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blondiebarnes · 3 years

Text

in the middle

summary: steve and bucky just got home from a tough mission, and you’re determined to make them feel good.

pairing: steve rogers x bucky barnes x reader

warnings: smut! threesome, male & female receiving oral, established relationship, cumplay, basically just porn

word count: 6.5k

For the most part, you’ve gotten used to being by yourself when Steve and Bucky are on missions.

You don’t like it - not in the slightest - it goes without saying that you’d love nothing more than to go on missions with them when they’re called in the dead of night but it hardly, if ever, works out that way. They’re nearly always sent together (Fury says they balance each other out, and you’re not exactly sure you know why or how but you’ve learned to accept whatever your director says at face value) and you’re generally excluded from their missions. They get too protective, can ignore the objectives of a mission when you’re in danger, and it’s a sweet sentiment but you know it’s an issue, even if you appreciate it.

And you are used to it. Really, you are. It’s been a year of having them called off in the middle of the night, leaving you sleeping in bed with a lingering kiss to your forehead as you dip out the door - occasionally they’ll wake you up (usually Bucky, because he tends to be a bit more sentimental, though he’d never dare to admit it) and give you a proper kiss, but for the most part you simply wake up in a too-large bed that’s void of the two super soldiers sandwiching you between their warm bodies, and it never fails to feel any more jarring.

That’s what happened Friday. You simply woke up on a day like any other and they were gone, leaving nothing but ruffled covers and a small sticky note pressed to your cell phone in Steve’s scribbled handwriting, telling you that it shouldn’t last more than the weekend and we love you so much and a small smiley face that looks to be more of Bucky’s doing, but you can’t be sure.

It had been a long weekend.

Movies and books and making dinner, and work had been so slow recently with no new missions on the come-up that you need to be called away on, so you’ve been primarily holed up in your apartment watching the time tick by and waiting for your boys to come home. You’d even called Nick at one point, in your boredom, to inquire about how their mission was going, and he told you (paraphrased, of course) that they were doing just fuckin’ great and should be home by Monday, and Monday couldn’t have fucking come any slower.

You’ve been lying awake for nearly three hours since you settled into bed on Sunday night, covers pulled tight against your chin to protect yourself from the January cold that nips at your skin, even after you’ve set the thermostat to 71 degrees. Steve likes it cold - Bucky warm - you laugh at the irony of it, much to the latter’s chagrin - and you prefer it being right in the middle.

The TV plays on mute a rerun of some old movie you’ve never heard of, black and white film running rickety slow and glitching, though you’ve long since given up paying attention to it. You’d been on Pinterest for an hour before getting bored and plugging your phone in on your nightstand, and you’d begun flipping through one of Steve’s favorite books he loves to read to you sometimes, and now - you simply gaze at the ceiling in your boredom, fingers interlocked on top of your stomach, boredom settling in every crevice of your body.

You’re not sure what, exactly, you’re waiting awake for. Not even sure if you’re waiting or simply unable to sleep - it feels like a 50/50 situation, at least at the moment - but there’s still something inherently wrong with sleeping in bed without your boys. Curling into Bucky’s chest while Steve is pressed to his back, the latter’s hand wrapped around to rest on your lip while a metal hand slides up your shirt, cupping your breast just to hear the way you squeal at the chill - or, alternatively, sandwiching yourself between them as Steve practically throws his mass on top of you and Bucky squishes your face into his hard back.

Empty. You feel empty, in more ways than one, and that’s what’s keeping you awake, you decide after a long fifteen minutes of contemplating on it. Your boys complete you. It’s not right without them -

Just as the thought crosses your mind, you hear the front door knob jiggling from across the apartment, and you jerk upright as though someone had doused you with freezing cold water (not that it would be much of an adjustment from the temperature your apartment feels, but the implication still stands.)

If you were smarter - or perhaps less groggy - maybe you’d dig through your nightstand for the gun you keep in case of any intruders, buried beneath notebooks and stray pieces of paper decorated with small smudged sketches that Steve puts on any smooth surface he can find. It’s loaded and ready to go - all you’d need to do is dig through and grab it, creep outside the bedroom door and take down whomever may be invading your home -

Just as you roll onto your side to dig through your drawer and find the weapon, the front door fully opens with a jingle of keys and the scuffling sounds of footsteps, and you pause, listening to the voices that roll through the apartment, hushed and breathy.

“Fuckin’ - tripped over my foot,” comes a familiar voice, louder than the one who follows right after him, murmuring for him to shut the hell up - are you trying to wake up the entire city? -

You’re out of bed faster than you can even process, covers mercilessly kicked to the very bottom of the bed in your haste. The hardwood is cold against your bare feet and the air bites at your skin, wearing nothing but one of Steve’s old t-shirts that falls to your mid thighs and a pair of lace panties that peeks out of the shirt when you bend over or reach up or do anything, really - it’s a bit of a scandalous look - but you pay no mind to it, opening the door and tearing down the hallway into the foyer.

You’ve smacked into a hard, thick body before you could stop yourself, arms thrown around Steve’s torso as you bury your face into his chest, and you can practically feel his deep laugh before you hear it but you do hear it, clear as day, and it brings a grin to your face that’s only deepened when Bucky tugs at your waist, pulling you into his back, arms wrapped around your stomach as he buries his face in your shoulder.

“Fury said you guys wouldn’t be home until tomorrow,” you tell them, letting your body relax into Bucky’s embrace as Steve traces his fingers across your jawline, tilting your head up so he can press one light kiss to your puckered lips. His arms snake around your waist, sandwiched between your back and Bucky’s chest, fingertips clutching tight onto the loose fabric of the shirt you’re donning and he uses it as leverage to hold you closer to him.

“It was an easy one,” Steve replies, leaning forward just a bit until you’re fully pressed between the two soldiers, your head squished into his chest as he inhales the scent of your shampoo, nose buried into the top of your head. “Can’t believe you called Fury about it - missed us that much, hmm?”

A dry chuckle jostles the body behind you, feeling Bucky’s warm laughter against your neck, and you bite on your bottom lip as you nod. “‘Course I missed you - don’t get cocky -” for you’d just caught sight of Steve’s smug grin, toying his lips upward, and you use the top of your head to push him away from you in mock disgust, leaning further into Bucky’s grasp. He hums softly, breath ruffling your hair, messy from your failed attempts to sleep. “S’so lonely here.”

“Aww,” murmurs Bucky, lips pressing warm kisses into the exposed expanse of your neck, and you tilt your head to the side to give him easier access as Steve crosses his arms over his chest, watching the pair of you at work. “Poor baby.”

“Hey -” you reach behind you, running your hands through long, brunette locks just to feel the way Bucky smiles against your skin. “At least you two have each other on missions, getting each other off - I’m here all by myself. Nothin’ but the fingers.” “There’s a lot less time to get your rocks off in the middle of a mission than you’d think.”

“Is there?” you inquire playfully as Bucky’s lips trail further up your neck, landing on a spot just beneath your jawline and suckling the soft skin - the teasing lilt in your voice that you’d intended to sound confident and self-assured gets breathier and just a tad more pathetic as you continue, “Sam and I always seem to have enough time -”

Bucky grunts against your cheek, murmuring something you can’t quite make out about how he hates that fuckin’ bird boy, and a grin spreads across your face that mirrors Steve’s as he watches you. Bucky tilts your head to the side with two fingers pressed to your chin so he can ghost his lips over yours but you deepen it, pushing your face further into his as you wrap one of your arms around his neck, tugging at his hair to hear him groan into your mouth and you swallow the noise. You can practically sense Steve rolling his eyes both at your teasing and the way Bucky’s absolutely devouring you, the metal hand around your waist trailing up your torso and leaving goosebumps in its wake until he reaches your chest, cold fingers plucking at your nipple, and your chest arches into his hand with a broken gasp into his mouth.

“Better tell Sam not to touch what isn’t his,” Steve tells you, and you nod, watching the blonde take a few steps forward and for a moment you wonder if he’ll lean down, take your lips from Bucky’s and kiss you until you’re practically putty in his hands but instead he pushes past the both of you, disappearing down the hallway behind you, and you crane your neck backwards to watch his back as he vanishes around a corner.

For a moment you wonder if Bucky hadn’t seen him leave, continuing his ministrations on your nipples as his teeth bite at your bottom lip as though there’d been no interruption, his mouth turning up into a smug smirk at the way you whimper into his mouth. God, you’ve missed his touch, clever hands knowing exactly how to make you fall apart for him even without slipping into the lace of your panties, and your mouth opens in a silent gasp as his flesh palm presses to the skin of your stomach.

“Wanna go see Stevie?” the soldier questions into your mouth, voice low and sultry smooth, and you jerk your head up and down once. “Tough mission for him.”

You frown at that as Bucky pulls away from you, leaving one lingering kiss to the side of your throat as he pulls your shirt down over your lower half. “Thought he said it was easy.”

“It was,” and that makes your brows furrow as his metal hand wraps around your wrist, beginning to pull you down the hallway where your bedroom door is swung wide open. “But Fury ripped him a new one, ‘cause he disobeyed his orders - got the mission done fine - but you know how Stevie hates having his authority questioned.”

Your lips part in a silent o, and Bucky smirks ever so slightly before leading you into the bedroom where Steve sits at the edge of the bed, peeling off his suit and kicking it off of his ankles. Bucky shuts the door behind you, immediately working at tugging his vest over his head and you leave him to it, bare feet padding on the hardwood floor until you reach Steve, and you merely stand before him until he’s finished taking his clothes off, leaving him clad in only a pair of boxers.

“Do you need something?” Steve questions, glancing up at you with an amused glint in his eyes and you groan, lifting your leg up to straddle his lap, calves on either side of his, and his hands go to rest on the underside of your thigh like an instinct. For a moment you don’t say anything, grinding your hips down into his until his hands slide up your back, tugging your shirt up over your torso so he can press his cold palms to the globes of your ass, halting you in place. “Words, baby.”

“Want you to boss me around,” you tell him, dropping your lips to the side of his throat, and his dry exhale of a laugh blows at your hair as his fingers slip beneath the scrap of lace between your ass, fully digging into the plump skin, and you smile against his neck. “Missed you bein’ bossy.”

“Really?” You nod, feeling the bed dip beside you until there’s another set of hands on your body, tugging the hem of your shirt up until you’re forced to remove your lips from Steve’s neck so Bucky can pull your shirt off, littering it onto the ground beside you. Steve leans his head back as both you and Bucky lean forward, your lips to his throat and the other soldier taking his lips so that the next words he speaks are muffled into the kiss, “Sure Bucky didn’t put you up to this, baby?”

“Who’s Bucky?”

That makes both of them laugh into each other and you smile, leaning back in his lap as you take in the sight of them - lips crashed together, metal hand burying itself in blonde locks that he hasn’t cut in a while, hair brushing the tips of his ears, and Steve’s hand that had been on your ass drops, seemingly forgotten about his job - you huff, wrap your hand around his wrist, and lift his palm up to rest against your left breast.

Instinctively he squeezes, and the two men pull apart from each other as Bucky leans forward to kiss the top of your head, flesh hand sliding down your stomach until he can push into the damp lace fabric of your panties, and you jolt against his hand as he brushes your clit. “Can’t possibly think we forgot about you,” he tells you, and you shrug, watching the way he smiles. “Come on, Stevie, you heard her - wants you to boss her around.”

And Steve is surely still doubtful of your intentions - it isn’t as though you’ve ever asked him to boss you around before - it typically just happens when he’s pissed or upset or happy -

It happens a lot. He’s a bossy guy, both in the field and out of it, and he’s more than happy to give demands and orders and he loves to see you follow them.

Bucky is - usually along for the ride. He’s the calming voice in your ear when Steve is edging you until you’re screaming, the gentle touch when you’ve been overstimulated for an hour, the smooth, sultry kiss when you’re being filled so deep from both ends you feel entirely numb - and he can be mean, too, metal hand tightening around your throat and smirking at the way you sob -

Well, it depends.

“Get on the bed,” Steve tells you, and regardless of whether he’s suspicious of you and Bucky his voice is already hardening and if the words weren’t implicitly sexual, perhaps you could fool yourself into thinking you’re on the field - you listen, though. You always do - swing your legs off of his lap and land on your back on the bed, watching as Steve stands and Bucky merely turns around, leaning back on his arms as he watches you, your leg hiked up to give a limited, tantalizing view to the lace covered pex of your thighs.

“Buck - wanna get behind our girl?”

The phrase our girl never fails to make your stomach flutter, and the feeling only intensifies as Bucky grunts in affirmation, crawling towards you, and with hands hooked under your armpits he lifts you to sit, your back pressed to his chest. Hands reach up to your chest, cupping your tits in flesh and metal palms that have a chill rolling through your spine, hips grinding back against the erection you can feel pressed into your back.

“Spread your legs,” Steve tells you, and you oblige, feet sliding across the bed to spread yourself as wide open as you can, and Bucky’s metal hand leaves your chest to grab onto one of your thighs, forcing it open wide enough that a burn spreads through your muscle. “Yeah - don’t fuckin’ move, baby - hold her down, Buck.”

Bucky doesn’t need to be told twice, moving his other hand so he’s holding both of your thighs, and you can feel wetness dripping down your cunt onto the sheets as Steve stands still, for a moment, just watching the pair of you - your chest heaves and you can feel Bucky’s fingers twitch against your thighs, surely desperate to caress your tits just the way he always likes to, but he wouldn’t dare disobey Steve when he’s like this. You know it, and he knows it, and you’re sure Steve knows it too - he looks so smug, even as he climbs onto the bed, resting on his stomach as he presses his cheek into your thigh, warm breath fanning over your cunt. His fingers hook into the soaked material of your panties, feeling the stickiness that coats your folds and the undergarment, and with not a second of hesitation he rips them in half, tugging them off your leg and tossing the ruined scrap of lace onto the ground.

Your instinct is to reach down and run your fingers through his hair as he lowers his mouth to your pussy, tongue flicking once over your clit, but the second your hands jerk in their spot resting overtop of Bucky’s, Steve is reaching up - one hand manages to wrap around both of your wrists, holding your hands in place on top of your stomach with a grip so tight it’ll surely leave bruises that will darken in the morning.

You groan softly as Steve lifts his head, gaze hard and unforgiving as he stares at you, and then his gaze moves behind you where you know he must be having some sort of silent conversation with Bucky - they’re so good at that - before he’s leaning back down, teeth gnashing at your clit with enough force to make you jolt.

“Think Stevie said not to fuckin’ move, sweetie,” Bucky murmurs, lips sucking a dark hickey just beneath your ear, and a low whine escapes your throat as Steve’s tongue laps up your sticky folds before centering on your clit. “Didn’t you, honey?” And Steve hums in affirmation, pulling back to spit harshly at your clit, and you exhale skaily as you feel the glob of coldness trickle down your folds. “Move again, and I’ll punish you,” he tells you, which is more generous than he typically is when he’s in this state but you suppose the excitement of arriving home after a shitty, weekend mission must not have worn out yet. “Be a good girl for us, baby.”

You nod furiously, Bucky’s forearms hooking beneath your knees until the ache in your thighs nearly tips the balance of pain and pleasure but it’s still leaning towards the latter - more so as Steve dips his head back down, lips wrapping around the sensitive nub at your core that tears a moan from your throat, and you bite at your lips to try and silence the noises.

“Never told you to be quiet,” Steve mumbles against your cunt, vibrations from his voice sending a shiver up your spine, and Bucky smiles against one of the many hickies he’s leaving on your neck - you’re sure you’ll look a damn sight tomorrow, made of practically entirely concealer to hide the marks he’s obsessed with, but you don’t have it in you to stop. “Let us hear your noises - how good we’re making you feel.”

You drop your head back into Bucky’s shoulder with a desperate cry as Steve’s flexed tongue circles your clit before running back down your slit, parting your folds until he can slip his tongue inside of your hole, thrusting it in and out a few times, lips turning upwards at your resulting whine. Bucky’s nails leave deep, crescent-shaped indentations in the smooth skin of your inner thigh, and you can feel his erection pressed thick and swollen against your back. Surely he’s just as wound up as you are - and as much as Steve is, his hips rutting against the edge of the bed as though of their own accord - but he doesn’t do much of anything at all to alleviate the pressure, breathy exhales in your ear as your hips rub against his bulge.

“Wanna hold her open for me, Buck?” Steve questions, pulling back just a mere inch from your swollen clit before dipping his head back down, tongue licking a fat stripe through your folds before lust-blown blue orbs lift up to meet the ones behind you - you can feel Bucky’s hair, brushing against your cheek as he nods once, and your brows furrow in confusion. Surely he’s already holding you open, hands forcing your thighs so far apart that you can feel the burn in every inch of your body - and then he drops one of your thighs against the bed, metal hand trailing down to your cunt, and his fingers dip through your folds, spreading them apart and exposing your swollen clit further to the blonde between your legs. Steve adjusts himself, moving towards the side so he can press his face into your pussy without hitting Bucky’s fingers, and his tongue circles your clit once more.

You moan at the sight, nearly going cross eyed as you stare down at Steve. It’s so erotic, watching everything in your most sacred of areas, Bucky’s fingers and Steve’s face buried so intensely into your cunt you’re sure he can’t possibly breathe - he moans against your folds every so often, as though the act of giving you pleasure makes him feel just as good, and you don’t doubt it for a moment.

“Steve -” you gasp, back arching up, and Steve uses his hand around your wrist to force you back down onto the bed wordlessly - you drop pathetically back onto the duvet, a tear sliding down your cheek, and you can hear Bucky tut behind you, cold fingers slipping on the moisture coating your folds. “Steve - fuck -”

“Gonna cum, baby?” “Yes,” you breathe, hips bucking backwards into Bucky’s erection and he lets out a choked gasp into your ear, head falling back against the headboard with a loud thud that rings through the room. “Yes, need to - please -”

Steve pulls away, then - you cry out at the loss of warmth between your legs - and his nose nudges Bucky’s fingers, prompting the soldier behind you to take the cue to dip his metal digits into your cunt, the cold thickness stretching you out until you’re preening at the sensation. “Think she’s been a good girl? Think she should cum, Buck?”

You want to scream at the pause between the question and Bucky’s answer - he hums for a moment, as though in deep thought, fingers buried down to the knuckle inside of you and body practically leaning over yours so his metal arm can reach, brushing the sweet spot inside of you that makes your vision go fuzzy. He takes too fucking long, Steve’s grasp on your wrist pressed to your tummy the only thing keeping your hips from bucking up to force pressure into your cunt, before he finally says, “You’ve been good for us, haven’t you?”

“Yes!” you practically squeal as his fingers pull out hardly an inch before pumping back in, curling upwards again to hit your G-spot. “Yes, please, been so good, Bucky -”

“Cum for us, sweetie -”

You hardly wait for him to finish his sentence when Steve lowers his lips to your clit, wrapping around the bud and sucking until his cheeks hollow out, and your hips jerk desperately into his face as the waves of euphoria rack through your body, tearing a desperate sob from your throat as Bucky thrusts his fingers in and out of you, nearly hitting the side of Steve’s face in his haste to get you off, and he’s doing a damn good job at it - your hips jut into his back as you cum into their mouth and fingers, stuttering groans leaving your mouth one after another.

Steve’s mouth never leaves your clit - not even when your hips thrash against his mouth and you tear your hands free of his grasp to dig into his hair, attempting to stop his ministrations on your clit but he refuses - your folds drip wetness into his waiting mouth and he laps it up like a man dying of thirst, Bucky’s fingers lazily thrusting in and out of you as his chest rises and falls against your back, dropping your other thigh to hook an arm around your torso and hold you close to him.

Hold her down, Steve had told him, and he seems more than content to oblige with the order, whispering loving nothings in your ear that you can’t bring yourself to understand, words coming through as nothing more than incoherent babble to your brain muddled with the pressure to cum already building in your core again -

“Oh,” you whimper, heels digging into the mattress as Steve’s tongue laps over your folds and Bucky’s finger before settling on your clit again, flicking the nub over and over until you feel yourself fucking burst - “oh, fuck!”

