#// god he’s awful in his dark arc | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hoseoksluna · 9 months ago

Text

MIST | myg ft. jjk

pairing: boyfriend!yoongi x oc (feat. jungkook)

genre: angst, smut

word count: 11.3k

summary: one encounter with jungkook makes you forget about your boyfriend.

playlist: mist / pinterest board: mist

warnings: the unfolding of polyamory, provocation, cuckold kink, cum eating, oc and yoongi fight, use of vulgar names, mentions of female masturbation, punishment, spanking, hair pulling, dom/sub dynamics, fingering, nipple play, disobedience, use of a sex toy, multiple orgasms, yoongi isn't comfortable with a certain sexual practice at first, spit kink, oc feels pain and likes it

note: it's here, you guys oh my god. this is part two of STEAM. i thought this would have only two parts, but when i got to the end, it was evident that it needs another one. i worked hard on this, guys. if you haven't read my little updates, i was literally sick today and threw up my breakfast, but i still somehow managed to get this writing done, so make sure you let me know how much you love this, hate this, what you expect and what you're feeling. pls!!! my inbox is open for you always x enjoy reading, love you all. ᯓ ᡣ𐭩

side note: HOBI'S NEW ALBUM IS OUT SLDKFJSDLFJSFJSLDF.

The night is feverish.

So much that small pearls of its perspiration settle over the arc of your hand, between your thumb and your index, peeking from beneath the enfolding of your crossed legs. It’s as if the darkened heavens were hot and bothered while eavesdropping on the conversation you’re having with the two males sitting by the table, one right next to you and the other across from you. Even the clouds have halted their drift and the stars… they haven’t dared to blink, focused entirely on the question slipping from the mouth of the male you’ve known the least amount of time.

Is this gonna be a one time thing?

You will your mind to be empty, for if you allow yourself to think about it, your answer is as clear as the flare of those lights above. And you don’t want to voice out how much you like the idea of the sex being continual in fear of being turned down, in fear of Jungkook wanting this to be a one night only matter. What’s worse, you’re terrified of awakening Yoongi’s wrath. You believe the wine in your hand is the only bitterness you can manage to swallow.

Oh.

You chuckle.

A mist blankets your shoulders, the softest of summer drizzles. A briskness that steals your attention from the double meaning swarming in your brain. But when you lift your eyes to welcome in the small rain, it’s Jungkook’s gaze that you meet. Dark eyelashes, heavied down by the weight of the half-drunk bottle of red that you and him have been drinking. An ivory swirl of brightness glossing over dilated pupils, fixated on you. On your own blurry left eye, the sheen of your mouth, past your neck to the shimmery glow of your collarbones and your right eye. The coldness of the mist thickens, yet it’s not the reason behind your gooseflesh. No, it’s quite far from it.

What roughens your skin is that very intentional stare. The slight narrowness to his once perpetually round eyes as he, for a mere second, shifts his gaze from your boyfriend back to you, adamantly expecting a response, one you refuse to have. It’s such a stark change to his countenance that, besides being stirred by it, you’re completely in awe of it. The smooth forehead, the slightly raised brow and smug mouth, now adorned with a lip ring that wasn’t there before. You don’t find the good man with purity in his eyes that, days ago, made a ruckus out of your life sitting before you, but someone else entirely.

A man, whose arousal emanates out of him like fragrance, seeping into your fresh mango scent scattered along the perimeters of your skin.

A man, like Yoongi had predicted, came to you like a puppy through him, asking you out for dinner.

Horny puppy. You squeeze your legs, hiding your faint smile behind the rim of your wine glass, tilting the carmine nectar into your mouth. Jungkook examines the bobble of your throat, the dart of your tongue as the muscle drifts across the rosy brownness of your bottom lip and you’re heedful of it—a moonlight personified, the mist around you like the clouds clinging to that planetary body.

Jungkook calls you by your name. “What’s funny?”

A momentary stillness. You thought your soft laughter was unheard. Your brain goes empty, mouth parts, the entirety of your vocabulary vanishes—

“I think that’s something we decide after the night is over,” Yoongi answers Jungkook’s question lowly, propping a strong palm on the cloth of the table. The wet breeze dampens his hair, leaves a glow to his pale face. You wonder how he feels—if he’s still as okay with it as he was while fucking the life out of you—if he’s now, perhaps, facing some internal doubts that you know nothing of, that he hides beneath his words. “A collective decision.”

He looks at you and beams at you with a tight-lipped smile. An expression that conveys that he wants this for you. You let out a sigh of relief, placing your hand on top of his and Yoongi makes a space for your fingers to fold in between his. Like he always does when he’s giving you backshots.

A gooseflesh changed for hot flashes. You become the night, its fever thudding inside your lit skin. A familiar ache begins to grow in between your legs, demanding it. As if Jungkook’s lustful expression and energy wasn’t enough, your boyfriend had to remind you of something so intimate.

You want both of them—right now.

Jungkook’s gape falls on your intertwined hands. Lover’s grasp. You note recognition, and perhaps a flashback, pulses with a dimmed light for a mere heartbeat in his eyes. It worsens your ache and, like Yoongi’s hair, you feel your panties dampen under your dress. You squeeze your thighs one more time before you untangle your legs, your heels clanging on the concrete, your knee bumping into Jungkook’s.

So close to him, yet so far away.

You let yourself dream about how he fucks. Rough strokes, those muscled thighs straddling you—

“You agree with this?”

A question from him directed towards you. Your throat dries up, dizzy from being pulled back to Earth. You take a long sip of your wine, but it doesn’t help your state. On the contrary, the buzz of the alcohol makes you tremble all over, intensifying your lightheadedness. You want to be fucked. Multiple times. Until you can’t walk.

You wet your lips. “Of course,” you say, squeezing Yoongi’s fingers once, twice, letting him know through your own version of Morse code how horny you’re becoming, hoping he gets the memo. “It’s smart. If we made the decision now, who’s to say you won’t get sick of me?”

Your response hurt you and you cringe, regretting your words. Your knuckles turn white, the breeze brushes through your hair and you relax your hold. Let out a hard breath.

If he got sick of you after fucking you, you’d hate yourself for the rest of your life. Move out to a cave, far from civilization, so no one would see you ever again.

Jungkook raises his brows, shaking his head. The smug smile on his lips remains, as if sewn into his skin. You wish you could wipe it away and straddle him right here in front of everyone—

“Sweetheart, don’t think that. I won’t get sick of you.” He toys with the foot of his wine glass, fingers moving it in slow circles as though he was—

Such a fucking tease.

Your clit throbs. You won’t think that, all right. You’ll keep your mind empty and stupid just for him.

You watch the movement of his digits, smiling slyly. The night rushes within you and, mentally, you wrap a collar around your neck in order to stop yourself from crawling across the table and taking a seat on his lap. A yearning forms. A yearning to feel the semi you know full well he’s sporting in his pants. You bite your lip, squeezing Yoongi’s hand again. He merely chuckles, aware of what the pair of you is doing and it’s too much for you.

You need a dick rearranging your guts. Right now.

Perhaps, two.

You stifle a groan.

“Tell you what. I have a cabin out in the mountains. With toys,” Jungkook says and you widen your eyes, his deep voice fraternizing with the night in you. Toys as in…? “An hour away from here. I can show you there how much I’m willing to not get sick of you.”

Yoongi’s chuckle amplifies and you’re struck. Fucked up. Your cunt drools, ruining your panties. Your cheeks flush. Feverish, beyond feverish—you’re on fire. Your breathing gains speed and fuck. Toys?

You have no thoughts. All that your brain is filled with is dick. Two dicks.

Yoongi lifts his hand, unsnarling your intertwinement, and he sneaks it beneath your dress. His fingers feel up the drenched material of your underwear and hums. You reckon he already expected to find you wet and his sound of approval coaxes more of your dewiness to try and come into contact with him, but to your dismay and his, the fabric stands in the way.

For two beats of time, Yoongi puts pressure on your clit as he feels up more of you and, faintly, so no one hears, you mewl, hiding your face beneath your palm. You swallow your whine for more, instead you sigh, camouflaging your moment of weakness. Bury your gaze into Yoongi’s, silently pleading him to take you home.

Yoongi only smirks down at you before he faces Jungkook. “She’s wet. I think it’s safe to say she’d like that.”

You slap his arm and Yoongi takes his hand away. The men laugh and you feel terrible, but not for long. You decide to take charge of the energy.

“What kind of toys?” You will your voice to be confident and it’s only a split of it that comes out. You don’t mind—it’s enough because it silences their laughter, seriousness taking place instead.

Jungkook licks his lips, adjusting in his seat—like Yoongi during that video call—and you sense it moving through you. You also feel the need to adjust, to peel your panties away from your cunt, discomfort seizing you a little. “I’ll show you tomorrow. Or the weekend after that?” Your eyes widen in panic. No—no, you can’t wait that long. He smiles fondly at you, sensing your emotions. “Tomorrow, then.”

You sigh in relief, downing your wine, but Jungkook isn’t done with you.

“Will you pack your little red robe?”

You choke.

Amidst the chaos of the situation, you didn’t even realize he saw you. You didn’t even detect his eyes drifting that low. Thought Yoongi’s body colliding into you prevented him from seeing your intimate nighttime attire, but then you grasp that due to your shock, you might have missed that.

Jungkook’s smirk widens.

Oh, you want to say you’ll pack your little lace number that Yoongi particularly likes, along with your garters and stockings, though you opt to say something else entirely. You decide you want to steam him a tiny bit. Dominate the energy. Make him uneasy. For ulterior motives.

“Will you brush off the cobwebs on your condoms when packing or should I buy you new ones?” You quirk your brow, finger wiping away the drop of red that slipped out of the corner of your mouth. It’s all just talk—you want him to fuck you raw—a straight allusion to his loneliness that Yoongi told you about. Amused, Jungkook’s darkened eyes follow your movement.

“Will you lick that finger?”

You’re convinced your bloodstream came to a standstill. You don’t breathe, you don’t hear anything—your entire being becomes him, melding with the night, the moonlight. It’s him who now erases your brain. Yoongi touches your thigh, his fingers skimming the bare skin, but you don’t feel them. No, you pierce your gaze through Jungkook’s, penetrating right into his soul. And you simply decide that you want to own it.

So much for steaming.

“Do you want me to?” you retort, fluttering your lashes, the smile you give him as seductive as moonlight fluttering in you. You tap your finger on your bottom lip. Watch as his hand drifts somewhere beneath the table.

He taps your knee in the same, identical beat. And, instinctively, you widen your legs. Your other knee bumps into Yoongi’s thigh.

His first touch on your skin. You burn. Thank the heavens for slipping the idea inside your mind to wear a short dress. You inhale a breath in. Bite your lip, impatient for his answer. Tense your body so your trembles aren’t evident. You want to be strong, confident, despite the fact your body longs to submit to Jungkook—to be at his complete disposal, to be his, his to smooth down those quivers.

Jungkook spreads his fingers along the roundness of your knee. Caresses you once. Then, nods. “Lick it for me.”

Your heart jumps out of your chest. Right into his glass of wine. A flashback fills your brain—Yoongi saying familiar words to you on the night that perpetually changed your life. Stick it in your mouth for me. It must have rustled through his being just like it has in you. Has caused enough mayhem in him that he used those words. For me. He wants you to be naughty, be a little slut that listens to his commands—for him.

Oh, and you shall do as he asks.

Yoongi spreads an arm on the back of your chair, fingers sinking into your hair. The attention of both men, the lewdness, your wetness coating your panties, the warmth of the wine in your stomach, the night and the soft rain—you brim with life. You’re so elated that you’re sure you’re luminous.

You plunge your red-tinged finger into your mouth. Keep it open for both men to see how you swirl your tongue around the digit before you close it. You make exaggerated sucking noises, your instincts and habits telling you to roll your eyes, but you decide against them. You’re in public after all—and you don’t really want to give Jungkook the full experience. Not yet.

But then Yoongi pulls your hair and unwittingly, in a second, you moan. You shoot him a look, withdrawing your finger. He only chuckles, loosening his hold on your hair, the love in his eyes growing, mingling with joy and excitement. The sight of it calms you like still, deep waters and suddenly, you’re suffused with the desire to kiss him.

Jungkook steals your attention, however. In typical fashion.

He squeezes your knee between his thumb and forefinger, making you look at him. He’s propped his elbows on his thighs and the position broadens his shoulders more, the fabric of his black linen shirt taut around his muscles. The breeze quivers his lashes, strengthening the dimness and the lustfulness in his eyes. No glint of light to be found—just an abyss, bottomless eternity, enlivened by the scent of chocolate, the color of his eyes. It doesn’t unnerve you, on the contrary it boundlessly stimulates you.

“You listen well,” he drawls, skimming his first knuckle down the smoothness of your shin before trailing back up. Gooseflesh—hard, thrilling gooseflesh. Your breath comes out choppy and you’re too transfixed by his feisty, lascivious aura to do something, anything about it. “But can you misbehave?”

Your jaw falls open. At a loss for words. Brain muddy, cunt dripping. Your vocabulary long gone, your decision to be the one who takes charge of the situation long forgotten, long erased—more like—by someone who’s proved himself to be more dominant than your own boyfriend. Your boyfriend who has made you cry multiple times during sex.

You let your trembles show. Bare, vulnerable.

Yoongi strokes your hair, nuzzling his face behind your ear, placing a singular kiss there and it grounds you. Envelops a shield of safety around you. The breeze nourishes it.

Jungkook slaps the side of your thigh softly. You gasp almost breathlessly, the impact vibrating through your body, the pulse on your clit a full drum.

“Tomorrow then. At my cabin. Bring your robe,” he mutters, hypnotizing you with his gaze and you submit to it, unreservedly. This time, he drags his palm down your shin and his warmth guides you as you extend your leg for him, propping it between his outstretched legs, on the edge of his chair. He straightens, welcoming your gesture. “No condoms, no panties. Pussy dripping, preferably.” He halts the venture of his hand at your ankle, long fingers stretching to grab a hold of the heel of your stiletto. Flicks his eyes to Yoongi. “You can either make sure she’s wet or,” he pauses, whisking his gaze back to you. “You can touch your pussy for me? How’s that?”

A carousel of dreams floods your mind and, fighting against the lodge in your throat, you voice out the one you like the most. You don’t want Yoongi to decide for you—you desire the decision to be yours, yours only. “Can I call you then?”

Jungkook quickly raises his brows, stupefied by your answer. He didn’t expect that from you, and that fact makes you giddy. Night flowers begin to bloom in you, evening primrose and chocolate daisy—his flowers. They spread their petals when he says, “of course you can. Call me from his phone.”

Ever so persistent in the game of the roleplay. You could have exchanged numbers, but no. He wants it to be from the cuck’s phone.

Yoongi grips your thigh, hard enough to make you wince. Even through your hypnosis, tipsiness and arousal, you sense that something is wrong. You turn your head to look at him and you discover that the love in his eyes, joy and excitement has gone out. Solemness has replaced it and into it, little by little, like the bottle of red Jungkook now tilts to your glass, overflows his wine of wrath.

The threat you feared the most.

You drop your leg to the ground and Jungkook lets you. Yoongi slackens his hold and you wonder what it was exactly that Yoongi didn’t like. The fact that Jungkook touched your leg or the plan between the pair of you—you touching yourself for him—that never had his approval? You release a breath, aware that you’ve done something very bad and your hypnosis and your smile declines with it. You even push your glass away, sobering up. The night flowers in you wilt.

Yoongi relaxes beside you and you slip your fingers between his.

You must have overdone it and the perception of that causes guilt to pool in your core. You should’ve at least looked at Yoongi to make sure he’s okay with it before jumping head-first. Nerves rise within you and you reach for your pack of cigarettes, hoping to chase your negative feelings away. Both men watch you, but the energy has already shifted. Arousal has evaporated and now, like the mist, seriousness settles in its place. Jungkook gives you a soft smile and you realize that your guilt is written all over your face, but he doesn’t say anything. Not to you; not to Yoongi.

The man before you returns to the good man you know, although his smug pride doesn’t let him become the healer that you know him to be.

The ride home is silent.

Jungkook texted Yoongi the address to his cabin as soon as you said your goodbyes. Your boyfriend scowled at the message before he pocketed his phone, taking your hand and walking a little faster to his car, as if to run away from the mess you’ve created. You felt so bad that you let him trail you behind him like a child, chin tilted to your chest, the heft of your guilt pressing down at you like a murky cloud.

The rain is thickening by the time Yoongi drives down the familiar road to his apartment. He keeps his hands tightly wrapped around the steering wheel and the gear stick, knuckles white like the moonlight that left you and fled back to the dark heavens. He doesn’t reach for the radio or his phone to play some music. Lets the rain sing instead; lets the rain mend the tension between you. You overfill, uncomfortably, with so many beginnings to your sentences, but none of them fit right—none of them really portray what you think you should say to him, so it all falls into the abyss of the night that still lingers within you.

It’s Yoongi who speaks first when he kills the engine, as if he needed the fifteen minute long car drive to think about what just happened, but it’s not the words that you want to hear. He stares ahead at the line of cars parked before him, at the canopy of trees bending to their roofs. The pitter-patter sounds of the raindrops worsen the guilt eating at your insides, especially when Yoongi remains seated with his hands in his lap.

“You’re not calling him tomorrow.”

Your deduction was right. He didn’t like the idea of you calling Jungkook while you’d be touching yourself. You get that he has the right to not feel comfortable letting his friend in on a particular sexual practice, but you want to know why. If you’re not getting your own way and he gets to decide everything, you at least want to know the reason.

“Why?” you ask, calmly. I want to, you don’t add. You fold your hands on your lap similarly to him, mirroring his body language. Feel the bubble of your disappointment sizzling in you.

“You’re fucking him tomorrow and that’s the end of it,” he mutters, waving a hand through the air sharply to emphasize his words. Doesn’t look at you. Not once. “No collective fucking decision. One time and that’s it.”

You will your calmness to stay, even when a foam of your own wrath pours into your disappointment. Do your own wishes and desires not matter at all in this situation? Or does the unfolding of it only belong to Yoongi and you have no say in it? Are you to shut your mouth or speak up?

He was the one who made a comment about your self-pleasure to Jungkook when he was fucking the shit out of you and picked up his phone to call him. I recall her saying your name would be pretty to moan while she played with her pussy. Why did he say it if the thought of you pleasuring yourself on the phone with his friend makes him jealous? Did he really think Jungkook wouldn’t latch onto it, not want it to play out in real life?

The uncertainty, the questions devour your gut, but you go back to the start.

“That’s not what I asked.”

Yoongi sighs. Hangs his head and rakes his hands through his hair. “I said—”

You suck in a breath. “That’s not what I asked,” you spit out with a venom that you didn’t mean and Yoongi finally looks at you—catches you closing your eyes at the rush of your emotions and turning your head away from him. “I want to know why.”

Yoongi scoffs. “How come you don’t know, huh?” His voice raises in volume and it paralyzes you with fear—he’s never yelled at you before. The question itself strikes you cold and you don’t like the feeling of it crawling up your legs. “How come I have to fucking remind you?”

You’re embarrassed that you don’t know what he’s talking about, caught in the middle. You want to get out of this car and walk home, afraid—so terribly afraid of what might come next. Fuck the rain, you don’t care.

Silence, intertwined with the long breaths that he’s trying to calm himself with, floods the car. You don’t know what to say and Yoongi keeps it at that. You consider the conversation finished.

Your hand reaches for the handle.

“Stay in the car.”

Your back faces him. “I don’t want to be here.”

“Then get drenched in the fucking rain.”

In disbelief, you turn around to look at him. Yoongi boils with anger, elbow propped on the door, index finger outstretched along his cupid’s bow, staring down the myriads of cars before him, setting them on fire with his gaze.

“And I will,” you bark, frowning at him, needing to have the last word. “Don’t come running after me.”

Your hand reaches the handle again and pops it open, your foot swinging over to the wet ground, but Yoongi grabs your leg and hauls you back inside, closing the door shut.

You open your mouth to yell at him. “What is your—”

Yoongi takes your face in his hand, puckers your lips and kisses you harshly. You groan, but you don’t fight it. In fact, you kiss him back, needing him—needing him warm and not cold to you. He stays nose-to-nose once he withdraws, watching as your irises dilate. The sadness that you catch whirling past his eyes punches you in the gut, hard enough that you regret the fight you’ve caused, regret every word you said and every action that can never be erased. You hate yourself for your desires, for your ugly soul and your abhorrence becomes an anchor wrapped around your heart, dragging it down.

You whimper, but no tears come out. Yoongi pulls you onto his lap and cradles you, folding you into his chest. He rubs you back in circles, sweeps your hair to one side and you cling to his heat, wondering what the fuck just happened.

You and him never had an argument before, never met each other halfway through the decaying meadow of negative feelings while being two opposite forces. You both were always there for the other person, absorbing their feelings, on their side through and through. Until now, you’ve truly never been two separate people with separate emotions and it’s a reality check. A breath of fresh air—the sudden, brisk disentanglement of an unhealthy attachment.

Jungkook didn’t just make a ruckus out of your life, but out of your relationship, too. And by that ruckus, he healed it.

And right then and there, you find the beginning to your sentence that you were searching for.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper into the fabric of his polo shirt and your apology stops Yoongi’s motions. You lift your head to look into his eyes. “I should’ve checked in with you—I admit that. It was wrong of me. You’re allowed to not be okay with something and I should respect it, act accordingly, even when I might have a different opinion.”

And your opinion shouldn’t change to be identical to his. Your thinking is your thinking. You’re your own person.

The anchor loosens and falls from your heart when that understanding takes form within you. You feel much lighter.

Yoongi frowns, but it doesn’t perturb you. Not anymore. “I will say this once so listen to me carefully,” he says, curling a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’m not letting him see you touch yourself because that belongs to me—that’s what we do. Remember that.”

