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sugaredrhubarb · 4 months

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Reading with Ru: 2023 oct/nov/dec fic and book recs

Hello hello! Back again with some final recs from what I was reading towards the end of the year. Gonna start with cod because that's where most of my moots are, and then some from other fandoms and published romance I've been enjoying as well.

Just in case this goes outside my little circle, please check the tags of anything I rec; I'll try to mention if I think something is particularly dark, but don't read anything you won't like!

COD

landscape with honey by @ceilidho - (bear shifter!price x reader) starting with ceil because, at this rate, I can't write a list without including her. my friendship with ceil partially started from bugging her asks about bear price, so this one is always gonna be special, but I genuinely love it, ceil writes blatant dubcon really well (as we all know), but I think it's in fics like this—when the hero is just a little off, and the reader is caught between what seems too good to be true and a gut instinct that something isn't quite right—that her writing really thrives. Anyway, I'm okay with a big, burly man hibernating with me in a cozy cabin in the woods for a winter. (side note: we need to be talking about ghost x feral witch reader more)

Mind the Drop by @sprout-fics - (BDSM au, price x reader) more aftercare in fics!!! This wonderful one-shot is based in a universe where people are biologically designated as dominant or submissive. Reader is a sub who is feeling the effects of some missed aftercare, which Price takes notice of and offers his... assistance. Honestly, this is just some really well-written comfort and aftercare from a fun concept.

My daddy didn't love me, so I guess I've moved on to you by @makoodles - (price x reader) clearly, I was back in my Price era, and this fic hits on the central theme of my attraction to him in the first place: daddy issues :) So, if you may want to read 17k of Reader and Price succumbing to their attraction and mutual daddy kinks, this one is for you.

Light On by @peachesofteal - (ghost x singlemom!reader) I feel like everyone was reading it, but if you haven't checked out this lovely story yet, please do! It's nice to take a break from the darker fic, and this one is so lovely while still acknowledging Simon's trauma and obsession. Peaches is an excellent writer, and this sent me down a rabbit hole of single-parent fics and books! I could read so much of this.

Pornstar!ghost by @ghosts-cyphera - ( x reader) lo is on a little break right now, but this is another wonderful entry on the soft side of cod fic. I really enjoy Ghost's charisma and confidence on display here, and every update had me giggling and kicking my feet. (I found lo through her price wife x 141 post, which is also a must read)

okay, so @ohbo-ohno (hopefully) knows I love her, and she wrote a ton and is constantly throwing out mind-bogglingly yummy drabbles, so here are some of my favs from her kinktober and 1k celebration: price x reader breeding (surprise, surprise), soap x reader somno (drugged noncon), 141 x reader orgy, ghoap ft price deepthroating, 141 x free use reader (the dream), kingpin price x reader, ex husband price x reader, gaz x reader a/b/o, and my personal fav I think about all the time ghoap x brand new vampire reader. Maybe got a little carried away, but I adore Bo's work, and she has a unique ability to make everything hot.

And finally, @charliemwrites. When making this list, I was tempted to just rec everything Charlie has posted in the last few months, so if you aren't reading her stuff already, I'm jealous that you get to experience it for the first time. Obviously, it would be a mistake to not start with her current fics: charmed slasher simon (he's a serial killer, so violence warning) and woof woof johnny, which are both so fun and compelling, I get so excited whenever I see a new update. I almost daily think about this dark(ish) Price decides you're his wife post. Charlie also writes just wonderful fluff and lighter but emotional relationships too, and both childhood friend simon and bodyguard!gaz have a special place in my heart

other fandoms

casualties by little fools writing/tianawritesfic - (darklina) yet another person I could rec every single work by. This is a boyfriend's roommate cheating fic with the perfect amount of mean man.

You kept me like a secret (i kept you like an oath) by burninghoneyatdusk - (darklina) I genuinely think everyone should read this; it's modern setting, so no canon knowledge needed. Alina wakes up after an accident and discovers she's pregnant, but she doesn't remember the last year of her life, doesn't know who the father is, and most importantly, doesn't remember the affair that ended her relationship. I could talk about it for ages, but I'm just gonna share my comment on the last chapter: "every action, line of dialogue, description, and internal thought felt deliberate— not a single word felt wasted. you stripped both aleks and alina bare and it felt impossible to not take them in completely. i don't even know how to talk about the therapy sessions and alina's healing. the exploration of her guilt, her past, her anger, her confusion it all felt so earnest and raw. what a gift to read."

Bury Us Both by morriganmercy - (Lavinia Lucia/Nick Bruin) this is sibling incest! For the love of god, don't read it if it's not your thing. I know nothing about The Royals of Forsyth series (books?), but this was recd by someone, and I saw the tags codependency, slowburn, heavy angst, pining, and religious guilt, and now here we are.

bonus! published romance I enjoyed

links are to goodreads

Return to Monte Carlo by Cate C. Wells - set in 1982, fmc runs away from her stifling life with her rich italian husband and his snobby family before discovering that she's pregnant. fun, smutty, warning for miscommunication galore. i saw some comments about the fmc being immature but she's swept into this crazy life at like ~19 so idk enjoy your smut and stop thinking so much.

Between the Devil and Desire by Lorraine Heath - a widowed duchess must learn to get along with a notorious self made rogue when he is given guardianship of her beloved son. I'm a sucker for historical romances and for single parent stories but the combo is so hard to get right and this one did it for me! while sometimes a little ridiculous, i felt the characters actions had clear motivations. watching the mmc's relationship with the son grow was really nice and it actually made sense given his backstory rather than the sudden "guy who hates kids suddenly cares" trope other books do. (warning for discussions of childhood abuse and sa)

Luna and the Lie by Mariana Zapata - say what you will about MZ slow burns but no one else can get me to read 600 pages for one sex scene at 95% in. are most of her character's really similar? yeah. but they're never annoying and i love that they're always good people trying their best. i love all the small details and i love me an older man who is secretly down horrendously bad only to gets worse and worse at not showing it.

Icebreaker by Hanna Grace - people have things to say about this book. do the characters get together early on? yeah. do they hook up in the back of an uber filled with their friends? also yeah (i thought it was hot so). is their very little plot in a 400 page book? sure. i'm here for a good time not to be intellectually challenged. i actually enjoyed seeing their time together and really enjoyed that they just fucking communicated even if there were mistakes along the way. plus big nice hockey player who cares about consent? swoon my little canadian heart.

check the reading with ru tag for more!

#reading with ru #oh boy it's so hard to pick favs #if you read any of these lmk!!#ao3 #fic rec #fanfic recs #fanfiction #cod #darklina #book recs #romance books #romance recs #i had an aneurism trying to make sure everything was linked right

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moonshine-nightlight · 2 years

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Finally Woken: Part Seven

Working for the family business of traveling trade caravans, means you‘ve always accepted having to put up with a lot from your family, especially your dad. He finally goes to far when he tries to sell your prized possessions to make up for his own business failings. You’re proud of yourself for making a stand, but he’s not wrong when he says you don’t have any real connections outside the family–but he’s not completely right either.

Your closest friend happens to live in the city you’re stopped at so you decide to see if you can stay at his place until you can figure out what you’re going to. You’ve never come by the city this early, but he’s probably fully woken up from the naga’s traditional bout of hibernation by now, right?

Fantasy, friends to lovers, naga, male monster x female reader, M/F, Part 7 of 8

Story Status: Complete

AO3: Finally Woken Chapter 7

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Six] Part Seven [Part Eight - NSFW]

When you get home from a day that at least ended early, if rather disappointingly, you realize one thing right away: Heshi’s already awake.

Not only is he awake, he’s moving around and talking to someone. You can hear his voice from the foyer. Last night he’d said he was gonna see if he could wake up early enough for a full sunning on the roof to provide the final jolt out of hibernation—and the weather had certainly cooperated.

Instead of being excited he seems to be fully out of hibernation, tension shoots up your spine. The air in the apartment doesn’t feel fearful or angry, but it does feel feverish in some way, almost anticipatory. There’s a panic in his voice and movements, like he’s pacing, which makes it impossible for you not to feel nervous.

You can’t make out any of the words he’s saying, but you decide to drop your bag in the hall just in case you suddenly have your hands full with worried naga again. Some instinct of yours seems to be urging caution and it's any easy enough thing to do to appease it. Hesitantly, you walk over to the archway and peer further inside.

You spot Heshi in the kitchen but you notice right away that there’s no one else here. He seems to be talking to himself, gesturing emphatically along with his own words, but speaking fast enough you still can’t really follow what has him so agitated. Because he definitely is, agitated that is.

His hair is completely undone, flowing around his face and down his back in wild tendrils, all semblance of a braid long gone. He’s moving back and forth, changing height depending on how much of his tail he’s putting into the motion—something he rarely does as he likes to keep to a steady height. The difference is down to the way the bulk of his tail stays where it is, the tip flicking in time with his pacing. He’s also not wearing a shirt, which you knew he didn’t wear when he sunbathed, but is still rather unusual since he’s inside now.

You tell yourself your focus on his chest is just to see if he’s shivering—which he doesn’t appear to be. In fact, you blink in surprise: he almost looks flushed. The skirt he has on is loose and comfortable, but also hastily thrown on. Combined with the way his claws are unsheathed—a sure sign he’s expecting a threat–it’s more than enough to unsettle you further. Despite all this agitation, he still hasn’t even noticed your presence yet. You doubt it will take long though and you don’t want to scare him, especially not in this state.

You take a deep breath and step forward. “Heshi?”

His head whips around with lightning speed, pupils slit thin before blowing wide when he identifies who made the sound. He gasps out your name, looking at you with such shock that you instinctively freeze. He starts toward you before stopping himself, placing his hands on one of the tall kitchen tables as if to hold himself with it between you and him, despite him being several feet away on the other side of the room as it is.

“Uh, Heshi…?”

He seems to notice your confusion and visibly straightens, clearly trying to coach his rather wild facial expressions back to normal. It might have worked better if you hadn’t, you know, literally watched him do so.

“Hey,” his voice is breathy, but less desperate or shocked than when he had called your name. He clears his throat before continuing in an alright approximation of his usual voice, “how was your day?”

“Okay…” you reply slowly. It's clear he doesn’t want you to notice, or at least not to comment on, whatever is bothering him. You’re willing to play along, for now. You don’t want to spook him. “I guess.” While you talk, you try to see if you can spot a physical source of what might be bothering him. He doesn’t look visibly injured or sunburned—can naga get sunburned? “The shop had already sold my flute though.”

He sobers at your words, distracted enough by your news that he forgets to try so hard to be normal. He frowns and says sympathetically, “I’m sorry, that’s really too bad.” He makes an aborted motion towards you, like he’s going to come over to give you a hug but then he stops himself. You suddenly realize this is the longest it’s been since you woke him up from hibernation for him to be awake and aware of you and yet not touching you.

A pang of hurt goes through you at the thought that he might truly be done with hibernation and the long embraces will stop. You knew this would happen, you told yourself not to get used to it. You still feel an aching sense of loss that you try to shove to the side. You’ll deal with it when you’re inevitably sleeping alone again.

“If you’d like,” Heshi’s voice pulls you back to the present. He’s clearly trying to be upbeat, trying to cheer you up, but there’s a manic undertone to his voice that still worries you. “I could try to make you one? A flute, I mean. It’d be glass and not silver, but I’m sure it will sound just as pretty.”

He looks adorably earnest, but it's so obvious something is conspicuously off with him. “That, that would be really lovely,” you say truthfully, because it is a really sweet offer, and yet you can’t ignore this any longer. “But Heshi, what’s wrong?”

“Wrong?” he repeats anxiously. “Nothing’s wrong.” He winces when his voice pitches too high. He deliberately coughs before continuing, “In fact, my hibernation is officially over. So everything’s back to normal.”

You eye his very nervous smile at that proclamation and say, “Um, it’s really not.” You take a step closer, studying him as you continue in vain to try to figure it out yourself. “What’s wrong, Heshi?” You’re starting to really think he might be sick. Is this because you messed with his hibernation? You take another step closer, trying to peer around the table—a naga’s tail normally will give them away if there’s something wrong with their body and you can’t quite see it from where you’re at.

“Stop!” He holds out his hand, palm facing you. “Stay over there.” You immediately freeze, too surprised by his reaction to even say anything.

“Why?” you breathe, unsure of what you’ve done to make him more upset. You try to hide the illogical bit of hurt you feel at his words, but given how his face falls, you don’t manage it.

“I’m sorry,” he says, looking wretched and wringing his fingers, “but you really need to stay away.”

“Should I leave?” you offer, not sure what else to say. You want to understand, but you want him to feel better more so if you need to leave without an explanation, you will even if you know you’ll end up at wit’s end with worry.

“No!” he reaches out again, this time as if to pull you close. He squeezes his eyes shut and presses his fingers to his forehead. “I mean, yes, probably. You shouldn’t be here while I’m like this. I’m so sorry.”

Any hurt or fear melts away in the face of his distress. “But what is this? Are you sick? Is it contagious? Should I find a healer?”

“No, well, sort of,” he pulls his fingers through his hair violently enough it almost looks like he’s pulling on it. He deflates, pressing one palm to the table and leaning on it. “Maybe you should.”

Before you can even think of how to respond, he continues talking, “I just don’t understand! This shouldn’t be happening.” He glares at the table top as if the pressed glass pattern he designed might hold all the answers.

Hesitantly, you say, “Are you sick or not? How can I help?” You swallow before venturing, “Is this because your hibernation got interrupted?”

He barely seems to hear you, talking to himself and keeping his eyes down as if purposely not looking at you. “Not sick, exactly. No illness. Hibernation, yes, yes. My sunsleep! That’s where it all starts but why? How?” He looks up and you can see his eyes are wildly dilated, now that yours have adjusted to the lower amount of light in here. “None of this makes any sense. It shouldn’t be possible.”

“What shouldn’t be possible?”

“I’m in heat!” The words burst out of his mouth without his permission and his grip on the table edge goes white-knuckled. He looks embarrassed as your mouth falls open, but he doesn’t take the declaration back even as he snaps his mouth shut tight.

“I’m sorry, you’re what?” you ask, mind spinning, even as you catalog his symptoms in a new light. He is flushed, you hadn’t realized ‘heat’ is quite so literal, but it clearly is. His breathing is too fast, but it's deep too, drawing your attention to his bare chest. The tension in his frame, the dilation of his eyes, your eyes nearly try to track down his body before the table and your own awareness of the situation stops you in your tracks.

You frantically try to remember everything you’ve heard about a naga’s heat. Heshi himself has only mentioned, in passing, that it happens after hibernation between mates, but that’s really all he’s said. Everything else you know, you picked up just, listening around. You haven’t been to help but wonder, what with having a naga friend. An attractive naga friend. An attractive naga friend you had a crush on.

Still, you’d never outright asked anyone—you’d never be able to get the words out—but you know it lasted more than a day, that there is a special significance placed on the first heat after marriage, and that the reason so many naga are born around the same time as a species is because the majority of them are the result of heated matings. Because obviously the other part is that anyone in heat wants to have sex—like, a lot. However, like Heshi himself had always seemed to suggest, you thought it only happened when they already have a partner and possibly only if that other partner was a naga.

“I mean,” your face feels warm and so does the rest of you at just the thought that Heshi might be…riled up—and he so clearly looks it too, now that you’re looking for that. “I thought, you needed, you know, a partner,” you manage to squeak out, “for that to, um, start.” How are you standing here talking about this with him? Is some god upset that your moving out went so well that they’ve thrown this in your path?

You almost feel like, now that you’re not worried he’s hurt or sick, that it's affecting you too. Could humans sense, smell, naga pheromones? Is it actually warmer in here?

“Sort of,” he says, a bit miserably, finger tracing along the table, drawing your eyes to the slender digit. “That’s what doesn’t make sense. I’m not with anyone or courting or anything so it shouldn’t be possible. You don’t need someone officially, but you do need someone with potential as a nestmate.”

A shiver of heat and jealousy goes down your spine at the word ‘nestmate’. You think he just means someone else who’d hibernated with him in the same nest—not an actual mate—but the only person even close to that description is you, if only for the last week, which sends a tendril of heat through you. The jealously is at even the thought of someone else, wrapped up in his arms, in his nest, waiting for him to awaken and… “Right,” you say quickly.

“There needs to be complementary pheromones in the air,” he continues explaining as if trying to prove to you why it shouldn’t be possible. “Someone interested in mating with you being close enough, often enough, during hibernation to trigger heat.”

“Oh,” you nod, again trying not to picture this hypothetical other naga that would make your Heshi all... “And you haven’t seen any other naga, right?”

“Well,” he hedges, “it wouldn’t have to be a naga actually.” He shrugs and you try so hard to keep your expression steady at that little admission. Before your mind can run with it, he continues, “but you’re missing the key: receptive. I would have to be around someone who wanted to mate with me.” He presses a hand to his chest before shrugging again. “And I’ve only seen you and Nell, so I don’t understand what’s happening.”

“I…” You swallow, sure your whole face must be turning red because if that’s what brought this on… “You’re sure that’s what’s happening?” If all that’s needed is someone interested in him, sharing his nest then…

He rubs the back of his neck, “I’ve gone into heat once before—years ago.” He gives a sharp nod. “I’m sure.”

Oh gods. This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to you. If the ground swallowed you up, would that make his stupid heat stop and prevent you from having the most embarrassing conversation of you life? After a second of nothing happening, you burst out with, “Then this is all my fault. I’m so sorry, Heshi.” You squeeze your eyes shut, cursing your stupid feelings for making things ha-difficult for your friend. “How do I make it stop?”

“Your fault?” Heshi’s face screws up in absolute bewilderment. “How in the world could this be your fault?”

“Because what you said earlier was wrong,” you say, trying to force the words out of your mouth, but they’re as jumbled as your thoughts are. “You… I… I didn’t know… I didn’t mean…”

He says your name, sounding calmer than he has all night, clearly trying to ground you, but it's not working because you have to tell him. There’s no getting around it.

“Darling, what are you—”

“I am, is the problem,” you blurt out, knowing it probably still sounds like nonsense. You hate putting yourself out there, but you have to say it. “Interested or receptive or…” You flap your hand uselessly in his general direction, unable to even look him in the eye.

“You…” The clear disbelief in his voice, lacking in recrimination as it is, does little to make you feel better.

“I swear I had no idea this would happen.” You finally look at him again, needing him to understand this wasn’t some horrible plan on your part, but he’s still just staring at you in shock. “I tried to sleep in my own bed. And there was only that one dream! Why didn’t you warn me that's what causes your, you know, heat?”

Heshi actually moves out from behind the table, his gaze intent, his expression surprisingly unreadable. You unthinkingly take a step back.Your stupid feelings did this to him, clouding his mind, overwriting his desires.

He tilts his head to the side. “Are you saying you find me attractive or that you have feelings for me?”

His voice doesn’t give away anything that he’s thinking. You shrug helplessly. “I mean, yeah. Both?”

You barely have time to blink, barely able to see something ripple across his expression before he’s across the room, in front of you. His strong fingers take hold of your chin, tilting you face up towards his. He slants his mouth over yours for a kiss before you can comprehend anything beyond how much heat he seems to be giving, so different than his usual temperature.

Then there’s nothing on your mind except the feeling of him pressed so close, the softness of his lips, how solid he is against you. Your hand wraps around his wrist, keeping him where he is and his arm slides around your waist—as it has so many times in the last few days—and yet everything is different this time as he pulls you against him. Your other hand curls over his shoulder as you return the kiss instinctively. He pulls away briefly, only to press another kiss to your lips, giving a light pull to first your top lip, then your bottom lip. He flicks his tongue against the seam of yours after that and you let out a gasp at the sensation.

He takes advantage of the opening, pressing even closer, his slender, adroit tongue slipping in. You slide your own against his, causing him to moan. That sound combined with the feeling of his fangs against your lips send a ripple of heat through your veins.