It’s entirely more intense than the first one, Steve’s teeth nibbling at your clit as you topple over the edge like a row of dominoes - fire shoots through every limb, every crevice of your body until you’re shaking, tears streaming out of the corners of your eyes and trickling down to your jawline. Your thighs tense, a high pitched cry piercing the air of the room as the aftershocks overtake your body, leaving you trembling into Bucky’s grasp as Steve pulls off your clit with a pop.

“That’s good,” Bucky whispers into your ear, pulling his metal fingers out of you once the shaking rolling through your body has come to a relative halt - through your blurred vision you can see Steve take the digits in his mouth, licking them clean eyes rolling up to meet Bucky’s, and he groans softly. “Good girl.”

Steve leaves one last kiss to your swollen clit before moving up your body, and you’re quick to lean forward, wrapping a quivering arm around his neck and pulling him down for a kiss - it’s rough and biting, teeth clashing together and his tongue swiping into your mouth without a moment for you to catch your breath, and when he pulls away his breathing is noticeably heavier than before.

“Yeah, you’re good for us,” he tells you, bringing a hand up to stroke at the soft skin of your cheek before pulling it back and smacking it back down - it’s not hard, not by a long shot, but it’s enough to draw another whimper from your throat at the soft sting. “On your knees.”

Your legs feel shaky but you manage to push yourself to your knees, resting your arms around Steve’s shoulders to hold yourself up as Bucky shuffles behind you, slotting his hips against your ass so you can feel his bulge through his boxers - he grinds himself into your ass, sliding his arms around your waist just as Steve tugs his own boxers down, fist lazily pumping his cock as you watch him.

“You know what?” the blonde murmurs after a moment of you watching him, your cunt throbbing in need. “Think I’m gonna take your throat.”

You whine at that as Steve pulls away abruptly, leaving you nearly collapse onto your stomach but Bucky’s arm around your stomach mercifully holds you up, practically manhandling you as he turns you around, shoving you onto your back with your head nearly dangling off the bed as he crawls up your body, leaving lingering kisses on the smooth expanses of skin exposed to him. Large hands force your thighs open, pushing his hips in between your legs, and you whimper as his cock rubs against your overstimulated clit, even through the fabric of his boxers -

Steve stands beside the bed, smoothing his fingers through your matted hair as you come face to face with his cock, throbbing red and leaking precum down the sides, and your mouth practically waters at the sight - then Bucky’s pulling his own boxers down, swollen tip of his dick sliding through your sodden folds wettened from the aftermath of two orgasms. You push your thighs farther apart, opening your mouth wide and sticking your tongue out for Steve and he grins down at you, the expression looking less joyful and more downright smug and don’t you love seeing him like this? All dominant and intense, like he could control you if he pleased, and he does please -

His cock shoves forward into your throat at the same moment Bucky sheathes himself inside of your cunt fully, and a choked cry forces its way out of your mouth, reverberating through Steve’s body until he lets out a strangled grunt. Your nose brushes against the trimmed hair at his pelvis, hollowing your throat to take him in the best you can, and his grip on your hair tightens as leverage to hold you onto him.

“Oh - oh, shit,” Bucky gasps, the noise stuttered and breathy, and the hands on your thigh move up to squeeze your waist, grasp tough and bruising against your skin. “Fuck, fuck -”

You gag around Steve as he finally pulls out of your mouth, leaving just the tip on your tongue, and you swirl it around him - he drops his head back with a groan and when he speaks, his words are shallow, controlled - “Feels good, Buck?”

“So good, Stevie -” Bucky thrusts himself out of you before pushing back in, cunt stretching around his girth and your eyes roll back at the coil of pleasure already building in your lower stomach as his pace picks up, hips working faster and faster until the sound of skin slapping skin nearly overpowers your desperate mixture of moans and cries -

Nearly. Not completely.

Steve tugs at your hair and you remember your job to suck him off and you let him push your head forward, lips wrapping around his girth and tongue flattening to lap at the thick vein on the underside - his resulting groan is immediate, is desperate, and your urge to smile is only thwarted by Bucky’s metal hand pressing to your clit as his hips slam against yours.

Your hips jerk against his, pressure on the most sensitive point of your body making your eyes roll back once more as Steve’s cock slides in and out of your throat, both hands buried tight in your hair until there’s nothing else you can do than just take both of them - you bring your hands from their spot clutching the duvet to your tits, shaking fingertips kneading at your peaked nipples, and you’re not sure if the needy whine that emits from Bucky’s throat is due to his cock slamming into your pussy or from the sight of you toying with your boobs, but either one is reasonable, you decide.

It takes hardly a moment to work the three of you into a rhythm, but when you get it, it’s perfect - Bucky thrusts into you, filling you up so deep you swear you can feel him in every crevice of your body, and once he pulls out Steve pushes himself into your mouth, tip of his dick hitting the back of your throat just to hear you gag around him. Every once in a while, though, there’s a stutter in the pattern, and both men pull out to ram into your cunt and mouth at the same time, and the three of you cry out in unison.

Bucky’s flesh hand moves to your thigh, pushing it up so far that your knee nearly touches your chest and the burn only heightens the pleasure he’s giving you as he hits the sweet spot buried deep in your cunt over and over like he’s memorized exactly where it is - and surely he has - they know your body better than you do, sometimes - know just how to make you scream. Metal fingers tweak at your clit and your hips grind up into his, pushing him deeper and deeper into you, and you moan around Steve’s dick.

“I’m gonna cum,” Bucky groans, hips slowing deliberately in pace but it’s still fast enough to make your head spin - Steve moves one hand to your face, grabbing your chin and holding you in place with his cock still halfway down your throat. “Fuck - want me to fill you up, sweetie?”

You nod.

“Tell me,” he insists, and your eyes squeeze shut as you exhale through your nose. “Want me to fill you up?”

Steve pulls out until only the tip of his length rests in your mouth, and you swallow thickly before saying, words a desperate sob, “Please - please cum in me, Bucky, baby, please - fill me up -”

“Good girl,” the brunette between your thigh grunts, squeezing your clit harshly and your back arches, Steve slipping his cock all the way back in your mouth, hitting the back of your throat and you gag around him as he moans. “Good - fuckin’ - girl -”

With a few more harsh thrusts into your pussy Bucky’s hips halt, pressed taut to yours, filling you to the brim, and his head drops backwards, lips parting with a drawn out, silent scream before he fully cries out, and you feel his ribbons of cum in your cunt - the warmth filling you up is enough to snap the coil building in your abdomen and you sob around Steve as you cum onto Bucky, core clenching around him like a vise as he holds you to him.

“Yes, yes -” Bucky’s voice sounds far away as your muscles go lax, collapsing like putty onto the bed with the grasps on your head and your hips the only thing grounding you to Earth - “yes, takin’ me so fuckin’ good -”

It’s then that Steve gives one last thrust, deep in your throat, and his grip on your chin forces you to look up at him, meeting his stern eyes and he’s so close you can see it reflected in his orbs - they’re dark, pupils wide, and you whimper. “Don’t swallow,” he whispers, tone sounding similar to that of a hiss, and you nod. “Don’t swallow a single drop.”

Your head bobs up and down as Steve’s hand pumps up and down the base of his cock, his cry strangled and needy when he finally releases into your mouth - he cums in spurts onto your tongue and you keep it stuck out for him, trying to resist the overwhelming desire to swallow everything he’s given you but he looks so proud of you when he’s finished and every drop still rests on your tongue and you prefer that look of admiration over the taste, really.

“Kiss her, Buck -”

And Bucky doesn’t have to be told twice, both hands moving to your neck and pulling you up so vigorously your head is spinning when he crashes his lips to yours. His tongue slips into your mouth and you part your lips for him, cum dribbling out of the sides of your mouth and he laps it up like a dying man, palms pressed to your tits. You can see the bob of his throat when he swallows everything you’ve forced into his mouth and you swallow the rest, parting your lips from him with a gasp, practically heaving for air in the bedroom that suddenly feels humid, smelling of sex and cum and desire and remarkably like your two boys themselves.

Steve collapses onto the bed first. He grabs for Bucky, tugging him into his chest and you sit on your knees for a moment, simply watching them - they fall into tandem with each other like they were made for it, and maybe they were, Steve’s face nuzzling into Bucky’s back and you’re never surprised by the sudden vulnerability of your captain immediately after sex. The first time you’d joined them you’d suspected he was embarrassed but you don’t think he is

He’s in love.

It’s a sweet thought.

Bucky wraps his metal hand around your wrist and pulls you down to him, his chin resting on top of your head as you press your cheek to his sweaty chest, feeling his arm wrap around your back. He’s silent, using his foot to kick the comforter up from where it’s been shoved to the bottom of the bed, and when it’s far enough up Steve reaches down to pull it over the three of you, drowning you in its warmth even though you’re not feeling quite cold anymore.

“I don’t know,” you say, after a moment of silence, voice muffled against Bucky’s chest. “It feels like I’m the only one getting ganged up on, nowadays.”

They laugh at that, Bucky’s flesh palm smoothing up and down your back. “You asked for it,” Steve tells you, and you shrug.

“Still.” You move to rest your chin on Bucky’s chest, and he nearly goes cross eyed to meet your eyes as he looks down at you. “Maybe, one of these days, we could tie Stevie up. Have our way with him.”

“He’d love that,” Bucky muses, and you can practically hear Steve rolling his eyes.

“Yeah - right after a mission, when he’s all wound up -”

“Hey,” Steve warns, and you smile.

“I don’t think there are restraints strong enough for those muscles, anyway,” you murmur, and Bucky smiles, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of your head.

You fall into silence again, and after a couple of minutes you hear Steve’s soft snoring, followed by Bucky’s, until you’re the last awake between the three of you. They’re rightfully exhausted, surely getting little to no sleep over the weekend - you like hearing how peaceful they sound when they’re resting, even after fucking you so silly you were practically crying.

You smile as you bury your face into Bucky’s chest. Shit, maybe Fury was right - maybe they do balance each other out, a bit.

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anzynai · 3 years

Text

To Convince

Kaeya x Albedo (Genshin Impact)

A/N: okay so this is my first tickle fanfic lmao and i had fun writing it so if you don’t like it, cool. also, it’s not in caps so if that’s not your cup of tea, you probably won’t like my blog very much. also, they’re kinda ooc, but i hope you like it anyway!

summary: kaeya tries to get albedo to go to sleep after it’s become very obvious he has been overworking himself, but his attempts are futile. well, until he uses a particular method.

word count: 1.6k

——

kaeya poked his head through the doorway, frowning when he saw albedo standing with a sketchbook in his hands. he was observing some sort of experiment he made. usually, kaeya didn’t mind what albedo did, but he was growing concerned.

dark circles had appeared under albedo’s eyes, his movements and reaction speed have been slower.. and he just looked very exhausted, as if he could collapse at any second.

what kaeya doesn’t understand is why he hasn’t done anything about it. surely, the chief alchemist would know his experiments would be much better if he could properly focus on them. so why was he staying so late?

“it’s a bit late, albedo. shouldn’t you be going to bed?” kaeya asked, sliding his way in. albedo did not move from his spot and continued sketching, barely acknowledging his new and uninvited guest.

“hello, sir kaeya. what can i do for you today?” the chief alchemist muttered monotonously. kaeya finally made his way to albedo, leaning back on the alchemist’s desk, beside where albedo stood.

“what you can do for me is go to sleep.” the calvary captain crosses his arms and stares at albedo. he hoped he would go rest at that, but it would’ve been too easy, wouldn’t it?

“i’m sorry, i don’t see how what i’m doing concerns you. i have to finish my experiments.” while to anyone else, it may have seemed rude, but albedo didn’t mean it. he wasn’t a very social person so the way he words things may make them seem worse than they really are. kaeya knew this, which is why he didn’t comment on it.

“well, you’re very obviously exhausted. come on, you even have dark circles under your eyes!” kaeya exclaimed, exasperated. he nearly flung his arms up into the air to emphasize his annoyance but stopped himself.

“i can assure you i will be fine, sir kaeya. now if you could, please leave me to my experiment if you have no other business here.” kaeya sighed, defeatedly. he tried a few more times convincing him but when he continued recieving the same response, he began growing frustrated.

he stood up and put his body between albedo and his experiment. albedo sighed, as if he were a child who interrupted him so they could be entertained.

“what, sir kaeya, do you need now?” he pinched his forehead, obviously trying to keep his emotions in check. he took a breath and looked at kaeya with a blank expression.

“isn’t it obvious? i want you to go to sleep! you’re an alchemist, you should know not getting the desired amount of sleep is unhealthy.” kaeya glared, raising his voice slightly.

“i told you that worrying about that is unnecessary.” albedo states, moving to the side to see pass him.

albedo needed sleep but he was refusing it. kaeya tried to think of solutions, ignoring the confused look on albedo’s face because he was still against the table, but unmoving and silent.

he thought back to the tavern and remembered one of the stories a young woman he was drinking with had said she used to “tame” her little brother. it was the one method that always worked no matter what. however, this method was risky because it could backfire.

that idea could work, he realized. kaeya decided it was worth a shot. now, to put it to the test. he could barely hide his smirk before creeping up behind the alchemist, who had gone back to his experiment yet again.

his fingers inched closer and closer to albedo’s torso and when he finally made contact, a yelp was ripped from albedo’s throat. albedo whipped his head around, startled and watched the corner of kaeya’s lips turn upwards.

“what’s wrong, albedo? you seemed to be startled by something.” kaeya teased, curling his fingers against albedo’s sides. albedo’s eyes widened in both horror and alarm, already knowing what this meant.

“s-sir kaeya! stahahap thihihis!” soft giggles poured from the albedo, which despite expecting it, surprised kaeya. him laughing like that just seemed so out of character for the stoic alchemist. he quickly snapped out of it though, moving his quick fingers to other exposed places on his side and tummy.

“why should i, albedo? if i can’t convince you to go to sleep, surely this will.” he worked his hands up to his ribs, eliciting loud giggles. albedo’s smile on his face was so big, kaeya nearly stopped just to admire the view. albedo tried pushing the calvary captain’s hands away, but found he was too weak. all he could do was let it happen.

“thihihis is un-unprofessional! kaeyahaha!” kaeya couldn’t hide the smirk on his face anymore. albedo was just so cute! the sweet giggles, the mirth on his face, his wide smile, it was almost too much for kaeya to bear. by now, albedo’s body had given in and he almost fell to the ground, if not for kaeya catching him and slowly bringing him to the ground.

“hmmm.. will you go to sleep now?” kaeya asked, without stopping his moving fingers from skittering across albedo’s body. he took his other hand away to squeeze in some neck tickles. albedo tucked his neck in unconsciously.

“b-buhuhut i have experi-haha-experiments!” albedo still argued despite being tickled mercilessly. even kaeya would have given up by now. kaeya continued squeezing, poking, scratching, and anything he could do so albedo could continue giggling loudly.

“ah.. well, i gave you a chance.” kaeya sighed as if it was harder on him than it was the poor alchemist. his act soon went away when he heard a loud squeal from albedo.

while it might’ve been a bit much, all kaeya was thinking about was finding albedo’s death spot. so he slipped his hands under his shirt and scribbled against his ribs and armpits. he poked at them, counting the ribs one by one with one hand and scribbled one armpit with the other.

albedo. went. crazy.

“AHAHAHA STAHAHAP! WHAHAHAT ARE YOUHUHU DOIHIHING? SIR KAEYAHAHA!” albedo laughed hysterically while kaeya wore an amused smile, not ceasing his merciless torture.

“but why? it’s exactly what you deserve. deny my requests and you get the tickle monster.” kaeya’s voice was much softer now, noticeably but albedo was too busy laughing to comment on it. though his voice was softer, he still had a smug tone to his voice which albedo found embarrassing.

“AHAHAHA PLEHEHEASE!” albedo was shrieking so loudly from the ticklish sensations and kaeya just chuckled at it. who knew the chief alchemist could be so darn sensitive to such gentle touches?

“please what? please give you more? of course!” kaeya and albedo had long been on the floor now, with albedo leaning against kaeya and his sketchbook on the desk forgotten. kaeya readjusted his fingers to the lower half of his body, poking and pinching his thighs.

the loud laughter did not reside. he moved downwards, paying special attention to his knees, which gave an extremely powerful and satisfying reaction.

“PLEHEHEHEASE NOHOHOHO MOREEE!” albedo screamed when kaeya scribbled and scratched behind his knee, which kaeya figured out was another death spot.

“will you go to sleep?” kaeya asks, his original goal not leaving his mind. albedo looks like he might just pass out so he lessens the sensations, which also helps albedo actually speak properly.

“y-yESS!” finally, at that, the calvary captain finally stops, leaving a panting, blushing albedo sprawled out on the floor. kaeya sighed, content that he had finally convinced the alchemist to get some rest.

“are you okay?” kaeya asks, worried he may have gone too far. he rubs albedo’s arm comfortably, with concern shown on his face.

“..yes. just... no more.” albedo manages to say, still breathing heavily. after a few moments, he finally picks himself up and walks somewhere else.

“what are you doing?” kaeya asks, standing up as well. albedo turns to him, organizing the stack of papers and putting them in piles.

“i’m cleaning. i have to go rest, so i’ll pack up for the night.” albedo informs him, grabbing a stack of papers and placing them on sucrose’s desk.

“ah.. let me help you.” kaeya insists. after all, what kind of gentleman would he be if he left poor albedo to clean all on his own after tickling the life out of him?

they silently pick up papers, wipe counters, and just continue cleaning in silence. well, until the alchemist starts speaking, breaking the silence.

“thank you..” it was so quiet kaeya almost didn’t hear it. but he did and it gave him a warm feeling in his chest.

“for what? for tickling you?” kaeya asks, smiling as albedo’s face gets just slightly more red.

“yes.. and for making me go to sleep. i’ve been aware my sleep deprivation was unhealthy but i guess i was too focused on this experiment to care. so.. thank you.”

kaeya stayed silent. he wasn’t used to people talking to him like this, and although he’s quite the smooth talker, he was speechless. he was unknowing how to respond so he didn’t.

and in that silence was how it was from then until they finished. it was not an awkward silence though, just no one had anything to say. it was quite comfortable, really.

“well, looks like we’re done!” kaeya exclaims, stretching his arms. the process hadn’t taken long at all. it had to have been at least ten minutes at most.

“yes, it seems so.” albedo said as he finished putting away the last item in the cabinet above his desk. kaeya walked over to him.

“let’s go, shall we?” he said as albedo nods. they leave the room, locking up before going to their quarters to rest. kaeya insisted on walking albedo home, and he had no reason to refuse so he agreed. they had a nice chat and said their goodbyes as they finally reached the alchemist’s doorstep.

because of the events that had taken place, it was thanks to kaeya that albedo had one of the most comfortable rests than he had ever had in years.

#kaeya alberich #albedo kreideprinz #genshin kaeya #genshin albedo #albedo #genshin impact #jai’s fic

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novelconcepts · 3 years

Note

omg can you do a print of damie in canon just interacting with flora bc i would love that

She’s lost Flora.

There is, Dani thinks with the forced calm of one already beginning to spiral, little cause to panic. The house is big, but it’s not that big--and Flora is a good kid. She’s not exactly prone to just wandering off. She certainly wouldn’t, say, vanish from sight and reappear somewhere unexpected, suddenly acting like she didn’t entirely remember the time in between.

That doesn’t sound like Flora at all.

She isn’t running, per se, from room to room. Running would suggest there is a problem to be handled, and if she starts thinking along those lines--if she starts obsessing about Flora’s distinctly off-putting way of gazing over her shoulder, of saying things just a little too odd to be hand-waved away, of looking at Dani as though she can see straight through her to the unease thrumming under the surface--well. That way lies nothing useful. Nothing at all.