So that’s what he meant. Guilt clenches your heart in a deathly grip for not knowing, for not realizing it.

“If you so much as touch your clit tomorrow when he fucks you, I won’t think twice to carry you away and leave him with blue balls,” he continues, keeping his hand on your cheek. “You’re still mine, even when I’m letting him have you. You’re mine. You got that?”

You place your hands on his shoulders and nod.

“Are you still okay with it, though?” you ask, not expecting him to go along with it after this and you wouldn’t be disappointed, not anymore. The healing that took place is bigger than your desire. The freedom that you feel is better than anything your intimate parts ask for. Your relationship at this very state, at this very moment, has grown past the sexual part. Before it was just lustful love. “We don’t have to do it. Jungkook would understand, wouldn’t he?”

Yoongi sighs and presses a kiss on your cheek. You feel all of his stress and wrath dispersing into your skin. “I want this for you, honey. You were so excited about it, so into it. I’ve never seen you filled with so much light before.”

You do the same for him—you press the same kiss, on the same right side of his cheek. “So just tomorrow then?”

A tight-lipped smile, like the one at the beginning of the night. Yoongi nods. “Just tomorrow.”

You disobeyed in every way you could. Brought panties and condoms. Left your red little robe at home. Didn’t look once at the lace little number you planned to pack. Decided you wanted to keep that for Yoongi’s eyes only.

Decided you were going to paint your encounter with Jungkook with different colors, one that differs from the stained ones on your palette that you use with Yoongi.

He wants you to be bad. Yoongi wants you to be good.

It’s all your mind is suffused with as Yoongi drives into the woods and the sunlight spilling through the windshield, cutting through the trees, tempers it. No music, no conversation.

You’re empty. You think the brown barks of the passing trees have more life in them than you do and along with that difference rise questions. Questions of what you’re allowed to do and what you’re not. Questions that you’re wary to ask.

Not because there’s a lingering tension between you and Yoongi after the fight. As a matter of fact, he made love to you after you both ran for the door. Licked you clean of the rain while breathing in the heady scent of petrichor on your skin. All that had been broken was mended, beautifully. The reason why you’re nervous to ask is that you don’t want to venture back to that place of wrath. Where you are right now is a place of brisk freedom, one that you don’t want to leave, but to have a clear state of mind, you reckon you have to risk it.

You place your hand on top of Yoongi’s on the gear stick, breaking the silence with your body language. You turn your torso halfway to face him. Meet his angelic early-afternoon-kissed countenance, hidden by his black shades and the long wisps of hair falling to each side of his face.

Murmuring his name, Yoongi only hums at your call.

“I have some questions,” you say slowly, carefully making your way to the place you’re timid to go to.

“Ask away, honey.”

You swallow the lump in your throat. “I know I’m not allowed to touch myself and I won’t, I promise. But is there anything else that’s off limits?”

Yoongi also swallows sorely, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. He takes a moment to think about it and because you’ve already brainstormed what he might not like, you make it easy for him.

“Is he allowed to kiss me?” you try, fingers grasping your dainty necklace to play with, to distract your nerves.

“Kissing is a part of sex, but if you’re not comfortable with kissing him, you don’t have to. Please,” Yoongi says your name with a sigh. “Don’t force yourself to do anything that doesn’t feel good. I beg you.”

A hit of your liquid emotions. A little vein of life springing in your body. You blink the sudden tears away, dipping your fingers into the space between his. You’re so grateful to have such a thoughtful, intelligent man like him.

“Okay, what about blowjobs?”

Yoongi sucks in a breath. Ponders it. “Well, that’s an important part of the kink, isn’t it?” He looks at you momentarily before bringing his eyes back to the road. “Watching your girlfriend suck someone else’s dick. That’s the appeal.”

“Besides watching her get fucked.”

He chuckles shortly. “That’s what I’m most excited about.”

A soft smile. “You’re excited about watching me get fucked?” Yoongi nods, but you didn’t get the answer you wanted. You go back. “So you’re not comfortable with me sucking his—”

Yoongi sighs, rubbing his forehead before slapping his hand back down on the steering wheel. “I don’t know yet, honey. We’ll see when we get there.” He squeezes it, the white of his knuckle appears and you take a mental note of that. No blowjobs, or no overindulging in the act, more like. Not knowing is an answer, too.

“And he’s allowed to eat me out?”

He doesn’t smile as he says, “he’s skilled with his tongue. You’ll lose your mind. It’s all I could ever want for you.”

You raise your brows in doubt. “No one is as skilled as you.” At that, his coy smile finally rises and you brush your thumb across the side of his hand. “Will you join in or are you just gonna watch?”

Yoongi shifts the gear and speeds down the road. “I was planning to watch only, but I guess it depends on the situation. I’m willing to join if I feel like it.” He lifts your hand and kisses the soft skin. “You nervous, honey?”

You still feel slightly empty, no nerves to be found. You shake your head ‘no’.

“You’re gonna like it there. It’s a nice cabin.”

What Yoongi said was an understatement.

When you witness the greenery enveloping the mountains, you stand gaping with your mouth half open. A warm summer wind billows in and out of the balcony, ushering in such liveliness and joy of life that you feel it slinking into each and every pore of your body, filling you up with all that you’ve been lacking. Giddiness clutches you and lingers, the flimsy curtains quivering against your thigh with each movement to and fro. You willingly become the nature—the sunlight and the slowly diffusing mist wrapped around the grays, blues and greens. The trees curtsy at your presence and a fond smile blossoms on your face.

Now, at last, you can’t wait to get fucked. You’re glad it’s going to happen at such a lovely place like this.

Jungkook, dressed in a white oversized T-shirt and a pair of cargos, takes your travel bag from Yoongi’s hand. He looks so soft that it’s hard to believe you’re staring at the same man from yesterday—he changes drastically when he’s aroused, like you takes on the likeness of the dark whenever he hears its call. It’s fascinating to you.

“Come see the room upstairs.”

Quietly, you and Yoongi follow him, your feet thudding along the wood of the stairs. And there, there your breath gets snatched altogether.

A white, heavenly canopy above the king sized bed, white furniture—void of any dust—adorned with nourished plants that sway and rustle in the wind. The summer breathes through the open wide windows and in the corner, next to a dresser, a mirror stands, a mirror with a rocking chair right beside it that causes gooseflesh to prick at your skin.

If this is where you’re getting fucked, Yoongi will have first row view of it. It’s as if Jungkook planned it all along and that speculation causes a shiver to run down your spine.

Jungkook sets your bag and Yoongi’s on the mattress. Skims his surroundings in case there’s any untidiness that he hasn’t touched and one glance at Yoongi tells you that he spent the first half of the day cleaning up the place.

Cute puppy. You and Yoongi share a smile.

“This is where you’ll be sleeping,” Jungkook says, straightening his spine.

“We’ll be sleeping?” you joke and the men shoot you a look, which makes you burst out into laughter. The sound blends into the song of the birds and the sway of the trees. You feel a spark of joy perk up in your chest.

“I’ll fuck you to sleep.”

Oh.

He said it so casually that you feel hot all over. You glimpse at Yoongi, though his face utters no words of emotion. Eyes fixed at a point on the hardwood floors, hands in his pockets, teeth nibbling on his bottom lip. Did he not say he was excited to watch you get fucked? Have you made a mistake?

You rake a hand through your hair, exhausted of your questions and doubt.

Jungkook leads you back down to the main floor, but Yoongi stays behind. Wants to take a shower before lunch. Nervousness nips at your fingertips at the thought of being alone with his friend, but you nod anyways, having no other choice.

You watch the swing of his body as he goes down the stairs, little wisps of hair bouncing on the back of his head that you find immensely endearing. They’re like some floppy ears of a puppy to you. Your breasts bounce as well with each skip down and you become aware of how full they are in your low neckline as with each movement your bare, pebbled nipples graze against its fabric, stimulating you, sending a familiar ache down to your intimate parts beneath the ruffles of your skirt.

You need to be very careful from this moment on upon this dangerous territory.

“I want to show you something,” Jungkook says, walking towards the balcony. He doesn’t look back at you, he just expects that you’re following him blindly and something about that overwhelms you peculiarly. You want to slap yourself for getting aroused so quickly—you just got here.

He extends his arms along the railing and you saunter to his side, taking a peek above his shoulder but failing, miserably. All you face is the hard wall of his muscles, even when you lift yourself on your tippy toes and it makes you huff out a frustrated breath against the material of his T-shirt, despite the fact his tall form dampens your cunt—

Is it your ovulation day? Fuck, you make a mental note to check that later.

Jungkook turns his head to look at you and chuckles. Grabs the back of your neck to push you closer to the railing and you fear your eyes will pop out of their sockets due to the way you widen them. The second body part he touched—one of many. You hope, you pray he keeps his hand there but he withdraws as soon as your fingers wrap around the wood of the railing. You narrow your lips in a tight line.

He points to what he wanted to show you. You try your hardest to not notice the details of his tattooed hand, to ignore the silver ring around that index finger of his and the ghost of his touch on the nape of your neck. You close your eyes for a heartbeat to regain your composure before they catch the view he’s pointing to.

A pond. A clear body of water under a thick weeping willow that wets its petals in the freshness of it. Your mouth parts. You sense his gaze on you, but you can’t reciprocate it. Not when such a lovely view like this lulls your soul, permeates it with the pleasure of beauty.

“Can we get closer?” you ask, mesmerized completely.

Jungkook grabs your elbow. Another body part. He drags you to another set of stairs. And you realize that the balcony is a veranda of some sort. The feeling of grass under your bare feet is exhilarating and, like a child, you begin to run to the pond, your skirt furling around you, exposing a sliver of your bottom. Jungkook lets you. Walks sluggishly with his hands in his pockets, watching you—smirking at that piece of skin he got to see.

You crouch to touch the stillness of the water, your fingertips reflected upon it. The coldness, despite the steaming sunlight, is so refreshing and you long to take a dip, to fill your hot body with the briskness it so evidently needs.

Standing upright, you twist to yap about how beautiful the scenery is—but Jungkook pushes you into the water.

You were so wrong. So very wrong.

Your feverish body didn’t need the coolness of the pond to dull your arousal because when you come up for air and your little outfit sticks to you body, your heartbeat picks up its speed, thumping in tandem with your clit. Jungkook wipes his smirking mouth at the sight of you and you’ve convinced that’s your undoing.

Nipples stiffened through your little top. Skirt shrunken. Skin wet and glossy. You run your palms through your hair, squeezing water out of your strands, feeling sensual, confident and so fucking playful. You smirk right back at him when you wade your way to him. Pull your shoulders back, tits on full show for him, when you lift your leg onto the grass.

And you stalk him down. You thought he’d move but he stays put. Those hands still in his pockets, those eyes zeroing down on yours—now different, now much smaller. Darker. Willing you to come after him.

“Prick.” You screw up your face at him, your chest tightening, an inch away from his.

Jungkook releases a breath. Grins smugly, briefly, swiping his tongue down the side of his inner cheek, as if he liked the fact you called him something like that. His irises drift down to your tits unabashedly and you swear you can see his hands twitching—

“You look pretty like this,” he murmurs, irises back on yours, twinkling, dilated. “Wet.”

You blush. Ache to be touched. Think about Yoongi and whether he’s finished with his shower because you need to be attended to. Taken to a safe place where the pleasure of his words and energy can unfold, where you can enjoy it. But Jungkook hypnotizes you again—and you don’t know how he does it, how he manages to draw your body close to his without hands. You hate him for it.

“Prick,” you repeat, more to yourself than him, drops of water trickling down every perimeter of your skin.

Jungkook cups your chin, raising it to his level. “And what else?”

You dart out your tongue and wet your mouth— slowly around the arc of your top lip to tease him. Then, you narrow your eyes even more at him. “Asshole.”

Affectionately, he titters, influenced by your actions so much that you catch flecks of drunkenness in his features. It makes you feel so brilliant that you beam up at him and once his laughter softens, he reciprocates the grin. Like you and Yoongi had, but in a different way.

The swish of the willow tree. A teetering bird. Jungkook fondles your glowy cheek.

“Why didn’t you call me?”

Your breath lodges in your throat but you push against it. Want to speak up. “I couldn’t.”

He frowns. “But did you want to?”

You nod. The question causes you to blossom, shed the last of thorns left in your body from the attachment. He’s the only person you could say this to and naively you trust that he won’t peep a word to Yoongi. A relief bolts through you that you put yourself first and spoke your truth for the first time in your life. You understand the reason why Yoongi isn’t comfortable with that practice and you promised him you wouldn’t do it. Intending to keep your word, it doesn’t change your opinion, however. Your opinion being that there’s nothing wrong with letting him see this part of your sex life.

It could be reversed. Jungkook being the one who watches.

He wraps his fingers back around your chin, hovers his thumb an inch away from your lips, as if he’s fighting himself from touching them. “Tell me with your words.”

A question that makes the time stand still. Do you listen or misbehave?

The decision is fast.

You press up your body against his. Jungkook sucks in a breath at the sensation of your stiffened nubs beneath his pecs, the water of the pond soaking through his T-shirt, marking your tits on him. You interlock your hands behind your back and Jungkook withdraws his hand. Surprises you when he lets it roam down your arm until he finds your clasped wrist.

He’s waiting for your answer. You know he is. And you want to gratify the puppy.

“I did want to rub my clit for you,” you breathe out and the hotness of his exhale envelopes you in a heat, even more so when his other hand grips your wrist and nuzzles you even further into the shadow of his body.

Hard length against your tummy. The roundness of his nose nudging against yours. It’s too much, way too fucking much and you mewl—to which Jungkook immediately responds, approves of the sound, of your neediness and presses you closer to him, your tits squished against him.

Lips above your ear, he whispers, “would you have called me or would you have let me see?”

He takes both of your wrists into his fist and his other hand goes to your wet hair, smoothing down the strands. You find the gesture calming, calming enough for you to say, “let you see.”

You inhale his scent—wood, vanilla and fabric softener. The fragrance of gentleness.

“Hm, would you have fingered yourself for me?” Jungkook continues, pulling your hair so you look at him. No hint of darkness in his eyes, but tenderness—a healing kind of tenderness that makes you give yourself over to him.

“Yes. More than once.”

Jungkook grunts. Turns you around and flips your skirt to see if you’re wearing any panties. Is met with the bareness of your behind as your choice of underwear for the day is a white thong. Optical illusion.

A quick heartbeat. Dry throat.

He straightens you and presses you back against him—this time from behind. Lips to ear, the same one. You feel the shape of him on your palms. Thick. Big. You roll your eyes back. “On the count of three, you run and hide. If I find you, you get fifteen spanks for wearing panties when I specifically told you not to.” His breathing turns ragged, in sync with yours, the thought of punishing you turning him on.

“What happens if you can’t find me?” You squeeze his full balls and you hear that grunt again, vibrating through you.

“You don’t wanna know. Did you forget I have toys?”

With that, he pushes you and you gaze back at him with horror—a lustful horror that blazes you. What kind of toys does he have? You want to find out, badly enough that you don’t mind misbehaving.

Jungkook begins to count.

You don’t wait until you hear the number three before you run for your life.

Inside the cabin, near the balcony, you bump into Yoongi’s naked chest. And you don’t have time to react before Yoongi scowls down at you, ridding you of any sounds of shock that desire to pour out of you.

“Why the fuck are you wet?” he asks, bracing you with both hands, skimming a glance upon the sight of you.

You panic. “Yoongi, I—”

A creak on the hardwood floors behind you. You round your brows. Will you ever make a decision on your own? Your fate was, again, picked for you. By Yoongi, by Jungkook—who didn’t give you enough time to hide.

Even a tendril of disappointment doesn’t have time to perforate your being because you sense another hand on the ruffle of your dripping skirt.

“Tell me why you didn’t take the second to make sure she was bare for me? You don’t check her holes?”

A deep, indignant murmur. Not expressed towards you, but towards your boyfriend. Yoongi’s scowl deepens, but you smile through your shock—the sun leaking through the clouds—and you sneak a finger along the definition of his abdomen that tenses under your touch. A conveyance that it has begun—that he should play along. You nod your head even, shortly, letting him know it’s okay.

Yoongi relaxes. Drifts his hands to your palms, holds them. Flicks his eyes to Jungkook above your head. Swallows. “She’s a brat that has a mind of her own,” he says and perhaps he’s right. Now you get to be one, at last. “She didn’t even pack her robe. Did she tell you that?”

You freeze. Jungkook fists your skirt.

Lips back to your ear. Heat radiating. You hope Yoongi didn’t see the marks of your breasts on his T-shirt. “Is that right?”

Vigor courses through you. You get to be a brat. And the possibility makes you feel infinitely alive.

“Yes,” you giggle, and when Yoongi gives you an endearing smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling, you find that safe place you were searching for, that you needed. “I figured I should be naked for the occasion.”

Jungkook scoffs. “And yet you disobeyed me. Do you even use your brain or are you just that horny?”

Your lashes quiver at that, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip, feeling stupid, although you know the reason behind your defiance.

Jungkook doesn’t wait for your response. He pushes you towards Yoongi until you collide into his chest. If your panties weren’t drenched from the pond, his manhandling would’ve taken care of that already. “Turn her around and strip her.”

You panic. Fear that Yoongi will see your tits on his T-shirt. Noticing your emotions, Jungkook understands. Pinches the back of his shirt and flings it on the back of the couch. Broad shoulders, big pecs, deeply defined abdominal muscles and the lines of his V leading into his intimate parts. No happy trail. Jungkook smiles at your relief. Your body flutters.

Yoongi’s hands grasp the hem of your soaked top and swiftly pull it over your head, making your full breasts bounce from the impact. He can’t help but knead them, face nuzzling into the crook of your forest-scented neck to pepper kisses there, and you catch the protest in Jungkook’s eyes—only to watch it dwindle away with the slow realization that he can’t tell your boyfriend not to touch you.

It makes you whimper. And the licks of Yoongi’s tongue and harsh kisses merely heighten that sound.

He continues as his hands find the waistband of your skirt and drag it down your hips until it plops onto the floor. And to fully present you to him at last, he hooks his thumbs under your thong—at which Jungkook shakes his head, disapproving. Walking towards you, he kneels before you and Yoongi blows on the traces of saliva he left on the side of your neck. Shivers, ones that Jungkook smooths down on your thighs to calm you down before he rips your panties in one motion.

If Yoongi wasn’t holding you, you’d fall to the floor—your legs boneless, jelly.

Like a leaf out in the forest, your ruined thong plummets to your feet. Jungkook lifts your ankle, helping you step out of it. Throws the scrap on top of his T-shirt, perhaps as a keepsake.

He doesn’t rise. Gazes upon your cunt, instead. Upon the glistening of your folds and lips, the swollenness of your clit. You part your legs wider for him. In appreciation, he looks up at you and strokes the back of your knee. Pupils dilated, the black swallowing the brown. And when Yoongi presses his length against you, pinches your nipples and you roll your eyes back, your attention stolen, Jungkook rises to his feet.

Licks his fingers and places them on your clit, starting a speedy series of circles—and you can’t catch your breath. Not when Yoongi rolls your nipples under his digits, not when Jungkook narrows his eyes at you and commands, “apologize.”

The pleasure overwhelms you so fast and you can’t speak. Can’t for the life of you remember how to apologize and what for, especially not when you grind your ass against Yoongi’s length and he grunts into your ear, not when you’re aware of the quickening of Jungkook’s breath.

Briefly, Jungkook speeds up his pace before he plunges the same wet digits into your hole. Doesn’t let you adjust, but instead keeps filling you to the brim. Then, with the same rapidness, he fucks you.

And you can’t stop yourself from coming and drenching his hand. The second fastest orgasm of your life. Your drops of essence are added to the pile of chunks of dry mud, grass and the pond water dripping from your hair on the floor.

Jungkook withdraws, completely. And you feel cold without his heat, without his closeness. “Why did you come?”

Yoongi begins to focus on your earlobe and you perceive the smug, proud smirk on his mouth. You don’t know what to say—beyond overwhelmed, beyond fucked out. All you know is that you don’t have enough, that you need more, that you hated how quickly your orgasm came upon you.

Jungkook takes Yoongi’s hands gently and rearranges them. The right one on your cunt, the left one on your jawline. To your surprise, he lets him. Something about that coaxes a string of your wetness to trickle down your thigh.

Yoongi’s hold on your chin is rough, causing a litany of soft mewls to spill out of your mouth as you wait for the next move. Needy, horny. And your mewls turn into loud moans that waft out into the forest when Jungkook grips your tits, pushes them together and licks against both of your nipples, your whole body fluttering, trembling, weak and stimulated. Yoongi begins to rub your clit and Jungkook catches you go cross-eyed, stifling his chuckle, but smiling at you regardless.

Drawing close to you until your bare, wet nipples come into contact with his skin, he glimpses at your mouth once before boring his eyes into yours. “Apologize,” he says lowly. “Apologize for wearing panties.”

Yoongi squeezes your cheeks, puckering your mouth, despite the fact this is something you only do together. Then, Jungkook tilts his head to the side and kisses you softly, owning you entirely. The puffy tenderness of his mouth, the gentleness which he pressed that kiss with—Yoongi squeezes your cheeks even harder, opening your jaw, giving Jungkook the green light to use his tongue and you’re gone.

You’re gone when Jungkook swipes his tongue on top of yours. Gone when he toys with it, swirls around it for a moment before closing his lips around yours, kissing you deeply—the smacking sound so loud in your ears, so delicious that you moan, losing your strength to stand and sagging a little bit in Yoongi’s arms.

“Fuck,” you utter once he lets you breathe and even through the hypnosis, the hot flashes signaling the upcoming of your second orgasm and the blurriness of your vision, you can see how much that kiss affected him.

