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13atoms · 4 years

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Slippery Fingers [Dhawan!Master x Reader]

Took longer than I expected, and I haven’t written smut in forever so forgive it being a little rusty, but here’s the Dh!Master smut which (barely) won the oneshot fic vote!

Also sorry if you’re a massage therapist, we’re on a different planet so I’m hoping the now-defunct word ‘masseuse’ is still in-vogue there!

Contents: Happy Ending Massage from an alien, Smut, Jealousy, yet another unsuccessful trip to a spa planet. [8k]

“You never take me anywhere fun!” You had pouted, pushing the Master’s buttons as he researched yet another scheme.

In truth, he did take you places fun. At least, places he thought were fun. But in all of time and space, there had to be more relaxing ways to have fun than overthrowing monarchies and trying to instigate political disasters.

He’d tried taking you hiking, once, but both of you had complained an hour in. He was bored, you were too sweaty, and no one was enjoying themselves. He’d teleported the pair of you back to the TARDIS, and you’d robbed a weapon store instead.

Still, you were determined he should take you somewhere fun.

The Master’s raised an eyebrow, a concealed smile making his lips twitch.

“A theme park, a beach, a… um… a waterpark? I’ll wear something revealing?” you teased, knowing he would never take you up on the offer.

The flirtation the two of you engaged with was frustratingly endless – just a bit of fun.

You relished in the way his eyes couldn’t meet yours, as he considered your suggestions. Maybe imagined them, too.

“Sounds boring,” he finally commented.

“What’s boring about a little hedonistic fun?”

He smiled, striding across the outback-interior of his TARDIS to finally meet you beside the console. Good. Co-ordinates were being set, the screens displaying a stream of impossibly fast information in a language you couldn’t read.

The Master was planning something.

“Hedonism is about pleasure, dearest,” he ground out the last word, and it made you smile.

You refrained from making the ‘old married couple’ joke that so many strangers made on your travels, because it rang a little too true.

“Yeah?”

“And if you’re in the mood for hedonism, you won’t find that pleasure in an amusement park.”

You raised your eyebrows, leaning against the console very intentionally, so his fingers had to brush your hip to flick the switches he needed. He shot you a knowing glance, as his hand lingered a little too long.

“Where will I find pleasure, Master?”

For a beat he paused, his lips parted and somehow inviting, mere inches from yours. Then he leant forwards, only to whisper.

“A spa.”

You felt the tension in the room pop, blown-bubblegum pierced by a pin and flying back into your face. Sticky and shocking and unpleasant. It took you a second to remember where you were – and who you were with. A retort came uncomfortably slowly, and you startled as the TARDIS began to dematerialise.

“Still trying to get me in a bathing suit?”

The Master winked.

As you stepped off the TARDIS, you found yourself in a stiflingly warm room, reaching for the Master’s arm subconsciously as he offered it.

All around you was a plush whiteness, creams and sterile surfaces somehow designed in such a way that the space felt both perfectly welcoming and clean. The TARDIS door locked quietly behind you, disguised as an inconspicuous cupboard, as the Master chose a direction to walk.

“This is one of the most exclusive spas in the whole quadrant – horrendously expensive.”

“Want to split the bill?” you teased, knowing damn well he’d never let you pay for anything.

Not that you could. What was the currency here? Credits? You’d never even considered it.

He gave you a laugh, tightening his hold on your arm as a lavender-skinned member of staff walked past you in mint-green scrubs, politely avoiding looking at you. They were a clear foot taller than the Master, and you tried not to stare.

“I hacked their systems to check,” the time lord boasted, “and it’s the quietest day they’ve ever had. We’re the only patrons.”

“That doesn’t seem very time-travel safe,” you chided, remembering the phrase from the countless times he’d warned you against doing something to change a timeline.

He rolled his eyes, and you couldn’t help smiling fondly.

“It’s okay when I do it,” he sniffed.

Finally, you had found some kind of reception desk.

With nothing more than a smile and a few nods to the softly-spoken receptionist, you watched as the Master handed over a payment stick and arranged everything. You found yourself handed a dressing gown as white as the rest of the décor in this place, and so fluffy and warm you immediately pressed it against your face, much to the Master’s fond amusement.

“It’s really soft,” you explained, and he rolled his eyes.

“Go get changed.”

In the end, the cubicles you were offered to for changing were adjacent, and you were quite glad you didn’t have to offer any kind of gender-segregated spa-experience. The Master chattered away as the two of you showered and changed, spa employees silently arriving to administer all manner of hair and skin treatments before you enjoyed the rest of the facilities.

Hair conditioned and skin moisturised, you emerged from the cubicle to see the Master in just a dressing gown – mirroring yours – and the sight made you strangely uneasy. It wasn’t often he dressed down. Certainly never willingly, as far as you could remember. With conditioner combed into his hair and beard, a treatment across his nose, he had never looked less threatening.

You bit your lip to stifle a laugh which he clearly expected, already glowering at you.

“Come on,” he complained, heading for the next room.

He didn’t offer you an arm, but he did hold the door open. As you brushed past him, you noticed they’d combed the hair treatment into his eyebrows. You wondered if choosing the quietest day in history hadn’t been – as you assumed – for your benefit. His pride seemed a little wounded.

“It’s good to relax!” You reassured him, holding out your arm. He ignored it.

“For humans, perhaps.”

You leant into his shoulder briefly, trying to wind him up.

“Even big scary time lords need a break! Though, you do have a disappointingly tame interpretation of hedonism.”

“I was thinking of bodily pleasure, darling.” he purred, “I’m sorry if this doesn’t meet your exacting standards.”

Trying to ignore the rush his implication sent through you, you kept your eyes trained on the soft carpet ahead. How do they keep it so clean? I suppose no one wears shoes here.

“But I’ll ask you to reserve judgement until you’ve seen how good the massage therapists are. I believe on earth you might call it sinful.”

With a contented hum, you walked with him to the open treatment room.

As you sat in adjacent chairs, you realised just how naked both of you were, both adjusting your robes to cover yourself as a receptionist approached. She explained everything rapidly, and the Master nodded in understanding. You trusted he would reiterate anything important – you were distracted by the bare slice of his thigh he kept fidgeting to cover.

In lieu of clipboards they handed you tablet-style devices, which seemed familiar enough. The prices of the treatments seemed huge, but the Master told you to ignore them. Maybe the currency here was just inflated. The Master never seemed bothered, at any rate.

He was scrolling through his own options, and you knew he struggled to allow himself to go through anything that might seem self-care-y. The parallel massage tables set up ahead of you seemed to suggest you would be in the room with him, and privately you hoped he might allow himself to relax, to trust a highly-skilled stranger, with you right there.

“What are you getting?” you asked, curiously looking at his screen.

The options were all described luxuriously, with various options for oils and smells and styles, different firmnesses of touch and different problem areas the therapists could focus on. You were settled on some focus on your left thigh, the lingering ache of a muscle there had been bothering you since you’d fallen running from an enraged palace guard last week. Besides that, you had no idea what to select.

“Just something standard,” the Master told you non-committally, and you marvelled at how embarrassing this seemed to be for him.

Then, something caught your eye.

“What are these options?”

You pointed on your own tablet, pointing to one of the most expensive options at the bottom of the page.

Indulgent twenty-minute full body muscle release with Lerimoya blossom oil, Akesian-style massage and skin treatment. Completed with sexual release and relaxing cool-down.

The Master’s jaw seemed to clench minutely, but you pretended to ignore it.

“Exactly what it says,” he told you curtly.

You scrolled back up to the top of the options, taking a moment to consider his bluntness. You had to admit… there was something very tempting about it. Getting yourself off on the TARDIS made you nervous – a living ship with a consciousness watching you bite back moans as you masturbated a deeply un-erotic thought each time you remembered it. But this was clinical. Self-care.

The Master was a ceaseless flirt, but seemed unable to deliver on his gazes and winks and comments. You needed something.

“Isn’t that… taboo here?”

“As common as a back rub, love.”

His curtness hadn’t ceased, and it irritated you for some reason. So much for being relaxed.

The time lord had impatiently clicked some arbitrary option at the top of his list, no doubt the shortest massage he could get away with. He was already clicking his tongue, holding the device out to be collected by the receptionist. You took a deep breath.

He was always telling you to take what you want and be hedonistic. You scrolled down quickly, selecting the option, selecting the areas of your body which hurt (not least that damn thigh) before holding out the device.

You could feel his eyes on you, your cheeks burning, and some deep part of you igniting at the thought of what was about to happen. You were looking forward to it, you realised. So much.

“Chosen something expensive?” he ground out, the joke landing flat as his tone seemed oddly monotonous.

“If you’re paying, then of course.”

It was only as the tablets were taken gently from you by a kindly receptionist that you remembered the massage room would be shared. A screen seemed to have appeared silently between the massage tables, and you hoped your look of appreciation was understood by the alien.

There was something surreal about being asked to undress just a screen away from the Master, knowing he was doing the same on the other side, mere feet away as the lights dimmed and incense burned.

The spa workers were softly spoken and considerate, putting you at ease immediately as you lay down, feeling acutely aware of your body against the table. You weren’t sure where to put your arms, fidgeting, until warm oily hands smoothed them down by your sides, and you fought your instincts in order to stay still.

You wondered how the Master was doing. He wasn’t the best at letting other people touch him. At being vulnerable. He hated leaving his back exposed, always afraid someone would stab him in it.

You thought, for a moment, about trying to talk to him.

Would that be rude? Would it help him?

But talking felt uncomfortable, laying like this, and you couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

As large, warm hands started their work on your bare back, you let all thought of conversation go. You closed your eyes, feeling the smooth, gentle release of your muscles as they were expertly relaxed. The larger frames of the aliens here seemed to make them strong, pressure spread across fingertips which felt human-enough, the smell and warmth of the room tempting you near sleep, wringing soft noises of approval from you which you didn’t bother to conceal.

The time seemed to stretch on forever, in a delicious, in-urgent way you rarely experienced with the Master. He was always in a rush, unable to stand still even with a time machine.

This was, you conceded, luxurious and hedonistic: pleasure above all else. Pure self-indulgence. The pursuit of nothing but feeling good.

You could almost forget he was there. Soft music and the gentle movements of the massage therapists were the only sounds, until suddenly he was there again. For seconds at a time, in small noises, his presence seemed looming. The shifting of his beard against the table beneath him, a grunt of discomfort as a knot was released in his back, once a snap to not touch my neck.

He settled, soon enough, his treatment seeming more painful and intense than yours. You could hear the slap of skin onto his, the breath forced from his lungs as a considerable force was applied to his body. You tried to tune it out, each time the masseuse seemed to be hurting him. Likely by his own choice, you lamented. It was short, too. Your massage therapist had only just begun to work on the ache in your thigh, doing a marvellous job of easing the pain, when his massage was slowly finished.

Your body felt as though it was melting into the table, pleasantly warm with the oil and the heat of the room. Only because you strained your ears, you heard his masseuse leave the room, with a gentle instruction to lay still until they returned.

It was strangely difficult to enjoy the rest of your massage as you wondered what he was thinking about, just laying there. You had feared he might ignore their instructions and move, but he seemed to be behaving himself for the day.

A gentle murmur of “turn over for me” brought you back to your body, made your eyes snap open and a sudden rush of blood to the head caused you to feel disoriented.

“Take your time,” the massage therapist coaxed, as their soft hands guided you in turning slowly, careful not to let you fall off the table.

You had forgotten what was coming next.

The low murmur of something indiscernible started, a humming noise you soon tuned out, as hands found their way across your stomach. You felt yourself clench at the contact. This was different. Slower, more sensual touches, beyond the realm of what you would consider professional. You bit your lip, toying with stopping the treatment early, until you realised the source of the quiet buzzing.

As one huge hand began to knead at your breast, the other reached for the slipperiness between your legs.

Vibrations against your clit made you gasp, their expertly firm touches pulling you lazily yet inevitably closer towards orgasm. Your entire body felt dragged along with the certainty of a current in a river, moved as surely as gravity, pleasure growing stronger and stronger. As fingers pried your willing, limp legs apart, you let your hands roam your own oily skin, no longer caring about the noises you let slip past your lips, the quiet begs for more.

The calls of yes, please, fuck.

For a second, the Master’s fidgeting pulled you back into the room, making you gasp. But then the buzzing sped up, rubbing fingers joining it, and your mind went blank.

The Master grit his teeth, knowing nothing good could come from letting you tick that stupid box. It had been a kind of dare, a test of whether you’d actually do it. He thought he’d been playing good odds, in truth, even as a feeling of something uneasy had risen in his stomach at the thought of it.

A happy ending massage.

Or rather, you receiving a happy ending massage.

Perhaps he’d underestimated his own fondness of the pure art pleasure seeking, because his barely-relaxed body was already tensing again just listening to the hum of whatever tool they were using to finish the complete sexual release you had requested.

The whole time that damn alien had been abusing the muscles of his back, he had been wondering what you’d selected. If you actually had the nerve to go through with it. The treatment was popular here, he knew. In fact, the spa was famous for it. Famously good at it. Human anatomy and human pleasure were close enough to theirs that the richest interstellar-travellers from earth colonies would begin to arrive just a few years from the date he had chosen. They would all be seeking out the exact treatment which had caught your eye.

A strange thing to be famous for, he supposed, but popular. Certainly lucrative, and – was that moan?

It felt like it lasted an eternity, listening to how those… creatures finished their supposed-treatment, moans and calls and staccato words leaving your voice with a keening, sensual desperation he had never heard from you before. The slick sounds of your body had accompanied the buzzing of that device in the most insufferable symphony he had ever heard. He had considered leaving, so many times, gritting his teeth and trying to school his body into nonchalance as you finally came. The Master tried to block it out as you moaned, and laughed, and thanked the massage therapist, and apologised for thanking them… joked with the alien, no doubt glowing and coated with sweat and oil, flushed, your pants filling the room alongside contented hums.

He wondered why he couldn’t stand it.

“I’ll leave you for a few minutes to calm down,” the massage therapist had told you gently, and he had grimaced as you gave a breathy, giggling reply.

“I think I’ll need it.”

Then they were alone. And nothing should have changed dammit, and yet everything had. And he damned Rassilion and all those other bastards who decided time lords should be sexless and uncomfortable naked because fuck nothing had prepared him for this, no matter how much he pretended he was nothing like them.

He loathed to admit when humans were better than him at something, but in this situation, he longed to be the kind of species who could meet your eye after this.

You laughed again, suddenly, airily, and he wondered if that was supposed to be some kind of cue for him to say something.

Something witty.

Something clever.

Something him.

“All okay?” he choked out.

He was still on his front, and frankly dreading standing to change, and he wondered how you were laying. On your back, still, he presumed. All sticky and sweaty and mile-a-minute heartbeat like humans tended to be. He could smell pheromones from here, loathing his body for how he was reacting.

Yet another reason to dread standing.

“I wasn’t expecting that,” you called back, so obviously sated and giggly from just your voice.

“It was exactly what you chose, love.”

The pet name sounded unnatural, forced, and he prayed you were too whacked out on hormones to notice. The spa worker slunk back into the room, and he took a moment to hate them, to hate those fingers which had been slippery and clever all over you. His stomached clenched as he wondered if they’d been inside of you.

As the lavender and mint form disappeared between the divider, the Master shoved his face roughly back against the table.

This room is too hot, he grumbled silently to himself, stupid human temperatures.

He wondered if you were cold, your skin risen in goosebumps, or if you were warm. Pliable. Slippery and soft and –

“How are you feeling?”

“Perfect.”

He could hear the stupid smile in your voice.

“Glad to hear it, if you’re ready to stand for me…”

The Master couldn’t help the furrow of his forehead, the dig of his fingernails into the soft surface of the table. Then he heard the matching gasps of you and the massage therapist, half-way pushing himself up to run around there and save you from whatever had happened and… you were fine.

Laughing, apologising for being lightheaded, saved from falling by the spa worker who had righted you. They were coaxing you to be slow, to be careful, and suddenly the Master was remembering the times he’d bellowed at you to go faster. To push your human physiology, to keep up with him. He could hear his own rough shouts, loud and harsh enough that they had made everyone around you wince with sympathy.

Then, he wondered why those thoughts were in his mind. And why that pang of guilt was making his hearts ache.

His damned masseuse had come back, no doubt from a smoke break or a lunch break or whatever these purple creatures did, helping him quickly into his robe. They offered him far less comfort than your massage therapist seemed to think was appropriate, still fussing and saying goodbye on the other side of the stupid divider.

