.

You continue your wandering through the rest of the festival, marveling at the sheer strength of the wrestlers and then the elegance of the dancers. Absently, you wish this atmosphere could stay in place forever, and that everything else could just vanish into the smoke and ash of the burning campfires, but you know too well that life is a balance. And right now, with the prince’s silky sleeve pressed almost right against yours as you walk past a chorus of singers, the scales have temporarily tipped in your favor.

Eventually, all your wandering takes you to almost the outskirts of town, to an area you visited before with your mother. It takes some squinting but you eventually recognize the obscure path among the bushes, and immediately gesture towards it. The prince has shown you so much tonight; you want to return the favor, especially since his steps are beginning to slow. “This way! Please come with me.”

“Are you sure this is safe?” Eunuch Kim calls. “We cannot let anything happen to our lord!”

You start down the road. “Completely!”

It’s been so long since you last took these steps, but it all comes back to you effortlessly as you take the lead. It takes a few minutes, just a few, to reach the clearing you seek. And it is exactly as you remember it — the nature growing with a wild, greedy virility, the oddly shaped rocks studded in the dirt, and the reflecting pond, its water rippling from the drag of the autumn wind across its surface. There is no one here, which is exactly how you expected it to be.

“Here it is, seja-jeonha.”

“It’s quiet,” he marvels, and steps further in. He stops at the edge of the pond, staring not down but out, at the reflection of the full moon in its depths.

“I thought that you could use a change of environment. You look a little tired.” At this point, you know him well enough to tell that the neutrality of his expression shows subtle signs of weariness.

“The noise. It can be overwhelming at times. I’m not used to so much of it, usually. But I like the songs.”

You nod. “I understand perfectly! That’s why mom took me here in the first place. It used to be her secret spot when she was growing up.”

His arms shift, sleeves brushing the sides of his jacket. “She was a kind woman.”

“Very much so.”

You feel the breeze swiftly pick up, weaving through the strands of hair that have come loose from your up-do. The curling leaves around you rustle with welcome relief, bathing in the atmosphere, the rare tranquility of such a beautiful evening.

“Shall we float the lanterns?” You suggest after a spell.

“Sure.” Yoongi indicates for Eunuch Kim to bring the lanterns over. “Matches?”

Eunuch Kim fumbles in his robes for a few seconds before he realizes with a start that they’re just not there. “My apologies!” He bows. “I must have left the matches back at the booth!”

Yoongi sighs. “Too distracted by Chun-ja-ssi, hm?” Eunuch Kim flushes. “Go get them then.”

“But to leave you alone—”

“I’m not alone.”

Eunuch Kim looks between the prince and you a few times in rapid succession, his thoughts evidently as wavering as his eyes. He finally lands back on the prince.

“…Understood. I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

You both watch him go, the quick pace of his steps no doubt brought on by anticipation.

“I can’t believe he’s been involved with a woman without any of us knowing,” Yoongi says, his tone betraying his real fondness.

“It’s sweet.” You smile, wondering if Eunuch Kim will ever manage to stop the stuttering long enough to actually tell Chun-ja how much he appears to like her. He is a mature man with most aspects, but apparently you’ve happened upon his one sole weakness. “But… He’ll probably be gone for a while. We won’t be able to light the lanterns.”

“I thought as much when I told him to go.”

“Well, it’s nice to take a break.” You don’t mention that you’d probably go anywhere and do anything, even if it’s just sitting around waiting, if it was with him. Instead, you look down at the pond, the water stilling enough for there to be a slightly blurry reflection of yourself awaiting below. “Hm. The water’s gotten a bit murkier these years. It used to be clear enough to see perfectly in. But it’s not so bad! Come look!”

Yoongi does. His pale face, all dark eyes and that rough, obvious scar, appears beside yours.

You fully intended on saying something else but that thought falls clear out of your mind when you realize just how undone your hair has become in all the bustle of the celebrations. I look like a mess, you think in a panic, hurriedly feeling for the strands to tuck them back. You’ve only managed to get one side fixed when a rock comes flying out of nowhere, plunging into the water with a noisy thunk! It disturbs both your reflections and wrecks the temporary mirror as cold droplets splash back.

“Hey!” You cry, leaping back from the pond to Yoongi’s grin. “What was that for?”

He has the audacity to look innocent. “Nothing. Haven’t you ever skipped rocks?”

“That was more a throw than a skip,” you grumble, checking your skirt as you hope it didn’t take too much damage. Thankfully, only a few drops actually landed on the precious fabric. “But yes, I love skipping rocks. Properly.”

“Here then.” You open your palm at Yoongi’s behest and he drops a stone into it. “Show me how to do it properly.”

You accept the challenge and plant one foot behind you, staring down a point in the middle of the pond, angling your arm as you position the stone in your hand. You most definitely look the part of an expert as you let the thing go. It shoots towards the water at a rapid speed, whooshing right through the air like a tiny bullet as it hits the surface at the angle and then proceeds to instantly sink to the bottom like, well, a rock.

Yoongi’s raucous laugh is no less than a roar, his entire body wracked with the exertion as he practically doubles over. He only gets louder when he sees the embarrassment on your face, the absolute mortification.

“I never said I was good at it…” You mutter, deciding to try a second time. This rock plummets right down to the watery floor too, refusing to save you even a little bit of face.

Yoongi’s settled into an infuriatingly smug look. “So, you can’t actually skip a stone. But you still love doing it?”

“That’s right.”

“Why?” He effortlessly makes a single skip before his pebble capsizes.

“I have a theory.” His curiosity piques at that; a turn of his head. “That it’s not up to us if the rock skips or not. Even if we have all the technique in the world,” you pick up another stone, “if the wind just happens to blow a bit harder, or if a fish from beneath disturbs the rhythm, or even if the tides themselves decide to surge up… It’ll fail. Or only skip the once. But—” You clutch the rock tightly in your hand and feel the weight, the cold, steady shape. “But if we wish hard enough. If we just keep trying every time we have the opportunity again and again…” This time, your rock is truly flying as it smacks the rippling water and skips a miraculous four times before finally dropping into the deep. “The universe might just make it happen.”

“…Or you need more practice.”

You shrug. “I’d rather believe that there are some things in the world simply out of our control. But that we can still hope for those things to shift, to change for the better if we never give up.”

Yoongi falls silent, staring at the ground through his downcast, delicate eyelashes. Maybe you said too much, you think. You didn’t mean to ramble. It’s just something you’ve thought about often. For these past months, it’s been the only thing keeping you going on the hardest, loneliest days. But you’ve made it. You’re still here. And by some miracle, he’s right here with you.

(You think maybe this is happiness.)

“I like that.” His eyes flick up to meet yours with an intensity that says he’s listening. He’s contemplating your thoughts and taking you seriously. He rubs the back of his neck, scratching at an invisible mark. “It’s a good theory. I… I understand it.”

There’s a weight to those words that you feel in the pit of your heart. A pull that draws you to him like the reckless tides towards his moon – a gravitational longing to know what truth vibrates beneath. You wonder if he feels it too.

“Seja-jeonha, I’ve returned!”