You tighten your grip on him as he kisses you. You never want him to let you go ever again, you think deliriously as his large hand strokes up and back down your back, encouraging you to arch into him. This is everything you ever wanted with him.

Everything you wanted.

The thought sends a shard of ice down your spine and abruptly, you find the strength to use your hold on him to push him away.

You part with pop and stare up at him panting. His eyes are half-lidded and dark, fixed on your lips, and it's not until you try to maintain the distance between you that he seems to notice something is wrong.

“We’re not doing this just because you’re all hormone crazy,” you sputter, trying to push him even further away. “I can’t! Please.”

“Oh, darling.” It’s unfair how liquid and low his voice is. He leans down to catch your eyes with his own. “It still takes two.”

“What?” You can’t take any chance that he might mean—

His smile is warm and encouraging as he says, “You can’t go into heat for someone you don’t want back.” When you just stare at him with surprise, faintly shaking your head, he ducks his head a little before his eyes meet yours again. “Is that so hard to believe? I’ve had a crush on you for ages now.”

Your eyes grow even wider as you try to make sense of his words. “You have?” There’s that shy hope you were trying to avoid, but it's so hard with him continuing to say all the right things, still holding you, still looking well kissed by you.

“For years,” he admits, a little sheepish. “I just didn’t say anything because, well, I lived here and you lived everywhere.” He pushes against your hold again and this time you let him close once more, his breath fanning across your face as you stare, entranced. He nuzzles against you, before pulling back the barest inch to continue, “I thought it was a dream, you saying you were going to stay here, that you wanted to live with me. I felt so guilty for how happy I was that your family finally crossed the line, but I am.”

He looks like he expects you to judge him for that but you’re just waiting to hear what other, wonderful, impossible thing he might say next. He presses his forehead against yours and murmurs, “Because you’re finally here, with me. In my nest, in my arms.”

“Oh,” you breathe, unable to find a single coherent thought to voice in response.

He pulls back again, just slightly, and goes on to say, “I was going to wait until you were more settled, see how you liked living here, living with me—when you were dealing with fewer changes--to see if you might consider…” he looks at you through ridiculously pretty lashes you’ve somehow never noticed until right this second, “consider being with me.”

“Yeah?” your voice is a little teary in the face of his sincerity, his consideration. Heshi. Heshi had a plan to ask you out. Heshi likes you. Heshi wants you. Your mind is spinning and you’re holding back tears and you’ve never felt so many overwhelming good feelings in your life.

He nods with a smile. “Yeah.”

“Yes,” you say, nodding rather vehemently. “I don’t need time and yeah, life is crazy now, but it always is. I want to be with you.” And this time, you pull him down and press your lips to his. The kiss starts sweet, but he lets out something like a whine against your lips in the split second you pull back to breathe. Heat radiates from him and you begin to feel feverish with it too, the desperate need to be closer, even closer.

Ever since you nudged him from hibernation, you’ve been trying so hard to hold yourself back, to accept his hugs and embraces, but not reach for him. Your arm hooks around his neck as you let yourself pull him to you. He capitulates easily, wrapping arms around you, his tongue along yours as the kiss grows hungrier. You feel something smooth and strong against your legs and moan when you realize his tail is spiraling around you.

At some point you have to breathe and he wastes no time in lunging for the spot where your neck meets your shoulder, his favorite spot to nuzzle, only this time… This time, you gasp out his name as his fangs lightly drag along the spot and he nips. The shiver his mouth inspires only grows when he sets about sucking a mark into your skin.

You groan as he skims his mouth and fangs back up your neck only to pant desperately in your ear, “Want you. So much.” You nod thoughtlessly in his hold.

“Now, please,” he demands, breathy with need.

“Yes.”

[Part Eight - NSFW]

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cavalierious-whim · 4 months

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Baby It's Cold Outside (Neuvithesley)

Part of 'Tea and Paperwork'.

The season has turned, Wriothesley is cold, and it takes a bit for Neuvillette to take the hint.

This was a collab with the wonder Mrk1pk who made some gorgeous art which can be found here on Twitter. Read here on AO3. You can also, follow me on Twitter, and here on Patreon!

It goes like this:

The night is young, Wriothesley has had a little too much tea, and Neuvillette, for once, has no work thrusting him into overtime, so he reads through a thick tome as they rest on the couch.

“So, it’s cold.”

Neuvillette hums and flips a page, the old parchment crunching as it turns. And that’s it, just a soft sound as his eyes track whatever he’s reading.

Wriothesley watches him, his arm resting against the back of the couch, palm cradling his chin. His other hand holds a cup of tea that’s gone lukewarm because he’s forgotten about it, captured by the sight of Neuvillette instead. “Hey,” he says, nudging Neuvillette’s thigh with a socked foot. “I said, it’s cold.”

Neuvillette finally looks at him, his expression pinched with mild confusion. “Yes? Wriothesley, it is winter. This first snow is—”

Oh, he’s adorable. Neuvillette continues to chatter about weather patterns and how the snow this year has come earlier than the decades prior, missing the entire point. And these are the endearing things about him. Insufferably cute. Wriothesley hides a grin behind his palm as he digs his cold toes underneath Neuvillette’s thigh.

“Wow, yeah, imagine the snow bringing in a chill. Wouldn’t it be nice if I had a partner to warm me?”

Neuvillette stills and blinks. Then it clicks and his mouth curls into a tiny little ‘o’. “Ah. I…” He chuckles softly. “I apologize, Wriothesley. I didn’t realize that you were attempting to seduce—”

“Hey. Not everything is about fun times in the bedroom.”

“But this is,” counters Neuvillette, bemused.

“It doesn’t have to be.” And it doesn’t—Wriothesley is more than welcome to just be in Neuvillette’s sphere of presence. It’s the little things, those tiny acts of intimacy they often indulge in. Neuvillette is dense to them unintentionally and yet still manages to nail every moment that matters.

Like now. Neuvillette drops a hand to Wriothesley’s foot and tugs it into his lap, squeezing the ankle joint. He doesn’t even think of it, he just does, thumb rubbing over the jut of bone there through the wool of Wriothesley’s sock. “You want it to be.”

“Sweetheart—”

“Wriothesley.”

“—I always want it to be, but I’m happy to just… have the man, too. If you don’t want to—”

“Who said that I didn’t?” Neuvillette asks it so casually, as if commenting on the weather.

Wriothesley blinks. “Oh? Tell me more.”

They’ve been practicing this—Neuvillette voicing his wants. He’s gotten better, more loose with that beloved tongue of his. As it turns out, it isn’t just good for sucking the life out of Wriothesley’s cock, it’s good at spinning heated words and turns of phrase as well. Neuvillette is quiet with it. Subtle. Wriothesley’s past lovers were the loud sort, and not in a good way. But because Neuvillette is a man who only says exactly what he means, it makes all those utterances worth every bit.

Neuvillette’s expression softens, the skin around his eyes wrinkling. “As you said, it’s cold—”

“Hm yeah, that was mentioned. Several times, I might add.”

“You’re on your fourth cup of tea.”

“Because I’ve got to warm myself, apparently.”

Neuvillette huffs and thumbs at his foot again. “This is the season in which I want to hibernate but centuries of practice have conditioned me to overlook that instinctual need. However, the idea of settling somewhere warm with my beloved one… Old nesting tendencies, I suppose. They are not easy to ignore. The promise of warming each other, of revealing every inch of flesh, and lazing about as I trace each scar.”

Wriothesley swallows, his throat suddenly thick. Oh, he asked for this, didn’t he? “That’s—”

Neuvillette continues on. “Even now, I wish to drag you to my bed and refuse to let you leave. But—” He turns back to his book and creases the page. “As you so astutely said earlier: it doesn’t have to be. And I find myself enjoying this book. Any other questions?”

“Yeah,” he says, “why aren’t we in your bed again?”

There is an expression that Wriothesley doesn’t often see—and it’s the one that curls across Neuvillette’s face at that moment. Soft. Warm. Affectionate. His mouth is tugged into the smallest of smirks and he blinks slowly, turning to look at Wriothesley from underneath those damnable long eyelashes. Menacing.

Neuvillette’s book claps shut with a sharp sound. “The things that I wish to do to you—you must have an idea.”

“Something, something, dragon instincts, I assume?”

“Winter is cold—”

“A third reminder. Is this payback?”

Neuvillette’s expression cools. “As I was saying, winter is cold. I find myself possessive of that which is mine.”

The heat that curls in Wriothesley’s gut is instantaneous. The hand that holds his tea shakes slightly, tipping a smidge over the rim, wetting his trouser leg. The air is sharp and tense, and Wriothesley may not have the same senses that he does, but Neuvillette’s arousal always hangs heavy in the air like the humidity that comes right before a rain.

“That being said—”

“Oh come on.”

“—I think that I would like a cup of tea. Would you get me one?”

Wriothesley forces himself to take a deep breath as he stands. He crosses the room to the tea nook set into the wall opposite them and places his own cup to the side. Ridiculous. Absolutely absurd. He can feel the weight of Neuvillette’s gaze on the back of his neck as he lounges on the couch. Staring. Stripping him down.

Tea. Neuvillette wants a damn cup of tea that he won’t even drink. Wriothesley plays along, though, pouring a measure out into a fancy porcelain cup. When he turns around, Neuvillette is there, his hand already sneaking out to press against his waist.

“Oh.”

“Perhaps I teased too much,” laughs Neuvillette. “I thought you might snap the handle right off the pot.”

“It isn’t—”

“Mhmn.” Neuvillette buries his face into Wriothesley’s neck and breathes in. “I apologize.”

Wriothesley melts at the gentle tone. He leans against the bar counter, combing his fingers through Neuvillette’s hair. “Hey, it’s fine. You know I love it.”

Neuvillette purrs against his neck, pressing a kiss against the soft skin there. Then he pulls back and kisses his forehead next. The scar underneath his cheek, the tip of his nose, Wriothesley’s mouth—which he nips at, playfully.

Wriothesley cups his cheek. “Sweetheart,” he says again, only this time the tone is different. It isn’t a jab meant to annoy, it’s genuine and crowned with warmth. Wriothesley breathes it against Neuvillette’s lips before kissing him properly, fingers curling around the back of Neuivillette’s neck to hold him there.

It is sweet and lingering. Neuvillette’s tongue sweeps beyond his teeth, dipping into his mouth. Wriothesley is stripped down, having long shed his necktie and waistcoat. His coat hangs by the door, his boots beside it. Neuvillette tugs the hem of his shirt from his trousers, slipping his hand underneath to press flat against the small of Wriothesley’s back. It’s hot, searing against Wriothesley’s skin, and all that talk of it being cold, and seduction just seems to sink straight to his groin.

Neuvillette laughs, pulling away, taking hold of his chin. He thumbs across Wriothesley’s bottom lip. “Chapped,” he notes.

Wriothesley grins and kisses his thumb. “Kiss it and make it better then.”

A soft chuckle. “Beloved, I had another thought—”

“You’re terrible at the whole seduction thing, by the way.”

He isn’t. Wriothesley knows it. Neuvillette knows it, which is why he laughs again. “Did you realize that it is your birthday?”

Wriothesley stills. He hadn’t. Neuvillette must’ve read it in a report somewhere ages ago and filed the thought away. He remembers the strangest of things, ones that Wriothesley never questions. And this… is less awkward than expected, as are many things with Neuvillette. Their entire time together has been a slow process of easing up, of relearning how to… be himself. “I don’t… think about it much,” he finally admits. “Threw away my name, my past, my—”

“I see.” Neuvillette is hesitant. His mouth is parted as he thinks of what to say next, which warms Wriothesley’s chest.

“Hey, you can… with you it’s different. I don’t dislike it, I just don’t think about it.”

“A celebration then? Or no? It matters not to me, Wriothesley, I’ll worship you all the same.”

What a thing to say. He makes Wriothesley eat his words about his seduction techniques. Heat curls at the thought of Neuvillette over him in their bed, kissing every mark and scar, whispering against them. He does it often enough. Wriothesley wakes in the morning to Neuvillette watching, dragging his fingers over thick and gnarled flesh.

It is a testament to his trust. Wriothesley’s. Anyone else and he’d startle, the knife under his pillow pressed to their throat. But here, there is no knife. He doesn’t keep his back to the wall, or one eye open. Everything that he has is held within Neuvillette’s palm, and Wriothesley, for the first time, just gets to rest.

“You can’t say that and not kiss me. You can’t say that and not pull me into the bedroom.”

“Ah, because you’re cold—”

“Because I love you.”

Neuvillette’s expression shifts, caught between soft and searing. His pale eyes seem ancient at that moment. There are a million things in that gaze, all of them difficult to parse out. And Neuvillette is learning—they both are—how to navigate these waters. “I suppose then,” he says, “it is my job to show you how I share such a thing.”

“Neuvillette—”

“Do you know what it is like to have the love of a dragon? You think that you do, but have barely cracked the surface. Even I, myself, don’t quite understand, Wriothesley. I flounder about each day and learn something new. This season—you teased me about how you are cold, but I am not. I burn for you, searing hot and there isn’t a storm that can calm that desire.”

“You sat there on the couch, ignoring—”

“I have never ignored you.” Neuvillette dips close and mouths at his jaw, fangs scraping over the line of bone there. “No, I would say that I am inherently aware of you. You live in my hindbrain, you—”

“I get it. Gods, I—” Wriothesley gasps as Neuvillette’s teeth sink into a tender spot of his throat.

Neuvillette yanks Wriothesley’s hand between his legs. He’s hard. Fuck, he’s— “Do you feel it? My need for you?”

One bulge and then—Wriothesley smirks. “Hah. I didn’t realize… One of those nights, hm?” Wriothesley is deceptively strong. He twists, rolling them until Neuvillette’s back is pressed against the counter.

“What—” Neuvillette stops as Wriothesley sinks to his knees. His nostrils flare as Wriothesley makes quick work of his trouser fastenings. “I thought you wanted the bed,” he muses.

“That was until I felt these guys.” Neuvillette’s trousers and underthings are tugged down in one swoop, revealing not one, but two hard erections. Both long and one of them tapered at the tip, already drooling precome. What a treat. Rarely does Neuvillette indulge so carelessly, preferring to reign in the baser of his instincts.

Wriothesley strokes the draconian one, thumb sliding across the tip. His tongue follows, tracing around the head of Neuvillette’s cock. He tastes different, like ocean salt. Heady. inhuman. Addicting. The other cock—the more human-like one—twitches against his cheek.

His lips wrap around that spade-shaped head. Wriothesley moans as he suckles, sliding down further, his fingers jerking what his mouth doesn’t reach. He loves this, the taste of him, the weight of Neuvillette’s cock on his tongue. How Neuvillette tries not to rut into his mouth, the sounds of his hitched breaths, and the thunk of his head against the wall.

The air is damp and humid. Neuvillette drops a hand to curl into Wriothesley’s hair, claws scraping across his scalp. Then he pushes and Wriothesley sinks further down his cock, giving in to the silent request until the tip nudges his throat. He breathes in. Out. Moans as he just barely chokes, hollowing his cheeks as he sucks.

Neuvillette hisses. He bucks, just a short thrust that knocks the air from Wriothesley’s chest. Spit bubbles at the corners of his mouth, leaking in long strings. It feels good, Neuvillette’s cock bullying his throat, especially as he rolls against his lips. Wriothesley strokes the other, squeezing it from base to tip. And Neuvillette—he looks nearly gone, the air around him glittering blue like Hydro.

“Wriothesley,” he says. “Beloved.”

Wriothesley pulls off and kisses the tip. Then he stands, having gotten what he asked for. “What was it that you said about nesting tendencies?”

“Don’t tease.”

“I’m not, I’m just wondering if you’re going to fuck me with both cocks.”

Neuvillette’s pupils dilate. He surges forward, dragging Wriothesley close so he can devour his mouth. This is what Wriothesley wanted; to push him a little, to get him to take what he wants. And it will still be lovemaking. Even with Neuvillette’s edges melting away, he’ll never not make love to him, even if it’s a matter of a good rough fuck.

But even here, with Neuvillette swallowing his moans, he is careful. Calculated. Careful with his claws and fangs.

They move, tripping through the parlor of Neuvillette’s private residence. Wriothesley kicks off his clothing piece by piece, a process impeded by Neuvillette trying and failing to help. Instead, those claws drag over his skin, raising gooseflesh. He whines as Wriothesley laughs, stepping away.

The doorframe of the bedroom digs into Wriothesley’s back as Neuvillette boxes him against it. Another kiss, another keening moan that drips from Wriothesley’s mouth as Neuvillette’s tongue meets his. A hand around Wriothesley’s cock, too cool, too slick as he strokes it. Hydro. Perks of being a dragon sovereign, not the first time that Wriothesley has thought of it; but then again, the two cocks are also a boon.

Somehow, they actually make it to the bed. Wriothesley falls back against the soft pillow. It smells like— “Is this one of my shirts?” he asks, his hand falling against something clearly pilfered from his dirty clothing. Strange. He hasn’t stayed here recently; the both of them have been busy due to the uptick of crime in the colder season. “Where’d—”

“Don’t ask.” Neuvillette bites at his mouth, fangs digging into Wriothesley’s lip.

Sedene. Or Sigewinne—either choice is terrible. “Did you you have someone sneak this out—”

“It was me.” Wriothesley’s mouth snaps shut as Neuvillette mouths at his neck, sucking a mark there. “Your office is a mess. It is easy to stow away a shirt or two when your back is turned.”

That’s…hot. The idea of Neuvillette tucking away his clothing and trinkets. And it smells like him, the bed; like tea and cream, the leather of this coat, and the oil and grease of his tinkering. “Fuck, that’s—”

“Embarrassing,” murmurs Neuvillette, hiding his face against his neck.

Wriothesley imagines the pink tint to his cheeks. “No, I love it.” Neuvillette pulls back. He hangs over him, hair wild. Wriothesley reaches up and tucks a lock behind his ear. “You don’t need to… hide, you know. I’ll never judge.”

“Incorrigible.”

“Yeah.”

“Far too casual about things you do not understand.”

“Because I trust you.”

Neuvillette knows what that means. “What a gift,” he says softly, looking at Wriothesley as if in awe.

“Speaking of gifts—”

“Wriothesley,” cuts in Neuvillette as if he expects what is coming next.

“Fuck me, please. With both—”

“Wriothesley.”

He shoots Neuvillette a half-lidded gaze. “Do you not want to?”

Oh, he does. Wriothesley knows it. Neuvillette’s jaw tightens as he works his mouth, eyes alight with arousal. The air is humid. Smells like the ocean, and even the tendrils in Neuvillette’s hair glow, iridescent. Wriothesley trails a finger down one and Neuvillette shudders. Then, he says, “Consider it a birthday gift—”

“You don’t care about your birthday.” Neuvillette is bent close again, fangs now digging into the meat of his collarbone.

“What’s a guy gotta do to get dicked down by the Chief Justice?”

Neuvillette laughs, full and raucous. He slides down the length of him, kissing across Wriothesley’s body. Each scar is treated to the tip of his tongue. He mouths at a nipple, his tongue swirling around the bud until it hardens. “Wicked thing,” he says, biting at it until it stings. Wriothesley gasps, back arching, tugging at his hair.

But it doesn’t last. Neuvillette lets go and kisses the swollen flesh. Down he goes; nibbling at his skin, tongue dipping into his navel, suckling at the tip of Wriothesley’s aching cock.

Wriothesley curses as Neuvillette gives it a cursory stroke as that split tongue dips into the tip. “Delicious.” Neuvillette’s voice is deep, gravelly. Taut and thin. “Ready to be devoured.” He presses Wriothesley’s cock against his belly as his tongue drags down the seam of his balls before sucking one into his mouth.

