#the salt is overwhelming me so have my attempt at sweet | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dabisqueen · 1 year

Text

virgin call

Incubus!Dabi x fem!Reader

⇢ word count: roughly 5.7K

⇢ plot: unknowingly, you summon an Incubus. Just smut, no plot.

⇢ warnings: 18+, minors DNI, the reader is a bit under the influence of incubus aphrodisiacs, oral (m receiving), throat bulge, deep throatpie, oral (f receiving), size kink, belly bulge, cum kink, breeding (kink), loss of virginity, mentions of blood, kind of consensual unprotected sex (maybe dubcon) an*l sex, overstimulation, multiple creampies, double-dick

⇢ personal note: it just came over me because an anon mentioned this… thank you! Submitted to the "ℭ𝔬𝔫𝔣𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔰𝔦𝔫𝔰" collab by @/nymphoheretic

Thanks to @/blankexpressions-and-falsefires for being my beta again– you're my writing-soulmate! 😘

Your attempt at conjuring a spirit went– let's just say, it was pretty unspectacular. After having set up everything, and singing the summoning chant—

—nothing happened.

So here you find yourself kneeling on the floor, trying to scratch the spilled wax off the cheap linoleum tiles with your chalk and salt-stained fingers. The only thing spectacular about this summoning is the mess it had produced.

If only you had summoned a cleaning spirit.

You sigh. It is just another sign pointing to your miserable life. This project has been a disaster– like everything else in your life. You have no friends, can't keep a single plant alive in your apartment, only have a low-paying job as a cashier and—

—you're still a virgin at age 22.

So much for not being pathetic.

You exhale in frustration, finally managing to clean up everything and pull the faded rug back into its place.

After disposing of the remnants of your failed invocation, you take a quick shower and go to bed. Turning off the light of the crooked bedside lamp, you sink your head onto your pillow and close your eyes.

So precious. I want to make you mine.

You sit up in bed, taking several heaving breaths, sleep still fogging your brain as the echoes of that voice continue to linger in your ears. Confusion washes over you as you come to realize that it's night and you are in your room, having just woken from a dream.

So sweet—

That low sultry voice speaks again, close to your ear– and you jolt. You swear you can feel the warmth of a breath on your skin. You spin, panic rising in your stomach. Yet, as you look around you, the full moon outside only casts its dim light on the scarce pieces of furniture that you own.

There is no one in the room with you and no evidence that there ever has been. Still, you swear you heard a voice. After your beating heart calms down again, you convince yourself that it was just a vivid illusion, caused by your earlier attempts at spiritualism. You lay down, tucking yourself in again for the night, until sleep finally takes over.

It starts like feathers on your skin, traveling up your exposed arms, your inner thighs. It makes you squirm in your sheets when more of them trail up your naked stomach, tracing the fullness of your breasts before grazing your hardening nipples. They feel like fingers, dozens of them, sliding over your body, making you squirm in your bed, an unknown heat starting to settle in your core.

The fingers are reaching for you, their tips ghosting over the skin of your naked body. These sensations take over your mind when they start running over the points of your body that are most sensitive, concentrating their effort on heightening your growing pleasure. You feel wetness pool in your underwear, dripping down your thighs.

You can barely process these sensations, your mind lagging, clouded. All these fingers on your skin– you are overwhelmed by how good it feels, each touch more intense than the next. They graze over your nipples again, perking them into sensitive little nubs while you get wetter and wetter. It is so much that the pleasure converges, sparks starting to ignite in your core.

The fingers continue to touch — so eager on your skin, heightening every little jolt of pleasure. A little shock runs down your spine and you whimper. This feels too real as if it isn't a dream at all. You are so close. If only a few more minutes—

Do you want to cum?

The voice is there again. Too taken up by pleasure, your mind is starting to float somewhere above your body, far away. You writhe and gasp between moans, “Yes.”

The voice chuckles. The fingers intensify their ministrations and you arch.

What will you do for me to fulfill this wish?

You are succumbing to a fog of heavy desire. Before your pleasure peaks into a white-hot light, you scream, “Everything!”

You wake up, a thin sheen of sweat covering your body, the afterglow of your orgasm still rippling through you, making your soaked pussy throb. Your heart is pounding loudly in your ears

Yet, not solely from the pleasure– it's also from the feeling that something is off.

A dark, silky voice breaks through the darkness– the same voice that spoke to you in your dreams.

"Did you enjoy that?"

Your eyes widen, the mental fog clinging to you slowly dissipating. As they adjust to the darkness, you see him standing at the side of your bed. He is strikingly handsome, sensually carnal. His great black wings unfurl and span the width of your small apartment. Patches of gnarled purple skin adorning his face and body are complemented in color by horns protruding from the top of his head, nestled amidst inky black windstrewn hair.

But his most breathtaking feature isn't the wings or the horns. It is his piercing blue eyes that seem to glow in the darkness. The intensity of his gaze sends a shiver up your spine. That and the fact that he is–

–completely and shockingly naked.

Your gaze drops instantly, yet not without having peeked at his massive flaccid cock, hanging heavy and thick between his thighs.

He tilts his head down at you imperiously, his lips upturning in a mockery of a smile. "Like what you see?"

You gasp and blink, trying to ignore the rising blush on your face. He steps closer, smirking down at you, looking every bit sinful. He radiates such sexual confidence that it has you taking shallow breaths, chills of pleasure arise in your body as wetness resumes pooling in your underwear.

Propping yourself up on your elbows, you try to ignore your body's reaction, mumbling dazedly. "Who are you?"

He tilts his head, drawing attention to the set of horns on his head. You stare as piercing blue eyes take you in. "You summoned me, sweetheart. You should know."

His seductive, low voice surrounds you, floats through you, and seeps into your brain.

"I w-what?" You ask, dumbly.

He just smirks. It takes you a moment to realize what he is saying. But then it hit you.

The conjuring.

"I didn't think that—" Blinking slowly, you stare at him. "I mean, I wanted to summon a spirit— not a demon."

“You don’t even know what you’ve invoked, do you, little human?” He purrs, his husky voice so pleasing to hear.

“N-no,” you admit.

He moves faster than you anticipate, the mattress dipping under his weight as he suddenly hovers above you.

"Sweetheart, when a virgin is calling a spirit, you know there's only one creature answering her calls." His face aligns beside yours, his lips brushing the rim of your ear as he whispers, "An incubus."

Your heart races a million miles a minute as you clench your thighs to suppress the throb between them.

"And now that I am here," he straightens up and grins down at you devilishly, "I'll have you take responsibility for stirring up a thirsty one."

The way his voice sounds through you causes your core to pound with pleasure. Goosebumps rise on your skin and even more wetness pools in your panties. A sinful moan rips from your mouth as he chuckles, low and seductive.

“What is happening to me?” You ask.

“You're in the presence of an incubus. Your body is reacting–" He tilts his head, deep azure irises tracing the features of your face. “Cause it knows it's mine."

“It's– I'm not…" you whisper, clenching your thighs in an attempt to keep the heat at bay.

"Aw, little thing," A low chuckle rumbles through his chest. "There's nothing you can do about it.”

You slowly scramble backward in an attempt to get away from him– until suddenly you can't go any further and your back is pressed against the headboard.

His smirk never breaks as the demon moves, one large, claw-tipped hand closing in on you. You inhale sharply as it hooks under the seam of your shirt, pulling it down and taut– before you hear the fabric rip. His claws keep slicing your shirt to pieces across your front, making your breasts spill out.

"You will only come for me," he muses, "on my cock, from now on."

Oh god…

You have no thoughts, the chill of the cool air drifting over your skin making your nipples bud up. You suck in a sharp breath, another surge of heat rippling through your body.

"I fulfilled my part of the bargain, now it's your turn—” his eyes rake down your body like a caress, stopping at the point where your legs converge. "You will be bred, filled with my seed."

Despite the ominous threat, you can't help a moan from bubbling up your throat, your pussy throbbing at his words.

“I-I don't want that!” You stammer, swallowing thickly.

“Oh doll, your body is telling me otherwise.” he chuckles, deep blue eyes twinkling. “You're aroused just by the thought of it. I can smell your slick, feel the heat of your cunt.”

Oh boy is he right.

He moves close and, looking down at you, leans forward, one hand supporting his weight on the side of your body while the other traps your jaw underneath his clawed fingers, propping it up, forcing you to make eye contact with him. The sharp horns crowning his head loom over you and block out the dim light of the moon, making the demon's eyes gleam.

"You will beg–" You can see his azure irises swirl, drawing you in, "–beg me to fill you up, over and over again."

At his words, the ache in your core grows even more intense. Your pussy pulses with desire, releasing another surge of slick. You feel it dripping out and down your ass while he chuckles deeply.

"N-No—" You lie– obviously.

An unreadable expression crosses his face, then he gives you a wicked smirk before he dips down, hovering his mouth over yours.

"Oh, you will…" You can feel his hot breath fanning your lips, seeping into your lungs like an aphrodisiac.

You inhale deeply, his scent intoxicating. It has your blood buzzing in your veins and brings a pleasurable fog rolling into your head until it spins. Your pupils start to dilate, the heat inside your core burns unlike anything you have ever felt before and a deep moan erupts from you. Totally delirious, you can't stop the drool from spilling past the corners of your mouth, your core getting wetter by the second.

You realize that you want this– you want this so badly. His presence, his scent, his voice… all about him just makes you feel pleasure– yet you want to feel more than that. You want to feel everything. It's then you know that he owns you.

“Please…" you moan.

"Please what?" Knowingly, his soft lips brush yours, sending fiery-hot sparks through your body.

"Please pleasure me." You sob, desperately.

He sits back on his heels, smirking, the cock between his thighs now fully erect. You blink as you stare at it. It is huge, the thick crown of it a reddish hint, leaking so much precum, it trickles down its underside, dripping onto the sheets.

“Come here.” He crooks his fingers.

Part of you wants to fight it– the pull you feel toward him. But your body reacts on its own, crawling –no– gravitating toward him without conscious thought. He palms the erection standing proud and stiff between his legs while watching you from above, eyes heavy with lust. His free hand rises to wrap around your throat.

“Open.” He demands, the other hand holding the base of his thick cock.

Obediently, you open your mouth, sticking out your tongue. The head of his cock, hot and heavy, slips between your lips and sits thick on your wet muscle.

“Close.” He growls and you do, wrapping your lips around him.

The incubus' scent is intoxicating down here, the taste of his precum delicious and salty. Without conscious thought, your eyes flutter shut as your tongue swirls around his cockhead, greedily dipping into the slit.

The demon grits his teeth, baring his canines. His hands go to the sides of your head, long fingers tangling into your hair to shove you down his shaft. A whine rips from your throat and you gag the first time his cock touches the back of your throat.

“Suck it,” he commands, tilting his head.

You raise your hazy eyes, misted by tears, to see the demon staring down at you with hungry eyes while his hips start to move forward and back slowly, restlessly.

He's gentle, yet commanding and you love it. You've never felt so wanted or needed. With your lips coated in a mixture of precum and spit, he starts thrusting forward harder now, his clawed hands holding you in place. Each time you sink even further down on his cock, swallowing every inch that fits into you.

He goes deeper with each thrust, making sure his size hits the back of your throat every time. And even though you're being painfully stretched, all you feel is pleasure, delicious and intense, and a pooling between your legs. Still, the incubus gazes down at you with a frown, despite your best efforts.

“You can do better,” he coaxes. "Relax."

With that, he bucks his hips forward, holding them there, as you gag and sputter around his length. His grip on your hair tightens, and with a final desperate breath of air, you relax your jaw and his cock slips into your throat with ease.

“Such a good girl,” the demon purrs as your nose grazes the unruly patch of hair at the base of his cock, your throat bulging.

Tears spill down your cheeks as he starts moving again, the wet slap of his constant thrusting filling the otherwise quiet room.

With his slow yet steady rhythm, you get used to his length sliding into you, learning how to breathe despite his intrusion.

“You’re taking me so well.” His brilliant turquoise eyes gaze down at you, your throat tightening around him at his praise.

Your lips stretch around the thick girth of his cock while warm spit dribbles from your mouth and covers your chin, building a sticky mess at the base of his cock. Your fingers grasp uselessly at his thigh while he uses you to chase his high. In that moment, he, his scent, and his heat become your very essence.

Looking up at him from beneath wet lashes, you distantly feel his thrusts becoming more erratic, turning into a rough grinding in your mouth, when he orders. “Now, swallow.”

It takes one, two thrusts before he stills, the obscene bulge in your throat proof of how deep he is buried inside of you. You don't taste it, just feel him spill his hot seed down your throat. His cock continues to twitch, unloading into you, filling your belly until you feel it stretch obscenely.

“Take it like the good girl you are," he purrs, "Take all of my cock.”

You obediently do, struggling not to gag around him, trying to take short shallow breaths through your nose.

Eventually, his cock slides heavily out of you, leaving a glistening string of saliva and cum connecting you. Sputtering and coughing, you try to catch your breath. The demon looks at you before one hand comes up to cradle your head, the other brushing soothingly over your hair. “You've done so well for me, little human.”

His thumb trails over your chin, wiping the drool off before he dips down, kissing your cheeks, lapping up all the salty tears that wet your face.

"Ah– virgin tears are so delicious," the incubus croons.

You let out a soft sob, leaning into his touch before he retreats, taking you in with glowing blue eyes and you shiver at the hunger you see in them.

Without warning, his mouth crashes on yours, hungry and demanding. He knows what he's doing– devouring your lips– and you can't help but moan, making his hot wet tongue slip into your mouth. The fire in you keeps burning as you lean into him, his lips dancing against yours. One hand raises to the side of your face, his fingers curl into your hair, angling your face to meld your lips deeper against his. He kisses with so much fervor now that he almost consumes you. You shudder against his kiss, your mind heavily clouded and you moan into his mouth, making him groan. He releases you, pulling back.

“Fuck, you’re too delicious." His eyes glow bright, filled with lust. "Now, it's time to fill you up, my little human."

His palm lays flat on your chest and he pushes you back until you drop on the mattress. He eyes your heaving breasts hungrily before leaning down to take a nipple into his mouth, sucking harshly, then soothing over it with his tongue.

“Oh God,” You let out a choked breath, half delirious.

"You can just call me Dabi." The demon chuckles against your skin, his scorching tongue swirling around your nub.

He casts you a darkly amused look and continues his ministrations until you are a writhing mess underneath him. Slithering down your body, his large hands grip your thighs and shove them further apart. He nuzzles your inner thighs, closing his eyes to inhale the scent of your arousal.

“Doll, who knew– you're at your peak.” His dark eyes rise to your face and he gives you a sharp smile. “My seed is gonna take perfectly.”

You pant heavily as he hooks a claw through the top of your panties and, pulling down, slices the fabric open, his eyes drifting to your exposed cunt. Dabi licks his lips and with a pleased purr, he bends his head, sliding his raspy tongue along your folds. It's hot and wet, as he gathers your slick on it, tasting your reaction to him before he fastens his mouth over it to suck at your soaked pussy.

You nearly keen off the bed, mouth falling open in a gasp of shocked pleasure, writhing in his firm grip. Dabi keeps tasting you, licking from the source of your heat all the way up to your clit, sucking your tender bud into his mouth as you squirm on the bed.

You whimper and squeeze your eyes shut– but all of a sudden, the sensation is gone, replaced by a sharp sting as Dabi spanks your clit.

“Eyes on me, doll,” the demon growls, baring his teeth.

Your eyes instantly shoot open, not wanting to disappoint– and a satisfied smirk spreads across his face.

"Good girl," he intones huskily, running his hand soothingly over your hips.

His voice is lust-saturated, sending hot arousal pooling in your gut, making your body thrum with need. It is a feeling you've never felt before. His eyes never leave yours as he drags the flat of his tongue up and down your core before nibbling and sucking at your over-sensitive nub. His palms trail up your sides to cup your breasts, squeezing them, like he's anchoring himself. Taking your nipples between his claw-tipped fingers, he rolls them between them, as he starts alternating between sucking and lapping at your swollen clit.

You are so overstimulated, the pleasure you feel a mix of ecstasy and agony. You sob and beg– yet your pleas go ignored. Dabi continues eating you out, sending desire running down your spine and pooling in your core. You start bucking into his face, needing more of this. Then a white heat flares up in your core and your thoughts are cut off by the force of your orgasm. You can't stop your eyes from rolling to the back of your skull, your mouth hanging open in a silent moan as the blinding pleasure rips through your body like lightning. The incubus pulls back to look down at the mess he made of you, how you lay below him, your body slick with sweat. Pleasure still rolls through your limbs, fogging your brain and vision and you barely register the demon as he hovers above you,

"I'm gonna fuck you until my cock is the only thing you can think of." His words send shivers up your spine.

You can't suppress it, your body wants just one thing– him. Your legs fall open, sinfully, and he slowly slots his body between your thighs, a claw-tipped hand running affectionately over your hair. He dips down, eagerly latching his lips on the pulsating vein on your neck, and pleasure floods your limbs, making it seep out of you. You feel his warmth pressed against you as he starts to gather your essence on his shaft. He grinds his hard dick against your swollen folds, mixing it with the copious amounts of precum that leak from his tip.

“This pussy– this body– they are mine,” he growls against your skin. "I'm gonna breed you now, claim you as mine."

"Dabi, please—" you sob, writhing in heat below him., "I-I can't."

"Yes, you can, my little human," he looks down at you with cerulean-colored eyes, "And you will."

A moan breaks from your lips, becomes a shudder as the pleasure intensifies with him thrusting along your folds now, spreading precum all over you. The endorphins flooding your system heighten your desires, overwhelming your doubts, and the urge to have his massive cock deep inside you becomes unbearable.

As if he can read your mind, he purrs, lazily, “Want my cock?”

"Yes please–" you whine, needily.

"How badly?" His voice is seductive, low, and husky.

"I need it!" It feels like you're burning up inside.

You gasp heavily when his hands sneak around your hips, pulling you up to align his throbbing cock at your entrance.

Dabi's smoldering blue eyes snap up to meet yours. "Are you ready to be bred?"

Part of you still screams no, yet your body desires otherwise. Your core is dripping, the sheets below you soaked. Your skin is hot, sweaty, and sensitive– and it feels like molten lava flows through your veins. You need him inside of you. It feels like a deeply seeded instinct to have this man– this demon– fill you up. Through teary eyes, you look at him. Dabi is so incredibly breathtaking– his chiseled features and captivating aura, his piercing blue eyes that are trained on you.

"Please, fuck me." You sob deliriously. "Fill me up."

"Good girl." The demon chuckles, his posture dominating as he begins pushing his hips forward.

The bulbous head of his dick presses against your passage before it pops in. You cry out, the stretch of his girth immense. Dabi quickly hits resistance but with another quick roll of his hips, it gives. Your cries turn into desperate moans as the demon keeps shoving himself further inside, slowly disappearing inside of you, inch by inch. His massive cock spreads you apart, forcing your walls outward. The stretch feels amazing and you can't stop yourself from succumbing to the intoxicating mix of pain and pleasure all in one. The second he bottoms out, you almost pass out.

"Ah– virgin pussy is simply the best," he groans, watching how your eyes roll back, his cock outlined in your tummy as your pussy keeps quivering around him.

After a few much-needed moments for you to adjust to his size, he pulls out. He looks down watching how his cock comes out, covered in your slick mixed with the color of crimson. Nudging the tip at your entrance, he spears into you with one swift thrust and you cry out again. The sudden sensation of being filled sends shockwaves of pleasure through your body. He’s so big, so long and thick– the feeling so intense. The demon smirks at your reaction and starts to thrust into you now, drawing sweet cries of pleasure from your mouth as you writhe beneath him.

“Such a fine cunt.” he inhales a sharp breath from between gritted teeth. “All mine.”

Your pussy is dripping onto his dick, lubricating it as he fucks you– hard, deep strokes that bring you closer and closer. You keep tightening up around him with each move, pleasure and pain wrecking your body and mind.

Dabi’s face moves close to yours, as he stares at you with lust and hunger, a predatory smirk on his lips that makes your belly churn. Every thrust is so delicious, amazing. You want more. Your incubus keeps whispering dirty nothings about breeding you, punctuating his words with powerful thrusts, all while his essence keeps sloshing around in your belly.

It's so obscene—

—yet so good.