Softening glossy eyes, features loosening—smirk wiped clean, unbelief, wooziness and arousal in its place instead. Mouth parted, puffy, shiny with saliva. A beautiful, extraordinary sight.

“She can’t apologize, but she can swear,” Jungkook comments, but it doesn’t reflect the turmoil happening on the inside of him. And it doesn’t explain what he does next.

He kisses you again. More gently than before. A slight whirl of tongue around yours before he closes his lips against you all over again. Although this time, he doesn’t stop. He pinches your nipples with his fingers, over and over, while moving his mouth against yours, a slow ripple of the pond behind you if there ever was one. And you feel the heat, the sweat coating your body and you feel Jungkook feeling you come. You don’t have to make a sound. He knows.

Your orgasm is a deep current moving through you. Like that kiss. You lose yourself in it, eyes rolled back into darkness, fluttering to and fro—from light to dark—and when you resurface, you find Jungkook’s cavernous, enthralled gaze fixed on you, fixed on the forging process of your orgasm taking roots in you.

Yoongi lets you drop to the floor, breathless. Jungkook shoots him a dirty look, but you reach for the button of his pants, not caring. He stops you with a gentle grasp of your wrist. Bends to your level.

“You’re not sucking dick. Not mine, not his,” Jungkook snarls, helping you stand to your feet. Hooks an arm under your knees and back and lifts you into his arms—carries you upstairs, without any other words spared.

He sets you on the bed. Gently cleans your feet with a wet cloth and when he’s done, he takes a seat on the white rocking chair across from you. Palms his length briefly before he manspreads, propping his elbows on his thighs like he did at dinner. Once Yoongi arrives, he pats your head and caresses your hair, an apology for letting you fall. You’re on the verge of tears.

Jungkook doesn’t even look at him. “Fifteen spanks from him for wearing panties. Fifteen more from me for not apologizing. To me.”

Yoongi never spanked you. You recognize it’s as much of a punishment for him as it is for you. They haven’t been friends for a day. Jungkook must be very well aware of Yoongi’s disliking of any impact play. He might like to make you cry during sex, but he never uses violence to do so. He uses his words, his dominance and his length.

Jungkook is teaching him a lesson for letting you drop to the floor. And it coaxes an onrush of foreign emotions to swarm within you. You’re touched. Deeply, deeply touched.

So much that you don’t take in the fact you’re getting spanked thirty times.

Yoongi scowls and you’re sick of seeing it. Getting on your knees, you wait for him to sit down. He remains standing.

Jungkook clicks his tongue. “Sit down, hyung.”

Power play. He has no business ordering him around and calling him hyung while at it. Has no business to be in control when he’s the bull. Your essence sticks to your thighs.

“I’m not spanking her,” Yoongi mutters. “Do it yourself.”

Jungkook leans back, a finger to his temple. Darkness soaks him in heat and he shines, dimly. “You allowed it to happen, so you punish her. For me.” In other words: You dropped her, so you’re getting punished.

Yoongi has no other choice. You can see the defeat wrung into his face and he doesn’t look at his friend as he sits down. You do.

And the look you share should mangle your heart, but it doesn’t. You should feel bad that you’re on his side and not on Yoongi’s, but you don’t.

Purposefully, you angle your pussy so Jungkook has a perfect view of her as you crawl on Yoongi’s lap. One leg on the mattress, the other in the middle of his thighs—

“Lie down,” Jungkook orders and you listen, immediately, plopping down on Yoongi’s lap, making him gasp.

Yoongi cages you in. Pushes you farther towards his back, but you fight against it. You want to look at Jungkook when you’re getting spanked by your boyfriend for the first time, and so you twist your torso to the side. Just in time to catch a sunray penetrating his aura of darkness, enkindling him softly.

With his hand wrapped around his still clothed cock, Jungkook nods at Yoongi. You didn’t even realize he was waiting for his signal. Your pussy drools. Jungkook squeezes his girth in response.

The first spank is tender. And so is the second and the third. Jungkook sighs, rubbing his temple, but he doesn’t say anything. Not yet.

Fourth and fifth—it gains a small amount of intensity, barely. Sixth and seventh, he rubs both of your cheeks as if it hurt, when in reality it was a caress to you.

Jungkook slowly blinks at you, telling you to be patient through that gesture.

Because it’s the tenth one that makes you gasp. The prickling pain coursing through your body, pooling at your core—your core that shows him how much you liked that sharp spank. Jungkook smiles, proven right.

Yoongi’s breath shakes. His cock twitches against your stomach.

“Harder,” Jungkook mutters, his own breath quick, eyes never leaving yours. “For the last five. And faster.”

Yoongi obeys. Your moans grow in volume with each spank, your bottom painted in faint red. Yoongi quickly pulls you up to face him, brushing your hair away from your face.

“You liked that?” he asks in disbelief, eyes flicking between yours, looking for any hint of discomfort.

You nod. “I need—” Him, you don’t say. You can’t.

The rocking chair creaks. Jungkook walks towards you. You twist your body again to meet him halfway and he caresses your cheek, rewarding you. You go to turn your body wholly, but Jungkook stops you, holding you steady by the waist. While you still straddle Yoongi, knees on either side of his thigh, he gently prompts you to lift up your bum against him, arching your back, tits in Yoongi’s face.

“Stay like this,” he whispers into the waterfall of your hair and as you rub your cheeks against his manhood slowly, he hums, pressing a deep kiss onto your scalp. “Hold onto his shoulders.”

You do as he says. As if Yoongi knows something you don’t, he latches his hands onto the back of your knees, clamping you down on the mattress.

The first spank causes you to squeeze your eyes shut, pain so acute striking your body like flashes of lightning. And unlike Yoongi, Jungkook doesn’t stop. He keeps spanking you, each hit harder and more painful than the one before and you lose count of how many you’ve taken. You grip Yoongi’s good shoulder with all your might, wrapping your other hand around his neck.

You like the pain. You like the pain so much that you stay still. And because of that, Jungkook tilts your chin so you can look at him, coming to your side and propping a knee on the mattress. You see amusement and amazement swimming in his eyes when you finally open yours, dazed. He smiles at you, softly and tenderly. And you pucker your lips at him, asking for a kiss.

Jungkook willingly obliges. Gives you a deep peck full of meaning that you don’t know the language of yet—and it sinks down your body, makes a bed there. The coldness of his lip ring turns you whiny. Jungkook kisses you over and over again, just to hear your sounds.

Yoongi is red when you glance down at him. He’s at loss for words and there’s a puzzling look to his face that you don’t want to decipher.

“Five more,” Jungkook whispers, tracing the outline of your abused, sensitive ass. “Can you handle five more? You’ve taken it so well so far.”

“Yes, please,” you breathe out and the fact you asked for it makes both of the males still. Jungkook sneaks a hand between your legs and circles your hole, gathering your arousal, teasing you, finding you wetter than before.

Yoongi begins to suck on your nipples. And when Jungkook finishes his punishment faster than you anticipated or even noticed, your bum burning, you could come like this—but you don’t. Jungkook sticks his tongue down your throat, does what Yoongi does on your nipple and you begin to tremble, making a mess on Yoongi’s thigh.

As if pitying the abuse, Jungkook kneels before you and peppers gentle, wet kisses on the red flecks of your disobedience, making it right, healing it. Careful with his lip ring, careful not to suck on the skin.

Then, he places a singular kiss on your clit, making you shiver. Stands to his feet. Walks over to his dresser. “Both of you lean back against the headboard. You against his chest. Keep her legs open, hyung.”

You hiss at the change of positions, your cheeks hurting, even when Yoongi places a pillow underneath your butt. It worries him, your expression of pain and he tries to alleviate it by kissing you. There’s so much difference to the way he does it that it makes you emotional, drags you deeper into the madness of your hypnosis.

“You enjoyed that?” Yoongi asks, knuckles brushing against the side of your face, as if he truly can’t believe you enjoyed the inflicting of pain.

And you’d want it again, if your skin wasn’t so sore.

“I loved it, Yoongi.”

Shock flares in his eyes and you look away.

Jungkook crawls upon the bed with a pink toy in his hand. A small egg with a small gap in the top half. You smile at him, excitement surging in you, and he reciprocates it. Lifts your leg to your shoulder and Yoongi holds it in place.

“Butt hurts?” Jungkook asks, noticing the pillow, and you nod. “Good.”

You laugh, softly.

Placing a hand on your mound, covering it entirely, he brushes his thumb across your cunt, checking your arousal, spreading it on your clit. Doesn’t think there’s enough, which you find ridiculous, and he spits on her, making you moan. Turns the toy on.

“Spit on her again,” you command, grinding your hips, feeling the trail go down to your hole.

Jungkook smirks at you. “Filthy girl.”

Bends to your cunt and spits at her again, tongue darting out to lightly keep the liquid love, where he wants it to be. And you mewl, welcoming his tongue on your clit, and you yearn for more, lifting your pelvis even though it hurts, but Jungkook withdraws. Places the toy on it, thumb clicking on the intensity, rising it, rising it high so much that you widen your eyes—

It sucks on your clit.

You cry out, pleasure seizing you in its grasp and all you can do is close your eyes and feel it. It paralyzes you, takes your breath and—

“Look at me.”

You can’t.

“I know it feels good, but I’m not letting you have it until you look at me.”

He takes the toy away. You grip his tattooed arm, opening your eyes.

“Please, Jungkook—”

He doesn’t listen to your plea. Lifts your other leg. Doesn’t give it to Yoongi—keeps his hand there, nice and firm. Begins to concentrate on the back of your thigh, leaving behind wet marks of red and purple, tongue sliding on the skin before he sucks on it, keeping his eyes on you as he does it. You grab a hold of his hair. Soft, so silkily soft, short and healthy. You imagine the tiny petals on the weeping willow outside have the same softness.

You’re spellbound. Jungkook places the toy back on your clit, pleasure flooding you—now more fervent and extreme, with his puffy lips still sucking your skin in tandem. And hearing your moans, Jungkook fires them back at you, setting your body ablaze.

“That’s it. Keep looking at me,” he husks and Yoongi squeezes your other thigh, kissing your hair, reminding you he’s here with you. But he’s not the one who moans along with you. It’s Jungkook. Your eyes lid, but you try your hardest to keep them open, your feverish body swaying, the nearness of your orgasm at hand. “Yes, like that. I’m gonna make you come for me.”

Letting go of your thigh, he sinks the two of his fingers inside your heat, gasping along with you. Stuffing you to the brim like he did before, he doesn’t have to fuck you fast to bring you over the edge. He moves the toy from side to side—and it’s the feeling of fullness, the twist of his features as if he was the one pleasured that makes you come all over his hand, the pillow and the bedding.

It’s like being submerged under the water of the pond and you keep your eyes open the entire time, the endearment on his face and his attentiveness taking care of you, watching over you as he talks you through your orgasm.

“Don’t hold back for me, yes, take it, baby. Good, so good, I know,” he says it in such undertones that you sob, emotions rushing out along with your release, trickling out of your tear ducts. You feel so safe and so well taken care of, so content that you don’t shy away from your feelings. You let both males be witnesses to it.

It’s Jungkook first, who reacts. Brows knitted, he wipes your tears away. And it’s him who decides to take a break.

“Let’s eat lunch.”

Your focus is enveloped around him so tightly that you don’t even know how your boyfriend reacted to your tears. You don’t feel him when he lets go of your leg and stands up to his feet to dress. It’s Jungkook who cleans you and checks the redness of your ass if there are any bruises.

Yoongi doesn’t wait for you as he goes down the stairs.

And it’s you who feels defeated now. And when Jungkook looks at you, he knows.

BACK to masterlist / READ part one

#jungkook x oc #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook smut #bts smut #bts imagine #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fluff #btscreatorscorner #kpop smut #jungkook one shot #yoongi smut #yoongi x oc #yoongi x reader #yoongi imagine

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shapard · 10 months ago

Text

Feather of Fate🕊️

Lucifer x seraphim!fem!reader

Soulmate arc

Michael is an Asshole

Near death experience

An Angel cries

Chapter 3 < Chapter 4 > Chapter 5

Lucifer was on edge.

What is Michael doing here?

Why Michael of all? The one that hates him more than anything.

Michael was standing in his home destroying the peace Charlie and you had.

The peace you enjoyed so much that he wanted to keep.

For the sake of you two.

His inner demon wanted to rip Michael limp from limp.

Its craving to use Michael’s blood to paint the town in pure gold with his blood.

Lucifers feather rustle out of anger.

“You would never pay me a visit Michael. We both know that.” After all it was his Fault.

Michael and Gabriel gave him the Idea to begin with.

And in the end they were the one who let him fall into this personal nightmare.

In hell.

Lucifer almost lost his life because of them.

Meanwhile confusing was written all over your face.

Brother?

Michael? The Arch angel?

Your brain was working on overload.

Slowly it started to click. You completely dismissed the thought that Lucifer is an arch Angel.

An offspring from God himself.

The Soulmate bond let you feel Lucifers rage, and his urge to protect you and his daughter.

It pushes you to stay put and to have faith in him.

Lucifer was still in a protecting pose to protect you.

He didn’t even realize when he was in front of you.

In a blink of an eye, he saw himself protecting you with his wings. Making them larger and covering you.

What was wrong with him?

Was it because you grew close in these last days, or was there more?

Has he caught feelings for you?

It made sense. Common logic.

His train of thoughts were Interrupted by Michaels speech.

“You’re clever as ever. But I do have to disappoint you. I’m not here for you, but rather for that seraphim behind you.” Michael’s gaze moved from Lucifer towards you.

His pure blue eyes bored into you, you felt almost naked under his stare.

You fiddled with the hem of your dress hoping it will help with your anxiety that started to build up in your system.

You heard an animalistic growl coming from Lucifer.

“You better get the fuck away Michael.”

It is terrifying. Lucifer is terrifying. You should be scared, but you aren’t.

You found this utterly attractive.

Lucifers horns were showing in all their might and all you could do was looking at them in awe.

Michael was still staring at you, Ignoring Lucifers threat.

It fueled Lucifers Anger even more, the lights started to flicker in the hotel.

Sweat pearled down from Charlie’s face.

She’s never seen her father that pissed before. Not even with Alastor nor Adam.

His eyes showing nothing but crimson red. But he remained calm in front of his older Brother.

It would’ve scared Michael if he was a mere lower-class Angel or a demon in Hell.

But he was the Arch Angel Michael, nothing scared him except his father God and Gabriel.

He started to smirk showing his pearl white teeth, and it settled off you.

Lucifer and Michael looked so similar, same hairstyle, same face.

There was a huge difference between these two though. Michael was cold, his aura was dark and with nothing but anger and Ignorance.

Meanwhile Lucifers Aura was warm, like a hot bath that was pure relaxation. His aura was white and pure.

Maybe it was the bond. But you see a foul soul when there's one.

But one thing they had in common, and that's their pride.

You don’t have a good feeling about this.

He wants something, but what?

What can be so special in here that an Arch Angel comes down here and confronts his brother?

What makes you so special that Michael would come down here?

Michael's predatory gaze was following your every movement making you want to run or plead for your life.

Lucifer widened his wings shielding you from the other Arch Angel.

You sigh in relief; you don’t want to spend any second longer with Michael's stare.

Not with the way he was looking at you.

Like a treat he could eat for breakfast.

“You should leave.” Lucifer’s eyes never left Michael’s.

All what he did was starting to laugh at Lucifer, “Aww, Little Lucifer protecting a fallen Angel How cute.”

In the next moment Michaels wings spread and he flapped them to create a hurricane like wind blow.

Wind blew softly in your face, Lucifers wings helped that you didn’t fly away from the force.

With a crash Nifty flew into the alcohol bar, leaving a mess with broken bottles. Husk frowned, “Oh great.”

The whole crew hid behind the staircase to take cover from the Arch Angel.

Michael whistled. “You seem to grow a liking towards that girl.” He pointed at him then at you, “what happened with Lilith? Cheating on her?” Lucifer gritted his teeth and took a step forward.

He wants to crush Michael skull on this hellish floor. Drawing an abstract painting in pure Gold on a red canvas.

“That’s none of your business.” Michael gasps at him, holding his mouth with his hand. Acting all shocked.

You could swear Lucifer was ready to bounce on him.

His devil tail flicked dangerously from side to side.

That’s what Michaels want.

He wants to see Lucifer loses control and letting his guard down.

He wants to piss his little Brother off. And Lucifer fell for it. His pride is taking over not thinking correctly.

Your feet carried you towards Lucifer, grabbing his shoulder to stop him. “Luci, don’t. That’s what he wants.”

He didn’t look your way but stopped in his track.

This disappointed Michael.

Deep.

Usually this works, it always worked. Why not now?

He came here to have fun with you and Lucifer, but you ruined it for him.

“You are listening now to a random bitch?”

This was the last straw for Lucifer. No one talks to you like that.

Lucifer flew up to get more speed when he flew back down to kick Michael in the stomach. That send Michael flying towards the nearest house.

Leaving nothing but ruins from the building.

Coughing he looked where Lucifer was, nowhere to be seen.

Confused he threw stones in every direction trying to hit Lucifer.

Lucifer laughed at this useless attempt. “That’s what you’re doing now? Throwing stones? Who's the Bitch now?”

His heart started to race out of fear.

He whipped his head frantic searching for his enemy.

A howling laugh vibrated through hell and a crash followed it.

Lucifer punched Michael hard into the floor letting Michael see black for a minute.

The earth shook under the force making you slump down at the sudden ground movement.

Michael spit out one of his Paper white teeth, it was covered in golden blood.

Michael realized that Lucifer got stronger and could easily get rid of him.

But that can’t be true, that’s not fair.

“Fuck.” He screamed as he heard Lucifers laugh from joy.

Michael panicked; he still couldn’t see Lucifer anywhere.

He was scared to death.

Sweat covered his injured now dirty white skin. His golden head piece had a slight crack in it.

How can I get away from here?

Then he remembers.

you.

You were his compass right now and Michael can use you.

Use you to cause mental damage to Lucifer.

Lucifer stepped out of the dark, stalking slowly forward like a predator to their prey.

Michael crawled back. His hand slipped on a small rock making him fall on his back.

Lucifer took the opportunity and charged forward. Michael dodged his attack just in time, flying towards your direction in 200km/h.

Searching for Lucifer in the distance, you saw someone flying towards you.

Your eyes widen in excitement, thinking it is Lucifer.

You walked slowly towards him, only to see that this is not your Lucifer.

This Aura, so dark and it was scary.

It was Michael.

You started to run to the opposite direction, you knew he would catch you easily if he wants to.

But you won’t give up without a fight.

Michael’s hair was all a mess, he looked like a maniac who lost control.

Blood all over his white attire and dirt all over him.

He grabbed your wrist lifting you up in the air.

You screamed, kicking your feet all around you.

For the first time in decades, you seem scared of heights.

Not having wings comes with fear from heights. Not being available to fly when you fell. Getting crushed by gravity wasn’t exactly how you planned on dying.

Your scream was quickly caught the attention from Lucifer, out of panic he teleported his way to you.

His tail swayed dangerous from side to side as he looked at the disgusting mutt of a brother holding you up with your wrist.

Pain and fear were written all over your demeanor and for the first time in this battle he felt scared.

Scared that he’ll do something to you.

Scared that if he interferes, you’ll die.

Michael Shaked you a bit to piss off Lucifer more. As if you were a mere piece of meat laid on display in an auction house.

Meanwhile he swung you around your sleeve of your dress slipped down revealing the apple mark on your wrist.

As fast as you could, you tried to pull the sleeve back up, but Michael stopped you.

Michael raised an eyebrow at you, what was your plan?

He took a glance at the thing you tried to hide, and oh did he never forget that mark.

You share the same mark like him.

Like Lucifer.

“Really? That’s all the fuss why you’re doing all of this?” You looked away in shame.

Michael was to say at least very confused. You were ashamed of being Lucifers soulmate? He would be too, but you clearly enjoy his presence way too much to hate this.

Then it clicks, “Ohhh, he doesn’t even know.” You bitt your lip, showing Michael that his speculation was Indeed right.

Lucifer was standing there at his friendlier form, observing the scenery above him.

He doesn’t know what?

You knew this would happen at one point.

You hid it very well the couple days, even though your heart was aching for that man. To tell him the truth.

But you were afraid. Will he reject you? Or does he even enjoy your presence, when he finds out the soulmate bond makes him feel that.

Michael pulled you in front of his face, you two were so close that you could feel his breath on your lips.

“You’re not better than your mother. To keep a secret that huge and so small,” His hand stroked your mark, it started to burn in your wrist making you scream in terror.

It felt like someone was burning a piece of iron into your cold skin making your blood underneath boil.

You felt hot and lightheaded.

You wiggled your whole body, trying to get out of Michaels grasp.

The tears that fell out of your eye collides on Lucifers face; his clawed fist clenched hard the claws shoving into his palm drawing blood.

Michael ripped a piece off your long-sleeved dress showing your mark towards Lucifer.

Lucifers eyes widen, no that couldn’t be.

He searched in your eyes the answer, but you looked away, ashamed.

And it hurts him. Why didn’t you tell him?

He unconsciously rubbed his mark on his wrist which started to itch since Michael touched yours.

Now everything made sense for him.

Why he felt that kind of euphoric, why he felt so in love. Why his heart ached for you every time you’re not there.

That’s why he was so attracted to you.

And you lied to him. God knows how long.

He is mad at you, but he won’t lose you out of his anger.

You were his last chance, his nemesis.

He must get rid of Michael before he can deal with you.

Meanwhile you struggled in Michael death grip on your wrist. Your hand felt numb with no blood getting pumped in it.

“I can’t kill you Y/n. But I can cause you pain which will hurt him even more.” His eyes shifted towards Lucifer smiling from ear to ear.

His laugh that rippled through his ribcage made you cringe.

His hands let you fall out of his grip. Before you could relax, thinking he would let you go. He grabbed your hair making you wince.

