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smileysuh · 8 months ago

Text

dumb frat boy

🌙 starring. Lee Donghyuck x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. “I’d ask what you want me to do to you, but I did some research last night, watched some of that Hentaid shit you were talking about. It’s a lot of bondage, isn’t it, Angel? A lot of… creampies. You’ve got a thing for being held down and filled, huh? I guess…” he lets out a small laugh, “I guess I’m a little shocked, seeing as you’re so sassy with me. Guess you just want someone to put you in your place. What is it you called Johnny? A good daddy dom? I might not always be a dom, but for you, I can make it work.”

tw/cw. yandere/stalker sub themes, ‘unknown’ caller, he’s horny, mentions of porn/masturbation, weed/alcohol use, unprotected sex, oral (m/f receiving), deep throating, face fucking, nipple pinching/nipple worship, fingering, dirty talk, praise, hyuck has a thick cock, cum/fullness kink, creampie, etc… I pet names: (hers) Angel (his) baby.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 9.1k

🍭 aus. uni/frat au, yandere subthemes, Halloween, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. We're back in the Ghostie au! I'm so happy to be able to put out a fic for Hyuck a year after the original story captivated so many of us <3

Prologue

“I’ve got the best idea ever,” Hyuck says the moment after he’s released his first breath from the bong.

Johnny lets out a sigh, leaning back in his recliner. “This better not be another themed wet tittie car wash fundraiser.”

“Excuse me, that idea was brilliant- pairing up with our sister sorority and being horny on cars while in costumes that somewhat resembled cars from the Disney movie Cars made us more cash for the Humane Society than we’ve ever raised, so dial it down on your tone there, Ghostie.”

The elder frat boy rolls his eyes at the nickname. When word got out about how he wooed his girlfriend last Halloween, the term ‘Ghostie’ ended up sticking, and Johnny’s never been able to let down the sexy stalker angle, even this year's pledges know about it.

“As I was saying,” Hyuck continues, “I figure I’ll take a page out of your book, and do some weird phone call thing to woo my Angel.”

“Oh, so you’re finally gonna admit your feelings to your best friend?” Johnny asks in shock, sitting up to take a better look at the younger frat boy.

“Yes, but after a week of toying with her,” Hyuck announces. “It will be fun. We all know she got her nickname Angel because she’s really more of a demon, she’s going to love this shit.”

“Well, I guess you know her better than I do,” Johnny muses. “So what’s the plan?”

“Basically, you took the best phone call stalker with Ghost Face, but I figure there are other options out there. Have you ever seen Black Christmas?”

“Like… the one from the seventies?” Johnny’s apprehension is clear in his features, and he reaches for the bong to take another hit.

“Yeah, the one where the dude calls the sorority and is a horny fuck on the phone.”

“Isn’t there some weird incest plot and jaundice thing in the second movie though?”

“No one watches the second movie! We don’t claim the way they butchered the story with that!” Hyuck exclaims, feeling agitated already.

“I feel like, if you called her, and did the whole Black Christmas thing, she wouldn’t know what the fuck movie you’re referencing.”

“They did a remake in 2019,” Hyuck insists.

“Did anyone actually watch it though?” Johnny’s an avid horror film lover, and if he hasn’t seen the remakes, it’s not looking good for you to be able to pick up the references, a thought that throws Hyuck off.

However, even though he’s been swayed, Hyuck won’t give up on this idea. “Look, think of it as a Love is Blind sort of thing- I can make her fall in love with me over the phone, and then when I reveal myself as her best friend, she’ll be all ‘woah, we’re soulmates!’”

Johnny looks as skeptical as ever. “Are you sure that’s the way this is going to go?”

Hyuck scrunches his nose up in distaste at the lack of support. “Yes.”

The elder frat boy takes in a deep breath, shaking his head. “If this is what you want to do, I won’t stop you. I just… I think your Angel would react better if you were just straight up with her. Maybe there’s a reason the two of you have never gone past the friend stage. I think the good thing about me doing this last year, was I was just acquaintances with Tiny, I made it clear off the bat that I just wanted to know her better. If she didn’t want me, then that would be fine. If you do this with Angel, and she finds out it’s you and doesn’t return your feelings, you’re going to ruin a friendship.”

Hyuck thinks about what Johnny’s just said as he watches the tall resident Ghostie take another bong hit. It’s true- In Hyuck’s heart of hearts, he knows that… there must be a reason the two of you have never hooked up, but it’s a reason he’s never been able to identify.

The cocky side of him refuses to believe it’s because you’re not attracted to him- there’s definitely sexual tension between the two of you, so it must be something else.

He’s so tired of toeing the line, especially since you’ve always been kindred, mischievous, horny little souls.

You were with Hyuck when he pranked Sigma Veta Tau last Christmas and put glitter on their ceiling fans. You were with Hyuck when he put a rotisserie chicken in Alpha Tappa Zeta’s air vents. In fact, you’ve been present at almost all of Hyuck’s master plan shenanigans.

There’s something going on between the two of you and he knows it.

Last year, when Johnny had pulled his little semi-stalker Ghostie stunt, Hyuck had noted that whoever was behind the anonymous calls had some balls to hit on a girl that way, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t live up to that.

“Listen,” Hyuck sighs. “This is between us. Angel is going to try to figure out who’s calling her, and I need you to keep your mouth shut, okay?”

“Fine,” Johnny agrees, shaking his head. “Hyuck, I love you, but sometimes I forget how much of a dumb frat boy you are.”

“You know what?” Hyuck grabs at the bong. “I’ll take that as a fucking compliment.”

Sunday

You’re in the middle of a much-needed nap. Curled up on your fuzzy blankets, your textbook long since discarded while your mood lighting twinkles through the space, it’s the most comfortable you’ve been all term. It’s late October, the nights come early, and you’re starting to not mind the cool air that seeps through the crack in your window.

It’s because you’re dead asleep, that when your phone rings, you don’t even check who’s calling. You simply bolt up, dazed and confused, reaching to pull your cell to your ear.

“Hello?”

At first, all you hear is breathing on the other end of the line, and you roll your eyes. You’re no stranger to dumb calls, spam calls, and the like- but then, “Angel?”

Well, this is definitely not a spam caller, they wouldn’t know your nickname if it was.

“Who’s this?” you ask, pulling your phone away from your ear to look down at your screen. It’s a ‘No Caller ID,’ and you let out another exasperated sound.

“A friend,” the person on the other end of the line tells you.

“A friend I don’t have in my contacts?” you scoff.

“Burner phone, baby.”

“And what would be the point of getting a burner phone just to call little ol’ me?” you sigh, relaxing against your pillows and pinching the bridge of your nose in annoyance.

“Why so serious, Angel?”

“Jeeze, dude, if you’re going to do the whole creepy caller before Halloween cliche, at least stick to your character.” You can’t believe he’s quoting Health Ledger’s Joker at you now. “Who are you even trying to be? Ghost Face is so last Halloween, we all know Johnny knocked that shit out of the park. A copycat sequel is just… early 2000’s.”

“Okay, let me drop character for just a second,” the man on the other end of the line sighs, and you giggle at how his voice modulator emphasizes his own exasperation. “Think, horny telephone guy.”

“I wouldn’t call Ghost Face particularly horny, he was just a nerd.”

“I’m not Ghost Face!” he insists. “Scream came out in the mid-nineties, think earlier than that.”

“What, am I supposed to be some kind of horror movie expert?” you scoff.

“Fine, I’ll just tell you,” the guy sighs. “Have you seen Black Christmas?”

“Never even heard of it.”

“Fuck,” he curses. “Well, don’t go watch it, it has some cult following but it’s not even one of my favourites- the reason I chose the dude from that movie is because he’s a horny little fuck and calls a sorority house and some shit- and also, don’t look up the second movie, I don’t claim the sequel.”

“Wow, I love that you chose a character based purely on horniness and not if the movie is even good,” you giggle.

“Well, Johnny took the best slasher caller! What was I supposed to do? Go all ghost child from The Black Phone movie?”

“What’s The Black Phone movie?”

“Ethan Hawke? Horror veteran, who plays the hero author in Sinister, turned bad guy in the 2021 film by the same director?”

You let out a whistle. “TBH, dude, it sucks Johnny got to Ghostie first last year, because I’d bet money you know more about horror movies than he does.”

“I one hundred percent do!”

“Okay, so back to the point,” you laugh. “You’re calling me as this horny dude from some Halloween Christmas movie- for what?”

“To talk to you?” he suggests. “To uh… be horny… at you?”

“And what does this accomplish? I mean- we all know Johnny’s Ghostie story from last year, he called a girl every day, told her to come to his frat party, and revealed himself there. Is that your game plan?”

“I was thinking about it, but it sounds kind of lackluster now.”

“That’s because it’s not an original idea at all,” you point out.

“Sequels aren’t always original,” the man counters. “Lots of movies have the same plot just different characters, some recurring- look, it doesn’t have to be original. The original angle to this Halloween movie is that I’m going to be way more horny than Johnny probably ever was last year.”

“And I’m just going to allow that?” you grin.

“Yeah, because we both know why you have your nickname, don’t we, Angel? You’re a dirty little minx, and you’re going to love this.”

“Except, what if, Halloween comes, and you’re a frat guy that I think is ugly?” you ask. “If you know me, you know I have very specific tastes. There’s only a handful of guys I’d actually be interested in, what makes you think you’re one of them?”

The line is dead for a few stagnant seconds, then, “I just am, okay?”

“Cocky little fucker,” you giggle.

“Don’t be rude.”

At this point, you’re pretty sure you know who’s on the other end of the line.

There’s been a few tells from your best friend, Donghyuck. For example, he’s the biggest actual horror buff in the NCT frat. He idolizes Johnny, and was always salty that Mark got the Chicago man as a Big and not himself, so he had a close eye on the events that took place last year in NCT’s ‘Ghostie’ Saga. On top of all of this, there’s an extreme familiarity in the way he’s talking to you, a preexisting natural tint to his diction. Lastly, Hyuck’s the cockiest little dumb frat boy of them all, and it’s one of the reasons you’ve always loved him… one of the reasons you’ve also always kept a bit of distance from your best friend whenever situations have had the option of turning romantic.

Well, if this is how he wants to make his move at you, so be it.

Maybe he’ll convince you that he can be more than a good fuck- you’d never risk your friendship for a one-night stand, no, he’ll have to prove that he could go all in, that he deserves you.

And if all else is just extra, you can at least have some fun toying with Hyuck while he thinks he’s the one toying with you.

“Okay,” you sigh, stretching. “Let's do this, but we can start tomorrow, you woke me up from a nap, and I’d very much like to get back to it.”

Monday

“I’m not waking you up from a nap, am I, Angel?”

“Nope,” you grin, mischief working its way through your mind as you think of the best way to throw Hyuck off. “I was just watching some porn, flicking the bean, you know, that sort of thing.”

You hear him choke. “F… Flicking the bean?”

“Come on, you have to have heard of flicking the bean!” you insist. “Buddy, you’re the one who’s supposed to be calling me to be horny, this is your perfect opportunity!”

“Right, I uh…” he coughs. “How’s… how’s the bean flicking going?”

“Dude, do you know anything about seduction?” you scoff. “‘How’s the bean flicking going,’” you imitate. “Lame!”

“Rude!” he counters.

God, he’s so obviously Hyuck and you bet he doesn’t even realize it.

“You know what, if you must ask, the bean flicking is going really well.”

“What kind of porn do you watch?” he questions next.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” you tease.

“Tell me,” Hyuck insists.

“Might have to get you to beg if you want to hear those kinds of details.”

“I’m the creepy phone stalker, I call the shots.”

You roll your eyes. “Sure you do, buddy.”

“Stop calling me buddy.”

“Okay, dude.”

“Don’t call me dude either!”

“Then what am I supposed to call you? It’s not like anyone knows the name of the slasher from Halloween Christmas, or whatever. You’re no Ghost Face, friend.”

“It’s Black Christmas,” he corrects you. “And I’m pretty sure his name is Billy.”

“Wow, how sexy, Billy,” you scoff. “You really didn’t think this one through that well, did you, buddy?”

“Original Ghost Face is who? Stu Matcher and Billy fucking Loomis,” Hyuck points out. “It’s not the worst name in the world.”

“Tell me one person who refers to Ghost Face as Billy Loomis though, one person, and I’ll tell you what porn I watch.”

“The… screenwriter?”

“Jesus Christ, dude. That’s such low-hanging fruit.”

“Now tell me what porn you watch.”

You let out a deep sigh. “All this bickering has me not in the mood anymore.”

“Weird, I’m extra in the mood now.”

“Cuz you’re a weirdo who gets off on play fighting, I bet.”

His voice takes on a whiney pitch when he says, “Tell me what porn you watch!”

“Honestly?” You’re tired of this conversation, but you see one last opportunity to toy with Hyuck before you hang up. “Hentaid on Porn Hub, I’m all about that alien, tentacle shit,” your voice takes on the air of a damsel in distress when you muse, “No mortal man can ever satiate me, I’m afraid.”

“Holy shit,” Hyuck whispers. “Are you for real? Tentacle porn?”

“Uh huh, now, goodnight, buddy.” You hang up on Hyuck with a shit-eating grin on your face, knowing you’ve left him something to think about.

Tuesday

“Hey,” you say, sitting down next to your best friend in the on-campus burger joint where you spend your Tuesday two-hour period between classes. “I’ve got something to talk to you about.”

Hyuck is mid-bite of a burger, and he holds up a hand, covering his obnoxious eating style. “Just a sec,” he mumbles.

You wait patiently, staring at your friend while he finishes up. He’s in a black hoodie, and black t-shirt, and his laptop is open next to where he’s eating his combo meal. He’s usually here before you are, scoping out a booth and food so you two can chill in peace before your shared history course.

History isn’t your major per se, it’s more of a special interest, and the same goes for Hyuck. He’s a film major- another obvious dent in his plan to fly under the radar as your phone stalker who just happens to know everything about horror movies.

“Okay,” Hyuck says, swallowing the last of his large bite of food. “What’s up?”

“So on Sunday, I got a phone call from some dude with a burner phone,” you explain, watching closely as Hyuck’s brows raise just a moment too late to be legitimate surprise.

“Yeah? What did he say?”

“He’s trying to recreate Johnny’s whole Ghostie thing from last year, but as is the case with most sequels in the horror genre, he’s kind of missing the mark.”

Hyuck chokes a little on his food, and he reaches for his Coke to wash it down. “What’s he doing wrong?”

“What an odd question, Hyuck,” you say, narrowing your eyes at him. “But, to answer it, he’s just… not loose enough. He feels too rigid. I gave him an in last night, if you know what I mean, and he just, fumbled it.”

“An in?” Hyuck cocks his head to the side, “what do you mean?”

“You know, an opportunity to be horny with me.”

“And you want him to be horny with you?”

“I mean, that’s the whole point isn’t it? He promised me he’d be more horny than Johnny was last year, but I feel like Johnny probably had this whole daddy dom thing down- I don’t know what this new guy is trying to give, but he’s not giving, you feel me?”

“Huh, that’s weird,” Hyuck shrugs, picking up his burger again. “Do you have any guesses who it might be?”

You shrug. “He told me it was someone I think is hot. So that means it could be Jaehyun- God, you know how sexy I think Jaehyun is,” - you’re relishing in the way you get to tease Hyuck like this - “it could be Jeno, or Jaemin- I don’t think I’d even mind if both of them came up to me on Halloween, full original Scream style- Jaemin is definitely the Stu Matcher character, though.”

“Jeeze, Angel,” Hyuck grimaces, putting his burger down and leaning back in the booth. “Do you have to talk about two of my best friends tag teaming you while I’m eating?”

“Sorry, babes,” you snicker. “I just think this week is going to be fun, and I can’t wait for my Billy Halloween Christmas stalker to find his A-game.”

You half expect Hyuck to correct you on the movie title, and you see him bite his tongue, fighting the urge to throw his own cover under the bus in a bid to protect the sanctity of cult films. But alas, Hyuck shuts himself up with another bite of his burger, and with one last look at your friend, you pull out your laptop to actually get some work done.

Wednesday

“Hey, bud,” you answer your call with a grin, twirling your hair around your finger while your eyes skim your textbook. “What happened yesterday? You never called.”

“You looked busy,” comes a curt retort.

“Oh… did you see me with Hyuck?” you stifle a laugh, of course he’s going to play this jealousy angle, when in reality, he was probably just butthurt about you toying with him.

“It was hard not to notice you with him,” he responds.

“Someone sounds jealous.”

“What’s your relationship with him?”

God, Hyuck must be very desperate to be trying to get details out of you about how you feel about him, through his alter ego.

You take a deep breath, closing your book and leaning back in your chair. “We’re close,” you start.

“But just friends.”

“Just friends,” you confirm. “I guess, I mean, obviously he’s cute. There’s no argument about Hyuck being cute. And he’s fun, he’s cocky, he’s mischievous- I guess my one concern with him is if he could do something long term. I may come off as a dirty little demon child, but in reality- I don’t want to put all my eggs in one guys basket if he’s busy collecting eggs, if that makes any sense.”

“You want a guy who just wants you, who puts in the effort.”

“Exactly.”

“I’m putting in effort,” your ‘mystery man’ points out.

“I suppose this could be considered effort.”

“I spent twenty five bucks on this burner phone.”

“Wow, buddy, that must have broke the bank.”

“I have money!” he insists.

Hyuck definitely has money, it’s one of the reasons he’s probably so cocky. He comes from a large line of Lee’s, a family group that owns development all around the country. You’ve tried not to let any gold digging inklings stain your perception of the frat boy though, that wouldn’t be fair to him.

“Hey, friend?” you ask, choosing a base level nickname for this man who is clearly Hyuck.

“Yes, Angel?”

“Were you thinking about it yesterday?”

“Thinking about what?”

“Me, you know… watching alien tentacle porn and flicking my bean.” You try to make your voice sound innocent, but you can’t help the mischievous grin that works it’s way onto your face.

You can hear him swallow thickly. “Hold that thought, I’m going to call you back.”

“Wait-” before you can get an explanation, the line goes dead, and you release an annoyed huff, crossing your arms over your chest.

He’s such a little shit, leaving you hanging like this-

Two minutes go by, then five- and just as you’re starting to be really annoyed, Hyuck calls you back.

“Took you long enough,” you snap.

“Listen, Angel, I needed to get in the mood. I’m too rigid talking to a pretty girl like you, had to take some of the load off.” You can tell, even under his modulated voice, that Hyuck has most definitely just gotten into some weed.

This is so classic him- and to be completely fair, you’ve witnessed the effects of Mary-Jane on one mister Lee Donghyuck. He’s much more suave while green, less anxious, more willing to take risks.

“So, to answer your question,” Hyuck continues, letting out a breath. “I have been thinking about you. Been thinking about your cute voice, how it would sound begging, whining, whimpering- what little noises you’d make choking on cock, or tentacle-” Hyuck laughs. “I’ll be honest, I don’t have an octopus dick or anything. If you let me, you’ll have to be okay with a human style back breaking.”

You’re shocked.

Had he really just said all of this to you?

Was weed all it took for him to pull up his big boy panties and lay some actual sin onto you?

You can’t ignore the way your pussy flutters with interest at his words, and you shift uncomfortably in your chair. “I’m sure we can make it work… what kind of tool are you packing, buddy?”

Hyuck chuckles. “It’s thick, I think it will do the job.”

Hyuck isn’t the tallest frat boy, but in no way is he the smallest either. He’s average, and to think that he has an above average girthy dick- well, you can’t help lick your lips in interest.

“Stalker got your tongue, Angel?” Hyuck asks. “You’ve just gone awfully quiet.”

“I’m just…” you swallow thickly. “Just thinking.”

“About my thick cock splitting you open?”

God, your pussy is throbbing now- “How… our first few calls were so awkward-”

“I promised you dirty, didn’t I? Needed some courage first, but… I can tell you’re not mad about it.”

You’re definitely not mad about it.

You think maybe part of you would be upset if you didn’t know your ‘mystery caller’s’ identity- but the safety of knowing, in your heart of hearts, that this is Hyuck- it changes everything, and you can allow yourself to feel the pleasure already beating through you.

“I’d ask what you want me to do to you, but I did some research last night, watched some of that Hentaid shit you were talking about. It’s a lot of bondage, isn’t it, Angel? A lot of… creampies. You’ve got a thing for being held down and filled, huh? I guess…” he lets out a small laugh, “I guess I’m a little shocked, seeing as you’re so sassy with me. Guess you just want someone to put you in your place. What is it you called Johnny? A good daddy dom? I might not always be a dom, but for you, I can make it work.”

“So…” you find it hard to even speak because he’s so right about his assessment that it hurts. “So… you’re more of a switch?”

“I can be. Generally, I’m not about strict roles in the bedroom, but if you’re into that sort of thing, I can see what it’s about.”

“Tell me more about being a switch?”

“Don’t want to give you too many details about myself, these calls are about you, Angel.”

You let out a groan.

“Be patient,” he reminds you. “And tell me, are you as wet right now as I am hard?”

This time, the sound you release is really more of a moan, and it makes Hyuck chuckle darkly.

“I’ll take that as a yes… are you gonna touch yourself after this? Gonna do all the work I can’t do, not yet, anyway.”

“Maybe…”

“I like the thought of that, two horny people, whacking off together after a phone call, different rooms, but we’ll be on each other’s minds.”

You get the suspicion that Hyuck is going to be on your mind for a whole lot longer than simply your upcoming bean-flicking session.

Thursday

“I’m here, I’m here! What’s the emergency!” Mark asks, out of breath, his cheeks flushed from the cold outside and having just run across campus.

“It’s not an emergency, don’t worry, just sit!” you tell him, pushing out a chair.

“Angel, you texted me, and I quote,” he pulls out his phone, “911, meet me at our spot in the library asap.”

“Well, I wanted you to come,” you shrug.

“God, you’re as much of a drama queen as Hyuck is,” Mark sighs, taking his seat across from you.

“Speaking of Hyuck…” you grin, leaning forward and clasping your hands together, “your roommate decided to go full Ghostie this year.”

“Wait, he’s not doing Ghost Face for Halloween-”

“No, I mean, like, stalker phone call Johnny Ghostie,” you clarify.

“What?” Mark’s expression is blank, and he looks completely unimpressed.

“Basically, he called me on Sunday, did this whole thing about doing a Black Christmas character or some shit- he’s been calling me from a burner phone with a voice modulator-”

“Jesus Christ,” Mark sighs, covering his eyes with his hand.

“The moral of the story is, Halloween night, I’m calling dibs on your room.”

“My room?” Mark peaks out at you through his fingers.

“Your roommate has to get laid. Actually, scratch that, I have to get laid… with your roommate.”

“This is so-” Mark groans. “I thought we were over this stalker Halloween thing to get girls. Don’t any of us have respect or standards anymore?”

“You’re frat boys, Mark, so the answer on that one is going to be a no from me.”

“Why are you even into this?” Mark questions further. “Like- what’s so sexy about any of this?”

“I mean… it shows Hyuck cares?”

“He cares enough to get a burner phone and a voice modulator and call you and be creepy and horny? Wow, what a huge chivalrous act of love.”

You narrow your eyes at Mark Lee. “I’m not enjoying your sarcasm, mister.”

“And I’m not enjoying this,” Mark retorts, pointing between the two of you. “Fuck, fine, have my room on Halloween.”

“Last thing though, Hyuck can’t know that I know that he’s the one calling me.”

“Wait, so this isn’t a bit? He’s committed to trying to trick you?” Mark leans back in his chair, his expression getting even more bleak. “The two of you are crazier than I thought.”

As you open your mouth to respond, your phone rings, and you look down to see Hyuck’s burner ‘No Caller ID.’

“Heya, buddy,” you answer, bringing your finger to your lips to shush Mark.

“Watcha up to?”

“Just in the library with a friend.”

Hyuck’s tone shifts. “Which friend?”

“Mark, you probably know him.”

“Of course I know fucking Mark. Why’s he with you?”

“Just chatting… why? You jealous?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No!”

“Yes!” You let out a laugh. “Buddy, settle down, we both know I’m not into Mark Lee, we’ve talked about this before.”

“We’ve never talked about Mark,” Hyuck responds, and you realize, you may have just betrayed that you know who he is-

“I mean, he wasn’t on my list with Jaehyun, or Jeno, or Jaemin-” you quickly cover your blunder, and Hyuck releases an annoyed sound.

“I get it, I get it,” he groans. “Fine, finish up your time with fucking Mark, then.”

“Don’t be salty about this,” you warn.

“Yeah, whatever.”

Friday

It’s the final day before Halloween, and if there’s one thing you know for sure, it’s that Hyuck is working. The SVT and NCT frats are the primary workers at the on-campus bar, Skeets, so they have a deal that NCT works the Friday before Halloween, and SVT works the Saturday.

Knowing these details, you’re also aware that it’s possible Hyuck won’t be home till three am, so you’re a little shocked when you get a call at one.

“Hi, Angel.”

“If it isn’t my favorite stalker,” you grin, pausing your horror film- in all truth, you’d decided to watch Black Christmas, and now you can see why Hyuck told you not to bother, he hasn’t nailed the deranged attitude of the main villain at all.

“Watcha doin?”

“Not much, you?”

“Not much,” he responds.

“Are you sure?” you counter. “Cuz something tells me maybe you’re working right now… did you get a break, buddy?”

“I’m not working,” he insists.

“Sure you’re not,” you laugh, dropping the line of questioning. “Hey, tell me again why you chose Billy from Black Christmas?”

“Seriously?” Hyuck lets out a sigh. “I guess I just wanted… an excuse to be horny on the phone for you, even if it’s just for a week.”

He sounds defeated, and you’re not shocked. Halloween is the busiest night of the year at the bar Hyuck works at, if anything, you’re surprised he even had a moment to dip outside and call you.

“You’re cute,” you muse. “You sound tired, so I’ll let you go, but uh… I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“You will.”

“And how will I know it’s you?”

“You just will, goodnight, Angel.”

Saturday

You’ve just arrived at the frat party, and already, you’re on the hunt for Hyuck.

At this point, you’re tired of the games. You feel closer to Hyuck, in some odd, sinister sort of way- closer than you ever have before. And you’re tired of hiding it, tired of this weird cat and mouse- you just want to have a conversation with him, to get everything out into the open so you can truly discuss your feelings.

You find him by the beer pong table. He’s in a full denim fit, and you can’t put your finger on who he is as you approach.