He’s still sneering down at you when the tension builds up so high that you can’t take it anymore. It bursts, sending waves of pleasure shooting through you. Dabi continues to pound into you, your eyes rolling back, your walls clenching up around his cock again.

The incubus hisses, feeling you tighten around him. He keeps pleasuring your puffy cunt, balls slapping against your butt every time he sinks in, impossibly deep. The grip on your hips tightens, sharp claws digging into your flesh, piercing through skin until small drops of blood appear. But you're too out of it to feel pain– you just feel bliss.

Lifting your ass, his cock starts stroking along a spot inside of you that has your vision turn white. Dabi seems delirious as he stares down at where you both are connected. The wet sounds of him drilling into your pussy fill the room as he keeps impaling you on his cock over and over again. The little brain you have left working properly knows you’re a mess below him— drool running down your cheeks, tears cascading down your temples, dampening the pillow beneath you. And yet here he is, smirking down at you with no sign of exhaustion at all. It's quite the opposite to you– he seems to glow, a blue aura surrounding him that seems to flicker around his body and wings like caressing flames.

His hands slide to your thighs, pushing your legs back against your shoulders. You feel him slide his cock insanely deep, deeper than before– in a way that didn't seem possible. Each stroke into your convulsing hole is more intense, pouring more overwhelming sensations into your body. You’re moaning obscenely, with your insides stuffed impossibly full.

"I'm going to cum, precious." He warns. "Gonna fill you up. Are you ready?"

"Yes!" You moan needily.

"Yes, what?" He asks again.

"Come inside of me," you gasp for breath, struggling to think clearly, "Fill me up and breed me!"

"Good girl." He growls sensuously, sultry and low. "Gonna fuck my seed into you—"

He thrusts deeply one more time, and you shatter into a million pieces. Your pussy clamps down on his length almost painfully, milking him, and the incubus hisses. His wings extend fully, spanning the width of your small apartment bedroom as he throws his head back in ecstasy. His cock seems to swell before he releases rope after rope of his thick hot cum into your waiting womb.

"Ah yes," he groans. "Take it all— carry my offspring."

You hear his words but they're drowned by your pleasure, unable to comprehend the consequences of them. You are too far gone, head lolling and drool dripping from your mouth. Dabi stays buried inside you, copious amounts of cum pooling out at the base of his cock. The blue glow emanating from his body intensifies from all of the energy he's drained from you. You feel him, still hard, still ready for more and it sends sparks shooting in your brain.

"That's gotta do it," your incubus leans down to whisper against your ear, "But better to be safe than sorry, right?"

And with that, Dabi grabs you by your hips and flips you over. One hand clutches your neck to press your head into the sheets, the other lifts your ass up. Between one heartbeat and the next, he is looming over you. In your lust-fogged mind, you feel the heat of not just one but two dicks as he rubs them along your seam, coating himself in the ample mixture of your slick and his release.

"W-what…" you murmur, exhausted, face half buried in your sheets.

"Didn't know incubi could change form, huh?" He intones and you feel the pressure at your holes increase.

"Dabi—" you whine and try to wiggle your ass away from him. "It won't fit—"

He grips your hips, holding you in place, dwarfing you in your attempt to get away from him. Your breathing stutters as you tense up.

"Shh, doll, it's ok," Dabi soothes in his deep voice. It causes your pussy to quiver in anticipation despite the fear lacing your mind.

He dives forward, his canines grazing against the supple skin of your neck before he shifts closer to your ear and whispers, "Relax and give yourself to me."

At his words, you allow yourself to loosen up and he begins to press himself against you in earnest. With a grunt, he breaches your virgin asshole while his lower cock slides into your gaping pussy. You cry out in an exquisite mix of pleasure and pain and your hips flex in his hold. He holds you there, keeps you stretched around the fattest part of his cockhead, while you bite into your bedsheets, tears breaching your lash line.

Slowly, you get used to the stretch and the pain gradually changes into something else, something more pleasurable. Then, with one swift thrust, he drives himself fully into you, sheathing his two cocks into you at once. It sends tremors throughout your body before another rush of endorphins hits you like a wave. It's unlike anything you've ever felt before, and you moan his name as he withdraws and pushes into you again.

Dabi sets a demanding pace, and all you can do is fist the sheets as he rides you, pumping both dicks into you with vigor. The way he fills you feels obscene, his two cocks hitting you so deep. He's hitting spots that feel more amazing than anything you've felt before. You can feel the pressure building inside you and arch, pushing back into him. His pace quickens, and he fucks you with such force the bed creaks. This would normally concern you– if your brain were properly functioning.

"Your holes feel so perfect, little one," he groans, as he pulls out and drives into you again, hard, turning your whimpers into broken moans. "The best ones I've ever had–"

Your brain is shut down, little hiccups escaping you as your body moves solely on instinct. On lust. Another gush of slickness gets you even wetter, the messy slick sounds of your holes sucking him in echoing through the room. His hands close in on your neck, pressing you down as he pumps into you, your ass clenching around him as your pussy tightens around his cock. Your cheeks burn, your mouth opens in a silent moan and in the back of your head, you feel a powerful orgasm building.

"I'm gonna cum, doll." Dabi groans.

He lightly circles your swollen clit with the tip of his clawed finger, pushing you beyond a point you've never been before. With his next thrust, you feel your core convulse with a force unbeknown to you. Your mouth opens in a silent cry, no longer able to speak as the pressure throbbing between your legs releases and you feel yourself come undone. Clear liquid gushes from your core and drips onto the sheets below. Dabi lets out a low growl when he reaches his climax, driving himself in to the hilt, pumping his cum into your pussy and asshole. Your belly starts pudging outwards as his burning hot release floods your insides and you topple over the edge yet again, your holes milking his cocks for all their seed. His pace staggers and slows until eventually, he pulls out, glancing down to scrutinize the mess dripping out of your two holes onto the drenched mess of your bed sheets.

"I have to admit," he pants, the corners of his lips quirking up, "You're the best I've ever had."

He finalizes his statement with another solid plow forward.

For the rest of the night, the incubus plays with your body, making you cum until you lose count of how many times he shattered your world. Your holes are left creamy and white from every load he unleashes into you. Your eyes are stuck permanently in the back of your head from the constant pleasure wrecking your body. Your brain is non-functional, and your body is completely and utterly overwhelmed by the sheer number of times you came. The sun is just beginning to rise when he finally retreats and you slump bonelessly onto the bed, your entire body aching. The sheets beneath you are drenched with your sweat and your combined release. Dabi watches you intently, alternating between stroking your hair and your cheek. His wings come to shelter your body, their warm leathery skin gently caressing your form.

"You did well for me, little one." Leaning over you, his lips brush your ear as he croons seductively into your ear, "I think, I will take you with me. I sense that my seed has taken and I can’t bear to part with such a perfect little human."

You should be upset over these final words, retaliate against their implications. Yet all you feel is drowsiness and absolute bliss. Being filled with his warm essence, your lips pull up into a soft, satisfied smile and your eyes slip closed, exhaustion finally taking over.

thank you for reading! comments and reblogs are very much appreciated!

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rottenpumpkin13 · 2 months

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Angeal gets a cooking show of his dreams

*Angeal is cooking vegetable stew*

Angeal: Now that we're done chopping the vegetables, I'll have my assistant bring in the meat we'll be using.

*Sephiroth walks out carrying potatoes*

Angeal: Where's the chocobo meat?

Sephiroth: Chocobos are beautiful, intelligent creatures who should not end up in—

Angeal: You're fired. Bring in Zack.

*Angeal is showing the audience the perfect cake recipe. Zack is in the background cooking chocolate sauce*

Angeal: The trick is to not use too much sugar because you want the sweetness to be just right without being overwhelming. Now, blend the butter until it's smooth and creamy...

*The entire pot catches fire. Zack tries to put it out with a kitchen towel but now that's on fire too*

Angeal: Once you have your butter and sugar mixture ready, go ahead and prepare your eggs. Make sure they're room temperature before separating the yolk....

*Cloud runs in with a fire extinguisher and tries to put it out. Doesn't work. Everything is covered in foam but still very much on fire*

Angeal: Next, you'll want to sift together your dry ingredients—flour, baking soda, and a pinch of salt—and slowly incorporate them into your wet mixture!

*Cloud slips on the foam and falls on the floor. Zack tries to help but knocks over a set of knives directly into the fire. Zack then grabs a flaming knife and stands over Cloud in the flames. Cloud is screaming*

Angeal: Finally, add in some vanilla extract for extra flavor.

*Everything is on fire. Cloud is trying to wrestle the knife away from Zack*

Angeal: I thought of adding in some mint for a fresh, cooling effect, but we don't need that! It's not like our kitchen is on fire hahahaha—WHAT THE FUCK? PUT THE KNIFE DOWN

*Sephiroth runs in front of the camera with a sign that reads "SAVE THE CHOCOBOS"*

*Angeal is showing the audience how to bake the perfect Banora White pie. Genesis is his assistant*

Angeal: Now, our pie will turn out exactly like this example pie I have ready here. While my assistant chops the apples, I'll start preparing the shortcrust.

Genesis: Everyone knows that Banora White Pie needs a graham cracker crust. It's the only way to properly balance the flavors.

Angeal: A traditional shortcrust is the key to a perfect texture. It holds up better and doesn’t get soggy.

Genesis: Perhaps if you knew how to bake it properly, it wouldn't get soggy. The graham cracker crust adds a dulcet sweetness that complements the Banora White apples.

Angeal: What we need is balance, not an overwhelming sugary taste. Bedsides, a graham cracker crust will fall apart on the plate.

Angeal:

Angeal: Like you.

Genesis: Angeal Hewley you take that back immediately.

Angeal: Why don't you take your graham cracker crust back to the apple farm, Genesis?

Genesis: Maybe I will! And I can bring our audience with me so they CAN FINALLY TRY A PROPER BANORA WHITE PIE.

Angeal: ARE YOU REALLY SO PETTY THAT YOU CAN'T ACCEPT THAT YOU'RE WRONG?

Genesis: WRONG? YOUR LOGIC IS A JOKE!

Angeal: SAYS THE GUY WEARING A RED LEATHER COAT IN JULY.

Genesis: SAY THAT AGAIN AND SEE WHAT HAPPENS.

Angeal: GLADLY. YOU WOULDN'T KNOW A GOOD PIE IF IT HIT YOU IN THE FACE!

*Genesis smashes the apple pie in Angeal's face*

Angeal: ........

Genesis: Ha! How's that for a pie hitting you in the face!?

Genesis:

Genesis: What are you doing with that rolling pin?

Genesis: HEY! PUT IT DOWN! HELP! THIS IS AN ATTEMPT ON MY LIFE! HE'S TRYING TO ASSASSINATE A PUBLIC FIGURE AND END LOVELESS.

*Angeal is now chasing Genesis around the kitchen using the rolling pin as a weapon*

*Sephiroth appears, holding Cloud up in front of the camera*

Cloud: ?

Sephiroth: For the modest sum of two gil, you too can rescue chocobos like this one from a grim fate.

Cloud: 💢

#ff7 #ffvii #final fantasy 7 #sephiroth #final fantasy vii #genesis rhapsodos #angeal hewley #zack fair #cloud strife #crisis core

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itsonlytext · 4 months

Text

sea salt & cologne · scene i

“And yet.. I still believe him anyway. Always. Why do I do that, Mariana?”

a miscommunication and some rather bad wording leads to the obvious. (according to sherlock, at least.)

a/n: heyy first sh&co fic (woop woop!). this was my submission to the sh&co flashbang event that took place in around april. writing sherlock and john's pod dynamic is (obviously) much different from what i know, so it felt a little daunting to enter. but i did! and i was paired with the lovely lovely sweet and jubbly @raveboy34 who did the most scrumptious artwork you'll ever see as you keep reading.

≈ 3000 words.

(read this story on ao3.)

"To fifteen-year-old Nadine from Manchester, thank you for your email. I will make sure to give Archie a treat on your behalf. Erm... Oh! To John! Ha! Jonkster, Johnny boy.. No, sorry," he cleared his throat. "To the listeners, I'm not shouting myself out, obviously, this is another fellow John that listens to the podcast! Isn't that cool? Well, John-that’s-not-me, thank you very much, and I hope you enjoy your holiday in Brum! It's.. an interesting place. Ah- no, that’s.. Let’s not say that," he muttered, pausing the recording with a huff and unconsciously reaching for the mug of tea that was made for him.

He didn’t know how, but on the rare occasions that he decided to, Sherlock consistently made the most impeccable cups of tea. Without fail. John couldn’t even get his own cups of tea right let alone someone else’s.

After taking a large gulp, he leaned back in his swivel chair and gazed at the laptop screen in front of him.

The past forty minutes had consisted of scrolling through fan mail in his bedroom and attempting to complete this week’s shoutouts. There was an overwhelming list of unread emails and he felt awful having to blindly pick out who to respond to. He played the recording back.

“Oh! To John! Ha! Jonkster, Johnny boy.. No, sorry-”

“Ugh,” he scrunched up his face. “Why do I-”

He played it again.

“-John! Ha! Jonkster, Johnny b-”

And again.

“Ha! Jonkster, Johnny boy.. No, sorry–”

“How’s it going?”

He hastily paused the recording and glanced back at the head that had popped in through the gap in the door. “Hey, Mariana,” he dragged, lamely attempting to exit the tab as she peered in.

Having heard the recording, she frowned quizzically.

“Are you.. giving yourself a shoutout?”

“Yeah, that- No, no, I’m..” he shook his head excitedly. “Guess what?”

“What?”

“There’s another John listening to the podcast! Isn’t that awesome? He sent an email. Said he was going to Brum for the summer.”

“Oh, wow,” she stepped into the room, running a hand through her slicked-back curls. She leaned forward and narrowed her eyes at the screen. “I wonder if there’s another Mariana listening somewhere in the world.”

“Yeah, I guess there is! Isn’t that cool?”

Another head of dark curls popped in through the door. “Doubt it.”

“Oi!” he turned to Mariana with an apologetic gaze. “Don’t listen to him, I’m sure there’s loads of Marianas out there.”

“Doubt it.”

He huffed, leaning further back into his chair to see. “And why’s that?”

Sherlock stepped in calmly, bringing his fingers together. His hair was damp against his head, and he carried in a fresh scent of shower gel along with him. “Because no one here is named Mariana, so no one listening to the podcast would feel the need to highlight it should that be their name.”

They rolled their eyes in unison.

He carried on with a sharp intake of air through his teeth, his eyes occasionally glancing at the agonisingly bright laptop screen. “But, taking yourself as an example, I’m almost certain there are at least six other Johns in the vicinity of Baker Street. You’ve a painfully common name,” he finished matter-of-factly.

“Oh thanks, mate,” John ignored the sly smile that tugged at Mariana’s lips. “Well, I apologise for not having a- a rich and pompous name like Sherlock. Yeah, how ridiculous of me. Anything else about me that’s painfully common?”

“Actually, yes. In my free time, I’ve written an essay on both your idiosyncratic and conformate behaviours. Would you like to read it?”

“Well–”

“Hang on, Sherlock, you’ve.. Written an essay about John?” Mariana asked, resting a fist on the back of John’s chair.

“Of course I have,” the detective frowned, absently brushing away a stray curl that fell into and obscured his line of view (John). “In the past year that he and I have been flat-sharing, I’ve come to.. Collect data, if you will.”

“That’s really sweet,” she raised her brows amusedly, fluffy curls bouncing on her shoulder as she tilted her head. “So.. Have you written one about me?”

“Actually, it’s totally reliant on observation and the facts,” he responded sharply, diverting his gaze. “I wouldn’t consider it sweet at all. And no. I have not written one about you.”

“Aw, that’s a shame.”

John pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek. “Yeah, well, considering he just called me painfully common, I wouldn’t call that a shame.”

“It wasn’t an insult, Watson, it was a fact - yet another inherent trait of yours.”

“What?”

“Taking everything personally.”

“Oi-!”

“See?”

“Mate, we’ve been together for almost a year and all you can say about me is that I’m painfully common?!”

Sherlock shrugged. “We balance each other out. Like..” he scrunched up his face in thought. “Ying a-and..”

“Yin and Yang.”

“Yes.”

“Thanks, mate. So I’m the brawn to your brain.”

“Yes, exactly.” He paused. “What?”

“Oh, because you’re- you’re so uncommon, aren’t y- Well, you know what, you are.”

“Thank you. I take that as a compliment.”

“Oh, yeah, of course you do. How’s this for a compliment? You can’t even–”

“Hey!” Mariana put her hands between them in a feeble attempt to soften the tension. “I think we’re all getting a bit worked up. John, why don’t you finish.. Whatever you’re doing–”

“Shoutouts,” he sighed, rubbing his face annoyedly. “I was just trying to do the bloody shoutouts.”

“Right,” then she glanced sternly at Sherlock. “And why don’t you get back to your experiment?”

The detective straightened himself, pulling his gaze away from John with a frown. “Which one? I currently have four ongoing experiments.”

“I don’t know, how about the one that required you to use all my conditioner? You owe me, by the way. My hair feels like straw now, feel it,” she tilted her hair forward.

“No.”

"But I see you’ve managed to condition your lovely, lovely locks,” she carried on sarcastically, gesturing to his wet hair and damp skin.

"Thank you,” he replied. “It’s a new one.”

"Yeah, I- I noticed. It’s nice,” said John. His eyes widened. “It smells nice. Obviously. I don’t.. Feel your hair during the night, that’d be weird.”

Sherlock eyes narrowed amusedly. “Is that a fact.”

For God’s sake, John thought to himself. He just called you painfully common and you’re still acting like some fan. He rolled his lips with a stony resolve, forcing himself to keep eye contact.

Sherlock faltered slightly.

Mariana watched. “Hello.”

The detective calmly tore his eyes away at the sound of her voice. “Besides. That.. That experiment was boring. I finished it. Would you like to know the results?”

She glared at him. “Does it have anything to do with human remains?”

“Well. Yes.”

“Then no.” She turned to John. “I thought we could go for a drink. You know, to remind you two why you’re still living together.”

He sat up straight, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he thrummed his fingers against the desk. “Er, yeah, sure, once I finish these shoutouts.”

“Okay, great. We’ll leave in ten minutes. Sherlock, are you coming?”

The detective seemed to debate this offer intensely - his thick brows furrowing, tanned cheeks hollowing and grey eyes slightly narrowing until he finally said, “Of course I would.”

“Perfect,” she replied light-heartedly. “Let’s go.”

As Mariana began to leave the room, Sherlock followed cautiously, still deep in thought. “I can’t strongly recommend this line of work to you if you are unable to converse about human remains, Mrs Hudson.”

“Hey!” she held open the door with her foot and gestured for him to leave first. “My job is to answer emails, help pay the rent and send out the merch. Not to look at, or talk about, human remains..”

Her voice faded as they left the room and the door creaked shut.

John let out a gentle sigh and swivelled back to face his laptop. “Right, let’s see…” he opened up the tab that he had previously tried to hide from Mariana. He frowned. “Hang on. Why’s the footage so long– Oh, shit, I’ve been recording this entire time!”

The pub was relatively busy with a constant metronome of the door languidly swaying open and shut and the gentle hum of others’ conversations - cushioned only by the soothing tang of refills that glided down their throats in an attempt to ground.

In the search for a small table, Mariana had left the men upfront to order the drinks.

“Two pints of bitter and a gin and tonic, please,” called John as he leaned over the bar with a squint to tune out the overly repetitive pop music.

“Yeah alright, mate. Be a bit because it’s just me today.”

“No worries. Ta,” he scratched the top of his head and settled back into the stool.

Sherlock wasn’t sitting. In fact, he rather awkwardly stood beside John as they waited for their drinks - his posture perfect, his stance unnervingly still. There was a grim (and awfully heavy) twist in the pit of his stomach. He knew that he had somehow, in some way, upset John, but he couldn’t put a finger on why. He gazed at the doctor as he thrummed his fingers against the countertop, the reflective surface and soft lights casting a warm glow against his skin.

“Well..” he began, his deep voice cutting through the obnoxious music.

John glanced at him. “What?”

Ah, thought Sherlock. He’s still upset. (Angry? Flattered?) “It’s incomplete, but would you like to read it?”

