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plush-rabbit · 3 years

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Aphrodisiac Induced Brothers + Royals

Word Count: 1K Each

A/N: Lesson 21 was not enough for me. Also let me know if I should do one for Solo and Simmy?? I don’t know if the syrup would affect angels but I could write a different aphrodisiac for them?? (also breasts is used gn!!)

It’s been a long day for him. His limbs are sore and he can feel a headache approaching as he walks into the house. His steps are met with silence, not a single sound coming from the house, the only thing that he can hear is you rummaging around in your room. He reaches the kitchen, a batch of cookies served on a silver platter, covered by a glass casing. Your name is scribbled on a sticky note and underneath it is a sticky note that reads “do not eat” but he’s hungry and tired. He debates with himself, wondering if maybe he should eat something else- surely there has to be something else in the fridge- but then again, you made these. You must have added love to it, something so sweet that he can taste your emotions.

He gives a cautious look over his shoulder, wondering if you’re standing behind him, almost wanting to have you there so you could let him have a baked good, but you aren’t there. He can hear your music, muffled by the walls and your light steps as you walk around. It’s just one cookie. Besides, you’ve forgiven him for much worse. The glass is stained with his fingerprints, the cookie bitten between his teeth and he moans in pleasure. It really does taste like love- something so sweet and heavy on his tongue that his body tingles in excitement. His tongue wets his top lip, his eyes closed for a brief moment until something settles on his tongue, a bittersweet taste replaces the initial sweetness, his tongue feels as if it were dipped in tart, his brows scrunching together for a moment.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have eaten something that you had marked as “do not eat”. Did you trick him? Play some sort of prank on the unsuspecting person who would eat your food? To be fair, you do live with demons- it would only make sense. The music stops, and you call out to him, and it’s then that he realizes that something is too familiar about this taste. His eyes widen, his hand clawing at the tabletop leaving claw marks in its wake. His pupils dilate and there’s a burning desire deep in him, leaving his chest feeling as if something heavy were resting on it. He walks to your room, arousal making his mouth salivate and heart beat against his chest as his cock begins to harden under the fabric of his pants and briefs.

Lucifer:

The prideful demon staggers to your room, paintings askew in his wake, his breaths heavy and when he’s in front of your door, his mouth is dry. Lucifer doesn’t remember knocking on your door, but you open it, and when he sees you, the scent of you rushes to him. Just by the way that he leans to you and kicks the door close, his body hunched over and hands at your side, it is evident that something is wrong. He’s much heavier than he shows, his body pushing you until you hit the bed post, and when you hiss, he presses himself against you. For a moment, he can pretend that he’s rutting against you, that your sounds are purposeful and caused by him.

He confesses that he doesn’t know what’s wrong- it takes more than a simple snack to drug someone as powerful as him, his voice slowly becoming bitter as his nails scratch against your body. You question him- a simple snack? He shakes his head in response, a cookie- yours, he admits. He wonders what you placed in it? A spell? A prank? Something so devious that it’s making him of all demons act so- so vulgar and odd. Your reply makes his blood run cold- Gold Hellfire Newt Syrup. It has no effect towards you, but it has all the effect towards him. He swallows nervously, his head resting on your shoulder and the room is still, his breath held as he listens to your heart beat. His voice is low- strained and told in a hoarse whisper that he just needs a command- any command, he doesn’t care what it is, just tell him something to rid the effect, it’s too much. Any hint of motion makes his cock rub painstakingly sweet in his pants, and all that he needs is to be told something, given an order to do anything. He’ll go away, he’ll give you his card and let you buy whatever you need, just tell him something to stop the pain.

When you call his name, he lifts his head, his face flushed and shame evident on him. Your voice is gentle, your hands cradling his head as you peck his lips. It only makes him want more, his tongue running over his lips, tasting your chapstick on his tongue. You’re careful with your words, giving soft suggestions and guiding him towards the bed, but never an actual command. You let yourself be beside him, your leg slipped between his legs, your thigh resting against his crotch. His cock is hard against you, pressed against your plump thigh as you cradle him close to you. His nose presses right above your collarbone, his lips wet as they touch your skin. His eyes are half-lidded, his mouth parted and hands fisting the back of your shirt. He can feel your shoulder blades press against his knuckles. Your hand snakes between the bodies, shimming his tie loose and unbuttoning his shirt. The cool air hits his burning skin, his body twitching further into you. He hisses at the feeling of your thigh squished between his legs, his cock rubbing against it.

Shame fuels him, burning his skin off and leaving him bare as he breathes onto you, begging for you to touch him. Sin weighs heavy on his shoulders, his mouth pressing deep kisses against your body. He can’t help the stuttering motion of his hips, the way that the fire in his stomach simmers down with every thrust. His face is hidden, your hands knitted into his hair as you twirl a graying strand around your finger- he is quite literally wrapped around your finger as he humps your leg like some sort of degenerate. He is the embodiment of pride, taking the sin as his own, and yet, here he is, humping a human’s leg while he hides his face that burns with shame. However, you aren’t just some measly human, you’re his, his master and his everything. You know what you’re doing to him, making him hump your leg but his mind is too fuzzy with arousal. All that the demon can think of is feeling your body, the soft press of your thighs, the way that you coo his name as you begin to move your own leg, your hand fisting his hair and yanking on it causing him to spill in his pants, red in the face from either his still ongoing high or from shame, he isn’t quite sure, but he’s sure that he can hear your teasing voice as you pull his head back, giving him a fleeting kiss.

His eyes are a deep red, darkened with his current state as he looks you in the eyes. In a swift movement, he hovers above you, his tie slipping down your neck, curing over and an inch away from your bedsheets. There’s a loud crackling sound, his horns jutting out and his clothing replaced and removed just as quick, your body buzzes with electricity, goosebumps pricking your body and making a chill run down your spine. Lucifer begs you to touch him, to let him just indulge himself, his lips over yours, a hand slipping under your shirt, to cup over your chest. His wings are stiff, a few feathers ruffling as you shift under him, grabbing his hand through your shirt and keeping it place. Your smile is wide, your heart beating erratically and when you nod your head, his lips are on you, wings creating a small breeze that makes you press yourself deeper into him. Your hand is held tenderly in his, your palm wrapped around his cock as he begs for you to relieve him. His pride has slipped, vulnerability bare on his face that it's almost angelic compared to who he is; his cries are loud, hands that grab at you and beg for release. His climax is against your chest, wheezing and panting, his face adorned with a flush that makes him appear even more lovely.

Mammon:

He isn’t entirely sure why he rushes to you so quickly, his eyes already half-lidded and jacket slipped off and clutched in his hand. Mammon is barely at your door, and he’s already burning with heat, sweat slick against his back and face burning. If he wasn’t so focused on seeing you, he’s sure that he would’ve believed it was melting off with every step. He knocks rapidly at your door, breathing heavily and jiggling the door handle before you can. He’s begging for you to open the door, his speech slurred as he tells you that it’s important- something about his charger or his cologne, even he can’t decide what to say. He might not know exactly what’s affected him, but he’s aware that it’s not something natural- at least given how sudden the change in his nature was. He’s calling your name, pressing his forehead against the door, hissing when the wood cools him off. His hands stay firm around the doorknob, a crack in his voice as he begs for you to let him in. He's unaware of how much time has passed since he’s come knocking at your door, but it’s far too long for his taste.

When you open the door, you are met with a disheveled demon- his hair is messy, strands that stick to his forehead from sweat, his cheeks a deep hue and his eyes nearly closed as if he were exhausted. It’s a normal occurrence for you to have him make himself at home in your room, erasing boundaries between the both of you until they’re nothing more than blur. The door closes behind you and his stomach is in a knot, every step that he takes inside of your room is sluggish, a weight tied around his ankles and pulling him back with every step. He tosses his jacket onto your chair, not bothering to look to see if its slipped. As he lies on his side on your bed, a neatly folded blanket at the foot of it, covering his already feverish body. He’s shaking despite the heat, his erection almost painful and a part of the blanket stuffed into his mouth to prevent himself from moaning out. Whether it be pain or pleasure from the smallest of movements, he doesn’t care enough to think about it. All his mind can focus on is you laying beside him, your lips pressed against his as he holds you down and fills you with his cock. It’s much easier to think about that than thinking about anything else at the moment. Maybe he shouldn’t have laid himself on your bed- something that you use every night, something that holds your scent in.

Your bed dips as you sit upon it, your hand curved over his shoulder, a deep frown set on your lips. He doesn’t answer any of your questions, he’s only focused on trying not to pleasure himself as your hand curves from his shoulder over to his neck- where you hiss at how his skin burns, no doubt- to his cheek, and finally over his forehead as your other hand turns him onto his back. He stares at you through bleary eyesight, his blue eyes squinted as they stare at you, your body illuminated by the light behind you making you appear as if you are glowing. He reaches for you with open hands, pulling down above him. He murmurs how hot his body feels, your weight crushing above him, and his voice grows hoarse. Yet, no matter how much he tells you how much it hurts having you so close to him, he does not let go of you, keeping you pressed against him with his hands digging into your sides, holding you down as if you’d leave him given the chance. His lips are dry, scratching against the curve of your neck and brushing up to your jawline, and you can feel a kiss against there, his lips pursed, pulling away with a heavy gasp.

His leg twitches, soft movements turned into constant ones that press deeper against you. You realize with wide eyes that he’s grinding himself against you. Not normally so open with his feelings, you ask him what’s wrong and he answers that he only started to act this way when he ate something of yours. You turn your body, laying beside him, his eyes never leaving yours and hands reluctant to let go of you for even a second. In a hoarse whisper, you confess how you placed Gold Hellfire Newt Syrup in them. His chest trembles as he lets out a breath, his hands covering his face as he realizes what that means for him. He turns to you, a pout on his lips and his leg placed above yours, trapping you there. Your heartbeat quickens and you’re sure that he hears the difference but if he does, he chooses not to comment on it. There’s a minute of silence, and he stares at you through the gaps in his fingers, his rings shining under your light. You blink and he’s above you, his hands placed on either side of your head, the comforter pulled under his hands.

With a shaky breath, he asks for you to indulge him- to take care of him in the way that he needs you to. Mammon leans close to you, his lips ghosting over yours, his breath still sweet with the aphrodisiac, as he guides your hand to cup his erection. He begs that he’ll be good- that he’ll listen to what you have to say as long as you let him relieve himself in your room. Surely, you could have stopped his suffering with a simple command, but that’s not important right now- what’s important is that he got himself into trouble, and he’s seeking you out to help him. Your lips meet his, a tender kiss that soon turns passionate, clothes removed and tossed, his erection springing to life and already dripping with his seed, spilling onto your thigh in syrupy strands. He wastes no time, wanting to spill inside of you- a part of him hoping that that will be all there is to the damned aphrodisiac and another part of him hoping that it won’t, that he’ll continue on until he's completely spent. Inside of your warm walls, he spills, pumping in and out, the base of his cock stretching you until you’re arching your back and calling his name. The sight is enough for him to pull you into an intense kiss where he spills yet again. Any and all stimulation is welcome, your hands tugging on his silvery hair, your teeth pressed into the soft spot of where his neck and shoulder meet, to your words sweet and silk, praising him with every thrust.

Leviathan:

Leviathan feels sleazy, rushing to your room for some odd reason with his shirt being pulled down in an attempt to hide his erection. Perhaps this is what the otaku deserved for eating something that wasn’t his, but he couldn’t have known that you would have added some sort of trap into it. It was just his luck to eat something that was cursed. His ears are tipped red, his face no doubt beet red as he rushes to your room, hoping against all odds that you’ll spare him a cure. He knocks rapidly at your door, bouncing in place and hissing for you to hurry up, his words slowly being slurred together as his anxiety rises. He doesn’t even know why you would put this type of humiliating curse onto a simple treat. He calls your name again, only to be interrupted when your door opens, revealing you with raised brows. His frantic words and worry get stuck in his throat, his erection now throbbing at the sight of you. It was a bad idea coming to you, he concludes. He’s debating turning around and hoping that dealing with the matter himself will be the end of it all, but then you call his name and hearing you say his name in such a sweet tone nearly makes him spill into his pants. He groans, doubling over, your hands now on him and pulling him into your room. Your hands both feel fantastic and horrible on him.

His eyes are on the floor, unwavering and when you call his name, he flinches. He would rather not tell you what’s going on, but he needs the cure because the longer that he’s around you- and in your room no less- the longer he wants to pleasure himself. Shame floods him as he confesses that he ate something of yours- a cookie to be exact. He would have rather not told you but he wants the erection gone because the sooner it's gone, the sooner he can go hide in his room until you’ve forgotten this image of him. You voice confusion, and it’s until he clarifies what exactly he ate, that he hears you hiss between your teeth. When he looks up at you, you have a sheepish look on your face, clearing your throat and looking away from him, a hand rubbing the back of your neck as you confess that you used a certain ingredient when baking. He presses further, standing up, his worry for his erection fading as he presses further, hoping that perhaps hearing it will cause him to find the curse on his own, but fear also settles in, and when he hears the words “Gold Hellfire Newt Syrup,” do his fears have become reality. His stomach drops and he falls onto your bed, shaking his head.

It’s humiliating for him to be put under such a dumb effect of a simple thing, but he can’t change it. Thankfully, he knows what he’s dealing with and how to fix the entire thing. He looks at you for hope, begging for you to give him a command, something to simply ease the erection so the effects will wear off. However, he notices the glint in your eyes, the sly, kittenish smile that curves your lips as you approach him. Your hands cup his face and with the aphrodisiac still heavy on his tongue, he leans into your touch, swallowing nervously with his eyes stuck to how your lips move. You’re allowing him to relieve himself with you. He doesn’t know if it’s a blessing or a sick joke, but his cock seems to love the idea, leaking heavily and making his briefs stick to his skin. There has to be some sort of catch to this- why would you want him- especially in such a deprived state. However, he can’t deny how appealing your offer is, his face inching closer to you with every second, his legs bouncing and your body already so close to him, your chest pressed against his and when you pull him into a kiss, he only deepens it.

You bring him onto the bed, your hands knitting into his hair, twisting the hair around your fingers and tugging on them hard enough for him to whimper into the kiss. Your touch burns him, clothes removed, your bare skin making his chest ache and mouth salivate. He lays beside you, his body bare and cock leaking against your thigh. His eyes are clenched tight, colors appearing behind his closed lids as he grinds himself against you. Your voice is sweet even if your words are less so, names being told lovingly in his direction, ordering him as he ruts against your bare thigh, begging to at least have your thighs pinched around cock. He’s sloppy, his mouth parted as he spills against your thigh. He inches closer to you, pinching your thighs around his cock, giving out a moan when you pinch at his skin. Your body is warm, soft and plush as he spills once more, a thin strand of drool spilling from the corner of his mouth.

It isn’t fair that you aren’t letting him slip inside of you, Leviathan whines. He can feel your sex press against his, his face hidden in the crook of your neck and his hands gripping onto you. He isn’t sure how much longer he can last, already feeling his demonic form press against his skin. When you tell him in a soft voice that he can finally slip inside of you, he kisses you harshly, the smell of the ocean strong in the air, and when he pulls away, his tail presses against your sex as he he enters you. The scales in both his cock and tail add a sensation that makes you clench around him, enough for him to spill inside of you. He lets the tip of his tail curl around your sex, rubbing against the slit and brush against your chest to have your nipples go pebbled, to wrap around your neck in a heavy necklace. His cock is buried deep inside of you as he ruts inside of you. He whines into your chest, cooing about how good you feel, begging for you to touch him, his cheeks a deep red as you tighten yourself around him. There's a lovesick smile on his face, his head bowed as he thanks you, burying himself inside of you.

Satan:

The one time that Satan decides to indulge himself in something of yours is that time that he chooses a cookie that has him desperately trying to his erection. He goes to your room and he isn’t sure why. He has an inkling of a thought on what you might have used for the recipe, but he still goes to your room. He knocks on your door, clenching his hands in an attempt to stop them from creeping towards his cock and teasing himself. You're taking far too long to open the door- he can hear your footsteps, the way that you shuffle and try to catch your breath. The logical part of him wants to believe that you’re simply cleaning or putting something away but the more aroused state of his mind is picturing you with your hand touching tenderly at your sex, bringing your fingers up to taste your own arousal. His canine sinks into the inside of his cheeks, something bitter filling his mouth as your doorknob turns. You stand at the door, a smile on your face, as he stands before you, red in the face and a cock that strains in his pants. He is wrath, but he is also someone desperate for attention, wanting to lay on your lap and try to keep all your attention on him.

He enters your room, not waiting for your reply, already so close to creaming himself just from your look and his imagination. Your voice sounds as if it's in the distance, a mere whisper compared to his raging thoughts that don’t seem to end. Your hand presses between his shoulder blades, and despite the layers, he can feel the warmth of your hand. His eyes glow as they dart to your figure, a crackle of energy sparks out of him, popping against your skin and if he was hot before, he’s burning in hell as he takes in ragged breaths. Despite being in his demonic form previously, he can feel every sensation burst out as his horns emerge from inside his head, the way that his tail pushes against a barrier and curls around his leg, the sharp claws of his hands that jut out. He turns to you, his brows knitted together and lips pulled into a thin line. His arms wrap around you, his tail uncoiling itself from his leg and wrapping around your waist, the small edges pressing against your skin as his arms tighten around you. With you so close to him, he can feel every small movement of your body- your heart beating, the sharp intake of breath when his nails glide over your skin, and even the way that you try so hard to stay still for him.

Being so close to you is slowly making him grow groggy, thoughts muddled as his erection pokes against your thigh. His lips brush against the shell of your ear, his breath hot as he speaks in a strained voice. Gold Hellfire Newt Syrup. That has to be the reason why it’s so difficult to control himself around you, isn’t it? Why he can’t think straight nor why he can’t seem to get the image of you out of his mind. His forehead rests against your shoulder, his hands clammy as they wrap around your wrists and beg for you to do something about the state that he’s in. He needs you to do something. His tail is attentive as it slides under your shirt, tugging on the skin and when you hiss, his lips press against your neck. His tongue is sharp, pressing the tip of the muscle against you, savoring you as he thrusts lightly against you. He’s pleading for you to give him a command- to do anything to get rid of the ache that’s in his pants.

You pull away from him and he whines, shaking his head and inching closer to you, stumbling on his feet and his eyes wet with tears. You cradle his face in your hands, his lips in a pout and hand clutching at the front of his shirt. His tongue peeks to wet his lips and in the same breath, it’s hidden inside his mouth. When your lips press against his, he lets out a whine, shifting in place and holding your hands, his tail still around you as he guides you to the bed. His moans muffle out any noise from the outside. The aphrodisiac does it’s work well, your tongue swirling around his, brushing against the roof of his mouth that leaves him melting against you, his whines low and his hands guiding you to touch at his cock. He doesn’t know how it’s come to it, a demon so powerful as him being reduced to such a weak mess with a simple ingredient. He never thought himself to be so sensitive to touch, your lips pressed against the curse of his horns leaves him rutting against your sex, his hands clawed at your back as every touch just sends him closer to his high.

He’s always been a giving lover, wanting you to feel pleasure before he’s had the chance to and even just seeing your climax is enough for him to start dripping in thick strands. However, now, Satan is selfish, pulling you in for a kiss, slipping his cock inside of your hole, the head of his cock stretching your rim and when you whine, tears pricking your eyes and his name nothing more than a mess of syllables, does he release inside of you. His lips are tasted with salt, kissing your tears and thrusting wildly into you, his tail curling around your legs and keeping you situated above him. He latches to your breast, leaving marks behind with every kiss and suckle, begging for your hole to clench around him, the soft walls that wrap around his cock and pull him deeper despite being nearly at the base. He pants and pulls you close, letting your hands roam throughout his body, pull at his nipples and curve around his horns.

Asmodeus:

He knows what it is the minute he arrives at your door. If there’s one thing Asmodeus is excellent at, it’s identifying his sin- no matter the shape it comes in. It’s just a surprise he hadn’t noticed that it was in your baking- perhaps there’s a level as to when aphrodisiacs can become apparent to him. No matter, he knocks on your door, clicking his tongue when he notices that his erection has begun to show itself. He knocks at your door, the inside of his cheek bitten as he awaits for you to open your door. He can handle lust just well- it's who he is, it's the entirety of his being- but he also knows that you’re on the other side of the door. Lust is a fickle thing- a strong desire that overpowers even the strongest of minds, and he’s mastered it, he’s been the one in control but now, he isn’t sure. He stands outside your door, his first two knocks, polite but after a moment of waiting, his knuckles burn as they continuously knock against your door. He needs you to open your door, he needs to see you and to just take you in. His erection pulses and he can’t risk staining the inside of his pants with his seed. His forehead is against the cool wood of the door, begging you in a cracking voice that he simply cannot stay outside, not like this- not when he needs to see you so badly.

When you open your door, he’s pushing past, falling into the grace of your arms and burying his head into the rook of your neck. Somewhere in the distance, your door closes, the click echoing throughout his entire body. He chuckles lowly, nuzzling himself against you, replacing your scent with his. Gold Hellfire Newt Syrup. What a little minx you are. Surely you had to have an idea on what you were doing. There’s a lovely aroma in the air- vanilla and roses mixed, a lingering scent of perfume that fills your lungs and his horns press against your plush cheeks. He pulls away, a lovesick smile gracing his features as his face fills with a blushing shade of pink. Was it some sort of joke? Or were you perhaps hoping that it would get his attention? His lips hover over yours, the smell of your baked goods thick on his tongue, as he guides himself closer to you, attracted to your entire being. His hands rest on your waist, pulling you close, trying to close the gap as slowly as he can. You have his attention, if that’s what you wanted. His lips meet yours in a breathless kiss, your hands curling around his neck and grabbing his face, pulling him closer to you. A kiss from lust themselves is sure to make anyone’s knees buckle. It takes a simple kiss for him to nearly stain the inside of his pants and he pulls away quickly, his lips bruised and the clear balm that he wears is now resting faint on the inside of his mouth.

Your bed is soft, pillows fluffed under him as he relaxes, his mind now drunk off of lust and the taste of you. He simply can’t think at this very moment. He’s torn between wanting to take you and wanting for you to give him a command. A command will surely snap him out of it and push him to go do something- anything else that isn’t staying here and potentially resulting in him jerking off in your bed from a mere kiss. He looks over to you, a heavy blush across his face, ears tipped hot and chest rising and falling slowly. He appears almost lazy in your eyes, but still beautiful as ever. His hair is slightly askew, small curled strands that stick out of place, his eyes half-lidded but still looking at you with lust, and his lips parted, the balm that wears gleaming off the to the corner of his lips, small hints of glitter that shine across his bottom lip. Give him an order, he begs. He’s felt lust before- something so heavy and thick that it made him completely lose his mind and focus only on pleasure- but it's never been like this, never been with you. He wants you to kiss him. He wants to feel your body grind against his. He wants everything that he’s ever felt before with you because he knows that with you, it’ll be amplified. He wants your body to rest beside his, to touch your bare skin with his sinful hands and let him take over for the both of you. But he also wants to stop himself, to let the lust wash over for a moment. He can’t think, he wants to different things but he also just wants the one- he wants to have sex with you while his mind is thick with lust.

The bed creaks as you weigh it down, shifting and moving close to him and somewhere in the back of his mind, he makes a note to get you a new one that won’t make noise. Your body sits perched above his, his head tilted upwards and his gaze dark. His hands find themselves at home against your hips, rubbing small circles with his thumbs as you press yourself close to him. Your chest presses against his, your heart beating loud enough for the both of you, echoing in your chest and vibrating against his. His mouth moves in a quiet whisper, begging for you to touch him- to at least kiss him once more before he truly loses his mind. Your lips meet his and as opposed to the more passionate one early, this one is softer, your lips moving against his in a slow embrace, your hands freeing his cock. You pay special attention to each fold of his cock, the petal-like ridges that flare around his tip, your hands working softly around him. The kiss is intense, heated and breathless, your lungs burning as you need to pull away, your face on fire and darkening with each lasting second until he pulls away, licking his lips as if to savor you on his tongue.

Rather than letting him take the lead, you do, your hands knitting into his silky hair, threading your hands into his hair and tugging lightly, breaking the kiss as you catch your breath. His lips, on the other hand, don’t leave your body. His wings flutter and tense, his teeth prick at your neck and when something warm burns against your skin, the flat of his tongue wipes it away just as quick. It isn’t long until Asmodeus is buried inside of you, his face contorted to pleasure, tears forming against the corners of his eyes and sliding down his face. He isn’t ashamed to admit that the kiss was enough to send him over the edge, spilling inside of your warm hole, pumping inside of you until he floods out and warms the base of his cock. He gets to feel you orgasm just as quick, the way you clench around him, pulling taut and fluttering your walls against his already sensitive cock just makes him hold tighter onto you, begging for you to continue your movement.