“Hey, Hyuck,” you greet, tucking into his side so he can hear you over the music. “Nice Canadian Tuxedo.”

“Do you know who I am?” he asks.

“Uh…” You look at him blankly. “Are you talking about your denim costume? Or the way you’ve been calling me all week?”

Hyuck stares at you in shock. “Uh…” he clears his throat. “I’m Ken… you know, from the Barbie movie.”

“Right…” you trail off, wondering if he’s going to touch on the Black Christmas side of things.

“Also… what do you mean? About me calling you all week?”

“Hyuck,” you sigh. “Please don’t try to avoid this. Just be honest. It’s you. I know it’s you.”

He looks at you, and you can see the cogs turning in his mind.

“You told me you’d reveal yourself tonight,” you continue. “I know I kind of just threw you under the bus, maybe I ruined your master plan or something, but I’m tired of pretending I don’t know it’s one of my best friends who’s been calling me all week being horny.”

“Are you mad at me?” he asks, voice lowering. His eyes search yours, as if he’s trying to get a read on you.

“Hyuck,” you let out a laugh, “I’m not mad at all, but I think we should go to your room and talk this out a little, don’t you?”

“I guess that’s a good idea,” he acquiesces.

“Then let’s go.” You grab his hand, lacing your fingers so you can drag him to the stairs that lead to the second floor. You don’t say anything as you move, you’re on a mission, and what you need to discuss with him is better said alone than in a crowd of horny Halloween partygoers.

You make it to the privacy of his room, and you shut the door behind you. “So?”

“So?” Hyuck moves through the space, and you notice him heading for his bong.

“Hey, don’t do that,” you sigh.

“Don’t do what?” he asks.

“You don’t need to get high to have this conversation.”

“I don’t?”

“No.” You shake your head. “I don’t want you to be high when we do this.”

Hyuck lets out another deep breath. “This isn’t how I planned things.”

“Yeah, I guess not,” you admit, watching him take a seat on his bed. “How did you see tonight panning out?”

“I suppose I figured I could get some drinks in, liquid courage, that sort of thing. And then, maybe I’d reveal myself at the end of the night or something.”

“Are you really so scared of me that you need to be drinking to confess how you feel?” you ask, melting a little. You approach Hyuck, sitting carefully on the bed next to him while he faces clear inner turmoil.

“I’m not afraid,” he states, but you can tell from the tone of his voice that there’s something else going on. “I just… You told me you only want a man who can commit, a guy who only has eyes for you- and, I do, but… we both know my playboy track record, and I guess… I just worry about hurting you.”

“Do you want to hurt me?” you question, tilting your head as you try to understand him.

“No, never.”

“Do you think you’re at the point where you could settle down a little? I’m not trying to get you to stop partying, I just mean… committing to one girl, is that something you think you’re capable of?”

“If it’s you, then yeah… I think so,” he nods, finally meeting your eyes.

He looks so vulnerable, and it’s very different from how you usually view your mischievous friend.

“Hyuck,” you whisper, unable to help the way your hand raises to cup his cheek. “I’m willing to give this a shot if you are. If there’s something real here, and it’s not just you being a horny, dumb frat boy.”

“Okay, rude,” Hyuck laughs, showing you a glimmer of the him that you know and love, “It’s more than being horny… but… in all honesty, seeing you in this fucking faerie costume has me all hot and bothered.”

“Yeah?” You lean closer, grinning. Your lips ghost over his when you say your next words, “So what are you gonna do about it?”

Hyuck sucks in a sharp breath, his pupils dilating- you’re so close to him, and you can make out all the pretty shades of brown in his irises. Gosh, he really is a pretty frat boy.

His hands find your hips, and he tugs your body closer. You can feel him breathing, his gaze darting between your own and your mouth. You watch his tongue dip out to wet his lips, and he swallows thickly.

“Fuck it,” he mutters, finally smashing his lips to your own.

It’s not gentle by any means, but it’s not necessarily aggressive either- one word to describe this kiss, is: desperate. He’s so eager, and you kind of love it, love the way he tugs you flush to his own body, one hand moving to cup your cheek- his tongue glides against your own and you stifle a moan, shifting in his embrace so you can wrap your arms around his neck.

It feels so good to be pressed against him like this- you’re actually kind of shocked at how good it feels. And his hands, exploring your body, keeping you close, fingers digging into your hips-

Hyuck is everywhere, devouring you like you’re his last meal.

“Oh,” you whisper, when Hyuck’s mouth moves to your neck. “By the way, I called dibs on your room with Mark, he won’t be bothering us.”

Your dumb frat boy pulls away from your throat, a grin on his face. “You really knew it was me all along, huh?”

“You’re not exactly subtle, buddy,” you laugh.

Hyuck shakes his head, reaching to lock the door before his hands ensnare you again. He pushes his body against yours, urging you to move backward until your calves hit the bed. Before pushing you down, he removes your faerie costume wings, and only once the more delicate part of your costume is discarded, does he shove you onto his mattress.

“Hyuck,” you giggle, looking up at him with starry eyes.

“You look so good like this,” Hyuck muses, tugging his denim ‘Ken’ style vest off to reveal a body hardened from Frat mandated work out brother time. He’s not too big, not too built- Hyuck still has some pudge on him, but you kind of love it. You love that it’s not a full six pack and bulging biceps- you can imagine that when this is all done, he’ll be lovely to cuddle with.

In fact, you’re not sure it would matter how muscled Hyuck is. Sure, it helps that he’s physically fit and hot, but- at this point in your friendship, you’re attracted to him for so much more than his body.

No man makes you laugh like him. No man has spent the time that he has to understand you and make you feel comfortable with him knowing you, the true you, the you that you don’t get to show many others.

Hyuck is just… he’s good for you, and he always has been. That goodness has so far been a friend capacity sort of thing, but you’re excited about the new development in your relationship. You think there’s true potential with him, and it makes you dizzy as you stare up at one of your best friends.

“I kind of want to eat you out, Angel,” Hyuck admits, one hand finding your thigh and pushing your short dress even higher up your leg.

“Funny, I kind of want to suck you off,” you grin, lifting one foot out of your shoe to tease your toes across the front of his jeans.

“So… sixty-nine?” Hyuck asks, gently tracing his fingers across your exposed skin, setting tingles of pleasure off to erupt and skitter through your form.

“That would work, but… I guess… I kind of want to lay with my head lolled off the side of the bed, your cock in my mouth, and your fingers pinching at my nipples while I work my own clit at the same time.”

“Jesus,” Hyuck breathes, swallowing thickly as he looks up at you. “How could I say no to that?”

“Then, when I’m close to cumming, you can eat me out, get me there, then fuck me stupid for your own release.”

“It’s funny,” Hyuck chuckles, “Here I thought I was the horny one calling you and trying to be a creep, but you’re the one with the dirty mouth and the great ideas.”

“Yeah, your whole Black Christmas thing really wasn’t the best idea I’ve ever heard,” you tease.

“How many times do I have to admit it was a shitty plan but I just wanted to get close to you?”

“At least once more.”

“Fine. Now flip around, loll your head off my bed, let me put my cock down your throat and pinch your nipples while you toy with your cute pussy.”

“How do you know my pussy is cute?” you ask. “You haven't even seen it yet.”

“I’ve been imagining, baby, and as a film major, my imagination is pretty fucking good.”

You giggle, getting into position for Hyuck. He stands near your head as you loll it off the side of the bed, and you get a good view of his bulge straining in his jeans.

“You’re excited,” you muse, cupping him through the denim.

“Who wouldn’t be?” he laughs, undoing his button, then the zipper. “Fuck, you look so good laid out like this.”

“Yeah?” You pull the top of your dress down, releasing your boobs.

“Fuuuuuck,” Hyuck groans, pausing his motions on his jeans to reach down and massage your newly exposed breast. “I knew your tits would be perfect.”

You moan at the feeling of his warm hands. His fingers pinch at your nipple and your moan turns into a whine. “Feels good.”

“You feel good,” he counters.

“Get your cock out,” you instruct, feeling impatient.

“Start rubbing your pussy,” Hyuck retorts with a laugh.

“Yes, sir,” you respond teasingly, reaching one of your hands down to your thighs. You slip it under your dress, deciding on taking your panties off alltogether.

Hyuck continues to massage you as you pull off your thong.

You can’t help yourself, you toss it at him, and Hyuck lets go of your breast in favour of catching it. “Fuck, these are cute,” he says, admiring your panties.

“I knew I’d be getting laid.”

His tone shifts to the darker, more annoyed side of things. “Yeah?”

“And don’t get all angsty, I knew I’d be fucking you tonight.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Hyuck grins, putting your panties in his pocket before he undoes his jeans, shifting them down his thighs.

The fucker isn’t wearing underwear, and you get a good view of his cock for the first time.

“Fuck, dude, you weren’t lying when you said you were thick,” you muse, licking your lips.

“I’d never lie to you about my cock,” he laughs.

You slip one hand between your thighs, stroking your wet core- it’s crazy how turned on you are from this, but part of you thinks this has been building for a while- for a week, actually.

Hyuck strokes his cock, looking down at you. “Ready for this?” he asks.

“Put it in my mouth,” you command, opening wide for him.

“If I’m going to deep, push my thigh,” he tells you as he slips his cock past your lips.

You moan a sound of affirmation around him, immediately beginning to suck on his tip, getting used to his size before you take more.

Hyuck is surprisingly gentle with how much he’s allowing you to take. If you hadn’t been pacing yourself, you’re sure he’d be pacing you of his own accord.

One of his hands finds your breast again, pinching the nipple and sending jitters of pleasure down to your throbbing core.

You groan louder around him, sucking more into your mouth as you increase the pressure on your clit.

“This is so fucking hot,” Hyuck moans, thrusting gently into your mouth so you can lay flat and still, allowing him to do most of the work while you rub your pussy deliciously.

You can only let out a sound of affirmation as he uses your mouth.

With your eyes closed, you can focus fully on the feeling of pleasure that’s building inside of you.

When you’d imagined fucking Hyuck for the first time, this hadn’t necessarily been a position at the forefront of your thoughts- but when he’d suggested eating you out, you’d realized this is exactly what you’d wanted.

You want to give back to him, want to show him how much you’ve appreciated him taking the leap and telling you how he feels- even if it was in some weird, dumb frat boy, phone call kind of way.

The way he’s pinching your thighs is actually delicious- and then, you hear him spit, and you feel the cool liquid hit your chest. This time, when he rubs his thumb over your nipple, he spreads his spit across your skin, making it even more intense.

“Part of me just wants to cum on these perfect tits,” he admits.

You make a very clear sound of disagreement, and Hyuck pulls his cock out of your mouth. You’d been salivating so much that as he moves away, your own saliva drips back down onto your face from his length. You swallow thickly, finding your voice. “Need you to cum inside of me.”

“Fuuuuck,” Hyuck groans, pinching your nipple even harder. “You and your creampie kink.”

He slips his cock back into your mouth, and you greedily eat him up.

Then he leans further over your body, his fingers joining yours on your core. “You’re so fucking wet,” he muses, pushing your hand out of your way so he can rub your clit, gently fucking your face as he does so.

It’s a shallow face fucking, as he’s bent over your laid down body to access your core, but you don’t mind.

Your eyes are still closed, and you’re enjoying every sensation, bringing your free hands up to your breasts to massage them and pinch your own nipples.

“You look so sexy, want you to cum so bad so I can fuck you stupid,” he tells you, rubbing your clit even harder.

You rut your hips up toward his hand, a non verbal motion that tells him you’re close.

God, it’s like he’s been in your pants before- he knows exactly how to stroke and massage your clit-

“And you’re still sucking me off so good-” he continues. “And grabbing at your tits too, you’re my insatiable little Angel, aren’t you?”

You moan deeply around his cock, and Hyuck fucks you a little harder, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat. You gag around him, feeling tears in your eyes.

“Shit, sorry, Angel, fuck, that just felt so good- can I do it again? Can I fuck your throat again?”

You make a sound of affirmation, shocked at how your body had reacted to his cock being fully inside of your mouth. A tingle of excitement had run through you, your nipples getting intensely sensitive, your core throbbing-

Hyuck does it again, hitting the back of your throat, and the same sensation happens. You can feel yourself getting desperately close to the edge, and you hardly have to do anything. Other than pinching your own nipples, Hyuck is the one taking care of you, and you kind of love it.

“I can tell you’re close, Angel,” Hyuck chuckles. “Fuck, gonna cum from me fucking your face and rubbing your clit, right?”

You moan desperately, wiggling your hips. Hyuck reads your cue, rubbing your clit even harder.

Now, you can’t help but pull off his cock, pushing his thigh to give you a bit of space.

“You good?” he asks, motions pausing.

“Yeah,” you tell him, swallowing thickly as you grab his cock to stroke him off. “Just keep- fuck, keep rubbing me like that, I’m so close-”

“Fuck this,” Hyuck mutters, and all of the sudden, he’s pulling away.

You let out a whine- only for him to spin you on his bed. He sinks to his knees, drawing your core to the edge where your head had just been, then he dives in, his lips immediately suctioning around your clit.

Two fingers push into your aching core and you whimper desperately, grabbing at his hair to keep him on your pussy as he works you closer and closer-

“Hyuck-” you cry out, muscles clenching-

One more slurp on your clit has you topping over the edge, entire body electrified by the orgasm surging through you.

You slap a hand over your mouth, trying to muffle your sounds as he works you through your high. He doesn’t quit, doesn’t pull away- he sucks your clit through your entire high, until your thighs are shaking on his shoulders and you’re on the verge of tears.

“Okay-” you whimper, pushing at his head. “Sensitive-”

Hyuck finally lets up. You open your eyes to watch him stand, pulling his fingers from your core and sliding them into his own mouth.

“You taste just like Halloween candy, baby,” he muses, eyes clouded with lust.

“I wanna taste,” you whisper.

Hyuck pushes his jeans completely off, and then he gets on top of you, smashing his lips to your own. The flavour of your pussy is hot on his tongue, and it invades your senses, driving you wild as you kiss him deeper, threading your fingers through his hair.

His cock nudges between your pussy lips as he grinds down against you, rocking his hips.

“Fuck me,” you tell him, moving your mouth to suck on his ear lobe.

“Shit,” Hyuck groans, shivering from the sensation of your tongue on his ear. “Want you naked first.”

He pulls away just long enough to tug your dress up and over your head, then he returns to his spot, his cock rutting against your core once more.

The two of you have been friends forever. Hyuck knows you have an IUD, he’d been there for you when you’d gotten it last year, when you’d just wanted to stay in bed and rot for a few days. There’s no need to discuss birth control or safety- all there’s left to do, is have his thick cock fill you in ways you’ve been wanting all week.

Hyuck adjusts, grabbing his base so he can push his tip into your throbbing hole.

“Fuck,” you whimper in his ear, clutching his shoulders as he pushes an inch into you.

“You good?” he asks, breath hot on your throat.

“So good,” you respond, locking your legs around his hips.

He pushes deeper into your pussy, and your core welcomes him in, walls stretching to accommodate his thick cock.

Hyuck bottoms out, and you both groan deeply. He forces his lips onto your own again, and it’s a clash of teeth and tongues.

It’s animalistic in the best sort of way- like you’ve both been caged up for as long as you’ve known each other, and you’re finally letting your beasts out to do the most primal thing imaginable.

There are no thoughts in your mind as Hyuck begins to fuck you, there’s only you, him, and this intense feeling of pleasure.

You feel so connected to him- missionary isn’t always the most fun position, but with Hyuck, it feels right. It feels like this was meant to be your first time together, face to face, lip locked, breathing each other in, moaning desperately as he takes you as his own.

“Fuck,” Hyuck groans, gently biting on your lip. “Your pussy is taking me so fucking well- first your mouth, now this- how do you expect me to last long?”

“I don’t,” you giggle. “You made me cum so hard on your tongue, I’m about ready to be filled with your cum and then lay here.”

“I’m gonna cuddle the shit out of you after this.”

“You better,” you grin.

Hyuck smiles against your lips, kissing you again as he fucks you even harder.

The stretch of his girthy cock is unlike anything else- and it feels like heaven as he pounds you into his mattress.

“Rub your clit?” he suggests.

“I can’t- I can’t cum again,” you whimper, still sensitive from your first orgasm.

“I’ll have to train you to cum more after this,” he promises.

You can only grin, drawing his lips to your own again as he uses you to find the ends of his own pleasure.

His whimpering sounds are like music to your ears- fuck, Hyuck is too hot to even imagine. Had this guy really been one of your best friends for this long without you ever exploiting this?

You’re so fucking happy he’d called you and been weird all week- it was the perfect foreplay, and now, you’re completely enraptured by him.

“Shit,” Hyuck groans.

“You close, baby?” you ask.

“Fuck, call me baby again.”

“Baby,” you whimper, “your cock feels so good in my tight pussy.”

Hyuck moans even louder.

“Just like that,” you encourage him, tightening your legs on his hips. “Keep doing that- right there-” The tip of his cock is hitting the perfect spots inside of you, and you’re gasping from the feeling, burrowing your face in his throat and panting against his skin.

“Shit, Angel-”

“Cum for me, baby, cum in my pussy,” you urge him.

That’s all it takes for him to explode, letting out a deep groan as he releases deep inside your core, coating your walls with him.

His thrusts falter, his breathing laboured, entire body shivering-

You stroke the back of his head, cooing in his ear, helping him through it until he’s finished, coming to a stop ontop of you and breathing heavily.

“Good boy,” you tease.

Hyuck lets out a deep chuckle, and it turns into a sigh. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“And you’d love that.”

“I would,” he admits. “Okay, fuck, I’m gonna pull out, gonna grab some tissues and sweat pants- we can head to the bathroom down the hall and hopefully clean up a little, then we’re gonna cuddle.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” you grin, laying there as he groans and gets off of you, following through with his intentions.

Soon, cum is being wiped from your pussy and you’re being helped into sweatpants.

The two of you exit his room, and you’re very pleased to see that most of the party is downstairs, leaving his floor pretty vacant.

You make your way to the bathroom with him, clutching his hand.

Once there, you both clean up, and you listen to Hyuck splash water on his face while you pee, making sure all his cum is out of you.

The two of you make it back to his room, collapsing into bed. He pulls you to his chest, cuddling you close.

“Before I pass out… how did you know it was me on the phone?” he asks.

“Out of everyone in the frat, you idolize Johnny the most. It wasn’t a reach that you’d recreate his Ghostie thing last year. On top of that, you’re a film major, you know horror movies better than anyone else. And, you’re a horny fucker, which is something I’ve always loved about you- I just… I needed you to make a move, which you never really did, until now. It just… made sense that it was you. The way we talk to each other, I could tell it was you from the very first call.”

“Here I was, thinking I was all suave and shit.”

“You were very suave, baby,” you grin, pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw.

“Happy Halloween, Angel.”

You giggle. “Happy Halloween.”

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! find my other nct frat fics (including Ghostie) HERE. I made this meme for this fic because it's so them.

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🔮 preview. “So, I’m gonna finger fuck you stupid,” he explains, pushing his digits back into you. “And then, I’m going to apply pressure, right here-” Hyuck’s hand smooths across your abdomen, even the slightest push makes you feel his fingers deep in your core, and you release a whine of pleasure. “Yeah, you’re going to love this,” he confirms with a grin.

cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, oral ( f receiving), pussy worship, fingering, multiple reader orgasms, overstim, squirting, dirty talk, praise, Hyuck holds the reader down by her abdomen, etc… I petnames: (y/n’s) Angel. (his) Baby.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.4k I teaser wc. 220

🌙 staring. Haechan x afab!reader

bonus

You love Hyuck, you do- but sometimes (especially when watching movies) he has this tendency to… well, never shut up.

“Okay so, coming up, when the alien pops out of his body, the director didn’t tell anyone this was going to happen, so when Sigourney Weaver and the others react, it’s genuine shock and surprise-”

You love his facts too, you do… but… sometimes, they get a bit much.

“Baby,” you coo, cuddling closer to your boyfriend, “Can we just… watch the movie?”

“We are watching the movie.”

“I mean… God, I’m going to sound like a bitch, but can we get through like… ten minutes without a fun fact?”

“But… my fun facts are fun.”

“They are, baby, they are,” you assure him, patting his chest, “I just…” you sigh, “ten minutes?”

“I can think of a distraction for my mouth,” Hyuck grins.

Your pussy immediately flutters, picking up on what he’s saying. “Yeah? Don’t you want to watch the movie?”

“I’ve seen it a billion times.” His hand rubs your shoulder and he nuzzles against your cheek, breath hot on your skin. “Come on, let me eat out your pretty pussy. I’ve been wanting to overstim you for a hot minute- I think I could get three or four out of you while you’re watching.”

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#haechan #haechan smut #donghyuck #donghyuck smut #lee haechan #lee haechan smut #lee donghyuck #lee donghyuck smut #nct #nct smut #nct 127 #nct 127 smut #nct dream #nct dream smut #haechan nct #nct haechan #nct haechan smut #haechan nct smut

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emberwhite · 1 year ago

Text

I spent the last 11 months working with my illustrator, Marta, to make the children's book of my dreams. We were able to get every detail just the way I wanted, and I'm very happy with the final result. She is the best person I have ever worked with, and I mean, just look at those colors!

I wanted to tell that story of anyone's who ever felt that they didn't belong anywhere. Whether you are a nerd, autistic, queer, trans, a furry, or some combination of the above, it makes for a sad and difficult life. This isn't just my story. This is our story.

I also want to say the month following the book's launch has been very stressful. I have never done this kind of book before, and I didn't know how to get the word out about it. I do have a small publishing business and a full-time job, so I figured let's put my some money into advertising this time. Indie writers will tell you great success stories they've had using Facebook ads, so I started a page and boosting my posts.

Within a first few days, I got a lot of likes and shares and even a few people who requested the book and left great reviews for me. There were also people memeing on how the boy turns into a delicious venison steak at the end of the book. It was all in good fun, though. It honestly made made laugh. Things were great, so I made more posts and increased spending.

But somehow, someway these new posts ended up on the wrong side of the platform. Soon, we saw claims of how the book was perpetuating mental illness, of how this book goes against all of basic biology and logic, and how the lgbtq agenda was corrupting our kids.

This brought out even more people to support the book, so I just let them at it and enjoyed my time reading comments after work. A few days later, then conversation moved from politics to encouraging bullying, accusing others of abusing children, and a competition to who could post the most cruel image. They were just comments, however, and after all, people were still supporting the book.

But then the trolls started organizing. Over night, I got hit with 3 one-star reviews on Amazon. My heart stopped. If your book ever falls below a certain rating, it can be removed, and blocked, and you can receive a strike on your publishing account. All that hard work was about to be deleted, and it was all my fault for posting it in the wrong place.

I panicked, pulled all my posts, and went into hiding, hoping things would die down. I reported the reviews and so did many others, but here's the thing you might have noticed across platforms like Google and Amazon. There are community guidelines that I referenced in my email, but unless people are doing something highly illegal, things are rarely ever taken down on these massive platforms. So those reviews are still there to this day. Once again, it's my fault, and I should have seen it coming.

Luckily, the harassment stopped, and the book is doing better now, at least in the US. The overall rating is still rickety in Europe, Canada, and Australia, so any reviews there help me out quite a lot. I'm currently looking for a new home to post about the book and talk about everything that went into it. I also love to talk about all things books if you ever want to chat. Maybe I'll post a selfie one day, too. Otherwise, the book is still on Amazon, and the full story and illustrations are on YouTube as well if you want to read it for free.

#books #reading #childrens books #lgbtq #lgbtqia #autism #transgender #furry #therian #art #deer #queer #artists on tumblr #creativity #illustration

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th3cadav3r · 4 months ago

Note

I saw a meme the other day with Daisuke with hibiscus' tattoo on his upper arm, it gave me FEELINGS😤 Can you write nsfw for fem reader seeing it for the first time and just showing Daisuke how sexy she finds it, and just body worshipping him in general please? If not I understand, thanky 😊

Hibiscus Tea

Daisuke X Female Reader

summary: you see Daisuke’s tattoo for the first time and you think it’s the hottest thing ever

content: fluff+smut, porn with minimal plot, praising, mention of birth control, reader has female anatomy

author’s note: this was such a cute request! I’ve never seen the meme that you’re referencing but I wish that I could see. ALSO SORRY THAT THE PICTURE IS A PALE WOMAN’S ARM I REALLY COULDN’T FIND A GOOD REF PIC THAT MATCHED HIM

You only happened to see it by chance. Daisuke was hard at work fixing something or other when you decided to pay him a visit. You were greeted by the sight of him with his shirt pushed over his head acting as more of a headband. His skin was glistening with sweat and oil

Oh. My. God

You stood in the doorway dumbfounded for a good six seconds before your mouth could finally form words. “H-Hey, Dai”

His attention was taken away from the engine that he was fixing and he turned completely towards you. “Hey!”

His face always lit up when he saw you. You knew that Swansea had been giving him a tough time that day, so he really needed some good quality hang out time

Daisuke stopped working for a while just to sit down with you and talk. He didn’t bother rolling his shirt back down, though, which made it very difficult to pay any attention to what he was saying

Your eyes flickered down to his figure almost involuntarily as you talked to him. And upon one of these brief glances, you see a small tattoo of a pink hibiscus on his arm. This is the first time you’ve seen it of course since his short sleeves always covered it. It was such a cute tattoo that rested perfectly on his toned arm; you couldn’t help but fixate on it while he talked. Eventually, he noticed that your gaze had drifted from his eyes to his arm and he chuckled a bit

“Never saw it before huh?” he asked

You snapped out of your daydream instantly and fumbled to find your words

“I—No I haven’t,” you stutter. “Sorry for staring…”

He gave you a reassuring smile. “No worries. I don’t blame you I mean it is pretty awesome”

You playfully rolled your eyes at his prideful remark. He always made a joke about everything; you loved that about him…among other things too…

“It looks cool,” you say shyly. “It really suits you, honestly”

Daisuke expected you to come back with a snarky or playful response like you usually did. He was genuinely surprised when your cheeks turned pink as you timidly complimented him. And he couldn’t be happier

“Ahhh~!”