“Have you seen Flora?” The kitchen had seemed a good bet. Here, after all, is Owen, puttering away over the ingredients for the evening’s meal, his mood somber as he uses the manor to avoid reflecting on his mother’s upcoming funeral. Here is Hannah, dutifully rearranging the china, pretending not to steal glances at Owen’s lanky frame every few seconds. That spot at the table is made for Flora, little legs hanging off the chair, brimming with questions--

But Flora isn’t there, and Owen is shaking his head.

“Not since lunch. Lost her, have you?”

No, she almost snaps. A count of three, a long-held breath; she smiles tightly, reminding herself that this is not Owen’s fault, nor Owen’s job. The children will be your responsibility alone, after all.

“She’s quick,” she says instead. Hannah purses her lips.

“Perhaps upstairs with Miles?”

She isn’t. Miles, bent over a book with a solemn expression, blinks up at her as though she’s dragged him by the shirt collar out of the actual wardrobe to Narnia.

“She asked me to color--what time is it?”

“Two,” Dani says, sparing the briefest glance for her watch. He shrugs.

“An hour ago, I think? I told her to ask Hannah.” A flash of concern crosses his face, a too-adult creasing of brow. “Was that wrong? I just wanted to finish my book--”

“It’s fine,” Dani assures him, ruffling his hair. Too-adult, his expression may be, but this is the most kid she’s seen Miles in days. The last thing she wants is to dissuade him from reading, or from the loose sprawl of his posture.

An hour, though. In the days since coming to Bly, Dani can’t remember twenty minutes passing without Flora turning up underfoot.

Outside, she thinks with another swell of barely-restrained panic. She’s outside. By the lake, probably, where Flora can so often be found keeping company with dolls and talismans and snatches of ethereal song.

It isn’t exactly a reassuring thought, particularly with summer rain sluicing down the windows, scattering over the roof like pellets. A storm, it isn’t, but an eight-year-old girl has no business wandering in weather like this.

You'd have loved it, at her age, Dani reminds herself. There’s nothing at all wrong with a little girl puddle-jumping for the sheer joy of it. Flora probably got bored, cooped up with a bunch of busy adults and her brother uninterested in playing games. She’s fine. She’s almost certainly fine.

An umbrella is waiting beside the door, still damp from Owen’s trip in before breakfast. Dani takes a breath, pops it open, steels herself for the brisk wind.

The grounds are gray, the puddles turning the grass to a squelchy mess beneath her shoes. She keeps her head up, her eyes carefully turned away from the puddles which sit like recklessly-dropped mirrors at every turn; if she so much as glances down and spots a flash of glasses, she’s not sure she’ll be able to keep her composure.

Flora is not by the lake, as it turns out. Nor the statue gardens. Nor the rose bushes. Flora is nowhere, she’s starting to think, and her mind is finally turning toward the worst--toward the depth of that lake, how easily a small girl might slip off the embankment and tumble headlong into its hungry waves without notice--when she remembers the greenhouse.

Jamie will help. The thought rises without warning, a solid patch of sunlight at the center of the storm. Jamie will help--because Jamie knows every corner of these grounds as well as her own hands. Jamie, who maybe doesn’t know Dani all that well, but didn’t seem to mind offering gentle reassurance, exchanging unexpectedly deep conversation on the couch...or Dani taking her hand in the dark. Jamie, who had said, Who the hell knew? Jamie, who had worn an expression a little like awe.

They haven’t had time to talk about it since, but even so. Even so, for Flora, Jamie is sure to--

She hesitates at the door, fist raised to knock. It feels foolish, rapping on the entry to a greenhouse like it’s Jamie’s own bedroom--but this is, she reasons, as close to Jamie’s home as she’s ever likely to get.

“Jamie, are you...”

“Here,” her voice comes from somewhere just out of sight. Dani takes a cautious step in out of the rain, jostling the umbrella and pulling it hastily shut. Best not to invite bad luck--she’s certainly already had her share.

“I’m looking for Flora,” she calls, feeling a bit silly. There’s so much going on in this room--plants and tables, pots and a variety of outdoor furniture draped with old blankets. Normally, Jamie is easy to spot amid the riot of greens and pinks, her hands busy coaxing seedlings to life. Today, Dani feels as though she’s tripped and fallen into a game of hide and seek.

“Don’t have to look far,” Jamie’s voice comes again--from behind the sofa, Dani thinks. “C’mere.”

“Miss Clayton!” Flora pipes up, and Dani feels the tension leave her body in a violent rush. Her hand grips the nearest table for support, her eyes closing in relief. “Come color with us”

“Come--sorry?” She can’t have heard right. Jamie? Jamie the gardener, putting aside work and temper to waste an afternoon on crayons?

Yes--yes, that appears to be exactly what Jamie is doing. Sprawled on her stomach, still dressed in her coveralls, she’s got a blue crayon in hand and a green one tucked behind her ear. She glances up as Dani steps nearer, a smile lighting her face.

“Kid came stumbling in out of the rain an hour ago. Expect she didn’t think to warn you in advance?”

“Sorry.” Flora offers a sheepish smile, sitting up quickly. “Are you very cross?”

“No, of course not.” Just going to need a minute to purge the image of finding you facedown in the goddamned lake, is all. “Next time, though, you’ll have to tell me you’re leaving the house alone. I need to know where you are at all times, Flora.”

She expects Jamie to scoff at this--to say, Ah, she was with me, she’s fine. Instead, Jamie stretches over to land a sharp flick on Flora’s upper arm.

“Rude to make Poppins worry. Look, she’s gone all pink.” She looks up at Dani, grinning. “Not a bad look, if we’re in the market for honesty.”

Dani suspects pink is the lightest shade she can manage, with Jamie gazing at her that way. It’s too easy, all of a sudden, to remember an unexpectedly soft hand under her own fingers, Jamie turning reflexively at the wrist to hold her back.

“I’m terribly sorry,” Flora says, a phrase Dani is starting to think is more Flora than even perfectly splendid. “Here--I was just about to do one of you!”

Jamie gestures with the blue crayon, a silent suggestion for Dani to sit beside her. “Might as well. Rain doesn’t look like it’s letting up anytime soon.” She lowers her voice, eyes fixed on Flora’s determined rummage through the crayon box. “Sorry about that, Poppins. Know she’s been unpredictable lately, didn’t like the idea of her stumping around in the cold. If I’d known you were worried--”

“It’s all right.” In truth, she’s glad Flora made her way out here. Growing more pleased by the moment with this development, really, as Jamie slides a blank sheet of paper in front of her and presses a purple crayon into her hand.

“Join us. We’re doing portraiture.”

“I can see that,” Dani laughs. Jamie’s handiwork speaks of a distinct lack of care for detail--each sketch on her page is, at best, a stick figure with a single defining feature. “How does Owen hold up his head, carrying a mustache the size of his torso?”

“With minimal decorum,” Jamie says, grinning. “And she’s right, it’s your turn.”

Dani suspects she’s going less pink, more a volatile shade of maroon, with both parties squinting at her face, their papers, her face again. Flora is doing her very best work, taking several minutes just to select the closest shades of blue, yellow, pink. Jamie makes an enormous production of holding up a crayon, closing one eye, gauging proportions--and then, cheerfully, scrawling a figure identical to the other four already on the page.

“I’m taller than Hannah?” Dani asks, unable to resist a giggle. Jamie frowns.

“Ah, you’re...standin’ on a crate.” She adds a box beneath Dani’s non-existent feet with a flourish, nodding. “There. It’s symbolic.”

“Of what?”

“I’ve ranked you all on how much I like you. Takin’ into account, of course, certain accusations pointed my way regarding mud and shiny floorboards.” Jamie winks. Dani finds herself gripping her crayon almost hard enough to hurt.

“You’re not drawing, Miss Clayton!” Flora observes. Dani glances away from Jamie’s smile--a difficult act only a few days ago, nearly impossible now--and clears her throat.

“Well. Maybe just until the rain stops.”

There are, she thinks as a comfortable quiet settles over the greenhouse, infinitely worse ways to spend her afternoon.

#fanfiction #ficlet #the haunting of bly manor #dani x jamie #flora wingrave #soft prompts #hope this is about what you were looking for #soft it certainly is

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destiniesfic · 3 years

Note

For the smut dialogue prompts: Darklina, 30 & 99 🖤

Note: Thanks for the prompt! I set this in one of the modern AUs that lives rent-free in my head, which is why the characterizations here differ from, say, OOT. It is definitely more explicit than my norm, so 🔞, thank you very much. Roughly 1800 words, with dirty talk, some mild comeplay, and edging under the cut.

(list of smut dialogue prompts)

Aleksander always woke up first. That’s how it had always been, even since the early days of their relationship, when they didn’t have a label for what they were. She would wake to find him looking at her, and laugh out of nervousness, and tease, because it long had been a habit of hers to hide her nerves with barbs.

“Do you like me?” she remembered saying. “Gross.”

And he smiled. The lines at the corners of his eyes had been fainter then, but they were there. She already liked tracing them in her mind, mapping them for the inevitable sketches she’d make of his face in the little notebook she kept in her bag.

“I’m starting to,” he murmured, in that voice, with that accent, and she was gone on him.

Later, once they’d moved into the condo together and settled into the rhythm of a life, she was not surprised that he was often up and out of bed before she was. It meant that they had fewer morning trysts, unless he finished his workout early, but it was also weirdly comfortable. She didn’t worry when she woke up and he was already in another room. She knew he would always come find her.

And that meant she could take her own sweet time getting out of bed on the days she didn’t have work. She could pull on one of his old shirts and saunter into the kitchen with it skimming her thighs, and she could raid his—their—fridge for ingredients to make herself a smoothie. (Almond milk was almost as good as dairy milk if it was vanilla and you put a lot of stuff in it, and he was right, her skin had gotten much better since she started swapping it in.)

Aleksander was already in his home office with the frosted glass door closed. She could see his silhouette pacing back and forth in front of it, and hear the low tones of his voice as he spoke emphatically to someone on the phone. She couldn’t make out what he was saying but found herself mesmerized anyway. Even in silhouette form, he was something. Broad shoulders, lean waist, power in his every step.

Alina didn’t realize she was staring until the talking stopped and the door slid back. There was Aleksander, still in his workout clothes, hanging up his cellphone. His shirt, damp with sweat, clung to his torso and she could almost make out the contours of his abs.

“Making breakfast?” he asked, wiping his face on the towel that hung around his neck, and Alina realized she was so distracted she hadn’t even put anything in the Nutribullet.

“You know, there wasn’t a single thing to eat in the kitchen until you walked in,” she said, an easy smile curling the corners of her lips.

“Cheeky,” he said, crossing through the living room to her side of the kitchen island so he could give her a kiss. Alina stood on her toes to receive it. She knew, somewhere in her logical brain, that she should maybe be turned off because he was still sweaty, but the weird fact was that she was kind of crazy about the way he smelled. Supposedly that was a good thing, meant that they were physically compatible. All Alina knew for sure that she wanted to press her face in his neck and inhale until she had her fill.

“I’m serious,” she murmurs against his lips.

She felt his smirk. “Well, you do need to eat regardless. Compliments won’t hit your macros.”

“I can think of a way to get more protein.”

“Alina.” He tucked her hair behind her ear. It was getting long again, a couple of inches past her shoulders—grown out from when she’d cut it for her film debut, nearly two years ago now.

“What?”

His grey eyes sparkled. “That was very bad.”

“You like when I’m a little bad,” she teased. She ran her hands down his shirt, and then followed their path, sinking down to her knees. The kitchen floor was cold, but not unbearably so, and she was distracted anyway, running her fingers around the elastic waistband of his athletic shorts. He was already responding. Just the sight of her on her knees seemed to get him hard.

“I do,” he said, placing a hand on the back of her head. “But I like it better when you’re very good. Can you be good for me now?”

“I’ll think about it,” she said, pulling down his shorts and drawing his cock out of his briefs. And then there was no more talking. She knew it was time to get to work.

To think when she started she had no idea what she was doing. She thought she had to fit the whole of him in her mouth, which was just not a realistic possibility most of the time, and usually made her choke. Now she knew better. Now she knew she could wrap her hand around the base of him, use her other hand to touch while she started just with licks, with brief teases, before wrapping her lips around him for real. (And no teeth, ever.)

He groaned when she really got going, a sound that zinged straight to the core of her. She remembered that back in the day, when she knew so little, some girls, older girls, framed this as a chore. To her it wasn’t, not for the privilege of licking the salt from his skin in the early morning, to glance up at him and see him watching her with those glowing grey eyes. Alina still didn’t know what it was that made him notice her, made him like her, made him want her—talent, sure, but talent wasn’t hard to come by in this town, and he had to be used to seeing it. Maybe she never would never know.

Aleksander pushed on the back of her head a little, and she picked up the pace. He was efficient. He liked things hard, fast, and on his terms. She knew when he was close before he said anything, and she could swallow, but today he tugged her hair and pulled her off of him and growled “Shirt. Off,” and so she pulled his t-shirt over her head and knelt patiently on the floor while he finished himself with his hand. The result was—well, it was splatter on her mouth and chest, which was okay, because it wasn’t her eyes or her hair and she hadn’t showered yet today. Besides, there was something very bad about it, very forbidden, and Alina was still so horny herself that any residual grossness hadn’t really sunk in.

“Aleksander,” she said. “My turn.”

He reached down and took her chin in his hand, brushing a thumb over her lower lip and smearing some of the residue in the process. She shivered. “Such a needy little thing, aren’t you?” He asked.

“Aleksander.”

“You know what to say.”

She took a breath, sighed it out, and gave him a roll of her eyes for good measure. “Please?”

And then he was lifting her up like she weighed nothing at all and placing her on the marble countertop. He pressed her onto her back and got his hands on her thighs, pulling up her underwear. “Already soaked,” he remarked, his voice dark with lust, and she shivered. “Does sucking my cock make you wet, Alina?”

“Oh, fuck, Aleksander. Please.” She really meant it this time.

Despite her pleading, which usually drove him to decisive action, Alina quickly realized that he was taking his sweet, sweet time with her. He slipped one finger inside of her, curling it, rubbing back and forth in a way that drove her absolutely crazy and added a second at his own pace. When he finally tugged her underwear off so his head could come to rest between her thighs she moaned so loudly she was sure their downstairs neighbors would hear even though the condo was completely soundproof.

But just as she was inching toward climax, he pulled back, kissing her thigh instead and withdrawing his fingers entirely. She whimpered, and after he decided she had enough time to cool off, he began teasing her again, stopping just before she hit her peak. If her mind wasn’t completely numb with wanting she’d ask him if he had time for this, if it wouldn’t get in the way of work, but if he was taking this time he probably had it to burn. It was so unfair that she was the one set aflame.

“What are you doing!” she finally asked, out of desire, out of despair.

“Yes, haven’t you been good?” he asked, sliding his fingers back inside of her. “Isn’t it fitting you should get a reward?”

“Let me—”

“Don’t you want to come around my cock, Alina?”

Oh, was that what he was waiting for? Hopefully it wouldn’t take too long for him to get hard again, with her spread and bare before him. Still, she squirmed. “I want to come.”

“Be patient.” His other hand was no longer on her thigh, or hip, and although she couldn’t see it she could see his arm moving, and she knew he was touching himself. Not too much longer.

She writhed, feverishly hot against the cold marble. “Aleksander, please.”

That did it, it seemed. He took his fingers from her and his hand from himself and gripped her hips to pull her onto him. He groaned, but she practically howled from the relief, and all it took was another push of his hips to push her over the edge of release, the heat in her core spilling into the rest of her body.

He kept fucking her while she was seeing stars, hard and fast—he liked it that way. She was uninhibited, moaning, her nails scratching at the granite. His eyes were on her face, on her breasts, still glistening with his semen. She felt almost like she never stopped coming, like she was suspended in perpetual climax, until somehow she tipped over another cliff and clenched around him and it was just shaking, shaking all over. That did it for him, too, and a moment later he slumped over on top of her, one of his hands closing over her breast, breathing hard.

“Oh, god,” Alina panted. “Oh god, I hate you.” She slung her arm over his shoulders. “I love you.”

She didn’t know if he would say it back. Sometimes he did, and sometimes he didn’t. But this time he straightened himself and slid his hand up to her neck, caressing the hollow of her throat. Alina let her eyes fall closed.

“I’m thinking of getting you something,” was what Aleksander said.

#darklina #alarkling #aleksander morozova #alina starkov #the darkling #mine: fic #nightbringer #ask #intern au

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killerwithashotgun · 2 years

Text

I posted 1,551 times in 2021

1375 posts created (89%)

176 posts reblogged (11%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 0.1 posts.

I added 2,321 tags in 2021

#ask - 622 posts

#pete davidson - 360 posts

#anon - 298 posts

#yungblud - 224 posts

#colson baker - 204 posts

#dominic harrison - 203 posts

#me - 151 posts

#selfie - 135 posts

#pete davidson x reader - 63 posts

#machine gun kelly - 61 posts

Longest Tag: 52 characters

#they really let this go out and didn’t even tell him

My Top Posts in 2021

I’m having a bit of hard time mentally. Could you do any headcanon/blurb/thing about cuddling with Pete?

Pete could tell you were trapped in your head again. The weight of the crashing thoughts finally snapping the wooden board you kept up to hold back the oceans of mental fog.

He could see it, just as you could see it with him when he was getting too deep in himself. You had been staring at the same spot on the tv for what he had to assume was hours, not taking in the show, not even noticing when it changed from episode to episode.

He walked over slowly, sitting down next to you. Only when he moved to pull you into him did you finally react at all. He shushed your protests as he laid down on the sofa, positioning the pair of you into your preferred cuddling mode.

His fingers moved through your hair lightly scratching the base of your scalp.

“So wanna hear what John told me happened in rehab today when he called? Said some dude was freaking so bad they had to give him the knock out shot. Poor guy. Apparently he’s weirdly good at making friendship bracelets. Made John one” Pete felt your chuckle slightly sighing

“Oh and apparently they have pizza night, which all I got was horse therapy my first trip to rehab but John gets pizza night? Whack” Pete continued to tell you about random things, how his sketches were going, and the next week of SNL how many of them he was actually going to be apart of.

Before long he looked down and you had passed out fully, body heavy, moving slow with the rose and fall of your breathing.

“If I could take the mental shit away for you, I can handle it, if I could I would” Pete smiled his hand loving to brush your face lightly.

237 notes • Posted 2021-02-21 04:46:47 GMT

do u have any random headcanons for pete? :)

He sleeps on your tummy

Never fails to find you. Flop on you and scoot down to your tummy and just knock out.

He likes when you pop his like black heads or squeeze his pores. Yes gross but god it’s satisfying.

Likes to do your hair. It keeps him busy when he’s having a down day. He’ll just brush your hair or try and style it.

He kicks your ass at dumb movie trivia games you guys have downloaded on your iPad.

Like he knows the stupidest facts. It’s adorable

He talks about babies with you a lot just cause. He just likes imagining what your guys kids will/would look like.

He likes kisses at random times.

Like really random. You sitting on the toilet he walks in leans down kisses you and walks back out.

It’s weird but like your used to it.

He has opened the shower curtain. Leaned in kissed you and left. Like all he wanted was a kiss.

Movie nights are his fav. Hes usually high on small dose of shrooms and you just spout your dumb facts you know or ideas on the end twists.

Falls asleep on your ass. Just does.

282 notes • Posted 2021-04-06 01:30:50 GMT

Domestic pete and helping him dye his hair🥰

Me in my sick brain just went: Awwww oh my god. Cause I am gonna do domestic Pete, colson and Dom cause they all dye there hair.

Dom:

Sitting with Dom in the bathroom you read over the directions for the hair dye, he was staying red for a while longer before going to see his normal hair dresser. But until then you were hair dyer and girlfriend.

“Okay so we just glob it on and wait like 30 minutes. Simple enough.” Dom sat in front of you, a towel around his bare torso,

“I mean you dye yer own hair so this should be easy.” You nodded, bringing your hands up to scratch through his scalp, ruffling his hair.