Beelzebub:

He really hadn’t meant to eat something of yours. Well, he did, but he felt guilty afterwards when his body became engulfed in flames, his tongue heavy and his mouth salivating with every movement of his tongue. Beelzebub knocks on your door, a pout on his face as he tries to ignore the aching sensation in his stomach. It’s familiar, but he can’t quite place his tongue on it- his mind too rattled by guilt and shame to do anything more than think about how the cookie practically melted into his mouth. When you open the door, he’s greeted by your smile, your head tilting as you step back and welcome him into your room without a word being said between the both of you. A guilty smile crosses his features, his eyes downturned and hands fiddling with each other. Once inside your room, does he take notice of how much more prominent you’ve been.

His sin is gluttony, and while the others- and even other demons alike- might have a stronger noise than humans, his nose is even stronger. He could always smell you from a mile away- your aroma, the difference of body wash or cream that you use, what snacks you’ve eaten if your mouth is freshly filled with mint- he can smell it all. Yet, even with his sin, your aroma has never been so heavy, so potent and filling his lungs with something that makes him feel as if he were about to implode. He sits on your bed, his stomach churning as if he had eaten something awful, and he just stares at the floor. He doesn't know what to think, he doesn’t know why he’s acting as if his mind is muddled, his mouth stuffed with cotton making him unable to speak. But, it isn’t stuffed with cotton, it’s flooded with his saliva, threatening to spill from the corners of his mouth and he’s forgotten how to swallow. Your hands are lifting his head, a plea for him to look at you and when you do so, his mouth parts, drool spilling from his mouth and landing onto your floor. He mumbles an gargled apology, even more of saliva spilling out. He can smell your cream- citrus that makes his lungs fill with the sweet air of it, grapefruit that leaves the lingering bitter sweetness that still rests on his tongue and the freesia petals that make you smell so sweet that it's making his jaw feel as if were being pricked by pins and needles. In a slurred speech, he confesses that he ate a cookie of yours, his arms wrapped around your body and pulling you close to him, his head resting on your chest as he apologies. He just wants whatever curse you placed on it to go away.

There’s a crackle in the room, building and sparking inside of him, his wings pushing against his back as they're begging for release from the confines of his more human appearance. He doesn’t know what’s going on, only that there's intense pressure coursing through his body, making him feel as if he’s slowly going insane. His hands clench, dragging your shirt into fistfuls as he can hear your beating heart echo against your ribs. Your hand runs through his hair, a soft shushing sound and he subconsciously nuzzles closer to you, his breathing ragged and heavy, his cock aching in the confines of his pants, a thick strand of pre-ejaculate staining him. You confess that it wasn’t a curse, just an ingredient you used that perhaps you shouldn’t consider who you live with. The ends of his hair are pulled gently as your fingers wrap his strands in a soft taunt. You used Gold Hellfire Newt Syrup. He groans, tears in his eyes as he lowers his head, pressing himself against your stomach, his hands moving lower until his pinkies tease at the curve of your rear. He repeats the words back to you, his mouth growing heavier with each syllable, and when he pries away, your shirt now sports a dark spot of where his mouth had pressed against you.

It wasn’t a curse then? Just an odd ingredient to add to your baking? Relief floods throughout him, a brief pause to his current heated self, and his shoulders drop. With the guilty feeling now out of the way, he has to focus on how to relieve himself, his erection making a noticeable tent in his pants as he falls to his back on your bed. The action is akin to pollen that floats off of a flower, your bed drenched in your entire essence, dripping and sticking onto his skin and when he closes his eyes, he can only focus on the faint scent of your sex, the arousal that dripped onto your bed covers and laid there. Your hand curves over his breasts, his nipples pert and he stares at you through half-lidded eyes. He’s in pain- the good type, the sore muscle type that lets him know that he’ll wake up feeling a certain type of way. He’s under your command, his hands covering yours and pulling your hand to his mouth where he kisses at your knuckles. Please, he’s begging in a hoarse whisper, to give him a command so he can leave or allow him to be a toy for you. He won’t mind either option, just let the aching pain in his stomach- the twisting and turning that doesn't let him think straight.

Feeling your lips on his is enough of an answer. He returns the kiss eagerly, his tongue filling your mouth, twisting and turning, thin trails of saliva that spill between the open gaps and drip on your chins. He cries in the kiss, his hand palming at his cock, his seed staining the inside of his pants. Beelzebub is one to give into his sin, so eager and giving despite his intimidating appearance. Your clothes are discarded, thrown show here to the empty room as he pulls you up to his face, his mouth parted as your sex rests on his tongue. Your arousal is heavy, thick and sweet like honey as it slips down his throat as his tongue wraps itself around your sex, licking at the slit as your nectar fills his mouth. One hand is curved over your breast, teasing at your nipple until your hand is covering his, tears in your eyes at how it’s all too much, while his other hand is wrapped around his cock that is gleaming with his seed and burning in his palm. He continues past the overstimulation, mumbling into your sex, suckling on you and pushing himself close to you, letting the tip of his canine glide against your pulsing sex.

Belphegor:

His knuckles knock against your door, a deep frown on his features that makes the middle of his brows crease. Belphegor doesn’t offer a moment of explanation when the door opens, simply pushing past you and resting on your bed. His arms remain open, his expression solemn as he stares at you, waiting for you to join him in bed. He’s always been one to rest with you, telling you that you’re so warm and soft, a perfect body pillow for the Avatar of Sloth. He doesn't know what is wrong with him right now, all that he’s aware of is that he’s restless, his mind too fuzzy and chest too tight. He’s coming to you, asking for a nap, hopeful but pessimistic that that will cure him of his current ailment. However, for whatever reason, being in your room proves to be a horrendous experience. Has your natural scent always been this strong? Has your heart always beat so loud that it makes him feel as if he’s going crazy? Has your hand on his chest ever felt this heavy?

He’d never describe your room as the attic- the loneliness, the cramped space, the emptiness of it all except for red eyes that were filled with regret- but right now, as he lays on your bed with you at his side, he feels like he’s back. Or rather, he wishes that he were back. Your room is cramped, every inch of it thick with your and your presence, your beside him, your index finger drawing organic shapes over his abdomen and he’s reminded that he isn’t alone. He’s with you at this very moment. He confesses that he ate something of yours. A cookie that was left out. He apologizes in the same breath, his hand over yours, gripping it tighter and tighter with every uneven breath. What was in it? Why is it making it so difficult to breathe and why can’t he stop focusing on how frail you are compared to him. He turns his head, eyes meeting yours, his blown out and face flushed with an almost lovesick look on him. Why is it now that you’re making him act so tense around you?

Gold Hellfire Newt Syrup. That explains so much and it leaves him with a heavier weight on his chest. Just give him a command, let him be done and over with it. The effects of it are too painful- too much pressure that rests on his stomach and he’s suddenly aware that his erection isn’t due to whatever he had hoped it was, but it’s due to your little treat. There’s crackling in the air, a sweet scent of chamomile and honey in the air as his horns grow and tail elongates, the end of it wrapped around your wrist, tickling at your palm. It pricks your forearm, a sharp breath between your teeth when he tightens around you. He inches closer to you, his chest pressed against your and his eyes half-lidded- he asks you to give him a command, to let him sulk off to the attic and bury himself under the covers with a hand around his cock. Your lips meet his and his tail tightens around your wrist. You let out a muted whine between the closed lips and he nearly climaxes in his pants, his tail slowly loosening it’s grasp.

Your hands move from the side of his face, slowly creeping up until they hook over his curled horns. He presses closer to you, hands so desperate to hold onto you- wanting to touch every inch of your body and memorize every rise and dip. Your shorts are thin enough to feel what lies hidden, the way that your own sex throbs and aches from him with just a simple kiss. If it were any other day, or at least a day when he wasn’t aroused by some aphrodisiac, perhaps he would have teased you- played with your sex and make you edge yourself on his thigh, but right now, he’s bratty. He wants to feel good, wants to actually touch you and get off like that rather than some fantasy. He pushes closer to you, his hands spread on your back, a leg nudging into your, a silent plea to remove your clothing. He’s eager for sex, but he won’t show it, so desperate to have you do all the dirty work and slip yourself onto him. Just the thought of falling asleep as he’s been drained with every ounce of his semen makes him buck his hips, his cock rubbing against the fabric and tight space. A nail drags down your back, straight from the base of your neck to the end of your spine, your clothes tearing away. You bite his tongue and he spills inside of his pants.

The air in the room is mixed with your scent, the thick arousal that drips between your slit and onto his stomach, mixed with his own arousal, his cock that throbs, the base of it thick and the hottest part of his entire cock. He’s ended up with you below him, his cockhead pressed against your pubic bone, a hand squeezing at your chest as he pulls away, a trail of saliva still connecting you to him and him to you. His cock slides down, meeting your sex and he hisses almost painfully, bowing his head and burying himself into the crook of your neck. His head shakes, his cock not even inside of you yet as he begins to thrust himself against your body. He breathes heavily, panting and groaning as he reaches his high, spilling himself against your sex. Your legs are bent, his smile wide and almost unnerving as he leans over, his cock pressed against your rim. His tail feathers around your abdomen, tickling your sides until the rest against your nipples, the fluffed end feathering until you become pert with the attention. He leans for a kiss while his cock is hugged by your warm walls.

Barbatos:

Every step to your room feels as if pins and needles are shooting throughout his body, every step painful and uneven breaths that puff out as sweat sticks to his brow and a fever burns his body. Barbatos knocks against your door and he hates to admit it, but when you open it and greet him, all he can think of is pressing you against the floor and letting himself let go for just a moment. But, he clears his throat and asks to be let in, wandering inside with staggered steps. He sits on your bed, fully aware of just how much of you in your room. You invade every nook and cranny of it, your entire essence drenched in the room. His mouth salivates when he can hear your blood pump and heart echo against your chest. When he meets your eyes, he can see your lips move but the only sound is ringing in his ears. He can’t seem to focus on anything- eyes constantly moving to every feature of you, watching as your eyes mix with color near the pupil, and how your lips are cracked near the inside of your mouth, the way that your tongue licks at your lips and he has to force himself to look away.

He shakes off your worry, telling you that he had something- he doesn’t want to say bad, it’s quite the contrary to that- he decides to go with something new. He lets out a low laugh, short and breathless as he confesses that he had one of your cookies. There’s a part of him that already knew what it was- the intoxicating taste, the way that it lit him on fire and made him act so... irrational. When you give him a look of surprise, he can only nod his head. You tell him that you used Gold Hellfire Newt Syrup- just as he expected. He almost wishes that you had placed an alcoholic drink, something that wouldn’t make him feel so hot around you. He can’t be with you right now- not this close, not when he’s so drunk off of lust that the only thought that swims in his head is how pretty you look. This is a situation that he got himself into, one that he should have known better than to take something of yours. He had only visited to retrieve something, or perhaps it was to drop something off, he can’t remember, not when his erection aches and pulses in his pants. Truth be told, he’s surprised you haven’t commented on it, but maybe that’s his only saving grace when he’s in your presence.

Your hand presses against his forehead and he leans into your touch. The dutiful butler is gone, replaced by a demon so drunk off of lust that he’s whimpering and palming himself through his pants, mumbling apologies as he keeps your hand stationed against his face. He’s weak under you, loyal to one but so desperate, so distant from everyone that he falls before you. Your hand pulls away and he can hear you mutter, your breath close to his and he falls into your embrace. Your breath is cool, smelling like mint and your perfume faint, lingering against your skin like a kiss given by the sun. Your heart beats, your neck pulsing as you cradle him close to your body as he palms himself. Static is thick in the air, his head tilting just at the right moment, his horns pressed against the side of your head. He promises that if you tell him to leave, he will, his hands knitting into the back of your shirt, his erection aching in his pants as it’s lost touch. Just tell him to leave, let him be gone from your sight.

There’s no warning when you push him further onto your bed, your hands pressed against his chest, his eyes dilated with arousal and mouth open. His tail slithers out from under him, poised above you, the split ends of it standing straight as you rest above his stomach. His hands rest on your hips, and he’s hoping that you’ll allow him to indulge, for just a moment, he watches as your tongue wets your lips and he wishes that it were him touching your lips. He calls your name, his hands curling against the fabric of your shorts, and when he begs that if you tell him to leave, he’s silenced with a kiss that he reciprocates. The touch of your lips makes his body heat up, everything in his mind screaming and silent all at once, enough for the poor demon to whimper against you, his hands shaky as they go to grab at your body, desperate to feel any type of warmth. Your hands cradle his face, sliding up until his horns are teased by your fingertips, playing dangerously close at the barbs and thin spikes. His hands feel around, his breaths heavy as he pulls away, spit shining on his lips and his hair askew from the constant movement.

He removes his clothing, tugging at the hem of yours, pleading with you to remove the fabric, begging with his lips and tongue, his tail wet as it teases the base of your spine. Your hand is soft compared to his, wrapped around his cock, your lips against his neck as his tail wraps around your neck, the ends of it just below your bottom lip. Barbatos begs for more, pleased for you to do something more than just a steady pace that leaves him wanting more. His back is arched as he climaxes against your covered stomach, his seed an opalescent color that lingers with hints of blue. Your ruined clothing s removed and you sit bare chested above him, your nipples pert and his hands come to cover your chest, rolling the pebbled buds between his clawed hands, his cock rutting against your clothed sex, already so close to yet another high but the aphrodisiac is still flowing through him, begging for more until he’s satisfied. His tail flexes, a part of it catching in the light, gleaming with color as if slides to your sex, breathing out a halfhearted apology before his lips move to your neck.

Diavolo:

The prince knows what is on his tongue right as he’s standing in front of your door. His cock aches, calling for his attention. Right behind the wooden door, he can smell you. Diavolo can smell your shampoo, your body wash, your cream, the way that your cunt is already slick. If he could focus on his hearing he could probably focus on how you rummage throughout the room, the way your footsteps are much softer than those of demons’ or even how you clear your throat. He’s had his ruts before, always satiated with demons and others alike coming into his room and taking care of it for him, but it was only that- a rut. He’s dealt with the common fling, never anything romantic as he never had the time, so it was easy for him to simply let his mind be filled with desire rather than something more intimate. It was anything like what he’s feeling now; something so strong that it's propelling him to knock against your door, his vision bleary and mouth wet as your scent- already so filling- grows closer. When you open the door, he leaves his mark on the wall beside him- four deep, jagged lines that stretch from the wall to the doorframe.

You open the door to him, the straps on your shoulders loose- one already slipping off and stopped by your bicep. He welcomes himself in, toppling over and breathing deeply. He’s on his hands and knees, his mouth open as spit drops onto your floor. While his body burns hotter than it’s ever done before, your hand on the back of his neck and cradling his face burns him even more so, igniting something in him. He is focused on your eyes, the way that they crease with worry, how your emotions are so clearly written. A part of him feels a tad guilty- he knew what he was doing when he entered your room, he could stop himself, he’s sure of it, but if you kept touching him so tenderly, the way that he’s always craved, then he’s sure he’d grovel at your feet and stain the inside of his pants.

On his knees, he’ll joke about it, looking towards you as sweat begins to form, his mind focusing on your hands, the soft grooves and how they’re small compared to his. He has to forcibly stop his thoughts from straying any further. He’ll make a small joke of it, an easy way to ease your worry while also answering your questions. Gold Hellfire Newt Syrup, huh? You really couldn’t pick something else, could you? His smile is crooked as he slowly rises, removing your hands from his body- you should know to ask him if you need anything else to substitute the flavor that it brings to you. The knees of his pants are dirtied by your floor, your lips parted and he’s sure that he can see your pink tongue that rests in your mouth. There’s various ways to rid the symptoms of the aphrodisiac- you must know that- and he wants you to give him an order, a helpless attempt to finally ease the tight knot in his lower belly. Inching closer to him does nothing but make him recoil, his body shaking and brows knitted, ears tipped with heat. It was a mistake to linger at your door when he realized what he had consumed- he should have walked away, dealt with this on his own, but he’s here now. He’s stuck in a room that mocks him with your being.

With every attempt that you make to get closer to him, is a step that he takes back, moving with the heels of his hands, his legs kicking at the floor beneath him. His back meets the wooden edge of your bed, the back of his face comforted by your blankets. You rest between his parted legs, his hands still when yours lingers on his knees. He wants you to give him an order, just to whisk him away so he doesn’t succumb to his desires. Your lips are ghosted above his, a phantom that pulls at his heartstrings like the ghost of wishful thinking. He leans closer, wanting the gap to close, needing to have you kiss him. But you pull away and he’s whining, shaking his head, a plea under his breath as his hands finally move, gripping at your shoulders and begging for you to come closer. Tell him to kiss you, he’s begging on the floor beneath you, wanting to just taste you once and even if he’s so drunk on arousal, he’s sure that he’ll remember the feel of your tongue.

He’s asked a simple question. Does he really want this or is it simply the aphrodisiac making his judgement cloudy? His kiss is enough to answer your question. He wants this- he needs this. He wants to feel you wrap around his cock and moan that it’s too much to take it. He wants to feel your gummy walls hug tight around him and milk him for his cock. It’s all a blur of the moment for the future king- his clothes are off and you rest above him, your sex leaking onto him, sweet and making him salivate with just the scent of it. His cock pulses in your hands, throbbing, the thick veins that burn under your fingertips, the ribbed rings around his cock that leaves him throwing his head back, his semen already staining your hands. Diavolo pleads with you to stop the teasing, to just do what you want, use his body while he’s still too drunk with lust to fully take control over the situation and let his cock stretch your pretty hole. His hands grab at your breasts, kneading the muscles and pulling taut on the nipples, grinning when you let out a yelp. His mouth is filled with your tongue, something bittersweet fills his mouth, his tongue desperate to suck every last of the taste into his mouth.

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the-pudding-is-a-lie · 3 years

Photo

As promised, a rough break down of my art progress. Explanation under the cut.

∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿

First things first: a sketch!

I like to use just the most awful colours for sketches for two reasons: 1) It helps me see what lines belong to what part of the drawing and 2) I don’t get too stiff and serious about the lines. It’s a quick squiggle here, an even quicker squaggle there - fast and easy and no huge hassle to re-do and adjust if necessary.

Notes all over the sketch help me remember what my idea was when I look at a sketch on a different day.

Next step: Lineart!

Again: I am using a colour that is just so hard too look at because I don’t get too precious about my lines when I use this horrendous pink. I do lines fast, re-doing them lots and lots of times, erasing whole parts and going for it three or four times if necessary. Doing it all in black makes me very anxious and I don’t understand how I managed to do it for years. This way is a lot easier for me.

I usually stick pretty close to my sketches, I tend to change the angle of the heads most of the time though. In this case I wasn’t sure if I wanted to draw them looking at the viewer who interrupted their moment (probably Huisang...) or wanted them to look at each other. So I went with a mix of both.

Fun facts: I usually start my lineart with the bridge of the nose. I enjoy drawing fabric folds, hair and flowers the most. Hands and feet are just plain evil.

Once the lineart is done, I switch the colour to black and the actual lineart gets ‘revealed’:

Once I have that, I move onto the next step: flat colours!

For me this used to be a tricky part (I actually have a very slight issue with reds and greens as I have learned a few months ago) but I feel like I have gotten better at it. I try to remember at least some colour theory and to keep in mind what I want people to focus on - usually the faces but in this case also the flower in Mingjue’s hair so I needed a contrasting colour to make it pop out. I also wanted a stark difference between the armor and the court robes while sticking to their canon colours and bringing in blue as a sign of Meng Yao working for Lan Xichen. Having these many things to stick to actually helped me a lot for this picture.

Once I have my flat colours the fun part begins: PATTERNS!

You may noticed that I changed Mingjue’s robe colour because he was too much of a blob of the same colours. The brown also helps tying the yellow in a lot better. Keeping the different colours on individual layers makes adjusting them very easy. But it also means that I work with at least 50 layers, up to 90. It gets confusing sometimes.

Once I am satisfied with colours and patterns I change it all by throwing a purple hued colour gradient over everything!

This softens the colours and adds a first shading. It’s the base on which I build my magic: light.

When I feel extra fancy, I add some more shadows but in this case doing the shading with just light was enough for me. Doing it like this has proven to be easier for me because of some reasons I don’t understand how shadows work but I do know where light falls and what it does. So yeah. Why make things harder for myself when I figured out what worked?

And this is (very roughly) the whole process! I hope it was interesting to get a little bit of insight into my way of doing things. °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°

#pudding speaks #wip #art process #mdzs #mo dao zu shi #the untamed #tu #cql #nie mingjue #meng yao #emperor au #jin guangyao #chifeng zun #lianfang zun #nieyao

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deancasheadcanons · 3 years

Text

Slightly Gayer

[ao3]

7.3k words post-15x18 domestic Dean/Cas (loosely) inspired by this artwork by skepticalfrog

Dean is sitting at the kitchen table drinking his coffee and halfheartedly scrolling through the news. He can’t focus because his eyes keep drifting over to the other side of the kitchen, where Cas is cooking breakfast and talking on the phone with Claire.

Cas looks different, is the thing. He’s wearing a pair of bright green boxer briefs and one of Dean’s old gray t-shirts, neither of which fit him right. Since becoming human, Cas exercises constantly, stacking his arms and legs with thickly corded muscle.

But he eats, too, and loves eating as much as Dean does, so his stomach juts out big and round from his muscular chest, several inches of tan underbelly visible out of the bottom of Dean’s shirt. The fabric is caught in the crease between his chest and belly, taut around the outline of his nipple rings. The sleeves are also too tight around his biceps, revealing the Enochian tattoos that extend from shoulder to elbow of each arm.

Dean knows what Cas looks like, of course he knows. He knows every inch of his perfect body. But the way Cas moves, Dean is still getting used to. Still studying.

Cas has the phone tucked between his shoulder and ear, his hands occupied with making pancakes and eggs. He has his weight shifted to one hip, his butt sticking out even more than it already does, and he keeps waving the spatula around animatedly as he talks. He takes a drink of coffee, then scratches his belly, then gestures with his hand, flipping his wrist rather...limply.

He turns around to the kitchen island to plate the pancakes and catches Dean staring at him. He smiles and winks in his direction while continuing his conversation with Claire.

Dean tries to look back down at his phone. He makes it about five seconds before his eyes find their way over to Cas again. He takes a long drink of coffee and sets his mug down as he stands up. He strides over to Cas and comes at him from behind, wrapping his arms around his middle and burying his face in his soft neck. He kisses the tattoo that’s on the juncture of Cas’ collarbone and neck—Dean’s name in Enochian.

“I’ve gotta go, Claire,” Cas says, his voice as deep and gravelly as ever. “Tell Kaia I said hello. Yes. OK, bye.”

Dean squeezes Cas’ belly and presses long, slow kisses to his neck.

Cas turns the stove off and moves the eggs over to a different burner. His hands, now free, fold over top of Dean’s. He laces their fingers together.

“Claire said they’re thinking of coming by to visit in a few days,” Cas says, leaning his weight back against Dean.

“Mm. Good.” Dean continues his kisses.

Cas huffs a laugh and rubs his hand up and down Dean’s forearm. “Feeling affectionate this morning?”

“Always. C’mere.” He tugs at Cas to get him to turn around in his arms, then he fits his hands to his hips and presses his flat torso against Cas’ gut before leaning over and kissing him on the lips.

Cas puts a hand to the side of Dean’s face and the other on the counter behind him, supporting his weight against it. He moans into the kiss, pushing his tongue hungrily into Dean’s mouth and rolling his hips in an intoxicating rhythm.

They stop after a few minutes. Cas keeps his hand on Dean’s face, rubbing the pad of his thumb back and forth across his cheek as he smiles softly up at him.

“What?” Dean asks self-consciously. He circles his own thumbs into Cas’ love handles.

“Nothing,” Cas replies, his smile widening. “You’re just very beautiful.”

Dean ducks back in for another quick kiss. Then, “You move differently than you used to.”

Cas tilts his head to the side, furrows his brow. “What do you mean?”

“You’re, uh, I don’t know. Your mannerisms...you’re more feminine. Gayer.”

Cas laughs and drops his head forward. His hand falls away from Dean’s face, and he flips it out palm up. “Well, Dean, I am gay.”

Now Dean is laughing. He pulls Cas closer to him and once again pushes his face against his neck. “You were just so stiff before.” He pulls back again and looks Cas in the eye. “I don’t like thinking that you were, I don’t know, holding yourself back. Repressed.”

Cas barks out a laugh. “Yes, please, tell me more about how I was repressed.”

“Yeah, yeah, shut up.” He squeezes a soft hip. “I’m starving, let’s eat.”

They sit perpendicular to each other at the kitchen table. Cas rubs one socked foot up and down Dean’s calf while they eat.

“Do I move different?” Dean asks with a mouthful of eggs.

Cas frowns at him, mug of coffee in his hand. “Is that a trick question?”

“Oh god, I do, don’t I?”

“Well, first of all, Dean, your voice is an octave higher than it used to be.”

Dean blushes and shoves more food in his mouth, avoiding eye contact.

