#this is like the softest i am capable of drawing and i love doing it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bemylord · 3 years

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↠ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ʀᴇᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴄʀᴀᴛᴄʜᴇꜱ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴏᴅʏ ↞

characters: gojo, sukuna, itadori, megumi, nanami, toji x fem!reader.

warnings: smut, aged up, marks/bruises, creampie, daddy kink [toji and nanami], oral [fem!receiving], degrade and praise kinks, grammar errors.

a/c: or s/o gave them scratches on their body. hc + drabble. kento's, toji's, and sukuna's part might be rough. also i may used inappropriate word don't blame me.

ɢᴏᴊᴏ ꜱᴀᴛᴏʀᴜ:

would be teasing you in the morning for being too horny to suppress your nails. although, he doesn't hide the fact he adores the little pain when his clothes touch places where you left stripes.

also likes those moments when you're leaving fingernail marks on his thighs or hips whilst sucking his dick. it'd be better spelled if i specify that gojo using your head as a toy for his pleasure.

would praise you for marks you've given him, labeling his muscular body as yours, letting your fingers traveling all over his back to the chest, outlining every muscle.

prefers to do it slow but deep, touching the spongy coil inside you with his every push, feeling your hands on the back as you're trying to take his dick, being capable of not losing your mushy mind at his sharp pushes as how he's overbearingly fucking you.

'giving me all your juices and marks you've gotten for your master' satoru might be playful during the training time, but you've known he likes to talk dirty and be dominant railing you. those marks perfectly suiting on his skin so why not leave them?

despite being overdose with your cum and a facial expression - you opened your mouth releasing ragged whimpers and arching your back, approaching towards gojo's chest in the climax, cumming all over the base - he'd thrust in you more 'till you'd turn into the drooling mess below.

'yes, honey, you're doing good, so good. constricting my dick so good' obscene squelches become louder, as you could feel satoru's released on your stomach. 'you did so well, honey, i'm gonna take good care of you'

ɪᴛᴀᴅᴏʀɪ ʏᴜᴊɪ:

okay, i think itadori would be the softest boy through all monsters we've got here.

but don't let his innocent face trick you. despite of the fact that most of the time he's a soft bun, he'll make you scream.

ok, make you scream and be asking if he isn't tempestuous.

he'd be disconcerted if you asked him to heal his back. for what? he thinks is a sort of a recall so he could remember what the two of you had been doing in the night and how loud you were while giving him your residue of cum.

he might take some photos of his skin pattern in marks so he could ogle at 'em later, repeating seconds where you were patterning his back.

'take off your shirt, yuji. i'll heal your back'

poor itadori is sitting on the couch totally discouraged as he heard your request. he glanced at you with a bambi look: eyes wide open, as if you said something vulgar. he aimlessly rubbed the back of his head, tossed his head back.

'but i like your marks, baby'

he whined, grabbing your palms in his, forcing you to sit on his lap, wrapping arms around your waist.

'you gave those stripes because you.. you were feeling good, yeah?'

you put your head down at his question but nodded, putting your head on his chest, hearing his heartbeat.

'then i don't need your recovery, baby, let your marks stay until you'll add new ones'

ᴛᴏᴊɪ ꜰᴜꜱʜɪɢᴜʀᴏ:

let people know what sex is. let it be a slogan for your intercourse.

he could fuck you all night due to his long-term capability and would be smug after intercourse as he'd watch the disorder [?] you did on his biceps.

mostly biceps, cause a man knows the main destination of his tongue, masterfully giving you an oral. goddamn that tongue.

he'd let you scratch his back as he'll know that it'd be possibility to show off the mark his love gave him. on other days, you're pulling his hair into your pussy, burying him even more, letting him to destroy you before the fun will start.

his arms full of red stripes. though it wasn't your fault - how can you inhibit yourself while toji is literally eating you like a meal?

'being waiting for my tongue, huh?' he's a teaser - you're at the edge of the bed, baring your dripping pussy to the one he can lick you as you need to whilst teasing and degrading you.

'being waiting to be demolished by me you little whore, don't you?'

you grabbed his strong biceps, dotted them in half-moons then squeeze as toji peeks at you.

'answer me, slut!'

his low voice makes you open widely your legs as not closed to squeeze his head. he's running his tongue on your crotch and labia, teasing you, forcing you to say how reckless and anguished you were without his tongue and fingers.

'yes, daddy, i-i've been waiting f-for you' you sharply breathe, letting out the whimpers, feeling his tongue playing with your swollen clit.

'i'm about to ruin you tonight, are you ready?' he giggled once more, getting into the little game he's been waiting for since he left the house.

ᴍᴇɢᴜᴍɪ ꜰᴜꜱʜɪɢᴜʀᴏ:

it is in their genetic code to make a woman scream but since megumi hasn't got a huge sexual experience as his father does, he'd be tender at first, asking abt your well-being, if he can move, etc..

when he watches at the mirror in the morning, he finds out his back and a few shoulders are drawing by your nails.

he'd be overwhelmed and speechless as he saw a reminder of the night.

'gumi will make up an excuse, sort of: 'i got into the fight with a curse, nothing special'. itadori'd have been asking him if he's okay, how it was but satoru isn't a naive one.

deep inside would be proud of himself that only he could put you on the pleasure, privately enjoying those patterns.

'y/n?' he pronounced your name in a question way, rubbing his shoulder aimlessly, as you glanced at him. you let out a quiet mooing as a response, staring as to how megumi taking off his school uniform.

'would you mind heal me a little?'

you smiled, coming closer to your boyfriend, grabbing a tube of medicine on the way.

'don't think i don't like your.. marks, just-'

'don't apologize, 'gumi, it's kinda chaos on your back' you giggled at your comparison, running with medicine on red stripes. his tensed and muscular body is overwhelming: those abs and pretty strong arms conquering every time you've got an opportunity to ogle.

'tho i love the chaos you made'

ɴᴀɴᴀᴍɪ ᴋᴇɴᴛᴏ:

i'm certain you'll be scratching his back because nanami is packing - big dick energy, lol.

screaming his name as you've been drawing illegible patterns, mostly on his wide back, so lately he'd smirk at his reflection in the mirror.

those nights when you're trying to fill the lack patterns on his back by drawing lots of geometrical figures or promiscuous tracery.

every move with his tight white shirt at the office makes his stoic face change as he reminisces the night you gave that pleasant pain.

he wants to find half-moons littering his biceps as you were holding 'em while giving creampie on his dick.

if you want it spicy - trail your fingers on his back suddenly, giving nanami little goosebumps to switch his mood.

'darling, you want me to stop?' he unaware question left you desperate as nanami stopped pumping, left a soft kiss on your forehead. 'am i fucking you way too hard?' seldom moment of nanami being tender as he gets used to fuck recklessly 'till you'll be a dripping mess under his cock.

you didn't see fit to answer the question but smack your lips against his, as a silent response named: 'i'm fine, my love, you can move' your wet, deep, and in some way subtle kiss that doesn't fit on the action you've been doing. you trail your nails from the back of his neck to the coccyx, ogling as to how his facial expression changes.

'you want to be used like a slut you are, don't you?'

you couldn't respond, only purr as how nanami suddenly turned on into daddy. feeling how your empty pussy being filled out with a thick kento's cock again as he's making a demolishing [?] pushes.

'get what you want, slut, scratch my back so it'd dotted lately with your nails'

ꜱᴜᴋᴜɴᴀ ʀʏᴏᴍᴇɴ:

as for that rough man..

he gives hickeys - you give him patterns on his back.

he'd be exceedingly obsessed after had seen your marks on itadori's body. still, itadori is a vessel for him, so sukuna will be even more self-satisfied. why? a little reminder for the owner who took possession of your body at the night.

once he'll take possession of the body, itadori it'd be or someone else, he won't stop himself as long as his back will be patterns of yours nail on it.

he does literally everything to make you scratch his back, whether it be licking your swollen clit to the way your legs got shaken or fuck you on his lap.

'let the bastard see what matures did it the night' his pace increase as he uttered the phrase that makes the butterflies in your belly thrives off.

his lowly and husky voice intermingled with ragged breathing, little drops of sweat on his hairline as he crushes devastating punches, letting your moans out of your mouth.

you're digging into his skin on the back as he masterfully target into the spongy coil in your stomach, feeling as your orgasm is building up with his every hit. he wants to see his back littering in patterns of your nails, wants to have that sweet but stinging pain in the morning.

's-sukuna, ugh~' you let out a whimper as your cunt constricting creampie on his dick. he chuckled as your hole clenching his thick cock while nails trailing all over back.

//~~//

idk i start always from sukuna and i've got inspiration only on kento's part, that's why nanami and toji might be rough than a king.

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the-insomniac-emporium · 3 years

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Bound Blood (Cassandra Dimitrescu/Reader, Soulmate AU) Pt. 2

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village

Rating: T+ for blood, language, nudity, and horny

Warnings: Implied pain/blood kink

Summary: Local vampire tries to give her human soulmate a bath, but the human is feral and loving it. Then it gets a lil horny, to both of their frustration.

Previous Chapters: 1: Sharing Is (Not) Caring

2: Bloodbath, Baby!

“I take it you changed your mind about the clothes? Or am I supposed to use these towels like a makeshift toga?” You asked, glancing around the bathroom, eying the ornate tub with mild interest. This certainly wasn’t where you had expected Cassandra to take you, especially not when she had somewhat promised you garments to wear. There were no pants or shirts (or even dresses) in sight, just a rack of the softest looking towels you had ever seen. It was admittedly difficult for you to resist the urge to use one to wipe the blood off of your shoulder. However, you figured that it would be best to save that for after you were given a good behavior prize. After all, it was much more fun to be a bastard if your “victim” (not that Cassandra really counted as that) knew how polite you were capable of being, and you were, under normal circumstances, very polite. Most of the time. Maybe.

“What did I say about talking?” Cassandra snapped at you, glaring at you from her perch on the counter. She was sitting on the edge, waiting for something, occasionally eying the room’s entrance.

“You told me to shut up for ‘five minutes’. It’s been eight, at the very least! I’ve been holding back, just for you, babe,” you replied, smirking as you did. For a moment your soulmate seems to consider chucking a bar of soap at your head. Eventually she thinks better of it, opting to roll her eyes at you instead. “For the record, I did count, just to be sure. Wouldn’t have wanted to make any assumptions about the passage of time, considering how fast time seems to fly when I’m with a loved one.” Unfortunately, this does not get a rise out of Cassandra, who has shifted to face away from you. Not yet willing to give up your buffoonery (and assuming that you would not, in fact, be getting a good behavior prize anytime soon), you released a loud, exaggerated sigh, before switching tactics.

Standing up with the blanket still curled around yourself, you maneuver over to the tub, eagerly climbing inside. With how large it was, laying down was fairly easy, though you weren’t entirely flat. Wanting to be as comfortable as possible, you adjust yourself and the blanket until it covers you, while letting one end go behind your head like a pillow. It’s nowhere near as nice as you had hoped. On the plus side, however, is the attention it gets from Cassandra. Before long she’s standing adjacent to the tub, staring down with an expression of exasperation.

“What the fuck are you doing?” She asked.

“Napping, obviously. Care to join me?” You answered, without hesitation. Then you gently pat the blanket, as if offering to let her sit on top of you. This only serves to make her angrier. Now she’s leaning over the basin, bracing one hand against it, her other hand reaching to grab your throat and pull you towards her. The two of you are so close that you can’t help but blush, and the feeling of her skin against yours is weirdly attractive. “I should have known you were the kinky type. Not that I mind,” you murmured, gaze wandering a little farther south than her lips. Before you know it she’s shoved you back down and let go of you. She shakes her hand a bit, like she’s just touched something gross, but you see the pink rising on her cheeks. As much as you want to tease her, the sound of approaching footsteps takes priority. Soon the door is opening, revealing a stressed servant, a pile of clothes in her arms. Suddenly you’re glad that Cassandra pushed you away, considering you don’t think she would have enjoyed having someone walk in on the two of you in that position.

“Lady Cassandra, I have what you requested. Would you like me to draw a bath for you? Or-” she pauses when she sees you, clearly unsure of what to make of your behavior. Hell, she almost drops what she’s carrying, and makes a soft ‘oh’ sound. Presumably dying inside, Cassandra quickly takes the bundle from her. Then she stands between the two of you, blocking line of sight, looking as tense as could be.

“Just get back to work, and don’t mention this to anyone,” she growled, gesturing towards the door. As soon as the maiden closes it behind her, Cassandra is turning back to you. “Get rid of that stupid fucking blanket or I’m forcing you to wear wet socks.” Understandably, you start giggling at her request, hardly able to believe that she had really just said those words out loud. “Would you prefer I cut up the soles of your feet? I’ll heal long before you do, asshole.” Now that makes you pause, trying to figure out whether or not her threat held up. Even though everyone had a basic understanding of how blood bonds worked (the less romantic, and more historic, way to refer to soulmates), the specifics were confusing for most people, including yourself. Would your aching wounds bother her? Or only the initial injury?... Somehow you had a feeling you’d figure out the answer within the next few days.

Until then, you decide to err on the side of caution, for once in your life. Still, you roll your eyes before you pull the blanket up and out of the tub. Again you spot a faint rosy tint on Cassandra’s face, and her gaze most definitely lingers on places other than your eyes. In the end you have to bite your lower lip to stop yourself from calling her out on it. Gotta get some clothes first, you think, then back to being a dick. Holding back only gets harder from there.

Wordlessly, Cassandra takes a seat by the front of the tub, where your feet are propped up on the edge. Giving you a judgemental look, she pushes them aside so she can reach the controls knobs easier. You give an exaggerated pout in response, only for her to ignore you completely, trying very hard to look anywhere but at you. It was in stark contrast to how she had looked at you a mere half an hour earlier. There were several interesting things to note about her behavior, and you found yourself almost excited to figure out the puzzle she presented. Did she care about you now? Simply because of your blood bond? Did she have a genuine soft spot for romance?... Those sorts of questions were all you could think about, even as Cassandra turned the handles, letting cold water splash into the tub.

“I’d say ‘fuck you’ but honestly, were I in your position I would likely do the same,” you said, shivering a little. Cassandra raises an eyebrow, staring at you like you were stupid, before turning the handle a bit more. Eventually you figure out what she meant by it. “What, you guys don’t have a quality water heater? This is Romania for fuck’s sake. I would have figured the water would be a hell of a lot hotter by now,” you added, only for her to splash some still very much cold water on your face. “Is this fun for you? Are you enjoying this? God, I hope you assholes have Legos somewhere in this maniac menagerie, so I can step on them while you sleep.”

“Do you always spit in the face of kindness?” Cassandra asked, moving towards the other end of the tub as she spoke. Once more you laugh, though this time it’s much more of a hollow sound, and your smile doesn’t reach your eyes. “My sister wanted to kill you, but I pulled your pathetic corpse out of the basement, now I’m letting you use my bath, and you’re mocking me. This is why I don’t bother with this shit,” she growled, even as she wets a washcloth and starts dabbing at your wounds. On one hand you understand her frustration… but on the other you couldn’t get the image of her past victims out of your head.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’d rather be clean than not,” you started to say, pausing to think for a moment. Then you reach out, putting your hand over Cassandra’s, making her freeze in place. It’s soft enough of a touch to surprise her. Which is why it’s so easy for you to snatch the towel from her hands. “You ‘don’t bother’ with this ‘shit’ because you’re a fucking sadist, who thinks all humans are beneath you, who acts like she has every right to bleed innocent people dry, who thinks she’s God’s gift to this goddamn hellhole we call Earth. Do you think this makes up for your sins? Do you-” her nails dig into your arm and she grits her teeth in pain- “think that I can forget listening to the screams of your victims? Whose graves is this castle built upon? Whose fucking bones am I standing on? Who died to keep you alive? How many other versions of me have you killed, in other timelines, in other lives, where the universe didn’t demand that we be together? I’ve seen your heart, girl, and it’s as raw as they come.”

There’s a brief second of intense, furious eye contact. Then a flash of movement, a rush of pain, tears filling the corner of your eyes. Blood pours from the new hole in your shoulder, but Cassandra is quick to lick it up. She’s groaning in between each run of her tongue across your skin, clearly feeling it every bit that you were, yet she shows no signs of stopping. If anything, her pain seems to spur her on harder. Even you can’t help but blush a little as you struggle beneath her grip. Why did vampires have to use their mouths? Why couldn’t they get blood transfusions, like the rest of society? This way, your pleasure mixes with your misery, leaving you confused, and the fact that you’re still naked is not at all helping.

“Oh fuck off, please,” you gasped, trying to push her off of you. To your surprise, she does as asked, pulling away after one last lick. When you turn to look at her, you see your blood covering her lips and dripping down her chin. “You’re a mess, Cassie. Hot water?” With that you return her favor from earlier, splashing some of the (finally above room temperature) water in her direction. Most of it misses her. A few drops, however, do manage to hit their mark. Then she’s wiping her face on her sleeve, scowling the whole time. There’s still plenty of blood on her face afterwards, but it’s nothing compared to what’s gathering on your shoulder. She eyes the wound, nostrils flaring briefly, a predator dying for one more bite. “If you bite me again, I swear to whoever that one lady y’all worship is, I will bite you. My teeth aren’t made for that shit, but I don’t care. We’ll both be miserable and that’s it, baby! That’s love! I’m threatening you with an unhealthy perception of affection, dipshit!”

This time you expect her to move away, or hit you, or do anything other than what she does. Calling your bluff, she moves around the ever-filling tub, pausing to turn the water off, before hiking the edges of her dress up and… oh. Oh. Somehow she’s in the tub with you now, legs on either side of your waist, presenting the side of her neck to you with a knowing smirk. But you are not known for your cleverness. Nor your ability to make good decisions, at that. Perhaps your blood loss was starting to affect your cognition. Whatever made you so feral, so beautifully unhinged, you embraced it with utter glee. Soon enough your teeth find themselves on Cassandra’s throat, digging in enough for you to feel your blood bond reacting. For a moment she stiffens in response. Then she relaxes, even takes in a rush of air that sounds oddly content, leaning into your touch. What the fuck? You think, almost shocked enough to let go. Almost.

“What’s the matter, pet? I thought you wanted me to know what it felt like on the other side of things?” Cassandra teased, voice quiet and low. Something about her tone sends a familiar, although unwanted, feeling to your core. Still, her words egg you on, and you find yourself biting harder, tugging at the skin a little. More tears gather in your eyes, but you fight through the pain as best as you can. You drag your teeth across her skin, wishing for sharper canines, before letting go to inspect your work. There’s a clear outline where your mouth had been, but not a single drop of blood. Frustrated, you go back in for seconds, choosing a different spot to target. Again you go through the motions, only for no crimson to stain your lips. This cycle repeats several more times, with you running your tongue along her neck in between bites, so focused that you don’t realize that she’s grinding against you until she stops.

“I need to file my teeth,” you mused, trying to forget about what you had just done. Now that it’s over, Cassandra seems to feel the same, and she quickly climbs back out of the tub. She’s refusing to meet your gaze, instead focusing on arranging the clothes the servant had brought earlier. By the time she’s facing you again her blush is almost entirely gone.

“Finish cleaning up, then bandage yourself and get dressed. I’ll have a maiden wait outside to bring you back to my room. Don’t even think about trying to run,” Cassandra said sternly. You’re too distracted by the thought of what happened to give her any snarky response. So she simply nods to herself, then leaves, slamming the door behind her. Though you had expected to be relieved by her absence, you find yourself groaning, holding your head in your hands. Why is she so attractive? This is probably illegal, you think, in at least several countries. Or it should be, at least. Now that she’s gone, there’s nothing to distract you from the price of her attention, with your shoulder and neck aching horribly. Cleaning up was going to hurt even worse. Still, you think, at least I’ll have some time to think of new insults. With that in mind, you begin to wash away the blood, thoughts entirely consumed by your newest ‘partner’.

#cassandra dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu x reader #resident evil: village #re8 village #unhinged maiden #well personally I prefer the term feral #absolutely feral #goddamn menace #blunt teeth sharp tongue #please enjoy #not beta read

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zuluc · 3 years

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anonymous requested: 👉👈 Diluc cuddles after reader has had a long, rough day?

pairing: diluc x gn!reader

style & genre: written; fluff

warnings: a tiny bit suggestive

notes: i like how most of the requests i have are for diluc but i am not complaining because that means there will be more diluc content to circulate; also diluc as a cuddler please i wANT

for most of the requests you’re like the traveller but without a ration

The aching in your muscles calls out to you as you walk through the paths of Springvale, desperate for the moment your head could hit the pillows. You still had to walk all the way to Mondstadt for your place of rest and you had no horse or any other means for transportation besides your own two feet. The townspeople who were still awake give you looks of sympathy when they see you pass by them with Draff offering to provide you with a place for a night and some food. You politely decline and go on your way, your head going through the events of the day to keep you awake.

You are immensely tired there is no denying that. There were too many camps in such a small area and there were barely enough knights to assist you. A few hilichurls were able to get a good hit on you due to your fatigue building up and the woodshield mitachurls were having a field day. You were bruised and tired and today was just not your day.

The knights that were with you wanted to bring you back to the town to get patched up but you were already gone once the last of the structures was destroyed. In actuality, you didn’t want to burden them and there was still one commision you needed to get done without them knowing.You got to complete it, however, with a few more injuries added to the plate.

The sun is near setting and the darkening skies did nothing to help you in your predicament. You shuffle to the underside of a small cliff and stare off into the distance of Mondstadt, calculating the shortest path to take that wouldn’t be full of congregating slimes. You sigh with a shiver from the breeze that brushes against your face. Your eyes move to the ground to make sure you won’t trip on any stray rocks or sticks because at this point anything could knock you over.

With your eyes trained downward you are unaware of someone in front of you and an “oof” comes out from you when you faceplant into their chest. Stepping back, you open your mouth to apologize and they hold onto your arms.