You moan loudly into his ear as your head rests on his shoulder. He should be worried about how much noise you’re making considering that it’s entirely possible that anyone might hear you. But he honestly doesn’t care—the sounds that you’re making coupled with the sensation of his cock deep inside you is making him feel dizzy in the best way possible

You’re both on the couch in the living room while everyone else is—hopefully—asleep in their respective quarters. You and him started with just cuddling, which then turned into kissing, which then turned into you eagerly stripping each other’s clothes off. And now here you are, riding him like there’s no tomorrow

Your half-lidded eyes once again land on his tattoo. You were more turned on by it then you wanted to admit. You had no idea why this simple small tattoo of a pink hibiscus flower made your heart quicken and your pupils dilate. Perhaps it wasn’t so much the image itself and more so who’s hot body it was on

“You feel sooo good, Dai,”you whine. Your arms are wrapped around his neck, pulling his body against yours

“You too,”he managed to say in between pants. His hips buck into you wildly as he grips onto your waist. He’s definitely close by now and so are you

“You’re so fucking hot,”you mutter mindlessly as his pace quickens. “So fucking good for me”

Fuck. You can feel his dick twitch inside of you each time you praise him. He’s living for this

“Mmm” Daisuke can’t even get any words out at this point. His mind is thoroughly melted from the combined pleasure of you bouncing on his cock and praising him

“I’m gonna—!” you blurt out, feeling your orgasm fast approaching

“Me too!” he says as his fingers dig deeper into your flesh. You bite down on his shoulder as you finally come undone, clenching and unclenching around him. His eyes roll to the back of his head as he cums inside you. Thank god you’re on birth control because he did not have the self control to pull out of you

Neither of you even have time to come down from your high before you start planting kisses all over him, worshipping his body like he deserved

“Such a good boy”

He groans softly as you kiss him, reveling in the feeling of you obsessing over him. His cock almost immediately starts hardening again inside you

“Hehe…fuck…”

#mouthwashing #daisuke mouthwashing #daisuke juarez #daisuke x reader #daisuke x female reader #daisuke mw #mouthwashing x reader #female reader #request #thecadaver

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thatsmzbitchtoyou · 6 months ago

Text

Blood and...Balsam? -Oneshot

Word count: 4634

Part 2

“Are you doing anything fun tonight?” Yelena asked nonchalantly as they did the clean up for the night.

“Nah,” Y/N shook her head, getting the coffee machine prepped for the next day. “Just going to enjoy my once in a lifetime weekend off.”

Yelena chuckled. It was pretty rare to get a whole weekend off while working at the diner. “Maybe you can find a cute Alpha to take the edge off?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, making Yelena laugh harder. “Oh please,” she groaned. “Don’t start that again.”

“Oh come on, Y/N,” Yelena smirked. “I can tell your heat is coming soon. And you haven’t had a partner to help you out for a long time. You’re gonna need something a little stronger than Mr. Boombastic in your side table drawer.”

Y/N laughed loudly at Yelena referencing her vibrator. “Ugh, remind me to never let you into my apartment again,” she said.

“I’ve seen how tall, dark and mysterious has been looking at you,” Yelena continued, not letting Y/N distract from the conversation. “All he ever gets is a cup of coffee and then an eyeful of you before he tips you way too much for just a cup of shitty coffee then leaves. Why not try flirting with him more?”

Y/N blushed but glared at Yelena for mentioning her regular. They didn’t know his name, and therefore he became “tall, dark and mysterious” because he was just that. He came in every morning at 7:00 a.m. sharp for one cup of straight black coffee. He wouldn’t let anyone serve him but Y/N. She didn’t know why, but he insisted on it, and she didn’t feel like asking questions. He was obviously an Alpha, she didn’t have to scent him to see it clear as day. Broody, moody, and quiet, but he made her day every time she’d greet him and he’d give her his signature smirk that he saved only for her and order the same thing, then say “Thanks, doll.”

“Leave him alone, Yelena,” Y/N said, feeling weirdly protective over him. “He obviously doesn’t want to be bothered.”

“Oh he’d love you to bother him,” Yelena raised her eyebrows suggestively. “The way he looks at you? Like he’d devour every inch of you if you’d let him? He’d let you bother him in every way possible. He wants some of that ass you’ve been lugging around!”

Y/N’s blush deepened at Yelena’s innuendos and referring to her being plus sized, but she rolled her eyes again and went back to closing out the register then gathering her things. “Just drop it, babes,” she sighed, shrugging on her coat and scarf and swinging her purse over her shoulder. She approached Yelena and hugged her, kissing her cheek before turning toward the door. “Lock up behind me, and be safe.”

“You first!” Yelena said as she came up and locked the door then waved to her through the glass.

Y/N waved then walked quickly down the street. The Autumn wind had set in over the last few days, making her cheeks already sting from the cold whipping against her face. She pondered on what Yelena said. Yes, it had been a long time since she’d had a partner, and if she were honest with herself, she felt romantically lonely. But every time she tried dating again she just had the most unfortunate luck with finding Alphas that were worth her time. They would make crude or disrespectful remarks about her size or her role as an Omega. She’d love a good fucking, but not by some hormone raging, misogynistic Alpha with his head up his own ass.

She was about to pass by an alleyway when she looked down and saw spots of blood. She stopped in her tracks, lightly gasping as she stared at the spots with wide eyes. The blood created a trail down the alleyway and beyond what she could see in the dark. She narrowed her eyes, trying to see, then heard a soft groan behind what looked like a dumpster a good twenty feet in. Her senses dialed up in anticipation and fear, and she could smell the tangy mix of iron from the blood and…was that balsam?

Against her better judgment, she walked into the alleyway, pulling out her phone for the flashlight. She slowly approached the dumpster, and heard scuffling as her flashlight shone on two feet moving away from the offending light. “I’m not here to hurt you,” she said loudly. “Just to make sure you’re okay!”

The scuffling stopped, then a deep, heavy sigh made a cloud in the air. “I’m fine,” a man’s voice replied.

Y/N scoffed and walked around the dumpster, then froze. It was tall, dark and mysterious, huddled against the dumpster and holding a hand against the side of his head by his temple. Dried blood was caked in his hair and he peered up at her for a moment before closing his eyes and frowning. “Fuck,” he grunted.

“Oh my god, what happened?” Y/N asked, quickly kneeling down in front of him and putting her phone flashlight side up on the ground so she could still see. Her hands moved to touch him, but at the last second stopped, just hovering over him and unsure of what to do.

“Nothing, doll, I’m fine,” he said, shaking his head and trying to move away from her. “Just had a rough night.”

Y/N looked him over to see if there were any other injuries before tentatively holding her hand up towards his head. “Can I see?” she asked gently. He looked at her suspiciously, narrowing his eyes for a moment before sighing again and nodding. He moved his hand away from his head, turning it to the side to let her see. Y/N raised her hand and moved some of his hair away to see a cut on his scalp near his hairline. It wasn’t too deep, the blood was already congealing to stop the flow, but the skin around it was bruised. “You should really get this checked out,” she said quietly.

“No doctors,” he huffed. “No hospitals.”

“Okay,” Y/N agreed quickly. “Fine. Then let me help you. I don’t live far from here, I can get you cleaned up at least.”

He stared at her, his eyes wide in surprise and his brow upturned. She held her hand out to him and his gaze flicked back and forth between her face and her hand for a moment before he reluctantly nodded. Y/N smiled at him as he took her hand, then she grabbed her phone and stepped back to help pull him off the ground. When he stood he let go of her hand and tried to walk, but stumbled after a few steps.

“Woah, hold on,” Y/N said, stepping forward and taking his arm, pulling it around her shoulders and winding one of her arms around his back. He looked like he was about to protest, but then he winced and his head leaned on top of hers. “Alright, this way,” she said, walking him out of the alley. There weren’t too many people out and about at that time, so they only got a couple of strange looks, and Y/N was grateful for living on the bottom floor when they reached her apartment building another block down. She guided him into the building and down to the left hallway, then dug her keys out of her coat pocket and unlocked her door and led him in and towards the couch nearby. He sat down with a huff and she turned to close and lock the door, then took off her coat and purse before walking down another hallway toward her bedroom and grabbing the first aid kit out of the linen closet. When she returned he was looking around her apartment intently.

“Alright,” she said, walking over to him and kneeling down in front of him, opening the first aid kit next to him on the couch. “Can you lean forward for me?”

His eyes were wide again at where she sat between his legs, but he inhaled slowly and moved himself to sit up. Y/N took out some disinfectant wipes and started wiping at the skin on his forehead and into his hair where the blood had dried, moving his hair in different directions to make sure she cleaned it well. She then grabbed a solution for cuts and then a small bandage and put them on the part of the wound that was near his hairline since she was unable to do more than that with his hair in the way. She desperately ignored his eyes on her, trying to focus on the task at hand. When she finished she double checked to make sure there wasn’t anything else to treat before meeting his gaze.

“All done,” she whispered.

He didn’t look away. “Thank you,” he murmured.

“Did you get hurt anywhere else?” she asked, once again attempting to ignore the way her blood raged in her ears from the way he was looking at her.

“No,” he shook his head. “Just my pride.”

Y/N chuckled, a wide smile breaking across her face. He seemed proud of the fact that he got her to laugh, his own smile lighting up his face.

“At least it’s just that,” she said. She didn’t really want him to leave. Normally being alone with an Alpha in the same room as her, an unmated Omega, would have sent her running, but she didn’t smell or sense any kind of weird shifts in his behavior toward her. “Um, are you hungry?” she asked, quickly standing and grabbing the first aid kit. “I can whip something up real quick. You still seem a little wobbly on your feet, it might help to steady you.”

“That sounds great, doll,” he said. “Thank you.”

Y/N got busy in the small kitchen just off the front room, pulling together random things she had in her fridge and pantry until she had a pseudo spaghetti dish prepped. She set it on the table with some water then walked over to the couch. He had gotten comfortable on her couch, his head leaning back against the couch cushion and his eyes closed. He was breathing heavily and she bit her lip, feeling bad about waking him up.

“Hey,” she said, nudging his knee with her hand. “Food’s ready.”

His eyes fluttered open and he looked at her tiredly. He nodded then tried to lift himself up, but grimaced again once he was standing. Y/N quickly wrapped an arm around his back again, leading him through the kitchen to the breakfast nook-dining room attached. She sat him down on one of the chairs and made sure he was set before sitting in the opposite one. “I hope a Frankenstein spaghetti dinner is okay,” she said, spooning the noodles into a bowl for him and sliding it across the table. “I need to go grocery shopping again.”

“Looks great,” he smirked at her. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” she smiled, then took a bite.

They ate in silence. Y/N couldn’t decide if it was comfortable or not, so she just kept eating. She glanced out the window by the table and frowned when she realized that year’s first winter storm was setting in. “Ah shit,” she whispered to herself.

He looked up from the food and followed her eye line, then groaned at the large snowflakes whizzing by the window. “You don’t have to worry about me,” he said. “I can get home.”

“Not in this,” Y/N gestured, looking at him incredulously. “You can sleep on the couch if you want.”

He shook his head. “I’ve already taken up too much of your time and hospitality. And how do you know I’m not some rut-drunk Alpha trying to have his way with you?”

Y/N frowned. “Are you?” She challenged him.

He stared at her again, an amused smile on his face. “No.”

He said it with such finality that she believed him. “Then stay,” she shrugged, standing up and taking her bowl to the sink before coming back to clean up the rest. “Though if you’re going to stay, I think that I should at least get your name?”

He swallowed his last bite and she grabbed his bowl. “James, but friends call me Bucky.”

“Are we friends?” Y/N asked, her own amused smile on her face this time.

“We must be,” Bucky said teasingly. “Cleaning me up, feeding me, giving me a place to stay? I’d say you’re a better friend than most of my actual friends are.”

Y/N laughed, walking back into the kitchen and starting to clean the dishes and put away the food. When she was finished she went back to the linen closet and pulled out some sheets, a pillow, an extra toothbrush and toothpaste, a towel, and then went into her room and grabbed some blankets she had stacked in a basket in the corner that she would use for her nests during her heats. They had been well cleaned, so she didn’t think much of it as she brought it all out and set up the pillow, sheets and blankets on the couch, then set the towel and the toiletries on the coffee table.

“Alright, well, it’s not some luxurious hotel, but I hope it’ll do,” she said, walking back into the dining room and helping him walk back out to the front room. He smiled at the bed she made for him, and she stepped off to the side. “Down the hall is the bathroom. If you need to shower you’re welcome to use my hair stuff, and I got you a toothbrush and toothpaste to use. If these aren’t warm enough just knock on my door and I can get you some more blankets,” she said quickly. “Uh…is there anything else I can help you with?”

Bucky smiled softly at her. “Yeah, you can tell me how it felt.”

“How what felt?” Y/N asked.

“When you fell from heaven,” he said, arching his eyebrow at her. Y/N’s eyes widened at the pickup line, then she burst out laughing. Bucky laughed with her, hanging his head into his hand and rubbing his face harshly. “That was terrible, I’m sorry,” he said. “Can we just blame the possible concussion I have and forget I said anything?”

Y/N wiped away at her eyes, covering her mouth as she tried to quiet down her laugh. “Sure,” she said while still giggling. “Well, goodnight Bucky.”

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he said. She smiled again at him and how he remembered her name from the diner, then turned down the hallway to get ready for bed.

***

Y/N woke up in the middle of the night in a panic. She was sweaty and hot, her hair sticking to her forehead and neck. She wasn’t sure what it was that woke her up so suddenly, but then she felt a cramp wrack through her nether regions, and she gasped at the pain. For fuck’s sake, she thought. It was her heat. She reached toward her bedside table for Mr. Boombastic, but then tensed when the night’s events all rushed back in her memory. Bucky.

She had a slightly concussed Alpha sleeping in her living room. She sighed through gritted teeth. It would just be her luck that she would have the hottest Alpha she’d ever come across in her home right as her heat hit. Curse her bleeding heart in helping him. Y/N didn’t dare take out the vibrator, and instead tried to rock back and forth on her bed, breathing deeply and practicing the yoga she’d been working on for anxiety. Every time she felt like maybe she had a hold on it another cramp would broil in the pit of her stomach, her pussy absolutely throbbing and producing slick that coated her inner thighs uncomfortably.

Her throat dried up with how much she was trying to breathe through the cramps, and she was suddenly hit with a coughing fit. “No, please,” she wheezed. She didn’t want to go out of her room for a drink of water. She didn’t know Bucky. What if he woke up? What if he tried to do something? And then the errant thought, Wouldn’t you want him to do something? NO. No, that was the heat talking.

She couldn’t stop coughing, her eyes watering and her throat burning, so she gave up and tip-toed out of her room and down the hallway towards the kitchen. She glanced at Bucky, who still laid perfectly still on the couch, soft snores echoing in the living room. Y/N choked back another cough as she went to the fridge and opened it, grabbing a few water bottles. She opened one and chugged it, the cold water helping calm her aching throat. The cold tiled floor made her shiver and she turned to close the fridge door, then gasped. Bucky was looming over her. His breath was heavy, his nose flaring as he scented her, and he shut his eyes tight. His jaw ticked, and Y/N felt another pulse of slick ooze from between her legs.

“Dammit, doll,” Bucky whispered. “Seriously, your heat? Now?”

Her frustration boiled over at his tone. “It’s not like I can schedule it,” she sneered. “I’m sorry for waking you up, just let me—mmh,” she moaned. Her body was recognizing the Alpha nearby, and she shuddered in front of him. “Fuck!”

Bucky inhaled sharply, leaning his head back as his mouth dropped open and he licked his lips. “Holy shit,” he groaned. “You smell—”

“Don’t,” Y/N pleaded, embarrassment making her shrink away from him. “Just let me by, Bucky. I’ll take care of it.”

They stayed put, waiting for the other to react. Y/N wanted him, really bad, but she didn’t know him, and he didn’t know her. She had just barely learned his first name tonight, and had only ever helped him get a cup of coffee on every other encounter they had. Of course her body didn’t care about that. All it knew was that she was in heat, there was an Alpha nearby, and that the only thing that could help quell the pain was a thick, fat, juicy–

“You took such good care of me tonight, Y/N,” Bucky said, taking a small step toward her. She backed up into the counter behind her, dropping the water bottles in her arms that bounced and rolled away from them as they hit the floor. He leaned down and caged her against the counter with his arms, his face dipping to be eye level with her. His eyes focused on her lips for a moment before he met her gaze. “I wanted to do this right. Talk to you more at the diner, get your number, take you out on a few dates, get to know each other better. Then I got rocked at an enhanced fighters match and you found me and now…” he paused, nuzzling his nose along her cheek. “Let me take care of you.”

Y/N was being overwhelmed by his presence. The sheer size of him, his low voice, the yearning in his bright, blue eyes as he ogled her up and down, and his scent, the perfect mix of balsam and something a little spicy, was making her voice of reason fly out the proverbial window. Bucky leaned down a little further, ghosting his lips over her jaw and down her neck until he sniffed out her scent gland. He lightly kissed it, rubbing his nose along it and inhaling deeply as his teasing the gland produced a fresh wave of her scent. “Please, Omega,” he begged, his voice coming out more hoarse and wanton. “Let me have you.”

Y/N whimpered, then grabbed his face and brought him back up to kiss him. The second their lips met Bucky moaned, his arms enveloping her and bringing her as close to him as possible. She craned her neck up to keep kissing him, moaning with him as his hands began to explore over her body, his fingers squeezing every dip and curve in her flesh that he could find. Her body and mind were at war with each other, battling between what she wanted and what she needed. But when he broke the kiss so he could suck at her scent gland, all reasonable thought left the room.

Bucky leaned down and picked her up, surprising her with how easily he lifted her and started walking toward her bedroom. He kicked her door open and dumped them both on her bed, adjusting them into the middle of the mattress before he began stripping her of her sleep dress and then ripping her underwear off, making her yelp. “Look at you,” he murmured, his eyes raking over her hungrily. “God, this body. Do you know why I only wanted you to serve me at the diner?” Y/N shook her head, her hands pulling at his shirt that he quickly shrugged off. Her eyes vaguely registered his metal arm before he continued to speak. “Because I just had to get a look at the way that uniform fits you,” he smirked. “Every time I’d get home I’d have to fuck my own fist just to get rid of the hard on you gave me.”

Y/N whined at his filthy words. “Bucky…”

“Yes, doll, say my name just like that,” he moaned, his eyes rolling back. His hands were everywhere, massaging and caressing her all over as her fingers fumbled with his pants, trying to push them down. He helped kick them and his underwear off, then gripped his cock in his metal hand and rubbed it through her slick. “Is this all for me?” he mumbled, looking like he was getting lost in the pleasure of just looking at her.

“All yours, Bucky,” Y/N breathed, her hips trembling at the feeling of his tip nudging between her pussy lips. “Please, Alpha, I can’t–”

Bucky violently shivered above her. “Fuck!” he nearly barked, then thrust into her in one roll of his hips. Y/N’s back arched, her mouth agape in a silent scream with the feeling of him completely filling her sopping pussy almost undoing her. She hadn’t had an Alpha to help her through a heat in a long time, but even when she had they had never been able to stretch and fill her like Bucky did. “Oh my god!” he whispered, gritting his teeth and shutting his eyes tight. Every muscle in his body looked tense, like he was afraid that if he moved he would lose it. “How? How do you have the most perfect cunt? Gonna make me pop my knot too early, doll.”

Y/N couldn’t answer him. Her mind was blinded by pleasure, her pussy already pulsing around him and creating mini orgasms fluttering through the lower half of her body. Bucky’s hands let go of her hips and moved to grasp her wrists and push them above her head. “Keep your hands up for me,” he instructed. She barely nodded as his flesh arm dug under her neck and his metal hand dug under her lower back, keeping her body flush with his. “Let me hear you, Omega,” he said lowly, then he started to thrust his hips into her.

Y/N’s hands gripped the pillows above her head, her ankles hooking behind his ass as he bounced her on his cock repeatedly. She wasn’t sure what noises she was making anymore, but they seemed to drive Bucky on. He would minutely change position every time he would find something new that would make her whimper and moan or get louder, like he was searching for the perfect combination to pull her apart. Not that he needed to, she was already at his mercy with how he completely covered her, his cock making her eyes continually roll and her head loll at the perfect drag and fill he gave her.

His knot was beginning to swell, catching inside her and making his thrusts lose their pace. “I’m gonna fuck you full of me, Omega,” he huffed in her ear.

“Please,” Y/N begged, her hands moving to his head, scratching through his hair except for the part she had cleaned up earlier.

“Make this pussy mine,” he said, kissing all over her face and swallowing her responding moan.

“Yours,” Y/N mumbled against his lips.

“My Omega,” he said, staking his claim as he lightly bit her bottom lip.

“Yes! My Alpha!” Y/N cried out at the sting from his teeth.

“Yeah I’m yours, all yours Omega,” Bucky chuckled. “Can I claim you, doll? Can I bite this pretty neck and make you mine? All…mine.” His words were punctuated with his thrusts, and Y/N could feel herself almost falling off the ledge of her pleasure.

She moved her head to the right, exposing her neck to him. “Mark me,” she rasped, her voice starting to give out from how much she had been babbling. “Take me. Fill me with your pups, Bucky. Alpha please, I need it!”

“That’s fucking right,” Bucky said. His lips mouthed at her scent gland, licking and sucking at it. Her scent burst forth again, surrounding them both and permeating the room, and Bucky rubbed his wrist scent gland against her neck to make them both mix, creating a perfect combination of balsam, spice, citrus and berry. “Mine,” he growled, then he bit into her neck.

Y/N screamed, the pain making the pleasure that much stronger so her pussy spasmed on his cock, cumming hard against him. Bucky whimpered against her neck, his knot fully inflating inside her as he came, filling her up so much that she could feel their blended cum oozing from between them and down her ass. Her vision went white, and she fell limp against the bed from the overstimulation of all things purely Bucky.

A short time later Bucky unlatched his teeth from her neck, licking at the wound he created and kissing gently. He carefully moved them both to lay on their sides to be comfortable until his knot deflated. She was tucked under his right flesh arm that was rubbing her back soothingly while his metal hand continued to feel over her curves, like he was committing her to memory, randomly prolonging her pleasure by kneading her breasts and playing with her nipples. His kisses never stopped, starting with soft pecks and then sucking on her skin, leaving love marks and bruises across her neck, chest, and breasts as far down as he could reach. Y/N’s arm was slung around his waist, her other arm tucked underneath herself. She could barely respond to his more passionate kisses, lazily opening her mouth and letting him taste her, suckling on his tongue before he would move down or across her face again.

“You did so well, Omega,” he praised her, his low voice and sweet words making her preen. “Took me so well. Do you feel that, doll?” His metal hand flattened against the pit of her plushy stomach, where it was slightly more chubby than usual. “You’re gonna be dripping me for days. You look so pretty stuffed full of me.”

Y/N hummed, her pussy pulsing around him at the thought of it. “Alpha,” she breathed, her voice shot from how loud she screamed.

“Such a good girl. Such a perfect Omega,” he said, kissing her lewdly again. “And you’re all mine.”

#marvel #bucky barnes #smut #bucky barnes x reader #ask #request #anon ask #oneshot #bucky barnes oneshot #abo #alpha!bucky barnes #omega!reader #alpha!bucky barnes x omega!reader

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lady-pug · 7 months ago

Text

Written Between the Lines

Chapter VI - One Flesh, One Heart, One Soul

Summary: After marrying in the Faith of the Seven, you and Aemond are ready to consummate your marriage. But something has been troubling him about it and you are determined to get to the bottom of this before finally giving in to your desires.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Word count: 10k (on the dot!)

Warnings: canon-typical incest (uncle-niece); smut, so minors DNI; oral sex (female receiving); p in v sex; hand job; fingering; switch!Aemond (leaning more towards sub!Aemond); jealousy; referenced past SA (Aemond talks about the time Aegon took him to the Street of Silk) and it's consequences to oneself (please please read carefully)

Notes: Hello everyone! You thought this story was over, didn’t you? Well, it is not. I just took a really long time writing this chapter. Because of this, the first thing I’d like to do is apologize. I’m sorry for taking so long, I got caught up in some college work and this huge event I help organize, and it took me quite a while to finish that (and not only that, as you can see by the word count, this chapter is one chonky boi, for the more I wrote the more I wanted to write and I just couldn’t stop.) Anyway, here it is and I’m sorry once again.

TW: Please please read the warnings, this one does talk about SA and it’s repercussions and consequences to oneself, (it doesn’t happen during the story, it’s only mentions of past events). If this is something you are uncomfortable with feel free to skip this one, put yourself and your own comfort first, only read it if it doesn’t make you uncomfortable. Stay safe!

This story will have more parts to it, but like I said, I’ve been having a lot of work to do (a shame I can’t just write all day, but meh, c'est la vie) so I won’t be able to update weekly like with the previous chapters and updates will take a little while longer.

Also, I used an online translator (I don’t know if it’s grammatically correct, I’ll just roll with it, if someone spots any mistakes please let me know and I’ll correct it right away), translations are in the end notes.

I am really proud of how this one turned out, really, I’d even dare say (throwing modesty out the window entirely) it’s one of my favorite works of mine so far. So I really hope you enjoy this one as much as I did! Thank you so so much for reading!

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Your feet were killing you. There was no other way to describe it. You yearned to finally retire to your marital chambers and take off these dreaded shoes, but alas you had to entertain the guests for a little while longer at least.

“What troubles you, ābrazȳrys?” your husband asked from beside you.

“Nothing you need to concern yourself with, valzȳrys.” you smiled softly at him, your heart clenching at his concern.

Husband.

After four whole moons you could finally call Aemond your husband. Twice over in fact. Not only were you married in the Faith of the Seven, as per his mother’s and grandsire’s wishes, but Daemon and your mother had organized a ceremony for you to be wed in the ways of Old Valyria (after which your step-father had jested, asking if you were to consummate the marriage already or wait until after the second ceremony at the sept, earning a slap on the shoulder from Rhaenyra and a chuckle from Laenor. Aemond had in turn blushed profusely, and you thought the pink hue that dusted his cheeks suited him, wanting to see it more often).

Laenor had stayed with you in your chambers, running his fingers through your hair until you fell asleep. He had woken you by dawn, reluctantly saying he had to go, for Daemon had arranged a ship to take him back, but he needed to leave as early as possible as to not risk being seen by anyone. You said your goodbyes with tears rolling down your cheeks, for you felt this was the last time you’d ever see him again, though he did tell you to pay him a visit in Qarth should you ever find your way to Essos before disappearing through the secret tunnels of Maegor’s Holdfast.