He could die. Neuvillette’s mouth is hot and wet as it works its wicked magic. “Archons—”

A bite at the smooth skin underneath his balls, a sharp-tipped warning that’s mostly playful. “Don’t bring such blasphemous talk into my bed.”

“Neuvillette.”

“Better,” is the response as Neuvillette spreads Wriothesley’s ass cheeks. He licks over Wriothesley’s hole, tracing the tight furl.

It isn’t enough. It’s never enough, but this time—Wriothesley groans, arching in the bed as Neuvillette’s tongue bullies its way deeper. Thicker than normal. Longer. This is a special treat, one that Neuvillette occasionally uses to drive him into overstimulation.

“I’m—that’s—I want—”

A finger slips in beside, slicked with Hydro. Neuvillette’s tongue flicks deep against his insides. That finger curls, pressing against that spot that has Wriothesley seeing scars. Wriothesley jerks, hips shuddering as he fucks against him. Another finger. Suckling at his rim—Neuvillette is clever with his touch and tongue, leaving Wriothesley already teetering on the edge.

His cock aches against his stomach. “More, fuck, Neuvillette.”

A huff of laughter. That draconic tongue slips out only for a third finger to replace it, and soon Neuvillette is fucking Wriothesley fast and quick with his hand. “Both of my cocks,” he muses. “That’s what you said.” His pinky traces Wriothesley’s rim as he considers this.

It is not the first time they’ve played with them but he’s never taken both. It’s always been the spade-tipped one sheathed deep as the other frots against Wriothesley’s own hard cock. He wants to be speared open on both, to be stretched to his limits. And Neuvillette would be so sweet and caring. He’d take it slow. He’d be careful.

What a good mate—that’s what he always says, and lately, Wriothesley has loved the thought of it.

“You said I was yours.” Wriothesley’s breath hitches as Neuvillette’s pinky carefully slips in. He’s full—gods, he’s full.

“Look at you.” Neuvillette spreads his fingers, stretching his hole wide. “For you to take both of my cocks…”

Wriothesley looks down between his legs and finds that Neuvillette hinges on something close to feral. Eyes trained on his hole as his fingers fuck in and out. His tongue darting out to wet his lips. Pupils so wide they nearly blot out his pale irises.

“Please,” begs Wriothesley. “I just—give me this, please.”

Neuvillette meets his gaze. His throat bobs as he slides his fingers out gingerly. “Slowly,” he says. “We take this slowly. And if it hurts, or you are discomforted—”

“Sigewinne,” says Wriothesley. Their safe word. A silly one to use but effective. “I promise.”

Neuvillette slides between his thighs and tugs Wriothesley’s ass closer until his legs are wrapped around his hips. He thumbs over the smooth skin inside Wriothesley’s thigh. Then Neuvillette slicks his cock with Hydro and presses the draconian length to Wriothesley’s hole.

He is so loose and relaxed that he sinks right in to the root. Wriothesley moans, head tipping back, nails digging into Neuvillette’s shoulders as he clings to him. “Yes,” he says, “just like that.”

Neuvillette pulls out and thrusts in once, twice. He sighs, claws pricking the meat of Wriothesley’s legs as he rolls his hips against him leisurely. And he’s thinking about it—the second cock. He must be with the pinched expression as Neuvillette hangs over him. Right now it lays against Wriothesley’s, hot and hard, leaking at the tip.

Wriothesley reaches down and takes both into his hand. He strokes them together, squeezing them tight, leaving Neuvillette to loose a strangled noise. “Baby,” he says—and he knows that Neuvillette hates that pet name too, but at this moment it feels right. It sparks heat in his chest as Neuvillette’s hips slap against his ass.

“Wriothesley.” Neuvillette leans close, the angle changing, the tip of his cock driving against his prostate. He smells so good, like fresh water and desire. Neuvillette’s face buries into Wriothesley’s neck and he moans. “Do I—Wriothesley, may I have your consent to—”

How sweet. Wriothesley tilts his face and kisses his cheek. “Of course, sweetheart.” That soft tone again, the one that makes the base of Wriothesley’s spine tingle when he says it. That heat of both pleasure and affection that curls in his gut. And then for fun: “You have my consent.”

Neuvillette snorts. Must realize just how ridiculous it sounds, how formal. But still, anxiety must wrack his brain because Neuvillette asks again. “Are you certain? I—”

Wriothesley cups his cheeks and tugs his face close until their foreheads are pressed together. “Just shove them in already.”

“I would never.” A pause. Neuvillette’s heavy breathing and a quick kiss to Wriothesley’s mouth. “But, as you wish.”

Hydro condenses in his palm and he wets his second cock. He pulls out, thumbing at Wriothesley’s loose rim.

As promised, he goes slow, pressing both of his cocks together, sinking just the tips in. He watches Wriothesley’s face and tracks every reaction.

“Oh,” breathes Wriothesley. The stretch burns—but is pleasurable. But mostly it’s the way that Neuvillette looks at him, expression pinched. Like he won’t last, like he’s just stuck himself into perfection. More, Wriothesley wants more. His nails dig into Neuvillette’s back and he kicks his heel against him.

Neuvillette rocks against him. Both cocks slide deeper and suddenly, Wriothesley’s seeing stars. No longer does he tease him, he clings to Neuvillette instead, his breath caught in his throat. “Beloved,” says Neuvillette. Sweat beads on his brow. “Wriothesley—Hah.”

“So big,” blurts Wriothesley as he bottoms out. Both cocks sit inside, snug, bullying his insides. He feels them in his gut, his chest, his throat. “Yes, fuck, so big, so—”

Neuvillette braces himself on one arm and shifts. Wriothesley cries out as his cocks slide even deeper. A gentle pace. He pulls out and sinks back in with a desperate-sounding groan. Neuvillette presses close, his mouth near Wriothesley’s ear again. “So tight,” he mutters, kissing the shell of it. “Perfect, you’re—”

He can barely talk. And Wriothesley can barely think. He tugs at Neuvillette’s hair at the base of his neck. “More,” he begs, lifting his hips. “Please.”

Neuvillette fucks him with an easy pace. His breath is hot, fanning against Wriothesley’s face. A deep thrust shocks Wriothesley to his core. It’s—it’s—almost too much, and not just due to the thickness of both of Neuvillette’s cocks. The energy in the room is charged. Neuvillette isn’t rough, but there’s a jerkiness to his movements that suggests he’s wearing himself thin.

“Are you alright?” asks Wriothesley, his fingers combing through his hair.

“Yes.” Neuvillette’s face dips to his neck to suckle at his pulse point. Fangs threaten to bite him there. “Yes, I’m—Wriothesley.”

He wants to ask if it’s all he’s wanted. He’d joked about claiming Wriothesley in this nest, of filling him and refusing to let him go. And Wriothesley wonders if this satisfies those instincts. He pets one of his horns and Neuvillette moans. He sounds lost, rapturous, even. I’ll worship you all the same, he’d said.

And he does; Neuvillette mouths at his neck. He whispers praises into his skin as his hands wander across skin and scars. “Perfect,” he says. “All I’ve ever wanted. Tight, and hot, and perfect. So good. So good.”

He fucks him slowly as he crushes Wriothesley with his weight. Sweat-slick skin and the wet slap of his balls against Wriothesley’s ass has him clambering for more. Wriothesley’s cock aches, an utter mess as precome drips from the tip. And he’s close—so close.

“I’m going to—” Wriothesley locks his legs around Neuvillette’s waist and he lifts his hips. “There, there.”

Neuvillette grunts as his thrusts lose their rhythm. His cocks carve through Wriothesley and he knows he’ll never be the same. He’ll be empty after this, sore and empty, but so satisfied. And Neuvillette will—

“I love you,” whispers Neuvillette into his ear right as his cocks drive in all the way. “Wriothesley, I love you. You are—Mhmn.”

This is it, Wriothesley realizes. He’ll never love another man like this, he’ll never want to. Neuvillette either; for a man who refuses interpersonal relationships, who holds others an arms length away with intent, he’s so free with his words in the sanctity of their bed.

“Mate,” says Wriothesley, causing Neuvillette’s hips to stagger. “That’s what you like to say, right? Mates.”

Neuvillette slides a hand underneath him, guiding his hips up and off the bed. And this angle—Wriothesley nearly goes cross-eyed as those cocks shove all the way in. He curses and keens, crying out. He arches, meeting each thrust, every punch of Neuvillette’s lengths, squeezing tight around them as he barrels to his end.

“May I bite you?” Neuvillette asks so sweetly, kissing the soft skin where his neck meets his shoulder. “I wish—”

“Yes, yes.”

Neuvillette’s teeth snap down and white-hot pain shoots down Wriothesley’s spine. He reaches between them, thumbing at where Wriothesley’s rim is stretched to its limit. He pulls him into his next thrust, lapping at Wriothesley’s neck, moaning at the taste of the blood that wells.

Wriothesley comes first, untouched, just from the torturous pleasure of Neuvillette’s cocks alone. He clamps down, dragging a whine from Neuvillette, who just ruts into him quicker, faster, chasing his own end. He spills with a grunt of Wriothesley’s name—the human-like cock. And then the second swells, twitching as a second rush of warmth fills Wriothesley to bursting point.

Everything stills. Wriothesley is still keyed up, his nerves suddenly in overdrive. It’s too much; Neuvillette’s weight, his smell, the way he nuzzles the bite mark against his neck. How heavy his cocks suddenly feel in Wriothesley’s ass, even as they soften.

When Neuvillette shifts to pull out, Wriothesley stops him. “Don’t—not yet. I want to stay like this.”

Neuvillette must smell it, the sudden change in his demeanor. Not anxiety—no, he loves this. But he’s overstimulated as he drops, and Neuvillette is quick to respond. He brushes back Wriothesley’s bangs, his palm cold against his forehead.

Soothing. Wriothesley sighs, melting into the sheets as Neuvillette rolls them onto their sides. He presses his nose against the back of his neck and curls around him, arm resting in the notch of his waist. And then he asks, “Are you still cold?”

Wriothesley laughs, his voice hoarse. “Stop joking.”

Neuvillette kisses the base of his neck, hiding a chuckle. “I live to annoy you, it seems.”

“No, you live to…” Wriothesley falls quiet. “Well, you can live to do whatever you want.”

“And if that is to annoy you?” A funny idea. Wriothesley smiles into the pillows, amused by the thought. And then Neuvillette continues with, “Or, if I live to love you?”

All of Wriothesley’s bravado dissipates. He swallows thickly, words caught in his throat—but he knows that Neuvillette doesn’t need a response.

Eventually, Neuvillette has to pull out, and they both wince as they separate. Empty. Too, too empty. Clean up is efficient. Wriothesley is patient as Neuvillette cleans the bite mark on his neck, knuckles tracing the dips of the prickmarks.

“Admiring your work?” he asks with a grin.

“Yes,” says Neuvillette with absolutely no shame. “It isn’t permanent enough. It isn’t—” He stops himself, realizing just what he’s said.

Wriothesley sits there on the edge of the bed, watching as nervousness casts across Neuvillette. He reaches out, tugging his hand to his mouth for a kiss. “You’re worrying about nothing.”

“Wriothesley—”

“Later. For now I’m tired and sore, and I want to sleep.” He nuzzles Neuvillette’s knuckles. “Also, I’m cold again—”

Neuvillette offers him a wry smile. “I’ve heard of a dragon who rather enjoys cuddling.”

“Oh? I remember that he found it weird at first.” Wriothesley slides back into the sheets, Neuvillette following suit.

They fit together like puzzle pieces, Neuvillette tucking against his side and resting his cheek against Wriothesley’s chest. “Soft,” he mutters. “I’ve long since learned of the appeal.”

Wriothesley kisses the top of his head. Pets his hair, and those soft tendrils of horn. Neuvillette is soon the one to doze, far more tired than he cared to admit. Wriothesley has never been a cuddler, either, for all his teasing of Neuvillette. He never even stayed over—but from day one he’s found a home in Neuvillette’s sheets.

And now—

He kind of wants to never leave, not that Neuvillette would let him if he tried.

Wriothesley rubs his face, hiding a smile.

#Cavalierious Fanfic #genshin impact #genshin impact fanfiction #genshin fanfic #genshin #genshin smut #neuvithesley #neuvillette/wriothesley #tea & paperwork

11 notes · View notes

celestialmango · 2 years

Note

If flower Moon is around finally after months of being gone how would he handle reader showing up or being around Sun? Assuming the two becomes friends and reader decides to stay after a while. I also like to think that reader would gush at how pretty Moon is as a flower. Cause I can't imagine him not being pretty as a flower, same goes for Sun.

Well he's most likely to come to during another "chew toy situation" see this random unamused looking peasant dangling upsidedown from Sun's mouth as Sun chews on them slowly pulling them in before letting them slip out to just above their knees and doing the action again as this human just stares at him. He would stare back, Sun unaware that Moon is finally awake but clearly enjoying himself with his eyes closed till Moon goes "Sun what are you doing?" Which surprises Sun enough that he drops them, human yelping at the sudden fall but Sun lunges down fast enough to grab them in his mouth and stuff them all the way in with a vine before swallowing all out of instinct.

Cors reader isn't going into his stomach but he's going to be like "Uhhhhhh, nothing." Because he's panicking. Moon will not be amused because from his perspective Sun caught a traveler, someone might be looking for that traveler which means adventurers are going to come to try and rescue them. "It looks like you kidnapped someone to use as a chew toy" "I didn't kidnap them!" "You're not denying the chew toy part."

"You were gone and I got lonely" "Sun adventurers are going to come for them" "no they're not." "How are you sure" it's because reader owns the part of the jungle the pair live and move around in now from because they rigged a bet after finding out why Sun nabbed them. They wagered they could get a bunch of danger monster parts without a weapon despite being a peasant with the king who had a gambling weakness and decided to humor them. They told Sun about the bet and had Sun help them.

They them proceeded to make it private property and any adventurer who try to hunt on their land or enter without permission would pay an extreme fine or be stripped of their weapons and "be turned into plant food" by their "Tamed monsters" and if they happened to slay those "tamed monsters" they would have to pay what the monsters were worth.

They even registered what said monsters were now slaying and harvesting Moon or Sun and selling their parts is theft and damage of property. I.e. against the law of the kingdom so those adventurers would be banished and that's just not worth it. Sun however would proceed to tell him though.

"it's because they own us now." "what." "And I helped them gain ownership of us" "YOU WHAT?!" "It's okay Moony, slaying and harvesting us is against human rules now, anyone who doesn't listen becomes broke, not allowed to live here or anywhere here or near here and rule breakers get eaten." "So the human is a rule breakers?" "No, they just let me chew on them when I'm stressed." "Then why did you eat them." "I accidentally dropped them and panicking, they're fine." "How could they be-.........you didn't....." Sun looks nervous. "I might have swallowed them into...um....the part of me that concentrates the nectar that gets put into my berries?"

(for you it's basically like you're sitting in a thick honey like liquid that though sticky is very good for your skin but you also don't know being there is affecting your to match Sun's health so if he gets really hurt, you'll get sick, if he goes down you go into a sort of hibernation state, it's like being a lich without the rotting or actually knowing you're a lich. You basically got eternal life and youth without knowing it. People are gonna start thinking you're a powerful magic user and definitely not come onto your land in fear of pissing you, you sell other monsters bits you don't use for money and Sun keeps giving you berries that are really fucking good.)

"so they're basically our landlord that's letting us live here for basically free" "Sorta? I pay them in berries to let me chew on them." (They're really good berries and addictive) " alright I'm interested, think you could let me in on that deal?" "How would you even pay them?" "A good nights sleep."(best sleep ever) so yeah, flower Moon isn't really a gremlin Moon.

#mango answers

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conretewings · 1 year

Text

-Here's my first installment of my 'Fuck You Anon I'm Gonna Post Stuff with my OC's Anyway' series, also a nice little way to get some random scenes and ideas that may/may not go into larger stories out of my head. It's early morning and Powder goes to talk to Vander...but finds something she wasn't expecting.

-Claggor noticed it first as he dragged himself still half asleep into the small kitchen; the large envelope wrapped in twine and finished with a large wax seal stuck under the door. He lifted it with a yawn and a curious look, flipping it over a couple times before turning to Vi and Powder; Mylo had refused to get up yet and thus was still happily snoring away.

"Hey...anyone know what this is?"

"And who's it for...? Weird." Powder mumbled, rubbing her bleary eyes.

Claggor dropped it on the table, all three glancing the mystery item over before Vi noticed and pointed out that 'Vander' was neatly written in small letters on the flap. A brief debate was had, during which Vi's idea of carefully opening to read then reclosing it was firmly shut down, when they noticed something...the addressee still wasn't present. Normally Vander was up before or about the same time as them but this morning he had yet to show.

"Should we go get him?" asked Powder.

The two older kids exchanged a quick glance; she was right, but they knew what a grumpy bear the man could be first thing in the morning, especially if awoken from his hibernation.

"Good idea. Go for it. I'm making coffee." Vi replied quickly as she grabbed the coffeepot.

Claggor had already picked up a frying pan, "And I'm gonna start up some eggs."

"Fiiiiine!" Powder sighed, knowing she'd been defeated and grabbed the worn blanket she'd brought from bed off a chair, throwing it around herself as she padded off toward Vander's room. She pondered the envelopes possible contents on the way and as she reached his door, rapped her knuckles lightly. When she received no reply she carefully opened it a crack, then just enough to slip inside. The room was very dim, so much so it took her eyes a moment to adjust before spotting his huge, softly snoring frame sprawled across the bed and she carefully approached.

"Hey...Vander?" she began quietly, "Uh...there's something for you in the kitchen...also Vi is making coffee. Sorry to bother you but-"

Abruptly, a brief yawn and rustling was heard that wasn't him-then a woman partially sat up from behind him, his large figure having concealed her until now. Her deep brown and silver hair was disheveled and her eyes heavy with sleep and confusion. She glanced toward Powder, did a double-take and let out a gasp.

Powder blinked slowly, still sleepy enough for a moment she wasn't sure if she was still dreaming, "....Rosemary?"

"Oh heavens uh-hello Sparkplug!" sputtered Rosemary as she quickly and discreetly made certain the old shirt of Vander's she wore covered her fully, "Say why don't you-"

It was at this moment that Vander finally awoke from the noise and movement, and groaning, rubbed his face as he propped himself on one elbow, "The bloody hell is all this fuss...?"

Seeing Powder gaping in confusion, he glanced at Rosemary over his shoulder...and it took a moment for the sleep-addled gears in his brain to fire up, the situation sinking in before his eyes widened, face reddened and he jabbed a finger at the door.

"Out!" he barked.

"But-but-" she tried to protest.

Again he waved a hand, "Unless it's an emergency it can wait; out!"

Pouting, Powder huffed out a "Fine!" as she turned and stomped out, grumbling under her breath about 'grownups being weird' while shutting the door.

"Oh my gods..." Rosemary snorted out in a nervous laugh, collapsing back onto the bed while Vander sat up fully and massaged his temples with a pained groan.

"I coulda sworn I locked that door..."

She tried to suppress another laugh, failed, and sympathetically rubbed his arm, "To be fair, ya were a tad uh, distracted when we got in last night..."

"I'm glad one of us finds this funny..." he mumbled, shooting her a mildly sour look.

"Is it kinda funny though."

His expression softened as he gazed at her, and even cracked that half-smile that crinkled his eyes and made her stomach aflutter, "You're not the one who has to explain it to them."

Meanwhile, Powder returned first to her and Vi's room for some crayons and a piece of paper, then to the kitchen and plopped herself into a chair, pulling the blanket up so it made a little tent around her and began to draw, still pouting. Vi studied her for a minute, confused then cleared her throat.

"Well?"

Powder flicked her narrowed eyes toward her sister and shrugged, "I dunno. I told him we had something for him and he told me to get out. Also Rosemary was with him."