“You must be kidding me,” they say and you’re suddenly perked up at the voice. Dliuc has an unamused look on his face and there was no questioning that the knights had told him what you’ve been up to. “Are you overworking yourself again?” You don’t meet his eyes as a sheepish smile makes its way onto your lips.

Diluc crosses his arms at the sight of knights coming towards him. Was there something their incompetence couldn’t solve? He didn’t know nor did he want to.

“Master Diluc!’ One of them calls out to him.

“What is it?” His voice holds its usually cold tone.

“The Honorary Knight is overworking themselves again. They declined to come back with us for treatment for their injuries and--”

“Did you say injuries?” The knight nods. Diluc knew you were capable of fighting and taking care of yourself out there but there were the days in which you took on too many missions at once. These knights were truly useless if they didn’t at least try to convince you. He grows upset. “Where did you last see them?”

“Ah, well... they disappeared after one of the camps was cleared out but one of those passing by the fields saw them heading towards Springvale.” Diluc doesn’t say anything else to the knight as he leaves to get you.

“Uh, define ‘overworking’...” that’s when you see him roll his eyes but there’s no warning when he tugs you towards the horse you just noticed behind him. “Wait, Diluc!” You are helped onto it and he climbs up behind you, arms coming around your middle to hold the reins.

“You never listen do you.” His voice is stern but you can hear the concern underlying in it and how his arms tighten ever so slightly around you. His body warmth is clear and present against your back and you can’t help but close your eyes with the feeling of sleep oh so welcoming. Your eyes close and Diluc notices, making sure to keep you in steady so you don’t shift off and fall as you move towards Dawn Winery.

You are mostly asleep by the time you both arrive and you can hear and feel the trotting stop. You feel yourself being carried off of the horse and away from the cold air through the winery’s doors. There were gasps from inside and Diluc’s smooth voice directing them to draw you a bath, his voice trailing off as you come in and out of sleep.

By the time you opened your eyes again you found yourself in a warm bath. You look down and your face flushes to see that you had been stripped of your clothes, vaguely aware of who it was that did so.

“You’re getting very careless,” Diluc says from beside you. You are startled, unaware that he was next to you this entire time while you stared into the water. “Luckily enough you just had bruises and no bleeding.” You sink further into the water because you believe he’s mad at you. You had worried him a lot whenever you would take on missions after missions without rest.

“I’m sorry,” your voice is somewhat muffled with your lips level with the water. You gaze lifts to his face and you do a double-take. He must have cleaned up before you awoke since his hair is loose across his back and shoulders and the top of his shirt is unbuttoned. He smells clean and warm, a scent you almost always fall asleep to when he is beside you.

Diluc gives you a hard look then his eyes soften when they see the guilt in your own. He reaches out to you, flicking your forehead lightly. His hand moves to the back of your head to tilt it up to face him. You hum when he kisses you, the type of kiss that leaves your lips tingling from the warmth.

After you’ve cleaned up and dried, Diluc dresses you in one of his larger shirts and lays you gently on his bed as he was carrying you again. Your bruises feel less prominent and your heart pangs at the amount of care he shows you. You snuggle underneath the covers and peek out the top at his form as he moves around the room. The fireplace lights his face with an almost heavenly glow and your cheeks grow warm with the view of him looking that good in front of you. Sleeves rolled up and shirt unbuttoned: he would be the death of you.

He smirks when he feels your gaze. “Staring is rude, love.” You huff and bury in the covers again. The cold sheets cool your face and you feel him shift into bed beside you, lifting the covers off your face so he can see you. He has a soft smile as he caresses your cheek. You lean into his touch and place an arm around his waist.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat, guilt evident in your features, “I made you worry.” He’s mindful of your injuries while pulling you to his chest.

“Next time, be more careful. You work hard but you don’t have to do it to this extent. Yes I’m worried, I won’t lie about that, but make sure you are taking care of yourself.” You nod against him and feel the softest of forehead kisses. He trails it down your face, stopping at your lips then moving to your neck. They’re light and fleeting but numerous. He shifts and you raise an eyebrow at his movement when he moves further down. He places kisses on your exposed collarbone, nipping softly in some areas.

“D-Diluc? What are you doing?”His hands land on your hips and your hands are clutching tightly at his shoulders. His arms come around you as he buries his face in your chest. He looks up in confusion before realization hits him and he chuckles at the implication.

“Did you want me to keep going?” Diluc has a mischevious look in his eyes, “I can make the rest of your pain go away...” Your heart races and you can’t look him in the eye, embarassed at his words. He chuckles again at your misery and decides to stop with his teasing. He knows you’re tired and today’s work took quite a toll on your physical state. You hug his head to you and put your hands in his hair. It’s as soft as always and he sighs in content when you run your fingers through it.

“When did you get so bold?” You mutter, sleep slowly seeping into you despite how fast your heart had been beating moments ago.

“Only for you, my love.” He kisses your neck one more time, “Only for you.”

#genshin impact #genshin impact scenarios #genshin impact headcannons #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact fluff #genshin impact angst #diluc ragnvindr x reader #diluc ragnvindr #diluc x reader #diluc

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mallowstep · 3 years

Text

(nature; nurture)

You know the truth of yourself in pieces.

* * *

You are three, sitting on your mother's lap.

"And you understand this is a life-long commitment?"

"Yes," she says.

"And Mothkit, Frogkit, and Hawkkit, do you want Feathertail to be your mother?"

"She is our mama," Hawkkit says, and the woman laughs.

"That settles it, then."

* * *

Growing up is not a balloon inflating, the way you once pictured it. It is a crab moulting over and over again, exposing its softest parts, in hopes it survives.

* * *

You are the first to go to kindergarten. Only by a few minutes, but still. That feels like it counts for something.

You kiss your mother's cheek, and then drop your bag. A man crouches down beside you. "And what's your name?"

"Mothkit!" you say, and he shows you where to put your bag. You glance back at your mother as you venture deeper into the classroom. She wipes a few tears from her eyes.

* * *

Unlike a crab, you cannot reabsorb what you lose. Your teeth are collected in a box, exchanged for a few quarters, occasionally a dollar. Your hair is swept up and thrown away. You go shopping, and now there are two sections you have to examine. One for you, one for your brothers.

* * *

Stormheart picks you up for school, and no one is waiting in the passenger seat. You all climb in, and you end up stuck in the middle.

"Where's Mama?" you ask.

"She's at home," Stormheart says. He glances back at you for a second, smiling. "She's just having a bad day."

You kick off your shoes at the door when you get home, dropping your bag on the kitchen table. Your brothers are slower, but you peek through the crack in her door before Stormheart catches up with you.

She's asleep, not facing you. Mistyfoot is on the other side of the bed, reading a book.

Stormheart scoops you up. "Come on, bug," he whispers. "Let's go play outside."

* * *

But your soft parts stay the same, just growing between each exchange. You ask her about your father many times, and her answers drift, circling around a truth you want her to finish. You slip into her room after having a nightmare, and find her sobbing. You make a family tree, and stare frustrated at the missing names.

* * *

You follow her out to the garden. Frogpaw spends more time out here than you do, but you're bored, and your mother is here, digging tiny troughs into the earth.

You cross your legs on the grass beside her. She smiles at you. "Are you going to stay out here?"

"Yeah."

"Do you want a hat?"

"No." The sun is warm, and you lean down, your elbows pressing into the dirt. "What are you planting?"

"Poppies," she says. "Do you want to help?"

You shake your head. Feathertail takes a handful of sandy dirt, and pours the bag of seeds onto it.

"Mama?" you ask, and she lifts her brow. "What's assault?"

Feathertail pauses what she's doing, and looks questioningly at you. "Where'd you hear that?"

"It was on a TV show." You fidget with blades of grass. "I wasn't really watching."

Feathertail sighs. "It's -- when you hurt someone," she says. "When you attack them."

* * *

But you are not a crab. You are a girl, and you are changing. Your father sends you a letter and asks you if you're a help to your mother. You grapple with the undeniable proof he's in prison, like she explained a year or two ago. You shoot up past your brothers over the summer, and have to buy new clothes. A new garment comes with it. Feathertail cleans a few things out of a room you can't think of as hers, and it becomes yours. Your soft parts move, find new places in need of protection.

* * *

Sometimes, you want to explain everything to Leafpaw, all in one breath. You want to say, My mother didn't give birth to me, but I know who did, and I was not wanted, except that I was, and my father believes I am capable of nothing, and my period has started, and I don't know what that means, and I think you are beautiful.

You don't say any of that.

* * *

But you are not a crab, so you find traces of your past exoskeletons, the ones that didn't fit. A shirt you wore five years ago. A diary you can barely understand. A folded piece of paper you do not open. They don't make sense with who you are, and yet, they are who you were.

* * *

Shadepelt teaches you how to use make up. Feathertail and Mistyfoot don't wear any, but she does, and she makes it look easy and fun and flawless.

It's much harder when you have to do it.

Hawkpaw and Stonefur arrive home when you are scrubbing it off in the bathroom downstairs. You don't come down here very often, and it is strange to think that this space is a part of your home.

When your face is clean, you trudge upstairs. The air is tense, Hawkpaw and Frogpaw staring across the kitchen table at each other, Feathertail watching them.

"I'm -- allowed to know," Hawkpaw says.

"What do you want to know?" Frogpaw says. "We know everything we need to."

"Maybe you do," Hawkpaw says.

You glance at Feathertail. Her back is to you.

You slide unnoticed into your room, and pull out the stack of letters from your father. You read them all once, exactly, and then add them to the stack you keep in your bottom desk drawer. There's no point in rereading them.

But you run your thumb over them, listening to the way the old, dried paper crinkles.

Frogpaw is asking the wrong question. It's why Hawkpaw wants to know that matters.

* * *

Freshman year draws to a close, and you think you are in your final moult. Leafpaw falls asleep on your shoulder on the way home from a field trip, and you hold hands as you wait to be picked up. You haven't outgrown any clothes in months, and your brothers are now taller than you. You look in the mirror, and realize this will always be the face that looks back at you.

* * *

There is always talk. You try to ignore the worst of it,

("Well, Hawkpaw is a creep," and, "I heard their mother doesn't love them," and, "Bet you can't wait to see your daddy,")

but that's easier said then done.

Leafpaw squeezes your hand. "They don't know what they're talking about," she says.

But they do. That's the problem. They're wrong, but they know what they're talking about.

A junior Mothpaw doesn't know sits beside her at lunch, in Leafpaw's space.

"You should move," Squirrelpaw says.

"No one's sitting here."

"Someone will be."

True to form, as soon as Leafpaw bursts into the cafeteria, she forces herself between Mothpaw and the junior.

The junior rolls her eyes. "I was wondering," she begins, "how you feel about the death penalty."

* * *

There are still old memories you revisit. Feathertail is hospitalized for the third time you can remember, and you log your hours for drivers' ed as you practice making the trip back and forth.

* * *

On Halloween, you take the bucket of candy Feathertail gave the three of you to share and sit on the back porch. Frogpaw and Hawkpaw keep stuffing their faces long after you've finished, and you feel like you're witnessing something obscene.

"I did some math," Frogpaw says. "We were born a month early." He throws a candy bar up, and it lands on his stomach. "Means we were conceived around New Years."

He throws the bar up again, and this time it lands in his hands.

"You ever want to throw a party? Just one. Make a bunch of food for dinner and sit around the table and call all the different dishes courses?"

"What the hell are you saying?" Hawkpaw asks.

"I think i'm just saying something," Frogpaw says. "I think I'm just hoping if I say enough things, I'll find the right thing to say.

* * *

You get your license. It says your name on the card, Mothpaw, daughter of Feathertail, and ask for permission to drive the car.

You don't have a plan for where you're going, and you end up in front of a cathedral.

* * *

The stress of junior year threatens to break you. College applications loom, your classes grow teeth, and you start to bicker with Leafpaw over petty things.

You read over the essay requirement for colleges, and think about what kind of essay you could write. Because there's really only one story worth telling, and it feels wrong, to type out all of your family to a stranger.

It makes you glad you started early. "My mother was fourteen when we were born," you write, and then scratch out. "My father is alive. We know who the other is. I've never met him," you write, and then erase. "I don't know who I am," you write, and then you keep writing.

* * *

At some point, you decide you don't believe. But. You keep coming back. There is something reassuring in routine. Your family doesn't ask where you are going, and you don't volunteer it. Sunday morning. There's some kind of peace, in having the time to sit and think and be.

* * *

"I think I've messed everything up," Leafpaw says. "I've gone about this all the wrong way, and now, everything is terrible, and this is all my fault, Mothpaw, I'm sorry-"

You kiss her, and then lean your forehead against hers. "We're both at fault," you say. "Besides. Maybe the honeymoon is over. We've got lives to attend."

And Leafpaw, inextricably, is part of that life. You can think of the essays you would've written about her. How her hair looks brown until it catches the sun, and then it shines like red glass. How she stomps when she is excited. How she links arms with you and says you're going shopping until you find your family Christmas gifts.

* * *

They invite you to a class, but it feels strange, knowing you don't believe. How do you say, I am here, and I am not, and I don't think you'd really want me.

You don't. You kneel down and offer a prayer to a god you don't believe in. Maybe it will catch.

* * *

Feathertail listens to you practice your speech.

"I'm so proud of you," she says. "You know that, right?"

You nod. She tells you this often, but something about her tone makes your throat catch. You've outgrown the days when Feathertail's arms could surround you, but even so, you start to cry when she hugs you.

"I love you," you say.

"I love you too," she says. She settles back onto the couch, wrapping her hands around a mug of tea.

This is the truth of who you are. This is what you will always fail to capture. How can you describe how the light streams inside at an angle that you've always known, one that makes the dust swirl through it? How can you describe the books on the coffee table, how each book has been read and loved, not merely thrown there for decoration? How can you describe yourself in any way but being there?

* * *

You meet your father's eyes. You know them. You have seen them in the mirror.

* * *

You hold your diploma in one hand, stopping for a photo. You were the first to enter kindergarten, you were the last to leave high school.

The excited chatter in the air is a reminder of what this day is. You have all bought your final yearbooks, signed names and numbers you won't remember in a few months. You're in it a few times -- Feathertail and Leafpaw delighted in hunting for your every appearance -- and you think, maybe it is okay if you are pieces.

There is something whole and solid that is made of them.

#mine #human misty au #mothwing #feathertail #yes i will make you read my long second person fiction #leafpool #mothpool

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s1utspeare · 3 years

Text

DID SOMEONE SAY BODY LANGUAGE COMPARISON???

I heard the sweet, dulcet tones of acting meta on this post and could not resist her call, so @xcziel, @foxofninetales, this one is for you.

THE LIU CHANG DMBJ CHARACTER META: WANG CAN vs LIU SANG

So first of all lemme just say I love these bitches, and what’s interesting about Liu Chang is that he plays them on opposite ends. There’s not much he can do about the fact that, y’know, he’s the same-ass person, but there are some very distinct differences between Liu Sang and Wang Can, which we will be talking about now.

Liu Sang photo cred: @foxofninetales

Wang Can photo cred: @xcziel

Jiang Wu photo cred: me screenshotting @xia-xueyi’s Moonfall Echo subs (ep. 13)

PART ONE: BODY LINES

I’ve talked about body lines before! But now we get to look at it from the same actor in two different characters! As a recap, straight lines are strong, sturdy, confident, and straightforward; curved lines are weaker, but more interesting and more dynamic.

For example!!

We got our bitch Wang Can here!! This is our first look at this slimy man, and look! He’s like a square!!! All straight lines, all ups and downs. Him body a square!! The costume people also do a great job of boxing him up bc of the tailoring of his jacket, and the two neutral color palette. There’s no embellishments, no decor. This is a straightforward man!! He’s not hiding anything except exactly how much of a bitch he is

(Also notice that his hands are showing and in fists. This will be important in a minute.)

Next, we have our favorite boy Liu Sang, showing up for the first time (ignore the differences in angles):

Oho! He’s a curvy motherfucker!! Aside from the fact that his clothes are now tailored correctly to demonstrate his natural curves, this mans is also curving himself! His arms! Are loose! And bent!! His head and neck aren’t nearly as emphasized! And! AND!!!! His hands are in his fucjing POCKEEETTTSSS. That indicates FURTIVENESS! That indicates MYSTERY! We’re going to find some things OUT about this boy and we’re gonna like it!!!

In comparison, look at Jiang Wu:

LIU CHANG U BEAUTIFUL BITCH. He fucking BENT HIS ARM. He kept one straight and BENT THE OTHER!!! Oh joyous occasion!! We have a DYNAMIC BOY!! but not too dynamic—peep that hidden hand! Also I love this bc it was TWO DIFFERENT LIU CHANG CHARACTERS IN THE SAME SHOW!!! :D see!! Here’s Liu Sang again!

THIS IS A CONFIDENT LIU SANG!!!! He is CHANGED! He is capable of expressing emotions now! Look at just how much body language he has going on, while in comparison, Jiang Wu and Wang Can are like creepy Wood Baby Puppets. His body shape is boxy again, but that’s bc he’s the protagonist of this one. The plot hinges on him, he’s gotta be sturdy.

WHAT WE HAVE DETERMINED SO FAR:

Wang Can is straight lines, no hidden agenda (which is funny cause he’s a Bad Guy)

Liu Sang is dynamic lines and movement, and alludes to mysterious ✨secrets✨

Jiang Wu is a mix of the two and also a dumb dork (that’s not from the body language, I just think he’s funny)

PART TWO: HAIR, BABY!

Once again I owe my life to costuming people. Someday I’ll write that Mystic Nine costuming meta but today we’re focusing on Liu Chang and, specifically, his HAIR PEOPLE!!! I love them and would die for them literally

Once again, ladies and gentlemen and all my glorious they/thems, Wang Can:

OOOOOH I hate his slimy RAT FACE lemme AT EM. Ahem. Regardless, let’s take a look at this BITCH, shall we? We have: straight line face angles!! Very standard shape, BUT this is all accented by the fact that his hair is S C R A P E D back to within an inch of its life, like. Ahem. Sir. Please. Also this man’s got CONTOUR on. If u look at literally any pics/videos of Liu Chang out of character he is NOT this angular. His head is just as rectangular as his body, and the pulled back hair emphasizes his face, which is interesting as he doesn’t do a whole lot with it.

Alternatively, Liu Sang:

This is a nice boy!!! This is a nice soft boy!!! Look his face has CURVES that are emphasized by the glasses (which also draw attention to his eyes, which is good bc that’s where he does the most work, which we’ll get to later) and the HAIR!!! His hair is soft!! It’s flowy! It’s curvy! He conditions!!! This boy is approachable and will Not shoot you One Million Times with a Machine Gun. This also works with the Liu Sang Signature Ponytail, as he leaves thick-enough bang pieces out to also give the illusion of curves around his face. Also his nose and cheekbones are NOT as strongly contoured, so the angularity of his face is softened as well

WHAT WE HAVE DETERMINED SO FAR

dmbj hair and makeup people were doing the absolute most

Wang Can’s hair gives us the most access to The Face, giving him a slick, straight look, and also something else which we will discuss next

Liu Sang is Soft and Curved bc of the hair and glasses, primarily

Oh speaking of fucking which you know who else is soft??? Huang Junjie. That’s the softest man I have ever seen. His xiaoge is my favorite bc it’s perfectly believable that he’s Butter Inside based solely on his Cheeks (again, it’s the hair people doing the Lord’s work)

PART THREE: IT’S ALL IN THE FACE

The face is the actor’s best friend, and Liu Chang definitely uses his well. We know him as being sort of stoic, more on the Xiao-Ge end of things than the Wu Xie side, but if u compare Liu Sang to Wang Can, LS is going HAM with the facials.

Let’s take a look!

Fuck me UP!!!!!! Look at him!! This is one of the earlier episodes too so we haven’t even gotten to the real good stuff but!!!! Look at his eyebrows!!! Look at how wide his eyes get (once again, the glasses are jumbotroning the peepers)! Look at his unhappy lil mouth!! That’s a whole REALM of facial expression, and so early on in our journey!

Meanwhile, Fuckboy Prime:

(Pardon the garbage screencap, my laptop broke on me this week and I am Suffering)

This is at the very end of Wang Can’s time with us; he’s fighting and he’s going to die and he KNOWS it, but this bitch doesn’t even draw his eyebrows together. Mcwhomst???? Bitch u GOTTA give us more than that I’m BEGGING u

The other interesting thing about their differing facial expressions is that Liu Sang emotes mostly with his eyes, and Wang Can emotes mostly with his mouth. This is very obvious in the clip @xcziel posted, esp when he starts doing the whole gesturing-with-his-chin thing, but it’s prominent throughout.

These two screenshots were taken like fifteen seconds apart. He does a whole face journey, but only with his mouth. His eyes stay fixed; they move, sure, but they don’t get any wider or anything like that.

Liu Sang, however is always doing stuff with his eyes. For example (I couldn’t find an image of it quick enough but I know that @kholran has this gifset), the sacrifice scene where he looks up at Wu Xie with the biggest, most pleading and questioning eyes imaginable?? Kills me. The DEPTH in those bad boys. Fuck me UP.

This also checks out when we remember the glasses. Since they emphasize the eyes, we’re drawn to that part of Liu Sang’s face, so it makes sense that the majority of his expression would happen there. This is also prominent with his hearing abilities; whenever he’s trying to focus them (or get us to focus on him), he not only turns his eyes away, he SHUTS THEM, which means we as the audience know that there’s something going on underneath the surface, and really highlights the fact that this is an unusual and cool power!

With Wang Can, however, the structure of his face and absence of Hair Curves directs the eye to his mouth, so we watch that to tell what’s going on in his head. It’s all about directing the eye, and Liu Chang is very good at knowing where people are going to be looking!

SO: WHAT HAVE WE LEARNED?