You barely managed to fall back asleep after that, too eager to start the day already. Both Rhaenyra and Alicent insisted on helping you get ready, you and your mother sharing complicit smiles every time your good mother referred to her son as your ‘soon to be’ husband. The ceremony itself went by without a hitch, with Aemond placing his cloak, in a mixture of both green and black colors, over your shoulders and kissing you tenderly afterwards.

The feast was grand, with almost every major house having been invited. You had saved your first dance for Aemond, but quickly switched partners and danced with Helaena, then with Baela, Jace, Luke and even with Aegon, though the last one was short lived for Aemond, not at all enjoying the sight of his brother’s grubby hands all over you, not so gently pushed him aside and resumed as your partner once more. You felt happy, happier than you had been in several years. Your family, or most of it, was reunited again, celebrating love and not fighting a senseless war like you feared they would.

And now, even though you were having a splendid time, you were counting the minutes until you could finally retire and spend some time alone with your husband.

“I cannot believe you are going to forego the bedding.” Aegon groaned from next to you “It is tradition.” to which you had to hold Aemond back from reaching across from you and strangling his brother as the latter cackled.

In the moons that followed your betrothal you had noticed that, whenever someone who wasn’t you made any reference to anything involving your marital bed or your marital duties, Aemond would tense up. Anyone else would think the way his shoulders straightened was a demonstration of pride, a man who couldn’t wait to bed his future wife, but you had come to know him better than that. While you had no doubt he was eager to lay with you, you knew his stiffness stemmed from somewhere else, somewhere he had yet to disclose. Where most saw him preening with pride you noticed him shrinking back in on himself.

So you requested, more, begged your mother to forbid the bedding ceremony, much to Aegon’s dismay, claiming you weren’t comfortable with the situation and you were the one who wanted privacy. It wasn’t technically a lie, for you truly wanted to share this moment with your husband only, but you wanted to get to the bottom of the issue first. She was quick to agree, and anyone who complained that it entailed breaking tradition got a scorn filled glare from her and a reminder that, as Queen, her word was final. The only condition, set by some of the men in the Small Council, was that you deliver the linens to one of the maesters in the morrow as proof of your virtue.

Aemond must have noticed you slumping in your chair, tiredness seeping into your bones from hours upon hours of celebration, for he stood from his seat and extended a hand to you.

“Shall we retire for the evening, my love?”

My love.

The moniker set your cheeks aflame as you smiled softly at him, glancing briefly at your mother, seeking her permission to be excused. She nodded softly, mentioning something about retiring as well to check on Visenya. You accepted his hand and both of you left the great hall amidst praises and cheers from the guests.

As you approached his, now yours as well, chambers you could see him getting progressively more fidgety. If it was due to nerves or anticipation you could not tell. He opened the door for you, allowing you to step inside and take in the room, the things you had requested the servants to move from your previous quarters already in place.

“I have something for you.” he spoke hurriedly, almost as soon as the door was closed “A wedding gift, if you will.”

“What is it?” you watched him cross the space towards a chest nestled against the wall, rummaging inside. When he turned back to you in his hands laid a sheathed sword, a large sapphire resting on the top of the handle, almost where it met the blade, catching your eye.

“I had a little help from my uncle to get the measurements correct for you.” he extended the sword to you which you took from him almost reverently, running your fingers delicately over the intricate golden designs of the sheath.

Your eyes were filled with wonder as you pulled the blade out of the sheath, noticing how smooth and shiny the metal was. There was something different about the steel, it was more vibrant than what you were used to seeing, softer, yet somehow almost… sharper.

Aemond must have seen your questioning gaze aimed at the sword for he smiled, an almost proud smirk adorning his features as he explained.

“Valyrian steel.” you whipped your head to stare at him, astonished “Jewelry from all over the realm made of valyrian steel was melted and added to the steel alloy.”

This was a lot. It was such a thoughtful gift, made just for you by your husband that it almost brought tears to your eyes.

“I know it is not the same as an actual valyrian steel sword, like Dark Sister, but those are even harder to come by.” he started rambling, taking your silence as a sign you didn’t enjoy the gift “And it is not made with the same technique, as it was lost after the Doom-”

“It is perfect.” you cut him off, gazing at him with eyes full of emotion “It is absolutely perfect, valzȳrys, thank you. How did you manage to find the jewelry?”

“I have my ways.” he shrugged, as if unbothered.

He hummed in contentment, his face softening as he took a step closer to you.

“I also had a belt made just for you.” he stepped even closer, his gaze turning slightly darker, as if he was a predator stalking its prey “So you can wear your sword around court. All day, every day.” his finger stroked the sapphire on the handle as his lips grazed your ear “I want all to know how fierce of a woman my lady wife is.”

He closed the gap between your mouths, claiming your lips in a soft yet passionate kiss. It was over all too soon as he pulled away from you, but thankfully he didn’t go far. He took the sword from your hands, resheathing it and placing the gift on a nearby table, before kissing you again.

His arms circled around your waist and clung to your back as he kissed you hungrily, like if he didn’t get a taste of your lips he would die of starvation. His kisses left you burning from the inside, wishing, craving more.

Yet, as you placed your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself you noticed how tense he was. You couldn’t help but take in the way his hands trembled as he started unlacing the back of your gown.

“Aemond.” you tried pulling away, to look at him properly, but he chased after you, not wanting to be parted from your lips. He only stopped when you gently grabbed his cheeks and had to physically pry himself from you “Husband, I think we ought to talk.”

He recoiled and was out of your arms and across the room in an instant, moving so fast you barely had any time to react.

“Do you not wish to consummate our marriage?” he looked so heartbreakingly hurt for only a moment but then he steeled himself and you could sense the mask of indifference he often wore around court starting to slip back on.

“No, my love, of course not.” you rushed to his side, once again cupping his jaw urging him to look at you “I am just worried for you, is all.”

“Why should you be worried about me, ābrazȳrys?” he spoke, his tone clipped and cold, more so than it had been in a really long time. If he noticed how much his question offended you he didn’t let it show.

“Why should I not worry about you, husband?” you emphasized the last word, taking a long deep breath to steady yourself and let go of your exasperation “I just wish to know why the thought of consummating our marriage worries you so.”

It was Aemond’s turn to stare at you in confusion.

“I believe I have made it quite clear the depths of my desire for you.”

“I know, I know. And I desire you greatly as well, never doubt that even for a moment.” you sighed, worried he’d shut you out or push you away if you prodded any further, but decided to push forward regardless “It is just that, in the past few moons, whenever anyone else mentioned or even hinted at our marital duties to one another you became tense, withdrawn even.”

He looked taken aback at your words, as if he hadn’t even realized he was doing such a thing in the first place.

“I just wish to understand what ails you, my love.”

My love.

Those two words once again seemed to be what chirped at his resolve. He averted his eye, almost in shame, and turned his back to you. For a moment you feared he was going to walk out the door and leave your shared chambers altogether but he did no such thing. Instead he walked to the bed and sat down on the edge. You wondered if you should approach him or give him space, worried he’d flinch from your touch like a frightened animal, but even if he didn’t meet your gaze his body was turned towards you, open and inviting. So you took slow and deliberate steps towards him, taking your place besides him.

He stayed silent for a moment, clenching his fists as they rested on his thighs. You took one of his hands in yours, intertwining your fingers and giving it a gentle squeeze in hopes of calming his nerves. You raised your free hand towards the side of his face but stopped before you could touch him.

“May I?” you asked, and you didn’t need to say the words for him to know what you meant. Only after he nodded almost imperceptibly did you remove his eyepatch, revealing the alluring sapphire that matched the one placed on the gift he had given you.

“Aemond.” he glanced at you, something akin to guilt clear upon his features “Remember what we told each other earlier? I am yours and you are mine. Whatever it is, your burdens are now mine to carry as well.”

You placed your hand on his cheek, caressing the edge of his scarred flesh.

“Let me help you relieve some of that burden, please.” you practically whispered, almost begging.

For a moment he said nothing. Then he turned his head slightly, placing a kiss upon your palm.

“I have something I need to tell you.” he spoke, fear clinging to his voice.

“What is it?”

A thousand thoughts raced through your mind, wondering what could possibly be afflicting him so badly as to react like this, but nothing came to mind. So you settled on waiting for him to speak, not wanting to rush to conclusions.

��I have laid with a woman before.”

That… is not what you were expecting.

“When?” you did not know what else to say, so you settled for asking that.

“Years ago.” he shook his head, as if trying to forget “You were in Dragonstone at the time.”

You didn’t know how to react to that. You didn’t wish to dismiss his feelings, but you couldn’t seem to understand what the big deal was.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” he pulled back, almost offended

“Yeah.” you shrugged “I fail to see what the problem is.”

“How could you say that?” he stood up, pacing back and forth in front of you in frustration.

“We were not yet involved with one another, so you were not technically bound to anyone.”

“You waited around for me-”

“I did not remain a maiden specifically for you.” you reminded him “If I were a man I, too, would probably have indulged in the pleasures of the flesh.”

“Still. I should not have sullied myself like that, it was unbecoming of someone of my position and a disrespect to you, to my future wife.”

You wanted to argue further, to make him see reason, but the disproportionate reaction to something that, to you, seemed so trivial clued you in that his troubles ran deeper than you first thought. So you stopped talking, choosing to just annalyse his mannerisms. His movements were erratic, his fingers clawing at its nail beds almost to the point of breaking the skin, a habit inherited from his mother which he almost never indulged in.

He halted when he felt your hand wrapping around his arm, the leather of the doublet cold against your skin.

“You do not have to explain yourself to me. But I feel like there is something you are not telling me.” you grabbed both of his hands in your own, kissing his knuckles tenderly “I completely understand if you do not wish to share it. We can just forget this conversation ever happened and I shall not press any further, but, husband, please, I only wish to help ease your troubles.”

Aemond paused, exhaling shakily, before averting his eyes once more. Shame and guilt emanated from him in waves as he sat back down on top of the linens. You waited for his next move, smiling softly when his arms circled around your waist and brought you closer to him, standing between his parted legs.

“On my thirteenth name day,” he shuddered softly when he felt your fingers running through his scalp, his cheek resting in your stomach as he spoke “Aegon took me to the Street of Silk, as his gift to me. I did not know where we were going, ‘a surprise’ he said.”

It was your turn to shudder, your stomach churning as you felt where his tale was headed.

“He said… he said it was time for me to become a man. To become as well versed as he was, ‘a scholar in the ways of life’. I did not understand what he meant at first, but it was clear to me soon enough.”

He turned his head, hiding his face in your stomach as his hold on you tightened. The scene reminded you so much of the last time you saw him before your years-long distance, on that fateful night on Driftmark. Looking at him now you realized that, deep down, he was still that scared little boy, hiding behind the image of the fierce, impassive warrior he had created for himself over the years.

“Aemond, ñuha jorrāelagon,” you whispered “I get it. You do not need to continue if you wish to stop.”

He shook his head in response, desperate to get it all out now that he had already started. You supposed this was the first time he was speaking these words out loud, never having dared to utter it to a single soul before. So you tried to soothe him as best as you could, pulling the band that held his hair up in its usual half updo and letting it down, giving you more room to run your fingers through his locks, untangling the silver strands. This seemed to give him enough strength to continue, shifting his head so only his forehead was in contact with you and his words were directed to the ground below him, as if he couldn’t dare to look up at you.

“He arranged for a… a w-whore” he spit the word out like it was poison on his tongue “to take care of me in exchange for a bag of gold, and when the woman tried to give him back the excess amount, claiming it was too much, he told her to keep it. ‘For your trouble’ he told her.”

Your heart twisted painfully in your chest at his words. You were never too fond of Aegon, especially for the way he treated both Aemond and Helaena, but this… this was vile even for him.

“He wanted to watch.” he propped his chin on your stomach, peering up at you with a round, frightened eye that was steadily brimming with tears “I did not want him to watch. The madam tried to send him away, but he insisted, saying that he was the prince and he commanded it. Thankfully he got distracted by some other woman there and left.”

“A-and how did-” you swallowed thickly, trying to stay strong for him even though your own heart shattered for the boy he once was, the boy who shaped the man he was now “how did that make you feel?”

He shook his head once more, his gaze becoming distant, as if he was now looking through you rather than at you.

“I do not remember much.” he whispered “I just remember the stench. The whole place stunk. It reeked of sweat and wine and something… something so sickeningly sweet it was foul. Once I left I could still feel the smell clinging to me.”

One lone tear rolled down his cheek, followed by another, and then another. You cupped his cheek, your thumb catching the tears that refused to stop as he hiccuped.

“I tried washing it off. Scrubbed at my skin until it was raw and tender, but it would not go away.” his voice started to get tight “After a few days and several baths later it was still there, still lingering. I tried asking mother and even Helaena if they could feel it in me but they lied. They lied and said I smelled fine but I could feel it.” he choked back on a sob “I could feel it in me still, like it had seeped into my very bones. Sometimes when I think too hard about that night I can still feel it in my skin, like it never even left.”

His arms brought you even closer to him, almost to the point of pain, as if he was trying to completely merge his very being into you.

“I know I shouldn’t have.” his gaze focused on you once more, eye pleading for you, his tone bordering on desperation “Forgive me, please, mandianna! I shouldn’t have gone there in the first place, I shouldn’t have-”

“Qȳbor, stop.” you whispered softly, not wanting to aggravate him when he was this vulnerable “You have nothing to apologize for. You were only a child.”

“Still, I should have known better than-” he started shaking his head again, the look in his eye almost crazed, like he wanted so desperately for you to see him the way he saw himself.

“Aemond.” you spoke firmly, gripping his chin to force him to look at you “You were a child.”

A moment of silence passed, only his heavy breathing to be heard. Then something dawned on him, for he pressed his face against your stomach once more and started sobbing uncontrollably. His shoulders shook with the intensity of his wails, your arms coming around his frame to hold him against you, one hand gripping the back of his head and the other stroking his back. He cried and cried and cried. It seemed like he finally understood, after all these years, what truly happened that night. He realized his own brother sold his innocence, something that was his to freely give to whomever he chose, for some coin. His brother and, by extension, the madam forcefully took from him something that was inherently his, that should have remained his, something he would never get back and would never not miss. It was his, it should have been him to choose what to do with it, and they took it from him.

His loathing shifted then. What was once aimed at himself, the hatred he felt for the stench that never truly went away, shifted in turn to Aegon. He slowly, very slowly, started to forgive that thirteen year old boy, the one that never left either, for the things that happened to him that night. He now realized you could not forgive him for what he had done, for the one whose forgiveness he really needed was himself. It would take him a long time, he knew, to accept his own absolution, and perhaps he never would, not fully anyway, but he could certainly try.

Once he calmed down enough, his sobs turning to mere sniffles, he raised his head to glance at you once more. You were smiling softly at him, eyes so filled with love and compassion he felt almost undeserving of it. Your fingers in his hair helped to ground him, to bring him back to this moment in your arms. Realizing what had just transpired he tried to turn his head away in embarrassment but you wouldn’t let him.

“I am glad I have earned your trust enough for you to share this with me.” you spoke with reverence, earning a shy smile in return.

He then dried the remaining tears from his face and tried to stand up, but you were quicker, pressing onto his shoulders so he would remain seated.

“We do not have to do anything tonight.” you brushed a strand of hair away from his face and tucked it behind his ear “I can just prick a finger and smear some blood on the linens.”

“But I want to.” he almost whined, not wishing for you to part from him “I want to do this with you. With you I do not feel that stench, I-” he took a steadying breath before whispering “I just feel you.”

In that very moment you felt like your heart would burst from how much love you held for this man.

“Okay.”

He smiled brightly then, nuzzling his nose against you.

“But…” you pulled back from him, commanding his full attention “we will do only what you wish, nothing more. Whatever you want, tell me and it is yours. And if you wish to stop, at any moment, you tell me, alright?”

“Alright.” he nodded, quite enthusiastic.

“You have to promise me you will tell me if you want to stop.” you reiterated “Promise me.”

He stared up at you with so much adoration you felt like the Mother brought to land.

“I promise.”

You smiled, satisfied that he would follow through should he need to.

“Well, how do you want to start then?”

His gaze turned to one of confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, we cannot just jump right into it.” you jested.

“We can’t?” he looked so preoccupied at that, and your heart broke all over again. By the Gods, what had they done to this boy in that brothel?

You crouched down so your face was level with his, your noses almost touching as you whispered into his lips.

“Tell me what you want, valzȳrys.”

Aemond was at a loss for words, a world of endless possibilities presented itself to him and he didn’t know where to begin. But he supposed there was one thing he knew could be a good place to start.

“Can you kiss me?” he pleaded.

You sat down next to him on the bed, your body turned towards him, your knees bumping against his.

“You want me to kiss you?” you spoke softly, deciding to tease him for a bit by pulling one of his hands to your lips and kissing his knuckles “Is this where you want me to kiss you?”

“No,” he shook his head “not there.”

You hummed as if confused and let your lips graze his cheek.

“What about here?”

“No.”

Your lips traveled lower, placing a gentle kiss against his jaw.

“Here?” to which he shook his head.

Going lower, your lips traced the column of his throat, earning a soft gasp from him.

“N-not there either.” he whimpered as your teeth nipped against his skin gently.

“Then where do you want me to kiss you?” you pulled back, staring at his eye “I need you to tell me.”

His cheeks lit up bright pink, embarrassment coursing through him at the thought of speaking his thoughts out loud. But he had come to learn that if there was one person in his life that he could trust, that person was you.

“On the lips.”

You relented then, chasing his lips with your own. They were soft, only a trace of salt left behind by his tears previously shed. You kissed him gently, hands cupping his jaw as his own settled on your waist. It was tender, almost chaste, and you tried pouring all the love you felt for him into the kiss.

“I like it when you kiss me.” he whispered when you pulled back “No one else has ever done that for me.”

It was your turn to look confused, staring at him wide eyed.

“You have never been kissed before?” you questioned “By anyone other than me?”

He shook his head. That explained why he seemed so inexperienced the first few times around, because he truly was inexperienced.

“Not even…?” you didn’t want to say it, but he understood what you meant.

“No.” he denied again “It felt too intimate.”

More intimate than sex? you thought.

“After that night in the tub, before Driftmark,” you recalled that night, the night you shared your very first kiss. It was a peck more than anything, a childish attempt mostly, but it had meant the world to you “whenever I thought about doing it with someone else it did not feel right. Yours were the only lips I ever wanted to taste.”

You couldn’t help yourself, surging forward to capture his lips with your own in a heated kiss. The quiet whimper that escaped his mouth only spurred you on, seeking his touch. Your tongue eagerly tangled with his, tasting the sweet Dornish Red he had been sipping on before and something that was so inherently him.

He pulled back then, breathing heavily against your lips, a sheen line of saliva connecting both your mouths before dissipating.

“What about you?” he questioned, still trying to regain his breath.

“What about me?”

“Have you ever done this before?” he asked, averting his gaze shyly “Before me, I mean? You are quite good at it, I believe.”

“Well, I have had some practice.” it was your turn to feel embarrassed, quickly glancing away from him “For a while Jace and I believed mother would eventually marry us to one another after we left for Dragonstone. We decided to get used to each other before the inevitable happened.”

Something twisted painfully in Aemond’s chest at the thought of you, a younger you, locking lips with his damned nephew. It was almost primal, this rage he felt. You were his and his alone. You have always been his from the very moment you had come into this world, and you’d continue to be his until the Stranger came to collect your soul.

“It was gross, really. Happened only a handful of times before we gave up trying to pretend we were not disgusted by the idea.”

Your words did little to quell his unsettling feelings. Was this what jealousy felt like? Not envy, actual jealousy? Envy was something he was familiar with, for he had felt it pretty much all his life. He envied Aegon the most, but he also envied Rhaenyra a lot as well, your brothers and hells, even Helaena sometimes even though he loathed it. This was different.

“And I may or may not have gotten a bit too tipsy while staying on Winterfell during my travels and shared a kiss or two with the Warden of the North.”

“Cregan Stark?” he scoffed. While the thought of you swapping spit with a boresome and self-righteous northerner was a little less rage inducing in comparison to Jacaerys, that simmering jealousy was still present.

That all dissipated though at the feeling of your fingers gently brushing his hair away from his face, tucking it behind his ear.

“But none of them hold a candle to you.” his heart skipped a beat at your words, your hand reaching to do the same to the other side of his hair “Especially when you blush so prettily.”

Heat spread all over his face, as he stammered.

“I-I do no such thing!” he tried sounding offended, but all he did was make you giggle, as he proved your words right.

“Yes, you do.” you hooked a finger under his chin, forcing him to keep his gaze on you “You turn all red at a mere brush of my fingers, at the slightest of compliments. Like a maiden.”

He felt the warmth spreading to the tip of his ears, the back of his neck and even down his chest.

“How red do you think you would blush if I touched you some more, hm?”

Your fingers gently traced down his throat, feeling when he gulped harshly.

“Would you like that, husband?” you trailed down his soft skin, reaching the spot where his collarbone met the leather coat he still wore “For me to touch you?”

He nodded, somewhat shyly, but very much eager for you to make due on your word.

“Can I take this off?” you tugged at his doublet, almost startling at the speed at which he stood up and took it off for you. The linen chemise he wore underneath it quickly followed and he was left shirtless in front of you. You’d never get tired of looking at him, bare or otherwise. He was beautiful, all valyrian and almost none of the Hightower blood from his mother. You believed if the god Balerion ever had a physical body it would definitely look like Aemond.

You stood up as well, facing him as your fingers traced his features. You started by tracing his nose, following the curve of it down to his mouth, his lips twitching upon your touch as he puckered them, placing a soft kiss on the pads of your fingers. You traced along the column of his throat, your fingers tangling softly on the strands at the nape of his neck and tugging gently, earning a whimper from him. Then you kept going, fingers sliding against the planes of his chest and tracing the taunt lines of muscle in his abdomen. As you reached the hem of his breeches you snaked your arm around his slim waist, sprawling your hand against the slope of his lower back and pushing him towards you. The little ‘hmph’ sound that escaped him at the impact of your bodies was quickly drowned by your lips as they claimed his own in another fierce kiss.

Your fingers started their exploration all over again, starting once more at the back of his neck and slowly following down the length of his spine, feeling each and every ridge and bump under his skin, as he shuddered with every brush of your digits.

“P-Please,” Aemond mumbled as you nipped at his bottom lip “ābrazȳrys, please.”

“Please what?” you kissed his jaw, then down his neck, then at the juncture where his neck met his shoulder.

“Please, touch me.”

“I am touching you, valzȳrys.” you smirked against him, your teeth nibbling gently on his skin.

“J-just please…” he moaned softly as your tongue soothed the spot you had bitten “touch me, please.”

You decided to have mercy on him, moving your hand to the front of his trousers, stopping short at the laces.

“May I?” he nodded his head desperately.

Untying his breeches you let them slide down his body, pooling at his feet, as he finally revealed himself to you. He was already hard, almost painfully so, weeping at the tip and awaiting your touch.

And then… you hesitated, unsure how to proceed. While you felt satisfaction at teasing him, you were the maiden in this situation. No amount of hushed, almost shameful lessons from your septa, no amount of embarrassing tips and advice from your mother could prepare you for the actual thing. You may have practiced your kissing skills with Jace and, briefly, with Cregan, but you had never gone any further, knowing what the realm regretfully thought of women of your station indulging before being wed and refusing to let your virtue be made a spectacle of. So while you may have talked a big game before, as if you held all the knowledge, it was all purely theoretical.

Aemond, sensing your apprehension, searched your gaze with his.

“What is it?” he asked, voice laced with quiet concern.

“Nothing much.” you chuckled, although it sounded mirthless to your ears, conveying your embarrassment “I am merely assessing the best way to approach the situation at hand.”

While you had chosen not to be direct about your troubles, opting instead to jest about it, he had understood you clearly, for you had become so intune with one another the past few moons. With deliberate movements he delicately held your wrist, never breaking eye contact, as he brought your hand over to him slowly, very slowly, giving you ample opportunity to stop him if you wished. But you didn’t want to. You let him guide you, his large hand settling over yours as you gathered some of the pearlescent wetness dripping from his tip in your palm before guiding you to encircle his cock, his fingers around yours as he shuddered at the first contact of your skin against his.

He was hot and heavy in your hand as he directed your movements with precision, stroking his cock up and down, pumping him, slowing or speeding up your motions to his liking. Slowly but surely you started to take control, following his lead and mimicking his actions. He groaned encouragingly, letting go of your fingers, his hands settling on your waist as you continued to stroke him up and down and up and down, speeding up or slowing down, gathering some more wetness under your thumb and stroking his cock with it. His groans and grunts emboldened you, trying to gauge his reactions.

And then you tightened your hold on him, squeezing his cock just a bit tighter under your grip, and he almost tumbled to the ground, his knees nearly buckling in reaction. His own grip on you grew tighter, as if supporting his weight on you, head tilted forward and face hiding in the crook of your neck as he moaned.

He was loud.

Even muffled against your skin, his moans and whines resonated throughout the bedchambers as you continued your ministrations, increasing in pitch with each tilt or flick of your wrist, with each squeeze and stroke of your hand. You were tugging him faster now, your grip firm and deliberate as his cock twitched in your hold and his whole body trembled against you.

“Wait.” he mumbled, his voice strained “P-please, just wait.”

You ripped yourself away from him then, a sudden surge of guilt blooming in your chest.

“Forgive me.” you glanced at him, averting your gaze in shame as you wondered if you had made him too uncomfortable “I got carried away. I apologize.”

“You misunderstand me, wife.” he tried to slow his erratic breathing “I do not wish for you to stop. But if you continued as you were I would surely spill my seed against your hand. We should not let any of my spend go to waste on a night as important as this one.”

What?

Your confusion must have been reflected on your features for he continued his explanation, his voice carrying a teasing tone to it.

“It is expected of us to produce an heir tonight. We wouldn’t want to fail our duties now, would we?” he gripped your chin, placing a chaste kiss against your lips “The first time I spill my seed I want it to be inside your cunt.”

Had it been anyone else, had you been married to anyone else, you would have assumed they meant it as a command, solely means to an end, as producing heirs was indeed part of your duty. But this, you noticed in his eye, was his way of showcasing his true intentions without actually saying it, hiding behind some mere jesting: he wanted this. He wanted to give you an heir, for his seed to take root in your womb and for you to carry his child. The thought elicited warmth in your chest, feeling giddy at the idea.