She went back to her scribblings, while Vi and Claggor caught each other's stunned gaze, both sharing the same thought; no way. Vi smirked and slapped a hand over her mouth, then composed herself enough to question Powder further.

"Wait...like, she's here...?"

"Yeah, duh that's what I said! He was still asleep when I walked in and she was there with him!" the girl looked up to see the two grinning like idiots and snort-laughing and raised her eyebrow, "What's so funny?"

"N-nothing Powder!" Claggor swiftly replied, turning around to attend to the stove.

Smelling bullshit, the young girl's sharp, critical gaze fell on Vi, who went to her and rubbed her hair affectionately, "It just means they're...getting along really well and really love each other. I'll explain more later okay?"

Still being a little sleepy and having decided her sister's explanation was good enough for now, she nodded and again turned her attention to her artwork.

A few minutes later Vi stepped into the hall to grab something from her room, when Vander rounded the corner. They paused and stared at each other for a moment before Vi broke into an ear-to-ear grin. Vander sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"So. She told ya eh?"

#WELP #arcane #arcane fanfiction #powder arcane #vi arcane #vander arcane #claggor arcane #arcane vander x oc #arcane oc #poor powder #at least she doesn't get it yet #hey anon fuck you 😘

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holdmecloser-gandydancer · 2 years

Note

"coffee shop au but the barista hates their guts" with magnus and julia? i think it'd be funny

from this prompt list!

Julia ties her apron and switches on her café-approved playlist as Hurley finishes wiping down the counters. Ren gives the pair of them a sleepy wave before heading back into the office to work on paperwork. Rain drums on the windows and thunder rumbles like some long-sleeping beast is waking from hibernation.

“Alright, just nine more hours,” Julia says joylessly as she starts making herself the first of many iced quads for this sleepy Wednesday.

“Starting off in this chipper of a mood, huh?” Hurley asks, unlocking the door and flipping the sign, preparing for the inevitable deluge of customers.

She scoffs, her distaste palpable. “ C’mon, you know I hate Wednesdays.”

“This still about your regular?”

“This is absolutely about my regular,” Julia confirms, rolling her eyes as she pours her espresso shots over ice.

Hurley laughs to herself. “Jules, he can’t be that bad.”

“Listen, I know that your tall, broody regular who tips immaculately may have skewed your perception of our clientele but this dude is a royal pain in my ass. Like, he comes in and stares at the menu he’s seen at least a hundred times before as though it changes ever. Then he changes his order at least once every single goddamn time he’s here. Gonna be medium black coffee or a small caramel latte or a medium mocha. Not to mention that dude pays in exact freaking change. Down to the pennies. And he’ll drop a single dollar in the jar. And I’ll make the goddamn drink for him and he’ll say ‘oh, could I get two Splendas?’ while standing in front of the packets of Splenda. I’ll give them to him because I’m a nice fucking lady. And then he'll hang out for an hour, barely drink his drink, trash it, and leave.” Julia drains roughly half her drink after recounting her tale.

“That must be really hard for you,” Hurley deadpans. “I mean, gotta say, it’s real tough for me to have perhaps one of the most gorgeous women I’ve ever seen always get an iced dirty chai, tip $5, and tell me to have a lovely day.”

“Yeah, tough ‘cuz you won’t ask her out or give her your number or anything,” Julia teases. As if on cue, Hurley’s very pretty regular traipses through the front door, soaked to the bone.

“Hey, Sloane, good morning!” Hurley calls out, entirely too chipper. She shoots a little glare at Julia.

Sloane lights up and starts rifling through her wallet. “’Morning, Hurley!”

“Large iced dirty chai for ya today?” Hurley’s hand is already reaching out for the cup as she asks. Sloane nods and smiles a little shyly.

“That predictable, huh?”

Hurley shrugs. “Not a bad thing. You like what you like. I like that.”

Sloane hands Hurley her cash. “Keep the change!”

“Thank you. I’ll call you when it’s ready.”

“Thanks!” Sloane goes to pull up a chair at a vacant table.

“Hurley. Please. For the love of any god, give the girl your number,” Julia says under her breath. “I can’t keep watching this until she wises up to the fact that our coffee really isn’t that good and she eventually starts going to another pretentious coffeeshop.”

Hurley flushes. “Julia!” she hisses. “I don’t want to make it weird.”

“Then I’ll make it weird for you!” Julia walks over to the pastry case and decisively pulls out a sugar cookie, slipping it into a paper sleeve. She deftly pulls out a pen and scribbles Hurley’s number on the exterior. She returns to Hurley’s side and sets the treat down next to where Hurley’s finishing Sloane’s drink. Some of the color drains from her face when she realizes what Julia’s done.

“Jules, come on,” she whines quietly.

“Hurley, the worst that happens is she doesn’t text,” Julia murmurs, grabbing a straw.

Hurley frowns a little. “Yeah, but then it’ll be awkward.”

“If it’s awkward then I’ll make her dirty chai real bad next time so she doesn’t come in again.”

“You’re so dumb and I hate you,” Hurley laughs. She lets out a little deep breath and flips the cookie bag over, number-side down. “Sloane? Got your order right here!”

Sloane approaches the counter and blinks in surprise. “Oh! What’s this?” she asks, eyes alight with intrigue.

“Just a little freebie. If you want it, of course!” Hurley supplies hurriedly. She tries to muster up a smile that doesn’t look like it’s barely containing every single one of her nerves, all standing at attention.

“You’re too freaking sweet, oh my God!” Sloane grins at Hurley before grabbing her items. “Have a lovely day!”

“You too!”

Hurley manages to keep her smile firm on her face until Sloane leaves. “Holy shit, I think I have to move away and never work here again!”

“You’re being dramatic,” Julia rolls her eyes at Hurley. She’d kill for a non-rage inducing regular. She half-hopes the shitty weather’ll keep him away. She smiles a little as she hears a quiet chime from Hurley’s phone. No time wasted, it seems.

Julia’s not sure why everyone in the entire world decided that they had to come for a coffee at the same goddamn time but she’s kinda over it. Hurley is exclusively working on making a metric ton of drinks while Julia has to keep bouncing between the manning the register and heating up pastries and making drinks. The line is building up and Julia feels a small pit of rage bubble up when she sees her goddamn regular join the line. She thinks God has abandoned her. Maybe God can’t see her in this chapel of caffeine and capitalism. Maybe this is actually hell where she’s being forced to shill overpriced lattes and flavorless breakfast sandwiches to increasingly agitated and entitled customers.

She’s able to take five orders in record time before attending to the shrill beeping of the oven, warning Julia that if she doesn’t drop everything she’s doing right now, these croissants are going to burn. She auctions them and the accompanying drinks off to a handful of customers before making two iced chai lattes. She stands on her tiptoes to address the man next in line. “I’ll be with you in just one moment!” She cringes internally at her hyper-fake, chirpy customer service voice.

The man in line doesn’t acknowledge her. Fine. Prick. Another glance up at the line while she waits on some espresso shots and she feels herself deflate; her fucking regular is behind rude dude. Can she ever get a break? Is this all some cruel twist of fate? All these existential questions and more will have to wait until she can take her break. She churns out another two easy drinks before returning to the register.

“Sorry about that wait, thanks for your patience! How can I help you today?” She plasters on a smile that threatens to shatter her tenuous “I don’t hate my job” mask.

The man in front of her audibly scoffs and she is wildly impressed at her restraint because she manages to not roll her eyes. “Large cappuccino. No foam.”

Oh no. Julia takes a breath. “So, if I make you a cappuccino without foam, that’s just going to be a latte, is that okay?”

“I said I want a large cappuccino with no foam,” the man snaps. He’s looking at her as though she personally pissed in his Cheerios.

Julia’s smile stretches wider. She’s certain she looks like some kind of deranged clown at this point. “Right, but a cappuccino is espresso, steamed milk, and foam. No foam would just be espresso and steamed milk. A latte.” She knows she sounds a little condescending but there’s only so many times you can explain a drink to a person.

“Are you stupid? Just make the goddamn drink.” Hurley whips her head to look at Julia. She raises an eyebrow that Julia just waves off.

Oh fuck this guy. Julia feels her face heat up and she does her level best to keep her voice under control. “Okay, sir. One large cappuccino with no foam. Can I get you anything else today?” Her voice shakes a little and it makes her face heat up even more. She cannot believe this fucking guy is really going to ruin her day. The oven starts beeping again and Julia quickly becomes agitated.

“Yeah. Bacon, egg, and goat cheese croissant. And a cookie.”

Shit. Her smile goes apologetic. “I’m so sorry sir, we just sold out of our bacon, egg, and goat cheese croissants. Could I offer you another delectable selection?”

“Of fucking course you did. No. Just the cookie and the drink.”

Julia nods, not trusting the growing tightness in her throat to not make her voice sound pitiful. She’s not sad, she’s fucking pissed, but of course this is how her body processes anger.

“How will you be paying today?”

“Apple Pay.”

You have got to be fucking kidding. “We actually can’t do Apple Pay. Do you —”

“The fuck kind of place even is this? Get me your manager.” The man scowls at her.

“Sir, I’m sorry that yo—”

“Your manager.”

Julia swallows. “Hey Ren?” she calls down the small hallway. The office door is cracked and in a moment, Ren emerges. She takes one look at Julia and furrows her brow.

“What’s going on?” She’s better at reading Julia than Julia cares to say. Not that reading Julia is particularly hard to do in this moment. Less Crime and Punishment and more Green Eggs and Ham.

“This place is ridiculous. Can’t keep shit stocked, don’t take Apple Pay, and your baristas are slow and bitchy.”

Despite her wishes, more heat blossoms on her face and her throat squeezes again and angry, bitter tears well in her eyes. It’s one thing to be pissed because things are out of stock but it’s another entirely to just call her a bitch.

This doesn’t fly with Ren. “Sir, get out. You’re not going to speak to my staff that way,” Ren crosses her arms and glares at the man.

“You can’t do that, I know my rights,” the man scowls at Ren, who is in no mood to play around.

“I have the right to refuse service to anyone. Your rights protect you from the government, not me, bud. So I’ll ask you politely to leave one more time. Don’t make me ask a third time.” Ren’s voice is firm and confident and everything that Julia’s isn’t in this moment and while she’s never been more grateful, she also can’t help from feeling like first grader running to her teacher because someone pulled on her pigtail.

The man throws his arms up in exasperation before storming out. Ren holds a finger up to Julia’s regular, instructing him to wait. At the very least, he’s the final customer in line. “You wanna go on break?”

“I can take this guy first. I’ll be okay. Thank you.”

Ren nods and helps Hurley sling a couple more drinks and replaces the pitiful croissants; victims of a shitty customer tantrum.

Julia clears her throat and looks at her regular only a little morosely. “Hey there, how can I help you today?”

“Oh my God that guy sucked,” he blurts out. Julia can’t help but laugh. “Like, bad. I’m really sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” More tears manifest and her voice is thick.

“No, but he made you cry! Over a coffee!” Her regular sounds genuinely distressed over the events that just transpired. Julia can’t help but be a little touched.

She shrugs good naturedly. “That’s food service!”

He frowns deeply. “I hate that.”

“It’s not all bad. Not all the time. But this isn’t my therapy corner, what can I get you?”

He stares up at the menu and in a stunning turn of events, Julia doesn’t feel the desire to roll her eyes. “What do you like here?”

Phoning a friend for a suggestion this time? Nice change of pace. “I do iced quads. Basically just espresso over ice.”

He winces. “That seems a little extreme for me.”

Ren and Hurley finish up the tickets that had gotten backed up during the rush. All is calm. So Julia doesn’t feel too bad just chatting with her regular. “Can I ask what you do like? Because I gotta be honest, you’ve been coming in for a while and I don’t think I’ve seen you finish a whole drink?”

He grins sheepishly. “You noticed that, huh?” She nods and waits for him to explain himself. “Well, I just moved to the area and I liked the idea of being a regular somewhere. This is right next to my apartment and I thought I could maybe force myself into liking coffee. Embarrassing, I know.”

“Nah, it’s sweet. You’re definitely a regular, I’ll give you that.”

“I feel like I’m bad at it.”

Julia wrinkles her nose. “There’s always room for improvement. Why don’t we start with getting you a drink you might actually like?”

“I’d like that!”

“You like sweet stuff, then?” Julia wipes at the corner of her eyes, having stopped actively crying.

“I do, yeah!”

She hums a bit as she thinks. “How’s a caramel hot chocolate sound?”

His eyes widen almost comically at the thought. “That sounds great!” Julia smiles and punches it into the system. He quickly slides his card through the reader and drops some cash into the jar.

“Magnus, right?”

“That’s right!”

“It’ll be right out.”

By the time Magnus walks to a table, his drink is ready. Julia decides to go drop it off. “Here, let’s hope this one’s a winner.”

“That’s one of the best things I’ve ever had, holy crap!” Magnus exclaims after a large sip.

“Hell yeah!” she drums her fingers on his table, not wanting to go back to the register just yet.

“I’m sorry again about that dude. I think you’re really nice, if that counts for anything.”

“I think it might. Thanks for being so chill, Magnus. See you tomorrow?”

He nods. “Yeah. See you then!”

She smiles a little before going back over to the register. Hurley scoots over to her and waggles her eyebrows. “Being nice to your enemy?”

“Nah. I have a new enemy. That’s just Magnus.”

A knowing grin worms its way to Hurley’s face.

“Don’t look at me like that, Casanova. How’s Sloane?”

A dark blush colors Hurley’s cheeks. “That obvious?”

“Oh yeah.”

#taz #taz balance #julia burnsides #julia waxman #magnus burnsides #magnulia #hurley #sloane #hurloane #reese writes #this was so much longer than i planned skdfjlsdjf #also bonus hurloane just for fun #i do not work in a coffeeshop but i do work in food so uh. be kind to workers please sdlksdjf #thank you!!#sometimesrelativelyokay

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zukuist · 3 years

Text

sleep coordinates [hcs]

“how they sleep at night, and also how they sleep with you in their arms”

fandom/s: 僕のヘロアカデミア // boku no hero academia (bnha)

includes: h. shinsō, e. kirishima, k. bakugō

your name is shortened to y/n, gender neutral!

note: school has been a bitch to me sooo.. here’s my “im sorry for not posting for 9 days” gift, i’ll try posting again tomorrow!

—

shinsō hitoshi

man has tried everything to get at least 6 hours of sleep. his sleep schedule is not consistent

asmr, exercising to the point that he’d drop out of exhaustion, a humidifier, even the melatonin gummies stopped working on him after a while

i mean.. considering the pretty dark circles he has, and the tired look he’s always wearing

anyone could take an accurate guess on how much he’s actually sleeping per night.

so when you both finally got together after some pining, you were determined to make him sleep like a lil baby

which works (surprise!) turns out he finds it really comforting to be holding something while he slept even though he refuses to buy a body pillow

hitoshi usually sleeps in some regular pajama pants with cat prints, and a sweater/tank top

you were the first one to find out that he had such cute pajama pants!

hitoshi at first, sleeps lightly.

but when hitoshi sleep sleeps, he sleeps hard. like.. not even bakugō’s explosions could wake him up, especially when he finds himself having a decent sleep

he’s usually the big spoon, like i said, he finds it comforting to just hold something or someone

he doesn’t mind being the small spoon, but the idea of you cuddling him like thay makes him all shy and it’s cute to see

aside from spooning, another position he really likes is you on top on him.

like.. he could be sleeping with his back on the bed, sort of like how soldiers sleep, and you could be crushing him with your body weight

and he wouldn’t care. he finds it very cute just seeing you slightly move up and down because of his breathing (please i hope this makes sense)

hitoshi’s a tough one when it comes to adjusting his sleep schedule, but after some time, he has grown to appreciate your effort

despite hating it at first, because you forced him to sleep before 2am

kirishima eijirō

sleeps well after 8, but nothing after 1 am. he sleeps pretty decent

but..

he moves a lot in his sleep!

sleeps like he’s an animal hibernating, but moves around like a shark.

changes positions every 5 minutes, and he’s not conscious to notice it himself until you recorded an hour time lapse of him just.. changing sleeping positions

he’s probably aware just a bit that he shifts a lot in his sleep but.. not the very extent of how much he thrashes around in his sleep

usually sleeps with a plain white t-shirt with some sweatpants, or if it’s hot, he’ll ditch the shirt entirely

he doesn’t mind sleeping shirtless! i mean.. have you seen his hero costume? man’s shirtless!

he’s prefers to be the big spoon, he just can’t help himself!

but when you wake up, you’re the big spoon. and eijirō’s nearly hanging onto the bed

that’s why, it’s quite chaotic to be sleeping in the same bed as him, and what in a sleepover with the bakusquad?

bakugō woke up in the middle of the night to roll him on the floor because kirishima stuck his feet in his face while he was sleeping

another position he really enjoys is you facing him, and him having your face directly onto his chest.

because it’s the only position that keeps you in his arms the entire night.

he was quite hesitant at first, because he was afraid that hugging you tightly would activate his quirk somehow, but you said that it wouldn��t

and.. you don’t really mind waking up with your face in his chest. the thought itself isn’t terrible.

bakugō katsuki

goes to bed around 9:30 and wakes up just a little bit before 8:30. i don’t make the rules

actually.. he’ll make some exceptions for the 9:30 rule occasionally.

like the time he was still secretly pining on you, and it came to the point that he ended up staying up until 11pm just.. thinking!

but you’ll never catch him being up at 2am, nope. those are the dark hours of the night.

compared to the other two, he sleeps quite moderately. of course, the smallest movements won’t wake him up.

but if you like.. wring him out of the bed, he’ll definitely wake up

i feel like after kamino, he experienced nightmares at least bi-monthly. they used to be so aggressive, but after he started sharing the same bed as you

it has gotten better. he won’t thank you out loud, but he’ll definitely thank you in a different way.

sleeps in a tank top, and some sweatpants or some shorts and not the really short ones.

but he likes to tease you whenever he finds you gawking at him whenever he takes off his shirt, so he’ll mess with you by sleeping shirtless

just because he can ✨

regarding on who’s the big spoon and who’s the small spoon, he’ll opt to being the big spoon

but once he starts feeling vunerable, he’ll allow you to be the bigger spoon, despite his protests and complains.

another position he doesn’t mind is being buried in your chest, as your hand is tangled with his.

no, it’s nowhere near being explicit, he just finds himself listening to you breathe at the dead of the night.

in short, ugh </3

—

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yandere-mc-yt · 3 years

Text

Good Hunting

Just a really short piece set in in my cryptid au featuring everyone's favorite pig man :)

Cryptid!Technoblade & GN!Reader

Warnings: Yandere Themes, GN!Reader, obsessiveness, kidnapping implied, violence implied, suggestive, horror, blood kink, allusions to cannibalism, 2nd POV

×°×°×°×°×°×°×

No one goes to the town by the sea in the dead of winter, your great grandaunt had warned you. Becuase when all the leaves are gone from the tree, the Blood God returns to the wood and rot it was born from.

You clicked your tongue stubbornly. You weren't a child anymore- which is why you were fullfilling a bet you made with your friends to go into the woods after dark. Really mature and not at all childish of you.

And just as children do you get lost in the woods at night.

You should have brought a compass or a maybe a better phone provider becuase the gps isn't working. Unable to tell where you came from either with the slow snowfall most likely had covered your tracks from an hour ago. You weren't just going to stay in one spot. Not with how exposed you felt. It could just be your anxiety getting to you but you felt like someone has bee watching you since your friends dropped you off at the edge of the woods. Maybe it was a really curious wild animal.

Despite how dense the forest was, with a full moon high in the sky the snow around you practically glowed in the dark, lighting the ground and some areasaround you. This was almost a pleasant experience. You absolutely can't stand the only sound being the crunch under your feet though.