“Do I want to read an essay about how I’m painfully common? Erm, let me think,” he tilted his head sarcastically. “No, I’m alright mate. Besides, if it’s about me, what more could I possibly want to know?”

“Actually, I’m positive that I know more about you than you do.”

“Yeah, you probably do- What? No,” he shook his head annoyedly. “Forget it. I don’t want to read your bloody essay that’s about how I’m- I’m so painfully common.”

Sherlock’s face scrunched up. “Why are you so obsessed over that phrasing?”

“Because-!” John stopped himself. His lips pursed into a thin line and his eyes softened.

He frowned. The detective tried to use all his innate and learned deductive reasoning to try to understand - he even attempted to reflect on the ‘social etiquette' intervention he had been forced to have with Mrs Hudson last week. But it was all too much: the torturous music (to which he regretted not having brought his ear defenders), John’s uncharacteristic indifference, his lack of knowledge.

Their intense gaze seemed to make John freeze up, his navy eyes unable to pull away, unable to portray the anger his voice lamely attempted to convey. The warm, soft lights reflected into his eyes, illuminating them into a brighter, saturated tone that made Sherlock forget about the (god-awful) twist in his stomach. They were beautiful, Sherlock thought simply. (He was beautiful.)

“It’s-” he leaned his elbows on the countertop and ran his hands over his flushed face. “It’s fine. Seriously, just forget it, it’s fine.”

Sherlock cautiously opened his mouth to speak. “You don’t–”

“Here you guys go,” the bartender slid forward the three drinks.

“Thanks,” said John politely, juggling the three glasses into his hands without asking for help from the detective, who was watching him with a concerned brow etched deep into his skin. “Sherlock. It’s fine, mate.”

He didn’t respond. Instead, he watched John carefully walk through the maze of tables until he found Mariana sitting at the back on her phone. After four seconds of debating with himself, Sherlock turned slightly, pulled out his wallet, silently paid for the drinks and sauntered to the table. (Ignored the churning in his stomach.)

An icy wind had been the final push out of Autumn - it had blown away the rusty coloured leaves until the pavements on Baker Street bore nothing but a thin layer of frost.

It had been five days since Sherlock had (mistakenly) revealed the existence of his essay about John and, according to his knowledge, not much had improved in 221B. The doctor was often tucked away in his room, with the excuse of ‘editing the podcast’ slowly fraying and eventually dissolving into just ‘being tired’. Mariana had taken it upon herself to become an intermediary; she waded through the flood of emotions that had drowned both of the men by attempting to speak to them both privately and also sweetening some (rather bitter) messages that they had for one another before delivering them. Sherlock had, of course, seen right through her considerate attempts at cushioning John’s colourful insults, but he didn’t say anything no matter how uncharacteristic her edits were. (He sometimes wanted to tell her to read the essay he wrote about John so that she could learn how to properly speak on his behalf but, in case he accidentally offended her, he kept those thoughts to himself.)

However, when the orders for the podcast’s merchandise started piling up, Mariana had no choice but to plant her focus on packaging and sending them away. And when that happened, his (dreadful) stomachache had gotten worse.

The silence was killing him. (John was killing him.)

By midday, Sherlock had curled up into the sofa, his legs tucked close and arms wrapped around his chest with his fingertips pressing against the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. His eyes were shut and his face was uncomfortably pressed against a pillow, but he didn’t move. (If he did, the texture of the pillow would send a cold shower of shivers through his body.) Instead he resorted to taking deep, levelled breaths - unconsciously counting his heart’s BPM. (Always calculating, moving. Even when he didn’t want to.)

He had successfully managed to tune everyone and everything that made even the slightest of noise. He had been idle like that since 9.17am, so disturbingly still that, after the first hour, Mariana had to check if he was still breathing. He was.

During the forty-second round of unconsciously monitoring his heart’s BPM, an aggressive vibration had interrupted his counting. Sherlock opened his eyes and, for a moment, he stopped breathing.

Tried to ignore it.

Couldn’t.

(Always subconsciously craving the thrill of possibility.)

He unfolded his limbs, pulled his head away from the pillow with a shiver and sat up. His phone vibrated again.

Sherlock leaned over to the coffee table and picked it up.

Lestrade Says You Weren’t Answering Your Phone. Apparently There’s Something You’d Want To See At NSY

Interested?

It was John. (Oh God, John.)

His fingers hovered over the keyboard.

Are you?

There was a pause. (Suddenly his BPM was significantly higher than it was 16 seconds ago.)

Maybe

Sherlock was used to the quiet. Most of the time he craved it. A flattened wavelength was his ideal; it opened doors to his thoughts, germinated possibilities and carefully constructed intricate experiments. But this was entirely different:

John never said ‘maybe’ to the possibility of getting to play audience and watch his consulting detective work, to record the perfect material for his podcast and prepare for a rush of adrenaline at any given moment. He never (never) said ‘maybe’ to the idea of working with Sherlock.

The detective switched off his phone, stood up and straightened his jumper.

A gentle string of footsteps told Sherlock that Mariana had walked in. The familiar, .2-second high-pitched creak of a door also told him that she had just left John’s room.

“I assume you were talking about me,” he began plainly, entirely avoiding eye-contact as he strode over to the desk by the window and picked up his ear defenders.

“Why do you assume that?” she lightly asked, setting down a pack of diet Cokes on the kitchen table before beginning to gather her fluffy curls up into a high ponytail.

“What else would you talk about?”

“I..” Mariana hummed unconvincingly, shifting her weight from one foot to the next. “We talk about lots of things.”

He grabbed his coat from his armchair and shrugged it on. “Like?”

“Hm?”

“What sort of things do you talk about?”

She glanced down and wrapped her cardigan around herself comfortingly. “Like.. Beer. And Archie. Oh! And lots of podcast stuff, which we know you don’t really enjoy, so–”

“Scotland Yard has called. There’s something that they’d like me to see.”

“Okay,” she smiled. “Yeah, that’s great! You’ve been wanting a case for a while.”

“Yes.” Sherlock’s eyes wandered anywhere but in the direction of Mariana. “Will John be accompanying me? For the podcast stuff. ”

“Er, yeah.”

The voice came from behind Mariana. She took a step to the side to reveal John stepping into the living room with one shoe on his (left) foot and the other in his (right) hand. He bent down and slipped the other one on calmly, his face void of any indifference he had been holding against the detective for the last few days. “Got my mic all charged up,” he patted the small clip-on attached to his shirt. “Just in case.”

Sherlock eyed him carefully. “That’s good.”

It was silent. (His stomach churned.)

“Let us leave,” he said plainly, brushing straight past Mariana and John and ignoring the way their eyes met.

After he left, John sighed, leaning against the doorframe. “See?” he whispered.

Mariana shook her head. “Remember what I said, just–”

“Try again, yeah, I know,” he paused. “Sorry, Mariana- No, yeah, you’re right.”

“I hope so,” she placed a hand on his shoulder and guided him out the living room. “Now go, before he thinks we’re talking about him.”

“Again.”

***

There was a gentle knock on the door.

“Mariana?”

“Yep, it’s me,” she poked her head through with a smile. “Sherlock’s still sleeping on the couch. How are you feeling?”

“Yeah, I’m alright,” John sat up on his bed as she walked in. He politely turned off his phone and focused on her. “What’s up?”

“Three things. One, we’re out of diet Coke.”

“Ah,” John clambered off his bed and pulled open his wardrobe doors. He reached to the bottom, pulled out a pack and handed it to Mariana.

“You keep packs of mini diet Cokes in your wardrobe?” she asked quizzically.

“Don’t tell Sherlock.”

Intrigued, she peered into his wardrobe. “What else do you keep in there?”

“Pop tarts. Only the good ones, though.”

“Huh, I’ll keep that in mind the next time I’m locked in the flat by myself,” she joked.

“What was the second thing?”

“Oh, yeah, you know the ‘thank you’ cards for the merch that spelled your name wrong?”

“How could I. Jonk is a pretty big mistake to make,” he deadpanned. “I mean, whose name could possibly be Jonk?”

She shrugged. “Yeah, well, I have finally used them all up in our orders!”

“Finally. But now that means that fifty of our fans have a card that says, ‘Thanks again! From Sherlock, Mariana, Archie and Jonk’.”

“Well, I’ve just ordered another one-hundred cards with the correct spelling of your name.”

“Thanks, Mariana. Honestly though, the guy on the phone was ridiculous, I even spelled my name out for him! Y’know, the same, painfully common name that everyone knows. ”

She glared at him. “John.”

He sighed, running his hands over his face. “I know,” he mumbled. He looked up. “I know.”

“Seriously,” she lowered her voice to a gentle tone. “Why is this bothering you so much?”

“I-” he sighed, closing his wardrobe and trying to change the subject. “What.. Was the third thing you wanted to talk to me about?”

“It was about you still not talking to Sherlock!”

“Ah.”

“So?” she asked firmly.

There was a certainty, an air to Mariana that John had admired since they first crossed paths - always headstrong in her resolutions and cautious enough to ground the men’s often impulsive and derelict decisions. She also always saw right through him. (Both of them.)

John sat down on the edge of his bed. Mariana leaned her back flat against the wall as a nod for him to talk.

“I don’t know, okay? Yes. What he said upset me.”

“He always makes those kinds of comments, though. I mean, to me, as well. You’ve never really reacted this way before,” she commented, hugging the pack of drinks close. “Did he.. Perhaps say something else to you? At the pub?”

“No,” he shook his head. “That’s just the worst bit, isn’t it. That is all he said - painfully common and I just.. Lost it. Like some- Some bloody, stupid.. Stupid child. I don’t know why I did, he’s right, but. What he says means something to me, Mariana. What he thinks. I mean, what makes me different from the other six Johns in the vicinity?”

She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t actually think there are six Johns in Baker Street. We’d definitely know.”

“Yeah, but that’s the thing, isn’t it,” he replied gently. “He’s such a cocky git that you can’t tell if he means half the stuff he says.”

“And yet…”

“And yet.. I still believe him anyway. Always. Why do I do that, Mariana?”

There was a glint in her eyes as she watched the doctor debate with himself. “Are you still ghosting him online?”

“No. Well, yes, I have been. But I texted him today. Lestrade says there’s something she wants us to see, and I haven’t had much content for the podcast in a while, so…”

“You’re going to go with him.”

“Yeah.”

There was a pause.

Mariana stood up straight. “You need to talk to him, John. He needs you, no matter what he says. Your silence won’t help him understand. Give him another chance.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Thanks, Mariana.”

They shared a soft, genuine smile and she began to leave the room, only pausing for a moment. “Oh, John.”

He glanced back. “Yeah?”

She seemed to construct her next words carefully. “Try telling him how you feel. I think that’s what he needs. What both of you need.”

John gazed at her, contemplating what she said with a soft frown. He eventually nodded.

read part two of 'sea salt & cologne' here.

tags (feel free to let me know if you'd like to be specifically added to/removed from the sh&co tags list): @helloliriels@dragonnan @strawberrywinter4@with-a-ghost-mr-holmes@7-percent @totallysilvergirl @inevitably-johnlocked @johnlocky @chinike @rhasima @raina-at @lisbeth-kk @gaylilsherlock @a-victorian-girl @peanitbear @meetinginsamarra @bs2sjh @gomielka @thetimemoves @thegildedbee @iwlyanmw @jobooksncoffee @amyreadsandstresses @jolieblack @notjustamumj @jawnn-watson @thalialunacy

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1920sladydectective · 1 year

Text

Nurse Aesop Part Two (Not Proofread Lol)

You had known it was coming for several days, the simmering pain and cravings served as a reminder that your body was working on a tight schedule, one that did not care for your social calendar or your newly shared sleeping arrangements.

Twinges woke you as you forced yourself to breach the soft sanctity of the bedcovers, cold air rushing onto your exposed legs as you hobbled quietly to the adjacent bathroom. If your estimates were correct you would have about ten minutes before the cramping in your abdomen became unbearable and your vision started to blur.

Grunting as leant against the sink, the cool porcelain doing little to calm you, you allowed your eyes to flicker shut as you attempted to ignore the nausea.

Aesop despised waking up alone, especially since the arrangement was so fresh, his palm anxiously rubbing the bare cotton sheets as he blinked back confusion, a soft groaning smashing through his tiredness. As smoothly as he was able, he rose grabbing his wand and wandered to the bathroom, concern consuming him at your rosy cheeks and clenched fists.

Calling your name did little to rouse you, as he invaded your personal space, arms wrapping around you from behind as he planted a kiss to your crown. His cool skin triggered a slightly louder and more surprised grunt.

“I was calling for you,” He muttered, rubbing rhythmic circles onto your wrists as your hold on the sink loosened slightly.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” It was gentle and frustrated, as he kissed your head again, “It’s my monthlies,”

“You didn’t wake me, not really,” Aesop said, circles moving from your knuckles to your lower abdomen as you let out a shocked cry, “I think we should get you into a nice bath,”

“You need to go back to bed, it’s four in the morning, you have classes to teach later,”

Aesop laughed slightly, as the flick of his wand caused a sudden gushing flood of water from the sinks, “I know that,” a pause, “Won’t you let me care for you, Little Dove?”

His tone was deep and sugary, coating you as you tried to ignore the overwhelming relief. He had his own pains and so often cared for you too, yet it seemed to please him to do so, and you were not one to deny your loved ones their pleasure.

The bathtub filled quickly with hot, steaming water, as he stepped away and filled it with all manner of sparkling, technicolour potions and salts, the smell alone making you sag slightly with happiness.

With an assured swiftness, Aesop took your hand and helped you into the bubbling pool, your clothes long since discarded, as a blissful whimper eked out. In the small interlude it took to run the bath he had already forced two pain potions into you and as a result, the combined treatment had you limp with joy, body sucking up all of the nurture.

Absentmindedly you realised that Aesop was murmuring to you, as he sat on a transfigured chair, sponge in hand as his soft strokes rubbed your tired skin.

“Darling,” His voice was quiet and peaceful, stubble grazing your forehead as he went about cleaning you, “So precious, so perfect, my Angel,”

It was difficult to remember the pain of your period with a gorgeous man above you, whispering sweet nothings as lavender and lemon filled your nose. In fact, it was difficult to do anything at all, as you drifted into a light daze, the potions abolishing the last of the twinging pain.

The next thing you were aware of was a deep musky scent, as he lifted you from the water and wrapped you in a towel that felt impossibly soft, your malleable body leaning into his as you yawned loudly.

“Twas nice,” You said into the fabric, heavy eyes fixed on him.

“I told you it would be,” He sounded almost smug, but you didn’t have it in you to mind, as he steered you towards the bed.

“But my clothes,” It was slightly delirious.

“I’m getting your clothes, and everything else you need,” He turned, looking at you, “Sit down,,” It was firm, and your legs were weak, so you did.

Aesop hated to see you unwell for any reason, but as you sat pouting in a towel with damp hair sticking to your cheeks, he couldn’t help the magnificent ache in his chest at the feeling of loving you. You fought him as he wrestled you into soft bed clothes and he snorted his way through the poorly matched battle, well timed kisses to the cheek disarming your meagre defences.

As if you had never left, you found yourself in bed bundled up with your head resting on his chest, body tingling with relief as you desperately tried to keep a conversation with Aesop.

“I love your perspective on things, Firefly,” Aesop said, nuzzling your cheek, “But now is the time for sleep, not for pondering,”

“Can I ponder in my sleep?”

“If you wish to, Sweet One,” He laughed, heart twisting again as your breathing evened out, body succumbing in the middle of a rebuttal sentence, “Dream of me,”

#aesop sharp x reader #aesop sharp #reader insert #hogwarts legacy #aesop sharp x oc #professor sharp #aesopsharp #harry potter

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sandcobangevent · 5 months

Text

sea salt and cologne

a miscommunication and some bad wording leads to the obvious. (according to sherlock, at least.)

🐝

“To fifteen-year-old Nadine from Manchester, thank you for your email. I will make sure to give Archie a treat on your behalf. Erm… Oh! To John! Ha! Jonkster, Johnny boy.. No, sorry,” he cleared his throat. “To the listeners, I’m not shouting myself out, obviously, this is another fellow John that listens to the podcast! Isn’t that cool? Well, John-that’s-not-me, thank you very much, and I hope you enjoy your holiday in Brum! It’s.. an interesting place. Ah- no, that’s.. Let’s not say that,” he muttered, pausing the recording with a huff and unconsciously reaching for the mug of tea that was made for him.

After taking a large gulp, he leaned back in his swivel chair and gazed at the laptop screen in front of him.

“Oh! To John! Ha! Jonkster, Johnny boy.. No, sorry-”

“Ugh,” he scrunched up his face. “Why do I-”

He played it again.

“-John! Ha! Jonkster, Johnny b-”

And again.

“Ha! Jonkster, Johnny boy.. No, sorry–”

“How’s it going?”

He hastily paused the recording and glanced back at the head that had popped in through the gap in the door. “Hey, Mariana,” he dragged, lamely attempting to exit the tab as she peered in.

Having heard the recording, she frowned quizzically.

“Are you.. giving yourself a shoutout?”

“Yeah, that- No, no, I’m..” he shook his head excitedly. “Guess what?”

“What?”

“There’s another John listening to the podcast! Isn’t that awesome? He sent an email. Said he was going to Brum for the summer.”

“Yeah, I guess there is! Isn’t that cool?”

Another head of dark curls popped in through the door. “Doubt it.”

“Oi!” he turned to Mariana with an apologetic gaze. “Don’t listen to him, I’m sure there’s loads of Marianas out there.”

“Doubt it.”

He huffed, leaning further back into his chair to see. “And why’s that?”

They rolled their eyes in unison.

“Actually, yes. In my free time, I’ve written an essay on both your idiosyncratic and conformate behaviours. Would you like to read it?”

“Well–”

“Hang on, Sherlock, you’ve.. Written an essay about John?” Mariana asked, resting a fist on the back of John’s chair.

“That’s really sweet,” she raised her brows amusedly, fluffy curls bouncing on her shoulder as she tilted her head. “So.. Have you written one about me?”

“Actually, it’s totally reliant on observation and the facts,” he responded sharply, diverting his gaze. “I wouldn’t consider it sweet at all. And no. I have not written one about you.”

“Aw, that’s a shame.”

John pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek. “Yeah, well, considering he just called me painfully common, I wouldn’t call that a shame.”

“It wasn’t an insult, Watson, it was a fact - yet another inherent trait of yours.”

“What?”

“Taking everything personally.”

“Oi-!”

“See?”

“Mate, we’ve been together for almost a year and all you can say about me is that I’m painfully common?!”

Sherlock shrugged. “We balance each other out. Like..” he scrunched up his face in thought. “Ying a-and..”

“Yin and Yang.”

“Yes.”

“Thanks, mate. So I’m the brawn to your brain.”

“Yes, exactly.” He paused. “What?”

“Oh, because you’re- you’re so uncommon, aren’t y- Well, you know what, you are.”

“Thank you. I take that as a compliment.”

“Oh, yeah, of course you do. How’s this for a compliment? You can’t even–”

“Hey!” Mariana put her hands between them in a feeble attempt to soften the tension. “I think we’re all getting a bit worked up. John, why don’t you finish.. Whatever you’re doing–”

“Shoutouts,” he sighed, rubbing his face annoyedly. “I was just trying to do the bloody shoutouts.”

“Right,” then she glanced sternly at Sherlock. “And why don’t you get back to your experiment?”

The detective straightened himself, pulling his gaze away from John with a frown. “Which one? I currently have four ongoing experiments.”

“I don’t know, how about the one that required you to use all my conditioner? You owe me, by the way. My hair feels like straw now, feel it,” she tilted her hair forward.

“No.”

“But I see you’ve managed to condition your lovely, lovely locks,” she carried on sarcastically, gesturing to his wet hair and damp skin.

"Thank you,” he replied. “It’s a new one.”

"Yeah, I- I noticed. It’s nice,” said John. His eyes widened. “It smells nice. Obviously. I don’t.. Feel your hair during the night, that’d be weird.”

Sherlock eyes narrowed amusedly. “Is that a fact.”

For God’s sake, John thought to himself. He just called you painfully common and you’re still acting like some fan. He rolled his lips with a stony resolve, forcing himself to keep eye contact.

Sherlock faltered slightly.

Mariana watched. “Hello.”

The detective calmly tore his eyes away at the sound of her voice. “Besides. That.. That experiment was boring. I finished it. Would you like to know the results?”