Cas leans his elbows on the table, closer to Dean. “And you carry yourself differently. You’ve always been confident in your body, but you don’t posture anymore. You carry yourself in a more relaxed way—like when we’re walking, and you keep one hand in your pocket and the other holding mine. You don’t puff your chest out so much, and it makes you look more natural.”

“Gayer?”

Cas laughs again. “Yes, Dean, I think when you, uh, rub my lower back and kiss my temple while we wait in line at the grocery store or something, you definitely look gayer than you did before.”

Dean reaches over and tangles their hands together, swinging them back and forth playfully on top of the table. “Can’t help it,” he says gently. “If you’re near me, I gotta touch.”

They smile shyly at each other. Cas eventually moves Dean’s hand up to his mouth and kisses his knuckles. “I’m not too gay for you, am I? My mannerisms don’t bother you?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “You’re fishing for a compliment.”

“So give me one.”

He scoots his chair closer to Cas’ and moves his hand under the table, spreading his fingers over one of Cas’ thick thighs and squeezing the soft muscle. “I’m fucking thrilled that you’re comfortable in your own skin, sweetheart. I love the new ways you move, and I love how you’ve made your body your own. I get distracted staring at you so much that I can’t even read one crap news article without looking at you.”

Cas takes a deep breath. A tear slips down his cheek, and he wipes it away delicately. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to hearing you say stuff like that to me. Not even in my most self-indulgent fantasies did I imagine...”

Dean laughs and tugs on Cas’ shirtsleeve, coaxing him over to him, patting his legs so Cas straddles his lap. Once they’re settled, Dean rubs soothing circles into Cas’ back fat and looks up at him reverently.

“I’ll always think you deserve better than me, but, uh,” Dean starts. “I guess if you want me instead of somebody better, then I gotta be the best version of myself. I’m sorry I wasn’t this me sooner.”

Cas presses their foreheads together. “You mean this gayer version?”

Dean laughs into a kiss. “Only took you confessing your love and dying for me to get my head out of my ass.”

Cas puts a finger to the tip of Dean’s nose. “No, actually, it took more than that. Seven months after I came back, Dean. It took you seven months.”

Dean winces. “Worth the wait?”

Cas sighs and kisses Dean’s cheek before climbing laboriously off his lap, grunting as his gut shifts. He pulls at the hem of his boxer briefs to get them down over his huge thighs; Dean pinches his butt as he walks away.

In the time it takes Cas to refill their coffee mugs, Dean’s phone rings.

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean answers.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Sam asks.

As Cas comes back and hands Dean a mug, sliding his arm gently across his shoulders before making his way to his seat, Dean says, “Having breakfast with the love of my life. What do you need?”

“Eileen and I are going on a hunt, gonna take a few days. Can we drop Jack by later today?”

“What? The kid can’t stay by himself in the bunker?”

Cas flattens his lips and raises his eyebrows, silently chastising Dean. Dean throws his hand up and shrugs.

“He’s 4, Dean,” Sam says.

“He’s as powerful as God, Sam.”

Jack’s voice comes through the phone, sounding far away. “I don’t like staying here by myself. It’s lonely.”

“Of course you can stay here, kid,” Dean says loudly enough for Jack to hear. To Sam, he says, “But make sure you stop by the store on your way and pick up some food for him, because Cas and I are on a diet.”

“Seriously?” Sam asks.

“No,” Dean scoffs. “C’mon, dude. I’m sure the kid’ll be thrilled to get some real food instead of whatever rabbit food crap you and Eileen feed him.”

Cas snorts a laugh and tucks back into his stack of pancakes, pouring more syrup over them before taking a bite. Dean watches him, obsessed with the dainty way he holds his fork.

“You know, it’s gonna catch up to you one day,” Sam says. “You’ll wake up and suddenly realize you look like Cas.”

“Mm,” Dean hums, eyes still glued to Cas. “You mean I’ll be hot as shit?”

Cas winks at him.

“Yeah, I walked right into that one,” Sam mutters. “See you this afternoon.”

“Bye, Sam.” He hangs up.

“I don’t know why you goad him into judging our eating habits,” Cas says. “He asks about my weight every time I lift with him.”

“What? I’ll kill him.”

“No, it’s—”

“Where’s my gun? I’m gonna kill him.”

“Dean,” Cas says, exasperated. “He only asks because he doesn’t see me every day. You’d notice I was getting bigger, too, if you only saw me every week or so.”

Dean pouts at him, offended. “I touch you and stare at you constantly every day, of course I fucking notice. You’re big, Cas. And you take good care of yourself. Sam can mind his own fucking business.”

“I don’t need you to defend my honor to your brother, you insane man.” Cas stands and picks up their plates to take them to the sink. “And you need to limit the number of ‘fucks’ you say when Jack gets here.”

“Jesus, when did you become such a nagging wife?”

Cas turns away from the sink, sets a hand on the shelf of his belly, and says in a deadpan, “When I became pregnant with our third child.”

It’s a joke he stole from Dean, but Dean still lets out an embarrassing laugh like it’s the first time he’s heard it. He then joins Cas in the kitchen, hugging him from behind again and sneaking a hand up under his shirt so he can cup one of his pecs, teasing his thumb over his piercing. He kisses the shell of his ear as he mumbles, “I’ll clean up in here. I know you wanna go work out.”

Cas shuffles around in his arms and kisses him languidly. Even though they’ve been together for months and have shared at least a thousand kisses, a thrilling warmth washes over Dean’s body every time Cas initiates.

“What?” Cas asks gently when they break apart.

Dean kisses him again, squeezes his sides. “I just love you so much.”

Cas fights his smile and fails. He runs a hand up through Dean’s hair, which Dean is growing out, because Cas likes to touch it. “I love you so much, too.”

“C’mere.” Dean pulls him into a hug, wrapping his arms around his back and holding him tight, nuzzling his face in his neck while Cas fists his hands in the back of Dean’s t-shirt. “Loved you for so long. Should’ve told you sooner.”

“Yeah, you should’ve.” Cas squeezes him. “I should’ve, too.”

Dean clears his throat as they break apart. “We’ve turned into the biggest fucking saps. Go, go lift your silly weights.” He shoos Cas out of the kitchen and smacks his butt as he goes. “And hey! Don’t forget to walk your sweaty body through here on your way to the shower.”

Over his shoulder, Cas says, “Of course. I would never deprive you of that, Dean.”

When Dean finishes cleaning the kitchen, he heads to the living room where they’ve set up a workspace to help hunters out. Sure, it would be easier to do the job from the bunker, but Dean and Cas wanted their own space, a homier environment for hunters to stop by and rest. They have a room for Jack, a room for Claire and Kaia, and two extra bedrooms for anybody else who shows up—although, one of the rooms is half-full of Cas’ exercise equipment.

Dean has his eye on a rundown bar down the road, too, but not enough time has passed since they committed crimes to get a loan for their house, so he has to wait before they can buy it.

While Dean is doing research for a case that Garth is working on, Jody calls.

“Yeah, go ahead,” Dean answers, putting her on speaker.

“I’m three hours from your place,” she says, sounding tired. “Can you guys take the kid again for just, like, one week? Please.”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course, Jody,” Dean replies, his posture straightening with excitement. “But you already knew that, because you’re already driving her over here.”

Jody laughs. “Yeah. Thanks, Dean. See you soon.”

Dean shoots a text to Sam: Raven’s gonna be here, too. ETA?

Sam texts back right away: Whenever we feel like it o’clock.

Bitch, Dean types.

Whore, Sam replies.

When Dean and Cas got together, they didn’t get the chance to tell Sam. They were on a hunt, and Sam was at the motel doing research while Dean and Cas ate dinner at a bar nearby. Cas was talking about the case and reached over and stole a fry off of Dean’s plate, and something about the gesture broke something inside of Dean. He blurted out, “I love you, too,” like a fucking idiot, causing Cas to nearly choke on the fry.

The truth was that Dean was in shock when Cas came back from the Empty, and he could not believe that this ancient unknowable being actually loved him. But then Cas was human, and ordinary, and he grew more comfortable around Dean as his body filled out. Easy warmth and affection radiated from him, like loving Dean was as natural to him as breathing.

And Dean knew that his own feelings couldn’t be buried anymore. They were clawing their way to the surface with each day that passed, until finally they burst free with an I love you, too over a stolen goddamn French fry.

They finished their meal quickly and quietly, then they walked out to the Impala together and Dean couldn’t wait a second longer than the nearly 13 years he’d already waited, so he pushed Cas up against the driver’s side door and kissed him.

“Oh,” Cas breathed between their mouths.

“What?” Dean mumbled.

“I didn’t—realize—when—”

Dean moved to kissing Cas’ softening jaw and neck so that his mouth was free to talk.

“I wasn’t sure you meant you loved me like this,” Cas explained.

Dean abruptly pulled away. “Oh. Uh, did you not—we don’t have to if you don’t want—”

Cas cut him off with a bruising kiss. “No, no, I definitely want.”

“Thank god.”

It had taken all of their willpower to get in the car and drive back to the motel, and Dean had barely put her in park before dragging Cas to the backseat and messily stripping clothes off. There wasn’t nearly enough space, so they ended up rutting against each other while making out like horny teenagers, and that’s when Sam knocked on the window.

Dean cracked it the smallest amount, his body still tangled with Cas. “We’re a little busy here, Sammy.”

“Yeah, uh, I’m gonna get another room so you guys don’t have to do...this...out here.”

“Sammy, you’re the best brother in the world,” Dean said stupidly as he and Cas struggled out of the backseat, holding their clothes half-on, shirts and overshirts and jackets in hand and jeans unbuttoned. Dean dragged Cas by the hand up to their room.

And so Sam (homophobically, in Dean’s opinion) started calling Dean “whore” instead of “jerk.”

Dean is typing on his laptop when Cas clears his throat from the hall. Dean looks up immediately, raking his eyes up and down Cas’ glistening, swollen body as he walks shirtless toward their bedroom.

“Hey, hey, hey, no, come back here,” Dean says, scrambling to get up, tripping over his own feet, then finally making it to Cas so he can squeeze his biceps and press kisses to his sweaty shoulder.

Dean moves his mouth down Cas’ collarbone and chest, hunching his body so he can get a better angle as he works his tongue around a nipple ring.

Cas cards a hand through Dean's hair. “Do you want to shower with me?” he asks patiently.

Dean reluctantly lets go of his nipple and straightens up. “Does a bear shit in the woods?”

Their shower is just big enough for both of them, but it’s too difficult to do much more than wash each other’s bodies. They talk loudly to each other over the spray, which is why neither of them hear the front door open and Sam and Eileen announce their arrival.

Dean walks out to the kitchen wearing a towel around his waist and one around his hair. Sam and Eileen are making sandwiches while Jack sits on a barstool at the island reading a book.

“Oh, hey, guys,” Dean says. He grabs a La Croix out of the fridge and takes a long drink. “Didn’t hear you come in.”

Cas comes in next, wearing just boxer briefs, his wet hair dripping water onto his body. He greets everyone then puts a hand on the small of Dean’s back and kisses his cheek. He takes the La Croix right out of his hand and drinks it before giving it back.

“Cas, are your nipples pierced?” Eileen asks, shocked.

“Oh, yeah,” Cas says flippantly. He pats the tattoo of Dean’s name on his shoulder. “Dean talked me into it when I got this.”

Dean mutters, “Not like you needed much convincing.”

“So are you guys gonna bother putting clothes on, or…?” Sam asks bitchily.

“Oh, I’m so sorry for existing in my own house,” Dean teases. He settles against Cas’ side; Cas wraps his arm around his hip. “Maybe if somebody had told us when they would be here, we could’ve been ready.”

“Yeah, well, we were anxious to get here,” Sam says, looking pointedly at Eileen. “We have some news.”

“Uh-oh, this sounds like something I should be wearing clothes for,” Dean says.

“I’m pregnant,” Eileen says and signs. She makes a face like she’s sorry about it.

Cas sucks in a sharp breath. Dean’s eyes widen.

“Yeah, uh.” Sam sighs and throws a hand up. “We’re not totally sure how we feel about it, you know, never really planned on…”

“We don’t want to stop hunting,” Eileen finishes for him. “But if there’s a good reason to stop, this is it.”

“We can help,” Dean says quickly. He nervously sets his water down on the counter so he can sign and talk. “You know we’re always willing to take care of a kid. Especially a baby.” He looks over at Jack. “No offense, Jack.”

“I told them I would help, too,” Jack says cheerfully. “I would love a little brother or sister. And I can heal most injuries other than death, so if they keep hunting while Eileen is pregnant, it’ll be OK.”

“We’ll be here every step of the way,” Cas adds. “Whatever you need.”

“Yeah,” Sam says solemnly. “We know it’ll be OK, we’re just...I don’t know, I’m just not naturally maternal like you, Dean.”

“Come here, Sammy,” Dean says, walking away from Cas and putting his hand up on Sam’s shoulder to bring him down for a hug. “You’re already a great dad. You’re not gonna fuck the kid up, I promise.”

Sam laughs and squeezes Dean once before letting go. He frowns down at Dean’s bare torso and says, “OK, go get some clothes on, please.” Under his breath, he mutters, “I don’t understand how you and Cas even fit in a shower together.”

“Hey.” Dean points a menacing finger at him. “If you don’t lay off my boyfriend, he’s gonna use his massively buff arms to kick your ass.”

“No, I’m not,” Cas says in a monotone, flipping his wrist to blow Dean off. He kisses Eileen on the cheek as he leaves the kitchen.

“What? I’m not—I don’t care what Cas looks like,” Sam says. He opens the fridge and gestures dramatically to it. “I just think it would be good every now and then if you guys ate, like, one vegetable.” He looks Dean up and down. “Also the fact that Cas works out and you don’t, you look like a skinny little beanpole next to him. He makes you look ridiculous.”

Dean crosses his arms and pouts. “He likes how I look. Says it makes him feel big and strong when he picks me up.”

Sam and Eileen both laugh. Eileen asks, “He picks you up? What, like during sex?”

Dean blushes. He halfheartedly says and signs, “No, I mean, like, when I fall asleep on the couch and he carries me to our bed.”

Sam and Eileen laugh harder.

“I think it’s sweet,” Jack interjects. “I would never laugh at your relationship with Cas, Dean. You two love each other very much.”

Eileen rolls her eyes. “Yeah, perfect little angel over here has never said a mean word about anybody in his life. We get it, Jack, you’re better than us.”

Jack straightens his back and smiles, proud of himself. Dean passes by him on his way out of the kitchen and squeezes his shoulder in thanks.

“A baby, huh?” Dean asks excitedly as he rummages through his and Cas’ closet for some clothes. “We should plan on staying in the bunker with them for the first few months, you know, help them out and stuff.”

Cas scoffs from the master bath. “You just want to hold a newborn.”

“Yeah, so what?” Dean joins him in the bathroom, taking his towels off his head and waist and hanging them back up on the racks. He takes a piss while Cas stands at the sink messing with his hair.

Cas is wearing a pair of black joggers and a faded pink tank top, a denim overshirt sitting on the counter. A long chain rests against his chest between his big pecs, three rings hanging from them. Two of the rings are Dean’s old ones, and the third is a new one Dean picked out for him when they moved into their house together.

Dean checks his hip against Cas’, nudging him out of the way so he can wash his hands at the sink.

“Does it bother you that we can’t just accidentally have children?” Cas asks, turning toward Dean seriously, unaffected by his naked body.

“What? No,” Dean answers. “Why, does it bother you?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.”

Dean grabs deodorant and pushes Cas’ arm up so he can apply it for him. “We got plenty of kids, honey.” He does the other arm. “And we’re old. I don’t need us to be the sole provider of a child for the next 18 years.” He picks up the denim shirt and helps Cas put it on.

Cas places a gentle hand on Dean’s bare hip and rubs his thumb in circles against his skin. “I just think...I think about how perfect Jack is, and how if I was still an angel and could’ve borrowed a female vessel for a while, then maybe we could’ve…”

“Jesus Christ, Cas.” He pats the slope of his belly. “OK, no more jokes about you being pregnant. It’s fucking with your head.”

“Mm, yeah.” He leans forward and presses a kiss to Dean’s mouth. “Now be honest with me, does this shirt make me look fat?”

Dean laughs as Cas expands his big stomach out and pulls at the fabric of the tank top to make it tight.

“You look perfect, sweetheart.” Dean jiggles his belly. “Fat and very gay.”

“Thank you.”

Dean puts on his usual jeans and flannel over a plain black t-shirt. He also has a necklace with a ring Cas gave him, but he wears it under his clothes and out of sight. He likes feeling it against his skin.

They eat a quick lunch with everybody before Sam and Eileen head out for their hunt. Cas and Jack go in the backyard to tend to Cas’ garden, which is full of beautiful flowers and absolutely no vegetables.

Jody shows up right when she said she would, and she passes Raven off to Dean before she’s even stepped in the door.

“I’m gonna spend the night here if you don’t mind,” Jody announces as she kicks her boots off.

Dean is cooing at the baby and tickling her belly with one finger. Right now she has dark olive skin and a head full of black hair and big gray eyes, but that could change any minute. Jody got her just a few months ago when she was trying to help her mom, a teenage shapeshifter, but the girl had a lot of complications and died during childbirth. She asked Jody to name the baby Raven after Mystique from X-Men.

Jody, claiming that she’s too old to raise a baby on her own, brings Raven over to Dean and Cas’ for at least one week per month.

“Dean?” Jody presses.

“Hmm?”

“I said I’m gonna stay here tonight.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s fine.” He kisses the baby’s head. “Cas and Jack are outside. Make yourself at home.”

Under her breath, Jody says, “Give a baby to Dean Winchester if you want him not to pay attention to you at all.” She walks to the kitchen and puts on a teapot.

Cas barges in the back door and makes a beeline for Dean, his hands outstretched. “Baby,” he commands.

Dean frowns but hands Cas the baby anyway. He knows if he tries to hog her, he and Cas will have a petty fight about it later.

“Yeah, good to see you, too, Cas,” Jody says, still talking in a dejected tone, grabbing mugs out of the cabinet. “You look good, you been working out? Of course you have, look at you. Yeah, I know, I look good, too. New haircut. Thanks.”

“Hello, Jody,” Cas greets, turning toward her but keeping his eyes on the baby cradled in his arms. She looks impossibly small in his hold. “Your hair looks very nice.”

“Well, thank you, Cas,” Jody says smugly. “Would you like some tea?”

“Are you offering us tea in our own house?” Dean asks.

“You told me to make myself at home.”

Cas moves Raven up to his shoulder, spreading his long, thin fingers over her back to keep her in place with just one hand. With his other hand, he pulls out a barstool at the island and takes a seat. His tank top gets stuck between his underbelly and his lap, and Dean watches, transfixed, as Cas demurely lifts his butt off the chair and flicks his free hand against his shirt to unstick it.

“Dean? You OK?” Jody asks, amused.

“Hmm?” Dean whips his head toward her. “Yeah, sorry.”

“You looked a little lost there for a second, buddy.”

“Oh, yeah,” Dean says. “I don’t know if you know this, but I’m very obsessed with Cas.”

Jody laughs. “It’s impossible to even make fun of you anymore. Like, if you’re going to be blissfully happy, at least act a little embarrassed about it.”

Dean walks over to Cas and puts his arm across his middle, presses his cheek firmly against the side of Cas’ chubby face and looks at Jody as he says, “No.”

“Jody, I would love a cup of tea,” Cas says, ignoring Dean. “Thank you.”

Raven fusses and nuzzles against Cas’ shoulder, so Dean reaches his arms out for her and says, “Too much muscle in your shoulder, she can’t get comfy.”

As Cas hands the baby over, he says, “Yes, because your bony body is so much better.”

“Do you guys even like each other?” Jody interrupts.

“No,” Dean and Cas answer in unison. They then look at each other and smile.

Cas asks Jody about the girls, which gets her on a long-winded rant, so Dean kisses Cas’ hair and heads out the back door with Raven. He walks across the porch and takes a seat on the porch swing and watches as Jack stands in front of a flower, says something to it, then moves onto the next flower and says something else.

“Are you talking to every flower, kid?” Dean calls.

Jack turns and tilts his head with a gentle smile. “I didn’t hear you come out here, Dean. Yes, I’m giving each of them longer lifespans.”

“Oh. Well, thanks.”

It’s mesmerizing, swinging back and forth and watching Jack tend to the flowers. Raven falls asleep quickly, tucked up facedown against Dean’s chest with her head turned to the side.

“See, I’m plenty easy enough to fall asleep on,” he mutters to her.

Jody comes outside a few minutes later, tea in hand. Dean scoots over so she has room to sit next to him on the swing. She doesn’t say anything, just takes a seat and drops her head to his shoulder.

“You know we can keep the kid longer if you need us to,” he says. “Cas has baby fever, so I’m sure he’d be thrilled.”

“Hm. I might,” Jody considers. “Alex is really attached to her though. I am, too, but. I don’t know. It’s different for me.”

“You never thought about having a baby again in your life, did you?”

“No.”

“Hmm.”

Cas walks out next and stops right outside the door, staring straight ahead at Jack. Cas has both his wrists bent against his hips, hands palm out, straight-back posture making his gut look more pronounced than it already is.

“Hey, Jody,” Dean starts, his eyes on Cas.

“Hmm?”

“Do you think Cas is different? I mean, different than how he was as an angel.”

Jody snorts. “Um. That Cas looks like he would eat angel Cas for breakfast.”

“No, I don’t mean—” Now Dean is laughing, too. “Obviously he looks different. I mean, like, the way he’s standing right now. Don’t you think it looks a little…you know…”

“Gay?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, yeah, but only slightly gayer than he used to act.”

Dean balks at that. “What? Really?”

“Honey, I knew Cas was gay the second time I met him. Sure, he’s definitely more comfortable and open and maybe a little more, uh, effeminate now, but he’s always been pretty clearly gay. No offense, you just weren’t paying attention.”

“Hm. Well, I’m paying attention now. Very close attention.” He surreptitiously licks his lips.

After a pause, Jody asks, “How did you live so many years of your life unaware of how horny you are for him?”

Dean puffs out a breath. “Shit, I don’t know. I honestly don’t know. Like, I have a sleeping baby on me right now—one of my favorite things in the world—and yet it’s taking all of my willpower to keep sitting here with you instead of going to put my stupid hands all over him.”

Cas turns toward them then, offering a close-mouthed smile and a delicate wave of his hand, totally oblivious. “Jack is talking to the flowers,” he says loudly.

“Yeah, I know,” Dean says back, less loudly so as not to wake the baby. “Powerful as God, and he’s here talking to our fucking plants.”

Cas furrows his brow. “What did I say about cursing?”

Dean rolls his eyes.

They all hang out outside until Raven wakes up and cries for food, so Dean takes her inside and paces around the kitchen while he gives her a bottle. Cas walks through on his way to the bathroom, and Dean stops him with a, “Hey. C’mere.”

“What?” Cas asks, smiling as he closes the distance between them.

Dean leans to the side, keeping the baby steady as he kisses Cas on the lips.

Cas shakes his head when they pull apart. “You have zero impulse control.”

“See Cas, touch Cas. That’s how my brain works.”

His smile widens. “You’re lucky I’m patient.”

Later, Dean is in charge of getting Raven down for the night, Jody is taking a nap upstairs, and Jack and Cas are out picking up takeout for dinner.

The four of them eat at the kitchen table, and Dean inhales his food quickly so he can relax and sling an arm over the back of Cas’ chair while everyone else finishes. He rubs and scratches at Cas’ back while they all talk, occasionally looking over to watch Cas eat. With how muscular he is, Cas would have to have a high-calorie diet even if he didn’t also just love food, but still he eats slowly and properly as he demolishes at least twice as much as everybody else.

Dean, itching to move and sick of being in the same spot for too long, eventually leans over and nips and kisses at Cas’ neck and face, forcing him to eat even slower. Every so often, Cas turns and pecks Dean on the lips in acknowledgment of his ministrations.

“Dean, you look smaller every time I come over here,” Jody says.

“No, optical illusion. It's 'cause Cas is getting bigger,” Dean responds. He pats a loving hand against Cas’ full belly. “He can’t help that he looks extremely cute like this.”

Mouth full of food, Cas turns his head and kisses Dean’s temple in thanks.

“No, I definitely think you’ve lost weight,” Jody continues.

“Yeah, I think you have,” Cas says. “Not that you weren’t skinny before, but you’ve lost weight since you stopped drinking.”

“Mm. Yeah, I guess.” Dean puts a hand on his own stomach, noting how flat it is. He ignores the heat rising to his cheeks at the basic knowledge that Cas notices things about him.

After dinner, Jack asks if they can watch a movie together in the living room, which they of course oblige. Dean can count on zero hands the amount of times he and Cas have told Jack “no” when he’s at their house.

Cas privately asks Jody if she wants a glass of wine, which she turns down. Dean sees the conversation take place as he’s turning the TV on due to his inability to take his eyes off Cas for even one minute.