Sure, its the dead of winter. Birds fly south and a shit ton of mammals are hibernating. That doesn't explain why when you stopped for a moment to check the time on your phone, there's a very delayed crunching sound from the distance. You didn't pick it up immediately. Not until whatever it was resumed without you.

You could just be stupid as hell but the second you realized you weren't alone you scrambled to turn on your phone's flashlight and pointed it in the direction of the noise.

Whatever the fuck it was didn't seemed phased as it kept marching towards you and you shrieked.

You'd later on curse your lack of preservation skills becuase you took a few more seconds to take in his appearance- the hulking man with a boar mask and oh god oh fuck. He was definitely covered in blood. You finally had the brains to run with a scream when he was all but a yard away.

It was probably pointless now. You stumble and sprint past a few trees to get some distance, nose burning, cold air caught up in your lungs but the second you turn around he's fucking running now too. And he's faster. You blink and hes snatching you up by the scruff of your jacket. Even as squirm and squeal on instict, in the split second you're able to think rationally, you quickly unzip your jacket, dropping onto the ground.

Your would be killer must not have been expecting that becuase he didn't grab you again until you were a few feet away. This time you can't escape from your long sleeve, not with the way he's bunching it up in his fist. You don't know what you can do now but squirm as he lifts you up higher off the ground.

Here you are, crying, squirming and freezing in the hold of some deranged lunatic that lives in the woods. He was probably what rhe urban legends talked about that killed the animals in winter- the blood- oh god the blood on him was so fresh, the blood on his hand was ruining your favorite shirt‐ was probably from your friends that should be waiting on the outskirts of the woods. This guy was what was stalking you this whole time. You sshpuld have listened to your grand auntie. What a terrible fucking way to die.

But death doesn't come immediately.

With you still held up, he pins you to the nearest tree by his hold. You yelped when your bare back is scratched by the cold bark.

Its strange but things become much stranger when you look at the boar head and realize that its blinking. It's not a mask. It wasn't a mask. You open your mouth to let it be known that oh fuck that's not a mask, but the boar man interrupts you.

With his other, you now notice is clawed, hand he gently(?) scratches it against the bit of exposed skin of your belly enough to bleed. You watch in horrific fascination as the beast lowers his his face and therefore his snout to your stomach and snorts against the skin there.

You can't help but hiss when you feel his hot tongue swipe against the scratches before he nips you. He moves away and stares at you. You feel exposed and flushed when he starts making a noise that sounded a lot like something between a growl and a purr.

And finally, the beast you know for sure is the Blood God, speaks.

"Perfect flesh."

#yandere technoblade #yan dsmp cryptid au #yandere dsmp #yandere dream smp

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ickaimp · 2 years

Text

(Idk, I’m supposed to be asleep, recovering from major surgery. Unbeta’d, typed up in chat. Happy Valentines/Friends Day!)

The thing of it is, Snufkin knows, is that Moomin and Moomin Valley doesn’t celebrate Valentines Day. He’s pretty sure that they haven’t even heard of it, given Snorkmaiden’s soliloquies on romance, and missing the most romantic holiday of the year due to hibernation seems like something the entire valley would have heard about by now.

Usually the word “romance” and all the expected fluffy gooey emotional trappings that come with it would send Snufkin screaming for the hills. But as he wanders through the town, decorated in pinks and white streamers and the occasional red heart, but it’s an interesting change of pace, he hasn’t seen another person for weeks.

He makes mental notes of everything to tell back in Moomin Valley. Not just for Snorkmaiden, but he thinks Moomintroll and Little My would enjoy it too.

It makes him miss Moomintroll. It shouldn’t, Snufkin knows his friend doesn’t feel the same way that Snufkin does, but the knowledge has never hurt. Having Moomintroll in his life is enough.

“Flower for your love?” A little girl offers him, pulling him out of his thoughts. Snufkin falters for a moment, both at the unexpected interaction, and because he has no coin to pay her for the flower, as is usually the custom.

She seems to understand. “It’s free. Like love!” She insists cheerfully, her flower filled basket swinging from her arm.

“In that case, thank you.” Snufkin takes the flower and tucks it into his hat before pulling out his harmonica. “Although, I could replay with a tune? If you’d like?”

She nods enthusiastically, and Snufkin begins to play, an upbeat ballad he learned far from here. The tune brings a smile to her face, and she starts bouncing as he hits the chorus, dancing off, giving other people flowers.

He smiles as he watches her go, then resumes wandering through the city, playing love songs as he goes. He gets smiles as he passes, an older woman sliding what looks like a sweetbread in the shape of a heart into his pack.

The town isn’t a big one, and it doesn’t take long for him to transverse it, finding the open road again. He continues down it, his tune turning slower and sweeter, more melancholy.

There’s so much he’d like to share with Moomintroll, but he can’t. Moomintroll needs sleep, and Snufkin needs this time alone, to explore and rest away. Stories are the best he can do. It makes the time they share even more precious.

He pauses at the top of a bridge, the notes from his harmonica floating in the air for a moment after he stops playing, then fades away, replaced by the babble of the stream under him and the sound of birdsong.

Snufkin reaches up and pulls the flower free from his hat, then drops it into the water, which rapidly carries it away. In his mind eye, the stream moves through the mountains and valleys, to Moomin Valley.

“Happy Valentines Day, Moomintroll.” He whispers, as the flower disappears from view.

Then he turns and walks away, following the road ever onwards.

Perhaps, in the spring, he could give Moomintroll a flower in person. Flowers, like love, were free.

-fin-

#moominvalley #Moomin #snufkin #moomintroll #snufmin

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dizzydancingdreamer · 3 years

Text

Steve Rogers, The Man On Fire

Hey y'all, as Pride month draws to a close I would like to post this fic. It's been in my drafts for a month and I finally today found the motivation to finish it. This is special to me for many reasons, one of which being that I'm proudly a part of this community. Some of the anger written in is my own. I think a lot of people will resonate with it. I really hope you all enjoy this and happy Pride Month <3

This was based loosely off a headcannon and once I re-find it I will credit!

Synopsis: Steve is freshly thawed, queer, and pissed | A.k.a. Steve's experience in 21st Century America

Characters: Steve Rogers, Mentions of Bucky Barnes, (loosely a Stucky fic but Steve thinks he's dead here)

Warnings: Angst but not bad, Steve Rogers being volatile and chaotic (we love), poorly written accents (I literally read this with an accent in my head), literally a 2k monologue

Word count: 5.1k

Steve Rogers came out of the ice angry.

No— not angry— Steve Rogers came out of the ice fuckin’ furious.

He came out of the ice with his hands curled into two fists, with his jaw clenched so hard his teeth were liable to snap, and with a bone to pick with every damn reporter and historian and too loud opinion on this side of the Brooklyn Bridge.

He came out simmering— no, erupting— like the serum in his blood couldn’t keep his body from hibernation all those years ago but it sure as hell won’t keep him from setting the entirety of New York on fire now. He’ll burn it all down if he has to and rebuild it the way he remembers it— the way Bucky would have remembered it— and at the end of it all no one— not the bigots or deniers or the homophobes that seem to be the only thing that came with him from the forties— will be able to say that Captain America can’t love whoever he wants.

No one will be able to say that Steve Rogers didn’t love James “Bucky” “the man I’ve loved since twelve years old” Barnes with everything he had and then some.

No one.

So he starts with the museums in Washington— because sure it isn’t New York but where else would a relic like himself belong more?

He still has hope when he enters the building. They didn’t make them like this when he was a kid— they had science fairs in the town hall and culture fairs in the backstreets near the docks but never anything this grand. No tall marble pillars or enough stairs to make him wonder if he would have been able to climb to the top when he was half the size he is now. It’s strange. It’s kind of wonderful. Yeah, the Smithsonian museums make Steve Rogers feel small for the first time in a very long time and that gives him hope.

That hope doesn’t last long, though, because soon he’s wandering through the halls, following the signs that say Captain America: The First Avenger— what the hell is an Avenger? Is that what they’re calling soldiers these days? Now he feels small and old.

Turning the corner is like landing on another planet, one devoted entirely to him. His picture is everywhere he looks, his name is in lights, even his damn uniform has been replicated and presented on a little stage and he hates it. The rage is back, sparking at his fingers— he’s a match and lucky for everyone this building is made of stone because if it wasn’t he’s sure it would be reduced to nothing but ash by now.

It only worsens as he begins reading through the plaques and the paragraphs flashing across screens on the walls— he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to that. The more he reads, though, the more he wonders if the stone is really, truly safe from the fire in his blood. He doesn’t think it is.

He surely isn’t at least— he feels like he’s going to explode. This isn’t him— none of this is him. War hero. Martyr. Golden boy. He has to stop reading that plaque— clearly no one did their research. Clearly no one dug up his medical files— or his police records. Brawls at the pub, disorderly conduct behind Mr. De Luca’s sandwich shop, public nudity at the beach that one time— thank you Bucky for the best night of his god damn life. Golden boy— ha.

Golden nobody with the black eye and broken hand is more like it.

For a moment he thinks he’s fine— he thinks it can’t get worse than this. Then he gets to the early life section and for an even longer moment his tongue tastes like gunpowder.

Steven Grant Rogers grew up in the streets of Brooklyn alongside his friend James Buchanan Barnes—

He can’t bring himself to finish the sentence— not when they already got the most important part wrong. Friend. Friend? No, no, no. No! There are a million words in the english language that Steve could use to describe Bucky and ‘friend’ will never be the first one.

How about best friend?

How about partner in crime?

How about soulmate who loved Steve so much that every night for the past forty-eight days since he woke up in an era that Bucky doesn’t exist in he’s cried himself to sleep with the same cherry cola taste of his ‘friend’ on his tongue.

It’s the final straw— Steve loses it.

“Anyone got a marker?”

The museum is quiet before he speaks but when his voice— steadily rising and taking on that New York headiness that his troops used to jazz him about— cuts through the exhibit— his fuckin’ exhibit— it’s silent. It’s dead, almost as dead as Buck— Nobody dares move a muscle as he rips his ball cap off his head and throws it at the statue of himself. Everyone knows who he is— everyone is going to know who he is so help him god.

“I said—” he tries again— “does anyone have a marker?”

It takes a moment for the people around him to pick their jaws up off the floor and he allows them that moment with a smug grin starting to tug on the corners of his lips. Finally— they’re starting to get it.

He’s not a hero; he’s a supernova of every scrawny, queer kid who’s ever gotten beaten to a pulp for kissing who they want.

Maybe then it’s fitting that the marker— when it’s finally produced and placed in his waiting palm— comes from a teenage girl with a shaved head and a blue, pink, and purple denim jacket and a busted lip. She doesn’t say much— only a mumbled here you go— but her eyes say everything that her words don’t. Give em’ hell, Cap. For the first time since waking up he flashes a genuine grin back— yeah, this one’s for you kid.

Steve wastes no time uncapping the sharpie— he’ll look that one up later— and scratching out the error. The blasphemy to his unholy name. It takes him a little longer to decide what to write in its place. There are a million words, sure, but somehow none of them feel right at this moment. None of them are enough. That’s something he’ll have to come to terms with later, though— how much nothing feels like enough anymore without Bucky.

Finally Steve settles on a word and he scribbles it as neatly as he can given the fact that he hasn’t had to write anything in eighty years. When he takes a step back, feeling alive for the first time since waking up, he beckons over the girl with the shaved head and points to the place where he’s taken it upon himself to correct history.

“Hey kid, why don’t you go ahead and read that outloud for everyone here.”

He allows another moment— this time because she deserves the time it takes for her eyes to light up and the smile to stretch across her bruised mouth.

Steve laughs— a rusted, croaky laugh; another first in forever— when her head whips around, facing him as she loudly proclaims: “It says boyfriend. Steve Rogers grew up in the streets of Brooklyn alongside his boyfriend Bucky Barnes!”

“Damn right I did—” he mutters to the kid before taking a step towards the crowd of gaping mouths. “Did you all hear that? Don’t worry if ya’ didn’t— I’ll say it one more time. Boyfriend. Bucky was my boyfriend and if he was here today he would be my husband. If any of you have a problem with that then feel free to take it up with me. I took on half of Brooklyn for that man and I’ll do it again.”

When no one says anything Steve nods, turning to hand the girl back her marker and to thank her— he may be angry but he hasn’t lost all his manners— but when he looks at her she doesn’t look back. Instead she takes the same step forward that he had, one of her hands balled into a tiny, shaking fist at her side and the other wrapped around a cell phone that’s pointed towards the crowd. He doesn’t understand the mechanics but he thinks she’s recording.

“You hear that?” She parrots the super soldier with a wavering but fierce voice. “Captain America likes men! And none of you can deny it!”

This time it’s his mouth that drops, watching as she shakily turns the camera off and spins back around. Before Steve can say anything, though, she’s talking again, this time hastier, and he can’t help but think that she sounds so much like him. All flushed and scrawny and pissed.

“I’m sorry, I’ll delete the recording if you want but, I jus’ know these bigots are gonna’ try and cover everything up and that would be a fuckin’ shame. I don’t know if you know how many kids need to hear this. I did— and I think they should too. Only if you want, of course.”

He doesn’t answer right away— he can’t. It’s like looking at himself at fifteen. Suddenly he’s back again, his feet hanging in the water as his boyfriend paces behind him, asking if he’s ready to have him look at his knuckles yet. He didn’t get that many good punches in— the scrapes are mostly from the pavement— but Buck always worries too much so it doesn’t matter. The protective idiot.

Steve shakes his head, blinking away the sunset lingering behind his eyes. “Bucky woulda’ loved you, kid.”

The next time he loses it— the next time he turns into more flame than man— is after he saves the city he’s been trying to burn down for three months.

It isn’t long after that day in the museum when Nick Fury decides it would be best for everyone if Steve goes back into the field. Of course, no one really asks him what he wants— they pretty much just shove a new suit into his hands and tell him to get training, Captain— but what else is new?

No one really comments on his outburst besides that either. Can you really call it an outburst when you’re just trying to reclaim the parts of you that have been stolen? Sure, the press gets a hold of the story and, true to what the kid had said, tries to twist it into something more digestible, but no one actually addresses it up with Steve. Apparently when someone saves the world as good as he does no one cares that they kiss men.

Or that they don’t wanna’ to actually save the world anymore.

See, in those three months— between the training and training and even more training that Steve Rogers begrudgingly obliges— he has time to catch up on the world. More importantly, he has time to catch up on what the world thinks of him. He scours a plethora of documentaries, scholarly essays, and whole books of information about his time as Captain America. Well— his time as Captain America when it mattered. In all his scouring he learns one thing: everything written about him is wrong.

It’s all so fuckin’ wrong.

Just why the hell would he want to save a world so bent on destroying who he is?

The Smithsonian exhibition was nothing compared to what’s been written in the eighty years he spent in the ice. Better yet, nothing compared to what hasn’t been written about him. They’ve taken an eraser to every part of his life that doesn’t fit with the golden image that they constructed for him. A.k.a. every part that matters. His relationship, his past, every little thing that made him supposedly perfect for the role he was given. Gone. Erskine told him he was a good man— apparently he was the only one who thought so.

Apparently being a good man isn’t good enough.

They only wanted the perfect soldier. Yeah, well, they had one and they fucked him over too. Don’t even get him started on what they did to Bucky— Steve doesn’t want to think about what Winnifred— Winnie for short— Barnes would do if she saw the history books erasing her baby’s Jewish roots. Or his relationship. It wouldn’t be pretty, that’s for damn sure. If ever there was someone more protective than Bucky it would have been his mother. Not that there’s a damn note about her in anything either though.

Maybe that’s the final straw that does him in this time— watching the place that Mrs. Barnes loved more than almost anything else in the world crumble, while also knowing that the world no longer gives a shit about the two people she loved more.

“Mr. Rogers, this is where you grew up, is it not? Is there anything you would like to say about what took place here in your home city today?”

Maybe he pretends not to hear the last part— maybe he really does only hear up until where the reporter asks him if there is anything he wants to say. He’s been around quite his fair share of explosions; it would make sense that his hearing is a little off. Maybe he just doesn’t care anymore, though.

Scratch that— he definitely doesn’t care anymore.

And why the fuck should he? He does have something to say and propriety be damned he’s going to say it.

Steve stares into the crowd of faceless reporters and flashing cameras with a scowl on his grimey face. Around him stand the other Avengers— his ‘team’. The last time he had a team the historians screwed up the history for every single member. Dugan, Morita, Falsworth, Jones, Dernier, Sawyer, Juniper, Pinkerton. Barnes. All of them were brave men with families and sacrifices and all of them were treated like jokes by ‘reporters’ just like the ones in front of him now. He really doubts there’s a difference between old and new journalism.

The only difference is that now he’s here and this time he’s not going to let them write anything but the damn truth.

“It is—” Steve muses, brushing the sweaty hair from his forehead— “I’m surprised you know that though.”

The reporter cocks his head, clearly confused, and it makes the super soldier’s blood boil. “Come again, sir?”

“I said I’m surprised you know where I was born, kid.” This time when he says the word— kid— it’s derogatory. “Ya’ know, considering how you all seem to know nothing about me otherwise.”

Steve almost smiles at the way the crowd tenses. He actually would if it weren’t for the white hot rage coursing through his veins, mingling with the last of the adrenaline leftover in his system. It gives him an extra kick— not that he needs it. Even when he was just a runt from the wrong side of the tracks he needed nothing more than an offhand comment to raise his fists. Fighting to Steve Rogers has always been intoxicating— the aftershocks of winning the battle just makes it more thrilling now.

Who knew, right?

“Sir I asked—” The reporter sputters and Steve simply holds a hand up, silencing him before he can start again.

“Yeah I know what you asked, alright. You want me to talk about the battle here in New York today and how I am more than happy to have risked my life to save it. But I can’t do that, kid. Because I didn’t save it for you. I didn’t save it for any of you.”

Steve feels his team tense— maybe were it any other time he would stop talking. He would just leave it, let the issue go, because Bucky would tell him too. They aren’t worth it, bruiser, he would say, they aren’t worth your blood. Maybe he would listen to his boyfriend because usually he was right. Bucky was always right. So yeah, maybe he would list—

Who is he kidding; he knows he wouldn’t.

Not then and certainly not now— not when Bucky isn’t here to defend himself against everything Steve has been reading about. That’s exactly why he doesn’t stop talking. Someone has to defend him and who better of a person than him? So, yeah, he keeps going, even when he hears footsteps behind him.

“You wanna’ know who I did save it for? James Barnes, that’s who I saved it for! You see, just around that corner there is a bookstore. Rickley Books. That was my boyfriend's favourite bookstore. You know, the man who gave his life to stop a train in Austria from reaching the enemies? Yeah that was him. That train was filled with supplies. Had it reached their headquarters, who knows if we’d be standing here today. If there would be a New York at all. Not that you would know that. But who cares about that dead sergeant from the 107th, right? There’s plenty just like him.”

Steve shrugs nonchalantly— a move he picked up from the very man he’s speaking about— but he spits his words at the reporters with enough venom to cancel out any peace that the action brings. That’s his own move.

He keeps going. “You know who else I saved it for? His mother. Yeah, his mother Winnie Barnes. Wonderful lady. She used to run a soup kitchen a couple blocks from here. Kept the rift raft like myself from going hungry most nights— I was a brawler, you know.”

A couple of reporters in the crowd laugh at that and Steve flinches, his vision tinting red as he cranes his neck, seeking them out.

“Oh you think that’s funny, do you? You think I’m joking? I’m not. You ever been backed into a corner, son? Had people hurl slurs at you that I can’t even repeat today? Ever been beaten up for loving your best friend? No, I bet you haven’t. You weren’t a queer kid in the thirties. That’s hard— that’s borderline impossible actually. I only made it because of people like Winnie Barnes. That woman was a saint but nobody talks about her either.”