She glared at him. “Does it have anything to do with human remains?”

“Well. Yes.”

“Then no.” She turned to John. “I thought we could go for a drink. You know, to remind you two why you’re still living together.”

He sat up straight, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he thrummed his fingers against the desk. “Er, yeah, sure, once I finish these shoutouts.”

“Okay, great. We’ll leave in ten minutes. Sherlock, are you coming?”

The detective seemed to debate this offer intensely - his thick brows furrowing, tanned cheeks hollowing and grey eyes slightly narrowing until he finally said, “Of course I would.”

“Perfect,” she replied light-heartedly. “Let’s go.”

Her voice faded as they left the room and the door creaked shut.

In the search for a small table, Mariana had left the men upfront to order the drinks.

“Two pints of bitter and a gin and tonic, please,” called John as he leaned over the bar with a squint to tune out the overly repetitive pop music.

“Yeah alright, mate. Be a bit because it’s just me today.”

“No worries. Ta,” he scratched the top of his head and settled back into the stool.

“Well..” he began, his deep voice cutting through the obnoxious music.

John glanced at him. “What?”

Ah, thought Sherlock. He’s still upset. (Angry? Flattered?) “It’s incomplete, but would you like to read it?”

“Actually, I’m positive that I know more about you than you do.”

“Yeah, you probably do- What? No,” he shook his head annoyedly. “Forget it. I don’t want to read your bloody essay that’s about how I’m- I’m so painfully common.”

Sherlock’s face scrunched up. “Why are you so obsessed over that phrasing?”

“Because-!” John stopped himself. His lips pursed into a thin line and his eyes softened.

He frowned. The detective tried to use all his innate and learned deductive reasoning to try to understand - he even attempted to reflect on the ‘social etiquette’ intervention he had been forced to have with Mrs Hudson last week. But it was all too much: the torturous music (to which he regretted not having brought his ear defenders), John’s uncharacteristic indifference, his lack of knowledge.

“It’s-” he leaned his elbows on the countertop and ran his hands over his flushed face. “It’s fine. Seriously, just forget it, it’s fine.”

Sherlock cautiously opened his mouth to speak. “You don’t–”

“Here you guys go,” the bartender slid forward the three drinks.

An icy wind had been the final push out of Autumn - it had blown away the rusty coloured leaves until the pavements on Baker Street bore nothing but a thin layer of frost.

The silence was killing him. (John was killing him.)

During the forty-second round of unconsciously monitoring his heart’s BPM, an aggressive vibration had interrupted his counting. Sherlock opened his eyes and, for a moment, he stopped breathing.

Tried to ignore it.

Couldn’t.

(Always subconsciously craving the thrill of possibility.)

He unfolded his limbs, pulled his head away from the pillow with a shiver and sat up. His phone vibrated again.

Sherlock leaned over to the coffee table and picked it up.

Lestrade Says You Weren’t Answering Your Phone. Apparently There’s Something You’d Want To See At NSY

Interested?

It was John. (Oh God, John.)

His fingers hovered over the keyboard.

Are you?

There was a pause. (Suddenly his BPM was significantly higher than it was 16 seconds ago.)

Maybe

The detective switched off his phone, stood up and straightened his jumper.

A gentle string of footsteps told Sherlock that Mariana had walked in. The familiar, .2-second high-pitched creak of a door also told him that she had just left John’s room.

“I assume you were talking about me,” he began plainly, entirely avoiding eye-contact as he strode over to the desk by the window and picked up his ear defenders.

“Why do you assume that?” she lightly asked, setting down a pack of diet Cokes on the kitchen table before beginning to gather her fluffy curls up into a high ponytail.

“What else would you talk about?”

“I..” Mariana hummed unconvincingly, shifting her weight from one foot to the next. “We talk about lots of things.”

He grabbed his coat from his armchair and shrugged it on. “Like?”

“Hm?”

“What sort of things do you talk about?”

She glanced down and wrapped her cardigan around herself comfortingly. “Like.. Beer. And Archie. Oh! And lots of podcast stuff, which we know you don’t really enjoy, so–”

“Scotland Yard has called. There’s something that they’d like me to see.”

“Okay,” she smiled. “Yeah, that’s great! You’ve been wanting a case for a while.”

“Yes.” Sherlock’s eyes wandered anywhere but in the direction of Mariana. “Will John be accompanying me? For the podcast stuff. ”

“Er, yeah.”

Sherlock eyed him carefully. “That’s good.”

It was silent. (His stomach churned.)

“Let us leave,” he said plainly, brushing straight past Mariana and John and ignoring the way their eyes met.

After he left, John sighed, leaning against the doorframe. “See?” he whispered.

Mariana shook her head. “Remember what I said, just–”

“Try again, yeah, I know,” he paused. “Sorry, Mariana- No, yeah, you’re right.”

“I hope so,” she placed a hand on his shoulder and guided him out the living room. “Now go, before he thinks we’re talking about him.”

“Again.”

***

There was a gentle knock on the door.

“Mariana?”

“Yep, it’s me,” she poked her head through with a smile. “Sherlock’s still sleeping on the couch. How are you feeling?”

“Yeah, I’m alright,” John sat up on his bed as she walked in. He politely turned off his phone and focused on her. “What’s up?”

“Three things. One, we’re out of diet Coke.”

“Ah,” John clambered off his bed and pulled open his wardrobe doors. He reached to the bottom, pulled out a pack and handed it to Mariana.

“You keep packs of mini diet Cokes in your wardrobe?” she asked quizzically.

“Don’t tell Sherlock.”

Intrigued, she peered into his wardrobe. “What else do you keep in there?”

“Pop tarts. Only the good ones, though.”

“Huh, I’ll keep that in mind the next time I’m locked in the flat by myself,” she joked.

“What was the second thing?”

“Oh, yeah, you know the ‘thank you’ cards for the merch that spelled your name wrong?”

“How could I. Jonk is a pretty big mistake to make,” he deadpanned. “I mean, whose name could possibly be Jonk?”

She shrugged. “Yeah, well, I have finally used them all up in our orders!”

“Finally. But now that means that fifty of our fans have a card that says, ‘Thanks again! From Sherlock, Mariana, Archie and Jonk’.”

“Well, I’ve just ordered another one-hundred cards with the correct spelling of your name.”

“Thanks, Mariana. Honestly though, the guy on the phone was ridiculous, I even spelled my name out for him! Y’know, the same, painfully common name that everyone knows. ”

She glared at him. “John.”

He sighed, running his hands over his face. “I know,” he mumbled. He looked up. “I know.”

“Seriously,” she lowered her voice to a gentle tone. “Why is this bothering you so much?”

“I-” he sighed, closing his wardrobe and trying to change the subject. “What.. Was the third thing you wanted to talk to me about?”

“It was about you still not talking to Sherlock!”

“Ah.”

“So?” she asked firmly.

John sat down on the edge of his bed. Mariana leaned her back flat against the wall as a nod for him to talk.

“I don’t know, okay? Yes. What he said upset me.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t actually think there are six Johns in Baker Street. We’d definitely know.”

“Yeah, but that’s the thing, isn’t it,” he replied gently. “He’s such a cocky git that you can’t tell if he means half the stuff he says.”

“And yet…”

“And yet.. I still believe him anyway. Always. Why do I do that, Mariana?”

There was a glint in her eyes as she watched the doctor debate with himself. “Are you still ghosting him online?”

“No. Well, yes, I have been. But I texted him today. Lestrade says there’s something she wants us to see, and I haven’t had much content for the podcast in a while, so…”

“You’re going to go with him.”

“Yeah.”

There was a pause.

Mariana stood up straight. “You need to talk to him, John. He needs you, no matter what he says. Your silence won’t help him understand. Give him another chance.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Thanks, Mariana.”

They shared a soft, genuine smile and she began to leave the room, only pausing for a moment. “Oh, John.”

He glanced back. “Yeah?”

She seemed to construct her next words carefully. “Try telling him how you feel. I think that’s what he needs. What both of you need.”

John gazed at her, contemplating what she said with a soft frown. He eventually nodded.

***

He kept fiddling with the microphone. He couldn’t help it, the silence was killing him. It had been his intention to heed Mariana’s advice and try to talk to Sherlock but, between the cab ride to NSY and the new case presented to them by DI Lestrade, John hadn’t managed to build the confidence to do so. (He was also still a bit annoyed.)

In the cab back to Baker Street, Sherlock had taken the manilla file of information with him from the station and kept it tucked under his arm the entire ride.

John didn’t say anything whilst clipping on his seatbelt; instead, he subtly gazed at the muscles in Sherlock’s neck as he craned his head to stare out the window, the tanned skin that pulled taut over a layer of muscle that John never expected him to have. His dark curls were just about matted on one side because of all the time he spent still on the sofa in the morning. His eyes (oh God, his eyes) reflected the murky-green from the park that they drove by, but John knew that Sherlock’s eyes were naturally grey. He knew that from all the times he snuck a glance.

Sherlock’s muscles were naturally sleeping beneath slender limbs, his hair was naturally difficult to tame and his eyes were naturally grey. (He was naturally beautiful.)

Despite the detective’s indifference and now with a profound sense of hope, John bravely clicked on his microphone and swallowed the horrid tang in his mouth (which he decided to blame on the cabbie’s driving). “So,” he began awkwardly. “Do you think Sadelyn Sawyer was right? That her brother hired someone to kill her boyfriend?”

Sherlock didn’t respond.

“I mean, the bloke was totally sideways,” he carried on, ignoring the pang in his stomach. “Er, to the listeners, Sadelyn had shown us a few pictures of her half-brother, Frank Sawyer, at the station, and.. Well, just off-vibes straight away. Isn’t it, Sherlock?”

The consulting detective hadn’t pulled his eyes away from the window for even a second.

John cleared his throat annoyedly. “Sorry, guys, Sherlock seems to be in a strange mood today.”

“Stop the cab,” the detective said suddenly, only focused on catching the cabbie’s attention. “Would you stop the cab, please. ”

“Wha-” he watched as they rolled up to the curb of St Barts Hospital. “Sherlock.”

“It’s for the case. Will your fans want to listen?”

John’s eyes darkened. He pressed his tongue into his cheek. “No, they won’t, actually. I’m going back to the flat.” Bubbling with a fresh mixture of anger and hurt, John heard the words leave his mouth before he could properly register them as Sherlock stepped out of the cab. “Yeah. Maybe you’ll find another John, in the hospital, that’ll be a better replacement for you, mate.”

Sherlock didn’t respond. Instead, he calmly handed the cabbie a few folds of cash before walking away into the hospital.

John turned off his microphone soon after.

The faint, lingering scent of a fresh, musky cologne suffocated him and made his heart beat faster until he couldn’t breathe. He leaned forward.

"Could you, er-” his voice cracked. “Can you roll down the windows, please?”

“Too cold, mate.”

“I need to breathe a bit. Can you open mine a little? Please.”

The cabbie glanced up at him through the rearview mirror and sighed. He opened the window.

The rest of the ride was silent.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, yeah, your bloke accidentally gave me too much for the hospital. He’s paid for your ride.”

Your bloke.

He took a deep breath and closed his wallet. “Thanks, then,” he said awkwardly.

“No worries.”

Carefully avoiding the ice creeping up on the curb, he watched the cab drive off Baker Street, let the crisp air fill his lungs and bitter wind nip at his cheeks before entering 221B.

The flat was empty. On the kitchen table, Mariana had left a single mini can of diet Coke at Sherlock’s chair, and a small USB at his. John tread to his chair at the table and picked up the USB. He flipped it around in his fingers until he realised what it was.

The essay.

He wondered how Mariana got it. He thought about reading it but, at the very pit of his stomach, he could still feel the anger and hurt bubbling. So he pushed the USB into his pocket and sat on the sofa. Sank in the silence. (Stuck with the sour tang of guilt in his mouth.)

He unclipped his microphone and placed it on the coffee table before settling back into the sofa. There was a single pillow at the end from where Sherlock had been laying. John ran his hand over it, knowing the texture was something that Sherlock despised. He wished he hadn’t been so stubborn so that he could have helped and replaced the pillow with his own. Replace the sofa with his own bed. (Replace the silence with his own presence.) John pressed a firm fist into the pillow before slowly lowering his head on it. He inhaled the faint scent of sea salt and cologne that had clung onto the pillow after all those hours. He closed his eyes and released a breath that had been holding him hostage.

This silence was a little more bearable.

A few beats could have passed. It might have even been over an hour since he closed his eyes, he couldn’t tell. But a harsh vibration jolted John awake.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, his fingers narrowly missing the USB. The notification was a message from Sherlock. The last week had made it instinct for him to swipe away at the message before even reading it.

So he did.

He blew out a breath and let his head fall back on the pillow. Closed his eyes.

His phone vibrated again.

This time, he didn’t need to look to know who it was. The bitter tang in his mouth worsened. Sherlock never texted twice, not if he could help it, he never cared for it.

Tried to ignore it.

Couldn’t.

(Always subconsciously craving the thrill of possibility.)

He unfolded his limbs, pulled his head away from the pillow with a shiver and sat up. With all his might, he wanted to be angry - to swipe away Sherlock’s texts without reading them and curl back into the sofa. He knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help himself. He picked up the phone and read the texts.

On my way back to the flat

We will clear the air.

He couldn’t exactly decipher what the last message meant but, by the wording, Sherlock seemed overly confident (as always) that their issue would be resolved when he returned.

As he thought about a reply, his eyes travelled to the laptop sitting on the coffee table. His fingers reached for his pocket. Mariana somehow secretly getting ahold of the essay had once again instilled a fear in John that reminded him she was much more cunning than she let on.

He wondered if she had read it or if she didn’t think it was her place to, only exporting it with nothing but good intentions. He wondered if he wanted to read it. “You’re gonna regret it,” he muttered.

Regardless, he shoved the USB into the laptop and began reading before he could change his mind.

Since it was brought up, John could only assume that the sixteen pages would consist of his common behaviours and uninteresting traits that had been meticulously studied over the last year.

And it was that. It was exactly that.

Except it was also the complete opposite; with every painfully common fact about John, Sherlock had countered it with a carefully-constructed, intricate antipode of his genericism. (Compliments.) There wasn’t a single sentence in the essay that made John feel common at all - not even the paragraphs that described why he placed his toothbrush on the left side of the sink and not the right, or how he stashed food in his wardrobe despite his flatmates having boundaries. In fact, above all the confusion, he felt like the most unique person in the world. Sherlock was right - he did know more about John than he did himself. (He could even make John’s tea better.)

Suddenly he felt awful for saying the things he did.

Sherlock was (undoubtedly) the most luminous soul he had ever met - his confidence unwavering and thoughtfulness so subtly imbedded. The observations he made about the people he cared for were endlessly detailed and never burdening. He did it because he cared. Because he wanted them to know that he had noticed what no else could. John had spent almost a year shamelessly praising his detective’s brilliant mind whenever he overcame an obstacle that everyone else deemed too high - rescuing people, saving innocent lives, preventing overtime bills at Scotland Yard. John never stopped to realise how much he meant to Sherlock.

His mind travelled back to the conversation he had with Mariana.

And yet .. I still believe him anyway. Always. Why do I do that, Mariana?

Now he knew why.

“I woke you up.”

John turned to find the deep voice belonging to Sherlock hovering at the doorway, his eyes glancing at the pillow on the sofa.

“No, it’s, erm-” he turned off the laptop quickly and cleared his throat. “I wasn’t really planning on sleeping, anyway- It’s fine, you.. You didn’t wake me up, Sherlock.”

His eyes were still fixed on the sofa. “It is an awful pillow,” he said plainly.

John glanced at it. “Yeah- erm. Yeah, I don’t know how you did it for so long. It’s terrible to sleep on.” (He’d do it a thousand times again if it meant he’d be wrapped in that scent of sea salt and cologne.)

It was quiet.

“Did you, er, find what you needed? At the hospital.”

Sherlock stepped forward, ignoring him completely and struggling to find his words. “I fear that I may be…” His face was gently scrunched up and facing the floor. He hadn’t bothered to take off his coat since he came in and so, with every pace, the bitter cold wind from outside surrounded him like an armour. John could feel it every time he neared. “John, I am lost.”

“Sherlock–”

“Let me talk,” he met John’s gaze. The harsh, irritated red of his waterline clashed with the tint of blue in his eyes. “Would you give me a moment. Please.”

But the doctor couldn’t watch Sherlock struggle with himself for any longer, the anxiety that emanated from his icy coat getting stronger with every step. “Sherlock, can you- Mate, stop it. It’s okay, I- I…” John pulled the USB out of the laptop and held it up. “I know,” he said softly.

He stopped pacing.

“Mariana gave it to me.”

The detective didn’t move. He didn’t respond. His eyes were fixated on the USB.

John realised.

“Christ, no, Sherlock, I-I’m not angry- I’m not upset. The essay is.. It’s really incredible. Seriously, I don’t know how you do it. And it’s incomplete. How is it possibly incomplete, I mean, you’ve pretty much got all that there is about me on there, mate. I think I’ve learnt something about myself after reading that.”

“It’ll remain incomplete for as long as we’re together,” he finally replied, the irritation in his eyes subduing into a calmer gaze. “Of course, except…”

“It’s.. This is my fault. I- I took what you said and blew it out of proportion, and I’m sorry. Really.”

“I apologise, too.”

It was quiet again.

John could hear Mariana in the back of his mind, shouting at him to confess his feelings, telling him that this was the perfect moment to do so. But his stomach still ached and he still couldn’t get rid of the guilt sitting on his tongue. He wanted to speak, desperately. He just didn’t know how to start.

But it seemed that Sherlock had decidedly done that for him.

“The website said that couples may require some space before talking again,” he continued.

“Yeah,” John nodded.

Then he paused.

“Hang on, what? What do you mean, couples? ”

Sherlock eyed him curiously. “I wouldn’t have done this otherwise.” He stood up straight. “That is also why I said you were perfect for me–”

“-You quite literally said the opposite–”

“And we balanced each other out. Like yang and yin.”

“Yin and yang.”

“That’s what I said.”

”You said it yourself; we’ve been together for almost a year,” he recited plainly.

John’s heart was failing. (It must have been.) He couldn’t properly compute what Sherlock was casually insinuating as he stood towering over him. But the detective didn’t seem to realise the weight of his words and so, after shrugging off his coat, he carried on.

“And I make you tea,” he said matter-of-factly.

John blinked. “You-” he gently cleared his throat. “You make them for Mariana as well.”

“No, I don’t. I make them for you.” He paused. “Who’s Mariana?”

“Sherlock!”

It was silent again. But this time, the air wasn’t filled with anger or hurt or guilt.

John pursed his lips and lowered his voice. “Did you really search up what to do?”

“Well. I do admit that this area of sentimentality is a plane I am foreign to and, in an attempt to correct that, I did some research.”

There was a pause. John narrowed his eyes.

“Is that why you made my bed the other day?”

“Yes.” He brought his hands together. “But also because you kept tucking the ends in at the wrong angle and it was annoying me.”

There it was again, thought John. He was a fool for regarding Sherlock’s hypervigilance as a brag. There was nothing he could do but smile. He dipped his head knowingly. “You didn’t accidentally give the cabbie extra money today, did you.”

Sherlock shook his head. “I had calculated the precise amount beforehand. Cared for and simultaneously granted you space. That’s what couples do.”

“Yes, but,” he tried to word his thoughts politely. “You can’t just assume you’re in a relationship with someone just because you balance each other out. I mean I agree, thank you. Really, I’m flattered, mate, but.. I think we could have avoided a lot of.. Bad feelings if we just spoke about it, don’t you think? Like I thought you calling me painfully common was because you didn’t hold me any differently than you would a stranger. That leaving me in the cab was because you didn’t care. That- That upset me, I suppose, because I wanted you to care the same way I do. And you do,” he waved the USB. “You really do. Just.. differently than what I’m used to. Which is also my fault and I’m sorry. Mariana sort of put me in my place today.”

Sherlock watched him for a moment. He lowered his voice and softened his brow. “I am lost in you.”

John stood up. He stepped up to Sherlock and held out the USB. “I’d really like for you to finish writing it,” he said gently.

“Finish writing it,” Sherlock repeated, staring deep into his eyes with caution. Then, when he realised what John was trying to say, his eyebrows relaxed. “I’ll get to finish it.”