Eunuch Kim comes rushing back into the clearing, wielding the packet of matches. You both turn to him, letting the moment be whisked away with the wind whipping past the emerald robes, though you keep it safe in your memories. The eunuch has brought ink and brushes too, for you to write your wishes on the fabric itself. Increases the chance of their coming true, or so the legend goes.

After a few swishes of the brush, it doesn’t take long to light the fires. Your darkly inked characters are lit up by the flame, flickering staunchly beneath the opening as you each clutch a lantern in your hands and look at each other.

“What are you wishing for?” Yoongi asks.

“For more jeon,” is your reply, followed by an easy laugh that he echoes.

Then you let the lantern go as he does — two firebirds soaring side by side into the twinkling night.

a/n: *cue Can You Feel the Love Tonight playing softly in the background even though it hasn’t been invented yet*. hope you’re all enjoying sweet Yoon 🥺

[wincore]

vixen | nakamoto yuta

pairing: kitsune!yuta x female!reader

words: 5.1k 

summary: every year, you visit the fox who claims to know everything about you. 

genre: fantasy/folklore, fluff, angst(?)

warnings: suggestive, mention of past bullying, one excessively flirty nakamoto yuta

song rec(s): clear and sunny - sou (cover)

a/n: this is for all you furries who aren’t quite furries yet muah (im joking) but aaaa love exploring folklore and also i should put in a disclaimer that not every aspect adheres to the original tales of the kitsune <3 i did not proofread btw and i am very sorry

Some things never change.

Examples: boys, shitty friends, death, and the scent of nostalgia. To you, that very scent happens to be the earthy smell of chrysanthemums and a faint waft of spices from the kitchen in your parents’ house. To you, October is not just another month. To you, there is one more thing that never changes and it is not your belief in old ghost stories. 

Around this time of the year, the autumn festival begins in a flurry of vibrant red smudges and a whiff of excitement, in streets suddenly brought alive. The skies are candied orange, and it’s the only time you aren’t tired of home. This time is also when you find yourself right in the clutches of the one demon you swore you’d avoid for the rest of your life. You swore. It’s not your fault that said demon is a little, let’s say, tempting.��

Tempting in the most vexing, infuriating way possible. Bewitching, cruel, seducing—all that foxes are and all that you’ve heard of them could not have prepared you for an encounter. Folklore runs deep through you. The memories of a certain fox-boy run deeper. 

It is not the festival you are here for. 

You yawn, leaning against the wooden door frame of the shop. It would be inappropriate to fall asleep on the job, especially since there are a bunch of children staring idly at you. You close your mouth quickly, resting the back of your hand against your lips. Late afternoon is an easy time to fall asleep. You have half the mind to snarl at the kids to scare them off, their gaze getting on your nerves and when you think you will, you turn the other way. Manners come first to you, no matter how temperamental you get. 

The procession has gathered a crowd. Some shouts and squeals from the children make you slump further. At least they’re having fun with whatever stupid game they’re playing. You breathe in the autumn air. A part of you wonders if you simply let your feet lead you down the stairs, you’d be free of this entire ordeal. You shake your head. Temptation has always been hard to resist—never meant to be resisted but you’re much older now. There is dignity to be answered.

October is mild—your grandmother’s shop is still on the verge of collapse, your mother still yells at you for misplacing kitchen utensils and your old friends from school still gossip about who you’re dating. It’s like the script never changes; people change the meaning, twist their words in the same old pattern. If you were a little less behaved, you would have poured your drink over their heads yesterday. 

You clench your jaw. It’s always an ‘Oh, you’re so attractive’ and an ‘I wish I could date as many men as you do but I’m loyal to my boyfriend’, or even a ‘Must be nice being surrounded by boys all the time’. You know what they mean. It’s not the first time you’ve been called a fox, and you don’t think it’ll be the last—at least until you decide to stop letting your hometown suffocate you. Maybe you’ll accept what they say. You have heard of what hatred left unchecked can do.

If you’re honest, you haven’t been with too many men. If you’re a little more honest, none of them have ever made your heart race.

You watch the children play with a keen eye, their painted masks ridiculously large for their faces and in brightly coloured clothes contrasting well with the town. You might not be allowed to fall asleep, but there’s nothing against closing your eyes for a second or two.

The image of glinting yellow eyes and a fanged smile pop up and you quickly open your eyes. You don’t know why your heart beats so loud at the mere thought of him, thoughts in which his lips are full and painted red, and his bright smile is stretched upon them. Sometimes, the thought of him is in gentle washes, his hand fixing your hair, or a flirty smile when you dare stumble upon him on a particularly sleepless night. You shake your head to get rid of the thought. That is not love. Some sort of embarrassing attraction, maybe. However, the friendship you have is worse.

“I see you’re a slacker as always.”

Your grandmother’s voice breaks you out of your cycle of thoughts and you’re almost grateful.

“I sold approximately zero sweets,” you snort. “Why can’t we just do away with the shop?”

“You’re starting to sound like your mother,” your grandma calls from behind one of the counters, distaste ringing clear in her voice. 

You sigh. “Fine, but… you work way too hard to make these for them to not sell.”

“Maybe they would sell if a certain little lady would stay and help.”

You groan, leaning your head back. “You know I have work in the city.”

Your grandmother waves her hand about, dismissing your reasoning. She fiddles around in the shadows for a bit before coming forward with more boxes than she should be able to hold.

“You don’t have to feel too guilty. Yuta’s been helping out,” your grandmother informs fondly. “You could learn a thing or two from him.”

You’re not the superstitious sort and yet still, your heart beats faster. For him, or for the bad omens foxes bring to a household—you don’t know.

You scoff instead. “He’s not as great a guy as you think, grandma. He can be really mean too!”

“Oh, I doubt that. Have you seen his smile? Impossible.” Your grandmother waves it off before drawing nearer, voice hushed without reason. “Have you thought about it then? He is handsome, isn’t he?”

“Grandma.”

You’re not sure what old women go through in their youth that makes them something of a matchmaker in their later years. You think the whole ordeal is messed up. There is no way you’re going to stick your nose into your grandchildren’s love life; it’s gross.

“These should be enough for the children, no?” Your grandmother asks and you look up.

“You’re giving them away for free?” you question, furrowing your eyebrows. “And you talk about bad business.”

She places her hand on her hip, pointing an accusatory finger. “You’re going to lecture your grandmother?”

You raise your hands up in defeat, standing up to help her with the red boxes of acorn candy and paper wraps of roasted chestnuts. You end up with the entire load in your arms, your grandmother happily shuffling about as she locks up the store.

You turn sharply at the surprised sound behind you. The evening has settled in and glowing lanterns bring forward the evidence, the darkening streets flooding with round droplets of light.

But it is not the festival you are looking at.

Yuta looks somewhat serene, your cheeks heating up despite yourself. You look at him with bated breath, hoping the boxes obscure your face enough to make the vaguely positive emotions less evident. The dark red jacket draped over his shoulder does not look out of place—in fact, he fits in so well you would’ve mistaken him for another face in the crowd if he weren’t stupidly gorgeous. He looks at you with no strong emotion in the eyes before breaking into a smile; and when his hand strokes the top of your head as a greeting, he seems fond. He always does.

“Grandma,” he calls with his best smile, turning to the old woman.

Your grandmother doesn’t need any more convincing of his character. 

