#(here should be a joke about me being terrible with keeping plants alive) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

phoenixyfriend · 3 years ago

Text

Sugar, Spice, and a Heart to Entice

AKA: Jango Fett speedruns a romance with someone who should be his enemy. (It's okay. We know he makes bad choices.)

Note: Ahsoka uses the pseudonym "Ashla" in this fic. Warnings: slavery, references to drug use, crude sex jokes, undressing of an unconscious person (for medical reasons)

----

The girl that they shove into the chains next to him is... worrying.

(Well, probably a girl--he'll adjust later if it turns out he's wrong.)

She's not that much younger than him, he thinks. It's hard to tell, with the way her skin is taut over muscle and bone, too little water and too little sleep, and probably not enough food for whatever labor she's been doing. He's also, admittedly, not great at gauging ages in the first place, and certainly not for Togruta. Still, he thinks it's safe to say that they're close in age, and that she's probably younger than him.

She's lucky, by some measure. The spice ship is terrible, but it's probably better than the fate tog girls are usually subject to in this industry. They're hazardous conditions, and violent ones, but Jango's yet to see a slave here stripped of their clothing for anything other than a whipping.

He thinks it's probably a matter of money. That kind of violation lowers the profit margins, he imagines. Spice is more lucrative than anything, and pain is a better motivator than... well.

So she's lucky, by that measure, and that measure alone.

They clap her in bindings before he even sees her, even though she's unconscious, and bring her sometime in the night cycle. Jango doesn't have a lot of pity left in him, but some goes out to her. He won't say she's too young for this, because nobody is ever old enough for slavery, nor do slavers have any compunctions about selling babes in arms, but Jango would wager she's already led a hard life.

She's fairly covered, but what little is visible shows enough old battle wounds that he can't imagine she's stayed off of battlefields. He knows how to read a Togruta's markings for stress history, too, and hers tell a story. Her facial marks are thin and delicate, and he'd say they're certainly more complex than the average; the striation on her lekku and montrals is thin and jagged, like marble. It's pretty enough, but it's also a sign of the fact that her life has likely been anything but easy. Some of it might be genetics, and he hopes it is, but with the scars he can see... he doubts it's much.

"Keep that one alive," the overseer orders, eyes on Jango and hand gesturing at the tog girl.

He leaves.

Jango isn't sure what they're hoping to get out of putting her with him. The room is built for four, yes, but they usually don't try to have anyone share with Jango. Maybe they ran out of room, or just assumed Jango was the most likely to know field medicine, or just figured there wouldn't be any trouble until she woke.

As he gets closer, his confusion grows. The tog's got burns all over, ugly ones that aren't going to heal cleanly without bacta. They're going to get infected, as likely as not. He hasn't got much besides water in here, but the overseer's left behind a box of what looks like bandages. If he's lucky, there's burn cream in there.

(He's not lucky.)

He works slowly, careful of every movement. He builds up a story in his head as he does, based on the wounds he finds and what he starts to notice of the clothing. He can't see all the details, not in what little light he has, but there's plenty to notice.

He hadn't realized, with how dim it is, but most of what she's got on as an outer layer is hardened leather, real leather, not synth. There are attachment points for armor at the shoulders and hips, and he thinks he sees signs of wear for vambraces and greaves. She's no Mando'verde, not with how he can see that the fabric at her torso and upper legs is intended to stay light and flexible and uncovered, but the crafting of the leather layers is familiar. He thinks she might have contacts among Mando armorers.

She might even wear beskar, if she's impressed the right person.

The wounds are recent, and unfamiliar, and he thinks she was probably fought into chains, rather than bought in them. She's a captive, not a purchase, or maybe... maybe they just found an unconscious woman, and decided that she was worth keeping.

He thinks she lost a fight, or won but with great injuries, and just... stumbled off and collapsed. He gets the feeling no one on board the ship could have fought this woman, except for himself. It's not based on much, not until he can see her move, but he's got good instincts for that sort of thing.

Jango keeps his assessment of her torso quick and clinical, not even bothering to mentally apologize for stripping her bare. This is medical, and he's not a doctor, not even a field medic, but he's professional nonetheless. Even though there's nothing in the box but bandages, not even the burn cream he'd hoped for, he'd still rather know if there's a broken rib to worry about. He doesn't want to wait for her to wake up and then find out she's got a punctured lung, even if he can't do anything about it. He finds bruising, but... he thinks that if anything is broken, it's hairline at most.

Lucky, he thinks again, in the unluckiest situations.

She doesn't wake that cycle. It's all he can do to get some water in her, dripped into her mouth in a trickle, but it's something.

----

When the Togruta girl wakes up, it's sudden. Jango is wiping down her lekku with a wet cloth in hopes of staving off a fever, kneeling next to the bunk. She opens her eyes, stiffens with a sharp breath, and then twists off the bed. Before he's fully processed this, her legs are up and around his neck, and then he's being wrenched to the side and onto the filthy ground, cheek grinding down into the grit. He feels a bony knee press into his spine, and the growl of a predator.

"Where am I?" the tog girl demands.

"Spice ship," he says, and oh but this place has ruined him for fights; he's having trouble breathing from whatever she's done to him, and she doesn't even have the use of her hands. "Deep space. You're in the slave cells. Don't mess with the collar, it'll explode if you try to remove it."

"Spice refinery?" she repeats, sounding completely baffled. He gives her a second to process, but she blindsides him. "Someone got me in their hands and they went for spice slavery?"

"As opposed to..." he really hopes she gets off soon.

She doesn't answer him immediately, and he can't get a look at her face. He gets his arms out to the sides, plants them to the floor, and shoves back. She doesn't fall off, but she does slide to the side to sit on the floor.

The expression she's got is best described as 'shell-shocked,' he thinks.

"You don't know me," she says, faint and confused. He shakes his head; he's pretty sure he'd have recognized her if he'd known her at all, given the time he's spent cleaning her wounds and trying to keep her alive. She laughs, breathless and a tad hysterical. "You don't--fuck. You don't know me. That's... great. Okay. Okay, I can work with that. Don't know how they missed it, but okay."

"Bounty on your head?" he guesses.

She smiles, thin and unpleasant. "Something like that."

"Thought as much. You're built like a fighter." He intends it as a compliment, but he doesn't think she takes it as one.

"I've never had a choice otherwise," she says, and when she next looks around, it's to find a place to sit. She pushes herself up to the thin mattress of the cot behind her, and Jango mirrors her on the cot across the room. It's not his bed, technically, but it's not like there's anyone to complain. She frowns at him; it's not a rude look, he thinks, but an attempt to put something unfamiliar in place. "What legion were you with?"

He blinks at her. He's been part of an army, but never one that big. "Legion?"

"Were you with special forces?" she tries again. "Or--wait, did you even get off Kamino before--"

"I'm not whoever you think I am," he tells her. "None of that means anything to me. I know what a legion is, but I've never had reason to be part of one."

"But you're..." she trails off, brow furrowed. "I guess just a similar face, then."

"To who?"

"The clones?" she hazards, as if that clears anything at all up. "I have no idea where we are; maybe the war holos never made it out far enough for you to know what they looked like..."

"Which war?" he asks, because he feels like he'd probably have heard of a war that used clones, especially one that had enough holos spread around for this woman to expect him to know what the clones in question look like.

"The... the clone war," she says hesitantly. "With the Separatists?"

None of that means anything to him.

It must show in his face, because her brow furrows, and her eyes go wide in a way he doesn't like. He can't tell if her skin's losing color or anything, but he's pretty sure the curl at the tip of one lek is a sign of anxiety. He's not sure how to help, but part of him already decided he liked this woman, just on the suspicion that she was friendly to Mandalorians.

(It's been a solid year and a half since Jango has had anything approaching a friend. He may be, subconsciously, a little desperate.)

"What's your name?" she asks, voice pitching in discomfort, and tight as a garotte.

"Jango Fett."

She closes her eyes, clenches her jaw, and... he can't see, can't know if she's trembling, but he thinks she is. She lets her head fall back against the wall, and breathes in sharply. It's a shaky breath, and he doesn't like that much, either.

"Fuck," she repeats. "No wonder--fuck."

He gives her a few seconds, but she doesn't elaborate. He asks another question instead. "Do I get to know your name?"

Her eyes crack open, and then she sits up straight and looks him over. Her lips purse, and she comes to some decision, though he's at a loss for what. "Call me Ashla. She/her, if you'd rather stick to Basic."

Fake name. Alright. She mentioned a bounty, so it's probably about that.

"Well met, Ashla."

She laughs, empty and painful. She swears in a mix of Huttese and Mando'a, and a few languages he doesn't even recognize. The Core accent on her Mando'a is strong, but he thinks whoever taught her might have been from Concord Dawn.

"How old are you, if you don't--"

"I'm twenty-one," she says. He was right; she's only two years younger than him. "At least... fuck, okay. What's the date?"

He tells her, and she screws up her brow and mouths something to herself. He's not entirely sure what.

"How long ago was..." she trails off.

"Was what?"

She presses a hand over her eyes. "I don't know what year it is."

Ah. Well, he can help with that much. He tells her that, too.

Ashla drops her hand. She visibly mulls it over, eyes on the underside of the bunk above her. He has no idea what she's thinking.

"Why aren't there other people in this room?"

"Weak ones couldn't sleep because I'm 'too intimidating,' and the rest kept trying to throw their weight around." He shrugs at the look she points his way. "I'm not dumb enough to start a fight with a bomb around my neck, but I'm not letting someone knock me around so they can earn a reputation."

She purses her lips, but lets it lie. "You let me take you down, then?"

"You had the advantage of surprise," he says, and doesn't bother to list every other advantage. She's better fed than he is, has spent less time in spice-suffused air, was unconscious and resting while he was awake to keep an eye on her fever. He's got the feeling she already knows.

When she speaks again, it's low and in fluent Mando'a, heavily accented though it may be.

"You'd get out of here eventually," she tells him, eyes half shut. "But you'll get out faster with my help, Mand'alor."

His stomach twists.

----

"They are either very stupid, or very cheap," Ashla mutters a day later, when he's supposedly helping her change some bandages. It gives him the excuse of leaning in close.

"Probably the former," he says.

She grins, and then stiffens and hisses out a low breath as he pours some of the stolen whiskey over one of the burns. It's not a real disinfectant, but it's the best they've got at the moment. Jango still isn't sure how she managed to get it from the overseers without them noticing, but he's quickly gotten the gist that she's a fair shot sneakier than he is.

"What did they do?" he asks, and she huffs out a laugh.

"I need you to promise you won't try to kill me," she says, and he stills.

She seems to be waiting on his response. Great. "That's not an auspicious start, Ashla."

"Eh, I've survived more than my fair share of people trying to kill me. No offense, bro, but I could take you," she says.

She's probably right in their current circumstances. "Let's hear it."

"I left the Jedi Order when I was seventeen."

The whiskey bottle slips from his fingers.

An invisible hand catches it, and it settles quietly on the floor of their cell. No guards will come running. It's a damning sight, for him.

A Jedi.

A Jedi who--who left.

Jedi committed Galidraan, but she left three years before that, but she was--was--

She has her back to him, trusting.

Or just arrogant.

She phrased it that way on purpose, phrased it so he'd know she left before he--before--

"I was framed by my friend for a terrorist attack," she says, and he can't find his voice to tell her to stop talking. "And sentenced to death by a non-Jedi military tribunal for it. By the time they figured out I wasn't guilty, I'd already been kicked out."

He forces his hands to his knees, grips at the bones that are too close to the skin, and orders himself to breathe.

Ashla turns on the spot, blinks at him. "I'm telling you this because it's how we're going to get out."

"Your people killed mine."

"I wasn't a Jedi when Galidraan happened," she says. There's more she wants to say, he's sure, but she keeps the words locked behind her teeth. That might be a good thing.

"And I'm just supposed to trust you?"

"Only for long enough to get out of here," she tells him. She shrugs, easy as anything. She's done this before, maybe. "Trust me, I have plenty of reasons to hate you, too, but I'm a little more concerned about getting this ship taken into custody, and having all the slaves freed."

"And you can just... make that happen."

"I told you, they're either stupid or skint," she says, with that same disarming grin. "I had lightsabers on me, and they kept them on the ship. They haven't drugged me since I woke up. They put me in normal cuffs, Jango."

He hates the way his name sounds on her tongue.

He hates the fact that he sees her plan already.

"You don't even need me," he points out, resisting the urge to try to kill her here and now. He doesn't have his armor. He doesn't have weapons. He's good, but she's got the Force and thighs that can crush a bantha skull.

"I'm not exactly... legit," she admits with a grimace. "Once you're back in Mandalorian space, you at least have an identity. People that will give you a place to stay. A chain code."

"And you don't."

She smiles, brittle. "Give me a week to scope out what I need and get us out of here, and maybe I'll explain."

A week. Fine.

And once they're out of here, and he has a blaster and a meal and a good night's sleep, he'll handle her.

----

He hates the fact that he likes her, still. People had already noticed, even just one day in. The first time someone notices he's giving Ashla the cold shoulder in the workroom, they joke at him about her not putting out. He's known her one day, and they think--

He stops the thought in its tracks.

Jango doesn't start fights here, but he is tempted.

"Oh, he wouldn't dare," Ashla simpers, sweet as spun sugar. "I bite."

She smiles, every pearly white tooth on display. The fangs near glint in the light. She eyes the speaker, squeezes the tool in her hand. Her tendons strain, but the metal bends with a creak.

The overseer shouts for them to get back to work.

Jango steps closer to her, lets his elbows brush against hers, and glares off anyone that tries to get too close.

"I don't need protection," she mutters to him from the corner of her mouth.

"I keep my word," he replies, hating himself for it.

He said he'd have her back. He may hate what she is, but... she left the Order. She's not a Jedi anymore. If he thinks it enough, he can believe it.

----

There's always a camaraderie in shared suffering. Jango is aware of this, and he feels his fondness for Ashla grow against his better judgment. They're both slaves on a spice ship, and he can't change that. It makes him tolerate her more than he sensibly should.

She acts like a Mando soldier, sometimes. She's not at all like Haat Mando'ade, but she knows some of the jokes that Mandalorians grow up with. She walks like a woman used to beskar'gam. She knows a drinking song or two.

(They don't waste the whiskey. It's for injuries, not intoxication.)

"I had brothers, once," she tells him, late at night. "A lot of them. They had a Mandalorian parent, sort of, but he'd never seen fit to really... let them have the culture. I lost them all, mostly to slave chips, and a few to just normal deaths, but... I learned what I could about Mandalore, after, for their sake. In their memory."

It's not a terrible reason, he thinks.

"Irony for you to end up in chains, then," he mumbles, and she barks out a sharp laugh.

"Tradition, more like," she says, and explains before he can ask for her to keep talking. "My... teacher was born a slave, and I... have a suspicion he ended up back in chains after we lost contact. His teacher was enslaved at least twice that I know of."

"Shitty tradition," he says, because there's nothing else he can think of.

"Could be worse," she tells him. This time, she doesn't elaborate.

----

He likes her more than he should.

----

He likes her so, so, so much more than he should.

----

She steals datachips when nobody's looking, using the Force instead of her fingers. She wraps dismissal around her like a cloak to access computer terminals without anyone but Jango noticing. She slips spice into the drinks held by guards and overseers.

She moves through the ship like smoke, in the dim lights of the false night.

Someone notices. Someone always notices, in Jango's experience, but they have no idea who's doing it. They lock down the cells for the sleep cycle, turn down the temperature, leave all the slaves shivering in their beds.

He pulls Ashla into his cot without hesitation, fits their bodies together to conserve heat, and ignores the rest. They're both soldiers; there's no shame in survival for those like them. The lekku at her back drapes over his neck like a scarf, and he almost wants to laugh.

He's pathetic. His men would be so damn disappointed in him, sharing bunk with a Jedi.

"You're thinking too loud," she mumbles, shifting somehow closer. The chill clings, creeping in through the thin clothes and thinner blanket, but he feels like it's bearable with Ashla here.

----

When they enact the plan, it's so much quieter than Jango would have run it. Ashla holds his hands in the early morning, before anyone is awake, and smiles. When she closes her eyes, sinking into a light meditation, the collar around her neck just... comes apart. Nuts and bolts and curves of metal float about her like a wretched parody of the mobile hanging above an infant's crib, and then land quietly on the nearest cot. When she opens her eyes, hazy and distant, she looks at his throat, and frees him with a thought.

It's a heady thing, freedom.

"Come along, Fett," she goads, almost crooning the words, backing out of the cell with his hands in hers. Nobody is awake yet, or at least they shouldn't be. Her words curl in the air like something cloyingly too-sweet, and he's sure it's her way of trying to piss him off. It's only working a little. "We've work to do."

Said work involves slipping past guards with a Jedi's timing, commanding them to sleep with a whisper and a poke to the forehead, and drugging the ones that she claims are resistant to Jedi tricks. The work is, as such, mostly hers to do. They hide the bodies, but the alarm goes off by the time they get to the weapons locker.

That's fine, because the weapons locker is where they were headed.

"Oh, hell yes," she hisses through a grit-tooth grin, and a matched pair of lightsabers float to her. Jango turns off the energy field by the time they reach her, and she hooks them onto her belt. Beskar plating follows, exactly the pieces that Jango had guessed from wear and tear. It's real beskar, too, not even an alloy, and Jango doesn't ask the questions on the tip of his tongue. She straps it on in practiced movements, without hesitation and almost without thought.

"See anything better than what you got off the guards?" she asks him. "Or did they all take the best blasters for themselves?"

"The latter," he says.

(His eyes trace over the armor she wears, and while she does wear it well... he's jealous.)

(He misses his armor.)

(Envy is unbecoming of anyone, but he thinks he can be afforded a little leeway.)

There are people in the hall by the time they exit, a dozen blasters at the ready.

The people in the hall are... not a problem.

Ashla had called it the Sword and Shield maneuver, when walking him through her experiences working in a Mando/Jetii team. He'd laughed, because the saber was the shield. She'd smiled at him, and he'd cursed himself for it.

If he'd had his armor, they'd have been able to move forward as a pair of unstoppable monsters. As it stands, they're... still doing that, really, just a tad slower.

"You're a Jedi!" one of them shouts. "You're supposed to be diplomats! You're not supposed to kill!"

Jango could laugh at that horrible, horrible lie.

"I am no Jedi," Ashla says, and the words cut through the air like something she's said a million times, and will say a million more.

Jango could do a lot with that line, tucked away in his memories for later.

There's a moment, though, where they're stuck at one end of a hallway, and the door to the bridge is just on the other side, and Ashla grins at him, a challenge in every inch of her body, and asks, "You wanna see something cool?"

He can't help it.

"You planning to show off, Jedi?" He can say the word without flinching, and it's... absurd. It's absurd. What in all the hells is she doing to him?

(He's been told that war makes for strange bedfellows, but he's long known that trauma does the same.)

He takes cover when she moves, and oh, does she move.

Ashla's a whirlwind, dangerous as anything and beautiful in her careful, precise violence. She knocks people out, more often than not, but there's more then one dead body left in her wake. It appeals to something in him. She flips and twists and throws people with the Force. She slices and kicks, and smacks people across the face with the blasters she lifts of their comrades. She headbutts at least two people, and then jumps to bounce off the ceiling and back down so she can land feet first on an enemy.

He hopes he'll get his common sense back when he's had time to put himself together, because the sight of those sabers doesn't make him flinch. After all he's been through, after all his nightmares, it really should. The sound alone should have him shivery and shooting.

Maybe there's just too much spice in the air.

A head drops to the floor in a different direction from the body it had previously been attached to. Jango's throat goes dry in response.

When Ashla stands at the end of the hall, a saber in each hand and the floor behind her littered in both bodies breathing and bodies bereft of life, she looks back at him over her shoulder. She deactivates her swords, and smirks. She's smug, and she makes smug look very, very good.

"So," she says. "Verdict?"

Fuck.

----

The bridge is easy enough to handle. They land the ship on a Republic planet, one with relevant authorities and at least some reputation for actually handling things with a degree of kindness and transparency. Ashla does the talking, letting Jango lurk behind her. She lies.

"Half-truths," she later tells him, in a low voice. The smile she wears is amused and self-assured, just a twist at the corner, and the slightest of pouts. He can't see it, when she leans in to murmur in his ear. "I certainly used to be a Jedi. They don't need to know this wasn't an officially-sanctioned infiltration."

Her breath hits lightly against his ear, and he wants--he wants--

"Have a comm code for any old friends?" Ashla asks, stepping away. Her face twists unpleasantly. Frustration, he's sure. "I've got credits, but no contacts."

He eyes the little pack she's got around her waist. "Stole that from the slavers?"

"We'll consider it payment for services rendered," she tells him, with an impish grin Jango wants to kiss off of her face, because apparently he's kriffing suicidal and wants to bed a Jedi. "I'll give you most of it, if you want. Call it the two years of backpay they owed you."

He snorts before he can stop himself. "Just one year, sorry."

"Oh, it's hazard pay," she insists, blinking innocently. "Dangerous conditions having been what they were, of course."

She presses a comm--probably also stolen--and a few credits into his hand, then loops her arm through his. She sets off at a lazy walk, ignoring the people who stare at them with distaste and disgust. "We'll find a hotel. We'll shower, with real water, and fancy soaps, and a little sonic just for the clothes. I'll run out and get you a basic outfit, and then we can go shopping, and once that's done, and you've had a chance to comm a companion, we can reunite you with your buddies, and you can go hunting for your armor, and I'll split and--"

"Stay."

She tilts her head at him, though she doesn't stop walking, and he feels his face burn. He hopes it's not visible. She hums lowly. He can't learn anything from it. "You hate Jedi, though, and I might not really be one anymore, but I'm still more Jedi than not."

"You wear beskar and speak Mando'a," he says. "You helped the Mand'alor. You're halfway to being one of mine already."

"One of yours, huh?" she mutters, eyes somewhere distant. He doesn't know what it is that she's seeing, but he's gotten used to it. "Alright, let's have this conversation again after you've had some sleep and clothes and a good meal, yeah?"

He can take that compromise.

----

"What do you mean, you're from the future?!"

#Jangosoka #time travel #Jango Fett #Ahsoka Tano #slavery tw #drugs tw #Phoenix Posts #I wrote this on a whim a few days ago but didn't get it edited until today #anyway have a nonsense

539 notes · View notes

1kook · 4 years ago

Text

kissanime & foreplay

this is part of my netflix & chill collection !

summary; You get a glimpse of the KissAnime screen for a good two seconds before about seven ads pop up. Another tab to a raunchy hentai website opens, and Jungkook groans. warnings; mentions of hentai yes u read right, kook leads most of it, cunnilingus, masturbation (f), oral (f), use of a sex toy, fingering, nipple play, face sitting/fucking/riding idk (f), praise kink, hints of dumbification, cum eating, jk is like passive aggressive in this one, 4 (f) orgasms, this is the kicker: sub kook at the end😳, like 2 sec of dom yn lol, & u get 0.002 sec of adams apple kink misc; more dumb story lines, made up sex stores bc my creativity knows no bounds, Jungkook plays nice but is actually mean for the majority of it, once again doyeon plays a pivotal role in the furthering of women empowerment, internal love monologues about jk best boy<3 wc; 8.2k

notes; back when kissanime was offed I remember looking at this fic in the drafts like what the hell we gone do now.. n almost deleting it but I was like yknow what this isn’t a 1kook fic unless there’s smthn weird going on so here we are. also yes I know ohshc is on Netflix shut up!!!!!

HAPPY BDAY MY LOVE AND MUSE JEON JUNGKOOK !!!! 🥺💜

—

The good thing about getting your own apartment is that you finally have a place to call your own. There’s no limit on how many potted plants you can squeeze into a one bedroom, one bathroom apartment, and if there was one, you’re twelve in and no one has said anything to you yet. You don’t have to share the shower space with anyone, label all your products with a hastily scribbled name. There’s a bathtub—something you haven’t had the pleasure of using during college—and a fairly open living space. There’s so many empty spots to fill with useless decorations and family heirlooms and that ugly plastic rooster Jungkook won you at the summer kick-off fair last month.

The bad thing about having your own place is that the entire world and their mothers seem to know now. Despite graduating from college, you still keep in touch with your trusted graduate mentor Kim Namjoon, who is still very much in school, and has made it his mission to bring you a new plant every week, hence your growing collection. Your childhood friend comes over every Saturday morning to lounge around after her Friday nights out. Jungkook, although the only one who is ever actually invited, runs through your strawberry scented body wash like a madman.

And of course, Doyeon.

Your beloved college roommate of four years, Kim Doyeon, has been the bane of your apartment experience so far. Unlike you, who had slaved away for four years, saving every penny you made during college for this moment, Doyeon was a big spender. She blew every dollar she ever came across, which is why she’s going to be stuck living at her parent’s house for at least a couple more years.

Nothing wrong with that, of course, if she wasn’t the most maniac online shopper in existence. It hadn’t been a problem in college because she was always good old pals with the students who worked the mailroom. If they saw something questionable, they’d let it slide as long as it was under Miss Kim Doyeon, Room 229.

The reason it became an issue for her now is because it’s poor Mrs. Kim who signs over the package from Sexuality Unleashed: The Best Toys Worldwide! one Tuesday afternoon as it is delivered to their suburban home.

So now she’s taken to ordering all her freaky stuff to your new apartment, where the small cabinet by the door has quickly become home to her impulsive shopping habits. Truthfully, you don’t mind accepting Doyeon’s weird packages, and have long since grown used to the uncomfortable looks the mail carrier gives you.

Jungkook’s supposed to come over today and you really hope he doesn’t ask about the state of your hall cabinet. Now that you work at a small company outside of your degree to make ends meet, time with Jungkook has been significantly decreased. You weren’t in college anymore, so you didn’t have the luxury of dropping by his house whenever you wanted to in between classes. Of course, it’s mostly your schedule that conflicts with your planned hangouts, because Jungkook is still working his dream job from home.

However, because Jungkook is quite possibly the most amazing person on this planet, he’s started coming over every Saturday night to make sure you’re still alive and not dying. And so weekly media binges are a thing, and it’s currently week four.

He gave up on showing you the Marvel movie franchise last week, after you had asked where Wonder Woman was three times in a row. Since the Barbie Movie Debacle of last month, you’ve found a nice medium between who picks when. Jungkook picks most of the time, because most of the time you don’t really care. It’s become a running joke between the two of you that movie binges are usually just terribly masked excuses to go to town on each other, so you don’t mind missing an entire 15th Century French Revolution documentary if it means Jungkook is deep in your guts by the time King Louis XIV gets beheaded or whatever they did to him. Is it too obvious you didn’t watch the documentary?

Occasionally, there are instances where one of you genuinely does want to watch something, in which case you have an intense match of rock-paper-scissors to decide who’s picking that night. Most of the time, Jungkook wins. But for every match Jungkook wins, he promises you’ll pick the next one so you’ve long since stopped trying to actually beat him.

Long story short, last weekend you sat through a two part Ancient Aliens episode on the connection between aliens and American presidents.

It was the most god-awful conspiracy theory you’ve ever heard of, but Jungkook ate up every minute of it. By the time the two hosts announced their conclusion you were just about ready to rip your own ears off and single-handedly fist fight every producer on the channel for allowing the production of such an atrocious show.