Liu Sang, Wang Can, and Jiang Wu are all very distinctly characterized through their body language

The same actor becomes different characters by using their toolkit (the body) to its full potential

Hair and makeup people are Wizards

Wang Can is a Whole-Ass Ho and I do not miss him even a little bit

Liu Sang’s body dynamics change over time and I love that for him!!

I’m a giant nerd the end

#this is a long boy but I’m a nerd and enjoy drawing Arrows #liu sang #wang can #liu chang #dmbj #dmetabj #my meta #acting meta #tomb of the sea #the lost tomb reboot #moonfall echo

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sombreboy · 4 years

Text

Dining out⇢kth x jjk

⇢18+ ⇢pairing: Taehyung x Jungkook (brief ft.Namjoon & Jisoo) ⇢genre: Smut, fluff, mxm, married couple ⇢word count: 8k ⇢warnings: Profanity, dumb humor, lil secret touching under the dinner table, bratty sub tae, dom daddy jk, I swear the daddy kink is heavy for these boys sometimes and this is one of those times, puppy petname; CHECK, blowjob, finger sucking, fingering, filming their shenanigans with their phone, tae fucks himself on jk's big doink then gets fucked good, meme ending because i am too lazy but at least you got a good fucking in. xo

A/N: Serves as a oneshot within the Love Maze series AU, however can also be read on it’s own. Co-written with my lovely @velvetwicebang <3

“Okay, remember to feed her every two to three hours.” Jimin nodded; blonde hair bobbing as he did so. The man carefully bounced the babbling baby on his hip, suppressing the need to roll his eyes at Taehyung’s constant reminders.

They’d only be gone for a few hours; but Taeyeon’s fathers were treating this like a five-month vacation.

“Her formula is in the bag, and so is her apple sauce! Sometimes she gets fussy right after she eats, so rub her tummy and give her a few pats on the back. Also, there’s diapers—“

“Guys, we know. We’ve looked after her before, remember?” Jimin reached out to place a hand on Taehyung’s shoulder; unknowing of Taeyeon’s infatuation with his boyfriend’s tattoos.

He didn’t have as many as her daddy Koo, but her shiny, doe eyes curiously scanned over the new piece of art. She found his eyes cool..

“No, I know.” Taehyung sighed, knowing he needed to calm the fuck down— but, Taeyeon.. but their date night.. “Normally we would’ve left her with Namjoon and Jisoo, but obviously that isn’t an option.”

“Cool, we’re the second choice. Nice.” Jimin wasn’t truly hurt by his friend’s careless reveal, only chuckling as he reassured them of the best.

“Shit, Jimin, I didn’t mean it in a bad way. It’s just she knows them bet—“

“Tae, be quiet before I throw this apple sauce at you.”

Taehyung’s mouth was glued shut.

“Just go out and have fun, alright? We’ll look after Taeyeon, she’s in good hands. You seem stressed out as hell, I dunno, maybe even fuck it out while you’re at it.”

Tae simply sighed, detaching himself from Jungkook’s arm to press a soft kiss onto Taeyeon’s head, bidding his temporary goodbyes.

“Okay, well.. we’re leaving. We should be back soon. Thanks, again.”

"Thanks guys, don't hesitate to call us if you need to!" Jungkook chirped, a bit less worried than his husband. Surprisingly, Taehyung seemed to be the one who was always extra, extra protective and worried about separating from their little daughter. Now, Kook was a worrier himself, but he never thought he'd be the one tugging at the elder to finally be able to let go of being a father for just one second.

Kook's eyes met with the little doe eyes their daughter mirrored, his toothy grin growing as she quickly resumed her attention towards the tall man. He might've looked a bit intimidating at first, but everyone quickly learned that he was probably the softest one of them all.

Jungkook pulled Taehyung with him quickly, closing the door behind them before heading towards their car. They haven't been able to get this kind of time to be a couple for quite a while, and both of them were excited-- and anxious. It was routine by now with their child, and breaking it was harder than it seemed. BUT, fuck, did they need it. Stress was no joke with these men. Work, eat, sleep, clean, shit... Take care of the baby, make time for each other?

It wasn't easy, but they were a team. And did they make a damn good one.

"You look good." Jungkook grasped for Tae's hand to hold it cutely by the car. "We should take a picture of this rare occasion of both of us being properly put together at the same time for once."

“You’re right. This is rare as fuck..” Taehyung’s shoulders dropped to a less unnatural position, deep-set brows resuming to their place, ripening his facial muscles. He hooked an arm around Jungkook’s delicate waist, pulling him in until their sides touched. “Let the photographer do the honors, ey?” Cocky as ever, the elder’s hand uninvitingly reached inside of Koo’s back pocket, searching for the younger’s phone whilst he hummed into their short-lived kiss. Tae pulled away with a dorky smile, angling the high-tech device towards the starry sky, a wash of light shining down on them as if the cluster of stars themselves were on their side; working towards getting them the perfect picture.

It was cheesy— every second of it— but, Taehyung found his anxiety crumbling the longer they spent taking silly photos, so he said: ‘fuck it’.

“I like this one, you look like a full course meal.” Tae nudged his husband’s side, believable as he mercilessly teased. “Ah, okay. We should get going before Joon thinks we’ve bailed or something, you know he always thinks of the worst.” The elder climbed onto the passenger seat, twisting his body to reach for the seatbelt. “How much do you wanna bet Jisoo is holding him back from making a phone call right now?”

Jungkook's bunny-like grin grew at the compliment, the apple of his cheeks tinted with a rosy hue. He grabbed his cell phone back from his husband before sitting down in the driver's seat, deciding to post their selfie on his Instagram.

"I bet she took his phone away already. If not, they'll see our pretty picture." Kook scrunched his nose before placing his phone down in his front pocket. He starts the car and backs out on the driveway, giving their home one last glance before driving off.

"I'm excited, honestly. We haven't had a second for ourselves lately." The younger sighed, eyes flickering to keep his attention on the traffic. With one hand on the steering wheel, the other reached over to smooth over Taehyung's thigh as if to soothe him.. Koo could easily tell the elder was still having a bit of separation anxiety for leaving their daughter with their friends... "Let's enjoy this to the fullest, don't think too much. You know what would be nice? A few drinks to loosen up a bit."

“Yeah, I need that.” Taehyung knew Koo could see right through him. It was no secret that the elder’s mind lingered somewhere else; Taeyeon, to be exact. Tae knew he was extremely overprotective, it was never something he’d felt ashamed of in the past. What could you expect from someone who grew up in a hostile environment when they were younger?— it pained him to think this way, but.. If his own father could raise a hand at him, what would a stranger be capable of doing? Of course Tae didn’t think any of their friends would obtain such malice, nor were they strangers to Taeyeon. The opposite, in fact. Each and every one of their hyungs held a special place in the girl’s heart. The elder guessed that his past’s trauma arose now that he was a father himself. Taehyung wanted to do better.

Jungkook's smile didn't falter from his face the entire ride, the faint tugging of his lips in excitement a constant reminder of how relieved he actually is to be able to get some time alone to focus on his friends-- and especially his husband for the night. He pulled up into the restaurant parking lot, the scent coming off the building already hitting their noses even as they sat outside in their car. Kook inhaled with a content sigh, leg almost jumping in excitement. He was a foodie after all-- and since he finally has a stable income along with Taehyung, he's never had to worry whether or not there'd be food on the table. Cheesy one might say, but once in a while the younger still enjoyed to microwave some noodles on occasion either way.

"We're here." He cooed joyfully as he clicked the seatbelt off to lean over to the passenger seat, placing a haste kiss on Taehyung's cheek. He lingered, letting his lips hover over the elders skin. Taking a moment, he drank in the view. Taehyung has always been the most handsome man that Jungkook had ever laid eyes on, and as the years passed by quickly, that still never changed. One would say Taehyung only became hotter, aging like a fine wine.

"You look so good tonight... I won't be able to keep my eyes off you." Kook smiled, cupping Taehyung's cheek to draw him in for a proper kiss.

Taehyung giggled in the midst of their kiss, the sound so small and indistinct, but in the calming stillness of a parked vehicle it was impossible for its vibrations to go over one’s head. It definitely went noticed by the culprit himself, who blushed at the abrupt realization that even after many years spent by Koo’s side, the latter always knew how to make him feel beautiful..

“Thanks. You look really good too, baby..” Tae licked over his lips, able to still taste Jungkook despite the younger having pulled away. “Fuck, okay. Let’s go in; I’m hungry and Joon’s probably losing it by now.”

“Where the hell were you guys? We’ve been waiting for what—“ Namjoon’s eyes flickered down to his watch, “—fifteen minutes?”

Taehyung snorted, “What do you want us to do? Get down on the ground and bow at your feet?”

“You know what? Hell yea—“

Jisoo stepped in, speaking on behalf of her husband, “No need for any major bows here.. Ah, please sit down. Joon’s extra dramatic when he’s hungry.”

"You're not you when you're hungry." Jungkook recited the old commercial with a giggle, shaking his head at how bad it was-- but so funny to his young mind. He sat down in the booth across from Jisoo, with Taehyung sliding down next to him to sit across from Joon.

"Fifteen minutes is precious cooking time at a place like this, Kook. Don't joke--"

"Won't happen again hyung!" Jungkook saluted clearly, his toothy grin too effective towards Joon-- whether he wanted to admit it or not. His bunny-like smile would never cease to work as a secret weapon...

"Whatever." Namjoon grumbled as he picked up the digital device on the table used to order their food.

"How have you guys been?" Jisoo chirped as she glanced over at the little tablet, clicking occasionally to help navigate Joon's confused behavior towards the device.

"Stressed." Jungkook sighed, leaning his head against Taehyung's shoulder. "Having a child is no joke, there's never a dull day. But I love it, though." Kook mused, waiting for their turn with the tablet, reaching out for it when Jisoo had completely taken over to order for her and her husband. He stares at the contents for a moment, showing Tae the various choices of alcohol, hovering with his finger over the stronger drinks with a coy eyebrow.

“You know me too well.” Taehyung returned the favor, imitating Koo’s raised brow before pointing at the drink of his choice; Tae was aware he needed to chillax. And alcohol never disappoints.

Once they were finished ordering their starting drinks, the elder dismissed the tablet to the side. He scooted closer to Jungkook until they were practically squished together in spite of the extra space; playing with his husband’s fingers from under the table.

“Yeah, Taeyeon’s a handful.” The corner of Taehyung’s lips twitched upwards as he amusingly breathed out through his nose, mind tracing back to their daughter. “But she’s cute though, so it makes up for it.” The elder turned his head to look at Kook, “Also, this guy right here is pretty good with babies.”

Jisoo voiced out her agreement, reminded of the older days when Jungkook would help her with Yuna once he was done with school. Now her friend was married, and caring after a baby of his own.. Proud was an understatement in Jisoo’s mind. Every time she looked at Koo her heart swelled; the boy she once knew had grown into a man. But then again, Jungkook had always been really mature. In a sense, it’s the same guy Jisoo’s always considered her close friend— and fed on the daily.. “Joon could learn a few things..”

The mumbling under the older woman’s breath didn’t go unnoticed by Namjoon, who came to his own defense as quickly as lightning strikes the ground, “I showed up to the wrong preschool once!”

Taehyung butted in, confused but amused, “You forgot where your son goes to school?” Tae’s shoulders vibrated as he laughed, suddenly feeling much better about his own mishaps as a parent.

“The drinks can come out anytime now..” Namjoon tried to swerve away from the topic; his failed attempt at being sly earned himself a couple rounds of laughter.

Yeah, maybe Taehyung needed this..

As the tray of drinks finally arrived, they were left to sip on whatever they've ordered while waiting for their dinner. Jisoo and Namjoon both opted for the simple choice; beer. While Jungkook was an avid enthusiast of alcohol, whether it be beer, tequila, wine... He did settle for a large glass of wine, perfect for the occasion on his end-- and perfect as it always got him pleasantly warmed up.

"Ah, I'm so hungry...." Jungkook groaned, waiting for that big, fat juicy steak he'd seen on the screen. Meat was his one true love-- if you'd disregard the fact that his husband existed. He worked out just as avidly as he did in their younger days.. Well, tried to, and therefore his appetite was comparable to that of a horse.

"You're always hungry!" Jisoo joked, slapping Joon's shoulder as she laughed.

"Yah! Why'd you hit me?!" Namjoon nudged her shoulder back with his dimpled smile.

"Ah, food!" Jungkook's big, doe eyes sparkled with a childlike joy when the food finally arrived, jaw hanging open in pure admiration.

Taehyung chimed out loud along with Koo, ignoring Jisoo’s and Namjoon’s playful banter in the background. All that was on his mind at the moment was, ‘must eat’. Taeyeon snuck in there once in a while, but Tae trusted Jimin and his boyfriend. They’ve always returned his baby back in one piece, so that’s that. Maybe the alcohol was helping; he wasn’t as restless.

“Fuuck,” Taehyung knocked his head back, resting it against the backrest of the booth whilst he chewed on the piece of meat, savoring the burst of flavor that’d just popped in his mouth. “Koo, here.” It didn’t matter that they ordered the same meal, Tae still cut out a small piece for his husband to try. He blew on it before guiding it into Jungkook’s mouth, “Fucking delicious, right?”

Jungkook chomped the piece of meat off the fork with his bunny teeth, chewing it happily. His eyes widened as he nodded, humming in content. Food did taste better when it was from your husband's plate, confirmed. "So fucking good, oh my god.. " Koo agreed. Both men were just feeding off of each other's plates at this point, letting out all their curses and groans occasionally. Being censored on the daily was harder than they thought, and finally letting it all out--- somewhat satisfying.

Namjoon eyed the couple with a mix of disgust for their cheesiness, yet the dimples proved that he couldn't hold his smile for the two. They were grown ass men, and yet they acted like dorky the teens they’ve always been the moment they are together like this. It was endearing.

"What? You want me to feed you too?" Jisoo nudged Joon with a coy smile on her lips, immediately laughing when he shook his head.

"Definitely not." He joked back. He hated to share his food-- but so did Jisoo, so it was okay.

The evening went on for a bit, everyone talking-- rather, Namjoon rambling about everything and nothing while the rest ate, drank, and drank....

Jungkook couldn't help but continuously look over at his husband. He was just so fucking hot, when was the last time he was able to truly admire him like this? Forever ago.. A few drinks in and Koo's cheeks were hot, hazy eyes only half listening to the rambling from the other side of the table, nodding absentmindedly. His hand, however, decided to snake over to the elder's lap, gently rubbing up and down the soft fabrics, feeling the firm muscle underneath.

Taehyung was just as buzzed; their conversations only stuck with him for a couple of seconds before he reached for his glass of wine, downing the remainder of the scarlet drink. He was loosening up, or so he thought.. The meat of the elder’s thigh clenched, and his dimmed eyes averted downwards towards the source of the unexpected caress on his leg. With barely any space between the two, Tae awkwardly shifted around in his seat— however, he didn’t bother on pushing Jungkook’s hand away.

He liked it..

It’s been a hot minute since his husband put this much attention on him. The touch was small, but even such delicacy had Taehyung’s hormones in a twist..

“What are you doing?” He leaned in to whisper into Koo’s ear, resting his own hand on the younger’s thigh. Tae told himself that it was for balance, but even he knew that wasn’t exactly the truth. “Fuck, you’re hard,” his hand had slithered upwards to Jungkook’s crotch, groping his husband’s cock through the fabric of Kook’s pants.

"What are you doing? ah.." Jungkook's thighs quivered, gently bucking up into Tae's hand as he desperately tried to act unaffected. Not that the other couple would notice-- they were just as buzzed, just rambling, occasionally bantering... Koo barely noticed their presence at this point.

All he could think about was Taehyung, Taehyung, Taehyung...

"You just look so hot, babe, how could I not be hard?.." He huffed quietly, the hand on Tae's thigh mirroring the elders movements by palming his husband's cock right back, able to feel the shape and girth of it through the fabrics. "Shit, what I'd do to have you on your knees below this table instead..."

Taehyung’s shrunken pupils vigilantly switched between his husband and the other couple in front of them, until he realized there was no need..

Joon and Jisoo weren’t quite at their level, but it was obvious the beer had gotten to their systems if the cheesy mumbles and sudden display of affection were anything to go by. They were never cheesy— in front of them, at least.

“Don’t tempt me, we’ll probably get banned from this place or something..” Tae’s drunken smile beamed in the dimmed lighting before his lips abruptly took the shape of an ‘o’. Embarrassed, he nuzzled his nose in the dip of Jungkook’s neck, continuing to rub and squeeze Koo’s prominent bulge at a fixed pace despite crumbling underneath the younger’s teasing himself. “It’s been so long since I really got to feel you like this, and it’s been too long since you’ve felt me; really felt me..”

“Let us in on the secrets! Don’t be so secretiveee, it’s not nice, y’know.” Jisoo loudly sipped on her water’s straw, lips closing in on the frail plastic after her third try— her aim when drunk was amusing.

“This feels like all the way back to, uh, second grade was it? When all my buds talked shit behind my back ‘n crap.”

The woman pouted, “Awe, babe, fuck those kids. Look at you now, with mee! They wish they had me.”

Namjoon understood in spite of her strong slurring, “They’ll never have you, mine.”

Taehyung turned to look back at Jungkook, face reading; ‘what the fuck’. “Wanna get out of here? Kinda want some.. privacy.”

Jungkook couldn't even play it cool at this point, his eager nodding proving just how badly he wanted to get out of there as well-- if his throbbing erection wasn't enough to go by. "Yeah, please." Kook’s ragged breath whispered back, withdrawing his hand from Taehyung's crotch to inhale deeply. "Follow me... I have a fun idea." Since they couldn't go home, nor did they have a hotel room for the night-- there was only one option the younger could think of. A fun one, in his own mind. It's been a long fucking time since they did something a little risky... Jungkook was gonna try to say something to the other couple, but it was easier than he expected to have them accept their disappearance, so he simply got up, leaning down to whisper once again into Tae's ear.

"I'll be waiting in the bathroom... You have two minutes. No more, no less." He cooed, a mischievous grin on his lips as he placed a gentle kiss on the elders cheek before strolling off towards the bathroom area, closing the door behind him. The anticipation-- the small amount of waiting was enough to rile him up even further. And surely he hoped it did the same to Taehyung.

Fuck the bathroom, I’ll willingly get down on my knees right at this second— Is what Taehyung wanted to say, but he was far too stunned to even respond with a dumb nod of his head. Jungkook had strutted away without waiting for an answer, and for that Tae was glad.. Every time the younger asserted his natural dominance, Taehyung was left a flustered, unable-to-form-coherent-sentences mess. The elder was convinced the alluring words that slipped past Koo’s lips tasted like honey; they were sweet and sticky, making it awfully hard for Taehyung to forget them.

“I’ll be waiting in the bathroom.. You have two minutes. No more, no less.”

The man didn’t realize he’d been stalling until Jisoo asked him where Jungkook had gone off to.

“He’s.. somewhere. I’m going to the restroom, I’ll be back.” He kept it short ‘n sweet, knowing that whatever was going to happen in the secluded space would be anything but. Jungkook liked taking his time, and Taehyung enjoyed taking all his husband had to offer. The elder loved drowning himself in the moment, which is why he’d grown keen of using his beloved camera for other reasons.. Taehyung looked back on the films a lot— it was hot, and it gave him an excuse to miss Jungkook whilst he was away at work. More often than not Tae couldn’t act on his sexual desires; only settling for giving Koo a messy hand job before they called it a night. But today? It was going to be different.

Taehyung’s eager hand slowly turned on the doorknob, brows arched in anticipation when he’d met Jungkook’s gaze on the other side. It was a family restroom, meaning it was quite small. There were no stalls, only space meant for one. Or two..

Tae’s back was pressed up against the door as he pushed it shut, making sure to lock it. He stayed still in his place, arms shyly tucked from behind him. “I think I went over two minutes, daddy.”

"You did, puppy." The corner of Jungkook's lip curved into a smirk as he moved forward, barely a few steps before he was already towering over his husband. Internally, he was eager.. Impatient in every sense of the word. But tonight was a once in a while occasion, and it didn't occur often enough for him to waste it on a quick fuck. He'd been longing for this opportunity to truly feel Taehyung again, and boy.. was his body itching to feel everything.

"Can't even follow one simple instruction.." Jungkook tsk'd playfully, pressing up his body against Tae's, deliberately brushing their crotches together to make sure the elder felt just how hard he was for him already. "What do I do with a boy that misbehaves..." Now, Taehyung was anything but a boy-- but making the elder feel smaller was one of his favorite things to do, belittling him until he was nothing but a whiny, pleading sweetheart. Kook grasped Tae's chin in his long, tattooed grasp to demand eye contact, tilting his head lightly to the side like a curious pup would. "Do you need a reminder of why you call me daddy?"

“Hmm... I think I do..” Taehyung’s tongue peeked out from the small, surprised opening of his flushed lips, brushing over the moisturized skin and wetting it with its saliva. A hitched gasp followed suit, emphasizing the gloss-like effect he’d made for himself; Taehyung knew Koo was a sucker for the posh look. Slowly, his lips relaxed, and Taehyung’s intense gaze clashed with his husband’s. He allowed the latter to feel superior by standing tall before him, while Tae cowered in his place. The delicate, firm hold on his chin was beginning to make itself known, but the elder didn’t dare move out of Jungkook’s clutch. “Remind me, Koo.. why do I call you daddy?” Taehyung’s hands gripped at the younger’s hips, stifling his faint moans as their crotches pressed against one another.

It’s been too fucking long.

“What makes you worthy of that title?” He kept on pushing, wishing Kook would drop the foreplay and fuck him numb once and for all.. The elder was less patient, but he was just as needy.

Jungkook's lips curled into a smirk to serve as a response to Taehyung's daring words, knowing just how needy his husband was to just be stuffed with his cock already. But what the younger loved even more, was the buildup-- to make Tae so flushed and desperate that when he finally gets what he desires, it'll be more than worth the wait.