He nodded. “Yeah. For as long as we’re together. And maybe tonight, you can switch out that awful pillow for mine.”

Sherlock tilted his head.

“It’s a ‘couples’ thing.”

For the first time in a week, the corner of his lips lifted.

“It is a rather awful pillow, isn’t it.”

“Yeah, I think Mariana bought it.”

“Is that the person who lived here before us?”

“Wh.. No. Mariana.”

“Yeah?” A soft voice entered the living room, soon followed by a dog’s tired huffs of air. She walked in wearing a thick, yellow woollen scarf and a leather jacket. She lowered her shopping bags down to the floor and carefully unclipped Archie from his leash. “Are you guys okay?”

John glanced up at Sherlock.

He gave a small, affirmative nod.

“Yeah, we are, Mariana.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, unconsciously leaning into the detective.

“So.. You’re talking to each other again?” she asked excitedly as she unwrapped her scarf.

“Yes, we…” he scratched his head in embarrassment, her wording making him feel as if he were a teenager with silly school drama. “Actually, we.. We have some news. Good news, obviously.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah…” he glanced up at the detective. “Yeah. Sherlock and I.. We- We’re, erm—“

“We have cleared the air and are continuing our healthy relationship,” he interrupted casually, throwing them both off guard. He turned his head to John. “Did I say that right?”

“I- You said it perfectly, mate.”

The same glint that John had seen earlier in Mariana’s eyes was back again. (She had always known.) “I’m so happy for the two of you! Congratulations,” she grinned.

“You knew,” he said.

“Only a little bit.” She tilted her head. “Okay, yes. But it was so obvious!”

Sherlock raised his brows at him. “See. Even Mrs Hudson knew it.”

For once, John wasn’t in the slightest bit upset. He let a smile adorn his face and lovingly pressed his arms into the detective’s. The scent of his cologne rubbing against his clothes satiated the bubbling in his stomach and made the (god-awful) tang of guilt in his mouth subside. “Guess I was just too painfully common to see it.”

It went silent.

Mariana hesitated. Sherlock stiffened.

John alarmingly stood up straight. “That- God, that was a joke. Don’t worry.”

He could feel Sherlock’s muscles relaxing and hear Mariana’s sigh of relief. Her smile had come back. “Oh, we should totally go for drinks. To celebrate.”

“Aw, that’s a great idea, Mariana. Yeah, we’ll do that. Sherlock, you okay with that?”

They both glanced at the consulting detective, whose brows were furrowed deep. “But we already did that,” he began plainly.

He turned. “What? When?”

“Last week. When Mrs Hudson took us to the pub to remind us why we were still together.”

“Oh, for God’s—“

🐝

give it up for the brilliant and incredibly talented samuel for being my other half in this project; his artwork was perfect down to the T and i couldn’t have asked for a better and funnier partner. (also, try finding the sh&co logo in the picture! it’s such a good detail.)

thank you to eardefenders for creating this flashbang event! it was lots of fun.

#submission #sherlock and co #sherlock & co #flashbang event #sherlock homes #john watson #mariana ametxazurra

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vesselandmoon · 4 months

Text

III - Fields of Elation

-----------------------------------------------Sleep Token fanfiction exploring lore and a few things between. I will TW scenes/chapters as needed, if I miss something please DM me.

Lore interpretations can be found here

This chapter contains mentions of oral sex.

Previous Chapter - Space Between Pt.1 - Tension

Edited: 8/2/24 Word count: 1072

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

Moonlight illuminated fields of strange plants as far as the eye could see, sloping down toward the ocean. In the daylight the fields might have been alive with color. Overwhelming his senses. He was already overwhelmed. Already buzzing with anxiety, his stomach knotting with the urge to vomit.

What if Sleep had abandoned him so soon? What if she had decided that he was not worth what she had to offer? Thoughts he already had, a reality he attempted to face, and yet he feared that rejection and what it might do to him.

He was alone but this dream wasn't normal. There was a sense of being completely aware. Tall grass tickled the palms of his hands and the breeze smelled of salt as it caressed his face.

"Sleep?" he called into the quiet.

Across the ridge of the hill was a small cottage that was slightly out of place. It was quaint, with a thatched roof and stone chimney but the windows were black. There was no light within, no fire, no spoke. It appeared abandoned and while he could see it clearly, there was an odd sense of movement he couldn’t focus on. As if the shadows in the windows shifted.

When he began to follow the urge to explore it, a light caught his attention.

Far in the distance and down the hill, a pale glow against dark grasses. The way her ethereal form moved, a river of drifting white hair, was like watching moonlight dance on the waves.

Pure joy rushed through his body. Elation. He ran.

The urge to pull her into his arms grew with every step and the dream world gave him a sense of stability under his feet that promised his blind steps wouldn't end in pain. His smile spread further, a laugh escaped him as fear and anxiety fell away like tar, disappearing into the earth.

She looked up at him racing down the hill, eyes shimmering with anticipation just before he crushed her against him. The scent of gardenia filled his nose and the warmth of her brought him comfort. His hands roamed freely over her body as they had the last time they were together. He kissed along her throat and she giggled as she pushed him away.

"Patience love," she said, straightening her white gown.

Everything about Sleep in this form was the opposite of the shadow that plagued him during the day, yet there were similarities.

Sleep was made of moonlight, pale and gauzy but with substance. He could easily see her form and she didn't hide from him. Her hair floated like the shadow being’s, but it was much longer and moved with grace. Instead of void black eyes, Sleep's were pale pink. Sometimes purple. They were soft but alert. Attentive.

Her sweet face tilted up to allow a single kiss from him. It wasn't enough. He craved more.

"Where have you been?" he asked, more accusatory than he intended.

Sleep arched a brow, then moved through the field slowly, touching the tops of the vegetation as she passed. "You would question a god in such a manner?"

He choked on his own words. "No I just... you were gone for so long. I struggled without you."

"You have shown me devotion, vessel. I have begun to spin the web of my end of this bargain. If I am to give you fame and success, there are cogs to put in motion. However, I am still weak. With more to worship me, my power and influence will grow. I will thrive. We will thrive."

Besides, he had thoughts about what his future held and in the weeks they had been apart, he had nothing better to do than consider what he wanted from his music. From the future Sleep promised him. Vessel as a being fit into his vision perfectly. Again, she blessed him.

"I appreciate everything you're doing for me, but that's not what I meant," he said, and she paused, her back to him. "I need you with me. Your--"

"Body?" She cut him off, peering over her shoulder.

Vessel's mouth went dry. "Yes. But not just in that way. In every way. I missed you. I crave you in ways I don't fully understand. Seeing you again, I can hardly contain myself. Let me be with you, lie with you. We can be still and quiet, just let me hold you or... or allow me to worship you."

Sleep turned to face him, a knowing smile on her lips at his pleading. "Worship? And how would you worship me in a field?"

Her smile was coy, knowing. Vessel slipped his arms around her waist, heart pounding that at any moment she would pull away. She allowed a kiss and he took the chance to deepen it, having missed the taste.

Every move had him concerned she would stop him. Laying her in the grass, kissing a line down her throat, digging his fingertips into the soft flesh of her thighs. He would taste her again, relishing the way she writhed.

He caused this reaction.

He was the bringer of her pleasure, and he was determined to prove his worth. She tried to tangle her fingers in his hair and he took it as an opportunity to trap her hands, entwining his own with hers, palms pressed together.

Her grip made his fingers pop but he only smirked, delving his tongue deep into her, savoring all she would allow him to have. She was always giving.

Vessel would do everything in his power to make her blessings worthwhile. To make himself worthy. Sleep's knees tried to close around his head, her back arched against the grass. That pretty white dress would be stained, some small reminder of him. He released her hands and pulled at her knees, keeping them apart until she inhaled deeply, her breath caught in her throat as her body tensed.

When every muscle relaxed, he slid between her legs and braced himself to loom over her with a pleased grin. "You are divine," he whispered, kissing her nose.

Without warning she laughed and flipped him to his back, taking him off guard. Her hands pinned his wrists to the earth with surprising strength.

"How well you did," she purred, nuzzling his neck. "Now, let me show you how I worship."

She slid down his belly and his world stopped spinning.

#sleep token fanfiction #still small voice fic

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melis-writes · 1 year

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Hello Melis! I’m the Anon who asked about Al’s TheGuardian article (www./tumblr./com/melis-writes/724587037620043776/ill-tell-you-something-he-says-he-puts-down)! Thank you so much for your response! I apologize for asking from a throwaway account because I couldn’t send asks using my main account for whatever reason, so I had to improvise and make a new account quickly because I just had to share with you what I discovered!

I tried searching more about Al’s relationship with Kathleen Quinlan to satisfy my curiosity 😂 But now I understand because your response really enlightened me on how private Al can be regarding his personal life and intimate relationships. I guess I’m just so enamored by Al and Diane’s relationship, I simply overlooked, or rather, did not care enough about his other beaus, so this Kathleen relationship is all news to me. But I definitely agree with you on Al lying on his several interviews, because boy, were there many inconsistencies from time to time 😂 And there’s nothing wrong with it, of course. He’s protecting himself, his peace, and the people around him (as he should!) So, I guess it’s down to the readers to interpret them freely as they see fit or take some of it with a grain of salt. However, while I was doom-scrolling, I came across an excerpt of Al’s interview with Lawrence Grobel from 1983 for a Rolling Stone 1984 issue where he talks about Kathleen accompanied by a published photo of them! Here’s the photo: alpacino./info/al-pacino-rolling-stone-interview-1984./html

All my attempts at reading it became futile due to the poor quality of the image, but I managed to pick up a few words. I went to Tumblr for reference and I saw that Lawrence Grobel (also named Larry as referenced here in the image) interviews Al a lot (shoutout to @/purelypacino for their post!) then I started searching for more interviews, and lo and behold, Lawrence Grobel has written two books about Al! I quickly downloaded them, and then I found the whole interview of this Rolling Stone feature in the book! Here are few excerpts where Kathleen is mentioned:

3. Here, Kathleen is mentioned during Scarface, and I’m assuming she’s the one he’s referring to in that previous article I sent. But then again, I could be wrong!

4. Here’s a part where he seemed pretty pissed off about Larry’s persistence on divulging information about his private life 😂

Overall, I’ve come to the conclusion that Al is definitely a certified lover, and he’s really sweet (despite him being a womanizer)! 🥹 The way he talks about Kathleen is very sweet, you could see through his answers that he really values their privacy, but even with the short replies, he still finds ways to include her and show his appreciation of her. Oh to be held tenderly and spoken fondly of by Al~ 🥰 such a dreamy feeling.

At first, I thought Lawrence Grobel wasn’t a reliable source, but would you believe that he’s actually a best-selling novelist? He has since developed an incredible friendship with Al for over 30 years now, with many instances recounting their best moments together that were all mentioned in this book I presume (Al Pacino The Authorized Biography). But even with Lawrence’s credibility and Al’s green light on this book, some part of me personally thinks he’s probably lying one way or another 😂 After all, they both read this book before it was published, so there’s a high possibility that they could be fucking with us 😝 But I have to say, reading Al’s interviews really entertains me and draws me in. I enjoy it and I’m just ensnared, perpetually in awe of who he is as a person. I’m aware he held rare interviews during his prime, it was probably a response from the overwhelming fame he received after the success of The Godfather. But now that his career has more or less slowed down (in a good way!), he seems to have taken pleasure in doing more of them! Anyway, I just wanted to share this with you, and I thought you might like it! You’re like an Al expert and you’re the first person I immediately thought of disclosing this information with! And mostly because… you’re the only person I asked about it 😂

I’m also gonna share this really cute photo of Lawrence and Al! Hahaha

I’m super sorry for the rambling, for being annoying and for the length of this message 😅 it’s nice to know there are people out there who share the same interests as me. I feel giddy inside and I enjoy your blog! ♥️

Hello, anon!! ❤️ I definitely trust Lawrence's credibility; he and Al seem to have known each other for quite some time and I know Lawrence also published a biography about Al too. Once I'm done reading "A Life on The Wire", I definitely plan on picking Lawrence's book up and giving it a read too.

I'm starting to notice a pattern with Al here. 🤣 He speaks of the women in his life all very similarly, especially in terms of privacy. He only gives snippets away about his relationship and prefers not to talk about his partner directly; especially like the picture of one of the excerpts you put up there where Al asks why he should talk about Kathleen when he's with her all the time. He does this a lot, and I totally get it. He's private about his romantic life for the most part.

Funny enough, almost the exact same excerpt about Kathleen is in "A Life on The Wire" too. I took a look through the book and found some excerpts about the consistent "I'm in love" with many women Al's been with but then the actual declaration he's been in love only twice in his life.

In the section "Cry Baby", Al says about his next girlfriend in 1972-1973, Tuesday Weld, "we're very much in love," he continually reassured friends, and perhaps himself, Clayburgh apparently forgotten. "Tuesday's good for me. I'm the kind of guy who's always needed to have a woman around. I guess it's the companionship I like." followed by: "their idyll together ... was short lived." He also said when talking about marriage as a concept after that lmao: "If I have kids, I'll get married. And I do love kids". We all know that never happened. 👁️👁️

In the next section, "Are You Al Pacino?" it mentions: "... Pacino had lightened up, if only just a little, with the advent of [Marthe] Keller in his life." and the next snippet says, with Marthe Keller speaking: "There are those who think we're together only because of the film [Bobby Deerfield]. They're wrong. This is a real love story. With Al, it's everything, without him it's nothing, We are really, really, really in love," she stressed, lingering over each "really". She wrapped her arms round Pacino's waist and squeezed him tenderly. "He's my only man." Pacino's response was a nervous, positively embarrassed, half-smile."

About Al declaring who/when he was in love, the book says: "I've been in love twice. The first time, because of my career, I wouldn't have any of it. ... The second time, I found some other reason." He said this in the late 70s, so I believe maybe 1978 or 1979.

In regards to Kathleen, the book mentions I think either during or after the shoot of Revolution (1985) that: "Pacino was basically living alone. His most recent romantic partner, the dark-haired beauty Kathleen Quinlan, was not only notable by her absence throughout the shoot, but a name forbidden even to be whispered in Pacino's vicinity. Another affair had bitten the dust."

To me, it doesn't sound like a super special, head over heels kind of love, but then again after reading this biography, I've learned to take the whole "we're really in love" speech with a grain of salt. 🤭

Thank you for sharing your input and excerpts with me!! ❤️

#al pacino

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udo0stories · 6 months

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Summertime here at the house is busy and seldom is there a quiet day. In an attempt to stay cool during these sweltering summer days, family and friends congregate at our house—and more especially, around our pool. I personally do not mind having a pool, but I really enjoy entertaining. There is nothing I love more than feeding the people I care about. Let us be honest though. That requires a lot of effort and time to accomplish on a nearly daily basis, so for me, summer entertainment is all about simple and quick. This Summer BBQ Hot Dog and Burger Charcuterie Board is ideal because of this. This amazing Summer BBQ Hot Dog and Burger Charcuterie Board is ideal for simple entertaining for the following reasons: not doing any cooking inside Almost everything is prepared well in advance. It is a complete meal on its own. Extra sides are not required. Visitors can eat whenever they would like. Casual dining is key during the summer. My children are always splashing to get to a table, sit, and eat. In any case, food seems to taste better by the pool! Do I have this right? It is all about the options when it comes to having the best Hot Dog and Burger Charcuterie Board! Of course, a simple grilled beef hot dog or a juicy burger served with the standard fixings are perfectly fine and delicious. And sometimes, on a sweltering summer day, all I want is those traditional flavor combinations. However, have you ever entered an ice cream shop or doughnut shop and felt excited seeing them all? THE TASTE. This inventive charcuterie board offers an incredible range of possibilities in terms of flavor, texture, and appearance! The WOW factor is the aim. Additionally, I know that some people become a little overwhelmed by the variety of options available, even though I naturally want all of my guests to feel free to express their creativity in creating their amazing hot dog and burger creations. For this reason, the list of suggested flavor combinations is quite specific. Ultimately, though, there are no guidelines. Not even the ingredients listed are set in stone. Take this as an opportunity to express your creativity. Ensure that most of the toppings can be prepared in advance, regardless of the selection you make. Toss them into different bowls and store them in the refrigerator until you are ready to serve! To ensure that your Summer BBQ Hot Dog and Burger Charcuterie Board is a huge success, follow this quick guide: Make use of your preferred beef burgers and hot dogs! Bacon never goes wrong! Never undervalue the influence of buns! Although sliced baguette, hoagie rolls, pretzel buns, naan, and even tortillas are tasty alternatives, potato buns are still my favorite! Fresh, pickled, crunchy, sweet, creamy, savory, and spicy toppings should all be available. You want to appeal to as many palates as you can! To make the board appear full, cook a large tray of fries and tots for easy sides. You can also use them to fill in the "gaps" between toppings. Summer BBQ Hot Dog and Burger Charcuterie Board Author: Chris Cockren Total Time: 60 minutes Yield: Serves 8–12, 1x 8 Hamburgers 8 Beef Hot Dogs Variety of Buns (Potato Rolls, Multigrain Buns, Baguette, Brioche Buns, Mini Naan, etc.) ½ package french fries, cooked according to package directions ½ package sweet potato fries, cooked according to package directions ½ package tater tots, cooked according to package directions Toppings: 1 (16-ounce) package bacon, cooked sliced cheese (American, cheddar, Swiss, etc.) shredded cheddar cheese prepared macaroni and cheese thinly sliced cucumber pickled carrots fresh cilantro shredded cheddar cheese crispy fried onions finely diced pineapple sliced scallions sesame seeds prepared chili chopped kimchi hummus tomato-cucumber salad (Israeli salad) salsa guacamole teriyaki sauce bbq sauce spicy mayo feta thinly sliced red onion tzatziki sliced avocado Instructions Season burgers with kosher salt. Grill burgers and hot dogs over medium-high heat until cooked as desired.

Place all toppings, sauces, and buns in separate bowls and/or plates to create an Ultimate DIY Summer BBQ Hot Dog and Burger Bar! Notes Some pairing suggestions: Mac n’ Cheese, topped with BBQ Sauce or Spicy Mayo Banh Mi: fresh cucumber, pickled carrots, cilantro, and spicy mayo BBQ Bacon: bacon, cheddar, BBQ sauce, and fried onions Hawaiian: pineapple, teriyaki sauce, scallions, and sesame seeds Chili: chili, cheddar, and scallions Southwest: cheddar cheese, topped with salsa and guacamole Mediterranean: tomato-cucumber salad, hummus, and feta Greek: tzatziki, cucumber, red onion, and feta on mini naan Korean: bacon, kimchi, scallion, and spicy mayo Prep Time: 40 minutes Cook Time: 20 minutes Summer BBQ Hot Dog and Burger Charcuterie Board

#FoodandCooking #Appetite #BBQ #board #Burger #Charcuterie #Dog #Hot #Shared #Summer

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flairina · 5 years

Link

Summary: Lila arrived at school, and everyone immediately fell in line with her. Falsehood after falsehood flew from her lips, and they ate them up without a second thought. It didn't make sense. It was wildly out of character. In fact... it almost makes one wonder...

So apparently writing and/or linking to fanfics on tumblr is something people do a lot, which I wasn’t aware of until recently? In any event, here’s my first contribution to ML fandom. Featuring what I hope is a novel resolution for the events of “that one episode” (you know the one), an attempt at making sense of everyone’s behavior around Lila that doesn’t just boil down to them being idiots, and not nearly as much salt as you might expect given the premise.

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous fandom #miraculous fanfic #ml fanfic #ml fandom #the salt is overwhelming me so have my attempt at sweet #yes in a Lila fic you heard me #you finally got me jellojolteon #ml chameleon

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abbatoirablaze · 2 years

Text

SDAU, The Twins, Chapter 3

Word count: 2k

Warnings: frat boys, dark/mean characters, sexualization of omegas, mentions of sex toys.

Ari felt an overwhelming sense of pride with that simple demand. He was quick to strip the flannel from his broad chest, offering it to her without hesitation. She swallowed, staring at him, her hindbrain yelling at her to demand that the alpha take all of his clothes off and bury his knot in her while they were both in the nest she’d made hours ago after she’d met him. But instead, she whimpered as she took it, and bolted into her room, slamming the door shut behind her.