Anyway, because you had so bravely sat through the entire evening without complaints— well, no complaints towards Jungkook’s terrible taste; the show, however, was not safe from your wicked tongue —Jungkook has so graciously allowed you to pick the media for this weekend.

You’ve been telling him for the longest time that you were going to hook him on anime. It was one of the few interests you always believed Jungkook should possess, being a weeb and all, because it was only fair that he had one questionable trait to balance out the rest of his perfection. Liking anime isn’t bad— if a hottie like you enjoyed it, then it obviously had its perks. However, you know a lot of other people are turned off by anime-enthusiasts due to preconceived notions of the genre and the viewer-base.

Now, it was a widely known fact that you always had ulterior motives. So maybe turning Jungkook into a weeb was just a ploy to turn other women off from him and keep your jealousy at bay. Sue you, your boyfriend was a walking wet dream, and you’d do anything to keep him to yourself.

After long deliberation, you’ve decided on introducing Jungkook to anime with a classic: Ouran High School Host Club, a god among anime, a true Beyonce among shoujos. The only problem was that you absolutely refused to pay Crunchyroll or Funimation when you could so easily find the entire show on KissAnime.com, home to only the finest of hentai ads and Are You a Robot? questions.

He sends you a text when he’s outside your building, and five minutes later there’s a rap against your door.

“Hi,” you smile up at him, heart fluttering in that same trademark way it did whenever Jungkook was within a five foot radius. He smiles back softly, leaning down to peck your lips as you step aside for him to enter. He’s got on those cotton sweats that you love, the ones that send your brain into a censored frenzy. But he’s also got that soft curl to his hair that lets you know he came here straight out of the shower in his hurry to see you. How you managed to bag a dream boyfriend like him was beyond you.

You bask in the overwhelming feeling of unannounced love for all of ten seconds before Jungkook is lifting up a square package you hadn’t seen at his hip. “Mailman gave me this,” he says, waving around the signature bright pink packaging of Sexuality Unleashed. Jungkook, for all his politeness and respect, seemed to falter in those categories when it came to you. He turns the box over, reading the big fat name of the company on the side. “Since when did you start buying sex toys?” he asks rather loudly in the hallway.

You yank him inside, hurriedly slamming the door shut before any of your neighbors can come out into the hallway and get a peek of this avid sex toy consumer. “They’re not mine!” you hiss, standing still when he uses you to balance himself as he tugs off his shoes. You snatch the box out of his hands, turning it around to make sure it is actually addressed to your home. Sure enough, it’s for you. Couldn’t there have been some other sex toy fanatic on this floor?

With his shoes off, Jungkook wastes no time enveloping you in a hug, the Sexuality Unleashed box tumbling to the ground. “It’s okay, baby, no need to be embarrassed.”

You groan, leaning your forehead against his shoulder as he continues to pat your back like you’re actually embarrassed to be caught buying toys— you’re not. You’re embarrassed he caught you with a sex toy you simply can’t put to use. “Whatever,” you sigh, “your gross popcorn is in my bedroom and it’s probably stale.”

He releases you, not before pulling you into a slow and languid kiss that has you clutching tightly at the front of his shirt. He pulls away with a soft smooch, right eye falling into a wink. “Bring the box, gorgeous,” he teases, before sauntering off in the direction of your bedroom.

You groan loudly. “It’s not mine!” you repeat, but for some reason do as he says.

Not only do you have no idea what’s in this package, but you’re frankly not too keen on finding out. You’re more interested in Jungkook’s reaction to one of your favorite animes of all time. The package is tossed onto the end of the bed, where Jungkook has already stripped himself of his socks and cuddled beneath your covers.

Your laptop has gone dark from inactivity so you slam down on the space bar to bring it back to life. Your first mistake was pressing anything at all. It flickers back on alright, but you forget that you are working with a minefield of ads ready to explode. You get a glimpse of the KissAnime screen for a good two seconds before about seven ads pop up. Another tab to a raunchy hentai website opens, and Jungkook groans.

“What the hell is this?” he asks in a tone that screams he has never had to fight viruses off his computer just to watch something at two in the morning.

You ignore him, cuddling into his side as you hurriedly type in the title of the anime before another annoying ad can intercept you. “KissAnime,” you answer for now, accidentally clicking down on the mousepad with the heel of your palm. Another tab opens up to some sketchy credit site. You huff.

“Baby, I swear I just saw like twelve viruses,” he says. “And what even are these?” he scoffs, jabbing a finger at one of the many ads that lines the perimeter of the website. “Animated teacher porn?”

By the grace of god, you somehow manage to get onto the episode selection screen without having another tab open on you. You smile in relief, turning the power of your excitement onto Jungkook… only to find his eyes narrowed in on the square advertisement for some hentai website. “What? You wanna watch hentai now?” you snort, placing the laptop on his legs as you cuddle into his side.

Jungkook sputters, cheeks tinting red at the mere insinuation he would ever consume such media. “No,” he glares, releasing the arm around your shoulders to huffily cross them over his chest. “I am not going to watch anatomically incorrect illustrations of a woman teacher relieving herself, ___,” he says rather matter-of-factly.

You snort, repeating, “a woman teacher,” mockingly and in a high pitched voice that, honestly, doesn't sound anything like him. You click play on the video box that appears after only about twenty more pop-up ads. “Silence, you nymphomaniac, the episode is starting.” Jungkook pulls you close with a displeased expression, finally quieting down when you put it on full screen and the ads disappear from his view.

You’re beginning to wonder if Jungkook really is the script and plot dissector he claims to be, or if he just lives to get under your skin. He doesn’t make it three minutes without finding something to critique. First it’s the quality of the frames, and then it’s the characterization of the lead character. He nitpicks everything about the best anime in existence, and by the end of the first episode you’re considering breaking up with him.

“Oh my god,” you groan, tearing yourself away from him. He’s all laid up against your mountain of pillows, tongue prodding at the insides of his mouth in that ridiculously attractive habit of his. Usually, you’d be tripping over yourself to kiss him, but you’re about two seconds from ripping his head off. “I mean this in the nicest way possible, baby,” you sigh, picking up his hand in yours. “You gotta shut up.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes. “I have to shut up?” he asks in a scandalized tone. “You sang through the entire intro, off tune may I add.”

At this rate you’re getting nowhere, so you just snatch the laptop back up before you actually hurt his feelings. You escape the full screen, met with those hentai ads that are slowly becoming the bane of Jungkook’s existence.

“Who actually watches those anyway?” he mumbles, covering the sidebar full of naked cartoon ladies with his palm for you, a real gentleman if you ever saw one. “Really?” he says, knocking his pointer finger against a particularly raunchy ad with the caption Be a Good Boy and Let her Play beneath it.

You snort. “You are such a baby,” you tease, pinching his cheek much to his annoyance. “What? Can’t handle seeing some anime titties?”

Jungkook shoves your hand away, leaning back to become one with the pillows as you continue onto the next episode. “They’re just weird,” he admits. “And make unrealistic faces.”

“Unrealistic,” you repeat, finally giving one of the ads the time of day. There’s an adorably drawn character making the most perverted expression, knees hiked up to her chest. Her face is twisted up, drooling like a dog and with her eyes crossed in ecstasy. You shrug. “Just because you can’t get those faces out of me doesn’t mean they’re unreal.”

The second the words leave your mouth Jungkook is letting out a scandalized scoff, sitting up to level you with another glare. “First of all, I can get you like that,” he defends, tapping his finger against the ad on screen. “In fact, I can get you like that without even trying, so let’s not say anything too drastic now, okay?”

His sudden bout of defensiveness makes something playful in you switch on, laying back down beside him with a smirk. “Oh, you can make me all stupid like this?”

Jungkook scoffs. “Yes.”

“Uh huh,” you drawl, tracing a finger up his chest teasingly; Jungkook knocks your knuckles away, obviously still butt hurt about your comment. That’s fine, because a slightly riled up Jungkook was always the best Jungkook. You sit up and lean in close, letting your hand slip beneath his hoodie, palm running over his bare shoulder and around the top of his back. You give his nape a light squeeze, lips pressed against the shell of his ear. “Why don’t you prove it to me, Jungkookie?” you purr, before pulling away.

His jaw twitches at the nickname, one shapely brow unconsciously arching as he regards you with a calculative expression.

The thing about Jungkook was that, after almost a year of dating, you know just how to push his buttons. He has a rather calm and collected exterior to him, the same one he’s had since the day you met him, but beneath it all was a childish competitiveness that raged with the heat of ten suns. He disliked being taunted like you were doing now, especially when his credibility was at stake.

Honestly speaking, you don’t doubt Jungkook can make you look as goofy and messy as those hentai ads. In fact you’re rather confident he can. Either way, him being right or you being right, you would still get some fun out of it.

“Hm?” you add, tracing your hand up to dance over the skin of his cheek, pads of your fingers running over that stiff jaw. “Are you scared I’m right and you’re wrong?”

A hand snaps up to catch your wrist, fingers tight around your skin until you’re shivering against him. “Oh baby, I can make you cum until you cry,” he murmurs, his usual sweet and lilting tone dropping to a low vibration that makes your pussy throb beneath your panties. Your heart leaps in your chest, lips falling open when he ducks down to brush them against yours. It’s too light, just a simple touch that makes you follow his mouth when he pulls back.

With one firm shove, the laptop is tumbling off the bed, thudding loudly against your bedside rug. Jungkook leans over you, his usual trademark doe eyes zeroed in on you with the focus of a laser. “Have a little faith in me,” he teases, and when he presses close you can feel his fattening cock flush against your thigh. Your body is begging to be touched, every brush of his fingers against your skin searing trails in their wake.

Suddenly, he’s drawing back. “Kook?” you frown, barely biting down on a childish whimper when he snuggles back into your mountain of pillows, one arm stretched behind his head.

He flashes you a smile. “Go on,” he says, arms behind his head. “Show me how to get you like that.”

“By myself?” you ask, shifting onto your knees anyway. Jungkook nods, a soft jut of his chin as he gives you another one of those easy going smiles of his. His goal seems a little unclear, but you had a ridiculous amount of trust in your boyfriend that whatever he had planned was certain to be good. With one final skeptical glance his way, you sink down onto your bum, knees spreading and giving him a clear view of your little pink boy shorts, elastic band hugging your waist.

The material of your t-shirt is guided away, held to your chest by the hand currently not traversing the length of your stomach, gliding across soft skin, over your belly button and past that band until it slips beneath. You chance another look Jungkook’s way, only to find his eyes wonderfully downcast in the direction of your core. That smile is gone now, replaced with a somber look as he watches your hand move mysteriously beneath the fabric of your undergarments.

The first brush of your forefinger against your swollen button makes you twitch, back arching at the sensation that is magnified by his watchful gaze. “Mmh,” you bite down, hand twisting in the material of your shirt. Jungkook’s eyes glare a molten path across your skin, from the comfy bra that peeks out from beneath your rumpled shirt to the wrist slowly working beneath your panties.

A hand falls over your thigh, tattooed fingers giving the skin a light squeeze as you get to work swirling your bud around. The sight of his inked skin on yours makes something warm blossom in your lower abdomen, your eyes following the inky swirls up, up, up. They lead you to the face of your very handsome boyfriend, long lashes fanning across his cheekbones as he watches you play with yourself. “Wanna take these off for me?” he says, the tip of his pointer finger wiggling beneath the fabric of your shorts.

You nod hurriedly, wiggling around on the bed until you’re on your back, legs bent in front of you. The shorts come down your legs; the simplest press of your thighs makes something quiver in your abdomen. You toss them off to the side, and just as you go to sit back up, Jungkook places a hand on your knee. “Stay like this for me,” he says, sitting up from his mountain of pillows to glance down at you. You melt into the plush mattress beneath you, staring down at him between your legs. He’s got that adoring look in his eyes, the one that makes you feel so warm and in love, it’s only natural your hand slips down to play with your bare clit again. “That’s my girl,” he smiles, rubbing a hand down the outside of your thigh, urging your legs to fall open.

There’s this overflowing vat of arousal that builds up inside of you everytime Jungkook is around, like the moment your eyes land on him you’re reminded of every position he’s ever had you in. You remember the soft brush of his hands on your body, the way his lips feel on yours, the soft tickle of his hair when he gets too close. It makes your heart lurch in your chest, like if you don’t grab onto him tightly this feeling will slip through your fingers and out of your life. So you were crazily in love with your boyfriend— now what?

A puckered set of lips meets the inside of your thigh, the action ripping you from your overly gooey, overly soft inner rambling. Your hand trails down your quivering pussy lips, collecting your dripping wetness as you go. At the same time, Jungkook kisses down the inside of your thigh, soft smacks of his lips against your skin filling the air with an emotion that makes you bite down a whimper. Your hole puckers at the brush of your fingers, anticipating an entrance that you yearn to give into soon.

His mouth is on you before your finger can go deeper than a centimeter in. But Jungkook doesn’t brush your hand off, doesn’t shove you away to prove his mouth was undoubtedly better. He places a kiss over your knuckles, before swallowing up your significantly smaller hand with his, that of which he clasps together over your navel.

You groan, head rolling from side to side. “Don’t be so soft with me,” you whine, leg twitching when he presses a kiss against your engorged bundle of nerves. “Push me around like that one time, you know I like it.”

Jungkook grins, mouthing over your clit with practiced ease that has you releasing all kinds of whimpers and sighs. He’s got his other hand wrapped around your thigh, strong arm pulling you closer to that devious mouth and tongue that lavished attention on your clit. “Need me to be mean to you, baby?” he purrs, curling his tongue in such a way that it makes your entire body tense up, muscles pulled tight. “Want me to push you around like the stupid little girl you are?” You moan, head bobbing up and down at the ideas he stuffs in your mind. As he moves down the length of your cunt, that round nose you love brushes against your bud, and the cheeky shit takes an obnoxiously loud sniff of it, a soft groan breathed against your lower lips. “But isn’t this better?” he hums, languidly molding his lips against your lower ones, much in the same way he does with the ones on your face; he moves slowly, slips his tongue in every few seconds before eventually diving in head on. “Slow... and so easy.”

“Kook,” you mewl, getting this overwhelming urge to cover your face with your hands. But you can’t, because he’s knotted one hand with yours and his fingers only tighten when you try to yank them apart. Instead you’re left pressing one knuckle against your mouth, brows pinching as he begins slowly fucking his tongue into your cunt. “F-Faster,” you beg. He, of course, ignores your plea.

The wet mass moves past the clenched muscles around your hole, nose brushing against your lips with every intrusion. Every few cycles he stops to press a kiss against your pussy, so hard and wet that it hurts when he pulls off. You’re left writhing and moaning, your heel knocking against his shoulder when he pushes your leg up closer to your chest. “It’s enough,” you cry, your entire body shivering.

Jungkook pulls off with a loud pop, lips glistening with your arousal. He’s got this glint on his eyes, like he’s thoroughly entertained by your reactions. He shuffles around to get comfortable, finally releasing that grip on your hand. Immediately, your newly freed hand jumps forward to tangle in the hair above his ear, tracing down the delicate curve of his cheekbone. Jungkook turns his head, pressing a soft peck against your open palm that makes your heartbeat thunder in your ears.

As he moves around, his leg bumps against something that has both of you pausing. It sounds out of place next to your shallow breaths, and both of you glance down only to catch sight of that stupid package from Sexuality Unleashed teetering on the edge of the bed.

The moment you see it, it’s like you’re transported into an omnipresent view of the scene, the next few hours flashing before your eyes as Jungkook snorts. You know he’s going to reach for it in two seconds, and you know he’s going to tear the hot pink packaging apart with his bare hands. He does so with a scary amount of power, the industrial tape not standing a chance against him. A box roughly the same size as the package falls out, and before you can kick it away and save yourself from suffering beneath Jungkook’s teasing antics, he’s snatching up the box.

“The Bullet Bestie,” he reads aloud, dark eyes flying across the text with lightning speed before that box is also being ripped open. (Briefly, there’s a voice in your head that thinks of Doyeon, but you’re not sure why.) Out tumbles a little pink bullet with a strap on one end that bounces against your thigh and an even smaller remote.

“Baby,” you rush out, the sight of the tiny toy making your heart thunder in your chest. “We can look at it another time,” you try, hands coming up to brush against his face again. “Why don’t you finish off here?” you ask, a sickeningly sweet politeness dripping off your tongue as the knot in your tummy fades into the background of his attention.

Jungkook ignores you, picking up the remote with a wondrous look in his eyes. Before you can try to persuade him back between your legs, a quiet click cuts you off and the little bullet whirls to life. You yelp at the sudden vibrations against the inside of your thigh, so close to your throbbing core. The jump of your thighs has it falling onto the mattress below you, wide eyes snapping back to the smirk that grows on his face.

“No,” you say slowly, sitting back up, “no, no,” you try, your usual assertiveness melting into a whiny cry as you try to wiggle away from him and the nefarious ideas infesting his lust-addled mind. You’re barely turning, ready to make a run for it and hand him his victory by forfeit, when Jungkook is catching you by the waist. Your hips get pulled up, arms clawing uselessly at the sheets beneath you as he drags you close to him. He’s fast, already having moved onto his knees behind you, and when he yanks you up, you can feel every hot plane of his body aligned with your backside. “Kook, please just make me cum,” you gasp.

There’s a smile pressed against your shoulder, lips still wet from before, kissing along the side of your neck. “Look at my girl,” he murmurs, and you nearly jump out of your skin when something smooth is traced along your thigh. One hand slips beneath the material of your shirt, soothingly rubbing circled against your skin. This hand also holds the tiny remote between two fingers, and every nerve in your body is on edge waiting for it to be used. “Where’s that smartmouth now?”

“Jungkook,” you try to warn. But there’s no bite to your words, only an anticipation that grows the closer he moves that damned toy between your thighs. “Baby, we-we can play another time, okay? Just please—“

A soft click, and suddenly your spine is giving out on you, upper body flopping forward as Jungkook runs the vibrations over your clit. Of course Jungkook follows, never letting you slip far from his reach. A loud moan spills from your lips, lower lip wobbling at the unreal amounts of pleasure he bestows upon you with such a small toy. “W-Wait,” you sob, the coil from before suddenly magnified tenfold. It makes your orgasm loom over you bigger than ever, a wave that threatens to spill over and drown you in one go. “No-please.”

His mouth presses against your ear, hot breaths fanning against the skin there. “Hey pretty girl, does it feel good?” he husks out, kissing just below your ear. “Aw fuck,” he groans, something stiff pressing against the cleft between your cheeks, “can’t even see if you’re making that stupid face right now.”

You are, but you don’t even have the words to tell him that. The moment the vibrator had made contact with your already ravished clit, your eyes had rolled into the back of your head. You don’t doubt you look like those silly ads you’d laughed at earlier, mouth opening and closing every few seconds as he circles the toy around your bud. You settle on a high-pitched whimper that has Jungkook laughing meanly against your ear.

It ends too soon, the stimulation from Jungkook eating you out for a few minutes combining with the bullet to form a powerful duo that swallows you whole. An embarrassingly loud moan rips itself from your throat, hands twisting in the sheets beneath you as it washes over you. It’s so powerful, it blinds you, pussy spasming. Jungkook’s name is repeated about a thousand times in between, your body eventually melting back into the mattress as the final shocks run through you.

The vibrator clicks off just as quietly as it turned on, your harsh breaths filling the room in its place. “Good girl,” Jungkook praises, raining down a parade of kisses against your shoulder. You mewl in appreciation, still awkwardly shoving your face into the mattress, and your hips in the air. From the corner of your eyes, you watch him set the glistening toy off to the side, and you’re just about ready to thank the heavens for such an experience with your boyfriend, when said boyfriend hits you with a curveball.

The gentle pecks against yours shoulder dissolve into harsh kisses, rough hands trailing up your waist. The t-shirt gathers around his knuckles, pushed and pushed until he’s got those same hands cupping your breasts. “Did you like that?” he asks, biting down against your shoulder; the sensation is dulled by your shirt being in the way but it still makes you whine. You moan softly, nodding against the mattress as he gets to kneading your breasts over your bra. “Mm,” Jungkook sighs, “my pretty girl was so good for me, wasn’t she?”

Those deft fingers run back down, crawl beneath the elastic of your lounge bra and push it away until your breasts are bouncing out of their cage. “Kook,” you sigh, eyes fluttering shut as he traces circles around your nipples. “W-Wait,” you whimper, suddenly reminded of the swollen cock pressed against your backside when he leans closer.

“Shhh,” he soothes, tweaking your nipples. “Relax for me, sweetheart,” he coos, flicking your hardened nipples with his fingers. You can’t relax, not with your body still so sensitive and him playing with you. Still, the low intonation makes something soft and warm settle in your chest, the kisses against your jaw making your eyes fall shut. “That’s it,” he says, giving one nipple a playful twist that draws a high-pitched moan from you.

Just as you’re beginning to fall into the rhythm of Jungkook’s caresses and voice, he releases one breast to traverse his hand down and over your tummy, to your sensitive pussy. You gasp, biting down on your lip as he teasingly flicks your clit with his fingers. “Bet you could come again now,” he murmurs, taking the tip of your earlobe into his mouth and nibbling softly. You groan, shoving your face into the sheets as if that will save you from your doom. “Bet your pretty little pussy can cream itself just like this, isn’t that right, sweet girl?”

You whimper, hips bucking back against him when he begins nudging your bud, lewd sounds reaching your ears. His other hand remains on your breast, no longer toying with your nipple but simply holding it almost comfortingly. There’s a smirk pressed against your skin, that pearly white smile you usually adore so much teasing you as he circles your nub.

“Come on,” he encourages quietly, kissing up the column of your neck again. You moan, thighs quivering as he strokes a second orgasm out of you with no struggle. Your eyes and throat burn at the heat that washes over you, and you release a hoarse scream into the mattress— Jungkook chuckles at the sound, egging you on with that low voice until your muscles go limp a second time.

When he rolls you onto your stomach again, you try desperately to cover the tears that blur your vision, turning away from him like a child when he tries to look. “Crybaby, crybaby,” he sings teasingly, prying your hands away to capture your mouth with his for the first time that night. “Lemme see those tears, baby,” he purrs.

He tastes like you, tongue dripping with that sweet tang of your pussy, and he smells like you too. It strokes the flames of you ego, arms eventually wrapping around his shoulders as he settles above you. He pulls off with a curl of his tongue against your swollen lips, brown eyes lazily staring down at you. It’s embarrassing how well kept he still was compared to your half-nude state of dress. His skin is all glowy and pretty, not a single tear track in sight, and his grin is still too relaxed for your liking.

Jungkook’s body feels so warm and comforting against yours, muscles keeping the heat trapped between your bodies. You go to brush a hand through his hair, needing to feel the familiarity of those silky locks, before he’s suddenly leaning away. He shuffles onto his knees again, glancing down at your thoroughly abused cunt with a quirk in his brows.

“God,” you groan, knocking your foot against his side. “Just fuck me already,” you huff despite your earlier fatigue. You could only go so long without feeling Jungkook’s fat demon cock inside of you.

He snorts at your snappy tone, cutely tilting his head to the side to move his hair out of his face. His jaw looks sharp from this angle, facial features covered in shadows the lamplight behind him can’t touch. “Can’t,” he announces, and you could pull your hair out from all this unnecessary build up.

Truth to be told, you and Jungkook were both equally as unrestrained when it came to each other. Most of the time, the lead up to actual, penetrative, key-in-lock sex included a couple minutes of heavy petting from his end, and maybe a half assed handjob from you. Sometimes if you felt extra attentive, he’d eat you out and you'd him off. But for the most part, the two of you jumped straight into it after an orgasm, like horny teenagers despite the two of you being twenty-three now.

The most adventurous you’d ever gotten up until the point was maybe two orgasms bestowed upon you by a crazed Jungkook. And, well. You had hit two orgasms now. You were ready for his monster cock.

“Kook,” you whine childishly.

Jungkook shakes you off, placing a palm on both your knees. Slowly, he spreads your thighs apart again, eyes zeroed in on the glossy folds that come into view, the sparkling pearly cum that leaks out of your hole. “I can’t, baby,” he says, almost pained. “I gotta clean you up first,” he insists, and before you can tell him how counterproductive it is to lick you clean of your arousal before fucking you, he’s diving face first into your cunt.

But the biggest surprise doesn’t come from Jungkook going in for thirds, but from the hands he clasps around your thighs, the sheer strength he uses to roll you over (ignoring the shriek you let out) to sit you on his face. “No, no,” you yelp immediately, “I-I‘ll break you,” you cry, trying to escape from his hold.

From beneath your thighs, dark eyes peering up at you daringly, you can see the clear warning on Jungkook’s face. It’s a look that loudly says don’t you dare fucking move, shapely brows sending a jolt of genuine fear down your spine for a moment. “Jungkook,” you fret, trying to ignore the arousal that only continues to blossom as his tongue laps against your folds for the second time that night. “I’m, I’m,” you stammer, hands burying themselves in his hair as he ignores your cries. “I’ll break you,” you try again, spine arching when he slurps your clit into his mouth. “I-I’ll—“

He pulls off with a pop. “Fuck my face, baby,” he says, as if he hadn’t heard a single of your concerns at all. His nose nudges against your clit, a whimper catching in your throat. Briefly, his hand disappears from around your thigh, and when it returns, that tiny bullet vibrator from earlier is pressed against your thigh. “You got that?”

You nod, internally torn apart by your fear of crushing him and your need to drag your cunt all over your boyfriend’s handsome face. You glance down at him, watch him slip that vibrator into his mouth for just a second and lewdly coat it in his saliva, before he’s reaching around to shove it past your pussy lips. They’re still swollen and puffy, but have long since relaxed enough for him to slip it in. “B-But what if—“

“You won’t,” he cuts off, readjusting himself closer to your cunt again, “come on, pretty girl.”

The reason you think you and Jungkook click so well was because he was able to bring that vulnerable side out of you every now and then. He knew you liked to parade around with that huge superiority complex, and he loved it. But he also knew there were things you liked and disliked, and sometimes it took a little pushing for you to reveal them.

For a second, that horny cloud over his irises lifts, and he gives you one of those cute, sloppy winks as he taps your thigh gently. “Fuck my face, sweetheart,” he whispers, “drag that pretty cunt all over me until I can’t breathe.” A gasp catches in your throat, hands unconsciously curling against his scalp. He notices, and flashes you a lazy smirk. “You can do that, can’t you?”

Something akin to adoration blooms in your chest, and before you can blurt out something embarrassing—like I love you—there’s a soft click that has The Bullet Bestie revving up inside of you. You gasp, the sudden vibrations deep inside your pussy making your hips snap forward, clit rubbing against Jungkook’s nose.

“O-Oh,” you cry, and that’s all it takes for you to lose it. Your hips start off slow, at first just savoring the wet drag of his tongue against your lips, his nose against your clit. He sticks his tongue out for you, and part of you wants to tell him he’s a good boy, that corny hentai ad flashing in your mind, but you doubt you’ll survive the aftermath of that. Once you find that perfect pace, your hands are practically yanking at his hair, pushing him further into the mattress as you ride his face like he’s nothing but a toy. “Kook, Jungkook,” you pant, grinding your lower lips against his all too eager mouth.

