#“shafts of light” should be its own tag

[jamesrodayrodriguezpresents]

This week, Maggie & Tim are joined by the one and only Kate Rogal (aka Kate Favor) to talk about Season 7 Episode 3: Lassie Jerky. An iconic episode might we add. You know, the one where Shawn and Gus help out two college students filming a documentary in the woods trying to prove Bigfoot exists only to come upon a few dead bodies...

[sugugasm]

“YES MA’AM? . . MORE LIKE YES MOMMY ! ” | jjk + aot

⟡ tags : sukuna + toji + gojo + nanami — a compilation of your favs and how they submit to you . . . content includes positions such as rimming, begging, thigh humping, handjob, blowjob, overstim??, size kink, bondage, pet names used ‘bby, pretty boy, mommy,’ etc. MDNI 19+ 8.0K WC

SUKUNA | bondage + slight handjob + cunninlingus

“oi, princess — gonna’ sit there all night or get this shit over with already?” sukuna questions you, who’s sitting rather delightfully for someone who knew damn well they were in a work of trouble after all this was over with, and as much as he would’ve loved to be the one to end this little power trip you were on, there were some . . obstacles in the way.

to name a few of those said obstacles : the infamous king was currently in a little bit of a knot, muscles on display as his usual mischievous smirk was now being replaced by a rather adorable scowl. his strong arms were bound behind his back, ropes digging into his skin all over — and oh! his thick dick, around 9-ish inches, standing proud and tall against his stomach, thumping every time you came near him. you knew he hated this - more than anything, but to see him surrendering, succumbing to you and only you . .

it was definitely something you’d take a few extra spanks to the ass for later.

“my, my . . don’t go gettin’ all bossy on me, kuna. are you forgetting who’s in charge?” you whisper near his ear, moving a hand to stroke his shaft slowly. you were like a shark scenting blood in water the way your hand began to move in circles, “look at you . .”

his eyes flashed with indignation even as his cock jumped at your words, flushed and leaking against his chiseled abdomen. “i should tear you from limb to limb for this — just for the fun of it, really.”

you chuckled darkly, fisting a hand in his hair and yanking his head back. “you should . . but you won’t. right? because deep down, you want to submit to me, don’t you, sukuna? wanna’ be brought to heel, made to beg and plead for release . .”

he snarled wordlessly but didn't deny it, straining against his bonds. you could see the conflict in his eyes, immense pride warring with dark, forbidden desire. slowly, testing, you trailed your fingers down his heaving chest, once again skimming teasingly light over his throbbing erection. he twitched, a strangled groan escaping through his gritted teeth. “just give in,” you coaxed silkily, cupping his heavy sack, rolling it in your palm. “surrender to me and i’ll make you feel so good, better than you ever imagined . .”

he glared up at you from the chair, mutinously but you could feel his resolve crumbling. grinding his jaw, he gave a single, jerky nod. triumph and dark arousal surged through you. the king of curses, deadly and proud, was yours to command.

unhurriedly, you stripped off your thin robe and kicked it aside. his corvine eyes raked over your bare form, pupils blown with lust. “open,” you instructed, stepping close and fisting his hair again. obediently, he parted his lips, letting you guide his face to your aching center.

the first hot swipe of his tongue between your folds made you gasp and shudder. he lapped at you again, more firmly, clearly savoring your taste. “that’s it,” you praised breathlessly, grinding against his face. “finally put that mouth to good use, make me drip all over you, yeah?”

he snarled into your cunt, tongue delving deeper, flicking over your throbbing clit. you keened, yanking at his hair as shocks of pleasure radiated through you. he licked and sucked voraciously, making obscene wet sounds as he ate you out. the fact that he was just about on his damn knees, servicing you, nearly undid you all on its own. “f-fuck, kuna,” you whined, head thrown back as he tongue-fucked your entrance, rubbing his nose against your clit. “jus’ like that, don’t stop, gonna’ c-cum, baby . .”

he moaned into you, doubling his efforts, devouring your cunt like a man starved. your thighs shook, stomach tightening as you hurtled towards your peak. you felt his teeth graze your clit and you shattered with a sharp cry, gushing into his eager mouth as you came — and he lapped up every drop, working you through the aftershocks until you had to push his head away, too sensitive. panting, you looked down at him, taking in his glossy, slick chin and wild, feverish eyes. “such a good boy,” you purred, thumbing over his wet, swollen lips. “i think you’ve earned a reward . .”

TOJI | blowjob + handcuffs lol :3

“color?” you checked as you finished securing toji’s cuffs to the headboard, sitting back to survey your handiwork.

“green,” he rasped immediately, testing the bonds. they held fast, keeping him splayed beneath you, entirely at your mercy. “very fuckin’ green.”

you smiled, trailing light fingers down his chest, teasing his dusky nipples. “good. y’know what to say if it gets to be too much.”

he shook his head stubbornly even as he arched into your touch with a bitten-off groan. “won’t need to. i can take anything you dish out.”

“mhmm, we’ll see about that,” you mused, pinching and tugging at his sensitive nubs until he was writhing. “by the time m’ done, you’ll be all fucked out.”

he shuddered, cock twitching where it lay thick and flushed against his abs, leaking steadily. “do your worst, sweetheart,” he goaded, eyes sparking challenge. grinning fiercely, you set about taking him apart with hands and mouth, mapping every ridge and valley of his powerful body. you traced the v cut of his hips with your tongue, mouthed teasingly at his inner thighs, ghosted hot breath over his aching cock. he cursed and bucked beneath you, muscles bunching and straining uselessly against the metal cuffs as you worked him into a frenzy.

“oh god . . fuck, [ ★ ], please,” he finally burst out as you lapped kitten-ishly at his weeping cockhead. “s-stop teasin’ me, baby!”

“i told you you’d beg, didn’t i?” you asked smugly, swirling your tongue around his throbbing cock. “ask me nicely for what you want, toji. maybe i’ll give it to you . .”

he threw his head back with a tortured groan, tendons standing out in stark relief as he fought his body's demands. “please,” he grated out. “please suck my cock. i need your mouth on me so bad —” you cut him off by swallowing him down to the hilt in one swift motion, nose nestling in his wiry curls. “a-agh, fuck!” he shouted, hips jerking instinctively, trying to fuck into your tight, wet throat. you held his bucking hips down easily, working him hard and fast, just the way he liked.

“fuck, baby, y-yes,” he babbled, head thrashing on the pillow. “god, your mouth, so fuckin’ good t’me . . m’not gonna’ last like this.”

you pulled off long enough to rasp out, “then don’t. i want to taste you, want you to come for me,” before sinking back down on him, humming around his thickness. toji cried out brokenly as his orgasm crashed into him, pulsing hot and bitter over your tongue. you worked him through it greedily, milking him until he was twitching and gasping from the intensity. when you finally released him, he was flushed and glassy - eyed, chest heaving as he came down.

“told you i could take it,” he slurred, a loopy half-smile tugging at his lips.

“aww, baby,” you whispered wickedly, crawling up his body to hover over him. “we’re jus’ gettin’ started.”

SATORU | rimming + toru calls you mommy

“tell me what you want,” you murmured as you trailed open-mouthed kisses down satoru’s quivering tummy, fingertips skimming teasingly light over his trembling inner thighs. “i’ll give you anything, everything, jus’ tell me . .”

he whined low in his throat, hips canting up needily as you breathed hot over his rigid cock, lips a mere whisper from his fevered skin. “please, [★], i need . .” he babbled, voice high and thready with desperation. “i need you inside me, opening me up, fucking m-me deep. please, please, please . .”

“shhh, i’ve got you love,” you soothed, pressing a kiss to his dripping cockhead even as you circled a slick finger around his fluttering rim. “jus’ relax for me, let me take care of you, honey.” — and he did, head lolling back and thighs falling open wantonly as you carefully breached him, sinking your finger into his clutching hole. he was so soft and smooth inside, muscles gripping your digit hungrily as you started a gentle in and out rhythm.

his cock twitched and leaked against his belly, untouched, as you worked him open reverently, carefully adding a second finger when he was pliant enough. he moaned brokenly, bearing down on the stretch and burn, greedy for more. “y-yes, like that,” he panted, hands fisting in the sheets. “fuck, it feels so good, mommy . .”

“i know, i know . . you’re such a good boy, huh? letting me touch you like this, letting me relax you,” you coo, and on that note, you twisted your wrist, crooking your fingers just right, and satoru jolted like he’d been nearly electrocuted, a ragged shout tearing from his throat.

“t-there!” he cried out, back arching clear off the mattress. “oh fuck, [★], right there, please!” you aimed for that spot mercilessly, milking his prostate with every push and pull of your hand. he was babbling wordlessly now, head thrashing on the pillow, legs shaking and stomach muscles fluttering as his pleasure mounted.

you knew he was close when his cock started to twitch and jerk against his belly, drooling copiously. anticipation coiled hot and tight in your gut as you fingered him faster, pressing hard on that secret bundle of nerves. “c’mon, toru,” you coaxed breathlessly, transfixed by the erotic sight of him. “let go for me, cum on mommy’s fingers.”

satoru does as he’s told, back bowing nearly in half as his orgasm ripped through him with a strangled cry of your name. hot ropes of pearly cum striped his chest and abs as he pulsed and clenched rhythmically around your fingers, milking them for all he was worth. you gentled him through the aftershocks, drawing out his pleasure until he was boneless and trembling, floating in post orgasmic bliss.

slowly, you withdrew your fingers, ignoring his whimper of loss. “you did so well,” you praised, kissing his slack, parted lips. “my perfect boy. think you can get it up for me one more time? wanna’ feel it splitting me open . .”

NANAMI | face sitting + he rides your thigh

nanami knelt naked and trembling, lean muscles pulled taut in anticipation as he waited for your next command. his hard, flushed cock jutted proudly from between his powerful thighs, dripping steadily onto the carpet. you’d been teasing him for what felt like hours, keeping him on a razor’s edge of pleasure and pain, never quite letting him find relief in any way at all.

“baby,” he finally rasped, voice scraped raw from begging. “please, [★], i need you.”

“mm-mm, tell me, kento,” you demanded, pacing around his kneeling form slowly. “tell me exactly what you need.”

he shuddered bodily, adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. “i-i need to cum, please, i’ll do anything, just let me cum — i can’t take anymore . .”

“hmmm.” you pretended to consider, though arousal simmered molten in your veins at his desperate plea. “you beg so pretty, baby. maybe . . maybe you’ve earned it, whaddo’ya say?”

“y-yeah, yes, yes,” he babbled, hope and relief suffusing his handsome face. “i’ll be so good for you, i swear, just tell me what you want from me -”

“your mouth,” you interrupted, fisting a hand in his hair and tugging his head back, baring the strong column of his throat. “i wanna’ ride your face til’ i cum, paint you in me. and if you do a good job, i’ll let you hump my thigh like the desperate slut you are until you make a mess all over both of us. how does that sound?”

“absolutely fucking perfect,” he breathed, pupils blown wide and dark with need. “anything, i want to taste you, wanna’ be soaked in you, sweetheart . .” you didn’t need to hear much further, moaning low in your throat, you sank down fully, your fingers weaving into his thick hair as smothered his face between your thighs. he immediately sealed his hot mouth over your dripping sex, lapping at you broad and greedy. you cried out sharply, hips rocking into the perfect pressure, luxuriating in the wet sounds of his enthusiasm.

he licked deep into your core, nose nudging your throbbing clit, hitting all your most sensitive spots with unerring accuracy. familiar heat started coiling deep in your belly as he worked you relentlessly, taking you apart with lips and tongue and just a hint of teeth.

“oh fuck, kento, s’ s’good . .” you gasped, grinding shamelessly against his face, chasing your pleasure. “you’re s’good for me, so perfect — m’getting close!”

he groaned into your cunt, doubling his efforts, tongue fluttering hummingbird-quick over your clit as he finger fucked your hungry cunt. your thighs quaked, pressure building to an impossible crescendo deep inside. you were already just seconds from shattering apart. then he curled his fingers just right, hitting that spot that made your vision white out as he sucked hard on your aching nub, and you were gone. completely gone. back arching, breath seizing, you came with a hoarse cry, gushing slick over his face and fingers as exquisite pleasure crashed through you in relentless waves.

he worked you through it, drawing out your peak until you were too sensitive and had to push him away weakly. panting, you looked down at him, his chin and cheeks glazed with your essence, eyes fever-bright as he stared up at you in awe. “was that - was i good?” he croaked, lips and chin shiny with your juices.

“so good,” you assured him, thumbing over his swollen mouth before bringing your slick fingers to your own lips for an indulgent taste. “now come here and take what you need. you've earned it.”

groaning brokenly, he surged up to wrap his arms around your hips desperately, rutting his painfully hard cock against your thigh. you held him steady as he took his pleasure, hips snapping frantically, chasing his long-awaited release.

“that’s it, kento,” you cooed, carding your fingers through his sweaty hair as he panted and mewled into your neck. “fuck my thigh just like that, get it all wet n’ filthy with your cum . .”

his broken sob was muffled against your throat as he finally let go, pulsing hot and messy between your bodies as he came completely untouched. you gentled him through it, murmuring praise and reassurance as he shook and gasped and clutched you like a lifeline.

after long moments, he gradually calmed, breath evening out. you continued to stroke his hair, his back, holding him close in the warm afterglow.

“you did so well, sweet boy,” you murmured into his hair. “took everything i gave you so beautifully. m’ so proud of you.”

he whimpered quietly, nuzzling into your neck. “thank you,” he rasped. “for letting me be good for you. i needed that so much.”

“i know baby.” you pressed a tender kiss to his temple. “you’re always s’good for me. my perfect, pretty boy. now let’s get you cleaned up and into bed. want me to hold you?”

he nodded against your skin, clinging tighter. you smiled, heart full to bursting with affection. seeing him like this - open, vulnerable, trusting you so implicitly - was a gift you’d never stop being grateful for, and one that’d never stop giving.

“i got you, ken,” you promised as you gathered him closer, turning to lead him to bed. “i’ll always take care of you, baby. always.”

SATORUBI 2024 | pls do not copy, steal, or modify my work !!! happy reading, luv u sluts <3 also tagging my bff @ramonathinks

[late-to-the-party-81]

Contentment

AN: So here is something a little different inspired by this ask from my sweet Nicoline

@nicoline1998enilocin asked: Hi! 💙 I hope I'm still on time to request something for your 1.5K follower celebration! This idea has been swirling around my mind since seeing your message that they're open and of course I forgot about it with my scatterbrain. 🫠 I don't know if you've ever written anything like this (in case you have, it's okay to ignore this message), but may I request some soft/slow morning smut with Loki? Perhaps with some of his magic included as well? Before I forget, congratulations on reaching 1.5K followers, and I wish you many many more because your work is amazing and you deserve it 💙

Unfortunately there is no magic in this, other than the magic that is just Loki, but I hope you still enjoy. You also get a two for one - the second part is a very lyrical drabble, from the Reader POV, which came to me first, but I then re-wrote from Loki’s POV to add more detail and in case people didn’t like that style. Click here to find it.

Not beta’d

Likes are loved, reblogs are golden

Mood board by me and dividers by @firefly-graphics

Join my tag list here

Master list 

Summary: With a new day comes a new chance for Loki to show you what you mean to him. He can’t wait until you wake up.

He was lying behind you, as usual, one strong arm slung over your waist, holding the bottom half of you flush against him. He hadn’t wanted to disturb you, so hadn’t moved, just watched as the invading light and retreating shadows cast shifting stories over your skin. One persistent shaft of sunlight had encroached so far that it lay across your shoulder and under its warm touch you stirred.

Relationship: Loki x Reader

Word count: 1k

CW: Sleepy Sex, Soft Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Emotional Sex, Fluff, Loki PoV

Loki didn’t know how long he’d been lying awake. The colour inside the room had shifted from black, to deep purple, to pink and then to orange as the sun rose outside the window. However, time meant nothing to him when he was with you.

He was lying behind you, as usual, one strong arm slung over your waist, holding the bottom half of you flush against him. He hadn’t wanted to disturb you, so hadn’t moved, just watched as the invading light and retreating shadows cast shifting stories over your skin. One persistent shaft of sunlight had encroached so far that it lay across your shoulder and under its warm touch you stirred.

Loki’s lips twitched up into a smile. You were waking and soon he would see the brightness of your eyes as you welcomed the new day.

“Good morning, darling,” he whispered softly in your ear and he looked on, enamoured, as your eyelids and nose scrunched up as your brain tried to cling onto your fading slumber. 

Softly, he brushed his lips over your shoulder blade, wishing that his lips could leave marks that would stay adorning your skin for all to see. He shifted the hand that lay on your waist, his fingers gently stroking over the soft skin of your abdomen. At first you had tried to hide this part of yourself from him, self-conscious about the rolls and marks to be found there, especially in comparison to his own defined abdominals. However, he’d let you know in a myriad of ways since then that he loved every single inch of you and that any changes you wished to make to your body should be for yourself, and not out of some misguided notion of what appealed to him. Every version of you was perfect.

However, as much as he normally loved to worship your body with slow reverence, the time he had spent waiting for you to wake had made him impatient, and Loki slid his hand further down your body, skimming between your folds. You sighed at his touch, your hips rolling instinctually. You rocked, still half asleep, forward onto his hand and then back onto his erection, where it grazed your ass. Shivers rocked Loki’s body, but as impatient as he was, he could still manage to wait, just a little longer.

Loki knew your body so well now - knew just how and where to touch you, and it wasn’t long until his tender strokes had your cunt gushing. Part of him wished he could see it, but this would do for now. He would savour the whimpers that broke from your lips as his fingers finally dipped inside of you, his thumb taking over the stimulation to your clit. He rolled his wrist and curled his fingers as you continued to rock forwards and backwards. Your channel clutched at his fingers and one of your hands now clung onto his forearm. He kissed your shoulder once more and your body tensed then juddered under his touch, your head still turned slightly into the pillow, absorbing some of the sounds of your ecstasy. 

He smiled to himself as you drew in deep breaths, but then Loki turned you to lie on your back. He covered your body with his own, his hips slotting between your thighs as though you were two matched puzzle pieces. His hair, dark as a raven’s wing, tumbled over his shoulder and he looked down at you, marvelling at the way your eyes were fixed upon his, your adoration clearly telegraphed on your face. You only shifted your gaze when his tongue poked out between his lips and he snorted in amusement, knowing exactly where your mind was going. There was no doubt in his mind that he’d indulge that particular fantasy of yours later on, but his patience was exhausted. He needed you! Now! 

Loki lined himself up with your puffy cunt and you spread your legs even further, tilting up your hips as he slowly sank inside. He let out a groan in time with yours and enjoyed the way you clung to him as he started to move his own hips, slow and sensuous. Bracing himself on one forearm, Loki trailed his lips across your jaw and throat, nipping at your skin, while his free hand roamed over every inch of your body he could reach. The breathy sighs you made in response were music to his ears.

“My beautiful darling,” he cooed in your ear. “Just feel it, my love. Feel how much I adore you.”

The way you moved under him, incapable of coherent speech, made him feel both powerful and possessive. He had done this to you and only him. No-one else would make you feel the way he does. No-one else would be privy to the sounds you make as pleasure sweeps you away. They are all his. A Prince of Asgard he may be, but he was the King of your body, and he would make no apologies.

You trembled and whined and he kept his steady pace, despite how difficult it became. The way your body clenched around him was driving Loki closer to his own peak, but he needed you to precede him.

“Let go for me, dove,” he told you and, the good girl that you were, you did, your body seizing around him, milking his cock, as you tumbled headfirst into bliss. A few more strokes and he could hold out no more, following you with his own cry, his hips now jerking without rhythm as he spilled into you.

Somehow he managed to roll to the side, pulling you with him, your arms and legs entwined. He held you close, his heart feeling so full he was worried it might burst. He pressed kisses to your forehead. Your nose. Your chin.

“My angel. My dove. You are the centre of my world. You saved me, darling.”

He mumbled his words as you looked up at him, eyes glazed and cloudy with a combination of residual pleasure and sleep.

He loved you so much. You made him content.

Tag list: @alexakeyloveloki, @wolfsmom1, @buttercupcookies-blog, @goldylions, @crayongirl-linz,

[anlian-aishang]

Kinktober Day 3: Professor Ackerman

“pls do a second part with professor ackerman!!!!! smut if u can/wanna :0”

Word count: 1900

Tags: levi x reader, smut, masturbation, sex dream, slight bondage, power dynamics (student!reader crushes on professor!ackerman, feeling unrequited), modern AU, gn!reader

Crushing on Professor Ackerman? Read more here.

Journal deadlines overdue. Department meeting upcoming. Talks at campuses across the country. Faculty life had Professor Ackerman stressed, stressed past the point of reason. For certainly, if he was still capable of reason, he would not have done what he did.

His goal for tonight was to finish grading his class’s midterms. Calculus 1, it should not have been that hard. If he could just check that one task off of his to-do list, it would make his life feel a whole lot easier. Unfortunately for him, his physiology had other plans. If Levi was going to try to tackle his itinerary, the universe would just find a way to lengthen it. 

Lengthen it. Literally. Levi rolled his eyes at the thought. Inhibitions lowered as other parts of him rose. A tiny old office, cramped space, flooded with obligations, his circumstances were anything but attractive. Why was he getting hard right now? The answer lay in complement: he had not gotten off since the onset of this chaos, which, come to think of it, was nearing a month now.

Faced with the facts, Levi mindlessly marked the multiple choice sections, the math professor’s real focus on calculations of his own. Would it be better to work nonstop at a less efficient pace? Or would it be better to take a break, unwind a bit, and come back faster than before? That said, there was also the toss-up of his refractory period: would he be struck with a new burst of energy or wind down and tire out afterwards?

Given the increasing tautness of his pants, it was getting harder and harder to tell. Harder and harder not to give in. The floor’s silence turned deafening. Autumn-night darkness blinding. The lock on his office door shined in reflection of the moon and its stars. All of his surroundings made him think back to the philosophy class from his own time in college: If a tree falls in the woods… If a professor masturbates in his office…

On that train of thought, he recognized: the battle was over. Levi cursed to himself, defeated, “Fuck me.” Hands slapped atop his desk and pushed himself up from his seat. Fists bunched at his sides, he made it to his door in one deliberate stride. Levi turned the lock shut and turned on his heel. Flopping back on his chair, unbuckling his belt on the way down. 

It had been too long, and at the first stroke, that became overwhelmingly clear. Fingers trembled on the initial climb up his shaft, out of practice, nerves stinging with stimulation. Precum surfaced and spilled onto his slacks, faster than he could push them down his shins. Clear turned to white, sure to stain, silver eyes snuck a glance and swore at the sight, “Sh’Shit…”

Not just the stain, but the self-waged war he was quickly losing. Wrists found their innate rhythm, and with that instinct came more animalistic adrenaline. His heart was racing, breaths correspondingly light. Chest caved in to match the curve of his abdomen, his washboard muscles rippling as his blood rushed down. Conventionally, after so long abstained, one would have wanted to prolong their pleasure, but for Professor Ackerman, this was merely a stint of humiliation he was happy to have over with.

In this occupation, it could be hard not to have one’s ego heightened. Constantly the smartest in any room however massive. Hundreds of eager hands hurriedly taking notes on every word he said. A line out the door for one-on-one time. Levi watched so many of his fellow faculty float around like they were royalty, but he had largely avoided such arrogance, especially at times like these. Jerking himself in his office because his schedule had gotten the better of him, the doctorate struggled to think of anything more pathetic. 

Reduced to nothingness by his own self. Despite his gasps and twitches, his muscles continued to work himself without mercy. Forearm outlined as he squeezed himself tighter. Bicep curled as he found the right angle. Knuckles tugged at his tie, loosening. Shaking fingers undid his top buttons, letting him breathe just enough. Palm pressed down his front, cupping himself below as his other hand worked the length above.

Neck veins shadowed, tendons raised. Jaw clenched, he grit his teeth. His throat tightened up, shameless sounds threatening to escape - some succeeding in their endeavor. Levi cursed under his breath, certain that if anyone was here, they would hear - but also certain that he could not stop himself at this point.

Levi continued his pumps even as he flinched and screamed. Eyes darted in a frantic search for something to support him through the sensation. Telltale pulsations at his middle, an uncontrollable rock of his hips. Movements so acute, they almost hurt, making his pursuit of pleasure that much more desirable. Tension of such build-up would not only release, it would explode, placing the clean freak in an awkward arrangement of both anticipation and anxiety. As his left hand reached its maximum speed, his right hand drifted atop his desk, feeling for the tissue box to catch his mess with. In that way, he came up short, even as his climax lasted incredibly long. Wave after wave, not even the math professor could keep count. 

With each rise, tidal, and crash, his fingers clenched around whatever they could find. If not for his deafening cries, maybe he would have heard the distinct crinkle of paper. If not for the overpowering feeling, maybe he would have felt the thickness of the packets he was grabbing. If he could have managed past the overstimulated squint, maybe he would have seen your name on that sheet and realized: in the midst of his orgasm, he had clutched and crumpled your exam. However, with the pleasure he felt and the high he rode, in that moment, he did not care.

Coming to, in a cold sweat, Levi’s first thought was recognition - how lucky he was to have his reckless actions go undetected - besides the shame that he himself would live with. Finals were only two weeks away, which made tonight one of his last office hours for the semester. He should have seen someone there - looking at the test in his hands, he cupped his forehead and realized - most likely you. But that was a problem for his future self. For now, leaning back in his chair and exhaling, he could only be thankful that no students were outside his door.

Instead, the one most likely to come was having an occasion of their own. 

// // //

Sorry about your test.

I’ll help you forget about the grade.

Lie back, relax, baby. 

I’ll make it all better. 

That was what he would say to you. 

Before he fucked you stupid.

Even in its sleep, your mind could paint such a vivid picture. The way his rolled-up sleeve would sweep his desk clean, just to bend you over it. His leather belt would wrap tight around your wrists, perfectly to the notch, as if he had been fantasizing and planning it since the first day he met you. His pencil cup would rattle, his desktop would light up, his low voice would moan your name with each deep fuck he gave. 

You would never admit it, but this was not the first time Professor Ackerman had made an appearance in your dreams - both awake and asleep. You could not figure out if it was a blessing or a curse to have ended up in his lecture. All of your friends expressed envy for having a class with the hottest instructor on campus, but if only they knew the side effects of it. In class, your eyes would wander off the blackboard and onto the man standing before it. From his perspective, he probably thought you were really interested in the subject material, but in actuality, you were interested in things even less relevant than math. His handwriting: so fast, but so satisfying to look at. Just like his outfits: button shirt with complementing slacks. Glasses, belt, briefcase, and Oxford shoes all of the same matching shade. Such fascination with his details made it hard to learn what he was teaching, and therefore, you often wondered: was this a chicken or the egg sorta thing? Did you go to his office hours because you had not paid attention in class, or did going to his office hours make you even more head-over-heels and thus more prone to distractions? Either way and as a result, math was simultaneously your worst subject, yet the one you attended the most office hours for. In psych 101, you had learned that dreams were inspired based on what you had thought about during the day. Professor Ackerman constantly on your mind meant your dreams repeatedly led you into his arms.