“W-we still have the pizza if you want it!” Ari offered. When he didn’t get a response, he sat down on the couch, making himself comfortable. He grabbed a slice from the pizza he’d brought and looked around, slowly eating it as he observed the rest of the dorm, “you have a really nice place…do you live alone?”

“Uh huh.”

Ari tried to focus on anything else, anything other than the scent that was slowly driving him mad. It was a mix of sweet and salty, reminding him of his summers when his very large family would go to their cabin in the woods. The days would be filled with a mix of playing at the lake and going into town where they would have the most amazing milkshakes with crushed up chocolate pretzels on top of the whipped cream, while the nights were filled with bonfires and s’mores. She smelled like chocolate and sea salt. Warm vanilla and smoky, crisp evenings. He looked longingly at the door and frowned when he realized she wasn’t going to be coming out. Finishing his slice, he grabbed another, then stood up and walked towards the fridge to grab himself a bottle of water, only to see that the fridge was empty.

“You don’t have any groceries…”

The door clicked open, and Ari’s breath hitched in his throat. She didn’t put the shirt in her nest. No. She had completely changed from her own outfit and was only wearing the flannel. Her petite frame looked like she was drowning in it, the first buttons of the flannel meeting the tops of her breasts. She held her hands out in front of her, attempting to wring them through the fabric that was much too long for her hands. He held back a growl at how it managed to meet her knees, the missing buttons at the bottom allowing it to slit enough so he could see her mid thighs.

“I-“

“I’m sorry,” she said in a small voice. Ari felt his heart wrench at the little omega. She seemed genuinely upset, “I-I didn’t expect to be going into a heat, and I thought I would be able to get a quick lunch with my sister today and do shopping tomorrow.”

“I-I can get you stuff.”

He watched her slowly light up, “y-you would do that for me? R-really?”

“Of course…”

‘Alpha wants to provide for us.’

“T-that would be nice,” she smiled softly. He could tell that she was holding back her emotions, as it wasn’t common for her, “thank you, alpha.”

A rumble tore itself from Ari’s throat from her gratitude. He felt like a proper alpha, caring for his omega, and it made him swell with pride; even more so when Arianna chirped responsively, then blushed, looking away from him.

“I’m sorry,” he sighed, watching her, “I-you do things to me, Arianna…”

“It’s obvious that you have a similar effect on me,” she pointed out, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear, “I jus-“

“Wait,” he called quickly. He processed what she said just then. His mind had been delayed momentarily while he adjusted to how she looked wearing his clothes, but now that it had caught up, he realized she admitted to not having eaten, “you haven’t eaten yet today, have you?”

“Well, no, I-“

Ari was quick to rush over to her, going to the coffee table and handing her a piece of pizza, “mega…if you’re coherent you need to get some food into you…I-you can’t just not eat…you’ll waste away by the time you are coherent again…you’re already so tiny.”

She blushed, looking away from him again, “Ari, I-“

“Don’t you dare say that you’re fine,” he teased, offering her the slice again, “I can tell that is what you were going to say…and if you’re not going to look after yourself, I’m going to be a proper alpha and do it for you…I did volunteer after all.”

She gave him a look before taking the piece from him and taking a small bite of the pizza before setting it on the counter. Ari gave her a soft look and she chirped once more. Every responsive action was going off in his mind as he watched his appreciative girl. He wanted more. He wanted to smother her in his affections to hear chirp after chirp, but he also didn’t want to scare her.

“I-can you stay with me? I-I’d rather you not leave, especially since you could smell my scent at the door,” she admitted nervously. Ari could hear the anxiety in her voice, and his inner wolf growled. He didn’t want to leave her and was happy to hear her request that he stay, “I-I don’t want an overeager alpha getting any ideas.”

“I’ll text a friend…have them pick up some groceries for your heat…” Ari said quickly, offering her what he could. She smiled and nodded, “he’s my VP, and he’s an omega lion, so he’ll know exactly what to get for a big cat.”

“Oh…okay…”

“Don’t take this the wrong way…but do you…have toys?” Ari asked, his own blush unable to be kept from his cheeks as he posed the question, “I-I know that big cats are especi-“

“I-I’ve never used a toy,” she admitted bashfully, “I just…the first and only heat I ever had was when it first happened…after that, my dad put me and my sister on scent blockers…I, uh…well, I used my fingers…and I nearly shredded everything within reach.”

“D-do you want Steve to pick you up a toy? I-I’m not trying to pressure you, but I want you to feel comfortable, Arianna. I-I don’t want you to think that I’m taking advantage of you. But I know from experiences with Steve that big cats can get a little…needy…” he asked delicately. She blushed and looked away, nodding, “okay…I’ll tell him to bring you heat supplies…and a toy for-“

“C-can you tell him to make sure it’s a bear’s knot?”

Ari felt his breath catch in his throat at her request. She continued to look away from him, and Ari fought to hold back the rumble that was threatening to escape him as she asked for a knot for his species, “W-what?”

“The toy,” she said nervously. She crossed her arms over her chest, tucking the long arms of the flannel underneath herself while she took a deep breath, “I-well…i-if you’re my mate…I should know what a bear’s knot feels like…I shouldn’t be getting a tiger’s spine…right?”

“I-if you want,” he said cautiously, trying to tread carefully, “but I don’t want you to feel pressured…if you want, Steve can get you a tiger’s spine…it’s not a big deal…”

And while he had told her it wasn’t a big deal, subconsciously he was holding his breath at the thought. Here she was, asking for a toy that was his species…his mind wandered to how she might take it, and he realized that he was feeling a little hot. She was studying his body. When their eyes met, she bit her lip. Ari’s eyes watched as her own trailed back to his crotch. He cleared his throat.

She blushed and she looked away from him, the pizza lay forgotten on the countertop as Ari loosely held onto his phone. He could smell a fresh wave of slick coating her thighs, the scent wrapping around him and making him salivate.

“Tell your omega friend to get me the bear toy,” she asked once more. Ari nearly dropped his phone as she turned away and started back to his room, “uh…i-if he can...find specifications that are more like you…i-if possible.”

The door clicked shut behind her and Ari nearly felt his heart stop.

“Well, hello little kitten…”

She looked at the man at the door nervously, “I-I need Curtis.”

“Lot of people need Curtis, omega…the unknown man smiled. He gave her a once over, then sniffed the air. His smirk only grew as he became able to scent her arousal, “I bet I could make you feel good little kitten…why don’t you let me take a shot at you.”

“Kemp, who the fuck is at the-shit, it’s you.”

‘Kemp’ gave the pudgy alpha a skeptical look as he stared between the omega and Lee, “you know her, Bodecker?”

“That’s the little omega that ditched Curtis.”

“I-I didn’t ditch him.”

“Oh, yeah you did,” Kemp chuckled, “came back home with a stick up his ass about it…dragged one of the pledges up to his room. He’s been making her take it all afternoon.”

Adriana felt jealousy rising up within her stomach, “what?”

“Shit, man, you can’t go telling big cats that,” Lee laughed, nudging his friend, “you should know that…those little things get possessive and jealous like nobody’s business…ain’t that right sweetheart.”

“That’s the point,” the man smirked, “love a riled up little kitty.”

“I’m not your sweetheart, you jerk,” she seethed, suddenly feeling defensive over the situation, “regardless of who you’re friends with, you were still really rude to that tour guide.”

“All part of the college experience sweetheart,” he chuckled. He nudged Kemp aside and opened the door a little bit more, “you gonna come inside, or you just gonna stand out there until all the available alphas can sent that little breakthrough heat Curtis pushed you into?”

She blushed, “Y-you can smell me?”

“Oh yeah, sweetheart. Big time,” Lee chuckled, taking a deep sniff of the air around her, “dainty little thing that’s got quite a strong scent. Much longer on our porch and you’ll have half the frats in Greek Row coming after ya. Should just let you sit there, after ditchin’ Curtis n all.”

“P-please don’t,” she whimpered nervously, suddenly much more self conscious, “I-I didn’t mean to…I just got scared.”

“Alright, mega,” he grunted. But when she didn’t move he snarled at her, “C’mon now. Get in the house, girl.”

“I-“

Lee sighed, cutting her off, “gonna make me alpha command ya, darling?”

“N-no, I just-“

“Well come on now, I ain’t got all night!” he hissed.

She whimpered and Lee smirked, ushering her into the frat house. A few guys who were in the living room looked up once they smelled her.

“Fresh meat.”

“Go ahead an’ try!” Lee scowled, “This here belongs to Curtis.”

“I-I don’t belong to anyone.”

“RIPE TO BE PICKED BOYS!”

A few more hollers and cheers started until an imposing force was felt behind her. She felt like her hair stood on edge, and she recognized the scent without having to turn around. Even if it was slightly tainted with the scent of another omega wrapped around him.

“The fuck do you want?”

“C-Curtis,” she said nervously, turning around. Curtis wanted to be angry at her. Hell, it had come across in his question, but the second he saw her face, he knew…the way her scent wrapped around him and invaded his senses. She smelled so sweet; like a ripe fruit, ready to be plucked by him. The way she looked at him, so pitifully, “C-Curtis, please.”

“My room, mega,” he growled in a seductive tone, a rumble rising from deep within his chest, “get in my room, right now.”

“I-I don’t know where it is.”

“Then let me show you,” he growled, snatching her up and throwing her over his shoulder as though she weighed nothing. Curtis’ rumble grew when she receptively chirped at him, and when her thighs rubbed together. He playfully smacked her ass, smelling a fresh wave of slick lining her panties, “gonna break you in, mega…you’re mine now…and I’m not letting you go. Knot that little cunt like I should have been doing hours ago.”

“Yours,” she whimpered. Curtis smelled the slick continue on as his hand massaged the globes of her ass. She shifted on his shoulder, her hand’s grabbing at his own ass. He gave her a warning growl and she chirped once more, “mine…”

Chapter 4

Tag List: @infatuatedjanes, @lohnes16, @dontbescaredtosingalong

#school days au #school days #college #the twins #alpha ari levinson #soft ari #ari levinson #werewolf #red sea diving resort #alpha curtis everett #dark curtis everett x reader #curtis everett #snowpiercer #snowpiercer au

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its-a-hot-girl-thing · 3 years

Text

Antología | Bruno Madrigal x Reader

The market was unusually empty for the hour, so it only took them fifteen minutes to complete the shopping and be on their way home. (Y/N) walked behind Amparo as her sister looked for something in the basket, completely lost in her thoughts, oblivious to the fact Bruno had been following her for a while then. He'd tried approaching her on several occasions, but he didn't want to get her in trouble or risk Amparo causing a scandal.

"Ay, qué mensa" the woman stopped in the middle of the street, closing her eyes and rubbing her temples "I forgot the onions."

"Oh, I can go get them" (Y/N) had noticed her sister had a headache minutes before.

"Thanks, mom asked for two" she handed her some coins. "Don't take too long, okay? I wait for you here”

"Ok".

Bruno saw his opportunity as the sisters parted ways, so he hurried to catch up with her once he made sure Amparo couldn't see them.

“Psst” He tried to get her attention from behind a fruit stand, but immediately regretted it as she turned around in confusion. He slapped himself internally, he shouldn't have done that, she wasn't a cat, it was rude.

(Y/N) shrugged and continued on her way after not seeing anyone, not giving it too much thought.

“You can do this, you can do this” he reassured himself as he hid the bouquet behind his back. Breathing in deeply, he knocked six times on a wood wheelbarrow on his side and approached her slowly “Señorita Cortés”.

She recognized her voice immediately. "Bruno!" Her eyes brighten at the sight of him and she ran to hug him tightly. "I'm so happy to see you." She took his hand and hid behind the church to be safer from her sister's gaze. “I told you to call me by my first name.”

He hadn't expected her to greet him so warmly, and his mind turned blank as he stared at their hands together. "I'm glad to see you too, (Y/N)".

"Don't think I've forgotten about our bet, I just haven't had the time to deliver the arroz and the arequipe personally." She was embarrassed to admit Asunción had been preventing her from seeing him. "By the way, I'm deeply sorry for what happened with my mother, it must have been overwhelming."

“I appreciate your concern, but you shouldn't be unsettled, it's something I'm used to."

"Just because you're used to something doesn't mean it's right." He's caught off guard by her words, as he isn't used to people being this soft with him. "Please accept my apologies." She didn't think it was fair that such a wonderful person should have to put up with everything that was said behind his back, much less that he simply accept it as part of life.

"Of course I do, I didn't mean to offend you."

"You haven't" She dedicated him a sweet smile, one Bruno so longed to see, and as she did so, she got closer. “Um, you have something in your hair… Do you want me to get it out?”

He could only nod, still appalled at the situation, and she released his hand to gently brush a few grains of salt and sugar from some strands near his cheek. As she retrieved her hand, her fingers brushed his skin accidentally, making him flinch and startling her.

“Sorry!” He reached out to grab her wrist unconsciously, but instead ended up hitting her with the bouquet on the nose. "Dios mío, I'm so, so sorry. These are for you!”

She looked at him with reddened cheeks, a million butterflies unleashing deep in her stomach. “Tha…Aah!” as she took the flowers, a rat scurried up his arm, scaring her. The small animal fell to the ground along with the bouquet. "Cielo santo, forgive me!"

They both bent down nervously to pick up the bouquet, bumping into each other in the attempt. “Ow!” Seconds later, as Bruno searched desperately for his rat, she began to laugh softly. He froze, feeling a pit in his stomach out of humiliation.

<I screwed up> He thought, looking at the ground with teary eyes. <What was I thinking? Of course she was going to laugh at me, I'm pathetic.>

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare it, I was just surprised” He looked up to find his rat on her shoulder as she gently pat on its head, the bouquet on her hands. "Thank you so much, they're beautiful. ”

And then, (Y/N) kissed his cheek with such gentleness, his sight turned blurry and his whole world spun. Her soft lips left a pink stain that his mother would later notice at dinner, leading to dozen questions he'd refused to answer.

"Isabella made them" It was obvious, but he didn't know what else to say.

She blushed again, remembering what the eldest Madrigal grandchild had told her about pink daisies. The girl had spent hours talking about the language of flowers when they designed her dress for the ceremony five years prior.

"It's a love declaration" the kid explained as her mom showed her different fabrics. "A request to court someone."

Bruno fidgeted with his ruana as he gathered enough courage to say ask her out. “Um, (Y/N), would you like to, I mean, if you’re not busy… We could have lunch together, or even just coffee at my house if you don’t have a lot of time?” He didn't want anyone to see them together, it'd be the ruin of her reputation, and consequently, of the Cortés family. "Of course, my family would be present, I don't want you to misperceive my intentions..."

“(Y/N)!” Amparo was looking for her, angry at her lateness. “(Y/N)!”

"I have to go." She kissed his cheek again, pressing the flowers against her chest. "But I'd love to have lunch with you tomorrow at two, is that alright?" She would make up some excuse with Catalina's to get out of the house, or even jump off the balcony if necessary.

"Perfect".

“See you tomorrow, then”

"I'll be looking forward to it".

<I can't believe I got a first date, let alone a year> he'd write at the dim light of a candle months later. <I've only been yours ever since that day, and for that, I'll be eternally sorry. I'm so thankful for everything you did for me even when I wasn't worthy of your love, vida mía.>

(Y/N) turned around and caught up with her sister, jumping up and down with joy as Bruno leaned against the church, smiling broadly.

Taglist

#bruno madrigal x reader #bruno madrigal #encanto #los madrigal #fluff #angst #bruno madrigal x y/n #bruno madrigal x female reader

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autumnleaves1991-blog · 4 years

Note

“Did we fuck last night?” Smut starter w/ our baby boy Santiago ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ love your work :)

A/N: Thank you so much for the prompt and the kind words! I hope you enjoy it! Thank you for every reblog, comment, and like.

Pairing: Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia x F! Reader

Warning: 18 + (For language, oral (F! Receiving), vaginal sex, alcohol use NSFW

My Masterlist

Last Night at the Party

Unknown number: Good Morning.

You: ...Morning...who is this?

Unknown number: Santiago Garcia, ya know Frankie's friend.

Fuuuuucccckkkkk

Santiago Garcia: Quick question...did we fuck last night?

You groan and fall back into the bed, your hand thrown over your eyes as the sunlight fights to sneak through the crack in the curtains. Your head pounds from the amount of alcohol you consumed the night before. Frankie and his fiancé, not wanting to be apart even one night, had a joint bachelor/bachelorette party.

You worked in the front office at the tour office. Frankie flew for and had quickly become fast friends. He was funny, sweet, and a wonderful friend. But with Frankie came Santiago Garcia, the man who stalked your dreams. He was handsome as fuck, with salt and pepper curls and deep brown eyes. His arms always straining against the fabric of his t-shirts. The man had an ass that was simply divine. Many a night, you had dreamt of kneading it in your hands as he slammed into you.

But he never noticed you. Not at least in the way you wanted to be seen. You tried on the days you knew he would be coming by. Wearing tighter clothes or shorter dresses and attempting your best at flirting. The only thing gained by any of this was Frankie's amusement as he slung an arm around your shoulder and told you there were better men than Pope.

That's another thing, the nickname; Pope. You once asked Frankie about it jokingly. Frankie told you it was because Santi in the army brought people closer to God, and all the women he fucked. You had just about given up all hope, till last night.

********

The party was in full swing when you arrived—wearing a dark blue halter dress that stopped just above your knees, converse, and a black leather jacket. Frankie and his fiancee greeted you with a hug and gave you the rundown of the land. It was casual. They had rented out a private space in the local brewery. You could order anything on the menu and open bar. Thank fuck for that as you watched Santiago flirt with some redhead at the bar.

You walk down to the opposite end, sit down, motion for the bartender, and ask for an IPA. You try everything in your power to keep from looking over at him, but your eyes stray without your knowledge. Gazing around at the way the denim hugs him in all the right places, the top buttons on his shirt opened up to see the sun-kissed skin peeking through. It's almost magnetic the way his eyes drift up to meet yours across the sea of strangers. You see him smile and turn back to his partner before he grabs his beer and heads over to you.

"Is this seat taken?" his deep baritone snaps you out of your head, and you look at him, nodding. "You're the girl who works in Frankie's office, right? The secretary?"

"Yep, that's me, the secretary," you take a deep drink from your beer and try to keep the passive aggression out of your tone, turning snarky instead. "And you're that guy who comes and talks to Frankie and interrupts my office with idle chit chat."

He looks a little taken aback, but he brushes it off, grinning, "I never knew you had this much fire in you. What's your name?"

You roll your eyes, "I have told you my name on four separate occasions, and now you want to know it again? Why don't you guess?"

"Okay," he smiles, taking a drink, "how about ginger?"

"I think your thinking about your friend on the other side of the bar," you laugh and gesture for another drink.

"Fuck," he mumbles under his breath, going through a plethora of names, none of which is your own. You've finished two beers before he actually guessed your first name correct—each name sinking the knife deeper and deeper into your chest.

"Ding ding ding, we have a winner," you sarcastically chime, and he smiles, a real genuine broad smile. Fuck him and his perfect smile. "With how many names you had to guess, I'm actually delighted you never noticed me. I'd probably have an STD." He spits out the drink in his mouth, coughing and patting his chest with his fist.

He laughs, looking at you wide-eyed, "I do not have any fucking diseases. I get tested regularly."

"When was the last time?" you can tell he's thinking back.

"Tuesday," he says triumphantly, "and I haven't fucked anyone since then so." He takes another sip of his drink, grinning at you over the glass.

"So if I wanted to fuck you, it would have to be tonight?" You casually sip your drink, staring at him, bold from the alcohol flowing through your system.

He sputters and coughs again, choking on his drink. "Are you trying to kill me?" he puts a hand to his forehead and looks at you. "Are you serious?"

"I want you to fuck me Santiago," you take his hand down the rest of your drink and pull him towards the back of the brewery. Your eyes connect with Frankie, and you give him a wink pulling a shit-eating grinning Santi behind you. He walks past you and pulls you into the cold night air of the alley.

It was dark and deserted; the country music blaring from inside echoed off the exterior's red brick wall. For an alley, it was relatively clean. The sidewalk to the public wasn't visible from around the dumpsters. Not the most romantic spot, but when Santiago latched his lips onto the soft skin below your ear. The spicy scent of his cologne overwhelming your senses.