“Can I touch you now?” he asked, his plea bordering on desperation as he gave a quick peck to your lips.

You pulled back then, staring deeply at him.

“Do you believe you deserve to touch me?” you whispered against his lips.

He faltered then, unsure what you wanted from him. A shake of his head had you scoffing softly.

“Try again.” you nuzzled your nose against his, trying to coax him out of his self made shell “Do you deserve this?”

The glint he noticed in your eyes gave away what you wanted from him, so he nodded, his movement curt and shaky.

“I want to hear you say it.” your voice made it sound like a request, but he knew it was anything but.

“Yes.” he whispered back, his breath fanning your lips.

“Yes what?”

“I deserve it.” as the words left his lips, for the first time in a long time, he started to actually believe them.

You nodded, satisfied with him.

“Yes, you do.” you cooed, fingers tangling in his hair and tugging “You do deserve this.”

As your lips settled on his jaw, he caught onto every hidden meaning of your words, affection swarming in his chest.

You deserve to be loved.

He claimed your lips in a soft kiss once more, his fingers resuming their task of untying the laces in your beautiful wedding gown, letting it slip down your arms and pool in a heap on the floor. He made quick work of your smallclothes as well, leaving you bare before him. He hurriedly stepped out of his discarded breeches, carefully helping out of your dress and closer towards the bed.

Aemond’s fingers danced across your skin, caressing you with such reverence it almost brought tears to your eyes again. His fingers crawled down your spine, sliding between your shoulder blades, like you had done for him, his lips trailing down your neck with soft kisses. Goosebumps formed on your skin as his fingers traced your ribcage, his touch so close yet not close enough to your breasts. He nipped at your collarbone, his hand finally closing around one of your breasts, gentle, like he was weighing it in his hand, his lips following down and nibbling at the skin of the other breast. A loud, strangled whine left escaped you as he pinched your nipple, rolling the bud between two fingers, growing louder as his lips closed around the other nipple.

You could feel the walls of your cunt pulsing as his tongue worked your breasts, your heartbeat increasing as he hollowed his cheeks and sucked. The noise that left your lips seemed to spur him on even further, as he sucked with more intensity and he groped your other breast more firmly, his entire hand surrounding the skin.

His fingers trailed even further down, passing your navel and slipping between your folds. His touch was featherlight against your dripping cunt, gathering some wetness and circling your entrance, without ever dipping inside

“P-please, husband.” you whined, your back arching in pleasure at his teasing, pushing your breast even more into his face.

He relented then, pushing his finger inside your cunt, slipping in easily with how soaked you already were. His moan echoed your own as your walls fluttered around his digit. He let you get used to the intrusion for a moment before starting to move his finger inside you, his movements tentative as he explored your walls, almost like he was searching for something, for what you didn’t know.

Though you’d never admit this to anyone, you were acutely aware of his fingers, having paid close attention to them when you watched him train. They were long and slender as they gripped the handle of his sword, but at the same time they were strong and thick and, as he added a second one, you could feel how perfectly well he filled you. As he explored your cunt, you could feel every movement of his fingers brushing against your walls, that familiar coil of pleasure slowly but steadily building in your core. It only intensified as the heel of his hand pressed against your clit as he tried to reach even further inside you, the molten heat pooling in your core and starting to spread through your whole body, so much so you barely noticed when his mouth had moved to your other breast.

Then his fingertips brushed against one spot inside your cunt that almost made you see stars, your legs wobbling as pleasure shot up your spine and assaulted all your senses. You could feel him smirk against your skin as you moaned loudly, brushing against the same spot again as you mewled and whined, trying to move away from him but the arm snaked around your back prevented you from doing so. His fingers seemed to reach places inside you didn’t know existed as he clawed and scissored inside your cunt, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. It was almost too much and barely enough at the same time; you wanted him like you had never wanted anything else in your entire life.

He let go of your nipple with a wet smack of his lips, his mouth settling on that spot behind your ear and pressing soft kisses against your skin. It was such a contrast from the way his fingers were working inside your cunt, his words gentle and sweet, mumbling caring words in high valyrian as he mouthed and nibbled on your skin, but the pleasure was clouding your thoughts, the words getting fogged up in your mind. But something caught your attention, and as you tuned into the words, they were your undoing.

“Avy jorrāelan, ñuha zaldrītsos.” he whispered against the shell of your ear, laying a soft kiss on the skin “Va moriot emagon se va moriot kessa.”

With a stutter of your heart the coil in your core snapped, hot, molten pleasure washing over you and spreading throughout your whole body, tingling with dozens of goosebumps that formed on your skin. It left you breathless, sluggish and warm as you tried to regain your bearings.

“Aem…-” you tried calling out to him, voice hoarse from the intensity of your moans, but you couldn’t seem to find your voice just yet.

But he heard you. And something in him snapped.

In an instant you were lying on your back against the soft linens, barely having time to react as he pushed you down on the bed and crawled on top of you. His lips claimed yours in a hungry, almost desperate kiss, you were sure your mouth would be sporting bruises on the morrow such was its intensity. He settled in between your spread thighs, his hard length nestling between your folds as he nipped on your jaw, kissing a line down your neck.

“Say it again, please.” he begged “Say my name again.”

“A-Aemond?”

“No, no, not that.” he admonished softly, kissing your mouth once again.

You searched your mind for what he could possibly be referring to. That was his name, was it not? What you’d always referred to him as, if you weren’t calling him by his familial ties to you, in common tongue or high valyrian alike?

Except it wasn’t.

It had been years, well over a decade even since you referred to him as something else entirely. Barely a toddler, Jace only a babe and Luke still in your mother’s womb, you followed Aemond around the Keep like a lost puppy all day, for he seemed to be the only one willing to entertain you. It was only natural then for you to worship the ground he walked on, basking in his attention for as long as he was willing to give it to you. But as such a young child you couldn’t properly speak such a complicated name in conversation, settling on calling him for a shortened sobriquet. You didn’t think much of it, and he never opposed such a nickname, until Aegon caught you calling him by the moniker and instantly started teasing the both of you relentlessly because of it. It earned him a swift kick to the shin and three days without speaking to either of them, but as it often is with small children, your grudge was quickly forgotten, going back to trailing after Aemond. However, to save both him and yourself from further humiliation, you settled for referring to him only as ‘uncle’ until you could utter his full name, never again daring to use the nickname.

It was so meaningless to you, back then. And you were both so young, he couldn’t possibly remember that, could he?

“Aem?” you spoke tentatively, not sure if this is what he wished for.

The loud whine that escaped his lips, breathed against your cheek, and the way his cock twitched were all the answer you needed.

“Please, little niece, byka mandianna,” he rasped, desperation dripping from his tone as he started gently rocking his hips against yours “Please say that again.”

“Aem…” you said with more confidence, breaking off into a moan at the end as the head of his cock brushed against your clit.

He shifted his body on top of you, lining his cock up with your entrance.

“Again, please.”

“A-Aem?” even though you wanted this, truly and wholeheartedly, now that you were about to consummate your marriage for real you were suddenly filled with a twinge of apprehension. While you were certain Aemond wasn’t like most men, you had heard stories from women at court about how their husbands treated them in the throes of passion.

Sensing your quiet distress, Aemond lifted his head to stare at you, sapphire eye glinting under the soft glow of the candles and silver strands cascading around you.

“We can stop if you wish.” he spoke quietly.

“No, no please, I want to. I am just…”

Even if you couldn’t quite explain it he seemed to understand, for he placed a soft kiss on your lips.

“I promise to be gentle.”

In his eye you saw nothing but truth, the sincerity of his words easing your nerves.

“I trust you.”

He nodded and started ever so slowly pushing inside you, inch by inch, pulling back and thrusting inside again, a little deeper than before. It was a lot for the both of you, your combined moans echoing through the chambers; even though he wanted to look upon your eyes as you shared this moment he couldn’t, his head falling against your shoulder as he hid his face in the crook of your neck. His cock was met with little resistance, your cunt still soaked. The pain you were previously expecting came in the form of an acute pinch as your cunt stretched to accommodate him, your breath hitching and a whimper passing through your lips. Aemond shushed and cooed against your ear, little whispers of ‘I’ve got you’ spoken against your ear as he stalled his movements, only resuming them when he felt you relax in his arms once more.

When he finally settled, his hips flush against yours and his cock inside your cunt to the hilt, you released your breath, not even realizing you had been holding it. You felt like you were burning from within where your bodies were connected, yet it was a comforting kind of heat, not at all like dragonfire. At least not yet. You could feel every ridge of his cock, every twitch that made the walls of your cunt clench in response. It was so intimate, you had never been closer to a person in your life, and you felt like the longer you stayed like this you were being perfectly molded to one another, as if you weren’t already a permanent fixture in each other’s hearts. You felt complete.

As your discomfort subsided, the pain slowly turning to a sense of fullness, you tangled your fingers in his hair, turning your head to the side to breathe upon his ear.

“I am alright now, husband. You can move.”

Regardless of your request he stood still for a moment longer, breathing heavily and erratically against your skin.

“Aem?” you spoke softly, worried it might be too much for him.

That seemed to do the trick, as Aemond slowly started to roll his hips against yours, pulling his cock almost all the way out and thrusting back in, filling you to the brim once more. Every time he would thrust back in the head of his cock would brush against that spot inside your cunt that had your eyes rolling back, shooting little bolts of pleasure up your spine and filling your core with fire once more.

His hips picked up pace, then, his thrusts far faster and more powerful than before. He let go, fully dropping his weight on top of you, pressing you against the mattress as your legs framed his hips, your hands gripping at his shoulder blades.

It was intense and blazing and comforting and overwhelming and caring and sultry and loving and oh, so good, all at the same time this push and pull and shove and tug and you couldn’t think straight yet your focus was sharp and you could feel everything and it was absolutely, downright perfect.

The stretch of your cunt wrapped tightly around his cock was no longer painful, giving away to unimaginable pleasure like you had never felt before. You were acutely aware of the way Aemond mouthed at your shoulder, mumbling barely coherent words against your skin.

“Ñuha ābrazȳrys, ñuha dāria.” he grunted against your skin, groaning as the words made you clench tightly around him “Dōna zaldrītsos, jorrāelagon ābrazȳrys.”

He was rambling, almost irrationally, too far gone in his own pleasure. That and the way his thrusts were becoming sloppy, now more of a rut of his hips against yours, indicated that he was close.

Enamored with the way he moaned your name and your title and your future title and sweet monikers, in high valyrian mostly, you couldn’t help but want to see how far he would go.

“Husband, valzȳrys,” you tangled your fingers in his hair once more, giving the locks a gentle tug, earning a whine in response “Avy jorrāelan, ñuha zaldrīzes. Avy jorrāelan tolī hae olvie hae konīr issi qēlossās isse se jēdar, Aem.”

It was enough to send him off the edge, his hips stuttering and cock twitching violently, painting your walls with warm ropes of his seed. He practically sobbed in your arms between clenched teeth, his arms squeezing you tightly against him as he gave a few more weak thrusts, his breath fanning the skin of your neck still. The scorching pressure that had been building in your stomach seemed to fade slightly as Aemond slowed to a stop, his softening cock still nestled inside you as he stilled completely on top of you, trembling in your arms. His hair was sticking to his head, damp with sweat, the rest of his body also drenched and clammy from the exertion, much like your own. He stood still for a moment, trying to catch his breath and recover.

“F-Forgive me, ābrazȳrys.” he raised his head and it was then you could see the remnant of tears in his eyes, from your words or the intensity of his peak, you couldn’t tell.

“What for?” you smiled brightly at him, pushing a strand of silvery hair behind his ear, making him shiver as your fingers brushed against his cheek.

“Y-you did-” he finally seemed to recollect his thoughts as he pushed himself on his forearms above you “You did not peak.”

“That is quite alright.” you shrugged, not at all bothered by that “I did so earlier, from your fingers.”

He shook his head, a determined look in his face as if to say that that wouldn’t do.

“No wife of mine will be left unsatisfied.” he was already pulling out of you with a soft hiss and maneuvering on the bed despite your protests, coming to settle on his stomach at the edge of the mattress.

“Aemond what are you-” you yelped as he grabbed both your legs and yanked you towards himself, his face level with your cunt. He placed your thighs over his shoulders and placed one arm over your stomach “Aemond, you do not have to.” you tried once more.

“I want to.” he said, his eyes never straying from where his spend started leaking from your cunt “Can a man not enjoy the taste of his wife on their wedding night?”

“Of course you can, it is just that-” he didn’t let you finish, pulling another broken, choked moan from you as he licked a broad stripe over your folds.

Aemond feasted upon your cunt like a man starved, drinking down your juices mixed with his own spend, but that didn’t seem to deter him, oh no, if anything the salty taste of himself against your own tangy one only seemed to spur him on.

It didn’t take long to get you back to where you were moments before, that burning pressure still lingering in the back of your mind. You knew Aemond was talented with his tongue, hells, he was known for his silver tongue that could cut down even the most fearless in court. Moreover, he was fluent in the language of your ancestors, his tongue rolling around the letters as he almost purred the words into the world, a language just for your own. And yet, he never ceased to surprise you with how good he could make you feel with his tongue alone.

Clenching the sheets under your palms, you almost sobbed as his lips wrapped around your clit and sucked. He rolled it around his lips, his tongue peaking out to give your clit a few small licks as he extended one of his arms to, prying your fingers from the linens and threading them with his own, giving your hand a gentle squeeze, his other arm draped across your stomach, holding your hips down as you started canting them against his face.

You weakly raised yourself on your forearms to be able to look at him properly, peering at him through heavy lidded eyes, and were surprised to notice him already looking at you, gazing at you with so much adoration in his eye as his hips rutted against the bed. You realized, not for the first time, that bringing you pleasure brought him pleasure in return. He hummed as he noticed you staring at him, the vibrations sending jolts of unbridled pleasure up your spine and down again. His eyes twinkled and curled up, little crinkled lines adorning the corners, and you recognized that the smug bastard was smirking, self-satisfied at having you reduced to such a moaning mess before him.

The coil of pleasure in the form of a pool of liquid heat was steadily building up again with each stroke of his tongue over your folds, each flick of his lips over your clit stoking that fire growing and expanding inside you. His grip on your hips tightened as his other hand moved down to your cunt and shoved two fingers inside you, pulling back a bit to address you quietly.

“Let go, wife. I know you want to. You can let go for me.”

And then his fingers curled upwards, brushing against that spongy spot once more and you were done for. The bliss that washed over you, tangling with the burning love you held for this man, was so intense it sent waves through your whole body. Stars danced behind your eyelids, your eyes having closed on their own accord some time before, as the pleasure rolled and stretched to all of your extremities, making your fingertips tingle and your toes curl, knocking the breath from your lungs. Although you knew your jaw was hanging open you couldn’t hear yourself, but you couldn’t discern if it was due to the ringing in your ears or if you had already screamed yourself hoarse.

As your perception of the world around you slowly returned once you came down from your high, the pleasure subsiding and leaving a warm, fuzzy feeling in its wake, you felt Aemond’s thumb gently stroking your knuckles, having removed his hand from inside you, his other palm spread over your stomach as he helped you coax you back down and when you gazed at him you were met with his gentle smile

“T-thank you, husband.” you said a few moments later after catching your breath, exhaustion starting to settle in your bones as you relaxed over the linens, your head falling back on the bed.

“Oh, you thought I was done with you?” he asked, almost mockingly. Raising your head again you noticed his prior smile had given way to a menacing smirk as he started crawling over you slowly, looking predatory. He covered your body with his once more, and you felt his hardened cock against your thigh, having stimulated himself back to full hardness.

“I don’t intend on letting you leave this bed until I have filled you with my seed over and over and over,” he punctuated each pause with a kiss to your lips as he whispered “that I have made sure it has taken root inside you. We need to produce an heir after all, dear wife.”

High Valyrian translations: - ābrazȳrys - wife - valzȳrys - husband - mandianna - niece (older sister’s son or daughter) - qȳbor - uncle (mother’s younger brother) - ñuha jorrāelagon - my love or my dear - avy jorrāelan, ñuha zaldrītsos - I love you, my little dragon - va moriot emagon se va moriot kessa - always have and always will - byka mandianna - little niece - ñuha ābrazȳrys, ñuha dāria - my wife, my queen - dōna zaldrītsos, jorrāelagon ābrazȳrys - sweet little dragon, dear wife - avy jorrāelan, ñuha zaldrīzes - I love you, my dragon - avy jorrāelan tolī hae olvie hae konīr issi qēlossās isse se jēdar - I love you as much as there are stars in the sky

Tag List:

@callsignwidow

@sleephereicome

@bitchassgoose

@voguiing

@dibutw

@fruityvampslayer

@garden-in-the-rain

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x f!reader #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen x velaryon!reader #aemond targaryen x targaryen!reader #aemond targaryen x niece!reader #house of the dragon #hotd fanfic

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lets-try-some-writing · 8 months ago

Text

I have observed several types of fic writers, and so for kicks and giggles, here they all are. Each of them scares me for different reasons.

The Prepared And Ready To Publish™:

Several documents dedicated to worldbuilding, planning, cross referencing, character lists & traits, plot twists, and then the actual fic document.

Dedicated to the max to creating a rich world. Probably knows more about the niche thing than you ever will. 100% could have written a thesis and chose to do fic instead (or did both at the same time).

Created a masterpiece and promptly vanished off the face of creation before coming back in with another banger to crush souls and save fandoms.

Their arrival is akin to the birth of a new era because they never fail to somehow make a niche ship popular, make a headcanon fanon, or otherwise give so much depth and interest to a character or setting that whatever they have devised is largely accepted as gospel by their readers.

They either use a high end writing program or wordpad. There is no in-between.

Mysterious. Very mysterious. Reasons for this mysteriousness vary between fics and authors.

100000/10 would be friends with them if I could. Legendary writers. But also they scare me because ??? What void offered you such power ?????

The Baby Writer:

All vibes and loosely strung plots.

It may not make the most sense, but good gracious the dedication is there.

Notable lack of comprehension when it comes to characters and places, but it's bad form to not leave a kudo because it takes guts to post anything in fandom.

They are still figuring things out and their grammar or formatting (possibly both) is probably a mess, but they've put heart into their work.

Sweetest rays of sunshine who want to be involved and are eager to learn the ropes.

The fandom's young ward or despised new arrival (depends entirely on fandom popularity and age).

8/10 would happily offer advice to them. Just can't read their work for too long without wanting to throw it into grammarly. The fear factor comes in the form of the miraculous misuse of fandom terminology. (Yeah it's tough bud, the fanon is wild. But goodness that term/canon word does NOT mean what you think it does.)

The Smut For Your Soul:

Meticulously plans the smut with all the loving care of a sculptor.

Somehow plot got involved.

Miraculously, they managed to not include an iota of plot and it has somehow managed to work.

Headcanons abound and cuteness and or angst lurks merrily behind every corner.

The tags mean everything and nothing at the same time. They are but faint guides to the fae wilds ahead. Tread lightly.

Has a mountain of unfinished WIPs that will follow them to the grave or emerge ten years after conception to grace whatever fandom spawned the idea.

The fandom thanks them for their service, although often that praise is late or hits like a freight train.

???/10 I personally avoid smut but I have friends who write it so it really depends. Terrifying because you never know who falls into this role of writer. It could be anyone. Normalcy is a mask poorly adorned for the sake of conforming to The Great Machine.

The Angst Lord:

Has a million slightly different ways to hurt their blorbo. Each are somehow more horrifying than the next.

The embodiment of the iceburg videos seen all over the net. Ask one question and you shall unravel and scheme of torment so great you shall regret having dared to speak up.

Has dozens of WIPs or unwritten ideas that they claim they will return to.

They are controlled by passion and emotion and can and will insert their own complicated situation into a fic.

Almost nothing is off limits.

Arrives to the fandom ready to brawl and somehow ends up respected or feared. They often stare in bafflement as they end up unscathed and watch angry comments fly toward the arguably innocent shippers.

Generally some of the nicest people who happen to enjoy inflicting The Horrors upon someone fictional.

'10/10 would befriend and promptly regard like a wild racoon. Offerings of angsty ideas yield delightful commentary. But also I need to prepare myself for anything they say because O U C H my SOUL.

The General Writer:

Fluff, cuteness, possibly a delightful touch of angst and pure unbridled creative simplicity.

They may not have the most brutal or soul wrenching tale, but they always manage to write something that someone, somewhere, desperately needs.

Devastatingly underrated and deserves far more praise for their contributions to the fandom.

Produces some of the softest of scenes and the most touching of interactions between characters in a contained, careful crafted, tale.

Introducing new ships or family dynamics in such a tasteful manner that brain chemistry can easily be altered.

Arrives to the fandom as a lurker and shows their appreciation through their work. Oftentimes, they are very quiet and go unnoticed.

INFINITE/10 Love these writers, honestly a gift to fandom. The sheer level of dedication to producing fluff is astounding and scary all at once.

The OC X Canon:

Has so many ships and headcanons that it's astounding.

The lore development rivals IDW and Lost Light combined. All the kudos to them for putting their souls into their characters.

The dedication is mind boggling.

They put up with so much crap they could be in MMA Wrestling if the verbal assaults translated into physical strength.

Has so many adjustments to lore and whole AUs devoted specifically to creating a perfect world.

Skilled in the extreme (or not) at integrating their ocs into canon.

Arrives to the fandom not intending to make ocs. Leaves with seventeen leashes for their new abominable creations. Is loved or hated by literally everyone, sometimes for no reason.

6/10 perfectly lovely people but very niche in their interest and thus not everyone's cup of tea. Scary because that level of sheer willpower is meant for demi-gods.

There are more types of writers, but these feel like the big overarching ones. Which kind of writer are you? :D

#fic writer #fanfic writing #types of writers #fanfic stuff #lets try some writing mumbles

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a-dragons-journal · 22 days ago

Note

Its cool that you are reminding people that sending sui baits / harassment is bad, even if you disagree with the person they're being sent to. That's v important. Unfortunately I think the core root of the problem is that your positions on that topic do often directly lead to people being hateful and exclusionary.

You constantly talk about how both the label and concept of p-shifting is bad and harmful, and that anyone using the label is choosing to align themselves with harmful people and community and maybe even confusing or grooming young altsrhumans.

And you constantly talk about how people *must* seperate shared reality from personal reality, and that not doing so is bad and harmful and can lead to worse things.

So therefore, people who disagree with the above, by your own logic, are going to be immediately cast as bad and harmful, and possibly even as groomers, cultists, or otherwise.

You have made a position that by default leads to the villifying of the people you disagree with. And as was pointed out in the post you're referencing, it just so happens to align with systemic oppression of many groups. So like it or not, you are directly contributing to the mindset that causes ppl to harass others.

Also to add on to previous anon, I'm not meaning to come across as like. Accusatory? This is my genuine perception / opinion of how people get to the point of sending sui bait to people's inboxes. And my perception of how you talk about these subjects. I don't think you're doing any of that on purpose? But that's just how it comes across. Its just really sad to see someone who was in the community for years leave because of this. And I'm sorry, but I think we all know who he's talking about when it said "big name" alterhuman accounts who are against these things

Yeah, I'm not unaware of that. And I don't know how to fix that without flipping completely to "the separation of shared reality/personal reality doesn't matter at all," which I strenuously disagree with - because while it may theoretically work fine on the level of, say, individual nonhumans, if you embrace that as true then anyone can say anything and no one can fact-check it ever, and on the broader scale that does not work. If you accept that the distinction between personal reality and shared reality doesn't matter, then flat-earthers and young earth creationists have claims just as valid as actual science does, and - surely I don't need to explain the problems with that?

To explain where I'm at more thoroughly/clearly: I do think the distinction between personal reality and shared reality is important and I think it's important to be clear when you're talking about one vs the other, because one can be disproven and the other can't, and if you don't clarify the general observer is going to assume you're talking about shared reality. That's to say nothing of the harm that encountering unreality (to use the common term) like that can do for a lot of people, which is yet another reason it's important to make the distinguishment. But I also don't think that means personal reality should be seen as less important or less real for you than shared reality, though gods know we've got a long way to go on unraveling that particular bias.

And while on the one hand I don't generally think it's helpful or right to go around reality checking people, especially strangers, this community specifically objectively does have a long history of p-shifting claims directly and consistently leading to abuse, and it becomes a risk calculation of whether letting this person go around using the exact same language that group has historically used and/or doing the same things they did is going to do more net harm than telling them to provide proof or fuck off is. Particularly when it comes to the specific word p-shifter, in my opinion at least, if someone's using language they know comes from that history, they... shouldn't be surprised when people assume they're doing the thing that that word has historically meant. (And historically, even beyond the abuse, the most well-known p-shifters were often just flat-out lying, and at least a few of them came out later and openly admitted it. They were not experiencing a personal reality difference, they were lying about shared reality to manipulate people.)

And that's the problem, isn't it - where do you draw the line? When do you pull the alarm cord on someone for lying and misleading people about what is and isn't possible in shared reality? "Making false claims about shared reality" is a clear and objective line, and while I recognize that it's got flaws, I don't really see a better one. I guess you could draw the line at "telling other people they can teach them how to do this," but in practice, things like "telling people this can't be taught but a select few are actually genetically shapeshifters (and you might be one)" is usually just as manipulative, so that doesn't really work. I'm at a point where I genuinely don't feel like there is a solution that doesn't hurt someone, and so I'm falling back on a solution that's consistent, not subjective, and as far as I can tell avoids as much harm as possible. If you've got a better solution, I'm open to hearing it, because I don't like the problems this one has, but right now it's the best I've got.

And because apparently it needs to be said (not to you, just in general), I'll tack on this: good lord, people need to get it through their heads that harassment and especially suicide bait are never helpful. It never helps. It's never justified. Even if someone was intentionally lying and starting a p-shifting cult that wouldn't fucking help anything. "This is a harmful thing/a red flag for a harmful thing" is not a fucking call for harassment it's a "you may want to avoid people doing this" and I am so tired of having to disclaimer that because I can't trust people to behave like adults. The thing I mean when I talk about this is "I think this is a bad idea and something I think most people should steer clear of because of the problems it can and does cause, and it can be a red flag for old p-shifting bullshit making a comeback" and it's a little insane to me that people have taken that and jumped all the way to "so I should harass and suicide bait people who do it, got it" instead of, I don't know, "so I should keep that in mind and be a little cautious of people doing that and maybe disallow claims about shared reality in any spaces I moderate for for safety," which seems like a much more reasonable place to land to me. Maybe I'm just not being clear enough in saying that I do still uphold "mind your own business" in relation to this unless people are actively getting hurt, I don't know.