If that dream had been your reality, you would have woken up beside him - snuggled up and spooning on the sofa in his office. As the sun rose over the hill, he would have snuck you into the faculty lounge and made you a cup of coffee before taking you off campus to his favorite breakfast cafe. However, last night’s escapades were just that - an escape. You woke up to a much more humble sight, to an empty half of your twin bed, sheets crinkled by fists you had balled in midnight climax. With one last breathless sigh off of the cusp of your sex dream, you slung your legs over the side and tugged on your Friday sweatsuit - ready to trudge through the weather and meet him in the lecture hall instead.

// // //

It was the last class before the final. Both of you recognized there were far more students here than the average day. Still not as many as the first day, though, before Ackerman’s intimidating vocabulary and crass tone had scared a sizable fraction away.

His voice was much weaker today, you chalked it up to the winter cold that had been spreading throughout campus. Each clear of his throat garnered concerned looks from his pupils, even more so when he approached them one by one and handed back their latest midterms. Shoulders rolling, neck cracking, his body language begged them to look away. With each step he climbed up and up throughout the lecture hall, his muscles chastised him for last night’s excursion: Couldn’t you have waited just one more day? What a sorry specimen.

But that hazing was nothing compared to the moment he made it to you. 

The doe-eyed one, the one so soft-spoken, the one who always maintained their mannerisms in his office hours - saying please and thank you every tutoring session - no matter how blunt or terse he had been during it. You - of course - it had to be you, whose test he had crumpled in a heat-of-the-moment back-breaking climax. 

As he placed the wrinkled packet in your hands, his lips parted in a stammer, struggling to come up with any possible excuse. Ultimately, he failed to summon anything, knowing you were too smart to believe any bullshit he had in mind. The most he could offer was a collateral apology. 

“Sorry about your test.”

Those four words lit a flashbulb in your mind, rekindling the flame you had put out just last night. Even if not for the contextual callback, that crinkle looked awfully familiar. In fact, you had seen it this very morning. The five divots at the top - the fingerprints. The peaks just beneath them - the knuckles. The hole at the middle - the palm. There was no doubt in your mind, albeit keen to fantasize, the nature of this handprint. 

No doubt about the nature of the handprint, but the backstory to it - how powerful his climax was, the sounds he made during it, what led him to grabbing your test in particular - you could only imagine.

// Kinktober Year 3 Masterlist //

[4dtk]

hi!!! are you taking smut requests? ignore this if you dont but if you are, can i request morning sex with mark?

nectar (mark)

warnings/tags: irl porn at the end for visualisation, blowjob, cum swallowing, riding, unprotected sex, pwp, brief face-sitting

word count: 1.9k

a/n: sure anon <3, this is for fem!reader btw. link at the end contains irl porn pleaaase don't click unless you're comfortable!

NSFW UNDER THE CUT, MINORS DNI!

“oh man… he’s knocked out cold,” you mumble, squinting at the bright light seeping in through the windows. it baths the room in warmth perfectly, providing that gentle caress of apollo in the messy room that you could half call your home at this point. like the complicated wires of his recording software bundled up at the corner, you were entangled tightly with mark’s complicated life as an idol, having had met the man at a concert where the group’s lightstick hit you in the face, hard.

it had become a running joke ever since you’ve been coming over to the dorms more and more, even getting you a celebratory cake that said please don’t injure her again when mark had finally confessed after months of pestering from the members. johnny had whispered to you that maybe you could finally get your revenge by slamming mark’s face into the cake.

giggling quietly at the memory from two years ago, you’re finally met with mark’s peaceful face, deep in slumber. the sun hardly touches him, blocked by your body as you propped your upper body up with an elbow. he looks so beautiful, so so divine that you can’t help but trail a hand over his covered body, blanket up to his neck since he gets cold easily.

“mmhm…” he mumbles, albeit still unconscious with the slightest knit of his eyebrows. you’re on high alert with that expression, observing him for a few seconds more if he really did happen to have a bad dream. his breaths seem to be laboured, irregular and needy that you catch on without fail. while you readjust yourself under the covers, your knee brushes against his centre to test the waters while your eyes drink in the furrowing of his eyebrows and shaky breathless whimpers he lets out.

“oh. so it’s that kind of dream,” a smirk is plastered on your face, frequenting the contact of your knee against his crotch as you rub him through the fabric. mark thrashes in the sheets below you, obvious that your movements are only fuelling the nasty, dirty fantasy he’s having in his sleep. with a hand, it slips inside his shorts to squeeze the bulge, adding and removing pressure that mark straight up ruts into your hand.

“a..ahn… (y/n)…” he mumbles out, digging his face deeper into the pillow with a tense to his muscles, on edge like intense dance practices and when mark’s just striving to make you cum behind closed doors. right now, you smile to yourself with the tables turned, speeding up your hand. the covers are thrown off of you and you take the chance to see how much he’s making a mess through the underwear, hips shimmying out of the loose sweatpants to chase the tempting touch of your skin on his dick.

you’re so zoned in on the sight that you don’t realise mark’s already awoken, the scrunch on his face displaying the mix of immense pleasure and the annoying headache he’s feeling due to a hangover. like a vice, your hand tightens around his hardening cock that it draws a long moan out of him and you have to bite your lip from concealing your own. the other fists the bedsheets, finger tapping against the cotton; a habit you noticed he does when he's close.

"ack!" you exclaim when mark takes over, meeting his familiar dick as he fishes it out of his underwear, now fully rock hard with beads of pre-cum leaking from its tip. the idol wastes no time in forcing your mouth on him, smiling when it's thrusted so deep that it touches the back of your throat; you gag uncomfortably but recover rather quickly, humming around his length. the warmness of your mouth mimics your pussy so good, and mark can't help but continue the bucking of his hips.

it reminds mark of the countless many sessions he's had with you, hot and heavy in the recording studio as you fucked ruthlessly in the soundproof toilet. shivering and toe-curling on the vibrating washing machine, stimulating your clit while mark hit it from the back. maybe mark's checking off all the boxes, because the way your eyes look up at him at half-mast, desire swirling in your eyes, sinks him into a trance. the gentle whisper of sun rays paint your body like a renaissance painting, splayed over his legs and the remainder of the duvet covers. maybe this is the check box that marks the time where he lazily fucks into you as you struggle to hold in your moans, voice raspy from the morning.

likewise, the thought of mark's cock in you makes you shift uncomfortably, the wet patch on your underwear undeniably growing by the minute with your core pulsating and throbbing. his hands hold your head in place, fingers carding through your locks laced with possibly last night's drunken sweat. they pull back your hair, creating a small ponytail while you tease the tip with your tongue and lick a stripe up his shaft. the sounds you make with your mouth could rival the ones you're making with your fingers on your core, moaning the slurping up his pre-cum that has his length twitching.

"y-yes... oh fuuuck, (y/n)..." his head is thrown back as your bob your head, trailing your hands over his torso where you can feel the contraction and expansion of his ribs. it doesn't take long for mark to cum, hips halting its movements for a second to pump your mouth full of his seed. a smile breaks through when you cringe at the taste, but he's sure you don't mind it since you've done it many times before. "c'mere, angel."

the name makes you grin, getting off the comfort of his thighs to let him taste himself, indulging in a short kiss before mark takes the chance to tug at your shorts. he thumbs it down without effort, coming right off your bottom half as you manoeuvre from knee to knee to let the man take it off.

mark whistles lowly at how soaked you are, a lazy, boyish grin taking over his features as his fingers slip between your folds. they shamelessly leak more juices when mark's digits make contact with your clit, already clenching over cock that you haven't even received. slowly, they trickle down the expanse of his hand and your thighs, a lone string of arousal connecting from your cunt to the tip of his finger.

"so wet, so early in the morning," mark giggles, mirroring your earlier action as he prods at your mouth with those fingers. you taste yourself on him, suckling and licking around them like you just did to his length. "i'll fit right in, won't i?"

you make a noise of approval before grabbing his dick, inching it into you gently and gradually. mark bottoms out and you mewl, shivering at how deep he's in you without any effort before grinding down on him. the little tufts of hair on his skin brush against your sensitive spots near your folds that make the pleasure all the better, and you have to brace yourself with both hands on his chest.

"feel good, honey?" mark's found clarity in his voice now, voice dripping exactly like the pet name while you continued to get used to the seemingly growing erection in you. with eyes closed from both the pleasure and the increasing brightness of a new day, your hips move on their own accord, moving up and down his dick at a slow pace.

"'s good, mark," you babble, instantly speeding up your ministrations. his cock splits you open so good even if you aren't going at your usual pace, choking out mixes of moans and whimpers along with the sounds of your ass descending on his dick.

"you're so d-deep, mark! ooh, hhnn..." your arms are ready to give out, opting instead to lay on his chest with a small pound me leaving your lips. your arms go around him to clutch at the headboard, the sudden snap of mark's hips elicits a dramatic gasp from you. he's filling you up to the brim, and the groan in your ear shows the similar feeling that mark's experiencing.

mark takes your order to heart, the force of his hips continuing their assault on your poor, poor pussy so early in the morning. "babe, you're so- fucking- t-tight, holy shit!" a breathless laugh, a hand to your ass, butterfly kisses along your collarbone, everything else is forgotten except for those few things that dance around in your mind.

"faster, deeper, please...!"

his chuckle is interrupted by a groan, "i'm at my fastest, baby. i did go all out for our last concert yesterday."

the squelching sounds coming from between your legs make you cry out, drool dripping down the sides at your mouth as mark takes up more of your mind. mark, mark, mark falls from your lips repeatedly as he rocks in and out,

"you-" a soft, delirious giggle escapes you at mark's reference to the concert yesterday.

"no words, huh? maybe i should fuck you till you're babbling nonsense," the lack of response makes mark smile against your skin, mouth latching onto your neck.

with the little tap of his finger against your ass and the falter of his thrusts, you know he's close to reaching his peak. his sloppy movements still bring out the worst in you, either way, moans increasing tenfold as his cock continues to impale you. you hold onto his bicep for life, body rocking deliciously against his.

you're so warm, both inside and out, forehead already producing beads of sweat as your hot cavern clenches around his shaft repeatedly. mark pounds into your pussy relentlessly, brushing up against that spot that makes your body convulse before you're gushing and cumming around him, juices leaking non-stop onto the sheets while the knot continues to be undone.

"ahnn- mark! maaark..." the drawl of his name makes the other's eyes roll back in pleasure, not giving you the chance to recover as he pulls his cock out of you. there's an endless trail of profanities leaving his mouth while he pumps out the last bit of restraint out of him, finally letting go on his stomach when he looks at your spasming body, pussy dripping with both your juices.

his cock spurts out hot, white cum, staining his stomach before he lets out a satisfying whine and other breathless words that you can't catch on to. you swipe up his seed with your finger, dipping it into your mouth like dessert that you hum around it.

"i guess i won't need breakfast for a while," you joke, clenching your thighs together to prevent the further dirtying of your sheets. you did change it a week ago...

"ah. no no, don't close 'em," mark beckons you closer with his finger, "i won't need breakfast, either."

you know what's in store for you when the other licks his lips, a sick grin appearing on his face. and when you finally take your rightful place on his face, you find that you'll never get tired of mark's tongue laid flat against your soaking cunt, lapping all that you can offer that mark describes tastes like honey, like nectar. you tell him he's lying, but who are you to judge the words of someone who eats you out so good?

one day, you'll be convinced, but for now, you're fine with accepting the embarrassing compliments from mark, since he's the only one that makes your pussy flutter like a little slut.

(it's irl porn, please please don't click unless you're comfortable) how i imagine mark would fuck you <3

[luthienne]

this may be a weird question but you joked that you own legolas in some tags, and as it happens i’m in love with lotr/the legendarium and also adore your blog. which is to say that i’d love to hear some of your thoughts on him, if you’re comfortable sharing?

ahh hi yes i think he’s such an interesting character!! there’s something so fascinating about the wood-elves for me, something so rooted in folklore and myth that compels my imagination. the dark wood inhabited by the deathless. more below cut:

as much as we know that boromir is tempted by the ring because his people are fighting a seemingly pointless battle just to hold back sauron’s forces at the expense of their own people—we can infer that the situation for legolas is exactly the same. the forces of dol guldur are held back by the wood-elves and no one else. thranduil has no ring of power to protect his people, has no other armies at his back, no aid from the other elven realms.

so, contrary the commentary/characterization of the films, i don’t think legolas would be confused at gandalf’s death just bc he’s “immortal and thus doesn’t understand the concept of death.” he’s the prince of the only elven kingdom without a ring of power for protection, the prince of a wood called taur-e-ndaedelos, the forest of great fear. he’s personally witnessed the transition of his home from greenwood the great to mirkwood. he personally witnessed the occupation of his home by the stronghold of the necromancer, dol guldur, and the darkness that followed. the descendants of ungoliant. the dark creatures and the death.

whenever i witness legolas’s consistently gentle characterization throughout lotr, i’m actually reminded of that ilya kaminsky quote:

“Is it foolish to speak of little joys that occur in the middle of tragedy? It is our humanity. Whatever we have left of it. We must not deny it to ourselves.”

[ from Still Dancing: An Interview With Ilya Kaminsky by Garth Greenwell ]

this is a consistent theme for tolkien through lotr. 

“the world is indeed full of peril, and in it there are many dark places, but still there is much that is fair, and though in all lands love is now mingled with grief, it grows perhaps the greater.”

—the two towers, “lothlórien”

“there, peeping among the cloud-wrack above a dark tor high up in the mountains, sam saw a white star twinkle for awhile. the beauty of it smote his heart, as he looked up out of the forsaken land, and hope returned to him. for like a shaft, clear and cold, the thought pierced him that in the end the shadow was only a small and passing thing: there was light and high beauty for ever beyond its reach.” 

—rotk, the land of shadow

Théoden's final words are to Merry on the battlefield on the Fields of Pelennor: "Live now in blessedness; and when you sit in peace with your pipe, think of me! For never now shall I sit with you in Meduseld, as I promised, or listen to your herb-lore." It is a heart-breaking moment, and for a while Merry believes he  can never again enjoy his pipe because it will remind him of losing his friend, but Aragorn convinces him otherwise: "Smoke, then, and think of him!" said Aragorn. "For he was a gentle heart and a great king and kept his oaths; and he rose out of the shadows to a last fair morning. Though your service to him was brief, it should be a memory glad and honourable to the end of your days." (x)

bc legolas does seem to exemplify that throughout the lotr books. he is chosen not for great deeds (glorfindel would be the obvious choice there) but more it seems bc of the lightness of demeanor he has maintained despite despite despite. not to say that he is not capable of great deeds! we know he is a formidable archer (he slew one of the fell beasts of the nazgûl in the dark) and skilled at hand-to-hand combat with his silver-hafted knife (a weapon and skill set necessary in a dense, dark wood with no room to draw or maneuver swords like andúril/glamdring). and this is not to say that deadliness in combat is the only mark of great deeds! tolkien makes it so very clear that great deeds are not defined by glory or battle but by strength of heart. <3 

i love that moment in fotr when legolas teases gandalf and the fellowship, says that he goes to find the sun, the innocence with which he reacts to the ents and the huorns in two towers, the way he is always singing, the way he learns to not only accept gimli but grows to love him so much that he brings gimli to the undying lands. this is the son of a sindarin king who likely witnessed the sacking of doriath. it would certainly explain why thranduil is characterized as having not only a mistrust but dislike of dwarves in the hobbit.

meanwhile, we know absolutely nothing of legolas’s mother! tolkien says that oropher adopted the customs of the silvan elves when he was made their king. it’s possible that thranduil married a silvan elf. it would make sense from a political standpoint. legolas refers to himself as a wood-elf, which could lend itself to that theory. either way, interesting!

now tolkien’s description of the wood-elves:

The feasting people were Wood-elves, of course. These are not wicked folk. If they have a fault it is distrust of strangers. Though their magic was strong, even in those days they were wary. They differed from the High Elves of the West, and were more dangerous and less wise. 

we’re told that elven magic is not like wizard magic but rather more earthy, more natural, a part of the fabric of their beings, of the realms they inhabit. i could speculate on what i think the magic of the wood-elves is, but idk i think tolkien had it right in keeping it enigmatic. the idea of an elvenking hidden deep in the dark woods is the stuff of myth, of songs. an elf-king with the power to transport you before him, an elf-king with the power to either alter your perception of reality or to truly transport his own people to safety at the hint of a threat, to extinguish light, with the ability to singlehandedly and without a ring of power keep the forces of dol guldur at bay.

it’s impossible for me to think about legolas and not think about his father and his grandfather, to not think about the life he must have lived leading up to the forming of the fellowship.

Seven mounds upon the left, and nine upon the right," said Aragorn. "Many long lives of men it is since the golden hall was built."

"Five hundred times have the red leaves fallen in Mirkwood in my home since then," said Legolas, "and but a little while does that seem to us."

— the two towers, "the white rider"

legolas, the prince of a hidden, fighting, wary people. a people who must take any chance they can to celebrate and find joy in still being alive, in still being together. a people with no magic outside of their own to protect them, a people who coexist with death, who inhabit an oppressive darkness forced upon them.

and still we see that legolas is not worn down by the years of darkness, that he is characterized not by bitterness or despair but by a kind of gentle resilience and strength of heart, motivated by loyalty and love of his friends. he is the son of the elvenking. he owes no allegiance to aragorn, a mortal king; nothing to gimli, or to the hobbits. but he sees minas tirith and he talks about how he will help aragorn to rebuild, to bring birdsong and green, growing things. he marches to the doorstep of mordor for the love of his friends and middle-earth. he lingers in middle-earth even after he is struck by sea-longing. and when he finally leaves middle-earth, it is only after the penultimate member of the fellowship has passed away and just he and gimli remain. and then he takes gimli with him when he sails to the undying lands. how could i not love a character with that kind of deep loyalty, deep love, deep feeling?

[salazarslytherin]

under the waxing moon (r.l x y/n)

requested: yes!! [could you do a young remus lupin smut perhaps? if not than cedric!! one with a marking kink, maybe!! and (fem) reader has love bites all over her and remus has scratches on his back from her yk.... and maybe the marauders notice or something cheeky like that at the end! thank u my love!!] send in your own request here!

🃛 masterlist!

cw/tw: smut, marking!kink, hickeys, oral sex (both male and female receiving), fingering, idk just sex man, basically porn without plot

word count: 2.9k

a/n: i hope you guys like it! i wasn't sure whether there were any cw/tw other than the ones listed? if you guys notice any please leave a comment or dm or smth to let me know! thanks :) ALSO i realise i use the word 'boy' a lot jic that makes people uncomfortable all the characters in my fics are of age, i just don't feel comfortable calling them men :/ anw, if you like it please leave a comment, like or reblog to help boost xx

☯︎ tag list

The door slammed shut behind you two as Remus kicked backward, not that either of you would have stopped what you were doing should the door have stayed open.

His hands were currently in one of his favourite spots – nestled under your thighs while your legs were curled around his waist, hands clinging to his neck like you were afraid he'd dissipate into thin air if you were to let go for a second.

Your two mouths moved furiously against each other, his tongue furiously dominating yours as he brought you two towards his bed, bringing you along with him like you weighed nothing.

"Fuck, I can't wait any longer."

Remus tossed you onto the bed, his tall stature casting a long shadow above you as the late morning light shone through the Gryffindor tower windows, the young werewolf's smirk glowing beautifully in the bright light.

"Then hurry up and have me."

The words seemed to do the trick, breaking the trance Remus was in– scanning your body almost in a predatory fashion. It was hot. The prefect almost growled at the sound of your words, diving back down to press his lips to yours, hands by your head, impassioned by the waxing moon.

As the full moon drew closer, you found that Remus' libido would be heightened. He often drew you into empty classrooms, broom closets, once even getting you off in the Three Broomsticks during a Hogsmeade trip. But you weren't complaining. You got your boyfriend's mind off the full moon, and an – actually, several, intense orgasms? It was a dream come true.

As you were lost in your thoughts about the last full moon, Remus had found his way away from your lips, trailing soft kisses down your jaw to the sensitive spot behind your ear, sucking roughly to draw a moan out of you, and effectively, you out of your thoughts.

"Mm, you like that? Like it when I mark you? When the whole school knows who you belong to?"

Nodding, the words vibrated against your skin as Remus traveled down your neck, never hesitating to bite and suck on every last bit of naked skin he could find. Your hands had moved from behind his neck down to his button-up, detaching each one in a frenzy to see him, to feel him.

His hands did very much the same, moving down your own school shirt to unveil your bra, showing more skin as his lips ventured lower down your body towards your collarbone– his favourite place to leave a mark. Nibbling on your left collar, Remus balanced himself on his elbows, moving to grind his hard-on on your clothed crotch.

"Fuck yes, Re I need you. Please."

Your hands had landed themselves on his pants, unbuckling his belt and pants with shaking hands as the two of you moaned together. He detached himself from you for a second, both of you undressing entirely in record time before latching back on immediately, your lips melding together before the two of you had even hit the bed.

Remus' knee found itself between your legs, nudging them apart as his hands sought residence roaming your body, leaving light trails that caused shivers throughout.

One hand eventually landed on your breasts, alternating between massaging and squeezing them as you elicited moans with each movement. The other made its way down to your thighs, gripping onto them hard, sure to leave fingerprints for the next two weeks, purple reminders of this night.

Whining against his lips, you took matters into your own hands, grabbing onto his hard-on and squeezing lightly around the base, making Remus growl in return.

You began moving your hand slowly up and down Remus' shaft, your thumb spreading the small droplets of precum that had gathered, picking up the pace as the werewolf let out breathy moans, moving away from your lips to bite onto your neck.

Continuing to jerk Remus off, your other hand reached down to tug at his balls. When you felt him start to twitch in your grasp you let go, making the boy gasp as he abandoned the section of your neck he was currently sucking a hickey onto, in shock at the fact that you had pushed him so close to the edge and not let him cum.

Smiling innocently at your boyfriend, you rolled him over– an action he definitely hadn't expected and kissed him on the lips, before making your way down his body.

"Couldn't let you cum like that. I want to taste you."

⚔︎

You gave a little kitten lick to the werewolf's leaking slit, making him moan as he propped himself up onto his elbows, watching you go down on him, fascinated.

You swallowed the tip, swirling your tongue around the head and grazing your teeth softly against the shaft. Remus' hands flew to your hair, tightening his grip as you hollowed your cheeks on his member.

You answered by sinking your nails into his thighs, scratching down slightly as he impatiently push you down further, moaning out as he felt his tip touch the back of your throat, making you gag slightly.

You looked up at the boy through your eyelashes, lost in euphoria as he looked back down at you through hooded eyes, one hand leaving your hair for a brief second to caress your cheek, before flying back to pull your hair as you pulled off of him to swirl your tongue around his head.

Having already been pushed so close to the edge, it didn't take long for Remus to start twitching in your mouth again, the only indication of him reaching his orgasm aside from the sudden pull on your scalp.

The boy threw his head back, letting out a loud moan that you were sure would be heard down in the common room, before gripping onto your hair tightly and thrusting up into your mouth.

Ropes of white hit your throat, letting go of Remus' cock with a pop, before swallowing his seed, looking down at the boy panting beneath you.

"I fucking love you."

He pulled you down onto him, wrapping his hands around you to meld your lips against his, the two of you gripping each others' hips as Remus rolled you to the bottom again.

"Now I'm going to pound you into the fucking bed baby."

⚔︎

Remus' fingers slid inside of you without a hassle, you were so wet it was as if your body was welcoming him. He prepped you at a pace that was so quick you didn't dare to think how intense he'd be later.

Remus wasn't one to break a promise.

Your nails drew thick lines down Remus' back as he added a second finger, scissoring the two inside of you, hitting your g-spot which made you let out a small shout in response, gripping onto his shoulders with your nails.

"Re, oh God."

Your back arched off the mattress, eyes falling shut as you threw your head back, moaning louder and louder as Remus drew fervent circles on your clit.

Remus watched you from above, smirking as he moved down to suck on your tit, leaving a hickey above your nipple.

A third finger slid into your hole, your walls slowly fluttering around Remus' fingers as you felt a heat begin bubbling in your stomach, your toes curling as your orgasm quickly approached.

"Re, fuck, please, Re!"

You scratched onto Remus' back, gripping tightly onto his shoulders as you drew closer, until your high was denied, the nails that were gripping onto his shoulders relaxing in shock.

"What the fuck!"

The boy shot you a smirk as he looked down upon you, leaning in to nibble on your earlobe, whispering in your ear.

"You only get to cum with me inside of you."

⚔︎

Remus brushed the head of his cock up and down your folds, collecting your essence before pushing in, the both of you moaning at the feeling.

He pushed in further, bottoming out as you gripped onto his back, drawing thick red lines down it. Your tits pushed up against his scarred chest as he fucked into you slowly, sucking a hickey into your jaw.

Remus moved out of you so that only his tip remained, right before slamming back into you, making you moan out at the movement, his hands moving to land a firm slap on your thigh, his pace increasing every time he landed another slap. The small bits of pain mixed with pleasure, Remus' hollow slaps aiming only to arouse you rather cause any pain.

As he moved in and out of you, his hands gripped onto your thighs rather than continuing to deliver hits. He held onto them firmly enough to leave a bruise while maneuvering them so that your knees pressed against your own torso, hitting you with a new angle that caused him to brush against your g-spot with every movement, his crotch rubbing against your clit with every thrust.

Your lips found their way to Remus' shoulder, biting hard onto the skin to suck a hickey into it, biting down particularly hard as Remus' thrusts grew stronger, causing the boy to let out a guttural moan.

"D'you like this baby? Marking me up, showing everyone who I get to fuck every night?"

You nodded into Remus' neck, his own lips kissing your neck as his tongue darted out to trace the red marks he'd left behind, sure to turn a dark purple for everyone to see later tonight.

His hips moved at a vicious speed, the sound of skin on skin being the only sounds to echo around the room aside from the raspy sounds that would emerge from both of your throats, the two of you too immersed in the pleasure to make any proper sounds.

"Re. I, close."

Your walls began pulsing around Remus, incoherent moans leaving your mouth as your orgasm began to build for the second time that day, one hand moving away from your thigh to massage your bundle of nerves, his lips moving back on top of yours.

"Cum for me baby, I want to see you scream my name."

Despite his own orgasm building, Remus never faltered in his movements, his hips snapping to hit just the right spot to bring you closer and closer to the edge, his chest pushing down your knees as his hand moved to hold your neck, admiring the way your eyes rolled back in pleasure as the two of you build towards your climaxes.

"Such a pretty girl baby, all marked up and fucked out. You ready to cum yet?"

Nodding despite the hand wrapped around your neck, you threw your head back, your hands never ceasing in their movements to draw lines on Remus' back.

"I–fuck, yes, Remus!"

White clouded your vision as your orgasm hit you– a tidal wave followed by ripples that came in the form of Remus' slowing, yet still strong, thrusts into you, his head brushing against your g-spot with each movement which made you whine with each moment, your juices leaking out from around him, making you impossibly more wet than before, sinful sounds echoing from around the room.

"Cum for me Remus, I want to feel you fill me up."

Your hands reached out for the boy above you, pulling him down so that both your heads nestled in each other's necks. Tired from your orgasm, you were still eliciting noises as the boy moved in and out of you, him moaning as he felt your walls tighten around him with every other movement.

"Yes baby, I'm going to cum, fuck."