Steve has to take a deep breath, clearing the rasp in his voice that rises as he dwells on the woman he called his second mother for so long. She wasn’t just a saint, she was an angel. He can’t cry here though, not now. Not even as his throat begins to tighten.

“Winnie was the type of lady who didn’t let anyone walk over the little people. She used to sit me down and say Stevie you gotta’ fight for what you want because ain’t nobody gonna’ give it to you. She told me that I shouldn’t have to but that there were going to be people who would try to tear me down just for being me. And she was right— just like her son— because that was the era, you know? But now, here in the twenty-first century, you’re all still trying to tear us down.”

A hand lands on his shoulder, small fingers tugging at where his suit has begun to tear. Natasha Romanoff. He meets her gaze quickly, neck craning to stare down the red head, and in the few seconds their eyes meet it’s like Bucky is next to him. Somehow the blue in her irises catches the falling sun just like his used to. Steve can hear the gruff of his voice in the depths of his mind. Back down, bruiser. The sentiment is echoed across Nat’s face.

Steve shakes her hand off him, turning back to the reporters— don’t they know that he can’t?

“You all say you care about me, huh? That I’m a hero? You know nothing about me— you don’t want to. Before I was a soldier I was a kid. A queer kid. I said that already but let me repeat it. Queer. Did you write that down? None of you certainly did before. That’s how I know that you don’t care— because in an age where being queer is infinitely more accepted you still don’t bother to write it down.”

He pauses for another breath, shutting his eyes against the blinking red lights of the cameras. They’re like little demons, always watching his every move. Recording. Everything’s always recorded these days. Will he ever be used to that? Bucky was the technology guy, not him. Not then and not now.

When Steve picks up again— eyes open and shoulders freshly straight— it’s on a new note— a clear note.

“You don’t care about me— you certainly don’t care about the real heroes of the war because if you did you wouldn’t erase our history. Do you know how much it would have meant to Bucky to see our relationship accepted? The man who died for you? How much it would’ve meant to his mother? You can’t just pick which of our stories and our sacrifices are worthy and which aren't.”

He hasn’t spoken this much since he’s woken up, not all at once at least. Maybe he should have, though— maybe if he had then he wouldn’t feel like ripping the heads off everyone in front of him right now. Call it fight or flight. Call it revenge. Hell, call it whatever you’d like because it doesn’t really matter. Either way he feels like a kid again— again— backed into a corner behind the deli with his fists up and his teeth bared.

He feels feral again.

“So now you just want me to save the world like I did— like Bucky did— all those years ago— or maybe jus’ New York— as if that’s any better— and you don’t even bother to write a proper article about me? Hell, I never even asked for an article, let alone a whole exhibit! I’m just a soldier— and before that I was just a kid. If there’s never another article written about me I’ll be grateful. But now that I’m here, standing in front of you, I’ll say this—”

Just as Steve’s voice is cresting into a shout that would no doubt be heard regardless of whether or not the microphones were in front of him, Natasha tries one more time, her fingers slipping between his.

Her voice is a dull buzz compared to his, only reaching his ears by sheer will. “C’mon Stevie— we gotta’ go now.”

Like before he’s stunned but this time instead of seeing Buck— instead of hearing him in his head— he hears Winnie.

You fought good, honey. You fought good for us. You can rest now.

It’s jarring and it’s not lost on him the handful of awkward seconds that it takes for him to respond. That’s just the effect Winnie had on people though— still has, apparently. Steve shakes his head— I know, mama. But I gotta’ finish this fight.

“No, Nat— I’ve got to say this.” Steve mumbles— voice just beginning to waver despite how hard he clenches his jaw— before sneering at the crowd one last time.

“If I ever read an article from any of you that discredits Bucky Barnes, our relationship, or myself just know that I’ll come for you. I’ll come for this city. Don’t you ever forget who I saved it for. James Barnes, Winnie Barnes, and every queer kid who’s ever felt erased because of people like you. The bigots in the forties couldn’t stop me. The Nazis couldn’t stop me. Not even the Atlantic Ocean could stop me. So don’t think for a second that any of you could either. Have a good day.”

With that Captain America turns, marching off the impromptu stage and beginning the trek back to his apartment. He doesn’t bother looking at his team as he passes them— he can imagine their stunned faces well enough on his own. No doubt he’ll be getting another assignment from Fury soon enough to make up for this ‘outburst’ too. Still, he feels a little bit better. There’s an ache in his shoulder, and one under his ribs too, but he still smiles as he passes Rickman and Sons Books. That must mean something good.

The last time Steve Rogers burns he doesn’t burn the way he’s expecting to— he doesn’t vandalize his own name or blow up at a reporter. No, the third time— the final time— that Steve Rogers burns it’s with nostalgia— and with a damn good cup of coffee in his hand.

“I had no idea this place was even here.” The girl across from Steve muses, tiny hands shifting the steaming cup back and forth.

Her name is Ellie, he learned that back at the museum after asking for a copy of the video she took. He barely knew how to use his phone back then, let alone his email— hell, both still confuse him more often than not— but she had been patient. A little awestruck and a little riled up too but he took it in stride— easily. It’s not hard being nice to the spitting image of him.

“I’m glad I’m good for something other than making the news.” Steve chuckles and this time he means it— there’s no malice or ill intent, only humor. “O’Malley’s ‘s been here longer than I have. Looked a little different then—” he takes a moment to let his eyes wander the old coffee shop and it’s new appliances— a moment to feel his age catch up to him— “but I guess I did too.”

Ellie’s laughter joins in there and it’s strange— strange that he hasn’t laughed with another person in seven, almost eight, months; strange that her laughs sound so much like Bucky’s when they were younger; strange that Bucky isn’t here to hear. Here to laugh, too. Because he would have.

He would have called Steve an old man, would have wrapped his arm around his shoulders, would have asked— no, demanded— that Ellie try the plum cobbler. They always made the best cobbler. Bucky always had the best laugh. All grit and breath and him. Steve feels warm just thinking about it.

“Well thanks for letting me in on the secret, I’ll make sure to guard it carefully.” She even has Bucky’s warm sarcasm.

Maybe it’s not so much like looking in a mirror as it is looking at what he wishes he and his boyfriend could have been back then.

“And thanks for letting me interview you—” Ellie continues, setting the cup down but not before nodding at it, her eyes wide— “wow. You weren’t kidding about the joe, huh? Anyway— thanks for scheduling this. I know you’re probably super busy— and that there are more well established people you could have gone to.”

Steve sets his own mug down too— if he hadn’t there’s a possibility it would be more puddle than porcelain. “Well established means nothin’, kid. Not when you don’t have heart. They’re parasites, all of ‘em. The press couldn’t care less about me.”

Ellie nods, lifting the lid of her laptop. It’s a little bit dented and slathered in stickers, not quite the newest model— he would know, he has the newest one and it’s still sitting in his apartment in the box. Yet another testament to how little the people around him truly know him.

“Welcome to the twenty-first century, can I get you a side of classism with that commercialism?”

Now she sounds like Winnie too.

“Say, has anyone ever told you that you’re funny?”

She shrugs, tilting her head, a lopsided grin glued to her face. “Once or twice— I never know if they mean it or if they just want me to shut up. I never do so I guess we’ll never know.”

Steve sputters out another laugh because; “I guess we’re the same then— never give them a moment, kid. That’s the best advice I can give you.” He pauses— again— he supposes it’s going to be a day of pausing— he supposes it’s about time he pauses— before adding, “Bucky would’ve scolded me for saying that.”

Ellie’s fingers, swift and deft over the machine— Steve hadn’t even seen her begin to type— pause too as her smile softens. “What would he have said instead?”

Her question shouldn’t catch off guard— this is why he asked her to meet him; to finally, properly write his story— their story. Still he pauses— Steve’s empty hands feel hot, his shoulders warm; bare— what would he have said? It doesn’t take long to hear his boyfriend’s voice, not there but somehow loud in his ear all the same.

Just relax— they aren’t worth it. It’s too nice out to care about anything but the water— are you coming in or not? Summer doesn’t last forever, you know?

It’s impossible but Steve can feel the sun on his back and on his ears again, like he’s there— like he’s back, sixteen and on fire. Those were the days where everything made him cold. The days where his skin burned no matter the season but especially in August which was when the ocean was warm enough to swim in. It never stopped him from joining Buck— nothing could have stopped him. His cheeks warm, too, at the thought.

Steve blinks, his own smile— perhaps a little lopsided in it’s own right— shaping over his mouth. “He would have told you to relax— and to try the plum cobbler. It’s fantastic.”

With another giggle— and a reiterated comment— has anyone ever told you you’re funny, Steve?— they fall into a conversation, just a kid and a relic, about life. It’s not an easy conversation— but then again those kinds never are. It’s real, though, and unedited. Unfiltered. Just the way Erskine and Winnie and Bucky would have liked it— the only way Steve wants it. It’s not perfect but, hell, Steve has never been perfect.

He’s never wanted to be.

Maybe Steve doesn’t know everything his boyfriend would say— and maybe he’d be lying if he said he doesn’t blow up once or twice after today— but he can confidently say that he gave Brooklyn a run for her money— twice— and lived to tell the tale. He can say then when it mattered, he burned. That he still burns. That he will until he doesn’t— until he’s extinguished.

But, hey, though Summer doesn’t last forever, not even the Atlantic could extinguish the flame that is Steve Rogers.

That’s what he writes— in Sharpie— on the card he writes to Ellie— the one attached to the computer he knows he’ll never use.

#Steve Rogers #Bucky Barnes #Stucky #steve x bucky #Queer!steve rogers #Queer!Steve #Queer!Bucky #Queer!Bucky Barnes #Captain America #pride month #Steve angst #steve fluff #Marvel cinematic universe #Mcu #mcu fic #steve fic

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pjharvey · 2 years

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i really want my first tattoo to be an anna’s hummingbird and i have been saying this since 2019 but the more time goes on the stronger i feel about it. they’re a hummingbird species initially found only as far north as northern california but since the 1970s as people have been putting up hummingbird feeders and planting hummingbird-friendly flowers further and further north they have been expanding their range and now you can find them as far north as british columbia. and they’re nonmigratory too which is super unusual for north american hummingbirds. like a few days ago it was literally 32 degrees (0 celsius) there was snow on the ground from the night before and i saw a hummingbird on a bare tree branch singing. and they survive up here bc at night they go into torpor which is basically a very very short term hibernation and during torpor their body temperature can drop up to 50 degrees below their normal body temperature. theyre stockier than other hummingbirds too which helps but they’re not any more aggressive, just better at living through undesirable conditions. they have to be some of the most resilient little birds on the planet. and i’m also a native of a very hot and sunny part of the country who feels out of my comfort zone here sometimes so i feel very seen by them. like if they can stick around here against the odds so can i ✌🏻 it’s important to me that i get that tattoo to be covering the stick and poke from [redacted] too not just bc i want that covered up but bc it adds to the meaning of resilience for me. and like again it’s very tied to physical location for me too… for a while i didn’t think i could ever come back here bc of him, but i’m back anyway, hopefully to stay, and he isn’t here anymore. i’m slowly building up my own meaning, my own connection to my surroundings again.

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emf005 · 3 years

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Like me for me III

Part 3 of 3 (Its finally here!)

I am so sorry for the wait! Hectic weekend! Here is the final part to Sirius and Y/N's adventure.

Warnings: Bullying, fluff, a bit angst(The bullying and all), Sirius being a sweet heart(Nothing new)

Please tell me is I missed anything!!

I hope you guys enjoy! Let me know in the comments

He watched you leave.

What had he wanted to say? He had actually found himself enjoying your company that evening, but it was different and he sorta of feared and envied the way his chest had ached when you would laugh at something he said or when you had left the room.

He looked down at the coat in his hands and smiled, but then caught himself after a moment. Was this how James felt when he looked at Lily? Is that what was happening to him?

He made his way up to his dorm room, expecting everyone to be asleep. But not everyone was. James and Remus were sitting on James’ bed talking when he walked in. James had a sly smile on his face while Remus had a calculating one.

Sirius walked around and sat down on the edge of his bed.

“Why are you two still up?” He asked, kicking off his shoes.

“Waiting for you.” James smirked. “So….”

“So?”

“You were nice to her, weren't you?” Remus asked, narrowing his eyes. “You didn’t try anything?”

“I’m offended, Mooney. Do you think I’d do that to one of your close friends.” Remus didn't answer. “Hurtful. And of course not. We just wandered the halls and talked.” He set the mug he had had hot chocolate in on the table beside the bed. Remus relaxed a bit, believing his friend.

“Good. I don’t need you wrecking her.”

Sirius didn’t respond, still thinking about you. Why was he so caught up in thinking about you?Your laugh, your smile, the sadness in your eyes when you talked about your family. The rage in your face when you talked about the way men treated your mother. Just you in general.

“Sirius!” He shook himself out of his head.

“Huh?”

“What happened? You feeling ok, mate?” James asked. “I’ve been calling you for five minuets, you were just standing there.

“Was I?” He looked down at his truck. When had he moved? “Strange.”

“You were thinking about Y/N, weren't you?” James’ smirk spread across his face.

“What? No of course not.” He tried to cover up quickly.

“Merlin, you were! You like her, don’t you!” Remus raised an eyebrow.

“What? No! Why would I? She’s great and all. Sweet, nice, pretty smile, addictive laugh, and all-” he stopped, hearing the words coming out of his mouth. He plopped down on his bed. “I like her, don't I?”

“‘Fraid so, mate.”

“How's that even possible? I just started to talk with her tonight!”

“Not exactly true,” Remus said. “You’ve had small conversations with her. Seen her around Marlene and Lily and I. And don’t think we haven’t noticed the way you look at her sometimes.”

“We have?” James asked. Remus rolled his eyes. If James ever had any kids he prayed they wouldn’t be as oblivious as him.

“Yes, James, we have. You’ve always been interested in her, I think. You just realize it now, though. So what are you going to do about it?”

“Nothing.” He answered quickly. Remus narrowed his eyes. “Listen. She probably doesn't like me back and she isn’t interested in a relationship. She wants actual love. Like personality and stuff. I mean, my personality is flawless, but there is no way I’m her type. I mean, she’s smart, a literal genius, and I’m a flirt.”

Remus rolled his eyes and stood up.

“So what, you're going to ignore it until it goes away.”

“Excellent idea, Mooney!”

“Sirius, that's not how that works.”

“Sure it is! If you ignore something it goes away!”

“Name one thing that goes away if you ignore it.” He thought for a minute.

“Cuts.” Remus rolled his eyes again, but couldn’t argue anything. Sirius and you were both going to end up getting hurt in one way or another and he didn’t want to be around when it happened. But he knew he would have to be. He would have to be around to clean up and fix the mess you two made, like he always was doing.

You woke up the next day later than you normally would have. Given you had come in around five-ish and fell asleep around five thirty.

You quickly tossed on one of your brother’s old sweatshirts that you had stolen from him before he died. He was an incredibly tall boy for his age and had a stronger, more muscular build, so the sweatshirt was literally falling off of you. You threw on a pair of leggings and your fuzzy boots, leaving your hair however it was. Luckily, you were just in time for lunch down at the Great Hall and were so grateful. The last thing you had last night was that hot chocolate, but you hadn’t had anything since you and Sirius had shared that plate of food half way through the dance last night.

You walked down the stairs to the Great Hall, expecting everything to be back to normal. Getting ready, you had convinced yourself that Sirius had just been nice last nice. ‘We should hang out more’. That's just what you said to be nice. Nothing was really going to-”

“Hi, Y/N.” You looked over to where Irius and the boys were sitting. You smiled and waved.

“Hey, Sirius! Hi, James. Hey, Remus.” You sat down besides Remus and Marlene who was sitting across from Lily who was by James.

“How’d the dance go for you? You disappeared half way through.” Marlene joked suggestively. You rolled your eyes at your friend as she eyed Sirius and wiggled her eyebrows.

“It was fun. We just went for a walk, get your mind out of the damn gutter.” You yawned and took a drink of the goblet in front of you. You smiled sadly at Sirius, apologizing. He smiled back and turned to Remus.

“I want to hear everything.” She said, shaking your shoulder.

“Mar, if you don’t leave me alone and let me eat, you will get a fork in the eye.” Her hands dropped from your shoulder and she let you eat, knowing your threat wasn’t a bluff. You ate the food you had put on your plate and talked with Lily and the boys, more than you normally would’ve. Things definitely weren’t going back to normal, and you can’t say you hated it, or even disliked it for that matter. When you were finished eating, Marlene pulled you and Lily away from the table.

“Ok. Spill!” She said sitting you down in the common room by the fire.

“There’s nothing to spill, Mar. What are you looking for?”

“You went with your crush to the biggest dance of the year. What do you mean there is nothing to spill? You were out till five in the morning!”

“How’d you know that?”

“I woke up when you came in. Now we want everything.”

“I would rather hear about your nights.”

“I’m glad I went with James,” Lily said with a smile. “Now come on, Y/N!”

“We just hung out, there is nothing more to tell!”

“You still like him though.”

“Well… yeah, I mean, of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Then there has to be something more!” You stood up and brushed off your pants and pushed up your glasses.

“There is nothing more, and everything is just going to go back to the way it had been before the dance. It changed nothing, I’m sad to report.” You turned and left the common room, having no clue how completely wrong you had been.

Over the next few weeks you and the boys became closer and closer. So close that you started to go on trips with them to Homestead and sit with them in class. You often caught Marlene giving you glances with suggestive facial expressions, but you would shoot her a glare and defend that they were just being nice. And, unbeknownst to you, James was doing the same exact thing to Sirius. And every time he saw James doing it he would scowl and then repeatedly hit him and tell him to shut it.

It was mid-may now and the snow was all gone and the flowers were starting to bloom. Sweater weather was now officially weather and it was now up to light jackets, except you. You stayed in your hibernated state, all bundled up in your oversized sweaters and sweatshirts. And now the taunting for your looks was back. Today had been terrible. The taunting was the worst you had ever encountered and all you could do was hold your head up and walk away.

You were sitting by the lake with your books spilt out before you and were studying for an upcoming test. Really, you didn’t have to study for it, but like your father, you felt better learning something or reviewing something.

“Aw, so this is where she runs off to everyday?” You heard the familiar taunting voice of Lucius Malfoy.

“Leave me alone, Malfoy.”

“Tsk tsk tsk. Filthy little, mudblood needs to learn her place.” he put a foot on your book and you sighed, reigning in your temper.

“Malfoy, please get your shoe off my book.”

“Giving me orders now?”

“No. Hence the usage of ‘please’. Perhaps get your head out of your a-”

“Silencio.” You kept talking but no noise came out. Your hand latched to your throat as you kept trying to talk, but still nothing came out. You looked up at him and he looked so smugly pleased with himself. “That's better. Now there's no ugly little Mudblood know it all noise.”

Tears stung your eyes as you stood up and bolted away, his laughing following you as you bolted through the grounds and castle to the dorm room.

You opened the Common room door and hid your face as you sped walked to your dorm room, trying to escape without notice. Of course, being the Marauders' friends, that never worked well for you.

“Hey, Y/N!” Sirius said, hanging off the back of the couch. Remus looked up from the book he was reading and smiled at you, but you just kept walking. “Y/N?” You stormed up to your room and slammed your door shut and then proceeded to lock yourself in the bathroom.

Sirius and Remus looked at each other before scrambling up and walking up to the dorm room. They knocked on the door. There was no answer.

“Y/N?” Remus asked.” There was still nothing. Someone cleared their throat from behind them. They turned to see Marelene and Lily standing there with their arms crossed over their chests.

“So, do we even want to know?”

“Y/N came running through the common room and then stormed up here and now she isn;t answering.”

“Did she say anything?”

“Didn;t even acknowledge us.”

“That's odd,” Marlene muttered. “She told me she was going to be studying all day by the lake.”