It feels oddly weird being over him like this, using him like this. You like to think you and Jungkook have equal power in the bedroom, but you will admit that more often than not, he assumes control by default. You’re not particularly bothered by that, because you doubt you’d ever come up with the crazy ideas Jungkook did when he was horny (okay, a lie, because you definitely have thought of crazy sex schemes before).

But, this moment…

The power was quickly going to your head. “Fuck,” you sob, roughly dragging the length of your pussy over and over his face. The hands around your thighs are pressing against your skin with a strength that would hurt were you not blinded by arousal. His eyes are shut, lids fluttering open every now and then as he watches you buck wildly over his face like he was a pillow in high school and your parents were gone for the weekend.

It doesn’t help that the rhythmic pulses of the vibrator inside of you are doing their job well, the tongue that slips into your pussy joining together to form a powerful combination. It’s ultimately what has you halting your manic thrusts, instead falling into a slow grind over him. Your hips circle, eyes squeezed shut as you lose yourself in the lapping of his tongue against your dripping hole. “Mmmf,” you mewl, biting down on your lower lip as the wet muscle prods against a delicate spot within you. You hear feels light, view of the gorgeous man beneath you obstructed by the eyelids that can't seem to stay open. “N-No,” you cry, pulling his hair more roughly than you intended to in order to redirect him. “There, there,” you whimper, holding him tight against your pussy.

Beneath you, Jungkook exhales harshly against your lips, hands moving frantically over your thighs as he works his tongue inside of you alongside the bullet vibrator. If you weren’t so caught up in your own pleasure, all kinds of sounds spilling from your lips, you would have heard the quiet moans that fall from his. Alas.

It takes a few more pulses from the toy and a few more licks from Jungkook until you’re coming for the third time that night, features twisting up as your pussy clenches around his tongue before spilling down his mouth. Your back arches, a defeated moan escaping you as you release the same mess he’d claimed to clean up onto his lovely face. You can barely breathe afterwards, mouth dry and head dizzy when Jungkook finally pops back out from between your thighs. You barely have enough time to lift yourself up, pussy lightly brushing across his Adam’s apple as you stop yourself from crushing his windpipe. It makes you twitch.

“Good girl,” Jungkook praises with a cheeky smile that distracts you from the bullet toy he retrieves from your quivering cunt. His face is absolutely glistening from your arousal, skin warm and flush. He’s looking up at you like you’re some mythical goddess and he’s but a humble villager coming to pay his respects at the temple that is your body. Fuck, were you okay? You don’t think you’ve ever felt this good in your entire life, and Jungkook’s mushy gaze was doing things to your heart.

He presses a kiss against the inside of your thigh before helping you off of him, laughing meanly when you flop limply down beside him. He’s still fully clothed, a fact that irks you when he leans over to kiss you with that glossy face of his. “D’you like it?” he mumbles, kissing softly down your face. You nod, legs twitching from the aftermath of that wild ride. “I saw it, y’know,” he says suddenly.

“Saw what?” you mumble, mindlessly rolling your head to the side and exposing more skin when he begins kissing along your neck.

Jungkook says nothing, just rolls over you. Part of you thinks he’s crazy, but you’re suddenly hit with the realization that while Jungkook’s drawn three orgasms out of you in the course of an hour, you hadn’t done anything for him. Before you can dive head first into swallowing his cock, he’s kissing you softly. “That stupid face,” he smirks, slotting his mouth against yours. “That weird, now realistic face,” he tacks on.

You huff out a laugh, throwing your leg around his waist comfortably. Jungkook smiles, kisses you one last time before settling in your arms, face cutely pressed in between your boobs. “Hey,” you call, “don't you wanna cum too?”

He shakes his head, a soft sigh filling the air. “Nah,” he says, cuddles closer into you. “Rest now, baby.”

You roll your eyes. “I can feel your dick against my thigh,” you point out, wiggling your pelvis upward to brush against his throbbing erection. Jungkook holds you down in an effort to stop you. “Fuck me.”

He groans against your collarbone. “No, you’re tired,” he tries to convince you, but his skin is warm and flushed in the way it always gets when he’s riled up. “Sleep.”

With the leg around his hip, you pull him closer. “Fuck me, Jungkookie,” you purr, using the hands in his hair to turn his face up towards yours. His dark eyes are drawn down cutely, pouty lips too. “Use my body,” you suggest, “I’m yours anyway.”

His eyes flutter shut, a quiet whimper falling from his lips. “Don’t say that,” he sighs, “makes me wanna do very mean things to you.”

You smile. “You can do whatever you want to me, don’t you know that?” Another groan, his head falling forward until he’s hiding in your neck. Still, there’s movement from below, he sweats slipping down at his hips until that throbbing cock is pressed into the tiny crease where your thigh meets your pelvis. There’s a moment of hesitation, and you wonder if this is what he felt like earlier when he’d managed to get you to sit on his face. “Inside, Jungkookie,” you murmur, reaching down to line him up with your sensitive entrance. He whines softly, arms wrapping around you as he pulls you close. “Good boy.”

Despite your earlier belief that you’d never survive an encounter with Jungkook after using such a term on him, the result is much different from what you had anticipated. He visibly melts into your arms, cock slipping past your folds easily. “No,” he says, his voice feathery and whiny against your ear. “I can’t.”

You soothe a hand down his back, eyes fluttering shut as he begins slowly rutting against your swollen lips. “That’s it,” you encourage, tugging softly at his wavy hair. Jungkook moans wantonly against your neck, rolling his hips harshly against you until his arms are the only things keeping you from jostling out of his hold. “Do you like this pussy?” you ask, purposefully clenching around him, tummy tightening at the stimulation you keep packing on.

Jungkook shudders, pace growing slipping inside of you. “Yes,” he pants, “s-so wet… creamy.”

“Yeah?” you huff, pressing a smiley kiss against his forehead. “It’s yours.”

“Ffffuck,” Jungkook chokes, picking up his pace as his well-deserved orgasm reaches its peak. He’s breathing harshly now, and it’s taking everything in you to keep your pussy tight around him. But after the night he’d given you, the sounds and faces he pulled from you, it’s the least you can do. Besides, your body, after being so thoroughly pleased, still rears up for one final orgasm with him. “Mine,” he growls, bucking his hips into you. “You’re mine, baby, mine,” he seethes, ending his little tryst with a piston of his hips that makes you gasp, body almost unconsciously spasming around him. It’s painful, but so, so delicious how he manages to pull this last orgasm from you as he finally busts inside of you.

He comes with a stuttering garble of words, none of which you catch as he collapses into your hold for the final time that night. “Fuck,” he pants afterwards, leaning into your touch when he finally registers the soft combing of fingers through his hair. “That was evil.”

You laugh, pulling him closer. “As evil as you making me suffer through three orgasms before putting your dick in me?” you tease. Jungkook slips out of you, and you know it’ll be a hassle to clean your sheets tomorrow but it’s worth it.

“It’s called building the scene,” he weakly defends, blindly tugging the puffy blanket over the two of you. “I was gonna rhyme it with that horrible website you made me use but I already forgot it’s name.”

“Rude,” you snap, “it’s called KissAnime.”

“And fore-play,” he suddenly says, and you almost yank his eyeballs out of their sockets for doing that stupid thing again.

—

epilogue

Two weeks later, your favorite website and home to hentai ads is shut down after years of piracy. Jungkook laughs at your demise, sits and actually cackles at your heartbreak, until he eventually comforts you with his flaming demon cock and a subscription to both Crunchyroll and Funimation. Doyeon spends weeks tracking down a missing package, apparently some freebie she’d gotten for being such an avid customer on Sexuality Unleashed: The Best Toys Worldwide! before eventually finding it in your drawer. And because her and Jungkook have some awkward life-long rivalry for your attention, he doesn’t pay for that.

—

#goldenclosetnet #networkbangtan #bangtanhq #ksmutclub #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #jjk smut #jeon jeongguk smut #jjk fic #jungkook fic #bts fic #bts smut #mine

3K notes · View notes

jackrrabbit · 4 years ago

Text

🤍 Haikyuu WIP excerpts

preview post for hq because recently i showed sara a list of my works in progress and she laughed at me and then made a dn joke like this is 2015 or something. we got:

🤍 communal property /// ushijima x f!reader x tendou 🤍 sunshower /// atsumu x f!reader x osamu 🤍 corporate ethics /// kuroo x f!reader

anyway these are all terrible first drafts and i'm not sorry. however i am very very into these pieces and if you're interested in seeing them finished, you should tell me fr fr

🤍 communal property /// Ushijima x f!Reader x Tendou

Summary: Tendou shares everything with Ushijima—his food, his dorm room, even the AVs he likes. Why not his girlfriend, too?

Tags/warnings: poly relationship in progress (only you and Tendou are dating at this point), mild suggestiveness ??, s*ze k*nk

Status: 10k words written (holy fuck lol) out of ~11k total? this bitch better get finished is2g

After the match, your voice is hoarse from screaming but you still manage to yell congratulations for your boyfriend when you meet him and Ushijima outside the locker room in the stadium. You’re pumped on the adrenaline of the game, so you don’t even protest like you usually would when Tendou picks you up in the middle of your hug and lifts you off the ground effortlessly. “How was I? Awesome, right? I told you we would beat them!”

“You did, you so did—“ Even though your throat hurts, you can’t help gushing about every rally, every soul-crushing block, every impossible spike. “—and then the guy on the left thought he was clear to shoot it but you just—“ You throw your arms in the air and mime hitting the ball down like a blocker. “Wha-bam!—and the look on his face! I thought he was going to punch you!”

Tendou laughs and lays a sloppy kiss on your cheek, just as thrilled as you are by the win. “You really liked it that much? I thought you weren’t into sports.”

“I loved it! You were so cool! I can’t believe I’m dating someone so cool!” You wrap your legs around his back and hug his face close to yours, reveling in the fact that this weirdo belongs to you wholly and entirely, that you get to have him to yourself (well, other than his roommate). “And I’m not into sports, I’m into you.”

Tendou smiles in a way that makes the sides of his eyes crinkle up and little red patches bloom over his cheeks, a look that says, I like you so much (Y/N), I like you I like you I like you, except he’s probably trying not to be mushy like that since Ushijima is standing off to the side.

You feel a little bad for ignoring him (no one likes being the third wheel, even if he never shows signs of caring) so when Tendou sets you down you turn to Ushijima. “And you! Holy shit, Tendou said you were good, but I didn’t know you were that good. The ball when you hit it was super loud—honestly, how are your hands okay? If I hit it that hard I’d probably break something.”

“My hands are fine…this is normal for me.”

But just because you’ve got them here in front of you and you’re still pumped from the exhilaration of the win, you can’t help grabbing Ushijima’s hand and flipping it palm-up to inspect. True to his word, there’s no redness, just the calluses he’s built up on his long fingers. “Wow.”

“You don’t need to worry about Wakatoshi,” Tendou tells you, grinning and then making a face. “He’s a monster, he can handle it.”

“No kidding. You’re both monsters.” You put the base of your palm up against Ushijima’s to gauge the size of his hand against yours, and without prompting Tendou grabs your other hand to press against his own. Tendou’s fingers are a bit longer, but Ushijima’s are…thicker, more solid. Your hands look like a little kid’s in comparison. “Can I be honest? Half the time I was thinking I actually feel bad for the other team. If I had to take on both of you at the same time, I’d probably cry.”

You’re (mostly) joking, but it’s still a complete shock when you see the side of Ushijima’s mouth curl up a tiny bit. You’ve known each other for months at this point, but you’ve never seen him smile until now. Half of you is wondering if this is some kind of optical illusion caused by the atmosphere and the dim light of the stadium cutting through the evening, but the other half of you enjoys it. You made Ushijima smile. You did that.

“Don’t sell yourself short, (Y/N).” Ushijima says, tipping his head to the side.

“Yeah!” Tendou chimes in, resting his chin on top of your head and folding his arms around your neck from his place behind you. “I’m sure you could take both of us. Right, Wakatoshi?”

So that’s probably a sign.

🤍 sunshower /// Atsumu x f!Reader x Osamu

Summary: [Kitsune AU] You find an old Ō-Inari shrine in the woods that may not be as abandoned as it looks.

Tags/warnings: Shinto religion, this preview is biased toward tsumu oops, yearning/soft vibes

Status: 3.9k words written out of 5–6k? total

Atsumu was the one who found you.

That’s how he likes to talk about it, that he found you, like you’d still be wandering around lost in the woods if it weren’t for him. Osamu thinks you would have found your way back home eventually but Atsumu likes it better this way, this framing that makes it seem like they saved you.

It’s hard for him to tell time linearly the way humans do but you mention once that you’ve known them for a year and that seems to fit. It’s spring now, almost barely tipping into summer, and it was spring when Atsumu found you. He remembers because of the way it was raining: light and tender, a summer rain early in the season, each little drop tapping off a leaf and then rolling into the forest bed to be eaten up by the grass and the soil.

Atsumu likes the rain, likes the sweet earthy smell it makes and the way the plants look so lush and green and alive, like they’d bleed if he sunk his teeth into them. He was out in the woods because of the rain ('Samu was in the shrine, as usual, attempting to set buckets under the millions of holes in the roof so the rainwater wouldn’t pool and rot through the wood underneath). But Atsumu was half asleep in a tree when he heard you crashing through the undergrowth, tripping over ferns and snapping every twig in your path (thought ya might be a bear, he tells you later, that’s how loud ya were) but he wouldn’t really have woken up if he hadn’t heard you singing.

(The odd thing is, you weren’t actually singing. You remember that day as vividly as they do: the warm, humid air making your skin feel sticky under your yellow raincoat; the tiny raindrops filtering through the canopy and kissing your cheeks; the ink feathering out on the damp xerox of the old map you found in your great-aunt’s attic so you could barely make out the “X” that was supposed to mark the location of the lost Inari shrine�� You were cursing how stupid you’d been to go on a wild goose chase into the mountains with no cell service and no marked trail to look for a shrine that no one had seen in decades. You definitely weren’t singing.)

But Atsumu remembers it differently. No matter how many times you explain that you were just talking to yourself, when he replays the sound of your voice back then (reaching and lilting and falling, the way the birds talk to each other in the early morning, except the music of it was poured into syllables and words), it sounds like you’re singing. He wasn’t sure at first, hadn’t heard a voice that wasn’t Osamu’s in so many years that he gets tired counting them, but then he saw you push into view from between two bushes and he thought, a human!

A girl, too—it was hard to say at first because you were wearing that weird, slick jacket of yours, so bright yellow it was like an oversized flower blooming out of the grass, but then you tilted your head up to feel the rain on your face and the hood fell down and he knew. Not just a human, a girl! Atsumu wanted to yell for Osamu, make him come and confirm that there was a person wandering around not a mile from the shrine. A real person! Singing and smiling and wiping the rain off her cheeks (does that mean you like the rain, just like he does? did you come out to feel it too?) But he also wanted to surprise Osamu so he hid his tails and his ears and came down from the tree and asked if you had lost your way in the forest, since you were so far from any path…

When you think back on this yourself you’re amazed that you just went with him: a strange boy (man?) wearing a fox mask and traditional Shinto priest robes, which were somehow pristine white and red despite him having appeared from nowhere in the middle of a dense forest, who told you he had no idea what direction the village was but he could take you to the Inari shrine you’d been searching for…well. Maybe you were too surprised to be wary, or maybe you were just exhausted and lost. But you like to think you had a sense of it even then, the irrational belief that the boy in the woods was not just a boy in the woods.

Atsumu thinks you knew. Humans always understand, even when they try not to… He remembers, he took your hand that day in the forest and you saw that the claws on his fingers were too long to be human, and you said nothing because on some level you already felt it. Your skin was cool then, smooth and damp from the rain; he wanted to stop, run his hands up your arms, touch the places on your face where your mouth had been turned up at the corners and press his fingers into your cheeks.

🤍 corporate ethics /// Kuroo x f!Reader

Summary: [Office AU] The new junior marketing associate just happens to be Kuroo’s favorite camgirl, and he’s having trouble keeping his hands to himself.

Tags/Warnings: boss/employee, businessman!Kuroo as a reformed player, camgirl reader, this excerpt has a lil bit of 18+ content 👀

Status: 1.2k words written out of 4k? words total

Kuroo doesn’t watch porn.

It’s not, like, a moral principle or something. He has nothing against pornography. As far as he knows, it’s perfectly normal for single men. He just doesn’t like it…unless it’s you.

When he was in school it was easy. Being a teenager meant being so flooded with hormones that a warm breeze could get him up, and the adrenaline rush of winning a game was better than any big-titted porn actress faking moans into a shit-quality boom mic. Sure, he watched porn back then (what teenage boy didn’t?), but it was more out of curiosity than necessity. It was all kind of a mystery at that point, the way it can only be when you’re a clueless virgin and you and all your friends are too busy practicing for the next game to get girls.

Somehow Bokuto was the first one in their friend group to lose his virginity, and the memory of the dumbass self-consciously describing the experience has been lodged in Kuroo’s brain for the 10+ years since. “It was…I don’t know. She smelled good. You know how girls always smell good?” Bokuto’s hands twitched and his face was pink. “It’s just really…soft.”

Soft was right, Kuroo would reflect when he got laid for the first time a few months later. Soft, warm, wet. Sex was awkward at first, but before he knew it it was more natural than breathing.

It didn’t change much after high school, either. He didn’t get into volleyball for the groupies, but they didn’t hurt. There were girls when he played for his college team, more girls when he joined a business frat, so many girls he couldn’t keep track…they blurred together after a while. It didn’t take effort. You don’t need game when you’re 6’2 and you’re in the gym 40 hours a week, and you definitely don’t need porn.

So he never got into it. Now that he’s promoting volleyball instead of playing, things are more complicated. Kuroo’s never been the type who expects things to fall in his lap, but there are so many rules when it comes to dating in the real world. Good morning texts, anniversaries, flowers, parents. It’s exhausting. One time—seriously, just one time—Kuroo misses his girlfriend’s birthday to go watch a Jackals game, and the next time he sees her she throws her drink on him in public and keys his car. After that, Kuroo decides that until he’s ready to settle down there will be no more girlfriends. Which means no more reliable sex. Which means resorting to porn.

Which means you.

You, batting your eyelashes at the camera and biting the side of your lip. You, purring and mewing like a kitten. You, lying back on your pretty pink bedsheets in your pretty pink lingerie, sliding your hands between your legs. It takes Kuroo a full month to decide to pay for access to your website (Kenma’s unsolicited recommendation) but it takes less than five minutes for him to upgrade access to premium. You look like a wet dream—no, you look like the centerfold of every dirty magazine Kuroo managed to get his hands on when he was younger. Pristine and alluring and so deliciously out of reach.

And you make it so simple. No delicate emotional games with rules Kuroo never bothered to learn. No pretending to care how your day was. You untie the little bows on the side of your panties and lick your fingers and Kuroo just has to take his dick out and watch you. Getting off hasn’t been this easy for him since college. You’re a camgirl, you exist on his computer screen, and that’s how he likes it.

Which makes it a lot more awkward when Kuroo finds out that the only woman he’s gotten off to in the past…year, maybe?…somehow just got hired in JVA’s sports promotion department as his junior associate.

Your prim work blouse is buttoned up to the collar and your makeup is different, but he knows it’s you. You have to tell him your name twice because he’s too stunned to respond the first time, and even then he can’t summon up more of a response than a curt nod because his mouth tastes like dirt.

You smile a little awkwardly at his cool reception, and the hand you’d extended out to shake swings back down to your side. “Um, the guy at HR said he sent up my info yesterday…I’ll be working directly underneath you?”

Directly underneath me. Kuroo is taking a sip of his coffee when you say this. He doesn’t spit it out, but it’s close.

#haikyuu x reader #ushijima x reader #tendou x reader #atsumu x reader #osamu x reader #kuroo x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu #ushijima wakatoshi x reader #tendou satori x reader #atsumu miya x reader #osamu miya x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #haikyuu imagines

361 notes · View notes

redux-iterum · 3 years ago

Text

A Kindling: Chapter One

(AO3 counterpart here.)

Rusty jerked awake and banged his head on the bottom of the armchair he lay under.

His immediate reaction was to hiss and duck down again, silently bemoaning each residual wave of pain between his ears. The armchair, just tall enough to allow him space to crawl underneath, shifted above him. The top of his human’s head appeared upside-down to peer at him curiously, mane dragging on the floor. He blinked at them and they chuffed, eyes crinkled, before the head disappeared again.

Rusty waited for the last achy throb to fade away before he crawled out from underneath the armchair, stopping to stretch between his human’s feet and shake his fur out to the irritating dinging of the bell on his collar. He felt fingers gently scratch at his neck and between his shoulders, to which he responded with an obligatory purr. The fingers lifted away as the human trilled something in a high pitch. Rusty’s pelt brushed against one of their legs as he turned and headed for the next room.

His food was still there, in its bowl. Rusty ignored it completely, even as his stomach gave a hint of a growl. The stuff tasted terrible and never seemed to make him full. Not for the first time, he reminisced about his last home, where he had been given something soft and much more delicious.

His mind started wandering on the topic of new and old sensations, as it always did, and he distantly felt his feet carrying him through the overly-warm kitchen and to the flap in the door he’d learned to use on his first few days in this house. He barely paid attention to where he was going; he was in the throes of his dream, before he had been startled into the waking world.

It was always the same: he would be prowling through a place he had never been, yet felt right at home in. The place changed every time he dreamed. Sometimes the grass was tall enough that he had to rear up to see ahead, sometimes it was unending stone formations that curved oddly smoothly and arched above his path. Usually…

Rusty pushed through the flap into the night, walked across the yard with cut grass that irritated his pawpads, and leaped onto chairs and pots until he was at the top of the fence that separated him from the outside world.

Usually, it was what he saw ahead of him—a thick forest, so dense with trees and ferns and bushes that it was impossible to track any potential trails to follow, and rich with the scents of the wild. Even from this distance, through the dark and the petrichor from the rain, those scents seemed to find him at all times of the day and night.

Rusty breathed deep, enjoying the freshness of the damp earth and the many, many smells he could not identify from the forest. It was close. Very close—

“There you are!”

Rusty blinked in surprise and turned his head to see another kitten in the next yard, who did a much less graceful job of getting up onto his fence, scrabbling and puffing for air every time he had to heft his considerable weight to meet with his friend.

“I didn’t think you’d be out this late, Smudge,” Rusty said once he had finally sat down on the rail and was catching his breath.

“Well, I was looking for you all day,” Smudge said, letting out one final huff before sitting up straight. “Were you inside the entire time? What were you doing?”

“Ehm…” Rusty cocked his head sideways a little in thought. “Sleeping, I guess. I was having a lot of nice dreams. I suppose I didn’t want to wake up.”

“Very unlike you, bud.” Smudge gave him an amused look. “Even the old homebody down the way asked where you were today. He said you weren’t around to scare his prey off.”

Rusty snorted. “He’s never caught a thing in his life and we all know it.”

“Well, neither have we,” Smudge said. “Just a matter of time with you, though, I suppose.”

Rusty frowned. “You could catch something one day, too—”

Smudge blinked slowly, unimpressed, and motioned with a paw to his own chest and belly. He was quite different from Rusty—black-and-white and much softer and rounder. He looked like how he lived, never moving far from his bed and food bowl if he could help it.

Rusty, ginger and much wirier, persisted. “Still, you never know.”

“S’pose we don’t.” Smudge glanced out at the forest before them. “Though I wouldn’t dare try, myself. Not over there, anyway, since you keep looking that way.”

“There aren’t really any other places to hunt, though,” Rusty said. “Unless we wanted to go—”

“’We’,” Smudge muttered.

“’We’.” Rusty nodded. “Unless we wanted to go further into the neighborhood and try that park.”

“Eh.” Smudge rolled a shoulder like the very idea of walking that far pained his limbs. “There’re probably ferals out there too.”

Rusty did not respond to this. He was looking back into the forest, thinking. He’d heard stories of feral cats living in those woods—wild giants that lined their borders with the fur of trespassers and ate the bones of helpless kittens and house cats. He’d been warned many times by the adults in his neighborhood to stay away from them, and to run as soon as he saw a hint of their eyes or caught the scent of strange plants and cut wood (whatever that smelled like, he wasn’t sure). Apparently there were even more feral colonies far away, but he knew nothing about them. What everyone was concerned about was the group in the forest.

“Mind a nibble on your thoughts?” Smudge said, jerking Rusty back to the present.

“Just—” Rusty looked between his friend and the woods. “Just wondering what’s in there.”

“Probably nothing good.” Smudge wrinkled his nose distastefully. “A bunch of mud and bullies, I’ll bet.”

“Really?” Rusty looked at Smudge sideways, head tilted a little. “I’ll bet there’s a lot of prey and adventures waiting past those trees.”

“Ohhh,” Smudge said with a grand sarcasm. “Lots of good times in there?”

“All of the good times,” Rusty returned. “And if there are cats, I’ll bet they’re not as bad as everyone says.”

Smudge huffed an amused breath. “Tell you what, you bring one back for me to see myself, one that’s real nice and friendly, and I’ll personally take you to the park tomorrow.”

A spark of something lit up Rusty’s mind. “You know, I might take you up on that.”

All of Smudge’s snarky demeanor vanished in an instant. “Rusty, I was joking.”

“Well, I’m not.” Rusty bunched up and looked over the fence, eyeing the best place to land.

“Don’t—” Smudge puffed up out of the corner of his eye and his volume rose. “Rusty, don’t.”

“No, no, we have a bet.” Rusty jumped and landed with, he proudly noted, barely a stumble. “I’ve got to go find you a feral.”

“They’ll eat you alive!” Smudge protested, looking genuinely anxious. “Come back here! I wasn’t even serious!”

“See you in a while, Smudge!” Rusty called over his shoulder, and started off at a trot through the soft, uncut grass.

“Rusty!” Smudge shouted, but Rusty didn’t look back. He simply padded along, ignoring his friend’s yells, only pausing for an instant as he hit the treeline before pushing his way past a fern. The forest swallowed him and Smudge’s voice faded away.

Rusty stopped a few steps in, eyes wide. The trees, he knew, were always taller than the houses, but up close they seemed to scratch the sky—he wasn’t sure he was even able to see their peaks from here. Some smaller forms of them, much more delicate and thin, fought their way out of the brush that covered almost every bit of ground. The ferns, soft and broad and fringed, took up what the brush didn’t, and patches of incredibly soft grass soaked up what little moonlight they could catch. Everything was vibrant, fresh, alive.

More than that, though, were the scents, so numerous and strong that they threatened to knock Rusty off his feet. Even the trees clouded his nose, and he understood instantly what smells the adults were talking about. The ferns and grass were almost delicious, and the packed soil under his paws smelled not only of rain, but of something that made Rusty’s stomach growl. Something like what he had eaten in his old home.

He wanted to find it.

Without quite understanding what he was doing, Rusty lowered his body into a half-crouch and he tried to pinpoint the scent past all the others. Experimentally, he opened his mouth, and the air brought him a taste that seemed to be coming from his right. He sniffed, turning slowly, ears swiveling.

Something rustled in the ferns, and something else lit up in his head.