The werewolf moaned, muffling it by biting into your red neck, leaving yet another mark to remind you of this day. You felt hot spurts of Remus' cum hit you, moaning as a new warmth filled your hole.

The boy fell on top of you completely, his knees giving out under the ecstasy he experienced.

⚔︎

You whined slightly as Remus pulled out of you, suddenly feeling empty when he left you.

Your combined juices flowed out of you in that moment, but the sadness you felt was suddenly replaced with a shot of pleasure, the werewolf leaning down to place a soft kiss on your lower lips.

"Such a good girl, letting me cum inside her twice."

The kiss turned into a tongue, teasing at your sensitive entrance as Remus licked at the juices flowing out of you, drawing moans from your mouth that you didn't know you still had the energy for.

"It'd only be fair if my baby got to cum twice too, wouldn't it?"

Your eyes fell close again, nodding as your hands searched for Remus' body below you, trying to find something to grab, something to grip onto.

"I need to hear you darling, otherwise I don't know what you want me to do."

A smirk fell on the boy's lips, making you want to cry out in frustration as he moved away from your cunt, instead peppering kisses and sucking on the soft skin of your inner thighs, intent on marking you there.

"Fuck, Remus make me cum again."

The boy hummed against your thigh, moving away to admire a small hickey he'd left behind.

"Not good enough baby. I need to know how much you want it, I'm not here to be told what to do."

Tears welled in your eyes as you grew more and more frustrated, tired from the first round already you propped yourself up on your elbows, watching Remus much like how he watched you when you sucked him off.

"Please Remus, I need you to make me cum again. Please?"

Your bottom lip stuck out, making the boy chuckle. Another stupidly handsome smirk grew onto the boy's lips, leaning down to dart his tongue out onto your slit, flicking over your nub for a brief second.

"Of course Y/N, anything for you."

You fell back on the mattress as Remus dove back in, his hands gripping your thighs to push them apart, fingers digging in yet again to leave as many marks on you as possible.

He sucked on your abused clit, tongue darting back and forth at the same rhythm as his hands, massaging your thighs with his fingers. His mouth moved lower, drawing figures on your lips as his tongue danced around, occasionally dipping into your hole, fucking you with the appendage.

"Oh Re, faster."

The boy below obliged with a moan that sent ripples up your spine, fucking his tongue in and out of you at a speed reminiscent of the way he pounded into you mere minutes ago, two fingers moving to rub rapid circles onto your clit.

Moans grew into pants as you felt him speed up, your toes curling as your hands gripped onto his hair, pulling Remus' mouth further onto your pussy.

Your thighs trembled as your orgasm built, pushing you over the edge as your walls clenched around Remus' tongue, the boy muttering a 'cum for me' onto your lips.

You released with a shout, legs shaking as you pulled Remus' hair tightly, your back arching off the mattress as you rode out your high, Remus continuing to eat you out until you were reduced to a twitching mess.

"Feeling good?"

⚔︎

An hour after your activities, Remus walked the two of you into the Great Hall, both of you famished and ready to stuff yourselves with lunch.

You tried not to limp as you walked, and then had to brace yourself as you sat down on the wooden bench, Remus kissing you softly on the cheek as he joined you, greeting James and Sirius with a smile.

"Hey Y/N!"

Your housemates called out to you, prompting you to wave at them in return, before moving to serve yourself some food.

"Merlin, Y/N did you get mauled?!"

Peter came towards the table, dropping himself in the seat across from you.

"I–, what?"

The boy gestured towards your neck, making the other two marauders crane to see what Peter was talking about.

"Fuck, Y/N, what the hell happened?"

Remus looked down at your neck, then turned red as he realised what the boys were talking about. In the past hour or so, your hickeys had darkened immensely, covering every part of you, from behind your ears down to your collarbones– which could be seen from the undone top buttons of your blouse.

"Uh, I uh."

You had also caught on to what the boys meant, biting your lip as you looked down at your food.

Remus suddenly felt very warm, his skin heating up, rolling up his sleeves and tugging at his collar to let some cool air touch his skin.

"Oh, Moony! You really didn't have to mark her up that much you know. I think the point's been made. The whole world already knows she's yours."

Sirius chuckled and elbowed James, pointing down at Remus' arms.

"Look, I'm thinking Moony's not the only possessive one here at the table y'know."

The thick lines you'd drawn up and down the werewolf's arms still remained, and the few hickeys you'd left on his neck were small, but still noticeable.

Your cheeks heated, shifting your hair as best you could to cover up your neck. Remus let down his sleeves, shifting his collar and let out a cough.

"Moony just gets antsy 'round the full moon, y'know?"

[oneprompt]

Helloooo! How u doing? Hope things going over there!

Glad to meet another one piece x reader blog! 💕💕 I was wondering if I could have a drabble or headcanons (whichever u prefer honestly) about jealous Zoro x chubby s/o? It can be NSFW or SFW (again whichever u prefer)

A jealous partner just hits different u know? 😳😳😳

Thank u for ur time!

authors note : hello ! <3 im doing rather well , thanks so much for asking <3 hope you’re doing lovely <33 i hope you don’t mind that i picked NSFW for this one ;; jealousy just blends perfectly with NSFW .. Anywho ! i hope you enjoy the headcanons + drabble <3 Oh ! i mainly kept the reader gender neutral , as i wasn’t sure if you wanted it as a female , male or nb. i hope that’s alright with you <3

NSFW WARNING BELOW <3 please skip if such content makes you uncomfortable.

........

........

Jealous! Zoro x Chubby! Reader Headcanons

tags : jealousy , ( slight ) breeding kink , possessiveness , marking

• It takes quite a lot to get Zoro jealous. He’s a swordsman and swordsmanship is all about honor and respect , even towards opponents.

• But if a certain Straw Hat even breathes in your direction, he’s quick to make jealous. Sanji had no limitations when it came to his flirtatious attitude, he didn’t even hold back flirting with you, someone who was knowingly in a relationship, let alone someone who was dating Zoro.

• Zoro doesn’t hesitate to stride over to you and Sanji, quick to shout and possibly hit Sanji. Who does Sanji think he is? Zoro hated that sleezy face Sanji would make, allowing his eyes to trace along every piece of exposed flesh you had as you sunbathed on the ship deck. And Zoro especially hated how your face would flush in embarrassment from the other mans compliments.

• When he’s jealous, Zoro gets a lot tougher when it comes to bed room activities. Most of the time, he’s slow with his strokes, leaving light kisses along your stomach or neck, depending on what position you two were in. But when he’s jealous? Boy, oh boy... Jealousy is the plague! Do not expect to be able to walk straight afterwards

• He’ll definitely bury your body in hickies and bite marks, wherever his mouth can reach, it’ll be throbbing from Zoro’s lips. Zoro lacks shame, really. He doesn’t mind if people notice the marks he leaves upon you. If anything, Zoro wants people to see them, it strokes his ego.

• Zoro wants to be able to see your face 100%. He loves seeing your sweet expression sink with pure ecstasy. The way you’ll drool and blush an unbelievable shade of red as he rams up into the warmth of your body makes him grin with delight. Zoro knows nobody can do this for you, that only he can. And that feeling is the greatest to ever bask within him, the feeling of superiority of all the men who have ever looked at you in a lewd way.

• Zoro loves to grope your body, as well. He likes to feel every bit of you, from your chest to your lovehandles, he wants to feel it all. He loves knowing your plump body is only for him to feast on.

• If you ever show shame in your body type, Zoro is quick to correct you with eager touches. How idiotic do you have to be to neglect such a treasure? Zoro will always be there to remind you of the value your body holds to him, and why you should find pride in it as well.

• When Zoro is in a mood, he often likes to drain his seed inside of you, filling you to the brim with his musky semen. He’s very territorial , as you can tell. Very into marking, wether with marks or his own cum.

Jealous! Zoro x Chubby! Reader Oneshot

“H-hey... can’t you be a bit gentler?” Your voice seeped out in between the harsh pants that circulated from you. The way Zoro was palming at your body was as tight as the grip he would use upon his sword. Mixing such powerful touches with the grinding of his rock hard member made it even more difficult to speak through. You could feel his precum dribble against your hole, making your warm body hotter then it already was.

Zoro didn’t make an effort to reply, as he was clearly in his own little world. All of this over Sanji and his cooking .. All you had done was compliment the chef on the straw berry and vanilla parfait he had graciously served you. It wasn’t your fault Sanji took ever little thing to heart... Yet, even as you had explained the scene, Zoro still didn’t let up with his sudden yearning for your body.

It was embarrassing, nearly. The way Zoro’s face smothered against your stomach, his calloused fingers scaling against the surface of your body. Everytime Zoro would leave a kiss or hickey against your stomach, you’d jolt in pleasure. It felt so good but having him smother your stomach like that... it was far too much.

“Zoro...not my stomach...its-“ You gasped out loudly as you were suddenly impaled on the forth of Zoro’s member, that action completely cutting off your words. You felt your toes curl and your legs tremble from the intrusion. You were already so sensitive, and that certainly amped it up further. Your eyes peered up at Zoro as he sat up, his tanned hands firmly squeezing your love handles as he let you consume every inch of him.

“Eh? It’s not what, Y/n?” Zoro smirked down at you, letting out a raspy laugh. He didn’t hesitate to begin to move his hips, letting his member exit your warmth before burrowing deep inside once again. “You better not have been thinking what i think you were...” Zoro knew how you felt about your body. You didn’t hate it but some days he would notice the way you’d gaze upon yourself, a small frown taking over your face. “Because.. the whole Grand Line can tell how fucking hot you are,” Zoro hissed, his breath growing slightly heavy as he quickened his thrusts.

You couldn’t tell if your face was hot from the temps tire of the room and the man that hovered over your naked form, or if it was hot from what Zoro had just said. Zoro was never new to vulgar compliments but that one was far too for you to handle, making you tighten around Zoro’s shaft. This was certainly different from the sex you two typically had. Zoro was never a man to falter, always staying at a steady pace but today, it was nonstop. You couldn’t help but let the loud moans that brewed within your throat out. You felt guilty, because God knows the rest of the crew was trying to sleep right now. But you couldn’t help it, you couldn’t help but gasp and call out for your lover as he pounded your deepest parts.

Zoro felt a never ending source of confidence against the rest of the ship and their mates. He knew he was the only person to make you scream in such a way. The thought that he was the only one who ever got to see you in such a manner just made him even more excited. Nobody got such a great view, nor would they ever. You were Zoro’s and Zoro’s alone, no one could come between you two, not even a damn War Lord.

Zoro was consistent, never stopping his rapid and rough strokes. He didn’t even pace himself, as you two got further into the session. It was sloppy, at that point. You two had been going at it like animals for about an hour or so, giving not a single Straw Hat time to get a blink of sleep in the time window. Fluids gushed from the both of you, the sticky fluid you dumped against his member just made such a lewd noise every time he would thrust inward. It was loud as he rammed into you, matching with the smacking of flesh.

You were close, and with the look that rested on Zoro’s face, he was just as close as you were. The room was full of moans and groans, the playful banter from before had ceased to be, melted within the bed sheets, along with the sweat that was produced from you and Zoro.

“Zoro...! I’m close!” You mustered out, throwing your head back into the mess of pillows that remained behind you. It was as i you were molding into the bed, slowly sinking into the wet bed sheets, marked with your own juices as well as the ones from your lover.

With how suddenly your walls clamped against Zoro’s shaft, it didn’t give him a single moment to think about pulling out. It was as if you were attempting to milk him of every drop of cum he could produce. And so, you did. The warmth of Zoro’s seed was an overwhelming force that seeped into you, painting your walls white with the thick fluid.

An animalistic groan escaped Zoro as he drained his balls, filling you as much as he could with his semen. It felt so satisfying to fill you, almost as if he were trying to impregnate you, wether he could or not. The feeling of him not just branding every bit of you on the outside but as well on the inside was the best feeling he could ask for.

You were his. Inside and out, you were marked by the worlds top wanted ‘ pirate hunter ‘ , the right hand man to the worlds future pirate king.

[adxmparriish]

everything he needs - read on ao3 track 3 of DEDICATED - a jurdannet roulette collab fic with @hazelsheartsworn @figonas @slightlyrebelliouswriter23 @laequiem

SIDE A: TRACK ONE -> TRACK TWO -> TRACK FOUR -> TRACK FIVE SIDE B: TRACK ONE -> TRACK TWO -> TRACK THREE MASTERLIST

writer: lizziebxnnet words: 3.2k rating: explicit -> dom/sub undertones, light bondage, orgasm denial, overstimulation, cock ring

Instead of Faerie bowing to us both, I bow to her. I’m all too willing to oblige. All the anxiety I felt earlier, the rapid beating of my heart I so hated, is replaced by something else. Want, need, pleasure, pain… I am nothing but Jude’s. There is no more room in me for anything else. “Let’s play,” she says. Yes, my evil seductress, let’s play. I am your pawn.

tags and fic under the cut

I am edgy.

Anxiety rolls around inside me, a living monster with claws and fangs crawling beneath my skin.

It’s no secret that most days being High King brings me little joy. I’d much rather laze about, drink wine, kiss Jude until I’m senseless, or simply be. The duties, while not always unbearable, drive me over the edge more often than I’d like to admit.

As the moon rises and filters silver light into our chambers, I glance over to our bed. Jude, beautiful as ever, is draped over the sheets looking at me. There’s a glint in her deep brown eyes that scares and arouses me. Her grin is mischief reincarnated, and I stare back at her with intent. Adjusting the crown on my temples, I turn to face her completely.

“I think I’d rather be on the other end of your knife than deal with any of this,” I say.

“I’m inclined to agree,” she replies, flopping over to lay on her back. She still wears her silk nightgown, some flimsy black thing she purchased at the sex shop. The straps are barely there, and a low neckline leaves little to the imagination. It hardly covers the mocha skin of her thighs, although I can hardly complain. “How would you feel about… a little game?”

I raise a brow. “Should I be worried?”

“Of course not,” she says with a wink, rising from the bed and moving to the dresser. It does nothing to calm my anxieties.

She opens the first drawer, rifles through it, and then pulls out one of our new toys. In her other hand, she holds a remote. The skin of my face grows warm. She pads over and shows me what she has.

It’s a cock ring, but there’s a small attachment on the side of it. She flips a switch on it, then presses a button on the small black remote. Immediately, buzzing reaches my ears and the ring begins to vibrate. I reach out to touch it, feeling the vibrations under my fingertips. Jude looks up and when we meet gazes, I can feel her excitement thrumming through her.

The ravenous beast under my skin loosens its grip, and I find want growing in its place. Wanting her, wanting this, wanting to try something new. To be under Jude’s control would be the most wonderful of changes — a much-needed release from duties and being High King. I want to just be hers, to be Jude’s husband, her plaything. I smile at her, my beautifully wicked wife, and surrender to her.

Not bothering to wait for a second longer, she pops the buttons of my pants and yanks them down. I’m half hard already, the mere thought of what this day will bring exciting me. She sits our new toy on the floor beside her as she kneels in front of me. She scoots closer, then looks up to meet my eyes. I stare at her, transfixed by her beauty. Chestnut hair, long and lush, falls down past her shoulders. Her legs, so strong and powerful and covered in soft, tan skin, fold underneath her. Her hands, callused and sneaky, reach out and grip my cock. My breath hitches in my throat.

She strokes me lightly, teasing. I close my eyes and my head falls back, exposing my neck. When I feel the warm heat of her mouth on me, I gasp her name. Her plush lips swallow me down, her tongue tracing the line of a vein that runs down the shaft. I reach out to touch her, to twist her hair between my fingers, but she swats my hand away. She’s such a treacherous, wicked thing.

I feel a fire begin to burn in my belly, my release within reach, but as if she can read my mind, she stops. She pulls off with a pop, and I open my eyes to look down at her. She has the toy in one hand, my cock in the other. She strokes me a few times, then slides it over me, securing it at the base. The pressure is slight but still intense. She licks the tip, collecting a bit of come that has collected there. Damn the meetings, I think. Nothing is more important than this.

She presses a button on the remote, and I see white. The vibrations rattle through me, making me groan. Pleasure ripples in my blood, and then as soon as it begins, it stops. I don’t know if I’m relieved or aggravated. I glare at Jude, but she seems emotionless. I know better, though. I know she’s relishing in the game of her own creation.

She’s switched masks. She’s the same Jude, the same woman I love so dearly, but she is a different version. She’s always High Queen, but now she’s mine, and I am hers. Instead of Faerie bowing to us both, I bow to her. I’m all too willing to oblige. All the anxiety I felt earlier, the rapid beating of my heart I so hated, is replaced by something else. Want, need, pleasure, pain… I am nothing but Jude’s. There is no more room in me for anything else.

“Let’s play,” she says.

Yes, my evil seductress, let’s play. I am your pawn.

* * *

Sweat collects on my brow, and when the vibrations finally stop, I fear I might come purely from relief alone.

I look to Jude sitting beside me and notice the smallest of smiles playing at her lips. The Living Council is either clueless or pretending to be, and I’m not sure which is more ridiculous. I can feel the redness on my skin, and hear the panting breaths leaving my mouth. For more than an hour, I’ve sat in front of all of them and been brought to the brink of ecstasy more times than I can remember, only to be denied over and over again. I feel deranged, manic, unhinged. I want to come so badly that it is all I can think of. My hand longs to grab myself and rip off the wretched ring, but I don’t. I sit. I obey.

I know that, late into the night when Jude and I are in our chambers, I will be rewarded. It’s the only thing that keeps me grounded.

“I don’t think it’s wise to trifle with the Court of Teeth,” someone says, and I should know the voice but I don’t.

“High King? What do you suggest?” someone else questions me, and I turn my head to the sound.

As fleeting as a strike of lightning, the vibrations start again. I grip the table, knuckles going white, as sensations rock through me. My eyes are open but unseeing. I can hear nothing but blood rushing in my ears, the pounding of my pulse. I shiver as everything aches, my cock almost sore from being denied for so long. I think someone says my name, but I can’t respond. My normally sharp tongue denies me.

“Are you alright, darling?” Jude asks from next to me, her hand laying on my forearm, and I almost come undone. The mere touch of her fingers against my skin causes a cascade of feelings, all of which crash into me roughly.

The buzzing stops and I deflate, my breathing ragged and slow.

“I fear I am not, my Queen.” I look up and the entire table stares with looks of concern on their faces. My already warm face flushes darker, embarrassment flooding to the surface.

“Excuse us,” Jude says, gripping my arm and pulling me upright. “Cardan needs to lie down and rest.”

I can hear people bidding us farewell but I don’t look at them, don’t even acknowledge that they spoke. I am led forward by Jude’s firm grip and sure steps. All I know is her and my own desire that swims through my veins. We walk for what feels like hours but I’m sure is only minutes, and then we reach our chambers. When we’re inside, Jude makes quick work of my clothes, stripping me carefully. When my pants are off and thrown to the side, I look down.

My cock is bright red, almost angry. Jude’s hand grasps it and I choke on a moan, my hips bucking in her grip. She looks up at me in wonder.

“So good,” she says, stroking me twice before letting go. “My beautiful, obeying husband.”

I ache at her praise. She leads me to the bed and I fall on my back. Jude begins stripping her own clothes, but when she pulls off the belt holding up her trousers, she tosses it on the bed next to me. She climbs on, pushing my arms up to the headboard. Involuntarily, my hands grab the wooden bars.

Jude straddles me, her body completely naked now, and bends forward. If I tilt my head forward just a bit, I could capture a nipple in between my teeth. I don’t, though. In this game, I don’t touch unless Jude instructs me to do so.

“Remember our colors?” she asks, and I nod. It’d been the first thing we established when we uncovered this new world, this new game. Green for go, red for stop, yellow for let’s slow it down.

She takes the belt and wraps it around my hands, then the bars of the headboard, before fastening it and pulling it taut. I pull and nothing budges. Our eyes meet and the glimmer in hers captures me in a trance. She leans down and kisses me.

Her tongue traces my lip and I open to her immediately, letting her consume me. When she takes my bottom lip between her teeth, pulling gently, I melt into her touch. Her hands are in my hair, fingers tracing the sharp point of my ears. My tail thrashes, then wraps around her leg. The tuft on the end strokes her inner thigh, right below her core, and she gasps into my mouth. I breathe it in, bathe in it.

I cry out as the swell of her ass brushes against my cock, and it twitches, aching for release. Immediately she sits up, pulling away and denying me.

“Jude,” I beg, pulling at the belt that holds my wrists.

“What?”

“Take this damned ring off,” I demand. Her brows raise, and I know at once I’ve made a grave mistake.

Her strong, threatening hand grabs my throat and squeezes, just hard enough to catch my breath. My eyes widen, my arousal grows even more, and my hips undulate. I fight for some kind of release, some relief of the pressure and pain growing, and find nothing. The lack of oxygen makes my head spin, but I force my eyes to stay open.

Jude leans down, her lips brushing against my ear. “You, my dearest Cardan, are not in charge.”

She eases on my throat, releasing me. She traces the line of my jaw with her fingernail, slowly and carefully. I can’t tear my gaze away from her, not that I would want to. In her element, she is ethereal. I shrink under the power she holds in the palm of her hands.

“You want to come?” she asks. It feels like a trick question, but I nod regardless. She shakes her head, disapproving.

“Use your words.”

“Yes, my Queen,” I say.

“That,” she declares, “is too bad.”

Despite her words to me, she turns and reaches down, removing the ring. I groan at the small release. She shimmies back so her sex looms over me, and I lick my lips. She is dripping, heat radiating from it. Any other time, I’d lean forward and taste her, my tongue dipping between the folds. Instead, I wait, my cock practically pulsing as it aches between my legs.

The warmth of her mouth engulfs me and I groan, her name a curse on my tongue. My hands yank at the belt holding them, the leather digging into my skin. I feel crazed, so much pleasure and pain swimming together and making me drown. I can’t focus on anything except her mouth, her tongue, the slick of her core tantalizing as it hovers over my face.

She hums as one hand roams, pinching the skin of my thigh, and tears prick at my eyes. A shock runs through my system and it takes everything I have not to release into her mouth. I am dizzy with desire.

“Baby,” Jude murmurs against my cock, her tongue licking a long stripe, “taste me.”

Like a starving man at a feast, I don’t waste a single second.

I lick at her, tasting every sweet inch of her. It distracts me from the wicked ways of her mouth in the most pleasing way. She moans at my ministrations, her hips bucking when I catch her clit between my teeth lightly. I devour her, unable to satisfy the hunger growing inside me. She is a long drink of water after a hot day, and I am parched.

Every inch of me burns for her, and I feel my orgasm building in my spine again. I moan into her center as it climbs, higher and faster and stronger.

“Jude,” I plead, “I’m going to come.”

Her wet mouth moves away from me, and my eyes sting as I’m denied again, my climax crashing to a halt. Every part of me hurts, longing to release. I feel like a bow, stretched taut and thin. Tears leak from my eyes and through the mist, I can see Jude’s face hovering over me. I blink the wetness away, and her hands brush the tears from my cheeks.

“You’re doing so well,” she murmurs, kissing my face. I almost forget about my throbbing cock through the haze of her words, but it’s still there.

Jude places her hands on my chest and then lowers herself, her sex wrapping around me as she moves down. I whimper at the feel of her, so warm and tight and lovely. Her mouth hangs open at the sensation, and her eyelids flutter closed. Again, I am struck by her beauty. She is radiant as sweat curls the hair by her face, drips down her neck, and pools in the swell of her breasts. I long to reach up, to cup one in my palms, but the damned belt still holds my wrists. She opens her eyes when she’s fully seated.

She wastes no time. She bounces in earnest, taking me under her power even more than I already am. I buck my hips to meet hers. The sound of our skin slaps together, and it makes the sweetest song. She leans forward, changing the angle so I go deeper, and my eyes roll in the back of my head. Pleasure like I’ve never known rolls through me like a wave, and I make an embarrassing noise in the back of my throat. My mind is nothing but Jude, Jude, Jude, Jude. It recants through my brain like an enchantment.

“Jude please — “ I begin, but a moan cuts me off when she rolls her hips.

“Not yet,” she replies to me, already knowing my request. I slam my head back against the bed, jerking my wrists against the belt tying me down. I want to come so badly it blinds me, makes me crazy. I whine and Jude looks at me.

“Color, Cardan.”

“Green,” I say immediately, sure as ever. She denies me but I relish it. I will come with her permission or not at all.

She smiles at me, and I glow under her approval. I am nothing if not her servant.

“Harder,” she commands.

I plant my feet against the mattress and bend my hips, pounding into Jude with reckless abandon. She forgets herself, crying out and gripping my ribs. Her nails dig into my skin. She closes her eyes as I meet her, over and over, the slapping of our skin ringing through our room, although I can hardly hear it over the pounding of my heart.

“Cardan,” she shouts, throwing her head back, “Gods, you feel so good.”

“Fuck,” I chant, slowing down and fucking her slower, deeper, hammering into her so hard that it jolts her.

Finally, a sweet release comes as she fiddles with the belt, untying my hands. I immediately have one hand on her hip, the other at her clit. My thumb circles and flicks it, making her groan loudly. Her hips falter as her own release threatens to overcome her. If I can’t come, I’ll be sure she does.

I can tell she’s close. Her breaths are short, her eyes are closed, and her legs shake. I grip her hips and flip us over. I pull her close, letting her legs dangle over my shoulders, and take her roughly. I pick up the pace, grab her by the back of the neck and kiss her hungrily. It’s clashing tongues and teeth, but it drives me wild regardless. Her warm breaths tickle my lips as she pants, completely overwhelmed. I circle her clit with two fingers, and a throaty sound rips from her throat.

“Come for me Cardan,” she demands, meeting my thrusts with her own.

In an instant, my body responds to her command, and like a wave crashing on the shore, I come. My vision goes black, then I see stars. It’s blissful pain as it rocks through me and leaves me breathless, every inch of me completely spent. Jude, delirious all the same, follows me. Her hands grip my back, nails digging into my skin as she unravels. We moan into each other’s mouths, kissing until we’re dizzy with it. I fuck her through the aftershocks of our orgasms, then collapse against her.

I clutch her, desperate for her closeness. She returns the grip, pulling me into her chest. I nose her neck, leaving wet kisses down her pulse. She hums happily as I cradle her in my arms. She rubs my back gently, and when I roll us so my back hits the mattress, she lays her head on my chest.

When I push her damp hair from her forehead, she grabs my wrist. It’s red, lines from the belt creasing the skin. She kisses it, then grabs my other wrist and does the same. My heart, so often cold and hard, is warm. I touch her face, my thumb brushing the soft skin of her cheek. She smiles at me, and I can’t help but smile back.

“Your games are evil,” I say to her, making her smile wider. “Although I should have known. You’ve never been an innocent one.”

She laughs. “Neither have you.”

“I cannot argue with that.”

My fingers play in her hair, brush against her skin, and trace the round curve of her ear. Moonlight filters through our curtains and casts shadows across her face. We are both exhausted but I kiss her anyway, slow and sweet. She melts into it, wrapping her arms around my neck.

I love her, devastatingly so. Not telling her seems criminal.

“I love you, darling Jude.”

Her lips meet my jaw, and she kisses me there.

“I love you too,” she says.

As always, I wonder how I got so lucky to win her affections. When her fingers graze my neck, touching my pulse point, I realize for the first time, I don’t much care how we got here. What truly matters is that we are in this moment, basking in the love we’ve built. Whether I’m lucky or blessed, or somewhere in the middle — all of it fades to black in the warmth of Jude’s embrace.