Jack, god help him, picks some tragic foreign language film and sits cross-legged on the couch with Jody. Cas and Dean settle in sideways on the loveseat, Cas’ back up against the armrest and one leg hanging off the side so Dean can sit between his thighs and rest back against his chest. Dean rubs his fingertips against Cas’ knee and listens to him unwrap candy after candy, occasionally offering one to Dean.

After about 15 minutes, Dean turns his head and cocks an eyebrow at Cas.

Cas looks back at him, confused, as he puts another candy in his mouth. “What?” he whispers.

“You’ve had, like, 20 of those.”

Cas’ face changes into gay bitchiness as he unwraps another one. “Now who’s the nagging wife?”

“Can you two can it?” Jody asks at a regular volume. “I’m trying to hear what these sad French people are saying.”

Dean ignores her and whispers to Cas, “I don’t give a shit about you stuffing your face, babe, I just wish your hands were more Dean-focused.”

“Oh. Of course, Dean.” Cas tosses a wrapper aside and puts his arms around Dean’s torso, squeezing him firmly back against him.

“Mm, that’s better.” Dean snuggles down and bends his arm up to feel Cas’ bicep.

Jody shushes them again.

Cas presses a chocolatey kiss to the bolt of Dean’s jaw and moves one hand across his waist, teasing with the waistband of his jeans. Dean grabs his hand, stopping him.

“Not in front of the kid, dude,” Dean says through gritted teeth.

“I’m not doing anything,” Cas says innocently, his lips still on Dean’s skin.

Jack pauses the movie and looks over at them with a smile. In a sweet, polite tone, he asks, “I don’t mean to be rude, but can you guys please shut the fuck up?”

Cas nudges his head against Dean’s in fake annoyance. “What did I tell you? What did I fucking tell you, Dean?”

Dean can’t stop laughing. “Yes, Jack, we’ll shut the fuck up.”

With nobody to talk to and with Cas carding his perfect fingers through his hair, Dean falls asleep within 10 minutes. He half-wakes up a little while later and finds himself curled up on his side with his legs pulled up to his chest, using his big boyfriend as a bed, his big arms a blanket, big pecs a pillow. Cas’ chest vibrates beneath his ear as he whispers something to Jody, but Dean doesn’t hear it. He balls his hand into a fist and nuzzles his face against Cas’ shirt like a baby and falls back asleep.

When he wakes up again, it’s because Cas is trying to carefully lift him up and take him to bed. He wraps both arms around Cas’ neck and his legs around his waist and hangs on tight as Cas stands, only one of his muscular arms wrapped around Dean’s butt to hold him in place.

“Wow, he really has you whipped,” Jody whispers to Cas.

Cas responds completely seriously, “Why else would I exercise so much if not for this?”

“G’night, Jody,” Dean mutters against Cas’ neck.

“Night, little baby Dean.”

Dean smiles, his eyes still closed. “I like that.”

Jody sighs. “Seriously. Impossible to make fun of him.”

Cas starts walking toward their room as he says, “Dean is an all or nothing person. So many years with so much shame, now he has absolutely none.”

“Hmm. Yeah,” Jody replies. “Night, Cas.”

Dean is fully awake by the time Cas lays him gently down on the bed. He gets up immediately, changes into pajamas and goes to the master bath to brush his teeth. Cas joins him at the sink, wearing just boxer briefs and one of Dean’s shirts. It barely covers his belly button.

“You can’t possibly be comfortable in that,” Dean mumbles with a mouth full of foamy toothpaste. “I don’t get why you’re still wearing my shirts to bed. I told you, you stretch them out and then I can’t wear them.”

Cas spits his own toothpaste into the sink and looks up at Dean through the mirror as he wipes his mouth. “Until the sleeves cut off circulation in my arms, I will keep wearing your shirts to bed.”

Dean pulls at the hem of one of the sleeves, pointing out where Cas snipped it with scissors. “Cheater.”

Once they’re in bed, Dean presses up against Cas’ side, throws one leg over him, buries his face in the crook of his neck, squeezes his butt.

“Finally,” Dean says against his skin. “I’ve been dying to touch you all day.”

Cas smiles and wraps an arm around Dean’s back, shoving his hand down his pants to grab his ass. “Yes, and you showed remarkable restraint by not touching me at all today.”

“C’mon, you know what I mean.”

Cas hums, thinking. “You don’t like having your attention divided. If you can’t focus fully on me, it feels like you’re being deprived of something.”

“Yeah.” Dean rolls completely on top of Cas and kisses the pocket of fat under his chin. “Don’t let it go to your head, though. It’s not like I’m, like, completely obsessed with you or something crazy like that.”

Cas smiles into a kiss, putting his hand to the side of Dean’s face to pull him down to his lips. Dean groans in the back of his throat and rolls his hips.

“Do you want to have sex?” Cas asks between their mouths, like he almost always does, because he has a take-it-or-leave-it attitude about sex and is perfectly content with any amount of physical contact with Dean, no matter how little. So he leaves it up to Dean: a person who needs to touch Cas so badly all the time that he feels like he’ll die if he doesn’t.

“No, not with us on baby duty,” Dean says. “Let’s just make out until I fall asleep.”

“Mm, that’s exactly what I fell from grace for.”

Dean laughs and pinches his shoulder, kisses the corner of his mouth. “Hey, you knew me when you fell. You knew what you were getting yourself into.”

Cas’ face softens. He rubs the pad of his thumb slowly across Dean’s cheek. “I did. I was willing to give up everything without ever even knowing what your lips feel like against mine. So, excuse me for thinking every second with you now is just icing on the cake.”

Dean blinks. “You’re getting better at food metaphors now that you eat so much.”

Cas allows him to trivialize the moment. He just simply smiles up at him as he wipes a tear from Dean’s face.

So Dean closes his eyes and kisses him, slowly, until he falls asleep.

-----

Dean wakes up to the sound of Raven crying over the baby monitor. She only cried once during the night, when she shapeshifted into a fat pale baby with brown eyes and thin hair and needed a bottle and a change before going back to sleep. Now it’s morning, and Dean blinks awake to the sunlight streaming onto his face. He’s on his stomach, arms wrapped around a pillow under his head, his skin unreasonably warm.

He shifts and feels Cas’ heavy arm draped across his back, his chubby hip squished against his side. Dean shuffles and turns, picking Cas’ arm up and kissing his hand before setting it on the bed and standing up.

Cas is also facedown on the bed, but instead of getting up, he burrows deeper and mumbles sleepily, “Start the coffee, please.”

Dean pinches a sliver of his love handle and leans down to kiss his cheek. “I’ll bring you a cup. Go back to sleep, sweetheart.”

Cas snores softly in response.

It’s early. The house is dimly lit and quiet, and Dean takes his time changing and feeding Raven. When she’s done with her bottle, he puts her on his hip and carries her out to the back porch to listen to the birds. His phone rings.

“Yeah?” Dean answers.

“Hey,” Sam says. “So, uh.”

“Spit it out, Sam.”

“You know our new rule?”

“Not monsters until they act monstrous,” Dean says, his heart racing. “What happened?”

“Nothing too bad. It’s just that, uh, we think this pack of werewolves may have abandoned their, uh, young.”

“How old? How many?” Dean asks quickly.

“Twins. They’re small, Dean. Six months at most.”

Dean looks at Raven then at the garden in front of him. He thinks about Cas, about how wonderful of a father he is, about what he said yesterday. Then he says, “Well. Bring ‘em here if there’s no other option. We got the space.”

#destiel #chubby cas #15x18 #destiel fic #tf #my fics #my canon fics #i know i've changed some characterizations here but uh that's kinda the point of the fic #to demonstrate the changes in dean and cas were they to live their gay life together without shame!#anyway this is maybe my favorite thing i've ever written so um #please enjoy or i'll die

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lindstromm · 4 years

Text

Simplified Bookbinding: How to make a cheap first book

By now, you may have seen some of the bookbinding posts in which @renegadepublishing bookbinders have turned fanfiction into works of art. Wow. Gorgeous. Also intimidating. @armoredsuperheavy wrote a manual they share as a google doc for free (linked on the pinned post on their tumblr). It’s amazing.

Maybe you want to try bookbinding, but it’s expensive; you need to buy a lot of stuff; you’re not very good at crafts.

This post teaches you everything you need to make a cheap and crappy first book!! Yay! You can totally suck at it and it’s fine!!

In this post, I’ll show you how I made this book:

out of Elmer’s school glue, scrapbooking paper and a Cheerios box. It cost less than $20. Making a cheap and crappy book will help you figure out if you want to invest the time and money to learn how to make a beautiful book that will last for years.

There are four steps to making a book:

1. Format the text and print it. I’m skipping that for this practice book. We’re binding blank pages.

2. Create the text block.

3. Create the case.

4. Attach the case to the text block.

Long post with pictures, Youtube videos and instructions under the cut.

Step One: Format and print the text. (Skip)

Step Two: Create the text block

Renegade Bookbinders fold and sew signatures. We’re not doing that for this practice book because sewing requires skill and equipment. We’re just going to use glue.

Use A5 paper. A5 is paper that measures 5 and 7/8 inches by 8 and 1/4 inches (148mm by 210mm). If you use a different size, you’ll have to measure your own cover boards; the measurement in this post is for A5 paper.

The paper is the most expensive part of this book. You can buy a ream for $13 or go to Staples and get the cheapest 8x11 ream they have and ask them to cut it down for an extra $2. Or you can cut your own stack of paper. Measure a stack about 1/2 to 3/4 of an inch thick and put it in binder clips.

You need liquid glue (I used Elmer’s school glue and that’s why my book is already falling apart but you’re not buying anything special for this practice book). You also need a brush with short stiff bristles. I had a craft paint brush.

You need a piece of non-stretchy fabric (don’t use an old t-shirt, use an old pillowcase) that measures 7.75 inches by 3 or 4 inches.

Watch these two videos and do what she does:

youtube

She has a fancy book press, but you don’t need one. Put the text block between sheets of waxed paper (so the glue doesn’t stick to anything else), then just pile heavy books on top. Here’s my cheap book press! I leave my text block to dry overnight.

Congrats! You have finished step 2 and your text block is ready for the casing.

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

Step Three: Make the Case

For this step, you’ll need some decorative paper or cardstock. If you want to be totally cheap, just use printer paper or ads or whatever you’ve got. I had some scrapbooking paper. You’ll also need thin cardboard. I used a Cheerios box. Use something you can cut with scissors so you don’t have to buy an exacto knife.

In this project, I used:

1. One piece of 12x12 inch cardstock cut in half for the cover paper.

2. One piece of 11x3.5 inch cardstock for the spine cover.

3. Two pieces of 12x12 text weight paper for the end papers.

4. One piece of text weight paper cut 8 inches by the width of the spine for the spine guide. So if the text block is 1/2 inch thick, cut this spine guide piece 1/2 inch wide. If your text block is 3/4 inch thick, cut the spine guide 3/4 inch thick. You’ll want to get this measurement right or it throws off how the case fits onto your book.

5. Two pieces of thin cardboard 8.5 x 5.75 inches for the cover board. That’s measured to fit a cover for A5 size paper.

Got your supplies together?

Glue the spine guide (the small skinny piece of paper) and cover boards to the spine cover (the piece that is 11x3.5 inches). Leave 1/4 inch between the spine guide and the cover boards. I used an Elmer’s glue stick but you can use liquid glue that you spread with a brush. Be careful not to get the paper too wet or it wrinkles badly.

Put waxed paper over it, set a heavy book on top, and let it dry for an hour.

Now we’re going to attach the cover paper to the cover boards (the Cheerios box). Again, I used an Elmer’s glue stick. (Usually I use a higher quality tacky craft glue, but don’t buy fancy glue for your practice book.) Line up the edges of the cover paper with the spine cover as best you can (not overlapping, just lined up), apply glue and then cover with waxed paper, set heavy books on top, and let dry for an hour.

This is what it looks like from the back side:

Flipped over, it now looks like this:

Cut the edges so it’s basically even, and then cut a curved piece out of the corners so it looks like this:

Next step is to glue the cover paper and fold it over the cover boards. Use the glue stick, or use liquid glue and smear it smooth with the brush. Crease it well and smooth it with a ruler (bone folders are the better tool, but I’m not asking you to buy tools for this book):

Set waxed paper over it, pile heavy books on top, and let dry for an hour.

When it’s done drying, you should have a case:

Yay! You finished step 3!!

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

Step Four: Attach case to text block

Go get those two sheets of 12x12 inch text weight paper to make the end papers. Cut them so they’re the same height as the text block (8.25 inches). Fold them in half with the right sides together.

Pick up your text block. Notice how the cloth on the spine is partly glued onto the page? Pull that back until the cloth is very close to the spine.

You’re going to glue the crease of the end paper right into the edge of that cloth, so you want it as close to the spine as possible. Spread liquid glue on the crease of the end paper and set it into the spine cloth. Very Important: Put waxed paper or a piece of trash paper between the end papers and between the end paper and the next paper on the text block. Otherwise you’ll glue a chunk of pages together. Do this on both sides of the text block (you can let it dry before flipping it over to glue the end paper to the other side).

Pile books on it and let that dry. Your end papers are bigger than your text block. After everything is dry, cut off the edges so they’re even.

Now we’re going to glue the end papers to the case. Set the text block into the case and wiggle it around until it looks good. You want about an 1/8 of an inch around the text block. Mark the corners on the inside of the case with a pencil where you want the edges of the text block to be.

Then apply glue to the end paper (I’m still using that glue stick) and stick it to the case, being careful to get it in position where you marked it. Put a piece of paper between the end papers, put waxed paper on top of the text block and pile some heavy books on it. Let dry for at least 30 minutes.

This next part is the trickiest part of the whole process. I’ve made 15 books, and I’ve only gotten this second end paper in smoothly in about half of them. So if you wrinkle it, you’re in good company because we all do that sometimes.

Flip the text block over, apply glue to the end paper, and stick it to the other side of the case, smoothing it out as much as you can with a ruler. Then insert paper between the end papers, set heavy books on it, and let it dry for at least an hour.

Cue symphonic music and find yourself an audience for your unveiling because . . . you have CREATED A BOOK!! It’s thrilling. It really is. If you’re holding it in your hands and wishing with all your heart and soul that it had words in it, you’re a Renegade Bookbinder at heart. Come geek out about glue (don’t EVER use Elmer’s school glue again), bookcloth, sewing techniques, fonts, paper selection. Oh, it just goes forever!!

#bookbinding #bookbinding for beginners #op #renegade bookbinders #fanbinding #cheap and easy bookbinding #simplified bookbinding

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yuckydraws · 3 years

Note

A writing prompt, hmm? Why don't you try writing some fluff with horror sans? (he's one of your favorites right?) Maybe going on a picnic?

He very much is one of my faves<3 thanks for the prompt bro!!

Okay so this is mostly fluff but I threw the tiniest bit of angst in there, but it’s very mild (tbh I’m not sure I could even call it angst). Just to give it some plot;)

Also sorry for the awkward spacing I pasted this from Google docs and tumblr is being difficult >:(

(HT!Sans/reader)

•••••••

“Hey, how willing would you be to put on this blindfold and come with me?” You ask your skeleton boyfriend as you lounge on the couch, blindfold in hand.

“.... huh?” Sans blinks at you in confusion. He was on his way to sit on the couch when you spring the question on him. It stops him in his tracks, leaving him to stand awkwardly in the middle of the living room.

“I said, how willing are you to put on this blindfold and come with me?” You repeat yourself, holding up the blindfold excitedly. Yeah that might not be the best way to phrase it, but hey, you’ve made it this far - might as well commit. He stares at the offending object, squinting a bit with his one eyelight.

“... no.”

“C'mon, please?”

“no.”

“Please?”

“no.”

“Why not?” You pout and he gets a twinge of maroon on his cheekbones.

“... why do i need… to wear a blindfold?” He asks while averting his gaze from your pout. You take it in stride and instead shift your position on the couch to meet his gaze again, smiling up at him.

“Because it’s a surprise!”

“don’t like surprises…” Despite his words, it’s obvious you’re wearing him down.

“It’s a good surprise!”

Sans doesn’t look entirely convinced. You stand up and grab one of his large hands in both of your small ones (at least small compared to his), and give him a reassuring squeeze.

“I promise.” You both don’t use this word lightly.

Sans stares down at you.

You stare back.

“... ok.” He caves.

“Yay! Now lean down big guy, I need to be able to tie this.” He complies, staring at you until his sockets are eventually covered. You’re careful of the gaping hole in his skull and make sure not to tie it too tight - to avoid potentially irritating his dead socket. When you finish you take advantage of his close face and kiss him on the cheek, causing him to purr and lean into the kiss.

“Pfft- you dork! C’mon, you’re gonna love it!” You say as you pull away and grab his hand to start leading him out of the front door. He was wearing his slippers, so thankfully you didn’t have to awkwardly attempt to put shoes on him. You hold back a snort at the mental image of yourself sliding shoes onto his gargantuan feet like a princess. Though you are quickly sobered when you almost trip on a porch step, leaving you to focus on helping Sans down the porch steps and leading him to your shared vehicle.

You help him get situated in the seat. In hindsight, perhaps the blindfold could’ve waited until your huge skeleton boyfriend was already in the car? Ah well, guess you both could be scatterbrained sometimes.

You smile, amused, as you remember how you both had to buy this huge van just so Sans could sit comfortably.

It’s a struggle but he’s eventually in his seat, buckled and relaxed, while you start the van and back out of the driveway. As your drive begins you turn the radio on low - hoping to ease any nerves he may still have by giving him something to focus on, while not being loud enough to give him a headache. You glance at him, feeling a bit nervous.

You guys have been dating for about four years now, and you couldn’t be happier! After three years of dating (and Papyrus going off to medical school) you both bought a small little house in the outskirts of Ebott city, and the past year had been domestic bliss for the two of you. Of course, you’ve had your ups and downs, but overall Sans has been the sweetest boyfriend you’ve ever had. He may not be much of a conversationalist, but he makes up for that with his actions. That one game you had mentioned you wanted to play once? It was on your shared nightstand a few days later. That snack he knows you like? The house is always stocked with them. Having a bad day? He will not hesitate to draw you a nice bath, pamper you, and/or initiate cuddles and kisses.

No matter what, he always finds a way to express his love for you, and lately you’ve been feeling undeserving of this almost? No that’s not the right word. You just felt like you could be doing more. Because you, on the other hand, are amazing with your words. You enjoy watching his face turn that beautiful deep maroon and hearing his purrs stutter the more he’s flustered by your words. You love to see him relax in your arms as you give him words of affirmation and assurance on bad days. You remind him of your love for him everyday and you give him all the sweet nothings he could ever want, but acts of service has always been a struggle for you. Of course, Sans never seems bothered and he’s never given you the impression that he wants more from you, but you want to try because he absolutely deserves it.

You also may have found his little pocketbook full of notes he takes throughout the day full of notes about you, your jokes, your stories, and little things you had mentioned. Due to his unfortunate head injury, he wasn’t always the best at remembering certain little things. You knew he was working on getting better, but you never pressured him to tell you how - it seemed like he didn’t want to share. You honestly felt bad you had found the book and snooped, but seeing just how much he writes about you in the notes more than anything else was just too sweet. It almost made you cry. Almost.

Ah who are you kidding? You definitely teared up.

So, you planned a little surprise date, full of his favorite things combined. The outdoors, food, and you - a picnic by the lake a little bit away from your home. After the hell monsters went through underground, most of them have a deep appreciation for the sky and full bellies (or what would be akin to a belly for them). Sans is no different, so you were hoping he’d take a liking to it.

“... how long... will the surprise take?” The question surprised you a bit, not only because it pulled you out of your musings, but because he’s usually very patient. That is, until you take in his stiff posture and realize the issue. Dinnertime is soon and he doesn’t quite know when you both will be eating.

“Don’t worry hon, we’ll have food soon,” You feel okay letting that bit of the surprise known. Despite being on the surface for almost seven years, Sans tends to get very nervous when you guys don’t stick to a schedule with meals. No need to keep him anxious. Especially considering you were pulling into the clearing of the lakeside. “In fact, we’re here!”

You put the van in park and tell Sans to wait for a second. Hopping out, you walk to the back of the van and open the back doors to grab the picnic basket you had packed. Once you make your way closer to the lakeside you quickly lay out the picnic blanket as well as place a folded blanket nearby in case it got a bit chilly. You then set up the food for a cute presentation, leaving the last part of the surprise you had for Sans in the basket. Jogging back to the van, you open Sans’ door to see he had already unbuckled himself. Guess he’s a bit more excited for the surprise than he let on earlier.

“Come on big guy, you’ve waited long enough” You grab his hand, help him out of the van and start leading him to the blacket set up.

“Can you lean down again?” You ask when you get to it. He does so and you gently take off his blindfold, making sure the fabric doesn’t catch on his skull injury or the rough bone near his dead socket. Once it’s off you gesture dramatically to the blanket. “Ta da!”

Sans stands straight up again and blinks a bit, overlooking the blanket at first, expecting something more near his sightline. Following where you're gesturing however, his eyelight eventually lands on the picnic blanket below. He still looks a bit confused. You were prepared for this type of reaction, many human activities such as picnics can be completely foreign to monsters - same for some monster activities being completely foreign to humans. You guys have had your fair share of these moments where you both have had to do a bit of explaining.

“what…?” He looks at you for an answer.

“It’s called a picnic. You pack food, take it to a scenic area, lay down a blanket, sit down, and eat. It’s sort of considered a cheesy romantic date idea, but I like them and I thought you would too... in fact I should’ve thought to take you on one of these sooner in our relationship! I actually had this idea last month, but it was too cold… also, most of the time picnics are a lunchtime date, but I like them during the sunset. It’s been awhile since our last date, huh?” You look up at him after your question to see him looking at the blanket with his face slightly red.

“... yeah i guess it has.” He has a small smile on his face and he stares down at the food.

You remember him getting very flustered when you would give him or buy him food at the beginning of your relationship. Since it was a scarcity down below, being willing to share food had a deeper intimate meaning for monsters. It meant that you loved them enough to offer a lifeline - food - that they so desperately clung to in its rarity. He still gets a little flustered now, but he’s been exposed to food sharing and he’s even come to enjoy it as a normal gesture. Though he seems a bit flustered now? Maybe because of the romantic undertone? Hmmmm, or maybe it’s because-

Your stomach decided to make itself known, growling loudly. You laugh, but Sans gives you an anxious look of concern, leading you to say:

“Well come on! Let’s eat!”

You don’t have to tell him twice, you’re both quickly seated and indulging on the yummy food you had made earlier today.

Sans makes sure you eat a good few bites before he digs in. There was a lot of it because, unsurprisingly, your mate has quite the appetite. But he still likes to wait for you to eat first no matter how much food there is. You didn’t even notice when he did that at the beginning of your relationship and when you finally did question him, he just said it was polite to wait for your mate to eat first. He didn’t elaborate more than that. When you researched into the topic you found that when there was a significant appetite difference and on the off chance there was access to food, it was polite for those with the bigger appetites to wait for the ones with smaller appetites to eat a bit first. Then it went into monster rankings, common folk monsters, boss monsters, different magic levels, etc. to which you got confused and pretty much gave up on the issue with a simple “fine, keep your secrets then” to your computer screen. You figured if Sans thought it was important for you to know he would have told you.

You both quickly fall into your normal dinner routine of you talking Sans’ nonexistent ears off about anything and everything and him listening closely, chuckling at your jokes and stories. You ended up telling him a story from highschool about your babysitting experiences.

“- and I mean she was freaking out. I was too. We were both responsible for this kid we were babysitting and we lost him. It was also super stressful because we had taken the kid all over town doing fun stuff like going to the zoo, the park, getting lunch - this kid could be anywhere! So we both decided after searching all over the house that we would drive and retrace our steps, starting at the last place we were.” You were telling your story with animated hand gestures, and Sans follows the movements with his eyelight. The sun was setting at this point, all the food was eaten, and you both were just enjoying each other's company.

“So, we get in the car - still freaking out mind you - and I asked my friend ‘should we just call his mom?’ and before my friend could answer I heard a little voice say, ‘why would you call my mom?’ I whipped my head around to see the kid just chilling in his carseat. Turns out we just forgot to unbuckle him and he had fallen asleep during the car ride! We were flipping the house upside down trying to find him and we hadn’t even taken him inside!” Sans broke out laughing at your dumb story, leaving you to grin.

“Oh sure it’s funny in hindsight, but I about peed my pants when we thought we lost him! I was so scared, what was I gonna tell his mom? ‘Hey Lisa, um it’s going great! Uh just thought you should know, we can’t find your kid and we may have lost him?’” Sans couldn’t stop laughing. You egged him on.