He waved them away with a curt “good, yes, thank you.”

Then, he found himself looking straight at you.

And he couldn’t stand it.

The Master led you from the room with a military stride, taking some twisted pleasure in how you jogged to trail behind him.

“I can see why this is so popular,” you smiled, legs a little weak and your entire body feeling raw underneath your gown.

The Master ignored you.

The softness of the material was slightly tacky against your oily skin and you pulled it closer as you trailed behind the Master, enjoying a slight giddiness and feeling lightheaded, toes digging into the carpet as you took slow steps.

He seemed in a rush to get to the pool, swinging the door open, ignoring you as he let it swing closed after him.

The cloudy water of an oversized pool was pink tinted and sweetly aromatic, none of the chlorine smell you would expect on earth. You took in the fragrance with an indulgent sigh, refusing to give up your relaxation, even as a nagging feeling refused to leave you.

The Master was unhappy.

He waited for you to look away before quickly sliding into the water, chest-deep as he rested his elbows against the poolside behind him. He looked straight ahead as you disrobed and slid into the water beside him, the emptiness of the whole complex striking you yet again, as a sole employee passed whisper-quiet through the room.

The high vaulted ceiling was as simply designed as the rest of the complex, beautiful in its simplicity, and you looked up at it as you moved slowly through the warm water.

“Are you okay?” you asked the ceiling, hoping the Master might deign to answer instead.

He hummed, something affirmative and insincere. You let yourself float back, buoyant in the cloudy water, your toes breaking the water near the Master. He regarded you with a judgemental curl of his lip, before fixing his eyes on the wall opposite.

“Enjoying yourself?”

The Master didn’t reply, he just scoffed. You pouted, the water lapping at your face, paddling to stop yourself drifting into him.

“Just trying to have a conversation,” you grumbled.

Your words rolled off him like the sweat off his forehead, oil and water mixing on both of your skin, the heat of the room just a few degrees shy of stifling.

“Does this feel warmer to you, because you’re colder?”

He nodded. You rolled your eyes at him, finally standing in the water, crouching a little to keep your shoulders covered by the flat surface of it. You waded towards him, closing in on his personal space until the underwater bump of his leg against yours made you stop.

“Too hot?”

“Fine,” he ground out, rolling his head back towards the side of the pool.

You glimpsed the sweat and oil on his neck as you let your eyes drift over him, knowing he wouldn’t catch you while his gaze was trained on the ceiling.

“You’re in a bad mood.”

“I’m not.”

“Are.”

He gave an exasperated exhale, pinching his nose, and you watched the movement of his shoulders as he shifted his weight. You’d never seen so much bare skin, and you couldn’t help staring.

Sidling closer to him, you felt the brush of your leg against his once again, not recoiling. The Master tensed, and you ended up beside him by the pool.

“You are.”

All but whispering in his ear, you grinned as a shudder passed through him. The Master didn’t find it as funny, flopping his arm back beside him, wincing as it brushed your bare breast. He pulled away at lightspeed, shaky and sudden in his movements. You were getting to him.

He kept his lips tightly sealed, teeth clenched, making the muscles of his jaw bulge slightly beneath his beard.

A door opened, intended to be quiet but deafening in the tense room.

The Master snapped his eyes open at the noise, before moving away from you. He ducked his head underwater, rubbing product and oil from his face, before re-emerging with his fringe plastered to his face.

You laughed as he tried to brush the hair from his eyes, and that was the final straw.

“You’re insufferable sometimes,” he snapped.

The Master marched to the side of the pool, soaking his robe in his eagerness to cover himself as he climbed the steps, turning to face you for just long enough to reveal something unsettling in his glare.

“I’ll wait in the TARDIS. Don’t hurry.”

His curt words remained in the room longer than him, echoing as the door closed itself softly behind his indignantly retreating form.

“Grumpy,” you sighed to the vaulted ceiling, floating on your back, and wishing that high ceiling housed the consciousness of the TARDIS.

At least when you argued on the TARDIS, you knew the ship was (usually) on your side. Maybe her gentle hum would have alleviated your guilt.

You managed to float in the pool a little longer, swimming for a bit, trying to relax. It was no use. With a mournful last duck under the water, you emerged from the pool, not hurrying to cover yourself now you were alone.

What had the Master been so pissed off by, you wondered. Hadn’t he known what this place was like? His research was usually meticulous – in fact you suspected he tended towards places he had been before when planning days out for you. Was it the nakedness? The touch of a stranger, in that massage parlour? Or simply the strangeness of a place devoid of stress and terror and chaos.

You’d thought about your life with him a lot, of late. About how you couldn’t just keep seeing the darkness of the universe. Perhaps it was naïve, but you had hoped that his recent movements towards flirting with you might have been the start of a few nicer trips. Of something a bit… more with him.

But he was acting like the bastard you’d first known, no longer softer, kinder, towards you.

Somewhere the two of you had taken steps backwards. And now he was fighting with you at a spa, of all places.

You pulled the robe tighter around you, gave a passing member of staff a tight smile, as you found the cupboard door which led to the TARDIS.

Deep breath, you told yourself.

Stepping into a different dimension always felt a little disorientating, but the TARDIS was your home now. Welcoming in her warmer, yellow light as the door closed behind you and cut off the spa’s true white lights and pristine décor.

You saw the form of the Master the second you stepped inside, the first thing your eye was drawn to. He was in a different gown, a thicker, longer one. Dark purple like his coat, and just as modest in its coverage.

He was leaning heavily on the console, hunched over with his hair messily towel-dried and barely styled. He’d clearly made some attempt, then gotten frustrated.

“Sorry for being annoying earlier,” you tried to weakly joke.

The Master didn’t even turn to regard you, he just tensed his shoulders, leaning defensively closer to the ship’s console.

“You still reek of that oil,” he spat, “and hormones.”

Even across the room, you took a step back from him. You pulled self-consciously at the neck of your robe, hoping he couldn’t see how genuinely shaken you were.

You couldn’t reply, biting down a surge of emotion at his rejection and turning from him, inspecting a side table by the door. The TARDIS sent a wave of comfort through you, but it only made things harder.

Highlighted what her pilot wouldn’t give you.

After a few seconds of silence the Master whirled around, a furrow in his brow.

“Say something.”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. You had nothing to say to him.

He strode closer to you, and you stepped back again, closer to the doors.

“I’m sorry!” you blurted out, an uncertainty in your tone which made the Master take pause.

“Why?”

You didn’t know.

You didn’t know why you were meant to be sorry.

“For upsetting you. Whatever I did, I…”

You trailed off as the Master regarded you for a second, something approaching genuine conflict on his face as he fully took in your appearance. Wet hair, dressing gown tightly around your skin, shivering from the change in temperature… you wondered what he saw.

He sighed heavily.

“‘Whatever you did’?”

The words weren’t cruel. It was a question. But he could be terrifying, even in a bath robe. And you watched his eyes, looking for a trick or a spark of something more troubling.

He was searching your eyes too, looking for sincerity. For some kind of comfort.

“You took me there, and I really don’t know what I did… why you hated it so much. But… I’m guessing it was my fault.”

To your surprise, he pulled you into a gentle hug, cradling your head as he pulled you near to him. He wasn’t squeezing you, your bodies hardly touching. He was just… holding you close to him.

“I don’t like being touched,” he mumbled, his words over your shoulder, like they were trying to evade being heard.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pressure you into –”

“No I just… I don’t like you being touched. Either. It makes me nervous.”

“Nervous?” you echoed back to him.

You felt his fingers twitch against your head, tightening and loosening slightly.

“Maybe… I just… I couldn’t stand them touching you. Or seeing you. I wasn’t expecting that.”

In the silence which passed between you, you wondered if he was mulling over his own words. If he even suspected what you heard in them, the vivid green between the lines of what he’d said: jealousy.

“If there had been anyone else there, other guests, I would’ve made us leave. But you seemed happy and…”

He was struggling. Struggling to articulate himself, maybe even struggling to come to terms which his own motivations.

While bragging and flirting and banter came as easily as breathing to the time lord, sincerity was something much harder.

“You didn’t like being vulnerable?” you prompted, afraid to push him too much.

Something like an awkward, coughing laugh happened in the back of his throat – you only heard it because you were so close to him.

“I suppose you could say that.”

Snaking your arms around him, you pulled the Master closer, feeling your bodies properly together between thick material. He sighed indulgently, and you smiled, face hidden from him.

“You should have said. We could have left,” you tried to comfort him, “tell me, next time. We’ll just leave.”

He gave you the silent treatment again, though you suspected this time it was not unkind. He just genuinely didn’t know what to say.

You tried a different tact, returning to something more familiar.

“You really hate how I smell?” you teased.

He groaned, and you squeezed him just to make him groan more.

“You don’t smell like you.”

That was sweet, you conceded, rubbing his back in a few soft, gentle sweeps across the towelling of his dressing gown. He gulped.

“Did you enjoy your massage?” he asked suddenly, and edge to his words which made the question seem suspiciously loaded.

You tried not to let your wariness show, holding your posture perfectly still.

“I did. It was… intense. Good though. How about you?”

He gave a low laugh, and the knot in your stomach grew tighter, pulled taught by his sudden change in demeanour. He was holding you. In the way he might hold a hostage, not a friend. It made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, made you open your eyes and look across the TARDIS for any sign of danger.

You couldn’t know it, but you suspected that if you tried to walk away his tensed arms would stop you.

“My massage wasn’t nearly as satisfying, if the noises you made were anything to go by, love.”

The laugh you forced was barely loud enough to leave your lips. You felt the Master’s breath on your neck.

“Tell me what they did to you, love.”

“It was just… um… massage oil. And… they did my back. And rubbed that muscle I was complaining about, the one in my thigh. It feels a lot better now, actually.”

The Master stood silently, waiting. More, you could hear him thinking, more, love.

“They turned me over, massaged my front, and then they did the happy ending bit,” you laughed, awkwardness creeping into your tone where you tried so hard to suppress it.

“How did they make you feel?” he asked, an edge to his voice which barrelled straight past the boundaries of flirtation he had set before.

His voice was gravelly, seductive, each word painfully intentional as he whispered the syllables in your ear.

“Good,” you choked out, and he shook his head with a quiet, dark chuckle.

“No, darling, tell me what they made you feel. What did they do?”

Your mouth was dry, the TARDIS and your robe too hot, constricting against your sensitised skin.

You could feel yourself getting wetter, clenching, the faintest, most frustrating waves of pleasure in your clit. The Master was tense all over, and as you fidgeted, you felt him, hard against the front of your thigh.

“They hid you from me. Behind a barrier. Tell me what they did to you.”

In some deep part of your mind, a part which wasn’t clouded by lust and overwhelmed by the Master, pieces clicked into place. How he hated being exposed, but hated you being exposed more. His curtness, after you asked someone else to touch you. You damned him for being too proud to admit what he wanted, before you sought out pleasure elsewhere.

“They made me relaxed,” you began, “so relaxed. With these strong, gentle touches. All over. And then they turned me over, and I was so relaxed, I didn’t even notice how turned on I was getting.”

You paused, hoping the Master wanted to hear your words. That this was what he was asking for. His ragged breath told you enough. In his silence, he seemed to be begging for more. As you spoke, remembering the moment, you could feel your body responding to the memory. Growing wetter at saying it all out loud, at the knowledge the Master was desperately hanging off every word, his own arousal matching yours.

“When I was on my back, it was more oil. All over. Across my chest and my stomach and dripping between my legs and that was when I remembered what I had asked for.”

His grip on you tensed, his body thrumming with energy as it seemed to encircle you, and you forced yourself to conceal a smirk.

“The touches started on my stomach. They were teasing me, working me up. Then they moved to my nipples – I think your massage was done by then,” you pretended to think about it, and your tangent made him press his body against you insistently. You could feel that delicious jealousy, almost making him growl, as you paused.

“The oil was amazing. It smelled amazing and felt… so good. I don’t know if there was something in it, or if the masseuse was just that good,” you felt him shift again, privately delighting in how worked up he was getting.

“Then they had this toy thing. I never saw it, my eyes were closed, but… it was wonderful. I don’t think I’ve ever felt better, I can’t even remember it I just…”

“Came.”

The Master’s hoarse voice felt like it was in your very head, and maybe it was, his telepathy sending a powerful jolt through you as you felt his arousal and jealousy and anger for just a second.

“You let them touch you… those aliens, those strangers –”

“You’re an alien too,” you reminded him, another rush of irritation rushing forwards from him.

“I am the best alien you’ve ever met, love, and you’d do well to remember that.”

He was so close to you, and your skin was so hot, you shivered at the snarl in his words.

“I was right there, and – ” he fumbled for words, and you smiled, pulling against his grip a little so he could see. His eyebrow raised in disapproval.

“You were right there, and what?” you challenged.

The Master shifted on his feet, his arms loosening around you, before he leant in again. His beard brushed the softened skin of your cheek, nuzzling, the slight scratch making you shudder from the rawness of it all. He inhaled deeply, pressing his nose into the swathe of skin beneath your ear, tutting with a condescension that sent a jolt of heat down your body.

“You still reek of sex. Even more now, darling. Do you want to go back? Cheat on me again?”

“I wasn’t aware we were in a relationship.”

With a bitter laugh, his hands found your ribs. Their grip was higher than they ought to be, brushing the underside of your breaths over the robe, squeezing just a tiny bit too tight. You reached for the belt of his robe, your own threat held between your fingers as you assessed the flimsiness of the knot he’d tied.

His fingers dug in tighter.

“Then I’d better make you aware,” his words came out as a threat, but you didn’t feel intimidated. The muscles in your abdomen clenched, and he noticed, fingers spreading wider on your ribs. “Can’t have you going elsewhere again.”

He was teasing, but you wondered if he had perceived what you did as cheating. His surliness made it seem that way.

“Think you can convince me?” you muttered, already far more focused on the roaming of his fingers, closer to the opening of your robe.

“Obviously.”

He stepped away, and you missed the contact already, searching his dark eyes. They were unfocused with lust. Flickering lazily and obviously to your lips. His robe had loosened slightly, a sliver of chest hair exposed below the smooth skin of his neck, and you didn’t bother to conceal the bite of your lip as you trailed your eyes down across his body.

“It really bothered you that much?”

In lieu of an answer, you found your head cradled in his hands, fingers haphazardly strewn across your face and head as he pulled you in, his lips against yours. When the Master kissed you, it was everything you’d imagined. His lips were intense and firm and bruising, but not rough. The fingers wrapped around your skull were firm, intense, but not painful. Not aggressive, not trying to hurt you, just demanding all of you.

The rest of the day melted away, the TARDIS’ presence disappeared, until all your senses could perceive was him. You could feel the wetness of his lips as he kissed you so desperately you thought he might sob, hear the sound of his breathing, the squeak of your shoes on the floor as he dragged you closer still to his body. You couldn’t smell anything his skin, the oil and the water from the spa mixed with sweat and the TARDIS’ laundry detergent and him.

Even the press of his fingers on your head made you close your eyes, focussing everything on the Master.

Your fingers fumbled to reach him, hold him somehow, finding the neck of his gown and pulling, blindly reaching to run your hands across his chest hair while you fought to open the gown further. Through where he was kissing you, you could feel his amusement, the smile which threatened to break your kiss as his hands slowly released their hold on your head.

With a slight tug at his chest hair you finally broke the kiss, pulling away as he hissed at the pull of your fingers across his

You thought you should probably say something, as the two of you stood panting, eyes glazed with want, but there were no words which could serve this moment.

Your fingers went back to the belt of his robe, tugging greedily until the knot was almost free. As you were about to undress him completely, his hands covered yours, holding them in place against the slight swell of his stomach.

“My room,” he demanded curtly, though the words came out stilted and strange as he fought to catch his breath.

“If its closest,” you agreed, happy to fluff his ego in exchange for that sincere, indulgent smile which spread across his face.

In a strangely sweet gesture, he reached for your hand, pulling you eagerly towards his room. You had never been in the space before, but you barely had time to appreciate it. The dark mahogany of the furniture and the scattered books, stolen goods, and components were completely ignored by the Master as he tugged you by the hands towards a four-poster, shoving blankets and books aside. When the bed was clear he pulled you bodily around in a wide circle, before shoving you back onto the bed with a boyish grin.