"Does that feel good?" he whispers huskily in your ear, nipping the lobe lightly. The moan you release has him smiling against your skin, "that's a yes," he chuckles.

"Stop teasing me," you whine as he gropes your breast through the thin fabric of your dress. He pulls away from your neck and tilts your chin up to look at him.

"Do you want this?" he whispers, a ghost of his lips on your lips.

You don't answer, only lunging forward and recapturing his lips in a moan. He uses the opportunity to sweep his tongue into your mouth. You fight in a battle for dominance that he eventually wins. His hands moving beneath the shell of your leather jacket and running over the smooth skin of your exposed back.

He takes his time moving down to your cheek, your neck, and then sucking hard into the skin of your collarbone. You are sure to have bruises tomorrow, but at this point, you don't fucking care. His hands move further down and cup your ass before moving under your dress, sliding your panties down slowly, he unlatches from your sensitive skin. Dropping to his knees and groaning, pulling down your panties over your converse before pocketing them.

He throws your dress over his head and dives into your folds, his tongue working against your throbbing clit. You grab the side of the dumpster as you feel the scuffle from his face, scratch against your thighs, as he rocks his tongue back and forth over you. "Fuck," you moan as you feel him slip one thick finger slide into your pussy. Your head drops back, hitting the brick wall. He chuckles, and the vibrations draw another deep moan from inside as you pant.

The sound of the backdoor of the brewery opening snaps your head to the side. Your bottom half is covered from the dumpster, and you frantically hit Santi on the head. Still, he doesn't stop, instead adding a second finger, stretching you deliciously. Frankie's signature cap pops out into the alley, and he turns to look at you. You try your best to smile and bite down hard on your tongue, almost drawing blood as he sucks your clit into his mouth.

"Hey! We're about to do speeches, and Santi's my best man. Have you seen him?"

"N-n-no," you stutter, and Santi reaches a hand on your ass to push you even further into his mouth. "We came out here to talk, but he left like five minutes ago? Maybe he went out f-f-front."

Frankie looks at you, questioningly, "Are you okay? You're acting kind of strange."

You yelp, throwing a hand down on top of the dumpster with a laugh, "I am just fantastic, you know, if I see Santiago, I will be sure to tell him he's needed."

"Okay, thanks," he throws out a wave going back inside with a click of the door.

"Such a good girl," Santi chuckles from beneath your dress, and you feel yourself cum all over his tongue gushing around him as he adds a third finger pulsing inside you.

You bite down hard on your lip, and he keeps licking and fucking you with his mouth. His nickname making more and more sense as you literally feel closer to God. You dig your fingers into his curls and pull his mouth away. Dragging him up to kiss you again, you taste yourself on his tongue, and it makes you even wetter.

He steps back and unbuttons his jeans pulling out his cock. He's thick and rigged, the tip spewing pre-cum. He grabs his wallet and pulls out a condom making you giggle. "Hey, every good soldier comes prepared," he laughs, pulling it on.

He pushes you back further into the brick, bringing your legs up around his waist and bunching your dress up. He lines himself up, and you look into his eyes, stifling a scream as he slams into you. You've never felt so full in your entire life, clenching around him as he starts to slowly rock into you.

You converse crossed against his back as he kisses you again slowly and passionately. Not the quick fuck you thought he would give you. For the location and the time, it was strangely intimate. "Are you okay?" you pants against your neck.

"Yes," you gasp as he hits inside you just right, "just, please don't stop." He pulls away from your neck and kisses you again, licking into your mouth.

"Don't worry, baby, I'm gonna treat you right." He picks up the place and reaches down between you to your sensitive clit rubbing it in time with his thrusts.

"Oh fuck, right there, Pope," you moan, and he picks up the pace. The brick digging into your back as he furiously fucks into you. Your orgasm slams into you without warning, and you tug on his curls, throwing your head back as you stile a scream.

"Yes, cum for me," he praises you through a second orgasm. Three more thrusts and he's cumming, biting down on your exposed shoulder as he groans. You both come down from your high, and he pulls away, smiling at you. You laugh at his mused hair, lipstick smeared across his face, he looks freshly fucked, and you feel a sense of pride knowing you did that to him.

The awkward, you've just fucked a mutual acquaintance in an alley moment comes faster than you anticipate. He pulls out and ties off the condom throwing it in the dumpster and pulling up his jeans, relatching them. You straighten your appearance the best you can. Running your fingers through your mused hair. You search the alley floor for your panties hoping to throw them away or better burn them when you hear a whistle.

Santi is standing before the back door holding your panties on the crook of his finger and smiling. "I have to go back and give my speech, but after… I would really love to buy you a drink. Maybe we can go back to my place for another couple of rounds?"

You bite your lip, nodding, and he smiles, pocketing your panties and going inside. The door latches, and you sigh, closing your eyes and trying not to freak out. The door slams open; you jump as Santi runs back out and closes the distance kissing you again. The kind of kiss you feel down to the tips of your toes. He places his forehead against yours. "I really want to see you again, don't run away, okay?" he whispers before kissing you again and running back inside.

**********************

You look at the text message again. The perfect night of passion with Santiago, and he doesn't even remember if you...The phone chimes again.

Santiago Garcia: I'm a moron. I don't know why I said that. I know that we did. It was one of the most incredible moments of my life.

You: Then what the fuck, Santiago?

Santiago Garcia: I want to take you to breakfast, on a date. It's the least you could do after bailing on me last night.

You: Well, I'm not sure I want to.

Santiago Garcia: Well, that makes this awkward.

You: What?

Knock Knock

Taglist: @oldstuffnewstuff @yespolkadotkitty @heythere-mel @justanotherblonde23 @artsymaddie @anetteaneta @a-seeker-of-imagination @aellynera @lucifer- @houseofthirst @phoenixhalliwell @letoartreiides

Also tagging @josepedropascal Oscar Train toot toot

#Oscar Isaac #Triple Frontier #santiago pope garcia #Santiago pope garcia x reader #Female Reader #Santiago Garcia #Santiago Garcia x reader #Triple Frontier fic #Autumn Writes

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socheckitout-mikey · 4 years

Note

Can I request a Johnny x soc reader where they hide their relationship and suddenly realize they really dont want to so now they have to adjust

heya birdie! i only really write hc’s so that’s the format they’re in. also, i kinda focused it more heavily on the reader meeting the gang, bc johnny would be pretty set on her meeting them since they’re pretty much his family. i hope you enjoy what i came up with! - mae

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Johnny Dating a Soc Reader and Hiding their Relationship Hc’s:

° None of the gang seemed to pick up on the fact that Johnnycake is dating you, and honestly, Johnny is pretty happy about that. Boii get’s teased enough as it is whenever he does open his mouth, he doesn’t need to be flooded with an onslaught of attention in regards to you.

° It’s just not Johnny’s style to be propped on top of a roof of a building, yowling about how he’s together with you. That’s more of Two-bit’s style. It’s not born out of embarrassment of dating you, someone who’s in a different social class altogether, it’s more over the fact that attention tends to overwhelm Johnny since he’s a raging introvert.

° In fact, Johnny is incredibly ecstatic to have you as his s/o despite the ample amount of insecurities he has about himself and his social status. He considers himself a lucky guy to have bagged someone as amazing and understanding as you. You balance a lot of his anxieties and insecurities out with patience and reassurance: Two things that we all know Johnny desperately lacks outside of the gang.

° Johnny tends to get effortlessly embarrassed whenever the spotlight is scorching on his form. So when you had told him you wanted to keep your relationship a secret, a part of him was incredibly relieved, but not before his mind started racing madly over the negative avenues for your reasoning.

° That other part of him felt ashamed of himself, especially because he primarily thought you were doing this out of the fact you were embarrassed of what others would think of you if they discovered the pair of you were dating.

° Yet you swiftly shutdown those ridiculous avenues of thought, ensuring him that you cared for him deeply and that societies prim and proper nose wouldn’t make you change who you loved, - even if it was upturned -. Similarly to Johnnycake, you relinquished from attention, the sheer thought of all these eyes being on you both made your skin crawl grotesquely.

° And thus began the comfortable pinnacle of your relationship with Johnny Cade. There was never much pressure, the pair of you free in the lack of obligation of speaking about your relationship to anyone else. It was beautiful while it lasted.

° You see, the gang weren’t blind. Soon they began to notice a spring in Johnny’s step, how he spoke a little more, how he disappeared frequently. The amount of times he’d led the gang on wild goose chases across town to lose them somewhere along the way to yours drove him insane!

° Teasing became an ample part of his life, the gang eventually guessing that he was dating someone. And although his crimson cheeks probably gave him away, his mouth never did. But Dally was hot onto the younger boy with a knowing smirk because Johnny may’ve slipped it loose once or twice whilst the guy was drunk: Sometimes, miraculously, Dally remembered his drunk endeavors.

° And your friends... fickle they were! Figured it out two weeks into your relationship with Johnny. Though fortunately for you they were trustworthy folk, they never pushed the topic, ready for whenever you were ready to tell them on your own terms.

° It was incredibly comical when you and Johnny met one night, both wild eyed and slightly breathless. The pair of you were sat in your car, the soft drawl of the radio humming whimsically in the background as Johnny sucked the life out of his tenth cancer stick of the night.

° “We gotta talk-” the paid of you mumbled out desperately in unison, the anxiety shivering in your tones made the pair of you spooked. Now that you look back on it, you laugh.

° “You first-” a unison it was once more and Johnny couldn’t help but crack a wry toothy grin before throwing his cigarette butt out the window.

° “Okay, you shoot first, Y/N.” Johnny stated in a shaky tone, his stammering long gone. You were one of the only people he felt real comfortable talking with.

° “I-I think we should tell our friends, because my friends are figurin’ it out.”

° And that night the pair of you stayed up till the early hours devising a plan on how best to break this to your friends.

° Johnny decided he’d need to pull up his bootstraps and meet your pals first, considering they were the nicest of the bunch. After all, the gang were notorious for being nasty to people they didn’t know, though laid off once they did get to know people. It was precautionary.

° And him meeting your friends went spectacularly! They loved Johnny so much and had nothing but great things to say about him. It was a bit of an ego boost for the kid, albeit incredibly overwhelming. He was still grinning in the vacant lot that night when Dally sat with the kid, fully sober for once.

° “Dal,” Johnny had hummed through the night air, shaking softly as nerves wracked his guts, “I gotta come clean about somethin’.” Did he have to say it so corny?

° “Shoot, Johnny-kid, what’s up?” Dally stated, seriousness taking him by the reins.

° And out it all came...

° Dally was ecstatic to say the least, taunting came out in boisterous fits and soon enough he’d wrestled Johnny into the Curtis house, gloating about how Johnny had snatched himself someone fancy.

° No one believed him initially, but then Johnny told them your name and when I tell you Soda’s jaw slammed onto the floor, it really did. They were so happy for him! And with happiness came the wild teasing of six boisterous boys, all eager to meet the person who’d won Johnny’s attention.

° Johnny was on edge about you meeting the gang, considering that you’d seen some of their antics in person from afar. He assured you that after awhile, they’d lay off; but for now, you’d be like that new attraction at the zoo. You hated that analogy but it made you laugh.

° You’d pretty much prepared yourself for the absolute worst, and although you were scared stiff, you sure didn’t show it. It made Johnny admire you more because you took everything the boys gave you in stride: I mean, it wasn’t like you weren’t a stranger to how teenage boys acted, after all, you did go to school with a whole bunch of em’.

° Darry was the most intimidating besides Dallas, due to his stature and height, but also because of that notorious icy look in his eye. He’d firmly shook your hand, muttering a brief “Hi, I’m Darry,” before slinking back into the kitchen to finish cooking dinner. Darry was a tough nut to crack, something Johnny had told you not to take personally: In fact, Darry really liked you from the moment you walked through the door because you were precisely what Johnny needed in a partner. You were also a good kid, something he hoped eventually would rub off on the other boys, but he wasn’t exactly expecting miracles.

° Sodapop was wild eyed and dreamy as ever, albeit just as dirty as the other boys. He flirted with you every chance he could get, eliciting Johnny to wise off to him; something that made the gang both gawk and simper like wolves.

° “What? You’ve never heard him speak before?” You’d quipped back wittily. You were also weary on how witty you were, seeing as you were typically seen as someone out of their leagues, you didn’t wanna come off as preppy, like you looked down on them. The truth was, you didn’t look down on them. After all, they were important people to Johnny, so they deserved as much respect as anyone else.

° Steve was cocky and smart mouthed, something you had witnessed all too often at school: In fact, you were pretty sure you’d been on the receiving end of his callous words more than once. You took everything he said with a grain of salt. He was also a little intense to begin with, joining in on Soda, Two and Dally flirting with you, but only in the sense to get you to be severely embarrassed.

° And Johnny was almost defensive of you, swatting away the gang and wising off to them to cut it out and leave you alone. He should’ve known better than to rise to their bait, because after all, that’s what they were really looking for; to get him going all red in the face.

° “You guys are nasty! I swear, ain’t nobody was this bad when Evie came round...”

° The minute you’d walked through the front door, Two-bit was hot on your heels, with Dally in tow, attempting to make you laugh up a storm. Well, he did, because it’s Two-bit after all: Who couldn’t that guy make laugh? His flirting would’ve been smooth if not for him having hiccupped halfway through his sentence.

° “Hey, sweet cheeks, why don’t you ditch Johnny for a real good lookin’ man like me, huh sugar?”

° “If the mirrors the one who told you that, then it’s lying.” You quipped back skillfully, more than comfortable taking on someone as wise-cracking as Two. The insult seemed to break the ice somewhat because Two didn’t take anything personally. In fact, all the boys thought it was pretty funny.

° Dally was the one that genuinely terrified you. The lines between a hood and a greaser weren’t present in him after all: Dallas Winston was as bad as they got, like Tim Shepard, and if it weren’t for him being Johnny’s buddy, you’d have avoided him at all costs. You weren’t sold short on his little show at the beginning, flirting with you, pulling on your hair like you were his kid sister or something... Dally found every way to irritate the hell out of you.

° “C’mon now, Dal! Cut that shit out!” Johnny snapped particularly at one point, but he meant business: Johnny never really wised off to anyone, so it took some guts for him to go out for Dally like that. Dally just grinned at him silly before ruffling the kids hair. “Alright, alright! Who knew you dug this one so much, eh?”

° Ponyboy, although quiet, was probably your most favorite of the gang. You really weren’t a stranger to him at school, often having some classes together with him. So it was somewhat refreshing to see someone you knew a little well in class. Every so often you’d catch the kid looking at you apologetically from the dining room whenever Steve or Two would say something that would’ve made anyone else run for the hills.

° “You know, if you keep goin’ like that, Johnny-cakes’ heads gonna burst into flames.”

° Whenever the boys got too rambunctious, Darry would pipe up from the doorway, reminding the boys that they needed to tone it down. After all, they’d promised Johnny they’d be on their best behavior, which in fact, that whole promise had been thrown out the window long ago. You’d just accepted it at this point.

° Eventually nighttime curled over Tulsa Oklahoma, and it was time for you to head on home. As soon as you and Johnny got down to the lot, he was intent on apologizing for their awful behavior, absolutely certain that you wouldn’t wanna be with a bum like him that hung out with trash like that.

° “What’re you apologizin’ for? I like em’. I mean, they’re awful, but...” You grinned at your boyfriend, linking fingers with him.

° “Did Two sneak you some booze?!” Johnny was animated, his voice cracking as it reached an octave that it hadn’t before.

° It did take awhile for the gang to accept you as Johnny’s girlfriend, but that didn’t matter to you as the cat was out of the bag: Outing your relationship to both of your friend groups was probably the best avenue to have gone down, since it was never in either of your guys’s nature to have just shown up to school one day holding hands and all that mushy galore!

° Everyone at school made a huge deal out of you guys dating for about a week until the next ‘crazy’ rumor swept their attention. Although you were still subject to some odd looks and some remarks, the pair of you just ignored them.

° The most the pair of you would do in public was hold hands or Johnny’s arm was around your shoulders. Subtle things. He got a whole ear full from the gang about how whipped he was. Johnny just didn’t dig the whole possessive thing that Dally was into. He didn’t need the whole world watching him make out with you!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

please like, reblog and follow for more!

requests: open!

#johnnycade #johnny cade #johnny cade imagines #johnny cade headcanons #johnny cade x reader #the outsiders #the outsiders imagines #the outsiders headcanons #the outsiders johnny cade #the outsiders johnny cade headcanons #the outsiders johnny cade imagines #the outsiders johnny cade x reader #hope you enjoyed them!#mae

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mentally-in-northern-italy · 4 years

Text

Wrong Idea — James Potter x reader

***not my gif***

Summary: You have a big crush on James Potter but have to live with the ‘fact’ that James is smitten with your best friend, Lily. But is this really the case, or have you just got the wrong idea?

Word count: 2.9K

A/N: Hi! Second fic, whoooo! No one really requested this but it just came to me. Again, a bit too long for my liking, but it’s okay. Any feedback is very much appreciated. Requests are open, so feel free! Enjoy!!

_________________

“He is totally staring at you, Lily,” you whisper to your friend as you stand beside her, both pretending to be overly concentrated on finding just the finest box of Chocolate Frogs that Honeydukes has to offer.

“He is not,” Lily whispers back, acting as if this prospect sounds ridiculously unbelievable but you could see her small smile as she tried her best not to glance at his direction. She continued to act as though she was very carefully examining a box of Chocolate Frogs as you chuckled quietly, trying to ignore the faint pang in your chest.

James Potter. Star Quidditch player. Self-appointed ‘mom’ of the Marauders. Personification of the very cliche, but fitting phrase, “messy hair, don’t care”. And, of course, a very famous lady’s man.

And, lastly, your ‘former’ crush who was now seemingly smitten with your best friend, Lily.

You weren’t sure when it was exactly when you had realized that you were inordinately conscious of how you looked whenever he was around, how you stole quick glances at him throughout your shared Potions class, hoping he wouldn’t notice, or how much the thought of the raven-haired boy consumed your mind. Slowly, but surely, your crush on James had developed into something so strong and overwhelming, you couldn’t even think of confiding in anyone else. Not even your best friend, Lily Evans.

When you had heard about the rumours and gossip circulating around the school, about how James was supposedly head-over-heels for a certain red-head, you had tried your very hardest to force those feelings out of you. You couldn’t have a crush on James. He liked Lily. End of story.

You felt even worse when Lily would blush mildly, her cheeks turning as red as her hair, whenever James stopped you two to talk in the middle of the hallway. How Lily would talk your ears off about how much she hated James, and how annoying and arrogant she perceived him to be, but you knew better. You knew Lily liked James too, maybe not as outwardly as James liked her, but enough to make you feel like a terrible person for liking the same guy as your best friend of five years.

And now, you couldn’t help but notice the way James’ eyes seemed to follow you two, as he stood by a shelf at the entrance of the shop, watching you both weave around the shelves stocked with sweets and treats in Honeydukes, talking quietly amongst yourselves.

“Lily, you like him, he likes you,” you try to tell her once again, ignoring how it made your heart sting a little every time you thought of them together, “why, in Merlin’s name, are you acting so oblivious?”

“[Y/N],” she scoffed, feigning offense, “I’m not acting oblivious. And I don’t like him. I just don’t… mind him.”

“Mhm,” you hummed as you picked up a cauldron cake off the shelf, “I totally believe you, Lils.”

“Believe what you want, [Y/L/N],” she retorted with a clever smile but the smile started to falter as she started to look more nervous, looking steadily at something behind you.

You turned around to look at what it was exactly that had her looking so alarmed and were just as alarmed when you saw James approaching you two, after abandoning the display he was previously taking a close look at, with a confident smile set on his handsome face.

“[Y/L/N],” he greeted as he smiled at you for a millisecond too long, sending butterflies in your stomach into a frenzy, “Evans.”

“Potter,” Lily greeted him back curtly, her face set into a smile that conveyed politeness but not necessarily obvious interest.

Maybe it was your failure to repress your intense feelings for James, but you could’ve sworn that he was looking intently at you, perhaps in the hopes that you would also acknowledge him in some way. But, you didn’t trust yourself to be able to speak without melting into a stuttering mess so you stayed quiet, averting eye contact, and fidgeting with the packet of the cauldron cake in your hands.