“Oh yeah, and wanna know the worst part? The little shit was old enough and clever enough to figure out what happened and we had to bribe him with ice cream to keep him quiet.” Sans let out boisterous laughter and fell back so that he was laying on the ground. You couldn’t help but join in at that point. You didn’t particularly think the story was all that funny but when Sans laughs like this, it’s infectious.

After you both calm down a bit, you look at Sans to see him gazing at you lovingly. You love this content expression he makes, when his eyelight gets all fuzzy and dilated, it makes you feel so special and loved. It’s his expression reserved only for you (and maybe that stew you made last week, he seemed to be pretty taken with that as well).

“... thank you, for tonight.”

“Dawww you big softie! Of course! It was the least I could do for you, you always make sure I’m happy and content. I wanted to give you something like that.” He blushes, but he also furrows his brows a bit.

“you don’t need to feel… like you owe me more, i do it because… i love you.” Of course, you knew this, but hearing him say it? It had you tearing up a bit. He reaches for you and you lean into his embrace, leaving you both cuddling on the ground. You sniff a bit, trying to stop the crying before it really starts.

“I know, I’ve been trying to drill that into my head, but you deserved tonight and I’m glad I went through with this. It was fun! I might plan more dates in the future. In fact I think I’m pretty good at it!” You jokingly say with all the unearned confidence in the world. Sans chuckles and pulls you closer and despite your efforts, a few happy tears do fall, leaving him to make a concerned noise.

“you okay?” He asks, and you wave away his concern.

“I’m fine, I just love you too.”

“heh… now who’s the softie?” He gently teases, pointedly ignoring the fact that he’s blushing again.

“Pfft- I guess you’re right. Literally too, I’m the one with the flesh and skin!” He erupts into laughter again.

“Easy crowd tonight.” You joke, causing him to laugh harder and you chuckle with him.

Once he calms down, you both lay in comfortable silence, before you remember your last surprise. You shoot up into a sitting position, making Sans - who was resting his eyes comfortably - let out a surprised growl. You laugh at his reaction, reassuring him that everything is fine.

“I just have one more surprise that I thought would be fun.” You dig into the picnic basket, pulling out the surprise and grabbing that extra blanket. You lay back down with Sans and pull the blanket over you guys.

“I think it should be dark enough for this,” You hand him the surprise - a handheld telescope. “It’s not as nice as the big one you have at home, but it’s a lot easier and lighter to carry around, plue we don’t have to stand.”

Sans smiles at you.

“... do you want to learn some more… constellations?”

“Absolutely I do!”

He begins to show you the visible constellations, and you proceed to make him laugh with the made up stories for them that you swear are the true origin stories. Just relaxing and goofing off, it’s moments like these where you remember just how lucky you were to be with your gentle giant, Sans.

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cognacdelights · 4 years

Text

teenage fever

my outer banks masterlist

add yourself to my taglist

summary: with the aid of one too many alcoholic drinks, two life-long best friends confess their feelings for one another without using any words at all as the after party dwindles down around them.

warnings: graphic sexual content. unprotected sex.

The air was thick with a nebula of nicotine and the sweet, yet musty, essence of marijuana as the laidback tempo of the R&B playlist echoed throughout the old, decrepit fishing shack. A legion of half-consumed beer bottles cluttered the kitchen countertops - standing tall beside the few crumpled, empty beer cans. Cigarette butts filled the several ash trays littered around the confined space, creating an unsightly mountain of burnt-out roll-ups that spilled over onto the stained, wooden surfaces. The small, anchor-themed clock which hung proudly on the wall beside the doorway read 4:13 - the incessant ticking drowned out by the calming bass of the R&B music. What had once been a raging, wild house party that had seen almost every troublesome teenager of The Cut had dwindled down into a relaxed, mellow affair, with only a few roisterous individuals remaining.

Her crimson, platform heels lay discarded on the slate tiles just an arms-length away as her trim, scantily clad body entangled itself with his - her arms loosely coiled around the back of his neck. His jean-clad knee pressed between her sun-soaked thighs, her voluptuous hips moving in cadence with the slowed, sultry tempo of the music as they grinded sensually against his. Her movements were alluringly languid as he placed his bear-like palm against the small of her back, his touch searing her skin through the thin material of her sable, figure-hugging dress. Compelled further into his warm, enticing embrace by the electrifying pulses of energy surging through her petite, intoxicated silhouette, she eliminated the remaining gap between their two synchronised bodies.

As she peered upwards through her dark, mascara-coated lashes, her hazy, inebriated eyes met with his. The taste of his spirit-laced breath consumed her as their faces hovered just a mere millimetres apart - both hesitant to invade no man’s land; both tentative in escalating their life-long friendship. It was the Don Julio which ultimately coerced the two longing, tipsy teens to take the plunge into the unknown; their soft lips molded together in a leisurely, timid manoeuvre, the ever-lasting agave flavour of the citrus liquor spurring them on in their ardent embrace. Her naturally long lashes grazed against the blush-tinted skin of his cheeks as her eyes fluttered closed - allowing herself to revel in the fervent passion radiating between them.

Her scarlet-painted fingertips fiddled with the dishevelled ends of his tousled, sandy locks, his own paw-like palms settling on the entrancing, bodacious curves of her hips. Gently, he applied pressure - pushing her heated, panty-covered core against him as she continued to sensually sway to the music. The friction he had created between them was intensely euphoric, but not quite enough to satisfy the zealous yearning which had erupted in the depths of his stomach. Every inch of his being longed for more - more of every intoxicating sensation he could elicit; his hands hankered for the warmth of her exposed skin against his and his lips thirsted for the exhilarating concoction of flavours that she held.

Eventually, he tore his chapped, rose-tinted lips from hers, peppering several tender, affectionate kisses along her pronounced jawline as his lascivious tongue dared to explore more. His lustful lips found shelter in the crook of her neck - placing delicate, loving kisses in the crevices. Relishing in the sweet, floral aroma of her perfume, he began to gently suck on the golden tones of her complexion. She cocked her head to the side ever so slightly, allowing him full, unrestricted access as his pointed teeth grazed lightly over the wet patch of skin. He placed a handful of fragile, rapture-filled kisses over the sensitive area, satisfied by the possessive imprint he had left, before retreating back to the comfort of her lipstick-coated lips; it was almost as if his lips were in a state of withdrawal.

His thin, sinful lips landed upon hers once again, but this time it was different. His tongue valiantly forced its way into her unsuspecting mouth in an act of absolute dominance, yet the motion was devoid of all aggression - more abundant in a deep-rooted craving for intimacy. She contentedly welcomed his exploring tongue with her own, tauntingly caressing it as their lips continued to interlock together in a melodious synchronisation. The heat of his clammy, calloused palm sent an invigorating rush of adrenaline through her dainty, drunken frame as it came to rest against her upper thigh. With his audacious fingers breaching the thin, cotton boundaries of her bodycon dress, he squeezed the delicate skin.

A symphony of hoots and whistles erupted from the distance of the open, arched doorway - as their beloved, closest friends observed their erotic display of affection. The girlish, innocent giggles of Sarah Cameron and Kiara Carrera sounded above the slow, sensuous pounding of the bassline, as their four friends proceeded to throw what she could only assume were condoms at the entranced pair. As the cold, foil wrappers hit against her arched back, she nonchalantly retrieved an arm from behind his neck, gesturing her disapproval of their actions with a stern, rigid flash of her middle finger; they were far too embroiled in one another’s wistful, lovelorn tenderness to acknowledge their friends’ teasing behaviour.

Half in attempt to shield her petite, hour-glass silhouette from the barrage of condoms and half out of pure, carnal desire to escalate their amorous, salacious encounter, the shaggy-haired blonde maneuvered their entangled bodies around - his evident erection pressing comfortably against the sensitive, sun-drenched skin of her thigh. As her scorching, bare skin fell against the cool wood of the kitchen cabinets, a soft gasp surpassed her swollen, plump lips. Delicately, his dauntless hands hooked themselves beneath the shapely curves of her ass, pushing her hypnotic hips upwards onto the beer-stained countertop - prompting the hasty departure of their on-looking friends.

His wandering fingertips slinked towards the boundaries of her soaking heat, encroaching on the black, patterned lace of her thong. Parting their magnetised lips to suck in an unsteady breath of air, she felt his experienced thumb slip beneath the damp material and trace pleasureful figures of eight against her clit. Heat radiated from her sodden core as she instinctively threw her head back at the electrifying sensation. His lips once again found the sensitive skin of her neck, sprinkling adoration-filled kisses along the glistening highlight of her collarbone.

With a breathy moan escaping her velvet lips, she pushed her eager hips forward. A haughty, satisfied smirk etched itself into the foundations of his chiselled features at her pleading movements, attentively sliding his two poised fingers across the length of her folds - lathering them on her sweet nectar before slowly thrusting them into her core. Her desperate, ruby-painted fingertips reached for the buckle of his belt, fumbling slightly as they eased the worn leather free of the metal clasp. Effortlessly popping the button of his light-wash, denim jeans, she tugged down the sticking zipper.

Her gentle, delicate hands were warm against the sensitive skin of his hardened length as they found their way beneath the waistband of his boxers. An aroused, throaty groan bypassed his tequila-stained lips as his stubby, ring-clad fingers caressed the acute nerves of her core - the exhilarating friction of her soft, sultry palm working along his shaft smothering him. Short, staggered breaths and elated whines consumed the small, homely kitchen as they continued to tender to the other’s desirous yearns. Endearment clouded his ravenous, cerulean eyes as they bore directly and intently into hers - a content, adoring smile tugging at the corners of his thin, alcohol-soaked lips as he indulged in the affinity of their exchange.

Retreating from the shelter of her drenched heat, he brought his juice-soaked fingers to his lips - his mischievous tongue lapping up every stray droplet of her honey-like essence. A subconscious whimper vibrated from the depths of her throat, her hypersensitive nerves neglected by the sudden loss of contact, craving his expert touch once more. His covetous thumbs arched beneath the meagre string of her lace-detailed thong, guiding the damp material down her smooth, tanned thighs. As the damp, patterned fabric reached her dainty ankles, the bewitched blonde crumpled her panties in his calloused palm - carelessly stuffing them into the back pocket of his skinny-fit jeans.

Pushing the tight waistband of his boxers down, he released his stiff, poised dick and positioned himself at her sodden entrance. Slowly, sensually, he pushed himself into her heat. Her lipstick-coated lips entrapped his once again as they echoed an unholy harmony of moans and groans between them, his pleasureful movements remaining languid and gentle. Devilishly, the salacious girl captured his swollen, chapped bottom lip between her teeth, tugging gently at the sensitive skin, cautious not to draw blood. A primal grumble crawled out from the deep, dark depths of his throat as he reconnected their tequila-laced lips for what seemed to be the hundredth time that night.

As the seductive, soulful music faded from one song to the next, he skilfully adjusted the pace of his lascivious movements to the laid-back tempo of the familiar chorus. Her ardent hips followed suit - rocking in a heavenly, sultry cadence with his. The off-white cotton of his t-shirt wrinkled under her tight, careless grip, her pointed, vermillion-painted nails digging themselves into his clothed shoulders. Arching her back and smoothly thrusting her voluptuous hips forward in harmony with his, his pulsing length filled her aching core to capacity - eliciting an ungodly, sensuous whine from her luscious, spirit-laced lips.

His slow, seductive movements had taken her by surprise. The naturally radiant, sun-kissed girl had always expected the muscular, sandy-haired boy to be a rampant, raunchy lover; from the kink-fuelled, salacious scandals with worse-for-wear tourists that he often reminisced on, to the smutty, unchaste fantasies - in which he took the starring role - that frequently plagued her wicked brain, she had come to the affirmation that her troublesome, unruly life-long best friend was an untameable animal in the bedroom. However, the sumptuous, indulgent moment she had found herself living in was quite the contrast to her initial opinions of the stiff-jawed blonde. This was an intimate, passionate, emotional affair - and he meant every second of it; he meant every sensual touch, every lascivious kiss, every amorous thrust.

Their leisurely, romantic pace that heeded to the rhythm of the mellow R&B playlist meant that their attentive, enamoured embrace had continued for a prolonged period of time - much to the dismay of their friends. As the steamy, classic naughties ballad dissipated into the early hours of the mid-summer morn, a slightly more up-tempo, modern beat resounded through the old fish shack. Once again, he adjusted his affectionate thrusts, speeding up ever so slightly. Easing into his new found pace, the athletically-built boy with the tousled, shaggy, blonde hair felt his climax nearing. His calloused fingertips gripped on to the curvatures of her concave waistline out of instinct - forcing back the tidal wave of ecstasy he was so desperate to let overwhelm him, refusing to concede before her.

It was merely several, indulgent thrusts later that the sensitive walls of her sodden core clenched around his painfully hard length, the tell-tale, familiar knot of her high tightening in the pit of her stomach. As she forcefully rolled her bodacious hips against his, she began to unravel around his bulging span. Her manicured, ballerina-shaped fingertips gripped firmly onto the varnished pine of the countertop, her spine arching almost unnaturally as her head threw itself backwards in a subconscious reaction to the immense pleasure which surged through her alcohol-laced veins. A harmonious medley of curse words, enraptured whimpers and sensuous moans surpassed her heavenly, sumptuous lips.

As the petite, hazy-eyed girl continued to ride out her euphoric apex, the searing skin of her bare hips meeting with his own forced him to cave in. His valiant efforts to suppress his intense, building orgasm had been thwarted by the unholy slurs which rolled so effortlessly off her salacious tongue - feeling himself erupt inside her sensual heat. Shortening his cadenced, rhythmic thrusts, he dared not pull his aching length completely out. Her acute, hypersensitive nerves could feel his pleasureful load filling her core - the heightened pace of his hips dwindling into nothing as he finished.

Eventually, he pulled his juice-drenched length from the comforting warmth of her heat, tucking himself back into the fabric constraints of his boxers. An adoring, content smile contorted her doll-like features as her clouded doe eyes peered upwards through her thick, mascara-coated lashes into his admiring, indigo orbs. She could feel the blended concoction of their endearing embrace seeping from her throbbing, saturated folds - onto the bare, exposed skin of her thighs - but she didn’t care. She simply placed her swollen, plump lips on his once more, enrapturing the breathless, teal-eyed boy in yet another tender, passionate kiss, her delicate palms resting themselves on the broads of his defined, burly shoulders.

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wylanvnneck · 3 years

Text

This 2 part fic was written for the Secret Snusband Gift Giveaway hosted by @jurdannet and @jurdannetrevels for my lovely Knife Wife @lilacs-with-lavender.

Rating: T for Tyrannosaurus

Summary: Inspired by an episode of my favourite Cop TV show, ‘Castle’, in which a bet takes place with pretty high stakes, although the plotline has been tweaked to fit this fandom. My Knife Wife said she loved the Enemies to Lovers trope so that’s what I’ve (tried to) write here and I hope you enjoy the story of Homicide Detectives Jude Duarte and Cardan Greenbriar and their mutual enmity.

Warnings: Not so graphic descriptions of murder and mention of drugs. (Really not sure what I need to tag, so please let me know if I’ve missed something.)

Posted as a Gift on AO3 | Part 1 | Masterlist

Part 2

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“Lil, It’s 7.15 and I still need to decide on a dress, help!”

The ever helpful Liliver is currently perched on her bed, legs crossed and unruffled in stark contrast to Jude’s frantic rummaging of her sparse closet. She comes across a sparkly orange sequin dress that she holds up for her friend’s inspection.

“Honey. You’d look like a broken disco ball.”

“The girl at Saks said sequins were in.”

“She lied.”

Ugh. Damn Greenbriar for his stupid bets and his stupid dinners and his stupid brain which occasionally stumbled upon solutions. Defeat was a bitter pill to swallow.

She’s contemplating over whether to excuse herself for the night by pretending to have an infectious disease which requires keeping all other humans at a distance of five feet, when the doorbell to her apartment rings.

“Lil, would you mind answering the door for me please?” she asks, conscious of the fact that she was dressed in only her underwear.

“Sure, but when I come back you’d better not be wearing that ghastly hot pink dress I saw in there,” her friend calls as she unravels herself from the cozy mattress and leaves the room.

Foiled again. Jude’s just about out of options and the only thing that she can fathom being worse than having to be Cardan’s fake girlfriend for a night, was having to do so while being completely underdressed and out of place in a roomful of his father’s closest business associates.

“There was a package delivered to your doorstep,” Lil says as she re-enters the room, carrying a white parcel in her hands.

“A package? But I haven’t ordered anything.”

“Open it, maybe there’s a note,” she hands it over. The detective inside of Jude is wary, but she’s too curious to not open it so she gently rips open the package’s wrapping to reveal a large square box tied with a silver ribbon and tag attached to it. ‘Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo’ are the only words written on it. She knows immediately who it’s from and she feels an answering surge of anger along with an emotion that isn’t easy to decipher.

“I knew he was arrogant, but this-” She roughly unties the ribbon and tears open the lid and inside is the softest folded up material that she’s ever seen. Gently, she takes it out and it unfolds, turning into a simple but gorgeous black cocktail dress with an A-line skirt and off the shoulder sleeves, the picture of elegance.

Lil’s silver eyes are wide when she lets out a low whistle, “Damn.”

Jude is speechless.

“Wow.” Cardan’s voice sounds slightly higher pitched than usual before he clears his throat, standing just outside Jude’s doorway. “You clean up nice, detective.”

With a little help from Lil, she had accessorised the dress with a silver choker necklace that had belonged to her mother and a small velvet clutch. Her hair was carefully put up with dozens of little bobby pins and she feels sexy and ready to conquer whatever the Greenbriar family had in store for her.

Cardan himself is dressed in a coal coloured suit, a silky scrap of fabric tucked into his jacket pocket, shiny enough to match his eyes. There’s the faintest shimmer of gold on his defined cheekbones and his curly locks are just untidy enough to look stylish and it’s unfair how handsome he is.

“So do you.”

He steps back and holds out his arm for her in the way that gentlemen did in those historical dramas that Lil was always forcing her to watch and it shouldn’t have made her blush as she clutches the soft fabric covering his arm, but it did. She blames it on the corridor’s harsh fluorescent lighting.

Together they glide to the elevator and wordlessy head to the garage where Cardan’s sleek grey Maserati stands out amidst the other rundown cars belonging to the other apartment tenants, her neighbours, yet another reminder of all the differences between the two of them.

“Your carriage awaits you, my lady,” he opens the door for her, something that most of her few disastrous dates had neglected to do in the past and she’s so used to thinking of him as an indecorous scoundrel that him being so courteous was almost unwelcome. She’s not used to spending time with him outside of work and she’s strangely out of her element.

Cardan goes round and gets in on the other side and Jude secures her seatbelt as he starts up the car and swivels his head around to watch the back of the car before reversing.

They’re cruising along in his car and the only noise is the smooth purr of the Maserati and it smells of the pine air freshener that he’s pinned up to the rearview mirror. She leans back in her smooth leather seat and watches as they pass by buildings and skyscrapers and shops, the city buzzing with nightlife.

“So, what exactly is it that I’ve gotten myself into?”

Cardan takes his eyes off of the road to shoot her a swift glance before focusing back ahead of him, one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the gear stick.

“Well, it’s a dinner party with some of my father’s closest friends, all of them snobs and all of them with their own agendas. I suppose I should also mention that this party is to celebrate the win of his company’s recent lawsuit.”

“Sounds like it’ll be wonderful.” Her words are dry with sarcasm. She has no desire to spend the night making polite conversation with aristocratic stiff necks who would look down upon her, but a bet was a bet and she had to admit that so far Cardan wasn’t making her regret her decision to agree to his challenge.

He surprises her by letting out a low and husky laugh, “You have no idea.”

There’s an awkward silence.

“Thanks for the dress, by the way.”

“You’re welcome.”

For the short remainder of the ride the only sound that can be heard are the songs being played on the radio.

The party is in high swing by the time they get there, champagne glasses clink, waiters in their smart uniforms walk around carrying trays of hors d'œuvre and the low rumble of conversation and piano music fills the air. The private outdoor venue is large and there are fairy lights strung on the bordering walls and tea candles on each table, creating an overwhelming effect.

There’s a slightly raised ramp at the other end of the entrance where a podium had been set up, complete with a banner displaying a fancy script that reads ‘Elfhame Enterprises’, which was the name of Cardan’s father, Eldred Greenbriar’s company.

Cardan has been holding her hand since he opened the car door once again for her and now, standing at the entrance of the party and waiting for his invitation to be accepted by the guard stationed at the gate, he squeezes her hand tightly in his and the act seems unconscious. There’s a tension clearly written on his face.

For once she doesn’t need to raise her head to speak to him, thanks to her three inch heels and she leans over to discreetly whisper in his ear, “You ok?”

This time the gentle squeeze that he gives her is definitely on purpose.

“I’m fine.” There’s the smallest of curves to his lips.

A diminutive lady with pale skin and Cardan’s sharp cheekbones and raven hair bustles up to them, a long stemmed wine glass filled to the brim held loosely in her hand. Jewels glistened on her long and low-cut gown, adding to the air of opulence that she exuded.

“Cardan, you’ve finally arrived. Oh and you’ve brought someone with you!”

“Hello, mother.” There’s a tightness in his smile. “Yes I did, allow me to introduce you to Jude Duarte.”

Stepping forward she firmly holds out her hand to Cardan’s mother and is graced with the barest of shakes in return, “You may call me Ma’am.”

Ma’am?

“Of course, thank you...Ma’am.”

Mrs. Greenbriar gives Jude a long and thorough onceover, dissecting her with cold eyes as if she were a mere insect and the feeling is extremely disconcerting. She looks to Cardan for support, but he looks just as out of depth offering her a look of sympathy with the features that so resembled his mother’s.

“So, Judie, what exactly is it that you do?”

She stands taller and staunchly replies, “I’m a Homicide Detective for the 12th precinct.”

“Ah. I see.” The words reverberate with barely hidden disappointment and distaste and just like that she no longer pays Jude any attention, turning to her son and reaching out to possessively clutch his arm and whisper something in his ear which makes him tighten his jaw further before bouncing off, wine spilling over from her glass.

“That was my mother.” Cardan says, unnecessarily.

“Right.” Jude couldn’t help what but wonder about what sort of a childhood he would have had to endure. Perhaps his mother hadn’t always been so disparaging. It seemed that there was a whole different side to Cardan’s life that she’d never known about.

“She's - hard to explain. I apologise for her behaviour though, she shouldn’t have treated you that way.” He’s sincere, but there’s also an underlying note of sadness. The type of sorrow that you would feel if you were let down yet again by someone that you always gave second chances to. Her heart gives a pang on his behalf. Before she can reassure him he continues, as if desperate to push the subject behind them. “Anyways, let me go get you a drink, what’ll you have?”

To the side of the grounds is a long table covered with a white cloth with various bottles of alcohol lined upon it, their colourful glasses glinting under the fairy lights. Behind the bar there’s a bartender in uniform, smoothly mixing drinks to order as rich elites look on.

“Um, maybe a Martini?” She names the first drink that comes to mind.

“A Martini, huh? Dirty, perhaps?” His trademark flirty smirk makes a reappearance and Jude knows exactly how to handle it.

“Yup.” She pops the ‘p’ in what she hopes is a seductive manner. “Just the way I like it.”

His pupils seem to darken just the tiniest bit and his mouth makes a slight ‘O’ shape before he promptly turns on his heel in the direction of the bar muttering, “I’ll be right back.”

After a few moments of standing near the entrance, moving only to accept a smoked salmon canape from a passing waiter, Jude pulls out her phone from her purse to find multiple texts from Lil.

So? How’s it going?

If you need me to call and be your ‘family emergency’ so you can escape, I can totally do that, just say the word.

Jude

Judeee

You alive?

Biting back a grin she reassures her dramatic friend that she was definitely still alive. She’s just pressed send when she senses someone’s stare on her and something about it makes her skin crawl. She looks up and is met by the sight of a tall girl in a jade green V-cut and backless dress with vibrant blue hair. Nicasia.

“Why, Judie, fancy seeing you here!” Jude inwardly grimaces. Nicasia’s voice hadn’t gotten any less painful to hear since their last encounter. Standing in front of her now, she can’t help but think that she looked slightly ridiculous in all her fripperies, opaque pearls dangled from her ears and around her neck, gemstones glistening on her hair and cerulean eyeshadow that completely overshadowed the rest of her face. Strange to think that the last time they’d met, Jude had been plagued with envy, not even really knowing why.

She plasters a carefully manufactured, artificial smile on her face. “Nicky! What a delight to see you again!”

Nicasia’s face twists for a mere second before her cheerful and friendly facade is back in place. “Quite. Although, I can’t imagine how you’ve come to be here.”

Her words are clearly a question, one that Jude answers beamingly, “Oh, I’m here with Cardan. As his date.”