He pulled out a little dagger and pressed it against your neck. “Let’s see if your blood is still golden.”

Lucifer flew as fast as he could towards you stretching his arm towards Michael and you. Michaels words echoing in Lucifers brain. Let’s see if your blood is still golden.

But it was too late.

His knife slashed a cut on your neck, golden blood started to gush out and you started to choke on your own blood.

“No!”

It was hard to breath, every time you tried to take the oxygen in your lungs, blood filled them which made you cough and choke every time.

Michael let you go, disgusted that your blood spilled on his cloths.

He removed his golden strand out of his face smiling widely at Lucifer.

“Next time I make sure to you two will never see each other. Farewell.” With that he teleported away leaving a mess in hell behind him.

Lucifer punched into the cement where Michael was standing.

His heart stopped when he heard you choking from your own blood.

Ache

Rushing to your side he pressed on your wound tight. “Please, please don’t die.”

All you could feel was pain, and the warmth of Lucifer by your side.

And there it was again, the warmth of his powers flowing into your system.

it was calming. Making you almost forget the pain you’re in.

Lucifer was on the edge of crying.

Forgetting that you didn’t tell him that you were his soulmate.

All he could think about is that you were slowly dying.

He feels useless.

Charlie watched the scene, feeling bad for her dad.

He told her that he has a soulmate, someone who is his other half.

But since he fell, he’d never see them.

It was sad to see his depressed expression when he thought about it.

But now he found out in the middle of the battlefield that he found her. And now he may lose someone precious. His other half. The reason he still had faith.

She looks at her father saying a mantra all over and over again.

Please don’t die, please, please Y/n don’t leave me. Please.

He felt alone like he did when Lilith left him, but this is not the same.

You’ll never come back. Leaving him with an empty void in his heart that cannot be filled.

He survived the void that Lilith left in him.

But not you, his soulmate that helped him without even knowing.

Every night he thought of you. Not even in a sexual way.

He held the duck he made for you tight to his body to feel comforted in some kind of way.

And it all makes sense. But it may be too late.

Here you were, slowly dying in his hands. Passed out from your blood lost.

His tears dropped down on your lips making you feel the salty sweet substance.

An Angel cries.

Your neck wound started to close making him sigh in relief.

you have lost a lot of blood, and it was still life threatening but the bleeding was stopped.

You have a chance to survive this.

He stroked your cheek softly removing the dirt that was on your face.

He pressed his forehead on yours in a comforting way.

“Please wake up.”

A/n: 👀 Soooo, how y'all doing? Thank you to all who are writing so sweet comments<3

Hope you enjoyed this chapter❤️

💫

@ayanazoldyck @marydragneell @lunaryasha @cherry-cola-100 @lxkeee @latersgates-steven @fandom-crashlanding @cupidsgift

#y/n #hazbin hotel #lucifer #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer x reader #hazbinhotel #hazbin hotel lucifer x reader #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer morningstar #female reader #angel #michael hazbin hotel #shapard

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sweetieviktor · 1 month ago

Text

"salvation", feat. viktor.

summary: you come to his temple and ask the herald to heal you.

word count: 540.

content warning: season 2, arc 2 spoilers!!! please, don't read if you haven't seen the series yet! some descriptions might sound even a bit sexual but this is a sfw work! i just got a bit carried away while writing sensations lol. also, viktor may be a little ooc since im still getting used to him on the new season.

author notes: i rushed this one hehe but its finally complete! i really wanted to write something based on season 2 and the insane amount of people saying things as such "i would join his church wtvr" or "i may believe in god now" made me think why not write this kind of thing happening? so here it is :))))

you heard the rumors spreading through the lanes, there was someone, a “savior”, helping the ones in need – the shimmer addicts, the sick and the dying. and you thought that maybe the herald, as they called him, could save you.

so you walked down the busy streets, passing by empty shops and crowded brothels, finally descending in the dark alleys until light reached your eyes again, revealing a bright environment, made with metal, all with different colors and textures, molded into organic shapes, like it was meant to be like this all along. contorted yet so beautiful. outside the arch separating the commune and the commoners, there were people just like you, asking for help and hoping for his salvation.

a man walked towards you, the white clothing draped around him accentuating the swirly metallic patterns engraved on his body. “if you have something that could possibly harm someone, i must ask you to leave those here. this is a place of peace”, you discarded everything you could think of, emptying all pockets you had and he looked at you with empathy on his eyes, while you left behind everything that you used during your worst times, letting go of a part of your story, letting go of your past self. “now, you shall come. he is expecting you.”

the man walked in front of you, guiding your path between tents full of people, healthy people, all dressed in white. some adults were working while the kids were playing and you were in pure awe, it all seemed so... perfect. a miracle that happened on the underground.

“the herald is waiting, you must go”, he gestured towards a round temple-like structure, tilting his head and leaving you alone shortly after, moving to the arch again.

you followed his words, walking till you reached where the herald was, in fact, waiting for you. flowing hair and royal blue fabric covering his glowing purple skin, all adorned with golden accents. he looked ethereal, almost inhuman, a god-like figure, a saint. the kind of saint that could fix the broken. fix you.

you came closer and he extended his hand in your direction without saying a word – it was not needed, actually –, you could sense his intentions, it was kind of a vibration, radiating off his fingers. he wanted to save you. so, when he touched your forehead, the whole world seemed to fade with a burst of light and all you could do was to feel. feel his cold fingers pressing further in your skin, feel the jolts it sended through your body, the way it ignited something deep inside of you, how you couldn't breathe, the way your veins burned and your heart rate increased, but it didn't hurt at all, instead, you felt alive. the metal fusing with your body, the magic circling both of you, how you could feel him inside of you, changing, morphing and purifying your flesh. it felt like you ascended to heaven and came back different, new, evolved. gloriously evolved.

he pulled back his arm, allowing your body to fall to its knees, and he knelt too, leaning on his staff, looking at you with his emotionless iridescent eyes, “now, you need not suffer anymore.”

#—swe writes #league of legends x reader #arcane x reader #lol x reader #viktor x reader #im not completely happy with this one but i needed to write something for arc 2 #i mean. if i didn't write it now it probably wouldn't make sense next week yk??#this is why it feels a bit rushed and all #but anyways!! he looks so gorgeous in season 2 #like ....... gods why is this man so good looking?#save me viktor arcane save me #< i was thinking this all the time while writing it #i swear i swear #but fr pls save me viktor arcane #my way to cope with his “death” is to write and write and write and write non stop #now we must wait for the machine herald >:D

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aekatty · 7 months ago

Text

𝔱𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔟𝔩𝔢 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔪𝔢 ⭒✮⭒

yeah, you’re trouble for me…

a/n: his onigashima outfit…that’s all i have to say!

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

18+ !! MINORS DNI

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

cw: enemies to lovers, p in v sex, degradation, rough sex, creampie, kidd is a certified perv lol, reader manages a bikini bar;), no set arc - no spoilers, porn WITH plot, pet names: pretty girl, babe

tags ✮⋆˙ eustasskidd x bartender!reader, enemies to lovers, f!/afab!reader, smut

now playing: trouble for me - britney spears

————

“Another round of booze, and make it five glasses!”

“Uh, sir-”

“I SAID GET ME FIVE MORE”

He laughed as he watched the timid bartender run to the back with a horrid expression painted on their face.

“What’s with all the commotion?”

He looked up to see you, the manager of the bar, with an irritated look on your face. His demeanor changed as he was an awestruck at your attractiveness. A green halter bikini top with a black sarong that barely covered the skimpy bottom that rode up your ass. You had your hand on your hip as you waited for the chaotic red-head’s answer.

He finally snapped back to reality before shooting a flirtatious smirk, “Well, hello there beautiful~”

“I’m sorry what-”

“Name’s Kidd….Eustass ‘Captain’ Kidd,” he leaned on the edge of the bar table, his bar stool squeaking in the process.

“Um, ok.”

“So uhhh, nice bikini. Dark green suits ya,” his smirk widening before giving you a flirtatious wink.

“Thanks…it’s a bikini bar?”

He continued on with his failing flirting, “How ‘bout you join my crew, baby girl, cause you gotta nice punk style to ya.”

You felt your eye twitch, “I’m fine with my job, thank you very much.”

“…So, you got some nice curves-”

You gasped at his pervy comment before furiously slapping his face. How can such a man be this confident? While he’s not wrong, you know how to model a cute bikini, you just couldn’t believe the idiocy and confidence of the red-headed pirate.

He rubbed the part where you impacted his face, “OW, HEY!”

“Is that how you talk to women?!”

Before you could say anything else, a man with blonde hair and a mask lightly tapped your shoulder, “Apologies, miss, my captain is very stupid.”

“IM NOT STUPID-”

“He’s not used to making convo with pretty women like you so you have to excuse his poor manners.”

You felt your cheeks become warm hearing the compliment from the masked blonde, “Well, I guess you’re right...”

He laughed, “You see, Eustass? That’s how you talk to ladies. Now go apologize to her!”

The red-headed pirate poured, “ARGH, ok fine!”

————

After composing himself he nervously itched the back of his head, a flustered face to go alongwith his timidness, “Sorry, pretty girl. I didn’t mean to be a pervert…I think you’re very beautiful.”

You felt a bit relieved hearing his words, but that still doesn’t make up for the nuisance he’s been for your bartenders and customers. You let out a hiss through your teeth as you crossed your arms, “I guess I’ll forgive you…But i’m gonna have to refuse you service because you’re over-doing it with the booze!”

“AW COME O-”

The masked blonde coughed a lil ‘ahem.’

“I mean, I appreciate the thought of you looking after my wellbeing…” he grumbled.

The masked man patted his shoulder, whispering in the red-head’s ear, “Don’t mess this up…” You watched as the massacre soldier exited through the swinging doors.

“Anyways, can you hurry up already? I already dismissed all the other girls and I’m ready to close up shop,” you took a drag of your cigarette.

He grumbled at your snarky comment, “Fine, fine…but one more beer.”

“I ALREADY SAID NO.”

“JUST ONE MORE BOTTLE!”

“IM NOT BREAKING POLICY AND YOU’RE DRINKING UP ALL OUR SUPPLY!”

“PLEASE.”

“NO! NOW SHUT UP! YOU’RE CAUSING SO MUCH TROUBLE FOR ME, GOD!”

You both huffed and puffed after the dragged out argument you exchanged. Who does this idiot think he is? He was so annoying and loud, an arm made out metal, scars all over his toned body…You shook the thoughts out of your head, you could never find this oaf alluring at all.

He growled, “GRAHH, I take back the beautiful compliment! You’re a mean grumpy lady!”

“WHATCHA SAY TO ME?! I’M GONNA KICK YOUR ASS!” You grabbed the tufts of his red feather jacket.

“KICK MY ASS?! YOU’RE A PIPSQUEAK COMPARED TO ME!”

You scoffed, “You’re just mad that I’m cute and hot and you’re an ugly grease monkey.”

“WHATCHA CALL ME?!” He grabbed the straps of your bikini top with brute force.

“I CALLED YOU AN UGLY GREASE MONKEY, USE YOU THE THING IN YOUR FUCKING HEAD WILL YA!!” You felt a vein protruding from your forehead.

You both intensely glared at each other while still continuing your grip on each other’s collars. You never understood why your boss was so open to pirates in his bar; most of the ones you encountered are brutes, loud, and annoying drunks who don’t know how to keep their hands to themselves.

But there’s something about him that seems so…interesting. In your head, all you could think was how he looks like a brutish monkey; yet, another part of you feels like there’s something different about him. All you could do was just stare-

“Hey, pretty girl, my eyes up here.”

“I WAS ZONING OUT,” you bit hard on your cigarette.

“Staring at my rocking hard pecs, yea ok,” he smirked while softening his grip on your straps.

You scoffed, “You’re built like every other customer who comes over, what makes you think you’re so different?”

He laughed at your bluff, “Whether you like it or not, we’re both similar.”

You thought about it for a second, you didn’t want to admit it but the red-head pirate was right. You both were short-fuses (except, you think of yourself as the “smarter” one). But of course, you admitting this would equal to letting this big oaf win.

You still had a tight grip on his coat, “Even if we did have some type of similarity, you’re a pervert.”

His smirk widened, “Cheap coming from the girl who was literally staring at my toned abs just now. So, really we’re both in the wrong, baby.”

“I TOLD YOU I WAS ZONING OUT-”

“If you dislike me so much, how come you haven’t kicked me out the bar?” He leaned his head on his metal hand.

Oh goddamnit.

“Knowing you, your ass is glued to the fucking bar chair and won’t move,” you lied as you snuffed out your cigarette.

“Well if that the case, why ya still talking to me? You could’ve easily been silent the whole time, but here you are to me…” His red-stained lips forming a devious smile.

You grumbled in annoyance while a heavy blush peaked onto your cheeks, “Shut up.”

His face got closer to yours, the scent of beer tainting his breath which caused you to loosen your grip on him, “Make me.”

————

This is bad. So, so bad. You’re arguing with an annoying red-headed pirate who can’t seem to keep his mouth shut and next thing you’re doing is making out with said pirate while your legs wrapped around his wide waist. His body large stature loomed over you as he had you pinned on the bar countertop. Your lipgloss mixed with his red lipstick as he ravaged his tongue inside your heated mouth, intertwining his with yours.

His sunction on your tongue causing pleasure to build up inside you as you trailed your hands over the scar of his bare chest, his calloused hand squishing the fat of your ass as he teased his fingers under your swim bottoms.

You huffed, “You’re such a brute, y’know?”

“Hah…and you’re just an annoying brat who wants to police everything I do,” he violently smashes his lips back onto you, sucking on your tongue with desperation. Your lips swollen and red as he roughly made out with you — The taste of bitter alcohol lingered in your mouth.

The needy feeling of your clit causing you to buck your hips towards his clothed erection as you sought out for stimulation.

You could feel a smirk on face as he kissed your swollen lips. “Naughty girl humping my cock like a dog in heat.” His hand gives your thigh a tight squeeze.

You felt your cheeks glow with red at his dirty comment, you were so horny for this man it hurt. You continued rubbing your crotch on him, not caring about the consequences you were going to get from him. In fact, it turned you on thinking about the things he might do to you when you disobeyed him like an untrained dog.

Kidd groaned, “Oh, you fucking slut. You wanna be act like one, then fine.”

He backed away from you, causing you to become saddened at his far-proximity, “Show me how you touch yourself.” His eyes darkened as he looked down upon you, his gaze was practically piercing through the windows of your soul.

You widened your eyes at his request. Nonetheless, you followed his instruction as you removed your bikini bottom, revealing your glistening pussy opened your legs enough for him to give him a show. Your cheeks flushed from embarrassment as he watched you with hungry eyes.

You lowered your hand along your sopping wet cunt, a quiet whimper ripped out of you as you rubbed your digits along your erected pearl. You felt as if your legs were giving out as you circled your pearl in a speedy pace. You bit your lip as you held back a loud moan, not wanting to get teased by the red-head.

You lowered your hand as you dipped your middle and ring finger into your soaked opening, your slick coating them --- Slowly, you pumped your opening as you kept your gaze on Kidd. A smirk painted on his face, as his eyes roamed on your spread out figure.

“Fuck…go faster and I’ll give you a prize, babe,” His fingers pulling down on his metal zipper as he reached for his erection behind his white boxers. You simultaneously pumped your fingers faster as you watched him grab his hardened cock through the boxer’s crotch hole — his shaft was pale, bringing out the pink color of his tip; precum dripping onto the wooden floor as it twitched with need.

A hiss escaped through his teeth as he rubbed his thumb over the leaky slit, spreading his precum over the head. He toyed with his sensitive tip as he kept his eyes on your stuffed cunt. The sight of the short-fused captain masturbating along with you was quite a shock, but who were you to complain?

The more you increased the pace of your fingers, the more you felt your orgasm approaching. A part of you wanted to halt this process altogether, yet, you found a sort of pleasure in being controlled by Kidd. You couldn’t explain it.

You knew this was wrong. You knew this was gonna get you in trouble with your boss…But who fucking cares? It doesn’t hurt to break a rule or two!

“Stop.”

You paused your actions; the feeling of your stomach turning from anxiety as you awaited his next commands. He leaned towards your ear, his warm breath hitting along your lobe, “Thanks for making it wet for me, pretty girl~”

Your eyes slightly widened at his comment as you stared back at him with puppy eyes. He couldn’t help but coo at your expression before spreading your legs to make room for his wide torso. You nervously gulped as you felt the head of his cock align with your hole.

“You workin’ tomorrow?”

“No, I’m off. Why you asking?”

He chuckled before darkening his gaze, “‘Cause I’m gonna fuck ya hard.”

You squeaked as you felt him push the head of his cock further into your crying hole. A grunt slipping through his teeth as he felt your gummy walls clench around him, the feeling of his tip kissing your cervix.

“Just yell out ‘red’ if I’m being too rough,” he smirked.

You smirked back, “This ain’t my first time so you don’t gotta be gentle with me. If you break any glasses, I’ll clean em’ up.”

He swore he felt his cock twitch from your confidence before he pulled back his hips and thrusted into you. You gasped at the sudden intrusion before replacing it with a moan of pleasure.

The feeling of his cock bullying your sweet spot became overwhelming as you felt that familiar sensation of pleasure creep up in your pelvis. You instinctually held onto Kidd’s broad shoulders as he continued to thrusting into you, the feeling of his scars tickled your fingertips. Your leg accidentally kicked the empty mug off the countertop, the sound of glass shattering onto the floor not even distracting you from Kidd’s savage thrusts.

The emptiness of the bar was only filled with echoes of your grunts and moans, the sound of skin colliding as he roughly pounded into you. The way his hips followed a pattern as his movements became needier and sloppier. You were becoming drunk off the way he mercilessly used your pussy like a toy.

You felt a harsh slap on the side of your ass causing you to let out a quiet gasp, “what the hell, Kidd?!”

“What? You liked it, don’t lie,” he growled.

You retaliated by slapping his face, a deep grunt escaped from his smeared lips. His face becoming hot from anger and pleasure. “That was kind of hot,” was what he thought. A devilish smile appearing on your face as you watched him rub the impact from your slap.

He turned to you before smirking back at you, “You really like talking back, huh?”

“What? You like it, don’t ya,” a glint forming in your eye.

He chuckled while having a dark look on his face, “Then, turn that ass around, pretty girl.”

You shifted your body as you laid your chest on the bar counter, your feet arched onto your tippy toes as you faced your ass towards him.

You heard a curse slip out of him as he walked closer to your bent over figure, grabbing the plushness of your ass fat. He aligned himself with your hole before rutting his hips towards yours.

Your quiet moans and whimpers were enough to bring music to his ears as he watched his cream-coated cock disappear into your pussy. His eyes focused on the way your ass recoiled from the impact of his hips, it was so intoxicating he couldn’t help but giving it another smack.

You couldn’t help but arch your back as he continuously fucked you silly. It was getting pathetic…really. You for sure knew you were getting fired if your boss walked in on you getting pounded like a slut by a customer past closing hours. Yet, the thought sent your adrenaline running laps throughout your bloodstream.

Kidd panted as he lowered towards your ear, “You like getting fucked silly by a pirate, pretty girl?”

“N-no! T-this is just a one time thing,” you lied as you felt the sweat drip off your forehead.

He chuckled into your ear, “That’s not what your pussy says.”

He grabbed a fistful of your hair as his hips started to lose momentum from his impending orgasm. He let out a deep grunt as he slowed his pace, “How ‘bout I stuff my cum in ya? Bet ya look pretty with my cum dripping outta ya pussy.” You hummed a little sound of approval, “Fuck…I wanna cum on your cock so bad.” He laughed as he caressed your cheek with a painted finger, “So direct, babe…”

He hissed as he bucked his hips further into you as he chased his orgasm with yours. You held onto the counter for dear life as he drove his cock into your g-spot violently.

Suddenly, a wave of release washed over Kidd as he felt his seed escaped his balls, filling your swollen pussy. Your orgasm shortly approached after as your hole swallowed his cock, your legs gave out as you hung onto the counter. Both your faces sweaty and red from the intense heat of your intimacy you shared, clothes strewn across the floor, hair disheveled into a tangled mess while catching your breaths.

He watched in awe as his fluids mixed with yours as it dripped down your leg, leaving a tiny pool of white onto the wooden floors. His calloused finger stuffed the milky white liquid back into your abused hole, “Bad to waste food, manager.” You flipped him the bird in response as you continued gasping for oxygen.

After, the both of you guys washed yourselves up and mopping the evidence off your floors, you both sat down silently in-front of the bar. The silence was so deafening, a pin drop could be heard. The tension was thick, considering you guys fucked not too long ago. And you guys fucked hard…

“So, you gonna pay your tab?” You broke the silence.

His soft chuckle escaped the red-head’s lips, “That wasn’t enough?”

You scoffed while hitting his arm, “Sex doesn’t pay for cheap beer.”

He playfully shoots you puppy eyes before giving up, “Fine, you’re lucky that you’re hot.”

He slides the paper currency towards you, the smell of berries taking over your sense of smell like perfume (cause you a greedy bitch). “That’ll be going towards my paycheck,” you wink.

His booming laugher filled the empty bar, “Join my crew and you can get 10x more.”

You chuckled before grabbing a cigarette from your bikini top and lighting it, “Not the first time i’ve been told that.”

His demeanor switched from cheerful to confusion, “Say what?”

“Strawhat practically begged me,” you used your pointer finger to turn his head towards the wall on his left, a pinboard collection of bounties hanging by tacks.

The word ‘strawhat’ was like a trigger as his eyes landed on the words, Monkey D. Luffy, with a picture of the smirking rubber boy grinning playfully.