“Mmmm could fall asleep when you do that” you giggled a bit

“Alright, hair dye begins now” combing the red through his hair you practically felt him falling asleep

“Hey! No sleeping we can nap in like 40 minutes when I finish your hair” after 30 minutes of Dom messing around on his phone, posting stories of you and him, and just being a doof, you had him leaned over the bathtub scrubbing the color from his hair. His favorite part.

“See you need to be my hair dresser all the time. Look good” leaning towards you his mouth met yours as you giggled

“Nah let’s not piss off the normal one when I end up burning your hair off with bleach by mistake. Though the buzzed look would be a good one for you” Dom grimaced

“God no. Let’s never go back to 2002 thank you very much”

“What I think it’s hella punk.”

Colson:

“So just throw it on, my hairs already basically white. It’ll take easy” colson towered over you, the directions to the newest color in his hands

“So yeah, 30 minutes and I will be blue baby” sighing you laughed a bit

“Alright. Sit on the toilet sir, I need to be able to reach your head.” Laughing he sat, he was still almost too tall compared to you, but it would work.

“Okay so why blue? You going for the emo boy look? I figured that was like black or like red” colson chuckled

“Nah, it’s just for fun, doing purple was fun, and these wash out hella quick in my hair” nodding you rubbed the color into the strands

“Well your hair is like bleached white almost, so color stains quick but washing it means color comes out even quicker. It’s why you never have the pastel type colors very long”

Over the next 30 minutes you both stayed in the bathroom, him sat on the toilet with you perched on the counter by the sink, his chin resting on his hands, placed on your thighs.

Once washed you dried his hair smirking at the result

“Very, pastel ocean vibes” colson laughed looking in the mirror

“I dig it. Got the best hair dresser in town” leaning down he pressed his lips to yours

“Well I think casie could give me a run for my money” colson nodded

“Yeah she is pretty fly at hair huh?”

Pete:

It was that time of the year again, the time when Pete liked to dye his hair to death and then shave it off for the summer.

See the full post

344 notes • Posted 2021-04-01 12:03:11 GMT

Soulmate tropes with my boys.

Pete: Anytime you or your soulmate gets hurt the other feels it.

Pete felt the sharp stab at his upper arm. His soulmate must have got their flu shot. Running his arm he blinked

“Oh fuck” he always seemed to forget his soulmate had 7+ years of feeling him get tattoos. And now get them lazored off.

“Well fuck” he hoped his soulmate would forgive him for the hours of pain.

Colson: You don’t see color until you see them.

See the full post

346 notes • Posted 2021-01-08 22:39:31 GMT

Girl it’s 3:41 AM and I’m just thinking abt sex with Pete and you asking him to choke you and him being like “ uh I don’t wanna hurt you I mean I’m down but again don’t wanna kill you “ and then you start off slow and then he fucking rEALLY STARTS CHOKING YOU WITH EVERY THRUST AND UGH BITCH MY KITTY IS PURRING

Petes thrusts were slow but deep, hitting just how you needed him to. You grabbed his hand, pulling it closer to your throat

“Choke me.....pls daddy” placing his hand on your throat he let it rest there looking at you, his hips stopping

“Uh I don’t wanna hurt you....I’m down but again don’t wanna kill you so”

It was a light hold at first, his hips moving again, he squeezed slightly watching your mouth open, eyes closed.

“Fuck that’s...”

Before long his thrusts were sharp and rough, his hand squeezing around your throat just enough to have you seeing stars as he made you cum around his cock.

“Fuck fuck fuck daddy.....fuck....” he watched as you grabbed his wrist, holding it in place while your hips rose off the bed slightly.

“Oh fuck we are so doing this again”

498 notes • Posted 2021-04-24 12:54:09 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

#my 2021 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

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and-it-freezes-me · 3 years

Text

Day 4 - Giant / Tiny

Content: heavy alcohol use, referenced rape, borrower!Logan attempting to look after a struggling Remus

Words: 4,962

Logan Shelf knew that, logically, he was making a big mistake.

But he had been making this same mistake almost every evening for months now, and he hadn’t died yet.

Besides, the chances of the giant actually waking up were next to zero, he reflected, picking his way carefully around a reddish puddle wider than he was tall.

This close to him, the scent of alcohol on the giant’s breath was almost overpowering: inhaling too deeply made his head spin, and the first few nights he had tried this he had ended up staggering home, woozy enough that he had been almost unable to make the climb up the side of the ferret cage to the painting that obscured the front gate. Patton had been furious with him, wrongly assuming that his nephew had been borrowing from the giant’s liquor cabinet.

Logan couldn’t blame him for that.

Not when Patton and his sister had spent several years doing the same thing with what Patton called religious fervor. Not when Logan’s mother had taken a drunken dare to walk across one of the strings supporting a large plastic spider suspended in the ground floor hallway, a feat she had managed plenty of times sober, and had fallen to her death. Not when Patton had gone cold turkey the day after the funeral, a subdued affair attended only by Cages and Shelves, and struggled to remain sober for the last eight years.

There were five families living in the house: the Cages; the Shelves in the office; the Washers, who lived somewhere under the tumble dryer in the scullery; the Easels, who lived in what had once been a bedroom but had been converted into a crafts room some years ago; and the Cabinet-Chimneys, the largest family, who had once been the Cabinets with their front gate in the bathroom and the Chimneys with theirs near the kitchen fireplace, and had merged into one several years before Logan had been born.

And then there were the giants. There had been five of them when Logan had been young: two adults, a pair of boys (Logan had only heard stories about them, unruly and dangerous, making borrowing difficult to get away with quietly), and an old woman who rarely left her bed and often left food uneaten - the rights to borrow from her had oft been contested between families, and Logan could remember the afternoon his mother had come home triumphant, tipsy from the wine on the woman’s bedside and carrying a squishy, sugary lump she had called Turkish delight. The stuff had been horrible, but the ham and fresh bread and butter that had accompanied it had been delicious, if far from the hot meal Logan had been hoping for.

Then they had gotten a ferret and a cat, and Logan’s uncle Patton had taken some friends from each of the four families and vanished to start his own. Borrowing had gotten more dangerous, with additional obstacles to avoid.

The old woman had died when Logan was ten.

It hadn’t just been the other four humans in the house to mourn her (although Logan heard murmurings that one of the adults - the woman - had been relieved to see her gone, and that the newfound subduedness in the boys made borrowing easier): plenty of borrowers lamented the easy pickings of meals left all but untouched on her bedside as she slept, and still more spoke reverently of the stories she used to tell the boys. Logan’s mother had spoken about her as though she had been an old friend.

Nine years later, and the house was empty apart from the sleeping man that Logan was currently creeping toward, senses on high alert for signs of wakefulness, for other borrowers watching him risk being Seen and bringing scrutiny down on all of them, for the sound of the front door that would signify the return of the other brother or the two older giants.

The giant had his arms crossed loosely on the table, pillowing his head; the hand with the eyes on the knuckles was closest to Logan and flat on the table, so that was where he started. Only two rings on this side today: a bumpy, ridged, neon green one on the fourth finger, and a massive silver skull on the third.

The first few times he had done this, he hadn’t removed the giant’s rings for him. Logically, it was incredibly stupid to be in such easy reach of a giant. It would take barely a second to grab him and crush him to death. Before he had known how deeply asleep the giant truly was, before he had gotten brave enough to attempt the rings, he had stuck to just removing the earrings.

Now, though, Logan removed the two rings with the comfortable ease of an action he had done many times before. They were large enough that Logan could probably wear them around his waist like a belt - although he was very thin, and doubted any of the other borrowers he knew would manage that. He stacked them neatly in the middle of the table, beside a still upright beer bottle.

“Other hand… Then ears…” Logan murmured, beginning to skirt the sleeping form. The other hand was usually more difficult: when one was pressed against the table, the other tended to be tucked between face and elbow, or else arm and body.

It would be wiser not to try to slip the rings from fingers clenched into a fist and hidden so that Logan had to stand directly under the giant’s head to pull them off - it would be wiser not to be doing this at all - but Logan couldn’t help himself.

Six months ago, the older giants had left on a trip around the world. They were in Japan at the moment (Logan had memorised the schedule they had spent months planning out, but even if he hadn’t taught himself to use the computer in the office, he would have been able to tell from the most recent addition to the pile of postcards on the kitchen counter), and would be away for another six months.

Four months ago, the red brother moved out. Well - that wasn’t quite right. He had left most of the things in his room, and he came back every week or so. It had taken Logan a while to figure out that he had moved across town (“just across town,” he had said, as though that were like walking between the sink and the pantry rather than going somewhere no more accessible to Logan than Japan) to live with his boyfriend. At least he had taken the cat.

Two months ago, Logan had been collecting carpet fibre from under the living room couch in a spot of midnight borrowing when the green brother had stumbled into the living room, bringing with him the strong smell of alcohol. His steel-toed shoes were accompanied by a pair of heavy boots attached to a giant Logan had never seen before, and when Logan peeked out to see what was going on, he saw that the green brother looked as though he was leaning heavily on the stranger. Then the couch dipped above him under the weight of two people. There had been the unmistakable sound of wet lips on skin, the sound of shifting fabric, and a slurred voice. “No, sstoppit… ‘M too drunk t-mmph…”

When the kiss ended, there was another complaining murmur, followed by shushing and a much more steady tone. “Shh, shh. You’re fine, see? Brought you home like you asked. Gonna be just fine…”

Logan had spent almost half an hour hiding under that couch, listening to the green brother’s complaints be drowned out by the creaking of furniture and the sounds of skin against skin, terrified that if he moved he would be noticed, sick to his stomach at what he was hearing. It was when he realised that his giant had stopped begging the stranger to stop that Logan finally gave in and made the dash across the room to the cage. If either giant saw him, he’d take the repercussions as they came: he couldn’t bear to listen to what was happening for a moment longer.

He had thrown up halfway down the tunnel leading to the Cage home, and spent the next two days in bed, not wanting to think about anything he had just seen. Then Logan had pushed the memory aside, gotten up, and started borrowing again.

There wasn’t anything else he could do, after all.

It had been a week after that that the Rem- that the giant had started drinking.

Logan shouldn’t have been paying attention as much as he should, but he had started looking out for his giant. The yellow friend had stayed for a week before moving out; it wasn’t as though there was anybody else here to make sure he was eating and sleeping (although Logan couldn’t actually do anything to ensure this). He had started trying to make sure he knew when his giant was in the house, listening for the slamming of the front door or footsteps. He could see the bowl on the living room coffee table where the giant stored his housekeys from the front gate, though keys weren’t the most reliable way of telling whether he was home. Logan had listened to several arguments between the brothers and gathered that the green giant frequently ended up climbing in through a window when he forgot to bring them out with him.

And so Logan had noticed the first night that his giant fell asleep at the kitchen table, and again when he had done it three days later, and again the following night.

Logan had noticed the way he started twitching a few hours after falling asleep, the way he started pawing at his hair and face, at his torso and shoulders and neck and hips.

Logan had noticed the bloody scratches appearing on his bare skin where his giant’s many rings cut against his skin.

Logan had noticed the tattered mess of the torn-out piercings.

It had been painfully obvious, after the first few mornings and the first dozen plasters, that his giant didn’t care enough to remove his often very spiky jewellry before drinking himself into unconsciousness.

Really, it hadn’t taken Logan as long as it should have to gather the courage to sneak close enough to the giant to help him. Logan should have taken weeks to gather data, to use the never-charged tablet to look up giant sleep patterns and the effect of alcohol upon them, to sketch up plans and weigh benefits against costs, to conclude that he needed to keep the giant healthy so the giant could keep bringing food into the house for them to borrow.

Instead, he had found himself sneaking across the table and trying to figure out how to remove a spike as long as his forearm from the giant’s ear.

There were six rings on his giant’s left hand this evening: a thick black one with a large claw on the thumb; a spiked circlet and a golden snake swallowing its tail on the forefinger; the black ring with moving parts that his giant sometimes fiddled with on the middle finger; a silver loop with glittering red and green stones (glass: Logan had checked his giant’s internet shopping history), and an unwieldy ring shaped like an octopus that covered almost the entire distance between the first and second knuckles on the fourth. It took Logan three trips to carry them all down to the small shiny pile he was making in the middle of the table.

The giant let out a rumbling snore that shook the table, and Logan froze, exposed, as he shifted, stirred, and then was still again.

He wasn’t waking up. The night before Logan first started removing his earrings, the borrower had watched a broom propped against the table (Rem- the giant had smashed a bottle on the floor and gotten halfway through cleaning up before giving up) slip sideways until it glanced off his shoulder and crashed to the ground. If the light impact and the subsequent noise hadn’t been enough to wake him, Logan doubted that his own near-silent working would.

Going still at the first loud noise was one of the first tricks Logan had learned, though. The giants rarely seemed to see things if they didn’t move.

The scramble up to the green brother’s shoulder took moments, and then he was using two hands to unscrew the backs of a series of pointed studs, to pull apart the hinges of rings, to snap open the catches of cuffs, and tuck them into his bag. Having no desire to repeat the experience of having to scale back down the giant’s arm after removing each piercing, Logan had started bringing a sack with him to collect the small bits of metal and plastic.

He dealt with both ears before returning to the tabletop to deposit the contents of his bag beside the small pile of rings, and then turned to look back at his still-sleeping giant. He had snored a few more times, each time making Logan cling to the shell of his ear or risk taking the fall to the kitchen tiles far below, but had been almost tranquil aside from that.

What next?

Some nights, the green brother wore spiked bracelets velcroed around his forearms - not tonight. Tonight, he was wearing a hoodie that was chartreuse beneath the stains, sleeves long enough that had he not had them pushed back, they would have covered his hands with ease. Even if he were wearing his spiked wristbands, Logan doubted he would be able to cut himself on them.

“... Which leaves the face…” Logan mumbled.

Right.

Five in the eyebrows, one in the nose, four in the lower lip. There had been two in the nose and seven in the eyebrows, but the extras had been ripped out.

It had been the face that had taken Logan the longest to build up the courage to approach, entirely disliking the idea of being that close. Even now, he took a moment to steel himself before moving closer, slipping over one arm and into the space between face, table, and elbow.

There was also one in his giant’s tongue, but Logan wasn’t about to climb into his mouth.

He wasn’t that stupid.

He wouldn’t be that stupid. (At least until his giant started cutting up the inside of his cheeks with it. Or he started trying to rip it out).

The mouth was closest, though, so that was where Logan started. It still felt weird to tug at one of the large lips until he could reach the back of the piercing, saliva warm and slimy - he had had to start wearing sleeveless tunics to avoid questions about why the arms of his shirts were always damp.

Logan was just reaching up to unscrew the glittery nose stud when the front door opened.

He froze, arms stretched above his head, one hand actually inside the giant’s nostril.

Nobody ever came in this late at night.

If he were lucky, it would be the red brother, exhausted, coming to crash upstairs after an argument with his purple boyfriend. The giant wouldn’t bother coming into the kitchen to-

“Remus? Are you here?”

Fuck. It was Ja- It was the yellow friend.

The yellow friend had spent a lot of time in the house in the days after that night, to the point that he had brought a snake in a cage that had sat on the kitchen table for a week. Logan’s giant hadn’t started drinking until after he had moved back out.

The yellow friend would definitely come into the kitchen - Logan could already hear his footsteps approaching. Jerking his hands back to his sides, Logan glanced around, possibilities racing through his brain.

If he left the shelter of his giant’s arms, he would be out in the open, easy to see and grab and squash. The yellow friend would be able to see him with barely a glance over the table: a small pile of jewelry, a sleeping giant, an upright empty bottle, two on their sides and dripping beer, a closed, half empty bottle of vodka, and a tiny person.

If he stayed where he was… Well, he was hidden from sight until the green brother woke up - and Logan doubted that would happen. He had watched the giant sit down earlier that evening and drink with the air of a man steeling himself for the gallows, as he had three nights out of the previous four (the fourth night, the giant had been drunk already when he got home): he wouldn’t be waking up anytime soon.

Inhaling deeply (and regretting it as his head spun with the alcohol on his giant’s breath), Logan retreated closer to the green-clad arm and crouched beside it, hoping the shadows of the crook of the elbow would obscure him completely.

“There you are… Oh, Re…” The footsteps had stopped; the smooth voice was right above him now. Logan hissed in another breath as the green brother shifted in place, then realised that it wasn’t a sign of wakefulness but merely the yellow friend resting a hand on Remus’ shoulder.

(Yes, Logan knew their names. Logan knew all their names: Valerie, the old woman who had told stories and had died when he was ten. Dot, the woman who hadn’t been sorry to see Valerie dead, and her husband Larry, who had always wanted to travel the world and finally gotten to do so. Roman, the brother almost always clad in a red shirt, red jumper, red sash or tie or dress, and his boyfriend Virgil with his purple jacket. Janus, the friend with the black hat and the yellow lining in his coats and jackets, his blonde hair. And Remus, Logan’s giant, the one he looked after because Janus was the only one that was really there for him, and even then he wasn’t there all the time. Yes, Logan knew their names, and Logan knew he shouldn’t have allowed himself to know their names, shouldn’t have allowed himself to care about the huge, clumsy giants that never noticed when things were borrowed yet could destroy their lives with a clumsy footstep. It had become harder and harder to stop himself from using their names in the last few weeks).

A snore.

“I wish you talked to me…” The giant was moving again, and from the clink of glass on glass, Logan guessed he was clearing up. A few seconds later, there was the sound of cloth on wood - he was wiping up the spilled alcohol. Good - the table had been getting rather sticky over the last few weeks, ruining the soles of Logan’s most comfortable borrowing shoes. Remus never got around to cleaning it.

Then there was the clink of metal, and a faint chuckle. Was he looking at the pile of rings? “That’s not like you. I’m glad, though… Explains why you started looking slightly less cut up last time you answered your phone.” A pause. “Two answers. In a month. Not cool, Re. You’re better than that…”

The green giant didn’t answer. Neither Logan nor Janus had been expecting him to.

“I wish I hadn’t had to go.” More clinking. What was the yellow friend doing? Logan wished he’d leave. His legs were starting to cramp from his uncomfortable crouching position. “If I could have stayed, you know I would, right?” Was Janus aware that Remus couldn’t hear him? Logically, he must be - so could he save the soul-bearing for later? “I didn’t want to leave you alone.” Apparently not. “I did tell you to call me, though - ‘every night’, you promised. And I thought I was the liar here, huh? Dick. Come on, let’s get you to bed…”

Wait. What?

Logan didn’t have time to react as his cover was pulled away. All he could do was close his eyes and cover his head.

There was a sharp intake of breath from somewhere above him.

It seemed that staying perfectly still didn’t quite work when he was the only thing on a table aside from a small pile of metal jewelry.

“Well, I have to say that I completely expected to see a tiny person hiding under the unconscious body of my best friend.” There was the sound of movement, and Logan hunched his shoulders more tightly. “Come on. You shouldn’t look at me or anything. I’m absolutely going to turn you to stone when you make eye contact.”

He couldn’t make a run for it.

Quite aside from the fact that the yellow friend would probably catch him before he had gone half a metre despite supporting Logan’s giant, any hiding place Logan escaped to would result in the giants tearing up the house to try to find him. He couldn’t go home without leading them straight back to his family.

All he could do was make sure he didn’t do or say anything to give away the rest of the borrowers living around the house.

“Oh, come on. You’re the one hiding underneath my friend.” Movement again.

Slowly, Logan allowed his hands to drop, and tilted his head upward.

Janus was staring down at him, vast face impassive, one arm around Remus’ waist. One of Remus’ arms was draped over Janus’ shoulders, though the green brother’s body was limp in what was quite clearly still unconsciousness. It didn’t look as though Janus was struggling with his weight, and Logan suddenly noticed how thin his giant looked.

Maybe he hadn’t done such a great job of taking care of him after all.

“What are you…” Logan’s gaze snapped back to the yellow friend’s face in time to see his eyes (one grey, one pale brown, which was supremely cool) flick between him and the pile of rings still on the table. There was no sudden comprehension dawning over his face, but one eyebrow lifted ever so slightly. “How long have you been taking out his studs for him?”