She watches as the blue-haired girl’s eyebrows fly up her forehead, unable to contain her surprise. Jude knows a moment of smug victory and Cardan chooses this moment to walk up behind her carrying two cocktail glasses in his hands. He stops right next to her, handing her a glass with clear liquid and an orange twist inside it before slipping an arm around her waist, sending a zing up her spine. What the hell did he think he was doing? She briefly considers shaking him off, before realizing that he was holding her this way for Nicasia’s benefit. After all, she was his pretend girlfriend for the night.

“Nicasia! How lovely to bump into you!” His smile is just as fake as Jude’s had been and that fact shouldn’t give her a moment of satisfaction but it did.

“Why hello there Car! Yes your mother invited me, wasn’t that sweet of her? And I was just talking to Judie over here, it’s been lovely seeing her again.” She brings a hand up to her neck and starts twirling a pearl necklace. “I didn’t realise you two were an item?”

Cardan holds her even tighter against him. “Well, what can I say, she swept me off my feet.”

He turns his face to her and gives her a subtle wink before molding his expression into an excruciatingly sappy look of affection, the kind that only existed in extremely cheesy early 2000s Disney movies. Suppressing a smile she returns the look to the best of her abilities.

“Aww, Honey Bunch, you are too adorable!”

Go big or go home, right?

Cardan has difficulty not breaking into laughter but he manages to hide the hysteric sound that leaves his mouth as a deep cough and if this charade went on for much longer she didn’t think she could resist cracking up either.

“Only for you, Kitten.” That almost undoes her.

Nicasia makes a low sound of disgust at their little act and barely bothers to make up an excuse for herself before stalking off, her stilettos clicking against the paved pathway.

“Oh thank God she’s gone, I was afraid that we’d be regaled with ‘Nicasia’s Trials During Sea Travels, A Saga; Part II.’” He’s referring to her last conversation with Nicasia when she had dropped by the precinct to drop something off for him and had ended up spending almost half an hour recounting her issues with sea-sickness. By the end of that half hour Jude had felt like clawing her eyeballs out.

She can’t help but laugh at both his comment and the recollection of their ridiculous masquerade and he rewards her with a look of astonishment, before a slow smile spreads over his face, eyes unbearably soft. “There’s that laugh.”

He’s referring to their conversation at Fair Folk Inks when he’d accused her of being uptight. The recollection should prompt Jude to make a snappy retort, but instead she simply swallows against the sudden lump growing in her throat and her heart is beating quick enough for her to hear. What on Earth was going on? This entire night had felt strangely like being stuck in limbo, her and Cardan shedding their competitive workplace relationship for one that was a lot more informal, a lot more together.

She takes a sip of the forgotten Martini in her hand, trying to push her errant thoughts away. Before she can think of a way to defuse the situation, the tinkling sound of metal being struck against a glass rings out through the night air.

Unnoticed by her, an elderly gentleman in a midnight blue suit that contrasted heavily with his bright blonde hair and owlish bronze eyes had stepped up to the podium. In his ring clad hands he held a wine glass and a fork, explaining the sound that she had heard earlier. Standing a little behind him but at his side is Mrs. Greenbriar, gripping a re-filled glass of wine. There also appears to be someone else standing next to her on the ramp, but the crowd around it is so thick that Jude can’t quite make him out.

“And there’s good ole’ Dad.” Her date for the night doesn’t sound at all enthusiastic about the appearance of his sire at the podium. “Looks like he’s about to grace us with an Eldred speech.”

And indeed, the old man waits until everyone is paying attention to him before he sets down the fork and raises his full glass in the air as he speaks. “Ladies and Gentlemen, as I’m sure you all know; since otherwise all you blighters wouldn’t be here,” there’s a slight smattering of obligatory laughter, “Elfhame Enterprises has recently undergone a lawsuit, which we came out of with a resounding victory against the Seelie Corporation, as everyone knew we would. Nevertheless, let us raise our glasses in celebration and as a toast to many more years of victories and resounding successes!”

United, his entire audience dutifully raises their glasses in a toast and downs the contents, Jude herself takes the smallest of sips from her Martini out of respect, although the alcohol tastes more bitter than before. She had never been a huge fan of these big businesses that bribed and blackmailed and pocketed money for themselves at the cost of so many others and she’d been a detective for long enough to cement that dislike. Then, she makes the startling discovery that Cardan himself had not raised his glass, nor taken a sip, instead, the hand that clutched his drink was doing so so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. Before she has the time to question his surprising behaviour Eldred continues speaking.

“In regards to the many years to come for Elfhame Enterprises, well, as you all know I’m not as young as I once was, although I can definitely still party the way I used to,” more polite laughter,

“and it is very likely that I shall be retiring for good in a few years. Until that bittersweet moment arrives however, I am glad to announce that working right along beside me and learning the ropes will be my heir and the man to whom the running of my wonderful company will fall to...my beloved elder son, Dain Greenbriar!”

If a meteor had just flown across the sky and landed two feet away from her, Jude couldn’t have been more shocked than she was at that moment. Cardan had a brother.

She watches in slow motion as the previously hidden figure beside the now jubilant Mrs. Greenbriar steps forward to stand by his father. Unlike Cardan, Dain was the picture of his father, except 30 years younger. His blonde hair was light and shiny and his face was harsh and unforgiving, the angles seeming as sharp as a blade. His handsome but smug smile rubs Jude the wrong way, making her instantly dislike him. Next to her, Cardan wears a shield of uncaring resignation, but whilst she watches him watching his family, there’s an underlying sadness seeping from his countenance and she knows him well enough to detect it.

Jude had always taken Cardan at surface level, he was rich, came from a wealthy family with high connections and lots of influence and he was also a playboy. To her, that meant he had been given an easy life, one where he never had to work hard for anything and got a free pass into doing whatever he liked, so very different from the life that she had lived with her struggling single mother after her father had passed away during an accident at his forge. And now it looked like her disdain for his background had been unfounded. His mother seemed to only care about money and positions, his father was no better and from the self-satisfied grin on Dain’s face she could surmise that he was the golden child of the family, coveted by all and ‘overshadower’ of his younger brother.

The same younger brother whose existence his entire family and their friends seemed to have forgotten about.

Enough was enough.

She deposits her Martini onto a passing tray and does the same with Cardan’s untouched one which she wrestles from his tight grip, before reaching out to take his hand in hers. He tilts his head and considers her for a moment before surrendering with a slight shrug, his usual debonair sucked out of him.

“Come on, let’s get out of here.” She drags him out through the entrance, not stopping to consider if any of the guests was watching them in the turmoil of congratulating Dain and his father.

The moment they’re out of the gates she stumbles into a nearby deserted alleyway, towing a bemused Cardan along with her. They come to a sudden stop right next to a streetlight, and unhesitatingly Jude plonks herself down onto the relatively clean looking sidewalk, with no regard for her new dress.

“Sit.” She pats on an empty spot next to her.

Cardan raises an eyebrow at her, before giving in and seating himself in the place she’d indicated. Her heel clad legs stretch out next to his feet encased by fancy leather Oxford’s.

“Talk.” She silently encourages him with her eyes.

“I-” He starts, then stops. Struggling to meet her steady gaze he finally bows his head and forces himself to speak. “I suppose you could say that my family has never been the most loving,” understatement she thinks, “and ever since the day I was born I was nothing like my big brother, he talked; I watched, he walked; I crawled and it was always like that. He would excel at school, I used to run riot with my friends. I always knew that they loved him more.

“When it was time for me to find a job, I knew that I didn’t want anything to do with the corporate world, I’d seen what it did to my parents and my brother and I wanted nothing to do with it. So I decided I’d do the exact opposite. I’d try my hardest to fight for justice and go against everything that my family stood for, corruption, money and power. That’s why I became a cop, why I enrolled at the academy, why I used my father’s blood money to pay the fees, so I could give back to the community in even some small way. Needless to say, my parents weren’t very happy with that decision.”

His words hit Jude like a volley of arrows. She’d been so very, very wrong about the man sitting next to her. This man who fought so hard to escape his family’s legacy. Regret rushes through her and reaches out for his hand and squeezes it gently, the way he’d done to her earlier.

“Cardan, listen to me, what your family thinks about you doesn’t matter. I wish that you’d grown up with parents and a brother who loved and treasured you the way you deserved, but you know what?

“I think you should be proud of who you are. Because everything that you’ve been through has made you who you are today; Cardan Greenbriar, a pretty smart cop - despite what I said earlier, it wasn’t true and I’m extremely sorry for it - and a partner who always keeps up with me and someone whom I wouldn’t hesitate to entrust my life to and the man who manages to charm everyone in the precinct with his magnetism.”

He’s squeezing her hand right back and his eyes are glistening suspiciously as they burn into hers. A shaky smile manifests at her last few words after which he looks down once again and mutters, “not everyone.”

“Huh?”

“Not everyone.” His voice is stronger now when he raises his head again, more combustible. “You said that I’ve charmed everyone at the precinct, but there’s one woman who appears to be immune, despite being the one woman that I’ve had feelings for for quite a while now…it’s you, Jude.”

She can hear the blood rushing in her ears as her heart thumps. He thought she was immune to him? So had she, she’d thought she hated him, but now she’s wondering if what she felt for him was so much more than hate. Yes, he had her hackles rising faster than anyone else did and his occasional arrogance was a never ending source of annoyance to her, but he was also the man who understood her when she was working overtime on a tough case, always bringing her coffee whenever she pulled an all-nighter, always making sure to inquire after her mother’s health, always making sure she had a safe way of getting home. So many times he’d helped her out in little little ways, disguising his kindness as him merely trying to get under her skin and now her oblivious self was finally starting to realize it.

He smells like pine and Cardan in the aftermath of his confession, and he’d called her Jude, not ‘Duarte’ and he had feelings for her and what she’s about to do next was something that she never dreamed that she would do before, and yet, it was somehow inevitable. She leans over and kisses him.

His lips are so very soft, like a feather, and the moment they meet hers she bursts into flames. This kiss was unlike any that she had ever had before, It was a forge-fire hot conflagration and she didn’t care if it burned her. The flame that had always been there between them is stronger than ever and it felt as though all this time the ‘hate’ burning through them had been hiding a much more powerful passion beneath it.

He brings his hands up to her neck and gently tugs at the bobby pins holding up her hairdo. She barely notices as they skitter to the pavement, leaving her brown locks down for him to pull at. She does the same to him, carding her fingers through his thick curls, curls that felt as sleek as a puppy’s fur against her questing hands.

Panting, he pulls away first and she has to force herself not to follow his lips with hers. Slowly she opens her closed eyes and looks at him, so close now that she can see the slightest flecks of colour in his dark eyes as his breath stirs her loose hair.

“Wow. That...wow,” he babbles, “I - we should date, that was, I mean-”

“Cardan?”

“Yes?”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

He does exactly that and later, when he asks her out, she has no answer for him but ‘yes’.

The End.

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

Liles, this fic was for you and I hope you enjoyed it. It’s been really fun getting to know more about you through our anon asks and answers and feel free to PM me anytime💕

Once again, I’m tagging: @cupcakesandkittens and @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln

Please let me know (via ask or PM) if you’d like to be added to or taken off of my taglist!

#tfota #dd writes #the folk of the air #the folk of the air fanfiction #tfota fic #secretsnusband #jurdannet #jurdannet revels #header edited by me

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disastermages · 4 years

Text

A Different Kind of Gusu Trio pt. 2

there’s an edit for this au now! by one of my friends! who is very sweet! link

“Uncle,” Lan Xichen says, his brush still held in his hand as he speaks, his eyes focused on his uncle’s bowed head, “I’ve decided not to expel Young Master Wei and the rest of the Jiang disciples.” He says it cheerfully, as though it would keep his uncle from arguing with him.

“The elders have already made their decision, Xichen.” Lan Qiren says, setting down his own brush and frowning. A decision that he’d been conveniently left out of, Lan Xichen remembers, his smile threatening to fall as he continues to draft a letter to the Laoling Qin. He’d yet to write a letter to Jiang Yanli to give his account of what had happened, the intention had been to bide time and take care with the words, but Lan Xichen knows that he’s stalling.

He knew it wasn’t a fair punishment, he’d heard the repeated insult of his friend from at least three different disciples aside from Wei Wuxian, and Lan Xichen had done everything he could to stop himself from coming down harder on Jin Zixuan.

“I am aware of the decision, Uncle, as sect leader, I’ve decided to overlook it.” It was entirely too early in his position to be pulling at these kinds of threads, but Wei Wuxian had been in the right, and that was the most important thing, wasn’t it?

Lan Qiren sighs and sets both of his hands on the table in front of him, leaning forward ever so slightly like he used to do when he and Wangji had been children. “Whatever affection you hold for Lady Jiang cannot cloud your judgement now, Xichen.” His uncle sounds exhausted as he speaks, like he had when Wangji had taken to kneeling outside their mother’s house in the snow.

Lan Xichen had long since stopped drafting his letter to the Laoling Qin, ink seeps into the paper and onto his desk as he forces himself to keep smiling in spite of the insinuation. “Jiang Yanli is my sworn sister, Uncle.” Lan Xichen reminds, leaving no room for argument within the statement before he continues on. “Young Master Wei is already an exceptional cultivator, it would be negligent of the Lan clan to allow him to leave before honing his skills under our instruction.” He’d been planning this argument out in his head since he’d been informed of the elder’s decision, he wouldn’t back down now.

“Wei Ying is a heretic and a menace.” Lan Qiren nearly interrupts, his voice getting louder, “The boy had a thick enough face to propose the use of demonic cultivation in a room full of disciples, he drives Wangji to distraction, not to mention the incident with Young Master Jin, and you’re suggesting we reward this behavior?” Lan Xichen rolls his shoulders back as his uncle keeps speaking, allowing the smile to drop off his face entirely as he sets down his brush.

“Young Master Wei will indeed be punished for causing a disturbance, as well as shouting and running within Cloud Recesses,” Lan Xichen says, knowing how long his uncle’s list could truly get if he let him continue on, “as will Young Master Jin. What I’m suggesting, Uncle, is that with enough study and meditation, Young Master Wei’s impulses and temperament could very well improve.” Lan Xichen can feel himself getting riled and pulls himself back, it didn’t matter that he agreed with what Wei Wuxian had done, there had to be at least some form of punishment, if only to appease the clan elders.

His uncle doesn’t need to know that he’d promised Jiang Yanli and Nie Mingjue both that he’d look after their younger brothers while they were here, but he intended to keep the secret all the same.

A few moments of stiff silence fill the Hanshi, neither of them moving or looking away from one another before Lan Qiren sits back with something between a sigh and a growl. “Fine. Do as you will, Xichen.” Lan Qiren says finally, picking up his brush once more with a flick of his sleeve that, coming from anyone else, Lan Xichen could have accused of being passive aggressive.

“Thank you, Uncle.” Lan Xichen says, inclining his head and smiling once again. It’s only when Lan Qiren says nothing that Lan Xichen realizes that his letter has now been ruined and soaked through with ink.

It’s another few hours before he manages to run into Wei Wuxian on his way to the administrative offices, three letters held in his hand that Wei Wuxian’s eyes settle on immediately. Lan Xichen decides not to call him out for the way he pales at the sight of them.

“Is Grandmaster Lan still worked up?” Wei Wuxian asks him, smiling sheepishly and folding his arms behind his back when Lan Xichen gestures for him to follow. He has no doubts that his uncle had told Wei Wuxian exactly what his punishment would be long before the elders met to decide, a finger raised in his face while his own approached a shade of purple Lan Xichen once thought specific to the Jiang sect.

Stifling a chuckle, Lan Xichen smiles and shakes his head. “I’ve managed to talk uncle down.” It wasn’t a complete lie, uncle had told him to do as he pleased and Lan Xichen was going to do exactly that, he was sect leader now and it was his responsibility. “I still have to meet with your uncle and Sect Leader Jin, but I’ve managed to find a more appropriate punishment.”

Wei Wuxian’s cheeks puff out in a pout next to him as he crosses his arms over his chest. “You heard what he said about Shijie, I couldn’t let it slide.” Wei Wuxian defends, looking every bit as scolded as Jiang Yanli joked that he did when he was in trouble.

“I don’t disagree with what you did, Young Master Wei.” Lan Xichen says plainly, biting back a smile when he sees surprise pass over Wei Wuxian’s face before he continues. “Your sister is a very dear friend of mine, and I find Young Master Jin’s actions were uncalled for and childish at best.” Lan Xichen doesn’t tell Wei Wuxian what he considers Jin Zixuan’s actions at their worst, he’d save that kind of talk for Nie Mingjue.

“Some sort of punishment is to be called for, things standing as they are, Young Master Wei.” Lan Xichen finishes, making sure to look Wei Wuxian in the eyes as he speaks, and to his surprise, Wei Wuxian nods and doesn’t argue anymore, though Lan Xichen can see gears turning in his eyes.

“Does that mean more copying in the library pavilion with Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian knocks his shoulder into Lan Xichen as they walk together, grinning up at him the same way he’d seen him do to Jiang Cheng.

It makes it that much easier to smile back at him. “Another stipulation of your punishment, Young Master Wei, is that I’m to be the one to administer it.” The grin falls off of Wei Wuxian’s face almost immediately and it takes his years of restraint not to laugh as he walks ahead to the administrative offices without turning around once.

“Traitor.” Nie Mingjue calls as he watches Nie Huaisang plaster himself to Jiang Yanli’s side, and Nie Huaisang makes a show of turning his head and sticking his tongue out at his older brother.

The way Nie Mingjue shakes his head isn’t unfond when Jiang Yanli looks back up at him. She could remind him that he doesn’t have any room to talk, that when her brothers had flanked him on either side and asked question after question about sword forms and cultivation techniques, he’d indulged them and answered every question he could, which had only led to more questions.

Instead she smiles back at him before she lets Nie Huaisang pull her over to a market stall selling bolts of fabric. “If the two of you ever come to Lotus Pier, we could make the trip to Yunping, some of the merchants there even let us watch them dye the silks last time.” Jiang Yanli hums, leaning over Nie Huaisang’s shoulder to look at them, he was shorter than his brother, Jiang Yanli actually had a chance of doing it.

“Keep telling him stuff like that and I’ll never get him back here, Yanli.” Nie Mingjue says, coming to stand next to her. It had been a stroke of luck that the cultivation conference was being held in Qinghe, a gift that Jiang Yanli wouldn’t look too hard at, her father had even agreed to leave a few days early so she could visit with her friends before the work started.

“I’m sure A-Xian, A-Cheng, and Lan Wangji could find him and bring him back to you again.” Jiang Yanli teases, hiding her laugh behind her sleeve when Nie Mingjue rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest.

“I don’t want to have your brothers and Lan Wangji fighting fairy statues every time A-Sang gets it into his head to wander off.”

“Da-ge, you already punished me for that.” Nie Huaisang says as easily as he might comment about the weather, happily humming as money and bolts of fabric change hands.

“Making you practice with your saber is hardly a punishment, A-Sang.” They’re standing in front of each other now, Nie Mingjue’s arms still crossed and Nie Huaisang tapping his fan against the palm of his hand. Nie Mingjue had told her about these stand-offs, how they usually led to nothing more than him letting his brother off the hook.

“At the ungodly hours you train at! Yanli-jie, it was earlier than the Lans expected us to wake up! He torments me,” Nie Huaisang turns to her as he whines, throwing himself against her side again and nearly toppling the both of them before Nie Mingjue puts a hand out to steady them.

Once she’s not in danger of falling over she sighs and smiles, before she nudges a lock of hair out of Nie Huaisang’s face. “Your Da-ge only wants what’s best for you, A-Sang.” She chides him lightly, the same way she’d speak to her own brothers, her smile only widening when Nie Mingjue snorts and Nie Huaisang pushes away from her.

“I should have known you’d be on his side! You’re as bad as Er-ge, Yanli-jie!” Nie Huaisang calls over his shoulder as he walks off, looking truly victimized as Nie Mingjue steps closer to her side, the smile still on his face as he struggles to stop laughing.

“Xichen and the rest of the Lan attachment should be arriving soon.” Nie Mingjue says, laughter still clinging to the edge of his voice as he nudges her with his elbow, the most he could get away with since their half-hearted attempt at a chaperone had stomped off.

“We’ll have to find my brothers before we go, A-Xian won’t forgive me if he doesn’t get to greet Lan Wangji when he arrives.” It was such a silly thing, but her brother acted as though he wouldn’t get to see Lan Wangji at all if he didn’t get to greet him first, it was as cute to her as it was frustrating to Jiang Cheng.

“Does that mean what I think it means?” Nie Mingjue asks as they start walking back to the entrance hall of Unclean Realm. The three of them didn’t hide anything in the letters they’d sent to each other, even if it meant that they all had to suffer from the same headaches that came from Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji missing each other’s signals completely.

“After Xichen pushed them into a closet and put a spell on the lock?” Jiang Yanli asks, grinning when she thinks about the letter she’d received from Lan Xichen, and then the one from Wei Wuxian a week later, one from a fellow conspirator and the other from her poor, scandalized, little brother. “Unfortunately not.”

Nie Mingjue stops them both in the middle of the path then, his eyes wide in confusion, “How?!” It’s Jiang Yanli’s turn to laugh out loud now, bending forward slightly before she pulls herself back.

“A-Xian is oblivious and Lan Wangji is a perfect gentleman.” Jiang Yanli explains with a shake of her head. She was sure there was more to it, but the bare bones of it would do, wouldn’t it?

“I’m going to tell them.” Nie Mingjue says, nodding ahead as they come into the courtyard and see Nie Huaisang giving Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng both an undoubtedly exaggerated report of what they’d done to him in the marketplace.

Jiang Yanli’s mouth drops open for just a minute before she taps the back of her hand against Nie Mingjue’s arm. “Mingjue, don’t you dare! They have to figure this out on their own.” Nie Mingjue seems to pause for a moment and then relents.

“Fine, but I’m joining in on the next idea that Xichen has.” Nie Mingjue says, though it looks like he’s working on a few of his own, and really, she’d welcome them, she’d already tried explaining matters of the heart to Wei Wuxian, and he’d asked her if she was talking about Jin Zixuan.

Jiang Yanli had decided to give it a rest then.

The three of them retire to their rooms one after the other that night, Jiang Yanli under the guise of being tired from the days events, Nie Mingjue under the threat of looming paperwork that threatened to swallow the rest of his desk, and Lan Xichen using the excuse of needing to meditate after such a long meeting.

It only takes an hour for all of them to manage to sneak into Nie Huaisang’s aviary, settling down around a smaller table than the one they’d sat at in Cloud Recesses, and with different tea, but the company is all the same.

“Uncle has added another thousand rules to the wall since Young Master Wei left.” Lan Xichen says with a grin as Nie Mingjue pours tea for all of them.

“Surely not just because of XianXian!” Jiang Yanli says, passing a plate of rose cakes over to Xichen, who pauses to think as he takes one for himself and two for Nie Mingjue.

“Not all of them, a few are dedicated to A-Sang, I’m sure.” He says, laughing now as he sets the plate onto the table.

“A-Sang has rules already, his were the ones about skipping class and leaving early.” Nie Mingjue announces, taking up the plate again and dropping two of the cakes onto Jiang Yanli’s plate when he sees that she hadn’t taken any, she doesn’t argue with him.

“Do not bring animals into the classrooms and do not draw on the back of exam scrolls.” Lan Xichen argues, lifting his finger, but not pointing like his uncle, and Jiang Yanli snorts into her cup of tea. “I can’t imagine who else those rules would be for.”

As if on cue, a canary lights upon the spot between Jiang Yanli and Lan Xichen, it’s head cocking to the side as if it were waiting for them to continue talking about it. Jiang Yanli offers the bird a crumb of her cakes before she thinks to stop herself. “I’m not defending you when A-Sang asks why his bird suddenly likes you better than him, Yanli.” Nie Mingjue says as the bird hops closer to her, hoping for more before flitting off to another perch.

“Were any rules added after Lan Wangji’s incident?” Jiang Yanli asks, intentionally stirring the pot as she pours more tea for the three of them. She’d nearly laughed for a week when she’d received that letter, enjoying every moment Lan Xichen spent lementing to her that he was happy his brother finally had friends his own age, but he hadn’t gone as far as to teach Lan Wangji how to not get caught.

Lan Xichen levels her with a look before he breaks the next second. “Do not sleep in another person’s room, do not thoughtlessly accept food or drink, and do not submit yourself the wills of others.” Lan Xichen supplies helpfully, listing off the ones he’d personally gone through and had his uncle clarify to avoid future confusion. Nie Mingjue’s shoulders come forward as he laughs, his head down just slightly.

“How have you been after what happened?” Lan Xichen asks after the cakes have run out, eyes focused on the empty plate in front of the three of them. He isn’t asking to be cruel, Jiang Yanli knows that, he’s asking because he cares, but the question still makes her draw into herself, Nie Mingjue’s hand landing on her arm in response.

“It’s manageable now.” She says, choosing her words at first, but then remembering who she’s with. “I am not the one he wants to be married to, and I don’t want a marriage like my mother and father’s, so it’s better that it happened now.” She smiles up at them sadly as she says it, Nie Mingjue’s hand tightening and Lan Xichen’s reaching out across the table for hers.