“Oh, there you are! Did I tell you (name)’s back? I wanted to break the news to you earlier. Ah…I must have forgotten.”

You glance from Yuta to her. Is this another one of her tricks and tests?

“She’s always here this time of the year,” he responds, laughing politely.

“Ah, you remembered,” she says, eyes crescent as she smiles back. “Help her with the boxes. The city has made her so frail.”

“I’m good,” you choke on the words, hurriedly moving away and almost dropping one of the boxes.

You slip on your sandals and scurry off faster, wishing he’d just stay behind. He always has. The air makes you shiver but you’re adamant; and it’s not the only trait of yours to make relationships fail.

“You know, you should be nicer to old friends.”

You try not to react when Yuta takes the boxes from you, matching your pace almost effortlessly.

“I thought foxes ran away once they’re found out,” you snap, reluctantly letting him take the packages.

Yuta rolls his eyes. “I see you still aren’t very fond of me.”

“Not when you’re tricking my grandmother like this,” you hiss.

“You call helping trickery?” he retaliates.

“Foxes bring bad business,” you mutter.

“I’m the reason your grandmother’s business is somewhat above the water.”

You sigh, exasperated. There’s no point in wasting your breath. You look away, crossing your arms as you walk, the silence between the two of you suddenly awkward. Even so, you’re not going to open your mouth for him.

“Would you two slow down?” your grandmother calls, voice weary. “We’re already there.”

The two of you halt in your tracks immediately, taking mellow steps back to her. She looks over the two of you with furrowed eyebrows and you try to think of an explanation when she starts laughing.

“Oh, I don’t mind the two of you flirting,” she says, littered with slow laughter. “Just make sure the food is where it’s supposed to be.”

You’re about to refute when Yuta laughs, the sound still boyish and lively. “Of course. (name) missed me so much this year, she couldn’t help herself.”

You give him a pointed look which he ignores, deliberately or not. “We- I wasn’t—”

“Grandmother, if you’ll give us permission,” he interrupts, settling the packages on the table by the food stall and smiling wide. “We’ll go enjoy the festival now.”

She bobs her head in affirmation and Yuta grabs your hand to pull you into the bustling street, your silent plea for help ignored by your smug grandmother.

“What are you doing?” you ask, slipping your hand from his. “You aren’t- You aren’t trying to eat my liver, are you?”

“Why the liver? Can’t I have the rest of you too?”

It’s not like you were particularly alarmed but his response makes you feel a flush of embarrassment.

“It’s been a year since I last saw you,” he says before his voice turns a shade cooler. “Have you thought about my proposal?”

You fall silent. The overthinking started last year too. Your thoughts and dreams, so easily pervaded by him and all it took was one sentence. 

“We should get married.”

“Why did you even think I’d agree to that?” You try not to get too flustered. He knows all your petty weaknesses and you’d rather not have them on display for him to stare and pick at. “What the fuck would I get out of marrying you?”

Yuta whistles. “I like your tongue. But—yes, to answer your question, you’d get a very handsome and capable husband. Your bed will always be warm and oh, speaking of beds—”

You clamp your hand over his mouth at the suggestive look he sends, worried about being spotted by one of your school friends. Ah, right—friends, the very same people that smell of jealousy and won’t miss any opportunity to throw a jab your way. Friends. You can’t believe you’re still afraid of their judgement.

“And why do you want to get married to me?” you ask, looking into his eyes.

There’s a pause, filled with the chatter of the crowd.

“You look like you’re afraid of finding someone,” he speaks finally, ignoring your question. “Or is it the other way around?”

You roll your eyes, ready to walk off when he grabs your wrist to pull you closer to his chest. It draws some looks from nearby people, your eyes darting from face to face in fear. You take a deep breath and look at Yuta again, almond eyes distracting. 

“People will think we’re lovers,” you whisper, almost a hiss.

“What’s wrong with that?”

You breathe out in disbelief. “You’re really something.”

“What? Why did you always come to meet me then? Behind the keyaki tree?”

“It wasn’t for you,” you lie quickly. “I had nothing better to do.”

Pining after a fox? You could never have feelings for him. Even so, your answer comes off childish and silly, and somehow he’s the only one to be able to draw that side of you—the you that is messy and unprepared.

Yuta smiles in return. “You think people can’t fall in love with us the same way they fall in love with most everything.”

It’s a statement, not a question.

“How conservative of you,” he leaves with an airy remark, but not before urging you to follow him.

The sizzling sound of food being fried and the knocking, clicking sound of children playing games, all these forgotten sounds grow louder and for a second, if only you let yourself, you could close your eyes and it would be just like your first date. 

No. It’s different. You look up, eyes trailing over Yuta’s back, his golden hair, how his figure moves with ease and confidence.

It is different.

You raise an eyebrow at the box of takoyaki Yuta shoves towards you, an expecting look across his face.

“You like this, don’t you?” he asks, an uncharacteristic hesitation in his voice.

You hum in response, taking the box from him and saving yourself the trouble of asking whether he paid for it or simply charmed his way through. 

“Eh, no thank you?” he complains. “How polite.”

You scrunch your nose to accompany an exaggerated smile and he laughs, the two of wandering over the asphalt streets. Your hands are close enough to brush—and if a twenty-something year-old woman can feel jittery because of it, hands truly are meant to share warmth. The smell of candy and caramel fills the air, making you smile. You’ve saved enough for the taste of home, you think. 

The taste of home. 

Inevitably, the thought of kissing your companion crosses your mind and you stop in your tracks. Whatever. It must be natural when someone as attractive is beside you. Those aren’t feelings. You curse yourself for feeling like a teenager again.

The festival grounds aren’t as shabby as you expect them to be. The city,—if you could call this one—stops here and the earth spreads out to the forest behind. The crowd also thins, and you take a fresh breath. They’re selling old books in the corner, but no one seems to be there.

“The raccoon dogs,” Yuta whispers in your ear, with an arcane smile. “Want to visit those rascals?”

You roll your eyes. He knows you’ve heard one too many folktales for a lifetime, seen one too many. It’s time to go home, especially now that the thought of thanking him crosses your mind. You’re about to turn when your shoulder crashes into someone else’s. A surprised, syrupy smile greets you, which you cannot return for the first few moments. Yui’s smile wavers and you flash her a quick smile. A friend. Her arm is looped through her lover’s, the one she never shuts up about and suddenly the urge to pour water over her head returns.

Yuta glances from you to her before pressing his lips together, as if suppressing laughter. You’re almost offended when Yui laughs flippantly.

“You’re on a date too? I knew you couldn’t stand spending the festival alone,” she says, tugging her lover closer. 

People have always told you who you are and what you do. As if they know better.

You smile awkwardly. “It’s… actually not—”

“Oh, don’t be shy.” She gently pats your shoulder before leaning in. “He’s a real catch. As expected from you. You can never leave the boys alone.”

You know what she really means. You’ve heard the same words in high school when she was shoving you into a wall behind the school. The sickening smile is still on her face.

You gulp, feeling sixteen again. The lack of people around somehow makes it more awkward and you’re about to excuse yourself when suddenly, Yuta bumps into Yui and his warm drink spills over her left shoulder. Your eyes widen, more in confusion. When did he leave? You don’t doubt his ability to sneak past people, but surely you couldn’t have been so enraptured in your own feelings that you barely noticed.