Logan swallowed hard, met the giant’s stare coolly, and remained silent. The giant let out a frustrated huff.

“I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to know what you’re doing in my friend’s house.”

Logan licked his lower lip, narrowed his eyes, and said nothing.

“If Re had a fairy godfather, I would have expected him to be a little more…” The giant gestured vaguely. “Rock’n’roll. Grimy. Bigger, definitely. You can’t exactly do mu-”

“At least I’ve been here for him,” Logan snapped, and regretted it as soon as Janus’ mouth twisted into a smirk.

“You do talk! Excellent. I’m going to assume that Remus doesn’t know you exist?” Janus glanced around briefly as he spoke, then lowered Remus into a different chair and took the one his friend had just been slumped in. Logan shook his head jerkily, once. “Well, I won’t tell him then.”

It was Logan’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “How can I trust you? You lie.”

A beat of silence.

Then the giant chuckled, a great wave of sound that Logan stumbled away from on instinct, found that his legs had gone to sleep, and stumbled over. The piercings he had rescued from Remus’ lower lip rolled out of his satchel and across the table; they were swiftly caught by a massive finger and pushed into the pile as well. Remus snored again.

The laughter stopped abruptly, and Janus lowered his face until his eyes were on a level with Logan, the grey suddenly the colour of winter, the amber as hard as the wood of the table beneath Logan’s body. “I never lie about looking after Remus.”

Logan paused, then nodded once, just as sharply. He believed the sudden sincerity in his tone. “Five weeks.”

“Five w- Oh. Right. That’s like… Just after I moved out again.” Logan nodded again, trying to massage the pine needles from his calves, and Janus groaned. “He told me he was fine on his own… How long’s he been drinking like this?”

“About six weeks.” Logan glanced sideways at his giant, then returned his attention to the feeling coming back to his toes. “You shouldn’t have left him.”

“He promised he was fine,” Janus repeated. Logan flinched as he lifted a hand, but the giant only moved to rub his face. “And then my cousin died and I had to help pack up and organise the funeral. I came back as soon as I- Why am I explaining myself to a mouse? Why aren’t you explaining what you’re doing in my friend’s house?”

Logan frowned. “I am not a mouse. I am -” He hesitated then. He couldn’t call himself a borrower: Logan knew from years of observation that the yellow friend possessed keen intellect, and didn’t want to imply that there were other borrowers living there. “- Logan. And I live here.”

“Logan, huh? Okay. I’m Janus, this is Remus.”

“I know.”

They lapsed into silence once more, the stillness broken only by Remus’ snoring and the chiming of the grandfather clock in the hall. Two in the morning.

“I’ll stay here tonight,” Janus offered, and Logan glanced back at him - he had been staring at the way Remus’ hoodie hung from his thin frame. “Grab Jake The Snake and some clothes from home tomorrow, and come back to stay with him. I can sleep on the couch, and-”

“He burned the couch.” This time it was Janus that flinched, and Logan felt a momentary satisfaction that the sharpness of his words had been felt. Then he regretted it. Janus was just trying to help his giant, after all.

“What?”

“Three nights after you left. Dragged it into the garden, poured a can of petrol and a bottle of vodka on it, threw one of his lighters at it.” Logan shrugged, working hard to bring his voice back to his usual neutral tone. “I watched from the window.”

Janus frowned. “Why would he…” He trailed off at the flinty look Logan was giving him, and glanced over at Remus. Janus’ face was no longer blank. Instead, a mix of horror and nausea that Logan recognised very clearly were rising on it. “Oh. That’s where…”

Logan nodded.

“You were there.” It wasn’t a question, but Logan nodded anyway. “Oh.”

Silence again. They were both staring at Remus now.

After a moment, Janus turned back to Logan and forced a smile onto his face. It didn’t fit, and slid off a moment later. “You’ve been trying to look after him.”

“He needs it,” Logan agreed. “I doubt he would do it if we just left him.”

“We?”

Logan winced. He probably shouldn’t have said that. This was the problem with allowing himself to care for a giant and learning their names… “I meant, ‘I’.”

“Or… It could be ‘we’.” Janus shifted a little, ran his fingers through his blond curls, then rested his hand lightly on the table. Logan edged away from it, watching the giant pretend not to notice. “We could work together. Make sure this gremlin takes care of himself.”

“How do I know you won’t just put me in a jar and dissect me?” It had to be asked, but Logan regretted it at the smirk that flickered over the giant’s mouth.

“Well, now that you suggest it…” He chuckled weakly, then shook his head. “I told you. Looking after Remus comes first. Besides, I have no interest in chopping you up. We’re on the same team now.”

Logan hesitated, then groaned quietly and pushed himself to his feet. “Fine. But I can’t do much, given my size. You’ll have to make sure he eats. I can watch him. I’ll draw up a schedule for-”

“Fine. Do that.” Janus waved a hand, and a gust of air washed over Logan, almost enough to knock him down. “I’m dead on my feet. We can discuss this tomorrow. Kitchen table. Eleven pm. Deal?”

Logan frowned. “You… Seem quite alive to me. And you are currently sitting down - there is very little -”

“It’s a figure of speech. Deal?”

“Fine.” Crouching, Logan picked up his satchel, double checked that he didn’t still have any of the studs in there, and swung it over his shoulder. He wasn’t going to move until he was sure that Janus and Remus were upstairs and he couldn’t be seen, but he should at least be ready to do so. Who knew how long it would take Janus to put his friend to bed? Logan didn’t want to get caught making his way home. “Deal. Tomorrow, twenty-three hundred hours. Tell nobody. Bring a notebook and a pen and be ready to take notes.”

Janus chuckled and stood as well. “Done.”

Logan watched as Janus picked Remus up again and made his way slowly out of the kitchen and into the hallway, and waited until the third step from the top creaked in complaint before he started making his way back toward the cage in the living room.

As terrified as he was by the prospect of having just been Seen, having just spoken to a giant, having promised to speak to him again… Logan had to say that he was relieved to have help in looking after his Remus. There was only so much he could do, given how small he was compared to the man he was attempting to take care of. Maybe having broken every rule he had ever been taught about borrowing wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

Maybe making mistakes was a good thing sometimes, no matter how illogical that sounded.

#borrower!Logan #logan tss #remus tss #janus tss #alcohol #tw rape reference

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enbeemagical · 3 years

Text

The Snake and the Star cover art coloring process!

You still remember my process post about my TSATS cover art sketching from yesterday, right? Okay, good. Time for the colored version then!!

Tagging everyone who liked/reblogged the sketch process! @lehuka123 @the-phantom-author @oliveofthenight @destinyrainevans @aaravos-is-hot @myamoonseeker @sunstone-citrine @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore @mozart-the-meerkitten @kaguya-inuyasha @king-bito @perlelas thank you all so much for the support!!! *sparkles*

After I copied the art out, I did a little coloring right then, then put it aside and... basically didn’t touch it for about a week. Here’s what I did at first:

I might not have taken a picture at this point if I hadn’t wanted to show @alls-fair-in-pride-and-prejudice how much Aaravos looked like a Frost Giant. See, last time I colored Aaravos, for a TAATM drawing for Hope, I started with gray as his base skin color. This time, I’d looked at more pictures of him, and realized that his face and hands were a lot darker than his torso. And his skin tone in the TAATM art didn’t look quite right to me, so I wanted to try something different.

So here, I started by lightly shading a purplish blue all over his face, and black on his torso and arms. I also added a bit of my darkest red to his ears, because O////O he’s looking at Loki after all~

Next, I think I put on gray on his face, then purple all over. I forgot to color his hands at first, then ended up coloring them almost the same way as his face. His arms are only partially colored because where the color ends is where I decided his sleeves start. (yes, I forgot to put in clothing details before I copied it.)

I got back to coloring only the day before posting Chapter Two, actually. I did a couple more layers on Aaravos’s face, torso, and arms, then pulled out my pink and brown pencils for Loki.

Gray, pink (extra on his cheeks o//.//o), and two shades of brown blended well for his skin tone and shading, and I just went with black for his hair instead of trying to combine browns.

Clothing next!! I checked a few pictures of both of them before deciding on Loki’s specific outfit. Pretty basic, green long sleeved shirt under gold-edged black vest. Aaravos, of course, is wearing his pretty black-and-gold robe. I did a couple quick graphite pencil lines to figure out exactly where I wanted the lines for sleeves and patterns and whatnot to go, then erased those and started coloring.

I also started shading Aaravos’s hair in gray and lavender, and added a bit more pink to Loki’s face. o////o blushy boi

For Aaravos’s robe, I started shading gray at the bottom of the sleeve, then went to black around his shoulder. I darkened the black as I went down, then added purple all over. Loki’s vest is just black, but his shirt is two shades of green blended.

Oh, and I also went over everything multiple times over the course of the coloring with either my blending pencil or a basic white pencil (which works almost as well, really). I think I used the blender on their faces and the white on their clothes.

The absolute hardest part of this drawing? This step. Specifically, Loki’s helmet.

I shaded Aaravos’s horns first. Lightly gray near the ends, darkening to black at the bases, then I went over that with lavender and purple. Pretty easy, actually, and smoothing them out with white pencil was even fun.

But that helmet...

Okay, so, tips for shading gold? A nice light brown works very well. I used an orange, a goldish-brown, a light brown, and a little black here. The black may have been a mistake.

My best reference picture was actually Loki’s helmet from the other side. Still, I’m pretty good at mentally flipping images (I think), and I managed. I left a white space for a glint of light, and did my best to darken the helmet in the right places.

Then I realized I hadn’t colored their eyes yet. So I did that-- orange, goldish-brown, and brown for Aaravos; two shades of green for Loki. Also black, for both of them.

Then I started on the background.

Before doing anything with the background, I consulted two people very important to this process. First, I asked Hope which side should be purple and which green, and what color the snake’s eyes should be. Then, I asked my sister whether it should be darker at the top or the bottom. Those questions answered, I began coloring.

First it was lots of gray. I started with barely noticeable color near the bottom, getting darker and darker until I was shading with black near the top. Then I pulled out lavender and light green and thoroughly covered the gray and black.

Oh, also blending. I did some more blending.

Then shading again! I got out my dark purple and my dark (slightly bluish) green, and started from the top.

Oooh, but there’s something missing~~

I had to take a moment to think about what I wanted for the little snake and star. I wanted them to contrast with the background, the same way the dots do in the original yin-yang symbol. And I didn’t want them to be just flat color, no, there was too much else I could do with them!

First, Aaravos’s star. Very lightly, I drew a lavender line around where I wanted the border to be, where I wanted the purple to shade into white. Then I colored that in, shading darker as I got closer to the middle. I did the same with dark purple, and added a tiny bit of black. Before I blended it, I went to work on Loki’s snake.

I started with light green there, covering it diagonally both ways before shading the edges in dark green. The eyes are (my purpliest) blue, which Hope suggested as a reference to the “are Loki’s eyes green or blue” debate (I’d not previously heard of this. poor sweet mind-controlled stabby bean!).

Blending!! I got out that white pencil and blended blended blended until that snake and that star were as smooth and soft-looking as I could get them, to contrast with the totally un-smoothed background.

It looks done, right? But it’s not.

I wanted to go over the lines in black pencil, to help everything pop, and to keep each part distinct from the rest. Aaravos’s horn blends into his star in the above picture, and I like my art to have a little more clarity than that.

Plus, I needed something to make Aaravos’s freckles, and do the little light glints in their eyes. I’d planned to use my white gel pen, but it hates me and wouldn’t work well enough. Since I’m staying at my grandparents, and they just might have such a thing lying around, I asked my grandfather if there was a white pen or marker I could use.

I went to town with this.

It wasn’t enough to stop at the freckles and eyes. Nah. I was having too much fun. So everything got shiny!! See the white on their sleeves? Loki’s helmet?The swirlies on Aaravos’s horns? The stars on his arms? WHEEE!! I LOVE white markers!!!!! Need to get myself a couple.

Plus, my new signature for art I’ll post on Tumblr, written with one of my new charcoal pencils. I use several different online names, and I’ll sign my art with whichever is most appropriate. ^_^ I don’t care if it’s cliche or childish, I like doing little hearts over the i’s.

I’ve started work on another piece of TSATS art, a snapshot of a scene because I wanted to try my hand at Lady Loki..... (let me know if I should post the sketch or wait until I’ve finished coloring!)

#the snake and the star #cover art #full color!#alls-fair-in-pride-and-prejudice #loki #aaravos #romance novel cover XD #my art #my art process #my coloring process #i'd love to know what you think!!#yin-yang symbol #in purple and green #look idk what took over my hands #but those stick figures turned into THIS #i'm feeling pretty proud of myself actually!#the snake and the star art #drake draws

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corrupt-fvcker · 4 years

Text

Masterpiece (Obi-Wan Kenobi x gn!Reader)

Masterpiece ( Obi-Wan Kenobi x gn!Reader )

Warning: nothin’ but fluff and shirtless obi-wan, i wrote this as gender neutral but PLEASE message me if there’s any concerns (aka i fucked up and used pronouns)

Word Count: 1.6K

Author’s Note: just a quick piece about reader getting caught drawing obi-wan. had a lot of fun writing this, hope y’all enjoy. one hundred percent inspired by a daydream i had when procrastinating homework. my requests are open!!

Obi-Wan looked ethereal. It was storming on Coruscant, raindrops incessantly pattering against the glass of the viewport as distant shuttles raced through the ebony night sky. Your apartment was silent other than the soft crackling of the fire Obi-Wan had constructed, your living room tainted a warm orange from the reflection of the dancing flames.

Your shirtless boyfriend hadn't spoken a word for over an hour, quietly sitting cross-legged on the glossy floor facing the fireplace. His freckled back was straight, strong forearms resting on his thighs with his calloused palms open to the ceiling. Your eyes followed the curve of his spine, admiring each and every mole and battle scar that painted his skin. His shoulders were broad from years of fierce training, the pale skin dusted with a flurry of tan freckles. You diverted your gaze to the back of his head, his auburn hair in need of trimming and still slightly damp from his shower.

It was his second night back from a particularly long mission, and it must've been tedious because he was keen to dismiss any conversation regarding the three-week-long battle, no matter how many times you insisted that you'd rather talk about it then have him bottle it up. But even though he was with you now, back home safe, you knew that your Obi-Wan wasn't exactly here. His body was roughly three paces away from the couch you were perched in, but his mind was much further.

Meditation had been a regular practice for Obi-Wan ever since he was a padawan, and you had to entertain yourself when he followed through his routine of meditating at sunrise and sunset. The thought of you being awake at sunrise was comical, which luckily meant that Obi-Wan was back in your shared bed with you by the time you stirred awake. But every night, you were forced to leave your lover alone for an hour or so -- which should've been easy, except you missed the ever-living hell out of him.

Though over time you grew used to the hour of alone time Obi-Wan's routine meditations offered, you learned to busy yourself. But you weren't going to give up so easily, you were going to spend time with him even the general was half-unconscious and unintentionally ignoring your fabulous company. So every night when his cerulean eyes fluttered shut and his chest rose and fell at a suspiciously slow pace, you drew him.

There was something so incredibly peaceful about Obi-Wan meditating, a silent beauty that begged to be captured on paper. Obi-Wan never looked so relaxed, all the worry and tension in his muscles melting from his body like hot wax.

Tonight, Obi-Wan had been silent for much longer than usual, nearly two hours as you focused on the finishing details of your sketch. And you were actually proud of your work, which you always found difficult when it came to any of your art. You had finally managed to capture every flicker of beauty Obi-Wan possessed, and even if it was just a drawing, it was undeniably him.

You smirked, gazing down at your sketch with only a twinge of scrutiny lacing your mind. His hair wasn't quite right, you'd struggled to add texture to it without making the back of his head look like a bird's nest. And his back was actually a bit more muscular than the slightly leaner version carefully etched onto the paper. Nevertheless, you were pleased with tonight's drawing and you blew away the eraser shavings with a small puff of air from your pursed lips.

Now all you had to do was outline the pencil sketch with a black ink pen, which was always a frightening task but you could never claim your drawings to be officially finished without the black outline.

You quietly stood from the plush cushions of the couch, setting your sketchpad down on the sofa before you ventured into the office to fetch a pen.

When you returned to the living room, your heart stuttered.

"Don't look at that!"

Obi-Wan had moved from his spot on the floor, leaning into the couch as he examined your art with precision, his pupils carefully following every faint wispy line of your pencil's graphite. Your stomach was rolling, your face suddenly feeling hot as Obi-Wan reluctantly tore his gaze from the drawing to look at you.

"Did you make this?"

No reason in denying it, the skin of your hands stained from your pencil and your signature was undeniable scribbled in the right bottom corner of the page as well as the front cover.

"Uh, yeah," you answered timidly, unmistakably embarrassed. It was one thing for someone else's eyes to even look at your artwork, but it was entirely something else for Obi-Wan to see not just your drawing but a drawing of him. Obi-Wan -- the man that has spent his entire life living in his body, who knows it better than anyone, looking at an imperfect reflection that you drew.

You swallowed thickly, beginning to panic when Obi-Wan continues to silently examine the sketch. "I know it's not perfect, I'm not the best artist. I don't think I really did you justice." You try to say this with a smile and glimmer of humor in your voice, but you knew that you plainly sounded nervous.

"It's... amazing," he spoke softly, eyes flitting between you and the paper. You hadn't moved from the doorway, feet stuck in place like your body had been frozen in carbonite. Obi-Wan's rosy lips curl into a soft grin. "You're amazing."

Relief floods your system, like a dousing of refreshing water. You were just glad it didn't weird him out that you stared at him for two hours while he was meditating (though you had a hunch that he was guilty of watching you in the morning while you were still asleep).

"Really?" You questioned, eyebrows furrowing. "I think it's off."

Obi-Wan shook his head in disagreement, smiling down at the paper. "No, I think it's perfect. A masterpiece."

You couldn't help but laugh, watching Obi-Wan stare at the drawing with an expression of pure adoration. "You just like it because it's a picture of you."

Obi-Wan huffed out an amused chuckle, the wrinkles that etched the corners of his eyes creasing as he turned to look at you. "Maybe," he teased, "but I know you're far more talented than you give yourself credit for."

You crossed your arms over your chest, silently dismissing his compliment as you ventured over to sit beside him. He opened his arms, allowing you to lean against his side and his strong arms surrounded you as he continued to gaze down at the piece of art. He was warm, invitingly so, and you thanked the Maker that Obi-Wan hadn't tugged on a shirt after his shower.

"Can I keep this?" Obi-Wan asked, the vibrations from his voice thrumming throughout his entire body.

Your head was nestled into the crook of his neck and you pressed a chaste kiss to the warm skin. "Of course."

Obi-Wan smiled, setting the page down carefully on the thick armrest of the couch before firmly securing his arms around your waist. He pivoted on the cushions, swinging a leg behind you before tightening his grip on your waist and dragging you up his bare torso, his skin providing more warmth than the fire ever had to offer. He relaxed into the throw pillows that lined the armrest, leaving both of your bodies at a comfortable angle. His breaths were soft and slow, ghosting over the top of your head.

"I missed you, darling," he promised, his voice low and laced with undeniable exhaustion.

A soft smile flickered over your features, hugging his arms that were loosely wrapped around your body. "I miss you too."

Obi-Wan pressed a delicate kiss to the crown of your head. "And you're so beautiful."

Now you were grinning.

What a complete sap.

"You're just saying that because I drew you."

Amusement shadowed over Obi-Wan's face but he shook his head. "No, I'm saying it because I love you."

You rolled your eyes playful. "Whatever you say, Obi-Wan. Just stop snooping in my sketchbook."

A moment of silence drifted between the two of you, and for a second you assumed that Obi-Wan had fallen asleep.

"Is there more?"

Your mind is cautiously blank, raising an eyebrow even though he can't see it from behind you. "More what?" You replied hesitantly.

"More drawings," he answered simply.