“He’s an idiot, we’ll find someone better for you.” Nie Mingjue says suddenly, “We’ll find someone who will treat you better than he ever could’ve, someone whose father isn’t a lech.” Hearing it is enough to make Jiang Yanli laugh again, her hands tightening on both of theirs now.

“I was unaware that the formidable Sect Leader Nie was such a skilled matchmaker.” Lan Xichen says with a raised eyebrow, and Nie Mingjue jerks his hand away from him, ignoring the grin he’d gotten in return.

“I can spot a good man or woman when I see one, Xichen.” Nie Mingjue defends and turns himself towards Jiang Yanli, “My first piece of advice is to cut that one loose. He’s nothing but trouble.” Nie Mingjue nods his head at Lan Xichen as he says it, refusing to give him another second of his attention.

“Don’t fight.” Jiang Yanli says, an unknown weight seeming to lift off of her heart by the second, “The two of you sound like A-Cheng and A-Xian when you do.”

“That’s not true,” Lan Xichen says, putting his hand on Nie Mingjue’s shoulder now, “Mingjue hasn’t threatened to break my legs once.”

“That can change, Sect Leader Lan.” Nie Mingjue says, elbowing Lan Xichen in the ribs, but nowhere near as hard as he could have.

They squabble and tease for a few more minutes, and Jiang Yanli doesn’t lift a finger to calm either of them down, instead she watches and laughs, refilling their cups of tea before the pot has a chance to go cold. She’s missed this. She missed the teasing and sneaking around late at night, the letters were nice, they got her through most of missing the two of them, but it wasn’t the same as having them right in front of her.

She’d missed them, Jiang Yanli acknowledges to herself, finishing her last cup of tea and smiling. They’d had a year together before, but they had a week together now, maybe two if the conference dragged out like it usually did, surely they could fit some of that time together, couldn’t they?

She would make sure that they did.

#the untamed #mdzs #jiang yanli #lan xichen #nie mingjue #nie huaisang #wei wuxian

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babbushka · 4 years

Text

Ink

3k, N S F W

He’s got a killer headache, when you walk through the doors. Normally, he’d be too engrossed in the minutiae of going over the facts of the case, of learning his cover, of of of, to notice someone puttering around. But tonight, he’s too aggravated from dealing with the bullshit of the world, too annoyed, too keyed up. So when the little bell chimes, when you step into the station lobby, he’s snapping his head up to get an eyeful of you.

Because of course it’s you – who else would it be at two in the morning? Who else would be walking his way, weaving through the desks in the bullpen with a thermos of coffee brewed exactly the way he likes from the metal percolator his ma gave him when he first moved out?

He’s so relieved to see you that he could cry, and maybe he does, hot tears of frustration pricking at the corners of his eyes that he rubs away. You’re soft, edges gone fuzzy as he blinks at you with tired vision, tipping his head up for a kiss that you’re so eager to give him. You pluck the cigarette from between his lips and lick into his mouth real slow and sweet, the kind of kiss that makes him want to sit you on his lap, makes him want to bury his face in your tits and just exist wrapped up in you.

Instead he winds an arm around your waist from where you’re standing next to him as he’s seated at his desk, smokes and smokes, fills the air with grey that makes the whole world hazy.

“I’ve had a real bad fuckin’ day, honey.” He grumbles around his cigarette, huffing and puffing and grinding his teeth in that way that makes you want to shove your fingers in his mouth or your tongue, just to let him alleviate some of the pressure.

His shoulders are tense from the stress of it all, of this case. He’s tense and he’s angry and you hate to see him so angry, so you drape yourself across his back, you slide your hands up and under the holster which wraps around his frame, you warm the leather with your hands in soothing strokes. As much as he wants to stay mad, he can’t, not with you so close, not with you lovin’ on him like this, so he lifts his face from where he’s frowning into a file in front of him, lifts it and shoves it into your cheek as he stubs the last remains of the cigarette into his ashtray that lives on the desk, hot tongue licking a stripe across your jaw.

Needy, hungry.

He’s always so hungry.

“I can tell,” You say eventually, coming around from behind him to gently push away the manilla folders and papers that litter his small corner of the bullpen, pushing them away to make room for your ass as you sit facing him. “In that case…I think you need something a little sweeter than this coffee.”

His eyes blow wide, inky black with lust and heat, simmering behind his thick lashes as he works his jaw, the muscles in his cheek tensing and clenching as his hands smooth up up up your thigh, slip under your skirt.

“Spread your legs for me.” He murmurs, transfixed at the way he reveals your skin with each inch of the fabric that he bunches up around your hips, slowly savoring the tease.

You lick your lips and let your knees fall apart, slip one leg carefully up and over, Flip’s shoulder resting in the crook of your knee.

“Like this?” You ask, coy and playful, as if you don’t know, as if you hadn’t been doing this for years.

“Just like that.” Flip says anyway, expertly unbuttoning his jeans to pull his cock out, desperately hard and needing relief.

He strokes himself for a minute or two just to get some of the tension out, just because if he doesn’t do this now, he’ll fuck you hard and fast and come in you too soon – he doesn’t want anything over too soon, not now, not tonight. Tonight he’s going to give you the pounding you both need, the railing you deserve.

He jacks off with the sight of your legs spread barely a foot from his face, but the angle is all wrong, he can’t – he wants – he doesn’t know how to articulate it, too wound up to properly ask, so instead he’s out of his chair and kneeling on the floor in front of you.

He’s tall enough that he can perfectly fit his head between your legs, and he does, he does and just breathes in the smell of your sex, can feel the wetness that’s started to collect there on his lips, on his cheek as he nuzzles his face into the soft skin of your thighs. You’re absolutely littered with marks down here, bright red and deep purple and muted greens, all different stages of his teeth and tongue claiming you as his own.

He’s excited to press more into your flesh, to sink his jaws into the meat of your thigh. Maybe it’s the case, maybe it’s just his mood, but when he looks at your soaked panties, when he looks at the way your breath is coming in a little heavier, he can’t help but feel primal.

He runs his tongue over one of the bruises, the one he gave you this morning when he ate you out before going off to work, before this fif-fuckin-teen hour shift started, before he got himself neck-deep in paperwork and bureaucratic bullshit. As he does, your thighs quiver underneath him, he groans, lets a finger or two make their way to gently pull aside your panties, tease between your folds so gently, so reverently that it has you shivering up on the desk.

“I fucking love this pussy, you know that? You know how much I love this hot cunt of yours?” Flip asks, licks up the crease where your thigh ends and your pussy starts, and that act alone has the hand that’s been carding through his hair tightening just enough for him to grin against you.

“Why don’t you put that mouth to good use, hm?” You’re breathless, and you laugh when he suddenly manhandles you up the desk more properly, presses your back against the cold wood.

Your back arches as he rips the cotton of your panties in two, come sticking to the cloth in little strings that have him guessing you fingered yourself before coming over, fingered yourself nice and slow so he could fuck you real easy. He leans over to kiss you, to make out with you, grateful and so appreciative of all the little things you do for him.

“In a minute,” He says against your lips, and you don’t mind the wait because while he’s making out with you on his desk, his hand is fully concerned with fingering you some more, judging for himself how stretched and pliant you are, putty in his hands. “You’re such a good girl for me.”

You hum at that, the praise making your cunt clench around his fingers, and he chuckles just a little into your mouth.

He pulls his fingers out of you with a wet sticky pop and licks them into his mouth, cleans the taste of you off his fingers with a small moan.

“So sweet.” He says, letting the clean fingers grasp your jaw, pry your mouth open so he can rub his thumb along your tongue, stroking it.

His dick is leaking now, dribbling all over his jeans, and he strokes himself again for a while, trying to stave off coming. Not yet, he thinks, he can’t blow his load yet, not when he hasn’t even really gotten started.

So instead of blowing his load, he drops back down to the floor, wastes no time diving into your cunt.

“Phil!” You gasp excitedly, head thrown back, one hand grasping at the edge of the desk near your face, the other tangled firmly in his hair, keeping him in place as if he would ever leave, as if he’d ever stop eating your cunt out.

If he had his way, he’d spend every minute of every day between your legs. Sometimes, he gets his way.

This is one of those times.

“Fuck ketsl,” He groans, the deep deep deep baritone of his voice vibrating up through your pussy, up into your stomach where the butterflies dance. “You’re soaked.”

“I know – I,” You hiccup, shifting your hips enough in the grip he’s got on you to get his nose pressed right up onto your clit the way you love, “I wanted to get ready for you.”

“You came here to get fucked, that it?” He asks between thick broad licks of the flat of his tongue, between your folds.

“Uh huh,” You moan, eyes shut tight, hips squirming and rolling into his mouth as he slurps up your slick, swallows it down with a moan of his own. “Please?”

He doesn’t know what you’re asking for, if it’s to come or to get fucked by his cock or what, but he’s not ready to leave your pussy just yet, so he shakes his head, scratches up your cunt with his mustache, his goatee just a little longer.

“Mmm, P-Phil, yes!” Your bare foot – when did your shoes come off? – digs into his back, pushes him closer and closer into you as he curls his tongue up so that he can shove it deep inside your body, spears it into you.

He eats you out like he’s dying, like this is his last meal, like he’s been graced by heaven with the spread of your legs and he lets himself suffocate inside your cunt, nose inhaling nothing but the smell of your slick as it coats his facial hair, as he bruises your hips.

He knows it’s risky, knows it’s dangerous to have you like this, out in the open of the bullpen where anyone could see; but there’s no one here, even the janitors have gone and packed up for the night. He groans into you when he thinks about the puddle of come he’ll have to clean up when you’re both done.

Your orgasm hits Flip and he can’t help but feel a swell of pride, making you come on just his tongue, just his mouth. Your legs are shaking, poor things, from the feeling of it. He quickly pulls back to watch, his favorite part is to watch you come, watch the way your face flushes, sweats, your mouth drops open. He spits into your mouth, a man possessed. He watches you swallow it down the same way he swallows your come, licks it up from where it’s dripping down your thighs.

When your eyes open again, it’s to see him popping off the buttons of your blouse, a soft casual something you like to wear around the house. You’ve replaced the buttons on that blouse four times already – he figures fifth time’s the charm.

You’re not wearing a bra, which makes sense because it’s now two-thirty in the morning, but the sight of your bare breasts and stiff nipples is still something to behold.

“Im,” he starts, not even knowing what he wants to say, having no fucking clue because you’re lying on your back on his desk at work, with your cunt dripping and your tits out and his mind is broken, cock throbbing and drooling and desperate for you.

“Please?” You whisper, a pleasure-weak hand cupping his cheek, guiding his face closer to yours so he can line the head of his cock where it’ll sink in so so so easy.

“You want my big Jew dick, huh?” He asks, delirious from lust, obsessed with the way your lids are so hooded from your own pleasure that he can barely see your eyes.

“I do, I do – give it to me?” You ask back, demand, squeezing his hips with your knees.

He’s still clothed, keeps himself that way, keeps himself as put together as he possibly can while you’re falling apart on his desk, your back sweating and sticking to the paperwork he’d been ignoring all night.

“You gotta be quiet for me ketsl.” He says, no idea why, not like there’s anyone around to hear.

But you, you’re an angel and you nod, you let him cover your mouth with his hand as he rubs the head of his cock between your folds, wetting it, smearing all his pre-come and all your slick together in a way that squelches so dirty that he has to suck some drool back into his mouth from where it’s dangerously close to landing on your cheek.

He can’t take it anymore, the waiting, the teasing, not when you’re so wet, when your body is silently begging him to fuck you. So he finally lets himself have it, finally sinks all the way in with one thrust, bottoms out entirely.

“Oh holy shit,” he breathes, forcing himself in even deeper, impossibly deeper, so deep that he pushes you up the desk a little, knocks your cervix with the head of him in that way that makes you wince from the sheer fullness of it.

He fucks you hard, the way you both like it.

“I – I,” You gasp, incoherent, muffled against his hand.

He drags his cock nearly all the way out, until he’s rubbing at your folds again, before shoving it harshly back into you, making you yelp out against his hands, making your eyes prick and glisten. He does it again and again, until the whole length of him is impossibly soaked, droplets of your come and sweat splattering from the force of it onto the front of his jeans, darkening the denim.

The hand on your mouth slides down to your throat, gives it a good squeeze that has your cheeks darkening, an angry aroused flush burning its way down your chest. Your tits bounce from the way he fucks himself into you, the way he gets his aggression out from the day, spends it all through your cunt. You take it, take him so well, made for him.

“Fffuck.” He grunts out, slams his fist down on the desk near your hip, all his muscles and all his nerves on fire from how good it is, and you laugh in surprise, a laugh that melts into a loud moan.

He bends your legs this way and that, maneuvers them so he can hold you in place, so he can rail you hard. He’s knocking shit off the desk but he doesn’t give a damn, not when your cunt sucks him in every time he pulls out, like it never wants him to leave. Papers and pens are scattered all over the floor as he pushes you further and further up the desk, has to physically drag you back down when you start hanging over the edge of it a little too much.

He gives in to his baser needs and bends himself down so he can squeeze your tits together around his face, so he can press them to his cheeks and block out the world with your breasts. With closed eyes, he savors the feeling of how hot and wet and tight you are, still somehow so tight around his cock. He bites down on your sternum nips at the swell of your tits, licks up all the sweat that’s accumulated there before he sucks one of your nipples into his mouth.

You whine and squirm, getting close to coming again.

“Just a little longer, just hold out a little fuckin’ longer honey,” He begs from your tits, “I’m close.”

He likes coming at the same time as you when he fucks you, he doesn’t know why. Likes making sure his come gets all the way in you, likes it mixing, mingling. He likes the thought of the two of you being so joined, so completely combined. He’s been fucking you for damn near over a decade, and he still gets drunk off the thought of it.

His balls are tightening up and his stomach is fluttering and he knows it’ll all be over soon, so he holds on to the last few minutes of fucking he can, speeds his hips up to chase the glow of orgasm that rushes through him until it comes crashing down through his veins like a drug he can’t quit, making him bite down hard onto the join between your neck and shoulder as his hips stutter and shove themselves closer closer closer to you.

He drops a shaking hand to your pussy, rubs your clit until you’re sobbing out a gasp, until you’re coming and he’s coming and you’re both panting into each other’s mouths.

“I love you.” Your throat clicks when you let out a chuckle, adrenaline pumping through you.

“Love you more ketsl,” Flip groans as he rolls his hips slowly, lazily against you, cock still oozing come deep into your pussy. “Thank you.”

“For what?” You ask softly, pushing the hair out of his face from where he’s collapsed down onto your chest, exposing one of his big ears that you find so sweet.

“Just bein’ mine.” He sighs happily, nuzzles his face into your cleavage.

He’s not so tense anymore, not so stressed. How could he be after all, when he’s got you beneath him, your heart beating erratically, wildly, from the thrill of it all.

“Your coffee’s getting cold,” You say fondly, so in love. You spare a glance up at the clock which chimes three in the morning, the distant roll of thunder and crickets slowly coming back into play, slowly coming back into focus as the warm glow of orgasm fades. “Come home with me, I’ll make you a fresh cup.”

“One condition,” he groans as he pulls himself out of you, dick softening as he reaches for a tissue or something to clean you both up.

“Mmm what’s that cowboy?” You ask with a grin as he wraps your body back up in clothes as best he can, eventually settling on taking off his holster and peeling the flannel off his own back to hand it to you when you both realize that he’s torn and ripped your blouse beyond any real decent wear.

“You let me wash all that ink off your back.” He smirks at the sight of you, skin totally covered in smeared black and blue.

“Ink?” You’re confused for a moment before realizing he had laid you down on the mess of papers that he’s going to have to redo – which he doesn’t mind, he had to redo them anyway – and now you looked like you’d been attacked by a copy machine.

“Isn’t it such a good thing you love me?” He asks, cheeky and smug, even as you tug on his ear.

Because you do it with a big grin, face flushed and sweaty strands of hair sticking to your cheek, your forehead, and he finds his headache’s gone away when you look at him so full of love and come and huff out a laugh and a,

“Yeah, yeah it is.”

-----------

Tagging some Flip loving friends because I can’t just keep this to myself of course lol @dreamboatdriver @kylo-renne @kyloxfem @formerly-anonhamster @thepilotanon @solotriplets @fullofbees @bourbonboredom @driverficarchive @rosalynbair @redhairedfeistynerd @glitzescape @adamsnacc-kler @ladygrey03 @venusianmaiden marvelous-blog-221 @edwardseyelashes @softcrybabykid @tinyplanet-explorers @riseofkylo @mandowhoreian

#reader insert #flip zimmerman x reader #flip x reader #flip zimmerman #flip zimmerman imagine #flip zimmerman smut #blackkklansman #adam driver #adam driver character #my writing #yeehaw

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violetvenom · 4 years

Text

What’s wrong with Quackerjack in DT17 in my opinion.

I don’t make a secret about it how much I dislike the DT17 style and hey, it’s okay if you disagree and the majority likes it. It’s a preference after all.

But I already saw how fans got attacked by other fans for simply not liking DT17. This is childish and pathetic behavior...I won’t accept that. Be better than that.

Now for all those who are curious why I think so, let me pin it down a bit.

When my bestie showed me the newest screens of the appearance of the F4 I didn’t know what to think first. Now after I literally stared at the one with Quackerjack long enough I think can explain what on that style..on him... bothers me so damn much.

I totally understand how all the fans are hyped and trust me, I would love to join that hype...DWD get’s some love after all those years and this is great....but I simply can’t. I look at the show...I look at screencaps... and I only can find mistakes after mistakes which not only bothers me but make me very sad and hurt my lil’ fan-heart. :(

Just look at this:

I circled the main things which I can’t wrap my head around.

Why did they not fill in the fool’s cap between his eyes?

It’s clearly something the changed on his design since the white gap is visible in every sneak-peak of him. But that’s not how his -or any other fool’s cap which covers the eyes- work...

Also what is going on with the edgy emo eyeliner? I thought we left this behind in the 00s? And eyebrows OVER the fool’s cap?

And do the animators actually know how a ruff works? It looks like Quackerjack has some kind of plate around his neck and not something out of fabric.

Look at the difference in the DWD cartoon:

That thing is made out of fabric and MOVES with the shoulders. Depending on the fabric it moves more or less, but it would never behave like a plate!

Back then they sure made their homework about such details. Those details make cartoons lively in the first place. That’s why I think DT17 looks overall very stiff. And that everything is so angular sadly doesn’t help with it.

And speaking about details...why are the folds in his pants missing in the first place? That’s also not how his pants work.

Also that pose in the robot (Why does it even look like him? His robots ALWAYS were toy inspired. He is not that narcistic!) is so bad I‘m not even sure how to redline this mess. I tried..I really tried but...I can’t! How does Quackerjack need to break his arms or dislocate his shoulders to make that work? It seems a part of his upper right arm is even missing!? Where is his elbow...where is the rest of his upper arm? And since the ruff behaves like a massive plate and Quackerjack’s left arm is coming from behind..it looks like his arm is way much longer than the right one and seems to grow out of his back!? @_@

And while I wrote this I noticed the screenshot of his first cameo isn’t that better. What are those arms? Why does he have the stature of Bernd das Brot?

Also why is his (and of the other F4 members) design in the art style so inconsistent? The most notable change is the beak. You can see without a second glance it got changed. I can’t even say it changed for the better or got worse since I overall think the beaks are drawn ugly in DT17.

I mean, changes can be good and sometimes are needed but usually you create a character sheet long before the cartoon is even created and then all animators stick to it. I just can wonder how consistent it will be between the scenes if the special comes out.

I can’t even really compare it to the old cartoon since back in the days a lot more studios were needed to draw and animate a cartoon. So don’t get me wrong. I’m totally aware that stuff like this happened back then:

Same characters, different episodes but same studio.

Yes, even the same studio couldn’t be consistent between the episodes, but they managed to somewhat be it in the episode itself.

So why does this bother me with DT17 so much, when even back then they couldn’t get their shit together and be consistent? Easy..it’s because back then everything was drawn and animated by hand. It was a lot more effort. Back then they couldn’t just use paste and copy. There was no eyedropper tool to get the right color quickly. There were no programs who can break down a model to seperate their parts so you can animate their limbs easily. There were no programs for simulating facial animation or lip-syncing. Everything was much more complicated. I don’t say animation became easier but it became different. That’s why it’s hard to compare old cartoons with new ones in some aspects.

But since cartoons nowadays are most solely made on computers...why are color mistakes still happening?

I want to believe this is a ref to the purple hand recolor mistake Quackerjack also had in the original next to several others because that would be hilarious. But seeing stuff like this

destroys that belief.

One would assume that such mistakes get reduced with all that modern computer programs, but it doesn’t seem so. Tbh color mistakes and wrong layering is something which I can forgive easily, but not breaking a characters whole anatomy and change his overall appareance to such a degree you just can wonder how this is supposed to be the same character. I look at DT17 Quackerjack and see Quackerjack but also do not see Quackerjack at the same time. It’s like my brain full on goes “this is Quackerjack...wait no...this is more a manic Quackerjack imposter with dwarfism but not the real deal.” and this each single time I look at him. The way he is shown to be portrayed actually makes it worse.

@raeloganthesonic06fangirl jokingly made a post how he got his spine finally fixed, but isn’t that terrible posture one detail why we loved that dork in the first place? :(

Also his facial expression. He already had a major character shift once.

...sure there were reasons but the comics were another can of worms I won’t open in this post here now. And pls don’t get me started on how ridiculous it is how Silvani draws his beak.

I just can hope DT17 will at least get his character right but...

This

looks more like

than

😟

#darkwing duck #ducktales 2017 #quackerjack #dt17 #this post took me too many days to finish because of my broken wrist -.-

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artsyxloner · 3 years

Text

Not Just a Monster

Warning: blood, violence etc...

21: Outside Invaders

I felt a sense of guilt overwhelm me. When they began to drag Jae-Heon's lifeless body out of the elevator. Leaving the monster inside. I was stuck in a daze, I couldn't hear anything or anyone.

He didn't deserve to die not like this. He should still be alive and with Ji-Su. What will she say? I can't imagine her face finding out he was dead.

I squeezed my eyes shut, but reopened them when I heard my name being softly called. Hyun-Su was still leaning on the storage lockers struggling to get up. He was crying, seeing him in that state made my heart ache never seen him cry before.

Wiping my damp face off I got up and trudged over to him. I couldn't help but to shake Seeing Jae-Heon's blood everywhere and also his decapitated arm laying on the floor.

I averted my scarce eyes, remembering when his arm came flying off. I kept moving until I got to Hyun-Su he looked like he was in pain. But then I noticed his leg, blood was dripping from it and also his bone was sticking out like it had been snapped.

I was sick to my stomach. Seeing all this gore. I held my breath. " Are you okay?" His voice came out as a low whisper. I nodded, my gaze softening. " you're not though." Taking the spear from him. I bent down wrapping my arm over his back pulling him up as he tried to help.

He was heavy when I was successfully done pulling him up. I sat him down on the storage locker. He had brought his leg up, too. I was about to find something to wrap it but I felt his arms sling around my waist.

He buried his face into my pudgy stomach, I stood there frozen As his tears wet my shirt bringing my hand slowly up I ran it through his messy hair, he had given himself a haircut he looked different.

" This is my fault!" He whimpered, blaming himself. But why? He didn't do anything. I shook my head, " it's not your fault. How could've it been?" This just made him sob deeper tugging me closer if possible.

" if I— if I had just rung the bell sooner he wouldn't have died!"

" you don't know that for sure Hyun-Su."

So that was him that tried to warn us. " you did what you could do— no one blames you so don't feel guilty." I hugged him rubbing his back for comfort

" you tried, In the midst of it you got yourself hurt." I motioned towards his injured leg, " this just shows you care and that you're willing to get hurt to save people. You want to be a decent person even though it's fucking hard."

I said this meaning myself included. Bending down I kissed his head, " let's get you out of here okay?" I mentioned, hosting him up by wrapping my long arm around my chest as he slung his over my neck. We began to walk with him slightly limping.

As it still was dripping blood, but it will heal in no time. Making our way through, I had to stay tough for him. I didn't know the relationship between Hyun -Su, and Jae-Heon but I know that he cared for him and Ji-Soo since they came down from the upper apartments that day.

Soon after, Hyun-Su healed the guys had already buried Jae-Heon with the other dead. We were all standing in front of his grave, it was quiet. Hyun-Su stood beside me, he had a Sorrowful frown.

So I slid my hand in with his, he was hesitant as our fingertips brushed against one another. But our hands ended up locking together.

I gave it a gentle squeeze as Gil-Seob came over with a yellow paper flower laying it on Jae-Heon's grave. " you died when you should have lived, and I lived when I should have died."

He stepped back folding his hands together bowing his head. Gil-Seob is right Jae-Heon, he was the one that should have lived and I was the one that was supposed to die.