Very slowly, very carefully, Rusty moved forward, trying to track the scent as he went. His shoulders brushed against the fronds, but luckily, they made no sound (“Luckily?” What was he trying to sneak up on?). He cursed in his head when his feet shifted the soil and the rustling stopped. He paused, and the rustling eventually continued, as did he.

He closed in on this unknown target, until he ducked below a fern that was blocking his view. In a little clear patch of ground, he could see something tiny and brown scuttling back and forth, digging at the earth or chewing on grass. It had a long, naked tail and wide ears, and Rusty had a vague idea of what it was supposed to be, based on a toy he had at home that looked about the same, save being much more brightly colored.

Again, not having a clue why, Rusty crouched further, eyes focused on the animal. He kept as still as possible, waiting for an opportunity to… do something. The animal was entirely unaware of him. He lifted one paw and took a step, pulling himself closer.

The bush ahead of him violently shook and the animal darted into the undergrowth.

Rusty straightened up, greatly annoyed. He glared at the bush, now catching a scent of something else. Something that was also familiar, but still as new as the rest of this forest. And, going by the continued shaking, something quite large.

Rusty had a faint idea that he should probably run.

#warrior cats #warriors redux iterum #iterum #chapter #chapter one #book one #arc one #a kindling

46 notes · View notes

mlm-writer · 4 years ago

Text

Hero of the Swamp (Shrek x Jaskier)

Edit by me

Pairing: Shrek x Netflix!Jaskier (Julian Alfred Pankratz/Dandelion) Rating: Explicit Words: 2893 POV: Third Summary: After being left on the mountain, Jaskier finds himself lost in the swamp and in need of warmth and comfort. Note: Y’all can thank @spielzeugkaiser and their amazing art for this. Sorry for the sloppy edit, but I really was not going to put even more time into this sinful work. Tags: I’ve been a bad boy daddy forgive me father fore I have sinned, pre-movies Shrek, post-mountain Jaskier, angst, fluff, Shrek’s huge dong, size kink, cum shower, monster cock, blowjobs, rimming, cum eating and Shrek has emotions ok

The growls of monsters lurking in the forest rolled over the muddy forest grounds and reached Jaskier’s icy ears. He shivered in both terror and response to the temperature. He told himself he could get off that mountain on his own, but who was he kidding? His frigid ears caught something in the dark. The bard bolted off the path, then later found himself in the middle of nowhere, chilled to the bone, disoriented, and, to be honest, frightened.

He was looking for a path, but even that seemed to not be present anywhere in the vicinity. Jaskier rubbed his trembling hands together and walked on. Jaskier thought he should at last find some shelter from the wind. Just as he was about to settle for a random tree, he noticed light in the distance, warm like fire, inviting him and promising warmth and shelter.

The fatigued bard all but ran towards it, the signs around the perimeter unnoticed in the dark. His boots sunk into the mud of the swamp, but he had his eyes set on the house-like structure in the middle of the swamp. He could not believe anyone wanted to live in this stinky place, but right now this someone was about to be his saviour. Once at what he assumed to be the door, he knocked on it. When there was no answer he knocked again. There were some angry, heavy footsteps, before the door opened.

Before him stood a massive humanoid, skin green like peas, frame built like Geralt who preferred cake over his nasty potions. “Eh, good evening, sir,” Jaskier tried. If it was living in a house, it must be intelligent to some extent… right? “Could you please spare some place for a weary traveller?” The green creature did not look nice, even without its facial expressions. Some tension left its body after the question. Jaskier recognised it as a hint of confusion. “I’m afraid I’ll freeze to death if I don’t warm myself by a fire.”

“No, get out of my swamp,” the creature spoke. It sounded like it was from Skellige. It was about to retreat into its home, but Jaskier put his foot between the door.

“Please, I’ll die out here,” he spoke dramatically, hoping for pity so he’d have a roof over his head tonight. He was not sure if he should try his luck with this creature, but at least it could speak. Wraiths had said less words, before trying to slice him.

“Not my problem. Get out of my swamp. The only way you get close to my fire is when I roast you over it.” “Oh please, you don’t mean that.”

Jaskier had barely finished speaking, when the green man grabbed him by his doublet and pulled him close. His breath stank of swamp water and fish. His mouth was wide and Jaskier was pretty sure he would fit inside there. The bard felt like he should be terrified, but underneath a thin layer of leather and cloth, there was warmth radiating off pear skin. He wanted to lean into it, thaw. What inhibited his survival skills further, where those eyes glaring into his. Under bushy eyebrows rested two brown pools of warm broth. He heard the green man roar into his face that he needed to leave, because he was an ogre and he was going to eat him, but it was hard to believe him.

Within those eyes that were so close to his, the ogre told the story of a creature that wanted to be alone, because alone was safe, alone was comfortable, alone was all he was used to. Jaskier never knew that, but after today, he understood why one would think that.

“If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands.”

It stung, more than anything had caused him to ache in ages. Jaskier could feel the urge to never make friends again, never love again, never lust after one he could not have. However, he refused. It was pain that made life worth living. Without pain, bliss did not feel as good as it did. The rain made sunlight so much more appreciated. The cold made fire so much more precious. The monsters made the witcher so much more valuable.

The human knew this, but the ogre holding him up by his doublet did not. Jaskier had wished for pity, but he pitied the other now. He clumsily threw his arms around the ogre and hugged him tightly. The ogre stopped yelling at him. Jaskier could feel the muscles against his body tensing up. The hand holding him loosened and he threw his legs around the ogre too, holding on and hugging him tightly. “You don’t have to be alone. I don’t fear you,” Jaskier spoke gently.

“I am an ogre.” “And if you were really malicious I would not still be breathing. Please, just for one night. There are all sorts of dangers out in these swamps, especially at night. I just want to stay alive.”

Jaskier could hear the ogre letting out a long sigh. “Fine,” he spoke, “but you have to be gone tomorrow.” Jaskier let him go, but not after planting a delighted kiss on the rough skin of the ogre’s cheek.

“Thank you so much,” the bard exclaimed. He slipped inside, before the ogre could change his mind. The inside of the hollowed out tree looked cozy. It stank like hell, but he was in the middle of the swamp; what did he expect? “Do you like music? I have little to give you, but I am a bard.” Jaskier held up his lute as he grabbed the chair that had no food in front of it. One look at the giant slug on a plate and he was pretty sure he did not want to have any food. Jaskier pulled the chair a little closer to the fire and sat down with his lute in his lap. It seemed rather strange that there were two hand-crafted chairs, while the ogre seemed to be so keen on being alone. “Oh and you can call me Jaskier, by the by. What may I call you, my hero from the swamp?”

The ogre looked at him a little annoyed as he closed the door and sat back down to finish his dinner. “Uh… Shrek. You can play, but don’t sing.” Jaskier let the name roll off his tongue, before playing a calming tune. He didn’t speak, just let his fingers do their thing as he processed all that happened during the day, well it was actually more just those few minutes that haunted his mind. Each one of Geralt’s words cutting into his soul. “Eh… Jaskier?” Jaskier was pulled from his thoughts when Shrek spoke his name. He shook his head, before looking at Shrek. “You don't seem to be… you… you seem sad, well, what I mean is… I never heard such a depressing tune.”

Jaskier faked a smile. “My apologies, good sir. I’ll play you a happier tune, if you wish.” He diverted his eyes to the fingerboard, blinking away the tears he suddenly noticed pooling in his eyes.

“No, you don’t have to. I prefer silence, anyway.” Jaskier looked up and noticed Shrek had finished eating. He stood up and started cleaning up. “You can sleep on my good chair.” Jaskier followed the ogre’s gaze to the fauteuil in the corner. He nodded. It looked comfortable enough. He had slept on forest floors with Geralt. This was more luxury than a regular day with the witcher.

Shrek had some board and card games, which he seemed to enjoy to play. Jaskier wondered if Shrek usually played these games on his own or if he hosted guests more often. Neither seemed likely, since the games seemed to have gone untouched for at least a decade, if not longer. They shared a few laughs. Shrek turned out to be more fun company than Jaskier would ever have expected from an ogre. His jokes were terrible and sometimes a little insensitive, but he so clearly meant well. It was clear Shrek was not used to talking or any social interactions. He spoke like a young man still trying to figure out what was socially acceptable to say and what was not. Still, he was trying and Jaskier welcomes the vivid chatting.

When they got tired, Jaskier curled up on the comfortable fauteuil by the fire. Shrek had draped a shirt of his over the human. It stank and was dirty, but it was warm and Jaskier was still low key afraid of getting kicked out to sleep in the mud, so he didn’t voice a single word of complaint. In the silence of the night with no one to talk to, words that were already spoken returned to his mind. Jaskier tried to block them out, but they bit at his brain, keeping him awake and drawing tears from his eyes. He curled further in on himself, trying to stay quiet as he sobbed into his hands. It just hurt so much to be discarded like he was nothing but a nuisance. Was that all he was? He was sure his songs brought joy in taverns, but right now the unlikely and unrealistic idea that everyone just pretended to have a good time was so overwhelming.

The bard flinched when he felt a huge hand on his shoulder and arm. He looked up to find Shrek hanging over him in nothing but his smalls. He looked like he wanted to say something, but the ogre clearly wasn’t good with words. “I’m fine, Shrek,” Jaskier lied as he wiped the tears off his face, “I’ll just find the nearest town tomorrow and fuck the pain away.” The words had already left him, when he realised how that might sound. “And I’ll do that tomorrow, not because I think you’re hideous, quite the contrary, you might be the most handsome ogre to ever exist, but I just assumed you would not be interested in having sex with a human… male. Human male, doesn’t seem your taste, but it could be, I wouldn’t judge you. How could I? You’ve been a most generous host! I…”

Jaskier almost suffocated as Shrek’s palm covered the entirety of his face. He got the hint and just shut up. Shrek slowly let go of his face, allowing him to breathe again. Jaskier looked away, cheeks red. He was blabbering nonsense to an ogre who preferred peace and quiet. He guessed it was time to sleep in the mud outside, however, Shrek wasn’t yelling at him… yet.

“So you just have sex and that helps you feel better?” Jaskier nodded slowly. “I wouldn’t mind helping you feel better. It is not like I have had lassies lining up in the swamp… or lads.” He laughed a little awkwardly, making Jaskier laugh too. He took hold of one of Shrek’s huge fingers with two of his, by comparison, tiny hands.

“Oh Shrek, you are such a wonderful host. You really do not have to do this though. I will still want to visit you again, even when you don’t want to fuck my brains out, just so I don’t have to think about some brutish asshole.” Shrek gave him a long look, before enclosing his hand around Jaskier’s waist and lifting him off the fauteuil.

“It’s not just for you. It’s for me too.” And Jaskier wanted to read into those words, figure out the ogre with complicated feelings, but he had no willpower to. Shrek’s bed was firm, almost hard like a plank. It smelled like him, like onions and mud and firewood. Shrek tried to undress him, but his huge fingers couldn’t get a grip on Jaskier’s complex clothing. Jaskier smiled kindly at him, helping him without even needing to look at any button. “Can I kiss you?” Jaskier didn’t even reply. Instead he pulled Shrek’s head down. It was an awkward kiss. Shrek’s mouth was way too big and neither of them were very coordinated in the moment.

When his clothes were mostly off and Jaskier was left in his smalls, Shrek kissed down his body, his huge tongue lapping at his skin and Jaskier could hear him enjoy the taste. He hummed to signal his pleasure, letting the ogre go about his business. Shrek pulled off his smalls and to Jaskier’s complete surprise, the ogre took his cock in his mouth. Jaskier whimpered, hands grabbing the sheets. Everything about Shrek was big, including his mouth. Even when the ogre sucked him to full hardness, Jaskier still didn’t feel the back of the ogre’s throat. Shrek sucked in his balls at well and Jaskier almost cried from the pleasure of having his cock and balls inside a warm mouth.

When Shrek let Jaskier go, his length was hard, red and leaking. Jaskier barely had time to recover, before he felt that glorious tongue on him again, this time licking over his hole. Whispered pleas left his lips as he imagined that tongue inside of him. Then a thought crossed his mind. If everything about Shrek was big, what about his dick? Jaskier had seen the ogre’s hands and one finger was already bigger than the average cock. While he normally was down to go big, the imaginable size of Shrek’s dong low key terrified him.

His mind had no opportunity to freak him out completely, because Shrek’s tongue entered him and the feeling was so, so good. Jaskier moaned as big green hands spread his cheeks and thick wetness penetrated him. “Ah… ah Shrek I hate to be a uh… fuck!” The bard trashed his arms around when his new found friend started to stroke his cock at the same time. “I’m gonna cum! Way too soon, I know! Sto..aahh...” His whole body tensed as he spilled all over himself. Shrek was unrelenting. As the bard’s cock was spent, he still had his tongue inside him, pressing at the right places and wiggling around so talentedly. “Stop, stop, stop, it’s too much, really, too much.”

Jaskier was out of breath, head fuzzy with post-orgasmic bliss. His whole brain short-circuited as Shrek’s tongue licked over his torso, cleaning him off all the cum he had spilled over himself. “Are you all right?” The green-skinned sex machine inquired with innocent eyes that did not match the absolute tent in his smalls.

“Say, Shrek, will I die if I swallow ogre cum?” Jaskier almost laughed at Shrek’s expression. It was a ‘yes, no, maybe’. “Ok fine, but I will suck you off still.” The human pushed at the ogre, cornering the larger frame against the opposite wall, before getting on his knees.

“With all due respect, Jask, I don’t think you can fit me anywhere.” Jaskier didn’t listen, pulling down Sherk’s white smalls in spite of knowing the ogre was probably right. As soon as 12 inch of green cock basically slapped him in the face, Jaskier knew he was in way over his head. Still, he was confident that if he tried, he could still fit the head inside his mouth. With Shrek still assuring him he did not have to do this, Jaskier started licking all over Shrek’s length. The taste was not as bad as he feared. In fact, the more he licked, the more he started to like it. Jaskier made out with the head of Shrek’s cock, fucking the slit with his tongue. Shrek was holding his shoulder, occasionally squeezing a little as he moaned. And oh were those delicious moans, primal, guttural, deep and vibrating through Jaskier’s entire body.

The human tried many times, but he couldn’t slip the monster cock inside his mouth. He was resilient though and kept trying, while stroking the rest of the green length. He was so caught up in his quest that he didn’t hear Shrek telling him how close he was. He made a disappointed sound as he was forcibly removed from the cock in his mouth. Jaskier crawled back up the bed and stretched out his body. “Cum on me,” he wantonly moaned and Shrek did not disappoint. Jaskier had to close his eyes and mouth as he got showered in thick, beige cum. He never had felt this dirty, but it was a good kind. He wished he could have taken Shrek in his ass. He could’ve been so full.

Once Shrek had stopped groaning, Jaskier dared to open his eyes. He could see guilt already spreading over Shrek’s face. He must have been a sight, so much smaller than Shrek and absolutely drenched in his cum. “Don’t look at me like that. I’ve always fantasised about being showered in cum. Just never thought that all that cum would come from a single person.”

Shrek let out a relieved sigh and helped him wipe some cum off his face so it wouldn’t get into his mouth or eyes. “I’ll prepare you a bath,” he spoke gently, surprising Jaskier with the thoughtfulness. His eyes followed the ogre as he put his breeches on and moved out to probably get some fresh water. A laugh escaped Jaskier as he stared at the sticky substance covering his skin. Who would’ve thought that the swamp could’ve been so pleasant?

#shrekier #i've been a bad boy daddy #forgive me father for i have sinned #shrek x jaskier #shrek #julian alfred pankratz #dandelion #netflix jaskier #the witcher #lemon #the witcher fic #shrek fic #monsterfucking #ogre #ogres #ogres are like onions

256 notes · View notes

mca-attack21 · 4 years ago

Text

The Beginning of Something

This imagine is based super loosely off of Season 5, Episode 8. It can be read as a stand alone, but will definitely be continued with at least five more parts as I rewrite the ending of the show. That being said, get ready for the rollercoaster of emotions that is Merlin. Also, you can find more of my writing: Here.

Tensions had been high with Arthur as he was struggling with a decision. He had come to find out that another ruler, Sarrum, had similar aims when it came to Morgana. As much as he hated it, he knew that there could never truly be peace in Camelot, or even in Albion for that matter until she was stopped. Sarrum was known for his boundless cruelty and double-crossing nature, but Arthur was becoming desperate and you know what they say about desparate times...

As Arthur was working through this troubling decision, he took it out on the one person unlucky enough to almost always be at his side. So when Gaius told Merlin that he needed him to go get some herbs and plants, Merlin was out the door glad for an excuse to escape the castle before he killed Arthur himself and ended his destiny once and for all. He understood that Arthur was under a lot of pressure, but he didn’t have to be such a clotpole about it.

Merlin was out looking for the last of Gaius’ herbs when a young dark-haired boy all but ran into him.

“Woah, who are you? And what are you doing out here by yourself?”

“My name is Daegal. I have been sent by the druids to find you, my sister is dying,” the boy spoke showing Merlin his mark.

“How did you know where to find me?”

“I could sense your presence.”

“Where is your sister?” Merlin asked.

“She is at camp just shy of the Valley of the Fallen Kings. Please, you have to hurry, she does not stand to survive past the night.”

“What exactly is wrong with her?”

“She has a terrible fever and it is something beyond our magic. Please, Merlin, you are our only hope.”

Merlin was conflicted as he knew that this was risky. He also knew that Arthur would need him by his side in order to get through the meeting with Sarrum the following day. But he couldn’t stand by and let an innocent girl die when there was a possibility that he could help.

“We need to leave at once, I need to be back in Camelot by nightfall,” Merlin spoke.

“Of course, thank you.”

“I can’t make any promises to save your sister, but I will do everything in my power. The druids have helped me before, they are a welcomed ally,” Merlin replied as he packed up his belongings.

The two of them walked on, spending the rest of the morning and the better part of the afternoon making their way to the place where Daegal said the druids were camped. It was as they neared the camp that Merlin heard bandits approaching and reached out to Daegal with his mind to warn him. The boy carried on as if he hadn’t heard Merlin and Merlin was forced to all but tackled him so that they were not found out.

“Did you not hear me?” Merlin asked.

“No?” Daegel replied looking at Merlin as if he were crazy, “Come on, it isn’t much further.”

Merlin brushed off an uneasy feeling that was staring to form and followed Daegel. They reached the clearing, and Merlin tossed his bag down before turning back. “There is no one here,” he stated the obvious.

Daegel opened his mouth as if to say something but could not find words. He was beginning to wonder what his choice in bringing Merlin here would mean.

“Why have you brought me here? What is this?” Merlin interrogated sternly.

“I can explain,” the boy said fearfully.

“You are not even a druid,” Merlin realized lifting up Daegel’s sleeve to confirm.

“She told me to bring you here,” Daegel tried to explain.

Before Merlin could confirm that the ‘she’ Daegel mentioned was indeed Morgana he was thrown back and knocked unconscious.

“Why are you doing this?” Daegel asked.

“Because, Merlin has meddled in my plans one too many times. I only wish I could see his face as Arthur meets his demise at my hand,” Morgana revealed as she poured a dark liquid down his throat and pushed him over the ledge.

“Are you really going to kill the king?”

“Bite your tongue. You have done your part here and you would be wise to forget it. Here is the antidote your sister requires, now get lost.”

And with that Morgana left to set the rest of her plan in action. Daegel took one last look at Merlin before leaving to return to his family.

Back in Camelot:

“Gaius, you said Merlin would be back by lunch and now it is past dinner. Where is he?” Arthur asked clearly frustrated.

“I truly do not know Sire, but I am beginning to become worried.”

“Where did you send him?”

“I sent him out just beyond the creek. It should have taken him 4 hours at the most there and back,” Gaius explained worry evident on his face.

Picking up on this, Arthur’s expression softened, “I am sure that he is fine Gaius, probably just taking advantage of the break from me. If he does not turn up tomorrow I will send out a search party for him.”

“I hope you’re right,” Gaius said as Arthur took his leave.

Meanwhile with Merlin:

The first time he regained consciousness, Merlin struggled to breathe through the pain he was in. He attempted to use his magic to try to heal himself, but he was too weak. The exertion proved too much for him and everything around him faded to nothing.

The next time he awoke, he was both disoriented and confused. He had clearly been found by someone as a cool rag now rested on his brow and his wounds had been treated. He had been laid near a fire, food and water were both in his reach.

He peered around for any indication of who had helped him, and realized that he recognized where he was. He had been brought back towards Camelot. Before he could deduce anything else he heard someone approaching. He forced himself to sit up, which was a task in itself. He then try to mentally prepare for whatever was coming.

But instead of bandits, Morgana’s men, dangerous creatures, or anything else that could be considered threatening, it was just you. Merlin was surprised to say the least. Not that he had really thought about it, but the idea of someone who appeared around his age who had helped him... as he looked at you, he felt safe and connected to you in some way. It was as if he had known you his entire life, and he didn’t even know your name.

“Ah, take it easy, I mean you no harm. I come baring fish,” you smiled at him.

“Are you the one who did all of this?” he asked gesturing to his bandages and the water/food.

“I am, usually you would’ve been healed by now, but the poison that Morgana used in combination with her magic was a force to be reckoned with.”

“Who are you?”

“A friend. Some know me by Phúlax, but you can call me Y/n,” you said before turning away to use your magic to cook the fish and offering it to him.

“You have magic?” Merlin asked in awe.

“Yes, I was born with it,” you answered offering him one of the fish, “You need to eat, and then rest, you have been unconscious for over a day and we are still about an hour from the castle. Morgana and the queen intend to kill the King tomorrow and bring a great war to Camelot.”

“How do you know that?” Merlin asked.

“I know a lot of things Merlin. I promise I will answer all of your questions in time, but for now I just need you to trust me,” you answered.

“I guess I don’t really have a choice,” he joked.

“You do, Merlin, you always have a choice,” you spoke voice turned serious for a moment before you snapped out of it, “I am sorry, I am just tired, you aren’t the easiest person to keep alive,” you replied light-heartedly.

“If you think I’m bad you should try being the manservant of the king,” Merlin joked which caused you to laugh.

“Is he really that bad?”

“He can be a prat at times,” Merlin paused, “But at the end of the day, he is one of the best men I have ever met. He is fiercely loyal, believes in equality and justice, valor and honor. Camelot is lucky to have him. And it is an honor to serve him,” Merlin reflects.

“He is lucky to have such a loyal friend,” you add before taking his plate from him, “Get some rest.”

“Y/n,” he called as you began to walk away.

“Yes, Merlin?”

“Thank you.”

“Your welcome,” you smiled, turning your back once again.

You cleared away everything and packed up your bags before walking over and covering Merlin with a blanket. You layed across from him and just watched as he slept peacefully. He had been so close to death, and to see him now you wouldn’t even know it. You were glad that he was alright. Eventually, you too drifted off to sleep.

Back in Camelot:

“I’m sorry to bother you Sire, but I wanted to inform you that Merlin has still not returned. I fear something terrible may have happened,” Gaius spoke after having been let in to Arthur’s chambers.

“I will send out a search party,” Arthur spoke growing concerned about his friend.

“What is this?” Gwen asked walking over.

“Merlin still has not returned, so I am sending some of the knights out to search for him,” Arthur explained.

“Oh dear, I knew I should’ve said something. Arthur I feel terrible, but he made me promise not to tell anyone. I know where Merlin is,” she returned.

“Where?” Gaius asked.

“He has gone to visit someone. He isn’t in any danger. He’s just seeing a girl,” Gwen explained.

“Merlin?” Arthur laughed in suprise.

“There isn’t any reason to worry, I promise,” Gwen smiled.

“Except for the poor girl,” Arthur joked.

“Thank you your highness, you’ve put a worried mind at rest,” Gaius bowed before exiting the chambers.

“Now then, it is time to begin preparing for the signing ceremony,” Arthur said relieved.

Meanwhile with Merlin:

“Merlin,” you spoke softly as you shook him slightly.

“Hmmm?”

“It is time to get up, we must head for Camelot,” you reminded.

He groaned before sitting up and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“Here, have some breakfast. I’m going to refill the water canisters and then we can be on our way,” you smiled handing him an apple and some bread.

When you returned you were pleasantly surprised to see that Merlin was packed and on his feet ready to go. The two of you started on the path in a comfortable silence before Merlin’s curiosity got the better of him.

“Tell me about yourself,” he suggested.

“Okay, what do you want to know?”

“Everything. I mean where are you from? Why are you here? How did you discover you had magic?”

“Slow down Merlin,” you laugh, “I was born in camelot. When I was very young my mother was discovered healing a child who was meant to die. The king found out and…” your sentance fell as you thought back.

“I’m so sorry,” Merlin said genuinely.

You took a deep breath and continued, “My father quickly snuck me out and to a small village just outside of Camelot. We lived there, I was able to practice magic in secret. Everything was going fine until Morgana showed up searching for me. I had never even heard of her, but there she was calling me by a name that a friend of mine who was a Druid used,” you paused again.

“I was going to turn myself over to her in hopes that she would spare the others, but before I could I was knocked unconscious. I woke up in the woods with the survivors and discovered that my father had not made it. I left them partially in hopes that Morgana would not strike again, and partially in shame that I did not stand up for them. I decided to head back to the only other home I have known, where I will search for a job and try to create some semblance of a life. On my way, I discovered you,” you explained a few tears betraying you.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Merlin spoke with certainty, “Morgana would’ve tortured you or killed you.”

“Still, I should’ve done something. When you have powers like ours, it is our responsibility to help those who can’t help themselves.”

“How did you know that I had magic?” Merlin asked.

“I can sense it, it flows through every fiber of your being. You have this resonance of power. It’s like we are connected.”

“I have never met anyone like you,” Merlin said as he smiled in amazement.

“You barely even know me,” you reply turning away from his face.

“I know that you are kind, and brave, and good,” he thinks for a moment before adding, “and beautiful.”

You can’t help but blush, “Thank you, Merlin.”

“What about you, is there anything that you want to know about me?” he asked.

The two of you continued to talk until you reached the courtyard. There were moments filled with laughter and moments of true sincerity. It was like you were old friends merely catching up. Like both of you were drawn together somehow.

As you entered the castle, you were both on high alert not knowing exactly what to expect. Merlin searched for Arthur before discovering that a door that was meant to be locked was left open. Having a gut feeling, he lead you up the staircase. There was a man with a crossbow who aimed for Arthur. He immediately noticed you and shot at Merlin who was slow to react. You shifted the arrow using magic. The man seemingly unphased threw knives at you instead. You tried to use your magic but it was to no avail.

You barely managed to pull Merlin out of the way in time. Taking advantage of your brief distracted state, the man reloaded the crossbow and aimed for Arthur once again. Merlin used his magic to jar the man and knock him out. The shot meant for Arthur instead hit Sarrum.

“Leon, Gwaine,” Arthur ordered them to check out the source of the arrow.

“We did it,” Merlin turned to you smiling. But as quickly as it had graced his face, the smile fell. For you were still on the ground with one of the knives in your stomach. “Y/n, just hold on, I can fix this.”

“It is one of Morgana’s, no magic can be used against it.”

“Well then, we will just have to fix it the old fashioned way,” he smirked before leaving over the balcony.

“Gaius, I need you to meet me in the infirmary at once it’s urgent,” he yelled.