.

.

.

.

.

@slightlyrebelliouswriter23 @figonas @laequiem @hazelsheartsworn @jurdannet @jurdannetrevels @thefolkofthefic @kingandfireheart

[existslikepristin]

Definitely Real Medicine

More backlog from AFF: https://www.asianfanfics.com/story/view/1470220/definitely-real-medicine

Tags: TheLounge, G-Idle, Yuqi, maleOC"you", blowjob, Yuqi's beautiful overconfidence, cum is not medicine people

~~~~~

Yuqi texted you that she’d woken up much earlier than she should have that morning. Her voice was still hoarse from her sleep, even by noon, when you met up with her at G-IDLE’s dorm.

You had wandered into the dining room to see her sitting at the table, sipping tea from a mug and slowly filling out a sudoku puzzle. She was dressed in loose, robe-style pajamas. The makeup she wore to the party she texted you from the previous night was still smudged on her face, and her long, dark brown hair was in a messy ponytail. You could tell she was having a rough time by the way she squinted at the paper.

Yuqi stretched when you called out to her, further smudging her makeup as she rubbed the back of her hand against her eyes and yawned. She opened her arms to you, and you sat down beside her with your arms around her neck, teasing her by playing with her hair and lightly pulling on it. She moaned softly, then suddenly pushed you away. Your confusion dissolved as she turned her head to the side and started coughing like her throat was made of sandpaper.

When she stopped a few seconds later, she turned to you with a pouty face. "I’m pretty sure I’m getting sick, sorry. I wasn’t expecting to ruin our lunch plans."

“Awww. I thought Yuqi Power made you invincible.” You hugged her again.

Yuqi hissed her annoyance and gave you a threatening glare, but quickly changed her demeanor back to a happy, albeit miserable-looking one. “You want me to get you sick too?” She took a deep breath as if she was going to cough directly in your face.

You let her go and recoiled back, but she just laughed. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I won’t really get you sick. Intentionally. But, uh… you’ll want to wash your hands.”

She grabbed one of your hands and pulled it to her mouth. There, she started sucking on your fingers.

"See? This is very good for your throat," Yuqi said, slightly muffled. "I’m out of medicine, but I can do this."

"Yeah, I don't think that’s..." You trailed off, unable to continue speaking when she started licking the flesh between your thumb and pointer finger.

She looked up at you for a moment. "Nah. It’s definitely good to suck on things when you have a sore throat like this. What do you think they make lozenges for? You know what would be really good though? Sucking your cock."

Your eyes shot wide open. Sex definitely isn’t the first thing on your mind whenever you’re sick, but Yuqi is a unique kind of person.

“Oh yeah? Would it really?” You smiled as she kept her eyes locked with yours.

Yuqi scooted her chair back and slid off, to land on her knees, and between yours.

She groaned. "I honestly just want to stick my tongue in your mouth, but I can’t right now. This sucks so much." She pouted and grabbed at your pants pockets to tug at them.

You rolled your eyes to reveal your sarcasm. "Okay, I’ll let you suck my dick to help your throat feel better."

“Perfect!” Yuqi bounced on her heels. “Off with your pants, please!”

You pushed your chair back so that you could stand up and do as she says. Your dick was already hard from the finger sucking, and now floated above her head. Her robe-pajamas fell to the floor around her as she wiggled the shoulders off.

Sat back down on the chair, Yuqi coughed a few times off to the side, but then lay her cheek against your inner thigh. This was something she’d done before, and you took the hint, stroking her other cheek with your thumb. She purred with contentment, but the tone was even lower than normal. You wondered if she should really be giving you a blowjob if her throat was feeling so bad, but you knew Yuqi’s mind was impossible to change.

After a few moments, Yuqi picked her head back up and opened her mouth, sticking her tongue out and inching toward you.

You couldn’t articulate words for a second when she wrapped her lips around your cock. When you regained your senses, you said, "How come you're the one that's sick, but I'm the one getting spoiled here?"

She momentarily pulled her mouth away, using her hand to stroke you slowly.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about! This is all for my benefit. My throat is going to feel fantastic after this!" She flicked the tip of your dick with her tongue before continuing her probably-misguided medical treatment.

Chuckling, you pulled her hair a little, not to take her further onto your shaft, but just as a light tease. She moaned onto you, almost making you shudder from the vibrations it sent through you. Her enthusiasm was contagious as she pushed herself deeper and faster, continuing to use her tongue to stroke you inside her hot mouth.

You put your hands on her shoulders, hoping that a less than obvious massage will actually do her a little bit more good than a blowjob. But she’s obviously committed to giving herself some respite in her own way.

But you had to admit, it was some good respite she was giving. You couldn't decide if you should have her finish you off, or take her elsewhere for a ride on the couch or her bed. You figured you'd wait it out and see if she had anything to say about either option. You were pulled from the vivid image of your potential future plan when she took you all the way into her mouth and held you there, still stroking whatever her tongue could reach with its movement restricted because you were filling her mouth and throat.

"Yuqi, that feels so good." You groaned, trying not to buck your hips up into her face. Her eyes twinkled as she looked up at you, and she didn't stop for an instant.

"If you plan on continuing,” you say with a bit of a struggle, “I hope you're of the opinion that swallowing will be good for your throat too, otherwise you better get yourself on top of me."

She slowed down her motions, but didn't stop. You sighed and looked up at the ceiling, both in anticipation and frustration. You weren't entirely sure what that answer meant, but you were comfortable knowing you'd be coming deep inside her throat shortly.

Yuqi’s mouth continued to move more and more slowly, but she didn't decrease the depth or enthusiasm with which she moved her head back and forth, swallowing the entire length of your cock each time before pulling away, her tongue still swirling around inside her mouth as she sucked.

You looked down to catch her eye again, and saw in her pleading eyes how desperately she wanted this, whatever it really was. You were just about ready to come, and that look she gave you really did you in.

"Soon," you muttered.

The corners of Yuqi’s mouth curled up as much as they could, wrapped around you. She hummed as she continued at her slow, steady pace. The amazing sensations of her mouth wrapped around your cock made you start to twitch. You couldn’t hold out any longer.

You erupted into her mouth, jizz surging up and between her lips. She giggled, muffled, as she locked her lips in place, using her tongue to keep stimulating you as you came. Not a single drop escaped her as she attempted to draw every last bit out of your balls.

Eventually it stopped, and you leaned your head back. “Well, happy now Yuqi?”

She gulped loudly before she spoke again. “Yup! I can already tell that I’m feeling b--”

Suddenly, she broke out into another coughing fit. You bent over her and slowly rubbed her back as she got it out of her system.

“Okay, I lied,” she said sheepishly.

You chuckled and helped her stand up, allowing yourself a look up and down her completely nude body that you hadn’t had the chance to spend any time to appreciate while she was between your legs. But you lifted her pajamas back up around her shoulders and tied the belt around her waist without feeling too bad about it.

“It’s all good Yuqi. I’m not going to complain about everything that just happened. In fact, I feel a little indebted. Can I at least make you some soup?”

Yuqi pressed her face up against your chest, hands wrapped around your waist. “Will you tuck me in and feed it to me in bed?”

“How could I say no to someone and something that adorable?”

[lokiskitten]

Loki Laufeyson | Valentine’s Day pt4

Loki Laufeyson x fem!reader

Author’s note : so so so sorry for the delay! I was dealing with some personal issues. People who wanted to be tagged : @delightfulheartdream @idontreallyknowhonesyy @kaz11283 @cc12-02 @thegirlthatsfalling @likesiriuslydude @wolfish-trickster

plot : ( refer to the three previous part if you wish! ) After confessing time each other, you and Loki spend a romantic moment where you decide to loose your virginity together.

warnings : kissing, making out, virginity loss, consensual intercourse, self discovery, masturbation, premature ejaculation, unprotected sex.

As your lips moved against Loki’s in a shy manner, your tongue barely dared to peek out of your mouth in order to collide with the young man’s lower lip. Understanding the message yet remaining reserved at the moment, Loki parted his lips and allowed his own tongue to delicately penetrate your moist cavity. This was your first kiss, and you didn’t regret sharing it with someone such as Loki. The more your lips remained pressed against his, the more feelings grew inside of you.

The tip of your tongues collided with each other’s, tasting one another’s saliva and enjoying the way it mixed with yours. Soon, Loki took the initiative to place his hand onto your waist, crossing a line that no one had ever dared to cross before. A blush spread across your cheeks as you moved closer to your lover, the kiss progressively growing more confident as both of you made an effort to learn from this first interaction.

Pulling away from him, a smile appeared onto your lips as you looked down at your hands in order to avoid eye contact- secretly wishing that Loki wouldn’t notice how much influence he had on you. Though, that was something he would’ve never been able to deny. “That was..” you began, loosing your words only to be helped out by the demigod. “..absolutely ravishing.” He finished, head tilting as he attempted to make eye contact with you. However, his efforts were soon put to an end when you accepted to look up at him by yourself.

Lovingly staring at each other, you easily understood that both of you wished to go further. However, innocence and inexperience managed to fill your beings with doubt and anxiety. But talking would’ve been unnecessary, as nature was here to lead you both towards the greatest achievement that was loosing your virginity to someone you trusted and loved. You were the first one to take the initiative to remove a first layer of clothing, hands moving up to your shoulders in order to slide the straps of your dress off your silhouette.

Loki’s eyes widened face to this nice spectacle, his green orbs watching the way the thin fabric slid off your body to reveal your bare breasts. Gasping nervously, Loki adjusted his position on the bed as his eyes couldn’t seem to get off your chest. In fact, it was the first time he ever saw the upper private parts of a lady, and this honestly awoken sensations and feelings within him he already knew about. Before he could even tell, his member hardened underneath the fabric of his suit, creating an uncomfortable sensation for Loki to bare with. “You can touch them.” You ended up saying, secretly wishing that Loki would start taking more initiatives.

Gasping nervously, his hand rose from the bed sheets and gently travelled up to your breast, palm colliding with the soft and warm fleshy mound. You bit down onto your bottom lip, enjoying this first physical contact as your eyes looked down at Loki’s hand. In order to make him feel more confident, you added a couple of details to your previous sentence. “You can squeeze it, but gently. The feminine body is delicate.” You notified happily, allowing Loki to follow your advice. His hand squeezed your breast, causing tingles to take over your chest. It felt peculiarly good, allowing your mind to forever remember and learn from this move for your future intercourses.

On another hand, Loki seemed as pleased as you were, though for different reasons. Being a young man, it obviously felt like a great accomplishment to finally get to touch a woman’s bare body. But it wasn’t an act to take any lightly, and everyone in Asgard knew it required humbleness and great care. His cock didn’t take long to harden to a painful state underneath the fabric of his suit, your eyes locking with the appetizing sight which was his boner. After noticing this detail, Loki blushed and pulled his hand away, face turning down towards his crotch as he awkwardly cleared his throat. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of. You should see it as an asset.” You joked with a smirk before making your hand travel until his upper thigh.

The man did nothing to stop you, and simply watched curiously as it was now your turn to return the pleasant gesture. The tips of your fingers delicately collided with the long print, soon starting to rub up and down his shaft which easily caused your partner’s breath to itch sensitively. Loki pressed his palms against the bedsheets, leaning backwards as his eyes continuously stayed onto his crotch as if he was scared you would attempt to backstab him. As ironic as it could be. Though, that would’ve been a thought you would’ve been easily able to understand, as this probably remained the most fragile part of the masculine body- and even as a virgin, you knew. Or at least, you could expect it to be.

“This- this feels nice..” he spoke shakily as his positive words encouraged you through the sinful acts. Your fingers now clenched, locking the man’s girth between the phalanx of your folded digits and keeping on moving up and down in a enhancing manner. This eager initiative caused Loki’s balls to twitch lightly, length following the gesture which allowed you to feel the wave from underneath the fabric of his pants. A discreet smile appeared onto your lips, yourself secretly feeling proud about being able to please him efficiently enough for such a thing to happen. Now feeling more confident, the young man sat back up properly before unzipping the upper part of his suit, arms soon sliding out of the extensible fabric and leaving him bare chested for you to enjoy.

Your eyes respectfully settled onto his bulging abdomen, admiring the way he breathed in and exhaled repetitively, yet in a calm manner. Looking up from his body, you locked eyes with him and noticed the slight sadness which easily reflected in his green orbs. However, before you could even part your lips and speak up about the matter, Loki suddenly pushed his body forward and allowed his mouth to collide with yours again, hand instinctively moving up to your jaw with he cupped passionately. You obviously returned the gesture, progressively forgetting about the emotions you saw in his eyes as your lips tenderly moved against his.

Little did you know, sadness was far from being the emotion which previously filled Loki’s green eyes barely a couple of seconds ago. It was passion. The young man was simply and desperately in love with you. He wished to admire your features forever, and the only thought of his new source of happiness potentially drifting off to his brother caused his heart to shatter to billion of pieces.

Without ever breaking the kiss, both of your half naked bodies progressively moved further onto the bed as he allowed his hands to grab your waist in a securing manner- as if he wanted to hold you back from leaving if you ever planned on doing so. A gentle moan escaped your lips as you were soon to climb onto his lap, clothed cunt pressing and grinding against his hard bulge. You couldn’t help but allow your hands to move up to his head, breaking through the gel and messing up his usually silk hair into thousands of random strands. Some of them even started to fall before his handsome face. The room’s dark yet peculiarly illuminated ambiance set both of you into the right mood to fool around, though not as much as your respective and mixing hormones did.

The smell of your natural pheromones drove most of Loki’s senses wild, heavy breaths escaping his lips as he allowed his face to burry in between your breasts, pressing kisses to your skin and fleshy mounds in the most respectful manner you could’ve ever wished for. His arms remained wrapped around your waist, hands soon moving up to the back of your shoulders which he held in a securing and needy manner. Soon, both of you managed to overcome the excitement as Loki was now rubbing the tip of his nose against the skin of your bare chest. His eyes remained close, hips slightly thrusting forward as his cock felt like it would explode if it didn’t get to be trapped inside of your moist cavity any time soon.

At this point, your light dress had fell down to your crotch, revealing the top of your underwear whilst Loki’s suit unfortunately allowed its owner to remain dressed efficiently. Laying a couple of more kisses against your jaw, the demigod’s hands took the initiative to slide off your shoulders and release the grip he had passionately been keeping on you. Your clueless orbs looked down at him as you then understood that it would probably be the right time for you to get off your partner and allow him to fully undress. Loki indeed acknowledged your move, hands sliding the zipper of his suit down until he couldn’t go and further. He was now able to fully remove his upper piece of clothing before going for his pants which he seemed quite eager to get rid off.

Within a few seconds, the two of you were now sitting in underwear before each other, your eyes finally able to witness what his crotch was composed of a little bit better. He smirked as soon as he noticed that you were staring, large hand reaching out for your wrist as he decided to take the initiative to lay your palm down against his crotch. Surprisingly enough, it was boiling warm- a detail you didn’t expect to end up face to face with even though you probably should’ve. However, it was something you seemed to enjoy as it offered comfort to your usually cold fingertips. Biting down onto his bottom lip, Loki started to gently grind his hips again as he obviously couldn’t seem to maintain his physical nor hormonal excitement.

You didn’t feel an ounce grossed out, in contrary, you enjoyed his kinky gestures. At least, it gave you the guarantee that he felt confident and comfortable with this intercourse, which was something you believed was absolutely primordial. And just like you did before, your hand soon started to stroke his member through his underwear, now being able to feel it better then you did back when Loki still adorned his pants. Besides, you were also able to get a better hold of his length. The demigod’s facial complexions grimaced, brows raising and frowning continuously as it was his way of handling the pleasure without necessarily having to moan it out.

Your body moved forward as your partner tilted his head back, hand remaining on his cock as your lips started to press lustful and gentle kisses against his exposed Adam’s apple and jaw. This seemed to have a lot of positive affects on him, moans finally escaping his mouth as his member twitched. Unfortunately, this initiative turned out to have more repercussions than both of you expected, Loki’s climax progressively building up as he couldn’t help but remain quiet about it out of shame. “Y/n- I-..” loki stuttered painfully, hips thrusting forward in one great and sloppy move out of anticipation. Believing that he was only irrelevantly moaning out your name, you carried on stroking his girth without ever daring to slide your hand down his underwear.

And before both of you could tell, thick liquid sprayed out of his urethra, staining his underwear as Loki’s hands took a tight hold of the bedsheets. A guttural moan came out of his open mouth, your hand and entire body moving back as it was the first time that the demigod ever had such an eager reaction. It didn’t take too long for you to understand, both of you looking down at the stain on his underwear whilst your partner continued to pant tiredly. Eventually, his lips ended up pressing together out of shame, hand moving up to his messy hair which he sulk back in order to keep his anxious self occupied.

“I’m sorry..” he spoke, avoiding eye contact which allowed you to understand his mental state. Carefully, your body moved closer to his, placing himself behind his back and allowing you arms to wrap around his chest. “Hey.. it’s okay. It happens.” You whispered before laying a kiss against his cheek, though all you received in return was an inaudible groan. Whilst you thought about ways to make your partner feel better, Loki couldn’t help but once again think about the fact that this kind of accident probably never happened to his “perfect” brother. Unfortunately, those intrusive thoughts only managed to make him feel even more miserable.

Seeing how he wasn’t answering anything nor even taking the pain to look up at you, you took the initiative to move before his sitting silhouette. “This doesn’t make me want you any less. At least, we now know everything is working perfectly.” You spoke with a chuckle, hoping that this will help to lighten his mood. Loki’s eyes finally flickered up at you, smirk progressively forming on his face as he suddenly took the decision to crawl on top of you. Now that he had released once, the demigod had the guarantee that he would probably be able to make this intercourse last for a while. Or at least, he wished so.

A happy laugh escaped your lips, feeling glad that Loki had finally got his tricks and malice back to enhance this moment. Once again, his lips pressed against yours as he made his way between your legs, the cum stain rubbing against your inner thigh. Your back arched, initiating penetration and allowing your partner to understand that you now felt ready for more than rubbing and kissing. Loki’s confidence dropped slightly as he stopped his movements, head looking down at your crotch in apprehension and fear. Even if he was as eager through this moment as you were, the young man knew that he held the responsibility of taking your virginity as painlessly as he potentially could. And this was seemingly a duty he felt anxious with.

You could tell that the demigod seemed intimidated by what was soon going to occur, yet your mouth didn’t speak any words and that mostly due to anxiety progressively taking over your own self. Carefully, Loki’s hands firstly slid down his underwear; allowing his hard member to spring out of the confines of his tight briefs. Your head didn’t even tilted up in order to look at it, secretly feeling intimidated by the potential sight of masculine genitals. Though, you at least decided to slide your own panties down, your completely naked self laying underneath the young man and patiently waiting for him to break through your hymen.

Nervously, Loki’s forearm made sure to keep his body above yours in order to guarantee maximum comfort whilst his hand held his girth in order to properly align it with your entrance. When his tip finally collided with your wet slit, a shaky breath escaped your lips which probably betrayed the fact that you indeed felt as anxious as he did. Yet, you accepted to offer him your entire trust and didn’t do anything to put an end to the soon to occur vaginal penetration. Once the demigod believed that his girth was properly lined up with your own genitals, his other forearm made its way back up and landed beside your head to guarantee him great stability.

In a caring manner, Loki’s lips pressed against yours- his main goal being to distract your mind from the what he expected to be slightly painful penetration. And as he carried on moving his mouth against yours, his hips carefully moved forward, forcing his tip inside of your entrance as slowly as he could. Soon enough, the amount flesh broke through your hymen, allowing his full member to penetrate inside of your sensitive self. A high pitched wince escaped your lips as your eyelids shut close, Loki’s face pressing against your cheek as he took the decision to immediately reach balls deep, believing that it was probably better for him to put an end to your misery as soon as possible. Besides, he wouldn’t deny feeling absolutely impatient about finally getting to be inside of you.

The new sensation of his cock being trapped by your warm walls caused his breath to shiver, body squirming as his knees lost control and slipped along the silk sheets of the bed- causing both of your stomachs to collide together. He waited for a couple of seconds, waiting for your body to ease up and for your entrance to adjust to his size before he allowed himself to start thrusting in and out of you. You arms wrapped around his muscular back, eyes remaining closed as the pain progressively turned into pleasure. You moaned, shockwaves of pleasure going through your body as your partner seemed to perfectly know how to satisfy you and your sexual desires.

“Loki..” you moaned in his ear, enhancing his state and encouraging him to slowly start to upper his pace. Even though he wasn’t necessarily keeping an even pace, it was still enough to make your pussy throb. Besides, the way his pelvis collided with your clit only managed to make it feel even better. Both of you were as vulnerable as one another, sharing the same amount of love and passion. “You’re so tight..” he whispered vulnerably, keeping his voice low as he insisted on maintaining his energy locked in order to spend it with his hips rather than his mouth.

Apparently, it hadn’t taken your partner a while to stack more semen up even though he had released a couple of minutes ago. Progressively, his thrusts started to get sloppier and sloppier, hands clenching against the pillows as lustful groans would eventually escape his lips until he finally came inside of you. The sensation of his warm cum staining your walls and cervix caused you to moan yourself, hands wrapped around his back in a passionate manner as you made sure to keep his muscular body close to yours. Unfortunately, lust and excitement unfortunately hadn’t allowed you to think about the consequences this gesture would obviously have.

Raising his body in order to look down at you, his green orbs nervously collided with yours as his lips remained parted, soft pants escaping his mouth whilst his hips remained physically connected to yours. You were as messy as he was, a couple of sweat droplets staining the back of your neck- a spectacle which was thankfully hidden by your hair. Pulling out, Loki then allowed his bare body to fall down beside yours, hand resting onto his bulging stomach as he stared up at the ceiling. You followed this breathing pace, chest rising up and down as your body was progressively trying to get over the intense intercourse which had just taken place, and barely ended a couple of seconds ago.

[ 4/4 ]

Sorry for taking so long! Here’s part four. Lots of love. Would you guys like me to make a new series or imagine, connected to this one, where the reader finds out that she is pregnant? Let me know! It would probably be centered around an argument.

[gaiuswrites]

King of Cups || Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Page of Swords

Archive: ao3 | masterlist | three

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Summary: You attempt a new skill. Mando attempts to teach you.

Word count: 4.7k~

Rating: Mature

Warnings/tags: gun usage/mentioning throughout, mature language, pining, more dirty thots-ish, angst because why not, does this count as fluff? sure, gun kink if you squint w/o your glasses

Notes: As the reader (you/us) begins to become more familiar with Mando, his perspective starts bleeding in to the narrative, without a blocked off POV. Also, the reader’s past will start weaving (incoherently?) into the story as well. The large italicized chunks denote past tense interactions (which is probably obvious but who knows any more). Cheers x (gif credit: @djarinsgf)

A shot rings out.

Birds explode from the canopy with offended squawks, squalling in a winged flurry to scatter every which way until they recede again into the green, disappearing back into their hiding places. You groan. You thought you’d be better at this.

It’s not that you thought you were some sort of savant, you just didn’t expect to be this bad. Honestly, it’s embarrassing—you’re embarrassingly terrible— like statistically, you should have hit something by now, but you just keep missing—a crowded tree line in front of you, and not a scratch in sight—nary a singed branch nor a bullet holed trunk. It’s almost impressive how poor of a shot you are—and you would be, if you weren’t so damn exasperated with the whole affair. With a frustrated grunt, you throw your hands up, brandishing the weapon haphazardly.

“Careful,” Mando warns slyly, “you could hurt someone with that thing.”

“Yeah, well at least I’d hit something,” you grumble.

The kid had been fussy - almost unbearably so - in the weeks that followed your short stint on Bajic, and your party was itching for some time off the Razor Crest. After his third tantrum in a day, Mando decided to land on some unknown planet you couldn’t even spell to stretch your legs and take a breather.

You had almost sobbed when you saw him drag his menagerie of weaponry over. You knew what this meant, you knew what came next—his weekly, routine buff.

You think he’s doing it on purpose.

Ever since the first time, when you damn near had a conniption ogling him, you swear it’s like he’s doing it just to mess with you. He isn’t—of course he isn’t, rationally you knew that, in fact there was plenty of evidence to the contrary. He’s a Mandalorian—weapons are apart of his religion for kriff’s sake—but Maker does it seem intentional. Premeditated. It’s like you can feel the blistering ray of his gaze on you as he takes his time, roving a leathered hand over the bulge of the shaft—greasing it, stripping it, part by metal part…

It’s all in your head, you told yourself. It’s all in your fucking head and you need to get a grip.

Immediately you sprang into action, busying yourself with anything you could get your stupid, little hands on—in this case, being one of his many blasters.

“I wanna give it a go,” you said.

He let you, surprisingly. He hesitated, at first, his helmet tipping at a disbelieving angle. But he gave in—it took less effort on your part than you’d figured—and Mando conceded. He obliged.

How hard could it be? You thought.

Famous last words.

He’s parked there, settled on a throne of crates pushed flush to the Crest, slouched against the outer hull of the ship as he cleans, from the looks of it, every item in his arsenal—a front row seat to your pathetic endeavor and you’re failing—epically, ridiculously—shot after errant shot.

You line yourself up, scrunching your face in concentration as you bare the blaster in your hands. Maybe this time…

You fire off a round and an animal scampers scared in the thicket. Nothing. Another sublime miss.

You hear a noise come from Mando’s direction, something subtle like a blip of static through his helmet - Maker, he’s laughing at you - and you pivot around to him.

“What,” you ask, although it's less of a question and more of a griping pout. He replies with silence, that fickle language he's mastered to perfection all on his own, his focus pitched down to the bristled rod he’s driving in and out of his rifle, scouring out the residue from the inner barrel. “Ugh, what Mando?” you say, just shy of a whine, one hand slotted on your hip, the other dangling by your side, the pistol foreign and cumbersome in your grasp.

“Didn’t say anything,” he replies with a half shrug, his pauldrons shifting so imperceptibly you almost miss it. You pause, hurling him a look that misses him completely before you heave a frustrated sound.

“Fine, you show me how it’s done then.”

The T of his visor finds you. Its cold and unknowable as he rolls his helmet, tilting it up to you, hands slowing their ministrations to a rest. He’s wears a glare, carved into the steel hollow of the plates—unamused and smoldering—and with it, you feel small; microscopic and withering under his pointed gaze— suddenly too exposed in the open patch of jungled wilderness they’ve landed in and your mouth tweaks, teeth grazing the plush there. You assume he won’t do it. There’s no way he’ll rise to such obvious of a challenge, but he’s sighing—you can see it in the slant of his armor—and marching towards you before you can take it back, drawing closer and closer until Mando’s slated in front of you, expectant and postured and you forget— like the skip of a record, you forget why he’s even there— not a foot before you— and your eyes dance across his helm, flickering back and forth.