The funeral lasted for a short while after that, others gave a few words and slowly left. But I stayed, letting go of Hyun-Su's hand. I walked closer to the grave.

" I didn't get to say thank you for the praying session we had earlier, you've helped me I just wish I could've helped you I wish that you got your happy ending with Ji-soo,"

It wasn't fair even if this world was full of unfairness it could have given them a chance. I signed deep, " I'm going to check up on Ji-Soo I'll be back soon." I grabbed Hyun-Su's hand giving it a little squeeze leaving the room.

I figured he had to say some words to Jae-Heon by himself so I didn't want to intrude. Looking everywhere for Ji-Soo it took a while until I found her in a back room. I haven't been in before.

She was sitting in behind a couch, holding half of The katana sword, crying and looking more paler than ever. I frowned, " mine if I take a seat?" she noticed me and nodded. I sat down leaning my head back.

" I'm sorry about what happened, to be honest, it's my fault." I played with my fingers. She looked over at me, a lump formed in my throat I swallowed it continuing.

" I was trying to get Ms. Cha to safety, but the monster kept coming and he was about to hit me and me... I just stood there frozen but Jae-Heon came along and saved me." It was my turn to look at her.

" that doesn't mean it was your fault that could have happened to anyone." Her words were raspy and quiet, but I nodded. " yeah, I guess that's true." I picked up a little piece of my fingernail throwing it.

" it's just I know you're upset, and I know that you guys liked each other." She gripped his sword when I said this. " and it's not fair, but just um think of it this way. He died a hero if that makes you feel any better."

He did die a hero, that's probably the best way to go. I saw a little smile appear on her lips. " He didn't he," she pulled the sword closer to her. We sat there for a while up until I heard a big crash, it sounded like it came from the lobby entrance.

I was about to get up but Ji-Soo grabbed my shirt tugging to stop. " don't... don't go," she coughed, I realized if it was outside Invaders or a big monster they somehow would find Ji-Soo and kill her, she couldn't protect herself right now.

There were all kinds of screaming, I wondered if Hyun-Soo and the others were alright. But soon there was gun a shot that made me jump a little. I don't remember us having any guns?

It was definitely outside Invaders, we kept quiet, not knowing who was shot. I wanted to help and get rid of these bastards. Maybe it has to do with that soldier that came in he acted all weird.

Remembering what he was saying something about the run he was probably warning us. Soon after there was another gunshot followed by footsteps walking this way.

I went stiff seeing the light turn on, and hearing dragging footsteps. I took the half-sword from her ready to use it if necessary. I breathed hard, squeezing my eyes shut then reopening them.

When I felt someone's presence on the couch we were behind, " it's two girls," it was a guy and he said it in a seductive way I didn't like, biting my lip I saw him bringing his crowbar down, " and one of them hurt."

He was about to touch Ji-Soo until I gripped the half-broken sword, swinging it up I smashed the hard end of it in his face. He let out a cry, falling back hitting the floor I was probably sure I Struck his nose.

Getting up he was cussing every breath-holding his face, it was bleeding his nose was all red and starting to well, the dude had crazy hair with ear and lip piercings.

I didn't waste time I ended up kicking his dirty face, in his head flew back. " try and touch her again you bitch!" I threatened, about to hit him where the sun doesn't sunshine until I felt something hard come in contact with my head right near my eyebrow.

They both threw the crowbar at me. Blood soon blurred my vision, seeing the creep get up he tackled me to the ground. I kneed his stomach, hearing him grunt I pushed him off me trying to get up but a sharp pain went through my leg.

I screamed out as He kept making weird-ass sounds, I saw him lick the bloodied crowbar, I almost puked feeling sick. I was about to hit him with the sword again up until I heard another voice.

I stopped, " that's enough," my head turned it was another guy about my age again he looked more decent but I didn't trust its looks were deceiving. " that's not the time to be doing that right now."

He suggested, piping his head out the door. but the crazy bitch looked up in anger. Like he was about to Growl. " get out." He tried to seem threatening but the boy just sighed walking in. " Jeung-Seop is looking for you." He took a small glance at me.

I tried to control my breathing as my leg was gushing blood I was in serious pain. " don't call him by his name you sad little pussy!!" He yelled at the boy but he just rolled his eyes Unphased. " It's not the time to be doing that right now. You could be killed."

He mentioned towards me, " by Jeung-Seop." Staring at the creep, he looked scared with his mouth wide open. But I saw him give the other boy a mean look getting up he walked away. With the other guy.

I let out a breath I didn't know I even had, I was shaking Scooting my leg up I hiss in pain, I ended up grabbing a cloth wrapping my leg tight. The dirty was fabric was already beginning to satin red.

Slowly I pushed myself up with my hands standing on my feet I wobbled a bit, I felt limping over towards the couch. I looked over it seeing Ji-Soo holding her side. " are you okay." I asked taking a deep breath.

My head felt fuzzy, I could see she nodded. " okay, I'm going to barricade the doors so they won't get in." I was about to go until she spoke up. " aren't– aren't you hurt." She whispered, I nodded.

" I'll be fine." Knowing it will heal soon mine just takes a little while. Even though it hurts I blocked the back door pushing furniture and other things against it. Making sure they won't be able to get in.

Next, I shuffled towards the other door giving back the sword to Ji-Soo I was about to shut it. " where are you going?" she questioned, " I'll come back later, I have to make sure you're safe first." was all I said locking the door from the inside shutting it.

I had grabbed a weapon, making sure if I run up on one of them I may be injured but I would surely use it. As I walked down the hallway ready to attack. I could feel my leg healing up by the minute.

@xetherealbeautyx

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meetthetank · 3 years

Text

Cruciamen Chapter 11: A Touch of Honey

Rating: Mature Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Categories: F/M, Other Fandom: NieR: Automata (Video Game) Relationships: 2B/9S (NieR: Automata), A2/A4 (NieR: Automata) Characters: 2B (NieR: Automata), 9S (NieR: Automata), A2 (NieR: Automata), A4 (NieR: Automata), Emil (NieR: Automata), Kainé (Nier) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, genre typical violence, On the Run, Monster of the Week, 9S is a half demon, 2B and A2 are shapeshifter Dragons, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Smut in the future, inaccurate depictions of medical procedures, Fantasy Biology, A2 is Nonbinary Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25104214/chapters/79358422

The art in the thick, leatherbound tome is unlike anything A2 has seen before. Great warriors, their mighty weapons, and the monsters they slew dance across the page and intermingle with the precisely placed text. They run their bandaged fingers over the linework and imagine the rough splinters of the carved woodblock. Each image is rendered with exquisite detail and transferred to the page with expert skill. The ink doesn’t even smear when they touch it.

The door to their sickroom swings open. A4 strides in, black curls bouncing with each step, carrying a basket of supplies and a plate of food. The dry beige stuff, “bread” and soft yellow stuff, “cheese” have been mostly replaced by fresh fruits, but there’s still small pieces of both hidden underneath. The nun regards A2 with a bright smile that makes her emerald eyes shine. For the past three days she’s greeted them this way, always the same smile, the same twinkle in her eyes. It’s weird, but A2 doesn’t mind.

“I didn’t take you for a scholar,” she says, placing her basket down and coming to their bedside. “Oh, no offense.” A4 scans the page open on A2’s lap, then sighs wistfully. “I always love this story. The Sword Saint is one of my favorite heroes. What about you?”

A2 blinks, their expression neutral. “I can’t read it. I just think the pictures are cool.”

“Oh.” The nun turns her head and makes a strange coughing noise. When she turns back her face is red, making the smattering of freckles across her cheeks stand out.

“What?”

“Nothing!” A4 yelps. “Just ah-... Dry throat is all.”

“Okay…” A2 mutters.

“What’s your favorite picture then?” A4 asks, eager to change the subject.

Their expression lightens a bit. “The weapons.”

“Oh, really?”

A2 nods. “Yeah. Never seen some of these before. They look cool.” Their fingers trace across an image of a wicked looking serrated blade. “Back home, the elders said that weapons told stories. I never believed it as a cub, weapons couldn’t talk.”

“Interesting,” A4 muses. She looks at them, lying in bed, clearly bored out of their skull. Their leg bounces under the covers, their eyes dart around only to settle on her face for a few moments, then find something else to be interested in. The book is long forgotten, and A4 guesses that sitting here telling stories would be as ineffective as trying to get them to change their bandages regularly. Then, suddenly claps her hands together.“I have an idea!”

They close the book and tilt their head to the side. “Huh?”

“I bet you’re tired of walking around the infirmary. I could take you around some of the other buildings, if you’d like.”

A2 grumbles to themself. Though they feel better after walking with A4, they despise being led around like a lost cub. Not even the prospect of new scenery will change their attitude.

“There’s lots of sculptures and art, and even relic weapons I could show you,” she says with a coy smile.

That… gets their attention. “... When are we going?”

“Whenever you’re ready, I think.”

A4 offers her hand out to A2 to help them out of bed. They wrap their bandaged fingers around hers and allow themself to be pulled up. Though the sharp pains and aches that ravaged their body have dulled, they still wince and hiss under their breath as they stand. Parts of their skin, particularly in their shoulders, elbows, lower back, and legs, feel too tight, as if their bones are a tanning rack. A4 places a worried hand on their shoulder. They give a dismissive wave but don’t reject the touch.

“I’m fine,” A2 says, forcing themself to stand as tall as they can. “Just a bit stiff.”

The nun sticks by their side as they leave the infirmary. A2 grumbles that they’re not about to fall over, but A4 remains adamant that she’s here in case they need some support. They glance around at the other rooms that happen to have the doors open. There aren’t many other patients housed here; A2 counts at least three or four patients and one other nun. This place must not get many visitors, or much outside aid for that matter.

The sun blinds them temporarily as they step onto the worn path that leads from the infirmary to the rest of the convent’s grounds. Straight ahead is an old stone chapel, decorated with symbols and iconography A2 recognizes from the book they were reading. Immediately left of that is a building similar in structure to the infirmary from which other nuns come in and out. The scents of unfamiliar foods drifts out of the open windows, and A4 giggles when A2 stares at the building as they pass.

As they approach the living quarters and the chapel, A2 notices a distinct change in the atmosphere around them. There’s an energy in the air that sends a chill up their spine, something unseen that makes the downy feathers beneath their hair prick up.

A4, noticing their tension, puts a hand on their shoulder.

“What is that?” they ask, stormy eyes darting around in search of a threat. “Something’s weird here.”

“It’s the blessed grounds,” A4 explains. “The area surrounding the chapel and our dormitory have been consecrated to ward against demons and other creatures.”

A2 nods along, not understanding at all. At least this place has some kind of protection. The only thing preventing an invasion is The Bog to the north and dense woods to the south. A fence or stones would be preferable, but a magical barrier will do, they suppose.

A4 brings them to the chapel first. She stops in front of the heavy wooden doors with A2 by her side and clasps her hands together in front of her chest. Though she mutters a prayer in a language A2 does not recognize, they can tell the words are full of reverence. She bows her head, makes motions across her body with her hands, then leans forward as far as possible in an exaggerated bow. A2 stands and stares, unsure if they should be following along or not. They fold their hands clumsily, only for A4 to giggle at them once again. Heat floods their face and they cross their arms over their chest with an indignant huff.

She pushes the doors open much more easily than A2 thought she would. Cool air laden with fragrant incense rushes out and rustles their hair. There’s barely any light inside, only the sun’s rays and a few candles illuminate the interior of the old building, but it’s enough for the colorful glass windows to shine in brilliant greens, reds, and blues. They follow A4 with their head on a swivel, trying in vain to take in everything around them. Each window has an image inside it of different colored glass, giving the depictions of strange beings and holy figures an otherworldly quality. In between each window are statues depicting all manner of weird and awe-inspiring creatures. There are many beings that seem to defy the laws of nature, each one brandishing instruments of war such as swords, spears, and great shields. One winged creature with a long, featureless face that ends in a point unnerves A2. Despite it having no eyes, it seems to stare at them.

“What are these…” A2 murmurs, finding themself staying close to A4.

“Angels,” she explains, slowing her pace to match A2’s

They shiver. “I didn’t think they would look so…” So much like demons? They don’t dare say that aloud. “... Monstrous.”

A4 giggles. “Angels and other heavenly bodies aren’t from this world.”

“Oh.” They scuff their shoes against the stone floor, feeling a little silly. Of course they wouldn’t be from this world. “Where are they from? Has anyone seen an angel before?”

They don’t mean to be rude, they’re only curious, but the frown that sours A4’s soft features makes them rethink asking questions like that again.

“We call their world Paradise,” she says, forcing her expression to be neutral again. “There are a number of thinkers that theorize that it’s somewhere high above the clouds or among the stars. The few times we have seen angels, they’ve descended from the sky.” She sighs and thumbs the fabric of her dress. “It’s... been a long time since anyone has seen an angel. The last recorded sighting was during the time of the Hellwalker, thousands of years ago.”

A2 hums and searches for anything to change the subject. A statue close to the small altar catches their attention. An armored human, or something that used to be human, holds out his arms as an angelic warrior erupts from his split chest. Though graphic and morbid (the scene sends chills down A2’s spine), none of the more gruesome details are rendered in the stone. Even the human with his chest agape seems to be enraptured by the holy warrior emerging from his decimated body.

“Wh-”

They stop short of asking about the sculpture, but ever observant, A4’s head whips around to face them. She looks from their face to the statue and back again, easily piecing together the question A2 was about to ask.

“This was Saint Agustus, an Ascended,” she explains. “Exceptional people of the Faith are sometimes chosen by the Bishops to give up their body to an angel. They become holy vessels of divine will.”

A2 only nods along, watching as A4 clutches a charm that dangles from their prayer bead necklace. They can’t make out the shape, but it looks like a similar design to what the statue of Saint Augustus has tied to his belt. Before A4 can catch them staring they avert their eyes, making sure not to linger on anything for too long. The last thing they want to do is make this sweet nun feel like she has to educate them on every aspect of the Faith.

“The weapons look cool,” they say in a desperate attempt to avoid any prying religious based questions.

It seems to work, as A4 smiles. “They are, but the real ones are even cooler.” For the first time since coming into the chapel, she looks genuinely excited. It’s infectious; A2 can’t stop themself from grinning as well. “Would you like to see some?”

All A2 has to do is nod once for A4 to grab their hand and lead them through the chapel and down a stairwell. A few other nuns scowl at her but it doesn’t seem to bother A4 in the slightest; in fact she seems to smile wider once she does notice. That little act of mischief from the woman A2 thought was a good and pious girl makes her smirk, just a bit.

Another set of oaken doors separate the basement of the chapel, used for storing unused furniture and holiday paraphernalia, from the Order’s armory. The array and variety of weapons is impressive enough, but the decoration and detail on their ornaments is dazzling. Each sword, spear, axe, mace, and bow is embellished with holy symbols, geometric designs, and mosaics of brilliant gems and stones. A massive sword in a glass case catches A2’s eye. Its intricate lattice work and inlaid jewels outline the polished and gilded blade. It’s ostentatious and far too gaudy for their tastes, but A2 can’t deny that it’s impressive.

“That’s Teresa’s Ecstasy,” A4 explains. “Or, a replica of it.”

“Cool…” A2 says, staring at the sword with wide, awestruck eyes.

A4 goes around and gives a little lesson on each weapon or replica and who used it. Teresa’s Ecstasy might be the largest and shiniest, but the brutal headsman axes wielded by Holy Executioners would be their choice out of the lot, hypothetically. There’s a pair of swords that look strangely familiar to A2, two serrated black iron swords devoid of the elaborate decorations or the others. A4 explains them to be the favored weapons of someone known as the Sword Saint.

“This is what I take into battle,” A4 says and takes what A2 thought to be a censer off of a rack, but it is adorned with the wicked blades and spikes of a flail. “I burn a sacred herb inside that emits a smoke that suffocates demons.”

She demonstrates her skills with several wide sweeps and a downward strike to finish. A2 steps back to give her room to swing the flail. It almost looks like a dance and it astounds them that A4 doesn’t lose control of the weapon and smack herself in the face with it. It's enchanting in a way they didn’t expect, and they find themself watching her with enough intensity that when A4 catches them staring, her face flushes red and she falters, allowing the golden chain to catch on her arm. She sputters a half explanation, half apology as she hangs the thurible back on its rack.

A4 clears her throat. “S-so. Which one would you pick?”

They can’t help but smile. Her question carries the same excited innocence that a child has when asking a friend what their favorite lizard is. A2 scans the racks and shelves filled with weapons, relics, and replicas. Most of these are far too flashy or strange for them to latch onto, but there is a rack of simple wooden weapons. At first they mistake them for harmless training weapons, but one catches their eye. They pick up a heavy dark oak club with spikes crudely hammered into the rounded end. It’s hefty, top-heavy, yet well balanced and cruel. They give it a practice swing, then a more powerful one and smirk at the simple brutality of the spiked club.

“This one. If I didn’t have my sword, of course.”

She giggles. “I thought you might pick the Club of Saint Gertrude.”

A2 decides that Saint Gertrude had good taste. They set the club back in its place with much more reverence than before.

The pair don’t stay down in the armory for very long. An older nun whom A4 refers to as Sister Beatrice (who also lingers behind them as they leave) scolds them for playing around with holy relics. A4 tries to defend herself but quickly absconds with A2 in tow before the old woman could get too angry. As they exit the chapel and A2 has to walk past the statues and windows once more, they can’t shake a certain observation of the convent’s art and iconography that sticks in their mind. Everything here, despite being holy and images of purity, is very... sexual. Even the people or demons being skewered or torn apart have expressions of pure ecstasy and pleasure. They shove the thought away as they and A4 exit the chapel and the fresh air fills their lungs.

Along with the calming scents of grass and the woods, something else catches A2’s attention. A savory smell, like searing meat but not as sharp or oily, drifts from the building A4 had identified as the dormitory. It’s a wholly unknown scent to them, but it makes their mouth water nonetheless. Thankfully that building is A4’s next destination.

Since there’s no ritual she needs to perform for entering the living quarters, A4 walks right through the much less ornate wooden door, holding it open for A2. The entryway is sparsely decorated: only wide, featureless windows that let in natural light and potted plants of various kinds sit among neatly lined pairs of boots. Other belongings and clothes sit on small tables and vanities near the door: several woven black shawls, prayer beads, and simple leather satchels. It’s hard to tell just how many nuns live here, but A2 figures at least twenty based on how many pairs of boots they can see.

A4 leads them through the halls of the dormitory, which is relatively uninteresting aside from the different paintings of what A2 assumes to be saints that adorn the walls every so often. The smell grows stronger and stronger until they reach a large, open kitchen and dining area. Well-used pots and pans hang from the rafters, a pot of water boils on an oven with a small cookfire crackling inside, and plates of breads and cheeses sit on the center table, ready for lunch time.

The young nun bustles back and forth, checking on the pot of something she calls “pasta” that boils on the stove while A2 idly examines the different foods lying about. Some of them they recognize, like cloves of garlic, from the witch’s house. Others they have to sneak a bite of to decide whether or not they like it. Most of the powders and dried plants are far too strong, and it takes all of their self control not to vomit after biting into a thin stick of… something.

A2 finally comes to the loaves of bread that have a white decoration on top of them arranged neatly on a tray. While A4 fusses with organizing some utensils and complaining about how messy one of the other nuns is, A2 picks up a small loaf. It’s much softer than they expected, and denser. It must be a different kind than the ones A4 brings them. It crumbles easily when they roll a piece between their fingers. The white decoration turns to a sticky liquid when they touch it. Cautiously, they take a bite.

It only takes two bites for A2 to eat the whole loaf.

Whatever this is has to be the sweetest, most amazing thing A2 has ever put in their mouth. It reminds them vaguely of honey, a rare treat back home, but with so much more added to it. They taste a bit of fruit and some of the spices they had sampled in there as well. Suddenly they feel like they’ve been missing out on so much of the world, a feeling that causes tears to well up in their eyes.

A4’s laughter snaps them out of their religious experience. They try to wipe their eyes as nonchalantly as possible, but the nun sees right through their ruse.

“I never thought anyone would react like that to my baking,” she says, smiling from ear to ear.

“Y-...” A2 looks at her with wide eyes, “You made that?”

“Yes,” she giggles. “It was one of the first things I learned to bake. It’s sweet bread.”

A2 thinks they might like this place after all. They reach for a second loaf only for A4 to smack their hand.

“Hey! Save some for the rest of us!” she scolds them, but the smile plastered across her face lets them know there’s no malice at all. A4 leans in close to A2 and drops her voice to a whisper, “If you cooperate with your treatments and behave yourself I can sneak you some.”

Her excitement is infectious. A pleasant warmth rushes through A2’s body as they laugh with her. “Okay, deal.”

...When was the last time they felt like this?

They don’t linger in the kitchen for very long. A4 tugs them along by the hand once again, eager to have A2 meet her mentor at the convent (or to get them away from the food). She says this is the final stop of their tour, which comes as a secret relief to A2. Their legs and arms are starting to ache and despite eating an entire loaf of sweet bread they want to lie in bed for a few hours. Even walking through the dormitory halls takes the wind out of them. They try to hide it as best they can, but A4 gives them a concerned look when she hears them wheeze.

The final stop turns out to be the dormitory’s infirmary. Why the nuns have their own separate medical wing confuses A2, but the group seems eager to keep outsiders away, considering all the strange looks A2 has been on the receiving end. The room is devoid of people aside from two older women. One wears the same plain black dress and white headscarf that the other nuns wear. She hunches over a much more decrepit woman, dressed in a black robe with an intricate geometric pattern on the front, denoting a higher rank, and tends to a wound on her face. As A2 walks closer, they can smell a harsh potion similar to what A4 has been giving them to clean their sores.

“Sister Margaret!” A4 calls and waves, then bows to the older old woman. “Good afternoon, Mother Superior.”

“Good afternoon, sister,” both women answer in unison.

A2 gives a shaky wave, standing behind A4 as if this tiny woman would protect them from awkward social encounters.

“Is this the girl we rescued from the Bog?” Sister Margaret asks, only sparing a glance at A2 before turning back to the wounds on Mother Superior’s face.

They’re about to chime in with their usual response to that assumption, but their words catch in their throat as Mother Superior turns to face them, allowing A2 to see the full extent of her disfigurement.

Her eyes are gone. The only thing that remains are her eyelids, sewn shut, and two circles of thick scar tissue over them. Sister Margaret gently dabs a sharp-smelling cream over the wounds.

“Speak, child,” Mother Superior says, her voice severe but worn with age. “Does my penance frighten you?”

“P-...” A2 stammers, their aloof personality vanishing in an instant, “Penance?”

“Mother please.” Sister Margaret playfully taps her elder on the shoulder. “Don’t scare the poor girl.”

A4, Sister Margaret, and Mother Superior chat while Maragret finishes up with her treatments. The three women all seem to get along, from A2’s perspective, but A4 and Margaret seem far closer. A2 lingers on the edge of the group, waiting for and dreading when attention turns back to them. All the while, they can’t stop looking at Mother Superior and her wounds. The word “penance” echoes in their head over and over and over. They see an iron mask sitting beside the matriarch and swallow a lump forming in their throat.

It isn’t long before Mother Superior stands to leave. She waves her goodbyes, A4 and Sister Margaret bow in return, and the old woman hobbles out of the infirmary, leaning on a wooden cane for support and navigation.

As soon as Mother Superior exits the room, Sister Margaret claps her hands together and approaches A2. “Now! Let's take a look at you…”

This woman has no sense of personal space, A2 thinks. She pulls at their lips to check their teeth, runs her wrinkled hands over their scales and bandages, digs through their hair like she’s looking for ticks, and holds their eyelids open to examine them. They let out a low, annoyed hiss, but allow the old nun to pick them apart like an experiment.

“Looks like you’re doing a good job so far, 4!” Sister Margaret praises. A4 beams with pride. “Keep up with fresh fruit as her main diet, change the bandages daily or more if needed. How are you feeling? Be honest, girl.”

“Uh- I’m not…” They stop, unsure if correcting Sister Margaret about their gender would cause problems. “I’m... still sore. Get tired easily. Get sick if I eat too much.”

Sister Margaret and A4 nod in exactly the same way. “Well,” Margaret begins, “Rest, walks, and a proper diet should put your humors back in check. Don’t keep your condition a secret, there’s no room for the sin of pride in these walls.”

A2 nods, then suddenly chokes on their own spit as Margaret grabs at their upper arm and squeezes their bicep.

“Hooo boy!” she hoots, giving their arm another squeeze, seemingly pleased by how hard the muscle is. “She’s something alright!” Margaret turns to A4, whose face already begins to flush red. “I’ll say this, if she cleaned up, she’d be a snack and a half!”

She laughs at the red faced A4, while A2 stands there with the blank stare of a confused cub.

#nier automata #nier #nier automata fanfiction #A2 #fantasy au #fanfiction #tank in the real

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