“Merlin?” Arthur questioned quick to follow Gaius out of the door.

Merlin then picked you up bridal style and carried you back to Gaius’ chambers.

“I’m glad I met you,” you whispered already feeling much of the strength leaving your body.

“Well, there is a lot more to see, so just hold on,” Merlin said.

Merlin ran into Gwaine and Leon at the bottom of the stairs but he didn’t stop even as they were calling after him. Once inside, he swiftly used his magic to clear off the table and laid you on it. Just then Gaius and Arthur came rushing in.

“What happened?” “Who is that?” Gaius and Arthur asked at the same time.

“Her name is Y/n and you have to help her Gaius,” Merlin said voice full of emotion.

“Of course,” the physician said starting immediately to work.

“Is there anything that I can do?” Merlin asked. Gaius gave him a list of instructions and he completed each one quickly and without question. Arthur just stood and watched not knowing how to react. It wasn’t long before they had done everything that they could and it was just a matter of time.

Upon reaching this point, Arthur calmly asked for an explanation of what had happened.

“I went out to get herbs and before I could do anything else, I was trapped by Morgana. She had left me for dead, but then Y/n found me. She took care of me and brought me back here. I knew that Morgana was planning something, so we rushed here and found the overlook door open. We went up and found a man who was aiming a crossbow at you. He threw a knife at me and she pushed me out of the way. I was then able to charge him, but the shot still went off,” Merlin explained.

“So it seems that she has saved your life twice and now mine, when she wakes she will be rewarded,” Arthur responded impressed, “I must get back to the proceedings, please move her into the guest chambers and keep me appraised of her condition. Merlin, I trust that you will stay with her and see to her needs,” Arthur said sending him a knowing look.

“Of course Arthur,” Merlin replied.

“Oh, and Merlin,” Arthur started.

“Yes, Arthur?”

“I am truly glad that you are back in one piece,” he finished, pulling the door closed behind him.

“As am I,” Gaius added pulling the young warlock into a hug.

As they pulled away, Merlin was quick to carry you up into one of the fancy guest bedrooms. He laid you down and covered you with the blankets. Guias entered behind him.

“Did anything else happen while you were gone that you couldn’t speak so freely about in front of Arthur?”

Merlin glanced into the hallway before using his magic to close the door earning a glare from Gaius.

“She’s like me, she was born with magic,” he eyes lite up.

“Really?” Gaius asked.

“Yeah, the druids call her Phúlax. I can’t explain it Gaius, but I have never felt this connected to someone before.

“She is Phúlax?” Gauis asked with reverence.

“Yes, why? Does that name mean something to you?”

“You know how your destiny has been foretold for many generations?” Gaius asked and Merlin nodded.

“Phúlax means protector. Though she is known by many names. Some that may stand out to you are, the Servant’s Guardian, Arthur’s Chance, Protector of Emrys, or Rewriter of Destiny. It is believed that she would arrive at the beginning of the end, and that she would be at your side to turn the end into the beginning,” Gaius explained.

“What does that mean? And why have I never heard of her?”

“No one truly knows what the prophecy means. Just that she is an important ally in your story. And I would assume that those who know of her are protective of her identity for the same reason they are protective of yours. Because if Morgana found her, Albion would fall.”

Merlin had more questions, the most important one being, “So she is going to be okay?”

“Her wound was not fatal, due to the nature of the weapon, she simply has to heal at a normal rate. That being said, she should wake up by morning,” Gaius answered before getting up to leave the room.

Gwaine entered as he exited, “Merlin, it’s good to see you. I’ve been searching the taverns for you in your absence,” he winked.

“Good to see you too, Gwaine,” he laughed.

“I just wanted to see how you were doing after earlier,” Gwaine said taking a seat beside his friend.

“Well, in the past three days I have almost been killed twice, so you know just another day in Camelot,” Merlin tried to joke.

“Are you alright?” Gwaine asked seriously.

“I will be fine,” Merlin promised.

“And who is this beautiful lady?” Gwaine asked trying to lighten the mood.

“I’m afraid she is off-limits,” Arthur spoke from the doorway carrying a plate of food.

“What? Why?” Gwaine asked.

“Because Merlin here has dibs,” Arthur grinned.

“I...We….She is…..I mean…” Merlin struggled.

“Oh, look at him he is getting red as a tomato,” Arthur said bursting into laughter.

“Our little Merlin has a crush,” Gwaine grinned, “If you need any advice,” he winked at Merlin before getting up and seeing himself out.

Arthur took his place at Merlin’s side.

“Did you really have to do that? I’m not going to hear the end of this,” Merlin rolled his eyes at Arthur.

“Consider it payback for all of the times you teased me about Guinevere. Besides, I think that it’s a good thing,” he decided.

“I brought you this, along with some news,” Arthur said handing Merlin the plate of food.

“What’s the news?”

“Should she want it, I have decided to offer Y/n a position as Guinevere’s lady in waiting. I figure that she has shown her loyalty and you clearly trust her. I trust your judgment. And, this will give you an excuse to see her in the castle,” Arthur explained.

“Really? That’s incredible. I can’t wait to tell her. And to introduce the two of you.”

“Just remember this when it comes time to chose a best man,” Arthur joked. The two of them continued to talk for a while before Arthur decided it was best that he return to the knights as they were preparing for a trip.

Merlin was trying to work through what Gaius had said, and how he felt. It was silly to think that he could love someone that he had only just met. But there was no other word for it. The thought of working with you, getting to know you better, spending time with you, it was all exciting for Merlin. Especially having another person that he could talk about magic with, someone who truly understood him.

He was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn’t even register the fact that you were awake.

“Merlin?” you tried to sit up, but the pain that rippled through you decided otherwise.

“Hey there, take it easy. It’s okay, you’re safe,” he smiled taking your hand without even thinking, “Do you need anything? Water? Food? I can go get Gaius if you’d like?”

“I’ll be fine Merlin, I’m glad you and Arthur are safe,” you smiled.

“Speaking of Arthur, I’ve got some news for you,” he beamed, “The King was so thankful that you saved his life that he has decided to give you the highest honor he can bestow.”

“Oh? And what is that?”

“He has graciously decided to make you his wife’s servant,” Merlin replied rolling his eyes.

“That’s brilliant! It solves my problem of finding a place to stay and finding a job in one fell swoop,” you smile.

“There is one problem though,” Merlin said seriously.

“What is it?”

“We will definitely be seeing a lot of each other,” he grinned.

“You had me worried,” you said as you smacked his arm.

“I am going to go tell Gaius and Arthur that you are awake,” he decided.

You watched as he left, you felt so relieved that things were falling into place. You were happy to meet Gaius and the King, who made not-so-subtle jokes about Merlin’s affections for you. Merlin looked like he was about to kill him, which made you laugh all the more. You already felt at home here. You couldn’t wait to see what the future held for you in Camelot. This was truly the beginning of something special.

#Merlin #BBC Merlin #Merlin rewrite #merlin imagines #merlin imagine #bbc merlin imagine #bbc merlin imagines #king arthur imagine #king arthur imagines #arthur pendragon imagine #arthur pendragon imagines #Merlin x reader #Merlinxreader

159 notes · View notes

achliegh · 3 years ago

Text

Golden

Yeehaw Leo… it's all because this song came on one day (I don’t even really listen to country anymore so it really is fate). Leo is based off that song, each chapter is going to be based off a yeehaw song too.

Characters belong to @lumosinlove

Beta: @the-most-slyterin-hufflepuff & @punkkkboi

TW/CW: Smut, terrible yeehaw sayings and jokes, injuries, mentions of past death/suicide, minor character death, underage drinking, mentions of past arrests, cringe

Chapter Songs (listening in order is recommended):

Chapter 14:

Holiday Playlist

Sold (Dance)

Leo was freezing, shivering in the car with the heated seat under his ass and heat blowing on him. He changed his pants from the ice soaked ones earlier and his ankles were sore from his skates but he was happy. He made a good impression on Logan’s sisters, his mom texted him to let him know the sale went through, and he watched Clay face plant on the ice.

All was well in the world.

He was smiling to himself as he leaned back into the heat of the seat with his arms hugging himself, teeth only chattering a little bit. He is listening to Logan chat with his sisters in the back in fairly fast French-Canadian French, he knows Finn is confused. But Leo is listening to him tap on the steering wheel to whatever song was playing in his head. The radio is off because Leo doesn’t want to overwhelm Finn with too much noise in a small confined place. He would be miserable the rest of the night.

They pull up to Pascal's house and the Trembly siblings are the first out of the vehicle, leaving Leo and Finn in the dust. Finn kisses Leo’s temple after shutting off the car.

“Ready?” Leo smiles and nods, he is honestly a little tired but he’s excited to get a little drunk and just relax with the team plus the team’s families.

Leo grabs onto the handle to push open the door when it is suddenly flung open and he topples out face first first into the ground. Hearing someone gasp from above him he rolls over to his back and blinks a few times.

“I think… I broke my teeth again.” Leo runs his tongue over his two front teeth and feels the chip in his tooth is suddenly much larger, but still less than half his tooth so he doesn’t really care.He has broken his teeth way worse before. Ma will get a kick out of it. “That's fun.”

“Oh my gosh I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” Aubry is helping him sit up and is grabbing his still dazed face and looking it over to make sure he’s okay. She looks over to her left and sees Logan looking at her and she can feel the anger rolling off of him. His arms are crossed and his hands are gripping his arms, Sydney takes one look at Logan and steps back a couple of feet.

“Can you let go of my face?” Leo mumbles, causing her to look back at him and smile a little at his squished cheeks. “Also I break my teeth all the time, 90% of my front two teeth are fake so…” He shrugs and smiles at her. She lets go of his face and Finn helps Leo up.

“Again I’m sorry Leo!”

“I feel like I look like Jason Derulo after he tried eating corn off the cob with a power drill.” He laughs at himself as he looks in the side mirror of the car. Rolling his bottom jaw a bit, popping his neck from side to side, then rolling his shoulders. He notices a scrape on his chin and his cheek. “Not gonna lie, I kinda look rugged.”

“Let’s go inside, get you a drink and an ice pack, yeah?” Logan takes his hand and smiles up at him, taking note of his scrapes and his chipped tooth when he smiles back.

“Yes please!” They all make their way inside to find families just chatting on the couches in the living room, people drinking wine and eating little horderves that Celeste and Adele put together. Leo is led to the kitchen where the two chefs were.

“Oh Leo, did you fall on the ice after we left?” Celeste looks at him as she hands him an ice pack wrapped in a paper towel.

“Non, Aubry opened my door with me attached to it and I landed face first on the concrete. Broke my teeth some more but.” He shrugs and his nose scrunches as Logan dabs at his scrapes with a wet paper towel. “Okay! Okay! I’m Okay! OW!” Logan sighs at Leo’s dramatics and goes to throw the paper towel away.

“So you’re the man with the terrible singing.” Adele looks up at Leo from where she is cutting pinwheels. “I wondered if you were ever going to appear.”

“You don’t like my singing?” Leo smiles at her and she smiles back. “Wait, when have you heard my singing?” He absentmindedly starts helping her put pickles on sticks. He remembers catching a glance of her the first time he visited Pascals’ but he doesn’t remember singing when she was around.

“When Logan was really sad after Louisiana, he would only fall asleep to these videos of you singing in front of a fire pit. It was really annoying for a while.” Leo is silent for a moment, Adele looks up at him and notices how he is trying to keep his face blank but the frown lines are still ghosting. “He is better than ever now that you are with him and Finn though, he blabs about you two all the time.” That makes him smile a bit.

“No! Alex! Let go!” Leo and Adele turn around to see an older version of Finn keeping Logan in a headlock. Leo hides his smile by sucking in his lips and holding them between his teeth. “Ah!” Logan is suddenly on the ground with Alex laughing from above him, asshole kicked his feet out from under him. Glaring Logan takes his hand and gets helped up. “Jerk.”

“Hey! You can’t be mean to me or I’ll tell Finn.”

“He would be on my side!”

“He would laugh at you and give me a high five and you know it.” Logan thinks for a moment and then signs knowing Alex is right.

“Why do my boyfriend's siblings bully me?”

“Because we are family, shortstack.” Alex gets punched in the stomach for that nickname everytime. Yet he still calls Logan that any time he gets the chance. After a moment of catching his breath, Alex looks up to see Logan’s face buried into another man’s chest. He was tall and had a couple scrapes on his face but he looked young. Maybe in his early twenties. His hair was barely sticking out from under his.. Cowboy hat… he was wearing sweatpants and a sweatshirt… with cowboy boots. Who was this guy!? Does Finn know about him and Logan?

“Leooooo, I got some people I want you to meeeet!” Finn walks into the kitchen with his mother and Father trailing behind and bumps into Alex who is just staring at Leo like he's a ghost. “I promise he doesn’t always dress like that.” Taking a few steps towards his boys he gives Adele a fist bump and then leans his head on Leo’s shoulder. “Mom, Dad, this is Leo. The cowboy I have been talking about for…. A good year now. He is Logan and I’s boyfriend.” He smiles.

Leo feels his heart pick up a bit as the nerves of meeting parents that have authority makes him feel like he shouldn’t be there. He shakes the fathers hand after Logan goes to help Adele take out more tiny foods. He goes to shake Finn’s mother’s hand but is pulled into an aggressively tight hug that reminds him of his Mama’s hugs. He smiles and hugs her back. Already starting to feel at ease.

“I’m Alex.” Alex pats Leo on the shoulder.

“Leo, Finn talks a lot about you. He has your pictures up all around the apartment. I was convinced you two were twins for a while.” Leo smiles and continues to relax as Alex bursts out laughing.

“I’m not surprised, when we were younger people swore we were twins, and I think Finn would let people believe it when he was in elementary.” Alex ruffles Finn’s hair.

“So, Finn tells us you’re a Professional Bullrider. Correct?” Finn's dad looks to have the exact same face as his boys, same eyes as well. But he is much more tan and doesn’t have a single freckle that Leo can see, his hair is dark brown and curly, his eyebrows were so thick that Eliose would have the time of her life shaping them, his nose is also quite large and protrudes from his face with a little crook in the bridge making him subtly look like a bird.

“Yes, I do ride professionally. I actually leave in a couple of months to go travel the country to do it all again. My best friend Clayton ropes calves as well and my Mother was crowned Miss Rodeo when she was younger. So, it’s interesting when Finn tries to talk about rodeo stuff with us and he just has no idea. He’s getting better though.”

“I always had a dream of riding bulls or just being a cowboy in general but I’m from upstate New York! Not many cowboys there.” He laughs in the loud way most older fathers do and pats him on the shoulder just like Alex did. His smile was large and inviting, it reminded him of Finn.

“Country is Country wide, Sir. I have rode with people from New Hampshire and Massechusets. If you want I could teach you some things! I do train children in the two weeks before I leave to compete.”

“Don’t give him any ideas, he may be young at heart but his body is becoming old and crepid.” Finn’s parents share a kiss and it gives Leo’s heart a small painful yank. He can’t help but wonder if his parents would look that happy if his dad was still alive. He takes a sip of the Jack and Coke that Finn made him and swallows it along with his own self pity.

Now is not the time to mope.

He chats with Finn’s family some more until the doorbell rings. That would be his mother.

“Hello, who are you?” Pascal is looking directly into the sharp blue eyes of a woman who is either the same height as him… or taller. SHe is holding two milk crates, both filled with jars full of clear liquid. Odd. She is dressed in a tight red long sleeve shirt with a pair of dark wash jeans that flare at the bottom with matching red boots poking out from the jeans. Something flashes light into his eye and he notices the giant buckle on her belt.

“Oh excuse my manners! I’m Eloise Knut! My son Leo should be behaving here. This is Pascal’s house, yes?” She smiles and her teeth are so blindingly bright that Pascal has to look away.

“Oh yes of course come in.” He opens the door all the way and she struts in. Clayton was the first person to run up to her, Marc is on his back laughing loudly as they were just pretending Clay was a horse.

“Ma! It’s about time you show up! I’ll take this.” Clay has Marc hop off his back and takes the crates from Eloise, walking away lifting them over all the peoples heads who are sitting down or children.

“Ma! I want you to meet my brother. Sirius, this is Eloise. Eloise, this is Sirius.” Reg is looking between them with this excited glint in his eye, his two favorite adult figures in his life are meeting.

“Ravi de vous rencontrer.” Sirius shakes her hand and kisses her hand. Eloise smiles and pats his cheek.

“Si gentil de ta part.” Sirius smiles, cheeks turning a bit pink as she pinches them a bit. “You are just adorable! You and your brother have the most beautiful hair. I would love to just sit down and play with it all day.”

“Mama, stop hitting on Reg’s brother. Hit on his boyfriend instead.” Remus laughs from his spot next to Leo as they walk up with plates piled high with food. Leo’s vegetarian, Remus’ not. “I mean look at him, he is exactly your type! Short brownish hair, giant brown eyes, probably a bottom- Hey!” Remus swats at his plate of food to try and knock it over, making Leo barely have time to balance it out again.

“Leo, you’re gay. I thought you would have been better at seeing who is top, bottom, or a switch in relationships. It’s pretty obvious if you ask me.” Eloise smiles at Remus. “Since you have your hands full I will just give you a wave, Deary.” She waves at him. “I’m Eloise, Leo’s mother. I hope you haven’t heard anything bad about me, Leo likes to tell stories of when I was younger.”

“I can’t help it Mama, you were just so interesting!” Leo speaks with his mouth full and Reg, Remus and Elosie all give him a look.

“Don’t speak with your mouth full!” They all manage to say at the same time, catching Leo off guard. He laughs and swallows the food in his mouth.

“There are so many mothers around me. I’m going to see who Clay has rounded up to try the shine.” He stands up and leaves his plate on the little table in the middle of them, Reg grabs a few pieces of his food and eats them as he listens to Sirius and Remus talk about how they will be celebrating the holidays.

“I’ll go with you, I should probably meet the rest of the boys.” Eloise follows him into the kitchen to find Clay behind the kitchen island with two jars of moonshine in front of him, explaining to the team what it is. Leo walks over beside him and takes the lid off one and smells it.

“I think this one is watermelon.”

“Thanks for interrupting me. Anyway, moonshine is technically illegal because… honestly I don’t remember but we have been drinking it since we were like 13 I think.” Eloise walks up behind the two, reaching over them to grab the other jar, Clay and Leo move out of the way to let her in the middle.

“You two make me look like a terrible person, you know that? Letting my child drink moonshine at 13. I could get arrested.” She is examining the jar as the boys back track their statements about drinking so young even when they are still under the drinking age. She has a little half smile on her face when she looks through the clear liquid straight into a set of eyes that are staring right back.

Dark hazel eyes surrounded by the longest eyelashes she has ever seen. Dark smooth skin wrinkling around the eyes as this person smiles. Her mouth was very dry all the sudden, her stomach had a pit in it as well.

“Leo why don’t you let me have that, Y’all can keep all the rest.” She puts the jar she is holding down and takes the open one from Leo who was about to take a sip. She leaves the kitchen without another word. Clay and Leo share a confused look as they watch her leave.

Timmy follows a few minutes later.

The music played in the house after all these kids left to go spend the night at other houses, leaving the Dumias house open for adult activities like swearing. Leo, Reg and Clay had all moved the furniture around, with permission from Dumo and Celeste. There was just enough room for people to dance.

No one was really drunk persay but a couple swings of moonshine definitely got people tipsy. Elosie was talking with Ollie, Andrew, and Timmy. Who leo was keeping an extra close eye on, because he just felt like he should. He knows a lot of people find his mother attractive, that's why Eloise always wore her ring, to get people to back off, but she was almost… flirting back with Timmy.

It made Leo feel weird. Clay too.

Leo was staring at Eloise and Timmy when Sold (Grundy County Auction) came on over the bluetooth. He hears a gasp from behind him and sees Remus trying to get Sirius to dance with him.

“Re, I don’t know the dance.”

“It’s easy I promise!” Sirius gives his boyfriend a look and Remus sighs, giving up on trying to yank Sirius up off his chair . Leo walks over because he would also like to dance but his mom is flirting, Reg gets dizzy, his boys don’t know the dance, and Clay is laying across Thomas and Noelle on the couch a bit too drunk to really do anything but smile at them and twist Noelles hair around his finger.

“I know it, and all my dance partners are busy if you’d like to dance.” He smiles and nods his head when Sirius mouths ‘thank you’ in his direction. Remus hesitates for a moment.

“I only know how to follow really.”

“And you wanted me to dance!” Sirius tsks sarcastically and shakes his head leaning back in his chair so the two front legs were off the ground. Making sure there was something soft behind him, Re puts his foot under one of the chair legs and lifts up so Sirius falls backwards onto the pile of blankets that were thrown off the couch. “Re!”

“Well, I only know how to lead so that works out perfectly.” Leo takes Remus’ hand and leads him towards the group of dancing people on the wood floor of the living room. “Think there is enough space?”

“I think so, here.” Remus grabs his hands and they swing in a circle so people give them room. Leo just about trips over his own feet. Remus catches him while laughing, putting a hand on Leo’s shoulder and holding his other while Leo rests his free hand on Remus’ waist.

Spinning each other they are lost in the dance, not noticing the two or three people filming them. Sirius is just watching Remus move so smoothly, without a care in the world. His hair was long enough it swished with him, his laugh was loud and sweet. He didn't know how he didn’t get dizzy from dancing.

Finn was also watching them dance, as well as Logan. Finn was just enjoying his friend and Boyfriend dancing, Logan was too but a bit more… possessive. They all trust one another but Logan can’t help the little voice in the back of his head telling him to make sure Re knows Leo is theirs.

They finish the dance and just straight up sit on the floor to catch their breath, laughing a bit as people return to the dance floor. Eloise walks over to them and holds out a hand to each to help them up.

“Last Song! I want to go to bed!” Dumo announces as he turns the music down for a moment, he turns it back up before people can complain. Celeste was starting to put food away in to go containers and in tupperware to go in the fridge. Dumo walks over to help her but gets distracted when he hears someone drop a glass. He sighs and goes to help them, James, clean up.

“I am going to stay and help Celeste tonight and tomorrow morning. I will see you at the apartment and then we can go out for lunch.” Eloise smiles as Leo nods and lets her kiss his cheek. Leo and Remus make their way back over to their lovers.

“You were amazing!” Sirius hugs Remus, lifting him off the ground and smooching all over his slightly red face. “Where did you learn to dance like that?”

“My dad and mom used to go to swing classes when I was younger and my dad would always secretly practice with me so he could wow my mom.” He smiles, pushing Sirius’ hair out of his face and sighing happily. “Let’s go home, I’m tired.” Sirius and Reg follow Re out of the house a few minutes later, waving goodbye to the team.

The drive home in the uber was interesting, Leo and Logan were both sliding their hands up Finn’s thighs making his tispy brain only think about one thing. He watched those two whisper to each other before they left the house, Finn didn’t pay much attention, busy watching for the uber to pull up.

Once they enter the house Finn finds himself pinned against the door as soon as it is closed, Leo is kissing and nipping at his neck while Logan is reaching his hands under Finn’s shirt as he kisses him with maybe too much tongue. Finn lets himself be dragged into the feeling of their hands and lips on him.

“Tonight is all about you, sweetheart.” Leo whispers in his ear, Logan pulls away and tugs on Finn’s shirt towards the bedroom. Leo pats his butt to get him moving and follows the other two, stripping off his many layers and stretching his jaw a bit from his fall earlier.

“Hi, how are you?” Finn is pulled on top of Logan who has lost his clothes sometime in between the door of the room and the bed. He was beautiful; basically glowing from the yellow light of the lamp near the bed. Shadows and light contrasting on his tan skin make him look like a work of art. He can’t help but run his fingertips lightly over Logan’s chest and stomach. Smiling as the muscles move under his fingers, he feels a hand on his hand and two hands cupping his face making him look back up at Logan.

“I love you.” Logan pulls him down for a kiss as Finn feels Leo’s rough hands slide his shirt up, he pulls away just long enough to take his shirt off and then dives right back in for more kisses. Logan is very addictive, he lets Finn take over the kiss when he wants and other times he will take over the kiss just to annoy Finn into fucking him. Logan is giggling slightly as they kiss just because all this happiness is bubbling in his chest.

“I love you too, Lo.” He mumbles on Logan’s lips, feeling the bed dip behind him, Finn pulls away from Logan. Only after he is pulled into one last heated kiss that he can barely pull away from. Sitting up on his knees he turns his head to the side and has his lips met with another set of lips he loves.

Leo is almost always soft, besides his calloused hands, his skin is just perfect and makes Finn want to touch him always. He lightly nips at Leo’s lips, drawing a smile from the younger man. They pull away after a moment and Leo wraps his arms fully around Finn’s bare waist, resting his chin on Finn’s shoulder, humming a bit.

“I want to eat you out, is that okay? I mean your ass is so pale it looks like two marshmallows.” Logan snorts at Leo’s comment and flexes his legs from where they are resting on either side of Finn’s thighs, squishing Finn between them. Finn thinks about it for a moment, running his hand up and down Logan’s calf while Leo's hands run all over his torso.

“I don't know. Are you sure you want to? I mean, I just don’t want to find out I’m dirty or something… I also like never shave so… I don’t know.” He absent mindedly twirls a couple of Logan’s leg hairs together between his forefinger and thumb. Trying to ignore the feeling of an embarrassed blush that is creeping from his ears to his chest.

“Finn, you have eaten both of us out. Did you ever care if we were perfectly smooth or whatever else you are worried about?” Logan sits up, Looking him in the eyes. “We want to make you feel good, but if you don’t want to, that's okay too.” After a couple minutes of the three of them just existing together on the bed Finn starts nodding his head.

“Yeah, I want to try it. I think maybe once I get past feeling all jittery I will like it.” He kisses Leo and smiles at Logan. “I want to feel good like how I make you two feel.” He pushes Logan back onto his back and leans over him.

Leo helps Finn out of his shorts and, “Are these… my boxers?” Laughing as Finn nods, Leo also helps him slide off his boxers with fish on them. “You know Fish is a good nickname for you.” Leo starts kissing down his back.

“You named a fish after us and now you are naming me after a fish?” Finn starts to snicker but is cut off by the feeling of Leo licking over his entrance. His brows pinches together, his eyes close and he feels himself turn bright red.

“Hey” Logan kisses his cheek and nudges his cheek a bit with his nose, “Kiss me.” Finn doesn’t waste a second moving to have one hand holding him up by Logan's head and the other is gripping the back of his head with his fingers threaded into the long hair on Logan's neck. “Leo, you’re making him so red.” Logan mumbles on Finn’s lips.

Finn is losing himself in the feeling of Leo slowly opening himself up with his tongue, he knew this made his boys feel good but he didn’t expect it to make his legs shake. He has lost the ability to kiss Logan back because he is breathing so hard, burying his face in the crook of his neck. Every once in a while Finn feels Logan twitch and move under him.

Leo starts using his fingers alongside his tongue, Finn can’t help but rotate his hips in circles as the pleasure keeps flowing through his body. He feels like a soda bottle that hasn’t been opened, but has been shook. Everything was bubbling up and he felt like he was about to explode.

Leo pulls away when he feels Finn is ready. Looking at his boys, they both look blissed out. Leo notices one of Logan’s hands isn’t in sight, Finn is a complete mess. His hair is wild, his face is red, he is panting and looking more out of it than Leo has ever seen him.