More drawings of him, you figure he means.

"Uh... no?"

Apparently not nearly as convincing as you needed to be.

Long fingers dug into your sides and you unwillingly shriek, jolting off of Obi-Wan and tumbling to the floor with a hollow thump.

"Hey!" You frowned, lifting your head up to face the bastard except he's already running off with your sketchbook tightly grasped in his hands.

Oh shit.

"Give it back," you hollered, racing after him but he'd already locked himself in the refresher. You pray that his ego doesn't enlarge too badly once he sees the nude images you drew from memory.

Yeah, you were screwed.

#obi-wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan kenobi #obi-wan kenobi x you #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan x reader #ewan mcgregor #star wars #fanfic #fanfiction #corrupt-fvcker #my writing #reader insert #self insert

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hazelandglasz · 3 years

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Tin-Tanium, A Klaine Advent Calendar

Hi! Yeah, I decided to write all of the Klaine Advent prompts in one story going back the steps of a ten-year anniversary.

Merry Christmas, happy holidays everybody, and I hope you’ll enjoy this compilation!!

Abashed

Over ten years, there are many opportunities for a couple to embarrass themselves.

Kurt has plenty of memories that fit in that category, Blaine too.

Blaine and Kurt together, too.

Whether it’s from their early days (Kurt still can’t believe he used an entire notebook sketching their hyphenated names around hearts) or from the most recent years (Blaine prefers to hide his face in his hands rather than face the recollection of “Glitter Vampire”, no matter how many times Eliott tells him that it’s still a fan favorite), they have managed to feel abashed more often than not.

It’s not like they mind, though.

Being abashed only lasts a moment--the memory, the joy of it, that lasts forever.

Brake

Slow and steady wins the race, doesn’t it.

So, sometimes, even though neither of them wants to slow down, one of them has to pull the brakes.

Oh, it’s not always when they are tearing each other’s clothes apart, get your mind out of the gutter.

(... they do have to slow down their loving romps sometimes, but it’s rarely because they want to and more because of coitus interruptus.)

They learned how to brake to keep their paths aligned; slowing down in their own rush to get all they want out of life in order to get there together.

And winning the race of life together is the only win Kurt and Blaine are interested in.

Careless

Kurt listened attentively, when his father told him to always be careful about his husband’s needs.

Blaine listened too, when Burt told him that though Kurt doesn’t always say it aloud, he has a way of communicating his emotions that Blaine has to “listen” for.

They do care for each other, throughout the years.

But.

But as careful as they are, or try to be, they can also behave in a careless way.

Though they always try their best, neither Kurt nor Blaine can avoid letting their worst lashing out.

Eventually, though, they learn the real lesson behind Burt’s words:

It’s not about never hurting each other--it’s about being able to heal from that hurt together, to talk about it and grow from it, together.

Dispensable

Every Spring, Blaine has the same problem.

Well it’s a problem for Kurt, anyway.

The moment the weather turns for the slightly better, Blaine turns himself into a white tornado, cleaning the apartment from floor to ceiling.

And, without fail, he always tries to hunt for the Dispensables.

“Why, pray tell, is this pile entirely composed of things from *my* side of the closet?”

“Because *you* have almost everything in duplicates.”

“They are collectors! If I ever use them or damage them, I will have a replacement.”

“They are taking too much room!”

“Not as much as your collection of cameras!”

“How dare you.”

Blaine pauses, holding a scarf in one hand and an empty cardbox in the other, before bursting into a fit of laughter.

“Maybe I overdid my impression of Marie Kondo.”

“And maybe I do have a hoarding problem.”

“Maybe we could do that sorting together.”

“Maybe we could find something else to do with all that free time.”

Blaine drops the box on the floor and carefully folds the scarf on the back of the couch.

“I like the way you think.”

“You even put a ring on it.”

Event

One lesson the Hummel-Anderson household always applies: make an event out of every possible situation.

During the first years, it does make sense. They celebrate their successes, their achievements, as one does.

Then, it grows into something almost like a private joke between them: every little source of happiness becomes the reason for a party, a true event, even if it’s just opening a bottle of champagne while they sit on the floor, munching on a bag of chips, just because there is a Golden Girls marathon.

Because when you find things to celebrate with the person you love most, the sad things are just a little bit less sad.

Farm

Blaine wakes up in a jolt, something pulling at his unconscious mind to pull him from his dream.

Maybe it’s the cold spot in the bed next to him, or maybe it’s the grumbling sound coming from the living room.

“Kurt?”

“...”

“Kurt what are you doing?”

“Nothing?”

Blaine comes closer, and Kurt is sitting on the couch with his laptop on his bare knees.

“Are you watching porn? ‘Cause you know you wouldn’t have to hide it from me.”

“Not porn.”

“Okay?”

Kurt closes his eyes before looking away, turning the laptop’s screen toward Blaine. “Don’t laugh.”

“Why would I--oh.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t expect that.”

“I know.”

“Farming Simulator 2010, that’s …”

“I know.

“... vintage, is what I was going to say. Any particular reason you needed to play that game at 2.14 AM?”

Kurt sighs, leaning his head into Blaine’s torso, now that Blaine stands closer. “It relaxes me.”

“Okay.”

“And I have been very tense.”

“Don’t need to tell me.”

“I know; so I wanted to unwind on my own to be a better husband.”

Blaine bends over to press a kiss to the top of Kurt’s head. “Farm away, darling.”

Grey

TW: anxiety

Most of the time, with the help of his therapist and different techniques he has developed over the years, Blaine can keep his anxiety at bay.

But some mornings, it’s not as easy.

Some mornings, the anxious little voice telling him he’s not worth the space he occupies is the loudest in his mind the moment he wakes up.

Some mornings, the sighting of grey skies without even a spot of blue can send him into a downward spiral he can’t seem to shake out of.

But with each passing year, Kurt becomes more attuned to the little physical signs Blaine’s anxiety lets out.

The tension in his shoulders, even as he wakes up, to which Kurt responds by closing his arms around Blaine’s upper body, forcing him to breathe with him until the tension melts away.

The way Blaine doesn’t say a word and doesn’t look directly at Kurt, to which Kurt responds by putting a cup of coffee in front of him and by kissing his temple.

Yes, Blaine’s anxiety is always around.

But with Kurt’s help, Blaine can keep it at bay.

History

Though they share a love for musicals, Kurt and Blaine don’t always have their obsessions in sync.

Unfortunately, it sometimes clashes.

Fortunately, the married couple has found a solution to keep from fighting over songs.

Medleys meet the Exquisite Corpse.

“I don't wanna talk

About things we've gone through

Though it's hurting me

Now it's history”, Blaine sings.

“History has its eyes on youuuu,” Kurt responds.

“You can dance

You can jive

Having the time of your life

See that girl

Watch that scene

Dig in the dancing queeeeeeen.”

“Hey not fair, there is no queen in Hamilton!”

“Hey, you’re the one who keeps insisting that Eliza is Queen!”

“True.”

Inconclusive

Around the seventh year mark, they wonder if they should … well, expand their couple’s horizon.

It’s a secret to none of their friends that the Anderson-Hummel have insane chemistry with one Starchild.

One evening, using the pretext of celebrating the comeback of the cronut on the foodie scene with one too many bottle of champagne, the three of them end up in bed together.

Some lubricant, condoms, giggles and panted names later, Kurt looks over the stunned figure of their friend to brush his fingers through Blaine’s sweaty curls.

“So?”

“Inconclusive.” Blaine sighs. “Yet.”

Eliot snorts between them. “Round number …?”

“Who’s counting?”

Join

A good way to keep the spark in its first meet glow is also to surprise each other.

One evening, Blaine comes home to Christmas lights suspended in the whole apartment.

“What the …”

“Welcome, sir,” Kurt says, wearing the Ringmaster’s outfit from his run as Barnum in Broadway’s Greatest Showman. “Would you join me for a very special evening?”

“I would,” Blaine says, smiling as he puts his hand in Kurt’s, and feeling his cheeks burning when Kurt brushes his lips against Blaine’s knuckles.

The evening is very special, Blaine tied to the armchair while Kurt takes off his whole outfit and feeds him bits of cheese and fruits and toasted bread.

Knit

“I’m bored.”

“I know. Why don’t you learn a craft?”

“Remember the last time I tried to learn a craft, like you put it?”

They both turn to the potter’s wheel they recycled into a coffee table. “Right. Maybe something less …”

“Space consuming?”

“Complicated.”

“What about knitting?”

“There’s an idea.”

Two days later

“Wha--”

“What?”

“Mon chéri, when we said knitting, I thought it would involve a couple of yarn balls and some needles.”

“This is yarn.”

“No, it’s not.”

Yes it is.

Learn

In a couple, some things come naturally, as easy as breathing.

Loving each other, for example.

For Kurt and Blaine, it’s knowing that whatever the storm, the tide will always bring them back together.

And some things are learned, through time and Life lessons.

What to cook as comfort food, for example.

For Kurt and Blaine, it’s finding out that they needed to be apart to be better for each other.

Some lessons are hard-learned, but eventually, they feel like they have always been known.

Meet

Dan is ready to slip under the table to take his ritual Christmas nap when Cecilia asks the question.

“How did you two meet?”

Now, all Dan can do is groan. “Nooo,” he moans, “why did you ask that?”

“Excuse you,” Kurt says, ruffling his son’s hair. “Don’t you like the way we met?”

“I heard that story at least 221 times,” he says, dropping his head to the table. “Besides, it’s just weird, when you think about it.”

Cecilia cocks one eyebrow at him. “Now you have to tell me.”

“Let me--”

Dan holds up his hand to stop his father in his tracks. “Nah, nah, nah, let me, because they will tell you that it’s so romantic, but in reality, Dad went to spy on Papa and Papa lied to Dad about a shortcut …”

Nip

“What is that thing sitting in that... thing?”

“That is a cat and she is sitting in a basket I knitted, thank you very much.”

“Since when do we have a cat?”

“Since Mrs Gimm’s had a litter and this one picked me.”

“Ah.”

“She went for me like she always knew me.”

“Aww.”

“And then she nipped my fingers.”

“That explains the band-aids.”

“Maybe.”

“So you decided to bring a feral cat into our house with a newborn because the only thing you knitted is that basket?”

“Feral, come on, maybe that’s an overkill, look how sweet she--Ouch!”

“Here, another kitten band-aid. Let me try.”

“Oh right, you’re a big beast tamer, right?”

“...”

“Is that her purring?”

“Either she’s purring or the neighbor just started a plane engine.”

“Oh yes, you’re purring, you little princess you …”

“Ahem.”

Opinion

Any couple counsellor will tell you this:

If you want a relationship to last, the most important thing to do is compromise, to make sure that both parties are happy.

Any couple will tell you this:

Some opinions are better than others. The only thing you can do, before choosing a hill to die on, is take a step back, breathe in and out a couple of times and--

“That’s so stupid it’s a wonder you can still breathe and talk at the same time!”

“I can’t believe you actually think that! What’s between your ears, lukewarm water?”

--start World War Three over the importance of the Beatles versus the Rolling Stones, I guess.

Possible

More seriously though, finding a middle ground is important, in any relationship. And the way to that middle ground can sometimes be summarized in one word.

“Possibility.”

Do you think you could agree to let me cook tonight, even though you say I burn everything?

Maybe.

May I buy regular milk instead of almond, because it gives me stomach aches?

You may.

Isn’t it your turn to change Kitty’s litter?

...Possible.

In just a few words, you can save your relationship from self-destructing, isn’t that something?

Remarkable

Over the years, through thick and thin, through storms and easy flows, the relationship formed by Kurt and Blaine only strengthens.

A fact that seems remarkable for a lot of their friends.

Their New York friends, I should say, since their Ohioan friends are not surprised to see them growing only stronger and more in love as time passes by, leaving them more united than they ever were when they were younger.

Is their relationship remarkable? Of course.

But not because they still look at each other with sparkles in their eyes, especially when they think nobody is watching.

No, it’s spectacular because it reminds everyone lucky enough to be with them that Love does exist.

Sisters

Over the years, Kurt and Blaine consider that they are the ones lucky enough to have been graced by the many women who entered their lives and remained there as chosen sisters.

Mercedes, Tina, Santana, even Rachel, of course, soul sisters who were meant to support them and challenge them to become better men.

Marley, Unique, Kitty, Jane--younger sisters who help both men to grow into mentors and future parents for Cecilia.

Lissa, Annie, Agnes--sisters of all ages who learn from them and teach them in return what they learned during their own lives until they met the couple.

Glee Club had taught them that family didn’t have to be born from blood, but life brought them a constellation of sisterhood that surrounds them and protects them, in a way, from themselves, from ever thinking they cannot get better.

Tub

“Blaine, I know that you’re really going Method for that role, but could you stop with the 1980, 1990 lingo?”

“As if!”

Kurt sighs before deciding to move on. “Do you like that ice cream? It’s from the new shop down the block.”

“It’s da bomb, hubby.��

“‘Da bomb’, really?”

Blaine has the decency to look slightly bashful. “Overdoing it?”

“Just a tad.”

“I’ll keep it to the theater, then.”

“Tubular.”

Ugly

When one uses his body as its professional tool, one is very peculiar about the way they see themselves.

And sometimes, as strong-minded the individual may be, societal expectations can become too heavy.

“Now I get it. I don’t get parts because I’m ugly.”

“Who said that?”

Kurt slams the bathroom cupboard closed, shaking his head at his own reflection. “I don’t need anyone to say it,” he seethes, “it’s obviously why none of the directors I auditioned for ever called back!”

Blaine comes to lean against the bathroom’s door frame. “Kurt …”

Kurt bends his head. “Blaine, don’t start. I know, deep down, that it’s not the reason, and that I’m not ugly. But right now,” he adds, turning his head toward Blaine without meeting his gaze, “that knowledge is buried deep, deep down.”

“Okay.” Blaine stretches close to Kurt, pecking his cheek. “Take all the time you want. But if you need my help digging for proof that you are quite the opposite of ugly, I’m right here. If you want to mull over it in silence, I can let you do it, and just stay here by your side, or walk around the block.”

“No. Stay.” Kurt finally looks up, leaning his forehead against Blaine’s. “I don’t feel so bad when you’re around.”

Vanish

Sometimes, when you are a couple of married actors, you have to accept that your husband is going to get a job when you don’t.

“I got the job!”

“See, I knew you were going to get a break! Which job?”

“The ad one!”

Blaine cocks his head to the side. “Which one? The one for the hotels?”

“No, the one for the detergent. You know, the pink one?”

“Vanish?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.” Kurt chuckles. “I should try and remember it before the shoot!”

“I’m very proud of you,” Blaine says, pulling Kurt against him for a kiss. “Want to rehearse your text?”

“I would, if you weren’t unbuckling my be-hey!”

“Look, I can make your pants just … vanish.”

“You’re terrib--oh, wow.”

Worthless

Along the years, along the moves, along the different steps in Life, people gather things.

Not necessarily the most expensive things in the world, just mementos.

Little things, really, that most people would discard as just worthless junk.

But for Blaine, for Kurt, those little things are more precious than any of the things they bought once they started to get financially comfortable.

Like ticket stubs and Playbills from the shows they saw together.

Or like a ring made out of gum wrappers.

Yard

Speaking of financial comfort.

Once they became a household name, and once their student loans were reimbursed, both Blaine and Kurt agree.

If they are to be a family, if they are to raise a kid (or many), they need to buy a house.

It takes them a while, but they manage to save enough money to put the down payment on a cute little house in Jericho, a house with a luxurious yard where Kitty Cat can pretend to be the tiger she once was, and where their babies will be free to climb the trees and run around and drive their little bicycles or whatever.

“Quite the white picket fence, Hummel.”

“Anderson Hummel, and yes, so what.”

Santana rubs her very round belly. “Not complaining, nor criticizing. Just observing. I didn’t picture you as Wisteria Lane-adjacent.”

Kurt shrugs. “Nothing Desperate about wanting a good environment to raise a family.”

Zealous

As they reach their tenth year anniversary, Kurt and Blaine feel like they have reached a point in their relationship where their ship is sailing on its own, so to speak.

They have found their groove, they can still surprise each other while knowing each other’s habits and needs, and they have their baby.

Who cries every night.

Blaine is at his wits end looking for a solution to soothe his son’s teething pain, but nothing works.

Or so it seems.

“This here's a tale for all the fellas

Tryin' to do what those ladies tell us

Get shot down 'cause you're over zealous

Play hard to get, females get jealous …”

The sound of the song is the only sound around the house.

No cries, no whimpers.

Just Kurt, apparently “bursting a move”.

“Kurt?”

The song stops, along with one of Dan’s hiccups that announce a storm.

“Keep going, keep going!”

Kurt hesitantly returns to the song, coming into view as he bounces Dan in his arms.

“Young MC, really?”

In the same melody, Kurt replies between his teeth. “I don’t know what came over me, but I just started singing while he was crying and he sto-opped.”

“Magic.”

“Quite.”

“We need to give our thanks to Shuester, uh?”

“Over my dead body.”

#sometimes i write #klaine advent #todaydreambelievers #klaine

24 notes · View notes

anystalker707 · 4 years

Text

Lights, camera and fuck off (4/4)

Pairing: Gerard Way x Fem Reader Genre: Fluff Word count: 2 349 Requested by @liv-silver1 Summary: It seems like Gerard wants to tell reader something. Will he have the guts to?

The kitchen is filled with the smell of coffee and pancakes as I prepare some, with music playing in the background, though not too loud since Gerard's still asleep. Or was when I woke up. Nonetheless, it doesn't really matter, the quiet ambient is good enough.

As much as half of me already waited for it, I'm still surprised when arms suddenly wrap around my torso and Gerard's beard scratching against my neck makes me shrink with the tickling sensation. He chuckles at my reaction and places a kiss on my neck, resting his chin on my shoulder.

"Good morning," I greet him with a smile, receiving a lazy hum in response.

I continue cooking, Gerard continues there – he's warm, so it's quite pleasing. He stands still until I finish the pile of pancakes on the plate. With it, I believe he'll let go to eat or so I'm able to set the used dishes in the sink and all, but no. He continues there, the same way, not moving a muscle.

"Gee? You fell asleep there?" I joke with a chuckle. I would certainly turn to check on him if our position allowed me to.

It takes Gerard a moment, but he eventually moves; he adjusts his position, though still doesn't let go. "I can't stay away from you," he groans quietly and finally pulls away from me, stepping back to let me do what I need to before turning to him.

"We're in the same house," I tell him with a smile as taking the plate to the kitchen table, placing it with the rest of the food. "You're not really away from me if you're here, even more if you're just a few steps away." My purpose is mostly to tease him since I do know what he means. I don't think we do spend much time away from each other because we're often at least in the same room, whenever possible.

Gerard pouts as rolling his eyes, pulling me to a hug before I can notice. Sighing softly, I hug him back anyways, resting my head on his shoulder as enjoying the calming sensation he brings me. It feels like he's got something to say and there are a few specific options which would leave him in this shy state.

"Did you sleep well?" I ask, half of me curiously while the other half mostly wants him to start speaking and eventually feel encouraged to blurt out whatever he's holding back.

"Eh, kinda, y'know," Gerard says after a moment of thinking. I pull away to face him – he smiles shyly at me – and press my lips to his in a soft kiss. He hums appreciatively against my lips. The way his hands feel tense around my hips end up confirming my assumptions about something bugging him. Anyways, there must be a reason why he still didn't tell me about it, so I won't push it further.

"I think it'll rain later," I say as looking up – it's not like I can see the cloudy sky properly through the trees' leaves, but the specific cold wind going through them and giving us chills tells me enough. Averting my attention to Gerard, I see him looking up at the same direction I did seconds ago before his gaze moves to me.

"'Guess so," he replies, pulling on my hand again for us to continue walking; dry leaves and fallen sticks crack under our feet, creating a rather pleasing sound.