“I’m so sorry,” Yuta says, voice honeyed with surprise.

Yui looks like she’s about to explode when she looks at him, her expression dropping to a calmer one almost immediately.

It’s an easy look to recognize. They always have it when they first meet Yuta, whether it’s the smile that’s too dazzling or the pretty round eyes. 

How persuasive, those eyes.

“Ah… I must have not seen you,” she says faintly, and Yuta’s smile widens.

Before he can stir up more trouble, you slip your arm into his and pull him away, not caring for another polite apology to an old, almost nameless face.

“I was having fun,” Yuta complains, voice still smug and calm.

You glare at him and it only seems to add fuel to the fire, to whatever cold fire dances at his fingertips. 

“You’re happy, right? Don’t look at me like that. You should reward me.”

You don’t respond, looking away and hoping to get at least a word in about how troublesome he is every single time you visit. Yuta has other plans, however. Leaning his head to look you in the eye, he maintains a distance which looks perfectly decent but feels less than so.

“How about a kiss? I deserve one, don’t I?” He moves his head closer to yours, making you shy away.

You grab him by the belt and pretend to not catch a glimpse of the pleased look on his face as you drag him into a secluded part by the forest.

It’s quieter here, so much that you can almost hear your own heart drumming in your chest, and the faint light of the distant festival grounds doesn’t help much at all. It’s dark as dusk, and you can only make out Yuta’s jawline and a faint smirk over his lips. You think that if a fox ever wanted to eat your liver, this would be the perfect spot.

“You did something,” you finally utter the words. “You did something to me.”

“Why do you think I did something? Do you mean love?” he responds with a cheeky smile. “This means you’ve been thinking about me? How cute—”

“Yuta, stop it,” you warn. 

“Or what? You should stop me yourself.”

You grab the lapels of his jacket, the cloth bunching as your knuckles turn white. The anger you feel isn’t the first of its kind—it’s just a little funny how it’s always Yuta every time, making you remember the burning feeling time and time again. You find yourself unable to respond. 

“Oh, don’t hold back,” he provokes, leaning in.

You push at his chest in exasperation, but he grabs your wrists before you can retract your hands.

“Scared?” he whispers.

You pull apart anyway, a scowl over your lips. “You’re as annoying as ever. Don’t you have anyone else to bother?”

“Ooh! Sharp claws. You’d be lovely as my fox-bride.” he teases. 

Your face flares with heat. “I’m not your… I’m not a fox.”

“I didn’t say a fox, I said—”

“I know what you said,” you snap, massaging your wrist so you don’t have to look at him.

Yuta falls quiet for a moment, voice lower when he speaks again.

“Is it so nasty to be called a fox? There are worse things, you know.”

You scoff, growing increasingly annoyed. “Of course you’d say that. I hate it. I hate this town. I hate foxes and I hate you.”

Yuta places a hand over his chest, gasping with no emotion. Your eyes linger over his long, painted nails a little longer before you meet his eyes. A part of you regrets saying the words but you couldn’t help it. The shroud choking your hometown makes you want to scream at the top of your lungs every time you’re here. You hate this place.

But you don’t hate him, after all. 

You try to clear yourself of the thought. A gentle gust of wind brings you back to the present, Yuta still glancing at you with no giveaway to what he’s feeling.

“You wouldn’t make a terrible fox though,” he says, eyes sharp. “Don’t they know you’re a vixen already? How many livers will you eat?”

You suck in a breath, tears stinging at your eyes. However, it’s not like you to get so easily affected by him. No. No, somehow that doesn’t make sense either. Those words do hurt from Yuta and you’re not sure if it’s just because he's the only one you didn’t expect them from.

“You…”

“What? Aren’t you going to lash at me again? You’re so predictable.”

His voice is calm despite your obvious annoyance and you feel flames lick at your heart. Your hand moves before you can think, about to meet his cheek when he grabs your wrist. You struggle, trying to pull free but to no avail and you use the other hand to hit him in the chest. Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t bother him and that same feline smile curves up his lips.

You feel something you haven’t before, a warm growl at the pit of your stomach.

You push with all your strength, catching Yuta off guard and he stumbles backward but not before pulling you into him. Consequently, either of you lose footing and land on the grass with a sudden thud, Yuta’s side pressed against yours. His hands still clutch your wrist, and he shifts to hover over you.

“We used to wrestle like this as a litter,” he says, erupting into full laughter. “Ah, memories. I don’t even know if they’re alive or dead now.”

Yuta is much stronger than he looks, and he’s taken your tantrum as a source of amusement much to your infuriation. He has your hands pinned back, eyes unaffected as he scans over your face. You try to shift but there’s just too much weight on you. You breathe slowly, chest rising and falling in time with his. His earrings sway gently in the wind, dangling a few inches above you—he’s pretty, so pretty. Admitting defeat has never been your forte but now that your senses are gathering again, you feel a flush of embarrassment for losing your temper. 

Or perhaps, it is something else when you register the lack of distance between your noses.

“Playtime’s over,” Yuta coos. “You’re kinda cute when you’re losing.”

He tilts his head, an adoring smile over his lips. For a moment, they’re all you see.

Can a fox comfort you? Can a fox make you feel loved on the darkest of nights? Your mind races with questions your heart does not want to answer. 

Yuta leans in to close the distance and despite every nerve in your body, you turn your head away. You can hear him gulp, the following moments painfully quiet before he gets up. Your breath is soft and shallow, lying on the ground till you get enough courage to sit up. 

You almost gasp. His tails are clearer under the dim moonlight, all nine of them golden and luxurious. The light hitting his face isn’t any less flattering and once again you are reminded of how handsome he is, fairytale or not. 

Yuta looks uncomfortable, and that’s a first for you.

“I’m sorry,” you say, though you don’t know why.

He waves his hand dismissively, annoyed.

“Yuta,” you take a step forward.

“I see the way you look at me,” he says quietly, “Is it not want?”

You fall silent, biting your lip so you don’t retort violently. He doesn’t look particularly malicious when he says that but you do not want to give him the satisfaction of an answer yet.

He quietens for a moment before a look of curiosity flashes across his features.

“What is it then?” he asks. “Is it a secret? Foxes love secrets. Tell me.”

Despite every bone in your body burning up, you find it in yourself to laugh.

“I don’t think I could keep a secret from you if I tried,” you finally say, before bursting into soft laughter again.

Yuta looks at you puzzled, lips parted while he stands frozen as if he were a painting. A daunting, reckless, heavenly painting.

“It’s not want,” you answer quietly. “It’s more than that. Even if I hated it. I like you.”

Yuta’s ears perk up at your confession. “So- so you admit, then? You are interested?”

“I could blame you for this, you know?” You shrug, hugging yourself once the night starts to feel cold again. Yuta begins to take off his jacket when you stop him, gently pressing your palm against his chest. 

“You’re a fox, after all,” you whisper. “Like me. What they think of me.”

Yuta purses his lips. “Does it really hurt you? No, wait. Did they- did they—”

“Now, you tell me,” you cut him off. “Why do you insist on getting married—to me?”

There’s a pause. The crickets chirp a merry tune despite the leisurely darkness of the night.

“You’re not terrible,” he says, nonchalantly.