Anyway. Yeah. Tl;dr I recognize that there's a link here but I genuinely don't see a better position to take that's internally consistent and doesn't also get people hurt. If you've got one, I'm open to hearing it, genuinely, though you'll all have to forgive me if I respond to this discussion a little slowly, my life's kind of busy right now.

#rani talks #physical nonhuman #otherkin #alterhuman #nonhuman #asked and answered #anonymous #please don't make me regret putting this in main tags.#i'm open to discussing this bc i genuinely do want to find a position i feel a little better about but i am also a little tired of -#- people jumping straight to screaming at me recently instead of like. talking to me like we're both civil adults #if i say something wrong/inconsiderate/offensive/etc. i do want to know but you don't have to yell it at me i promise

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celestiamour · 10 months ago

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‧₊˚✧ ❛[ every week is fashion week ]❜

ft. wade wilson x gn! reader — marvel

╰₊✧ playing dress to impress with deadpool┊0.6k words

contains: wade being wade and probably ooc because he’s a bitch to write for

➤ author's note: gaming with him could fix me honestly

╰₊✧ when you hear him yelling and swearing insults like a sailor, you assume that he was playing some sort of rage game or a first-person shooter that he sucked at, but when you enter his room to see what all the commotion is about, you’ll see him hunched over on his ipad playing roblox like a child. the moment he sees you, he’s going to force you to download the app if you didn’t have it already and have you duo with him to have cute matching couple outfits.

╰₊✧ he knows nearly every code that’s active, has vip unlocked, and theorizes about the story behind it all like the lore whore he is. it sounds crazy to you how such a dress-up game could contain little details about a doppelganger replacing the nail tech, a mysterious organization, and something called the “flesh room, but you suppose that every generation needs to have an innocent-looking media hiding dark secrets.

╰₊✧ speaking of generations, you’re a hundred percent sure he’s too old to be playing this game and the way he bullies other players who are likely children makes you think that he was a regina george equivalent back in the day. he claims you only think that because he’s a harsh critic who rarely gives out anything higher than three stars, but it’s clear that he forgets that it’s a game for kids and gets carried away often.

“what the hell is that?! that’s not 2000s, that’s 2010s, dumbass!”

“babe, i’m pretty sure that they weren’t even born yet in the 2000s.”

“whatever, it’s still the ugliest fucking skirt i’ve ever seen.”

╰₊✧ he’s super competitive and petty with a capital “p,” strutting his model around to scope out the competition and singing a little improvised song under his breath along with the background music (some crazy stuff comes out of his mouth, things that make you whip your head around to stare at him while he acts like he didn’t just say the wildest shit for the sake of a rhyme). every round is like a different episode of reality television, and wade is constantly beefing with other contestants like it’s high school again.

“ooh, she ate.”

“...really?”

“yeah, she ‘ate’... OFF MY PLATE! THIS BITCH IS COPYING ME!”

╰₊✧ because his fashion sense is impeccable and his creativity is off the charts, he gets copied a lot and he will walk up to them to confront them about it. if they try to walk away or insist they aren’t, he’ll menacingly follow them around with a bloodlust that somehow permeates the screen until they finally change. you need to remind him to stop scaring the children, yet he never listens because it’s not like they can hear him roasting them on an open fire anyway.

╰₊✧ he always lands in the top five and carries you when doing duos because you refuse to spend a cent on roblox, but he can get pretty pissy when an outfit (or player) he didn’t like places higher than him. every time he quits and puts down his tablet to do something else, you’ll find him playing again with his feet in the air swinging like a teen girl writing in their diary about their crush an hour later. you’ll also hear him trying to convince logan to play with him too, although he’ll never be successful in this lifetime.

╰₊✧ gives an extra star to anyone coming out on the runway who forgot or didn’t have enough time to pick out a hairstyle in “bald solidarity”

╰₊✧ his favorite pose is pose 28, referencing the meme of “pussy facing the word” as his reasoning because of course it is.

#📜. her works #wade wilson #wade wilson x reader #deadpool #deadpool x reader #deadpool 3 #deadpool and wolverine #marvel #marvel x reader

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dreamwatch · 11 months ago

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Know When To Hold 'em

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest

I'm sorry. :(

The first time it happened totally out of the blue.

It was their first big show in Indy, their home show, and of course Wayne wanted to be there, as much out of curiosity as anything. He didn’t hear a thing; Steve gave him a set of ear plugs and it was like he’d been handed a pot of gold. “I could have done with these years ago.” But he saw everything and he talked about that show to anyone that would listen, and a few that wouldn’t.

Eddie was over the goddamn moon about it so he told the audience, “My Uncle Wayne’s here tonight, everyone say 'hi Uncle Wayne!'” and five thousand people just— did it. Because Eddie asked them to. Even through the ear plugs Wayne heard it. Steve’s not sure he’s ever seen the old man blush before.

So it became a thing completely by accident. If Wayne was there they played The Gambler as the last song of the encore; like the flag at Buckingham Palace telling everyone the Queen was home: Uncle Wayne was in the house. The fans latched onto it straight away, and it was one of only a couple of songs that Eddie would sing. Wayne didn’t see the band play often but it didn’t matter where they were, the moment that song started up the crowd went wild; the roar of “Hi Uncle Wayne!” rolling through the audience before everyone sang along. And Wayne there at the edge of the stage shaking his head, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

Eddie was in Germany when Wayne died.

‘The best that you can hope for is to die in your sleep’, sang The Gambler, and that’s exactly what he did. Wayne would have got a kick out of that.

Breaking the news to Eddie was the most painful thing Steve’s ever had to do.

Tonight is their first night back after a two month hiatus. It feels too soon, but there are contracts, missed shows, obligations, and there’s only so much their manager can do to keep the label, promoters and lawyers away.

Eddie’s dead eyed and lethargic; he’s started drinking again, Steve discreetly hid his pain medication when he noticed the bottle emptying faster than it should have. He sleeps with a belly full of Ambien and spends his day wrapped in Zoloft. Neither help.

But the show must go on, right?

Despite everything, the grief, the fog of depression, when he walks out onto the stage he’s a supernova, the brightest of lights in the deepest of darks. He’s fucking dazzling.

The crowd at the Market Square Arena are on fire, they explode when the band run on stage but Steve doesn’t miss the extra noise when Eddie gets out there. Eddie loosens up as the gig goes on, and by the end, when they take a bow together, he looks like a different man to the shell thats been haunting their home.

There will be a crash later. Steve is already prepared for it.

The band come off drenched with sweat. Steve can see the pinched expression on Eddie’s face, the exertion after all this time lying around like a ghost has taken its toll on a body that has seen better days. But he still smiles at Steve as he hands off the guitar to his tech, his Sweetheart, only brought out for the encores now.

“Was it okay?” Eddie asks him, towelling the sweat from his face.

“You were amazing,” is all Steve can manage right there, but he’s buzzing inside and there’s more he wants to say. But that’s for later, when it’s just them.

The band are handing off instruments, roadies scurrying around, breakdown already underway. There’s a lot happening, and you know, Steve’s hearing isn’t that great these days but there’s nothing wrong with his eyesight. He sees the little commotion over Eddie’s shoulder, the way people halt, ears pricking up like labradors. Jeff turns to Steve with wide eyes and Matt has stopped in his tracks. And then he sees the exact moment Eddie picks up on it, the furrowed brow, the soft tilt of the head.

The crowd are singing Wayne’s song.

Everyone stops. Roadies stand there like marionettes with their strings cut.

And Eddie…

He looks devastated, his hand flying up to his mouth like he’s trying to bury a sob, stopping the grief from breaking containment.

Steve can see the band over Eddie’s shoulder, heads nodding before they’re grabbing guitars back from their techs. He knows what they’re going to do, but there’s no way Eddie is up to it, they have to know that. Jeff slings an arm over Eddie’s shoulder, pulls him in, knocking his forehead against Eddie’s. And then Matty does it, Matty who doesn’t have a sentimental bone in his body, but Gareth is long gone, already running back onto the stage, crowd cheering at the sight of him, before Matty and Jeff follow him out. And they pick up where the crowd are and they play. Eddie usually sings it, but Jeff takes it tonight.

Steve grabs Eddie’s hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. “C’mon,” he says, pulling Eddie toward the side of the stage.

Steve loved Wayne, so fucking much. And maybe with all the help and care Eddie needed afterward, still needs, maybe Steve didn’t get a chance to grieve properly. He feels the ache in his chest, before he notices the calloused fingers wiping his tears away.

“He loved you, Steve.” He can’t reply, just nods, and Eddie holds him like he should be holding Eddie. And then he’s gone, out on to the stage, back with his band. No guitar, just sharing a mic with Jeff and joining as much as the tears will allow. And then the music cuts, Matty and Gareth joining them at the mic, and it’s just voices, nineteen thousand and four. Corroded Coffin, arms slung across shoulders, singing Wayne’s song.

Singing to Wayne.

Yeah... I went there.

So, I had this idea months ago and parked it because I didn't know what to do with it. And then this prompt came along and BOOM!

#corrodedcoffinfest #corroded coffin #corroded coffin fic #cw parental death #cw depression #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #wayne munson #jeff stranger things #gareth stranger things #matt (unnamed freak stranger things)#Spotify #cw alcoholism

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tarrenterror25 · 1 year ago

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thoughts no one asked for but my mind has no mouth and must scream

Harvey Dent/Two-Face x Soft/Romantic Goth F!Reader

Word Count: 1K

Tags: established relationship, fluff, mention of blood/wounds/injuries Harvey POV

Notes: Song referenced in moodboard is “Love You to Death" by Type O Negative. Just a thing that's been on the brain that I had to get out. Self indulgent.

Thinking about Harvey with a soft goth girlfriend who dresses like she could be scary, but she's actually the most least threatening person he's ever met.

You dress in all black, your boots look like you crush skulls for a living, and you wear spiked accessories like social deterrents, but you're just the sweetest thing he's ever met.

It's laughable to him, how people might perceive you one way when you're nothing like that. It reminds him of himself, or how he used to be, anyways. He's always been a bigger guy and looks pretty imposing, but he was never actually like that...unless driven to be. It's different now though, of course.

Dating you happened naturally as he found himself unable to stay away from you. Both sides of him liked watching the visible signs of you getting butterflies when he would be near you and though he'd never tell you, you gave him butterflies, too. He just couldn't stay away from you and he found himself having a soft spot for you.

You frequent all the oddity shops in Gotham so you've seen all sorts of things. The books you read are...interesting to say the least, he's peeked at a few titles. You're not bothered by the grotesque or the strange.

And you're not bothered by his scars.

He remembers the first time you looked at him, really looked at him. Right into both of his eyes and how you smiled.

Christ, he could never forget that.

His burns never bothered you and both sides of him immediately were attached to you because of this.

The first kiss you two shared made him so nervous. It was one thing to be around him and spend time with him, but physical intimacy scared him nowadays for obvious reasons. He hardly loves himself, so how could you? He was fully prepared for you to just kiss his cheek, maybe make an excuse if he were to make the first move, but you didn't.

You made the first move, cupped his face in your hands and kissed him, not bothering to work around his less than stellar half. Any doubts he may have still had about you, gone.

Your soft and kind demeanor brings out the gentleman side of Harvey and the protective side of Two-Face. Sure, his other half likes to scare you sometimes just for fun, sneaking up on you, stealing soft touches, grabbing you and pulling you to him when you least expect it, but if anyone else bothers you, luck will not be on their side.

He may not be the most gentle person, but with you he likes to try.

Harvey enjoys helping you in/out of your platforms, in/out of your corsets or whatever contraption of a garment you're zipped into, and he even offered to paint your nails for you once. He absolutely adores spoiling you with affection.

Harvey loves that your style is your own, but Harv is totally into it. When he's feeling festive with his split suits, he lets you help design them. Some designs are more fun with spikes and chain adornments and others are a bit more fancy with brocade and such.

Most of your interests he's not super into it, but he respects it. He's protective so you probably won't be able to go anywhere without him if he feels it could be unsafe.

If you want to go out dancing or to some niche concert, he'll tag along, though he'll hang back at a table and keep an eye on your from a distance, make sure no one messes with you. The scene isn't his jam, but seeing you have fun is enough for him.

Some of you provocative clothing is sure to get a reaction out of him, especially the fishnets. That's his weakness.

You always take him as he is so if you're ever nervous about how you look or how you're dressed, he's sure to hype you up as best as he can.

Sometimes he feels grateful for what happened to him, without the accident, he wouldn't have met you. With his new outlook on life, he can understand you better. He's positive that if he remained district attorney, living in the light, that he would have never given you the time of day and even if he did, he wouldn't know how to appreciate you the way he does now.

Your love for darker things helps him love himself, not by much, but enough that with you he isn't always doom and gloom or woe is me.

You being a romantic is not what he expected when he got with a goth gal. You like using the fancy dishes and lighting candles for dinner. You like flowers all over the place though they're usually dark in color. You like to cuddle with him and watch movies, not afraid to make contact with his scarred side.

You like watching a lot of monster movies which made him roll his eyes at first, but he would catch the way your eyes stay glued to the monster be it vampire, a werewolf, or a creature from the black lagoon. The soft dreamy sighs escaping you made him curious.

"You realize that they're the bad guy, right? Literally a monster, not human," he says. "They're just misunderstood," you explain. "And they just want to be loved like everyone else?" "Yeah, buut they mostly resort to extreme measures?" "I think..." she ponders, "it's because they understand what it is to lose something or be lonely. And they found someone who understands them and can see them, even though they aren't human. To be fully seen by somebody, then, and be loved anyhow. Or however that saying goes." She shrugs and pops a few pieces of popcorn into her mouth.

Watching you fawn over the the creatures in those films makes him feel better about himself, makes him feel like less of a monster, like he's still capable of being loved.

#harvey dent x reader #two face x reader #harvey dent #two-face #harvey dent headcanons #two face headcanons #gotham rogues headcanons #goth!reader #two face

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schrijverr · 7 months ago

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I Didn’t Mean to Say I Do, but I Do. I Do. 16

Chapter 16 out of 50

Secret marriage of convenience buddie slow burn AU, where Buck and Eddie have been married for years so Buck could adopt Chris and no one at the 118 knows.

In this chapter, Maddie gets convinced to stay by Buck. The two of them reconcile and share pieces of themselves the other has missed out on. Though they still keep things to themselves too.

On AO3.

Ships: Buddie (slow burn)