After we had lunch in a restaurant, he told me he'd like to come here for a walk in the woods and of course I accepted. I don't know if it's because I'm with him, but it always brings me certain peace. That's not something easy to explain, but it's calm. Like if there's no weight on hour shoulders. A kind of synchrony with... everything, I guess.

Gerard clearly wants to reach the clearing or maybe the creek, considering the way he takes. Both places are really beautiful and we usually go there many times since Gerard likes making sketches of the views. There are leaves and flowers pressed between the pages of his sketchbook – ones which I find in the way there and give him –, sometimes with something written. The places are naturally connected to a lot of happy memories.

Our plans, however, seem to change in the moment I feel the first cold, thick drop of rain falling on my hand. I plan to not mention about it – since Gerard seems determined to get there for some reason unknown to me –, but it's practically impossible with more and more drops following close. The rain catches us earlier than we thought.

A sigh escapes my lips as Gerard stops and furrows his eyebrows at the sky, like if silently cursing it. Behind the annoyed expression, I can notice an air of frustration.

"We should return," I tell him, pulling lightly on his hand. "'Don't want any of us catching a cold," I smile softly in an attempt of cheering him up. Gerard hums quietly as turning to look at me, nodding.

In our way back to the car, we barely exchange a word, more worried about rushing back to it. The atmosphere is noticeably heavier once we sit inside the car, in silence, with just the muffled sound of the rain against the car echoing in the small ambient besides our heavy breaths.

Gerard seems bothered and I wonder if I did something wrong. He looks out the windshield glass with an expression I can't really decipher and I observe him in an attempt of checking if my assumptions are right.

I'm startled with Gerard's eyes suddenly averting to me, blushing and about to apologize, but the unexpected smile over his face stops me from doing it. It doesn't seem forced, though the frustration didn't leave him, showing itself even in the way his shoulders fall.

He pulls me to a soft kiss, wordlessly comforting me and pushing away all my worry. Well, at least most of it.

"I love you," Gerard says softly, caressing my cheek lightly with his thumb while his other hand wraps around mine, both over my lap. "I've been falling in love with you since the first day we met."

A smile cracks my lips before I can notice and I can feel my cheeks burning again. I breathe a happy chuckle, "I love you more than you can ever imagine." I say back, softly. Carefully, I raise a hand to pull one of the now wet stands away from his face, smiling as I bring him for another kiss.

My attention is on my phone until I see Gerard in the walking in the room – the frustration is still present, though not as much as before. There's a smile on his face as he comes to sit down beside me, wrapping his arms around my torso as making himself comfortable next to me. He leans his head against my shoulder after pressing a kiss to my cheek and it's quite peaceful.

Just the faint sound coming from the until now neglected TV fills the room. It's a nice weekend, anyways, without anything much to do aside from lazy cuddles, even more with the cloudy weather.

"We should go outside," Gerard suggests out of sudden, his voice barely anything above a whisper. "It's going to rain again. I like watching the rain." He hums questioningly as nuzzling my neck, placing a kiss on it.

"Sounds nice," I smile, pressing a kiss to his head before reaching for the remote control to turn off the TV. How he was leaning against me, the sudden motion makes him fall to the couch without any warning – the playful complaining coming from him makes me laugh.

There's another couch in the back veranda – the place itself is quite wide, with a table where sometimes we'll have lunch when the others are over. It's also a good place to hang out, talk or even cuddle. The view of the garden is a nice one and Gerard likes to make sketches of it too. Or of anything that catches his attention, really, what's many things. So, of course, the familiar sketchbook is in his hand, along with his ink pens and charcoal pencils, as we walk to the outside.

The couch is cold, but not unpleasingly, quickly growing warm after we sit down on it. Gerard sits back on the couch, his sketchbook over the armrest for support. Meanwhile, I pull my legs over the cushion and lean against him; we're pretty much like in an exact inversion of the position we were in minutes ago.

"You feel like home," Gerard tells me suddenly, his voice quiet while his attention doesn't even leave his sketchbook. His words make me blush and crack a stupid smile; I bury my face in his shoulder, trying to hide my red cheeks.

"You do too." I press a kiss to his cheek, sighing happily as averting my eyes to the garden.

Just like earlier, the wind makes the trees' leaves and the plants shake, bringing more rain clouds with it and also creating a pleasing sound.

Our silence makes me think and, with the day unconsciously playing in my head, I notice something.

"You're being extra sweet today," I tell Gerard, playing with the folds of his hoodie over his arm. "Is there any special reason?" I ask more of teasingly, believing I'll finally find out whatever he's holding back. I don't really think there's anything apart from him just wanting to act sweeter or something similar, particularly, however, the way his cheeks redden do sparkle my curiosity.

Gerard opens his mouth to reply, his hand tightening a bit around his pencil, but nothing comes from him at first. He glances at me with an emotion I can't really identify and seems to have given up on saying something before finally speaking up.

"No, I," he shrugs, "I just wanted to." The red tone on his cheeks intensify as he twists his lips lightly whenever nervous, looking at me by the corner of his eyes.

A chuckle escapes my lips and I reply, "okay then." Well, it's probably to do with earlier – both the tension from the morning and whatever related to the woods earlier, but I can't think about what it could possibly be neither am I going to question him about it directly. At least yet.

Sighing happily, I lean my head against his shoulder again, my attention averting to the garden. It's not exactly sleepiness, but a similar feeling takes over me with all the comfort brought by the situation.

Unlike earlier, the raindrops that start falling from the sky are thin, signing that the rain will certainly last longer. It makes both of us noticeably relax with the new mood we're set in. I play with the hem of Gerard's hoodie, unconsciously trying to find a pattern in the sounds of the pencil against the paper and the small motions of his arm.

Suddenly, I'm pulled away from my thoughts. Gerard's sketchbook is held out in front of me and I instinctively take it in hand, looking at Gerard in seek for any explanation just to be met with none.

I try waiting, but I'm just able to notice he's probably blushing and I don't know if the fact of what's visible of his face being covered with hair proves it or not. Shrugging lightly, I turn to the sketchbook to see what's it.

A detailed drawing of Gerard and I is on the pages, with a few things written and some flower petals pressed to the paper. I take my time to observe the drawing – that's truly wonderful –, taking in all the details, before my attention moves to what's written.

You make every day worth living. You've shown me what love feels like. Will you marry me?

The question makes me freeze – my heart skips a beat and I'm left without reaction at first, with it coming out of sudden – and I can feel Gerard tensing up beside me due to it. What brings me back to reality is the pencil being held out towards me. He's probably not even looking at me, if I know him well, but it's not like I've got the guts to face him just yet.

As I stare at the page with my pencil in hand, I start reasoning everything and I notice that it's probably what he's been wanting to tell me the whole day. Maybe he was going to propose when we were in the woods, what justifies his frustration with the rain. My thoughts end up turning incoherent and just notice it when the of course is already written on the page in a shaky, nervous letter. I add a heart in the end before returning it to Gerard.

My eyes observe Gerard with certain excitement as he hesitantly looks at the sketchbook. His surprise is honestly confusing to me, but he eventually turns to me with glassy eyes and bright red cheeks, his eyes on the floor.

"Thank you for staying with me," he mutters almost inaudibly, shyly.

I don't move until I can't hold back anymore the happiness in my chest. I carefully set the sketchbook aside before tackling him in a hug.

"Oh, look at you! It's not something you need to be thankful for, I'm with you because I love you!" I say with a happy chuckle, wrapping my arms tightly around him and burying my face in the crook of his neck, too embarrassed to let him see my reaction.

Honestly, I never thought anyone would – or could – like me that much and maybe I'm even worried if Gerard is sure about that. However, the happiness is overwhelming. He chuckles lightly and I can feel him rubbing my back, playing lightly with my hair before a kiss is pressed to my head.

#emo #emocore #mcr #mcr x reader #x reader #imagine #mcr imagine #gerard x reader #gerard way #gerard way imagine #oneshot #reader insert #fanfic #fan fiction #my chemical romance #fluff #my post

71 notes · View notes

blahblahwritings · 4 years

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Contracts and Captains. - IV

A/N: Remember how I posted something before one of my other fics saying that I had been consistently updating for weeks? Neither do I lmao who was she? Don’t know her anyway heres the fourth chapter of this black sails fic.

Words: 1823. Honestly I’ve been writing this since about 12pm I don’t know how its so short and its probably shit bc I haven’t written anything in months.

Warnings: Mentions of vomit as per the last chapter. Think thats it lmao. See you in three months.

As your eyes opened, there were a blissful couple of seconds where the previous night’s encounter didn’t exist in your memory. But, just like the sun flooding the room, unwanted flashes of vomit and slurred words rose like a tidal wave in your minds eye. You rolled over, burying your face and groaning into the pillow out of sheer embarrassment as a dull throbbing started in the depths of your skull.

Why did you keep drinking? You could’ve simply had one or two before retiring for the night and you wouldn’t have met that boatswain or thrown up on your own boots. What was his name again? Ben? Boyd? No, they weren’t quite right. Either way you made a mental note to apologise again whenever you next saw him.

Slowly, you tugged your still clothed limbs from the thin sheets, trying not to jostle your stomach too much for fear of whatever was left in there making an unwelcome appearance. Your pants were scuffed from where you took a tumble outside the tavern, your shirt was half undone, probably from a failed attempt to undress before not-so-gracefully falling into bed. A single boot was thrown on the floor alongside your coat, the other still stuck on your foot. What a mess.

A hot bath, that's what you needed, and a hearty breakfast if your insides don’t bring it back up. Pulling on the other boot, you made your way to one of the girls working downstairs, trading her coin to fill the tub in your room. You must’ve looked rough as you passed her to get to the man at the bar because when he turned to look at you, his brows shot up, disappearing behind his hair.

“You look like you could use a little hair of the dog, love.” He chuckled, eyes scanning your disheveled form. A grimace was your immediate response. “Some food then.” He offered, filling a bowl with something that you didn’t stop to look at as you practically inhaled it. The man watched you with a knowing smirk and had you not felt so terrible you’d have spat out a snarky comment. You chose to gulp down your water instead.

“Thank you.” You huffed with a small nod, tossing some money on the counter before you headed back upstairs. The state you were in just added to this morning's growing list of regrets but you weren’t quite sure if you cared how you looked to anyone else right now. All that was on your mind was a piercing headache and a good soak.

Stripping off, you stepped into the water, sinking down slowly as your body got used to the heat. Finally, with a heavy sigh, you rested your head on the back of the tub, your aching muscles beginning to relax. Scented oils and soaps were left on a stand by the bath. Working a generous amount between your palms, you massaged your limbs and torso getting rid of any tension and purging the memories of last night’s… festivities. In the quiet of your room, you took a moment to trace the small scars that littered your form, fingers landing at last on the freshly healed knife wound from only a few weeks ago. The soft pink flesh was still tender, and if you moved the wrong way it would ache. It was dangerous to be alone on this island, in this line of work. You needed friends, not just contacts. A crew, perhaps.

Letting your mind wander, you thought about your new found place among Flint’s men. You had to keep bringing in leads to be of any value to him, lest you risk being tossed aside and left in the dirt. He and his crew were among the most revered on the island, therefore cementing your part in that would bring security. It would ensure that other crews would leave you alone, as you were important to someone they feared and the consequences of harming you could be severe.

Then again, there was a little more than security on your list of perks as you thought more about the taller man from last night. He was kind to you, not that the others weren’t having bought your drinks and all, but, he made sure you were safe and fed. Billy Bones. You recalled. Replaying the meeting in your head, you winced at the slurred introduction and the puking soon after. Why did you care about how he saw you? Was it because he was the crew’s boatswain or because he was handsome and softer than most pirates you’d met.

Catching that last thought, you shook it from your head, refusing to let it take root in your brain. Attachments like that are a weakness here and you cannot afford to have those. You’d only met the guy once and he probably didn’t want anything to do with you anyway, especially after that drunken show you gave him. Cupping a handful of water, you splashed your face, scrubbing any further thoughts of the man from your head, instead, choosing to focus on finding a new lead for Flint.

They would be leaving to chase down the details you gave him yesterday in a couple of days, if not sooner, which meant you probably had around two weeks to find something of substance upon their return. You’d struggled last time but after sending out letters to old friends in neighbouring ports, you were hopeful something would turn up.

Padding your way to the dresser, you pulled out some fresh clothes and got ready, feeling much better than you did even an hour before. The food had settled your stomach and the water you guzzled seemed to bring some life back into your face as when you left to go hunt down some work, the barman from earlier spouted something along the lines of ‘A whole other woman’ when you walked by.

---

An uneventful morning led to an uneventful afternoon. There were no new letters or leads and the streets were pleasantly calm compared to usual. You certainly weren’t complaining, you had been feeling better since this morning but your body was still recovering. The easy day was probably just what you needed. You were sat on the beach, sipping some water and watching passersby as you sketched in the journal you kept.

It was something you’d taken to keeping since arriving in Nassau just over two years ago. A small leather book to help keep track of potential jobs and record anything interesting that happened. Really, though, you just loved to draw. You’d already filled a couple just like it with sketches of people, ships and landscapes that caught your eye, often accompanied by your messy scrawl. You were just about satisfied with your latest addition when Mr Gates clapped you on the shoulder making you jump and slam the journal closed. You’d never shown anyone the contents before.

“Sorry, Miss Devereux, didn’t mean to startle you.” He began, chuckling lightly at your reaction. “I heard you and the lads had quite the night..” He moved to stand by you as you got to your feet, dusting the sand from your pants. Tucking away the book, an amused smirk finds its way to your face as you look at him.

“Depends on who you ask.” You replied. “How were they this morning? Feeling sorry for themselves?” Your brows raised in question as you both started aimlessly wandering along the shore. A snort met your ears as his head fell forwards, looking at the ground then back at you. “I didn’t see the majority of them until at least noon and they were still in a sorry state, although I wonder how you must’ve been. I heard that you hurled your guts up right after meeting our boatswain.” Gates mused, eyes crinkling as he watched your entire face turn a lovely shade of red. You tried to keep your cool but your expression faltered into one of sheer embarrassment. Apparently, this was hilarious as Mr Gates exploded into a fit of hearty laughter, and as much as you told him to stop you couldn’t help but have a good chuckle yourself as you covered your face with a half-sandy palm at the thought.

When you both regain your composure, he gives you a reassuring pat on the back.

“Don’t worry, the only people who know are Billy and myself, the men still think you can hold your drink.” He winked. You made a move to argue that you could in fact hold your drink but he began talking about the plan to set sail the day after tomorrow. You listened intently and explained that you were awaiting correspondence from friends in other ports to supply more promising leads upon their return.

---

It had been four days since the crew left in search of another haul using your most recent information. Nothing out of the ordinary had happened, you’d made some money here and there through smaller jobs and pickpocketing but overall, there was nothing of real interest. You spent the days reading anything you could get your hands on or drawing and you’d even had your eye on some paints in one of the markets, but all you could do was wait. Checking for mail at the front desk of the inn you were staying at every morning had become a routine, desperate for any work or ships that you could relay to Flint. It was on the fifth day that you had gotten a response from someone in Port Royal.

As you read over the letter for the third time, you could feel your eyes widen in disbelief, your heart hammered in your chest and you released a breath you didn’t know you were holding. This was far too good to be true. Surely this was a myth. A prize of this magnitude was simply unheard of. Your eyes scanned over the paper again, barely able to focus on the words because your hands were trembling so violently. Calm down. You told yourself. It can’t be the truth. You thought as you stared at the other envelope that had arrived alongside it. At the bottom of the letter it read:

“P.S

Should you doubt my information, I sent you the correspondence shared between the dead man and the merchant with evidence pertaining to this gold. Best not ask how it came into my possession.

Your dear friend,

Josiah.”

You ran to shut the windows to your room and close the drapes. If anyone found out you had this information and the evidence to go with it, you would surely be killed for it. Tearing open the paper, you unfolded its contents. It was all here. The initials of the merchant, R.P., details alluding to the existence of this gold and the name of the dead man involved in plotting the course it would be on.

Vasquez.

#Black Sails #black sails imagine #Billy Bones #billy bones x reader #multi chapter #Captain Flint #mr gates

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taramikealson · 4 years

Text

Just a random Drabble from WattPad. Klaroline edition (When is it not?).

The sun was just peaking over the horizon, shadows of the New Orleans skyscrapers tall buildings blocking the warm rays. Although, on the other side of the Big Easy in a particular house in the Quarter, sunlight cascades into the silent room, a lone antenna wire from a neighboring building leaving a shadow into the room that stretched across the old, yet well kept wooden floor. The shadow made its way up the far corner of the bed, over dark expensive covers and bulges where feet were.

The warm rays of orange heat made one of the bodies in the king sized bed stir. A long inhale and her lungs took in the sweet New Orleans air as her lips twisted into a smile. Shifting, the body under her murmured sleepily before settling back into the silence of sleep.

She moved her head to rest her chin against his solid chest, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the bright rays of sunlight the streamed in through the French doors of his room. Unable to help herself, her eyes wander the handsome face before her.

The sunlight had managed to barely reach his face, cutting his face diagonally up, one side in the shade of the dark room and the other lit up from the natural rays of the sun. His lips were relaxed in an almost ghost of a smile, forehead wrinkle-less, and eyelids closed, a once in a while motion under his eyelids would indicate of some sort of dream he was currently having. A sharp jawline was only intensified by the exceptional lighting, as well as all of his other overly handsome features; high cheekbones, strong chin, perfect neck, muscled shoulders, creamy skin, and all.

Normally, he'd be the one to wake up first. In some cases, he'd even be already out of bed. Most times it would be for business matters. 'The expectations of ruling over a city,' he would call his responsibilities. But in those other than often instances, he'd sit himself in the chair on the other side of the room and sketch. During those special mornings, she'd wake up to see him clad in the black boxer briefs that he seemed to favor as he peeked up at her every once in a while, most likely sketching her. She'd call him a 'stalker', he'd reply with an explanation along the lines of how it was the perfect lighting. Now, she understood the meaning to his words because, right now, he looked like he was glowing in the bright sunlight. He looked absolutely gorgeous, even though he already did, but she'd never admit that to him. He already had a big enough ego, no need to add onto it.

"What is it?"

His voice slightly startled her but she ended up smiling. She shouldn't have been surprised, he always knew when she was looking at him. Hell, he absolutely knew her. Knew when she was upset, disappointed, mad, sad, happy. She enjoyed his special ability to read her emotions even if it was a pain in the ass when she was mad at him and was choosing to try, and unfortunately fail, at punishing him.

She shook her head. "Nothing."

It was a lie. She could tell that she wasn't telling the truth by the small hesitation before she spoke. And if she could tell he could definitely tell.

His lips quirked up into a smirk, eyes still closed. She knew that smirk. In fact, he had all different kinds of smirks and she knew most of them. Like his 'I'm-Going-To-Kill-Someone' smirk, 'I'm-Going-To-Seduce-You-And-Then-Rock-Your-World smirk, 'I'm-Going-To-Do-Something-You-Don't-Like smirk, 'You're-Going-To-Die-Slowly-And-Painfully' smirk and his 'l-Know-Exactly-What-You're-Thinking' smirk. Right now, he was wear his 'I-Know-Exactly-What-You're-Thinking' smirk. God, did he look hot with that sly smirk.

"Liar." His accent drawls the word perfectly.

Caroline smiles. "Maybe I'm a little surprised that you're still here." She says. It's true. She was surprised to see him still in bed with her considering him and Marcel were still in the middle of a tug-of-war battle with the human faction and their leaders. In fact, he had been out every morning this whole week and had came back late some nights. Even Elijah saw how long Klaus was out and offered his services even though the two brothers were at odds for the moment.

As much as Caroline enjoyed having him here, in their room, in bed, she was suspicious.

Klaus opens his eyes and turns his head towards her, eyebrow raised. "I do live here, do I not?"

Caroline gives him a knowing look. Apparently, he was playing his favorite game of 'Let's-Be-Deflective'. God knows he's the best deflector in the world but, fortunately, she knows how to get through his mind games.

"You know what I meant."