You glare at him and he raises his hands in defeat. He looks wearier the more you look at him.

“I want to grow old,” he mumbles after a long pause. “Properly.”

You hold your breath.

“And you want to do it with me?”

Another flower blooms in your chest, as if he hasn’t planted a garden in there already. The lights from the festival flicker down, the lanterns burning brighter in the distance. He glances at them for a moment, your eyes still fixated on him. 

The tails glow even brighter in the dark, as if gold in broad daylight. You’ve always been curious about him and his kind, all the stories; but he says he’s too old to remember if you ask.

You reach out to touch one of the tails, wondering if the fur is as warm as it looks. They’re pale and captivating, but they look so soft—they shouldn’t belong to an animal so vicious. Is he, though? Is he all that you think he is or have all these years failed you? If anything, he’s quite probably not as much a fox as you are, you think bitterly.

The fur is warm, but the realization is short-lived.

A short growl leaves the corner of his mouth. Yuta glares at you like he was stolen from and yet, you do not move your hand. Some part of you wants to aggravate him further.

“I’m not a pet,” he snaps. “Stop that.”

“You should stop me yourself,” you mimic his voice.

Yuta’s shoulders relax, and he looks down but you can still see the trembling smile on his face. It’s the way he looks at you, you think to yourself, maybe that's the reason after all.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you say, feeling warmer than the autumn night should allow.

“Like what?” he asks, still smiling.

You look away. 

“You’re not too fox-like, you know?” you mumble. “You’re just annoying. And flirty. And annoying.”

Yuta chuckles, before pressing his palm to the top of your head. 

“And you’re lovely.”

You give in to the gesture of affection, leaning your head to press against his shoulder.

“Why do you even do all this? What do you get out of it?” you say, voice muffled. He hears you clearly, however.

“Because I love you,” he responds, as if coming to terms with it himself. “More than you think.”

There is no joke, no flirtation to his tone, no decoration upon his words. It’s plain, and laid bare. And sometimes, simplicity is scariest. 

You pull back, lips pulled into a frown. The air is cold once more; the longing for warmth flowing into you. The silence is worse.

“You don't believe foxes can fall in love,” he states softly upon a wavering smile. “I knew that. Of course.”

A part of him believes it too.

“I…” you begin, and for the first time, you are afraid of promises in the name of love. You are the one making them now.

“I’ll believe you,” you whisper, “I’ll believe you so please… please take care of me.”

You place your palm against his cheek, his skin bewitchingly warm. 

“Only if you take care of me,” he whispers back, leaning in.

This time, you do not move.

The lovers’ kiss you’d been searching for—lovers’ warmth, lovers’ comfort—all of it comes crashing down once Yuta tightens his arm around your waist, the other hand resting gently at the base of your neck. He kisses with the right amount of pressure, the vague taste of sweet berries in his mouth.

You used to fear his touch, like he would eat you whole; even if they have been gentle, always. This time, you might as well let him. He presses his lips from your cheek to jaw to neck, lingering at each spot enough to make you clutch at his shirt tighter, taking in short gasps of breath. You kiss for a little longer, like time means nothing.

“We should go back,” you whisper, pulling apart.

Yuta kisses you again, the distance unacceptable. 

“Yuta—”

He kisses you once more, your calls falling on deaf ears.

Finally, after another long kiss, he pulls apart enough to rest his forehead against yours, eyes still closed.

“It must have been hard for you,” he mumbles.

“You don’t have to worry about that,” you scoff.

“Foxes are faithful lovers, you know?” he insists.

You laugh. “What do you mean?”

“It means I’ll follow you everywhere.”

He stands up straight, his thumb stroking your cheek as he bites back a smile.

“I don’t think we should get back tonight,” he suggests all of a sudden. “We could book a hotel. That’s the place you use these days, right? I’m sure your grandmother will understand your absence—”

You groan, resting your forehead against his shoulder and he presents a delighted laugh in return. It is warm by his side; he is warm. You find it easy to forget the failures in love, the loneliness of a lover that isn’t meant to be yours. Folktales are just long tales, after all. You smile to yourself. 

You should’ve known—it was the fox all along. 

[fickle-tiction]

Birthday Tickles

Brucie Wayne's birthday is considered a big deal within his social circle. Every year he throws a HUGE party the weekend of, and everyone who's anyone shows up. He's never not on the cover of a tabloid the following morning. He's used to it, but he hates it. Sometimes he regrets making up his Brucie Wayne persona, but he knows that it's a necessary evil if he wants to take that extra step to make sure no one ever connects him to the batman.

Bruce is dreading thinking about the party he has to attend this weekend (because, let’s face it, Alfred is the brains of the operation and is the one actually throwing these parties) when he heads into the Hall of Justice. If he didn't spend his nights perched on top of buildings, waiting in silence to hear any sign of crime in Gotham, he wouldn’t have noticed the soft shushing coming from the other side of the meeting room doors. He stops just outside of the doors and strains his ears, noting the suspicious lack of sound coming from the other side of the door. The league is never this quiet. Bruce is bracing himself for a fight, uncomfortably aware of how vulnerable he is without his suit on, when someone let's out a huff on the other side of the door.

"B, you're ruining the surprise. Get in here!" Clark calls out. Under normal circumstances Bruce would scowl and complain about Clark using his x-ray vision on him, but he’s too distracted to care.

Surprise?

‘Oh, please tell me they didn’t.’

Bruce spins on his heel, ready to hightail it out of the manor when Clark speaks up again. “Don’t make me come get you.”

Bruce glares at the door, knowing Clark is watching him and can see it. He waits a few seconds, trying to gather his sanity, before slowly pushing the doors open. He blinks, unmoving, as he’s met with a face-full confetti, courtesy of a smirking Arthur, and shouts of “Surprise!”

Bruce spits out a small mouthful of the brightly colored paper as Diana comes over and wraps him in a hug. “Be thankful, I talked him out of the glitter.” She whispers into his ear, reveling in the amused huff Bruce lets out. It’s almost enough to make up for the fact that he makes no move to hug her back, arms hanging stiffly at his sides.

“Guys, you shouldn’t have.” Bruce says, dead-pan, as Diana releases him. It’s at that moment that he notices the party hats rapidly appearing on everyone’s heads. Bruce glares at the empty air in front of himself just as Barry skids to a stop, party hat clutched in his hands, eyes wide.

“.....Happy birthday?” Barry offers, holding the hat out to Bruce with a hopeful smile on his face. Bruce continues staring at Barry in silence, secretly amused at the way the kid’s eyes start darting around the room, as though he’s plotting his escape. 

Just when Barry starts to stammer and take the hat away Bruce reaches out and takes hold of it, effectively shutting the speedster up. “Thank you.” He says dryly, holding the hat in his hands. Upon closer inspection he realizes it’s a justice league themed party hat, the kind stores recently started carrying for kid’s birthday parties, and it’s almost enough to make him laugh, his mouth quirking up to one side against his will. Barry’s eyes go even wider at his smile and he melts back into their small crowd of friends.

“There is no meeting, is there?” Bruce asks Clark, just before he’s enveloped in yet another superpowered hug. What was it with people and hugging him today? Was he losing his menacing edge in his old age? 