Warnings: referenced domestic violence, emotionally abusive parents mention, misogyny mention, homophobia mention

~~~

Chapter 16: Abuela’s Roommate

When Buck comes home after speaking to Maddie at Abuela’s house, he feels emotionally drained and exhausted. He missed Chris’s bed time and he mourns that fact now, though he’s also glad he just gets to drop on the couch next to Eddie with a groan.

Eddie frowns in concern. He knows Buck is happy to have Maddie back again, could see it waft off him the whole shift. Had Chris slipping up really put such a dent in his mood? Was he embarrassed about admitting everything to his sister? Did she say something about it to Buck that she didn’t to him? What happened?

He quickly stuffs all those feelings down, poking Buck in the side as he gruffly asks: “What’s up with you?”

“I think Maddie is homophobic about our non-gay gay marriage,” Buck says, voice muffled by the pillow.

“What?”

Buck un-buries his face slightly and repeats: “I think Maddie is homophobic about our non-gay gay marriage.”

“Are you sure? She seemed pretty okay with it when I spoke to her. She was nice,” Eddie frowns.

“She didn’t talk about any of it. She didn’t even mention Chris. Like at all! It’s as if she was not saying anything on purpose,” Buck says. “And of course she’s nice. Your family is hosting her.”

Eddie’s frown deepens. “She really didn’t mention Chris? That’s weird. She told me we have an adorable son and that he loves his two dads. When I told her no one knew, she seemed understanding and nice.”

“Wait,” Buck comes out of his hiding place on the couch. “What did you say. Like exactly? Word for word?”

“Uh, she thanked me, then said that Abuela was nice and that we have an adorable son, though I suppose the you can be just me. That he loves his two dads,” Eddie repeats. “I panicked a bit, so she said my name and then I told her she can’t tell anyone to which she said that she wouldn’t.”

“Okay, but my name was never mentioned? And you didn’t say what she can’t tell anyone?” he asks for clarification, a small hope bubbling up in his chest. He always wants to believe the best of people, especially Maddie.

“You think she didn’t realize the other dad is you?” Eddie says, picking up what he’s putting down.

“Maybe,” Buck shrugs.

“That’s good then, right? You didn’t want to tell her yet anyway.”

“Yeah, but what if I’m wrong?”

“Do you think you’re wrong?”

“I mean, no, but I don’t know,” Buck sighs, rubbing his face. “I haven’t seen her in years, Eddie. I love her, but I don’t know her anymore. And she doesn’t know me…”

They’re quiet for a moment and Eddie has a thoughtful expression on his face. Buck gives him time to think it all over. In the end, Eddie just asks: “So what do you want to do?”

“Huh?”

“She’s your sister. What do you want to do?”

Now it’s Buck turn to think about it. When it came down to Helena and Ramon, he always let Eddie make the final call. Same when they moved here and it came to Abuela and tía Pepa, he’d been prepared to never be introduced to them should Eddie want. With Maddie it’s his family and his call. That still feels weird. Having family here.

But it’s a good weird, the kind of weird he wants to get used to until it’s normal. Maddie says she’s just passing through, but Buck wants her to stay. He’d do anything to get her to stay.

And despite saying he doesn’t know her, he does. He knows she is one of the kindest people he has ever known, that she has always been in his corner, even when it would have been better for her not to be. She’s as protective as they come. If she thought he was married, she’d corner him and question him until she was satisfied.

It’s most likely scenario. The reality he wants to believe in. However, he selfishly also doesn’t want to risk finding out he’s wrong. Not yet.

“I say we let it be,” he finally decides. The coward’s way out. “If she doesn’t know already, she’ll find out eventually and if she already knows, she knows not to talk now. Let’s not confirm or deny until we know what she’s going to do.”

He holds his breath waiting what Eddie thinks of his decision. If he’ll judge Buck for not wanting to make sure, for giving her space, even if he might be wrong. But Eddie just says: “Okay,” easily. “Are we going to tell Chris not to talk?”

“Nah, he already has and I don’t want to teach him to be ashamed of us. Even if we aren’t actually gay, we’re still two men raising him,” Buck says.

“Agreed,” Eddie nods.

Then Buck realizes something and he says: “If it is the misunderstanding we think it is, you realize that Maddie thinks that you’re gay, right?”

“It’s not the first time someone’s assumed that,” Eddie replies, rolling his eyes. It’s something he’s gotten used to. The army knowing he is married to a man hardened him a little to the assumptions and after the so manieth comment, he stopped bothering to correct people. They’ll think what they want, Eddie knows better. He’s not gay, so it’s not true what they think anyway.

Buck studies him for a moment, just to be sure. He himself is actually gay – well, bi – but Eddie isn’t and he’s from a macho culture. Ramon at least seems to think even being non-gayly married to a man is affront to not only Eddie’s, but Ramon’s masculinity as well.

However, Eddie truly doesn’t seem to care. It makes Buck feel a little warm and fuzzy inside, knowing that Eddie will have his back.

With that confirmed and cleared up, he goes back to the logistics. When Eddie took the job at the 118 neither of them could have predicted the kind of web they would be caught up in, but it’s a little too late to back out now.

Out loud Buck muses: “It might be easier if I don’t drive Chris to and from Abuela while Maddie is staying there.” It’ll put that chore on Eddie, so he checks: “Is that okay?”

“Course,” Eddie smiles.

Buck doesn’t know what he did to deserve Eddie. Eddie, who trusts him with his son, who lets him fit into his life however he can at the time. Eddie, who doesn’t care if Buck is being weird about telling his sister about their not-gay gay marriage. Who wants Chris to not be homophobic, even if he really has no stakes in it. Who doesn’t care if people assume things about him even if it would be easier for him if they didn’t.

He’d say he could kiss Eddie, but that’s not an uncommon feeling. However, it’s more on the foreground than it usually is, watching Eddie comfortably sprawled over on the couch, talking with him about raising Chris and the shape of their family.

God, some days Buck wants this to be permanent, wants to be real so bad. He knows he’s greedy, but he can’t help but want more. Want to be able to lean in and kiss Eddie. It doesn’t even have to be a full blown make out session that can lead to more, he wants the domesticity of a simple kiss as thanks just as badly. Sometimes more badly, even. He wants to share his life with Eddie in every way, wants to wear a ring on his finger and have it mean something other than convenience. Wants it to mean being wanted, never being left.

But dwelling on those things is never good. The more he lets himself dwell, the deeper he’ll fall and the harder it’ll be to ignore. He needs to prevent falling in too deep, so he can keep holding on.

“Wanna watch the next episode of that telenovella we started?” he asks to deflect.

Which might not be the smartest move, since Eddie loves them and Buck only gets invested, because Eddie is and now Eddie is sending him a beaming grin, before excitedly grabbing the remote. It’s adorable as fuck and Buck wants to scream into a pillow.

Fortunately, Buck is well versed in acting normal around Eddie when he secretly wants to squish his cheeks, maybe gnaw on his arm a little to get it all out. So, Eddie doesn’t notice.

Once the TV is on, the excitement of today catches up with Buck and he watches the show through half lidded eyes. Mostly following due to Eddie’s reactions and rants. It’s nice. Soothing. He falls asleep right there without his permission.

Some undesignated time later, Eddie is waking him up. Softly shaking his arm as he whispers: “Buck. Buck, you gotta wake up. If you sleep here, you’ll have a crick in the neck.”

“Hngn, couch is comfy,” he murmurs, burrowing his head into the back of the couch again to hide away from the shaking.

Eddie lets out an amused huff, before shaking him again: “Come on, you ass. Don’t make me drag you to the bathroom and force a toothbrush in your mouth.”

“But if I brush my teeth, I’ll have to be awake again,” Buck protests with a pout.

“And if you don’t brush your teeth, you’ll get cavities and I will take the money to fix that out of your little treat budget,” Eddie threatens, using the knowledge Buck shared against him.

“Ugh, you’re so mean,” Buck complains as he drags himself off the couch, glaring at a smug looking Eddie as he follows him to the bathroom so they can brush their teeth side by side.

In the end, he’s a little glad to have been woken up for this. Somehow brushing his teeth next to Eddie is one of his favorite things. It’s silly, he knows, but there is something so intimate and domestic about it and it sends a pleasant flutter through his stomach every time.

With their teeth brushed, they bid each other goodnight, before parting ways to climb into their respective beds. As predicted, Buck is awake again now and he spends the whole night tossing and turning, reconsidering his choice, then arguing himself into it again.

So he’s a little groggy when a small weight launches itself onto the bed, despite usually being a morning person. He groans: “Morning, Chris.”

“Good morning, papi,” Chris grins way too brightly for the early hour. Ugh, childhood chipperness, if he is anything like Eddie, he’ll grow out of it come teenagehood. But for now, Chris is here, pulling at his arm, while Buck tries to burrow deeper into his pillow. “Can you make pancakes?”

“Go ask daddy, he’s on breakfast duty,” Buck tells him, already sitting up and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, knowing what will come next.

“But daddy can’t make pancakes,” Chris whines as expected.

“And it’s a school day. You know we said no pancakes on school days,” Buck reminds him.

“It’s a stupid rule and you break it all the time,” Chris protests. And he’s right too. Buck is a weak man and he knows he works on weekends from time to time, so he makes them on school days too, because then he has time. So, it is technically a rule, but not an enforced one.

“Alright, alright, I’ll make pancakes,” he caves, because of course he does. “Go wake daddy.” Even if Eddie is gonna go back to sleep after breakfast, he’d want to kiss Chris good day.

“Okay,” Chris says brightly, before climbing out of Buck’s bed to go barge into Eddie’s room.

Buck watches him go with a smile, before getting out of bed and pulling on the clothes he finds first on the chair of limbo. Since he is in uniform for work often, he doesn’t wear his clothes long enough for them to get laundry dirty, so they live on the chair until he has a day off again. He always gets clothes that go with all his other clothes, so he can just pull on whatever.

When he’s dressed, he goes to the kitchen. Chris is already there, he had heard banging on Eddie’s door, but it seems Chris didn’t go in, too excited about pancakes to properly wake Eddie when he can go in the kitchen to talk Buck into making chocolate chip pancakes.

He is about to pour the first of the batter in the pan when Eddie comes stumbling in, still in his pajamas and his hair a mess. Chris gives him a big smile as he informs him: “Papi’s making pancakes.”

“Yes,” Eddie cheers, lighting up and waking up more at the news. The love for pancakes is something the two Diaz’s share and it’s adorable.

Still, Buck sends him a deadpan look, making Eddie rub the back of head sheepishly. Then Buck grins and shakes his head fondly. “Good morning. There’s coffee in the pot.”

“You’re the best,” Eddie tells him, pouring the coffee and gratefully cradling the warm mug. Noting that Buck is dressed, he asks: “You driving Chris to school?”

“Yeah, gonna swing by Abuela after, see how Maddie is,” Buck answers.

Eddie gives him an understanding nod, but they don’t continue on about the topic, instead turning to Chris and asking what is he going to do at school today.

Breakfast is a pleasant affair and after Eddie gives Chris a kiss on the head, wishing him a good day, before returning to bed, like Buck had predicted. Buck himself does as he said, driving Chris to school, before going to Abuela’s house.

Abuela opens with a smile and hugs him. After they’ve said their hellos, she tells him he has a lovely sister, which is both nice to hear because he wants Maddie to be liked and Abuela probably wouldn’t like her if she’d said anything homophobic.

He doesn’t know that both have been avoiding the husband topic out of politeness. Abuela still isn’t sure if she can say and Maddie thinks that while Abuela knows, her generation means that she prefers not to mention it. So they exist in a limbo outside of it, having bonded over different topics instead.

Maddie is out in the back garden and Abuela gives the two some privacy to catch up. So, he joins her with some tea, handing a cup to her too as he says: “Looks like you two are getting along. She might just adopt you and not let you leave.”

“I’m probably not going to stick around long enough for that to happen,” Maddie replies, smiling to look disarming, as if she is joking, but there is a tightness to that smile and a tension to her posture that sets Buck’s teeth on edge.

She is trying to hide, trying to run. Before Buck let her and he regrets it so much. He can’t let her do it again. He won’t. So he says: “Why not? Maddie, what really happened with Doug? Why are you running away from him?”

“No,” she’s shaking her head, almost moving as if to leave. “I’m not gonna bring my little brother into this.”

And he already kind of knew, but this only confirms it. It also only solidifies his resolve to keep her close. “Standing in between you and anyone who thinks they can hurt you is exactly where I want to be standing. Maddie,” his voice turns from fierce to almost pleading, “are you in some kind of danger?”

Apparently almost a decade of no face to face contact has not hardened her to his pleading eyes, because she sags back in her chair and sighs: “The stuff that mom and dad hated about him, that you picked up on even as a teenager, it all got worse. Much worse over the last year or so.”

She swallows thickly, tears gathering in her eyes. Buck wants to comfort her, but doesn’t dare breathe or move for fear that she’ll stop finally telling him what’s been happening.

“When I threatened to leave, he threatened to kill me.” Her voice breaks properly now, the mask of strength chipped away to nothing. “And he meant it.”

Fucking hell.

Buck wants to get on the first plane to Pennsylvania and give Doug a piece of mind. Preferably with his fists. But Buck knows he’s not a fighter and that will end badly, not to mention that it’s not what Maddie needs right now. And what Maddie needs is far more important than anything Buck wants to do to Doug. So, he just holds out his hand, waiting for her to grab it, before he squeezes softly in support.

The gesture earns him a watery smile, before Maddie continues: “You know, when women in abusive relationships used to come into the hospital, I got to be honest, I would pass judgment. Like, why don’t you just leave him? Now I get it. It’s like you can’t even believe it’s happening.”

“But you broke free,” he reminds her, finally speaking. “And I’m proud of you.” Because he is and she needs to know that, but she also needs to know that she doesn’t have to be alone, so he tells her that too.

Looking at her face, she isn’t entirely convinced. She looks as if she wants to believe him, but can’t imagine that such a thing is true.

It breaks Buck’s heart and he is quick to suggest. “You should stay. Here. With Abuela and me and the 118, alright? Abuela loves you and otherwise I have room, I promise you can always ask. You’ll get my room, I’ll take the couch. All the privacy you want. And if Doug comes looking, then- then I know a lot of cops.”

At that Maddie gives him a small smile, eyes hopeful, and that is all Buck can ask for, especially when those eyes turn determined. “He won’t,” she says. “He doesn’t know you live here. He doesn’t know what you do. It’s a real benefit to being married to someone who doesn’t ask any questions.”

It’s a weak attempt at lightheartedness, but Buck doesn’t challenge it, instead matching her smile. He has permission to cling to her now. “Okay, that’s perfect. You can start over. I can help you. I can help get you a great nursing job at one of the hospitals.”

“No.” The answer surprises him and he’s sure his whole body pauses. Maddie explains: “I really miss helping people, but I can’t do that job every day, looking over my shoulder, wondering who’s walking through the front door.”

“Okay,” Buck nods thoughtfully, mind whirring. “So you want to help people, but not deal with them face to face.” He is neck deep in the helping people business – in all facets of that job – so he should come up with something. It hits him. “Yeah,” he grins. “I think I might have an idea.”

Maddie gives him a skeptical look, much like when she still lived at home and Buck had another idea for an afternoon activity that ‘will totally be so fun. Maddie, please, come on.’

“9-1-1 dispatcher,” Buck reveals proudly, a little smug when Maddie skepticism gets replaced by surprised delight.

“9-1-1 dispatcher,” she repeats, sounding it out and testing it on her tongue. “That sounds… interesting.”

“It is, they’re integral to the entire first responder system,” Buck says excitedly. “I interact with them every day. They make sure everything keeps running and keep people calm until we get there, they help them through the emergency before we can reach them. You’d be great at it.”

He is so excited about the idea and Maddie’s heart melts a little. She has missed Evan. Missed her little brother.

All these years she missed him, worried about him, clung to every card she got, hoping they’d never stop, because they were the only thing holding her together. Actually seeing them is the equivalent to the temporary studs being replaced by structural repairs.

She has always been his protector, but he’s always been her comforter. When she was fighting with her parents, he’d cuddle up with her, and when she was angry with Doug as a teen, he was there to try and cheer her up.

Evan has always been a helper. He’d stand next to her in the kitchen, watching her make a sandwich with big eyes and handing her the peanut butter jar. He’d tell their parents Maddie stayed with him after a nightmare, when she’d snuck out with friends. He’d given her an offer to get out, before it got worse than it ended up being and kept reaching out, even when she didn’t come with him.

And here he is, years later, still reaching out, still covering for her to her parents, still handing her what she needs. She loves him for it. She loves him so much.

The love she feels for him bubbles up in her and she pulls him into a big hug as she fiercely whispers: “Thank you so much. Thank you, Evan.”

“Of course,” he whispers back, holding her back equally tightly and equally fierce. And for as long as she needs him to.

When she lets go, she clears her throat. Even after everything she just told him, she wants to be strong and not cry on him. So, she says: “So. Uhm, what’s the Buck all about?”

“Oh, well,” Evan blushes, “it’s a nickname. There were a lot of Evan’s in my class at the fire academy. It kinda stuck,” he explains, then softly he adds: “I like it.”

It’s quiet and vulnerable, despite being so simple. She remembers Evan being yelled in the house, loaded with the heavy disappoint of not being someone else. How he has always shrank away from it, unless it was her saying it. Being Buck instead of Evan looks good on him, she wishes she could have been there to see him grow into himself, but she guesses she just has to learn to live with the ache of finding out about all the things she missed out on when she let him walk away.

Her smile is probably a little watery, but her voice is strong as she says: “I like it too. Buck.” And the blinding grin she gets in reply is worth everything she missed out on, because he is here now in front of her. Happy. Happy looks so good on him too. It hurts that it’s an unfamiliar expression on his familiar face.

They continue to catch up in Abuela’s back garden. She learns a lot about the people she met yesterday, surprised when Buck mentions Eddie started recently, with how easily he offered his grandmother’s house, she assumed he must have known them all for a while already now.

It’s also clear to her that her little brother is a little enamored with the man. He hasn’t mentioned anything about his sexuality to her. Another thing she missed out on.

She is already planning for the inevitable heartbreak when Eddie feels comfortable enough sharing that he has a husband. A husband who isn’t Buck. She hopes chocolate ice cream is still his favorite, that that hasn’t changed in all these years. That she still knows pieces of him.

Besides that, she gets some extra information on Chimney, the cute firefighter from the station she saw briefly. It’s not that she is going to do anything, she isn’t even sure she’s going to see more of Buck’s coworkers (other than Eddie, of course), but she wants to know anyway. So she has a better picture to fantasize.

Maddie has gotten really good at fantasizing to cope and Chimney is definitely someone she wants to fantasize about. He sounds like a good guy. She can use a good guy.

By the time Buck leaves, he feels less like a stranger she used to know and more like her baby brother. Plus, she has a job and a ride for her first day. Maddie has stopped having hope or being optimistic years ago, but something about Buck makes her want to try again. The smile doesn’t leave her face the whole day.

A/N:

If I think about the Buckley siblings for too long, I go insane, istg.

Also their little lie getting out of control is so iconic to me, I love writing stories where one small thing gets out of hand and them not just ripping the band aid with Maddie now, is the beginning of the end xp

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teabanksia · 6 months ago

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Mr Schwartz

In 2022 when this song was first performed live prior to the album's release, I wrote this analysis of the lyrics. It's all on Genius lyrics as annotations but I wanted to put it permanently here in case it ever gets edited or deleted. My analysis was disproven by Matt Helders and Alex Turner themselves in this interview (4:40 onwards) however I believe it is still a decent interpretation. This will only be discussing Mr Schwartz through Delmore Schwartz.

Note that I wrote this 2 years ago and am barely editing it for this post, my 15 year old mind was not very smart, so it's clunky. I'm only posting this for myself.

Notable context: one of Alex Turner's playlists is titled "Del Schwartz" (short for Delmore Schwartz)

The song title and recurring character “Mr. Schwartz” makes reference to “Delmore Schwartz” an American poet. Delmore Schwartz had, according to his friends, gone into hiding for a year before dying alone from a heart attack as a result of his drugs and alcohol addiction.

The first line “Put your heavy metal to the test” is a play on words. A heavy metal test examines the levels of metal in your blood stream (e.g. mercury, arsenic). There is known to be metal contamination in illicit drugs (a recurring theme of the song is alcohol and drug usage, as seen in Mr. Schwartz, Delmore Schwartz’s death.

“There might be half a love song in it all for you.”

If you only write someone half a love song, you aren’t really that in love with them are you? This could also be critique on people looking to deep into lyrics, trying to find something about love to relate to, or want to relate to.

"Smudging dubbing on your dancing shoes."

This could be commentary on “fans” wanting Arctic Monkeys to return to their old sound (debut album track, Dancing Shoes) A lot of fans were taken back by the new direction of the band with Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino, and disappointed that The Car is a continuation of that. The audience thinks they’re entitled to what kind of music the band makes, but they wont (and can’t) make the same music forever. The line is talking about fans wanting them to return to their old style, which won’t happen.

"if we guess who I'm pretending to be do we win a prize? Having attempted twice both incorrectly do we get a third try?"

These lines talk about insecurity. The persona is masking himself to be someone else for the view of others.

However it could also be the complete opposite, that Alex is showing the real him, but people (the audience) insist on saying he isn’t, as if he’s “pretending and forcing himself to act to fit the perception of himself for others," when he is not. This could be commentary on how fans talk about him, acting as if they know him. They keep guessing incorrectly, because who he shows himself to be, is the real him.

The bridge: “If we guess who I’m pretending to be, do we win a prize? Having attempted twice, both incorrectly. Do we get a third try?” is written from the perspective of the audience.

"The gloved hands reaching in to hit the switch. There's not one god damn thing that you can do about it."

The line “hit the switch” is referring to the peripeteia (The point of no return, something that someone does which seals their fate, and are usually destined to die.) of this character’s story. “There’s not one god damn thing you can do about this” makes a referral to the characters peripeteia.

Given the references throughout the song to the poet Delmore Schwartz we can assume that this line is referring to over-use of drugs and alcohol. This line isn’t directly referencing Delmore Schwartz, and is instead is talking about anyone the narrator is close with (or not) struggling with these issues. There’s only so much you can do to help someone who has gone to deep, and instead your forced to watch that persons life get cut short. You can try to help, but in most cases it’s fruitless. The narrator struggles with the realization that there’s nothing he can do to help the inevitable, whether it be this, in relation to Delmore Schwartz, death as whole, or something else entirely.

This is basically a long winded and pretentious way of saying "I think the song is about Delmore Schwartz" that I wrote when I was 15. It's not good and it's a bit embarrassing to post here but I want to keep it up somewhere. Not looking for critique, I'd write it differently now.

#arctic monkeys #the car era #alex turner

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littleoddwriter · 9 months ago

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Cooper Abbott x GN!Reader w/ BPD (Borderline PD) | Mini-Fic in Bullet Point Format

Hey there! I wrote this during the weekend when I was having a longer BPD episode and needed to vent and find comfort. Debated with myself on sharing it, but I also know from my previous BPD-centric writing that it helps others that find themselves in similar situations to mine, so, why not. This is focused around one BPD episode. General BPD!Reader headcanons with Cooper might follow at some point, though. notes/warnings; Gender Neutral!Reader; Reader has Borderline Personality Disorder; BPD Episode; Implied/Referenced Self-Harm & Suicidal Tendencies; Emotional Hurt/Comfort; Mentions of Murder(ous Intent) [because it's Cooper, so, duh].

Cooper Abbott Masterlist

You tell Cooper about your diagnosis as soon as you feel like you can trust him with the information. Over time, you’ve learned to be as open about it as you possibly could. That way you could weed out people that didn’t care or that believed in the stigma, and it was also helpful to set boundaries and explain your behaviour to the other person.

Most of the time - especially with the help of therapy - you try to manage your symptoms by yourself. You don’t want to burden anyone with your instability, and you certainly don’t want to risk being abandoned for being ‘too much’ again. But it doesn’t always work to keep it all away from the people closest to you, including Cooper.

He makes you feel safe, more than anyone ever has before him. He gives you the feeling of being seen and heard, and best of all, understood on some level. Not judged.

When you move in together, it’s a lot more difficult for you to manage your symptoms by yourself, though. It’s hard to mask your feelings either way; but when Cooper is present, it’s like there’s no way to hide from him, for better or worse.

One day, you have an episode, and you don’t know what to do because none of your recently learned healthy coping mechanisms are working, which only makes you feel worse.

Cooper tries to help. He keeps suggesting things for you to do, distractions, attempts to comfort you, and talks you through it. But it doesn’t help. It only agitates you more. Eventually, you snap at him.

Regret and guilt tear you up on the inside as soon as your words leave your mouth. And you see the way Cooper falters. It’s rare for his own mask to slip around you. He looks almost murderous for a moment, like he’d want to smash your head into the wall. And it’s terrifying on one hand, but on the other, you wish he’d do exactly that and put you out of your misery.

You leave the room and he lets you, knowing that you’re not helping each other right now, but only making things worse. And once you’re alone, you lose yourself to the episode, after trying so hard to keep it inside and prevent the worst from happening.

When you’re calm enough to face Cooper again to apologise to him for snapping, he’s gone. It almost drives you into another episode. But then you look at your phone and see that he sent you a message. An emergency at work. You don’t question it, but deep down, you have an odd feeling about the timing of it. Nonetheless, you decide to believe him, to cling onto his words that tell you that he’s going to come back to you, that he didn’t just abandon you over your outburst, and that he may not be as mad at you as he seemed at first.

You can’t get the look of his eyes from that moment out of your head, though. This murderous intent that gleamed at you. Those beautiful brown orbs that usually looked so gentle, suddenly devoid of any affection. Just cold daggers that were waiting to pierce you to death.

In the morning, after a restless night on your end, he returns home to you. He takes care of you, quietly and soothingly, not judging you for what you might have done during the worst of your episode. He lets his lips travel over each spot he knows you love to feel them most. The tenderness of his actions are a harsh contrast to the murder in his eyes the night before. Those same eyes that now look at you like you’re used to. Full of affection and care, and gentleness.

Once you’re both sitting in silence, you apologise to Cooper, almost frantically. Still terrified that he’ll leave you, just like the rest. But he doesn’t. He accepts your apology and even apologises to you, as well. For having to leave all of a sudden when you were at your worst and needed him most, for not doing anything that helped you; not that it was his fault at all, but you appreciate the sentiment.

Cooper finishes it with a new gift for you. A piece of jewellery he knew you’d love. He saw it on his way home, he claims, and just had to get it for you as a way to finalise his apology, but also to give you a new physical reminder of his love for you.

#cooper abbott #cooper adams #gender neutral reader #cooper abbott x reader #cooper adams x reader #jesse.writes #i'm surprised this is as coherent as it is and i didn't have to work it over entirely for the upload lol that weekend was rough #idk what's happening but things are getting worse and worse for me i don't understand why #and neither do my therapists which is always a great sign (/s) oh well #just gotta keep going and hope that it'll get somewhat better at some point

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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 5 months ago

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Snow Day Part 3

Read on Ao3 Part 1 Part 2

Warnings: implied/referenced homophobia

Pairings: logince

Word Count: 8202

"Uh—sorry," Roman stammers when Logan opens the door, and it has everything to do with the fact that there was definitely supposed to be a party tonight and there's no one else here, and nothing to do with the face that Logan's only wearing a button-down with the top few buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up, "I must have my dates wrong."

"No, as always your timing is impeccable. Unfortunately, it seems everyone else has had other plans get in the way."

"O-oh. Um—" he shoves the tin at Logan— "here, I'll just go—"

"What for? I didn't say I minded." With that, Logan steps back, opening the door. "Come in, please."

Roman swallows, shuffling forward until he actually sees the inside of this apartment and he's far too stunned to do anything but gape like a weirdo. In his defense, when most people say 'apartment,' they think of probably something like a few rooms with a decent view and not much else. This not-apartment-because-what-the-hell looks closer to a mini mansion that's been squeezed into half of a building with a kitchen straight out of some high-budget cooking show, a gigantic dining table, and a living room that he swears he's seen in every drama ever, complete with floor to ceiling windows along one side. The door closes softly behind him and he quickly looks down, cheeks burning, trying to figure out the polite way to get out of his boots before he gets snow and sludge all over this floor.

"I thought I told you that you needn't bring anything," Logan says, taking the offered tin.

"Yeah, well, old habits. Always bring something when you go over to someone's house for the first time. It's, um, it's my mom's brownie recipe."

"Can't remember the last time I've had a brownie."

"Don't tell me you're one of those people who refuses to eat dessert on principle." Logan's expression twitches minutely and Roman groans. "It's the holidays, you're allowed to indulge. I'm sure as hell not gonna tell anyone."

"I'll hold you to that." He sets the tin down on the corner of the table. "Would you like a drink?"

"Do you have something that isn't obscenely priced alcohol?"

Logan chuckles as he reaches into a cabinet and produces two wine glasses. "Red or white?"

"Is there a non-plebeian way to say 'I have no idea?'"

"You could ask what I plan on feeding you, to figure out what would pair properly."

"Yeah, but if you had opinions on that you wouldn't give me the choice."

"Clever boy." Luckily, his back is still mostly turned so he doesn't see Roman turn bright red. "But…that brings me to the other issue. I had assumed no one was coming over tonight, so I called and canceled the caterer."

"I can go—okay, not the point, got it," he says hastily when Logan shoots him a glare, "uh…we could order something else? Or are you not a take-out person?"

"I'm not even going to dignify that with a response."

"Okay, smart guy, even though I don't believe you in the slightest. What's the state of your fridge look like?"

"Now who's interrogating who?"

"I'm offering to cook, genius, but I need to know what I'm working with."

There's another weird expression on Logan's face. Weird because it looks like Logan isn't the sort of person who's genuinely caught off guard a lot, and weird because it's making Roman's stomach do these flips and he's gonna ascribe that to hunger and not anything else, thank you very much. Swallowing most of that, he walks over and opens the fridge, blinking when he sees it's nearly empty.

"Okay, you wanna revisit that whole thing about you not being a take-out person?"

"I had it cleared with the expectation of leftovers. From the caterers. Who were going to be here up until I canceled them an hour ago."

"Uh huh." There are a few things he could work with in there. He opens a few more cabinets, trying not to think of one, how weird this is still feeling, and two, how Logan's just letting him go through his kitchen. He manages to find a box of pasta, a few potatoes that look pretty okay, and there's a bag of frozen broccoli in the freezer. "Are you one of those people that has an entire spice cabinet somewhere?"

"Roman," Logan says suddenly, a hand on his arm, "you don't have to cook. We can order something."

"I don't mind."

"You are a guest. I can hardly invite you over and then force you to cook."

"You're not forcing me, I'm offering. Besides," he grins, "you're already eating at least one brownie tonight, can't have it getting out that you're eating take-out too, can it?"

Logan shakes his head, smile growing. "And here I thought you promised not to tell anyone."

"Oh, I did, but unless you've got an NDA ready for whatever delivery driver shows up, they might not."

"You make an excellent point."

"I do have those sometimes. I'm gonna guess that since you had this food in your house, you're willing to eat it, but I'm thinking pasta with potatoes and broccoli on the side, is that fine?"

"That sounds wonderful. How can I help?"

"Uh—" see, now, it's one thing if he's cooking for Logan, it's another if Logan's going to help because that jumps to a level of domestic that he really should've thought about before deciding this was a good idea, but it's too late to back out now— "you can pick the wine since I have no idea how to do that."

"As you wish."

Nope. Not a reference. Just a thing he said. Don't think about it, don't read into it, don't do that.

In an effort to avoid doing exactly that, he gets Logan to show him the spice cabinet and where he keeps things like pots, pans, baking trays, and other things he's gonna need. Logan even has some of the fancy kitchen utensils like mandolins that make his life simultaneously easier and harder. Now that he knows he can do it properly, he's gonna have to.

"Can you preheat your oven for me?"

"It's just an oven, Roman, it doesn't bite."

"Yeah, but mine is the kind where you turn the knob to what it's supposed to be, not some Star Trek looking thing that looks like it'll beep very angrily if I press the wrong button."

"What should I set it to?"

"375 to start with. We'll crank it up once the first part's done."

"And you're certain there's nothing I can do to help?"

"Uh—you wanna melt some butter for me?"

"How much?"

"Just a stick. That should be enough."

"Should I be worried that you're not referencing a recipe," Logan says as he puts a pot on the stove, "or is this another one of your many talents you've been hiding from me?"