“Did you need something, Potter?” Lily questioned, raising a single eyebrow. James’ gaze still hadn’t left you but he was forced to tear his eyes off of you to address Lily.

“Oh, no, I don’t need anything,” he remarked, regaining his confident (bordering on arrogant) composure as his eyes involuntarily shifted to you once again, “I just wanted to ask something.”

This captured your attention as your eyes jumped up from the cake in your hands to the sly smile that James was sending you and Lily. This is it, you thought, he’s going to ask her out and--

“Is there any chance, [Y/N],” James started out, sending you a sincere look, making your breath hitch in your throat, “that you could give up that Cauldron Cake?”

“Huh?” you say in surprise. Cauldron Cake?

“The one you have in your hand,” he smiled, “Uh, Padfoot, apparently, has been craving one for a few weeks and, unfortunately, that’s the last one they have. I looked all over.”

“Oh,” you said, a bit awkwardly, evidently struggling to find the right words for this unusual sort of situation, “yeah, I guess you can…”

“Y’know, I told him that’s not how cravings work,” he tried to crack a joke as you handed the cake to him, his hands slightly brushing against your own, making you weak in the knees, “but he claims I wouldn’t get it. It’s just a dog--, uh, a Sirius thing, I guess.”

He laughed an incredibly awkward laugh, while you and Lily stood there, clearly unsure of what to do. It would not be correct to say you didn’t laugh because you thought what James had just said was unfunny… no, it was more about the fact that you hadn’t understood it at all. This wasn’t like James. Sure, James’ jokes weren’t hilarious but they certainly weren’t as… dry as the one he just told. If you could even call it a ‘joke’. It sounded an awful lot like he just winged it -- came up with a half-assed joke just for the sake of coming up with one. Not a typical James Potter move, that much you knew.

Lily was watching this exchange occur with weirdly curious interest. She wasn’t sure what was happening but she also couldn’t tear her eyes away from darting back between you and James. It didn’t take her too long to get a general gist of what was going on… she was the brightest witch in her year, after all.

“Right,” you say, attempting to swiftly leave this incredibly strange conversation, “I’m afraid Lils and I should get going now. Enjoy the… cake.”

“Oh,” James looked down at the cake, as if he had entirely forgotten he had it in his hands and then back up at you, “yes. Thank you, by the way, for the cake. I’ll see you back at the common room, [Y/N]. Evans.” He nodded in Lily’s direction, while he mentally cursed himself for acting so awkward.

Before anyone could say anything else, you took a hold of Lily’s gloved hand and started to lead her towards the exit of the shop, ignoring whatever it was she was saying to you. You shook your head a little as ridiculous thoughts started flooding your brain. Why did he use my first name and not Lily’s? Am I reading into this too much? Am I going crazy?

You had decided that the latter two were more likely to be the case when the corner of your eye caught an entire shelf in front of the entrance of the shop, stocked with Cauldron Cakes. And the display wasn’t too far away from where James originally stood. In fact, that’s the very display he was checking out when you had noticed him staring.

________________

You groaned as Marlene and Lily dragged you out of the dorm room, against your will, mind you, insisting that it was absolutely crucial that you abandon your History of Magic of homework and follow them.

“We have a test coming up!” you tried to reason with them, “Lily, Mar, come on, we should be studying!”

“Studying can wait, [Y/N],” Marlene said to you, matter-of-factly, “Quidditch cannot.”

They dragged you by the arm, through the Gryffindor common room, to the Quidditch game, which was just about to start. Today was a big day; the first Quidditch game of the season, Gryffindor vs. Hufflepuff.

You, of course, knew what this meant.

James Potter. Flying around on his broom. Being a brilliant chaser.

You had never been a particular fan of the game, but when you had started liking James, you found yourself going to the Quidditch pitch quite often. That is, until you deemed your feelings for James to be forbidden. Now, Quidditch games were just about the same as rubbing salt to your, very deep, wounds.

The way he would look over at Lily, who stood right beside you, and wink at her made you angry. And not angry at Lily or James, but angry at yourself. All the glances he would send her way only made you get mad at yourself for ever feeling this way about someone who was so far out of your reach.

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” Lily said as you snapped out of your thoughts, leading you through the hallways in the direction of the Gryffindor stands.

“Yeah,” you mutter under your breath, with a twinge of sadness, making sure she wouldn’t hear, “for you.”

_______________

Gryffindor had won the match. Hufflepuff played exceptionally well, but it was no match for the Gryffindor’s brilliant offensive tactics.

As the Gryffindor seeker had caught the snitch, the cheering in the stands rang out. You, Lily and Marlene jumped up, screaming and clapping, overjoyed at this brilliant win.

“Come on,” Marlene said excitedly, “let’s go down to the pitch!”

“What?” you asked, alarmed. You did not want to be in close proximity to James right now. Not when his jersey would be clinging onto his body and his hair would be all sweaty and his face all red, making him look even more hands-

“Yes! Let’s go,” Lily agreed instantly, dragging you by the arm.

You groaned once again but you knew they wouldn’t listen. As you three, no, as you two were walking down, -- Marlene was practically skipping -- thoughts of the Quidditch match in action flooded your mind. James sent so many winks and smirks in Lily’s direction that you could’ve sworn by Merlin that some of them were to you. Or this was just wishful thinking. After all, Lily was sitting right beside you. You decide that this is just you getting confused -- but then again, why did Lily always glance your way after James smiled at you, as he scored a goal, expecting you to react in some way? And why did she look genuinely pleased, instead of having even the hint of jealousy in her eyes?

There’s nothing for her to be jealous about, you told yourself repeatedly, he was looking at Lily.

As you three reached the Quidditch pitch, you could see clumps of students, crowding the Quidditch players, congratulating them excitedly.

“Lily, I came to the match,” you tried to whisper to her as you two stood there, unsure of where to go, “can I please go study now?”

“No, [Y/N] [Y/L/N]!” providing special emphasis on your full name, yelling loudly, capturing the attention of everyone on the pitch. Everyone’s head turned to look at you as you seemed to shrink into yourself and Lily wore a proud smile on her face, looking at you slyly.

The mention of your full name had attracted a lot of unwanted attention. But it also, almost immediately, seemed to attract some wanted attention as well.

Well, not wanted, that wasn’t allowed as per your rules, but appreciated, nonetheless.

James’ head turned to you as he diverted his attention from some excited first-years to you and Lily. Your eyes had widened remarkably, your face had started to heat up and the butterflies in your stomach who had seemed to be asleep previously, had now woken up.

“Oh, would you look at that,” Lily said quickly, “Thomas Lee looks dashing, I’m going to go tell him congratulations!” And with that, she walked away from you and towards Lee, the Gryffindor keeper.

James had started walking over to you as you stood there awkwardly, not sure what to do. Do you meet him halfway? Do you keep standing there? Merlin, why did this have to be so difficult?

“[Y/N], so glad you could make it,” he smirked at you as he pushed his sweaty hair back.

“Uh, yeah, congratulations,” you said, trying to keep yourself from looking at his figure, “you played really well.”

“Thanks!” said James, with, what looked like, genuine gratefulness, before the look in his eyes turned cocky again, “Although, I’ve played better. This game was a piece of cake.”

“Of course,” you couldn’t help but smile softly at his words. This is the James you knew. The James you liked. The James you shouldn’t like.

“Speaking of cake!” he exclaimed suddenly, trying to salvage this conversation from turning awkward, “Thanks again for that cauldron cake! I was so bummed when I found they had run out.”

“Oh, no, don’t worry about it,” you told him politely, when you remembered something.

They hadn’t run out of cauldron cakes. In fact, they had them all piled up on the shelf right in front of the entrance. Before you could say anything, James started speaking again.

“Y’know, there’s a Hogsmeade trip coming up,” he started out confidently, but the slight shaking of his hands and the easy-to-miss quiver in his voice indicated otherwise.

“Yes, I know,” you told him, quietly. Was he telling you to ask Lily for him? Godric knows you would never be able to do that. “Lily knows too, so… you can ask her. I’m sure she’ll say yes.”

“What?” he looked very surprised, his eyebrows had furrowed as if he had no idea why you had mentioned that.

“The Hogsmeade trip. You should ask her. She might seem like she would say no but she’ll say yes.” You ignored the feeling of your heart sinking.

“But, I don’t want to.” he said with a slight shake of his head.

“What?”

“I wanted to ask you.” his voice had gotten unusually quiet.

You were in absolute shock, to say the least. James Potter wanted to ask you? To Hogsmeade? What about Lily?

“What about Lily?” you asked, confusedly, “I thought-- everyone thought--”

“I like you, not Evans,” he told you with no hesitation, “who said I liked her?”

“Literally everyone thinks so.”

“Well, they must have gotten the wrong idea.”

“But--”

“[Y/N], for someone so bloody smart, you are incredibly oblivious,” James said, with the slightest bit of his irritation showing through, “Didn’t you see me staring at you? Winking? For Merlin’s sake, there wasn’t a shortage of Cauldron Cakes back at Honeydukes! I just wanted to talk to you.”

“But you were staring at Lily,” you say defensively, “not me. Why would you do that?”

“Because… I like you?”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do!”

You shook your head in frustration. You couldn’t do this to Lily. This is not what best friends do. No, there is no way you would act on these feelings.

“Lily!” you turn away from James and make your way over to Lily, “we need to go.”

You drag Lily away from Lee and start making your way off the pitch, leaving Lee and James staring at you both in confusion.

“So, did you say yes?” she asked you as you tried to walk as fast as you could without making it seem like you’re running away.

“What?” you turn to her.

“To James? He asked you out, didn’t he?” she asked eagerly. You were surprised to see she wasn’t sad. At all. In fact, she seemed happy for you.

“But you like James,” you tried to tell her, trying to work this whole situation out, standing only a few feet away from James and Lee, who were watching this interaction intently. Didn’t she?

“I thought I did,” she told you, “but I think I only convinced myself that I did, because I thought he liked me. To be honest, I really don’t. And all those times you tried to tell me he was staring at me? It was always you, [Y/N], I just happened to be standing right beside you every time.”

“But, I--,” you struggled to find words.

“Look,” Lily said as she put a hand to your shoulder, “I know you like him. I also know he likes you. Why, in Merlin’s name, are you acting so oblivious?” she said, imitating your words from that trip to Honeydukes.

“You really don’t like him?” you asked, unsure of what you wanted the answer to be. On one hand, you would love to go out with James, on the other, you never wanted to hurt Lily’s feelings.

“No! Not even one bit,” she reassured you, “I’m a bit relieved, really, plus, I think I’ve found myself a keeper.” She turned away from you to face Lee, still stood a few feet away from you two, and smiled. Lee winked back. You laughed at this and reluctantly turned your head to James, also stood a few feet away from you. He stood with his confidence a little diminished, looking defeated. But he still gave you a small smile and waved awkwardly.

“Go! Say yes,” Lily told you, chuckling, “We can even go on double dates together.”

You rolled your eyes playfully at Lily before you took a deep breath in and started to make your way towards him.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

“Um.”

“Let’s start over,” you told him as you straightened your posture and fixed your hair.

“Start over?” he asked, regaining the arrogance.

“Ask me out again, Potter,” you told him, having found confidence yourself after your talk with Lily. You no longer felt bad about liking James. And you felt even better knowing he liked you.

“Oh, yes!” James plastered his smirk back on his face, “There's a Hogsmeade trip coming up, [Y/N].”

“Yes, I’m aware,” you nodded and smiled, stifling giggles from erupting.

“Let’s go together.” he said cockily, his eyes twinkling.

“That was pathetic, James,” you said as you started to laugh softly.

“Hey!”

“But yes. Let’s,” you told him with a mischievous smile, “Maybe this time, I can help you find the very noticeable, hard-to-miss Cauldron Cake display.”

“Deal.” He sent you his infamous James Potter grin at which you grinned back.

#james #jamespotter #jamesxreader #james potter x reader #james x reader #james potter #james x you #james potter x you #james potter imagine #harry potter #harrypotter #harry potter fanfiction #oneshots

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aiiwa · 4 years

Text

SUMMERS WITH YOU — OIKAWA TOORU.

— oikawa tooru.

genre: fluff, fluff, fluff

warnings: cursing, suggestive themes, a tiny, tiny bit nsfw - i can’t help it. not really proof read since its 4am.

word count: 1.7k

— a/n: it was about time i wrote a fic for him hehe. what if i said this was originally a hawks fic i wrote but never posted lol.

— navi. | m.list

oikawa loved summer.

summer mornings where the sun would bathe you in its radiance; capturing the soft glow of your bare back, and the cheeky glint in your eyes as you rolled on your side to face him. you’d giggle at the way your hair stuck out at odd angles, leaning into his touch as he brushed the strands away from your face. and with a pretty smile on your pink lips, you’d whisper the sweetest, “good morning, babe,” leaving oikawa with no choice but to pull you on top of him. he’d claim just five minutes of cuddling, ignoring the roll of your eyes as you snuggled into his warm chest. it was always an hour later that the two of you would leave the comfort of your shared bed.

then there were summer days spent at the beach, with you laid out on your stomach between his toned legs. oikawa could taste the sea salt, and a hit of your cherry lip gloss, on his tongue; a smirk tugging at his mouth as he remembered the kiss he’d stolen from you in the parking lot. electrifying tingles spreading across the palms of his big hands, as he continued to rub the cool lotion on your smooth skin - hands moving lower and lower-

“ah, tooru.” you hiss as his wandering fingers massaged dangerously close to your clothed heat, brushing the underside of your lush thighs. you turned back to playfully glare at him. “watch it, there’s people here.”

“oh c’mon, mi amor. that’s never stopped us before, has it?” when he teasingly dips under your rose tinted bikini bottoms, pads of his long fingers trailing a scorching path against you - it was fair to say he earned the swift dig to his side with the heel of your foot. “ow, baby, shit that hurt.”

holding his side as if he were a wounded soldier, he stared at you with pouty lips and wide eyes, insisting you kiss it better. and when you had sat up to, begrudgingly, press a kiss to his poor boo boo; you’d find yourself in his lap, with his lips moulded to yours. it was easy to say days at the beach usually ended much easier than you wanted them to.

but the warm summer nights spent with you, were his favourite.

intimate dinners prepared together, were eaten on the balcony of your shared apartment - a real gem located right by the water, and a short walk away from the markets you frequented. oikawa would refuse to eat unless you had taken a seat on your throne, rather his lap; which was right where you belonged. and he always got his way. so together you would eat, with you talking animatedly about your day, and him relishing in the feel of your body against his.

after washing and drying the dishes, oikawa had offered a walk along the beach - a makeshift apology for cutting your beach time in the daylight short. though he didn’t seem the least bit sorry, you still agreed.

so walking hand in hand, you tugged him to a stop before the gentle tides.

the golden sun had long set, in its place a full moon high up in the darkened sky; wispy clouds were sparse, allowing the bright constellations of the glittering stars to be seen. but with the way you stared up into the heavens - the shadowed angle of your jaw, the soft curve of your cheek, as your sweet lips parted slightly in awe - oikawa could feel his mouth run dry. the stars, the moon, the galaxy; had absolutely nothing on you.

he hadn’t even noticed you were speaking to him, his heart beating heavily in his ears until you turned around and...and…

“holy fuck, mi amor...you’re an angel.”

your eyes widened at his admission, a giggle escaping your mouth before you shyly lowered your gaze, long lashes brushing your heated cheeks. the chalk-white moon beamed from behind your silhouette, the luminescence haloing around your body, an ethereal glow that had oikawa believing he had truly been blessed with an angel. he held his breath when you looked back up at him; pink tongue swiping across your bottom lip, oikawa mimicking the same motion wantingly.

“how about a swim?” you propose, brushing your hand across the back of your lithe neck, down to your chest.

“oh? do you want me to grab our suits?” he asks distractedly.

his eyes focus on your hand trailing down the side of your body, dusting the trim of your white baby doll dress that barely brushed the top of your thighs. his hands began to twitch at the obvious teasing, so eager to touch you.

“no need.” and with a smirk, you swiftly pull the dress over your head, revealing yourself fully to him.

oikawa gapes, as he commits every luscious curve and sexy dip of your exposed flesh. every time you stood before him, in all your unrivaled beauty, it was always like he was seeing you for the first time. as if he was still that same senior in high school who almost combusted at the sight of your naked flesh; rather than the professional volleyball player who had learned and loved your body every day and night. he couldn’t help but thank whichever god was watching over him; blessing his eyes, and his eyes only, with you.

suddenly remembering where the two of you were, and with the thought of other undeserving eyes being able to see what was his; he forced his gaze away from you. keen eyes scanned the perimeter of the beach, only relaxing a bit when he was certain the two of you were the only ones out.

“tooru.” you called out for him, the sound of your soft voice sent a shiver down his spine. you commandeered his attention and he was all-willing.

refocusing on you, he held in the groan that almost escaped his lips. you had waded into the water, shaped legs languidly gliding through the waves, and the sightly view of your full ass was obstructed once you halted your movement, hip-deep in the water. it was unfair how easily you made his body react to you; ragged breaths, heat spreading across his body, and the uncomfortable tightening in the crotch of his shorts, were telling.

“are you gonna strip and join me?” the question was almost innocent, but from the lilt in your tone, oikawa knew it was anything but. especially when you smirked and teased him over your shoulder. “come and get me, oh great king.”

oikawa was sure he’d achieved a new record with how fast he had torn off his clothes to chase after you. with a shriek you had attempted to run off, though the sound of your laughter was cut off once he easily trapped you with his arms around your waist. leaning down, he nuzzles his face into the smooth spaces between your shoulder and jaw, inhaling deeply, an crooning at the smell of your scent invading his senses.

he began peppering a path of wet, open-mouthed kisses, tasting the sweet and saltiness of your skin; your small hands grasped at his arms around your waist, arching back into him. he halted by your ear with hot, bated breaths.

“i caught you, mi amor.” he hummed throatily.

wriggling in his grasp and turning around to face him, oikawa felt his breath leave him once again. the sound of his racing heart beating echoed in his ears as he took in the vision of you before him.

you were flush against him, the soft cushioning of your chest against his own; had his straining member pressed into your belly twitch, eager for your attention. oikawa was ready to beg for your touch, to put him out of his misery, but his clouded thoughts were pushed aside.

your fingers trailed from his wrists, upwards, tracing the veins of his forearms and giving his biceps a self-indulgent squeeze. reaching his broad shoulders, you almost had to tip toe to slide the flat of your palms around his neck; one reaching further to tangle into the tufts of coffee-toned hair at his nape. tugging at the strands, oikawa releases a whine as you pulled yourself closer to him. craning your neck to look up at him, he glances down and gulps audibly at the emotion painted on your pretty features.

“i hope you know you’ve caught me for life.” you whisper to him, tightening your grip almost painfully. “i’m so deeply in love with you, if you ever left me...i-”

overwhelmed with the purity of your love and raw affection, oikawa let’s his instincts take over. bending his knees, he slides his large hands down your body, lifting you up into him by the silky underside of you ass. like second nature, your ankles lock together behind his back, and the gasp that tries to escape your mouth is swallowed as he presses his lips to yours.

at first the kiss is slow and familiar. swiping his tongue across the soft pout of your bottom lip, he welcomes the tastes of the cherry-flavoured lustre. the heat shared between your flushed besides increasingly becomes scorching hot, the shape of you searing into his skin. oikawa wonders if you can feel his heart trying to escape the confines of his heaving chest; when you melt in his hold, delicate hand tracing along the scruff of his jaw as you deepen the kiss. his fingers dig bruises deep in your thighs, grinding you against the taut muscles of his abs.

yet it was when you gently suckled on his tongue, that oikawa submitted himself to you. the guttural sound that escaped the back of his throat was slightly muffled, and only encouraged you further. feeling himself almost being fully consumed by you, oikawa pulls away. breathless - the lewd string of silver connecting your mouths, and the dazed look in your eyes did nothing to calm him.

oikawa may have loved summer, but he loved you even more. so he leans forward again, pressing his damp forehead against your own, your laboured breaths caressing his mouth as he swore to you;

“we’re forever, mi amor. i’m never letting you go, in this time or the next. i love you.”

#haikyuu imagines #haikyuu fluff #oikawa x reader #oikawa tooru x reader #haikyuu character x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #oikawa #oikawa tooru #oikawa fluff #oikawa tooru fluff

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