“What do you want next?” Leo kisses up his back, nuzzling into the back of his neck and breathing in the smell that is strictly Finn.

“Leo, fuck me.”

“Yeah?”

“Can I get fucked too?” Logan is staring into Leo’s eyes with his pupils basically taking over his green eyes. Leo nods and leans over Finn’s shoulder to give Logan a quick kiss. Sitting back up, Finn follows his lead and sits up a few moments later. He gets handed the lube from where it is sitting next to Logan and covers his fingers. Logan grabs his hand and shakes his head.

“I already did it.” He smiles shyly at Finn who just blinks a few times.

“Loooogannnn! You know that’s like my favorite part!” Finn is pouting as he uses the lube on his hand to cover his cock. He is still mumbling his complaints as he starts to press in. He is already feeling everything more than normal, so his jaw goes slack and he pauses halfway. “Fucking Christ.” He leans down and presses his forehead to Logan’s as he pushes the rest of the way in. Their heavy breathing syncs up until Finn starts to pull out and push back in, just barely moving.

Leo is watching the whole thing, giving himself a few strokes to ease some pressure. He whispers the question to Finn who slows his thrusts to a stop. Leo slowly starts to press in and feels Finn suddenly tense up, Leo pauses and Finn lets out a noise that he knows like the back of his hand.

Finn just came. Logan moans loudly at the feeling of Finn cuming in him.

“Fuck! Finn~” Leo sees Logans hands grip Finn’s bareback digging his nails in.

“Leo- Please keep going.” Leo takes a deep breath to calm himself from just going to town on Finn. He pulls out and groans as Finn clenches around him. He presses his forehead to Finn’s sweaty back and listens to his plea to go deeper.

“Leo!” Logan calls out to him as his eyes start to roll back and his back arches, following Finn’s example from earlier and cumming between the two of them. Leo continues to fuck them as they moan his name, each others names, and grip one another as if they would lose them if they didn’t.

After finding the perfect rhythm, they all fall into a void of pleasure. Their bodies moving on their own, their voices becoming hoarse from moaning, lips raw from stolen kisses. Everything was perfectly balanced.

Logan suddenly breaks the atmosphere by falling off the edge again. He jerks himself through his orgasm and loses his voice as his vocal cords become taunt. Once the fog in his head dissipates he looks up at his boys.

“Can I watch you two?” The raspiness of his own voice catches him off guard, he clears his throat before Leo pulls out of Finn and Finn pulls out of Logan. Leo is holding Finn up as he has slumped back into Leo’s chest. They rearrange, Logan is laying on his side next to Finn who is lying on his back. Leo is between Finn’s legs and moves them so one is wrapped around his hip and the other is out to the side. With Logan wanting to still do something, he holds the leg that is out to the side and sits up to watch as Leo pushes back into Finn. His eyes wanted to watch where they met and Finn’s face at the same time.

Logan knows that Leo’s eyes when he is fucking is one of the most intense things he has ever seen, Finn tries to look Leo in the eyes but ends up turning his head to meet Logan’s.

Logan's eyes are soft and blown out, beautiful green, calming yet wild. Logan is just a walking oxymoron. He was everything. Finn looks back at Leo who is watching them look at each other. He hits Finn’s prostate just right and Finn cums again as he cups Leo’s face and stares into his eyes.

Leo swallows as he starts to slow down. Finn is still looking into his eyes, Leo kisses him passionately. Teeth and tongue are the main part of the kiss. Finn wraps his arms around Leo’s neck and his legs around his waist, pulling Leo in deeper to him. Leo gets the hint and keeps fucking him.

Finn holds on for dear life as he is fucked into the mattress. He is sensitive from earlier so it doesn’t take long to get him over the edge again. Leo is just about to cum when he pulls out as Finn’s limbs flop to the sides of him, hitting Logan on accident, Leo pulls out. Remembering that Finn doesn’t like the feeling of cum in him. So he jerks himself a few times before he cums all over Finn’s chest and stomach. Mixing with his own mess.

Logan being the impatient boy he is… Fully shoves Leo out of the way, placing two hands on his chest and shoving Leo out of the way. Not meaning to fully knock him off the bed but he does. Logan is between Finn’s legs and licks up his stomach and chest, right through the mess. Taking Finn by surprise he shoves his tongue down his throat.

Leo stands up, watching them making out with the mess and feeling himself start to get turned on again. They pull away and look at him, the softest and sleepiest smiles on their faces.

He loves them.

#leo knut #logan tremblay #finn o'hara #james potter #thomas walker #Clayton Bruss #o'knutzy #o’knutzy #lumosinlove #sweater weather #coast to coast

13 notes · View notes

sincerlypadfoot · 4 years ago

Text

Tumbling Downhill (7)

~During the time of transfer Harry from 4 Privet Drive to the borrow everyone is stressed out, especially you, losing Mad eye,everything spirals, but a new curse strikes you and changes your life.

Word Count-3.2K

Send Requests Here

“Master Regulus is in this room?” Kreature asked as I finished explaining to him what was going on. “Master Regulus,” Kreature looked around the room.

“Please tell him we will be together soon,” Regulus said standing behind me. “Tell him that I miss him,”

“Regulus misses you Kreature, terribly, he wants me to tell you that you’ll be together soon,” I paused looking at Regulus then back at Kreature. “Will you help us?”

Kreature didn’t say anything but look at me, then he nodded his head. “Kreature will help, he’d do anything for Master Regulus,”

“We leave in the morning,” Regulus said walking away, he watched him walk to the table and knock down a book, causing Kreature so humm.

“He’s really a ghost now,” Kreature whispered then turned himself, walking out of the room and shutting the door.

“Regulus,” I stood up and looked at Regulus who sat on the table looking at me. “In twenty four hours you’ll be alive,” I smiled walking towards the boy.

“I will be,” We were inches away from each other once again, his hands found their way to mine. “And my hands won’t be cold to touch, they’ll be warm, and free and,” Regulus stopped as I placed my hand on his face.

“What is it about you,” I whispered looking up at the boy. “You’re face will be warm, your eyes will be bright and your smile,” I stopped with a smile, watching Regulus curl his lips.

“You’re really willing to risk your life to save me?” Regulus asked jumping off the table, I backed up a bit, his hands left mine and arched my back, pulling me closer to him.

“I am, because something about you drags me in, and I get to save a life,” My mouth seems dry and I couldn’t look away from Regulus.

“Lia, Kreatures back,” I spun around and looked at Hermione who had a curious look on her face.

“Okay, yeah i’m coming, one second,” Hermione shut the door and I turned back to Regulus who had a frown on his face. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, come on, i’m interested to see who had stolen my locket,” Regulus grabbed my hand and we walked downstairs and saw Kreature standing with Dobby and Mundungus Fletcher who quivered in fear.

“Master Lia,” Dobby said catching my attention. “It’s nice to see you again,”

“It’s nice to see you again too Dobby,” I smiled grabbing his hands, I caught the eye of Mundungus who was being cornered in the room by Ron, Hermione and Harry.

“Where is the real locket Mundungus!” Harry asked pushing the fake locket in his face, I smirked looking at the fake locket, remembering Regulus telling me that he had thought of putting a fake locket and was proud of it.

“Why is it worth something?” Mundungus asked making everything feel disgusted.

“He still has it,” Hermione said.

“No, he just thinks that he hadn’t sold it for enough,” Ron mumbled walking towards Mundungus angry.

I looked down at the newspaper on the table, confused. “Hey guys,” I whispered picking up the paper and looked at Umbridge who had a big grin on her face. “Is this the locket you're looking for?” I asked pointing to Unbridged neck, that swung the locket around.

“Snachers, they took it off of me a couple weeks ago, I didn’t know how valued it was, or,” Mundungus said making me gaw.

“This is just great!” Regulus cried out sitting down on the table, moving plates, Hermione was the only one to notice.

“Did you see that?” She whispered to me looking at where Regulus was sitting.

“What?” I asked playing dumb, I looked at Regulus who wasn't listening to us but his hands where on his face.

“I thought I saw something move, maybe i’m crazy,” Hermione said looking away, Regulus had his attention on me now.

“Maybe, maybe nothing works out in the end,” Regulus whispered shaking his head. “It’s just not meant to happen,”

“Regulus,” I whispered a bit to loud but no one noticed, I walked over to him and grabbed his hand. “Follow me,” I grabbed his hand and walked out of the room, looking back at everyone who was looking at Mundungus but Hermione, I gave her a sly smile then walked out of the room with Regulus.

“We can’t do it, the locket is with that creature, and I just, don’t know,” Regulus cried out in my room, I shut my door and looked at the boy.

“We can do it Regulus, that's the point, they go find the locket well Kreature and I save your life, do you want it?” I asked leaning against my door.

“I don’t want you dying for something like me when you don’t even know anything about me!” Regulus screamed clenching his fists.

“Regulus calm down!” I yelled back walking towards him. “If you don’t wanna be saved then fine, I won’t waste a breath on someone who doesn’t wanna be saved!” I turned around facing the door and taking a breath.

“Lia,” Regulus placed his cold hand on my shoulder. “You don’t mean that,”

“No I don’t” I whispered not turning around, fixating my eyes on the door. I walked forward, tossing the door open and slamming it shut, the hallways were quiet but I knew where I was going.

“Hey,” Harry said standing at the bottom of the stairs. “Have you been crying?” He asked as I walked down and stopped before him.

“Just some personal stuff, what are you guys going to do about the locket?” I asked leaning against the wall, Regulus left my mind.

“Hermione thought about a polyjuice potion, we’re going to leave in the morning, what are you going to be doing?” Harry asked leaning against the wall opposite of me.

“I’m not sure, I might stay here, might go out, everything is complicated right now,” I frowned looking down at my feet.

“Wherever you’ll be going you stay safe alright, I don’t wanna hear on the radio that you died, promise,” Harry said making me look up at him.

“I promise I won’t die Harry,” I smiled, my eye caught Regulus who stood at the top of the stairs, with a frown. “I’ll see you later okay, there's some things I have to do,” I planted a kiss on Harry's cheek then walked up the stairs, before I could get a word out to Regulus he grabbed my hand and pushed me into a room.

“What are you doing?” I asked him as I watched as he rummaged around in the room, looking for something. “Regulus,”

“This, you’ll need this,” I watched as Regulus pulled out a wand and walked over towards me. “It’s my wand, and i’ll need it if you save me, if you still want to,”

I looked at Regulus for a second, unsure of what to say, I just looked at him. “I will,” I whispered leaning against the wall, I placed my hand on my forehead and just closed my eyes.

“Whats wrong? Is it the thing?” Regulus asked, I could feel the cold arm coming off of him and hitting me. “Lia,” his hand was placed on top of mine, taking my hands off my face.

“Nothing Regulus, I just needed to think,” I whispered keeping my eyes closed. “I’m gonna go to bed,” I opened my eyes, we were only inches away from each other.

“In twenty four hours i’ll be alive,” Regulus said with a smile. “And I don’t know how to repay you Lia, cause you could die,”

“I’m going to bed Regulus, we can talk about it in the morning when we leave,” I whispered moving away from Regulus and walking out of his room, I shut the door behind me and apparated to my room, shutting and locking the door. “Locking doors is ussless,” I smiled looking at Regulus who stood infront of me.

“What did I do?” He asked placing his hand in mine again. “Tell me what I did please? He asked leaning his head forward, hitting mine.

“Nothing Regulus, nothing,” His head was cold against mine, actually freezing. “Just, I really think I should go to bed, we have a long day tomorrow, and i’m just not up to the chit chat,”

“Okay, I think you might be right,” Regulus moved his head off mine and moved to lean against my vanity. “We leave in the morning, I guess you’ll need all the sleep you can get,” He placed himself on my dresser, looking over at me.

“Yeah,” I lowly said crawling into my bed and turning to face Regulus. “Twenty four hours,” I whispered causing him to smile.

“And what if you die?” Regulus asked jumping off my dresser, moving himself to the end of my bed.

“I won’t die, Remus needs me and I promised him that I would come back, so, I can’t die for him,” I hummed a rhythm on my fingers. “Tell me about yourself?” I asked moving against the wall and leaving room for Regulus to lay down beside me.

“Well,” Regulus grinned turning his body so we were facing each other, holding his head up with his elbow. “I’m dead if you didn’t know, bit of a nasty shock when I found out,” He joked making me let out a small giggle.

“No Regulus,” I smiled looking at his face. “What were you like alive, in Hogwarts, what did you do for fun?”

“I was in the slug club I guess,” I fell back with a giggle. “Yeah the slug club, cool old me,” Regulus let out a giggle too. “My life wasn’t so interesting, my parents were horrible people, my brother hated me, probably still hates me to this day,” Regulus paused smirking. “Then I died, and now i’m here, with you,”

“Well,” I started saying but yawned. “We have a long and very hard day tomorrow, get some sleep,” I rested my head just inches away from Regulus, we both faced each other, his arms now under the blanket.

“Goodnight Lia,” Regulus yawn as I closed my eyes, I felt his hand fall lightly on my face, moving my hair that tickled my nose. His hand now lightly rested on my face, I knew to enjoy the moment, not knowing how much it would last for.

Soon after Regulus breath became shallow and he had been sleeping, unsure that ghosts could sleep I opened my eyes slowly, my room was completely dark, the only thing lighting the room was the moonlight.

“Can’t sleep?” I turned and looked at Regulus who was laying on his back looking at the roof. “I haven’t slept in nineteen years, tomorrow night i’ll have the best sleep of my life,” He let out a little laugh.

“I can stay up with you, I can’t sleep either,” I let out a low breath falling onto my back and looking up at the roof. “Do you think that everything will ever go back to normal after all this?”

Regulus stayed silent for a moment, so did I, just looking up at the roof doing the same. “I don’t think anything will ever be normal, different, very different for sure but never normal,” He paused keeping me quiet. “All the people going into this war, they’ll never be the same, we’ll never be the same, not a year or ten in the future, this moment will always stay with us,”

I frowned, knowing he was right, everything he had just said was completely right. “I know,” I whispered closing my eyes, feeling myself drift slowly off. “But it’s wise, to do what we’re doing, just,” I paused keeping my eyes closed. “I’ll fight for the people I love,”

I felt Regulus shift, his curly hair and cold face laying on my shoulder. My hands wrapped around his body and my face turning into his chest, the perfect temperature to sleep in.

~(One Long and Almost Sleepless Night Later)

“We’re leaving,” My head shot up from the pillow and I looked at Harry who stood at the door. “I just want to tell you to be safe, and I hope we see eachother again,”

Still half asleep, I stayed silent for a moment, looking at Regulus, who had fallen surprisingly to sleep beside me. “I hope we see eachother again soon, be safe, tell Hermione and Ron that too,”

Harry gave me a slight smile, something in his smile told me his was nervous but confident. “I will,” Harry walked out shutting the door, as the door shut Regulus wrapped his arms around me with a smile.

“Are you ready for today?” He asked looking over me, he had fallen asleep cause he’s eyes were half shut flinching at the light, and he had lines under his eyes from the way he ha been sleeping.

“I though ghosts couldn’t fall asleep?” I asked smiling at the slight of his face my hands went to my eyes rubbing them away.

“I didn’t think so either, you should get ready, the sooner we leave the sooner it’ll all be over,” Regulus flipping out of the bed, running his hands through his hair.

“You’re right,” I followed his tracks standing up, my hair fell from the mess it was in, almost to the middle of my back. “I’m gonna go find kreature let him know we’re leaving soon,”

Regulus nodded and I walked out of the room, it was silent, Harry, Hermione and Ron were gone and KReature was alone somewhere in the huge house we were in.

“Kreature we’re leaving soon, where are you!” I shouted walking along the rooms, finally getting to the end of the hall, the junk room. “Kreature,” I whispered opening the door.

The room was full of Walburgas things, all stacked in here since Sirius hadn’t wanted to get ride of it or felt bad since it was his mom.

“Blood traitor in my house,” I jumped at the voice, looking at the painting of Walburga hung up on the wall. “What do you think your doing,”

“I’ve lived here for seventeen years, don’t act surprised,” I rolled my eyes looking at the disquest on Walburgas face as she looked back at me.

“Yeah seventeen years living with the disappointment of my son, get out of here, get out of here!” She sqreeched, I shut the door in angry turning around to Kreature. “We’re leaving, are you ready?” I asked crossing my arms.

“Kreature is ready, but Master Regulus must be saved,” Kreature grumbled. “I will take you there,” He turned around, walking down the hallway and disappearing down the stairs.

I walked back into my room annoyed, watching Reglus pack things into a bag he had found. “What you doing there?” I asked walking fully into my room and grabbing a sweater from my closet and tossing it on.

“Just packing the bear essentials, just you know, incase anything happens, which i’m sure things will go fine, but you know,” Reglus mumbled on, tossing his wand in the bag.

“Regulus put the bag down and look at me,” I crossed my arms, watching Regulus close up the bag and drop it to the ground, slowly turning to me. “What’s wrong?”

Regulus hand rubbing the back of his head, looking around the room, not making eye contact at all with me. “I don’t want you to die, so you have to promise, if anything goes wrong, you’ll leave and won’t die for me,” He hands met mine, now looking into my eyes.

I stayed silent for a moment, leaning my head forward, letting myself fall on Reglus chest. “I promise,” I whispered closing my eyes.

“Come on then, we should get this over and done with,” Regulus voice went cheerful, picking up my bag from the floor and grabbing my hand. “Where did you say Kreature was?” He asked as we walked out of the room.

“Kreature is ready,” The little house elf walked out of the room that Walburga was in and looked at me, Regulus let go of my hand with a smile, turning to me. “Grab my hand,”

“I’ll follow you there, don’t worry about me,” Regulus planted a kiss on my cheek as I took Kreatures hand. My stomach twisted as were disaperated out of the Black house, for a couple seconds, everything was chaos around me, my feet felt like floating but then landed on the hard ground.

“How was that?” Regulus asked standing infront of me with a smile, I smiled back then faded, looking around the dark place we were in.

“Where are we?” I whispered turning all the way around then making my way back to Regulus and Kreature, still unable to see Regulus.

“In a cave in the middle of Vast lake, come now,” Kreature growed walking forward, I felt nervous but followed him down, Regulus stayed beside me looking around.

“This place makes me sick just being here,” Regulus whispered, I slipped my hand in his as we got to the bottom.

“What now?” I asked looking at Kreature who took a knife out of his pocket.

“Give me your hand, trust me,” I growled, I looked at Regulus who nodded, I placed my left hand out. Kreature gripping my hand, slicing the knife across and smearing my blood, I flinched a bit in pain but trusted Kreature and Regulus.

The entrance opened and we continued walking down, I gripped my hand tight, walking down a chrysalis walkway, mesmerised by the shinning.

Kreature flicking his wrist, causing a light to admit out, lighting up the cave, it was huge, there was a tiny island in the middle of the cave. I watched as Kreature grabbed a rope, handing it to me, I pulled heavily, backing up, Reglus joined, pulling with me, a boat came up the surface.

“So the plan, you distract well I go diving for his body, that is under the lake, is probably guarded by tons of inferies,” I whispered looking into the water as I got into the boat.

“Kreature will charm you with fire, you won’t burn, but they won’t be able to touch you, it won’t last so long so you’ll have to be quick,” Kreature had already thought about the plan in his head.

“Quick,” I whispered looking into the water, not a sight of anything. “Are you guys sure that there are things in this lake, it looks abandoned,” I was about to stick my hand in the water but Regulus grabbed it.

“They come out once you touch the water, so don’t touch it unless you’d like to join me,” He let go of my wrist as we hit shore.

Kreature got off first, followed by me, then Regulus.

“I promise you won’t stink horribly after this,” Kreature cackled touching my skin, the colors of fire admitted all over me, not burning me. “You don’t have much time, we can disapparated as soon as your up,”

I nodded my head, jumping right into the water, Kreature had placed the bubble headed charm over me, I hadn’t even thought of that which I was grateful. Inferies gathered all over, screeching at the touch of me.

I swam around, looking at all the bodies, then seeing the faint black haired boy, I smiled swimming down to him and grabbing his arm, the inferies screeched more but I ignored it, swimming up with Regulus’ body dragging behind me.

The color of red slowly started to wear off, concerning me but I didn’t stop, almost at the top, I took a breath of air as I got up looking around, Regulus was nowhere in sight but Kreature put his hand out, and I grabbed out, disappearing out of here.

#RegulasBlack #Regulas Black #Regulas Black x y/n #Regulas Black x you #Regulas Black x oc #regulus Black x #regulus black x reader

86 notes · View notes

fallout-drabbles-n-stuff · 4 years ago

Note

How would companions react to a visually impaired SoSu that can fight impressively well? Love your work btw ☺️

Cait:

"Seriously? Ya can't hardly see two feet in front 'cha but you can..you know what? Nevermind, I ain't complaining."

She’s pretty damn impressed, it may be harsh but before your proving of your skills, she thought you’d be a hindrance because of your eyesight. Boy, she’d kick herself in the ass for it later.

Curie:

“Mon dieu, take no offense madam/monsieur, but with your recent eye exam results...I wouldn’t have thought you would’ve been able to swing and hit anything even at that distance..”

She’s pretty much astonished- having seen and, yes, been working to remedy your situation. However she certainly was happier for it, still striving to help you but being able to rest a little easier knowing you’d be able to defend yourself.

Danse:

“I’m impressed, soldier. However I still think it’s necessary to allow Captain Cade to at least exam your eyes...”

There’s a certain bought of relief that he feels seeing your battle prowess. Sure, he knew you could fight, and he supposed that he shouldn’t have thought any less of your capabilities after you’ve demonstrated them countless times beforehand.....but....he’ll still worry. You were, in his opinion, high risk.

Deacon:

“.....how?”

He doesn’t even know where to begin. Seriously? Okay, he had seen you fight before but...damn. You could hardly see shapes of people two feet away and yet you were able to take down super mutants? Oh no...I guess you could say, you go into “blind rage.” He couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought.

Gage:

“Look boss, so long as you’re able to keep kicking ass like that- I think we can keep this whole blind as shit thing on the down low.”

As someone who has impaired vision as well, he’s surprisingly empathetic. He knows what it feels like to be doubted because of something beyond your control. So long as you keep up the “ass-kicking”, he actually will grow to admire you even more.

Hancock:

“Shit, I didn’t have any idea...are you joking about the whole “unable to see” thing?”

He becomes pretty darn critical of your sincerity. Come on, he bullshits people all the time- it’s about time someone pulls his leg for once too. Once you reassure him that, no, you cannot see well at all, his respect for you practically skyrockets.

Macready:

“Heh, here I was thinking you hired me just for my eyes, boss. You take care of yourself well.”

He’s..conflicted with how he feels. On one hand, at least you weren’t going to get your ass handed to you...on the other, WHY DID YOU HIRE HIM IN THE FIRST PLACE? He’s a sniper man. You didn’t just hire him to help you navigate the ‘wealth...did you?

Maxson:

“Are those new modifications adequate?”

No. Absolutely not. You won’t even get the chance to prove your ass kicking abilities, for as soon as he gathers the medical exam from Cade, your ass is officially put on hold until he is sure that your vision is corrected.

Nick:

“Can’t say I’m too surprised, your one hell of a person in every way you can possibly be.”

Like he said, he isn’t surprised in all honesty. How else did you fight Kellogg? I mean, he’s not ever one to underestimate a person no matter what facts are against them anyways.

Old Longfellow:

“Damn...you and me are gonna need to get someone with some good eyes around here. Oh..never mind, we got the dog.”

He too suffers from poor vision, so he isn’t at all shocked whenever you prove your combat capabilities. He knows that they come naturally with survival instincts, how else was he alive now?

Piper:

“Well blue, you are amazing. That’s it. That’s all I got to say.”

She isn’t entirely shocked but...seeing how many times you’ve ran into walls? That kind of discouraged her from believing whenever she in contrast, saw you shoot a bloatfly clean through the eye. However, she wouldn’t question it- just chalking it up to you being like a super human or something.

Preston:

“It’s a damn good thing your arm is better than your aim, no offense..General.”

He’s so relieved. Honestly a piece of him was disappointed whenever you displayed terrible shooting accuracy...but that quickly faded when he saw you knock a raider straight off their ass with a bat.

Sturges:

“Mh, maybe you don’t need those fancy bifocals after all..good job.”

It was the second time you’ve saved him from raiders..he had been planting some melons whenever one somehow snuck up behind him- one thing led to another and somehow you were able to bust their head open with a super sledge.

Thank god he ducked when he did.

X6-88:

“You should see Dr. Volkhert immediately, ma’am/sir”

Similar to maxson...he refuses to let you do anything until corrective measures are taken.

74 notes · View notes

nildespirandum · 4 years ago

Text

What Pollen? A Loki Fanfic

The first part of my Summer and Writing Overused Trope Series. We are starting out with that old standby, Sex Pollen.

Warnings : 18+ only. Sex, and lots of it. Bad jokes. Terrible gifts.

“What is that, exactly?” Loki asked, an eyebrow raised to the heavens at the… whatever it was Nora was holding. “And which of my countless enemies is it from?”

That they had never made an especial effort to hide where they lived in Chicago meant that not only did their building end up a sort of tourist attraction but also the sight of semi-regular attacks for supervillains and underinformed heroes. The city budget had a line item every year of estimated fees that would be issued against himself, Nora, and the shell corporation that owned the building.

It was clearly heavy, at least for her, and possibly made of glass, or mucus, or inorganic fibres, or maybe meat? He circled her to get a better look at it. Other than the wooden base it was sitting in Loki recognized nothing of its shape or material make up.

Although, strangely, it smelled rather nice. Almost familiar, and yet not.

“Honestly, I have no idea.” She shifted it to his hands. It made a faint, not entirely unpleasant chinging noise as it moved in an unsettling way and then shifted back to stillness. For him, it was not heavy, though he could swear that it was breathing. “Your brother sent it as an anniversary gift.”

“There is a note, Mistress,” Charles, their invaluable valet, held a folded bit of blue paper out to Nora.

Nora walked away from the front door toward the living room, reading. “He sends his best, blah blah, Thor Asgard speak stuff, then…. Here it is. Apparently this is the traditional seventh winter of marriage gift among the Jotuns. It’s called a Endurnýjunarverksmiðja… I’m sure I didn’t pronounce that right… They grow in the Drekafirði… yep, I know I got that wrong, too. He had to climb down into the thing and fight a… I think this says an ice raptor to pick it. So I guess it’s a plant. He says we should fill the planter with ice once a day and keep it somewhere mostly dark. Which means it’s alive. That’s really disturbing.”

Loki groaned softly, setting it on the coffee table in front of the black velvet couch. How perfectly Thor. Sentiment, poor taste, and well-meaning ineptitude all wrapped up in one of the ugliest things he had ever seen in his centuries of life.

It wobbled terribly again, taking longer to still this time. The motions caused it’s lovely aroma to perfume the air.

They stared down at it, almost identically horrified. Still staring, they sat down in perfect unison, tilting their heads left and then right.

“It was nice of him to think of us,” Nora offered. “And to do something, er, traditional to acknowledge-”

“It’s things like this,” he broke in, gesturing to the hideous Endurnýjunarverksmiðja, “that make me marginally less resentful of being adopted, even by Odin.”