“She didn’t have any books with her when she came through.” Remus said. The pieces fell together for Marlene and Lily.

“Go get her books? I’ll try and see what happened.” Marlene nodded and walked back down the stairs.

“What? Do you know what happened?”

“Possibly. I’ll be back. Din’t do something stupid.” She disappeared behind the door and left Sirius and Remus standing there.

She shut the door behind her and saw the empty space.

“Y/N?” There was no response. She walked to the bathroom door and knocked. “Y/N/N. Are you in here?” There was a thunk in the bathroom and a click of the lock. You opened the door and stepped out looking disheveled and your face was all blotched. “Oh, Y/N/N, what happened?” You sniffle noiselessly and hung your head lower. “Y/N? Can you tell me?” You shook your head. “Here come sit.” She pulled you to her bed and sat you down and she sat besides you. “Why not?”

Your eyes scanned the room. You grabbed a pen and paper and started to write.

I’ve been silencioe-d and I can’t reverse it because I can’t speak.

“Oh. Let's fix that.” She grabbed her wand and muttered the counter spell. A terrible sob ripped through your throat and you gasped. Not only did the spell make you unable to talk, but it restricted you breathing. Almost as if you were in a very tight corset, only the corset was inside of you. “Better?”

“Much,” you croaked out, your voice raw from not using it and all the crying you had been doing.

“Who did it?”

“M-Malfoy.” She clenched her jaw. Oh how she would have just loved to sock him right in the jaw.

“Anything else I should know about?”

“I left my books by the lake. He stepped on them.”

“Of course he did. Marlene is getting them.” You nodded and played with your fingers. Do you want to get ready for dinner? It's in a few minutes. Maybe some food will make you feel better?” You shook your head.

“I just want to go to sleep.”

“Ok. Do you want me and M-”

“I’m fine, Lily. Go enjoy dinner, I’m just going to-” you cleared your throat, “-take a shower and go to bed, if that's alright.” She was hesitant but stood up and nodded.

“You know where we are if you need us.”

“Uh, could you not mention this to anyone. If you have to Mar, but her at the most.”

“I think Sirius and Remus-”

“Will understand. Please, Lily. You know how I feel about getting picked on already. I don’t need them making it worse by attempting to make it better.”

“Alright. I won’t say anything. But I’m going to tell Maerlene.”

“If you gotta.”

“I’ll see you in a bit, Y/N. Alright?” you nodded and moved to your stuff, pulling out some clothes to change into after your shower. But while she thought they were sleep clothes, they most certainly were not.

Lily left the dormitory and walked down to the common room as Marlene was walking in with your books.

“I’m going to take these up to the dorm. How's she doing?”

“She’ll live. She said she’s just going to shower and then go to sleep. She looks exhausted.” Marlene looked down at the books in her hands.

“Maybe I shouldn’t take these up to her then.”

“I doubt she’ll even look at them.” Marlene shrugged and went up stairs to drop them off on your bed.

“So what happened?”

“She asked me not to say anything.”

“But-” Remus started but Lily cut him off.

“If she wants you to know, she’ll tell you herself. You know how she gets, don;t put me in the middle here.”

They wanted to argue with her, but couldn’t. She was right and neither of them wanted to put her in that position.

Later that night you woke up. Everyone was asleep and the events from that day were starting to make their way back to the front of your brian. You sighed and stood up, grabbing the small bag you had set next to your bed just in case this had happened. You made your way to the restroom and quickly began to get ready.

You first put on the flowery dress, it was your favorite one. A navy blue with white flowers that fell off your shoulders. You then, attempted, to comb through your hair which ended up in a classic side braid, looking as close to alright as it could get to without real effort.

Then you added a light amount of makeup. You sighed at your reflection. You felt better. You weren’t exactly sure why, but you just did. Maybe it was because you actually believed what Lucius said. Maybe you thought the makeup and clothes helped you, they always did make you feel more confident.

You grabbed one of your textbooks and ran out of the room and down to the common room where you took a seat in front of the fire and opened it up. You felt comfortable. Your dress was breathable and was longer so you really didn;t have to worry about flashing the amount of non-existent students in the room. The fire was warm against your skin and the smell of the natural Gryffindor pine filled the room to no end. You felt at peace.

And then you heard the crack of the second to last step. You froze, waiting for whoever it was to take another step or say something. It took a moment but the all too familiar voice of your crush filled the room.

“Sorry. I didn;t realize anyone was down here.”

“It's alright,” You turned and looked at him.

“Y/N?”

“The one and only,” you joked. You looked at you up and down before settling on your face again and walking further into the common room.

“Why are you all dressed up? I mean, you look nice but it's three in the morning. ANd you're reading alone in an empty common room.” He sat down besides you and you tucked your legs to your chets to give him room to sit. “Or are you waiting for someone? A date?” You let out a loud laugh.

“Sirius, no one is that desperate. Well, maybe you will this winter.”

“Ha ha ha. You’re so funny. Seriously though, what's up with the outfit?” You shrugged and played with the page of your worn book.

“Just had a moment. Happens sometimes. Need to dress up a bit and not be afraid to show a little style. Ya know?”

“What happened this afternoon?”

“Straight to the point as usual I see.”

“I’m serious. We were worried you just ran out of the room.”

“I don’t want to make a bigger deal out of this than it is. I am sorry about that though. But I couldn;t talk.”

“What was the rush?”

“Please just drop it, Sirius.”

“If you're asking me to drop it then it's bad. What happened? Was someone picking on you again?” You didn’t answer. You opted to, instead, hug your knees tighter and look away from him. You had a hard time lying as it was. You couldn’t do it to him. “I’ll take that as a yes. Who?”

“It's fine, Sirius. Please don’t-”

“Y/N,” he grabbed your shoulder and you looked up at him. A mistake on your part, now you couldn’t look away. “Don’t try to shoulder this on your own. Please?” You stayed silent for a moment but knew you weren’t going to win and sighed. Your body collapsed and your head fell onto his shoulder.

“I was studying at the lake and Lucius came up to me and started… well, ya know.”

“What did he say?” You remained silent, the memory replaying in your mind, hitting all the same places it had before. “Y/N. What did he say?”

“The usual.”

“You say that alot but never what the usual actually is.”

“Well, he called me a nerd, and um… ugly… and… stuff like that.” Sirius knew you eren;t telling him the whole story, but didn’t want to press any further, for both your sakes. Tears stung your eyes again and you pressed your head further into his shoulder.

“So you got dressed up.. Why?”

“It makes me feel better sometimes. Gives me more confidence even if I’m not around anyone.” He nodded and rubbed your arm. “Especially if I’m not around anyone.”

“You're around me and you seem fine.”

“Heh. Yeah well, I trust you. Plus you're not going to be into me ever so I mean…”

“What makes you say that?” You laughed. “I’m being serious.” You looked up at him and nodded.

“I don;t know. James’ impression of you seemed a bit better.”

“Y/N.”

“Fine, sorry. Not the right time.”

“So answer the question.”

“I think I would rather not.”

“Why?” You stayed silent. “Y/N, why?”

“BecauseI’maknowitallmudbloodnoonelikes.” you mumbled incoherently.

“In English this time please.” You took a breath and let it out, building up the courage.

“Because I’m a know-it-all little mudblood that nobody likes.” He stared at you for a moment.

“Who told you that?” You didn;t say anything. “Y/N!” His voice was sharp. You’d never heard him get angry before, but this was definitely anger.

“Malfoy, today. But others have said it.”

“Have you-”

“Ever told anyone? No. What's the point? It won’t stop it. My social status is going to follow me around my entire life, and I might as well accept the fact that this is what I’m going to be called.”

“Do you think Lily deserves to be called that?”

“God no! No one does!”

“Then why did you call yourself one?” You didn’t answer and looked away. He moved so he was sitting in front of you. He pulled your chin up. “Don’t call yourself that. Please. Don;t believe it, either. It's a terrible slur, which I know you know that. And you have to know that none of that other stuff is true either.”

“Sirius-”

“No. Let me finish. You are so extraordinary, Y/N. You are beautiful and stylish and smart and funny. There is not one bad trait about you at all, other than the fact that you are incredibly infuriating when you want to be. You're stubborn and witty and brave and are far too good for anyone here to know you let alone be your friend.”

“Sirius, you don’t have to lie to me. It's not that big of a deal.”

“I’m not lying, Y/N. I would never lie to you. And if people are saying these things to you, then yes. It is a big deal. It's a huge deal. You are one of my closest friends. ANd no one hurts my friends on any sort of level and just gets away with it.”

“I’m not worth that much hassle.”

“Yes you are. Why don’t you get that?” Your mind wondered back to when Lucius spelled you earlier. “What else did he do to you today?”

“Huh?”

“You are a terrible liar, and you got all distancey. What else happened?”

“Um… It’s nothing major, just a bit of fun, really… I guess-”

“Y/N.”

“He just shut me up.”

“And by that you mean…”

“I mean that he.. Well… he performed silencio and it's not that big of de- Sirius, sit down!” You hissed at him and tugged on his arm to pull him back to the floor.

“Is that why you didn’t answer when me and Remus were talking to you?”

“Yeah. And I couldn’t perform the counter of it because I was silenced and… Lily fixed it so it-”

“It shouldn't have happened.”

“Why are you making such a big deal about this? I get minor hexes all the time.” He raised an eyebrow and you cursed under your breath.”It's fine, Sirius. Really.”

His heart was breaking. Over these past few months he had fallen more and more for you. But the way you feared to be loved because of your looks always kept his emotions inside. Well, that and the thought of losing you as a friend and rejection. He may not have seemed like it, but he had a terrible time dealing with rejection thanks to his home life. But seeing you here, in front of him with wide panicked eyes that were just filled with worry and hurt, it was just too much for him.

He sat back down in front of you and took your hands in his. You stared at them for a moment before looking up at him. He had the most serious face you had ever seen.

“You promise me you’re alright.” you nodded, a bit dazed if you were being honest.

“Yeah, I-I’m fine.” He nodded and squeezed your hands quickly before standing.

“I’m just making sure. If you're not you can always tell me, you know that.” You nodded and watched him leave. “Good night, Y/N. Get some rest, alright?”

“Yeah. You too.” You watched him for a moment and when he got to the stairs you sprung up from where you were sitting. “Sirius!” He turned.

“Yeah?”

“Why did you continue to hang out with me after the dance?” You worriedly asked. “It's not because you saw that I could be pretty if I tried, was it?” He walked back over to you.

“Of course not. I don;t use people like that, Y/N. I’m actua;;y a bit hurt you’d think that.”

“I’m sorry, I just, I can never be too careful. Last year my brother and I had a conversation about it all and he said that now that he was exposed to it at him at home, he noticed it all over the place.”

“Last year?” You nodded, still in your own head. “Y/N, how long ago did your brother die?” You looked up at him, confused, and then you realized what you had said. You were the literal worst at secrets about your home life and lying.

“June. When I got home from school.”

“Y/N, I’m sorry. I-”

“It's fine, Sirius. Really. He lived a good life. He should’ve gotten to live it longer but…” You drifted off for a moment. “But, he actually made sure I was keeping myself safe here. He’s always been protective. Especially since our dad and… it hadn’t been easy on us, but especially him. He just felt like it was his job to protect me at all costs.” You looked down at your dress. “One of the reasons I don’t dress how I would like to.” You shrugged. “But I’m just… I’m just always cautious. I wasn’t trying to insinuate that you were personally a bad person or anything like that. I am really-”

“Y/N,” you stopped talking and looked up at him shyly.

“Sorry. I’m talking too much. I do that if I get nervous and I get nervous around you sometimes and-” You buried your face in your hands. You were tired and your emotions and brian was still a scrambled mess from earlier.

Sirius’ breath hitched when he heard you say that last part.

“You do?”

“Yes?” You peaked up through your fingers at him and groaned. “No getting out of this. Ok. Sirius, I-I like you. For a while I guess, and it's really early in the morning and I’m not in my right mind so I can say this without exactly being too embarrassed or anything or-” he put a hand over your mouth to stop you from talking more.

“You like me?”You nodded. He removed his hand. “How long?”

“Third year. When I started hanging around you and James and Remus more.” You mumbled. “I’m sorry. I ruined this. I know! I’m a terrible terrible person!”

“No, you didn;t.”

“Yes I did. You can;t feel the same and I just confessed that I-”

“Why can’t I?”

“Because you can’t. It wouldn’t make sense. I mean. I’m just me and you’re you.” He raised his eyebrows. “You're going to make me feed your ego aren;t you? Sirius, you are perfect.” He waited for you to start complimenting his looks which is what all the girls around school seemed to do, though he didn;t mind that. “You're funny, and charismatic. You fucking light up a room when ou walk in. You're constantly worried about all your friends and the way your brain works when you're figuring out your next prank is incredible! You’re cool and fun and thats who you deserve to be with. Someone cool and fun.” You wrapped your hands around your waist. “Not someone like me.”

“Well, for your information I do like a cool and fun girl. She’s also beyond smart and is strong, and nice.”

“Way to rub it in, thank you for that.”

“Its you, Y/N.”

“Huh?” He put his hands on your arms.

“I like you. I think I have for a while. I always found you interesting, but when we started to talk at the dance, actually talk, I think I fell hard then.” Your mouth opened and closed a few times like a fish.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I understand. Why?”

“Because you’re you. You are perfect inside and out. Beautiful whether you are in sweats or a dress. You're so incredibly smart and you get this crease in your eyebrows when you're concentrating,” he poked between your brows where the crease had formed. You relaxed your face for a second, only for it to re-appear. He smiled. “I like you a lot, Y/N.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I guess the only thing to do now is ask: Do you want to go out with me?” You smiled.

“Yes!” He smiled too.

“Perfect!” He felt tension drop from his shoulders as you hugged him tightly.

“Thank you,” you mumbled quietly.

“For what?”

“Liking me for me. For once, I don’t feel afraid of turning out like my mum.” He squeezed you back.

“That’ll never happen as long as I’m around, Y/N.” You smiled wider. And he kept that promise and you could dress how you wanted now without fear because you knew that no matter how you looked, he wouldn’t care. He wouldn’t care because he liked you and not the way you looked.

#sirius x reader #sirius black #sirius x you #mauraders x reader #mauraders #hard to get #hq fluff #fluff and angst

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home-of-the-heretics · 2 years

Text

CHAPTER 4: FASCINATION

Even numbers feel warm, comforting, stable. Sort of like the eighth floor. Soft lights and soft blankets and the old familiar rusty husks of trucks that will never drive again. Everything up here is Ash’s handiwork, whether she made it herself, found it herself, or stole it herself. It doesn’t matter which. It’s hers and hers alone, and that makes it almost a home.

Odd numbers are cold, sharp.

Ash needs an odd number right now.

So before her brother’s footsteps have a chance to finish fading, Ash is already on the move herself, slipping down from the truck bed and heading for the stairwell. Her footsteps don’t ring out like Dev’s. His clomping covers up her quiet tread.

There are an odd number of steps that take her down to the fifth floor. Odd and prime. Not that she was counting.

If floor eight is Ash’s spot, floor five is her zone. There’s a difference. Nobody else is allowed in here with her, not even her big brother. Well. No other humans, that is.

Squinting in the harsh fluorescent light, Ash strides across the empty concrete and kneels in front of a wall of thin aluminum bars. Most of the cages are empty; a few hold twittering desert birds; the biggest one barely has enough room for the slumbering pit bull inside. He’s what she needs today.

“G’morning, little one,” she murmurs, fiddling with the latch. “You ready to help out?”

The jangle of metal on metal jolts the dog out of his hibernation. Lurching, he snarls, powerful jaws snapping shut on thin air, until—until—his eyes see the rail-thin girl crouching by his cage, and something in his dense muscles stills. His hackles go slowly down.

“Yeah, see, it’s just me.” Now Ash can unlock the door and scoot back out of the way, letting the dog headbutt it open and step out with careful paws. He snuffles at her knee curiously, and she chuckles. “There you go.”

The next steps go quickly. Ash leads the dog to the post in the center of the parking level and ties him up, then crosses back to her work table and disinfects all of her instruments. Today mostly just calls for data collection, so there’s not too much she needs to fiddle with, but there is one key component she needs to treat with care: the syringe. She cleans it twice, then three times. Perfect. Now all she needs is the enigma in the glass vial.

Reaching for it, Ash has a moment of doubt. She remembers how Dev held the little thing—fearfully, mistrustfully. He’s gripped nail-studded baseball bats and Molotov cocktails with perfect ease before. But it’s always different when it’s her research, and his unease is getting less and less subtle. Maybe there’s something wrong with her research. (Maybe there’s something wrong with her.)

No. She won’t overthink. She should do her job. She can do her job just fine.

So she picks up the little vial and gives it a firm shake, peering at the black fluid as it sloshes, then holds her breath and unscrews the cap. Steady, slow movements. Move the syringe to the mouth of the vial. Draw the plunger just a micrometer up. Extract one drop.

Perfect.

A brisk walk takes her across the concrete toward her pit bull, and she crouches by the shaved side of his haunches. “Be real still for me…” She presses three electrodes onto his bare skin, glances quickly at the monitor to make sure they’re transmitting, and readies the syringe.

“Be real still…”

The needle sinks into his skin, and the plunger goes down.

One drop of the drug sinks into the pit bull’s bloodstream.

Okay, okay, okay, time to get the hell out of the way and start taking some damn good mental notes. Ash scrambles back, finding a place where she can see the dog and the monitor simultaneously, eyes wide, chewing anxiously on her bottom lip. This is trial number one. This…

The dog’s muscles are the first thing to react, stiffening and flexing almost experimentally. A growl starts in the back of his throat, rasping out from his barrel chest almost against the dog’s will, in a low, almost wheezing tone Ash has never heard from him before, and—oh, shit, are his pupils dilating? The electrodes are registering wild nervous system activity, all this from just one drop, and—

Oh. Huh. He’s stabilizing.

Fascinating.

The monitor’s readout is transitioning from wild spikes into a smooth, slightly elevated plateau. The strange growl is gone. The dog is just… staring. Straight ahead. Pupils still blown wide.

“Hey,” Ash calls, more out of curiosity than anything else. “You still with me?”

The dog twitches, but doesn’t respond beyond that. The jerky movement makes his mouth fall slightly open, though, and a string of drool oozes out from between his teeth and slips down his chin. He’s… salivating. Slightly, at first, but more and more, as dribble drips viscously from his jaws.

Weird.

The drug didn’t have that effect on the human she observed, the one who overdosed, although he definitely did have the huge pupils, the nervous spasms, the heightened muscular activation… Obviously, humans don’t operate identically to dogs, but it still makes you wonder, what specific difference is causing this result in the pit bull, unless…

He growls again, more naturally this time. She recognizes that sound from him. That sound means…

Oh. Shit. Now she can picture the overdosed man’s face more clearly, or at least what it looked like before his ribcage caved in and the agony took over. Even in those last few moments, he looked the same way the dog sounded.

Hungry.

What the hell is this stuff, and why did Ash find it not in a lab or a drug den, but in the hands of a crazed fanatic?

The experiment becomes a blur after a while, despite her best efforts to stay focused and objective. She draws blood samples, takes scans, tests the dog’s cognition and reaction times. Every function she tests is elevated. And it’s consistent, too. Almost half the day passes before she finally sees a dip in the dog’s enhanced abilities.

The come-down is slow, but steady. Five hours and forty-one minutes after the initial injection, all discernible traces of the drug have exited the pit bull’s bloodstream. All functions return to a stable baseline, and the dog seems fine, if a little tired. It seems like everything is back to normal.

Huh.

It almost makes Ash wonder—

Nope. Nope, she has been working for nearly six hours in a row. She needs to take a break, or she’s going to do something stupid.

Executive decision: it’s lunchtime.