He dropped his head in his hands,

“Curse you, Strawhat.”

e/n: srry for the long wait, writers block a bitch + was busy!! (also srry for the shitty ending lmao)

#one piece #eustass kid #eustasscaptainkid #fanfic #oneshot #one piece smut #smut #eustass x reader #eustass kidd smut

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pixeechix21 · 1 year ago

Text

The Ritual

Reader x Slytherin boys (Matteo and Theo)

Summary: When the ritual begins, the dark gives light to desires that need to be satisfied. You are a Slytherin and there’s the initiation for Last Year students. Pansy begs you to go, but what makes you agree is because, the Slytherin boys were betting you wouldn’t because you're a goody two shoes. When you arrive at the bonfire in the Forbidden Forest you're teased by Matteo and Theo.

TW: where do I start??? degradation kink, praise kink, primal, threesome, rough, M/M/F, blood, fighting, oral, p in v, fear kink, being chased, almost suggestion of rape (didn’t happen phew), trapping(idk wt it means necessarily but like it makes sense), teasing

WC:2.8K ish

Heading towards the dungeons you were ready to take off your tie and huddle up, hidden away from them. Entering the high vaulted main room, you search for them making sure you're safe. Pansy shrieks excitedly as soon as you take a step further. She runs up and hugs, “bitch where the fuck have you been!” she takes hold of you and steers you to the large leather couches situated in an arc, full of giggling girls. “Hey, y/n,” a couple smile and continue gossiping in whispering voices. You let yourself curl up between Pansy and Oliva.

“Yeah, Snape wanted me after class to talk about extra work,” you explain, trying to play it cool and that you definitely weren’t getting some from Gryffindor.

“Boo! You overachiever,” Pansy teases. “So you going?” She looks eagerly. It takes you a moment to realize what she was asking.

“Ehhhhh-”

“For the love of god, you better be,” she threatens.

“But I have to study and honestly I don’t want to be out there freezing my ass off,” you complain. You wanted to go but you really did have work you hadn’t done any of the assignments for tomorrow.

“You won’t be freezing your ass off if someone’s grabbing it. Pleeease,” she grabs your arms giving you faux puppy dog eyes. “We can even leave. After midnight,” she negotiates. You’re unsure, you’re low key excited about the Ritual, but… your brain tries to reason.

“Yeah pleeease, I know someone that’d want to get some,” Matteo's voice mocks from behind us. Aw shit, the Heirs.

“Shut up Matteo, go find a fourth year to play with,” you retaliate facing the group of boys. Each tall and darkly handsome each in their own right.

"Aww don't say that you know i prefer third years," he mockingly puts a hand to his heart in hurting. "I was merely offering an option."

"Ew Matteo," you, Pansy and Liv say in unison, rolling your eyes. "Anyways she would go for a dick like you, she's got Simon from Ravenclaw to help" she points out completely forgetting that that was said in confidence and that he broke it off to pursue "true love" or some shit.

"We all know Simon couldn't please you," Tom chirps in walking along, already bored of this child's play. You roll your eyes and face forward ignoring their laughs echoing down from the boy's dorms.

"He's not wrong he has that rat out of a sewer vibe," Liv agrees watching as your face screws up in a smile as you agree.

"I'll go," you finally say.

"Yes bitch!" Pansy squeals again, jumping up and running to your room.

The ritual is a customary initiation for final year Slytherins. All the staff know about it but they don't have enough energy to deal with stopping it from happening. It happens on the last weekend of autumn term, where everyone drinks endlessly and there's always a game involved. Hunt or be hunted; separate the mundane from the ambitious.

As soon as Snape is reported to be tucked away in his master room, the students slowly scuttle out of the dungeons like mice, out to the dark forest.

Pansy is readjusting her tits to be pushed out further, you shake your head giggling. "Shut up you're blessed with amazing tits," she dismisses you pulling down your shirt to stop you from hiding yourself. "Show what your mama gave you babies." The cold encircles your body and the full moon lights the path into the forest. In the middle behind a tangle of trees there's a small clearing in the middle a large bonfire burns. You see a page flutter up in the flames, probably used old books instead of fire, you think. You're nervous, unsure of the darkness and the rowdy teens drinking. Pansy spotted her boy toy and she left the bottle in hand. You walk around talking to others, slowly warming up as the fire burns brighter. Then just as everyone settled down, there was a shouting announcing, “everyone shut the fuck up!” On top of a newly fallen tree stood Draco.

“As you all know tonight is the sacred night of the Ritual!” Everyone lifts their drinks shouting in excitement. “Alright alright, tonight’s special game is Tag, boys versus girls, as we are gentlemen we’ll let the ladies have a head start.” He goes on mischievously. “The Forbidden Forest is filled with monstrous creatures, but don’t lose sight of the real dangers. Us.” There’s geering all around. You search for Pansy but she’s nowhere to be seen. Don’t be a pussy, a small voice tells you. Inhaling deeply you accept the consequences whatever they will be. It’s a game, and you’re the chestmaster you got this, you hype yourself out.

“We’ll start in 10 minutes,” Tom shouts. Everyone spreads out, you head out to search for a route. “The winners will be given the honorary title of King and Queen of Slytherine, and will be placed as head girl and boy of Slytherine house.”

“You warmed up?” Matteo cuts you off, eyeing you up and down. “I can give you a hand. Get you ready,” he steps closer. You instinctively step back.

“Where you off to little bunny, we haven’t said go,” Theo breathes out smoke. The pungent smoke fills your lungs as you suck in your breath. He’s directly behind you, sandwiching you in.

“Go fuck yourself,” you say snarkily. Your chest rising up and down, tits rising and falling out of your small shirt. Matteo’s dead eyes look down to your chest, and smiles slightly, running his tongue over his teeth. Like a wolf ready to eat.

“Trust me, I’d rather you do it,” he says slowly, inching closer. Theo chuckles as you step back again, this time his large hands take hold of your waist to steady you. A small hum of agreement comes from him.

“I’d fuck your dad before you,” you spit out glaring up at Matteo. Challenging him further.

“Ha! I never thought power would be what gets you hot and heavy y/n,” he teases.

You’ve had enough, there’s too much adrenaline and alcohol running through your body to the point you’ve lost all reasonability, because suddenly you’re getting extremely hot. There’s a stirring down between your legs as he grabs your chin so that you look up at him. Feeling both of their hands holding you there, you feel trapped, encircled and being toyed with.

Draco is counting down to zero and you’re starting to anticipate your escape. “Be careful little bunny,” Matteo starts.

“Wouldn’t want a big bad wolf to catch you,” Theo finishes, flicking his cigarette away. As Draco shouts zero, they both step aside, a devilish smirk plastered on their faces. They watch you intently as you start to walk away backwards then you turn around and bolt it.

There’s screams and giggles of girls as we make our way through the dark forest. I don’t even want to be the head girl you think regretting coming, the comfortable thought of your books and studies sounds like a much better option. You’ve slowed your running shouting and giggles only distant echoes now. “Run run, bunny,” a voice says. You stop spinning around trying to gauge where the voice came from. The silence chills you to your bones, and you go into a sprint again. There’s laughing all around. You want to barf from the heavy breathing and alcohol. You check behind you, “GOT YOU!” Caleb James shouts, scaring the living shit out of you as he jumps out and takes hold of you. “Look who it is, the slytherin heirs’ slut,” he jeers, his breath stinks as he talks closely to your face, you turn your head in disgust. “Bet you’ll open your legs for me,” he starts to manhandle you and you scream for help. Your wand had fallen to the floor when he caught you. “Shut up slut,” he shakes you vigorously. There’s a snap of a twig in the dark. He stops his movements. You try to break free. Two dark figures step out of the shadows, their black clothes like camouflage. You never thought you’d be happy to see them. One of them advances upon you guys, he raises his fist and punches Caleb. A splatter of blood falls on your face, you step back watching them. Matteo dodges a swing and gets him in the ribs. Theo goes from behind and holds Caleb in a lock, “don’t you ever fucking try that you mud blood,” Matteo growls as he lands punches mercilessly. “Let him go he’s mine,” Theo steps back and Matteo tackles him to the floor.

Caleb gets Matteo breaking blood, a small stream coursing on his face. “Stop! Teo stop you’re going to kill him!” You yell. “Stop him Theo!” You jerk your head to Theo who’s watching happily taking a drag from his cigarette.

“No this is all him,” he chuckles. Matteo’s knuckles are covered in blood and the boy isn’t responding any more. Face swollen and already purpling. After a second of two, Theo pushes off the tree, “alright I’m bored. Get off Matteo,” Matteo grabs Caleb's shirt and pulls him close, he says something that you can’t hear and then pushes him down.

He looks up at you as he gets up. “You okay?” He says quietly. His breath is erratic, a wild excited look fills his dark eyes. “You didn’t have to do that,” you start.

“A thank you would be polite,” he says sarcastically, approaching you. You can smell the blood and mint and he exhales from his mouth. Without you realizing your hand goes up and swipes his split lip, wiping some blood away. Suddenly he stops you by your wrist mid air. He takes you in close. He towers over you, “thank you,” you whisper. You’re released and snap out of the trance. Theo offers his blunt, taking it you relax as the smoke cradles you. “You caught me,” you laugh, not sure how to process those brief seconds you were scared for your life.

“What’s the prize?” Theo teases, raising an eyebrow.

“Come here and I’ll give it to you,” you joke. Well you thought you were joking until his shadow blocks the light of the moon and his black eyes gleam cravingly. You pull his head down, he opens his mouth slightly. You kiss him. His hands wrap around you and his tongue dominates your mouth. Ravaging your lips. Wanting to play with them like they did you, you break apart he looks disappointed at this. You put the blunt to your lips and breathe, exhaling as you eye Matteo who’s looking jealous at the scene in front of him. “And you,” you direct at him. Already your panties are wet with the idea of having them both. At the same time.

Pansy would laugh her ass off, you think humorously.

He comes to you with his hands snaking to your ass as he pulls you in close. He licks his lips, his eyes hooded heavily in lust. His kiss was determined. He wanted to show you. Force you to see that he’s the one you need. Behind you you feel Theo press himself into your ass, already growing harder you feel his dick on your back making you gulp. Reaching for him you pull his face into your neck, obediently he places hurtful kisses and bites up and down it. Matteo’s hot body firmly pushes you to Theo. Matteo’s hand needs your tits, as Theo’s moves down in front to your panties, his cold hands play between your wetness. You moan as you're over-stimulated. Turning your face to take Theo’s lips and bite. A clash of teeth and tongue. “You’re so wet for us bunny,” he moans. Matteo distances himself and looks at you both. Staring. He gets turned on at the idea of you entangled in his best friend's hands. He envisions himself giving you unbearable pleasure. How it’s hard to restrain himself and take you all for himself. “Take it off. Now.” He crosses his arms glaring at you as you make eye contact with him. Theo breaks away. First your pants fall to the floor. Your nipple hardens evermore at the chill and pure neediness. “More,” Theo presses. Lifting your shirt over your head that joins your pants on the floor. Tantalizingly you undo your bra. Then look through your lashes as you take off your pink panties.

They inhale at the sight of your beautiful naked body, both of them on the edge of tearing you apart. Your skin buzzes excitedly as you get on your knees in front of them. Your mouth starts salivating at the thought of having them both. “Want us both?” Matteo provokes. You nod your head, your hands eager to undo their belts.

“Greedy little bitch,” Theo takes your hair and pulls it harshly. Your clit is crying to be touched, throbbing painfully. You can’t take it anymore. An unspoken agreement went between the boys, Matteo took you and Theo stood and watched. You have no time to react as you're thrown down, you hear the jingle and zipper coming undone. His hand palms your ass bruising it, you feel him slide his large tip up and down your slit, pushing in slightly then pulling out. Sexual frustration builds in you so much that you press your ass to him. “Needy little whore,” he chuckles as he thrusts himself in. Your back arches as he unfurls his hatred for you. There is no gentleness in his thrusts, none. He takes his hand to your front and starts edging you to your orgasm. Circling fast then slowly, taking you almost to the top then lets you settle down. Over and over he plays these cruel games. Theo eyes flare up as you look at him, eyes half open as if drugged by the sex, mouth open, you pant and moan.

“You sound so pretty,” he crouches down, clearing a loose strand of hair, tucking it delicately behind your ear. He kisses you then stands up taking off his belt. “Take this Matteo, give her a lesson or two about power,” he hands his belt to Teo. He releases his grip from you and snaps the belt. The loud snap echoes in the dark.

The Ritual so sexual and forbidden, it inspires even the most demonic of creatures.

Matteo lets the belt hit you once, twice, three times each time, stinging more than before. You’re going to hate sitting down tomorrow. Theo comes back into your sight, his hard cock begging to be released.

“Open wide bunny,” Matteo commands, setting down the belt and going back to circling your clit feverishly. As you come opening your mouth to let out sounds of pleasure Theo thrusts his dick into your mouth. His hands steady your head as he face fucks you, “fuck you’re better than I’d ever imagined,” you see sweat build on his forehead. “Look at you, such a beautiful little whore,” he wipes the strands of hair that are plastered to your face.

“Fuck- God y/n you feel like heaven,” Matteo brakes out, as his own fucking doesn’t slow. You're so full that you start to feel another build up, it’s too much. It’s just enough. It’s not enough. Delirium comes over you as you cunt throbs, and you can breathe. The boys’ moaning and animalistic fucking sounds like a symphony to you. You cry out as you come again losing all control of your body. Theo finishes and wipes his come from your lips and you lick them clean as told so. Matteo’s nails mark you as he finishes ruthlessly.

All three of you are a mess. Theo offers you a hand to stand up as Matteo helps you dress, picking out leaves from your clothes. Both treating you like a queen. You are lost, and they guide you back. “We found her! The Queen of Slytherin!” Theo takes your hand and bows. You are absolutely bamboozled at the fact that there were students playing tag and that they’re all cheering not knowing what just happened. Pansy yelled happily and you just nodded, thanking people as you passed by and headed to bed.

Because God knows the pain you’ll be in tomorrow.

#slytherin #slytherin boys #matteo riddle #fem!reader #smut #hunted #hogwarts houses #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #theodore nott #x reader #draco malfoy #temptation #so hot 🔥🔥🔥#degrading k1nk #praise

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bonefall · 9 months ago

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heyyyy bonefallll!!! So uhm. Wind released. And if you read it, what do you think of it?

hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

I started ASC off with a lot of excitement. I had known to not get my hopes up, but for the first time in a long time, I felt like they actually had something meaningful to say about the problems in Clan society. For once, it felt fresh.

A conflict based on a murder mystery and a power struggle, political radicalization within another Clan with anti-Clanswapper bigotry turning violent, and the reluctant heir of a legacy sprawling several generations. Like a dark echo of TPB, implying the root issues had never been truly addressed by Darkest Hour. The Clans still have a terrible ruling system. The culture is still bigoted. Firestar failed to destroy the obsession with legacy-- he just founded a new bloodline.

And even if it wasn't THAT deep, it was at least a grounded plot that was based in the characters more than faith in StarClan. If Nightheart's arc about legacy fell apart, I'd still enjoy watching him struggle, lose people, grow, and find his purpose. Or seeing Splashtail juggle the power he'd managed to snatch and was just not smart enough to hold onto. Or the cool fights that would surely result from an invasion of RiverClan.

Wind tossed it. It was already having a downturn in the previous book, but this is a book that seems so afraid of having interesting conflict that it spends 75% of its time debating if something interesting should happen, and 25% of its time barking, "EVIL HEATHENS WHO HATE GOD WILL DESTROY OUR SOCIETY!!"

I can't get over how awful Splashtail's "descent" is. He's having a dumbass atheist stoner debate with Podlight when they go to the Moonpool, musing that maybe you have to eat 9 mice to get 9 lives, and then 2 appearances later he's foaming at the mouth with a dictator speech and kills harelight no miss.

They even seem to have tried to replicate Stonefur's execution but badly. It's jarring. Splashtail had a big dictator speech, killed the beloved deputy suddenly, and the whole camp looks Super Scared and Upset so that you know it's the Evil Leader and not a systemic problem.

His "TALENT FOR MANIPULATION" is saying he heard Curlfeather murmur evil plans in her sleep and (apropos of nothing) accusing her teenage daughter of "getting the wrong idea" about his adult romantic interest in her. I keep coming back to this because the ENTIRE book's plot is based on this successfully smearing Frostpaw's reputation.

you may be tired of hearing it, but I'm definitely more tired than you because I had to read and analyze an ENTIRE BOOK founded on it.

The plot is endlessly arguing over if they can trust Frostpaw or not, gathering "evidence" to this end, while Sunbeam and Nightheart's POVs uselessly languish in ThunderClan doing mentoring stuff.

Im SO sick of being forced to sit in thunderclan while more interesting things happen offscreen. stop adding MORE cats to ThunderClan, you already have Stormcloud and you do NOTHING with him why are they also getting WAFFLEPAW

Everyone's praising the fact that the book can remember previous entries, but actually, I'm going to drop a hot take; It's actually bad if they CAN obviously reference old material, and then it doesn't influence the actions the characters take. They namedrop Nightstar several times and then come up with excuses for why they still need to sit around and do nothing!!

THAT'S WORSE, ACTUALLY.

SCALDING TAKE, I'd RATHER see the cats have the memories of goldfish if the alternative is "We remember Nightstar! We're simply going to purposefully disregard Nightstar, because the plot needs to happen"

They also muse that maybe Splashtail's evilness is making all the RiverClan cats act evil, and they'll go back to normal once he's removed. This has been implied before, but never so blatantly stated.

But most of all, I can't stop going back to "Godless Heathen Bloodlust." What a fucking joke. For a shining minute it looked like we were going to have interesting villains, but no, they really are just coming out and saying that lacking faith is an indicator of a moral failing. What makes Splashtail so uniquely bad and scary is that he "disrespects the ancestors" (hey podlight. what if eating 9 magic mice gives you 9 lives? woah dude look at this. the bugle chips look like claws. lol haha) and hates love and peace and won't even let Jesus guide him.

The scenes with Frostpaw and her allies are the only parts of this book worth reading. Shadowsight, tigerHeartstar. Clinging to Whistlepaw like she's a life preserver. save me windclan

#asc spoilers #warrior cats analysis #So uh.#my thought is that it is Bad.#I did not Enjoy it #I can FIX IT #I WILL FIX IT #I CAN MAKE THIS WORK BUT JESUS CATS.

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ashintheairlikesnow · 9 months ago

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ash i love vince so much he is my number 2 babygirl (antoni number 1 babygirl forever)

i would like to formally request some vince having a Bad Time, either past stuff with owen or present with recovery being a bitch

because there is nothing better than lovely characters having bad times that they absolutely do not deserve

CW: Alcoholism, withdrawal/cravings, alcoholic anger, Vince and Jameson both PTSD-ing all over the place, guilt

Oh, poor Vince. Takes place post-the Same Bed Arc, after Vince is living with Nat and Jameson.

Vince doesn't even look up when he hears Jameson stop in the doorway. He just pours a few shots worth of the gin into the glass, staring fixedly down at it. The liquid, clear as water but with the herbal scent washing over him like a welcome spring rain, spreads over the ice with those gentle cracks he knows better than his own heartbeat.

God, it looks good.

His hands don't shake, now. His heart doesn't race. He doesn't feel sweaty, or upset, or like he'll be sick.

He just feels like he's staring at the solution to all his problems, and all he has to do is swallow it down.

This should feel awful - he knows it should. It should taste awful, there should be something to remind him of the damage he does to himself every time he drinks again. He should hear his sponsor speaking in the back of his mind, he should hear the voices of the others at the meetings he goes to - one for alcoholism, one for survivors of sexual assault, twice a week there's movie star Vincent goddamn Shield among the normal people and admitting he's barely human, just a wreck that only survived Owen Grant because Nat decided she gave a fuck about him for reasons Vince still doesn't understand.

Here he stands, a hollow shell wearing a nice face who let someone else suffer in his place and was grateful for it for far too long.

Kauri hates him but it's nothing compared to how much he hates himself.

Vince lifts the glass, hesitating at the last second with the cool rim just touching his lower lip. Gin smells like blacking out and right now he could use the blessed darkness, hangover be damned.

He can worry about that when the headache kicks in tomorrow morning.

He realizes he's waiting for the sickening crawl of guilt at letting Nat down, at-... at letting himself down. Maybe that will come later, but right now... He feels goddamn good. Settled. Calm.

He and Jameson meet eyes just as he tosses the drink back, three large swallows of juniper-scented gin down his throat like water, leaving only the ice cubes behind.

The burn is perfect.

He pours himself another drink, feeling the warmth slowly spread through his chest to his shoulders, eyes briefly closing. God, it feels like goddamn heaven.

He looks up.

Jameson is still standing there in the doorway, looking oddly soft in a loose sweater that's far too big for him and a pair of old jeans that probably cost a dollar at a yard sale and even that was too much. Vince has jeans that distressed, somewhere.

His cost more than five hundred dollars.

He chokes on the next drink from trying not to laugh.

Jameson's eyes narrow. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Vince takes another sip, eyes half-closed, letting himself take it slow this time and really enjoy the taste.

He'd honestly been surprised the little liquor store down the block even carried this brand of gin. Not that he wouldn't have bought whatever he could get, when he stood there feeling like he would die if he had to go another day, but still. It's nice to have seen his favorite stuff, top shelf, pricier than it had any right to be. It's not even that good, but it's still his favorite. It still tastes, to him, like the nights he sleeps without nightmares, few and far between.

Gin tastes like those nights he gets to sleep at all.

The cashier had looked surprised as she wiped off the dust and rang it up for him. Then, with a shy smile, she'd asked him if anyone ever told him he looked a lot like Vincent Shield. He'd been kind of sad she didn't card him - it would have been nice to see the look on her face when she saw his name.

Instead, he paid in cash, laughed, and told her the standard I get that a lot, actually.

Jameson doesn't move closer, or leave. "It looks like you're fucking yourself up," He says, lingering in the doorway. "You can't just start drinking again. You know that, right?"