“Normally I hate it when you get all bigoted about Jotunheimr, but in this case I’m going to allow it. It’s horrible. Even if Thor meant well we are going to be stuck with this thing at least through the next time he visits.”

He nodded. “Vile. Truly vile. No matter how good it might smell.”

Nora frowned. “I don’t smell anything.”

“You are not feeling sick, are you?” Nervously he reached out and brushed her dark hair away from her forehead so he could check her temperature. No. She was exactly 37.16667 celsius, her normal temperature, just slightly higher than what was allegedly normal. Stroking his finger down her cheek to trail under her chin, he tilted her head to look at her glands, to check her eyes.

All was as it should be.

“I’m perfectly fine. You just have more sensitive senses than I do, you know that,” Nora rolled her eyes and pushed his hand away.

“Of course I do. Yet this thing is quite intensely fragrant. I would think even your unrefined, mortal nose could detect it,” he gently flicked the charming sensory organ in question. “Here,” Loki turned and lifted the terrible Endurnýjunarverksmiðja again.

The scent was positively intoxicating.

As soon as he had it in his hands it stirred in a most unsettling way, as if rubbing itself on itself. Though he was certain it was only a sort of visual illusion it even seemed to swell a bit when he brought it closer to Nora.

They both leaned in for a sniff when one of its revolting appendages unfurled itself, what were nasty petals opened, and puffed an enormous quantity of slow, slightly viscous blue powder all over the two of them before wilting to near-nothingness with the very softest sound of air escaping.

Or maybe a sigh.

“Did that thing just come all over us?” Nora asked after they sat in perfect silence for twenty-seven seconds.

Loki, for once, had nothing to say in response.

After a panicked series of spells and tests to ensure that the Endurnýjunarverksmiðja’s microgametophytes were not hazardous to Nora beyond giving her a laughing fit that left her laying on the rug, giving out painful snorts when she was too weak and exhausted to move, Loki sent a furious message to his suspiciously hard to reach brother.

Nora managed to stumble out of his workroom, gasping out something about a shower. His ire with his brother and the revolting plant which had been regulated to the chest freezer by Charles for the time being was so vast and all-encompassing that Loki did not even offer to join her.

After scraping off the worst of the vileness to save for the revenge he was already planning on Thor, Loki found himself yawning.

As he stripped himself, setting the perfectly serviceable Ermenegildo Zegna two-piece a-light since even if the wool was salvageable he would never bring himself to wear it again, his limbs felt heavy, pleasantly so. He wondered if Nora was experiencing it as well, but he found that not only had she finished her shower but was dressed again and going in search of a sandwich.

“Do you want anything?”

“Only a shower, nap, and vengeance.”

“I’d do them in that order.”

Whilst something niggled at the back of his mind about his state of exhaustion, and the name of the grotesque plant, it was clouded by his desperate need for sleep. So great that after his shower he did not spend the effort to dry his hair before pitching in an undignified way into bed.

Nora was surprised when Charles told her Loki had fallen asleep without eating the platter of sandwiches they’d made for him. Sleep and he were generally not friends, while he never missed a chance to eat. Then she shrugged and picked up a Reuben from the stack.

“It’s probably for the best if he sleeps through the effects of the Endurnýjunarverksmiðja, at any rate, Mistress.”

She was not sure if she was more surprised that Charles knew how to pronounce Endurnýjunarverksmiðja or seemed to know something about it. “So you know about that thing?”

“The Jotun Seven Year plant? They are rather infamous in some circles. Certain beings - the Jotuns, obviously, as well as other creatures from other planets who share genetic similarities with them - are willing to pay vast fortunes to either obtain or destroy them. They are as hardy as the Jotnar themselves.”

Nora went and opened the freezer and looked at the thing which seemed to be preening in the cold. Which made it even uglier, if that were possible. “For that thing? Really? Is their taste really that bad?”

Charles chuckled. A rarity for the efficient, calm demon.

When he explained Nora understood.

“So that was… sex pollen that thing hosed us with? Sex pollen? Potentially dangerous sex pollen. I mean, all I feel is still like I haven’t gotten all of it out of my hair.”

Sex pollen. Just the pure dumbness of the idea made her angry.

“You are not genetically predisposed to susceptibility, thankfully, since there are known to be dangerous side effects when the pollen is not able to work it’s way out of the recipient’s system in the, shall we say predictable way? Perhaps because Master Loki was in his Asgardian form it won’t affect him because he received the equivalent of an overdose - oh, hello, sir.”

Nora turned to find Loki leaning in the doorway of the dining room, one hand on the top of the door-frame, the other hanging loose at his side. He had pulled on a long, green cashmere robe, and a pair of the suede leggings he liked for lounging, but had apparently gotten bored halfway through lacing them up so with the robe hanging open and the top of the leggings gaping she got a good look at his long, elegant torso and the dark, silky trail of hair from his lovely, flat navel downwards to where his very, very apparent cock was just barely tucked enough to the side to keep the dining room R rated.

That said, she could see it throbbing even through the thick leather.

When they lay in bed together Nora liked to put her head on his chest and gently stroke that pretty black hair while they talked while Loki trailed his fingers up and down her back. It was peaceful.

She was pretty sure there would be no peace in her near future.

“Charles, please leave at once. The building. For the foreseeable future,” Loki spoke to Charles but stared at Nora, watching her mouth, her breasts, his eyes hot enough she could almost feel them stroking over her body. Slouching to the chair nearest hers, he nudged it out with his knee and sprawled into it, one hand covering that throb, squeezing it slightly, the fingers of his other hand toying with his lower lip as he gave her a lazy smile, that hot, avid gaze burning into her.

Under most circumstances Charles would have asked Nora before leaving, since technically she held his contract, but instead, he inclined his head and left, not bothering with a coat or hat, even though it was quite raining outside.

Great. Now there would be nothing but sex stupid Loki and probably soon to be sex stupid her. Nora really hoped none of those supervillains attacked or they would all be screwed one way or another.

“So, um, Charles told me a funny thing about that plant,” she said, going back to her sandwich, even as she had to cross her legs hard to try and deal with the answering throb she had going between them.

“Yes?” Loki gave himself a teasing squeeze that made his eyelids go heavy, “Tell me about it. From here,” he let go of himself and then slapped his hand down on his thigh hard enough to make her jump.

And ache straight from her now hard nipples down.

“Sure. That’s fine, because you see,” she sat there, but he shook his head, and arranged her the way he wanted, with both of her thighs slung over his as she talked, “that plant that gave us a faceful is a Frost Giant-”

“Aphrodisiac?” His voice was thick and purring in her ear, as he took her throat in one hand and gently pulled her back against him, “I had gathered. I don’t care. Oh, my treasure…” his mouth worked its way down her neck, then back up as he crooned and unbuttoned her jeans with his free hand, “my princess, my beloved, my dearest, I am going to fuck you until you sob. Your sweetest part is already crying for me, isn’t it?”

Then, in a burst of sudden impatience and seidr her pants and her panties were just gone, leaving her in just a sweater and socks, her cunt open to his hand. Two long fingers started at the bottom of her slit and ran upwards, catching as much wet as they could until reaching her clit, which the tips of his fingers rubbed in slow, firm circles.

“Oh, Jesus, Loki, you remember you could kill me by mistake, don’t you?” she said, turning enough to kiss him, to thrust her tongue hard into his mouth and stroke his, and bite his lips as he continued to tease. There was a rush of greater warmth between her legs, and her back arched helplessly. “Are you using sex magic on me?”

“I don’t need to. You are so sensitive to my pheromones now, which the heh, sex pollen, seems to have enhanced…”

Then he was standing and her back was on the cool, deeply polished wood of the table, and instead of teasing her with his fingers Loki was running the head of his penis up and down her while he stood between her open legs, sneering down at her, “I’ll make you beg me to kill you with my cock.”

He fucked into her with just the tip, teasing and stretching her. She was so wet it rolled down the length of him as he pulled out and then just ran that wet length up and down her, lightly enough to make her try and wrap her legs around his hips.

He grabbed her ankles and held them wide, just using his snaky, narrow hips to keep rubbing her with that velvety, iron cock. Effortless, sneering, and just plain rude, his hard, long fingers as strong as shackles.

She was going to help him get Thor when this was over with. Big Brother had a lot of suffering to do and he wouldn’t see it coming from Nora.

Nora would rather die than beg Loki to fuck her. He knew that, respected it, left it alone. Which was a sign of how bad off he really was and how much trouble they might be in. The last little bit of her own sanity was all they had going for them, and the fact that she would rather die than beg, but she wouldn’t rather that he die, so beg she did.

She just did it really badly.

“Please give me your cock, Loki. Stick it in me and fuck me. Fuck me very hard and leave your marks, bruise me, breed me, just please, baby, please. Fill me with your icy Jotun sperm until it drips out of me,” she recited as if she were reading Google Maps directions to a dentist’s office.

Her cunt, on the other hand, was being much more sincere, throbbing and soaking the table and prickling with need and aching so deep inside that even as she blah’d the words out her hips started matching his, leaving everything a mess. “Split me wide open and never let me heal.”

That last bit was said with more sincerity.

It was enough for him. Those iron-hard hands were starting to shake with need. Dropping her legs over his shoulders, Loki lined himself up and drove into her with one hard, straight thrust. Nora’s toes curled til they hurt and her cunt clenched him so hard that Loki’s back now arched, so he thrust deeper, so he rubbed on her clit, so he bit her ankle and she pushed on the table to get him farther in and they fucked and fucked and fucked.

“Harder,” she gritted out. Once he was in her, she couldn’t be fucked enough.

Loki pulled out, flipped her over hard, so her hands slapped the table and her nipples were rubbing so hard on her sweater they hurt and he fucked her from behind like a desperate stranger, like an animal in rut, like a monster.

“How many times can I make you come before I have to as well, hmmm?” His voice was husky and came out in a ratchet as he kept working her. “What is our record?”

Under any sane circumstances - which they didn’t have very often - Nora would have been afraid then. Instead she grabbed one of his hands from her hips and pushed it between her legs, “Start counting, your highness.”

Almost too gently he took her clit between two fingers and fondled it with a third. The throb between her legs was maddening now and Nora humped his hand and pushed hard onto that delicious cock that was all hers and when the orgasm came, it was not an explosion but a full-body collapse.

“One,” he said, pulling out and lifting her limp body to carry to their bed.

He knelt between her legs, nuzzling and sniffing and licking. Two came easily. That clever tongue barely had time to grow limber in her service before a slow, luscious roll of pleasure shuddered through every inch of her.

“Oh, I’m too hungry to leave the rest of this honey unlapped,” he said, gently fingering her, watching himself touch her, open her. The pad of his finger found her g-spot, “You must drown me, treasure,” he said before putting his mouth back to its favorite work.

The third was achieved with such tenderness it left Nora shaking and needing to hide under him, she felt so exposed. When he crawled up her body he slowly, inch by inch entered her while covering her, letting her bury her face in his chest, letting her clutch him, using his hair to curtain her.

Wrapping an arm about her, to hold her close, and rain kisses on her face, the fourth was almost a surprise to both of them. They laughed, foreheads pressed together, and the stirring of that laugh through both of their bodies undid her the fifth time and nearly did for Loki as well.

The Sixth had her reaching between them to touch herself while he told her what to do, how she felt from the inside, how she tasted, and it was that dark, insinuating voice that took her there.

Seven left her sore, still needy, and Loki now undulating, like a snake working its way through a thicket.

Eight made her scream, and fall back onto the bed, too exhausted to do anything in return, to only receive.

Loki smiled down at her with unkind lips and loving eyes, using her like a thing, like a treasured thing, and then bent down, his sweat dripping hair wildly splattering both of them, their slick skin moving in frictionless perfection, and when she panting, weakly, reached up and grabbed a handful of it to pull him down to her mouth, gasping, wanting that kiss more than anything, the touch of his lips to hers set off the long, wrenching, endlessness of nine, that was too much even for him to resist.

The last of the pollen in his system boiled out of his pores, the heat and hormones overwhelming it.

He cried out her name loud enough to make one of their downstairs neighbors move.

Afterward, still a sodden mess, Loki managed to pull Nora over so she lay with her head against his chest, remorseful yet unwilling to do without as much contact as he could have. “I am so sorry,” he kissed the top of her head. “If you want me to -”

“Shut up,” she said against his skin. Then she softly put her fingertips on the hair that grew from his navel to his cock, petting it fondly and he knew that she was, as ever, the most understanding of all creatures.

Then, recalling something, he lifted his head, “Did you actually say ‘breed me’?”

“I figured if that didn’t snap you out of that stupid, nothing was going to.”

That was far from wrong.

“So,” she said, turning her head to look at him, “we’re going to get Thor good for this, right?”

“Indeed.”

“And we’re keeping the plant?”

“The Endurnýjunarverksmiðja? It goes without saying.”

#loki fanfic #loki smut #writing and summer #sex pollen #overused tropes #loki AU

150 notes · View notes

advena87 · 4 years ago

Text

Lambert and Aiden on the Path Part 3

Here is Part 1

Here is Part 2

As with part 1 and 2 , this is when Lambert and Aiden were just building their bond. Please remember that they share one brain cell and mayhem is their natural habitat.

***

Aiden: You should cooperate with us, we need this information to kill monster. Thug: And what’s in it for me? Aiden, points to Lambert: He’ll stop doing it. Thug: Doing what? Lambert: *quickly grabs the thug and smacks his head on the table* Thug: Ow, fuck! Aiden: That.

***

Aiden: What's wrong with you?

Lambert: Off the top of my head, I'd say low self-esteem, a lack of parental affection, and a genetic predisposition for alcoholism, anxiety and depression.

Aiden: I really like you, but you are a terrible person to talk about personal stuff.

Lambert: Thanks, that means a lot to me.

***

Lambert: Stay where I can see you.

Aiden: What am I, a kid?

Lambert: Kids are baby goats. They're cute, and they have redeeming social value. You are definitely not a kid.

***

Village Chief: You are without a doubt the worst witchers I've ever heard of.

Aiden: But you have heard of us!

Village Chief: The neighboring village burned down because of you, so it was hard not to hear. There is a reward for your heads.

Lambert: We're getting the fuck out of here.

Aiden: But he heard of us!

***

Aiden: You're so committed to being not committed.

Lambert: Oh hell no, we don’t do that. I would rather bleed out and die than sit here and talk about my feelings.

Aiden: I understand that sarcasm is your thing, and I want to love and accept all parts of you, but can you please not make jokes about dying right now?

***

Aiden: I didn’t even stab him!

Lambert, sarcastically: I’m so proud of you. No stabbing Wednesday. New tradition.

***

Lambert: So that’s your plan?

Aiden: Please, I don’t plan! I scheme.

***

Lambert: You’re alive!!!

Aiden: Philosophically, arguable, but physically, yes I am.

***

Aiden: I think I know what's going on in your head, Lambert.

Lambert: Well then, welcome to the terror dome.

***

Aiden: Speaking of trouble, we should have run into some by now.

Lambert: What do you mean?

Aiden: You know, a villain, a booby trap...

*the street lights go out, leaving them in darkness*

Aiden: ... Or an ambush.

***

Lambert: Aiden, are you spying on me?

Aiden: I'm a cat. I'm curious. So kill me.

***

Lambert, waking Aiden: Hey- You ok?

Aiden: I'm dead.

Lambert: I know, you must feel like shit after that-

Aiden: No. I went into cardiac arrest eight minutes ago. I'm deceased.

Lambert: Oh, come on- *checks Aiden's pulse* What the fuck... How are you talking?

Aiden: Superior Cat witcher training. Indomitable will.

Lambert: You really don't have a fucking pulse!

Aiden: Just adrenaline and rage keeping me going. Also, a swallow.

***

*Lambert and Aiden are hiding from chase in the niche between the buildings*

Lambert: Is that your fucking hand on my ass?

Aiden: It was an accident.

Lambert: Aiden, your hand's still on my ass.

Aiden: IT'S STILL AN ACCIDENT!

***

Aiden: I need to get my business in order before I drag you into it.

Lambert: What if I told you I wanna be dragged into it? I could help, maybe.

Aiden: Why now? Why are you all of a sudden into me now?

Lambert: I don't know. I haven't overanalysed it, like you're about to.

***

* during the night hunt in the city*

Aiden: So, this is romantic... The two of us, full moon...

Lambert: Homeless guy pissing on a dumpster...

***

Lambert, to Aiden: You know, you have a talent for turning a bad situation into the worst case scenario.

***

Aiden: Hey, wanna help me commit a felony?

Lambert: What the hell?!

Aiden: Oh, sorry, my bad.

Aiden, whispering: Wanna help me commit a felony?

Lambert, whispering: Of course, dude, what do you need?

***

Lambert, holding Aiden in his arms: Can I have a moment alone with him?

Villagers: Of course *leaves*

Lambert: Now listen asshole, I know you're not dead.

Aiden: Yeah, no shit-

***

Aiden: Sometimes my mouth keeps moving before I can even think about what's coming out of it.

Lambert: Same.

Aiden: Your turn.

Lambert: Well, personally I'm a fan of ignoring a problem until eventually it just goes away or bite my ass.

Aiden: Same…

***

Lambert: I don’t need friends! I HAVE KNIVES! *throws knife*

Aiden: *dodges*

Lambert: I’m... Out of knives.

***

Lambert: [lists off his numerous enemies] Aiden: How does one man have so many enemies? Lambert: I’m a people person who drinks. Aiden: Ah.

***

Lambert: Every time I ask you to do something, you always manage to screw it all up.

Aiden: And yet you continue to ask me. You need help, mister.

***

Lambert: Looks like I got here just in time.

Aiden: What do you mean, just in time?

Lambert: You were in very big trouble.

Aiden: I had the situation under control.

Lambert: Mmm, I see. So which part of the situation did you have under control: the blocked entrance, the poison gas, or that guy behind you?

Aiden: Oh, you mean that one that’s too far away to worry about?

***

Aiden: I'll admit I've done a lot of things in my life that I'm not proud of.

Aiden: No, no, that's not true, I'm proud of most of them.

***

Aiden: Bottom line, are you in or are you out?

Lambert: Well then I'm out.

Aiden: Actually you're already in.

Lambert: Then why would you ask me?

Aiden: Because I thought you would go, "I'm in, Aiden!", and we would have had a really cool moment, but you kind of ruined the whole thing.

***

Lambert: Ok, let's go free an innocent woman.

Aiden: Nice. My dreams are coming true. You and me getting a lady off together.

Lambert: I mean, you know how that sounds, right?

***

Aiden: Do you love me? It's a simple question.

Lambert: It's not a simple answer.

Aiden: I know.

***

Aiden: Lambert, just give up before you embarrass yourself.

Lambert: Oh no, I never give up before I embarrass myself.

***

Aiden: Did I ever tell you how pretty you look when you’re angry?

Lambert: Well I must look gorgeous right now because I’m furious!

***

Lambert: Aiden, I was kidding myself. All that planning and reading… I don’t have a clue where we’re going.

Aiden: You’re doing great. Besides, we NEVER know what we’re doing. Remember cursed forest?

Lambert: You made cute plant food.

Aiden: And this village near Novigrad, how you got us locked in prison?

Lambert: I got us locked in? That was totally your fault!

Aiden: See? It’ll be fine.

#witcher #witcher 3 #tw3 #witcher lambert #lambert #witcher aiden #aiden #lambert/aiden #lambert x aiden #aiden/lambert #aiden x lambert #lamden #laiden #lambert and aiden on the path #masters of mayhem #incorrect quotes #incorrect witcher #incorrect witcher quotes

92 notes · View notes

groovybaybee · 4 years ago

Text

Greener - II

Greener - I

(4.2k)

cw: mentions of abuse (not this chapter and nothing too intense but better safe than sorry) also alcohol consumption

There are moments in life that conjure up intense emotion any time you think about them. Happy or sad, whenever your mind flicks through its rolodex of memories and lands on it, you feel that moment come to life. You brain must have logged every detail of that time and packed it away in the back of your brain for you to stumble upon later down the road. Your mind takes you back to that moment and brings your senses along with it. My mother always reaches for these moments in times of strife, dipping her hand into a lucky dip of ‘happy places’ and allowing the sensation to wash over her. Her favourite is a family holiday to Spain, sipping ice-cold drinks as we swung our legs in the chilly waters of the pool below us.

Not all the moments I remember are so positive, but I feel them just as strongly. Instead, I created my own ‘happy place’ to escape to whenever I felt overwhelmed.

I stand, waist-deep, in warm water. Waves lap around me, hugging and kissing my naked skin as I breathe gently under the moonlight. The sky above me is clear and an audience of stars shine down on me. I bare my soul to the universe and feel love and appreciation in return. The night sky watches over me as I let my eyes close, leaning my head back, chin high. My shoulders relax more than they ever have as a warm but refreshing breeze wraps around me, hugging me tightly. I hear trees rustle somewhere behind me, whispering sweet sentences to one another as the sand beneath my feet reaches my ankles, anchoring me securely to the world, grounding and protecting me from floating away.

I let my eyes open and I am back in my kitchen. No gentle breezes or salty air. Just my kitchen, with its colourful, mismatching crockery and photographs blu-tacked to the wall. However, there is a clear change in the room since the time I shut my eyes tightly, my chest feels looser, my throat no longer feels as though it is closing, and my breathing has slowed drastically.

Raising my phone from my side, I return to the source of my sudden panic.

A news article, forwarded from my manager, Jim, a simple ‘Didn’t know you were dating’ preceded the link to the website. Of course, he was joking, not realising the stress I was about to feel.

Quickly clicking the link, I remind myself to breathe deep and slow as I am redirected to a webpage.

BACK ON THE HORSE? HARRY STYLES SPOTTED GETTING CLOSE WITH MYSTERY WOMAN

Hunky heartthrob, Harry Styles, caught canoodling outside hot Los Angeles restaurant, Spago. Despite reportedly having only split with model ex-girlfriend, Camille Rowe, a mere two months ago, the pop sensation was witnessed cosying up to a new woman.

I am skim-reading at this point, desperate to get to the end with some shred of mental stability. My eyes land on the articles singular piece of ‘evidence’, a video taken from across the street. It begins with Harry and I talking and laughing outside the restaurant, follows us as we migrate closer to one another, my head thrown back in laughter before we are nearly pressed together. I had not realised quite how close we had gotten. The video ends when Harry and I are blocked from view, Harry’s car obstructing the camera’s line of sight. No one would be able to tell we did not kiss. My stomach squeezes uncomfortably as I read the video’s caption.

Keep it in your pants guys!

It is all a little dramatic. A small part of me wants to laugh at the way this has all been exaggerated and made into a big deal. That amusement fizzles as I continue to read the article, pausing after reading the final line.

All this has us wondering, has Harry really moved on so quickly?

Good question.

Quickly replying to my manager, I send the words ‘Blind date’, before glancing at the comments beneath the article.

Big mistake.

Despite the article not naming me directly, not something I am shocked or offended by as Harry is clearly the more famous of the two of us, the comment section of the webpage has not mirrored the same unawareness. Almost every comment mentions me by name, the majority questioning how we even know each other.

I allow myself to be sucked into the vortex of curiosity, taking in every opinion possible. Many of the replies to the news make it clear that they do not know who I am, and therefore that is reason enough for me to be nowhere near Harry. A lot of comments debate whether or not Harry has fully dealt with his breakup, suggesting that this was a PR move to make his ex-girlfriend jealous. I make the mistake of googling her.

Well I don’t think the jealousy tactic is likely to be effective.

She is stunning. A French model. Could I be more of a cliched parallel to her? I try not to compare the two of us, however, a few comments bring attention to the bloat of my stomach and it becomes very difficult not to feel vulnerable after that. It was a blind date. Harry and I were set up. That is the only reason he would ever look at me twice.

But he wants to see me again.

I cling to that thought and close the webpage on my phone, pocketing it and deciding fresh air is what I need. Stepping through the patio doors of my house, I peek out into the sunshine, letting the warm rays soak into me instantly. The small house is built on a hill, the garden demonstrating this the most as it is split into two grassy tiers. I walk up the concrete steps until I reach the patio furniture at the top. Sitting myself on one of the wooden chairs, I take a second to appreciate the view; the back of my house shaded by the incline of the hill which allows me to peer over the top of my roof and look out at the hills. As a kid, I had pictured living somewhere warm enough for palm trees, now I am able to watch them arc in the wind.

I did this, and this is far more important than a few words. I am alive, I am good, and I am kind.

Pressing my toes into the soft, cool grass beneath me, I slip my phone out of my pocket and compose a text.

Sat in my garden and I reckon the view would be fun to paint, fancy it?

The soft yellowy horizon gives me a sense of security as the evening creeps in. There is so much beauty in the world and I am glad I took the time to sit out here rather than obsessing over some meaningless gossip. It will all blow over and people will either forget about us or realise that we are not actually together. A small smirk tugs at my lips as I imagine pinning this on Lucy and using it as an excuse to get a free drink out of her.

My phone vibrates twice against the wooden table.

I love that idea. Tomorrow work? (I’ll bring wine) – Harry

I cannot help but grin at the small screen, quickly typing a reply.

4pm? Catch the last of the sun that way. Also you don’t have to keep signing off!

Only a few seconds after placing my phone back down on the table, I have to pick it back up to read his latest message.

Sounds perfect. It’s harder to stop than you’d think – Harry

Giggling at him, I lock my phone and set it down, excitement pooling in the bottom of my stomach. This time tomorrow Harry will be sat beside me, paint-covered and maybe a little bit tipsy. I make a quick mental note to go shopping for food to line our stomachs, not wanting to let him be exposed to my drunken self just yet.

I spend the next day getting my house presentable, or at least as tidy as possible despite the numerous large, brown boxes which clutter my living room. I also spend the day doing errands, shopping for food and drinks Harry might like (probably going a bit overboard and buying enough options for five people rather than two), and picking up some art supplies for the two of us.

Once home, I unpack the groceries, setting some of them out on plates and dishes, making an attempt at a charcuterie board I had seen on Pinterest the night before. Setting up the area we would be spending the most time in, I move the two small canvases I purchased earlier outside, along with paints and brushes and cups of water for rinsing. It seems a little bit amateur, but I do not have time to dwell as Harry texts me that he is just leaving his house and will be here in half an hour.

Dashing back inside, I take the speediest shower of my life just to freshen up and rinse the day away. Chastising myself for my lack of planning ahead, I smear on a touch of makeup and quickly style my hair. I am still pulling on a pair of dungarees, clipping the straps into place, when I open the front door.

“Hi,” I greet breathlessly.

Harry is already smiling when I meet his gaze, looking down at me with an infectious grin. I allow myself a second to drink him in. Obviously, he is dressed more casually than two days ago, dressed in a simple but figure-hugging black t-shirt, a golden chain peeking out from underneath. Alongside them, he is wearing a pair of brown, straight-leg corduroy trousers. He looks good. It should not surprise me, but it does anyway.

“Hi,” he offers brightly.

Stepping aside to let him enter, I try not to check him out, mentally telling myself that I am still not certain where he stands re us kissing each other’s faces off. Probably for the best to err on the side of caution.