“Nope!” Clark said, giving Bruce’s stiff form an extra squeeze before laughing and letting him go. “Gosh B, don’t enjoy yourself too much.” He teased, clapping his friend on the shoulder despite Bruce’s narrowed eyes at all the touching. Clark and Diana knew better than anyone that Bruce didn’t actually mind all the touching, he was just bad at reciprocating it so he tended to act like he didn’t want or need it. 

Bruce looked at Clark for a few more seconds, as if studying him, before directing his attention back to everyone else. “Thank you.” He said, somehow sounding more sincere this time even though he was still somewhat stiff. “This is...really nice.” And then, as if this wasn’t bizarre enough already, a small smile made it’s way onto Bruce’s face. “But if you come near me with glitter,” He added to Arthur, smile still on his face despite his threatening words. “I will end you.”

~~

The six of them are soon joined by Alfred, who comes in bearing a cake in the shape of the bat symbol. Bruce gives Barry a lopsided smile and a heart attack assuming correctly that it was once again his doing. He scowls his way through a round of off-key “Happy Birthday” and maintains steely eye contact with his amused butler as he blows out the giant question mark candle.

“I feel like we’re forgetting something.” Clark’s smirking as he says it, which is never a good sign. Clark making eye contact with Diana, who is wearing a matching mischievous expression is even worse.

“Birthday punches?” Barry asks, eyebrows furrowed as he licks the last of the icing off his spoon. Judging by their expressions, he’s clearly not in one whatever Clark and Diana have planned.

“A punch from anyone here would end Batsy’s life.” Arthur was smirking at Bruce’s scowl, enjoying teasing the stoic man. “A birthday tickle would probably suit him better.”

“You want to try it and find out?” Bruce asked, voice light but his body stiff as Arthur chuckled and ate another bite of his cake.

"Boys.” Diana called out, and you could practically hear the eyeroll in her voice as she did. Bruce glared at Arthur for a few more seconds, making a mental note to spar with him soon and put him in his place, before looking over at Diana and Clark. 

“Your present!” Clark said, practically vibrating with excitement as he held a neatly wrapped package out to Bruce. 

“Oh.” They actually managed to surprise Bruce; he hadn’t been expecting a party, let alone a gift. “Thank you.” He fought down the sappy smile that tried to make it’s way onto his face, angling his head down so no one could see it as he began carefully unwrapping the box in his lap.

“OhMyGod” Barry groaned, gaining Bruce’s attention. “Just tear it!”

Just for that, Bruce went even slower, peeling each piece of tape off and making sure not to tear the shiny black paper it was wrapped in. He could see Barry literally vibrating out of the corner of his eye, and it was endlessly amusing. Once he carefully unwrapped what turned out to be a plain black box, Bruce balled the paper up and whipped it at Barry’s head. Barry reflexively caught the ball of paper and pouted at the smirk Bruce was sending his way.

Bruce opened the box, took one look at the contents, and slammed the lid back down. “Thanks.” He said flatly, narrowing his eyes at Clark and Diana’s twin looks of evil glee. 

“Master Bruce, show everyone what you’ve got.” Alfred chided, smiling wide at the betrayed look Bruce sent his way.

“Traitor.” Bruce scowled, even as he opened the box back up. He gave Clark and Diana one more dirty look before he pulled six neatly folded t-shirts out of the box. 

The top shirt was designed to look like the top half of Wonder Woman, so when he put it on it’d look like he was wearing a bad costume, exposed skin and all. Beneath that was a shirt that looked like the top half of Superman’s costume, complete with fake abs. There was one for each of their superhero personas; even Victor laughed when he held up the Cyborg shirt.

~

All in all, Bruce is a surprisingly good sport throughout the small party. His hat remains untouched on the edge of the table, but no one mentions it. His shirts found their way back into the box they came in, but unlike the hat they’d be going back to the lake house with him. Not that anyone needed to know that.

Alfred excused himself to another room as the party wound down, and Victor nodded his good bye. Arthur clapped Bruce on the shoulder as he left, harder than was strictly necessary, and oh Bruce was going to wreck him in a sparring match pretty soon. 

Barry approached Bruce next, smiling nervously, his hands twitching at his sides as if he didn’t know what to do with them. “Bye Bruce--uh--happy birthday!” He stammered, making an aborted motion to clap Bruce on the shoulder like Arthur had, his hand darting back down to his side before it made contact. Bruce’s mouth twitched up into another rare smile before he reached out and wrapped Barry in a quick hug.

Bruce simply said “Thanks.” as he pulled back, almost losing his composure at Barry’s gob-smacked expression. The speedster mumbled something unintelligible before streaking out of the room.

“You have to stop messing with him.” Clark laughed. “You’re going to give him a heart attack.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Bruce said innocently, sitting on the edge of the meeting table since it was just the three of them left. “Thanks for this.” He added, a soft smile on his face as Diana came up and leaned a hip on the table next to his knee. “It was nice.”

“There was one part of this party I did not understand.” Bruce was instantly suspicious of Diana’s tone. That was her “I’m going to pretend to misunderstand something so I can mess with Bruce” voice. A voice he’s heard way too many times. “What are ‘Birthday Tickles’?” 

And now Clark was standing on Bruce’s other side, and they were effectively boxing him in. His only escape would be to climb over the large meeting table, which would be ridiculous and undignified. 

“That’s not a real thing.” Bruce said, valiantly resisting the urge to fold his arms over his chest.

“Really?” Diana asked, her hand coming to rest lightly on Bruce’s knee. “Arthur seemed so sure of it.”

“You wouldn’t happen to be ticklish, would you Bruce?” Clark asked, looming over Bruce with a mischievous smile on his face.

“What do you think?” Bruce asked, forcing himself to stay still even as Diana’s fingers gently danced around his kneecap.

“I think...” Clark’s hand had found it’s way to Bruce’s right knee, and Bruce was regretting sticking around for his own birthday party now. “You forget that I can hear your heartbeat.” 

Bruce slowly met Clark’s eyes and knew that he was screwed. His heart was pounding wildly in his chest, the only sign that he was nervous. There were a few seconds of absolute stillness from the three of them, before all hell broke loose.

Bruce tried to throw himself backwards over the table he was sitting on, dignity be damned. As soon as he tried to make a move Clark and Diana simultaneously each grabbed a thigh and dragged him back towards themselves. Before he could really register what was happening, Bruce found himself laying on his back on the table, his legs dangling over the edge, shirt riding up and four hands wiggling all over his torso.

“This-is-so-childish!” Bruce ground out through clenched teeth, trying to catch the fast-moving hands. Because his legs were bent over the edge of the table and couldn’t reach the ground, he had no leverage and thus couldn’t go anywhere. 

“We wouldn’t be forced to do this, if you just smiled more.” Diana said, as though it were a travesty that Bruce forced them to tickle him.

“Yeah B, you brought this one on yourself.” Clark was trying to sound sad, but he had a huge dorky smile on his face and it was ruining the affect. 

“M’not even ticklish.” Bruce protested, squirming away from Clark’s fingers that were being lightly dragged over his bare side. 

“If you weren’t ticklish you wouldn’t be fighting this hard.” Clark pointed out, trying to find the spot that would crack the bat.