"I've not been going out of my way to hide my talents from you, it's your own fault if you haven't noticed them."

"Yes, because our previous meetings have been so conducive to you showing off your skill in the kitchen."

"Lucky you, then."

"Yes, lucky me."

The rest of the cooking does go by remarkably smoothly, not in the least because Roman actually does know what he's doing, thank you very much. And judging by Logan's pleasantly surprised expression, he did a pretty good job.

"Still happy you canceled the caterer?"

"Immeasurably," he sighs, leaning back in his chair as the last of their wine disappears, "that was delicious, Roman, thank you."

"No problem. It's the least I could do."

As soon as the words leave his mouth, he winces. Well. There go his attempts to be subtle right now. Blood in the water, tracking through the grass, whichever analogy Logan wants to use right now. His reaction to his mistake probably isn't helping him either. Shit. It was fun while it lasted.

"Say more," Logan prompts a moment later.

"What if I don't want to?"

"Then you needn't, but you can, if you want to."

"I think I'd rather have dessert."

Logan gives him a look like this isn't over—he wasn't under any illusions that it was—but retrieves the brownie tin. He opens it with an unnecessary grimace but takes one before offering the tin to Roman. Roman just bites down because it's chocolate and only an idiot refuses chocolate at the holidays. He keeps his eye on Logan, just to see his reaction, and can't help grin when Logan quickly finishes the rest of his brownie.

"Making you rethink your whole anti-dessert regimen?"

"You're a terrible influence."

He pushes away the sting in favor of grabbing another brownie. Logan rolls his eyes. "Hey, if you don't like them, I'll just take them with me when I go."

"Let's not be hasty."

"Uh-huh," he says triumphantly as Logan puts the tin on top of the fridge, "whatever you need to tell yourself."

Logan tweaks his nose as he walks past, smirking at Roman's indignant squawk. "That wine's gone right through me, apparently. I'll be back, try not to make too much of a mess."

"No promises!"

Yeah, no, Logan's really overestimating his gall if he thinks Roman's about to touch anything in this apartment without his explicit permission. Instead, he puts his hands in his lap like he's a little kid, just looking at everything instead. Belatedly, he realizes he could be productive and put the dirty dishes somewhere or start washing the stuff he knows can't go in a dishwasher because of course Logan has a dishwasher somewhere here, it's probably just hidden behind a false cabinet door or something. But then he's thinking about what Logan might say if he came back to find Roman doing the dishes and then it makes him think of his mother saying guests never do the dishes, Roman, you remember that, and fuck, now he's sad again.

He finds himself staring out of the window. It's not snowing anymore, but there's still some frost at the corners of the glass. His fingers fiddle with the loose threads at the bottom of his sweater.

"Do you think it's gonna snow? It has to snow! It has to be white on Christmas, that's the rule!"

Oh, if only that were true. If only the child's version of Christmas was the real one, the one where everyone puts aside their differences to celebrate being together, where everyone's just content, where the tree tops glisten and children listen to hear—

"…sleigh bells in the snow."

Huh. When did he start singing? Well, little use in stopping now. It was his favorite song for a while for a reason.

The familiar melody rings out in the still room as Roman's eyes drift closed. Unbidden, the song turns melancholy, almost regretful, until it's more a lament than a ballad. His tongue grows thick, his voice heavy.

The last note wavers more than is probably acceptable, but it's not like anyone's around to—

"You didn't tell me you could sing either."

Logan. Roman doesn't quite jump as he turns around, but he knows the shock and embarrassment of forgetting that yeah, dumbass, this is Logan's condo, of course he's still here, is all over his face. He's leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets.

"How long have you been standing there?"

"You've a lovely voice, Roman," he says instead, and he bites back the now who's dodging the questions? in favor of looking away instead, "thought I can't help but notice that sounded remarkably sad compared to other versions of that song."

"Yeah, well."

There's a pause, then Logan's walking forward to refill their wine glasses.

"You," he says as he hands one to Roman, "are far too sad for someone who just cooked a wonderful meal and had the foresight to bring over dessert with it. Come, now, up."

He follows Logan's prompting, letting him steer him to the criminally comfortable couch and sit. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to be all doom and gloom—"

"No need for apologies."

"I can't imagine this is how you expected to spend your night."

"Well, no, but it's a damn sight better than suffering through the teasing from everyone about how much of a Grinch I am."

"Why is that? Sorry," he says hastily, realizing how much of a hypocrite that makes him, "you don't have to answer that."

Logan looks at him with that amused smirk before taking a sip of his wine. "It's not that I dislike the holidays, just the pageantry of it. I care little for the theatrics of holiday cheer most businesses use as a thinly-veiled excuse to guilt you into spending more money and the snobby people who insist their generousness is due to some Yuletide folly rather than a facade of charity to make themselves feel better."

"Wow, if you're calling them snobs then it must be bad."

Logan nudges him with his foot. It's supposed to be a kick, he knows, a stop having that sort of attitude with me, but Roman's chest doesn't think of it like that. "Besides, there's always that terrible habit some people have of letting the season convince them they feel things they don't."

Something icy cold settles in the pit of Roman's stomach. "Oh, yeah? Like what?"

Logan sighs again, looking away. "Oh, you know, those sentimental fools that think they'll find love at the holidays. The ones who swear they've met their soulmate only for the relationship to fall apart before the new year."

"…remember when I called you cynical?" he tries to joke to cover up how bad his hands are starting to hurt, "I think I might've undersold it."

"Call me cynical all you like, but I've seen more than my share of reasonable people turn into complete idiots pining away after someone once December begins. All it does it give them more bad memories to dwell upon next year, mourning some fantasy that never stood a chance."

He blinks, then eyes his glass.

"I didn't think I'd had that much to drink."

"Don't worry, I'll add it to the list of things I'm never gonna talk about after tonight."

"Much appreciated." He leans against the back of the couch, one arm slung over the back. "Now, I think I've done my fair share of bringing down the mood, so you needn't worry about that any further."

That is, surprisingly, not what Roman's worrying about right now. He is worrying about the fact that somehow, despite knowing better himself and knowing that it could never, ever happen, he's apparently gone and done the very thing Logan's just condemned. And he has no idea what he's going to do about that, because Patton is away with his partner and he doesn't really have any other friends he can talk to about something like this and his brother—

"Roman?" Logan's voice snaps him out of the spiral, blinking to see him watching him with a frown. "What's troubling you?"

It's not like this is the worst decision he's made tonight. "My…family's not really big on Christmas, not anymore."

"No? I would've thought you'd be the type to get together and made a big deal of it."

"We used to. Back when I was younger. The whole extended family would cram into my grandmother's house and we wouldn't leave until after New Year's." He can't help but smile. "I used to wonder where they were keeping everything, then I learned that only the kids really got to stay in the house and everyone else was in a nearby motel or someone else's house."

"How many people are we talking about?"

"Including the kids, the in-laws, and the friends that got dragged in…I'd say around four dozen? Easily?" He stifles a snort at the somewhat horrified look on Logan's face. "Yeah, it was a lot. But it never felt like it was too much, you know? It was always right, that everyone was there, that you got to see everybody just once, even if it was only for a five-minute conversation, but it was Christmas and so you had to…to just be there for everyone for a few days."

He takes another sip of wine.

"My favorite thing to do was dance with my grandpa. He'd wait until everyone else was distracted and sneak me into the basement where his record player was. Then I'd stand on his feet and we'd dance around the cold floor until someone came looking for us. He'd tell me all these stories about how he met my grandma, or how my mom met my dad, and I'd try and make him guess what song was going to play next and always be surprised when he knew." He shakes his head. "He had that record memorized."

He can feel the cold cement under his feet, hear the noise of the old record player and the growling rumble of his grandpa humming along to Bing Crosby. He can smell the old insulation and hear footsteps against the ceiling from the other kids running by.

He gives himself a shake.

"I—uh—sorry."

"Don't apologize," Logan says quietly, resting his hand on his shoulder, "you're doing wonderfully."

Nope. Nope, not helping. The opposite of helping, actually. Roman swallows. "The—um, the last time I was there, I asked him if I could have the record when he didn't want it anymore. He told me it wouldn't be much use without the record player and I said that's so I had to come back when I wanted to hear it again."

He swallows again.

"That was the plan, anyway."

This time, Logan doesn't ask. He doesn't have to. He just waits, hand still burning Roman's shoulder.

"When my brother came out, they disowned him."

Logan doesn't visibly react, but the air in the apartment grows a little stuffier.

"I fought with them like hell over it, but they wouldn't budge. Said he'd have to give it up if he ever wanted a chance back in the family. I tried to say that they'd always had something against him, even before they knew he was gay, that they just used that as an excuse. They said they'd have done it anyway, and I…didn't believe them, that they wouldn't have reacted the same way as if it was me telling them I was gay."

This happened years ago. It shouldn't still make him this upset. He looks down, swirls the glass of wine around.

"…they weren't bluffing. I was gone the same day. I didn't realize it was Christmas that year until I looked at a calendar and realized it had passed." He makes himself take a sip. "He's doing better now. He has his own family, they spend every Christmas together and we try and call, but it was…it was hard for a while. He didn't believe that I'd tried to stick up for him and when I said they kicked me out too, he—I don't think he believed me at first about that either. We've talked about it since and we're okay, but it's…still hard."

"I'm sorry, Roman," Logan says, his voice terribly heavy, "that's awful. No child should ever have to feel as though their family's love is conditional."

"I'm better off without them."

"Yes, you are. And if they can't see what a wonderful person you've become, then that's their fault."

See, now, Logan can't just go saying things like that, because then Roman will start crying. He takes another sip and forces a smile. "Sure I didn't bring down the mood too much?"

"What do you typically do for Christmas?"

"Huh?"

"You said your brother spends time with his chosen family, what about you?"

"I, uh, well, normally I spend it with Patton and his folks. They're not really big on the whole Christmas dinner thing but we always spend it volunteering at this place right outside the city."

"But he's with his partner this year," Logan deduces, and Roman just nods.

"Guess I didn't really have a leg to stand on when it comes to lack of holiday plans, huh?"

He's not sure what he expected Logan's reaction to be—maybe a huff of laughter and a change of subject—but it wasn't for him to reach into his pocket for his phone and press something that makes music come out of some hidden speaker. Damn rich people and their fancy sound systems. He's about to say as much when Logan puts down his wine glass and stands, offering him a hand.

His mouth hangs open until Logan chuckles. "Dance with me."

"I'm—uh—I really don't know how to—"

"Don't overthink it," he interrupts quietly, "just follow my lead."

Roman's body obeys before his brain has a chance to catch up to whatever the fuck this has turned into, taking Logan's hand and letting him walk them to the center of the floor. True to his word, there are no complicated fancy steps, just two bodies swaying together as the music plays. But all that does is give him time to think about the way Logan's hand presses against his back until they're chest to chest, his hand cradling Roman's as though it's something precious and this, this is why Roman can't think about this. Because if he keeps thinking about it, he's going to start thinking about how badly he wants to tip his chin up just a little and he's not going to watch Logan's expression harden as he kicks him out of his house.

"You're still thinking too much," Logan murmurs in his ear, kindly not pointing out the way Roman shivers, "just relax."

"I haven't danced with anyone in a long time, okay?"

"You're doing wonderfully." Roman can't hold back the disbelieving huff and Logan squeezes his hand—again, probably in reprimand but it just makes his chest flip— "you've already impressed me enough tonight, Roman. It'd be unfair if you were also a phenomenal dancer."

Roman sighs and tries. Honestly, he does, and he only realizes he's doing it by humming when Logan murmurs something about his having a lovely voice again. "Thanks."

"Is White Christmas your favorite?"

"It used to be. Now I don't know what it is. Do you have a favorite Christmas song?"

"Do I look like the type to have a favorite Christmas song?"

Well, you don't seem like to type to slow dance with a relative stranger in your house after no one else showed up to your party either, but here we are. "Guess not."

They keep dancing. The music goes from purely orchestral pieces to old-fashioned crooners to a few slower songs Roman doesn't quite recognize. All the while he tries not to think about how this would be a great way to spend his Christmas. No presents necessary, no tree, no nothing, just…here. With Logan, dancing to music. Maybe with snow falling outside.

Logan chuckles when he voices that thought—just the snow bit, not the everything else bit. "What fascination do you have with snow?"

"I like it."

"Stunning argument, counselor."

"We're not in court, shut up." Logan just laughs at him again and he rolls his eyes. "It's the one thing I can still be sentimental over, okay?"

Logan's laugh fades and now he's just looking at Roman with a soft expression. "Well, then. Far be it from me to stop you."

They come to a stop as the song finishes. They stare at each other. The next song starts but they don't move again. The air grows thicker, thicker, the wine wrapping its hazy tendrils up through his chest, his throat, making his eyes heavy and—

"I—I should go," Roman mumbles, pulling away. Logan lets him. "Thank you for—hosting."

Logan doesn't say anything. He's still watching Roman and Roman knows he didn't just imagine that. But Logan's earlier words ring in his ears and he hurries to get his shoes on, shrug on his coat, and vanish into the punishing cold of the late night streets.

***

Christmas Eve.

Roman tips his head back, snow melting as it touches his damp cheeks, his tears icy cold by the time they meet his trembling lips. He'd never quite realized that it was true: snow created a hush in the air as it fell. The park has never been so quiet. A single flickering streetlight illuminates his bench, a layer of power already accumulated on his shoulders and knees. He blows out a cloud of steam.

He'd stopped feeling his fingers and toes a while ago. Distantly, some part of him registers that he should be worried about that. But worrying involves moving, and the thought of leaving this one little place has him sick to his stomach.

I can't leave now, he bargains, there's a spot on this bench that needs to be kept free of the snow. It'll look really obvious that someone was sitting here because there will be so much less snow, so I might as well keep sitting here.

The bench might be cold. It's cold, after all, it's snowing—and even just having part of the bench warm would be better than nothing. And it's really quiet out here. If Roman wasn't here, then there wouldn't be any noise at all and that's disconcerting, especially on Christmas Eve. How can you be expected to be all alone on Christmas Eve? How could Roman leave this bench to be all on its own when it was Christmas Eve? That would just be cruel.

He sniffles. It falls flat in the hushed air.

He's such a fool. A heartsick, pathetic, sentimental fool. He should've known better. He should've known this time of year was dangerous for him, him and his clinginess and his brashness and his unwanted enthusiasm. He should've known better than to try and make friends, make any sort of connection because it wasn't going to be what he needed it to be. He should've listened to that therapist his parents made him go see, when she said you've got a lot of love in you, you just need to put it in the right place. He doesn't know where the right place is anymore, but he sure as hell has lived long enough to be able to recognize the wrong place.

But he's carved out a space for himself this Christmas Eve, see? There's a part of the bench with no snow on it, that's where he belongs.

Unbidden, a wave of resentment for his brother crashes against his chest, and soon after a tsunami of self-loathing all but drowns him. How can he be so cruel, tonight of all nights, to begrudge the fact that his brother has a place to call home? People to call family? He should be happy for his brother, grateful for the fact that only one of them has to freeze on a park bench tonight because it's less painful than being in an empty house that feels no more a home than that wretched place with people who despise them for having the audacity to exist. He should resent them, for taking his joy, but he doesn't. Instead he chooses to resent his brother who has the courage to find it for himself again.

Maybe the park bench doesn't want him here either. Maybe it's just being quietly polite.

He sniffles again. A tear drops from the bottom of his chin and lands in the snow with a wet splat.

Even the pain of fantasy would be a welcome distraction, even though he knows, he knows it's only making him more and more foolish. But the night is cold and the snow is too quiet and so his brain begins to spin.

Because he hasn't imagined all of it. He can't have imagined all of it. Not the way Logan looked at him when he said he didn't have many people to buy presents for, not when he listened to his tragic sob story, not when he asked him to dance and held him close like they were actually lovers, not a sad excuse for a holiday friendship, borne of necessity and convenience rather than anything sustainable.

"All it does it give them more bad memories to dwell upon next year, mourning some fantasy that never stood a chance."

Logan's words crash over him and he muffles a sob in the snowy evening. But he's already admitted to himself that he's a fool, there's no further harm in continuing to be foolish.

So he lets himself imagine it. Imagine a Christmas with Logan. Of baking cookies in that miracle of a kitchen, of decorating a tree with a combination of simple elegant ornaments and the ridiculous ones Roman buys because they're gaudy and hideous and utterly perfect. Of slow-dancing to Christmas songs in the living room as the snow falls outside, of cuddling under the blankets for warmth even though there's no chance the heat will go out. Of Logan's soft expression, the gentle touch of his fingertips under his chin, the press of his lips to Roman's—

A brutal gust of wind stings Roman's chapped lips. He bites them in retribution, and they cry out as his tongue rasps against raw skin. He squeezes his eyes shut, chin tucking against his chest in a futile attempt to make himself warmer but the cold stabs its fingers down the back of his collar and he whimpers. The snow on his lap splatter with fresh tears.

This is a new low for him: crying alone on Christmas Eve. He spares a fleeting thought for what pointed and terribly smug remark Logan might have to say about it, but Logan would never—

"You," comes a voice far too soft and gentle to possibly be speaking to Roman, "are far too lovely to be crying alone on a cold park bench as though you've got no one to care for you."

Roman's head snaps up.

The streetlight forms a corona around Logan's head, the deep black of his coat silhouetting him against the falling snow. He swallows, suddenly aware of how truly wretched he must look, but then Logan's words catch up with him.

"I'm what?"

Logan just looks at him with a frown so deep that it makes tears well in the corner of his eyes again. "You've been out here a long time."

"How do you know that? Wait, how did you find me?"

"Your phone's dead. Patton's been trying to reach you for hours." Roman fishes in his pocket and sure enough, Logan's right. "He called me trying to figure out where you were."

"Why you?"

The words come out far too accusing but before he can apologize, Logan's easing his way onto the snow-covered bench. "Because apparently, I'm the last friend who's seen you."

Oh. Roman's chest buckles in on itself. First, because Logan just said that they're friends, second that he willingly admitted it, which means he must look really pathetic right now, and three, that it means Logan had to drag himself from his luxury apartment to freeze his ass off on a park bench while Roman throws himself a pity party.

"Sorry."

"Now, what on earth could you possibly have to apologize for?"

"You didn't have to come out here. You shouldn't have had to come and find me. I should've paid better attention to the time."

"But you were still going to be out here?"

He bites his lips again. He should just roll over, shouldn't he? Let Logan pick him apart until he's satisfied enough to nudge the pieces together and let Roman be? But the thought of being flayed and eviscerated here has him stifling another sob and he shakes his head. "I can't do this tonight. I'm sorry, I promise I'll answer every question you have tomorrow—or not tomorrow, tomorrow's Christmas, I— some other time, okay? I swear, you can have me sign a contract or something, just…just not tonight, okay? Please?"

Logan's quiet for a moment. Then: "are you sure you don't have anything against lawyers?"

It's meant to be a joke, something to break the tension, but instead Roman curls in on himself further. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it. I'm just upset. I'm sorry."

"I'm not angry with you, Roman," Logan says, voice still terribly gentle.

Roman buries his face in his hands. He takes one deep, shuddering breath and pushes his shoulders back, forcing a smile on his face. "Sorry. Guess the holiday stresses are just getting to me, you know?"

"Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Don't pretend, not with me. I've told you: the one thing I despise most about the holidays is the dishonesty. You're the only person who's been genuine the entire time I've known you and you've never shied away from telling me the truth. Don't start lying now."

Roman crumbles. Of course he does, what the fuck else was he supposed to do? Logan gives a small hum of approval before lapsing back into silence, waiting for Roman to talk. He looks away, gaze tracing Logan's footprints, already covered by a light dusting of snow.

"You never told me how you found me."

A cloud of steam floats upwards as Logan exhales. "You're a lonely man on Christmas Eve who can't bear to be alone. You've come to one of the only places in the city that won't remind you what day it is, and the only one still open this late at night."

"Am I really so obvious?"

Now Logan offers him a rueful smile. "Let's just say we have more in common than you might think."

Roman stares at him. Logan just shakes his head, tipping his chin up to watch the snow. His profile glows ever so slightly.

"Is this what you meant," he asks quietly, "about the appeal of watching the snow?"

Roman looks up at the dark sky. "Yeah."

"You were right. It is very peaceful."

He just nods. They soak in the quiet for a moment. Then he huffs. "Never thought I'd see the day where you'd do something like go out into the snow for no reason."

"I didn't."

"Huh?"

"I told you," he says, and suddenly there's a gloved hand turning Roman's face to his, "you're far too lovely to leave out here all on your own. Practically criminal, if I'm being honest, and I can't spend Christmas Eve in lockup, what on earth would my colleagues say?"

Another joke, another thing Roman should probably laugh at, but he's lost in the tender touch of warm soft leather and the way Logan's looking at him. "What is this?"

"What's what?"

" This. What are you doing? What—" his breath catches— "what about sentimental fools who think they've fallen in love on Christmas?"

"Are you saying you've fallen in love with me, Roman?"

"I'm saying I don't know what the fuck you're doing," Roman spits, and tries to yank himself away from Logan's touch but he can't, he can't, "you—you come out here and you find me even though it's Christmas Eve and it's fucking freezing out here and you ask me to dance with you after I tell you how special it is to me and you host me at a party you didn't even want to throw and you let me drag you shopping and you listen to me when I tell you about how fucked up my family is and you—you— you—"

"I what, Roman?"

"You're making it really easy to fall in love with you," he says as his voice breaks, "and I don't—I don't know if I can stop it."

"Oh, Roman…no, no, hey, don't run away from me," Logan says as Roman's face twists, "shh, listen to me. Why did I say I thought people were sentimental fools for falling in love on Christmas?"

"I don't know."

"You do," he coaxes, "you do, dear one, just think."

Roman is actually incapable of thinking right now, because there's no fucking way Logan just called him a pet name. But then he realizes Logan's looking at him with gentle encouragement and he wracks his brain trying to remember the rest of that conversation. "Um…because it won't last?"

"Not entirely."

"I really don't know, Logan."

"Shh, it's alright…I call them fools because they let the season convince them of feelings that aren't actually there. They get swept up in the tide of holiday fever and can't differentiate it from genuine affection and care. And when all of it fizzles away by the new year, then…what's left?" His thumb brushes over Roman's tear-stained cheek. "Am I a fool, Roman?"

"Huh?"

"I'm reasonably sure I'm not, but you are far more an expert in the holiday spirit than I am, so I'll defer to your judgment." Logan moves closer, their legs pressing together on the frigid bench. "I don't believe I'm imagining the way you relaxed more and more the longer you stayed over that night, nor the way you lit up when you dragged me through those stores that morning. I know I was relieved to hear you'd be attending the office party with me, and I'm not too proud to admit I wasn't happy to remember that meant having to share you with everyone else there."

Roman's throat begins to run dry. Logan's voice lowers, the hand on his face growing heavier.

"I know it made me furious to hear about how abominable your supposed family has been to you over the years, and how it felt to hear that someone as wonderful as you had no one to share your Christmas with. I know how it was to see you standing by the window at that first party in a rumpled sweater and jeans and how hard it was to keep my hands to myself when I got to see you in a proper suit—and then you looked at me with your eyes all wide and scared in that big store and I wanted nothing more than to show you that it was all going to be alright…" He's even closer now, snow awkwardly shoved up between them. "I know how terrified I was when Patton called me and told me he couldn't get a hold of you and how you are the only person who could get me to do something so inane as going outside just to watch the snow."

He's so close. So close Roman has to hold his breath so he doesn't fog up Logan's glasses.

"But I don't know if this will last," he continues, fingers twitching ever so slightly, "I've got no idea what this will become if I let it continue. I have…I have my ideas—my hopes, rather, after what you've just said, but I don't know for sure."

Logan's eyes flick up to catch his. Roman decides right then that the deep, melted chocolate brown is his favorite color.

"So," he whispers, "am I a fool, Roman?"

Oh.

"If you are," he says hoarsely, "then so am I."

A smile breaks over Logan's face. "That's good, then. That means you probably won't push me off this bench if I kiss you."

Roman shakes his head, heart pounding in his throat. Logan leans up and his eyes flutter shut and then he's being kissed. Just a chaste brush of Logan's mouth on his but it's so much better than he could've ever dreamed it would be. It ends far too soon, so soon Roman can't even bear to open his eyes, but then Logan's hand is shifting to curl around the back of his head and he shivers at the sudden change in temperature.

"Come home, dear one," Logan murmurs, "let me warm you up."

"You swear you don't mind?"

He chuckles, lightly squeezing the nape of his neck. "I'll drag you in by the scruff like a pup if I have to."

A different sort of heat shoots through him and he stands up too quickly. Logan doesn't seem to mind, not even when Roman winces at the pain in his limbs—he really has been sitting out here too long. He gets teased a little for being like a newborn fawn but Logan's arm wraps securely around his waist as he guides him through the park to his car. Every time they stop at a red light or a stop sign, Roman's gut lurches like Logan's about to tell him this was all a big misunderstanding, that he's taking Roman back to his apartment after all, but he doesn't.

The wave of heat as Logan opens the door to his building almost sends Roman to the floor again, his hands beginning to itch with the pins and needles of warming up after being so cold. Logan holds him steady, walking slowly to the elevator and along the hall to his door. He quickly takes off his own coat and boots, turning to help Roman out of his as he fumbles with useless fingers, pausing when he sees the fresh tears on Roman's cheeks.

"Wait, wait," Roman mumbles as Logan tries to step closer, "I'll ruin your suit—why in the hell are you still wearing a suit?"

"Working late," Logan says, only for Roman to stubbornly refuse to let him hug him, "it's only a suit, Roman."

"And you'll hold it over my head that you let me ruin it."

"Bold of you to assume I won't hold it over you that you wouldn't let yourself ruin it," Logan says, both of them unable to hide the relief at implying there'll be a time in the future where both of those are possibilities, before his smile grows distinctly sharper. "Though I suppose if only to assuage your worries, I might as well take it off."

"That wasn't—I didn't mean—uh—"

"I'm only teasing you, dear one." He wraps an arm over Roman's shoulders again, guiding him over to the couch and sitting him in front of the fireplace. "Sit. I'll bring you something warm to drink. Do you want another sweater?"

"N-no, I'm—I'm okay."

"I'll be right back."

He taps a button and the fire roars to life, throwing flickering shadows across the walls. Roman unconsciously leans towards it, hunched over his folded arms. So mesmerized by the light, he startles when something big and warm and soft drapes over his shoulders, letting out a soft noise.

"Thought that might help," comes Logan's voice as the couch dips and he presses something else warm into Roman's hands, "is that better?"

"Is this a heated blanket?"

"No, I just threw one of my softest ones into the dryer for a few minutes. I take it that I was right?"

"Careful," he tries to joke, "I might never leave again."

"Believe me, dear one, that wouldn't be a hardship."

Roman quickly goes to take a sip of whatever Logan's given him, only to stare down in shock. "Is this hot chocolate?"

"Mm."

"Why do you have hot chocolate in your house?"

"Because you," he says, wrapping his arms around Roman again, drawing him into his chest for a proper cuddle, "are far too sweet and tempting to be here on my couch as though you think I wouldn't do something like buy you hot chocolate."

"See? You can be good at the whole gift-giving thing."

"Oh, no, this is my being entirely selfish."

"How so?"

"Well, if I have hot chocolate here, I have something to use to convince you to come back." His head dips, one hand tugging the blanket away from Roman's shoulder. "Which means I get to have you like this again, safe and warm in my arms…"

"What—" his mouth runs dry again as lips brush his skin— "what're you doing?"

"Someone very clever once told me that the holidays were the time to indulge. So, here I am," he rumbles as he kisses up to the crook of Roman's neck, " indulging."

"You're gonna make me drop the hot chocolate."

"Can't have that." He reaches out and takes the mug, settling it on the coffee table before cupping Roman's jaw and pulling him in for another kiss. "You might convince me that it isn't too sweet."

" Might? I'll show you might."

"Strong words," Logan murmurs, letting their lips catch, "can you back them up?"

This kiss is harder, deeper, yet somehow so much more tender, as Logan's hand slides into the hair at the nape of his neck, his other underneath blanket and sweater to make Roman gasp as it settles in the small of his back, as he pulls Roman so close he's almost in his lap, impossibly small and yet the weight of the world. When it breaks, Logan doesn't let him pull away, immediately pressing him against the back of the couch so he can kiss his way down his neck.

"Shh," he whispers when Roman lets out a noise, "it's alright, I'm right here. Right here, dear one, I'd never let you get hurt."

"S-stop, Logan, you have to stop." And Logan pulls away so quickly Roman's chest aches with it, looking at him like he's devastated. "It's—it's just too much. I'll just start crying all over you."

Logan softens, then, taking him back into his arms and brushing gentle lips over his forehead. "Cry all you need to. I won't mind."

"C-can we just—slow? Please?"

"Of course, dear one. Here…" He passes the hot chocolate back. "Drink that, lay with me here, and when you're finished, I'll give you something to change into so we can sleep."

"You're—you're letting me stay the night?"

"Well, I'm hardly going to let you slip away from me now. Yes, Roman, you'll stay—I'll bundle you up in warm blankets and hold you close until you fall asleep." He cards his fingers through Roman's hair. "Is that alright?"

"Yeah, yep, that's—that sounds perfect."

He's rewarded with another kiss to his forehead. "You're not going to finish that hot chocolate, are you?"

"Probably not."

Logan just chuckles and urges him up, an arm around his waist again as he pulls him down the hall toward the bedroom. Sure enough, he passes him a soft sleep shirt and pants before pushing him gently in the direction of a bathroom that's larger than Roman's living room.

"And no standing around worrying about not belonging here, just change and come back!"

"I wasn't!"

"Sure."

He puts his head down and quickly changes, trying not to think about how much clothes this soft must cost, before he's awkwardly shuffling back into the bedroom to see Logan's—

Oh. He's drawn the curtains.

Snow drifts gently from the dark sky overlooking the bright cityscape. There's just enough ambient light that he can see the shadow of the bed, Logan's silhouette on the other side, and the beginnings of frost at the edges of the windows. There's a quiet rustle as Logan draws back the covers, softly bidding come lie down, dear one, and the gentle hum of contentment when Roman slides into his arms.

"Tomorrow," he says lowly, "we'll wake up and spend far too long in this bed before I make you breakfast and give you your present."

"You got me a present? But I didn't—"

"You've given me this," he interrupts with a kiss, "that's more than enough of a present. And absolutely no protesting about me making you breakfast: you cooked last time."

"But—"

"What did I just say?"

"Fine," he sighs, as though it's a huge hardship for this really attractive bastard to cook him breakfast on Christmas after he thought he'd wake up alone in his too-cold apartment—Logan shushes him as soon as he feels him tense, nudging his chin up. "It's nothing."

"Are you sure?"

"Just—" he sniffles— "wondering how I got so lucky. It feels like I'm gonna wake up and all of this will be some dream."

"Not a dream, dear one. You're really here, in my arms, in my bed." He pulls the covers more snugly around them, wrapping their legs together. "And if you wake during the night, afraid, I'll be there to soothe you too."

"I don't think anyone would believe me if I told them you were this sappy."

"Don't you go letting anyone else in on it, then," he threatens with a playful tap of Roman's nose.

"Can we go out in the snow tomorrow too?"

Logan chuckles. "Of course, dear one. Whatever you want."

"It's a Christmas miracle."

"Go to sleep now, dear one. I can see your eyes growing heavy."

Snow drifts down past the window as the two of them fall asleep. Down below, the last of the cars leave the streets, colorful lights twinkling as the city succumbs to its slumber. Logan's arms stay firmly around Roman, his head in the crook of his shoulder as the mattress dips ever so lightly to cradle the two of them in its very center. The perfect place for both. The last taxi that drives by plays a sweet song on the radio, the melody wafting through the air as it fades away.

"No, there ain't nothing

that I would rather do,

than catching snowflakes on a snow day with you."

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#dragonbabbles #sanders sides #fic #roman sanders #roman angst #roman sanders angst #logan sanders

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