"Ah, my baby has already forgotten...." He huffs through heavy breaths, leaning forward to kiss his husband. As his tongue claimed the elder's mouth as his own to explore as he wishes, his hands hungrily roamed down his body, feeling and groping at every curve before they began to unbutton Tae's shirt, exposing his flushed skin. Without wasting another second, Jungkook's hands smoothed up Tae's stomach, his thumbs swiping over the elder's nipples softly-- at first. He groaned into the hot kiss, not stopping his hungry ministrations all while continuously teasing Tae's perky nipples, lightly pinching them between the calloused pads of his fingers.

Taehyung’s frail body squirmed in delight, the skin of his chest buried in small goosebumps whilst Jungkook spared him no mercy on one of his most responsive areas. The filthy noises of mild fulfillment scratched at the back of the elder’s throat, calling out for vocal release only to get pushed back down by Kook’s tongue.

“Mmhm..” Tae vaguely hummed into the heated kiss, hot puffs of air slipping past his nose, warming Jungkook’s already sultry skin. Everything about the younger was hot; like a predictable summer’s day.. Just one kiss and Taehyung began melting against him, his smaller body frame molding against the barely-noticeable dip from Jungkook’s chest to his pelvis. Eager, Tae never stopped rubbing their crotches together, driving his husband’s hips towards his own.

“Fuck, babe...” Tae whimpered once he pulled away from the kiss, chest rising while his lungs worked to retrieve back air. Taehyung’s head tipped backwards, bottom lip caught in between his teeth as he nonverbally encouraged Koo to continue playing with his sensitive nipples.

“Daddy.. please film me.” Tae might not have his camera at hand, but something about the quality of a phone turned him on. The elder wants to be able to look back on this moment.. He wants to be able to see his reflection in the mirror while Jungkook fucks him— phone held tightly in his hand. Tae wants Koo to focus on the way his cock sinks deep into him, catching Taehyung’s loud, hiccupy moans on video. They’ve filmed themselves a few times in the past, but Tae’s camera was set up on a tripod. Now, they had the opportunity to pilot a phone how they pleased. Jungkook could pan in on whatever he wanted, get a close-up of the goodies.. “Please, daddy. I’ll be a good boy... I’ll squeeze around you so tight. I’ll be so warm.. fuck— I’ll be your little bitch until you stuff me full of your cum. Then I’ll be nothing but your cum dumpster..”

Jungkook's cock twitched heavily beneath the fabrics, the thought alone of filming his husband in such a scenario bringing him more excitement than he expected. Tae’s cameras were fun, the quality superb... but using his phone seemed so much more intimate, it had the younger heated in excitement.

"Fuck yes... I'll stuff you so well. But first..." Kook placed his hands on the elders shoulders, using his strength to force him down on his knees. With a swift motion, he unbuckled his pants and tugged them down, too eager to wait for his cock to be engulfed by Tae’s plushy lips. His cock bobbed when set free, letting it freely taunt Taehyung as he dug for his cellphone in his back pocket. "Suck on it, puppy." His low, raspy tone was laced with lust, eyes staring at Taehyung's lips through the camera screen on his phone when he pointed it down from his view. "When it's nice and wet, I'll fuck your tight ass until you can barely walk out of here."

“Whatever you say, daddy..” His warm hands skimmed upwards from Jungkook’s beautifully muscular thighs to the latter’s base, where Taehyung took his time feeling the younger’s cock. He began by lazily flicking his wrist, multitasking while the other hand kneaded his husband’s balls. Taehyung played innocent, staring up at the camera whilst his tongue circled around the head; his long eyelashes fluttering in a coy manner.

“Daddy.. daddy, you’re so fucking hot when you’re in control.” Closing his eyes, Tae leaned back in, slowly taking all of Jungkook into the warmth of his mouth. He’s had plenty of practice, his gag reflex was practically nonexistent at this point in their relationship. Taehyung guessed all of those times he’d sucked Jungkook off under the covers when their friends were around— or when he got too impatient and gave Koo the suck of his life in the middle of the grocery store’s parking lot. Not to mention, the birthdays when he’d woken Jungkook up with his limp cock throat-deep in Taehyung’s mouth. They all paid off when it came to unplanned moments such as this one.

Tae hollowed out his cheeks, bobbing his head as he dragged his tongue from Kook’s base to the tip, leaving a trail of saliva along the hardened girth. He’d gotten so consumed in the moment, that Taehyung had forgotten all about the camera.

"Whoa, so pretty when you take my cock like that..." Jungkook's voice was shaky, already feeling the muscles in his thighs tense up. Taehyung knew exactly how to suck him off properly, every drag and movement done with the utmost purpose, hitting every sensitive nerve that riles up Kook to the max.

"I can tell you love it, fuck..." He stated as if it was a fact, and it was. Kook kept one hand gently combing through Tae's dark curls, brushing his fringe away to be able to get a proper visual of the elder through his phone screen, focusing on how his husbands plush lips stretch with the younger's girth, the slick saliva on his silky skin glistening even in his digital eye. "Okay, baby, that's enough... Spit on it and get up, pull down your pants and bend over the sink. Need a good view of your pretty ass."

Taehyung might be a natural-born brat in other aspects, but he never disobeyed Kook’s orders inside of the bedroom. Or a public restroom.. No matter how much Tae wanted to keep going, he did as his husband told, leisurely withdrawing from Jungkook’s cock as if it was the last thing he wanted to do. The elder stalled at the tip, glistening eyes peeling open to meet the phone’s unwavering perspective from above him, keeping a digital memory of Taehyung’s lightly damped, crimson cheeks. His swollen lips pulled off with a loud pop, eyes dimmed as they switched downwards to his husband’s cock. He gathered saliva, swishing the warm, thick substance around his tongue before allowing it to drip down on Jungkook’s already-drenched head.

“It’s so wet..” Tae’s thumb rubbed deep circles on the small slit, moaning to himself at the sly muscle spasms in Jungkook’s clenched thighs. Once Taehyung was satisfied, he followed through with the second order. Shimmying out of the tight jeans that hugged around his thick ass, Tae let them drop to his ankles along with his boxers.

He really was one impatient boy.. He couldn’t wait to get utterly fucked; Taehyung was always horny for cock.

With each hand gripping onto the side of the sink until his knuckles turned white, the elder stood before Koo, back slightly arched whilst his soft stomach pressed up against the cold surface.

“You like what you’re seeing, daddy?” He spoke, looking at Jungkook through the mirror, feeling more cocky now that he wasn’t kneeling down in front of his husband.

"Mhm." Jungkook hummed in approval, his eyes dilated with lust as he dumbfoundedly stared at Taehyung's full cheeks. He's seen his husband naked more times than he could ever count, but every single time it turned him on just as much-- He was insatiable when it came to Kim Taehyung. He angled the camera down as he approached Tae from behind, using his free hand to grab a handful of the flesh, squeezing hard just to see the skin redden underneath his fingers, watching the fat protrude in between his digits. "I love what I'm seeing... Fuck, I've been thinking about doing this to you all day--work was dreadful."

Jungkook's blunt nails dragged across the tanned skin, leaving faint pink marks in it's rake. He spread his cheek with one hand, just enough for him to see his unused entrance. By now the elder had gotten used to Jungkook's sizable stretch without much preparation, although some would still be needed... It had been a while after all. Kook switched the angle to the reflection, making a show out of the way he sucks his finger until it's nice and slick, however wasting no time in massaging Taehyung's delicate rim, and then finally sliding his middle finger inside of his heated flesh. He films Tae's expressions through the mirror before switching back to filming the way he drags his finger in and out of him. A low groan slips past Kook's lips, his cock throbbing as it rests against Taehyung's ass, still wet and impatiently waiting for it's turn to feel the warmth it craves.

"Stretched so easily tonight-- you're that cockhungry, huh." Kook digs his finger deeper past his knuckle, glancing back at the reflection to watch the blissful expressions on his lover's face.

The elder wasn’t given the chance to come up with a vague answer, only mewling softly as he felt his insides grip around Jungkook’s finger; the squeeze so tight while it clenched and unclenched that it almost forced Kook’s single digit out. Still, Taehyung worked on regaining his breaths, relaxing his muscles for a deeper stretch. Jungkook’s cock must’ve plunged deep into him over a million times, but that never meant Tae would lose his tightness. Every time felt just like the first.

“Oh my g-god.. move your finger— please.” Taehyung deliberately squeezed harder, squirming in delight when he felt the pad of Jungkook’s digit brush against his prostate.

Jungkook's lips tugged into a light smirk, a hot breath huffing through them at the beautiful sound of his husband pleading for more. Everything his man did turned him on, but the begging.. It was next level music to his ears. He kept the camera close enough to be able to see the skin of his finger coated in Tae's juices as he pulled out, only to shove in a second along with the first when he pushed it back inside, effortlessly with the sheer amount of force he used to refill the elders tight heat. Kook curled his fingers ever so slightly, just enough to reach that sweet spot better as he began to curl and uncurl his fingers a few times, relishing in the visible contractions around his digits.

"Your ass is squeezing me so tight... Ahh, the camera loves you.." He groaned, now fucking his fingers in and out of Taehyung, his stable hold on the phone capturing every single drag, clench and wet squelch. "You think you could take me already? It's gonna be a tight fit, but fuck... I want to feel your ass crush my cock."

As if the rest of his body was beginning to give out, Taehyung’s head dipped forward, panting heavily until he could make out the hot puffs of air grazing against his own chest.

“D-daddy— fuuck..” His hips rocked into the younger’s nimble fingers, relishing in the toe-curling way Jungkook teased his prostate. “Y-yeah, ‘m ready. First— a-ahh..” Taehyung hissed, raising his head once more to look at his husband through the mirror, long fringe reaching his pleading eyes. “Can I have a taste? Wanna suck on your fingers.” Taehyung didn’t shift eye-contact; eager to swirl his hot tongue around the same fingers that’d been deep inside of him.

Jungkook's small dimples grew more prominent along with his smile, crooking a coy eyebrow as he slowly popped his fingers out of Tae's stretched hole, leaning forward to press his chest against his lover's back, his wet cock pressed between Taehyung's cheeks. He brought his slick digits to Taehyung's hungry mouth, filming the reflection to get a proper view of both men.

"Here you go baby. Daddy's fingers are coated in your lovely juices... Have a taste, give me a good show."

The hand closest to Jungkook’s let go of its numbed grasp on the sink, instead reaching for his husband’s wrist as Taehyung enveloped the two fingers whole. The elder moaned; one that advanced from deep in his chest and rang throughout the otherwise quiet restroom.

He tasted sweet. Tae fucking bet he’s the sweetest Jungkook’s ever had..

He grinded his ass against Kook’s pelvis, staring at his man through the mirror with an intensified gaze, tongue lapping around and between the delicious digits, lips puckered whilst Taehyung bobbed his head. Thick drool dripped from the corner of his mouth, running down his slobbered chin; but he didn’t mind. Having yet to avert his strong eye-contact, Tae arched his back further to really press against his husband, having fun teasing the hell out of him.

“Mmm~..” Taehyung’s lips were past Jungkook’s tattooed knuckles, sucking roughly on the latter’s fingers as if it was the younger’s cock tucked in between his cheeks.

Jungkook's normally strong facade of stoism struggled to remain intact right at this moment. Too many things went on, from Tae's ever so piercing gaze, the way his tongue lapped at the younger's fingers, and last but definitely not fucking least; his plump ass grinding against Kook's aching cock. It was too much, and it had been way too long. Jungkook didn't care anymore, his expression morphing into that of pure admiration and lust for his husband, gawking like a dumbass at the show he did so kindly ask for.

"Fuck, that's hot... you're so fucking hot, puppy." He growled lowly, almost frustrated at how Taehyung was allowed to be this gorgeous. It should be illegal. Kook watched the elder work his fingers for a short moment before he had enough, withdrawing his hand to harshly smack his husband's ass. "You're too sexy, it drives me fucking crazy.." Another smack, this time keeping his palm on his ass before squeezing it hard between his fingers, spreading the cheek to grant himself better access to grind his tip against the lightly gaped hole. "Shit, look at this... All mine." Kook huffs under heavy breaths, panning camera down Taehyung's prominent cleavage of his spine runs down his back, until the lens settled on where the head of Jungkook's length prodded at Tae's entrance.

"Move backwards baby, fuck yourself on my cock." Jungkook commands, loud enough to clearly capture his voice in the recording-- knowing Taehyung will love looking back and hearing these specific words.

Taehyung’s body jolted forward with every firm, jaw-clenching slap to his ass; his cheek grew tender the more Jungkook’s palm came in contact with the agitated skin, leaving behind a noticeable outline of his hand to linger for days on end. If the video didn’t serve as enough of a reminder, the sting sure as hell will. The elder was on the brink of crying out loud, having to bite down on his lip to prevent himself from screaming Jungkook’s name.

“Feels so good..” Taehyung sank back until the slick head of Jungkook’s cock popped through the gateway to his familiar insides, instantly clenching down on his husband’s skin as a warm greeting. “Fuck, fuck... so big, daddy.” Moving backwards until he nudged Kook’s pelvis, Tae took a minute to adjust to the length, muttering filthy curses under his heated breath. “Is that tight enough for you, hm? You’re so hard inside of me, ahh..” Once he deemed himself ready, Taehyung slowly began fucking himself on Jungkook’s cock, stopping at the tip before he plopped back in with more force, wiggling his hips against Kook before repeating the action. “So hard, I can feel you twitching, Koo..”

"Ah, fuck-- Taehyung..." Jungkook doesn't hold back letting his husband know how good his ass feels. He runs his flat palm down the prominent line on Tae's back where his spine hides, keeping his hips still for a moment to allow the elder to fuck himself on his cock. Kook keeps the camera focused on the way his slick length disappears inside the stretched hole, in awe of the view through the screen. "So tight, you're so fucking tight-- good god... How could I ever get enough of this?" He hisses through his ragged breath. When satisfied with the good work Taehyung put into getting himself used to Kook's size, the younger decides that it's time to reward his lover.

With a rough snap of his hips, Jungkook thrusts forward to meet Tae's ass as it moved back against him, the loud echo of their skin slapping together drawing a guttural moan from the tattooed male.

"You're such a good boy for me." He redirects the camera back towards the reflection to capture Taehyung's jolting body as he began to build a momentum to the way he fucked into him, slow but rhythmical, forceful but precise. "Aren't you? My little good boy?"

A loud, unavoidable gasp left past Taehyung’s loose lips as he hunched over the sink, toes tightly curled in his shoes as one of his many reactions to Jungkook’s quickened thrust. His hands were balled up into fists; forearms resting on each side of the sink whilst he arched his ass further back. “Y-your good boy, yes,” the elder rasped out, voice as thin as ice, and tone as unstable as his legs while Jungkook fucked him. “Hngh.. I love you, fuck me harder.”

If harder was what Taehyung wanted, Jungkook was in no position to deny his wishes. He knows just how whipped the elder was for his muscles, and the endless hours spent building and maintaining them surely didn't go unnoticed by his husband. Rather the opposite, Kook loved the attention-- ever since they were younger, the elder seemed to have a special fascination towards the strength Jungkook possessed. He allows his body to serve as a response to Taehyung's request, the hand on his hip digging harder into his tanned skin, holding him in place as the younger increases the force of his thrusts, at first dragging his entire length in and out to ensure that every single inch of Tae's insides feels the friction of being filled to the brim.

"Oh my god.." Jungkook huffs out, throwing his head back, screwing his eyes shut in rapture as he pounds mindlessly, focusing only on how good it feels right at this moment to just fuck his husband dumb. The phone in his hand became less of a priority at this point, shaky and blurred, however it captured every wet sound of their bodies joining, every breathy grunt, and every single squeak of the sink as Kook's powerful hips jerked Taehyung's body forward roughly.

The gnawing weight of a hundred curse-words on Taehyung’s tongue never subsided. Every invasive jerk of his husband’s quick hips made him want to scream out in rapture; to sob from the overwhelming feeling of Jungkook’s rigid cock entering him over and over again until he was so fucked out that his eyes no longer saw the faded blue-wash of the tiles on the spinning bathroom wall.

Taehyung fuckin’ loved that. He felt as if he was floating on cloud nine; as if he was reliving his brief encounter with drugs when he was a young teen. His husband’s fucking was a heavy drug, there was never a time where Taehyung didn’t enjoy the high it gave him.

“I love it when you put me in my place, hmph!” Tae’s voice was sultry— breathy. Still as deep, but far more hitched. Every menacing smack of Jungkook’s pelvis against his rosy skin stole his breath away, gasps getting caught in the man’s throat before they were reduced to soft mewls. “F-fuck, daddy’s fat cock never disappoints..” The elder straightened his spine, caramel shoulder blades flexed as he depended on his weak arms to keep him in place. Taehyung stared at Kook’s diverse expressions through the mirror; internally praising himself. Moaning, one of his arms blindly reached backwards until his hand groped Jungkook’s ass, feeling the muscles twitch with every thrust. He tipped his head back against Kook’s shoulder, turning his head until Taehyung could smell the odor of built-up sweat on the small dip of Jungkook’s pale skin.

His back remained lightly arched, driven forward from every slam to his wet insides. “Ah, fuck.. yes, daddy!” The elder’s nose was burrowed in the crook of Kook’s neck, brows twitching slightly as a sudden warmth approached his lower stomach.

"Love when you call me daddy." Jungkook breathes out his words in a haste, grunts following with every thrust, smacking his pelvis against Taehyung's plump ass to feel it jiggle against him. He snakes one strong arm around his husband's torso, the one holding the cellphone to angle it back to film the reflection, as the other keeps a tight grip on his hip to ensure his lover doesn't fly forward from the rough effort he puts into every sloppy thrust.

"You're so fucking gorgeous, baby. Look at your pretty, big cock--fuck.." Kook couldn't look away from the view in the mirror, the elder's body was erotic in this position, skin glistening with sweat, cock swollen and red, looking as if it was about to burst at any second with how well Kook fucked into him.

"A-are you close? God, I'm gonna cum... fill your ass up so well, I want you to hold it in until we get home, okay?" Jungkook nudges the elder's cheek with his nose to bring them face to face. "Kiss me, wanna taste your pretty moans as you cum."

Taehyung enthusiastically attached his touch-starved lips to Jungkook’s smaller, sweeter ones. His warm hand extended upwards to eagerly cup his husband’s face, the pad of his thumb swiping across the younger’s scar whilst he deepened their messy kiss, low hums of approval ringing from profound in his rising chest. His squirming body jolted forward with more force, the ability to withstand Jungkook’s irregular thrusts slowly drained out of him, leaving Taehyung frail to every insignificant nudge.

“G-Gonna cum.. gonna cum so much..!” The elder leaned in once more, unable to take the empty feeling in his mouth. He generously sucked on Jungkook’s tongue, their drool running past his chin and slowly cascading down Taehyung’s neck, illuminating the way his Adam’s apple would bob with every forceful swallow. His husband’s spit was so warm. It was like medicine to his drained throat.. There came a time where Tae’s breathing was getting scarce; he pulled away with a soft gasp. His curtained eyes were glazed with fresh tears, vision blurry as he looked down at his swollen dick and the way it hit against the sink’s cooling edge.

So close..

“F-fuuck! Oh.. hngh, daddy, I’m gonna— A-aahh— ah.. hmm!” His high-pitched moans were muffled against Jungkook’s slick lips, mouth unmoving as Taehyung focused on giving his husband every drop of his filthy sounds.

He stayed still for a few seconds, twitching against Jungkook’s larger body, whining whilst his eyes fluttered shut.

“Fuck... I’m hungry.”

#fic: dining out #taekook smut #vkook smut #jungkook x taehyung #bts mxm #bts mxm smut #mxm smut #dom jungkook #sub taehyung #taehyung smut #jungkook smut #boymeetsmxm #bangtanarmynet #sombreboy

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thewolfisapartofmysoul · 4 years

Text

Hey lovelies,

I wrote a Dewey Finn/reader fanfic again.

Bare with me... its LONG. Also angst ahead, followed by our fluffy rock-god, who is too sweet for this world 😍.

The reader has a panic-attack and dewey is there to save the day.

Hope you enjoy. 💕 Lots of love.

High anxiety.

You sat on the floor of your living room. Shaking. Breathing heavily, said breath squeeking with each breath as you inhaled. Dread and panic settling in your chest as you wrapped your arms around yourself in an attempt to get your shit together. You felt your breaths getting shorter. Havier. And you felt the panic in your chest rising.

It had been a while since your last panic attack. A part of you was glad that your boyfriend wasnt home right now. It would be pathetic if Dewey saw you like this. Another part of you however, was getting even more fear since he wasnt home with you.

You knew Dewey for years, and since the years of friendship you two had shared, before tumbling into a relationship, he knew just what to do to help you calm down during said panic attacks.

You felt your heart clenching at the thought of him helping you each time you suffered like this, feeling even more helpless since he wasnt home with you.

Between shallow squeeking breaths and your racing heartbeat you sobbed. Tears streaming down your face in sheer panic. Feeling incredibly alone and scared you hyperventilated even more. Knowing it would be a while untill Dewey would come home, since it was only 12am. And he had to teach the kids untill 3.

"Wel... fuck fuck fuckerdy fuck..."

You felt so stupid, worthless, scared, sad and really REALLY anxious. You closed your eyes and pulled your knees towards your chest, as a pile of panic on the floor. Still crying and hyperventilating you managed to grab your phone as you texted Dewey, with shaking hands typing the message: 'panic' as you struggled to send the message through your blurred vision if tears and shaking nerves.

"Please read my text. Please read my text. I need you Dew-drop."

-----

Dewey drove so fast he just knew he was gonna get in trouble for it. However, he didn't have a single fuck to give right now. When he saw your text he practically ran out the classroom, shouting to the kids he had to go home and tell summer to get miss Mullens in the meantime.

Dewey's mind was clouded with worry as he raced home to you.