“May I?” he nods down to the pistol in your hand and you start - oh, shit - and offer it to him clumsily.

Mando squares off against the untamed green. The air lays hot and sticky around them. There is no trace of wind, no glimmer of breeze, and his cape hangs mute down his back. You’d never seen him fire his weapon. He surrounded himself with them, sure, always had at least two strapped to him at all times— probably even slept with one, you reckon— but you’ve never seen him use one.

With one solid movement, he cranes his arm, taking aim.

Now, you aren’t one to condone violence, but he just looks right doing it; an extension of himself with how natural it is, how innate— an added appendage, born unto him. The pistol looks good in his fist, like it couldn’t possibly belong anywhere else, the orange tips of his glove curling around the hilt, looping over that sensitive release.

He has practiced hands. Methodical. Sturdy. It’s sensual, to watch him like this. Pornographic even— sacrilege in a way. A part of you wants to look away and turn your gaze, grant him privacy as he handles the blaster— delicately, confidently. It’s intimate.

The pistol croons in his palm. She bends, supple and lilting. He knows just where to touch, where to stroke— she does anything he tells her. She melts for him.

Warmth pools in your mouth. Mando pulls the trigger.

He lands an impressive shot onto an impossibly narrow tree trunk nestled further in, and your features contort with amazement. Maybe you want to see it again—like a nosy neighbor peeping in through drawn curtains. Maybe you’re being reckless and smarmy, and maybe you know it. A Mandalorian’s got a gun in his hand and you’re prodding him - brilliant strategy, top marks - but your adrenaline is pumping something fierce and you feel yourself grow bold with each seize of your heart.

“Lucky shot,” you huff.

He pans to you, lolling his head, visor locked onto your face. Without flinching, without gracing you with a remark, he raises his arm and fires— doesn’t even have to kriffing look. The scorch mark sizzles - haughtily, jeering - no more than a few inches away from the first. You nearly choke on the arrogance of it— the lazy, smug performance— like he can’t be bothered with any of it, as if your taunts are all so beneath him.

You have to bite down on your lip to stop it from snaking into a wicked grin.

Mando offers the pistol back to you, flipping it grip-side up in a fancy flourish before striding - strutting - back to his post. You shake your head, a determined set to your jaw and you retake your aim, squinting in the hazy afternoon light, pulling the trigger— and nothing happens.

Again, click. Nothing, click after fruitless click. You make a face, pinching—

“Safety’s on.”

You flush, thanking the Maker that your back is towards him, and switch it down with your thumb. “Right,” you mumble sheepishly, wetting your lip. You align your sights, bracing yourself for the impact—

“It’s your stance.”

Three words.

Three words, the only solace Mando provides before devoutly returning to his work.

You wait for him to elaborate, to edify you— for any manner of sage advice— but the explanation never comes; he leaves you like this, marooned with three fucking words and you have to screw your eyes shut. This man is baffling— maddeningly unhelpful— infuriatingly sparse. It makes you want to howl and rip your hair out— and you whip around violently.

“What about my st-”

Your question comes scampering to a halt, tail between your legs, throat gone dry. Mando has planted himself directly behind you— standing so close you can see your reflection in his beskar, see the blush blurring your cheek under the alien sun.

“What uh, what about my stance?” you ask, mousier now, swallowed up by the sheer size of him so near to you.

“It’s not wide enough.”

You glance down at your feet before looking back up to him. “What do you mean?”

“Turn around,” he says.

You quirk your brow at him before he repeats himself. “Turn around and spread your legs. Hips distance apart.”

Fuck, he has no business sounding like that— like bourbon and smoke and iron tang—but you do as he says. You’re shakier than you want to be— you wish you could be cool and collected but you’re not. You’re anything but, and you’re nervous. Maker, Mando makes you nervous— it’s not just the weapon in your hand, it’s him— setting you off and giving you butterflies like you’re some sort of forlorn schoolgirl. You’re a grown woman, and this is what he’s rendered you to— jittery, molten mush. It’s embarrassing. Fucking mortifying.

You guess it’s the day for it.

He doesn’t touch you, but it hardly matters; you can sense him there all the same, a shadow in your peripheral. He leaves a thick breath of space between your bodies and with your back towards him, you can feel the waves of heat radiate off the bounty hunter, pulsing out out out from him and it’s almost intolerable— as if you’ve flown too close to the sun, waxed wings melting in pearled streaks down your spine.

You scuttle your feet open, parting just outside your hips.

“Arms up,” he says, and you hoist them into position. You’re sure you look as awkward as you feel, if not more, all the angles of your body feeling perfectly wrong and misplaced. “Relax your elbows,” he adds, and you do— you try to, at least.

“Too much. Somewhere in between.”

You try again, strengthening through your triceps and down your forearms.

“Better,” Mando gives. You think you feel him nodding approvingly behind you. “The important-”

Kriff, you panic.

You spin towards him, dropping your form and cutting him off with a humbled, worried look, throwing up barricades and hurdles— landmines for him to dodge. Or step on.

“Wait hey Mando, you don’t- I don’t want to take up your time,” you begin.

“You aren’t.”

“I’m serious, I don’t want to bother you with this.”

“You’re not.”

You blink.

“If you’re going to do this, you’re going to do it right.”

He speaks so plainly, unvarnished and matte— unflinchingly earnest in a way that gives you pause. It leaves no wiggle room for interpretation and you sigh, defeated, shoulders slumping as you haul yourself back around.

“Arms up,” he reiterates, but there’s no malice there; he sounds kind— untroubled. It always surprises you how mild he can be— Mando should be anything but, he’d have every reason to, but he’s calm. Patient. You wonder if he even realizes it, if he even recognizes the tenor of his own voice— how gentle it can be— under the helmet. Despite it.

“Think of your posture as firm, without tensing,” Mando explains. “Soften your knees, don’t lock them— same goes for your arms— don’t stiffen against the recoil, let your body absorb it.”

You mirror what he coaches, shooting him a curious, hopeful look over your shoulder.

“There. Good,” he says. “Now, which is your dominant eye?”

Your arms fall down to your sides. “My what?”

“Dominant eye.”

You give him a baffled look like he’s speaking another language - in all fairness, he is - and Mando emits another puff of air through his modulator, chortling.

“Eye dominance. We’re all either right handed or left handed. Eyes work the same— right eyed or left eyed. We favor one or the other— you’ll focus that one to aim.”

Oh, huh.

You still appreciatively, basking in the novelty of the information. “Really? I didn’t know that. That’s- that’s actually pretty interesting,” you muse. “Brains and brawn, huh?” You flash a cheeky grin back at him.

Mando grunts, nondescript and unaffected and robotic but he swears he can feel pink creep over his clavicle, tainting the tan of his skin concealed there.

He fits his gloved hand over yours, if only for a second, and you do your best to ignore the rough patch of his leather grazing against the thin flesh there. You try to ignore the chill that sweeps across the curve of your waist, how the peach fuzz prickles up, electrified and magnetized, as he unfurls your fingers from the gun, letting it slip from your grasp. He tucks it under his arm, keeping it pinned there with his bicep.

“Hold your hands out like this.” Mando shows you, creating an oval with his fingers— like a view finder or a scope. You mimic him, feeling like every bit of an idiot, but you don’t contradict him— you do as he does. “Now, set your focus out on a fixed point through your hands,” he instructs and you do, setting your sights on a gnarled tree branch.

“Got it?” he asks.

“Got it,” you respond.

“Now alternate closing each eye. The image should stay in the frame with one, and then shift out of it with the other.”

You frown, concentrating, and close the right before blinking over to the left— kriff, he’s right.

“Oh shit,” you mumble. “My left. It’s my left eye.”

“You sure?”

You check again, squinting through either eye, the tree bouncing in and out of the frame of your fingers. “Mhm. Yeah, my left eye keeps it centered.”

He makes a thoughtful sound. “Left eyed but right handed. Interesting,” Mando murmurs.

You glance up to him, dropping your hands. “Why is that interesting?”

“Not common. The brain’s typically wired the same way all the way down— one side of the body will be dominant. It’s not usually split.”

“You telling me my brain doesn’t work properly, Mando?” you quip dryly.

“You said it, not me.”

He holds the blaster out to you and you swipe it from him with a huffed snort, returning towards the tree line and stars your face hurts. Your face hurts and it’s burning with this asinine smile that’s digging mercilessly into your cheeks. It makes you want to massage your jaw, get the damn thing to relax. Honestly, it makes you want to give yourself a slap.

“Make sure to cross your center with it. Line it up towards the left.”

“Maker, do you think about all this every time you shoot?” you ask, mystified, as you fix your aim.

“Muscle memory takes over eventually. You’ll get there with enough practice.” Mando replies gruffly and you guffaw, loud and wonderfully ugly. You seriously doubt it.

After a series of very near misses— you are getting closer, you’ll give yourself that— your arms grow tired; the joints and muscles protest as you extend them out from your body, taut and tense— the gun dead weight in your wobbly hands.

Your shoulder smarts where you injured the tendon in the explosion. You roll it out, earning snaps and pops as it notches over the bone there. They told you you were lucky. They congratulated you - it’s not a complete tear! - and it’s on the mend well enough, but it’s weak. It doesn’t matter the weight of the object.

The longer you hold anything, the heavier it feels.

You suppose you could throw in the towel at any point, but the fact of the matter— as terrible and true as it may be— is you want to impress him. That awful, nagging feeling— you want to impress the Mandalorian. You want him proud of you— you want to be nice and shiny for him to admire, like one of the guns he polishes until it’s sparkling, until he can mount it on display and show it off. It’s absolutely nauseating— but you couldn’t stop it even if you wanted to, and you don’t. You don’t want to.

He isn’t blind to it. He sees the exertion, the tax— how beads of sweat congress around your temples, dampening the base of your scalp, butterfly kissing your skin with a sheen. A trail of wet salt, one lone pilgrim, ventures down the back of your neck, wandering lower and lower, past the hem of your shirt, disappearing into the soft valley of your spine where Mando can’t follow. His throat bobs rough against his cowl.

Transferring the pistol into one hand, you shake out the other, flexing through it and relaxing your grip.

“Wait,” he says and you cock your head back at him. Mando’s retreating to his pile of guns, rifling through the metal anthill before selecting something sleek and chrome. “Here,” you exchange pistols, giving him back the bulkier of the two. Immediately you feel the relief of this new one— it’s lighter and smaller, slighter in your grasp, too— and you turn it over in your hands, noting the way the nozzlelike barrel glitters in the sun.

You’d almost consider it pretty if it weren’t a literal killing machine.

“That’s a CDEF model. Lightweight, reliable, Dedlanite casing, standard issue for CorSec officers.”

You nod along, as if you have any clue what he’s talking about— you don’t. You really, truly don’t.

“Should be easier.”

“Mm,” you hum out in ignorant agreement, slotting your arms back up into position.

“Don’t put your finger on the trigger until you’re ready to fire.” You rest it against the slide of the barrel, hovering nearby.

Mando shifts closer towards you, the grass grinding under his feet as he takes a half step in to your backside.

“Breathe. Don’t hold it in. Let me hear it.”

Fuck, this feels like a sin; this small gap of distance he’s erected between you as tense, as strained and feverish, as whispered confessions in the dark. Like sneaking back into your parent’s house late at night— the morning moon peering down at you with a heavy lidded gaze— knowing, knowing, keeping your secrets to herself, pressing them to her chest, winking sleepily.

It would be so much easier, so much simpler, if he just put his hands on you. Placed your body where he knows it should be, force you into the shapes and positions he’s so intimate with himself, but he doesn’t. He draws it out. He respects your space and autonomy and it makes it worse. Your imagination fills the void separating you two, and it’s running wild and rampant and depraved and—

“Focus,” he utters, his voice no louder than a purr. You’ve never heard something so mechanical make a sound so deliriously smooth, and you have to suppress a nervous scoff. Focus, he says, as if he isn’t suffocating you with how close he’s standing— as if you aren’t enjoying it— as if you aren’t vibrating down to your very bones at the proximity of the bounty hunter—so close, you bet he can hear them, rattling and slapping against each other deep beneath your skin.

“Remember what I said about your posture,” he suggests quiet-like and murmured, without a trace of condescension there—a harmless reminder. You make the adjustment, fixing your shoulders down your back, and release the stress in your arms.

“Firm without tensing,” you respond under your breath—more for your sake than his— striking it from your mental checklist.

“‘Atta girl.”

No.

No no no, Maker, you feel it. You can fucking feel it—how something low and resonant spasms beyond your belly, the clench of your empty cunt at the encouragement—the heady praise of it all.

Atta girl.

He said it softly - rudely husky - just above a whisper, something tailored specifically for you—almost like it slipped from his lips and he didn’t even notice its passing. It meandered out of him, so easy—too easy. It practically sauntered.

You’re trembling— stars, you hope Mando doesn’t see it. It’s humid and muggy and yet you’re shaking as if it’s freezing, as if you’ve got icicled snot dripping from your nose, and your nerves go haywire, fraying in every direction as you sip in a whistled breath.

You can do this. You can do this. Focus.

“Take the shot,” he orders.

Focus.

Pressing into the slope of the trigger, you fire.

You gasp excitedly— a surprised, whooping laugh tearing through you and you whip around, giddy and beaming - bright, beautiful - a lock of hair sticking to your lip. It’s the youngest, the freest, Mando’s ever seen you; maybe the happiest, too, and his stomach twists at the sight, a tourniquet cinching around him, winding and coiling until he’s convinced it’ll burst. His fingers twitch, every instinct begging him— demanding him— to reach out and return the stray strand behind your ear alongside the others but you beat him to it. Deftly, you flit it away yourself instead, and he’s relieved.

Devastated, too. Gutted.

“Did you see that?” you ask, gleeful as a child.

He pries himself off you, dragging his gaze over your shoulder to where you struck the trunk, a coaled mark charred there into the bark, before returning his attention back to you. You meet his eyes, despite the blackness of his helm— you hold them, for a breathless, ageless moment, you hold him there.

“Not bad.”

He can’t muffle the jolt of his heart as it rumbles through his chest, breaking his mouth wide open into an aching smirk. He doesn’t know if you hear it. He fears you might.

He prays you do.

///

“Cooling vents,”

Metal scrapes against the table as you place the delicate bits down, deconstructing the blaster. The Mandalorian nods, silent as a specter.

“Gas refill valve,”

Another clunk.

“Actuating blaster…” You turn over a particularly knobby bulb before peeking up at Mando through your lashes, a wry grin tugging rosy and coy at your lips. “… thing-”

“Module,” Din corrects.

“Module, right, that’s what I said.”

He sits across the galley from you, arms folded over his chest as he eases back against the hull of the ship, overseeing as you take apart the blaster, the slender little thing he gave to you - he rarely uses it anyways - as you name the pieces and parts just like he’s taught you.

“Keep it,” he told you.

You resisted. You fought it, laughed it off incredulously— stubborn to the end— argued you wouldn’t even have a need for it.

“What am I gonna do with a gun, Mando?” you balked, and Maker he’d hoped you’d never have to use it, would never have to see a firefight in your damn life let alone be in the middle of one, but he wants you to have it— have a part of him, strapped to your hip— the closest he’ll get.

He’s selfish. Din is a greedy, selfish man. He wants to see himself on you, wants you to carry him around like a souvenir from something unforgettable— something irreplaceable— a memory like warm bathwater you dip into long after it passes, and he’ll take whatever he can get— just like you, hungry for anything you’re gracious enough to feed him. And fuck, if he doesn’t hate it— doesn’t want to bury that feeling, cold and lifeless, six feet under the earth. No ceremony. No elegies. Dead and gone, returning to the dust from whence it came, crawling back into the ribcage it sprung from.

Din said your name. Firm— gentle, too.

“Keep it.”

They’ve been at this ever since you managed to hit the target that first time. Hours have passed, dawdling by on the fat little legs of a toddler, plodding and slow. The sun had set, and winged bugs the length of your palm had taken up residency in the dark rainforest, making themselves known with a haunting tune, screeching and singing into the lush wood. After the child had tried making a pass at one, no doubt in the mood for a quick snack - isn’t he always - you had agreed to retire back inside the Crest.

You were so excited, your whole face lit up— like fireworks he remembered once, through the eyes of a boy in the summered night— and you wanted more; like a sponge, sopping up all you could, sucking Din in and ringing him out for it and fuck, he couldn’t say no.

He can’t say no to you.

You start prattling out questions about everything and nothing - what blaster do you prefer, do you have a favorite rifle, what’s the difference between plasma and gas charges, you have a flamethrower on your wrist? - and before long you get him lecturing, going on about weapon safety and trigger discipline and slide bites and ammunition rounds and gun brands and serial numbers and Din knows this isn’t you. You’re a borderline pacifist for kriff’s sake— he’s almost certain that if push came to shove, you’d rather lay down your life than take one. You’re no gunslinger, and you don’t hold any aspirations to become one.

But here you are, fist tucked under your chin and leaning in to him, hanging off his every word.

You have no personal interest in weapons. Frankly you’d be pleased if you never held a gun again in your life. No, and whether Mando realizes it or not, you want to know because it’s him. You want to know him. And maybe it’s because its the most he’s given to you since you stepped foot aboard the Razor Crest— almost a month, and what you’ve gotten from him today alone has been more than he’s given in weeks— not a door so much as it is a window into his life, an allowance, a glimpse behind the beskar. Its more attention, more words and insights, more tiny gestures and maybe you’ve been a little starved for it— maybe you’ll eat up any scraps Mando tosses with a calloused glove, molded and rotting, from his plate.

Even if it’s this, even if its fucking firearms.

You want to know.

It’s who you are: it doesn’t matter what someone’s passionate about, you’re interested in their interests. You care what they care about. If they matter, then it matters. It’s who you are, webbed and weaved into the innermost fabric of your being, and you can’t pretend to be anything else; you don’t know how to unbecome.

You’re splayed before him— a bleating heart, kaleidoscoping and blooming and twisting in his hands. If only you could pry open your chest— turn yourself inside out at the seams, spill yourself to splatter, sanguined and slippery right there on the deck. You’d do it, if you could.

Am I loving enough  Am I giving enough  Have I paid my debts  Am I worth this now, finally— Worth that which I offer, have I earned it back

So effortless, this vignette, seated here in his galley, dismembering a blaster and labeling the parts, terminology klutzy on your tongue— tripping over yourself just to get it out— looking to him for hints and clues, fluttering your doe eyes with cartoonish bats.

He answers. You laugh. He smiles.

The kid is in his pram, entranced by all the shiny baubles and bobbins just out of his reach - thank the Maker -  and giggles at their little game— happy, for once, just to watch.

You and me both kid, Din thinks. You and me both.

[tteokdoroki]

💜-But imagine that for the past week both katsuki and Eijiro have been so teasing towards you, that you decide to get a little revenge. When they are both asleep you managed to tie their arms up, leaving them exposed to you. You decide for all their teasing to tease them back. You slide under the covers and begin to give kirishima’s cock little kitten licks while gently stroking katsuki’s cock, you hear their groans and you feel them squirm under their touch.

“What the fuck,” you hear katsuki say, his legs squirming while you stroke his cock. Then Kiri wakes up just as confused. You know they aren’t gonna be happy at your actions, but that can be considered payback for this week.

You hear Eijiro moan as you run your tongue up the length of his cock, circling it around the tip,”fuck, pebble, what do you think you’re doing?” Eijiro groans.

You hum around his cock, picking up the pace while you stroke katsuki’s cock. Switching from a slow teasing stroke to something fast. You take your mouth off of Eijiro’s cock and switch to katsuki’s. Your hand grips Eijiro and begins to do slow teasing strokes enjoying hearing Eijiro’s groans from being so close to cumming but kept on the edge, and hearing katsuki moan.

“ don’t be a tease pebble, you don’t want to be punished.” Eijiro warned.

“Ohhh, I’m so scared,” you mocked. Unfortunately for you, that was the last straw. You heard a loud crack and heavy rope drop to the floor, the blankets and covers were thrown off of you. Two strong hands grab your arm and waist, hauling you up towards katsuki, one hand grabs both arms and presses them against your back, the other hand grabs your face, forcing you to look up at his angry red eyes.

“Awww, you thought you could dom us didn’t you? How stupid. But I guess you’re just our dumb little slut, huh? “Katsuki says, you can feel kirishima binding your hands together behind your back.

“Now pebble, I thought you would have known better. I think our dumb little slut needs to be reminded who is in control here. “ Eijiro says slapping your ass, “I guess this is going to be a nice way to break in that paddle,”he laughs as katsuki grabs your squirming body, turning you to lay on his lap, arms bound together in the middle of your back.

“Remember your safe word baby, what are they?” Katsuki says pressing the cold wooden paddle against your bare ass gently, letting you get a feel first.

“Red is stop, yellow is slow down, green means okay,” you reply.

“And if you can’t talk?” He asks

“ three taps,”

“Good girl.” Eijiro says, grabbing your face. He loves to make you hold eye contact during your punishments, seeing your crying face, how your face gets red.

Without warning katsuki swings the wooden paddle down on your ass, making a loud smacking noise. You have to hold back your moans.

“Count. You know what you’re supposed to do. “ katsuki warns, bringing the paddle down again.

“One, thank you master,”

By the tenth strike, your ass is breath red, tears are streaming down your face and your struggles have died down.

You feel katsuki’s hand wander between your legs, a finger slides in your soaking wet folds, you release a moan by accident.

“Did you learn your lesson brat? Or do you need more than just the paddle? Your ass is already red hot, and you’re practically dripping on my lap. Making a fucking mess,” katsuki says.

“I’m sorry master, I’m sorry daddy.” You apologize through tears. Katsuki grabs your bound arms and hauls you up into a sitting position,”don’t ever try that shit again, got it?” Katsuki says, you nod your head yes.

“Good, now clean up your mess,”he commands, pushing your face down towards his lap, making you lick up your juices.

You feel something cold on your ass, making your squirm. One quick spank makes you stop immediately,”stay still pebble, this is gonna help. “ he says rubbing that cold gel on your burning ass. He keeps on trailing his fingers around your second hole. He pushes a lubed up finger in your ass, making you moan.

“ oh, does our little slut like it when her ass is played with? “ Eijiro asks, sliding a finger to feel your wet cunt,”oh you’re practically dripping,” he says with a laugh. He opens a drawer, taking out the plug katsuki and he loves.

“Relax pebble, enjoy this,” you feel the luved up plug make its way into your ass, stretching you out so nicely.

“Fuck, you look so hot with that plug pebble. Turn around, let your master see,” you obey, turning around to face Eijiro. Your eyes train on his large cock, he grabs your head and guides your mouth to his cock, you feel two hands on your waist, guiding your wet pussy above katsuki’s cock. Hands guiding you to bounce on his cock while kirishima’s hands guide you to take him deep.

“Good girl, you’re sucking me do good, trying to compensate for being a brat earlier? Why don’t you make us cum, “ Kiri taunts as katsuki begins to thrust harder and faster, fingers rubbing you clit. You moan around Eijiro’s cock.

“She is so fucking wet, taking us like a good slut,” katsuki says as his thrusts grow harder and faster.

“Fuck baby, you gonna cum? Cum all over my cock with Eijiro’s cock in your mouth. Cum like the good slut you are,” katsuki commands rubbing your clit harder. Your legs are shaking and your muffled moans fill the room.

“Swallow me pebble, I don’t want you to waste a fucking drop, got it,” you moan again, cumming around katsuki’s cock as kirishima fills your moth with cum.

“Fuck her pretty cunt is milking me dry,” katsuki groans, cumming deep in your pussy.

“Fuck pebble, that was so fucking hot. You were so good for us, good girl,” kirishima says pulling out of your mouth, katsuki carefully pulls out of your pussy, an arm under your stomach, forcing your ass to stay high in the air, exposing your pussy filled with cum and your butt plug.

“ so fucking good baby,”

Probably part 1

CRACKS KNUCKES ESKETIT

this again will probably be long so let’s tag it and add some warnings <33

katsuki bakugou x fem!reader, eijiro kirishima x fem!reader

warning(s): unprotected sex, light somnophilia, blowjobs, master/daddy kink, heavy degredation, pain play, using a paddle, restraints, cum play, ass play, humiliation, dacryphilia wew ok !!

author’s notes: i wrote this with red LED lights on hehe also sorry it took a while aa

can you imagine the surprise on katsuki’s face when he wakes up to the feeling of your tiny hand wrapped around his shaft, palming him for all his worth? boy is probably going to trip because A) its super fucking hot the way your thumb rubs over his leaking tip every once and a while, brushing between his slit in a way that has his eyes rolling and B) he hates when you get the one up on him, for bakugou, its all about having power and control over you, you’re supposed to be bakugou’s little bitch and even though his bitch in heat sucks his cock like a goddess, swallowing him deep just like he taught you, it makes him mad to his very core that you’d even try to dom him when he knows you’re just a pathetic subby bunny.

kirishima, i’d like to think, is a little less of a hard dom compared to katsuki for the most part. poor boy is almost embarrased at how he whimpers when he jumps awake and finds your lips wrapped sweetly around his red hot cock, he loves it when you look up at him from under the sheets, a drooly mess all for him. eiji wants you to slobber all over him, watch as a mix of drool and. precum. slides down your chin and drips between his balls and your hands, god your hands make him feel like he’s reached the gates of heaven-- but he’s upset with you, his little baby should know better than to try a stunt like this on her master while he’s asleep, so of course a punishment is in order.

the paddle is of course a purchase of katsuki’s, but it doesn’t mean eijirou doesnt like using it on you any less than the blonde. the way it makes your cute ass jiggle and the way it makes tears sting tracks down your cheeks is enough to rouse a boner out of tthe red head. and of course,  katsuki likes it when you’re all marked up and writhing in pain, its like some kind of high for him and gets him off just to see you as a blubbering mess.

they like to humiliate you when you pull stunts like this, calling you out for being such a cry baby in the way you jump and twitch at the simple press of thick digits against your clit. not to mention how you shamefully wail as eijirou eases the cute little butt. plug between your cheeks, you hate to admit how much you love it. a spit roasted slut is what you are, bounded as katsuki easily slides into your pussy, soaked from the punishment you so obediently endured.  he groans at how tight you are, how well you take him even when sore and in pain-- while kirishima gets a full view of the way your eyes roll into the back of your head as he sinks into your hot mouth, his own moan falling freely from his lips.

they fuck you until you’re a trembling, limp, leaking mess who doesn’t know whats up or whats down. your holes so eagerly swallow them up that it drives them insane, even as they paint you white inside and out. eijirou’s cum slips from the corner of your mouth but he forces it back in with slow and steady thrusts,  lifting your head by your hair to use the sight of your tears as material to get off. your spasmining orgasm is what trigger’s bakugou’s, his sharp thrusts easing into pathetic grinds as he breeds your pussy like he’s trying to knock you up-- thick seed liniing your womb.

[scuttle-buttle]

WC: 1973

Rated: E

Tags: technically unprotected smut, fluff, tiny bit of german

✈

“Have you checked the gauges?”

“Yes, Niki,” you huff at his question through your microphone. This was at least the third time he’d asked you to go over everything.

“What about fuel?”

You point to the little meter that showed the tank levels. “Still full.” Your husband turns to face you in the cockpit of the small plane. The look he gives you is one of false annoyance. You know he’s just doing this to be as safe as possible, to minimize risk. “Sorry, sorry,” you offer him a guilty grin. Your husband’s brow cocks before he turns back to the dashboard panel.

His little private jet only held capacity for maybe 8 people total, but today it was just you and your husband. He always said he would teach you how to fly but you never figured that you would be brave enough to follow through with learning. Now here you sit, engine purring under you, a pair of thick headphones over your ears. For the first time Niki was going to let you handle your flight - all of it. Of course, he still had the ability to use the controls on his side of the small cabin, but he made it clear that he would only do so in case of a serious emergency.

“Everything has been checked over and ready for flight,” you confirm.

He tilts his head to offer you a smile. “Gut. When you are ready, Liebling.”

Taking a deep breath, you open up the radio communication line with the air traffic control tower. You recite the technical jargon that Niki had taught you. “This is Lauda 1 requesting clearance for taxi and take off on runway B, north side, over.”

Static comes over the line for a second. “Lauda 1 you are cleared to taxi and take off from runway B, north side, over.”