"Oh, I sure as hell can." Vince laughs, but it's a bitter sound. He licks the gin lingering on his lips, then gestures at the bottle. "Have some with me."

He's caught, for just a moment, when he sees Jameson wearing an expression Vince has never seen on him before. He looks... nervous. Afraid, almost, instead of angry.

"I-I don't want to," Jameson says, but there's a way he says it that makes Vince think he'd drink if he offers again. Maybe he wants to, or maybe he just doesn't want to make Vince mad.

If he commanded it, if he gave an order... Jameson would be as he's told, wouldn't he? Damn, that would be some power to have over someone.

This must be why Owen liked it so much.

No.

He won't think about Owen right now.

Vince gulps down liquid until he's breathless, almost panting. The warmth is like the familiar cradle of a softer reality settling in. He makes himself slow down this time, picking up an ice cube and sucking the juniper taste right off it before crunching it with his teeth.

"Vince." Jameson's voice gets harsher, and something seems to break his brief paralysis. He moves closer, grabbing the bottle and pulling it away when Vince puts a hand out to pour the third drink. "Fucking... look at me. What the fuck?"

Vince's hand just... hangs out there, reaching for a bottle that isn't where it was. He stares at the empty space, and feels that dark inside of him threaten to well up yet again. "What?"

Jameson swallows, his eyes moving to the glass, back to Vince's face. He steps backwards, and Vince watches the bottle go with him with a piercing need that could easily knock him off his feet if he weren't holding onto the back of a chair. Jameson clears his throat. "Aren't you... like, sober now?"

"Mmmn. Was. Got the like... three month chip thing and everything." He's gotten thoroughly wasted so many times in his life. Nothing relaxes him better than enough alcohol to force his body to stop living in constant, unending fear of who might hurt him next. "Right now, I am tipsy instead. In about an hour, I'm going to be absolutely fucked up. Give me back my gin."

Jameson's hand moves - then he jerks it back, taking a few steps backwards until he's back in the doorway. His eyes are on Vince's face, watching him with a total focus that Vince recognizes from the others he's worked with over the years - Jameson's just a trained pet, in this moment, watching to see if the master will be angry.

It makes him laugh again, more bitterly this time. Is he the master? Has he ever been his own master, let alone anyone else's?

"I... I can't do that," Jameson says, and Vince hears that he doesn't say no. When Vince moves towards him, he backs up a little more, and Vince comes to a stop just a foot or so away.

"Am... am I scaring you?" He asks, suddenly.

It wasn't what he meant to say, he meant to demand his drink again. Instead, this question that... that just sort of falls out of him like a waterfall.

Jameson's jaw sets and his eyes narrow. "You're not doing shit to me," He snaps, but Vince knows he's really saying yes.

Is this why people buy pets? So they can see something pretend not to be scared, and know they're the monster not just under the bed, but in it?

"Oh," He whispers. "What is it? Why are you scared? I'm just a drunk asshole, why are you scared of me?"

Jameson bristles, but then he offers - as if it's pulled out of him against his will - the softest explanation. "Brute and Robert got drunk all the time. I know what happens when-... when people get this kind of drunk."

There's a look in his eyes Vince has seen before in Kauri's. Not fear of him, not directly, but fear of someone like him, maybe. Fear of having demands made that can't be denied.

Is this how Owen felt, every time Kauri had to playact the loving boyfriend with bruises on his wrists and terror making his heart race? Is this how it feels to have power over somebody else when you can't even control yourself?

It's... it's good, almost.

It feels better than he thought it would.

"Back up, Shield," Jameson hisses, like a cat spitting and arching its back, ready to attack with claws and sharp teeth not because it's confident in victory but because it's so small it has to fight to have even the slightest chance to survive.

Vince looks him over, reading with an actor's expertise how he's projecting a confident swagger he never feels, how the irritation layers itself so carefully over a vulnerability that he sees as weakness. Vince has lived that way, too, since he was twenty-one, since his best friend turned out to be a rapist who wanted Vince to himself, since he started drinking to forget every single night and putting on the perfect face during his days.

They both survived, didn't they?

Jameson just did it by fighting his way out, and Vince by pretending to be someone he wasn't until nobody knew who he actually was, and that's a way of surviving, too. Wear another face, and make sure no one sees the fear in your real one, so they can't refuse to help you... because you've never asked.

"No." At least one of them can say it. Although that makes Vince's heart twist with ugly guilt, the petty cruelty of the thought. "Give me my gin," Vince says, pitching his voice low, and holds out his hand. "Now, Jameson. Give it to me."

"I can't." The strength is gone from Jameson's voice, and he looks at Vince with those dark eyes searching his own, trying to make himself understood. "If you drink, your-... your body's not used to it anymore, if you drink the same amount you'll fucking kill your stupid liver."

"What do you care about my liver?" Vince's voice drops low, almost a whisper. "What do you care about me, about my goddamn joke of a life, huh? What the fuck do you care? Why should anyone care?"

There's a flicker of something in Jameson's eyes - recognition, maybe. Something that lights up, just for a second, before the other man shoves Vince to the side with sudden violent strength and stalks to the sink, turning the bottle over and pouring that expensive artisan gin right down the drain.

"No!" Vince's voice is a ragged shout as he lunges after him, but it's too little too late.

Jameson's foot kicks out and slams into Vince's calf, sending him stumbling, clawing desperately as the gin is gone, glug glug glug, down into the pipes, disappearing towards the ocean.

Rage and terror fight in Vince's mind in a sudden white noise and he gets to his feet, grabbing Jameson by the arms and squeezing as hard as he can, shoving him back across the room. He hears Jameson hit one of the chairs, the clatter of wood and Jameson's grunt of pain as both hit the ground hard. The bottle is in the sink, and even when Vince scrambles to pick it back up, there's less than an inch of gin left.

He sucks it down, and only once he's gotten that final drop does he suddenly go still.

Oh.

There's the guilt and the horror and feeling sick at himself, just... twenty minutes too late. He sets the empty bottle carefully down, and then turns slowly around to look at Jameson.

Jameson sits on the kitchen floor, staring up at him with wide eyes. His face is pale, making the scar that twists the corner of his mouth stand out even more. His hair is nearly grown back in now, the bald patches hidden by the rest.

Vince exhales in a rush. "Oh, hell. Jameson-" He holds out a hand.

Jameson flinches.

Vince pulls his hand back, backing up until his back hits the edge of the sink. "Right. Okay. I'm-... I'm sorry Jameson-"

"Yeah." Jameson's voice is gruff, all the vulnerability and fear wiped away as soon as he realizes it's showing. He gets to his feet, shoulders protectively hunched, arms crossed in front of himself defensively. "Whatever. Sure you are. Drink yourself to death, shitbag, if that's what you want."

"I'm so sorry."

Jameson's jaw works. "... Everybody's always sorry. Then I get fucking hit again." Then he turns and walks - limps, really, his knees threatening to give out with every step - away. Vince stands there, frozen, listening as he makes his slow, painful way up the stairs.

Vince stares at the place he was for a while - he isn't sure how long. The gin is sinking its velvet claws into his mind, and he's drunker than he should be after only two drinks.

But then, it's been months.

Months, he made it without taking even a sip.

He swallows, again and again, and then pulls his cell phone out of his pocket, finds a contact, and presses the button to make the call.

The phone rings until he's certain it'll go to voicemail, before a voice he knows as well as his own is in his ear.

"What the hell do you want?"

"I-I need to talk to you," He stammers, his heart cold. "Please. Please. I-I've been drinking. I need... I need help."

There's a pause.

"From... me?"

"Yeah... yeah. You'll-... I need somebody who won't be nice to me-"

"Oh, well, if there's anything I love it's the chance to be mean to you, let me drop my entire life to come listen to you whine about yours."

"Please."

An exhale. "Whatever. Yeah, okay. I'll be over there in like... half an hour? An hour, maybe. Drink some water and I'll be there as soon as I can. Don't leave the house."

"Thanks... thank you, Kauri."

Kauri hangs up.

Vince pours himself a glass of water over the leftover gin-soaked ice, sipping it, barely flavored with a hint of the liquor he wants so badly. He rights the chair he'd accidentally shoved Jameson into, and listens to the creaking floorboards and muffled cursing above him as Jameson makes his halting painful way from stairway to his room, a couple thumps when he clearly falls and had to force himself back upright, until the pacing abruptly stops when he must have collapsed into his bed.

He hears the gentle patting of Trash Cat's paws as she leaves her place on the living room couch and follows him, too, her soft meowing until Jameson opens his door to let her come in after him. Then silence again.

Vince sits back down at the table, leaning over with his head in his hand, staring as the ice slowly melts, cooling the water around it.

He should have called his sponsor instead.

Whatever Kauri is about to say can only make this worse.

But he deserves it, anyway.

Vince doesn't move a muscle until he hears the sound of Jake's truck pulling into the driveway, crunching briefly over gravel before it's on the pavement again, when he raises his head.

Kauri walks in without knocking, stops in the doorway to the kitchen, and looks at him like his younger self ashamed of what he's grown into. Vince knows Jake must have driven him, but he's nowhere to be seen - maybe just staying outside, for now. He's clearly dressed for bed in a matching navy blue silk button-up and pajama pants, barefoot even.

"Hey," Vince says, weakly. The alcohol feels like poison now, not the soothing warmth it had been before. "I... I fucked up, Kauri."

"Yeah, I can tell just by looking at you, you're a goddamn mess." Kauri looks at Vince head-on, even though it still hurts him to do it, and Vince can see the flinch he suppresses as the headache kicks in. His blue eyes are identical to Vince's in nearly every way, except that Kauri's gaze has always been stronger. "What the hell did you do?"

"I got... I drank."

"Yep. I can see the gin bottle. Did you drink all of it?" Kauri's voice is flat and businesslike. It's like having his own younger self dressing him down, and somehow that feels... really good. Better than he thought it would.

"... No. Just a couple drinks. Jameson poured the rest out."

"Good for him." Kauri flickers a smile. "Where is he?"

"I-... I scared him."

"... you scared him?"

"Yeah. I was-... I wasn't-... I didn't mean to, but-"

"Shut up. All right. Tell me what you did. I'll fix it. This time, taking your place so I suffer for years while you run off and become obscenely wealthy is off the table, got it?"

Vince looks at him in horror only to see a surprising warmth in Kauri's smile. Not... not affection, but something like it. A wry compassion, maybe. Something else he doesn't deserve. "I don't know. I don't know if I can fix this, Kauri. I don't know."

"Well... I happen to the resident expert in trying to avoid dealing with your problems while making them all worse, so talk to me. Tell me what you did, start to finish. We'll figure out what comes next."

Vince lowers his head into his arms.

"Thank you," He says, muffled.

"Not enough thanks in the world, dumbass. Lucky for you I'm an amazing person who just happens to have spent most of my twenties making stupid drunk mistakes. So stop stalling and start talking."

@finder-of-rings @endless-whump @arlin-always-writing @newandfiguringitout @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @whumpyourdamnpears @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @outofangband @hackles-up @grizzlie70 @mylifeisonthebookshelf @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @autophagay

#whump #ptsd tw #alcholism tw #withdrawal tw #alcoholic whumpee #recovering whumpee #recovery whump #vincent shield is not a hero #erase to control #since kauri makes an appearance #jameson bb #box boy universe #drunk whumpee #whumpee turned whumper #briefly and not on purpose

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bulkyphrase · 5 months ago

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Cap-IM Rec Week - Time Travel Tuesday

Day 2 of @cap-ironman's rec week event! Today's list features stories where traveling through time turns out to be the cause of or solution to our heroes' problems.

Never Surrender, Never Give Up by Loran_Arameri, Serinah (@loraneldin, @serinah80) (MCU, Explicit, 85,896 words)

Summary: It’s 2029 and aliens have taken the Earth. Steve is dead, and everyone who’s left of the Avengers is fighting for the last few thousand humans. They don’t have much time, or rather the energy: the last of the arc reactors will fail in less than a month, and Tony can’t make another one. Their base will fall.The Earth’s best defender is out of options. *** Years they fought against the Chitauri, and they have lost. Steve is sure that Tony would agree: only traveling back in time could save them now. But Steve wasn't sure if he should, and now he's out of time so he takes one last, desperate gamble. When will he end up?

Circulaire by @gonetoarcadia (MCU, Mature, 38,412 words)

Summary: The world ends on a Wednesday. An anonymous invading force interested in nothing but destruction wipes out most of the world’s major urban centres within an hour. In the aftermath, with the few heroes left alive bitterly divided between moving forward or looking for a way back, Tony Stark and Steve Rogers set out to find out what happened, and make sure that it never does.

The rest are below the cut!

special dispensation by @jenthesweetie (MCU, Teen And Up Audiences, 673 words)

Summary: On the one hand, they’d all agreed that the quantum time machine was a dangerous technological advancement, only to be used under the most dire of circumstances. But on the other hand, it was Steve’s birthday.

Double Time by @sineala (616/Iron Man Noir, Explicit, 123,375 words)

Summary: Cassino, Italy, December 1943. Special Agent Tony Stark, former Marvels adventurer, is sent to investigate a Cosmic Cube found by the Invaders -- and it's the perfect opportunity for him to rekindle his secret romance with Steve Rogers. But when Hydra attempts to steal the Cube, an inadvertent wish for help leads to the appearance of a Tony from the future of another world: Director Stark of SHIELD. This Tony is a man with a lot on his mind. He refuses to tell them anything about the future, but he seems to know much more than he should about Captain America. And something's happened that's clearly killing him inside, but he's not talking. When Director Stark's failed attempt to return home leads to the unexpected appearance of another visitor from his universe, all the lies come undone. Now there are two wars to fight, and the second one could ruin all of them.

Relativistic Heat Conduction by @blossomsinthemist (616, Explicit, 69,298 words)

Summary: Age of Ultron-based, but not entirely canon compliant. Written for the 2013 Cap-Iron Man Reverse Big Bang. Ultron has attacked, obliterating most of the world's superheroes and resistance in a matter of hours. The remaining heroes band together and share what strength they have to get through it, to survive, and defeat Ultron once and for all. Steve Rogers grieves in the wake of the disaster and the heroes' defeat, and no one knows if he will be able to provide the leadership they need--but Tony Stark isn't about to let him slip away that easily. Also available as a podfic read by Pywren (@phyrrhicvictory)

More Than Gravity by @jenthesweetie (MCU, Teen And Up Audiences, 20,918 words)

Summary: “Aw, time travel, no.” On Christmas Eve, Tony came unstuck in time.

The God of Solid Life Advice by kehinki (MCU, Teen And Up Audiences, 1,583 words)

Summary: It's 2012. Steve is just informed by Loki that Bucky's alive. Loki also tells him some other things.

Man Out of Time by @samptra (MCU, Explicit, 39,017 words)

Summary: Closing dark eyes he tried to center his wildly gyrating thoughts. “This isn’t happening this isn’t real…” he wacked his head a few more times, “I did not go through a weird tear in the air again. There was no crazy terreract driven machine…and I defiantly did not go back in time.” This was all some sort of dream he was having a nightmare one that he’d awake from in his bed, in Avengers Tower, in the year 2013.

To Make Much of Time by @sineala (616, Teen And Up Audiences, 16,114 words)

Summary: When Iron Man rejects Steve's romantic advances, Steve is disappointed, but of course he understands -- Iron Man's secret identity is important. But when a portal opens and Tony Stark crashes into their midst from twelve years in the future, Steve starts to suspect that there are more secrets here than he can even begin to comprehend, and neither Iron Man nor Tony are providing any answers. Also available as a podfic read by @paraka

The Twice-Told Tale by @arysteia (MCU, Explicit, 15,789 words)

Summary: For someone he'd hero-worshipped for so long, Steve Rogers in the flesh is a pretty big disappointment. For one thing, he keeps looking at Tony as though he reminds him of someone else, and even if he never says anything, Tony's pretty sure it's his father. A lifetime of not measuring up to Howard's expectations is more than enough, thank you very much, and he's certainly not going to make an effort to live up to any of Steve's. Steve's pretty clearly failed to live up to his expectations, in any case, and that's not hypocritical at all.

#capimrecweek #stony #stevetony #steve rogers #tony stark #marvel fic rec

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ahamkara-apologist · 7 months ago

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Oh thank god now that Echoes is finally out I can talk about the Faith-Keeper loretab

First off: I'm not really sure who it is exactly, but we've got a Hidden agent listening in on a discussion between Eido and the Spider about Eramis. If I had to guess, this agent is likely Ikora, since Misraaks asked her to look after Eido at the end of the Lost in the Light quest post-FS campaign, but we don't really get any clarification here. In my heart its Ikora, though.

First off: I LOVE the callback to Eido's shitty datapad security from Season of Plunder. Remember when she was recording her audio logs and Eramis just dropped in unexpectedly to talk to her behind Misraaks's back? Looks like she hasn't fixed her security breach well enough to prevent others from doing the same. Which is deeply funny to me- babygirl, your father is a Splicer. His whole entire job is being a top tier hacker!! You need better security than that!!!

Eido babyyyy, I'm not sure why you think you can blackmail a crime lord, but I admire your efforts! I'm not really sure what Spider is doing here, maybe moving closer to her? Either way I love how his whole 'fake caring' shtick got immediately dropped to the side as soon as Eido laughed at him. You're not winning any uncle points here, Spider. The note about Eramis having been given up by everyone around her, however? This is both a good and a bad sign. Good because it means that the forces of Darkness that got her into this whole mess no longer give a fuck about her and aren't there to push her into poor decisions again, bad because Eramis is historically notorious for making terrible decisions when there's nobody around to influence her anyways. Given the fact that she was outright suicidal the last time we checked in on her and that means that we have a limited time frame to get Eido to soften her up before she starts putting her neck on the line again (which has me very nervously side-eyeing Revenant; I don't believe that she would want to join with Fikrul given her prior experiences with the Scorn, but it can also go either way if she's pushed. Eido could convince her to give her assistance to prevent him from spreading Dark Ether...or Fikrul could sway her to look away from what he's doing by promising to bring back Riis with the power of the Echo)

Not gonna lie, my first reaction when I read the 'staccato clicking' noises coming from Eido was 'DID SHE JUST PULL A FUCKING GUN ON HIM??', followed by wondering if she was threatening him in some way- then a friend pointed out she was likely crying, which made me go back to reread and realize that the wheezing noises were coming from her, not Spider (in my defense, he's a wheezy boi). So, yeah, she's crying. Poor sweet girl, I've been there before. I know that Misraaks set Spider on her to try to set her straight (which is deeply funny to me- he must be desperately worried for him to have Spider handle her, of all people), but, well...it's the Spider. He's a crime boss. 'Gentle' isn't in his nature

This does give me great hope for an Eramis redemption arc in the future, though. Compared to everyone else we've faced recently, Eramis hasn't even come close to the level of awful that the Witness has done, and she's outright helped us in several instances. There's no reason why we can't try to form an alliance with her- the main thing stopping us is because Eramis herself doesn't think that she's worthy of redemption. If we can barter with Savathun- whose desires are ultimately selfish even if they were momentarily aligned with our own- then we can certainly assist Eramis, especially if it means getting the remaining Houseless Eliksni off our back and in a safe, guardian-free refuge of their own (WITHOUT being tricked into being pawns of the Witness)

Also- absolutely love Eido's little speech here. Her insistence on clinging to optimism is probably what made Eramis see Eido as the guiding light for the future of the Eliksni people, and in a way, it's perfect to fit the Traveler's motif of forgiveness in the Light. Makes me wonder if the theory that Eido is the Kell of Kells may be hinted at here, since it's Eido alone of all other Eliksni who refuses to give up on a person's ability to change for the better. Even Misraaks can't do that, despite creating House Light and its open-door forgiveness policy.

I TOO WOULD LIKE GREATER CULTURAL CONTEXT ON ELIKSNI NON-VERBAL COMMUNICATION. I wonder who EKS-443 is- I would love to harass them for more information on what certain Eliksni vocalizations mean. I'm so starved for more worldbuilding on their biology and cultures, I'm hoping this is a sneak peak into what we might be getting in Revenant.

But also. Uh-oh bestie. The Vanguard should probably keep their claws out of this if they want diplomacy to succeed, because Eramis is not going to be happy if we stick our soft little monkey paws into Eliksni business again. We're going to have to back Eido up but let her do most of the talking/persuading, or shit can go south really fucking quickly- just like trying to pspsps a wary old ally cat into the safety of a home after years of extensive abuse. Waiting with bated breath to see how this turns out!