“Shut up.” Was Bruce’s oh-so-original comeback. He jolted when Diana pinched the muscle above his left knee, reflexively sitting up slightly to knock her hands away.

“We’ve got him.” Diana grinned triumphantly.

“Don’t--!” Was all Bruce could get out before Diana and Clark both started pinching and squeezing the muscle above his knee. He clamped his mouth shut, trying to keep his laughter in as Clark gently squeezed his way up to the muscles in Bruce’s thigh. That, coupled with Diana switching to tickling under his knee had him breaking in no time.

“Guys!” Bruce laughed as Clark pushed him back onto the table with one hand, as his other hand kept up it’s steady and gentle massage of his thigh muscle. “Guys! G-hahahahahaha-guys!” Bruce babbled, head thrown back as laughter was forced from his throat. “Kn-hahahahaha-knock it ohohohohoh-off!”

“I thought you weren’t ticklish.” Diana smirked. Taking advantage of the fact that Clark was holding Bruce down with one hand, she gently wiggled her fingers up Bruce’s thigh and over his hips. When she got to the delicate skin just above Bruce’s hipbones he squeaked, earing them some extra attention.

“Th-hihihihihi-this is bullsh--hihihihihi--it!” Bruce laughed, trying to fight against Clark’s hand on his chest as Diana teased and tickled the very bottom of his stomach.

“What’s wrong B?” Clark asked, alternating legs as he switched from gentle squeezes to light wiggles of his fingers. “Something bothering you?”

“He’s not ticklish, so it can’t be that.” Diana was now tickling slowly but steadily up Bruce’s sides, making her way under his shirt and tormenting bare skin.

“I ha--hahahahahaha--te you both!” Bruce cackled, cheeks turning pink as Diana used her nails to lightly scratch over every bit of skin she could reach.

“Well that’s not something someone who wants mercy should be saying.” Clark smirked, quickly abandoning Bruce’s legs to latch onto his hipbones. Bruce nearly shot off the table the second Clark’s hand left his chest, but he couldn’t push past the two of them hovering over him.

“Do you think his feet are ticklish?” Diana asked, trying to wiggle her fingers beneath Bruce’s tightly clamped down arms. 

Bruce started shaking his head back and forth, laughter nearly silent as Diana finally managed to poke her fingers into his uppermost ribs. He had no idea if his feet were ticklish, but judging by the rest of his body, he was sure they would be. “Nonononono.” He mumbled, laughing and trying to curl his body inwards to protect himself from their assault.

“There’s only one way to find out.” Clark said happily, dancing his fingers back down to Bruce’s thighs.

“Nooooo! Please!” Bruce laughed, eyes flying open (Hello, when did they even close?) “Ple--hehehehe-ease! Please!”

“Oh my.” Diana laughed, surprise written on her face as she stopped her assault on Bruce’s ribs. “I think we’ve broken him.” She commented, noting Bruce’s pink face and wide smile.

“Did he just say ‘please’?” Clark asked in disbelief, also stopping his torturous squeezes. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard him say that.”

Bruce’s body might feel like one giant exposed nerve, and he might be completely worn out from all that laughter, but he still managed to flip Clark the bird.

“Oh, so you do want me to try your feet?” Clark, asked, grabbing hold of Bruce’s calf to raise his foot into the air.

“No!” Bruce shouted, shooting into a sitting position as he tried to yank his leg back.

“Oh, they must be bad.” Clark said gleefully, letting Bruce snatch his foot back. He couldn’t help but laugh at the glare the billionaire was sending his way. Bruce was sitting criss-crossed on the table, arms drawn into himself, cheeks still pink, his hair a mess. 

“I don’t know if they are.” Bruce admitted, having caught his breath. “And I don’t want to find out.” He added quickly, as Clark and Diana shared another evil smile.

“Fine.” Diana said, straightening her clothes. “We’ll save it for next time.”

“Next time...?” Bruce asked warily, resisting the urge to scoot himself to the middle of the conference table and out of their reach.

“Next time.” Clark agreed happily.

“There isn’t going to be a next time.” Bruce growled, but the effect was ruined by his messy hair, pink cheeks and rucked up shirt.

Clark and Diana just shared another smile that Bruce was learning to hate. He’d have to start wearing the suit to meetings from now on.

[moralesispunk]

Electricity

Marcus Moreno x Female Reader

Summary: Marcus uses your piercings to tease you at a Heroics work party

Warnings: compete p*rn without plot (sorry not sorry), smut, nipple play, use of his metal super power, masturbation, penetrative sex

The loud music and chatter filled the room as you lazily stirred your drink while leaning up against the bar. Another Heroic Headquarter work event and another night your boyfriend had to spend the time appeasing his bosses and any government officials who wanted a photo with the leader of the team of superheroes.

Not that you weren’t proud of him and didn’t want to be here. You loved getting to see him receive the recognition for all the hard work he put in to keep people in this city - in this world - safe. It was that very work that had him trail home exhausted every Friday night, only just staying awake long enough to eat dinner and ask about your and Missy’s day before falling asleep on your lap as you watched whatever old movie was on the TV. You were glad to be by his side as well. He usually kept you beside him throughout the night, his arm wrapped securely around your waist and placing a kiss to your cheek whenever he got the chance, but you managed to get five minutes away from the crowd as you leaned against the bar.

“Lonely?” a voice came from next to you and you turned to see Miracle Guy leaning at the bar as well.

“Just taking a break, that’s all,” you smiled back before taking a sip of your drink as your eyes searched for Marcus.

“Where is Marcus anyway, I’ve not seen him in a while?” he asked as he slid along the bar closer to you.

“Not far, I-” you stopped yourself in time before the gasp left your mouth as you felt a twinge of electricity against your nipple piercing. Marcus, you scorned inside your mind as your eyes worked harder to find him.

With every inch Miracle Guy closed the gap between you until your elbows were touching, the vibrations that ran through the metal bar on your nipples got stronger and stronger until your knuckles were white from how hard you were gripping the side of the counter.

“Are you okay?” Miracle Guy reached out to grab your arm as he noticed the redness that was creeping up your cheeks.

“Fine! Ju- just a bit warm,” you waved him off as you stood away from the bar, “I’m going outside for some fresh- air!” you all but shouted the last word as Marcus sent a particularly strong bolt through the metal.

You didn’t wait for Miracle Guy to respond before you were working your way through the crowd towards the door, quickly walking into the toilets and locking the door behind you. The buzzing finally stopped for a moment as you held yourself up against the sink, catching your breath as you splashed some cool water on your chest. Dammit Marcus. 

You and Marcus had been together for a while now but you still weren’t used to the way he could manipulate the metal on your body to make you feel so good. You remembered the first time he noticed your nipple piercings, the playful smirk that crossed his face as he looked down at you and used his powers to send the electricity through your body. Looking at the watch on your wrist you knew Marcus would have to stay for at least another twenty minutes before you could make a sneaky exit. Just as you splashed some more water on your chest, Marcus’s voice came from the other side of the locked door as he called your name. 

“Are you okay?” you could hear the smirk in his voice.

“I’ll be out in a minute!” you called back.

Deciding to have some fun of your own and knowing Marcus would wait by the door until you were out, you reached up your dress and shimmied your panties down your legs. Laughing at the ridiculousness of your actions you switched off the tap and walked towards the door. You unlocked it, opening it enough to see Marcus waiting at the other side.