You release the brakes before pushing the throttle the faintest amount. With one hand on the yoke and the other on the lever you slowly guide the plane towards the runway. It had taken a good six months of Niki being annoyed at you calling it a ‘steering wheel’ before you finally called it by its proper term.

You lined the nose of the plane up with the lines on the runway tarmac. Once you are satisfied with your positioning you pause to let the turbines rev and build up power. With a swallow you lean towards Niki. “You won’t let me fuck this up and kill us both, right?”

“Of course not. But you don’t need to worry about that, you will be fine, Liebe. I know it.” He’s relaxed next to you, as though he’s at home sitting on the couch reading one of his racing magazines.

“If you say so. I love my brother but I’ll be damned if James gets custody of the girls,” you snark with a laugh, all while releasing the brake and pushing the throttle again. Niki’s own snort can be heard over your radio headset.

The plane accelerates under your guidance. You maintain a firm but steady grip on the controls; finally you push the thrust lever all the way. The small aircraft wobbles with friction as it speeds down the track. Suddenly, the front lifts, giving a weightless calm as the nose begins to ascend into the air.

Once you have gotten far enough off the ground you flip the switch to raise the landing gear. Niki has been silent letting you work the last five minutes or so. Over the crackle of your headsets he instructs you “that was very good. Now get us to cruising altitude.”

“Yes, sir,” you acknowledge with a mock salute.

This is by no means the first time you have been in a plane, let alone flying a plane, with your husband. But it is the first time that it is you truly flying. As you travel you admire the view in front of you. It felt like you were seeing the clouds and the sunshine for the first time. The blue nearly overwhelmed you with its vibrancy. You couldn’t help but bite your lip to hold back the way your cheeks threatened to split with how hard you were beaming. Every so often you remember to check back on the gauges and meters to ensure that everything is working properly.

You don’t notice how your husband watches you from the seat beside yours. He admires your confidence at the new skill, completing the tasks with ease. He admires how bright your eyes are, lit by happiness and the light of the sky outside the windows. He admires the fact that even after close to fifteen years of marriage you still humor him and his passions.

When you finally break away from the view to look over at Niki he’s already got his eyes on you. His bottom lip is caught in his teeth. “What?” He raises his brows in question at you. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Can I not look at my meine schöne Frau?” he teases you. Even after so many years you still feel the heat rise in your cheeks when he calls you beautiful. “You look good flying my plane. You should do it more often.” Both of your hands remain on the yoke; his hand comes to rest on your thigh, giving you a little squeeze. He leaves it there the rest of the flight.

After maybe an hour or two you have circled the jet back towards the airport. Calling in, you get clearance to land on the same runway you had departed from. Carefully you lower the plane’s altitude to prepare for landing. Flipping the switch, you can just hear the grind of the wheels as they lower.

“The trick here is-”

“You want to line the stripes on the runway next to the nose visually, otherwise it’ll be crooked and I’ll go off the tarmac,” you finish for him.

He chuckles. “See, I don’t even know why I’m here. You don’t need me.”

“Of course I need you, I always need you, Niki.”

He lets you focus as you pull back on the throttle and slow your speed, further lowering to the ground. You line up just as he taught you with the painted runway up ahead. Gently you touch down, the plane jolts as it makes contact. You brake the jet to an acceptable speed to taxi. Adrenaline courses through you. I just flew a plane! you cheer to yourself.

Once the vehicle is parked within the hangar you shut off the engine. Quickly you leave the cockpit to stretch your legs in the spacious passenger cabin. Turning to your husband, your jaw is dropped. “Is this what it feels like? Every time you drove the car? Christ, Niki, I feel like I could do anything! The absolute rush!” Niki has come up behind you, so you face him before bringing his lips to meet your own.

The kiss is full of passion and energy. It deepens as you stand there in the middle of the cabin. You push him away and down into a couch-like seat. He grunts in surprise when you forcibly yank his pants from his hips. When they are to his knees you give up in favor of pulling off your own. Niki wastes no time in tugging you back to him, his mismatched lips attaching themselves to the column of your throat. You, in turn, drag your heat along his hardening shaft. When he is ready you push his cock inside your throbbing core with a groan.

Breathily, you ask “why have we never done this before now?”

His mouth moves away from your jaw to meet your gaze. “Fucked on a plane? I didn’t know you wanted to,” he huffs in amusement.

You start to push and pull your hips at a dizzying pace above him. With each pump the ridge of his cock hits you perfectly. Niki tosses his head back in pleasure, a long moan tumbling out as your walls squeeze him. His hands help to guide your hips as you ride him. “They don’t call it joining the Mile High Club for nothing, love.”

“Not sure-” he grunts at a particularly hard snap of your pelvis “-this counts.”

You shove your fingers between his curls, a bit shorter and a few streaks of silver lining near his temples, and pull his head to rest against yours. “Are you complaining?” you breathe out along his lips. Never once does your pace falter. Instead of answering he gives you a bruising kiss.

It isn’t long before his thumb finds your center, rubbing harsh patterns against your aching clit. He knows exactly how to toss you into the abyss; exactly when you are near shattering. Within seconds you are shouting out his name, clenching around his still-pistoning cock. His own cries of bliss come shortly after.

Resting atop him, Niki rubs his fingers along your clothed back. You hum into his throat where your head lays. “You did so well today, Liebling. I’m very proud of you. Pretty soon you’ll be a better pilot than me.”

You smile into him. “Bullshit,” you laugh. “Me compared to the great Niki Lauda? Impossible.” You pinch the softness of his side.

He gives a laugh of his own, his chest rising with the action. “You never know, could surprise us all.”

You roll your head onto his shoulder to be able to look up at him better. “Mmm, but with you I’ve always known.”

Niki drops a sweet kiss to you. His expression is delicate as he peers down at where you sit atop him. He scrunches his nose as he tells you “I think I knew first. I know I did.”

You study his face for a moment. His tone is confident, like there’s no way he could possibly be wrong about when you first got together so many years ago. You know that the moment for you was pretty early, before you officially even went on your first date. Curiosity wins out. “Oh really?” You sit up on his lap. “And when was that, since you’re so sure?”

“I asked if you would rather go with Hunt than come see me at Ferrari. You nearly jumped out of your skin with how hard you cringed at the idea of him.”

You’re shocked by his confession. “Alright but he’s my brother,” you groan and laugh at the same time, “and…” you think back to that day, “wasn’t that maybe five minutes after we’d met?”

“Yes, but I did not know that at the time. I thought, ‘hmm, an attractive woman that doesn’t want to sleep with that arschloch but instead visit me at the track? She’s someone special’. And I wasn’t wrong.” He brushes a thumb on the skin of your cheek.

“You know, you always tell me that you aren’t good at these things. Romance and the like.” You look up at him from under your lashes.

“And?”

“That was such a lie, Niki. You’re always so sweet to me.”

“Only you, Liebe.”

The two of you right yourselves to leave the airport for the day. The sky is clear as you walk to his car parked outside the hangar. Reaching out, you find your husband’s hand and hold it tight. “So, when can we do this again?”

He turns to face you from where he stands next to you. “That eager for more already?”

“It’s addicting, Lauda,” you shoot back playfully. So many times since you met he had described the drive or flying as addicting. To be faster, to be better, to go harder.

Niki stops suddenly, lips pursing. “Just to be clear, are you talking about flying or the sex?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you wink.

Tag list: @ay0nha @apparrio @livvyshmiv @fictionlandslanddreams @vinylrosess @typical-bistander @ntlmundy @mymagicsuitcase @anteroom-of-death @somethingthatsaysbubbles @lieutenantn @multiversemarielle @trashbin2 @whatawildone @metalbreakfast @laura-naruto-fan1998 @greeneyedblondie44 @godidontevenknowwhat @marchingicenotes7 @mysticalexpertdaze

@loliissmut @fandom-princess-forevermore

[angry-geese]

The Devil Makes Three

Risotto x reader x Prosciutto

Warnings: nsfw. degradation/humiliation (sort of, its really just one sentence), oral (masc receiving), fingering, rough-ish sex, spit roasting, threesome. a little dubcon, the reader is eventually into it but I'm tagging it just in case. Fem!Reader

Notes: reader is responsible for a mission going wrong, hate sex ensues

The job was a bust.

You didn't listen when Prosciutto told you to wait just a few more seconds. There was an opening, so you took it. The two of you had been trailing that target all day. You were growing impatient, just wanting the job to be over. You didn't know when you'd get another one. You were just doing your job.

He didn't see it that way.

The two of you finished the job, but not without a civilian casualty. The hit was about as messy as it could get. Sometimes a few witnesses get killed—it happens—but Prosciutto always gets pissy when there's an extra target with no pay. To him, he's losing money. The extra bodies only serve to complicate things. Discretion is necessary at all costs in your line of work.

Prosciutto was silent on the drive home. You suppose it was better than yelling. If looks could kill, his would. There's no use in trying to defend yourself. It won't work. Once he has his mind set on something, there's almost no changing it.

He'll calm down eventually.

You could only hope your boss would be more forgiving.

By the time you get back, the hideout is dark. The others seem to have gone home for the night. If they were at the hideout, they made no appearance. Maybe whatever higher power is out there took pity on you, sparing you this bit of shame. Risotto's imposing figure soon appears from his office, carrying a stack of paperwork. Almost immediately he senses that something is wrong. Prosciutto takes a seat, gripping the arms of his chair so tight his knuckles turn white.

"Are you going to tell him what happened? Or do we have to wait for you to grace us with your knowledge?" Prosciutto sneers.

Risotto stops dead in his tracks. You shrink under his gaze. Even at the best of times his reaction is hard to read.

"Why the hell do I have to do it?!" You ask.

"Because you fucked up the mission!"

It's a fair point, but you're not going to let him have the satisfaction of admitting that he's right. You don't exactly have a defense here. There's only so much you can do to protect the shred of pride you have left.

Risotto's larger figure presses into you from behind. At first it's as if he's looking you over for injuries. His eyes scan over your body. Aside from your damaged pride, you're fine. One of his hands rests on your shoulder. His touch is rather gentle, but his grip is firm. If you really tried, you might be able to shake it. Even if you got away from him, there's still Prosciutto to deal with. You might have a chance against him in a fight. The two of you are relatively close in size. Assuming he doesn't call out Grateful Dead, you could get away.

What's the worst that could happen?

By then, fight or flight is kicking in. Every cell of your being is telling you to run. They look down at you like you're prey—like you’re some small animal to torment. Risotto wouldn't hurt you, but Prosciutto might. He tends to be a bit more unpredictable—and moody—than your boss. Although you may have just pissed them off enough that they don't care.

The second you flinch, Risotto's hands are grabbing a hold of your wrists, wrenching them behind your back. It's not outright painful, but it doesn't feel very good. You kick back, hitting him in his shin hard. He grunts in pain, his grip loosening for only a moment. You'll take any opening you can get. The second you bolt, he's dragging you back by the collar of your shirt, pinning your body to him. You don’t even make it two steps. With the way you're lifted off of the ground, you can only do so much to struggle.

Part of you feels ashamed for the throb this sends right to your pussy. Heat pools in the pit of your stomach, only worsened as Risotto's large hand wraps around your throat, tilting your chin up.

Prosciutto lets out a disappointed sounding sigh. "I really hope you'll put up more of a fight than that."

"Asshole!" You say. "Put me down!"

Maybe you won't win the fight, but you think you could give Prosciutto a good whacking.

"Are you going to try to run again?" Risotto asks. His breath is warm against your ear.

"No."

You take too long to answer. He sighs and sets you down, but his arms still hold you close to his chest. His chin rests on the top of your head, caging you in even more.

You swear you feel something hard pressing against your back.

Prosciutto grips you by the chin, forcing you to look at him. There's no wrenching out of his grasp. His glare is burning. It's worse than Risotto's. The least you could do to save your pride is look him in the eye.

"Christ you're pathetic." He says. "You're enjoying this, aren't you puttana?"

His hands quickly work to undo the buttons of your pants. There's not much you can do but squirm in a failed attempt to get away from his touch. You'd be fighting a lot harder if you didn't want it.

Prosciutto works you open with his fingers. His thumb idly traces around your clit. It won't get you anywhere fast, but with the way his finders stroke at your g-spot, it's enough. It takes everything within you to hold back your moan. You weren't going to give him the satisfaction. The lewd, wet noises are just loud enough to disguise your heavy breathing. Risotto's free hand- the one that's not holding you to him- wanders your body, groping the soft flesh of your ass and hips. His erection presses into you from behind, painfully hard.

"She's already wet. Look at this." Prosciutto sneers.

His hand glistens in the low light. He makes a show of licking his fingers, pulling them from his lips with an audible pop. Your face burns with shame. He pulls you in for a kiss. You hesitate for a moment, before giving in. He nibbles at your bottom lip until you open up for him, letting his tongue explore your mouth. You can taste yourself on him, his breath smells like wine. His spare hand tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. The action is oddly affectionate compared to the predatory way his eyes look over your body. When he eventually pulls away, a line of saliva connects your lips.

"Let's find a use for that pretty mouth of yours," Prosciutto frees his cock, shoving your head down. His half hardened cock is inches away from your face. He's smaller than Risotto, though not by much. The head is red and angry looking, leaking precum. Your free hand wraps around Prosciutto's cock, stroking slowly. You lick a long stripe along the vein underneath- the one that runs all the way up his shaft- making him shudder. The taste is salty, but not entirely unpleasant.

Risotto grabs your hips, pulling you flush to his. Despite Prosciutto's prep, Risotto presses his fingers against your already soaked entrance. He's a bit larger than his partner, and doesn't want to hurt you. His long fingers stroke against your g-spot, his thumb rubbing circles around your clit. He adds a third finger, pumping faster, fucking you with his fingers. Shamelessly you moan.

Prosciutto cocks an eyebrow to this, a smug looks spreading across his face. He'll never admit the jealousy that fills him as Risotto bends you over. He doesn't like you giving all of your attention to Risotto. It's an immature need to be the center of attention. You bob your head on his cock, swirling your tongue around the tip. He mumbles a weak "good girl" as you take him in his entirety. His hands card through your hair. He seemingly forgets what was bothering him before. The smell of his cologne is heady, making your head spin. You're already half drunk from Risotto's skilled touch.

The cold piercing that presses against your burning skin makes you shiver. Risotto's cock is built like the rest of him, long, dark, thick. The hairs towards the base are neatly trimmed and the same silver as the rest of his hair. He presses into you slowly, ready to stop should you show any sign of discomfort. If he was Pesci, Prosciutto would be shouting at him to go harder- that you could take it. Risotto groans when he bottoms out inside you, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your ass. His spare hand goes back to your clit, stroking it in slow, circular motions.

You're already about to cum when Risotto starts fucking into you. Your legs quiver, your moans stifled by Prosciutto's cock, who isn't far from his own release. His hands knot in your hair, shoving your mouth back down on his cock. Prosciutto scrambles for purchase against Risotto as you stroke a particularly sensitive spot, working the neglected parts of his cock with your free hand. He clamps a hand down on his partner's shoulder to steady himself. He gives no warning as he's about to cum, spilling his seed down your throat. Instinctively you swallow.

Prosciutto commits the look of your shaking form to memory. With his thumb he wipes away a drop of cum that's spilled onto your cheek.

Risotto picks up his pace, pounding into you from behind. His nails leave indents in your skin. They'll bruise tomorrow. It doesn't matter how many times you've taken him, he always takes some getting used to. The stretch of his cock isn't outright painful, but it does sting in a pleasurable sort of way. He hits deeper than Prosciutto, stroking at sweet spots you didn't even know you had. He coos words of praise into your ear as he fucks into you, his composure dropping as he gets close to his release.

Your own orgasm rolls over you like a wave, swallowing you whole and spitting you back out. You're left shaky, and too tired to resist as Risotto uses you to chase his own release. What sets him over the edge is the way your pussy clenches around him. He cums hard, spilling his seed into your unprotected womb.

He shudders as he pulls out. Cum drips down your inner thighs. Prosciutto's cold hands slide up your back, coming to rest on your shoulders. His chest presses into you from behind. He leans past you to press a quick peck to his partner’s lips. The action leaves Risotto red in the face, but his calm composure doesn't falter.

The pair holds you between them as you settle down. You’re left sleepy, albeit a bit sore. Maybe you'll take tomorrow off. You listen to the steady beating of Risotto’s heart as he pulls you close to his chest, Prosciutto on the opposite side of you doing the same. Moments where he isn’t threatening to kill you are very rare. You cherish them when they pop up.

"Have you learned your lesson?" Risotto's thumb traces your bottom lip. Slowly you nod. Prosciutto lets out an annoyed scoff, but says nothing.

"Good." He says.

[thatkidwholikesthunderbirds]

TAG Mini Bang 2021

Hey fam, This is mine and the amazing @katblu42′s contribution to the @tagminibang. Katblu42 wrote the story, of which I love so much, and i made a couple of doodles to go with it.

We both worked really hard on it, hope you enjoy.

***

Deep Water

The summer is drawing to an end when an almost-twelve-year-old Virgil is lumped with looking after little bro Gordon for the day. When a simple walk in the woods becomes more than they bargained for, the pair must work together to overcome their fears.

Written by @katblu42

***

“Hey, Virgil. Whatcha doin’?” Gordon bounced down the stairs and watched his brother carefully pack his brand-new artist’s set of watercolour pencils, mini easel, and sketchbook into his backpack, using one of his hoodies for padding. “I’m gonna go out on the top track and try out my new pencils. It’s gonna be a really nice day for practicing landscapes. I want to try and capture the way the light filters through the trees and . . .” As Virgil excitedly rambled on about all the things he wanted to draw, Lucy emerged from the kitchen with a lunchbox packed with sandwiches and snacks and two water bottles for Virgil to add to his bag. She ignored the eye-rolling from the younger boy, who obviously didn’t share the enthusiasm for artistic inspiration. Placing a hand on Virgil’s shoulder as she handed him the last of the supplies, Lucy smiled. “Sounds like the two of you are going to see all kinds of wonders today,” she said. Virgil opened his mouth to question, but she didn’t give him a chance to speak. “You’re going to take your brother with you.” “But . . .” was all Virgil managed to squeak out, while Gordon sported a look of surprised incredulity. “It will do you both the world of good to spend some time together, just the two of you.”

Lucy knew these two didn’t always get along, mostly due to Gordon’s talent for finding exactly the right buttons to push to try Virgil’s patience. In fact, Gordon did that with everyone, but it somehow affected Virgil the most potently. Lucy, Jeff, and the other boys had little tolerance for Gordon’s annoying antics, but the fact that Virgil usually had an abundance of patience was exactly why Gordon got under his skin so much. With Virgil, Gordon would keep on pushing, keep needling, insistently nagging until that patience wore thin and caused Virgil to react in frustration. As a result, Lucy had noticed Virgil tending to avoid spending too much time with Gordon. But today she needed to pair them up together. Grandma would be by any minute to pick up Scott, as she was helping him log extra flying hours towards his pilot license while Jeff was away for work. John had already left for the library where they had been running a special summer program in the AV centre focussing on early space exploration because today was the last day he’d be able to see it. “Aw, Mom!” Virgil whined. “If he comes, I won’t get any drawing done.” “Yeah, Mom,” Gordon joined in, wrinkling his nose, “can’t I stay with you?” “Nope!” Lucy ruffled Gordon’s unruly blond locks. “I have errands to run today.” Gordon groaned. He hated being dragged all over town when his mom was running errands, mostly because the entire day was usually spent listening to her tell him he couldn’t run off too far or do anything fun – getting up to mischief, she called it. Lucy knew her day would be difficult enough with a toddler in tow without adding a hyperactive six-and-a-half-year-old to the mix. For a moment, she felt for Virgil. In a way, he had a point. He’d have to keep Gordon occupied, which would take his focus away from his artistic endeavours, but she had faith that the two of them would find a way to make it work. She stood between the two boys and, with a hand on a shoulder of each, pulled them into a hug. “You two go out and have fun.” She placed a kiss on first Virgil’s and then Gordon’s forehead. “Be good, look after each other, and don’t get into any trouble!” She ushered them through the door and watched them head out, turning back to wave goodbye to her from the front gate before continuing westward towards the top track. She would always worry about her boys out there on their own, but they all knew the rules and had repeatedly been warned of the various dangers contained within their little patch of wilderness. Virgil was not inclined to be reckless or break the rules, but the lure of an interesting view could distract him at times. Looking after a younger brother would help keep his attention more focused. It was one of Lucy’s secret weapons. Pairing a big brother with a little one always seemed to make the big brother more inclined to obey the rules and watch for dangers.

The two boys made quick progress across the open paddock towards the trees, Virgil striding out confidently, Gordon occasionally having to run for a few steps to catch up. Once they reached the track that wound its way through the trees, the pace began to slow. Virgil’s gaze wandered as he walked, noticing in great detail the colours of the foliage and tree bark, the stark contrasts formed by shafts of sunlight filtering between the trees and highlighting this branch or those leaves. He would hear the cry of a bird and look up, searching the treetops to see if he could catch sight of the culprit. Despite the distractions, however, Virgil didn’t stop walking. He had a destination in mind, and he was keen to get there so he could start drawing. Gordon found distractions of his own along the track. He’d hear skittering noises in the dirt and leaf litter beside the track and stop to see if he could spot the creature that had scuttled away. He found spiderwebs woven between the trees and bushes, and noted with interest whether or not the spider was home and if they’d caught anything. He, too, would search the trees and sky for birds that called out their various songs. Unlike Virgil, Gordon stopped often and would have to run to catch up to his bigger brother, usually after Virgil called out to him to hurry up. After falling behind for the fourth time, Gordon decided to run ahead along the track a bit. That way Virgil would have to catch up to him! He stopped short when he came to the fork in the track. An idea struck him, and he jogged back to his brother. “Hey, Virgil?” He had a glint in his eye that the older boy knew well enough to be worried about. “We should go down to the lake!” “No.” “Oh, come on! Why not?” His voice was verging on whiny and his expression close to a pout. “We’re not supposed to go to the lake on our own, it’s –” “We’re not on our own, we have each other!” Gordon didn’t want to give Virgil a chance to argue or talk about possible dangers. “We’re not gonna do anything dangerous or anything. It’s nice by the lake. Besides, you said your pencils were watercolours. Shouldn’t you draw something with water?” “That’s not . . . Uugghh!” Virgil sighed, rolled his eyes, and rubbed a hand through his hair. He knew steering this particular brother away from water was going to be a hard sell, and if he was honest with himself, his little brother was right about the lake being a good place to draw. It would give him an opportunity to practice drawing reflections, which was something he’d been wanting to experiment with. And the view across the lake was pretty spectacular. But swimming in the lake could be dangerous. If they went to the lake, Virgil knew his entire day would be spent watching Gordon in the water. Gordon studied the expression on his brother’s face for some sign of what he was thinking. He had that look of intense concentration he used when he was figuring out how to fix something. Virgil slowed to a stop and looked down at Gordon. “If we go to the lake –” As Virgil spoke, Gordon’s face broke out in a wide gap-toothed grin as he sensed he had won. “I said if! If we go to the lake, you have to promise me you won’t go for a swim. I came here to draw, not play lifeguard.” “Aww! Virge, it’s summer! It’s a great day for a swim.” His smile was gone, and he now had to trot alongside his brother as Virgil began walking again, setting a brisk pace. He was going to have to fight hard to get his way. “Pleeeeease!” No reaction. “What if I promise not to go in any deeper than up to here?” He indicated his waist. Virgil’s eyebrows drew down into somewhat of a scowl, but he slowed his walking pace again. “You have to stay dry above the knees,” he said. “Yes! Okay, I can do that.” Gordon’s big, infectious grin was back, and he literally bounced with happiness and excitement at his victory. “I promise I won’t go in past my knees, and I’ll be good so you can just do your drawings.” Virgil tried to keep his expression serious, but his little brother’s glee was so irresistible he couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. Pretty soon he was grinning too, and they headed down the left fork in the track towards the lake. As they descended the narrow trail, weaving between trees and larger rocks, the hard-packed dirt underfoot gradually giving way to sandy soil, Gordon’s excitement was barely containable. He ran ahead down the track, calling to Virgil to hurry, ran back to his brother urging him to walk quicker, tugging at his hand, gave up, and ran ahead again before he could even see Virgil roll his eyes. The whole process was then repeated. Twice. Soon enough the trees lining the track thinned out, allowing glimpses of dark blue water. The track curved, and suddenly they emerged from the trees onto an expanse of silty sand with the lake spread out before them, rippling and glistening in the sunlight. The dark greens of the trees on the far side of the lake separated dark blue water from pale blue sky on the horizon. Gordon ran straight to the water’s edge, while Virgil took a moment to take in the entire scene. The lake itself didn’t cover a particularly large area, but it was very deep in places. Virgil estimated that it was more than half a mile from side to side, north to south, and possibly as far as three hundred metres to the trees on the other side from where Gordon now stood. The hills to the north funnelled water down into the lake via a network of creeks and streams. The surface of the lake looked relatively calm, but it hid unpredictable undercurrents as the water worked its way to the small stream that trickled away from the natural dam at the lake’s southern tip. There were a few tiny islands dotted throughout the lake, most of them closer to the far side, some large enough to have trees growing on them, others no more than large rocks with their tops protruding from the water. A short walk along the water’s edge northward took Virgil past a small wooden pier with a little dinghy tied to it, gently rocking and bumping with the lazy motion of the water. Beyond that, the flat sand gave way to a series of rocky, sloped banks. Picking his way up over some of the lower rocks, Virgil climbed up onto a large, relatively flat boulder that afforded him a good view and room to set out all his materials. He could see the beach (as Gordon called it) and his brother discarding his shoes and socks so he could explore the shallows and the little boat attached to the pier, with the water stretching away before him. Once he had carefully unpacked his easel and sketchbook and placed his pencils beside him within easy reach, Virgil began to sketch out some rough outlines. It wasn’t long before Gordon popped his head up over the edge of Virgil’s rock platform.