Unable to resist his glee, you let yourself flop back, the robe riding up and opening at the neck, much to the Master’s delight. He was quick to try and get the white fabric off you, one deft motion undoing the belt at your waist, pulling it open down the centre with a flourish that made you roll your eyes fondly at him.

You had expected a smartass comment, some kind of brag or joke, but instead he sank over your torso. Lips pressed to the gap between your breasts, he was astonishingly serious.

The room was silent aside from the sounds of your breathing, the gentle smack of his lips as he kissed his way down your body, and the sincerity of the moment took your breath away.

The Master wasn’t a man easily moved to reverence or seriousness, not by beautiful palaces or ornate temples or tragically burning civilisations. He always had a cruel remark, a joke.

His astonished silence meant more to you than words ever could.

When he reached the slope of your pubic bone, he looked up at you, hands flat on the bed either side of your hips.

“Can I fuck you?”

Your voice shuddered as you told him ‘yes’, a ‘please’ wrung from your lips as his tongue found your clit.

He looked up at you again through long eyelashes, seeming somehow, despite the context, surprised.

“Are you sure?”

“Please,” you repeated.

One hand reached down for his chin, stroking the line of his jaw in a mute reassurance. He smiled softly, lips pressed tightly together.

Your gentle touch on his jaw followed him as he moved up your body to kiss you again, gently, with all the veneration which seemed to have overcome him since the console room. His soft lips against yours made you groan, and he paused for a second, as though afraid you might suddenly be made of delicate porcelain and shatter from the gentlest pressure. You kissed him back harder and relished in the rumble of a moan from deep in his throat.

Then he was standing, eyes refusing to flicker from staring into yours, pulling your legs astride his hips and slipping his fingers into the wetness between your legs, fingers methodically stretching you for him.

“Good?” he asked, fingers toying at your entrance, refusing to find the nerves you wanted him to be playing with.

You nodded, trying to be patient.

“Good.”

With one last look of wonderment, he lined himself up and sank into you. You broke his eye contact, throwing your head back, whining at the stretch of him inside you. His hands reached to hold your legs, a thumb stroking across your thigh, before he gently started to move.

“Good?”

“Good.”

He thrust slowly, almost tentatively, as though trying to convince himself he wouldn’t hurt you. His pace gradually quickened, desperation growing on his face as pleasure built inside of you, until suddenly you were holding yourself in place on the mattress and the Master was grunting with the force of his hips meeting yours. Your feet dug into his back, supported by his hands holding your legs up, one arm thrown over your eyes as the other desperately tried to stop him from shunting you further up the bed.

All you feel was him, the desperation in his thrusts, the tightening of his hands on your thighs as you subconsciously clenched around him, your desperation mounting in tandem with his.

“Tell me,” you panted, a fistful of his sheets clenched painfully tight as he pounded into you.

“What?”

He was barely there, you realised, uncomprehending and stupid with pleasure. A groan ripped from his throat as you shifted your hips, his hands gripping your ass to keep you in place.

“Tell me you were jealous.”

“Furious,” he grunted.

“Because you were jealous,” you ground out, feeling the Master reach between your legs, distracting you with the roughness of his fingers across your swollen clit.

You arched your back, uncovering your eyes to glare up at his sweaty face, his eyes trained hungrily on your body. As he looked up to your face, neck and stomach clenching with the strain of keeping up the furious rhythm of his thrusts, you laughed at the grin spreading wide across his gritted teeth.

His fingers on your clit fumbled for a moment, before letting you reach down to take over, your own slippery fingers barely needing to work across your clit before you gasped at the break of pleasure washing over you, the Master’s hips stuttering, struggling to stave off his own orgasm.

As you came down, he slumped over you, fucking you more and more erratically until he was coming inside of you, fingers scrambling to grip onto your body any way he could, pulling you closer as he gasped for air. You couldn’t help watch, mouth hanging over and sweat mixing with his, marvelling as he finally softened and caught his breath on top of you.

“Since it seems to really matter to you,” he mumbled into your neck, “I’ll say it. I was jealous.”

You laughed. He was heavy on top of you, his chest crushing yours as he laughed too, face pressed to the crook of your neck. You could feel his teeth against the sensitive skin connecting to your shoulder, the wetness of his mouth as he laughed, exasperated and high from the hormones.

“You were jealous!” you teased breathlessly, the words making a barest attempt at being sing-song, before his lips pressed against your neck gently.

“I was jealous,” he replied soberly, his hair brushing at you as he fidgeted, taking his weight off you a little. His legs were intertwined with yours, and you could feel the contractions of his muscles as he moved. “So, unbelievably, jealous.”

Even as you dedicated his words – this moment – to memory, you could feel sleep pulling at you. You sorely needed showers, and food, and probably water, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

“So we can’t go back?” you asked airily, if only to feel the rumble of a short, exasperated laugh in the Master’s chest.

“Absolutely not.”

“What if I want a massage?” you whined, pouting for show, then gasping as the Master teasingly pinched at your hip.

“Then you’ll have to ask me.”

You pinched his hip in retaliation, his thigh jostling yours as he fidgeted irritably.

“Hm, I can live with that. If you’re any good.”

He was halfway to sleep too, tugging a displaced blanket across the pair of you blindly with his free arm.

“I’m the best, darling. Obviously.”

#dhawan!master #dhawan!master x reader #fic #13atoms #smut #writing smut in second person is always so weird #i feel like im gaslighting the reader #alexa play Gaslighter by The Chicks #this was meant to be like 2k #how did this happen

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50scentsofsoap · 4 years

Text

Little Things

In a world where you’re trapped by what people expect of you and Jungkook is your boyfriend.

word count: 2k genre: fluff/angst/smut-y tw: depression

It’s the little things you know. It’s him sliding his freshly moisturised hands into yours, just to make sure you’re there next to him. It’s him playing with your hair because he’s bored and wants you to not work either. It’s him looking at your screen whenever you freak out about something new or fresh, to better understand what makes you tick and what you like. It’s him letting you take the last salmon bagel even though he likes them too. It’s him grabbing you by the nape as he wraps his ankles around your calves, to pull you in closer and to kiss you deeper. To get as much of you as he can, because this is the only time he’s allowed to be greedy… only in those stolen minutes.

It’s him looking away from you as you get changed, because he respects your boundaries and absolutely loves whatever you limit him to. It’s him waiting for you to initiate the kiss so he knows when to go as well. It’s him asking “no?” if you pull away from the kiss, to make sure you want to stop or if you’re teasing him. It’s him biting your lip with a tender pull, as to not harm you, although you wouldn’t mind either way. It’s him looking at you with those hungry eyes, with such ferocity and depth that makes you feel so lucky to have him. The glare that tells you loud and clear that he only sees you, only you. The passionate stare that you’ve only read about but know now it’s completely different to how they describe it in the books. It’s so much more raw… vulnerable… pleading… ecstatic, as if he just took a hit of all class A substances in one go. That one look that lets you know you’re loved, wholly and truly.

It’s him giving you a good morning kiss on your forehead, as you startle from your slumber. It’s him pulling you back to bed as you try to get some work done, because you both know alone time is very rare and so you’d rather make the most of whatever time you have. It’s him shuffling closer to you as you’re trying to fall asleep, just to be closer to you, to drink in your scent. It’s kissing him deeply and slowly in the dark as you try not to wake up your roommate. It’s waking up with your arm wrapped around his torso, as your fingers are intertwined as well. It’s him kissing purple galaxies onto your skin, biting the soft flesh as he elicits a soft gasp from you.

It’s him stopping you walking just to pull you to the side of the road to kiss you because “you’re so damn cute when you sing like that.” It’s him pushing you onto the wall in the hallway, whispering a small confession of “I love you” before his lips collide with yours. Tongues trying to dominate one another, grazing each others teeth, lips locked with no room to breathe out. It’s pulling away from the kiss suddenly as you hear the lift doors open, trying to keep your cool. It’s losing your control and giving him a hickey on his neck, a no go zone. It’s him caressing your cheek as he looks deep into your eyes before going in for a soft peck, just to reaffirm your beliefs that he still likes you and knows you still like him.

It’s him asking you to be more forceful with him, as he wants to test his own limits and try to grasp an idea of what it is you like too. It’s scratching his back just hard enough to cause a response but not so hard as for it to hurt. It’s suddenly pulling his hair back to get better access to his neck, as he slowly exhales, lips parted, shallow breaths, a look of shock laced with excitement in his eyes. Lust, that’s what it is. It’s so much more powerful to view it right in front of your own eyes, but also so painful. You want to touch him more, but you’re only allowed to go so far as you’re bound by religion and faith to be true to your beliefs before all else. Guilt washes over you, not because of what you’ve done but because of the things you imagine doing with him. Such pervasive thoughts should never be acted upon, and it is up to you to control your emotions as well as your flesh.

It’s you being difficult and a bit of a mess and him being able to tolerate your presence, even though you’re being an insufferable bitch. It’s him invading your every thought, permeating your walls and slowly breaking them down, one by one, even though he doesn’t even realise it. It’s being able to talk to him about pretty much anything, a task you’ve had much difficulty with your whole life. It’s giving yourself over to him emotionally and physically, one step at a time. It’s crying so easily at the thought of how easily he accepts your flaws and opinions, even if they conflict with his own. It’s being able to feel this precious concoction of hormones and neurotransmitters and know what it’s called, along with the fact that day by day it’s growing. It’s feeling scared that you’ll screw up and lose what you two have over something completely idiotic. It’s feeling your heart get heavier every time you think about the ‘inevitable’ break up, because you can’t help but think of the worst. It’s knowing that how much more you give into this, how much more it’s going to hurt if it ends. If. Not when. If.

It's him asking you to meet up as often as possible, so see each other whenever you can. Meeting in those stolen minutes during summer which you could account to 'train delays’ in order to walk with him to the tube station, hand in hand, step by step, glance after glance. It's messaging him the little 'good morning’s and 'good night's like clockwork, a working system that keeps on going. It's sending him the ugliest pictures of your face, only for him to react with the heart eyes emoji, causing you to wonder how on earth he could even like you looking like that. Then again, he's seen you at your worst behaviour and has begun to get accustomed to your habits. It's using excuses to go on a date with him, so that you can pretend for a few hours to be a normal person on a date with their boyfriend, not this being who is bound by familial duties and house rules.

It's pondering on the time differences during your travels and counting the hours until you have WiFi and can feel connected with him again. It's keeping the snap streak alive by sending selfies of bed-ridden hair juxtaposed with half done makeup, or him sending his face complete with puffy after food cheeks and his bottom lip slightly curled inward. His lips are so plump, you oft feel envious of them, but that soon dissolves away whenever you feel how soft and velvety they are on your skin. The way he absentmindedly grabs your hand, only to rub the back of your hand against his lips, get you as giddy as a teen around her first crush. The way he rests his hand on your thigh, halfway encircling it, makes you feel at ease and a sense of calm washes over your. His cologne reminds you of morning dew, sugary drinks, and butterscotch, quite an intoxicating concoction.

It's getting angry at him for the smallest of mistakes, and yet not telling him he's made you feel this way. Rather, bottling it up and letting your frustration simmer away until you've had enough, so you ignore him, the only way you know to behave if you're angry at someone. It's forgiving him in an instant as soon as he apologizes, because you know you can't stay mad at him for so long, but the anger you felt gets stowed away, ready to erupt. It's working together as an excuse to be around each other more, despite the fact that you're both really stressed out from everything piling on. It's you feeling guilty about not being a good girlfriend, because you can't make time in your schedule for a date, a movie or even a cuddle session. It's the fear of your mother finding out about this too soon that keeps you from being more bold about spending time with him. It's the fear of what you'll do if you're in bed with him again, as you know each time you stay over, both of you go a bit further every time. You want to stay loyal to your faith and your beliefs, and you know giving into your flesh prison requests aligns well with that, yet you feel scared of accidentally betraying your identity if you do so.

It's feeling the weeds of doubt grow in your mind, and your anxiety saying he'll leave you soon enough. It's being tempted to leave him before he can leave you, so that you feel more in control of where your relationship is going. It's messaging him constant “I love you”s and “I appreciate you” to remind him that you care deeply for him, and also to convince yourself of the same, in order to remove those weeds. It's realising that the doubts are a mixture of the manifestations of your own insecurities and an imbalanced brain chemistry. It's convincing yourself that you are not depressed, when you know you are and it's causing you to sabotage your relationship with him. It's about this being a good thing, which may not always have good times, however that is something to work on and build together, not something which stays constant throughout the course of your relationship. Feelings change, but you must put in the effort of making sure your relationship changes with it. It's homeostasis after all, and this relationship is still infantile. You need to see a doctor about you, it's not healthy or normal to be this volatile, still pondering about death or dragging him into your own mess.

It’s about getting intimate under the covers. A sense of familiarity and comfort washes over you when you’re near his body. It’s his scent consuming your senses, drinking him in. It’s about following through all the motions leading to sex, but never actually daring to go any further south with him. It’s about controlling your desire to do more with him. To him. For him. The control is what keeps you in check about your faith. It’s about him also doing the same, not crossing your boundaries, not even an inch. Hair tugging, neck kisses, ear bites, cheek schwomps, bear hugs and so much more. You are drunk on his essence, and you would not have it any other way. It’s the morning alarm snoozes and convincing the other to get dressed. It’s the morning burritos and the morning cuddles. Wrapped up and comfortable, just enjoying the seconds tick by. It’s him wanting to spend minutes just looking at your face, as you enjoy his features too, taking in every detail of his complexion. This level of intimacy is beyond physical pleasure, and what you enjoy building your mutual affection upon. The sensual and the silly, all things you enjoy and bring a warm smile to your face.

Yet, the age old testament proves to hold true once again: All good things must come to an end. In the blink of an eye, it had ended as abruptly as it had started. A blip in the grand scheme of life but a lifetime of bittersweet memories to carry around. You shared a lot of firsts, and you’re grateful for this opportunity. However, you do need all the jealousy, agitation, contempt, disgust, rage and resent in order to overwrite all the good memories. Akin to taping over an old home movie with a twelve season tv show. The If turned into a Did and you turned into something other.

#jungkook #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts angst #bts smut

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honourquinx · 5 years

Text

𝚂𝙴𝙽𝚂𝙴𝚂 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝙾𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁 𝙾𝙳𝙳𝙻𝚈 𝚂𝙿𝙴𝙲𝙸𝙵𝙸𝙲 𝙷𝙴𝙰𝙳𝙲𝙰𝙽𝙾𝙽𝚂

tagged by: @breselin i wuv u O _ O

tagging: @enqueteurcygne / @encoffiner / @undeadbite / @quinxtm & @joroghoul / @sunebi / @helmade / @megumua-eaglearchcorp-2lotte / @folkstory ( any muse ! ) / @sanguince ( any muse ! ) / @episentre / @riteblade�� / @dansemorosity ( any muse ! ) / @eisbyl if anyone else would like this, pls steal and tag me so i can read!! P:

1. WHAT DOES YOUR MUSE SMELL LIKE?

i joke and say he smells like sweat, but he is at the gym daily and extremely physical in his job as an investigator. of course he showers, and wears deodorant and likely an expensive cologne, but i think he’s likely to smell musky if you get close to him.

also, as he paints most nights, the chemical smell of turpentine clings to his clothes. it’s something that takes a while to come out, and as he is repeatedly exposed to it, urie likely has a chemical smell about him.

2. WHAT DO YOUR MUSE’S HANDS FEEL LIKE?

unexpectedly soft ! he wears gloves most days, therefore he has no chance to callous them. i imagine he’s the type to moisturise his hands on cold days, to stop them from getting dry. it’s probably quite pleasant to hold his hand when he’s not wearing his gloves c:

3. WHAT DOES YOUR MUSE USUALLY EAT IN A DAY?

his diet is extremely strict, as he endeavours to be in peak physical condition, and eats three meals a day. when he is working on the field, he often skips a meal during the day and eats a larger meal in the evening. whilst his RC count is low enough to consume regular human food, urie opts for red, lean meats (like beef) and slow-burn carbohydrates (soba noodles, for example). typically drinks coffee throughout the day, just for the taste, and prefers loose coffee that is brewed in a cafetiere.

he is rigorous about his calorie intake, and carefully tracks it alongside his exercise. he hits his recommended daily intake daily, and then burns at least half of it off at the gym; he won’t rest until this is done.

4. DOES YOUR MUSE HAVE A GOOD SINGING VOICE?

nope! he hates to sing so he rarely does it, but you might hear an off-tune hum to himself every now and again.