He was glad that you thought about texting him before your attack got worse... if you waited too long doing he knew you wouldnt be capable of doing so. He anxiously watched the time... still 3 more minutes. He hoped you were doing okay...

-----

It felt like you were sitting on the floor for hours. Sobbing violently, now full on hyperventilating. Your face wet from the tears. Your vision blurry from the tears and the hyperventilating was starting to make you see black spots everywhere you looked.

At this the heaviness of your chest only grew, and you felt your panic starting to rise even more.

You closed your eyes, pulling your head between your knees in a last attempt to make yourself calmer. The only thought repeating in your brain was: "deweydeweydeweydewey..."

As you sat at the floor, in full on panic mode you didnt realise Dewey rushing through the front door, his eyes growing wild in terror as he saw your helpless form sitting on the floor. He had to remind himself to breath calmly himself... deciding that he needed to be calm and assuring in this situation. Instead of stressing his ass off. He ran a hand trough his hair, collecting himself for your sake, as he walked calmly towards you.

Your had eyes still closed tightly, clinging your own knees so hard it turned your knuckels white, with your head still pressed firmly between them. Blocking the outside world. Your breathing was a mess, squeeking and uneven and all over the place.

Dewey was slowly coming closer to you, his worry grew each time you took in a high pitched fast breath. He was calculating every step he made towards you, the last thing he wanted was to scare you even more.

He figured sneaking up at you like this wouldnt do you any good, but you haven't seen or heard him approach you yet. So he decided that the first thing to do was to make you notice that he was there with you, that you didnt had to face this alone.

He started crouching down so he was leveling with you as he slowly started to hum a song.

Through your ragged short breaths you distantly heard someting, something other than your own sobs. Your ears perked up slightly, trying to focus on the sound instead of the feeling of panic that was heavy in your chest. You slowly started to recognise the song that you heard. It was the first song that Dewey ever played for you on his guitar.

You opened your eyes, your head hesitantly moving up. Anxiety and panic still as heavy as your breathing.

You looked upward and saw the concerned face of Dewey. Your Dewey. Your breath still squeaking, it took you a lot of efford to focus on him. But just seeing Dewey grounded you a bit.

He spoke with the softest calmest voice he could manage: "Hey sweetheart, you back with me? Keep your eyes on me, okay love? Can you do that for me? Just look at me and focus on my voice. Your doing great. Your gonna be fine sweetheart. Im here with you, your not alone."

You conintued to look at him. Relieved that Dewey was with you now.

"Thats it love. Keep those pretty eyes on me. I am gonna move closer to you, is that okay?" It took you all your willpower to nod once. He smiled at that, glad you showed him you heard him.

He scooted closer to you, as he kept lulling in his soft voice: "thats it sweetheart. Your doing great y/n, just focus on my voice. Keep looking at me sweetheart.

As he reached the point across you he carefully touched your knees, making sure you were okay with him doing so. Holding intense eye contact to notice the slightest bit of worry on your face as he touched you.The said worry on your face never came.

Still hyperventilating you noticed his hand laying sofly on your knee. He was still staring intently at you, his eyes were calm and assuring. He asked: "is this okay love? Is it okay if i touch you?" Again it took you all the willpower you had to nod at him. He smiled a bit at that. He knew from previous attacks that telling you what he was doing helped you with your anxiety.

Dewey very gently moved his other hand on your knee too. And started to move them up and down in a soothing way. All the while speaking: "Your doing great sweetheart. Im here with you. Just focus on the sound of my voice, keep your pretty eyes on me and feel my hands on your knees. Your gonna be okay. Breath with me love. Breath in. Breath out. Thats it, your rocking it. In with me. Out with me..."

You breathed in and out with dewey together. You felt the fog in your mind clearing at his voice and the pressure on your chest was becoming less heavy with each stroke on your knee. Your breathing gently slowing down bit by bit.

Dewey noticed this and beamed at you, moving closer untill he could properly hold you.

The sight alone made your heart flutter, and you managed to smile a tiny smile back at him, as you welcomed his embrace. Still unable to move you two sat on the floor for a while. Dewey proceeded to guide your breathing and his voice and presence literally banned your anxiety slowly. "Thats it love. In.... Out.... in.... out...."

As minutes had passed and your breathing was back to normal you managed to scoot even closer to him, cuddling in his safe embrace.

He hold you tight in his arms, humming as he did so. You sighed, as he rocked your body back and forward... his voice humming your thoughts away. You were surrounded by the comfort and love Dewey provided. You inhaled deeply trough your nose, the scent of dewey making you feel safe. He smelled like cinnamon, coffee, and a little bit of sweat combined with... tea tree oil...? He must have used your shampoo this morning. You couldnt supress a smile creeping up your face. Gosh, you loved that man.

Dewey noticed your slight smile appearing, followed by some tears rolling down your cheeck. Your emotions crashing in with full force, you just realized Dewey had come home early... just because you had a stupid panic attack. You mumbled in the crook of his neck: "im sorry Dew... im so sorry..."

Deweys mind worked fast at this. The chance of you panicking again closing in, and he knew he had to stop it. Fast.

You were in the middle of mumbling apologies as you felt a hand stroking your hair, and calloused fingers wiping your tears away as Dewey pecked every inch of your tear-stained face. He tried to speak while kissing you: "sweetheart *kiss* not *kiss* your *kiss* fault *kiss*...."

You chuckled at his attempt to kiss and talk at the same time. His scruff tickeling your face with each kiss.

He pulled away from pecking your face slighty to look you in the eyes and stroke your cheeck as he spoke:

"Y/n... love... dont say that. Its okay. Im here. I always will be here. Its not your fault, you did a good job texting me before it got worse. Your doing great. Your gonna be okay now. I love you SO much..." To prove his piont he kissed your nose.

You nodded. Smiling and knowing you had the BEST boyfriend ever.

He pulled you even closer to him, you were almost sitting on his lap now. His strong arms holding onto your waist, as he lulled in your ear:

"Should i draw you a bath, love? It might be good for your tense muscles... I'll even put your favorite oil in it for you..." he sing-songed the last scentence and you snorted at that.

He chuckled as well, glad he'd made you laugh.

You felt him moving to get up, but you tensed at this whispering: "Dew...."

His hand now slowly moving his way across your belly as he replied: "hmmm?"

You whispered with a shaky voice: "would you... do you mind... uhm..."

Deweys thumb moved tiny circles around your belly button as he kissed your neck softly: "I'm coming with you if you like that... you don't have to be alone now... no worries, okay?"

You nodded again. Dewey helped you on your feet and held your hand as you two walked the stairs.

You stripped down your clothes as Dewey prepared the perfect bath for you both. He slipped in first, and you rested against his torso in the tub. His chin resting on your head, and his armes wrapped around your waist. You felt the falling and rising of his chest behind you calming you even more. You closed your eyes, reveling in the moment before you broke the silence: "Thankyou Dewey.... i love you"

After pressing a kiss on the top of your hair he replied: "Anytime sweetheart, i love you too."

You shifted lightly is his grasp, turning so you were with your head on his chest now, his grip around you never leaving. He started to comb his hands trough your hair while humming softly into your ear.

And at that moment, you felt calm and safe in Dewey's embrace.

#bouncy oddball #alex brightman #dewey finn/reader #dewey finn fanfic #dewey x reader #dewey finn x reader #dewey finn #school of rock fanfition #school of rock broadway #school of rock #school of rock musical #dewey finn imagine #myownfic

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the-goddessfighter · 3 years

Note

[Part 1] YOOO MORE FLUFFY BATAROU ART FROM YOU AAAA THAT'S SO SOFT, I'M GONNA MELT--!! 😳😍😍😩💗💘💕💞 Yass it's always makes me happy whenever you draw them doing some domestic thing and just being very sweet to eachother, like they enjoyed eachother's presence in peaceful day at home 😆👍✨

And Garou and Badd taking a nap together like this AAAWW YESS THIS IS TRULY THE BEST NAP: SLEEPING WITH SOMEBODY YOU LOVE DEARLY AAAA-- *incoherent screeching* 😣😫💕💕

[Part 2] Just look at how happy Badd is when he sleeps on Garou's firm pecs (with Garou partially embraced him by the waist in his slumber), in which maybe being calmed by the steady heartbeats of Garou 😌💤💕 Also Garou's fully secured sleeping face after having his beloved boyfriend being so close with him, in his protective embrace 🐺💤 They could be like, sharing warmth and giving comfort to eachother? THIS IS THE SOFTEST YET FEELS SO ROMANTIC!! 😳😚👌💖💖

[Part 3] For the details, what I love in here are: ofc Badd's peaceful face with a hint of tender smile in his sleep, the way he put his head on Garou's chest (also his hand curled up just above the heart! ❤✨), Garou's precious sleeping face + his hand on Badd's waist (even in his sleep Garou is still a gentleman! 👏😤), the soft coloring for this drawing (it's very pleasing to gaze at 👀💕), the shading + folding on their clothes (that's very realistic I'm in awe 😳👍💯), also Garou's sash colour! Instead of the yellow one, now he wears RED SASH 👀👀💛👉❤ Does he start to wears it once he's together with Badd?? 😳😳

[Part 4] AAA THANK YOU SO MUCH for once again working hard on drawing AMAZINGLY SWEET Batarou art amd sharing it to us the fandom, we LOVE and APRECIATE it aaaaa thank yooouuu--!! 😍😍😭🙏💕💞💖💝 We are very grateful for very single of your controbution to the fandom, always giving us joy whenever there's new content from you, Temperans-sama! Hope you have a lots of great days, here's my love and undying supports for youuu~ 😚😘❤💜💙💖💝👑🌸🌼🌹🌻💐

[Part 5] Oh yeah btw if you don't mind I just tagged you in my latest writing submission today (if it appears on your notif), it's about possible "what-if scenes" at the ending of Batarou's first fight. It's kinda longer, hopefully it could entertain you in your sparetime! 😆🌼🌻 Just think of it as my gift for you and every Batarou lovers in the fandom, if you interested ehehe.. 👀👉👈💝🎁😅💦

--------

Anon !!!! ❤ I finally had time to answer you!! Sorry for the delay TuT. I am busy with two important projects and you all will definitely like one off them, although it will take time to finish. I hardly saw the FRIENDS series but that particular episode made me laugh a lot.

I already read your "first kiss HC"!! I loved them and my favorites are definitely # 2 and # 3. Especially the last, as I feel that Garou's weak side for children would be much more apparent. For if he was unable to steal the hero directory from Tareo, I do see him capable of taking Badd to a hospital at Zenko's request. I read them while I was in the transport and they lifted my spirits a lot💖💛💙💚💜❤💋 !!! Thanks for your nice gifts to the fandom!!!💘💖💓💓💕

#ask #anon #batarou #garou #hc #adjjfsss #<3<3<3 #💖💛💚💙💜❤💋#anon!:v

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jjpmoans · 4 years

Text

oxygen | im jaebeom

wc : 2.5k+

warnings : fluff (overload, i don’t know, I sucked at fluff)

a/n : Happy Valentine’s Day! May your Valentines gets better with this fic! To those without boyfriend, lets indulge the sweetness!

Parents are of different kinds; they definitely are not the same as your friends' parents. Sometimes your friends' parents sound too cool that you wonder why your parents aren't the same. Your friends get to go out anywhere at any time while you have curfews, no more outings after 9 o'clock at night. It sucks, yes. But you do know why your parents are strict as well. You just wish them to be more lenient sometimes.

"No?" your best friend pouts in disappointment when you said you can't be his Valentine date. You shake your head again, playing with your lunch as he scoots closer and hugs your waist. "But I thought Mom loves me? I think she will give an exemption if you say it's me."

Your heart thumps at the proximity given Jaebeom's chin rests on your shoulder; his nose nudging your cheeks as he whispers the plan. You can never guess when Jaebeom will make your heart flutter but now you think it's better for him not to be close to you because your heart isn't fluttering, it is close to exploding.

"Jaebeom. People are watching." you tell him when you feel the gazes burning on both of you. Partly because being sweet in the college cafeteria is definitely not right but partly because how the college bad boy is snuggling up against the girl from the Student Council.

Or best known as the Vice President of Student Council, Park Jinyoung's right man.

He whines as you try to move away, pulling you closer by your waist. "Let them be."

"I am angy because you don't want to go out with me tomorrow night!" he huffs, sulking even more.

You stare at him in disbelief as he puffs his cheeks to melt you. "Did you just use the word 'angy'? Im Jaebeom? Really?"

"What's wrong with using that word?" he sounds offended now, pouts getting more prominent and ready to throw some spoon in your direction. "I AM angy with you."

You coo, pinching his cheeks to calm him down. "The school baddest boy just used a cute word. I need to commemorate this!" you squealed, bringing out your phone to record him. "Say you're angy with me again!"

To your surprise, he repeats, pouting even harder to please you. He knows you love it and he has no problem repeating it over and over again. Jaebeom is the softest when he's with you, that is a fact. You don't know how much control you have on him but you're not deaf either. People have been talking about how Jaebeom hasn't been smoking for some time now, which immediately reminds you of his deal with you three months ago.

"Hello Jinyoung's right man." he called as you passed by him, his scent reeked of cigarette smoke. You hated smokers to your core but you can still stand their smell. However, if they want to talk to you, they better be clean from smoke. Which is why you just ignored his call. "Oh. I can't talk to you because you have a title? I am not entitled to speak to Ms Vice President?"

Okay that would be enough. You were not going to let him call you someone arrogant. Instead you whipped your head, finding his interested eyes on you. "I hate smokers. Even if they are my President's friend, which totally have no correlation. If you want to talk to me, then stop smoking. After that we talk."

"I am deeply offended if you're thinking about another man while I'm right here in front of you." Jaebeom snaps you out of your thoughts making you smile right away. Your stretch makes him melt again, grins plastered on his face.

You pinch his cheeks again, caressing it before turning to your lunch. "Tell you what, let me ask mom once again. If I can't, I'll send you a text."

Jaebeom nods enthusiastically, not without crossing his hands to chant 'please mom please mom please.'

You send the text with a heavy heart, guilt washes all over you when you remember how excited Jaebeom was to hear news from you. Suddenly you hated your parents even though you do understand that they want you to be safe especially at nights. It's Valentine's night and most of your friends are probably at the party doing god-knows-what while you are here on your bed in your pyjamas watching a Netflix romance movie.

Very romantic.

It has been a good 40 minutes of sadness because the main lead is currently shoving his tongue down the female lead throat before you hear a knock on your door, pausing you in your feelings. You stand up, leaving the bed and head over to your door. Upon opening it, you find no one at the door. Wicked since you are sure that you heard someone knock. Or could it be the window? But the knock should be different and you're not dumb to not differentiate between a door knock or a window knock.

You close the door again however; you jump when an unexpected visitor appears behind the door.

"Hello."

"Jaebeom!" you scream in hushed, quickly check the door and lock it. You will be a dead meat if your mom decides to check you in. However, Jaebeom can't care less. He is grinning, looking at you up and down, scanning your frightened state. You on the other hand are in panic and reach for his hand to tug him away from the door. "What are you doing here!?"

Still panicked, you look around to see which direction he was coming from. Jaebeom shrugs, sending you a wink before heading to your bed and climbing it to sit in the middle of your bed.

"I am your Valentine date." he explains with no hint of fear on his face. He definitely has nothing to fear or probably he is too dumb to realise that your dad can definitely chop his head off.

"But I told you I can't go on that date!"

"Which is why," he gestures to you to come closer to which you follow hesitantly and crosses your hand. "I bring the date to you."

You are still unsure of this crazy plan because there is no way a boy exists in your room even though your parents know him. Jaebeom must have sensed it because he reaches for your hand and softly assure you by rubbing it.

"Come on. I'll leave after midnight." he looks at his watch, chewing his lower lips. "Or whenever you want after you spend the Valentine date with me."

You let out a sigh, relieved probably, at his promise. "Okay. After midnight okay?"

He nods, his smile comes alive after he knows you have let your guards down. He knows how scary your parents are but he can always find a plan to spend the day with you even if it costs his life.

"Hey." you call. "It's not I don't want you to be here. I just- I'm scared that mom and dad will find you. I don't want you to get scolded."

Instead of replying, he pulls you towards him, comfortable situating you both against the headboard, his hand around your arm.

"It's okay. Now let me be your boyfriend for the night." he offers a smile, then pressing a kiss on your forehead to start the date. "What are you watching?"

The movie ends one hour later together with a box of pizza, sandwiches, popcorn and cokes. You never thought Jaebeom is capable of setting a picnic but he really brought the whole date to you, with a basket -- yes he did -- and climbed to your room.

"I can't believe you climbed to my room." you say in his arm after you requested for a cuddle. Cuddling with Jaebeom is really nice, partly because he is the only one you cuddle with after your dad and partly because you think his hugs are really warm. "With the basket even!"

Jaebeom laughs to agree with you, he was surprised with himself too. He never thought he could climb the wall, he even cursed at himself for trying too hard but oh the things he would do for you.

"I can't help it. How can I leave you to a party when you're up here alone?" he reasons but he knows that is a blatant lie. He is attracted to you and he knows you won't leave his mind even if he associates with other girls at the party. The bad boy inside him ceases to extinction when he meets you. "I need to warm your lonely night."

"Cheesy yes?" you laugh. Jaebeom has never felt that way, never had a girl put him on a spell. He feels like he has been caught in a complicated feeling, he feels like his heart is going to burst every time he sees you. His days will not be complete if he hasn't talked to you and like the other days, his day ended well whenever he talked to you. You act like his oxygen supply, constantly giving him new breath of his life.

"Hey." he incline to your side while you play with the hem of his shirt. Jaebeom wears white shirt and a pair of jeans but as expected from a bad boy, he will always look handsome and hot. A simple outfit but he manages to make you swoon. "Can I tell you something?"

Maybe you like him. That is the reason why your heart explodes every time he gives cheesy comments or even pouts. You wish you are certain of this feeling because unlike Jaebeom, you don't want to beat around the bush. However, knowing this probably will affect your relationship with him, you can't risk it. You still have a long year to go and really, you can't afford to lose him.

"Hm... what is it?" you're drawing circles on his chest while you rest your head against his arms. You swear you heard his breath hitches when the tip of your nail grazes his chest a little hard and his biceps contracted.

"I think I like you."

The first thing that comes across your head is 'fuck. he like me! fuck yes.' then the next thing is 'fuck no he is my best friend.'

"Baby say something." you can hear his heart rate increases rapidly as your silence continues. Even that, your hand is still on his chest, not pulling away. "Are you mad? I'm sorry. I just- I can't hold it in."

"Why?" is the first word that comes from you. "Why can't you hold it?" You're not mad. You're curious. Why does he feel the urge to tell you he likes you? Damn now you are scared because instead of feeling neutral, you had to admit you feel giddy when he said he likes you.

Fuck, do you like him too? Yeah you think so. If you don't, you must be freaking out now since you don't know how to reject people.

"I can't hold it in because I wanted to kiss you the moment I climbed through the window just now." he confesses, throwing you off guard. "I just-- I can't. You look so stunning even in your pyjamas and oh god your messy hair. I want to wake up to it every day."

"I look like a monster when I wake up in the morning, Jaebeom." you laugh in astonishment. To say you're shocked is an understatement, but you had never thought Jaebeom can be as sweet as this, wanting to wake up to you. You have it in your bucket list but you never thought it would be with Jaebeom because honestly, you're out of Jaebeom's league.

"My beautiful monster then." he pulls you closer by your waist, your chest bumps to his. "My goodness you smell so good. I'm going crazy with you beside me. I wanted all of you to myself and I can tell those fuckers at school to fuck off and don't look at my woman."

You feel giddy, high up in the cloud nine that you grin as soon as Jaebeom aligns his face to yours. "I haven't said I agree to be your girlfriend, Beommie."

"Fuck." he turns his head away to swear, coming back to press a peck on your lips. "Call me that again."

You giggle, calling his name again. "Beommie. I haven't agreed to be your girl, Beommie." at this point you are very sure that you too, like him.

He sucks in a deep breath and opens his eyes, staring straight into your eyes. However, he can't maintain a 5 seconds eye contact with you, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. "Fuck you're so beautiful and look at what you did to me."

You hum as his breath tickles your neck. "Beom-ah." to that he lets out a rough huff, affected by the pet name which you laugh, ruffling his hair. "You still need to get me to agree, you know."

"You're contemplating it without me having to ask. Isn't it clear that you will be my girl?" he appears from your neck, now having the courage to talk to you.

"What if I don't want to?" your giggle intensifies as Jaebeom's eyes grow wide and his pout starts to form.

"I guess I have to curse you to be single until you're mine."

"That's not nice!" you're definitely crazy. You feel like a love-strucked teenage girl, giggling for 5 minute straight. As the vice president of Student Council, it is your second demeanor to be cold and stay unaffected by any means. However, that is one power that Jaebeom holds over you, to make you like a teenage girl again.

"Will you be my girl, baby?" he whispers to you and only you. His eyes hold yours, reflecting the love he has for you. You never thought he is capable of holding this much love since his reputation as the bad boy but you guess the three months you had with him serves as a reminder that this bad boy has a story behind him. He is capable of loving, to shower someone with affection and a very deep person behind the cold mask.

"Yes, Jaebeom." you let out the breath that you don't know you're holding, relieved as you agreed to be his.

"Hmm, wrong answer."

"Yes, beom-ah. I'll be your girl" Your pet name makes him grin again, even wider this time and he shows them by dropping countless pecks across your face. "My goodness, Jaebeom!" you squeal but did nothing to tell him.

Jaebeom is halfway on top of you, his arm on either side of yours, caging you effectively.

"My girl." he smiles, capturing you for a kiss, molding your lips with his. Your lips fit perfectly with his as he deepens for more, nose touching at the proximity.

He releases your lips which are all swollen and red, looking satisfied with his own work.

"Mine."

"Yours." you reply as he leans to capture your lips for another kiss.

"Happy Valentine's Day, baby."