“Everything okay?” he teased.

“Everything’s perfect,” you laughed back, “but I need you to hold onto something for me until we can go home.”

“Anything,” his face a little more serious now but the playful glint still in his eyes.

You held your hand out waiting for him to reach his out as well before placing your panties in his hand and closing his fist around them. 

“Can you keep them safe for me?” you batted your eyelashes at him as you opened the door more to walk out now.

Marcus’s mouth was left hanging open, unable to catch up with his mind that was going a hundred miles an hour. His eyes grew darker as he pushed them into his pocket and watched you walk back into the hall where everyone else was, sure that you were deliberately swaying your hips more than normal. There was no way he was going to last much longer without talking you home, his cock already straining against his trousers as he thought about you bare under that dress. Shit, you really had played him at his own game.

When you reached the door to go back into the hall, you turned around, sending a wink his way and you could see the growl that rumbled through his chest as he began to stalk towards you. You had barely stepped a foot inside before Marcus was by your side and his hand gripping onto your elbow.

“Get your coat,” he whispered in your ear before walking off to say goodbye to his boss.

You couldn’t stop the smile that was plastered across your face as you walked back to where you had been sitting with Marcus earlier, pulling your jacket on quickly and lifting your bag over your shoulder before quickly walking back to the door. Marcus was by your side almost instantly, taking your hand in his as he marched to the exit. 

Your legs were only just keeping up with him as he made his way to the stairs, slowing his pace to walk by your side as he helped you down them with your heels on, before he picked the pace back up again. You were thankful Marcus decided to drive tonight, the valet having the car round as soon as he seen Marcus walk towards the exit.

There still hadn’t been a word said between you as Marcus helped you into the car before closing the door and making his way round to the driver’s side, pulling out of the car park. You shifted in your seat, looking over at Marcus as you opened your legs wider in the seat. His eyes never left the road as he brought one hand over, slowly squeezing up your thighs before pushing under your dress and swiping up your folds, chuckling to himself as you moaned and moved your hips against his fingers.

“So wet already,” he teased, bringing his fingers up to his mouth to taste, “you’ll have to wait till we’re home to get any more. You were bad in there weren’t you? Getting me hard so I had to leave early.”

“You started it,” you tutted as you sat up in the seat.

“Don’t know what you mean,” he turned to smirk at you at the red light, the familiar vibrations starting again.

“Marcus,” you whined, you head falling back against the head rest.

“Think it’s time to see if I can get you to cum just from that,” he grinned, setting the car off as soon as the light turned green.

The rest of the drive home felt like eternity as your leg bounced up and down in anticipation. As soon as you were pulled up in the driveway, Marcus had the engine off and was around helping you out of the car in an instant.

“I’m going to check everything is off, you go upstairs and wait for me,” he said as he unlocked the door, holding it open to let you inside, “I want you naked and on the bed by the time I’m up.”

You could feel your thighs clench together at his words. It was only every so often Marcus was this commanding but you loved it. You were already unzipping your dress by the time you got to the top of the stairs, leaving it on the floor by the bedroom door along with your bra and shoes.

You climbed to the top of the bed, sitting up against the headboard as you waited for Marcus. You thighs started rubbing together to release some of the pressure when you heard his heavy footsteps climbs the stairs. When he entered the bedroom his eyes were dark, his glasses now off as he stared down at you on the bed. He began to roll his sleeves up as he stalked towards the bed, kneeling on the end of the bed and reaching for your ankles.

“You look so good laid out like this for me,” he moaned, his eyes trailing down your body before looking back up at your eyes, “think you can be good for me?”

You nodded, holding back the whine in your throat.

“I need to hear you say it,” his voice went lower.

“I’ll be a good girl, for you,” you whined as his hands reached up to your shins before pushing your legs open as he gripped your thighs.

“All for me.”

The vibrations began to flow through the bars on your nipples, making your head hit back against the headboard as you moaned. You could hear him chuckle as he stood back off the bed, slowly unbuttoning his shirt as he watched you writhing on the bed. Your tongue left your mouth to wet your lips as he pushed the shirt off his shoulders, letting it drop to the floor.

He began working to undo his buckle, letting his trousers drop to the floor along with his shirt as a particularly strong vibration moved through the metal bar and your back arched off the headboard. Marcus left his boxers on as he climbed into bed next to you, moving your body forward to sit behind you.

He wrapped an arm around your stomach and held your back against his chest, his legs surrounding yours. His other hand reached up to move your hair from his neck, freeing the soft skin of your neck to his lips so he can press sloppy kisses from behind your ear and along your shoulder. 

“Marcus, I want you” you whined, your head rolling back against his shoulder and looking up at him.

“I know, baby, soon. Tell me how good it feels,” he leaned down and murmured against your lips.

“S-so good, Marcus. Think I’m gonna- gonna,” before you could finish your sentence a wave crashed through you, Marcus holding you tight against him as your body arched away from him. Marcus leaned down and took your lips in his to catch the rest of your moans, groaning at how you moaned his name into his mouth. When you finally relaxed against him he pulled away slightly, resting his forehead against yours.

“Making you cum without even touching you,” he growled against your lips.

“Marcus,” you whined back.

“I know, baby, I know,” he kissed you once more gently, “you did so good. So good,” he kissed down your neck before moving from behind you and pulling you to lie down against the pillows.

He pulled his boxers down, letting his cock spring free before he covered your body with his as he balanced himself on his forearms by your head. Before he moved again, Marcus leaned down and caught your lips in his in a needy kiss, moaning as he moved his hips against yours. He broke away for only a moment, lifting your leg to wrap it around his waist before pushing into you in one slow movement. He caught both your moans in a kiss as he started rocking against you with sharp hits of his hips against yours, lifting your leg higher on his waist.

“Need you to cum again, baby,” he panted, sitting back on his knees and lifting your legs onto his shoulders.

He kept his hips moving in sharp thrusts against you, his hand coming down to rub against your clit.

“One more, let me hear you” he panted again and you nodded.

His free hand gripped tight at your hip, stopping your head from hitting against the headboard, and one of your hands reached down to grip onto his fingers. He smirked down at you, watching as your mouth opened in moans that didn’t quite form into words. He knew you were close as your hand gripped tighter on his fingers and so leaned down onto his forearms, your legs tight between your bodies as he continued to drive into you.

Your second orgasm of the night hit more powerfully than the second, moaning his name over and over as you gripped tight onto his arms. When your body relaxed he moved your legs back around his waist, his thrusts becoming sloppy before he came with your name leaving his mouth.

He could barely hold his weight off of you, letting his head rest against your chest as he caught his breath. Your hands found their way into the curls at the back of his head, scratching lazily as you came back down to earth.

“I love you,” he sighed, kissing your chest before lifting his head to look up at you.

“I love you,” you cupped his cheek, bringing his face to kiss his lips.

He finally rolled off you, pulling you onto his chest and kissing your forehead.

“I need to clean up,” you whispered into his chest.

“Soon, just- soon,” he sighed, squeezing you closer against him.

Not long after, you heard his breathing steady and small snores come from him. You would get up soon to clean up but for now you would let him cuddle you tight to his chest.

//

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