5. DOES YOUR MUSE HAVE ANY BAD HABITS OR NERVOUS TICKS?

a few! he has an internal monologue which often betrays his genuine thoughts (rude, sarcastic) that never come to light. this is for the best, as he is fundamentally terrible. in addition, he has a habit of finding the most ‘powerful’ person in a room and endeavour to get on their good side. whilst he won’t belittle himself to do it, he will adapt a persona which isn’t really like his true self. very polite and respectful, all the while keeping his real thoughts as a running commentary in his head.

urie also withdraws completely from social situations without warning, will just put in his earphones and fuck off for a few hours. sometimes this is out of the house to clear his mind, or to the gym to burn off excess emotions, or to his room to paint in solitude. it’s best to just leave him to it when he’s like this, lest you experience his sour attitude.

6. WHAT DOES YOUR MUSE USUALLY LOOK LIKE, WEAR?

his grey cat-like eyes are his most notable feature because its just unusual. it’s mentioned a few times that he has ‘sanpaku’ eyes, which is a word for irises that have white of the eye underneath. its associated with ill health, or ill thoughts. also, i feel like urie has a very disciplined skin routine, so he is usually dewy and well-rested.

as for clothing, urie is usually well dressed, in a myriad of pressed suits of varying patterns (pinstripe, black or grey). he sometimes wears a white overcoat, pristine and dry-cleaned after each mission. he wears all-black on certain occasions, such as funerals.

i headcanon that his hair is close to black/dark brown than the purple shown in some official arts. he sports an undercut, clean cut, with half bangs. he will slick this back out of his face when attending important events.

7. IS YOUR MUSE AFFECTIONATE? HOW MUCH? HOW SO?

affection is something he privately craves but outwardly rejects. he dislikes being touched, and seldom allows his personal space to be invaded. he’s pretty open about his disdain towards being touched.

that said, if urie was in a relationship, i imagine touch would be an important way of expressing himself (as words don’t come easily to him). likely to be protective gestures, such as guiding his partner to the inside of the sidewalk and away from the road, or lightly putting an arm around them when they look uncomfortable.

8. WHAT POSITION DOES YOUR MUSE SLEEP IN?

curled up! it’s comforting for him and he probably cocoons himself in the sheets. when he’s having a restless night then he’ll try to sleep on his back, often staring at the ceiling until he can’t focus anymore.

9. COULD YOU HEAR YOUR MUSE IN THE HALLWAY FROM ANOTHER ROOM?

most likely ; urie believes he deserves respect so every move is with purpose. it’s not that he’d slam doors or stomp his feet, but he’d move with purpose and speak loudly to others - he wants to be heard.

#HEADCANONS.#tysm for the tag !!#this was fun #QUEUE.

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insfiringyou · 5 years

Text

Drunk sex with Suga / you try anal

Contains: Fluff. Smut. Humour. Slight angst. Fingering. Oral sex. Vaginal sex. Anal sex.

AN: Although this scenario can be enjoyed on its own, we imagine the reader here to be Jeong-sun, Suga’s girlfriend who features in our headcanon universe. For new readers, read more about our headcanon universe here. We are sure you will love it as much as we do. This takes place around 5 months into their relationship, after he has told her he loves her but before the events of Boat Party.

To read each member & their girlfriend’s headcanon universe fics in order, follow the links here: RM / Jin / Suga / J-Hope / Jimin / V / Jungkook & Our full masterlist can be found here

Rated content below cut

You giggled and clutched onto the dark, mossy green fabric of his sweater sleeve as you righted yourself and closed the front door of your apartment. You had both tripped over the front step, staggering and unstable from the amount of beer you had consumed at the chicken restaurant. It had been his idea to meet you after work and he had waited patiently outside the shop front as you closed up the pharmacy, locking the cash in the office safe, turning off the electricity for the night and finally closing the metal shutters. You weren’t supposed to close up by yourself but the co-worker who usually joined you on the evening shift had called in sick at the last minute and your boss was unable to find cover fast enough. You usually wouldn’t mind too much. After all, your co-workers loved to pass the time by gossiping about the latest K-drama news which you could never keep up with, but you were supposed to be meeting Yoongi back at your apartment to spend the weekend together.

You called him as soon as you realised you wouldn’t be finishing on time after all; the close up was a two person job and it would take you much longer by yourself. You were surprised to find him waiting outside for you when you finally locked up the store front.

“It’s late.” He explained as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him into an embrace. “The busses stop in twenty minutes...” He didn’t have to explain that he had been worried about you walking home by yourself so late at night. You gently kissed him on the lips and when you pulled away, he asked whether you had eaten. You had quickly nipped home first to get changed out of your uniform, instead opting for a pair of well-fitting navy jeans and a fairly new low-cut top. He had watched you get changed from the corner of your bedroom, his eyes roaming a little over your curves but remaining silent.

Now, safely in the familiar comfort of your cramped and slightly messy apartment, your stomach full of chicken and beer, you turned to him.

“Put the leftovers in the fridge.” You gestured towards the small kitchenette by the edge of the living room. He had been heading there anyway, clutching a white plastic bag in his hand.

He flashed you a wide grin, his pink gums partially exposed above his full upper lip. “You won’t want them tomorrow...”

You shook your head although you suspected, through the foggy haze of your drunkenness, that he was probably right. The restaurant, just around the corner from your small, one bedroom apartment, had been very cheap and you had overestimated your appetite after your long evening shift. The waiter, a young, ache-scarred man barely out of his teens, had regarded you with a confused frown when you had asked if you could take the remainder of your dinner home as leftovers. Yoongi had watched this exchange with a grin, leaning his elbow on the table and resting his chin against his closed fist. As you left the restaurant, he had insisted that you wear his leather jacket for the short walk home; the weather seemed to have dropped at least ten degrees since you had set off.

“It’s wasteful...” You now explained as you joined Yoongi in your small kitchen and tugged gently on the hem of his sweater. You had seen him wear it on several occasions before, usually around his apartment when he was working on his songs, but today, despite its casualness, you were finding it incredibly, frustratingly sexy. You pulled him a little more playfully as he bent down over the small fridge and opened the door. Leaning over his shoulder, you regarding the contents of the box; a few eggs, a sliver of streaky bacon, some mouldy salad in the bottom compartment. He reached inside and started to place the carrier bag on the empty top shelf as you hovered behind him. Instead of leaving the bag there, however, he quickly straightened up and retracted his hand, closing the fridge door and dropping the carrier into the garbage bin beside it. Your mouth opened in shock.

“No! Why did you do that?” You gasped, horrified. It was probably the drink.

He flashed you another shit-eating gummy grin, incredibly proud of himself. You thought it incredibly obvious that he was feeling more than a little tipsy himself. Although you didn't get drunk often together, when you did you always found him to be good-humoured, silly and a little more affectionate.

“There are children starving Yoongi!” You found yourself grasping hold of his green sweater, subconsciously pulling him towards you despite your displeasure at his seemingly selfish actions.

“You wouldn’t have eaten them.” Yoongi explained with a small, breathy laugh. “Even the waiter at the restaurant was confused...”

You opened your mouth and quickly closed it, knowing he was right. “That’s not the point...” You tried to argue.

“It looked like shit...”

You scoffed. “You look like shit!”

His grin remained as you edged him closer by the hem of his sweater. His crotch pressed against your stomach. “Break up with me then.” You could feel his warm breath against your face as he looked down at you, his attractive smile remaining. His hands sneaked around to the roundness of your bottom, squeezing you through your skinny jeans. You looked down to find that your own hands were still clutching at wool.

“Where did you even get this thing?” You asked, your voice softening.

He followed your gaze. “Online. It was 23,000 won with postage.”

You smirked and mocked. “Aren’t you fancy?” Roaming your hands under his sweater, you brushed the soft swell of his stomach while his own hands moved over your arse slowly, kneading the flesh there gently. He looked down at you with deep brown eyes, his face now centimetres from your own. His smile had gon and you felt your heart thudding in your chest, your stomach fluttering with butterflies.

“Do you want me to get one for you?” He asked.

“No.” You shook your head, your voice full of mock disgust. You moved forward and opened your mouth against his, standing on your tip-toes to press closer. He returned the kiss passionately, pressing his tongue into your mouth and grasping the back of your head with one palm, pulling you into him. You were both a little clumsy in your drunkenness and mutually allowed the kiss to become a little messy and discordant. When you pulled away from him your mouth was wet and you could see that his own lips, flushed red, also glistened with your saliva.

You sighed dramatically wrapping your arms tightly around his neck. “You’re such a cunt.” You grumbled.

“You’re a cunt.” He contended, his purr voice low against your lips.

“Why did you do that?” You asked, sulking, suddenly aware you sounded like an annoying child but unable to break your trail of thought.

He let out a breathy laugh. “You’re still mad about that?” His hands ran under the leather jacket and brushed your covered back, skimming his long fingers along your hips and rib cage. Your body felt hot and tingly and you could tell your cheeks would be flushed red.

You rolled your eyes. “It’s the principle..” You leaned forward and kissed him again, capturing his lips between yours. The sound echoed around the room as he pecked you back.

Pulling his mouth from you he grinned. “Do you want me to fish it out for you?” He kissed you again, his soft, wet lips massaging yours. “I could serve it to you for breakfast tomorrow along with those out-of-date eggs on the bottom shelf I saw...” His voice was so comforting against you, his breath warm and pleasant against your mouth and nose and cheeks.

You playfully slapped his arm. “Fuck off...”

“I love you.” His voice was low and sincere, despite his grin.

“Are you sure?” You teased, meeting his gaze across the small space. You could feel his entire body pressed against you; your breasts felt sensitive and delightful against his chest.

His hands stopped their roaming and he held you still against him, his fingers splayed across your hips. When his mouth returned to yours he was incredibly tender and you could feel the emotion in his lips.

You naturally moved together across the small living room and towards the narrow hallway which led to the single bedroom, your bodies only breaking apart to dodge the array of objects which littered the carpet and presented a tripping hazard; your ironing board, a half-filled basket of laundry, the television remote control on the floor. Your bed was likewise a mess and, as you moved apart to your respective sides of the bed, you both leaned forward in unison to clear the duvet. He was much more careful than you; placing your pot of moisturiser, hairbrush and Stephen King paperback on your bedside table. In contrast, you swiped through the jumble of items messily and knocked them deliberately and hastily onto the floor. There was a small clatter as something heavy hit the carpet.

“What was that?” He asked, straightening up to look at you across the double bed.

“Just my hair straighteners...” You shrugged before crawling onto the sheets. He followed from his side, balancing on his knees as he moved towards you. Reaching down beneath your covered knees, you roughly tugged the paisley patterned covers in an attempt to find the edge of the duvet. You gave up after a moment, instead opting to lay on your back on top of the quilt. Yoongi joined you and reached out for the sleeve of your jacket, running his hand along the black leather before curling his hand around the curve of your upper arm.

“It looks good on you.” He complimented.

You flipped your head dramatically to look at his soft expression beneath his ruffled black hair, your eyes flickering from his pale, creamy skin to his covered chest. You smirked, finding yourself in your tipsiness unable to stop coming back around to the topic of his sweater. “Who wears leather and wool?”

He reached forward and eased the jacket from your shoulders. You allowed him to slip the sleeves down your arms and pull the fabric from your body but as he moved to discard the jacket on the bedroom floor, you found yourself clutching at it, suddenly worried that he was going to tell you he wanted it back for good. It was just the alcohol, but the thought made you panic.

“No...no...” You called out. He let go of the jacket and allowed you to take it back, watching as you pressed it against your body as though you were cradling a newborn baby. You were silent for a few moments before you reached into one of the oversized pockets and brought out a packet of cigarettes and a disposable lighter Yoongi must have forgotten had been in there. You had not seen him smoke in over a month but knew his habit was sporadic and he could just as likely start again tomorrow. You allowed the black jacket to drop to the bedroom floor, your interest in the item forgotten now that your attention was fully fixed on the half-full packet of twenty. Yoongi watched you curiously from his side of the bed, resting on his side.

You flipped open the packet and placed a cigarette between your lips, letting the cardboard box drop to the covers as you flopped back onto your back and focused your attention on the purple lighter in your hand. You flicked your fingers against the small metal wheel a few times to create a spark.

“What are you doing?” Yoongi asked, leaning over you and reaching for the cigarette. He took it and flipped it around before placing it back between your open, pouting lips. You realised, belatedly, that you had put the wrong end in your mouth and had been about to set alight to the filter. You were an inexperienced smoker, having only tried on a handful of occasions during your university years, but had been suddenly overcome with the desire to get a reaction from him. You reached up and lit the correct end, watching as a pillar of blue-grey smoke drifted towards the chipped white paint on the ceiling.

Yoongi’s eyes remained fixed on you. “Don’t you have smoke alarms?” He asked.

“Disabled.” You felt an intoxicating rush with each inhale, the smoke hitting your lungs harshly and causing you to feel a little dizzy.

He leaned over your body and caressed your lips with his fingertips before removing the cigarette. You had neglected to flick the ash from the end of the stick and a couple of inches protruded from the white paper. Yoongi, cupping the cigarette between his thumb and index finger, took a drag before tapping it a couple of times against a ceramic dish on your bedside table. He moved back to his side of the bed as you watched him inhale and exhale a couple of times expertly, the nicotine hit clearly not having the same effect on him as it had on you.

“You’re such a shit...” You called from the pillow. He glanced down at you, the cigarette pressed to his lips. “You make it look sexy.” You explained.

He smirked, taking another drag. “You went in my pocket...” He shrugged.

“You gave me your jacket.” You argued.

He grinned. “It looks good on you.” He repeated, leaning forward and pressing the half-finished cigarette back to your lips. You reached up with your right hand and took it between your middle and forefinger, taking another drag. “It compliments your breasts...” He continued, his dark eyes briefly flashing towards your visible cleavage.

Smirking, you grasped your right breast a little roughly with your spare hand. “I was thinking of getting them reduced.” You teased, slightly annoyed that smoking one of his cigarettes had not had the kind of reaction that you craved from him. You felt your desire from earlier returning. “Nothing fits me anymore...” Your voice slurred a little, despite your arousal, the effects of the beer and nicotine were causing you to become factious and a little quarrelsome.

“Are you serious?” He asked. You heard a stab of concern in his voice and smiled softly, suddenly losing interest in making him agitated and instead wanting nothing more than to feel his hands on your body.

“No...”

He let out a breathy sigh of relief. “Thank fuck. They’re perfect.” He smiled as he reached over to your hand, now laying at your side, and picked the quickly forgotten cigarette from between your fingers. You had smoked it down to the filter. He reached back over you and stubbed the end out in the little ceramic pot before settling back down beside you and moving his hand to your thigh, rubbing gently along the denim of your jeans. You shifted onto your side and faced away from him, reaching for the metal button of your jeans and quickly unclasping them, tugging down the waistband to reveal your black panties. You had opted to wear a G-string when you had gotten changed earlier; enjoying the feeling of Yoongi’s eyes on your bare arse as you slipped down the comfy pair you had worn for work. Now, you finally felt his hands against your skin as he massaged your bottom with his bony fingers, kneading the soft flesh leisurely as you let out a soft moan.

“Are you horny?” You asked, not bothering to turn around and read his expression.

“I wouldn’t say no.” He replied. You could hear a trance of humour in his voice and smiled.

“I am...” You sighed.

“I can tell.”

“I don’t hate your sweater.” You admitted, feeling as though you were revealing an important secret. Your body still buzzed pleasantly with the effects of the beer.

“I know.” His voice sounded a little more serious than you expected and you felt your chest ache.

“I love you.” You no longer wanted to tease him, just feel him pressed against you and inside of you.

“I love you more.” He said.

You reached backwards, reaching for him, wanting to hold him. Your hand brushed his bulge. “I love your cock...” You said candidly, your thoughts immediately distracted by the feel of his crotch beneath your hand.

He let out a breathy laugh as you rubbed him through his jeans. “You’re drunk...”

“I know.” You gave him a little squeeze. “But I do.” You plucked up the strength and effort to roll your body to face him and unbutton his jeans. He allowed you to slip him out of his white underwear and watched on, a little amused, as you took him in your mouth. He wasn’t quite fully hard but you moved along him regardless, sucking his length a few times before moving away and flopping back down onto your side, your attention span floundering with your intoxication. You felt tired.