[ Writings ]

#jinyoungmoans writings #jaebeom #got7 jaebeom #im jaebeom #got7 jb #jaebeom fluff #jaebeom fanfic #jaebeom fic #got7 jaebeom fluff #got7 jaebeom fanfic #got7 jaebeom fic #im jaebeom fluff #im jaebeom fanfic #im jaebeom fic #got7 jayb fic #got7 jayb fanfic

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fairiesherefairiesthere · 4 years

Note

Hi. If the writing requests are still open, could you maybe do something with flirting freed and blushing Laxus. Thanks :)

Hello. I mentioned Laxus blushing maybe twice and got totally of track with this au. I’m awfully sorry and I hope u still accept this offer lmao

Short summary: Au where Laxus works for a rich family. Their son is cursed to freeze the people he loves, so he has to keep a distance from them. Truly, A Very Not Good Time

WC: 5548 words

Fic under the cut!

With a slight tremour in his hand, Laxus looks up at the pristine white walls looming over him. Sighing deeply, he clutches the handle of his suitcase tighter and the servant next to him blisfully ignores him. "The Lord and Lady are awaiting you in the pavilion in the garden. You can leave your luggage here, someone will come and pick them up for you. If you'd follow me."

Without waiting for an answer, the stiff man turns around, striding away and Laxus awkwardly falls in tempo beside him. After a short walk that luckily doesn't leave him sweating, he is deposited in front of two people whose handkerchiefs look like they cost more than Laxus' entire outfit. It's now that he realises how out of his depth he is.

He clears his throat, but the servant stops him from going any further by stepping none too delicately on his foot. "Quiet", he hisses, "The Lord and Lady will speak to you as and when they see fit."

"Oh Charles, don't be like that", the Lord smiles and the servant bows hastily. Unsure of what to do, Laxus gives the man something between a bow and a firm nod. "You are dismissed", the man addresses the servant before beckoning Laxus to come closer. "Come hither young man, I've heard wonderful things about you." Laxus does as he's told and when the Lord offers him a chair, he accepts it. "Are you nervous?" his wife asks, eyes deep blue and sparkling with a barely hidden misschief.

Is he nervous? It's a wonder that she doesn't seem to ask it as a rhetorical question, instead she seems to be genuinely wondering about it. Of course he is. The two people in front of him own the land he's lived on all his life and then some. They're powerful, some say even on par with the king and with power does of course come an obscene amount of money.

Normally, Laxus doesn't care for the amount of cash one has or how many carriages they'll be able to buy in one lifetime. He'd gladly tell them to get hit by those carriages if he thought they'd deserve it. But now he can't afford to do that and somewhere, it does bother him. He's always been a man of simple pleasures and being brutally honest had been one of those things.

Being honest however, is something he can't do now. This job they've offered him pays more than any other in town and more importantly, he would be given a housing. With this job he could finally pay for his grandpa's medicine and he could give the old man a proper place to stay. No matter how these people will be treating him in the future, he'll have to shove his pride aside to keep this job.

"A little bit. But I don't think it'll affect my work and should it do so anything, you are free to claim it was artistic whims that made your garden look so avant-garde." The lady hums and spares him a little smile. "I am fond of whimsical things. It's why I married him", she jokes and moves her head into the direction of her husband. Laxus can't help but let a laugh escape.

Lord Justine raises a brow at that and Laxus quickly shuts his mouth again. Would you look at that, he's already overstepped his boundaries. The Lord's face clears up at that and he waves Laxus' worries away. "Young man, we've offered you to maintain our garden because we admire your work. You are an official part of our staff now, so don't be afraid to be frank. Life gets awfully boring when people trip over themselves to bend to your will without thinking. Do me a favour and don't be like that, okay?"

"Yes sir!" Laxus yells, bending to the man's will without thinking. Catching up to his own actions, he colours red. Ah damn. The couple doesn't seem to mind though, as they just brush it off with a laugh. "You are dismissed, change this garden as you see fit. It is your domain now."

"Ah dear", Lady Justine interrupts, "Let the young man settle in a bit first. Laxus right? We have honoured your request and have brought your grandfather over. He now resides in the room next to yours. Pardon me for asking though, but does he need a doctor? The man has a sickly glow about him." Concern colours her soft facial features and Laxus hesitates to answer. Then he remembers their command to be frank with them.

"I would really appreciate it if you did that. Thank you for your kindness. I'll try to pay you back in any way that I can." Lady Justine shakes her head, but the Lord gives him a once-over. "Say Laxus, can you hold your own in a fight? You are quite a big guy, I bet you could."

"I've had no formal training, but I have grown up around bar and streetfights", Laxus admits and the man hums in consideration. "We have a single child", he says and Lady Justine sighs: "And what a child it is."

"The boy has been cursed since birth by a witch who felt wronged by the both of us. This curse makes it so that our boy is very, very cold to any and all potential suitors. Cold to a painful degree for the opposing party and everyone who happens to watch the scene. Now if he were to be a bit of an ugly duckling, it wouldn't have been a problem. But unfortunately", Lord Justine moves his hand between his wife and himself and it hits Laxus just how stunning these two creatures are. "That's not exactly the case. Without meaning to, our son starts quite a lot of fights. He's a capable fighter, but if you happen to be around him, could you try to persuade him from instigating it? It would make the both of us very, very happy."

"I'll try?" Laxus says, unsure of how exactly he's supposed to keep a brat with blue who seems to be keen on starting fights in line. He's unsure whether it's really a curse or just a case of rotten personality. "That's all we could ask for", Lady Justine says before the couple lets him go.

The garden's magnificent and the fact that he's been given free reign over it makes his experience there so much better. It's all very pleasing to begin with, but there's so much unused lawn and after a moment of hesitation, he plants some fruits trees. After Lady Justine had commented on how nice they were, he had thrown his caution out of the window and had gone wild with the fruits and vegetables. He was a practical man at heart after all.

It's a few months into his work that he meets the young lord known as Freed Justine. No amount of warning had been able to prepare him for actually laying eyes upon the man in question.

He's dressed in a loose, light blue tunic. The fabric conceals some of his figure, but it does reveal a slight sliver of smooth skin and contrasting sharp collarbones and Laxus can barely draw his away from it. When his gaze travels upwards he lays eyes upon the softest looking pink lips in the world and he briefly wonders how they would feel against his own. After dismissing that thought, he spots the man's eyes, an impossible shade of blue that pops against the pale background of his skin. A beauty mark graces his left eye, making him look even more elegant. The finisher is his hair, looking like silk draped over one shoulder, moving softly as the stubborn wind tries to make a mess out of it. That doesn't happen though.

In front of the angelic looking man is another man, kneeling with his forehead against the ground. "Lord Freed!" the man in question yells, "Please accept my undying love and affection for you!"

"No. No, I don't think I will. Please leave." The object of the man's desires dryly says before turning his gaze towards Laxus. When his uncovered eye fully meets Laxus' eyes, he gets why people call the man in front of him cold. He's never once met someone who could relay complete and utter boredom that well with a single gaze. In a single eye. It's actually quite impressive.

"Are you a guard?" Laxus winces a bit at the sharp tone. "No, I'm the gardener."

"You lug wood around? Would you dispose of this for me?" Laxus has half the mind to tell him to dispose of the now crying lad himself, but then he remembers the request of Freed's parents. He promised them to try to keep their son out of fights, so he can't exactly tell him to start one. With a sigh he clamps the sobbing, love-struck fool under his arm and throws a salute. "I'll be putting him outside the gate."

"Have fun with that", Freed tells him and re-enters the home without sparing Laxus another glance. Somewhere within him, he wishes the man had looked back at him.

As soon as Freed's out of sight, it's like the man under his arm snaps out of a trance. "That fucking bitch", he rages as he trashes against Laxus' hold. "I'll kill him! Who does he think he is? He thinks he can go around stomping on people's hearts, just because he happens to be pretty and rich?"

"To be fair", Laxus starts, "He has every right to say no to people. You know that right?"

"He'll never get anyone better than me. At least I'm not only pursuing him for his money. He should be grateful. In fact, he should be the one begging for my attention!" Throughout his spiel, Laxus has taken the chance to take a proper look at the man he has trapped. "No offence, but aren't you a few decades older than him? Shouldn't you be a bit ashamed of chasing a young man in such a dishonourable manner?"

The old man now redirects his attention towards Laxus, but before he can voice his opinions, Laxus throws him over the fence. "Goodbye filthy geezer. Please don't come back."

God, Laxus wishes that old man would come back. Well, not really but the quality of men and women that have come in pursuit of Freed has only been declining since then. Although they're absolutely starstruck when meeting the young man, it doesn't conceal their greed and their particular brand of lewdness. The things Laxus has heard are absolutely disgusting and he wonders how Freed hasn't blown his own eardrums out yet, to save him from the comments directed his way. Laxus gladly disposes of them for him. Freed always leaves without sparing him a second glance.

One day, there's a change in routine. While Laxus is tending to his trees one morning, he hears soft footsteps and when he turns around, he sees Freed sitting down on the steps of the pavilion. "There are chairs in the shed, you know. I could get one for you if you want?" he offers and Freed jumps a little. Apparently the man hadn't noticed him yet.

The man gives a timid little shake of the head. "It's quite alright", he says and in the peaceful morning, Laxus can pay attention to the specifics of his voice. He's surprisingly soft spoken, but Laxus wouldn't call him shy. He has a velvety smooth and deep voice and talks in a calm manner, as though he knows that he'll be listened to without having to raise his voice.

For a while Laxus feels the man studying him. "Is there any reason you're here?" he decides to ask, unwilling to bear the silence any longer. "Peace, mostly", the younger man admits. "Also, they told me there was a big chance of meeting you out here."

"Oh."

"I don't think I've formally introduced to you. I am Freed Justine", he says and offers Laxus his hand. "I gathered that", Laxus answers as he shakes the hand. Freed's grip is surprisingly strong. "Jee, I wonder where you gathered that information from. Surely it wasn't from the string of admirers moaning it everyday."

Laxus snorts at the joke, but the facial expression of the young man in front of him doesn't change so Laxus quickly stops. "Please don't do that. This", Freed waves his hand in front of his stony expression, "doesn't ever change. I prefer it that way, it adds a bit of mystery to my character I think."

"You don't want people to know your thoughts", Laxus guesses and Freed gives him a nod. "I'd rather not. My life's bothersome enough as is, imagine how much more troublesome it would be if people could read my thoughts on my face instead of feeling them on their skin."

Seeing the puzzled expression on Laxus' face, Freed offers him both of his hands and Laxus tentatively takes them. The first thing he notices is the roughness of his palms and he wonders what Freed likes to do in his spare time. The second thing he notices is that they're unusually chilly and the longer he holds onto them, the colder they get. After a while it gets painful to hold onto them, so he lets go with an apologetic wince.

"The more I like a person, the colder I get. I think you're quite alright and I'd even say I like you a bit. But I have no deep attachments to you, so you are able to touch me for a little while. If I were to love you more than myself, you wouldn't even be able to be near me, you'd freeze into a fun statue of pure ice. If I felt completely neutral towards you, you would not be affected by the curse at all."

Laxus frowns at that. "That does not sound like a fun situation. How do you deal with it?" Freed gives him a mirthless smile. "I simply avoid getting close to people. It's easier than you think it is, mister Dreyar." He turns around after that, not telling Laxus goodbye and once again, he doesn't look back. Laxus, however keeps staring at the spot the young man had stood in. How awful it must be, to be close to no one. To not be able to feel the touch of someone who truly loves you.

After that particular conversation, Freed appears more often during Laxus' work. He never joins him in planting new plants or weeding though, he simply watches or reads a book in Laxus' vicinity. It's peaceful and every now and then they have other small talks. It's during those talks that Laxus learns that Freed does in fact have friends, he just doesn't meet up with them anymore after an incident he refuses to tell Laxus more about. When spotting his sad expression, Freed reaches over to smooth Laxus' worry-wrinkles out and Laxus notices that his hand feels colder than before. "Don't be saddened, we still write each other. Nothing's lost, it has only changed."

During one of Freed's visit, Laxus tells him he might as well get his hands dirty if he keeps distracting him from his work. He offers Freed a little sapling with a smile and quickly that smile withers as the plant in Freed's hands does the same. "My apologies", Freed says as though he had done something wrong instead of Laxus. "I fear I simply do not have the green fingers needed for this type of work. I'll leave it to the master of the garden instead." With an even colder finger, Freed briefly pokes him in the cheek and Laxus knows he isn't mad at him.

Freed's appearances are now a constant in his life and something Laxus constantly looks forward to. From what little hints Freed gives him, the man feels the same way. Freed still tries to keep a lather large distance between them, but more often than not he forgets himself and scoots closer to ask Laxus about the flowers he's planting or tell him about the all the poisons one could make with those flowers. He doesn't know why Freed knows such an alarming amount of poisons, but it's a quirk he doesn't dislike.

Freed likes to ramble, Laxus comes to find out. It's surprising how much he knows about various topics and how clearly he can explain things. Freed's face is the most open when he's ranting about one of the books he's read that day and Laxus finds himself fascinated. Besides talking, Freed's also really good at listening. When Laxus tells him about his past, the man lets his guard down completely to show his compassion from quite a distance away. Freed explains that his curse can temporarily rise up when he's feeling something very passionately.

It's on a sunny day, where the bees are buzzing and the heath is turning the atmosphere languid and the good kind of lazy, that Laxus offers Freed a hug.

Here's the story. Laxus, although brought up in a household where declarations of affection weren't the norm, knows what it feels like to receive positive bodily affection. A pat on his back, a ruffle through his hair, a loving shoulderbump, he has received them all. Freed hasn't. Not regularly and Laxus guesses, not ever.

He's seen the Justine parents interact with their son and although it hadn't been malicious, their interactions had been anything but warm and friendly. There was an obvious mutual respect, but the parents held their son at an arms' length. Laxus' heart ached when he had laid eyes on the spectacle and that had been the beginning of his desire to provide for Freed emotionally in some way, shape or form. God knows he himself is quite clumsy when it comes to being affectionate (quite clumsy doesn't start to begin to describe it, actually), but he wants to at least do something.

"Hey Freed", he calls out the man laying next to him on the picnic blanket. "Hm?" the man says, not opening his eyes at all, but still signifying that he's paying attention to Laxus. "Would you like a hug? I know you don't like touching people because of your accident, but we're not all that close, I think. It should be pretty safe, want to try it out?"

That does make Freed's eye snap open and he rolls on his side to face Laxus. "Why?" he asks and Laxus shrugs. "I thought it'd be nice, that's all."

"Do you pity me?" Freed asks, voice dangerously low and blue eyes glaring daggers. Despite the sunny weather, Laxus shivers underneath that stern glare. "No, but I sort of sympathise. There was a period in my life where I didn't receive any form of affection at all and it had quite the impact on me. Not a good one, mind you. I remember receiving my first hug after that period and I broke down and cried like a baby. It was a sight."

Freed smiles at that. "I bet it was." The fondness of his smile makes way for a particular brand of shrewdness that Laxus has come to associate with Freed. With a quick movement, the man has positioned himself above Laxus. He's not seated on his lap, which Laxus both mourns and doesn't. He doesn't mourn it because he can't embarass himself but he does mourn it because now he can see the muscles of Freed's legs working to keep him upright as he's kneeling above Laxus and dear lord, the sight of those could be the death of him.

With a rough hand, but a gentle manner, Freed tilts his chin up, forcing Laxus to meet his eyes and he dryly swallows as he sees the barely concealed heath in those deep blues. "Are you sure it's just that, mister Dreyar? Merely sympathy?" he asks, voice husky and Laxus colours a deep, deep shade of red in response. "Oh darling", Freed croons at that, "You have such an open face. You should really learn how to conceal your intentions."

"What if I don't want to?" That shuts Freed up and for a moment the man is quiet. Laxus wonders if he's screwed this up, but then Freed shakes his head and moves back away again. "Alright, give me a hug. It better be good. One of my eyes may be covered, but I am still plenty able to see those thick arms of yours. If I don't feel like the life is being squeezed out of me, I will consider this a failure."

Grinning, Laxus flexes his arms. "Don't you worry for even a second. I'll crush your ribcage." Freed snorts. "Charming." The process of getting into the hug is a bit awkward, but once there, it's alright. Of course, Laxus starts the whole thing by absolutely crushing Freed's ribcage. The man laughs it off like it's nothing and that prompts a bit of a squabble.

After a while and a lot of shifting though, Laxus has Freed in his lap, his head tucked underneath Laxus chin, back resting against Laxus' chest. Feeling brave, Laxus moves his own head from the top of Freed's head to Freed's shoulder, angling himself so he's nuzzling the man's neck. "See, this is nice."

"It is", Freed agrees before fully relaxing against Laxus chest with a content little sigh.

The moment is soon broken though, as frost creeps along Laxus' body. At first he ignores it, because Freed himself doesn't seem to notice the effect he's having on Laxus. Then, it starts getting uncomfortable and so he tries to gets the man's attention. He finds himself unable to move any part of his body though and the cold numbs his mouth as well. The thin layer of ice keeps getting thicker and the creaking of the frost is what attracts Freed's attention.

With a brusque movement, the man tears himself away from Laxus. He reaches out to Laxus, before stopping himself and running off, shouting something Laxus can't hear. It's so, so very cold. He curls into himself to gather more warmth and he finds it. He should go to sleep, he thinks as he feels his eyelids get heavy. He doesn't fight his instinct to do so.

When he wakes up, he's in his own room. Looking around he sees only one other person in the room. With a wave, his grandfather greets him. "You sure live an interesting life huh?" Ignoring his remark, Laxus asks him where Freed's at. "The young Justine? He's been fretting all day, but he has not come to visit you because he's started freezing up the hallways whenever he came too close to you. I think it's fair to say the young man likes you quite a bit."

Laxus should be elated to hear that someone loves him, but his worry for Freed overpowers that notion. "I bet he's lonely again." His grandfather nods. "With a curse like that, I imagine it's hard not to be."

It's unfair. It's unfair that Freed will live his life void of companionship. He'll never be able to be surrounded by true friends and he's constantly preyed upon by people for his status and money. The saddest part is that those kind of people are the only ones Freed will be able to live his life with, as all other will be turned to statues of ice. It's unfair that an innocent young man is punished for his parents' crimes like that. Passionately, Laxus relays those thoughts and many more to his grandfather, who patiently listens to him.

"So what are you going to do about it?" he asks and because it's his grandfather talking, Laxus knows there's no malice behind the words. "I don't know. Do you know any witches that could help lift the curse?" Although it had been more of a joke than an actual question, Makarov strokes his beard as though he's mulling over Laxus' question. "No, because proper witch etiquette states that a witch should absolutely not undo another witch's curse. I do however, have an inkling who the witch might be that cursed this young man. I can tell you where to find her, but be prepared my boy. She's not a very reasonable lady."

"That's what many people say about me as well. I don't care, please tell me where to find her." After his grandfather tells him the whereabouts of this particular witch, Laxus prepares for his journey. He starts with writing Freed a letter, one where he explains that he does not blame Freed for what happened and asks for his forgiveness, as well as for the man to wait for him. That he's looking for a way for them to be together. After delivering that letter, he sets off.

This Porlyusica lady really seemed intent on ticking off all the "witch"-boxes. Unreasonable? Check. Old? Check, since his grandpa knew of her. Living in big, dark, nearly impenetrable woods? Abso-fucking-lutely. It's a bother honestly, whacking his way through all the branches and thorns. But he perseveres because he has to.

Finally, he reaches her house and before he can even knock on the door, she opens her window and tells him to get lost. "Leave me alone, I've seen enough of you humans for another hundred years!" Determined, he yells back a loud "No thanks! Please let me talk to you!" She doesn't open the door for him.

So he waits in front of her door, unwilling to move an inch even if she yells at him. After three days she's finally had enough and lets him in. "You're so annoying. That particular brand of mulishness can only be attributed to one family. You're a Dreyar, aren't you?"

Sheepishly he nods and she rolls her eyes. "Of course you are. Spit out why you're here and if I'm unable to help you, leave or I'll curse you to hell and back." She's got a spine made of pure diamond, but Laxus isn't easily intimidated. "It's about that topic actually. You've cursed a man called Freed Justine."

The woman lets out a bitter, little laugh out at that. "I most certainly did not. I cursed his parents, but gave them the option to relay it someone near to them. It was only me, them and their unborn son in the room where it happened. They chose to curse their boy. Don't put that on me."

That's certainly a revelation...Laxus wonders whether he should tell Freed about it. He fears that it might shatter the already frail bond he shares with his parents and it's not as though Freed's got bonds to spare. Deciding to tackle that topic at a later moment, he turns back to Porlyusica. "Can you reverse the spell? It's ruining an innocent man's life."

She strokes her chin and gives him a squinting look. "How far are you willing to go for your goal? Do you really want this curse to be lifted or are you trying to achieve another goal by doing this?"

He shakes his head vehemently. "I'd like for him to be able to smile near his loved ones, that's all. I promise." After scrutinising him a bit more, she shrugs. "Alright then, it's not like I've got something against the young man himself. Here's the two steps to breaking the spell: 1. You're the Justine family's gardener aren't you? Here's a list of a couple of herbs I'd like you to grow there. They are only able to grow on that particular patch of land and since they stole it from me, I had to buy them. It's a financial pain in the ass, you know. 2.", she looks Laxus straight in the eyes, "Confess your honest love to him." Laxus chokes on his spit at those words. "Oh don't be like that, you're so obvious. Do that and he'll be fine."

While Laxus is still gathering his wits, she pushes the list with instructions for the herbs and some packets with seeds into his hands and manhandles him out of the door. "There you go loverboy, good luck and all that. Now scram, I've had enough human interaction to last me another three lifetimes." And with the list with herbs and a head full of confused thoughts, Laxus returns to the Justine mansion.