But it’s not that easy to just pull out of such an intense focus, and she knows it. Even as she pats the dog goodbye and heads down the garage stairwell, taking the steps an easy two at a time, she still finds herself chewing her lip and overthinking. Her mind is still stuck back on level five, bouncing back and forth inside that little crystal vial…

A sandwich will help. Ash steps out of the parking garage and blinks in the sunlight, shaking her head to clear it, and makes her way down the street to the diner on the corner. The old-fashioned music, the savory smells, the yellows and reds of the vinyl seats, it all starts to ground her. And when her sandwich is finally ready…

Oh, it’s beautiful. Bread toasted to a perfect crunch, greasy pepperoni, the kind of guacamole they have to ship in from miles away where they actually still get rain, the kind you gotta pay extra for… This is what Ash has been needing. She picks it up and leans in, breathing deep to sniff in all the scent she can, and her mouth starts to water…

Shit. She sees the fanatic’s face. She hears the dog’s growl.

Shaking her head, she forces herself to focus and take a bite, but it doesn’t taste strong enough to drown out her thoughts. It’s… good, probably. Maybe? Right?

But the world may never know. She’s already plopping the sandwich down on the table with a wad of bills and making a beeline out the door.

She has got to figure this out.

Quick steps take her up the garage stairs again, three by three even though her legs complain. The dog whines when she arrives, probably smelling the crumbs on her hands she hasn’t bothered to wipe off yet. But her business isn’t with the dog, not this time.

Standing over her table and bouncing on her toes, she finds an eyedropper and that all-important vial. She has to be precise now. One drop, into a dish. The smallest drip that surface tension will allow. Then it’s the syringe’s turn, sucking up just a tiny bit of that tiny drop—Ash estimates it at approximately an eighth of the pit bull’s dose. Could be a quarter. At any rate, it’s not much.

By this point, Ash’s system resists most chemicals, (years of self-experimentation will do wonders for your tolerance levels). But still, it doesn’t hurt to start small.

She checks her work three times just to make sure she hasn’t missed anything.

Next, she takes a seat on the concrete floor with an alcohol wipe in one hand and the syringe in the other. Carefully, she rolls up her sleeve and wipes down the thin skin of her shoulder, making sure everything is as sanitary as possible. Then she draws in a long, slow, steady breath and lines up the needle with the meat of her bicep. This is it. Moment of truth.

Prick the skin—breathe out—plunger down.

Ash shudders and closes her eyes, tuning into her tactile senses and preparing to take a metric fuckton of mental notes.

It takes a few seconds before she feels anything. At first, it’s completely physical. A burning heat starts at the injection site, which starts to spread out into the muscle, and further, out into every limb and artery. It’s probably bloodborne, right? Especially given the way the searing sensation throbs and expands in time with her pulse. That’s quickening, by the way, and she’s curious—

Oh. The curiosity hits her like a wave, swamping her and pulling tight around her and coiling in her stomach like a wriggling snake of need, she needs to know—

Is this what the hunger presents like for her? Same part of the brain, maybe? Oh, she should take brain scans, she should do some research and see if anyone else has done any neuroscience that could apply here, obviously this thing engages the nervous system, but—

Ash realizes she’s already rocketing to her feet, rifling through her perfectly organized cabinets for electrodes, wires, anything for a brain scan of what’s going on right now—

Oh fascinating, she’s starving for information about why she’s starving—

Her hand hits something sharp, and the sudden shock of red sends a jolt through her nerves, but she doesn’t feel the pain, that’s interesting, she doesn’t care that she’s making a mess, she just wants those electrodes—

Behind her, the pit bull is barking, snarling, yanking at his chain like there’s some intruder, like Ash is an intruder in her own laboratory, but the noise is far away and the right equipment is so close—

There, and now to hook them up to her machine, where’s that damn machine—

There’s a voice, yelling over the sounds of the dog, and a strange dripping splattering sound, but—

She swears, she has an EEG kit somewhere around here, and she’s never needed it more, she’s never needed anything more in her entire life—

“Ash!” A hand grabs her bloodied arm and yanks her back roughly. “Look at me! Just fucking look at me!”

The kit—

Ash blinks furiously, but—but the kit—but her brother—

“Ashes, it’s—it’s me, can you even see me?”

Slowly, the sight of brown skin and a missing eye begins to filter through the haze. “Dev?” she asks, half delirious. The words slur and bubble strangely on her tongue. Did she bite her lip hard enough to make it bleed too? Is that what that dripping noise is?

“What the fuck did you do?”

Ash frowns, trying to comprehend, trying to focus on her brother. “I—” But she can’t cross that infinite space between the two of them, she can only think of—

She needs that EEG kit—

And as he stares at her, gripping her shoulders hard like she’s some dangerous stranger, the sound of clanging metal on concrete rings out like a shot. The pit bull has finally managed to tear himself free of its leash. Exhausted muscles surge in one last burst of activity as he sprints for the stairway, barrelling down and away and away and away—

And Ash is suddenly aware she’s never going to get him back again.

This has been Chapter 3 of the Heretics. Find it and all preceding chapters on our official blog, and look out for a new installment dropping every Friday night!

#the heretics #the heretics official #original fiction #original work #sci fi & fantasy #chapter 4

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enigma-im · 3 years

Text

First Day of Christmas...

Trope: Childhood friends who remeet as adults Relationship: Orc x Human Word Count: 3,323

I wander around by the creek during a hot summer day. My mother has warned me against traveling here alone, but the chance of catching a frog to terrorize the other kids is far too tempting. With a stick in hand, pants legs rolled up, I waddle through the shallow. Little fish swim by my toes, frogs scurrying out from under the mud. The task is far more challenging than I thought. I poke the stick at every leaping creature, falling short every time.

"What are you doing," a boy asks from the other side of the creek. Startled, I snap to attention, looking at a small orc. He looks to be older than me, definitely taller, but how can I know?

"catching frogs," I answer.

"really? Why," he asks.

"I don't know," I grumble," because frogs are neat." I look to my feet, spotting a frog lazily swimming by. I ready my stick, slowing guiding it towards it's back. As fast as I can manage I push down. Crouching down I look to the stick, huffing in frustration as I'm left empty-handed.

"Why a stick," he interrupts my pity party.

I shrug," it's how Tommy Howser caught his frog."

"Well Tommy Howser is an idiot," he chuffs, bending down to roll up his pants.

"Oh yea," I snap," why is that?"

He trod through the water," because you're just stabbing the frog, so unless you want to eat them I suggest not poking them super hard with a stick."

The orc stops before me, snatching the stick from my hand with a huff. He tosses it aside before looking around. I watch him, observing his small tusks and short shaggy hair. I've never seen an orc with short hair. He catches my attention, pointing to the shore. I spot a frog resting on the bank, the water barely lapping at its body. The orc sneaks over, hands raised as he angles himself. Quickly, he strikes out, cupping his hands around the frog. He pinches the little creature by the legs, making it stretch out as he walks over all smug.

"See, Tommy Howser is an idiot," he grins. I ignore the jab, waddling over to look at the frog.

"Whoa," I reach out and pet it," you were so fast!"

"Of course I am," he puffs his chest," I am orc, orcs are meant to be quick and strong."

I don't pay him any mind, stretching out my hands," can I hold it?"

"Yea," he arranges his grip," pinch him around the legs and he can't hop away." I nod eagerly. I do as he says, pinching the legs, holding it with utter fascination. The little guy wiggles in my hand, it's legs trying to kick, but he can't get away. I admire it's dark green skin, comparing it to the orc's similar tint.

"I'm Lum, by the way," he says.

I smile up at him," I'm Thea. You think you can teach me how to catch a frog?"

"Of course I can," he thumps his chest," I can teach you anything."

We spend the afternoon waddling around the creek, catching and releasing frogs together.

The summer is spent similarly to that day. We upgrade from frogs to fish, from fish to birds. I learn a great deal about hunting from him, enjoying myself more than I ever have. I even get to teach him a few things, though nothing as useful as what he teaches me. The day I find out he doesn't know what tag is, is the day I begin my mission to play every child's game I know.

In the middle of fall, I sit down next to Lug eating lunch. He has been silent most of the day, barely saying anything even when I bait him into a conversation.

"What's wrong, Lug," I finally ask, setting my apple down. He sighs, dropping his head.

"I'm leaving next week," he pouts.

"Leaving," I ask," where?"

"I don't know, just south," he answers," my ma told me we have to follow the herd for winter."

I scoff," I don't even know what that means. Why would you follow a herd?"

He smiles, turning to me," we follow the herd so we don't starve. The land becomes barren in the winter and we need to eat a lot as orcs. So if we follow the herd, we can follow the food."

I huff, arms crossed," well I don't like it." Lug chuckles, scooching closer to give me a side hug.

"It's ok, Thea, we come back here every spring. So I'll be back, it will just be a while," he squeezes my shoulder," besides, it's not like I can teach you anything in the winter anyway. Everything is migrating or hibernating that hunting here would be difficult."

I push off his arm, pouting as I turn my back on him," I don't care, I want my friend here."

I hear him sigh, the leaves crunching as he walks around. His feet stop in front of me, crouching to catch my eye. I give in, looking at his stupid cocky face. He drops a hand onto my shoulder.

"I'll be back by the time the last snowfall melts, I swear it," he places his hand on his heart," I make an oath to always come back."

I snort back some snot," you better."

"I will. Now enough with this mushy stuff," he stands," I bet I can catch more frogs than you."

I hop up to my feet," you wish!"

The winter was sad, like many after that. As he promised he comes back every spring, meeting me by the creek with a cocky smile and slightly longer hair. He always has something new to teach me, happy to do so. My father doesn't much care for it once he found out, but I could hardly care.

My parents find out about Lug the first spring he came back. They noticed my dower mood during the winter then my grand smile in the spring. To my surprise they were alright with Lug, asking to meet him. We share a meal, my father asking way too many questions till mother shoos us off to play.

Every spring is started with a meal with my parents then a long recap on our winter. It's a lovely tradition that lasts a few years.

Lug and I are strong friends well into the years. Things hardly change between us, being close as ever. We play and fight, arguing and making up quickly. Growing into our own as we become teenagers. My father hovers around then, setting curfews and weird rules. The attitude change with my father and Lug is one I had to confront Lug about. He waved it off as nothing, distracting me easily.

It isn't till 15 that I understand why father was so uptight with Lug's and I's friendship. Weeks of build-up brings me to startling discoveries about new wants. I've been looking at Lug in a new light, noticing him doing the same. He is my first kiss, sharing an awkward chaste one near the creek. It's weird and right at the same time. That summer we learn very different things besides hunting and gathering. Kisses become way more enjoyable after a while.

My sixteenth year is the worst year of my life.

Fall approaches too fast, I've never had a reason to hate fall until Lug came into my life. The trees changing colors now puts me in a sour mood. The walk to the creek knowing that it may be the last time this year that I get to is troublesome. Though Lug has ways of distracting me from those thoughts until he has to wave goodbye that evening.

I meet Lug by the creek like usual, plopping down beside him with a huff. He seems far worse than I do today, the worry rising more and more the longer he stays silent. I grab his hand, threading my fingers between his.

"What's wrong," I bump his shoulder. He sighs, squeezing my hand in his.

"I have something to tell you that I know you won't like," he starts, his voice low and angry. It's rare to hear him angry, only truly seeing him mad once when his father forbade him from joining the hunting pack when he was a fresh teen.

"You can tell me anything, I can take it," I try to be courageous. It's easier to act strong when he needs it.

"I'm leaving for a little longer than before," he glances at me out the corner of his eye.

"W-well, that's ok," I try to be optimistic," I've waited months for you, what's a few more?"

He winces," it's not going to be just a few months."

I stutter on my attempt of cheer," a-a year? That's ok, I'll be fine. It's just one year, right?" he looks up to me, his eyes a bit red. My heart squeezes at the sight.

"It's a lot longer than a year, Thea," he answers. My throat tightens, threatening to choke me.

"H-How long," I ask, trying to fight back the stinging in my eyes.

"I don't know, I just know it's going to be a long time," he says, reaching out to cup my face," but I promise I'll be back. I will come back for you." he tugs my head down, resting his forehead against mine.

I sniffle," you better," I mimic the words I said that first time. He chuckles, lifting my hand and twisting it palm up. His hand covers mine, something cold sitting between our palms.

"I vow to you that I'll be back, and you know an orc never breaks their vows," he thumps his chest. I clench whatever's in my hand as I laugh.

"Yea, I know," a tear rolls down my cheek. He pets the drop away, pulling me in for a kiss. It's bittersweet, but sweet nonetheless.

We sit like this, holding one another for longer than necessary. He reluctantly lets me go, getting up off the ground. We part with a final kiss, neither one of us ready to let go knowing that we won't see one another tomorrow.

"I love you, Thea," he pecks my forehead.

I shut my eyes," I love you too, Lug."

He leaves me standing near the creek. I cry to myself, nearly falling back to the ground in my pain. I finally look to my hand, uncurling my fingers to see a thread with a wooden totem attached to it. I smile despite it all, admiring the little carving with care. I'll see him again, even if I have to wait a lifetime.

Fall becomes winter, winter becomes spring. It's hard to see the snow melt knowing that Lug won't be waiting for me. I still end up waiting by the creek, looking at the frogs as I remember the many failed attempts of snatching one. Every year I come back to the creek, hoping that this year would be the year. I always leave feeling a little more empty.

Time goes on as I grow into my own, no longer a bumbling teen but a grown woman. I get my first job at a bakery, working for a family friend until their son can take up the business. It's humbling work, though suitors take the chance to flirt while I cook in the back. My father is rather angry that I shoo off the young men trying to get a nibble of something more than pastries. I can't bring myself to argue with him.

I gain my second job at a bar, working as a waitress in my 20s. The lively people bring on a new level of enjoyment that the bakery didn't have. Fellows still take the chance to flirt but it's easier to cast aside as they are mostly drunk. Travelers come in, sharing tales of the adventures that make the time go by quicker. I like my job, though going home makes the emptiness inside louder.

I wipe up the bar, picking up empty glasses and litter as I go. The night is rather dull, only having the normal regulars in. it's to be expected as the winter comes to an end. Business should pick up as spring begins and the critters come out of their holes for mating season. The bell at the front door rings, catching my attention.

I look up to see an orc walking in.He is rather large, clearly strong, and proud of it. His hair is braided down his back, beads adorning a few smaller strands. He is very handsome like most orcs are. I don't pay him any mind, use to orcs quickly finding their spots and calling out their orders.

Polishing a glass I catch sight of the orc sitting in front of me at the bar. His large hands rest clasped on the bar top, a ring resting around his thumb.

"Hello," I smile sweetly at them," what can I get ya?"

He smirks, dropping his eyes to his hands," Fire Brandy, please."

"Please? Already the most polite customer I've had this month," I tease as I grab a tumbler, pouring his brandy.

"Is please such an unused word nowadays? Damn the discipline of mothers, not teaching their children manners," he jokes back. I snort, passing him his drink.

"well said," I knock on the bar," a please and a thank you can get you far these days."

"That right? The only thing it's gotten me is brandy and a word of praise from a cute barmaid," he smirks.

I fluster at his words, turning away to grab a dry rag," don't know about that last bit but I hope you know basic manners doesn't pay for your drink."

"Damn," he huffs," what's the point now, ain't getting anything out of it."

"Gets my respect," I offer.

He pretends to ponder," I'll take it."

I smile to myself, focusing on polishing the glasses. The orc watches me, drinking his brandy slowly. I pass him a few glances, blushing each time he offers me a smile. He really is cute, but I can't say that I'm too interested.

"Lovely necklace you have there, can't say that I've seen that totem too often," he says. My hand immediately grasps the little wood craving, my heart fluttering with the action.

"Yea, a friend made it for me," I answer casually.

"A friend? I don't think that's what that totem means," he leans forward on the bar, inspecting the carving.

"Well, friends is just an easier term. We weren't lovers, being too young for something like that," I blush at the idea.

"Yea? Don't mind telling me about this 'friend' while I waste some time," he asks. I can't help but jump at the offer, wanting to finally break the seal that's bound these memories away. Mother and Father didn't want to hear about Lug so often. Which is understandable.

"No, you don't wanna hear a story of lost love," I shuffle away, putting the freshly polished glasses away.

"Of course I do, what better story than one with young love," he rests his chin on his head," please, I'd love to hear it."

I watch him, nearly smiling at his devoted attention. With a sigh, I lounge against the bar.

"We met when we were like eight, at least I was eight. I was catching frogs by the creek when he just appeared across the way," I start.

"Why were you catching frogs? I thought little girls hated that kind of stuff," he asks.

I shrug," I wanted to show off to the boys that I could catch a frog too. One of them said he caught one using a stick to trap it against the dirt. I wanted to try it."

He scoffs," why would anyone use a stick to catch a frog?"

"I don't know," I laugh," he probably didn't want to get his hands dirty."

"Damn Tommy Howser," he shakes his head with a smile," such a wimpy boy."

"Yea, he was," I laugh with him," makes sense he moved out to the city then."

"He moved out to the city? Gods, his parents should have taken him there when he was a child," he scoffs. I can't help but smile, the words taking a bit longer to register. When it does, I startle.

"How did you know about Tommy Howser," I ask. He stiffens.

"Uh, I heard about him," he lies," from other people."

I cross my arms," what other people? Tommy hasn't lived here in three years." he flounders for another lie, falling short with a sigh of defeat.

"Hello, Thea," he nibbles on his cheek," I see you kept the necklace."

I freeze. It can't be, surely this large hulking orc couldn't possibly be him.

"Lug," I ask with a choked cry. He smiles wide, nodding. I can't speak, my eye stinging as I finally see the resemblance. He truly has grown into the man he always said he would be. As handsome as he was seven years ago.

Without much thought I jump over the bar, him helping me down before pulling me close. I hug him, my arms barely touching around his hulking frame. A sob rips from my throat as I cry tears of pure joy. He pets my back, nuzzling his head against mine.

"I'm sorry I took so long," he mumbles as he kisses my cheeks," I didn't expect to be gone so long. I apparently had a lot more to learn from the elders than I anticipated."

"You’re here now," I look up at him," that's all the matters."

Lug smiles like a fool before roughly pushes his lips against mine, his tusks way more prominent now than when we were kids. I cup his rough cheek, feeling the hairs prick at my palm. He is so different now, but still exactly the same. God, I've missed him.

We part, smiling like idiots in love. He wipes the tears off my face, I pet at his cheek. My heart feels ready to explode at the happiness coursing through my veins. Lug looks the same with his great toothy grin and wondering hands.

"I waited for you, I'm so glad I did," I look him over," you got hot."

He barks out a boisterous laugh," glad you think so, I got big and strong for you. And you…gods, you look amazing."

"oh stop," I blush.

"No," he tugs my hips to his," now that I finally have you I'm going to shower you with sweet praises and worship your body like a holy temple." I gulp, my insides turning to mush as he leans down to kiss at my neck.

"Whoa, let's slow down," I grab at his braid," I'm still at work."

He growls in frustration, pulling back," alright. How much longer?"

"Till close, which should be soon," I answer," you don't mind waiting around, right?"

"I've waited seven years, what's a few more hours to that," he says.

Lug keeps me company till the last patron leaves. The second I finish the last bit of cleaning he has me in his arms, kissing me breathless. He has half a mind to pull back, smiling down at my dazed face with glee.

I break out of his arms, grabbing his hand to tug him out the bar and into the cold night. I pull him down into a kiss, not able to hold off for another second.

"I love you, lug," I mumble against his lips.

"I love you too, Thea," he answers in kind.

"Are you going to take me home now," I ask with a wicked grin.

He growls, lifting me up and over his shoulder. I laugh, blushing as he palms my rear. I've missed him so much and we have a lot of time to make up.

#12 days of christmas #12 tropes for christmas #Enigma-IM #orc boyfriend #meet as children meet as adults #exophilia #monster boyfriend

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