After a few moments of patient silence, you felt Yoongi loop his arms loosely around your torso as he nestled himself against you. You allowed him to hold you for a few minutes in silence, clutching his hand in yours and enjoying the soft feeling of his green sweater against your skin. The wool smelt soft and powdery, of the washing powder he used mixed with the spicy-woody scent of his aftershave. Beneath that, there was the lingering but not entirely unpleasant scent of beer and cigarette smoke which drifted from his warm breath on your shoulder. Felling the softness of his lips as he kissed your bare shoulder, your craving to have him closer to you returned and you moved his hand upwards, encouraging him to caress your breast through the thin fabric of your top. He complied silently, squeezing his palm gently around your flesh and massaging you in small, circular motions.

“Do you want to fuck me?” You whispered, breathy.

“I just want to be close to you.” He purred against your ear, pressing himself closer to your back as though to prove his point. His hand continued stroking your right breast and you moaned as you felt the hard nub of your nipple connect with the centre of his palm.

“How close?” You asked, a new craving occurring to you.

“What did you have in mind?” His voice is open, inquisitive and you couldn’t help but feel grateful for his amiability in that moment. You had never brought up the topic with anyone else and, in honesty, had never truly given it much thought, but the sudden urge to try it out was overwhelming. You reached behind you and confidently slipped your thong down to your knees to join your jeans.

“I haven’t tried anal before. Have you?” You asked.

“No.” You couldn’t read anything into the tone of his voice.

“Do you want to try?”

There was a pause and you suddenly felt your alcohol-fuelled confidence dwindle. After a moment his voice called out. “It’s dim...” You frowned, confused, as he reached over your body and flicked the switch on the bedside lamp. You realised that he meant the single energy saving bulb hanging from the ceiling did not cast enough light in the room to properly see what you were doing. You had meant to change it for the last few weeks. He looked down at you, hovering on his hands before kissing you passionately. You found yourself sinking into him easily, feeling your chest ache with your simple and uncomplicated love for him in that moment. You knew, in the back of your mind, that the feeling would not last long; that when the weekend was over he would be travelling again and have to leave you for days, weeks or even months. You tried to ignore this nagging, stupid feeling and allowed yourself to be consumed by his taste, his soft caressing lips and warm breath as he held you close. You seemed to lose track of the time as he cradled you, his arm supporting the back of your neck, and when he finally pulled away you found that you had half-forgotten the question you asked him in the first place.

“Do you have lube?” He asked in a low voice, the question bringing your thoughts back on track. He lowered you back onto the sheets and you settled back in your previous position, facing away from him.

“No...”

He huddled against you and, after a moment, pressed his fingers to your cunt, slowly sinking his fore and middle finger into you up to the knuckle. You gasped as he filled you out, slicking his digits with your juices. You could feel yourself growing wetter as he casually fingered you, coating himself with you and listening to your moans with parted lips. He pulled out and trailed his fingertips upwards, rubbing the pucker of your other hole a little with his moist digits. Your breath hitched audibly at the new sensation. It was exciting if not entirely pleasant.

“Is this okay?” He asked quietly, caressing you a few more times.

“Yes...” You gasped, wondering whether he would be able to succeed. It suddenly didn’t feel as important that he did. You were beginning to feel a little tired again.

He removed his fingers from you and grasped himself tightly, tumescent but not quite rock-hard. He nestled himself between your folds before sinking into your cunt languidly, dipping in and out of you with soft, nonchalant motions, lubricating his cock unhurriedly. Eventually, he slipped out of you and pressed upwards. You gasped as you felt the very tip of his cock penetrate and push into you. He held you still, his spare hand grasping your bare arm as he pushed forward with his hips. You anticipated pain or pleasure or something more substantial than the vague sensation you were currently experiencing, but it soon became apparent that he could not immerse himself any further.

“I don’t think...” His voice said, low, from behind you.

“You’re not close enough.” You argued softly, adjusting your hips as he parted your legs further in response, pushing one in front of the other before moving back in. He tucked you against him, moving his hand to your waist and you let out a moan, not in response to the sensation between your legs but at how close his upper body was to you.

His breath was warm against your neck as he sighed. “I don’t want to hurt you...” You remained silent as he persevered for another minute, holding himself against you. Eventually you felt him pull away. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I can.”

You rolled over on to your back slowly, wanting to see his face and finally feeling more sober. You met his gaze. He looked apologetic and you reached out for his hand.

“I’m sorry I don’t take it up the arse everyday.” You joked drily, brushing your thumb over his bony knuckles. His face cracked up in a grin and he laughed. You smiled in reply, letting him know that you weren’t disappointed. It had been a drunken suggestion and nothing more. You didn’t know whether you would ever feel the need to try it again, but the moment, at least for now, had passed.

He brushed his palm over your stomach, running it under the thin fabric of your shirt and you left your jeans and underwear where they were, seeing that he was no longer hard. You felt your eyelids growing droopy and heavy and rolled back over onto your side to mimic your usual sleeping position. You felt him press against your back once more, nestling his thigh between your parted legs.

“Is this close enough?” He purred, kissing the edge of your ear.

“Yes.” You closed your eyes, not bothering to turn off either of the lights. “You shouldn’t have thrown away the leftovers...” You mumbled, feeling yourself starting to drift.

His lips moved down to your shoulder and he pressed his mouth to you. “I’m sorry.” He said, sounding tired himself.

Sleep had started to take you but you mustered up the last of your energy, feeling it was very important that he knew. “I love you.” You murmured against the duvet. “I wish there was a better word to explain it...”

“I know.” His low voice vibrated through your body. “I feel the same.”

You smiled, a little sadly, not that he could see. “Turn off the lamp.” You said. “I’m trying to save electricity...”

Just before sleep finally consumed you, the warm red glow behind your eyelids faded. You felt the weight of him move off the bed as he walked across the room to switch off the main bulb. Everything turned black before you heard the rustle of him behind you as he crawled back into bed. His lips returned to the back of your neck and you felt the warmth of his breath on your skin, eventually slowing down as you both slid into darkness. Your last waking thought was that you loved him with all your heart and that you hoped it would be enough.

***

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havenoffandoms · 6 years

Text

Christmas Morning at the Winchester’s

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5462849

Pairing: Destiel

Warning: tooth-rotting fluff, angel children, christmas feels, mature content

Summary: Dean and Sam Winchester never got to celebrate a proper Christmas. Their Christmases consisted mostly of junk food, stolen presents from nearby houses and worrying over their father not returning from his hunt in time and wondering if they would see him again or not. In fact, Dean had very few happy memories involving Christmas, exception made of that one year he got this necklace from Sam. For the rest… Christmas had never meant anything to him.

Dean and Sam Winchester never got to celebrate a proper Christmas. Their Christmases consisted mostly of junk food, stolen presents from nearby houses and worrying over their father not returning from his hunt in time and wondering if they would see him again or not. In fact, Dean had very few happy memories involving Christmas, exception made of that one year he got this necklace from Sam. For the rest… Christmas had never meant anything to him.

That was, of course, until he had decided to marry an Angel of the Lord and have children with that said angel. Dean smiled at the memory of how his little family had forced him to buy a Christmas tree, hang up Christmas stockings with the names of the family members sowed in green on the fluffy white collars and, of course, take part in the famous Christmas dinner preparation. However, Dean had decided that since he was being forced to celebrate Christmas, he would take care of dinner and it would not be their traditional Christmas turkey he was going to cook.

Dean and Sam had decided to make their famous Winchester burgers they used to make when they were kids. Basically a calorie bomb that would have your heart stop in an instant if you were cholesterol intolerant, but what was Christmas for if not to have fun? Their Winchester burgers consisted of 12 ounces of beef, 200g of pulled pork, 6 rashes of bacon with they didn’t exactly know how much cheese to top it. Knowing that these burgers would probably make the children feel sick for the rest of the week, Sam and Dean had decided to make regular cheese burgers for the little ones. They would get to try the Winchester burgers once their heart had grown stronger. Castiel would be more difficult to convince, although Dean knew how much his angel’s vessel loved red meat (because Cas would never admit that his love for red meat had nothing to do with Jimmy’s likes).

John Tristan Winchester and Alexander Gabriel Winchester were the sons of Dean and Cas. While Dean had mentioned the idea of a surrogate mother or adoption once he, Sammy and Castiel had decided to retire from hunting, his angel had been more than shocked at the prospect of their future child to pop out of another woman’s body. The idea of sperm donation was also completely foreign to the poor celestial being. But Dean had never imagined that having a baby with his angel could be possible: he had been wrong. He had underestimated Castiel again. Their sons had been born out of Castiel’s grace, linking their boys with the angel for the first 18 years of their lives. Once they reached adulthood, the bond would break and John and Alex would be able to freely use their wings. As long as they were linked to Castiel, they wouldn't be able to use either their powers, or their wings without their father’s permission. To be completely honest with himself, Dean was glad that his sons’ powers were restricted for now. At least, he wouldn't have to worry about them revealing their true identities in public.

A small smile graced Dean’s lips when he thought of his little family. Soon, he would have to get up and start working with Sam on the Winchester and cheese burgers for lunch, but right before that, his children would want to open their presents, which would end in a cacophony of screeches, happy squeals and childish roars of happiness. However, Dean wanted to spend some quality time with his husband first. He glanced at the digital clock next on his bedside table: 6:15. Soon, their children would wake up, their stomachs churned up in anticipation. But Dean believed they still had a good half an hour before them. Slowly, he turned around and looked at his sleeping angel. He looked so innocent and vulnerable in his sleep, but Dean knew that his angel was the fiercest of warriors and could snap a grown man’s neck in a flick of his slender wrist. But Dean enjoyed this picture for a few more moments, wondering what he had done to deserve such a beautiful family.

“You have deserved this life, Dean, you have served my Father well and have saved the world a few times, I think you can take credit for all of those accomplishments” Dean felt his heart leap in his chest when he heard his husband’s deep voice. Sometimes he forgot that Castiel was only in a state of deep meditation whenever Dean believed him to be asleep.

“How many times have you read my thoughts when I believed you to be asleep Cas?” His husband’s smile never failed to make Dean’s heart beat faster in his chest. Castiel’s smile was the most beautiful thing Dean had ever witnessed and it never failed to make him feel all warm inside. When the smile grew wider into a grin, Dean knew that his angel was still inside his head.

“Cas…”

“You do have really interesting thoughts my beloved. I rejoice in hearing you talk in such manner about me.” Dean smiled again and kissed his angel softly, trying not to think too loudly about how he found Castiel’s old fashioned way of phrasing deeply arousing. The chaste kiss progressively turned more passionate, needier even wilder. Their skin touched, their fingers interlaced and their tongues explored the so familiar terrains of the other’s mouth. Dean’s lips found Cas’ neck and started suckling at the tender skin right over the angel’s Adam apple. Dean felt his cock twitch at the sound Cas made when his husband’s lips brushed over his tender skin. Dear Lord, how could one man hold so much power over him?

“I am not a man, Dean. I am an angel”, Castiel said huskily, chuckling softly when his human smacked his naked ass with the palm of his hand.

“Remember the pizza man, angel?”

“Like hell I do”, Castiel answered, his tongue moisturising his lips sexily. Dean captured his angel’s lips once again and started massaging Cas’ bulge through the sheets. Luckily, you might say, as the weight of Dean’s body quickly shifted to the other end of the bed when his sensitive ears caught the sounds of their children’s little stomping feet running towards their bedroom. Castiel groaned in frustration and with a snapping of his fingers, his boner was gone. Damn this angel.

“I was about to favour you with the same treatment, beloved, but considering your thoughts I may find you to be too disrespectful to grant you such relief?” Dean’s puppy eyes rivalled Sam’s at the moment, which most of the time didn't have any effect whatsoever on his husband, but considering the urgency of the situation, Cas forgave Dean quickly and made his boner disappear as well. Both men had enough time to put on boxers before their bedroom door slowly creaked open wide enough for two small bodies to enter the bedroom. Dean smiled as he saw his elder son help Alex onto the bed. The smallest child immediately hid in the safe warmth of Castiel’s embrace.

“Good morning John, Alexander”, his husband’s rich voice greeted their children with such fondness and love in his tone it made Dean’s heart swell with pride for his little family. John quickly placed a wet kiss on each of his fathers’ cheeks, before settling down and huddling closely to Dean’s powerful chest. Alex was almost completely buried underneath the thick duvet covering the couple’s bed. Cas’ hand gently stroked his youngest son’s soft hair. Dean swore he saw his husband fondling at some invisible wings and it made the older hunter smile softly.

“Time for a thorough grooming of your wings, my children. John, yours look particularly dreadful, where have you been spending your time lately?”

“At the park, dada. They often get dirty when I play in the sand… and I can’t reach them in the shower, they’re too far up my back”

Dean and Cas often had disputes concerning their children playing outside like normal children. John being six and Alex four, they deserved to live normal childhoods, however Castiel believed that their status as hybrids still differentiated them from other children. Dean didn’t want his children to grow up thinking that they were freaks from another planet. He had to go through the same feelings, he didn’t want his children to feel that way. Ever, half angel or not!

“Yeah well we’ve talked about that, next time you call me and I’ll help you wash your wings”

“Meuh…” John was the kind of child who didn’t like baths. Dean would usually make this moment of the day a particularly fun one by filling the bathtub with bubbles and letting his boys play with their toys in the water. Alex would spend the rest of his life in a bathtub if he could.

“And you, Alexander, what is your excuse young man?” Deep blue eyes looked at the angel with a look that would make any parent’s heart melt (including Dean’s), but Castiel’s expression remained stoic. Alexander’s lower lip quivered slightly as he looked at his father with innocent puppy eyes.

“I also like to play in the sand with John and Anthony…” Anthony had been Alex’ best friend since he had started kindergarten a few weeks ago. Ever since the first moment the two boys had laid eyes on each other, they had been inseparable. Dean couldn’t be any happier for his boy, especially since Anthony’s mother insisted that Alex spent as much time as he could with his new found friend and the Jefferson’s house. That left enough time for Dean and Castiel to spend alone together whenever John had to attend the choir or his swimming classes.

“Well next time you’ll mind your wings a little bit better, children. They define you as individual angels and it leaves a very bad impression to appear in heaven with unkempt wings…” Dean raised his eyes to the ceiling, making sure that Castiel saw his slight exasperation. The angel winked at him, something so uncharacteristic for Castiel, and gave him that small secret smile. Their sons merely nodded their approval and went back to their cuddling.

The quiet family moment was interrupted by a very excited John who couldn’t hold himself back after ten minutes and began asking his parents if they could go open their presents now. Dean teased his eldest by saying that he’d only get to open his presents once his Uncle Sammy was awake. At this, both the children bolted off to Sam’s bedroom noisily, leaving a proud Dean behind on the bed, his grin showing pearly white teeth. Castiel shook his head in barely hidden amusement.

“Poor Sammy”, was all he whispered under his breath before placing a soft kiss onto Dean’s lips.

“Yeah, well he deserved it… certainly”

Dean got out of bed with a small smile on his lips, his own excitement beginning to show as he sleepily put on sweat pants and a simple shirt. “I’m gonna start a fire, a’right?” But when Dean turned around to face his husband, he found him already gone, certainly already downstairs preparing breakfast for the garrison that was about to bolt down the stairs. Dean quickly joined his husband in the kitchen after starting a fire. Sam was sitting at the table already, holding two small, overly excited kids in his strong arms all the while pretending to be busy eating Alex’ ear. The youngest child squealed happily and managed to push his uncle away (not without Sam helping him, of course, but who was Dean to spoil the moment).

The little family happily breakfasted on eggs, bacon and pancakes (topped with what looked like litres of maple syrup). Castiel, who rarely ate anything at all, helped himself to some bacon and eggs, but Dean that he didn’t really enjoy it and only did it to honour the family tradition of eating together before opening the presents. The children were already excitedly discussing what Santa Claus might have brought them and were being taunted by their uncle who kept telling them that Santa had forgotten them. Dean, meanwhile, stuffed himself with pancakes and always sent a syrupy smile whenever their eyes met. His angel never failed to smile back softly.

Despite the children’s excitement, they all ate their breakfast slowly, as if it were an unspoken rule not to rush this moment of togetherness. But once all had finished their breakfast, John and Alexander bolted from their chairs as if chased by the devil himself and Dean could hear them fight over who would get the biggest presents. He also noticed the fond smile on Cas’ lips as he watched their children bicker softly. It struck Dean that Cas’ childhood (if you could really speak of a childhood when angels were involved) might not have included any kind of brotherly bonding moments. In a spontaneous moment of public display of affection, Dean wrapped his fingers around Castiel’s wrist.