Part one of the counterspell is as easy as breathing. Laxus plants the herbs as soon as he comes home. He tends to them day after day, but sorely misses Freed's presence while doing so. He keeps looking out of the corner of his eyes in the hopes of laying eyes on the familiar see of green that is Freed's hair, but alas, he never comes. Sometimes Laxus thinks he can see glimpses of him through the window, but the moments are too fast and fleeting to fully conform this.

Once the saplings have fully grown, Laxus starts to work on part two of the plan. Or well, he starts to think about how he should even attempt to do such a task. He thinks, ponders and wonders a lot and ends up doing significantly less. It's embarassing, really.

A good thing though, is that recently Freed has been seeking him out again. Laxus wished they could've talked, but someone's always whisking either one of them away for something or other. It's infuriating and in those brief moments, Laxus can see that Freed thinks the exact same thing.

Finally, finally they can squeeze out of both their schedules and they find themselves in the garden, sitting on the steps of the pavilion. Before Laxus can try his hand at confessing (which probably would've gone disastrous), Freed grabs his hands with shining eyes and to Laxus' surprise, they're warm.

"It's like the curse inversed", Freed tells him excitedly, smiling brightly. "The cold isn't getting to other people anymore, it's confined to me solely." Now that he says it, Laxus can see the snowflakes on Freed's already pale skin connecting, forming a layer of frost. With lips that are turning blue, he smiles and Laxus wishes he wouldn't look that grateful. "I can be around people without hurting them now. Everything's alright now."

"It's not", Laxus blurts out, "Freed, it's really not." With a scowl, the man immediately pulls his hands back and defensively curls into himself. "Can't you be happy for me?" he spits out, "This is the best thing that's happened to me in years, it's fine if I turn into an icicle, I don't care. Just let me have this, please." Freed's anger reaches a boiling point, before he deflates and sighs so deeply and sadly. With fingers stiff from the cold, he reaches out and tilts Laxus' head just slightly so. "Do forgive me", he whispers in Laxus' ears, his cold breath sending chills down Laxus' spine. After that he gives Laxus the smallest, most innocent kiss Laxus has ever received in his lifetime. It's so, so very careful and after he pulls away, Freed cradles Laxus' hand to his cheek and whispers a quiet: "Thank you."

His eyes turn empty after that and the continuous creaking of ice stops, leaving only a horrible silence behind. Freed had been crying, Laxus realises as he touches the man's frozen face. He looks peaceful and a melancholy sort of happy. With a soft bump, Laxus brings their foreheads together and places his own hand on top of the one cradling his cheek.

"Hey Freed", he breathes, voice barely a whisper, "What I meant to say, is that you deserve more. You deserve to reconnect with those old friends of yours without freezing either them or yourself. You deserve to make friends without fearing you'll end up hurting them. You deserve the world and if I could, I'd give it to you. But honestly, I'd just like to spend more time with you." He pauses, closes his eyes and presses a kiss to Freed's hand. "I love you."

It's not like those words suddenly make the ice burst, splinters flying everywhere and impaling Laxus, killing him upon impact. Instead, he finds out that the ice had in fact been melting when Freed's hand softly strokes his cheek. Laxus' eyes snap back open and Freed gives him the most gorgeous little smile. "Well, aren't you mister dramatic. Waiting until the last moment, all fairy tale-esque", Freed teases and Laxus flushes till behind his ears. "Shut up", he murmurs and because it look like Freed does not plan to do that and instead make fun of him forever, Laxus traps him in a bearhug.

Freed squeezes back just as hard and they stay like that for a long, long time. By the time they disentangle themselves from each other, the sun's already setting. "Would you like to meet my friends?" Freed asks, "Since the inversion of the curse, they've been living here again. They are very important to me."

Taking Freed's hand, he says: "Of course. I'd love to meet the people important to you." He squeezes Freed's hand and the man smiles at that little touch. "Well then, let's go."

#fraxus #freed justine #laxus dreyar #fanfic #TheFairyWrites #ask

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wintersongstress · 4 years

Text

All I Dream and Have

1 ❧

Summary: Bereaved and evading the clutches of a family tragedy, you leave behind the pain of your past to marry your fiancé and seek out your dreams, for the dawn of a new century holds the promise of a fresh start with the man you love.

But, if you knew anything about life, it was unpredictable and unkind, and when your plans for the future fall apart and you start running from the law, nothing could prepare you for the path ahead. One that lead to dark places and hard choices. One where everything you believe about right and wrong is tested.

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Female Reader

Word Count: 4.4k

A/N: This is 30 years late but I’m posting it anyway!

Chapter 1: A Field on Fire ❧

May 25th, 1899.

Dear Lenora,

I am the happiest I have been in a long, long time.

This letter is awfully overdue—for that I must foremost apologize to you. These past few months have been both the longest and the most fleeting in the course of my life. In my relentless grief, I lost my sense of self in pursuit of burying the past, believing that would be in my best interest. I see now the errors in that thinking. There is no forgetting, and part of the suffering is how you endure. It was the least of my intentions to leave my closest friend behind in the ashes of what was. All I knew for certain was that I needed time—to heal, and I needed Matthew—which brings me to my news and the reason behind my renewed hope in life.

He asked me to marry him.

I said yes.

I desperately wish to tell you all of the beautiful details of those simple words in person, so I ask that you forgive my brevity. Regretfully, this letter is not a wedding invitation. We have decided to have a small ceremony, only the two of us at a scenic little chapel. The swiftness of this life-altering affair may seem imprudent, but I have never been more sure of any decision in my life. I know it will be perfect—because it is him, and because it will mark the beginning of the rest of our lives together.

At this moment, I write to you from our private suite on a ferry docked in Blackwater for the evening. Traveling across the country has been tiresome, however Matthew has hired the Pinkerton Detective Agency to protect my inheritance while we travel, so all is safe and sound. Tomorrow, we board a train bound to our new home in New York. Originally, I shunned the notion of using my parents’ money to support to my future, but I recognized that was what they left it for, and who am I to spit back their last gift to me?

Now the time has come for me to focus on what I have to gain, not dwell upon what I have lost and all of my misfortunes. In that sentiment, I found my new love: for my work, and for my fiancé. And I believe that will be enough.

I wanted to express my gratitude for all that you have done in settling the matters of my family’s estate. I was not strong enough to go back and see what was left, and I surmise I never will be.

Please, write to me soon; I wish to clear the air between us. I miss you terribly, and, above all, I hope that this letter finds you well. Do not hesitate to let me know of anything you need of me. Take care.

Sincere—

The pen in your hand stills as the softest whisper of a kiss blooms against your neck, leaving the finishing stroke of your letter promptly forgotten. Your breath hitches in your chest, and the chill that tingles down your spine infringes on the solid warmth of the presence at your back. A spell of quiet and alone had fallen as you began writing beneath the green desk lamp this evening. One imbued by the gentle breeze flowing through the windows opened to a twilight sky. It all broke with a soundless sigh as you melt into the pair of slim shoulders behind you, sinking into a different kind of peace.

That touch—it belongs to him . You would know it anywhere. The trepidation of his hands, how slow they are to indulge as they travel, his fingertips trailing down the curve of your shoulders. Only he was capable of speaking of such soft wonder and considering you so thoughtfully without the sweetness of words.

What also unquestionably belongs to him is the whiff of cologne that follows his nearness. A sweetly dark scent of spice and musk, one that often clings to your skin with a simple passing brush of his sleeve. During the long months apart, he would leave you a scarf to remember him by, something to hold close. On the lonelier nights, you would gaze upon the moonlight glowing through your bedroom window and hold it against your heart. Every memory of him rose in your mind with that scent, and all of them were filled with fondness.

An unthinking smile lifts your cheeks.

“You know, it’s incredibly rude to sneak up on people,” You chide lightly, the teeter of a laugh sweetening your voice as your eyes lull to a close. A beat passes, and you both linger in the silence. His mouth glances your skin with the delicate grace and indecision of a butterfly as it drifts upwards with light, teasingly chaste presses.

Metal clatters, rolls across the mahogany desk and lands on the carpet with a thud. All the while, your head falls back as you yield a contented sigh and nest your hand into a familiar crown of dark hair, lacing the waves between your fingers.

A mischievous smile touches your ear. Matthew smooths his elegant hands down the sleeves of your gown, indulging in the emerald shade of satin encasing your arms. The silken sound has your teeth tugging your bottom lip, and a horripilation of delight prickles the skin beneath your dress .

“I’m sorry, I forget all my manners when I’m around you, Mrs. Cornwall.”

“Soon to be,” You correct, breathless at the low tone of his voice.

His thumb tips your chin to his, and in that fleeting space he murmurs, “Not soon enough.”

And with that, your lashes brush along his cheek as his mouth seeks to capture yours.

Matthew’s kisses are always languid and warm. In the blurred space between eyelids, his hands find their rightful place along your neck, holding you still at the perfect angle as his lips press into yours. Time gloriously eludes you both in those few moments as your hand slides farther into his hair, and you forget. You forget about the letter and the circumstances that brought you to write it in the first place. You forget where you are, no longer listening to the lap of water against the boat or the chirp of insects in the spring evening.

To forget all but who you are with is an elusive feeling, one that grants an immeasurable relief that leads you to forget the worst of all that has happened. Like a flower to the rain, you open yourself up to it freely. The brief tastes of it you had with him in moments like this kept you sane, and to know that they were never far was the reason why you smiled every day when you woke instead of sobbing to sleep each night. Yes, to forget was what you needed most desperately, and in Matthew’s embrace you forget about the worst thing of all.

You forget about the past.

His kisses were also easy to get lost in, dismissing all of your thoughts and clarity until you opened your eyes to find his in a haze. In the soft, warm lighting from the globe sconces of your suite, a fortune of silver glitters in the gray of his gaze, and a slow smile blooms between you. He was as lost as you were.

You thumb over his freckled, pale and prominent cheekbone, trailing down the hollow of his cheek to trace the line of his smile. With the tragedy that had befallen you, you subconsciously began to memorize his features, as if you might lose him, too, one day. The thought is too frightful to water, and it makes your hand drop.

As a part of you, a shadow was never far, and despondency shared its loom in equal. One fugitive glance behind was all it took to draw you back, and before long that woeful song filled with emptiness lured beckoned, calling out to you like a siren at sea to drown in the cold, dark waters of grief.

Matthew notes the way your eyes fall away, spotting the sadness doubtlessly lurking within them, and he clears his throat.

“I have something for you.”

“You’ve given me enough gifts, Matthew. What more could you give me?”

The back of his finger strokes your cheek, softer than a snowflake’s falling. A small, hidden dimple winks briefly at the corner of his mouth. “You’ll see. Keep your eyes closed.”

He curiously withdraws, and you do as he bids.

His footsteps shuffle away towards the bed where his travel case is and you sit patiently, eyes closed and excitement unfurling in your chest. After a few moments of rummaging he returns, and the cold weight of gold settles upon your neck delicately.

“Open.”

A silver mirror is placed in your hand and your jaw drops as you raise it towards your neck. Dozens of tearful peridot droplets glimmer back in the reflection, matching the twinkle in Matthew’s eyes as he watches you. The cloudless facets are cool to the touch as you admire them speechlessly.

“Matthew—”

“I thought it matched your dress when we were in town earlier. I couldn’t resist.”

“It’s beautiful,” You breathe. Matthew’s fingertips skim along the pendants sparkling over the smooth skin over your heart, absently trailing down to the glass buttons of your bodice.

“Not as some things…” He whispers dazedly, and the allusive warmth that brews in his downcast gaze has you swallowing tightly.

“Still, you shouldn’t have. As lovely as this is, I don’t want to display our wealth so ostentatiously...” And yet, as you voice your opposition to this show of lavishness , your sight remains fixed on the captivating stones. They do compliment the peacock feather embroidery along the flounce of your sleeves, and the jewel tones of the silk. Part of you chastises your budding inclination towards the extravagant frivolities Matthew had begun to spoil you with, and the other half…the other half of your sensibilities hesitates. Wearing this made you lift your chin higher and refine your posture to accommodate the elegance it demanded, as if it were a sense of purpose resting over your heart rather than a necklace.

“You can have nice things. You can allow yourself this,” Matthew says after a moment of watching you deliberate. His words are veiled in understanding, knowing your silent doubts and why you waver. He caresses the line of your bottom lip in an attempt to bring back your smile. “I want you to have it.”

You glance up, catching the softness in his eyes, and the tactile persuasion of his touch works.

“Thank you. I—” He swiftly cuts you off with a capricious kiss, one you grin and acquiesce into blissfully.

When he breaks away, he strokes your cheek with his thumb once more, and your eyes are slow to open. “No gratitude is necessary. I just want to spoil you,”

Reassured, you set the mirror down beside a letter opener atop a shambolic stack of research notes.

“We should—” you pause to clear your throat, stuck on your own words. “What time is it?”

Your pocket watch gleams on the desk, and you retreat from his embrace.

It was a gift from your mother for when you graduated from medical school. As always, you were reluctant to accept the indulgence of the timepiece. The gold face was engraved with two birds circling a flower, one whose center was a brilliant ruby that glittered like a star. She had insisted that it was a reward for your diligence, and looking back, you were glad that you ultimately conceded.

How often you thumbed the face of it, on that train platform on that autumnal day, fondling the last piece of her you had.

Your fingers close around the watch and flip the cover open.

“Dinner will be served soon, we should get going,” You announce. With a golden click the reverie is broken and you return your attention to the letter, signing it with a hastened scribble.

Matthew huffs a small laugh, “Now I remember what I originally came here to tell you.” He sighs, resigning his fond hold of you with one last, lingering caress to the back of your craning neck. The growing number of those light and leisurely touches he thoughtlessly gave reminded you of his unabated affection, and the fact that they made your heart flutter each time revealed how steadfast yours was, as well. You averred the realized possibility of you finding this kind of sincere and undying love on luck, an astronomical chance—like a shooting star in a barren sky.

Dazed with happiness, you sift through the contents of the desk’s side drawer in search of an envelope with a sweet hum. Matthew has stepped away in pursuit of making himself more presentable for the evening—although his outfit alone is more than passable. In your opinion, it is debonair.

After sealing the letter, you take a moment to admire him in his finery and the motions of his body as he searches for a suit jacket in the wardrobe. His shoulder blades shift gracefully beneath the raven dark silk of his vest, the material dimpling around the ornate buckle cinched at the small of his back as he leafs through his options. As he turns, the light of the room catches in the threads of gold embroidery swirling around the front of the garment.

Matthew presses his lips together as he holds two neckties up to his black collared shirt in the mirror next to the wardrobe, switching between a gold and a rose red puff tie. His brows alternately rise as he considers each choice. The sight twitches the corner of your mouth up and threatens a laugh, especially as he comes no further to reaching a decision each time he pauses between them.

Rising from the plush chair, the fabric of your gown rustles from the movement as you swivel around the desk to join his side. He calmly asks for your opinion.

You snake the red tie around and underneath his collar, tucking it in and smoothing the enamel pin in its place at the center afterwards. His Adam’s apple bobs as your hands slowly proceed down his chest, and your lips idly press a kiss to his clean-shaven jaw.

“I thought you didn’t want to be late?” He teases. A hand curves around your waist, and his nose traces down your temple playfully. As he pulls you into the circle of his arms, your hands drift up to his shoulders, and you slant your mouth to hover over his, calculated in your distance.

“I don’t. That’s why—”the word drags along with your bottom lip as you impishly sweep it over the seam of his expectant mouth. When the tips of your noses bump, a fleeting pause simmers as you slink your tortuous path upwards. “We should go,” you finish. You kiss his cupid’s bow deviously, unable to hold back your grin.

“After you,” he hums while hooked on the edge of your lips, amusing you by forbidding himself from purloining another kiss. Another laugh comes easily to you as he chases the distance between when you pull away.

In the space of an hour after sunset, the evening has grown cooler. Gliding across the carpet, you retrieve your shawl and drape the silken sapphire blue fabric around your shoulders for warmth. The beaded fringe sways as you swipe the ivory envelope off of the desktop. Matthew offers his elbow to you, all chivalrous and patient as he smiles softly. He leads the both of you outside and the door clicks shut.

The stars had come out, and as they twinkled, the developing town of Blackwater sat sleepily at the water’s edge. Far beyond the rooftops rose the Grizzlies mountain range, their cloud-haloed peaks standing sentinel against the backdrop of the wide and rolling golden-yellow plains.

When the ferry first docked earlier this afternoon you enjoyed a leisurely stroll along the bustling streets in the sunshine, more than glad for the change of scenery and the breath of fresh air. Men wearing caps and suspenders toiled under the sun all day, constructing the new town hall and trundling carts of freight down the dusty docks alongside the draft horses whinnying down the cobblestones. They created a din with the ringing of their hammers and mallets and shouting.

Music drifted outside of the Oriental Theatre and women admired the storefront window displays beneath the brim of their hats. The barber propped his door open to invite business in. Fresh red and glossy apples formed a neat pyramid outside of the general store, and men on their lunch breaks smoked cigars and dangled their worn shoes over the balconies.

Children played with their dogs inside their picket fences at the edge of town, the parents lounging on the porch in the shade with a lemonade. When the sun went down, the men trickled into the saloons for a round of poker or back home to their families.

The people in Blackwater were no different from the rest of the budding civilizations of America. They worked hard for an honest life to sustain an honest dream. They enjoyed the simple pleasures that came their way, and they welcomed you to do the same.

The heat was much drier and more bearable than the thick, humid air of Savannah. Although, you found that you missed the vibrant greens of the seaside city you called home for the past few years. You would spend your Sunday mornings on a blanket in the park with your textbooks, hidden by bushes of blue hydrangeas and glancing up at the wizardly beards of Spanish moss hanging down from the vast trees. In this dry part of the country, the dirt blown in from the plains dusted the ground and clouded the air from the high traffic, leaving you eager for a bath in the mid-afternoon. That must have been when Matthew purchased the necklace.

Your fingers fondle the droplets, a nervous habit, as if rubbing the coolness from the stone would ease the worries that always swirl below the surface of your happiness.

Along the waterfront, the street lamps glow yellow into the blue night, bleeding their luminance onto the lake and wavering. With the shimmer of starlight on dark water, the whirling of colors across the ripples resembles a field on fire, burning bright and stretching onwards greedily.

The low murmurs of conversation drifting out from the open dining room interrupt your thoughts mercifully. Your footsteps no longer creak across the wood of the deck, instead clicking on a floor buffed to a high polish.

The sighs of a violin and the musical clink of ice in crystal glasses fills the air, lifting your eyes to the warm atmosphere around you. Men in lavish suits with slicked-back coiffures and ornamental gold-topped canes swirl their amber drinks and mingle. Prim, staid women cling to their sides or sit at the dining tables, their golden hair coiled and twisted in place with jeweled pins while they pick at their nails with keen interest. Tall, potted jungle plants with scalloped leaves decorate the walls between the windows curtained off with red velvet. A fire burns in a hearth on one wall, keeping back the chill of winter’s end and spring’s beginning.

An usher stands near the door and you briefly speak with him, handing him your letter and an ample amount of cash for fulfilling a special errand. The older gentleman assures you he will see to it promptly after leading you to your table.

A woman wearing ivory elbow-length gloves cools herself with a lace fan stolidly. Her gown dusts the floor with white lace and elaborate ribbons and gatherings decorate her petite waist. A strand of pearls adorns her swan-like neck, and dangling from her ears glimmer drops of diamonds. She has a chiseled, elegant, oval face, with a small set of brows and lips and a slender nose she lifts at the sight of you. The beating pass of her fan slows distractedly.

Your gaze passes over her for all of a second, paying no heed when she puffs her chest to draw your attention to her jewelry, her wealth, her social standing. Instead you smile up at Matthew, and he catches it instantly, his hand falling to the small of your back as you lean closer to him.

A server in a vest and tie pulls out a cushioned chair for you, gesturing for you to sit before draping a napkin in your lap. Matthew settles in at the seat across from you and orders a bottle of Cabernet while the man lays a menu over your table settings. With a humble incline of his head, he leaves you to your conversation.

You drum your fingers against the pattern of the tablecloth, perusing the menu’s entrees for a few moments before coming to a decision. Matthew has gone curiously silent.

Candles glow between you, letting time pass unknowingly in the spell they cast as he gazes upon you softly, his eyes alight. Bemused, you pluck a grape from a silver platter laden with ripe fruit, watching him watch you as you taste its pleasant sweetness.

The corner of his mouth lifts.

An uncontainable laugh blooms from your chest. “What is it?” you demand half-heartedly.

He shakes his head, clearing the fog of his thoughts with a chuckle as he lifts his chin from his propped fist.

“I still haven’t wrapped my head around it. Us,” his hand reaches for yours, and the mood shifts from light laughter to sincere tenderness in a blink as you wordlessly accept his touch. “Finally running away together,” he trails thoughtfully. A thumb runs along the ring on your finger and the stone sparkles darkly. His ring. His promise to you. Your commitment to each other. “Like we always dreamed.”

A part of you struggled to believe your life was falling into place at last. All of these years of diligence and sacrifice, thriving off of letters alone while you both worked towards your dreams. The hardships that obstructed you, the grief, the doubts of finding happiness again because of everything that happened. In the darkness of the past you told yourself he was enough. After all of it, he had to be. He was all you had left.

You cling to his hand. To you, his ring shone with the brightness of the future.

“We’re hardly running. In fact, I’d say our pace is quite leisurely,” you say cheerfully, lacing his fingers between yours. Hope floods your heart when he squeezes your hand back. “We have all the time in the world.”

Silverware clatters and a shrill laugh breaks your reverie. Matthew loosens his hold respectfully when the server returns with a bottle of wine, clearing his throat as to announce his presence politely. He pours the drink smoothly into your empty glasses. Meanwhile, you fix your attention to the embossed leaves floriating the baroque wallpaper. You twist your fingers in your lap as the liquid sloshes against the crystal before settling in a dark crimson pool.