He smiles and sets his head back on the pillow, hand creeping down her side.

"Can't I enjoy a morning with my beautiful blonde vampire?" His eyes hold a knowing gleam in them as his hand pauses on her upper thigh, thumb caressing her in light circles.

He was up to something, she knew it. She didn't know what it was, but she had to guess it would be at least a little dodgy considering it is him after all. "I'd believe that, except for the part where you're in the middle of a Whole-Owns-New-Orleans' fight with the mayor and the humans, in which is why I've been waking up alone every morning this week."

She satisfied when he sighs and swipes his tongue over his lips. Yup, she cornered him. It took the whole ten years that they've been together to learn how to, but the results make up for it. Of course, she needs to fine tune a few things to get the exact answer she wants out of him.

Giving in, he mutters an, "as you wish."

He begins to turn himself towards the side of the bed but looks back skeptically at her as if he was making sure she wasn't going to move from her place. Then, he reaches over to his wooden nightstand, one in which he always held his sketchbook and a few extra pencils for when he decided to wake early and sketch her, and pulled the drawer open.

Caroline watched as he grabbed something small from it then closed the drawer and settled back into his spot next to her. He pulled himself up a little and she did the same, making sure to hold the covers close to her body -not because she was embarrassed to be naked in front of Klaus (hell, she had come accustomed to his 'I-Like-You-Better-With-Nothing-On' attitude) but because of the slight cool morning breeze that came from the open French door in their room graced by what the Louisiana winter gave.

She thought it vaguely unusual when she saw the black velvet material of the small jewelry box in his hands. It was hardly rare of him to purchase her gifts every now and then or after a fight when he felt bad when his pride wouldn't allow him to properly apologize. Although, the difference between those instances and now is that he'd always leave them somewhere. Her vanity, her pillow, her nightstand. He never made a show to give her a present, so what was so different about this one that garnered the special occasion?

He cupped the top of the box and opened it so she could see what was inside.

Her eyes went wide and a hand went over her mouth in shock.

Sat in the pocket of the jewelry box was a ring. Not any kind of ring, but a vivid pink diamond ring with a an engraved silver band. It was the most beautiful rings she had ever seen in her life.

"Oh my, God."

Her eyes parted with the ring and connected to Klaus' blue orbs. His eyes danced around her face, picking up on how she was reacting, but they stayed on her eyes. When he spoke, his voice was soft and had a tinge of nervousness to it. She had never known him to be nervous.

"I'd planned to do this over a romantic dinner in an even more romantic city with a little more flair, but I felt lamentable and couldn't continue omitting to you." Klaus admits with a slight wavering look in his eye like he was contemplating on doing something.

His Adams-apple bobbed in his throat after a hard, nervous swallow. He pulled himself up a little farther making the expensive sheet slide down his torso and crumpled up at his waist leaving his toned chest on display unintentionally.

"Caroline Elizabeth Forbes," he begins to say. Caroline is just in pure shock with her eyes wide as his lips continued to move. "Marry me."

Her heart skipped a few beats or maybe a dozen. It was a statement. Of course, it was a statement. Klaus always had a finite way of saying things and 'asking' for things. In fact, he hardly ever asked for anything, because that was how he was. He didn't ask for permission, he took it and did with it what he wanted. Although, this time was difficult. Caroline knew it and Klaus knew it. This was a symptom, if you will, of who he was and how he spoke. He wasn't traditional. He was anything but. That's why Caroline loved him.

He sat there for a moment, barely breathing in anticipation as she looked wider eyed at him. Then, she snapped out of her shock and let out a joyful noise that was close to a laugh. "Yes! Oh my, God! Yes!"

Klaus hardly had time to move the small box from his hand and to his lap before Caroline was in him. Lips smashed against his and he gladly and happily reciprocated. He let out a delighted hum as his hand dove into her messy, sex-rumpled, blonde locks.

A wetness on his cheek had him pulling away to see happy tears leaving an even happier Caroline's eyes. Her smile was bright as overjoyed, short, laughs escaped her lips. Klaus' eyes softened and his lips turned into a wide smile as his heart leaped in his chest.

"I love you."

"And I, you."

A joyful half-sob half-laugh tumbles from her lips.

Klaus breaks the strong connection that is their gaze and looks down to the small velvet box in his lap. He picks it up and displays it to her again. "Shall I?" He asks with a smirk and she excitedly nods with a few tears flowing down her cheeks.

The Original plucks the ring from its pocket and discards the empty box to his nightstand a little carelessly. He then pulls Caroline's left hand up and slide the silver band over her ring finger. Klaus allows her to pull her hand away to inspect the beautiful piece of jewelry. Her eyes take in the deliberate and precise cuts of the pink jewel until they land on the small, delicate engraving that was so subtle it would hardly be noticed.

"Your Last." She whispers, finger tracing over the italicized letters. Caroline almost chokes up at the sentiment, remembering the exact words -no, promise, that he had murmured at her graduation.

Klaus' hand settles on her thigh under the covers, fingers tracing delicate, imaginary lines that only seemed to soothe her. "The diamond, Liz Mundi, was about to be swiped off the auction floor in November before I pull a few uncongenial strings." He then nods to the ring and takes her hand in his to feather his thumb over the silver of the ring. "The band, however, I had made. I won't fault you for not recognizing it being that the last time you held the ring it had nearly been half decade ago."

Her eyes widen. It was January and he has had this ring since November. He'd had it for nearly two months. Normally, it wouldn't be that long for a normal man who was going to propose to his girlfriend. Granted, they were no conventional couple. In fact, he refused to be called her 'boyfriend' and call her his 'girlfriend'. Instead, he would refer to her as 'his' and she'd finally caved and called him 'hers'. As well as that, she knew he hated lying to her, he had only done it a couple of times, and he could be extremely inpatient and impulsive. It wasn't quite like him to keep something under wraps for a week from her, no less a couple months. That is how she knew it had been extremely important to him to make sure that he proposed at the right time. Also, he had used his thousand-plus year old daylight ring. He had the lapis lazuli torn out of it and resized just for her. She knew how much the ring meant to him and she could barely understand how he could do that for her.

"You had this in your nightstand for two months?"

"Well...," he begins with a self-satisfied grin. "At first I had kept it on my person but I thought twice of it."

Then, Caroline goes quiet. Her eyes wandering to the material of his pillow behind him, her mind clearly focused on something else. Klaus tilts his head about to ask her if there was something wrong but she opens her mouth hesitantly.

"Why?"

"Well, as of keeping it on me, you do have a tendency of having wandering hands and-," he's cut off when she shakes her head.

Her eyes return to his. "No, what I mean is, why ask me to marry you?"

The Original blinks. "I was under the impression that this is what couples in love do, is it not? Do you question my solicitude for you?"

Again, Caroline shakes her head, putting her hand on top of forearm. "No, I don't have any doubt that you love me. It's just whenever I brought up marriage or regular human relationship stuff, you'd dismiss it and call it 'trivial human traditions'. It makes me wonder if you know the weight of what you are doing. I mean, this is it. Once you do this, you can't exactly go back."

It's true. She had an inkling of a fear that this was one of Klaus' acts of impulsivity and that after a year or so, he'd find out that he no longer felt the same way. He wouldn't really be that trapped by marriage because she doubts that he'd officiate it through the government considering they are immortal. But, there could be a possibility that he'd be hesitant to call things off with her or that he'd be miserable because of the weight of being a married couple.

"Caroline." He calls, bringing her out of her thoughts, a small sighs exiting his lips.

"When I spoke those words, nearly four years ago, I had no vision of what truly being with you meant. It was different going from country to country than residing here, in New Orleans -our home, with you by my side, in our room, our bed, the large amount of time that we have granted together, in which gave ample moments to fight over trivial things like my unscrupulous tendency to leave you in the middle of the night or your habit of over analyzing every bloody thing." She arches her brow at the last part of his small speech and he lets out a short chuckle before raising his arm, pulling a stray curl behind her ear. "You worry that I haven't thought this through quite enough, perhaps your right. But, I am not mistaken when I tell you that I will not bore of you. Never."

He lets a smile creep into the curve of his lips. "We may fight and have a myriad of hinderances, but I intend to stay by your side."

Caroline's eyes search his as he sits up a little and cups her face with one hand and the other rests on top of her delicate hand. "Caroline, love, my decision is anything but rash. I want your voice to be the first I wake to, your moral compass the guidance I go to, your smile when you discover new and intuitive things. I crave you. I want all of you, always." He pauses as his gaze softens. "My love, I want you when you challenge me to be a better man, when we first wake, when we are at the most beautiful of places in the world, when you throw your fierceness and criticism my way, and when you try to impress me by putting on your best lingerie and seduce me even though you're already more bloody seductive than the God of Seduction herself." He chuckles the last part out as Caroline lets out a huff of a laugh, a tear escaping her eye.

The pad of his thumb brushes away the stray tear with a smile. Caroline's heart jumped in her rib cage. It wasn't rare for Klaus to express his affection physically but, it was indeed very rare for him to admit it vocally, as well as actually tell her that he loved her. But, it didn't ever, really, bother her, she understood that he wasn't completely comfortable with saying the words. As good as he was articulating a threat, he was lost when it came to affection, in which she doesn't blame him. So, to say it touched her to hear him say those things is a total understatement.

"Me too."

The smile grows on his lips.

"Well, then. Do you have a specific place in mind for the reception, Mrs. Mikealson?"

Caroline laughs before lightly nudging his chest making him fall back on his pillows in compliance. She hums and straddles his waist, hands gliding up his solid chest. "I was thinking... Paris. Do you have any disagreements, Mr. Mikealson?"

Klaus growls when she pulls her lip in between her teeth. He then takes hold of her waist and flips them over causing her to make an excited and shocked noise fall from her lips. "That sounds so sexy falling from your beautiful lips." His low voice whispers into The collarbone that he chooses to lay delicate kisses on.

As he continues with his journey along her shoulders, her hands roam the expanse of his muscled back, nails lightly scraping the skin on his shoulder blades.

"Does that mean I have authority to call you Niklaus?"

His body lets out a subtle shutter as his hand tightens around her hip.

"Bloody hell, woman."

"Is that a 'yes' to Paris?"

He pauses his assault on her shoulders and instead places his forehead there, most likely trying to think of his available options.

"Niklaus."

She feels his eyes close at his full name coming from her mouth and she giggles. That was the hook and sinker.

"Yes."

She gasps and he looks up. He expects to see her wide-eyes and content expression but instead his eyes close when she presses her lips to his. Her fingers tangle in his shirt curls, turning his head to gain more of him. Klaus groans as their tongues meet, his skillfully battling hers in an endless war that neither will win.

Unfortunately, she pulls away right when he was about to take it a step further. Caroline places her hands on his chest to keep him from kissing her again.

"I have to call my mom."

Klaus furrows his brows. "You can tell her later."

"Yeah, no. I'm calling her now. She'll probably already be pissed because you proposed without her here."

He cocks his head to the side. "I'm not sure she'd be quite fond of seeing her daughter fornicating with her future son-in-law."

She rolls her eyes. "Whatever." Caroline then crawls out from underneath him and stands up from the bed. Klaus falls back first onto the bed with a sigh as he watched Caroline pick up his discarded Henley and reach into her jeans for her pants. He can't help the smile from forming on his lips. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't content. For centuries he had thought his life was going to be full of trying to gain power, battling his enemies, continuing his bachelor lifestyle. He is now so bloody thankful that he met Caroline Forbes -correction, Mikealson.

Caroline Mikealson.

He was in love. Happy, content -as he will ever get to be with some enemies still out there, but content nonetheless.

May God have mercy on him. He'll need it, but, by God, he will take the life with Caroline with a smile.

#klaroline #klaus x caroline #klaus michaelson #klaus mikaelson #niklaus mikaelson #drabble #the originals #caroline forbes #vampire #klaroline drabbles #klaroline fanfiction

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cherryflavr · 3 years

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tutorial on how you draw anatomy plz 🤲🏻 I can barely draw eyes, mouth, and proper head shapes. can't draw noses, ears and poses/bodies at all

here’s a lil tutorial!! :D

always start out with a head!! you can use references to help get the right head shape bc chins + jaws + foreheads all vary. next is the neck, while is a simple cylinder shape, and the torso, which is mainly in the shape of an hourglass . make sure u know where ur waist is in case characters r wearing high-waisted jeans etc !!

next, start with the legs!! make sure the thighs and calves are more rounded and not blocky: make ur character try to look human! feet can be difficult at first, but just draw a trapezoid shape n fill in the details later, and things get a lot easier !! :))

next, include your arms and rough sketches for hands. like the legs, make the arms rounded and human!! also, make sure the forearm and bicep r the same size on both arms! proportions matter!!!!

next, do a rough sketch of the clothing your character is wearing. it’s important to have the outfit picked out before u begin so this part is as easy as possible! erase parts that r covered by clothing and add details like wrinkles or designs!

lastly, add hands + face + hair ! hands r simple once u have the base shape down and a lot of practice :)) i can’t give many tips on the face bc that’s my personal style, so it’s a good idea to experiment different styles ☝️ hair is simple, make sure it isn’t too stiff! these characters r human!!!

that’s all i have to say for anatomy !! i hope this helps :))

#asks

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arandompostarchive · 3 years

Text

SALEM - Ch. 10

SAVED WORK

Summary: In all the centuries of your existence, you had never been dragged out of hiding by another god, put in a superhero team and forced to save the universe. But it seems your luck has run out.

_____________

10 Days Left

The longer you were gone, the worse Peter felt.

It had only been half a week, but he had already skipped a day of school. Tony said he was working on some sort of tracker for you, focusing on your abilities and the power you gave off. But Peter knew that’s harder than Tony made it sound. Unfortunately, if you were in Tartarus, the same place as your siblings with similar abilities it was like trying to find a needle in a bunch of other needles. And the quinjet prototype, wherever it was, wasn’t giving off a signal, so Tony’s efforts to track it had all been futile.

Peter was trying to do school work. Keyword trying. He couldn’t focus and was sketching plans for a new kind of tracking device. It was basic, something Tony would’ve scrapped in a second normally, and although he was sure that Tony was so desperate he’d take anything, Peter kept the idea to himself.

It was small, and a bit complicated. The basic idea was that if he just found Tartarus, he could track you from there. Sure, he didn’t know how big hell itself was, or where you were in it. But hey, it would let them now where in the universe you were. He kept sketching, and over the course of that day, he may or may not have stolen a small amount of material from Bruce’s lab. Bruce and Tony spent most of their time in Tony’s lab, so maybe he wouldn’t catch on quite yet.

The small sketch was almost done. He was writing on his science textbook, the same one he was supposed to be studying right now. But he wasn’t planning on going to school tomorrow. 10 days until you got back. He hoped. He didn’t know if he could wait longer than 10. And you left that note behind. One he had tried to open himself, even though it never worked. If you weren’t back, did that mean you were dead?

He shook the thought out of his head. He couldn’t think about that right now, not when he was doing something important. Especially not when he was doing something this important.

He finished writing out an equation or two, trying to figure out how much power he would actually need for this thing to work. It definitely didn’t look pretty. It didn’t have Tony’s style, or the elegance of everything he created. But for once, he didn’t think about that. He didn’t really care what Tony would have to say about it. It might work. That’s all he needed.

***

That voice.

You know that voice.

That deep sound that sent a shiver down your spine. The temperature lowered, and you could feel Loki’s grip around you tighten as you turned around.

“Sister, dear.” He said. “Was that really necessary?” His voice crackled and popped, like lava bubbling below the very rock you stood on.

Oh.

Doom. She meant Doom.

He walked closer to you and Loki stepped to your side. Your brother stepped closer. You could see ice creep along the floor, stretching toward you. You turned to Loki who was entirely unphased by the change in temperature.

“Loki, we have to fight him too.” You said. It’s not like you were excited, but he wasn’t a good guy. He just wasn’t. You were certain Loki could sense the hesitation in your voice. It was more of an attempt to convince yourself you needed to fight, rather than share the information.

“If you’re fighting, I’m fighting too.” He replied. You weren’t expecting him to leave. But you didn’t think his answer would be so confident. You glanced towards the still wrapped wound on his torso, but nodded and jumped forward, swinging downwards with your staff’s blade.

“As kind as that is, you have much more important problems.”

Doom himself. Moros. Your older brother (unfortunately). Not a kind man. Quite an intimidating one actually. You could hardly make out his face, you never could. He was taller than you. Much taller. Accompanied by a large axe on his back.

“Moros what are you doing?”

You could feel Loki’s hand on your shoulder, a small unspoken sign. It’s okay. You needed that about now.

“What I’m meant to do. We have a purpose, sister. Our mother’s purpose is to create darkness just like Ker is meant to kill. You are meant to fight, just like your friend is meant to lie. I am meant to destroy. And destroy I will.”

Moros seemed to pause a bit, almost waiting for your reaction. He wasn’t one to attack you with one swipe. He’d kill you much slower than that.

You felt Loki directly behind you.

“I hate to say it, but I don’t know if we can win this fight.” He said, manifesting both his daggers at once. He was right. You may be a war god, but Doom doesn’t exactly go down easy. And, much worse, if he came to fight you single handedly, does he think he can win?

And if he thinks he can win… what trick is he planning to pull?

Loki started speaking before you could express your concern. “I know you won’t like this. I know you want to prove children of Nyx aren’t evil, but I think there are exceptions to that rule.” You considered what he was saying. There may be no way out of this one.

“If we even win,” Loki continued, “which I find rather unlikely. We’ll have to kill him.”

You shook your head. “There are other ways, Loki.” You couldn’t let two people die today, especially not by your hands.

He sighed, stepping next to you and preparing for the fight ahead.

Moros reached for his axe, swinging it down hard and cracking the rock below you. Steam seeped out from below the crack, clouding the metal of his axe. He moved out of the way as the steam spread a bit.

You looked around at your surroundings, not much of anything. Nothing to grab or hide behind, so, you opted to draw your weapon, a bladed staff. Looking from your staff, which was a bit shorter than you over to Moros’ axe, one that had to be at least as tall as him was slightly worrying.

He took his first swing, charging toward you and swinging into your side. You dodged out of the way, barely avoiding slamming into Loki. Loki took that opportunity to run towards Moros and you followed him, trying your best to talk to Moros.

“We don’t have to be the bad guys. We can just exist. Earth is nice and about 70% of Earth’s population would appreciate if you didn’t kill them.”

He seemed slightly confused before shaking his head. “We have a purpose. This is mine. This is the start of something beautiful, sister. Something dangerous.“

He took another swing at you and you jumped back. Loki ran around him, landing on his other side and taking a swing at Moros. The second Loki moved you saw him grip his side as subtly as he could. He couldn’t keep the fighting up, not while wounded like that, so you ran to his side.

You grabbed his arm, pulling him towards you so you could talk quickly before Moros decided to swing again. “Just distract him, you can’t keep swinging with a wound like that.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but the sudden jerk of your arm pulling him out of Moros’ way made him reconsider. He nodded, jumping towards Moros and dodging at the last minute.

You took the opportunity to try and knock Moros off his feet, Swinging your staff into his leg. With Loki’s distraction, you managed to land that blow. You saw the pitch black blood slowly roll down his calf, before disappearing completely. The wound disappeared faster than it should’ve made you stare at it for just a second too long. He knocked you back and you struggled to stay on your feet.

“Was killing her really necessary?” He said. You felt Loki’s hand on your shoulder. You couldn’t see him, but you understood the message, it’s okay.

In all honesty, Ker’s death hadn’t processed. You were sort of expecting her to pop back up and try to fight you again. But when gods kill gods… those gods stay dead.

“You could’ve taken her back to that planet with you. Maybe just injured her. But death was your first thought.”

You didn’t kill her. You know you didn’t kill her. She did that to herself. But there’s still that small nagging voice in the back of your head, you could have stopped her. Stopped her easily. A thought you really didn’t like. Loki’s grip on your shoulder tightened, with the same message.

***

#loki x reader #loki #salem #saved work #fanfic

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