“Alright kiddos, calm down. Let’s pile up those presents”, Sam said as he began rummaging through the colourfully packed presents under their Christmas tree. Alex and John sat excitedly on the floor in front of the fireplace, waiting for their uncle to pile up their presents. “Sooo, one present for Sam, and one present for Sam oh, and another present for Sam…” the giant said, teasing the children once again by pretending that all the presents meant for the boys were actually addressed to him. John forcefully uttered his disapproval, while Alexander, so alike Cas, simply stared at his uncle expectantly and waited. Dean chuckled at that reaction.

“You are lying, Uncle Sam, give us our presents… please” John added sheepishly, seeing Cas’ stern look directed towards him. Grinning like a big fool enjoying himself far too much, Sam eventually handed the children their respective presents and counted down starting from 10 to make their excitement linger a while longer. He didn’t’ manage to finish his countdown that John already began unwrapping his presents Wendigo fashion, tearing the paper apart with no mercy whatsoever and roaring in triumph when he realized what Santa had brought him for Christmas. A brand new skateboard and a whole bunch of new stuff somehow skateboard related that Dean had had many trouble convincing Cas to buy. His angelic husband would never admit that he found this ‘board on wheels’ dangerous for a child, but Dean had tried to convince the angel that every kid that age owned or wanted one. “It’s in, you know… skateboard phenomenon and all…” Dean wasn’t sure if it had been that or the prospect of his son’s happy smile that had convinced Castiel to eventually buy the board on wheels.

Meanwhile, Alexander had already begun drawing in the colour book he had wanted for Christmas (which Anthony’s mother had bought for him), ignoring the amazingly cool present Dean and Cas had got him, namely the talking robot he had been ranting about for ages, as well as Sam’s present, a collection of the brother Grimm’s tales (God Sam would turn Alex into a nerd, Dean knew it).

“Alex, Santa brought you the robot you saw at the toy store, see?”

“I know… I’ll play with him afterwards…”, he said, furrowing his brow in concentration as he tried not to cross the line with the thick pencil (not managing to completely avoid this, though, but Dean still thought it was cute). After the kids had opened their presents, it was now officially the adults’ turns. Dean was grinning brightly while he grabbed the presents he had got his husband and brother from under the tree. Sam and Castiel had taken place on the couch next to the fireplace and were watching the children enjoy their new toys. Dean, who liked seeing people’s reactions to his presents more than receiving one himself, handed Sam his pack. The younger Winchester suspiciously took the squared package.

“Should I be scared?”

“Eh is there any reason why you should be?”, Dean asked in mock surprise. He knew that Sam always worried Dean would get him a clown again, like on Christmas three years past. It had been the shock of Sam’s life and Castiel almost killed the laughing Dean when he saw that the elder Winchester had no consideration whatsoever for his phobic brother. Smiling at the memory, Dean observed Sam slowly ripping the paper and relished in the expression on his brother’s face as he realized what Dean had got him.

“Dude… seriously? An E-reader? Wow I think that was… the best present idea you’ve had in a long while… thanks dude”, he said, smiling happily (and quite incredulously) at Dean.

“Nah, don’t mention it”

Castiel had got Sam a collection of beautiful books (yes, even Dean had to admit that they did look expensive and valuable) on Greek mythology (geeks got to be geeks together, Dean muttered under his breath). Again, the expression on Sam’s face was absolutely heart-warming. Sam had bought the couple three nights in a nice hotel not far away from where they lived, as well as his babysitting services for those nights, which of course was just what the couple needed at the moment, especially since they hadn’t managed to finish what they had started this morning. Dean winked at Sam while Castiel merely nodded in thanks.

Eventually, the moment came that Dean had been waiting for weeks now. He was curious as to how Castiel would react to the present he had got him, especially since the present was a rather… unconventional one. This is the reason why Dean had decided that he would show his husband his first present in private, not that he didn’t want Sam to see it, but Dean had meant for it to be a special moment. Therefore Dean first gave the present he had made for Castiel, namely a selection of pictures showing Dean, Sam and the kids in the park, in the woods, in the Impala or even at home, on the couch, watching TV and drinking hot chocolate, or several pictures of the kids sleeping in their beds or having fun at the beach. In fact, since Cas was sometimes absent for a few weeks, Dean tried to keep the children entertained so that they wouldn’t feel their father’s absence too much. Hence the family pictures not all featuring Cas.

“Dean that’s… that’s beautiful…” Cas’ emotion-stricken voice made Dean smile softly.

"It's so you always remember us when you're gone"

Castiel wasn’t very emotional, but every once in a while, he would show his true feelings and reach Dean’s heart every time. A closer look at his husband told the former hunter that Castiel was shedding a single tear. Dean was glad that Sam had decided to play with Alex and his new robot at this moment, for he slowly pulled Castiel into the kitchen in order to show him the present he had initially wanted to give him.

“Dean, this album is just beautiful I… thank you so much… I realize I’m not often present for our children but I hope that it…” Dean interrupted his husband with a soft kiss to his lips. The angel, who didn’t bother hiding his wings to Dean anymore, softly wrapped them around his human and pulled him closer.

“Castiel listen… there’s something I want to show you. It was my first present for you, but I wanted it to be something special… and I didn’t want everyone to see it. You are the first… well strictly speaking the second person who sees this eh… just don’t laugh, alright?” Castiel’s confused look did not reassure Dean.

“Dean…”

“No Cas, don’t…”, he said, taking a few steps back. Castiel looked at his husband with worry written all over his face. Dean took a deep breath and eventually took off his shirt, revealing a tattoo in his right shoulder. Castiel’s eyes went big. On his husband’s shoulder was, tattooed in black ink on his tender skin, Castiel’s handprint. Castiel came closer to look at the handiwork: Enochian runes covered the inside of the palm, while Alexander and John’s names were written in calligraphic style on each side of Castiel’s hand. Tears welled up in the angel’s eyes again.

“Dean, do you know what those runes mean?”, Castiel asked. Dean smiled softly and nodded his agreement.

“Yes, angel… You are our light, our eternal guardian”

Castiel smiled when Dean said these words in his native language. He didn’t bother ask where or who Dean had learned that language… his question was lost in their kiss.

“I love you, Dean”, Castiel said in Enochian, “I love you so much. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you. You and our children are my light. I will forever cherish you.” Dean, who hadn’t understood a word, simply kissed Castiel back.

“I’ll have to ask Gabriel to translate this for me... after we've had a taste of our famous Winchester burgers”, he said, ignoring Castiel's wince, before dragging his angel to their bedroom.

#destiel #destiel children #dean winchester #castiel #supernatural #supernatural family #destiel is love #destiel is life #destiel is real #family fluff #domestic destiel #daddy!dean #daddy!cas #uncle!sam #christmas feels

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hellomissmabel · 7 years

Text

Good at worshipping

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Lance Tucker x plus size!reader

Warnings: This is Lance Tucker we’re talking about so his male member is mentioned A LOT. Also, partial nudity, sexual language and plenty of innuendo, but nothing explicitly NSFW (please do let me know if anything has to be added!). The word “a**hole” is also featured A LOT. So proceed with caution!

Word count: 3.364

Summary: Lance Tucker is fresh out of winning a gold medal at the Olympics in Toronto and wants to celebrate his victory with a tattoo on a very special place. Y/N draws tattoo designs for Body Cult, a new tattoo shop in Toronto, and immediately catches Lance’s eye. But will she be just as enamored with the athlete as he is with her, a plus size girl?

A/N: I’ve posted a masterlist with all upcoming plus size!reader fics. I keep getting new ideas, so this masterlist will be updated as the ideas come and go. There will always be an announcement post. If you want on the tag list, please comment on the announcement post of send me an ask!

This one I wrote for myself. I got a taste of what it’s like to have a Lance anon before the asks stopped. And what can I say? I’m a sucker for Lance Tucker. Hoping to get another Lance anon for my birthday, though.

All plus size fics can be found here

It’s a relatively new establishment, embedded between a vegetarian lunch parlour on its right and a vintage clothing store on the left. The façade stands out with its white accents over the original stone background, the words “Body Cult” handwritten on the windows in swirly silver paint. Inside the establishment, the tattoo artist is busy working on a young, curvy woman. I’m smitten even before I realise I’ve been staring for a bit too long to be appropriate. But Lance Tucker doesn’t care about appropriate, that woman’s curves are a fucking sin. Emphasis on fucking.

Completely relaxed she is perched on the seat, not a sign of pain distorting her elegant features. Her shirt covers her bare chest as the tattoo artist finishes up on the refined flower design on her ribcage, alongside the curve of her breast. Her baby blue bra is slung casually over the artist’s shoulder and they are chuckling about a joke he’s just made. I watch her intently, my eyes never leaving the contours of her full-figured body, the small rim of her matching baby blue panties peering from her low-slung jeans a feast to my greedy eyes.

“I’ll be with ya in five, pal,” the tattoo artist smiles at me as he tells her to stop laughing or he’ll mess up the design. Afterwards, he politely asks if she can lift up her shirt just a little bit so he can check the final result. Her gaze crosses mine briefly after I catch a glimpse of her breast and I feel myself getting hard as I imagine what’s underneath that shirt.

“Okay, Y/N, I think I’m done.” He clasps his hands and nods, admiring his work. “Think about what I said about colouring it in.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she replies nonchalantly, giving him a cheeky thumbs up, “Don’t worry, Frankie. I’ll make myself an appointment.”

Clicking his tongue and wetting his lips, he shakes his head at her. “I don’t have to tell you to moisturise often. You know the drill.”

She bites her lip to hold in her laughter. “Got it all under control, Frankie. This might be my first tattoo but I’m not a newbie to the trade.”

“Lemme just put a bandage on it and you’re good to go. Don’t worry about coming in tomorrow, I’m giving you the rest of the week off to heal.”

Spinning around after the artist gives her bra back, she lets the shirt glide off her chest to put it back on. My eyes are glued to her back, her skin so soft it makes me wonder if other body parts will be just as soft. As she’s changing, the guy comes up to where I’m standing behind the counter and leaning against the wall, snapping me out of my trance.

“What can I do for you, my man?,” he smiles at me and I take a better look at him. There’s ink all over his body, his left arm a tattoo sleeve dedicated to his favourite Marvel heroes, his right one is an ode to pin-up girls. He’s got half-long black hair that barely covers up the Chinese characters on his neck and hippie rings decorating each and every finger.

I’m about to speak up when she comes up next to him, resting a hand on his shoulder. “See ya, Frankie.” She pecks his cheek and chuckles as he turns red. “Say hi to your brother Archie for me.”

Turning her attention to me, she giggles softly. “Don’t let Frankie here talk you into getting a piercing, too, kay?”

Swaying her hips lusciously and with a sassy grin she leaves the shop, not even bothering to wait for my answer. Frankie coughs and repeats his initial question. “Who was that?,” I ask him instead, placing my hands on my hips as I look back at her form disappearing into the morning.

“That’s Y/N,” he smirks at me knowingly, “She’s a stunner, hm? Really sweet girl, very shy even though you wouldn’t say so. My brother Archie has been trying to hook up with her for a long time now but I think she swore off bad boys for good.”

A cocky grin tugs my lips upwards, maybe I can change her mind. “She works here?”

“Yeah, all you can see here is drawn by her hand,” he says as he points towards all the artwork and different tattoo designs on display. There are numerous drawings hanging on these walls, each and every one of them unique and absolutely breath-taking.

“She dropped out of college in New York and winded up here in Toronto. Saw her doodling at Starbucks and sat down in the same booth. We got talking and I offered her a job. She picked up art school not long after that and only got better.”

“Does she do tattoos?,” I inquire with obvious interest, my eyes crinkling in mischief. “No offense, Frankie, but if she’s really as talented as you make her out to be, then I want her to do it, not you.”

“Nah, ‘s fine,” he exhales with a laugh. “But I’m sorry to disappoint you, man. She only does check-ups and some touching up,” he answers matter-of-factly and I’m a little disappointed. It would’ve been quite the experience to have my tattoo inked on my skin by such a delicious woman, even though I’d probably bend her over the seat first to get rid of all the sexual tension.

“So tell me,” Frankie continues, taking a pen in hand, “What kind of tattoo did you have in mind?”

It’s been a couple weeks since I’ve had the tattoo done by Frankie. I’m very pleased with the result and I’ve taken good care of it so there really isn’t any need to go back to the shop for a check-up. But I just haven’t been able to get Y/N off my mind and it’s driving me to the brink of insanity. Most nights I pick up a young and flexible athlete like I’m used to, but it just doesn’t do the trick anymore. I have no trouble getting it up, on the contrary, I always get it up as soon as she crosses my mind. Even in the middle of training I have to excuse myself to take care of my boner in the men’s room.

So I called up Frankie and asked him if it’s possible to get my tattoo checked out, very much aware that this is Y/N’s job. He knows I probably won’t need any touching up but doesn’t say anything about it and just gives me an appointment. This Friday, eight p.m. and I’ll be the last customer before closing. Can’t fucking wait.

I strut into the shop at five to eight, oozing confidence as I flash her my signature toothy grin. Maybe I add a little more swagger for her benefit, anything to get her to swoon. Sitting with her legs crossed on the chair and playing around on her smartphone, she secures her glasses in her hair as soon as she hears me come in.

“Hello, sweetheart.” She purses her lips in amusement, chuckling softly. “Name’s Lance, Lance Tucker. I’ve got an appointment at eight.”

“Yeah, Frankie told me you were coming in again. You left quite the impression.” Her eyes scan me from head to toe and I laugh lightly at her words. I don’t think she knows what she’s in for and it only arouses me more. “You can take a seat. Let’s have a look and find out why Frankie is so impressed.”

“So Frankie scribbled down something that remotely resembles lower body,” she mumbles to herself as she adjusts her glasses and closes the curtain behind her. “So I assume that means your leg or thigh…”

“I don’t mind if the curtain’s open, Lance Tucker ain’t shy,” I chuckle teasingly and she blushes a little, clearing her throat.

“So if you’d like to take off your pants, that would be great,” she smiles kindly as she gets her toolkit ready.

I grin to myself as I push down my jeans and boxers next, standing with my back straight, waiting till she turns around. With a neutral expression, she faces me again. Yet as soon as her eyes venture lower and take in the sight before her, she drops whatever she’s holding, her face falling in complete shock.

“Fuck,” she mutters under her breath, her eyes widening at my cock and how it proudly strokes my stomach. “Fuck. My. Life. That’s one big…” She gulps and locks eyes with me. “Tattoo?,” she feebly adds, swallowing thickly.

Scratching the back of my head, I feign innocence. “Thanks, Y/N. If you want, you can take a closer look.”

Y/N slowly registers my offer, her eyes going back and forth between my penis and my face. “No, I’m fine here,” she whispers quietly, followed by a string of profanities. “Just feeling the urge to kill Frankie.”

After she’s processed the initial surprise, her mind levels out again and a look of disgust clouds her eyes. “You had a gold medal tattooed around your dick?,” she questions, scolding and judging me. “That’s a very stupid idea.”

“I won Olympic gold, darling,” I respond smugly to the attitude she’s giving me. “As an athlete, my body is my temple,” I gesture towards my cock but she’s determined to keep her eyes from wandering there. “And as you can see, I can do some good worshipping.”

“Uhu, right,” she puffs out in a long breath. “Wanna hear my thoughts?”

Picking up the items from the floor and putting them back on the tray, she stands back up and walks towards me. “You don’t need any touching-up. You don’t need me to check if it healed properly.” Pressing her pointer finger to my chest, she gives me a dirty look. “You came here for me, didn’t ya?”

“What if I did?,” I shoot back arrogantly, feeling the blood rush towards my cock as an immediate reaction to her proximity. “Got a problem with that?”

“I’ve heard of you before. The name didn’t really ring a bell at first, but now I know who you are, Lance ‘the fucker’ Tucker,” she huffs, raising a challenging eyebrow. “Your name is mud on the streets. Your reputation proceeds you.”

She says my name with obvious dismay, yet her eyes remain fixed on how my chest rises and falls with every laboured breath. Her words might cut through bone and marrow, but I know she knows she’s the reason for my change in breathing. I know she knows she’s the reason for my hard-on.