“Have you thought about what you’re going to tell your father?” A harmless question, but one you have both been avoiding.

You always understood that Matthew had a complicated and strained relationship with his irascible father, Leviticus. As his only son, expectations were put upon him to live in his shadow and carry on his legacy. But Matthew was nothing like him, and that was precisely the problem. After his wife, April, died, whatever kindness he afforded his flesh and blood atrophied. Like she did. Matthew was her reflection in every way: her eyes, her dark hair and elegant face. In the years that passed since her death, he became a source of resentment for his father, reminding him of the limitations of his money in the face of his dearly beloved perishing.

Matthew’s expression hardens and his shoulders tense. Shrinking back, you swallow the knot in your throat and gnaw your lip, dipping your head in supplication at how thoughtlessly you brought up such a sore subject. The only shared trait you witnessed between him and Leviticus was his temper, and though its occurrence was rare, it still twinged to recognize where it came from.

“He knows what he needs to. No more, no less. I don’t need his money or his blessing,” he grumbles bitterly, eyes shuttered. His anger is directed elsewhere, and for you, that assuages your guilt. You quietly shun yourself for fearing his reaction in those brief moments. He would never direct his anger towards you.

The gentle touch of your hand atop his flutters his lashes, and his brow softens. Warm lighting and drifting music surrounds you and instills nothing but peacefulness and calm.

“We’re leaving all of that behind and starting anew.” you remind him, helpless to caress the coldness from his hand. The tenseness in shoulders loosens and his palm turns up.

He lifts your knuckles and presses an apologetic kiss upon them. His breath tingles down your wrist as he lingers.

“How about a toast?” you propose when he releases you.

“To us?”

“To us.”

With a crystalline clink, your glasses meet. The smooth and sour taste of the wine slips over your tongue and you savor its richness. As you close your eyes, you open your mind to more than appreciating what you have in this moment. You accept the idea that this is the moment when you leave the past behind for good, that it changes for the better. And with that, the disquiet of your thoughts settle with your glass against the table, silenced in the light of Matthew’s smile and the happiness it speaks of.

A loud crash sounds from behind the dining room doors, and a collective gasp ripples through the room as the are doors kicked in. You whip your head towards the clamor, your heart seizing as your body jerks upwards with a flight instinct.

Silver barrels of raised shotguns and rifles gleam in the lighting and a formidable group of men burst inside, their black duster jackets chasing their tall and imposing forms. Saddlebags are draped over their shoulders and masks conceal their faces, though not their intent.

Outlaws.

Your throat dries, your muscles freeze.

Matthew finds your arm in the uproar of screams and gunshots, plaster raining down as he pulls you against him.

“Ladies and Gentleman, this is a robbery! Get down on the ground!”

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antiquecompass · 4 years

Text

Untamed Winter Fest Day 17: Bells

The Jiang Holiday Extravaganza was an entire fortnight of excess that even after four years still shocked Xichen in the five minutes of peace, quiet, and reflection, he got to himself at Lotus Pier. At least he’d learned how to avoid all those damn demon elves on their shelves, especially since Jiang Cheng always exorcised their room of them when they arrived. He also knew which bathrooms to avoid (near the library and off the living room with their Santa and Mrs. Claus toilet seat covers respectively), and how to kindly suggest a theme to Madame Yu for the Christmas tree in their bedroom. The first year had been a tree full of teddy bears, and while not offensive in any way, half of those ornaments sung in voices eerily reminiscent of The Chipmunks. Many were motion activated. He’d come out of a sound sleep his first night here, terrified, as Nutmeg tried to climb the tree and a freakish high-pitched voice sang ‘Up on the Rooftop.’ This year Madame Yu had apparently found some mercy and picked deer. Glittery deer, but just deer. None of them sang or played music, though the large light-up display on their fireplace mantle did. It was a compromise Xichen embraced. Mostly because he’d easily found the off-switch on the musical Santa train.

The sheer amount of food and all its richness? That was still a struggle. He had consumed far too many desserts at the Christmas Eve party and now regretted it as he laid on their bed, waiting for Jiang Cheng to return with Sugar. Honey, their new puppy, was already in her bed in the corner, fast asleep. Cinnamon and Nutmeg had claimed the library as their territory, but Pepper was on the bed beside Xichen, stretched out over all the pillows.

He truly wanted nothing more than to roll over and sleep with her soft purrs lulling him into dreams, but there was one Christmas tradition he had come to fully embrace and he was going to stay awake for it, even if the sugar crash in his system was demanding sleep.

This was why Uncle had always forbid food excess, especially sweets.

He smiled as their bedroom door opened, Jiang Cheng carrying the crisp, cold scent of the outdoors on his skin and in his hair. He carefully placed Sugar on the bed, then sat down between her and Xichen, stroking Xichen’s hair.

“The great Lan Xichen. Defeated by fudge,” he teased. His fingers moved to his belly and rubbed it in warm circles. “How far you have fallen.”

“It was very good fudge,” Xichen said. “I know you still have your problems with him, but Jin Zixuan is a talented baker.”

“It’s one of his few good traits,” Jiang Cheng agreed.

When he leaned down to kiss Xichen, he could taste the remnants of peppermint and chocolate. Xichen wasn’t the only one who had an excess of sweets tonight.

“I’m going to grab a shower while I can,” he said. He ran a thumb over Xichen’s lips, a soft smile on his face when Xichen caught it and gave it a sharp bite. “I’d ask you to join me, but I don’t think you’re capable of moving.”

“Probably not,” Xichen admitted. “The spirit is willing, the body refuses.”

Jiang Cheng sighed and patted Xichen’s belly again. “This is what I get for hitching myself to your old, broken down, wagon.”

“I am four years older than you,” Xichen said.

“And yet one of the oldest people in this house,” Jiang Cheng said as he slipped off the bed.

“We can’t all be sat at the kid’s table,” Xichen said.

Both Jiang Cheng and his brother had been placed there to watch over the younger cousins and their nieces and nephews. That was the story at least. Xichen had experienced enough Jiang family dinners to know it was more to do with Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng, two grown men, always being on the verge of a food fight.

“Can you honestly say you enjoyed your time at the main table?” Jiang Cheng asked as he pulled out his pajamas. “Enlightening conversation with Uncle Yi about different wood grains?”

“Each day brings a chance to learn something new,” Xichen said.

“Baby, you are so full of shit,” Jiang Cheng said with a laugh as he walked out into the hallway.

**********

Xichen had fallen asleep despite his best intentions, but when he woke up from his dessert-induced nap, Jiang Cheng was beside him, hair down and loose, reading glasses on, with his Kindle in his hands.

Xichen still couldn’t believe he had the good fortune to fall asleep and wake-up and live beside such a man.

“Sorry,” he said.

Jiang Cheng startled, but set his Kindle to the side.

“You were fighting a losing battle,” he said. He slid down to press up against him. “I’m surprised you lasted as long as you did.”

“Did I miss it?” Xichen asked.

This was their tradition. On Christmas Eve, late at night, when the house was quiet and nothing could be heard but the sound of the bells and windchimes on the porch, they exchanged their gifts to each other. The private ones. The sentimental ones. The ones they wanted to keep just between them without the eyes of the entire family on them and without any running commentary from certain vocal parties.

Wei Ying and Madame Yu both had very pointed opinions on gifts.

“It’s 11:50,” Jiang Cheng said. “You woke up just in time.”

He reached under his pillow and pulled out a slim box.

“Merry Christmas,” he said.

Xichen reached under his own and pulled out the slim wooden chest he’d commissioned to hold the small glass figurines inside.

“Merry Christmas,” he said.

It was Jiang Cheng’s year to open his present first. Xichen eagerly waited to see his face.

“These are--” Jiang Cheng’s voice went soft. “These are our pets.” He looked at Xichen, fingers carefully trailing over the glass figurines inside the box. “How?”

“I ran into a few old friends from college when I had to chaperone that school trip to the Renaissance Festival. One of them is a glassblower, the other a woodworker. I know they’re not like the tiny crystal ones you collect but--”

“They’re perfect,” Jiang Cheng said. He pulled Xichen in a deep kiss. Then another. And another, before finally turning back to the box, the softest smile on his face. “You even got Honey in here.”

“A last minute addition,” Xichen said. The little glass Honey had arrived days before their departure.

“Thank you,” Jiang Cheng said. “I love them.”

His fingers danced over the tops of the five glass figures again before carefully closing the box and setting it on his nightstand.

“Your turn,” he said.

Xichen picked up the slim box and heard a slight rattling inside.

“Not a necklace,” Xichen said.

“No, you don’t wear those,” Jiang Cheng said, fingers unconsciously wrapped around the jade lotus pendant hanging from his own neck.

“A bracelet?” he asked. “A fountain pen? A letter opener?”

“Stop guessing and just open it,” Jiang Cheng said.

“The guessing is the fun part,” Xichen said. He carefully started to unwrap the paper.

“Just open the damn thing,” Jiang Cheng said.

Xichen deliberately opened the present even slower, just to see that frustrated furrow between his boyfriend’s brows.

When he finally opened the box, he forgot how to breathe.

He’d resigned himself to the fact that there would never be a wedding for them, even though he knew they’d be together for life. Jiang Cheng was very vocal about his hatred for weddings and a general apathy towards the institute of marriage when legal ties and an agreed life-long commitment was just as valid in his eyes. So Xichen knew he wouldn’t have an engagement or a wedding or a marriage in the legal sense.

But this--this was--this was the Jiang Bell.

A silver bell engraved with the design of a nine-petal lotus hung on a royal purple tassel. It was sacred to the Jiangs. Similar to the Lans and their forehead ribbon. And was meant only for family members.

“Legend has it,” Jiang Cheng said in the wake of Xichen’s silence, “that the bell can calm the mind and clear the spirit. I don’t know if it’s true, but it’s a family tradition. I’ve been lobbying to get you one for years now and my Great Aunt finally gave up the goods.”

Xichen was still at a loss for words. His fingers shook as he removed the bell from its box. A soft ringing filled the room.

“You’re my family. We’re our own little family, cats and dogs included,” Jiang Cheng said. “And it was time you had your own.”

“You,” Xichen said, laughing even as happy tears filled his eyes. “I got you little glass animals and you give me--”

“What is rightfully yours,” Jiang Cheng said.

He kissed the tears on Xichen’s cheeks, his fingers wrapping around Xichen’s own where they held the bell.

“I love you,” Xichen said. All he could say when words truly failed to express what he was feeling and the depths of the emotions running through him.

An excess of love, of devotion, of trust, of dreams fulfilled and even more hope for the years ahead of them.

“Of course, I’ve now fucked myself over,” Jiang Cheng said. “No present is ever going to top this one.”

“No,” Xichen agreed. “But I somehow think you’ll still beat me, again, like you have, every year.”

“We’re going to disagree on this one,” Jiang Cheng said. “You gave me the menagerie in tiny glass form that I can have forever.”

And Jiang Cheng had given him his family, completely, fully, now.

“A draw then,” Xichen said, even if they both knew who had won this year.

“A draw,” Jiang Cheng agreed.

#long post #untamed winter fest #xicheng #day 17 #verse: lahl #fic: hold me like you want me #fandom: the untamed #my ridic writing

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tinylilemrys · 5 years

Text

Read it on AO3

Rating: T

Word count: 2,245

Summary: Aziraphale hasn't slept in six thousand years – by choice, mind you – and doesn't intend to start now. Being that vulnerable for those eight hours scares him more than he cares to admit. However, being with Crowley night after night might be starting to change his mind.

The night is the hardest time to be alive and 4 am knows all my secrets.”

– Poppy Z. Brite

---

Not for the first time, an enormous snore rips through the silence of the flat, causing Aziraphale to jump and the ink from his fountain pen to splatter, scarring his meticulous notes with unsightly black spots.

“Oh bugger,” he says, setting down the pen and leaning back in his chair, just in time for another loud snore. Annoyed as he is at accidentally ruining over an hour of work, he can’t help but smile at the second snore. It’s a reminder that he’s in what is now their flat and that the demon he loves is just a few rooms away, fast asleep in the bed that he knows is now supposed to be for them to share. Not that he’s shared it yet. In his over six thousand years on Earth, he’s never slept and doesn’t really see the point in starting now.

“Point, Angel?” was Crowley’s response when Aziraphale told him this. “There’s no point to sleeping – at least not for us. It’s just a fucking good feeling to close your eyes for a while and forget about the rest of the bloody world, then wake up what feels like moments later and realise you’ve just skipped through nine hours of existence for free. I’m telling you, Angel, She knew what She was doing when she created sleep. I’ll give Her that one.”

“Well, we’ll just have to agree to disagree then,” Aziraphale replied, even as he was helping pick out bed linen that suited them both. “Sleep still seems like a terrible thing to me. Those poor humans leave themselves so vulnerable for the eight most dangerous hours of the day and to top it all off, their dreams aren’t even always pleasant. They have nightmares, Crowley, nightmares, the poor things.”

A lady looking at sheets a few feet away from them gave Aziraphale a funny look and hurriedly walked off, ending the argument for the time being.

Taking the inconvenient snore as an opportunity to take a break, Aziraphale stands and stretches. Perhaps the interruption was a good thing – he does so frequently forget to take a breather when he’s concentrating on a task and he knows that can’t be healthy in the long run.

He briefly considers fixing himself a pot of tea and seeing if he can use a cheeky miracle to salvage his notes, but another, softer snore draws him to the bedroom to check on Crowley.

Aziraphale walks in to see him spread out on his stomach like a starfish, one bare leg poking out from underneath the duvet. This is a Crowley far less dignified than he ever lets himself be when he’s awake and the fact Aziraphale is the only one he’s permitted to see him this way, makes his heart race in a way that he’s come to expect in matters where Crowley is involved. He makes his way over to the bed and carefully slides Crowley’s leg back under the covers before gently brushing a strand of hair from his forehead and pressing a soft kiss to the newly exposed skin. Asleep, even as undignified as he is at times, Aziraphale can see glimpses of the angel before the fall.

Perhaps it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if he brought his book through here and sat with Crowley while he read, if for nothing else than the sake of being close to him.

His mind made up, Aziraphale collects the novel he’s been meaning to read for the past few weeks, turns off all the lights in the house, and settles down on the bed next to his demon, on top of the covers.

“Let there be the softest, gentlest light,” he whispers, fearing that turning on the bedside light will wake Crowley. To his relief, the small warm glow now hovering over his book doesn’t seem to bother Crowley at all. Figuring that he’s already abusing his miracles tonight, he throws in another one to stop Crowley snoring. There was no point in him being startled every half hour when it was really very easy to cure.

After a few hours of reading scored by the soft sound of Crowley’s deep breathing, Aziraphale holds his breath as the demon suddenly turns in bed and throws an arm around his waist. He’s sure he must have done it by accident – after all, he is fast asleep – but it makes him feel safe and warm in a way that has nothing to do with actual safety and warmth. Grinning from ear to ear, he continues exploring the plights of poor Emma and her ill-advised romantic meddling.

Had he not been concentrating on his book so intently, he would have noticed a similar (albeit far sleepier) grin on the demon next to him.

---

After that first night, Aziraphale spends every night next to Crowley in bed, reading through the night while his partner sleeps. Initially, he stays above the covers, but Crowley insists on having an arm around him every night, always above the covers. This, after a while, leads Aziraphale to worry that he’s getting cold which leads him to begin climbing under the covers so that when the inevitable arm snakes its way around his waist, it’s at least still under the duvet. This, of course, also necessitates far more comfortable attire which, for Aziraphale, means removing his coat, waistcoat, trousers and undoing several buttons on his shirt. He’s usually always fastidiously dressed so being this naked feels strange, but if it means that Crowley and his cuddly arm stay warm all night, he doesn’t mind.

Before the Nopeocalypse, in the six thousand years Aziraphale and Crowley had known each other, they had only properly touched four times. Aziraphale knows because the memory of each seemed burned into his skin. At first, they had feared that being a holy being, any physical contact Aziraphale might have with Crowley would cause him harm, but after Aziraphale drunkenly bumped into Crowley one night after leaving a raging party in ancient Rome, they discovered this wasn’t the case. After that, it was purely social awkwardness that kept them from venturing any further than friendly nods and polite conversation. Discovering how much Crowley craves physical contact has been quite the eye-opener. Aziraphale blames it on Crowley’s inner snake and insists that most nights he’s more python than man, despite Crowley’s half-hearted protests to the contrary.

Tonight, finding himself unusually distracted from his book about the history of movie musicals by the arm draped around him and how peaceful the man attached to it looks, he decides to try something new and daring. Setting his book down on the table next to him, Aziraphale sinks further under the covers and slips his own arm around Crowley. In response, the demon pulls him closer, so that there is now hardly any space between them and Aziraphale’s head is resting on his chest.

And that’s where Aziraphale spends the night – wide awake, lost in thought, but with the steady, reassuring rhythm of Crowley’s heartbeat against his cheek.

---

The day after the all-night cuddle, Crowley announces that he’s going out for a few hours. When he returns, he’s holding a carefully wrapped box and wearing the kind of eager expression Aziraphale never would have thought him capable of when they first met.

“Did I miss an anniversary?” asks Aziraphale, taking the package from Crowley confusedly. “Or have we decided to start celebrating birthdays after all?”

“No, nothing like that. This is partly because it’s something you seem to need and partly because I just wanted to spoil you.” Crowley is beaming as he removes his sunglasses and sets them down on their telephone table. “Go on, open it.”

Deciding he’s never received a gift from Crowley that hasn’t been perfect and having no reason to doubt that this one will be similarly wonderful, he carefully undoes the wrapping paper, pulls out the box inside it and lifts the lid to reveal a breathtaking off-white pyjama set.

“Darling, this is so beautiful,” he says, pulling it out to get a better look at it. The fabric is impossibly light and soft and smooth in his hand.

“It’s 100% mulberry silk,” says Crowley, seemingly unable to contain his glee at how much Aziraphale likes his gift. “I figured it can’t be comfortable wearing your everyday clothes to bed every night, even without several of the layers, so I wanted to get you something just as luxurious as your other clothes, but more comfortable for bed. I take it you like it?”

“It’s perfect,” Aziraphale says, closing the small distance between them to kiss him. “Goodness, Crowley, this may well be the most beautiful, thoughtful gift I’ve ever received. How can I ever thank you enough?”

“You’ve thanked me plenty in other ways.” Crowley presses a kiss to Aziraphale’s nose and then grins wickedly. “Besides, it’s not completely selfless – I’m very much looking forward to seeing how devastatingly handsome you look in them later tonight.”

Aziraphale laughs and kisses him again, and this one is longer, full of everything he’s feeling but doesn’t quite have the words to express in this moment.

“Fuck, I just love you so much, Angel.”

Aziraphale freezes for a moment while Crowley is searching his face, hopefully, probably checking that he hadn’t misread the signs from Aziraphale. They’ve both known that what they feel for each other is as deep as that for quite a while now – they wouldn’t have moved in together had they not – but it’s the first time either of them has said it out loud. It’s a lot to process. A second later though, it’s like a balloon has been set loose in his chest. He suddenly feels he might float away at any moment.

Crowley loves him and was even vulnerable enough to be the first to say it.

And when he thinks about it, Crowley has always made himself the more vulnerable of the two of them. He was the one who first dared to strike up a conversation between them. He was the one who kept approaching Aziraphale with offers of friendship, despite the very real risk to himself. He was the one who came back to Aziraphale after their nineteenth-century argument. He was the one who said in the softest tone he had ever heard anyone use, let alone a demon, that he would take Aziraphale anywhere he wanted to go. He was the one who had cried at losing the most important person in the world to him. And now he’s the one putting honestly into words what he’s felt for years, hoping that the man he loves will say it back.

And suddenly Aziraphale understands it – why sharing sleep with someone is such a big deal. All those hours Crowley is asleep, looking however undignified he looks, knowing that there’s a chance anything could happen in those hours, knowing that there is an entity from the opposite side of the ongoing celestial war who, up until embarrassingly recently, continued to choose duty over his heart, likely not knowing if the entity would go back to choosing his duty – it’s all vulnerability. And more than that, better than that, it’s all trust.

Crowley trusts him. Crowley loves him. And the least he can do after being on the forefront of someone’s mind for six millennia is to let him know that he’s been at the forefront of his.

“I love you, too, Crowley. With all my heart,” says Aziraphale softly. “And to prove it, I’m going to try it. Tonight.”

“What… that?” asks Crowley, his yellow eyes as wide as dinner plates.

“No not that. I’m going to try sleeping.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Angel, I appreciate it, but you don’t have to sleep just because you think that’s what I want.” Crowley takes his hand and begins tracing circles across the back of it with his thumb. “It’s more than enough for me knowing that you just want to be close to me every night, that you chose to ever climb into that bed in the first place, that you wanted to share a home with me. Being able to say ‘Honey, I’m hoooome’ in the most annoying voice possible whenever I walk through the front door already makes me the luckiest bastard alive. You’ve given me so much.”

“I understand that, darling, of course, and I deeply appreciate it. The thing is, however, without you realising it, you’ve been teaching me a lot over the past few millennia. And something I’ve learned is that if I can’t trust you for eight hours every night, Anthony J. Crowley, I can’t trust anyone. So that’s what I’m going to do. I’ll sleep.”

Crowley is just staring at him, dumbfounded, and Aziraphale feels a small sense of pride at having rendered him somewhat speechless.

“Perchance to dream,” he adds, unable to suppress a smile at his silly joke. And though Crowley rolls his eyes, he’s smiling too.

“Isn’t that about suicide?”

“Ah. Right you are. Maybe not the best quote for this occasion.”

Crowley laughs and kisses him again by way of reply.

Later that night, curled up in the first pair of pyjamas he’s ever owned, with Crowley’s strong arms wrapped around him, Aziraphale falls asleep and dreams of a garden, a wall, a demon, and the very first storm.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #ineffable husbands fic #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #yay #i actually wrote the thing #long post

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