“Is that all you’ve done so far?” he asked with curious disbelief. “You should use more colours.” “Gordon.” Virgil’s tone was a warning. “Okay, okay,” Gordon said, raising his hands, palms outwards. “I just wondered if it’s lunchtime yet. I’m hungry.” Virgil resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he looked at his younger brother, searching for any signs of mischief and finding none. He realised Gordon was probably right, it was time for lunch. Virgil had been too caught up in what he was doing to notice how long it had been since they’d eaten breakfast. “All right, let’s see what Mom packed for us to eat.” He dug the lunchbox and water bottles out of his backpack while Gordon climbed up onto the rock and sat cross-legged beside him. Neither boy was surprised to find their mom had provided each of them with their favourite sandwich toppings, and they ate hungrily. Gordon would have polished off all the snacks too, but Virgil prudently suggested they should save those for later. They washed the sandwiches down with a hearty helping of water, making sure to save some of that too. When their little picnic was done, Gordon started to scamper back down over the rocks. “You can go back to drawing now,” he delivered a parting shot with that cheeky grin, “I’m gonna go see if I can find any fish.” “Stay out of the water,” Virgil warned. “You just ate.” “Ugh! I’m not stupid, Virgil! And besides, I’m only going in up to my knees, remember!” “I remember. I’ve just gotta make sure you do!” Virgil watched as Gordon started to clamber down the rocks. “Stay where I can see you!” he called after him. “And be careful! The rocks can get slippery.” “I’ll be fine!” Gordon yelled back, and added under his breath, “Spoilsport.” “I heard that!” Virgil didn’t see Gordon poke his tongue out before he ran off along the sand to go and get his feet wet again. He stood in the shallow water, running his hands over the slimy reeds looking for little fish. He spent some time digging his toes into the sand to see what little creatures came darting out into the water as it clouded around his feet. Virgil’s focus was split between the landscape that was rapidly developing on the paper and keeping tabs on Gordon. Every little, excited exclamation had Virgil looking along the beach, wondering what his brother had found. But his attention was inevitably pulled back to his watercolour sketch. Coming out of the water for a while, Gordon picked his way along the sand, gathering a pocketful of stones before finding a spot to stand and skip them across the surface of the lake. He was pretty proud of the one he managed to get to skip eight times before it sank. The clicky slap of the first skipped stone had Virgil’s head turning to watch, making sure his brother was still keeping out of trouble. He wondered who had taught Gordon to skip stones and fondly remembered Scott showing him how it was done. Gordon was actually pretty good at it, and he kept at it for quite a while. After that, Gordon wandered closer to the trees looking for beetles and interesting insects. He even took one or two of them over to show Virgil. He did the same with some of the smooth pebbles he’d found, especially the ones that had pretty colours or unusual patterns. Virgil liked those ones, he could tell. And every time he returned to Virgil up on his rock, while he munched on a snack or took a drink of water, he took a peek at what his brother was drawing. There was one main drawing of the view across the lake that was more and more detailed every time Gordon saw it, but there were some other smaller sketches too. Gordon wasn’t sure if they were like little practice drawings for things that Virgil wanted to add to the main one or if they were something else. It looked like some of those extra sketches included him, some were of the treasures he’d brought to show his brother, and some he couldn’t quite decipher yet. The afternoon sun beat down on them, too high in the sky for any shadows long enough to provide decent shade. Virgil barely noticed, but Gordon felt the heat. He had climbed back down from Virgil’s perch and was now sitting on the end of the little boat dock dangling his feet in the water. He kicked his feet, splashing and watching new ripples form. The water was pleasantly cool against his legs, but his head and shoulders yearned for that same refreshing feeling. He looked out across the lake, longing to jump in and immerse himself in liquid heaven. He was regretting his promise. “Gordon,” Virgil called down to him, “stop splashing around so much. I don’t want you falling in.” In response, Gordon just sighed. A gull squawked nearby, and he watched it wing its way to a large rock protruding from the water, joining other gulls and ibises sunning themselves. It was the closest island to where he sat, and it didn’t look too far to swim to. It was so hot. It would just be a quick swim. “Hey, Virgil,” Gordon called out, twisting his body around to look up at his brother, “how far do you think it is to that big rock out there?” Virgil took a moment to stand up and stretch muscles that he hadn’t really moved in nearly two hours. He looked where Gordon pointed and couldn’t help doing a rough calculation in his head to estimate the distance, but he knew where this question was leading. “Too far,” he answered. “You’re not going to swim to it. No deeper than your knees, remember?” “But, Virge . . .” “No, Gordon! It’s dangerous. We don’t swim out that far when Mom and Dad bring us down here, I’m not letting you go out there alone.” “But I’m a good swimmer, and the water’s really flat and calm, and it’s so hot . . .” “I said no!” Virgil was almost shouting now. Why wasn’t Gordon listening to him? Couldn’t he see how bad an idea this was? “It’s gotta be at least eighty metres out to that rock, and you can’t see the currents at work under the surface or the reeds or the cold spots or how deep it is. It’s not like swimming in the pool in town.” “Eighty metres is easy! I already have my two-hundred-meter freestyle achievement certificate. I’ll be out there and back in no time.” As he spoke, Gordon started removing his T-shirt. “Gordon, don’t!” Virgil’s heart was hammering at his rib cage like it was trying to break free, and he started making his way down the rocks towards the boat dock, knowing he wasn’t going to be quick enough. “Bet I’ll do it in the fastest time ever. Time me, Virgil.” And with a flash of a wicked grin, he turned and dived into the water. Virgil ran across the sand and onto the wooden dock, heart still pounding fit to burst as Gordon swam away. All he could do was stand there and watch. As scared as he was, he couldn’t help being a little bit in awe of his little brother. Even though he was little, he was a good swimmer. From his very first swimming lesson two years ago, he had been very much at home in the water. He learned fast and seemed to have the knack of skimming the surface of the water when he swam – unlike Virgil, who always felt like he was fighting the water, trying to stop it from pulling him down. He didn’t mind admitting that Gordon was a better swimmer than he was, but the little fish had no experience with open water – or getting out of trouble on his own. It wasn’t long before Gordon was halfway to the rock island, and everything seemed to be going fine. Virgil even managed to start to relax a bit. It seemed like he was going to make it out there just fine. His pace had slowed a little, but that was to be expected. Then suddenly something wasn’t right. Gordon had slowed right down, almost to a complete stop, his legs no longer breaking the surface with his kicks. He rolled onto his back and made a couple of awkward backstrokes, then he went under. Just for a millisecond. But it was enough to have Virgil scrambling to get into the dinghy. Gordon tried to shout, but the effort seemed to cause his head to bob under again. Virgil rowed as fast as he could, his head twisted to look over his shoulder, not wanting to take his eyes off his little brother, praying each time he went under that he’d see blond hair break the surface again. Swear words repeated over and over like a mantra with every stroke of the oars. Strong, long strokes propelled the little wooden boat through the water. He fought back panic. He would get there in time. He had to get there in time. He had to save his brother. Gordon seemed to be losing the battle to stay afloat, arms flailing, panicking, bobbing and spluttering. He knew Virgil was trying to get to him, and he was desperate to keep his head above water until he got there, but kicking was difficult and painful. His left leg was not obeying. He’d never experienced a cramp like this before. Virgil finally reached the spot where Gordon had just gone under again. Leaning over the side of the boat, mindful of leaning too far and capsizing, he grabbed a flailing arm with one hand and reached the other into the water to grab a handful of blond hair. He ignored the shock of the cold mere inches below the surface and hauled his brother up far enough for him to gasp for air. He adjusted his grip and dragged Gordon into the boat, where he lay coughing and spluttering, shivering and absolutely terrified. Virgil sat, boat rocking beneath them, breathing hard and equally terrified, watching his brother, grateful for the coughing because at least he knew he was still breathing. “You okay?” Virgil panted out once the coughing had died down a little. “Cramp!” Gordon gasped out in reply, indicating his left leg. “Calf muscle? Here?” Virgil was kneeling with Gordon’s left foot resting on his thigh, fingers gently kneading into his calf. Gordon responded with a nod and a little groan of pain. Virgil spent a few minutes massaging the cramped muscle. He wasn’t sure if Gordon’s tears were from the pain in his leg or fear or relief, but he suddenly felt like he’d do anything to stop them. All he could offer were words of reassurance. Words that comforted both of them. “It’s okay, Gords. You’re okay. You’re safe now.” Virgil’s fingers worked methodically, gently, gradually relaxing the muscle, relieving Gordon’s agony, and calming both of them down in the process. Gordon was soon wriggling his leg free of Virgil’s grasp to sit up on the floor of the little rowboat. He pulled his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around his legs, still shivering. “Hold on, Gordon.” Virgil shifted himself back onto the seat and took up the oars. “Let’s get you back to shore and then we can warm you up.” Rowing back to the wooden dock seemed to take so much longer than it had to row out into the lake. Virgil wasn’t sure if this was because there were currents working against him or if he was just a great deal more tired now. Or maybe it was the lack of terrifying urgency driving his actions on the return trip. Either way, he was grateful to make it safely to the dock and get the boat secured. Gordon was adamant he could get out of the boat on his own, but Virgil’s assistance was accepted readily when he found himself unsteady on his feet. Virgil retrieved the T-shirt Gordon had so hastily tossed aside earlier and draped it over his little brother’s back. It didn’t take much convincing for Gordon to remain sitting on the dock in the same knees-huddled-to-chest position he’d adopted in the boat while Virgil raced up to his rock platform to retrieve all his gear. He also made a quick dash across the sand to find Gordon’s discarded shoes before returning. He didn’t like how quiet and still the normally boisterous boy was. The paleness of his skin and the fact he was still shivering – or perhaps trembling – worried him even more. The now damp T-shirt had been pulled on over his head but offered little in the way of warmth. “Hey, Gordon. Arms up,” Virgil instructed, holding his own hoodie ready to slip over the blond head. Gordon did as he was told without comment or complaint, seeming to Virgil a little like some sort of robotic puppet. The hoodie was way too big, but it was soft and thick and most importantly dry. With head and arms now inserted into their correct holes, Virgil knelt in front of Gordon and pulled the hoodie down over his entire tucked-up body. Not even his feet protruded from beneath the hem. He then wrapped his arms around the whole bundle of little brother and rubbed vigorously to generate some heat. “Virgil?” Glossy brown eyes peeked out from beneath the sweater’s hood. The voice was quiet and had a quality to it that felt somehow small and uncertain. “I’m sorry.” The look in his brother’s eyes, more than the words, stung Virgil somewhere deep inside. “What?” Virgil answered. “What for?” “I didn’t listen. You told me not to and I . . .” “That doesn’t matter now.” Virgil’s arms tightened ever so slightly around him, and Gordon rested his head against his big brother’s shoulder. “All I care about right now is making sure you’re okay.” For a moment, the two boys stayed locked in the embrace, Gordon letting the feeling of safety envelop him, Virgil feeling the rise and fall of Gordon’s chest with every breath. He was relieved to find his brother relaxing into an even, steady pattern of deep breaths. There was no sign of any wheezing, and the coughs and splutters seemed long gone. “Come on. Let’s get you home,” Virgil said softly, giving Gordon’s back one final rub before releasing the hug. He slipped his backpack straps over his shoulders, held his hands out for Gordon to take so he could help him onto his feet, then lifted him up into a reverse piggyback hold. Gordon’s arms looped around his neck, and his legs wrapped around his waist without hesitation or protest, and Virgil set off for home at a slow but steady pace. The gentle but constant incline of the path back to the top track gave Virgil quite a workout with the additional weight he carried, but he took it in his stride. Gordon remained so still and quiet, hooded head resting against his left shoulder, Virgil thought he might have fallen asleep. He tried not to jostle his bundle of brother too much as he picked his way up the hill. When he reached the relative flat ground where the lake path rejoined the top track, Virgil took a moment to catch his breath, and Gordon stirred. “Hey, Virgil?” he said quietly. “When we get home . . . we don’t have to tell anyone what happened, do we?” “Gordon, we have to tell Mom. You nearly drowned!” Gordon caught his brother’s gaze and for the first time saw there was fear in those deep brown eyes. It made something in his insides feel fluttery. “But I’m okay,” he pleaded. “You saved me.” “I pulled you out of the water, but . . .” Virgil wasn’t sure how to finish that sentence and sighed. “If you got any water in your lungs, that would be bad. I’m not sure exactly how it works, but sometimes it can make a person have trouble breathing hours after they’ve been rescued from drowning.” “Oh.” The initial response was almost whispered, then Gordon’s features and tone brightened. “But –” “Did you swallow any water?” Virgil cut him off. “Because the water in the lake could make you sick if you did.” Gordon’s brow creased. “No. I don’t think so. Maybe?” Virgil sighed once more, then began walking again. “I don’t want to scare you, Gords, but what happened out there was a big deal.” “I know,” Gordon whimpered, and held on to Virgil a little tighter. “But I’m not scared now. I’m safe. I was afraid. In the water, when I thought . . . when I couldn’t . . . It was scary, but now I’m not scared because you’re here and you saved me.” Virgil remained silent. “Would it be less scary for you if you stay with me until you know I’m not going to get sick or stop breathing?” Gordon whispered. The rhythm of Virgil’s footfalls faltered for a step or two. “I promise I won’t leave your sight until you’re sure I’m okay. Then we don’t have to tell Mom unless I get sick. Okay?” For a moment, Virgil couldn’t say anything. The lump in his throat was too much of an obstacle. He blinked a few times to clear his swimming vision, huffed out a ragged sigh, and hitched his brother a little higher on his hips. “Okay, Little Fish. You got a deal. I won’t tell Mom, and you and I stick together like glue for tonight.” Not long after their deal was struck Virgil’s steady paces brought them out of the trees and into the paddock, with home in sight. It seemed they had beaten Lucy home, as her car wasn’t parked in its usual spot, but John’s bike was neatly leaned on its stand next to the others, and Virgil suspected Scott was already home too.

He was relieved to finally climb the stairs and deposit Gordon gently on his feet on the front porch. Slipping off his backpack and rolling his shoulders to ease tired muscles, Virgil followed his younger brother through the front door and into the kitchen. He might have known Gordon would gravitate towards food. At least this was a good sign – if Gordon was hungry, then he probably wasn’t feeling any ill effects from swallowing lake water. “Oh, look. It finally happened,” Scott said with a smirk and an elbow to John’s ribs. “One of Virgil’s hoodies grew legs and walked away.” “Ha-ha,” Gordon replied as he grabbed the jug of juice from the fridge. “Seriously, Gordon,” John spoke up from his seat at the kitchen table, where he and Scott had been finishing their afternoon snacks, “what’s with the hoodie? It’s gotta be ninety-six degrees outside.” “He just wanted to prove me wrong,” Virgil chimed in, walking straight to the cupboard and grabbing a couple of glasses. “I told him he would disappear completely inside one of my hoodies.” He noted the suspicious looks but ignored them as he poured juice for himself and Gordon. “How was the space thing at the library?” As John began eagerly explaining in great detail the highlights of the interactive exhibition, Virgil met Scott’s expression of curiosity with his best nothing-to-see-here shrug. He knew the innocent look he tried to project wouldn’t be enough to prevent Scott from seeing straight through the change of subject. Scott’s sapphire-blue eyes had the ability to cut like diamonds, and right at that moment Virgil felt the full weight of their scrutiny. He tried to give a reassuring smile and turn his attention to John’s increasingly fast-paced account of the space exhibit. “Actually, that sounds pretty cool,” Gordon said with an air of surprise and a warm smile at the conclusion of John’s animated description. He drained the dregs of his glass of juice and turned to Virgil. “I’m gonna go upstairs and change clothes.” “I’ll be up in a minute,” Virgil replied. Gordon left the room at a trot and bounded up the stairs. Scott and John were both back to studying Virgil intently. “What?” “Why’s Gordon so attached to you all of a sudden?” Scott asked. “He’s practically asking you for permission to leave the room.” Virgil’s gaze flicked between the blue and the turquoise, and he resisted the urge to squirm. “I don’t know. I guess we just had kind of a good day.” It was the only thing Virgil could think of to say. “You two spent the whole day together and you’re not sick of the sight of each other?” It was John’s turn to question the lack of frustrated bickering that would normally have surfaced between them. Virgil just shrugged, finished his own glass of juice, and picked up his backpack. “I’m gonna go put this stuff away.” He left the room, deliberately not hurrying but desperate to escape from the interrogation he felt was coming. As soon as he reached the top of the stairs, Gordon’s bedroom door opened. He was wearing his clownfish pyjamas, and Virgil couldn’t help but grin. “Virgil?” Gordon packed so much uncertainty into just his name Virgil was a little concerned at what might be coming. “Do you think maybe . . . I mean could we, maybe . . . Do you wanna build a blanket fort with me?” “Actually, I think that’s a pretty great idea.” When Lucy arrived home, wrangling a grizzly Alan who had missed his afternoon nap, and exhausted from a rather frustrating day full of unnecessary delays at every stop, she found Scott and John in the kitchen getting dinner started. Neither had seen the other two boys in a while, so she settled Alan in the living room with his favourite cartoon and headed upstairs to investigate. She found them in Gordon’s and Alan’s room. At least, she found evidence that this was where they had been for some time. Half of the room was obscured by a complex construction created out of pillows, blankets, and assorted bed linen supported by various pieces of furniture and some rather ingeniously rigged clothesline string. “Well, look at you two in here together, thick as thieves!” Lucy said as her head emerged from between two blankets that served as the entrance. “Hi, Mom! We’re building a blanket fort!” Gordon explained excitedly. Virgil rolled his eyes. “She can see that, doofus.” “And it is quite an impressive feat of engineering.” She winked and smiled. “What did you boys get up to on your walk today? Lots of exciting adventures, no doubt.” A look passed between the two. “Nothing,” Gordon blurted out, just as Virgil spoke. “Not much.” Virgil added a shrug and a somewhat apologetic expression. “Just . . . boy stuff.” “Yeah, Mom. Boy stuff,” Gordon repeated emphatically. “We can’t tell you because you’re a girl.” Lucy’s head tilted slightly, an eyebrow raised, and the corners of her mouth and eyes began a slow upward quirk into a smile. She wondered what they were up to, but she was happy the two of them were getting along well. “Hmm. Does this boy stuff include any drawings I’m allowed to see?” If they wouldn’t tell her where they’d been, perhaps she could discern something from Virgil’s sketches. “Can I show you later? Tomorrow maybe?” Virgil squirmed a little under the inquisitive gaze of those soft, honey-coloured eyes. Usually he loved sharing his artworks with Mom. She always praised the bits she thought he’d done well and knew exactly how to suggest little improvements without making it seem like he’d made mistakes. Sometimes it felt like she saw more in his drawings than what he’d put in them. “Okay,” she said, changing tack. “Are you two coming out of there to join the rest of us for dinner?” Another look between the brothers. The plot thickening before her eyes. “Can we come back in here after dinner?” Gordon asked. “Could we, maybe, both sleep in here for tonight?” Virgil followed up quickly. Lucy studied the faces of her two brown-eyed boys. These two were not regular partners in shenanigans. There was something going on here that she was not quite sure she understood just yet, but there didn’t seem to be any harm in what they were asking. “I don’t see why not,” she answered, and was rewarded with two beaming smiles. “Go wash up and you can set the table while I help your brothers finish up in the kitchen.” Dinner for the most part was about as chaotic as usual. Alan was still irritable and played with more of his food than he ate, making a mess of himself and the table in front of him in the process. Scott and John both gave lengthy answers to their mom’s enquiries about how they had spent the day. There were all the usual arguments over who would get the last helpings of this or that as plates and dishes were rapidly emptied, their contents hungrily devoured. Virgil and Gordon managed to talk about the more innocent parts of their day, clinging to descriptions of what plants were flowering, the types of birds they saw, the spiders and beetles and butterflies, rather than any specific mention of the lake. As the scrape of knives and forks on plates finally died down, Lucy began clearing serving dishes off the table. “How about tomorrow we all have a day at the pool?” Standing behind her water-baby as she spoke, she gave his hair a ruffle. John and Scott were both quick to answer with excited affirmatives, Alan enthusiastically exclaimed “Swim!”, but she didn’t see the panicked look that flashed across Gordon’s face as he looked across the table at Virgil. “That sounds great, Mom,” was Virgil’s reply as he kept his eyes firmly on Gordon, trying to relay a sense of calm reassurance that he didn’t really feel. If anyone noticed Gordon’s lack of enthusiasm at the suggestion, no one made mention of it. Perhaps his reaction was lost in the flurry of activity as the table was cleared and Alan was escorted upstairs for his bath. Virgil did notice an odd expression cross Scott’s face as he watched Gordon begin loading dirty cutlery into the dishwasher, but he said nothing before leaving the kitchen. John and Scott had helped cook dinner, so Virgil and Gordon were left to load the dishwasher and tidy the kitchen. “Gordon?” Virgil caught his little brother’s attention with a gentle flick of a tea towel, and a sullen expression was his reply. “Don’t you want to go to the pool tomorrow?” Gordon shrugged. Virgil kept his voice low, not wanting anyone to hear the conversation. “You always get excited about going to the pool. You’ve been begging Mom to take us every day for the entire summer. People will ask questions if you suddenly don’t want to go.” The look in Gordon’s eyes was a complicated mixture of fear, sadness, and uncertainty that had Virgil once again wanting to do anything he could to take away the pain. He was about to say something more when he heard John’s voice carry through from the living room and thought better of it. The discussion wasn’t over, but it would have to wait. The rest of their kitchen duty was completed in awkward silence. Chores done, they headed upstairs, back to their blanket fort. They had barely begun to settle into the pile of pillows and cushions when a small hand, followed by a headful of slightly damp blond hair, poked through from beneath a blanket wall. Bright blue eyes sparkled as a giggle escaped through a cheeky grin. “Peek-a-boo!” Alan exclaimed and wriggled his way into the enclosure. “Alan!?” Lucy parted the fort’s entrance with her arms so the blankets draped like a stage curtain. As her eyes came to rest on her littlest, a wave of relief was reflected in her fond smile.  “Say good night to your brothers and I’ll read you a story.” Liberal good-night cuddles were dished out to both big brothers before Lucy ushered Alan out so she could bundle him into bed. “You two – shower or bath, teeth brushing – go!” she instructed. By the time Virgil and Gordon had washed and brushed and were attired for bed (again in Gordon’s case), Alan was asleep, the bedroom was illuminated only by Alan’s star projecting night light, and their mom was holding her finger up to her lips. “Shh. Try not to wake your little brother,” she whispered. She gave each of them a hug and a kiss on the forehead. “Don’t stay up all night!” Virgil and Gordon were soon alone and comfortably secure in their plush fortress. Their flashlights had been propped between pillows and furniture so they provided a soft glow amid the cosy gloom. “Talk to me, Fish,” Virgil said softly. “You’ve been so quiet since dinner. Are you feeling okay?” “Yeah, I’m fine.” Gordon’s slumped posture added to Virgil’s impression that his brother looked pretty miserable. “It’s just . . .” A huge sigh escaped his tiny frame. “You’re worried about tomorrow?” Virgil finished for him. “Do you think I could tell Mom I have to do some reading for school or something?” Virgil’s eyes widened and his heart dropped into his stomach. His little brother might not be physically sick or injured, but he was not okay. “You know that’s not gonna work, Gordon. You’ve been pestering her all summer to take you to the pool. If you suddenly don’t want to go, she’s going to be super suspicious. And nobody will believe that you would ditch the pool in favour of schoolwork. Especially in summer!” “I know.” Another sigh. A long silence. “It’s just, when Mom said we’d all go to the pool tomorrow I . . . Normally I’d be really excited, but this time I kind of got scared.” “What are you scared of?” Gordon thought Virgil’s question was a pretty stupid one considering what had happened at the lake, and his scowling glare communicated as much. “I mean, what exactly scares you about going to the pool? Are you afraid you might get into trouble like you did in the lake?” Gordon’s expression turned more quizzical as he considered what Virgil was trying to say. “Because the pool is going to be very different from the lake. The water is clear. You can always see the bottom. The temperature is controlled and kept fairly warm. There’s a lifeguard on duty all the time keeping everyone safe, and we’ll all be there with you. You won’t be on your own, far from shore.” “I guess.” “Gordon, you love the water. You always have, even when you were tiny. You’re always happiest when you’re in the water – even if it’s just the bath or splashing in puddles.” “Not anymore.” “You have to get back on the horse,” Virgil said absently, almost to himself. “What? What horse? What does that have to do with the pool?” “It’s a figure of speech. Something Grandpa says. If you fall off the horse, you’ve gotta get right back on. You can’t let one bad experience make you scared forever, and the sooner you get back up on the horse after falling, the easier it is to ride again.” Gordon looked uncertain. “So, you’re saying that I have to go to the pool tomorrow and get back in the water or else I might be scared of swimming forever?” “I’m saying you have to go to the pool tomorrow because swimming makes you happy. You’re good at it, and you can’t let today stop you from doing something that makes you light up like Fourth of July fireworks and grin like the Cheshire Cat.” There was another long silence. Gordon scooted a little closer to his big brother and rested his head against Virgil’s shoulder. “Will you stay with me tomorrow? At the pool?” Virgil wriggled his arm under his brother and tugged him closer. “For as long as you need me to,” he affirmed. “We’ll start off in the shallow end. Mess around for a while, just getting wet, splashing about. Pretty soon you’ll be swimming like a fish and I won’t be able to keep up. But I promise I’ll stay close and watch out for you, okay?” “Okay.” Despite how tired he sounded, there was a brightness to Gordon’s voice that caused a wave of relief to sweep over Virgil. The day’s exploits had exhausted the two boys. Their little nest was cosy and warm, and the close contact between them helped relax them both as they quickly drifted off to sleep. But Virgil’s usually sound sleep was disturbed by unpleasant dreams. Twice he woke suddenly, heart pounding and breathing hard, certain that something terrible had happened and with an unshakable need to check on Gordon, only to find him safely asleep beside him. He lay awake after each nightmare, watching the even rise and fall of his brother’s chest, noticing every little twitch and murmur made as he slept. He had a feeling it would be a while before he could completely shake these nightmares, but it was comforting to think that Gordon had been spared the same kind of disruption through the night.