“Please put your clothes back on, Lance. You’re wasting your time he,” she continues coldly, averting her eyes instantly after she’s uttered those words. “Your tattoo is fine.” Y/N starts to walk away from me, ready to vanish behind the curtain. “It seems you’ve got a little situation going on downstairs.”

Before she’s out of my reach, my hand grabs her wrist as I close the distance with long, determined strides. Lance Tucker doesn’t beg. Ever. But my voice does sound slightly distressed, mildly desperate as I plead with her. "I'm sorry, Y/N. Please, we got off on the wrong foot. Let us start over.”

“I’m not some wet pussy you can use up and then put aside when another skinny bitch comes along,” she snaps at me, getting angry at my forwardness and boldness.

“Does that mean I turn you on?,” I kink a suggestive eyebrow at her. But I regret it straightaway as she pulls her hand free from my grip.

“Go. Now.” She rushes away from me before I can spot the blush that adorns her rosy cheeks. Throwing my clothes back on as fast as humanly possible, I follow right after her.

“Y/N, I’m really sorry. I’m an asshole, I know.”

Crossing her arms over her chest, she scoffs at me. “Just go, Lance,” Y/N pleads with hard eyes yet her tone softens when she sees my shoulders slump. “Find someone else to play games with. I’m not interested.”

“Y/N, I’m not playing any game with you.” I wanna argue with her and even though she’s obviously conflicted about her own feelings, she continues to put her foot down.

My voice breaks just a little as I ask her how much I owe her. Refusing to accept any money from me and waving me off, averting her eyes and body from me, I leave a twenty dollar bill in the tip jar. Yet as soon as I step outside the shop, I realise I’m an even bigger asshole if I let her slip away so easily.

Rushing back into the store with a resolute stance, Y/N’s surprise quickly shifts into a furious fit. “Look, Tucker,” she snarls my last name with harsh contempt, but I break her off before she can start shouting at me again.

“I swear I’m being real here with you, Y/N,” I promise her sincerely, taking a step closer yet she instantly takes a step back, still very wary of my intentions. “You’re all I’ve been thinking about.”

“You think it’s funny, hm?,” she throws at me, obviously seething. “You think dating a plus size girl is funny? You shower them with attention, make them feel good about themselves, tell them you love ‘em… only to crush their spirit when you run off with a size two! Yeah, I know your type.”

I manage to get closer as she spits those words at me, too caught up in her fury to notice I’m winning space. We’re almost chest to chest when she realises I’m too close for comfort, attempting to push me away hard.

“I think I made myself very clear.” Another push to my chest, but I stand my ground. “You think it’s funny, don’t you?” Y/N pushes me again but her resistance is in vain. “I know your type, Tucker.” She turns towards hitting my chest with clenched fists, looking me straight in the eye as she speaks. “Because I used to date an asshole like you back in New York.”

“Hey, hey, Y/N,” I shush her as I take her fists into the palm of my hands, holding a firm grip on them so she doesn’t resist me any longer. “I’m not gonna hurt you, I promise. I might be an asshole but I don’t lie. I’m not lying, Y/N.” This seems to calm her down a bit and I wait until she regains her composure before smiling down at her and releasing her hands.

She drops her hands to her side, eying me curiously. “You mean that? You really mean that?”

“You’re way too good for me anyway,” I assure her softly. “A goddess like you deserves to be worshipped all day long.”

“And you’re good at worshipping, right?,” she chuckles as my comment prompts a little smile from her plump lips, painted a delicate pink. Her cheeks are stained with a lovely blush and I gingerly cup her face with both hands, gently making her look back at me.

“Damn right I am. I might be bad at love but I’m good at worshipping,” I grin playfully, my thumbs smoothing over the apples of her cheeks. “Come on, baby, let me take you out, hm?”

Uncertainty is written in her Y/E/C eyes and she bites her bottom lip in thought. “What do you say, Y/N? don’t leave me hanging here, love,” I laugh nervously, her silence playing with my nerves, turning me anxious in anticipation of a ‘no’.

“Just one date and I promise I won’t let you down. Scouts honour.��

Little by little, she leans more and more into my touch. “You probably were never in the scouts but okay,” she gives in eventually, nodding softly. “I’ve already seen your dick,” Y/N chuckles as she places her hands on mine and lowers them.

I take a chance and entwine our fingers, pulling her flush against my chest. “And what about my dick, young lady?”

Standing on her tiptoes, her lips ghost over mine. She’s both teasing and testing me, making sure I’m a man of my word. I can’t wait to kiss her, but know that if I act to fast, I might lose my only shot with her. “And I don’t think you’ll disappoint me,” she grins with a cocky smile, leaving me longing after those lush lips as she steps backwards to grab her purse.

My fingertips follow the outlines of her tattoo, my featherlight touches leaving goose bumps on her skin. She had it coloured in a couple days ago and the result is breath-taking, Frankie really outdid himself this time. Y/N is still asleep, the covers barely reaching above the curvature of her plump ass and my hands slide down her spine to squeeze the soft flesh. It makes her giggle, the girly sound always like music to my ears.

“It’s so beautiful. You’re so beautiful,” I comment on my girlfriend and her tattoo, kissing the crown of her hair.

Slowly opening her eyes, she chuckles at my look of admiration. Lifting up the covers to look at my dick, she hums cheekily in appreciation. “Not too bad either.”

“Oh you little…,” I growl playfully at her as I launch myself on top of her before she even has the time to roll onto her back. Peppering her face with butterfly kisses, she squeals as my fingertips tickle her sides.

“Stop it, Lance!,” she shrieks with a high-pitched voice, squirming underneath me and begging for mercy. “Truce! Please, Lance, let’s make a deal!”

This peaks my interest and I momentarily stop my attack, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips and smirking. “A deal, hm?”

“Yes, a deal,” she confirms through strained laughter, tears falling down her flushes cheeks. “If you promise to never tickle me again, I’ll do anything you want.”

“That sounds like a win-win to me,” I smirk at Y/N, humming as I think it over. Trying to decide what would be the best approach, I roll off her and tuck Y/N into my side, her hands spread over my chest and following the hard lines of my torso. “What about matching tattoos?”

Her fingertips hesitate once I’ve uttered my proposition, stopping right below my collarbone. “Okay,” she replies as her lips find my sweet spot and she sucks tenderly on the sensitive skin.

“Okay?” I look down at the woman in my arms, her stunning full-figured body a perfect match between my sheets. “Okay,” I moan slowly as she languidly nibs at my neck. “I’ll give Frankie a call after breakfast.”

“Oh no, mister.” She bites down a little more and a strangled whimper leaves my lips against my own volition. “I wanna do your tattoo. Frankie can still do mine, but I wanna do yours. I insist.”

“Sure thing, baby,” I relent instantly, her tender touch keeping me under her thumb.

With a devilish grin, she chuckles darkly. “Can I also decide where, babe?”

My eyes fall shut as her right hand dips underneath the covers, blindly tracing my tattoo downwards. “O-of course, baby,” I gulp softly, melting like butter in her hands when she discovers my morning wood.

Laughing lightly, she removes her hand and straddles my legs. I open my eyes again to take in the perfection of her body, how her curves adorn her body in the most sensual way. Resting my hands on her hips as she runs hers through my short brown locks, I tell her I love her.

“I love you, Y/N. I love you, I love you, I love you.” I repeat it over and over again and she smiles, laughs, chuckles and snorts. “I’m an asshole, I know. But I’m your asshole. I’m your asshole, babe.”

“You’re an asshole that’s good at worshipping.”

“I’m an asshole that’s good at worshipping,” I mimic her words, stealing a kiss from her lips. “And I love you.”

“I love you, too, Lance,” she replies in an instant, not a sign of hesitation to be found when she leans down to capture my lips in a lazy kiss, her lips moving sync with mine.

Sequel: the whole package

Tagging: @avengerofyourheart @a-little-hell-to-raise @marvelingatthewonder @mrshopkirk @hardcorehippos @knittingknerdy @winterboobaer @italwaysendsinafightt @viollettes @hymnofthevalkyrie @feelmyroarrrr @justareader @austinamelio @volklana @4theluvofall @themcuhasruinedme @theoneandonlysaucymo @caplanbuckybarnes @nenyakj @amrita31199 @emilyevanston @minervaem @howlingbarnes @buchananbarnestrash @youandb @you-and-bucky @fvckingsteverogers @thatawkwardtinyperson @that-sokovian-bastard @abovethesmokestacks @marvelrevival @marvel-fanfiction @justanotherbuckydevotee @barnes-heaven @heartmade-writingbucky @buckyywiththegoodhair @captnbarnesrogers @mellifluous-melodramas @its-not-a-phase-hux @melconnor2007 @ivvitm1109 @toofuckinfabulous @ailynalonso15 @hollycornish @delicatecapnerd @camigt1999 @learisa @curlyexpat @palaiasaurus64 @fanndas-snow-goddess @crisssivonne @yourenotrogers @tomhollandzs @supernaturaldean67 @beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep @aletheladyinred @beyondbarnes @xbergiex @reniescarlett @promarvelfangirl @capbuckybuchanan @lovemarvelousfics @riskybarnes @yknott81 @rrwilson66 @pegasusdragontiger @mizzzpink @salty-holographic-stickers @sammyissassy @sebstanchrisevanchickforever19 @kudosia @bellejeunefillesansmerci @lumelgy @southernbellestatues

Tag list for all plus size stories: @suz-123 @kiwi71281 @whatisaheroanyway @ilovebeingjoyful @veronicalei @meganlane84 @thescarsweleave @isaxhorror @pleasantdreamqueen @kudosia @georgiadean37 @revlismoriarty @lostinthoughtsandfeelings @evyiione @salamander-falls @taylorjacksonandtheolympians @jughead-wuz-here @jasmineladjevardi @sonofadeanwinchester @3dsaunt @marvel-at-bucky @nothin-after-79 @sexy-sea-basss @shesmade0fcandy @breezy1415 @wtfisalltherandoms @mrs-dr-strange @disneymarina

Good at worshipping tag list: @rubynationwins @acunningstargazer @imsecretlyromanburki @kanupps06 @chameerah @marvel-trash07 @imsupernaturalbaby @littlemessyjessi @bethy-sue @jesspfly @sebbystanlover-vk @stefswonderland @luvmesumsherlock @wolverinegirl14 @toniinhere @gimmeblackwidow @myboyfriendgiriboy

@superfandomqueen @phiauniverse sorry but tumblr won’t let me tag you!

#lance tucker #lance tucker x plus size!reader #lance tucker x plus size reader #plus size reader #the bronze #sebastian stan

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sicklylittlesnowflake · 7 years

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Prompt: "I’m really feverish and I haven’t noticed you and this sneeze just won’t come out and I’m pulling the most ridiculous build up you’ve ever seen and shit now I’ve noticed you this is fucking awkward sorry" (I can imagine this with Klance and them being roommates or somthing. Lance coming home a finding Keith in miserable sneezy limbo and Lance just teasing him about it until he decides to help him out.)

(I lowkey love when posts I make come back to me omg!!! Also this is my first time ever writing voltron au!! I’ve always written canon verse!! So forgive me, and I have no time, so here’s a ficlet!Also great timing bc Keith’s vlog has me dead tbh)

Keith had a lot of pride.

He was fairly confident in his abilities, he had worked hard for them, and he was happy with the outcome. There were a few things about himself that he held dearly to his heart and was determined to not let them go, and with good reason. Some things, however, were slightly irrational.

Keith held pride for the fact that without fail he would always miss and avoid the annoying bout of sickness that seemed to plague everyone in school for the first while back. The plague skipped over Keith religiously every year. He’d missed it on his first day on his last year in middle school, he’d missed it on his freshman year of high school, and he had done so on his first day of college.

He would never admit it, but deep down he knew how ridiculous this was. It was something Keith wasn’t embarrassed to show off, and boasted about constantly whenever it came up in conversation. Shiro and Lance were very close to jamming their ears out every year, without a fail, with how much Keith prided himself in this meticulous thing.

But Karma was a bitch.

He had supposed his constant teasing of Lance since they met their first day of high school finally came back to haunt him. Keith wouldn’t admit it, but he kinda deserved it.

He went through a denial to begin with, telling himself he’d just suddenly developed some allergy, and that was why he had woken up sneezing all over the place. It had left him breathless, monstrous sneezing ripping out of his throat, echoing off the thin walls of his and Lance’s dorm room.

He was a mess. Hair all over the place, sticking up in places where it shouldn’t, horribly reddened and chapped nose and the most bloodshot eyes he’d ever had. Keith was just glad Lance had a morning class that day, and that Keith didn’t have any classes until 4:30 later that day.

Keith coughed harshly, dragging himself out of bed and staggering over to Lance’s part of the room and grabbing the box of tissues he always kept on his bedside table. He resented the fact he needed them, and he was still kind of in denial. He was not sick. Not at all.

Keith blew his nose furiously into the tissue, hating the way the tissue felt soggy and all sorts of disgusting afterwards. He loathed it, and wished the cold virus had fucked off and gone to someone else. The cold virus didn’t look too bad on Lance, but the little shit never looked bad. Keith blushed furiously as he caught himself in his thoughts. He finished his trail of thoughts with the conclusion that it was not a good look on him.

Once he finished, he felt a little lightheaded and woozy. The world spun slightly, and everything in the universe was telling him to sit still and wait for it to steady again, but he was Keith, and everything was a challenge.

Keith forced himself to stand up, but the moment he did he was hit by a tidal wave of nausea that hit him in the gut, and an astounding shot of pain induced tremors throughout his head. The intense pain caused his knees to buckle, and Keith tried to find something to hold onto but the attempt was futile, because he was tipping over and collapsing onto the floor.

“Oh for fucks sake,” Keith hissed to himself, trying to pick up his heavy and weak bones from the floor but to no avail. Keith coughed, the sound resonating from his chest as a wave of pain rang through his chest as he coughed. His chest ached horribly against the floor as he coughed.

Keith somehow managed to drag his heavy body up, only for an insistent tickling in his nose to make his breath hitch wildly. He snapped forward with a harsh, unrestrained sneeze that sprayed Lance’s bed, the force so strong he toppled over onto the bed.

“..Not sick..” He mumbled to himself, wanting to get off the bed and be productive to prove it to himself, but Lance’s bed was so soft and welcoming. His sheets were pleasantly crisp and cool, perfectly made. His pillow smelt of him, that flowery scent of his shampoo, the clean scent of his hand cream and moisturiser. So perfectly Lance that Keith was melting into it.

Keith hugged the pillow, letting its warmth engulf him into a heaven of softness. The thought of Lance made him go a deeper shade of pink, and thinking about him lifted his heavy head towards a better place filled with singing birds and swaying trees.

Then he was lulled back to sleep.

Keith woke a bit later, not quite knowing when, he’d lost his sense of time, to an annoying tickle in his nose. His chest heaved as his body began to succumb to the sneeze, breath hitching as his nostrils flared irritably. Keith tried to stubbornly scrub vigorously at his nose, still in denial of the state he was in.

But to no avail, his body was winning over him, as much as Keith hated to admit it. He managed to lift himself up with his elbows, gasping for air until he took one shaky inhale and fell into an intense sneezing fit that left him breathless.

Keith let out monstrous sneeze that sprayed across Lance’s bed, a brief, very short moment of clarity and relief coming to him before another round of intense prickling flooded his sinuses. Immediately he launched into yet another harsh and powerful sneeze that doubled him over.

Keith managed to clasp his two hands over his reddened face, feeling his nose tremble as it built up for another round of harsh sneezes. His body was racked by the new wave of sneezes, by the force of it. He kept sneezing, feeling a bit tired and couldn’t hold his hands to his face as they shook too much and went into another uncovered fit.

He felt absolutely miserable, his nose running and eyes red with irritated tears. All he could really concentrate on was the sound of his intense sneezing and the ticklish feeling in his sinuses. Everything else faded. Keith geared up for his next sneeze, but was left hanging in an awfully unsatisfying crescendo that had been building up to this very moment, the peak of the music, but it never came.

And just a little bit ago Keith would have done anything to deny his illness, but now more than anything Keith just wanted it to happen. He just needed to get this sneeze out, and he looked plain ridiculous, looking up with one side of his nose scrunches up and twitching with anticipation, his breath continuing to hitch as itchy tears threatened to fall from his irritated eyes.

“..What the fuck?” Lance gaped.