#destiny 2 #eramis #eido #the spider #destiny 2 lore #i want to hold eido so gentle. sooo so gentle

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gffa · 2 years ago

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I DID NOT SEE THAT COMING but it makes perfect sense and GODDAMN WHAT A DELIVERY ON THE BUILDING TENSION OF IT ALL, because the entire issue was about Tommy pitting himself against Nightwing as a narrative foil, screaming in rage about how Bruce will do anything for him, how he wants to kill Nightwing because Bruce cares about him and how he doesn't really get why Dick understands Bruce in a way he never did. And it's so interesting that I wonder how much Dick is right about Tommy's motivations, because everything Tommy has said up to this point in the issue doesn't really feel like he wants Bruce's life:

"You keep trying to disavow our friendship and eliminate our shared history. You keep trying to erase my face from your memory so that I have to wear yours! I'm going to make sure you never forget... by cutting my name into Nightwing's back! You'd do anything for him, wouldn't you, Bruce? But what have you done for me... your first true friend? Besides take everything that should have been mine!" I can see how it seems like that last line might come across as Tommy wanting Bruce's life, that he felt that life should have been his, and wearing Bruce's face is a pretty obvious extension of that. But being enraged by Nightwing's presence, by Bruce's willingness to do anything for that kid, it made it so that I saw it as what Tommy wants here isn't Bruce's life, it's Bruce's friendship. That distinction makes him such a more complicated, interesting presence in this issue, because here he wants what Dick has--the partnership with Bruce, the willingness to throw himself between Dick and any harm that would come his way, the way they can speak volumes with just a shared look. He wants to be the one that changed Bruce's world the way Bruce and the Waynes changed his world. But he didn't, so he has to take what he believes should have been his--and that's why he changed his face again, because what he wants in this issue is Dick Grayson's life. Underneath all of it, what Tommy desperately wanted was to be loved and Thomas and Martha Wayne are dead, they can't love him. But Bruce Wayne lives and he can and does love. Tommy won't find the love he's been hungry for since childhood by taking over Bruce's life, because then the elements of his childhood won't be there to love him. So he has to become someone that Bruce loves, someone that Bruce will do anything for. And Dick's absolutely right that Tommy wasn't there for any of the hard times or the little moments, he doesn't understand that being loved by Bruce Wayne isn't some idyllic, easy thing. It's hard fucking work because Bruce Wayne is still swimming against the tide of his own trauma and he is never easy about how it affects his relationships. From the outside, it might seem easy--and I think sometimes not even the other Batfam members understand that it's not easy for Dick, either, despite how they too see how desperately Bruce loves him. Yeah, Dick makes it look easy, he drags Bruce to Batburger and teams up with Clark for a god-awful bachelor party and gets Bruce to say he misses him unprompted and thank him for the night. But you don't see all the history that comes with it. The knock-down-drag-out fights Dick and Bruce have. The years of hurt and anger after he was fired as Robin. The hurt of having to fake his death and go undercover as a spy. The constant push-and-pull of Bruce trying to respect his independence, but also resenting Dick for how much he misses his kid. Honestly, the entire Ric Grayson arc illustrates so much of how angry Dick still is about all the shit that Bruce pulls. Tommy skips right over that, because Dick makes it look so easy from the outside to be loved by Bruce, but it's not. You can't just cheat-code your way into that role by getting surgery to look like the guy who knocked down Bruce's emotional walls, because every single goddamned day Dick still has to get up and demand that Bruce love him and be the person that drags light into the darkness of Bruce's life. It makes the narrative foils aspect of this issue so engaging because both of them don't really fully get the other, that Dick doesn't understand what Tommy really wants, that Tommy doesn't really understand why Dick has what he has, all of it wrapped up in wanting Bruce Wayne's attention. And it's so interesting because that's kind of the whole point of Bruce as a character, that all these people love him and want his approval, but only a handful ever really get it because you can't love him as this mythic figure that's there to loom over you. You have to love him as the asshole that makes your life miserable but you also admire for the sheer determination he has for justice and that, when he trusts you, he trusts you with everything he has, and because you like his dry sense of humor, you like that he's kind of stupid sometimes. You have to love him as a man, not an idea.

#lumi.txt #dc #batfam #dick grayson #bruce wayne #thomas elliot #nightwing vs hush #long post

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autisticlancemcclain · 1 year ago

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fic rec friday 34

welcome to the thirty-fourth fic rec friday! where, on friday, i rec five of my favourite fics.

1. Red Poppies by @icypantherwrites

Hanahaki (with a twist) AU — Lance has never experienced a case of Hanahaki this bad. He wishes he could say it’s just the amount of flowers he’s coughing up and desperately trying to hide from the team, just as he’s trying to hide the fact that he technically died at Omega Shield from them, but it’s not just that. It’s the fact he keeps choking out red poppies. And red poppies...

They symbolize death.

the most interesting take on hanahaki ive ever seen tbh. i know icy panther is known for her edgier storytelling, but this is one of my faves of hers! i like the originality of it, and of course i adore the addressing of the omega shield disaster

2. Voltron: Last Dialogue by @uncouth-peasant [IMPLIED CHARACTER DEATH]

After the events of Omega Shield, the Astral Plane has a visitor.

okay look i know everyone freaks about major character death but im asking u to read this anyway. for one its only IMPLIED, technically lance could still be alive, and also it’s just a really well-written fic. lance and shiro have so so so much potential with how similar their characters and arcs are, so i loved how this one explored that in its heartbreak

3. The Poison of Deceit by @icypantherwrites

This diplomatic mission is not going the way Lance had hoped. The diplomacy part on behalf of Voltron is going fantastic and Lance doesn’t think he’d be remiss in saying he had a large hand in that. But the whole impress Shiro bit is an epic fail as Shiro doesn’t seem to notice his efforts at all and it’s only worse with Keith showing him up at nearly every turn. The aliens they’re working on the alliance though have noticed his efforts. But as Lance stands here now, Shiro and Keith’s lives along with a vial of poison in his hands, he isn’t so certain that was a good thing.

the fuckin ‘i drank poison to save your life’ trope will NEVER get old idc idc. the heart dropping moment when the team realises that by doubting lance they may have cost him his life...insanity fr. like i eat this shit up every time

4. blind spots by @adelfie

Lance knows something’s wrong.

Keith turns his gaze on him, dark eyes latching onto him like an anchor.

Normally this is when Lance can think of something stupid to say to make Keith smile. Bonus points if he can get a laugh. Usually it isn’t hard — smiles come easy when it’s them. But something is wrong, and Lance knows that Keith’s smile will be the farthest thing from him if he says it.

-- Lance gets hurt during a mission with Keith and the Blades.

blade pining down bad keith in startled awe of bamf lance...it eats every single time like lets be honest my friends. bamf lance in every flavour is delectable but through keith’s view????? oh god it’s something special

5. Isn’t There A White Knight by @bosstoaster-writing

Kink Meme FIll: "In the first episode, Lance says that Shiro is his hero. But Shiro is still just a guy in his mid twenties, and we've seen him join in on silly stuff ("Blam blam blam!").

So what I want is five times Lance sees Shiro do dorky, ridiculous things, and one time he realizes he'd still follow this dork to Hell and back."

C'mon, as if I could pass that up.

five plus one? check. lance learning to know his idol as a human? check. gentle and careful and clumsy relationships? check. and dorky loser goober shiro, my love and light? CHECK CHECK CHECK. this fic is so so fun. shiro should get the right to be a dorky goober at all times and anyone who writes that is my hero

that’s it for today!! i’ll see y’all back next friday for the next fic rec post!!!

#fic rec friday may have been the best thing i did on this blog tbh #vld #voltron #lance #lance mcclain #keith #keith kogane #klance #shiro #takashi shirogane #lance & shiro #team as family #langst #fic rec #fic rec friday

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everlastingdreams · 1 year ago

Text

The Weeping Monk x Reader : Born In The Dawn Chapter 24

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Story Summary: Locked inside a dark room in a dungeon, kept alive only for your power, you believed you’d never see the daylight again. That is until the Weeping Monk finds his way down and steals you from your captors. It is the beginning of a journey that leads you through hardship and newfound hope, but nothing is assured in a world that is changing for the Fey. The magic that runs in your veins is drawing out the worst the world has to offer, does it include the man who pulled you from the dark?

Chapter Title: Warm As Fire

Notes: I'm so glad people like this story so far. I always post every chapter with a small fragile heart, ngl.

Warnings: Grief. Violence. Torture. Sexual Assault. Rape Threat. Gore. Enemies To Lovers. Pining. Trauma. Flagellation. Manipulation. Strong Language. Blood. Gore?. Misogyny. PTSD. Spicy and smut parts. Slight redemption arc.

Other warnings: Jealousy. Forbidden Love. Romance. Slow-burn…

Word count of this fic: +190K

Chapter: 24/ It’s a secret.

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The Ash Man had been quite determined to get away from the fort of the Brotherhood as fast as possible. Even if the wagon swayed from left to right a bit in the beginning, the horse seemed to show mercy to the inexperienced wagon rider.

But you had seen the nervous grimace on Lancelot’s face when he was trying to keep the wagon under control and found it quite amusing. The difference between the confident Weeping Monk in battle, and the fumbling Ash Man trying his best, was nice to see.

The rain had stopped an hour ago, thankfully so, it made it easier to see the roads in the night.

There was a bag of items and a chest present on the wagon, and your curiosity led you to search through it.

“Do you know where we are?” You asked while doing so.

“Near the sea.” He decided to jest.

You rolled your eyes and turned to look at him over your shoulder. “Please, tell me we aren’t lost in these woods.”

He looked back at you with a slight smile. “We are not. These are the roads I was hoping to avoid when we traveled to your home. Consider ourselves fortunate that we do not have to pass Uther’s castle anymore to reach your family. We are about a day away.”

“They must think I have left them without saying a word again…” You felt awful and sighed. “And Squirrel… gods.”

Lancelot gave some words of comfort, “You will be able to tell them what happened soon. I am certain they will be glad to have their daughter with them again.”

You picked up on the way he spoke of your parents. “You sound like you appreciate my parents.”

He admitted to it, “They seem like good people.”

You continued to snoop through the bag. “They are. I was glad to see that my cousin was doing so well with them, and he was impressed with our young Fey knight.”

‘Our?’… interesting choice of words.

In the bag were two ropes and some dirty linen, you had went through the whole bag of it in the hope of finding something more useful.

You wiped your hands on your trousers and went over to open the chest.

It was locked…

“What do you think is in here?” You asked and knocked on the chest.

He stopped the wagon and climbed into the back where you were.

It wasn’t what you had expected him to do, “Letting the horse rest?”

He gave a nod and knelt beside you in front of the chest. “I believe it has been pulling this wagon for a few hours before we took it, it is best we grant the horse rest.”

There was an attempt to break the lock with his sword, it did not budge.

It had almost slipped your mind. “Oh! Do you still have the hairpin?”

Lancelot had forgotten about it too it seemed, he searched his pockets. “I do.”

The ring was still in his pocket as well, he would avoid showing it to you. Any reminder of that monster was one too many.

He held up the hairpin for you to take, and you did.

The small rusted lock of the chest was a pain to pick at and some quiet curses flew out of your mouth.

It was unexpected to see him try not to chuckle at hearing them.

His eyes were fixed on your hands and how they worked the stubborn lock. The attention on you did not waver, it only shifted from one thing to another.

A concentrated frown creased your forehead… The way your lips pressed together as you tried not to let another curse get passed them… The scent of the sea mixed with the scent of you…

The lock clicked open and you let out a relieved little laugh. “Got ‘em!”

You handed him back the hairpin to hold.

Lancelot seemed to snap out of some deep thoughts before he helped lift the lid of the chest.

“That’s not food.” You sounded disappointed at the sight of the weapons in the chest.

He reached into the chest and plucked his swords and daggers from it, they had not been on their way to the Abbot yet after all. “I am sorry you are disappointed.”

You had heard that cheeky tone. “Well, you aren’t.”

He shook his head and immediately switched the sword he had been using for his own again. “There are some good swords in here.”

Lancelot searched through them, inspecting a few, and then he found one that was apparently better than the one at your side now.

You took it from his hands at his insistence, and proceed to inspect it for a moment as well. “I guess it does seem like a better sword.”

He had expected to hear it and a grin formed on his face. “It must be difficult to admit I am right about some matters.”

You scoffed at the obvious jest and played along. “Oh, please. You’re making it sound like I am the boastful one.”

The retort came fast. “I am not boastful.”

Your brow arched comically. “Gods, every time you get into a battle, you might as well say ‘look at me’ out loud because I know you’re always thinking it.”

Almost did he roll his eyes, they slid to the side instead.

Still, a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You read minds?”

You closed the chest again, “Would that frighten you? What little secrets are locked up in yours?”

Even in the darkness of the covered wagon, by the grace of the moon, you could see the spark in his eyes.

There was a change in his voice, a warm timbre took over, “My secrets are mine to keep.”

While you grew curious, he moved further away to the end at the back of the wagon.

“You should get some rest. I will remain awake.” He said.

You weren’t sure about that idea. “Doesn’t sound fair that I get to sleep while you have to stay awake.”

He turned to face you. “You have brought me back from the dead and healed me. I have enough energy in me and it is there because you gave me yours. Sleep.”

“In soaked clothes…” You pouted at the thought.

“Try.” He insisted.

You knew it was out of concern that he wanted you to rest, rightfully so, the only thing that had kept you going was the adrenaline running through your veins.

You took off your vest and began to undo your bodice, seeing the way the former Monk was quick to fix his eyes on the trees you stifled a giggle. “I’ll sleep in my shirt and trousers, and hope the rest dries. Fear not, Ash Man, your eyes are safe from sin.”

This time he did roll his eyes and looked up for a moment.

He wished he could be of help, “We can make a fire tomorrow. If I do so now, it could draw the attention of others.”

It was true. “I’ll use this bag as a pillow. There’s linen in there but believe me, you’ll prefer the soaked clothes over them.”

He agreed on that. “I can smell the dirt on them from here.”

And you were going to use it as a pillow…

“Great.” You mumbled and laid down to sleep. “Guess I’ll wake up reeking of it too.”