*** Morning dawned bright and warm, and despite the duvet cover preventing much sunlight penetrating the sanctuary of the fort, Gordon was awake with the dawn chorus. He tried to let his brother sleep, happy to listen to the soft snores and try not to giggle, but he quickly became impatient. Virgil woke to gentle but insistent poking to the ribs and the repeated whispering of his name. When he peeled his eyes open, he was greeted with brown eyes mere inches in front of his own and a beaming smile. “We’re going to the pool today, Virgil,” Gordon whispered with a hint of excitement. “You have to get up.” “Okay, okay,” Virgil managed to somewhat grunt as he sat up, rubbing his eyes. Then he registered the expression on his little brother’s face, the gleam in the eyes and the fact that the smile still hadn’t faltered, and a smile of his own spread from the depths of his heart and across his face. The mixture of nerves and eagerness thrumming through Gordon all morning was enough to give the rest of the family the impression he was full of barely contained excitement fitting for the day of a visit to the pool. He repeatedly asked when they would be leaving and was repeatedly told they would head out after lunch. He offered to pack everyone’s towels and Alan’s floaties into a bag ready for later, and he fidgeted and bounced his way through to lunchtime. After lunch, as promised, Lucy piled all the boys into the family car and drove them to the public pool. She paid their admission, and they all tumbled through the turnstile. As usual, Scott, who had never grown out of wanting to go everywhere at top speed, and Gordon raced away to find them a spot on the grass where bags and towels could be unceremoniously dumped before they hit the water. By the time Virgil and John joined them, T-shirts had already been discarded and comments about the fate of the last person into the water were being bandied about. When Lucy was finally able to set down her load of Alan and the bagful of necessities required for their day out, her four oldest boys were already racing towards the Olympic-sized pool. Scott first, John not far behind, and Gordon practically dragging Virgil by the hand.

Lucy kept an eye on her boys happily splashing about with each other in the shallow end of the pool while she got herself and Alan stripped down to their bathing suits and slid Alan’s floaties on over his head and arms. They had started a game of Chicken Fight by the time she slid herself into the water and lifted Alan down into her arms. John, sitting on Scott’s shoulders and Gordon atop Virgil’s, were locked in grappling combat. Scott and John had the advantage of both height and reach, and it was not long before Gordon toppled into the water. A rematch produced the same result in short order, and Gordon exacted revenge by distracting Scott with an underwater pantsing, causing him to break his hold on John, who overbalanced and slid from Scott’s shoulders into the pool. Lucy and Alan laughed along with the others as Scott protested foul play. Handstand competitions and a game of Freeze Tag followed. Lucy took Alan to the toddler pool where he could splash about more freely, instructing the older boys to behave and try not to bother other pool users too much while she was gone. Virgil was pleased to see that, just as he’d predicted, Gordon was happily swimming rings around them all as they played. He’d stuck close to Virgil at first, but after the Chicken Fights, he was swimming farther and faster in his efforts to escape being tagged and spending longer underwater with every passing minute. It seemed he had slipped right back into his home environment without any lasting dramas. As the afternoon shadows grew long, one by one Lucy’s boys returned to their spot on the grass. She and Alan had grown tired of the water first, and Alan had even had a short sleep amongst the pile of towels as they waited for the others to tire themselves out. Scott was first of the older boys to tire of swimming and return to towel off and dress in dry clothes, with John quick to follow. Lucy was a little surprised at how long Virgil lasted in the water until she spotted him sitting on the edge of the pool with just his feet and lower legs in the water watching Gordon as he shot back and forth across the free-play area, dodging strangers. She gave a shrill two-finger whistle. Virgil, recognising the signal, turned his head to look back at her, and she beckoned with her hand to indicate it was time to go. It seemed to take a while to convince Gordon to get out of the pool, but Lucy was not surprised. The car ride home was a fairly quiet one, the boys having spent a great deal of energy over the course of the afternoon. They brightened at the suggestion of ordering pizza for dinner when they got home, and there was a brief buzz of conversation when she mentioned their father would be home by the weekend. He had only been away for two weeks, but the older boys had never really grown out of getting excited by his return. This latest trip wasn’t as far away as Mars or even the moon, but the prospect of having Dad home again still triggered that same feeling of welcoming someone who had been long absent. He may not visit space for work any longer, and his absences could be measured in days instead of months or years, but it was always great to have him home again. “He already has big plans for this year’s Last Day of Summer,” Lucy mentioned with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “It’s only ten days away now!” While Scott and John speculated on what their dad might have in store for the annual family day at the lake on the last weekend before they went back to school, Virgil felt a small hand slip inside his and squeeze. He looked to his left at Gordon staring silently out the car window and gave a slight hand squeeze of his own in reply. While today had helped, it was obvious his little brother was still harbouring some fear of returning to the lake. There was no chance for Virgil to talk one-on-one with Gordon when they got home from the pool. As was fairly normal in the Tracy household, there always seemed to be someone else around or something that needed doing, and before he knew it, Gordon was already tucked in bed and reading a bedtime story with Mom. Virgil took a little longer than normal in the shower, needing the time alone with his thoughts. If Gordon acted anything less than excited about going to the lake for Last Day of Summer, it wouldn’t be long before their little secret would come to light. He had to find a way to get Gordon’s confidence back, but he was starting to wonder if he could manage on his own. With something like this, he would normally talk things out with Scott. It felt wrong to be hiding something from him and even more wrong to be hiding things from Mom. He was beginning to wonder whether he should just let the cat out of the bag and tell the truth, but he really didn’t want to let his little brother down either. Unable to face revealing how close he’d come to letting his brother drown, Virgil ended up avoiding any chance of conversation for the evening and shut himself away in his room until it was time for bed. John was in and out of the shared bedroom as he began preparing to turn in for the night, but it was not unusual for the two of them to quietly do their own thing without really exchanging words. When Lucy popped her head inside the door to check on her two quietest boys and say good night, Virgil tried his best to act like everything was normal. Her gaze fell heavily on him for a moment, and he had to fight the urge to tell her everything about the day at the lake and ask her advice. “Don’t stay up too late, boys,” she playfully warned them. “Lights out by 9:30 please, Virgil, and John, no more stargazing after lights out!” “Okay, Mom,” they both answered automatically and in chorus. “Good night.” It took a while for Virgil to fall asleep that night, mind whirling with the thought of his little brother being afraid of something that had always been a source of such joy. There had to be a way to fix it – every problem had a solution, you just had to find it, that’s what Dad would say. As tired as he was, his mind kept trying to focus on finding that solution before drifting away into a sleepy fog. Gordon didn’t know exactly what time it was, but he knew it was very late. The house was quiet. The room wasn’t dark – Alan’s night-light saw to that – but he couldn’t hear any voices, any indication of anyone moving around downstairs or in the bathrooms and bedrooms. Everyone must be asleep. He had startled awake, sitting bolt upright, breathless, heart pounding, eyes prickling with oncoming tears and really wishing he wasn’t so alone. He’d been dreaming about the lake, and now he didn’t want to go back to sleep. Slipping silently from his bed, he tiptoed across the floor, careful not to disturb Alan, and crept out into the hall. He hesitated for a moment. Normally he would head for his parents’ room, but Mom would ask what the dream was about, and he didn’t want to tell her about swimming in the lake. He didn’t want to get in trouble – or get Virgil into trouble. Gordon changed direction and headed for Virgil’s and John’s room. Being very careful to open the door without a sound and close it just as silently behind him, Gordon stood in the pitch-dark bedroom for a moment and let his eyes adjust. He couldn’t understand why his bigger brothers liked it so dark, he found it a bit creepy, but he couldn’t turn on the light and risk waking John. It wasn’t long before he could make out the shape of Virgil’s bed amongst the gloom, and he stealthily padded across the carpet to stand beside his sleeping brother. Now that he was here, he wasn’t really sure how to wake him or whether he should. He stood twisting the fingers of both hands around each other, close to tears again. “Virgil?” he whispered, barely above a breath. No response. “Virge?” This time a little louder, a little more desperate, a little more whiney and accompanied by a sniff. He tried tapping Virgil’s shoulder a few times, but his brother didn’t budge from where he lay curled on his side, facing the wall. In the end, not knowing what else to do, Gordon climbed across the bottom of the bed and squeezed his way past Virgil’s knees, wriggled himself under the covers and Virgil’s arm, and curled himself into the space between his brother and the wall. It was around three a.m. when Virgil woke to find he wasn’t alone in the bed. He didn’t know how or when Gordon had come to be there, but he could hear him softly whimpering and feel him shaking with the occasional sob. “Gordon,” he whispered softly, “are you okay?” He tugged his brother a little tighter to him, feeling him struggle to get the sobbing under control and even out his breathing. “Had a bad dream,” came the ever-so-quiet response. Virgil eased his grip and shuffled over on the bed, allowing Gordon to roll over and face him, but he kept his hand resting against his brother’s back. Neither of them spoke for a moment, and the quiet darkness seemed both comforting and ominous at the same time. Gordon heaved a deep breath in and let it out in a sigh before breaking the silence. He kept his voice low, but once he started, the words tumbled out in a torrent. “I can’t go back to the lake for Last Day of Summer, Virgil. I don’t want to go back in the water and everyone will know that’s not normal and want to know why and I don’t want them to know what I did and –” “Shh,” Virgil soothed, rubbing Gordon’s back as he spoke. “We’ll work something out together. I promise.” “You mean so we don’t have to go?” “No, I mean so you won’t be afraid anymore. We have to go. It’s tradition. And I think we both have to go back to the lake and confront our fears.” “You’re scared too? Wait, what are you scared of?” It was Virgil’s turn to let out a sigh. “Gordon, as annoying as you sometimes are, you are my little brother, and if anything happened to you – anything really bad, I mean – I’d be . . .” Another sigh. “I just don’t want anything bad to happen to you. And I guess I’m scared of what might have happened. I keep having bad dreams where I couldn’t save you.” Gordon was suddenly wrapped around him like an octopus, his skinny little arms squeezing tight around Virgil like he was never going to let go and legs twining their way between bedding and body to latch on too. Despite feeling a little bit trapped within the many-limbed embrace, Virgil felt oddly comforted by it. “You don’t have to hold so tight, little octopus. I’m not going anywhere,” Virgil whispered into blond hair. “I’m not an octopus,” came the muffled reply, buried somewhere in Virgil’s neck, “I’m a squid.” “Okay then, Squid. How about we try and get some sleep and work this out tomorrow?” Gordon’s hold on his brother relaxed enough for them both to get a little more comfortable in the bed, but it was clear he wasn’t letting go. Virgil managed to get one arm disentangled enough to trace his hand back and forth across Gordon’s back, helping to lull him to sleep. Slumber quickly claimed the older brother soon after.

*** Morning crept up on them, dawning overcast and gloomy, despite being summer warm. As a result, Gordon slept later than he normally would and was woken by John’s quiet movements as he rolled out of the bed on the other side of the room and shuffled towards the bathroom. If John noticed the interloper in Virgil’s bed, he didn’t say anything, so Gordon took the opportunity to unceremoniously climb over his brother and hightail it back to his own room. Virgil woke with a start after yet another nightmare. Sitting up and trying to reacquaint himself with reality, he realised Gordon was no longer with him, and his heart rate ratcheted up a few more notches in brief panic. Catching sight of the clock and taking a few slow, deep breaths, Virgil managed to convince himself that everything was fine, Gordon had obviously just woken up earlier and was more than likely perfectly okay. But he needed to check. He tumbled out of bed and, after a brief detour to the bathroom, stumbled his way down the corridor in search of Gordon. Finding the tiny two’s bedroom deserted, he headed downstairs and found his target in the living room. Virgil stood in the doorway watching Gordon playing with Alan for a few minutes. Seeing his goofball brother being his normal, animated self and hearing the shrieks and giggles his antics prompted from Alan were enough to reassure him that yes, Gordon was just fine. Sometime after Virgil had found himself some breakfast and begun to consider himself properly awake, John found him sitting at the piano, absently staring out the window. John didn’t recall hearing Virgil play any practice exercises, and Virgil’s brow was furrowed in deep concentration, so John concluded that he was there more for the familiarity than the urge to play music. He did this sometimes – sat there just thinking, wheels turning, gears shifting, working something out in his head – and John always found it interesting to watch the thought process play out through Virgil’s expressions. But the expression wasn’t changing. “Virgil?” John prompted with some concern. “You okay?” With a jolt, Virgil tore his eyes away from the view he wasn’t really seeing out the window and focussed them on John. “Yeah.” Virgil sighed. “I just have something I need to do, something that needs fixing, and I don’t know how to do it.” “Look it up,” John answered with a shrug. “That’s what I’d do. There’s probably a book about it somewhere or a repair manual or instructional video. If I want to know how something works or how to do something, I start with research.” With that, John walked away, leaving Virgil to ponder how to research fixing a fear of swimming in a lake. And then it hit him. Research was the answer, he just had to look up the right thing – not how to fix the fear, but all the things there were to be afraid of. The more information you know about the thing you’re afraid of, the less scary it becomes. So, all he had to do was look up everything that could cause someone to get into trouble swimming in a lake – and maybe rivers, streams, and oceans too – and learn everything about them. If he knew how to spot the dangers or how to prevent them and how to get out of trouble, then maybe Gordon wouldn’t be afraid anymore. Virgil set off at a run to go and find Gordon. At first, Gordon wasn’t sure about this idea of Virgil’s. Sitting in front of a holoscreen looking up information sounded a lot like homework. But Virgil was insistent that they at least give it a try. After all, it couldn’t hurt to know more about different waterways. “Okay, so where do we start?” Gordon asked as they settled themselves at the big desk in the corner of the living room. “Well, what scares you most when you think about going swimming in the lake?” “Getting another cramp.” Gordon’s reply was quiet, and suddenly Virgil hated himself for making his little brother revisit that moment when everything had gone wrong. He put his hand on Gordon’s shoulder and offered a reassuring squeeze. “Then let’s start there. We can find out what causes cramps when you swim and learn how to prevent them or how to manage them.” Virgil found a great deal of information on muscle cramps related to swimmers, which he quickly became quite absorbed in. He had to remind himself to stick to the sites with simple wording and steer clear of the ones that crossed too far into medical jargon territory. The boys learned the importance of warming up before swimming, being careful not to overexert the muscles, and staying hydrated. They also found that cold water could increase the chance of cramping. Virgil physically shivered at the memory of plunging his arm into deceptively cold water to grab at one of the only parts of his little brother he could still see. They researched swimming in cold water, what caused cold spots in lakes and rivers and whether you could spot them, and ways you could avoid them or deal with them. They learned about different types of currents – ones you could see, and ones you wouldn’t know about until you felt them. Submerged objects, reeds and seaweed, rocks and tree roots . . . “What are you guys doing?” Scott startled them so badly Virgil jumped and Gordon squeaked. “Researching water safety.” Virgil decided honesty was the best way to go . . . to a point. “It’s for Rescue Scouts.” “But we don’t go back to Rescue Scouts until a week after school goes back.” Scott eyed both brothers suspiciously. “We know, but there’s no harm in getting in early, and Gordon really wants his Water Safety badge.” Virgil had to resist the urge to squirm under the scrutiny of his big brother’s gaze as Scott remained silent for what seemed like a whole minute. “Well, it’s time for lunch,” Scott finally said before turning his back on them and heading for the kitchen. Gordon grinned up at Virgil, who huffed out a long exhale in relief. He didn’t think Scott completely believed the Rescue Scout story, but it seemed as though they would be able to continue their research unquestioned. In fact, no one questioned the time these two spent together in snatches of an hour or two here and there over a couple of days, continuing to search out information on the best ways to stay safe in just about any body of water. Gordon had even made a scrapbook of notes and pictures so he could keep track of all the things they’d learned. Excuses aside, when Rescue Scouts resumed after the summer break, Gordon would already be well on his way to earning his Water Safety badge in earnest. As promised, Jeff was back home by the time the boys awoke on Saturday morning, and he began dropping hints about his plans for the best Last Day of Summer yet. It was to be bigger and better than ever before because, for the first time since they began making the end-of-summer vacation a celebration, it coincided with Virgil’s birthday. The first hints encouraged the boys to check their tents and sleeping bags. It wouldn’t just be a day out with a picnic lunch this year, it would be an overnight campout. There was a promise of campfire tales and s’mores and a special surprise that required the night sky as a backdrop. There were hints about guests that prompted a whole day of guessing who might be joining them at the lake. Grandma and Grandpa were the first confirmed additions to the guest list, along with “Uncle” Lee and a mysterious extra guest from England and his daughter, who was apparently around Virgil’s and John’s age. Amidst all the building excitement about the big event at the end of the week, signs of Gordon’s nervousness about returning to the lake were easily missed by the rest of the family. Only Virgil saw the signs – the slight frown at Scott’s mention that they’d all need to remember to bring their swimmers and towels, the look of horror at John wondering if he’d see more stars if he rowed out into the lake after dark. Virgil decided he’d have to take Gordon back to the lake before the weekend. They needed to return to the scene of the crime. Gordon, having come to much the same conclusion in his own way, approached Virgil after breakfast on the Wednesday. The day was clear and bright, much like it had been on the morning of that fateful day little more than a week before. It seemed like a good day to go back and face the monster that the lake had become. “Virgil,” Gordon said quietly, despite there being no one else in the living room at the time, “can we go back to the lake today? Can you take me?” “Today seems like a good day to me,” Virgil answered with a gentle smile. “We’ll have to tell Dad we’re going out for most of the day.” Now that Jeff was back from his trip and working from the home office, Lucy was spending more time at work. The boys were expected to look after each other and only interrupt their father if it was important, but Jeff would check up on them all throughout the day. “Do we have to say where we’re going?” Gordon twined his fingertips around each other, raising his eyes to meet Virgil’s from a head trying to look down at the floor. “We’ll tell him we’re going back to the place we visited last week to finish the drawing,” Virgil suggested. “It’s not exactly a lie. We are going back to the same place.” The knock on Jeff’s office door was tentative but loud enough that he heard it over the voice of the colleague on the other end of the video call. He muted his audio to tell his visitor to wait a moment before unmuting and bringing the phone conversation to a conclusion. “Come in,” he finally called towards the closed door. He was a little surprised by the request for this particular pair to spend a day out together on their own, but he remembered Lucy mentioning something about these two having been out on the top track the week before. He gave them permission to go provided they tell Scott and John where they were going and promise to be back by five. “Take something to eat and plenty of water, Virgil,” he reminded the older boy, “and look after your brother.” “I will, Dad.” Virgil gave a solemn nod, and the two boys slipped back out of the office, closing the door behind them. Bag packed with sandwiches and water bottles, art supplies for the sake of appearances, and towels, the boys were soon striding out across the paddock towards the top track. This time there were no lingering looks at the scenery as they walked – the birds, spiders, and bugs were largely ignored. Unlike the last time they had set out together, Virgil had no desire to hurry, and he let his younger brother set the pace. He noted with a small amount of pride the purposeful strides, the determination in the set of squared shoulders, and the fire in amber eyes as Gordon focused his energy on reaching their destination so he could do what needed to be done. Gordon’s determined march stuttered to a somewhat abrupt halt when they rounded the last curve and stepped onto the silty sand of the lake’s beach. With his eyes fixed on the water, shoulders drooping, it seemed Gordon’s fire had died. Without a word, Virgil placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder, the simple gesture having the desired effect – lending the younger boy enough resolve to steel himself once again, lengthen his spine, and straighten his shoulders. Virgil steered them over to a patch of sand where he could spread out a towel for them to sit on. Shoes were shed in preparation for the inevitable trip to the water’s edge, but the boys remained seated. “What do you see out there?” Virgil asked. “It’s the same. Calm. Flat. But it’s different from last time too.” Virgil waited for a moment before trying again, wanting Gordon to see past the feeling of fear. “Remember what we learned about studying the ripples?” he prompted. “Is it really flat and calm?” There was silence as Gordon’s gaze focused intently on the expanse of blue stretching before them. The embers of the fire that had previously lit his eyes seemed to ignite anew as he studied the surface, looking for telltale signs. “There are reeds just under the surface over there,” he said, pointing a little to their left, “and the ripples over here are different to that bit farther out where it looks really smooth.” Virgil could see Gordon’s confidence growing as he gestured to various parts of the lake, telling his big brother what the differences in the rippled and smooth areas were likely to mean in terms of what was going on beneath the surface. Pretty soon they were on their feet and striding into the shallows to test the waters. Gordon entered the water at a slow walk, which Virgil thought was through caution or trepidation at first, but then Gordon gently trailed fingertips through the reeds and beckoned his big brother over. “Virgil, come look,” he called, looking up at him with a grin. “There are fish that feed in the reeds.” The next half hour was spent following Gordon through the shallows exploring the aquatic life found therein. As the younger boy got more caught up in watching the fish, finding different types of reeds, discovering eels, and excitedly pondering all manner of life in the depths of the lake, they wandered deeper into the water. Virgil followed and listened, answering questions as best he could when asked, smiling fondly all the while. The Squid was in his element. “Hey Gordon,” Virgil said as he playfully splashed a well-aimed hand scoop of water into the side of his little brother’s head. “You realise you’re getting your shirt wet, right?” Gordon looked down at the water that was now up to the middle of his chest and back up at his brother with a grin. “Oops.” They briefly returned to the little beach, shed their shirts, and laid them down in the sun to dry. “You know, when we come back this weekend, we’ll mostly be swimming out here where we just were.” Virgil nodded his head back towards the little patch of lake they’d just explored. “We could go a little deeper, actually lift our feet off the bottom and swim for a while. This is the only part of the lake any of us have ever really swum in before.” Gordon’s eyes sparkled with light reflecting off the water as he pondered Virgil’s words for a moment. Mom and Dad had always suggested the boys shouldn’t swim out past where they could touch the bottom and definitely never past the end of the wooden pier. Looking at the pier and the dinghy tied securely to its mooring drew his eye to the rock island beyond, tantalisingly close, yet so terrifyingly far. Virgil watched his squid brother scanning the water, casting his gaze over the safe and familiar. He saw the moment the line was crossed and thoughts turned to the challenge just that little farther afield. Once again, he placed a hand on Gordon’s shoulder, hoping to redirect his thoughts. “Why don’t we just go back in, swim around for a while, have some fun where we know it’s safe?” “Yeah, okay,” Gordon agreed, a little half-heartedly. Virgil took his brother by the hand, and by the time they’d taken two steps, they were running towards the water. He only let go once they were in deep enough that a tug of the hand lifted Gordon’s feet off the bottom and propelled him a short distance through the water. He received a splash to the face for his efforts, but his little brother was smiling and treading water. In no time at all, Gordon was literally swimming rings around his big brother, splashing at him and darting away, taunting him, daring him to swim after him. It was hunger that drove them out of the water and back onto the dry sand sometime later. PB&J sandwiches were retrieved from the backpack and devoured. The late summer sun warmed their shoulders as they sat in content silence, listening to the lapping of the water and the cries of the birds. Virgil would have been happy to remain there soaking it all in, but Gordon soon became restless, his gaze drifting back to where water birds were drying their outstretched wings. “Virgil, I wanna swim to the rock.” The fire was back in Gordon’s eyes. Virgil studied him for a moment, seeing that same determination that had driven the march to the lake. He wasn’t asking for permission, he was making a statement. It was what he’d come here to do – the demon he needed to conquer. Virgil wasn’t feeling anywhere near as courageous as his little brother looked at that moment. “Gordon . . .” “I need to do it, Virgil.” He turned his head, those glowing embers burning straight into his big brother’s wide brown eyes. “But I need you.” “I can’t . . .” “Use the boat. I’ll swim, you row. If I get into trouble, you’ll be right there.” Virgil had to look away. The intensity in those eyes, the body language, the strength of will in his little brother were too much. But it was the faith Gordon was placing in him that was twisting his gut. He caught sight of the rock island, out there beyond the boat docked at the pier. He was suddenly very aware of his own heartbeat thumping just a little too hard and a little too fast. Gordon needed this – needed him to do this with him. He couldn’t let the Squid down. “Okay,” he agreed with a sigh. He had expected a look of triumph, a smile, a victory dance . . . something. Anything but the simple nod and determined knitting of Gordon’s brow that he received in reply. The younger boy then grabbed his water bottle and took a long draught. “Staying hydrated helps stop you getting cramps, right?” Gordon asked. Virgil nodded. “And I should do some warmup stretches before I swim out there.” “Right again.” Virgil was gladdened by the amount of thought and preparation Gordon was putting into the task ahead of him this time. “And you’ll stay close in the boat?” There it was, the uncertainty just below that confident façade. “Right beside you all the way, little brother.” Virgil tried to school his expression into one of reassurance, but he wasn’t sure he managed it. They made their way across the sand and onto the wooden planks of the pier, then stood studying the expanse of water for a moment, watching the ripples and trying to read currents. Looking for dangers. At last Virgil could put it off no longer. Gordon was warmed up and ready to go, they had assessed the risks and had plans in mind for just about any eventuality. It was time to untie the boat and take up the oars. Sitting in the gently rocking dinghy, Virgil had to take a moment to close his eyes and concentrate on a few deep breaths to quell the hammering in his ribcage before looking back up at Gordon and giving a nod. He was as ready as he’d ever be. This time when Gordon dived in, he began his swim with a measured pace rather than a burst of speed that he wouldn’t be able to maintain. Virgil didn’t have to work too hard on the oar strokes to keep up with him. Not far out there was a brief moment of panic when Gordon suddenly stopped his forward momentum and started treading water. An odd expression furrowed his brow, then he ducked his head under the water. Dropping the oars and preparing to make a grab for his brother, Virgil was sure his heart stopped beating altogether for a second before the blond head re-emerged above the surface. Seeing the panic in his big brother’s eyes, Gordon grinned and held up the weed he’d just untangled from his leg. “It’s okay, Virge, no cramps, just waterweed.” And with that, he resumed his swim with a flurry of swift kicks and smooth strokes. By the time Virgil could regather the oars – and his wits – his little brother was ten meters ahead of him. It took only a few strong pulls on the oars to catch up again, but Virgil knew his pulse rate was not going to climb down out of the stratosphere until they were both on dry land. It felt like an eternity, but in reality, it was only a few minutes before Gordon was able to lay his hands on the slippery surface of the rock. Finding a decent hold, he clambered up far enough to sit on a crag, feet still in the water, triumphant grin lighting up his features, water droplets catching the sunlight, causing his hair and skin to glisten as he caught his breath. “I knew I could do it!” he panted as Virgil drew the dinghy close beside him. “I never doubted you, Squiddo,” Virgil agreed, practically beaming with pride at his brother’s achievement. “Now, are you gonna swim back? Or do you want a lift?” Gordon’s eyes widened in surprise. He hadn’t really thought about the return trip. Virgil chuckled. “Um, I think maybe I’ll just come back with you in the boat.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair, dragging it back from where it was dripping into his eyes. “No problem, Fish. You’ve proved enough for one day.” With a bit of manoeuvring, jostling, and boat rocking, Gordon was able to climb into the dinghy and settle himself into the seat at the prow. To him, the journey back to the dock seemed to take no time at all. Virgil’s strong, steady strokes with the oars propelled them quickly and smoothly through the water as though it took no effort at all. He jumped out of the boat and onto the pier before Virgil had even finished drawing the oars into the boat, then waited for Virgil to climb out and secure the mooring. “Virgil?” It was all the warning the older boy got as he turned to face his little brother, who closed the space between them at a run and launched himself into what became a squid hug, arms and legs tightly wrapped around Virgil’s torso. It took Virgil a couple of backward steps before he could steady himself under the sudden additional weight. “Thank you. You are the best big brother.” Virgil returned the embrace, allowing a chuckle to escape as he rested his head against damp hair. “You are a pretty amazing little brother, Squid.”

*** The Last Day of Summer celebration, and Virgil’s twelfth birthday turned out to be a fantastic, fun-filled event for all involved. Nothing could hold Gordon back from spending as much time as possible in the water, and so no one knew there had ever been a problem. The nightmares had run their course too. Summer vacation came to an end, and with the start of the school term, life returned to normal. A few weeks later a chance meeting at school pickup resulted in a few puzzle pieces slotting into place for Lucy. Gordon’s class teacher spotted Lucy waiting in the Kiss & Drop zone and made a passing comment about his wonderful piece of creative writing for the obligatory “What I Did Over Summer” assignment. When they got home, with the boys all occupied with snacks or homework and various afterschool activities, Lucy dug out Gordon’s writing workbook and found the story in question titled “My Summer Vacation,” with a large A+ written in red at the top of the page. My Summer Vacation I did lots of things in summer with my big brothers and we had lots of fun but there was one scary day. I went swimming in the lake when I wasn’t supposed to and I nearly drowned but my brother was there and he saved me. After that I was scared to go swimming, but he told me it would make him sad if I didn’t swim anymore because he says swimming makes me happy. We looked up all the ways you can get into trouble swimming in lakes and rivers and oceans. We found out all the ways you can look for dangers and get out of trouble in the water and how to be safe. Now I’m not scared to go swimming anymore. Well, that explained a great deal. Lucy smiled to herself and shook her head a little. She would have words with Virgil about the kind of secrets that needed to be shared with an adult, but she was struck once again by how amazing her boys could be and just how far they would go for one another.

***