“N..n..” Keith tries to respond, but he can’t speak, too preoccupied with this tortuous sneezy limbo and the absolute shame flooding him. He doesn’t want to admit the truth, it’s deflating his pride way too much, which is so ridiculous, he knows that, but he can’t help how pathetic he feels for being sick.

“I’m uh..uh..tryi..trying to..sn..sn!!” Keith tried to make out through his hitchy, dazed voice, beginning to fan at his face desperately.

A victorious smirk crept onto Lance’s face. He crossed his arms and flashed him a grin, suddenly straightening in pride and amusement.

“So, you’re sick, huh?” Lance taunted playfully, his eyes gleaming with a mischievous light.

“No !!..im…not!” Keith protested breathily.

“Hmm,” Lance chuckles, “sure thing, Jan.”

“I just..need to..” Keith tried his best to speak, but was still overtaken by the insistent, incoming sneeze that just wouldn’t come out.

“Well well well, Keith fucking Kogane has finally caught the Fresher’s Flu. A bit late, sure, but it’s happened!” Lance exclaimed with gusto, extremely pleased with himself.

Keith could only squint as he tried to get the sneeze out of his system, nostrils flaring in a manner he believed to be horrendous and embarrassing.

“Now you’re in this sneezy limbo, like I have every single year on the first day, and now you have to suffer through it as a punishment for your relentless teasing! Karma truly is a bitch, ain’t she, Kogane?” Lance giggled, slightly bouncing from his excitement.

Lance kept rambling about his amusement, but Keith couldn’t concentrate on him as the intense tickling in his sinuses was way too much anyway. This limbo was too much, and Keith couldn’t bare one more second of it. The sneeze was right there, just at the end of the floodgates, waiting for the key to turn and unlock so it could just release.

Keith grew impatient, and he snapped.

“Lance, I’m sick! J..just shut up and help me sneeze!”

Lance grinned with victory and nodded, “Alright, sick boy!”

Lance approached Keith and tapped him on the nose, “Boop!~”

Keith finally took in a shaky inhale and when the sneeze finally came out of the floodgates, Keith had never felt more satisfied and complete in his life.

“Bless you!” Lance offered as he passed Keith a tissue to blow his nose with.

“Now, will you let me take care of you?” Lance asked gently, the softest smile framing his face.

Keith blushed hard, “W-what?”

“..I mean..you have to be sitting on my bed for a reason, Keith,” Lance stated, a little awkwardly.

Keith turned a deeper shade of red as he was hit by the sudden realisation of what he had just been doing.

“U-uh..I-I can explain–”

Lance could only smile softly, “You..don’t have to say anything. Just..let me take care of you?”

Keith had a lot of pride. It took over him sometimes, and it stopped him from doing many things, and often held him back from experiences. But somehow against all odds Keith was able to put it aside. For Lance.

He nodded shyly, as Lance climbed onto bed with him and wrapped his warm body around Keith’s shivering frame. Lance draped the blanket over the both of them, running his hands through Keith’s hair soothingly. Everything about Keith’s DNA would’ve made this moment awkward, but something felt so right. So in place.

“Are you really here, or am I dreaming..I can’t tell dreams from truth…” Lance sang softly, his lyrical tenor voice so sweet and comforting to his ears, lulling him into a peaceful rest.

Fresher’s Flu wasn’t as bad as Keith had anticipated, with Lance by his side. Lance took care of him well, so well that Keith wondered why he was so against the idea of getting sick when he had Lance to be there for him. It was almost like he had missed out.

And while Lance complained three days later when he woke up sneezing, he did not regret a thing.

#keith kogane #lance mcclain #klance #voltron #whump #voltron sickfic #sick keith #voltron college au #roommate klance #vld #vld keith #vld lance #voltron lance #voltron keith #sneezing #snz #coughing #sickfic #prompts

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whatson-northwales · 6 years

Text

Online Christmas shopping has taken off in a big way in the past decade. With the global online market at our finger tips, It’s very easy for us to forget about the gifts and crafts created locally. As the internet takes over the world, with glossy websites, next day delivery and an infinite gift options, we can often overlook local artists, creatives and vendors within an arms reach of our towns. There are many local companies in north Wales and Wales a as whole producing some beautiful welsh Christmas gifts, that have way more Calon (heart) than their Chinese equivalents! So I have put together a Welsh gift selection, that you can purchase online, and at the same time support local creators, it should cover a few bases for you. There is a balance of gifts from north Wales, and a couple of techy gifts added for our wider community! Enjoy.

Landscape photography is a style of its now. Simon Kitchin who is an award-winning landscape photographer is also an author of Photographing North Wales, has a fab book out. He has described in this book, more than 100 locations and hundreds of viewpoints for the readers to go and shoot from. In each location chapter, it starts with an overview of geological, natural history, literary, and described history. (click the image to learn more).

Ash Dykes, at the age of 23, he has became the first ever person to solo, and walk across Mongolia. It took 78 of days to cross the Altai Mountains, the Mongolian Steppe, and the Gobi Desert. In this motivational book, Ash Dykes reveals the training, planning, sheer determination, and spirit that made him successful in the record-breaking achievement. This is really an inspirational tale. (click the image to learn more).

The Welsh brewing is an expanding hotbed of imagination and responsible for making beers that is able to hold own against anything that the rest of the United Kingdom has to offer. This case comes with 12 bottles of Welsh Microbrewed Beers. This is the fantastic selection of rich beers and having the true taste of Wales. (click the image to learn more).

The Mavic pro-DJI has a compact size but powerful drone that will turn the sky in a watercolor of creativity without worry and easily. It is designed with a small size hides a high level of complexity which considers it one of DJI’s most sophisticated flying cameras. 24 high-performance cores computing, a brand new system of transmission with 7 kilo meters of range, 4 k camera and 5 vision sensors stabilized by a mechanical 3-axis gimbal which will remain at your command with just one touch. (click the image to learn more).

The Syma x5c Explorers is one of the best selling products on Amazon. And the reason is very simple, an excellent quality/price because with this drone you can get photos and videos in a simple and high quality, as well as an easy and intuitive piloting. This drone offers with solvency a positive response to the expectations that we can make of a drone of this category and price even exceeding them. (click the image to learn more).

The EOS 1300D comes with the same CMOS sensor of APS-C size as its predecessor. The most important changes with respect to the previous model are focused on connectivity since it comes with Wi-Fi and can connect to the phone through NFC. The processor, a Digic 4+, is the other novelty of this model that makes improve the number of shots in a burst, that although it remains in a modest 3 fps improves from 69 JPEG to 1110, in RAW it remains the same, in 6 RAW. (click the image to learn more).

W. Brewin & co, Hiking and outdoor socks These socks come in 3 pack which are designed to be worn with Boots. These are ideal for hiking, gardening, and walking. The pack, has one pair Grey, one pair with Black, and one pair with Blue mix socks. It is made with 44% of Wool, 42% of Acrylic, 9% of Cotton, and 5% of Polyester. They are machine washable. A good choice if you are looking for warm and durable socks for the welsh winter! (click the image to learn more).

On the winding slopes of the Brecon Beacons National Park in Wales, Penderyn whiskey is based. On these steep slopes, this unique malt whiskey made with malted barley is born. It gives a delicious fruity touch and full depth and complexity of flavors. It has a beautiful golden color and its aromas of black fruit and caramel mixed with green apples and hazelnuts make it a unique whiskey. Balance, persistence, kindness, and elegance are qualities that define a rare whiskey and appreciated throughout the world by the most demanding fans. (click the image to learn more).

The Snowdonia Cheese Company is well-known for its delicious cheddar cheeses. If you’re planning to gift a cheese box this Christmas, this could be arguably the best one to choose. It comes in rather nice gift box and is full of their different flavours. So if in doubt this Christmas give the give of local Snowdonia cheers (click the image to learn more).

This is the most brilliant and beautiful gift set for your dog. This set includes a bottle of Pawsecco which is healthy food for your dog. You will also find Pooch & Mutt including a Tube of their mini-bone healthy dog treats. Billy+Margot Popcorn, which is 100% Air Popped popcorn with seaweed seasoning. This gift set is completely Non-carbonated, Non-Alcoholic, and Grape-Free. This whole set is designed with the advice of Veterinary Expert. (click the image to learn more).

This dragon designed cufflinks are small decorative accessories which are available in Silver or Gold plated design. (click the image to learn more).

Recycled blankets, soft furnishings and super comfy rugs are all made by Tweedmill Textiles based in Flit in north Wales. This recycled rug is made out of 50% of Recycled Wool and 50% of other fibers. Approximate size of this wool rug is 120 x 150 cm. This is the great product for alfresco picnicking or Indoor use. (click the image to learn more).

13. Barti Ddu Rum – Seaweed spiced Rum

70cl bottle of Barti Ddu Seaweed Spiced Rum

A blend of Caribbean rums which gives a smooth yet spicy palate

Seasoned with laver seaweed from Pembrokeshire.

Perfect to drink long with ginger ale and a slice of lime or neat over ice.

35% ABV. (click the image to learn more).

14. Welsh Love spoon – By Carwyn Love spoons

Hand Carved Welsh Love Spoon. Two Hearts hand carved and joined together as a token of Lasting Love.

FREE ENGRAVING: Suitable for Engraving a name on each heart and a date on the bowl. Click ‘Customize Now’ to order. If you do not require engraving, simply follow the same process and insert ‘NO ENGRAVING’ in the 1st text box.

25cm / 9.75″, Carved in Lime Wood from Monmouthshire, Colour may vary slightly

An accompanying card with an explanation of the Lovespoon tradition is enclosed with each order.

Suitable for All Occasions: Weddings, Anniversary, Engagement, Valentine’s, Gift from Wales etc. (click the image to learn more).

15. Welsh slate coasters and place matts – By Pendragon

Decorative pieces

6 piece boxed set of felt backed Welsh Slate coaster

Welsh Slate Castles of Wales 6pc Coaster Set (click the image to learn more).

16. Janet Bell of Beaumaris – Janet has a wonderful colourful gallery here in north Wales, situated in Beaumaris. Her work is delightful and encompasses many of our lands hotspots which she puts her own fabulous colourful vibrant spin on.. (click the image to learn more).

17. Aberfalls coffee and Chocolate Liqueur. Here is one for the winter warmer menu infant of a open fire..(click the image to learn more)

18. Bodnant food hampers- An award winning brand that creates the most stunning hampers filled with delicious ingredients. Hop over to their store and see their range..

19. Junkbox Adventure Apparel

North Wales based adventure brand Junkbox has some really crisp and cool items. Founded and ran by Carrie who has opened up the shop ‘2nd Floor’ in Chester where she is selling her cool street style clothing and products alongside a few other independent Welsh brands. Check her website here.

20. Old Faithful Beard Oils

Perfect for the hairy man in your life! No seriously beared products are coming back in a big way, the vintage biker look sported by Misseour Beckham has taken a life of its own ..

They have a range of beard and shaving oils, moisturisers and balms are the perfect gifts for your face fuzz sporting friends. Their products can be purchased via their website.

21. Malbi welsh textiles company

MABLI is an amazing natural textiles company by designer Lisa Roberts.

We love her woolen garments in marino and alpaca for children that seems to hold a very organic and natural feel to them. They do all sorts of beautiful garments head over to their online store.

22. Jwrnal in print

Over the last year Sarah has built a brilliant community of Welsh creators with Jwrnal.

A month or two back she published their first print edition, so if you’re looking for a great read for the coffee table this Christmas, you can order a copy via their website here.

23. Great Welsh Experiences. Gaia adventures is run by friend and local climber Sam Farnsworth. Sam is a bit of a legend in this these parts, setting up the UKs first Cliff Camping hotel, where clients come to stay the night perched on the edge of a sea cliff for an afternoon or the whole night. Sam an avid climber runs courses at his “cliff hotel” throughout the year and has gift vouchers available this Christmas.. For those with a head for heights and adrenalin, its a prefect fit! See his website here

24. Gift Experiences — Zip world. The Zip world family has been very busy in the past couple of years with further additions to their brand in the form of the very cool ” Forest Centre in betws y coed. They now have a stunning array of activities of all to take part in and offer gift vouchers on their site.. A great Xmas gift!

25. Gwynedd confectionaries

Gwynedd Confectioners is the largest independent chocolate manufacturer in Wales and is one of the UK’s leading designers of chocolate products.

With an unique ability to design and manufacture innovative chocolate products, the company prides itself on providing its clients with ‘Perfection in Confection’ no matter what circumstance. check out their range of chocolates here!

26. A life sew simple

Kim is the face and designer behind A Life Sew Simple. For over the last 5 years I have worked full time designing and sewing home decorations and gifts.I spend my days working from home on the beautiful island of Anglesey in North Wales.One of my original and most popular designs has been my Isle of Anglesey cushion, which has proved popular both locally and across the world, travelling as far as Dubai and Australia. See here.

27. Aberfalls gin gift collections – A stunning little gin collection for all those G&T fans..

The spirit of north wales collection a elegant premium gift pack for our gin.

Aber Falls Gin Collection containing 5 x 70cl of Aber Falls Gins & Liqueurs

Aber Falls Violet Gin Liqueur: A gin to make you relive you favourite childhood memories. Aber Falls Violet Gin Liqueur is a smooth and refined fragrance with a light, delicate tastes, sweet violet notes and a perfumed finish.

Aber Falls Salted Toffee Gin Liqueur: A collaboration between Aber Falls and Halen Mon. Halen Mon are a sustainable producer of Anglesey Sea Salt. Coming together to produce a rich and smooth salted toffee flavour Liqueur. The palate is smooth and velvety with hints of burnt sugar, leading into a perfect balance of salt and toffee flavours on the palate.

Aber Falls Marmalade Gin: A refined balance between sweet and bitter orange flavours throughout. A strong flavour of juniper followed by a citrus hit and warming aftertaste.

28. Anglesey towns and villages book. What better way to get in the spirit of your next visit to north Wales, than with some Christmas time reads.. (click the image to learn more).

29. Miss Marple makes — Amazing Christmas decorations

My Porcelain creations are colourful,uniquely quirky and there’s usually a fox about somewhere! See here

30. Gifted Turtles UK– Welsh print poster with names on with Welsh flag. Personalised- word art gifts welsh flag, see here.

Our lovely little business started out in the corner of our lounge with an old PC and a photo printer in January 2016. We started out selling our word art prints, which were already being sold by hundreds of other people. We thought we could create better designs than the ones available, so we set to work in creating our first handful of listings. Sales were slow in the beginning, and we were only selling one or two items per day. We kept at it however, and slowly started to build momentum.

31. Sofia Illustration- Anglesey illustrated map. We saw Sofias work and fell instantly in love with it.. Go look at her work here..

32. I’m Welsh What’s Your Superpower 10oz Mug Cup. What can I say about this!? (click the image to learn more).

33. Under Armour Men’s Welsh Rugby Supporters Home Jersey. For passionate rugby fans alike! (click the image to learn more).

34. Conwy Brewery has been doing amazing things of late in the beer world.. They have a 12 bottle gift selection available on Dark ales and Real ales for Xmas online

35, Anglesey then and now book, a great read to reminisce through Anglesey by gone past to its modern day present.

36. Halen Mon, how could I forget these guys?! They are dominating the global salt market and exporting to over 30+ countries last time I checked.. Incredible success and and a very nice products which they have expanded into all sorts of niches! We love it! Here is just one of the gift sets available from their range..

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Thanks for following our blog we appreciate every single one of you! Feel free to leave us a comment, give us a thumbs up and share with your friends and family. If you have a blog topic you would like us to cover drop a mention in the comments below.

We have a lot of exciting new content coming through in the next few weeks so make sure you pop back.

Ps– If you haven’t already seen our Facebook, twitter, and Instagram come and say hi! We are very active on there.. Also subscribe to our newsletter here for upto date insights of what we get upto (plus : Get a free Top 100 things to do guide here in north Wales!). See you soon, Nick.

Front cover image by : A life sew simple

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Bit about the blogger : My names Nick Fraser and I’m a local Marine Geologist and Oceanographer. I have moved back to the island of Anglesey for the past four years having grown up here and moved away. I am a passionate outdoor lover with a penchant for all things natural. When I’m not blogging in ofter found climbing or out in the wild in and around north Wales.

Top Welsh Christmas gifts 2018 Online Christmas shopping has taken off in a big way in the past decade. With the global online market at our finger tips, It's very easy for us to forget about the gifts and crafts created locally.

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