His quiet chuckling was the last thing you registered, the lack of energy and cost of your magic caught up with you only a few seconds after you had laid down.

~~~♡~~~♡~~~♧~~~♡~~~♡~~~

The nightmare you were trapped in was build from memories that were created in that hellish fort.

The darkness of the dungeons, the murder of Lancelot and then the Reaper putting his hands on you.

The nightmare had enough oil to burn for a while. It felt so real. You were trying to defend yourself against the Brothers. Lashing out at them, hitting and kicking them. Growing more frantic the longer the nightmare lasted.

If only you had been awake to know that the Ash Man was trying to gently wake you…

The nightmare would not have ended with hitting his nose and believing it was a Brother you had struck.

That believe ended when the hold of sleep stopped and you saw Lancelot hold his nose and wincing in pain as he knelt beside you.

You blinked the sleep from your eyes and realized who you had hit upon jolting awake.

A shocked gasp fell from out of your mouth and you reached for him. “Did I… gods… I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to-”

He put a hand on your shoulder, while still holding his nose with the other.

You waited for him say something, sensing that he needed a moment to let that surge of pain pass.

But he did not have to be in pain, not with your ability.

You reached for his arm and he grasped your hand immediately.

He had guessed the intent. “Do not use your magic. I am alright.”

Blood had run from his nose, that didn’t look alright to you.

“But-” You began to protest.

“No.” He spoke sternly. “I know the price it costs you. Do not pay it for me.”

You tried to pull your hand free. “I’m the one who caused your nose to bleed! It’s only fair that I solve the problem I have created.”

Lancelot simply refused to let you help him.

He wiped the blood from his nose with his sleeve. “I have encountered worse. Your hit was not strong enough to cause real injuries.”

Your feeling of guilt faded. “Are you seriously going to jest about it already?! You’re unbelievable.”

He grinned, until he felt it increase the soreness in his nose. “I am merely trying to make you remember that I was raised for battle. A punch to the nose will not kill me. Not even if it is given by a feisty Fey girl.”

Your eyes squinted at him. “Don’t make it so tempting to proof you wrong.”

A chuckle fell from him and he moved to climb out of the wagon.

You called out after him, “You could tell I was having a nightmare, huh?”

He waited for you outside the wagon, beckoning you over.

You were tossing and turning whilst asleep. It were the quiet whimpers that had convinced him to wake you.

Because he could not stand to hear you suffer, even if it was in a dream.

He would not embarrass you by telling you how he could tell. “I could.”

You collected your bodice and vest, then climbed out of the wagon as well and noticed he almost subconsciously folded his hands behind his back, like he wished to avoid the accident of last night happening again.

A small bonfire was burning not far from the wagon.

You realized he had stopped next to a river, a wise choice, because one look at his clothing was enough of a reason to understand why.

The sight of all the blood, his blood, covering him brought back the awful memory of seeing him lifeless.

That plunge in the sea had washed some of it out, still…

He noticed the sudden change in you when looking at the state of his clothing. “I have made a fire to dry our clothes, together with this morning sun it shouldn’t take long.”

The sun was warm indeed, as if it wanted to apologize for the night’s previous weather.

You draped your bodice and vest on the grass near the fire. Some blood was still staining your trousers from having knelt in it, it would have to wait until you were home again, you couldn’t wait to put on some fresh clothes.

Your eyes fell on the amount of blood on Lancelot again, they snapped to the grass when he caught you looking.

This time he commented on it while taking off his cloak, “Can you not stand the sight of blood?”

You kept your eyes away and answered that teasing tone with your own. “Asked the person who made me heal dozens of bloodied paladins.”

He had hanged his cloak on a branch to dry in the sun and took of his aketon next. “None off them bled this much.”

Well, that was true. The amount of blood in his clothes was there because he had bled out, you couldn’t really compare it to the injuries the paladins had.

“Nor were they dead. And I can stand the sight of blood-” You turned and saw him pull his shirt off over his head. “There’s just…”

Your thoughts took another route so fast that you snapped your eyes away from him again.

The sudden silence made him look over at you, “Just ‘what’?”

A mouse must have been louder than you were. “There is just a little much of it on your clothes.”

Lancelot walked the small distance to the river bank. “I am going to try and wash some of it out.”

You were nodding a bit too long and just decided to go and sit by the fire until he was done.

That was the plan at least, but what he said next pulled your thoughts right back to him.

“Dying felt like suffocating at first.” He said, seeing the water of the river color red with his blood. “I never felt so cold in my life as I did then.”

It was difficult to hear how he had experienced it.

“How were you so calm?” You quietly asked.

He tried to get a stain out of his shirt by rubbing a small rock against it, it took him a moment before he answered. “I did not want your last memory of me to be one of fear.”

The last thing on his mind while dying had been what memories you would have of him?

You approached him and stopped a few steps away. “Everyone is afraid sometimes, and you were dying.”

Another silence passed before he spoke again. “I remember the darkness I was in until your magic pulled me out. God’s garden…” He scoffed.

The struggle with the religion he had served was visible, you worried for him, “Are you disappointed?”

He rinsed the shirt in the water, sounding firm. “No. It has made me understand that I do not want to live my life hoping for a better one after death. When I woke, I was grateful to be given another chance on life, because I realized something.”

You waited for him to continue speaking and watched him squeeze the water out of the shirt.

He stood up and walked past you to hang the shirt on a branch, next to the one that held his cloak. “I cannot run from what I was and I do not want to run from what I am, not anymore. If I do so, I would be doing the Fey a disservice. The Green Knight was right, our people need people who can fight and I cannot fight for the Fey if I hide from them.”

Lancelot came over to you and stopped only a step away. “I will give your parents the ring of the Reaper, and if your father still wishes to see me rot in a dungeon, so be it.”

The last encounter between them was still fresh in your memories. “Lancelot-”

He wouldn’t let you talk the plan out of his head, his mind was set. “I will fight for the Fey, but I will fight for you and the boy first. Always.”

The Ash Man took his aketon to the river next, leaving you stand alone speechless.

Minutes passed and he scrubbed the blood out of his aketon as much as possible, not a word was shared between you.

It worried you that he was so determined of his plan, but so was your father and that was were things would go wrong.

You knew what it was like to be trapped in a dungeon, never truly knowing if you would see freedom again or die in darkness, forgotten.

You stomped over to him as he knelt by the river, then snatched the aketon from his hands. “You will spend the rest of your days in a dungeon if you do not succeed in convincing my father, is that what you want?! I promised you I would meet you with Squirrel in the forest on the second day of winter. There is no reason for you to risk imprisonment!”

He rose, visibly disagreeing, “No reason?” His jaw was tense as he looked at the river’s stream. “You will go home, to your family, to Percival. And I…”

You gripped the aketon in your hand firmer, waiting to hear what he had to say.

His eyes locked on your face, hoping you would understand, “…I leave behind all I have.”

You had thought he would say something accusing, instead what he said caused a lump in your throat.

He would be alone…

When he had made it seem that he was alright with that fact, he had been hiding the truth. It was hurting him in the worst way. Dragging the truth out of the Ash Man was not simple, he always buried the pain.

You knelt down next to the water, the saltwater of the sea had been helpful on getting the worst stains on the aketon to lessen, you put it in the water to let it soak a little.

He stood motionless, watching it happen.

It was to distract yourself before your voice would betray the way his words had affected you.

Your eyes did not leave the river. “I will try to speak to my father. I cannot promise anything but I will fight for you.”

The Ash Man took an audible breath behind you, the rustling of the grass warned of his movement.

He knelt down beside you, letting the silence say what he couldn’t put in words.

There was only one man your father truly hated and that man had met his end at the hands of the Ash Man, that had to count for something.

It was not easy to try and make the world around you see the good in the man beside you, and it had to be even harder for Lancelot himself to deal with that fact.

You saw some of the dried blood lift from the aketon and pushed it down into the shallow river water more. “I hope Squirrel does not think we just left him.”

He knew the boy was certainly upset about the two of you vanishing from his life without a word of warning, “We should be wary, the knife you gave him was very sharp.”

You reminded him who was responsible for that, “You’re the one who sharpened it.”

It seemed like it had broken the tense air that had hanged between you, and he gave a guilty smile.

Lancelot reached into the water and plucked the aketon out of it.

“There’s still blood on there.” You stated.

He stood up and walked away with it. “I’m hanging it up to dry before the sun hides itself again.”

You took a moment by the river to wash your face, cleaning the dried blood of your nose, it had stopped bleeding.

The faint voices of the Hidden danced around your ears.

“Can you hear them now?” You called out to Lancelot while using your sleeves to dry your face.

He had returned with his cloak and let it soak in the water like you had done with the aketon, “What do you think they want?”

You shrugged your shoulders. “I don’t know. I guess they are just glad we get along, we are their summoners after all.”

“Let us keep the gods pleased then.” He picked up a fallen branch and began to sort of stir his cloak in the river.

You barely held a laugh. “What on earth are you doing? You’re not stirring a soup.”

He moved the branch out of the water and poked your arm with it. “Let me wash my cloak in peace.”

You swatted it away and got up from the ground. “Fine. Have fun stirring your blood soup.”

The look of mischief in his eyes made you wonder if he was thinking about tossing you into the river too, you did not wait to find out and walked back to the bonfire where your clothes were almost dry.

You took off your boots to let them dry and air in the sun as well, then laid down in the grass to allow yourself some sunlight too.

The cheerful song of birds sounded through the trees and your heart felt peaceful.

The grass between your fingers smelled fresh from the midnight rain.

A few minutes passed where you just laid there with your eyes closed and listening to the birds.

You heard the sound of water splattering and knew he had gotten his cloak out from the river.

His footsteps moved around the area for a moment, then towards you.

The heat of the sunlight vanished from your skin when the Ash Man’s shadow took it’s place.

“You’re in my light.” You grumbled.

He had done it on purpose. “We can enjoy the sun while searching for something to eat as well.”

You opened your eyes and saw he had put the shirt on again, “Do you use your heightened sense of smell to find things to eat?”

The genuine curiosity in the question was a little unexpected to him.

Father had once asked many similar questions but it had only been to find out what would serve the Church best.

He sounded a bit shy about it. “Sometimes. Uhm… with ripe fruit for example. I can smell apples nearby.”

It was quite interesting to learn details about his ability.

You got up from the grass, teasing him with it a little, “Did the smell of them waken your appetite?”

That was a correct assumption.

He said it so matter-of-factually, “I was dead not long ago, I want to remind my stomach it is still alive.”

Your smile fell a little but you caught yourself. “Let’s get those apples for you then.”

“For us.” He corrected, and watched as you began to walk next to him.

You were reluctant to stray too far from the wagon, “What if what is left from the Brotherhood is looking for us?”

He brought a hand to the swords at his hip. “We cannot let fear starve us. Come.”

It was the fearless attitude of the Ash Man that put your mind at ease.

While walking him, you got to experience how he used his ability so discreetly that you almost couldn’t tell he was using his sense of smell to guide him.

After so many years, it should not have come as such a surprise that he was good at hiding his Fey abilities from others.

You couldn’t help but look at him curiously.

He didn’t notice at first, but he must have felt your eyes on him after a while.

Lancelot turned his attention to you, “What is it?”

“Nothing.” You shrugged your shoulders.

And you were still looking at him… It was making him strangely nervous.

He walked a bit faster, towards the scent that had gotten much stronger. “They’re over here somewhere.”

It wasn’t necessary to help look, he found the apple trees a moment later and plucked an apple.

You managed to catch it when he carefully threw it in your direction. “Thank you!”

The apple smelled sweet indeed and you couldn’t resist biting it, the juice of it was godly.

Lancelot took five more apples of the tree and returned to your side. “This should help us until we arrive at our destination.”

You took two to carry so he could eat his apple comfortably too. He walked back into the direction of the wagon, and you followed him.

After some bites of the apple, he asked, “What was your nightmare about?”

You gave vague details. “Everything really. The paladins, the Brothers, Soran…”

What bothered you most was how you had woken from it. “I’m sorry, again, for hitting you. I want you to know that I really didn’t know what I was doing, and that I wouldn’t have hit you if I had a choice in the matter.”

He was rather pleased to hear that. “Next time, I will just poke you with my sword from afar until you wake.”

Your mouth fell agape and a half-insulted laugh escaped. “Oh, for goodness sake!” The clock house of your finished apple hit his back after you threw it at him. “If I wanted to kill you, I would have done so already.”

An arrogant smirk tugged at his mouth, “With your sword skill?”

The Ash Man was trying to push your buttons, and successfully so.

You made him eat his words. “My father, a former knight of the Fey, will be interested to hear of your doubt in his ability to teach me how to wield a sword. Besides, remember how I cut your arm?”

Oh, he remembered alright. “I remember. The wound grew infected, I did not expect to be healed by the same person who caused it. And now you can even bring others back from the dead.”

You still couldn’t fully believe it had happened, and part of you wanted to ignore the fact. “I only brought you back, the Hidden probably only allowed it because you’re Fey and because you’re special.”

“I’m special?” He cheekily asked with a charming grin.

You tempered his ego. “To them.”

He shook his head a bit, the grin grew from ear to ear. “I see.”

Was he seriously trying to get you flustered and make you trip over your words?

You turned the tables on him. “You are the Hidden’s special Ash Folk summoner, I bet they waited a long time for you.”

He took a bite from his apple and hoped he wouldn’t choke on it when he’d laugh, “I don’t know what use I am to them.”

You snorted a laugh, looking at him incredulous. “Says the Fey who can’t be burned and has fire as a friend.”

Alright, it might be what had the interest of the Hidden…

He did not want you to think you weren’t special either, “They waited for you as well, finally they have their Dawn Folk summoner.”

You confessed it to him, “I don’t want to be able to bring people back from the dead. I only agreed to be their summoner so they would help me bring you back.”

A promise made to gods, an exchange to save his life…

The sudden change in his eyes made you worry he might think you regretted it.

“Don’t get me wrong. I am happy you are alive, it was worth the deal I made.” You blurted out.

He believed you. “I know. I could tell when I opened that cell door.”

The moment you had seen him alive again, you had shared an embrace that neither of you had talked about since. Just like the kiss you’d given his cheek when saying your ‘goodbyes’ in the forest.

And you just sensed that he was not used to being given this sort of attention. Neither were you. Still, he had reciprocated the embrace in a way that you could not forget.

This was a former monk, and enemy, who had stood between you and peril more than once. It was difficult not to grow fond of the person he truly was.

It was easy to forget he was still getting used to the life outside the clergy.

You hoped your reaction had not been too much and too soon for him. “Hey, uhm, I apologize if I reacted a bit strong when I saw you alive again. I know you were raised with certain rules to follow. I was just so relieved to see you, my friend, alive and well.”

The Ash Man had a gentle look in his eyes, appreciative of the consideration. “There is no need for an apology. If anything, I cherish the reaction.”

Your eyes widened a bit and avoided looking into his. “That’s good…”

He took another bite and filled the silence that fell between you.

The only thing heard until you reached the wagon, was your footsteps.

When you arrived at the wagon again, Lancelot freed the horse from the burden of the wagon and tied the reins to a tree.

You frowned a bit, “Why are you doing that?”

Lancelot inspected the saddle. “We will continue without the wagon, it will be faster and draw less attention. And if they are searching for us, they will be searching for a wagon.”

And it would be easier to escape on horseback than on a wagon in case of a chase too…

“Do you think Goliath is alright?” You asked when he began to stroke a hand along the horse’s neck.

His voice carried worry, “I hope so. He is strong… and clever.”

The change in his expression betrayed him.

You hoped your words would comfort him. “You’ll reunite with him, everything will be alright.”

He nodded, a little lost in thought and went to retrieve the cloak and aketon he had put up to dry. “Put your boots back on, we will be leaving soon. It’s not safe for us to stay here for long.”

You had been able to rest, but he hadn’t done so yet. “Are you sure you don’t want to get some sleep first? I can keep watch.”

Lancelot put the aketon back on. “I will rest tonight. We should arrive at your home by midday come morrow when all goes well.”

With his determination to stay awake, you hoped he was not too tired to continue the journey on horse, “Are you sure?”

He gave a quick nod, then gestured to your boots that stood abandoned at the fire.

After checking to see if they were dry, you put your boots back on.

Meanwhile, he was closing the belts on his aketon.

You kicked soil on the bonfire until it was out.

Lancelot poured out the dirty linen that was in the sack on the wagon, then put two of the moderate looking swords from the chest into it, followed by the apples and some of the rope.

You helped him attach the sack to the back of the horse’s saddle with a piece of rope, holding it up until he secured it there.

He untied the reins from the tree and beckoned for you to come closer. “After you.”

The little comical bow of his head made you smile. “How gallant.”

You put your foot in the stirrup, gripped the gullet, and pulled yourself into the saddle.

He was patting the spot in the front of it

“I know, I know…” You made room for him.

The speed at which he mounted showed that there was still energy burning through him. Had your magic offered him so much?

The horse began to walk in a slow pace right away, eager to stretch it’s legs without having a wagon to pull along.

Now that you sat on the horse with him, Lancelot seemed to see it as an excellent opportunity.

“I have a question.” He began and waited for acknowledgment.

That tone he used warned you that he was going to ask something that might annoy you.

You let out a little sigh. “Ask.”

He cleared his throat first, “Do you feel safe with me?”

That wasn’t what you thought he’d ask.

Had you done something that made him believe differently?

“I do.” You assured him of it. “I wouldn’t be climbing on a horse with you otherwise. Why do you ask?”

When he stayed quiet, you reached back and tapped his arm a few times playfully. “Spit it out, Ash Man.”

His answer carried a certain gentleness that you didn’t hear often, “I just needed to hear you say it.”

You looked back at him over your shoulder. “To me you are not the Weeping Monk anymore. You’re Lancelot. I see no reason to fear you now that I know you.”

He blinked a couple of times and watched you turn your head away again.

The warmth of him radiated through his sleeve and unto your arms, it had been a while since you had felt so comfortable. “What was life like for you, when you weren’t out doing what Father Carden asked off you?”

He gave the most expected answer, “I practiced the sword.”

If you wanted to learn more, you’d have to pry it out of him. “Besides that.”

Lancelot was not aware until now that you were trying to get to know more about him. “I uh… enjoyed reading.”

You pried further, “What books?”

His answers came quicker. “Anything.”

You fired another question, “What else?”

A light chuckle filled your ears. “I often spend time alone in the forest, it helped me to calm down when matters got difficult.”

“That is the Fey in you.” You deduced.

His own curiosity shined through, “Are you calmer among nature?”

It was an undeniable fact. “I am. I love to see the moon’s light between the trees above my head. The sound of an owl filling the air, a breeze swaying the branches and dancing shadows on the ground below.”

The daydream of your favorite things was softly interrupted by his hand being placed on your upper arm.

But it was the silence of the Ash Man that had your heart change it’s pace.

“Uhm…” You quietly uttered.

He leaned in close to your ear and teased you for your daydreaming. “Fey.”

A shiver went up your neck and you rolled your shoulders to hide it, what you could not hide was the soft giggle at his playfulness.

The hand stayed for a moment longer, and brushed along your arm when it left.

You distracted yourself from it by talking about Squirrel, “I hope Squirrel is doing alright. I know my parents can be stern, but they will look after him well. Maybe he’s playing with Ciro now…”

He kept his hands on the reins now. “Do you worry how your father will react to Percival’s mischief?”

You shook your head. “No. My father raised me, Squirrel’s shenanigans will be nothing new to him.”

A grin tugged at his mouth, “I thought you once told me that you were well-behaved as a child?”

You were biting your lip and mumbled, “Most of the time.”

Lancelot hummed.

Silently guessing that the rest of the time was spend on mischief that had your parents pull the hairs out of their heads at times.

You looked at him and squinted your eyes a little. “I just know you didn’t always do as told either.”

It was true, he had gotten into trouble more than once.

His hands moved closer to your stomach to rest. “If I did, neither of us would be here now.”

You slowly nodded, smiling at him, “What is life without a little mischief?”

He hummed with approval this time.

Your eyes fell on his hands and how close they were now, had he placed them so just because it was more comfortable to hold the reins and ride like this?

It was still strange to share a horse, even when you were little your parents insisted you learned to ride on your own as quickly as possible in case of trouble. The only other person you had shared a horse with was Squirrel.

By riding with the Ash Man, you could easily see the change that had occurred between you.

He was not as timid, one could even say he was comfortable near you.

For you it was something that did not come as natural yet, being close to others was difficult for Dawn Folk.

But for him you had made an exception.

It was safe.

~~~♡~~~♡~~~♧~~~♡~~~♡~~~

After riding for a few hours and walking for another few, it was the Ash Man’s yawn along with the setting sun that alerted you that it was time to find a place to set camp for the night.

“Should we make a fire over there?” You pointed to a spot next to the river you were walking by.

He seemed determined to reach your home early. “There is still time to walk further.”

You knew he was pushing himself too hard. “Lancelot, you need rest. You’ve been yawning my ears off for the past hour.”

What reached your ears now, was a scoff.

Before he could protest again, you made the decision alone. “We are stopping there for the night.”

His stubbornness surrendered. “Very well. But no fire, we should remain discreet if we do not wish to be found.”

You agreed and stole the reins of the horse from his hand. “Alright.”

He glanced at you, aware that you had taken away the reins just to make sure he’d really stop at the place you had chosen.

Setting up camp wasn’t difficult, all you did was tie the reins to a tree near the river and plop your rear down on the grass.

Lancelot took an apple out of the sack and offered one to you as well, you declined it.

You sat and watched how he kept finding things to distract himself from resting.

“Gods! Just sit down already, will you?” You blurted out.

His eyes snapped away from the river and to you. Almost timidly he did as you asked, and sat down against the tree in front of you.

You let out a peaceful breath, “Much better. It’s not a crime to rest, you know?”

“I know.” He sighed a bit. “I can still feel your magic running through me.”

The results of your magic were often enough for someone to think they could climb a mountain. “I believe you, but if you don’t rest and the energy wears off…”

Chances were high he would fall asleep at the worst time.

“You weren’t allowed to rest much, were you?” It was a guess based on how he struggled to do so.

“You will consider me mad.” He warned.

You couldn’t hold in the jest. “I already do. So tell me.”

His brow arched at you, but he choose to let it slide. “Since leaving the Church, even while being hunted, resting is easier for me.”

That was nice to hear, you pried a little, “Your conscience is no longer keeping you awake?”

He leaned his head back against the bark and watched the darkening sky. “Not as much as it once did. It helps to be around someone who forgave me.” His eyes dropped down from the heavens and landed on yours. “You forgave me.”

It was like he still couldn’t fully believe it, he swallowed thickly and lifted his eyes to the sky again.

The whispers of the Hidden sounded in your ears. Just when you looked at him to see if he’d notice their presence too, his eyes fell down to yours with the answer.

Not a word was said, your eyes did not leave each other as you listened to the whispers.

The voices he was taught to forsake, to ignore, he tried to understand them now. Because deep down, he knew they were speaking off you to him. And it made him more than a little curious as to what they wished to tell you about him too.

“It sounds like the Hidden doesn’t want us to get some sleep.” You broke the strange silence that was growing.

His head tilted to the side a little. “I am curious.”

“About what?” You asked.

The Ash Man was open about how he experienced them, “I cannot understand what they say, but I feel what their intention is. Do you feel it?”

You had your suspicion. “I think…”

It felt a bit embarrassing to voice it, what if you were wrong?

“Yes?” He urged you to share your thoughts.

Blurting it out was easier. “They are binding us together.”

To your relief, Lancelot gave a nod. “Do you think it is because we are summoners?”

Why did it feel like he thought there was another reason for it?

You cleared your dry throat, “Probably. What other reason would there be?”

He broke eye-contact by looking at the river and swallowed the answer to the question.

An answer never came…

You saw him try to hide another yawn. “You can sleep. My turn to keep watch.”

With a shallow nod, he let his eyes fall shut and sank back against the tree. That surging energy that had run through him came to a halt. It was common knowledge to the Dawn Folk that so much given energy always came to a sudden stop, not to the Ash Man who fell into a deep sleep seconds after he closed his eyes.

The moon had taken it’s place in the night sky when you decided to stretch your legs by the river a bit. You were tossing some small pebbles and saw them hop on the water, it became a way to entertain yourself and see how far you could get them to hop. It helped to stay focused and awake. While watching one of these rocks travel across the river, you heard Lancelot speak your name.

You looked over at him and saw that he was still vast asleep. Just to be sure, you quietly spoke his name as well and waited to see if he would reply to it.

No, he was definitely asleep.

Your curiosity was growing as you tiptoed closer to him and sat down against the tree next to the one he had chosen as a pillow. Why were you suddenly interested to know what he was dreaming off? It felt irresistible not to listen in to his sleep mumbling, and it was a nice way to keep yourself focused on the task of keeping watch as he slept. A few minutes past before he mumbled your name again.

The smile on your lips grew from the slight pleasant tremble that went through your chest.

Oh, how you wished to wake him and ask what it was he was dreaming about. You’d imagine he would be a bit embarrassed about it. Maybe you were tormenting him in his dream, as you once had done in reality. Or maybe it was a pleasant dream.

You hoped it was the later, he deserved something good.

After listening for a bit longer, you stood up again and returned to the river to watch the moonlight reflect in it. The sound of horses nearing pulled your attention away. Seconds later you were kneeling next to Lancelot and waking him up.

“Lancelot! Someone’s coming!” You shook him carefully.

The interrupted deep sleep made him jolt awake and grab hold of your arm.

“Someone is coming.” You said again.

He got to his feet clumsily and pulled you up with him. “The horse-”

Just as he had said it, a group of Uther’s soldiers emerged from the trees on horseback.

They must have been traveling back to the castle, and they were as surprised to see you there as you were to see them. The group of four came to a halt close to the horse you needed to flee.

One of them assessed the situation they had run into. “By order of the King, state your business in his woods!”

If they saw who Lancelot was… you’d be in far greater trouble than if they knew you were Fey.

The Church hunted your kind, Uther did not care for what happened and elected to ignore the existence of the Fey most of the time. To these soldiers, a Fey wasn’t worth the time, but the former Weeping Monk was.

Lancelot flexed his hand as it moved to the swords at his hip.

You stepped in front of him, whispering, “Stay here. Keep your hood on and your cloak closed.”

They couldn’t get closer to him, or the Ash Man risked his markings to be seen. The shadows offered him some protection from their view. Hopefully they could not see what the vague dark stains on his clothes or yours were.

You removed Lancelot’s hand from your wrist when he tried to keep you at his side, and walked up to the soldiers.

Telling the truth would spare you the time to think of a lie. “We are traveling North to see family, and we are taking some time to rest before continuing our journey.”

The one who had asked dismounted, and walked up to you while gesturing to Lancelot, “Your husband?”

It almost took you too long to answer. “Yes.”

The soldier stopped in front of you while the others kept a watchful eye.

“Newly wed?” He made a guess.

You nodded.

He turned to his comrades with a knowing look. “Just a couple of newly weds ‘resting’ in the forest.”

They chuckled at the allusion.

Your face began to burn at the implication the soldier had made, you could only imagine Lancelot’s response.

“Where did the blood on your trousers come from?” The soldier gestured to it.

Dammit… you hadn’t had the chance to wash them.

“I did not expect to bleed so early this month, and took no precautions.” You said with confidence, hoping it made him believe it was true and he was being rude to even ask about it.

The blood was on your knees mostly, but making this situation uncomfortable would make it harder for the soldier to ask further.

“Oh.” The soldier was visibly regretting it.

The soldier’s expression changed and you felt a hand touch your back.

You were under such stress that you’d almost turned and struck the poor Ash Man who came to play the part. Lancelot’s hood was far over his face when he brought his arm around your waist, his cloak hid the remainder of the large stain across his chest.

He did not look at them, it wasn’t necessary, they understood the message he was silently transmitting. They were not wanted or welcome.

The soldier cleared his throat, feeling the atmosphere grow more uncomfortable, and took a step back because of it. “I wish you safe travels.”

You watched him return to his horse and leave with the group who laughed at the situation. The Ash Man must have played his part quite convincing for them to leave without further questioning.

He withdrew his arm from you. “I-”

Words flew rapidly out of your mouth whilst you walked back to the river. “Go back to sleep. I’ll wake you at dawn.”

Lancelot was a bit stunned by the response, it took him a moment to follow your advice. He sat down by the tree again and watched as you tried to keep your attention on the river. You could feel his eyes burn in your back. You weren’t the kind of person to get flustered easily, but what the soldiers had laughed about and then Lancelot’s response had caused just that. He used to be a monk, for goodness sake…

You pushed the possibility away that there was something changing between you, it was simple ridiculous. Gods, it might even send him running for the hills if he knew that you sometimes thought he saw you as anything other than a friend.

Turning on your heels, you went over to him and sat down against the other side of the tree, your shoulder touching his. “That was uncomfortable.”

He didn’t have to guess what you were speaking off, “What the soldiers assumed?”

You nodded and sank back against the tree.

There was a positive thing for him, “I was impressed with how calm you were. I thought you would strike him.”

“I wanted to.” You admitted.

His mouth curved at the corner. “So did I.”

Lancelot leaned his head against the tree, his nose in your direction.

“Don’t sniff me.” You tried not to grin.

He did not turn his head away, “Concerned that you reek?”

It was too tempting not to use it against him. “Not as concerned as you should be.”

With the back of his hand covering his mouth, he tried to hide how close to laughing it had gotten him. It took a few seconds for him to recover from the false insult.

He defended himself, “My smell must not bother you if you choose to sit with me.”

You turned your head to say something and realized he was close, you turned away quickly again at the close proximity. “I’m just pulling your leg, you don’t reek.”

“Neither do you.” He exclaimed fast, then scratched his neck, realizing that it betrayed that he had been ‘sniffing’ you after all.

You saw him ignore the look you send him for it. “Sleep, Ash Man. Dawn is nearing and I need you-”

The cheeky bastard interrupted, “You need me?”

A half-nervous laugh escaped you. “I… Gods! I will toss you in the river! I wanted to say that I need you to rest!”

The joy he had in hearing you trip over your words was worth the playful slap to his arm. His ears welcomed your soft laughter, and his heart swelled at the sound.

He leaned his head back against the bark, closing his eyes, unable to hide the amusement in his voice, “Then rest I will, if you so insist.”

You resisted the urge to threaten to drag him home by tying him to the horse with rope if he fell asleep whilst riding. “Good.”

A comfortable silence fell between you, and you looked at the river again, doing your best to be quiet so he could fall asleep. You could hear his breathing slowly change, then felt his shoulder lean against yours more.

After a few minutes you knew he had fallen asleep, and by having his shoulder against yours, there was no way for you to leave his side without waking him.

Smart.

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