Closing the door behind him, I walk us through the living room and to the adjoining kitchen, feeling a tad embarrassed by my decorating style. Splashes of colour litter the house, the walls are mostly covered in photographs, interesting drawings and potted plants.

“When did you move in?” Harry asks, noticing the stack of boxes. My heart pangs slightly at the question but I try not to let the dread within shine through.

“Few months now, I’m just terrible at unpacking,” It is not a total lie, so I do not feel totally bad about it. There is, however, a small part of me that resents not being completely honest with him about why a certain box remains closed and sealed. “I might have gone overboard with snacks, so please eat anything you want,” I tell him when we reach the kitchen and he sees the spread I had laid out.

Suddenly, it all feels like too much and heat prickles my cheeks in embarrassment as I watch Harry eye the full countertops. I had bought far too much and probably seem incredibly eager. Bread touched three types of meat, touched three types of cheese, touched olives, touched sundried tomatoes. There was another plate full of fruit, washed and sliced and displayed daintily in concentric circles. Then there was the bags of crisps, pretzels, biscuits, and chocolate buttons. This was enough for a family picnic, not a light grazing, and definitely too much for a second date. If that is even what I could call this.

“This is amazing,” Harry utters quietly, and I almost do not hear him, my internal monologue reprimanding me so severely it almost overpowers him. He turns back towards me, gazing at me softly, his face a beautiful light pink. “Feel bad for contributing so little now,” he says, a gentle teasing lilt to his voice which makes me smile, a breathy and grateful laugh falling from my lips.

“Trust me, your contribution is the most valuable,” I say, stretching up into a cupboard to grab two wine glasses.

We manage to carry a disproportionate amount of food outside, giggling as we stacked our arms high until I could barely see over the top of my pile. Once outside, we settle on the wooden chairs and Harry pours us each a glass of merlot.

“Matches your hair,” he muses, smirking as he hands the glass to me.

“Never heard that one before,” I tease, trying to ignore the voice in my head questioning if he thinks the colour is ugly.

Harry settles back in his chair, looking out across the hills and valleys before speaking again, “This was a good idea,”

“Yeah, the view is the main reason I bought the house to be honest,” I mumble into my wine glass.

There are a few moments of silence. It is not particularly uncomfortable, but I decide that we could use some music. I dash inside to grab a speaker and connect my phone to it.

“Can I leave it up to you?” I ask, holding out my unlocked phone for him to take, “I’m indecisive.”

He lets out a chuckle, muttering a soft, “Sure.”

Taking the phone from my hand, our fingers brush momentarily, and I have to remind myself that I am not in the middle of a romcom. I feel my cheeks redden at the interaction and quickly turn to my canvas. Placing the wooden end of my paintbrush in my mouth as I scan over the paints in between the two of us. The soft opening notes of The Chain begin to play, mingling with the warm breeze that swirls lightly around the garden.

“Listen to the wind blow,” I sing under my breath, unable to hold myself back.

From the corner of my eye, I see Harry picking up his own brush, dipping into a little bit of blue paint and brushing across his own canvas. I dip my brush back into the yellowy orange colour I had been mixing and paint the outline of my house. It is messy and a little childlike, but I am having a good time. Harry and I both begin to relax as we paint, singing along, and doing embarrassingly enthusiastic seated dance moves when the guitar solo plays.

“I love Fleetwood Mac so so much,” I admit gleefully, catching my breath as I giggle and take a sip of my wine.

“Me too,” Harry replies, a bright smile pairing with beautifully pinkened cheeks.

“What’s your favourite song?” I ask happily, popping a raspberry into my mouth.

Harry pauses for a moment, lowering his brush and giving the question some good thought. He makes it impossible not to admire him, watching as his brows furrow ever so slightly, lips puckering temporarily as his brain ticks over.

“I always come back to Songbird,” he tells me, looking up at me and nodding to himself. His eyes look so bright when they catch the light, reflecting into mine. I almost have to look away.

“It’s a beautiful song,” I admit softly, my voice quieter than either of us had expected, suddenly nervous again to be in his presence and having a conversation which means so much to me.

“What’s yours?” Harry asks, his gaze not wavering for even a second. He is undeniably intimidating, not even due to his status in the world, but simply being beside him feels as though I have won some sort of contest. There is something in his general being that makes me feel both small and powerful all at once. Simultaneously, I cannot believe that he is here in my garden when he could be anywhere else with anyone else, nor can I believe the way he is looking at me, observing me with such delicate looks that it appears he is afraid of scaring me away.

“Storms,” I blurt out. Taking a second to collect my thoughts, I explain, “Skies the Limit is my go-to, but Storms made me feel when I felt numb.”

Realising that I have most definitely overshared, I quickly dip my brush in the nearest colour and spread it across the top of my canvas, accidentally painting the sky pink.

“I think that’s really special,” Harry utters softly, his gaze still on me as I pretend to be focused on my painting and not the spectacular man beside me, or the way his eyes feel on the side of my face. “I want to make music like that, you know?” he says, turning back to the view ahead of us and finishing off his own skyline.

“I think you have,” I confess, feeling his eyes back on me in an instant. I force myself to turn to meet his gaze, urging some sense of bravery to course through my veins. When our eyes meet, he is looking at me like water in the desert, some sort of miracle before him that his brain does not fully believe. His mouth opens, pauses, then closes again. A second later, a smile pulls at his lips.

“I like your pink sky,” he tells me, grinning brightly, not breaking away to look at the canvas in front of me.

I laugh, “Started as a mistake but I think I prefer it like this,” I admit, pursing my lips as I take a long look at my painting.

“I like the way your mind works,” Harry says, smirking when I turn to him with knitted eyebrows, “I feel like you’re so bright and full of joy. Just walking through your house felt like I’ve known you years… I don’t know if that sounds mental.”

He looks at me cautiously, afraid he has revealed too much, and maybe he has, but I enjoy it more than I could even tell him. I like his perception of me. No matter what happens, how much he comes to learn and dislike about me, at this moment he likes me. And, oh boy, do I like him.

The thought of kissing him pops into my head, bold and illuminated in neon. I let it pass, determined not to ruin the moment. Instead, I look at him, and he looks right back. We share a brief period of peace, the sun on our faces with a light wind blowing between us.

“Oh!” We both exclaim enthusiastically as What Makes You Think You’re the One plays on the shuffle. Smirking at our joint reaction, we turn back to our paintings.

For the next hour or so we fully relax into our little world, grooving along as we paint. There is a real sense of calm throughout the space, even the birds in the trees seem to chirp softer, almost as though they were part of our garden party.

The only moment in which there is a break in the bubble of tranquillity is when Harry desperately reaches for a strawberry, stopping himself whenever his hand, covered in a rainbow of paints, gets close. Impossible to tear my eyes away, I watch him for a moment, a delicate smirk on my lips as he attempts to approach the task from a multitude of angles. He lets out a small sigh and I decide that it is my duty to intervene.

“Need a hand there?” I ask, failing to hold back a giggle as I pluck a strawberry from the plate with paint-free fingers.

“Thanks. Can you-- You could… Thanks,” Harry stammers while I hesitate as I raise the fruit to his face, temporarily feeling awkward about feeding a man I barely know.

I quickly get over myself and lift the berry to his lips, already somewhat parted. Taking the fruit into his mouth whole, his lips graze my fingertips ever so lightly. Our eyes lock the second it happens.

Things start to move slowly. My hand lowers into my lap. Harry chews the fruit and swallows, his tongue poking out to catch a stray bead of juice that had escaped from his lips to the corner of his mouth.

No way are you letting yourself be turned on by this. So cliché.

Despite the mental chastisement, I find myself drawn to Harry. The need to feel his lips on my own is overwhelming me. Every second spent not knowing whether he is a good kisser feels like torture, my mind in agony.

It appears that he feels the same way, gaze hesitating over my parted lips, hopefully not focusing on my clear breathlessness. Our bodies seem to be migrating towards one another, some unknown gravitational pull guiding our chests together until out faces are almost touching. I feel his breath on my cheek and quickly I worry that mine does not smell as good.

Why did you eat that slice of manchego?

Surely, he won’t want to kiss me anymore. He must not have noticed yet. But he will, and I will be humiliated. Better to stop now, while for some reason he actually is not appalled by the thought of kissing you. Why does he want to kiss me anyway? He could kiss anyone he wanted. He could have anyone he wanted. It is probably the wine.

The wine has probably stained your teeth as well. God you’re a mess.

I stop dead in my tracks. Swiftly, I pull away from him. It is harder than I had expected, his cologne sucking me in so that it feels like I have to stop breathing in order to separate from him.

“Sorry,” I mumble.

I cannot look at him. Unable to face the reality of the situation and see his bemused, beautiful face. I would only want to kiss him if I did look up at him, so instead I fidget with the hem of my sleeve, nails picking away at the firm stitching.

“I’m sorry,” Harry says, his voice is so quiet that it hurts my heart to hear him so small and dejected, especially since I was the cause.

We sit in silence for what feels like an eternity. I can feel his gaze on me, soft and apologetic, but I am still unable to bring myself to make eye contact.

“I’d be happy just being your friend,” I tell him.

It is a lie. Partially, anyway. Of course, I would love to be his friend, but I also want to kiss him all over and have heart-to-hearts in the early hours of the morning. I want to hear about his first kiss, find out his favourite sweets and his happy place. I wonder if he is there now, desperately trying to escape the awkward bubble of tension surrounding us.

“Yeah, I shouldn’t have assumed… I’m sorry.” Is all he says.

“No,” I pipe up, a well of guilt forming in my stomach as I regard his sunken features, “It’s not you...”

“It’s not you, it’s me?” Harry says with a quirk of a smile.

I let out a breathy chuckle and we finally meet each other’s eyes and understand. It’s all alright.

We keep painting. By the time the sun starts to set and the water for our brushes turns a murky grey, I have finished mine and sit teasing Harry as he adds the finishing touches to his own.

“Rome wasn’t built in a day,” Harry counters with a grin as he adds a sweep of dark red to his canvas.

“Better be some painting,” I mutter into my wine glass.

“Okay!” Harry exclaims excitedly, “She’s done. Ready for the reveal?”

“Yes,” I laugh at his question, as if I have not been waiting to share for twenty minutes.

Harry had insisted that our final products should be a surprise for the other, so for the last hour we painted in secrecy, occasionally peering out from behind our canvases to try and sneak a peek at the other’s.

When we angle our paintings towards one another, the difference in our styles is clear. Mine is bright with exaggerated shapes, almost cartoonish. Meanwhile Harry’s painting is more true to life, a meta portrayal of the view, two little figures of him and me seen from behind at the bottom of the canvas.

“I love it,” I tell him, the picture bringing a grin to my face as I observed the tiny version of myself; a little blob of shoulders and messy hair.

“I’m calling it ‘Friendzone’.” he tells me, a wicked smirk on his lips.

“Hey!” I whine with a gently nudge to his arm, however, the bout of laughter he has elicited really weakens my protest.

Harry helps me clear up the garden before he leaves, carefully carrying his precious painting out with him. After bidding me a sweet goodnight, leaving no doubt in my mind that he had a nice time today, I finish cleaning up. As I am washing the two wine glasses, I peer over at my painting, smiling as I remembered Harry’s comments about my pink sky. Maybe being just his friend would be easy after all.

masterlist

47 notes · View notes

skinks · 5 years ago

Note

mr wentworth yes i help my son with his goofy voices yes i am a dilf tozier has the salt n pepper hair of god (oscar isaac) and the sexy librarian glasses to match

god I had never even considered that... the range of this...

Went starts going gray at 32 when Richie is 5 and it’s all the church women’s group can talk about... indirectly, of course. Oh, but he’s so young. Oh, he’ll be balding next. Oh I don’t know, doesn’t he look... distinguished? Mrs Nash from just down their street sees him doing rock-paper-scissors with his son Richard in the grocery store to determine whether or not Richard is allowed ice cream, and Dr Tozier is laughing because he’s winning, and he’s winning because Richard doesn’t know his father can see his little hidden hand reflected in the freezer cabinet, tucked behind his back. Richard’s laughing too, even though he’s losing, and bleats, “Again! Dad again,” eyes shining big as planets with coke-bottle rings.

“Don’t you know what best two out of three means? That was four draws ago.”

“No! No, I’ll win!” The boy shakes his head so hard his whole body rocks from side to side, then clings up at Dr Tozier’s middle with sticky hands. His very... trim middle. Helen’s own Rory, God love him, he enjoys a sudsy six-pack too much these days to keep a middle like that. “Two outta three! Three ice creams please Dad please please Dad please watch I can count to a hundred—”

“Well, we’re not playing hide-and-go-seek right now, Rich. And I beat you, didnt I?”

“Yeah!”

“Right. So why don’t you go get Dad six apples instead, alright? If you can do a hundred, six’ll be pie.” Dr Tozier claps his big hands gentle to the boy’s round cheeks, until they goldfish.

“Easy as,” they chant together. Helen props herself up with the handles of her own cart, the can of little hotdogs going slack in her hand.

“Six apples, then come right back. You got that, doc? You pick the color.”

Richard nods like he’s trying to detach his own head. Dr Tozier puts one hand just briefly on Richard’s dark mophead hair, like he’s giving the boy a blessing for his apple adventure. His hand is really quite broad, thinks Helen, popped out square at the thumb-joint. Matches that jawline of his, something whispers darkly in her stomach. Then the boy’s off, tearing down the aisle on a squeaking chariot of scuffed-gray sneakers and babbling what sounds like a Bugs Bunny impression, repeated on a loop. What’s up doc what’s up doc what’s up doc, fading around the corner to the fruit. Peculiar. Helen once saw the Tozier boy eat a worm at the park while pushing her youngest on the swings, after another solemn-eyed little boy with a faceful of freckles had carefully presented it to him in the sand box. Most peculiar.

Dr Tozier watches him go, then turns back to the freezer cabinet, and sticks two cartons of ice cream into his shopping cart—the very sugary kind. And the man is a dentist!

Helen puts her hand on her chest to calm the trilling schoolgirl rush of her heart, and then stops herself at the sight of her own wedding ring. Get a hold of yourself, Mrs Nash! For Pete’s sake! She trundles her cart over for some chit-chat. Afternoon, Doctor, she says, lovely weather. A perfect neighbourly opener. It is lovely; bright and warm and clear and golden, like honey outside. She’s quietly smug about her new blowout. Dr Tozier is wearing a crisp shirt with buttons like neat soldiers and short sleeves, exposing lean forearms. Yes, a lovely day. Helen swallows.

“Yes, good for the lawn,” replies Dr Tozier.

“We missed Margaret at book club this week,” Helen hedges.

“Oh, that’s right,” says Dr Tozier, and the fine lines at the corners of his eyes when he grins are even more distracting without the facemask he’s usually wearing, when Helen drops in for her check-ups. He pushes his spectacles up the strong slope of his nose. They’re wiry like him, steely gray to match his eyes. “She meant for me to tell you, or Diana. Maggie’s been in Skowhegan for the week at her mother’s. My mother-in-law is a woman of... nervous disposition, shall we say. Maggie didn’t think she’d cope with two Tozier men at once, now that Richie’s started losing his teeth.”

“Ohhh,” Helen coos. That must explain the ice cream. She puts her hand near to Dr Tozier’s arm, then away, then near, then away again for good. A neighbourly distance. Margaret is a lovely, lucky woman, even if she does wear flared pants. Hippie to yuppie pipeline’s alive ‘n’ flowin’, Rory always grunts whenever the Toziers come up in conversation. Helen imagines a picket fence between their bodies, and calms. “My Wendy was the same, I’m sure you remember.”

“Yes,” says Dr Tozier mildly. “You brought her in six times as I recall it, Mrs Nash.”

Mrs Nash. Honestly, like she’s his schoolteacher. It’s a little rude. Admittedly he does look quite, quite young with his faintly curling weekend-hair, if not for the new gray blazing a trail back from his temples like virgin snow. Helen is undeterred, even if something quivers inside at the thought of the word virgin in conversation with Dr Tozier. Music tinkles tinny through the ceiling speakers, and it puts Helen in mind of potted plants, or elevators. This is a lovely chat. “Well, you hate to see them suffer, don’t you? I’m sure Richard’s the same, lots of tears—”

“No, actually, Richie keeps on finding things to hit himself in the face with and knock out more teeth,” Dr Tozier interjects. He raises his eyebrows and speaks hushed, as if this is a secret for Helen’s ears alone. The thought makes her dizzy. “It’s my fault, I made the mistake of giving him a quarter for the first one. That’s why he’s not invited to Grandma’s. Lot of antiques.”

“Oh,” says Helen, taken aback. She has three girls; little boy behavior is as yet mystifying. “Well.”

“I’m joking, Helen,” Dr Tozier says cheerfully.

“Oh. I—I see. What a relief.”

He opens a freezer chest to examine a bag of frozen peas. “Maggie’s mom is deaf as white cat, she’d never notice.”

Helen tries to wipe her clammy hands on her dress without being obvious. Her face is hot, but she hopes her cardigan conceals the effect that the chill of the freezer aisle is having under her bra. She also hopes that it doesn’t.

He really does have such a slender, pleasant face, always with an air of casual, amused expectancy hanging around him. Haloing him, like that bright yellow light above the chair in his practice, blocked out when he leans over and slips his fingers inside. Helen supposes that’s what graduating medical school must do to a man, what marrying and fathering young and having one’s own practice by the end of such a turbulent decade as the nineteen-seventies must elicit. The ability to put people at ease, to—to say open wide and know the people of Derry trust him enough to comply. To open themselves. Helen’s breathing catches. Dr Tozier idly checks his sensible watch, still smiling the unhurried smile of a man who very rarely does his own grocery shopping anymore. Everyone knows you pick up the ice-cream last.

Helen gathers herself. This is the longest conversation she has entertained with Dr Tozier without children or the squeaking of latex gloves between them, and she’s gripped by the terribly silly need to be interesting. “Speaking of white cats, I couldn’t help noticing your hair, Wentworth—”

“DADDY!”

Dr Tozier blanches, whipping around to scan the end of the aisle. He is a long line of tense instinct tuned to thrum into action at one specific frequency, knuckles white on the cart handle. His cart bumps into Helen’s. It is thrilling.

“Fuck,” Dr Tozier mutters, and that’s thrilling too, he swore, oh, the boy’s probably fine Wentworth, don’t go, why don’t we just stay right here with the frozen goods and—

Then Richard comes barrelling back down the aisle like a colt on new legs covered in old Band-aids, with his arms full. The fluorescent strip-lights gleam white on Dr Tozier’s broad shoulders and he sags, like snow dropping from a branch, with relief.

“Hey, lunkhead,” he says, sounding shaky, but Richard is only five and would never know it. He’s babbling again. Seems to Helen like the boy’s as a hydrant overflowing on a hot day; entertaining and welcomed at first, until it becomes a nuisance when you begin to understand it won’t shut off, and have to call the firemen.

“Nyyeeeeeah,” Richard greets his father, tousled and bug-eyed with clear adoration, breathing hard from his Supermarket Sweep. Then he makes the carrot-noise. Looks like Bugs, Helen thinks of the boy’s new adult front teeth, the beaverish jut of them exacerbated by his missing canines on either side. Then she feels abruptly un-neighbourlike for being jealous of a child for his father’s attention, good grief.

Dr Tozier regards his son for a long moment. Then says, “What’s up, doc?” in a spot-on Mel Blanc whine. Richard giggles so hard his too-big glasses start slipping. “How many apples is that?”

“Gotta apples and I was gonna put ‘em in a bag but I forgot and Dad, Daddy look, s’a dinosaur on the box for my dinner when Mommy’s at Grandma’s—”

Dr Tozier sighs, putting one hand on his hip and dragging the other over his clean-shaven mouth, watching Richard drop his armfuls everywhere, scattering the linoleum. He has two apples, four boxes of brightly colored cereal, a handful of pencils topped with cartoon-character erasers, and a kiwi fruit. For a moment, Helen sees the shining enamel of Dr Tozier’s everything-will-work-out-with-another-cup-of-coffee amusement slip, wear away to worry underneath.

“Rich,” he says, interrupting Richard’s blabbermouth, firm and patient. Helen’s thighs burn suddenly under her skirts at the tone of his voice, and she looks down, rearranging her own groceries. She should leave them to get on. She could offer to help. Margaret’s out of town, poor things, they probably haven’t eaten a cooked meal all week!

“Richie,” Dr Tozier says again. “Listen and pay attention when Mom or me ask you to do something, remember? How many apples did I ask you to get?”

Richard has to crane his neck to meet his father’s eyes. Dr Tozier is one of the tallest fathers in the Derry Elementary catchment zone, Helen has checked. “Six!”

“And how many’ve you got, Elmer Fudd?”

“Um.” Richard’s pale little face creases in thought, then brightens. When he speaks again his voice is strange, accented. “Twooo.”

“Some apple hunter you are, huh.”

“Sorry, Daddy.”

“That’s fine.” Dr Tozier stoops to gather Richard’s detritus, and Helen knows she has something to contribute, watching the boy stick one of the pencils up his nose.

“You know, apples are very good for you,” she says. Richard turns to her, slack-jawed, as if seeing her for the first time. “You should listen to your Daddy, Richard, an apple a day keeps the doctor away.”

Richard stares for another few seconds. Then he bites down on his boogery pencil so that it threads through the gaps in his teeth, and hollers, “MY FRIEND BILL SAID THAT’S A PILE OF BULLSHIT.”

“No shouting indoors, Rich,” says Dr Tozier, still gathering. Helen rocks a step backwards, clinging to her cart like a life-preserver.

“Bill and my’s friend Eddie eats a thousand apples and sees the doctor all the time though Dad, and Miss Spiegel said if we eat apples we don’t have to see the doctors but Eddie eats them and—Bill said—”

“Pile of bullshit, yeah, I liked it. Bill’s an eloquent guy,” says Dr Tozier. This is the second time Helen has ever heard him curse in as many minutes. It comes out easy and amused as everything else does in his pleasant tenor. His legs and his jaw are so lean and angular that Helen can see the suggestion, the shadow of the shape of his perfect, swearing teeth through his cheek as he grins helplessly at his son, the fruit of his loins and someone else’s loins who isn’t Helen, and all of a sudden she feels a slick pulse of wet heat, up between her thighs.

She squeaks. Flutters her hand to her face without knowing why, perhaps to catch the noise before Dr Tozier notices, just another quivering Derry leaf tossed along by his breezy manner. He looks up anyway, with a frown.

“Everything alright, Helen?”

“Just—fine, yes,” she manages. Dr Tozier is still down on one knee, kindly face level with her skirts. She can see right down under his starched collar from this angle, a slivering glimpse of smooth, dark hair. No undershirt. Helen has lain naked against Rory’s nakedness before without feeling this alive, in every part of her body. She feels like a heart, beating.

“Oh, hang on.” Dr Tozier says, eyes widening, and turns Richard by the shoulders to face her. One pencil for each nostril, now. “Apologize to Mrs Nash for cussing, Richie.”

“Sorry!” Richard shouts, sounding less like he’s apologizing and more like he’s just deemed Helen it during a game of tag.

Helen is still floating in a dazed state of mild panic. Like a prey-mouse, bewitched into slack compliance by her own body’s snaking desires. “That’s alright, dear.”

F-word, Dr Tozier had said. Maybe cussing could be quite neighbourly when applied in the right context, thinks Helen.

“You mentioned my hair, earlier,” says Dr Tozier, straightening back up with a knowing sort of arch to his eyebrow as he smiles genially at Helen. He tilts his head down at Richard. “There’s the reason. Every last one, sprinkled onto my head at the tender age of thirty-two by the great salt-and-pepper shaker of fatherhood. Especially this week, with Maggie on sabbatical. Had to bring you to work with me, didn’t I, buckaroo?”

Richard bites and swings and tugs on his father’s long arm, a tearaway kitten with a much obliging scratching post. Dr Tozier hardly seems to notice. “Yeah! Daddy’s got fishes at work!”

Dr Tozier grimaces slightly at Helen, but also as if he’s seeing right through her to some past unnamable horror. “I liked those fish. Calmed down the nervy patients.” He sighs again.

Helen wonders briefly whether or not the residents of Dr Tozier’s waiting-room fish tank suffered the same fate as that worm in the park, and decides she’d rather not know.

“Well, you needn’t worry about it,” she says, gamely. She watches her hand reach towards Dr Tozier’s silver-black brindle, then snatches it back from his bland expression to brush the tips of her own feathered-out hair. “The gray, I mean.”

Dr Tozier blinks.

“It’s very—that is to say, you look, it makes you look, I mean, I think it’s—”

Dr Tozier’s left eyebrow joins his right, raised up high.

A tidy little jet of hysteria shoots up from Helen’s knotting stomach to spin like a top in her chest. She hears herself stutter out the word, “Dashing,” and immediately wishes to flee the store, leaving her cart abandoned like so much collateral damage.

But Dr Tozier only barks a laugh, a short, smooth hah like everything else he says. Entirely unperturbed. “Well, thank you.”

Too unperturbed. Helen is struck by a sudden bolt of terror, at the thought of the things Dr Tozier must surely hear every day, when people are lulled by the hypnotically intimate environment of a dentist’s chair and a touch of the laughing gas. Oh, this is terrible. Her face is on fire.

“But they—they make products for men now,” she says, and why, oh why can’t she stop talking? “Hair dyes, I mean, if it really does bother you? I’ve seen them in Keene’s.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” says Dr Tozier, looking down at Richard then with a soft edge, at his bouncing noise and scabbed knees and gently curling hair like a black spaniel’s. Like his father’s. “I find I’m rather grateful for it, truth be told.”

“Plus,” he continues, as if Helen wasn’t already melting harder than the Tozier’s ice-cream, as if Johnny Kitchener the shop-boy isn’t going to have to come along with a mop and bucket to clean up on aisle seven, “Maggie’d kill me if I got rid of it.”

Then Dr Tozier winks.

Oh Lord, oh Lord, Helen’s whole ribcage is so tight she can’t squeeze out a reply, because who could blame dear, pretty, annoyingly friendly, lucky, lucky, lucky Margaret for that when Dr Wentworth Tozier DMD is so—

So f—

So fffffff—

So fiddlesticksing handsome!

“Well, we’d best not keep you, Helen. This one is in dire need of a bath before his mother sees him, and hands me a divorce on the spot,” Dr Tozier says, when another few moments have passed and all Helen can do is try to desperately smooth the creases from her breathing. He’s humming mild interest at something Richard is saying, knelt back down to the linoleum to tie the boy’s loose-worm laces presumably before he gives himself any more skinned knees, and they’re leaving. Dr Tozier is leaving, and Helen hasn’t done anything but act like a ninny this entire time. She doesn’t want him to think her a ninny, a simpleton. She wants him to leave this bright, liminal church of bold colors and jazzy waiting-room music and return to his lemon-yellow two-storey house thinking my, what a lovely chat I had with Helen Nash.

She wants to linger, as he lingers. Like an amiable spirit hanging over the women’s group at church, waiting to be summoned at a moment’s eager notice. I bumped into Dr Tozier at Palmer’s on Saturday, she’ll say to the other jealous ladies, with triumph, and we had such a nice talk. He called me Helen.

“And when—when does Margaret get home?” she blurts. A very secret part of Helen wants Dr Tozier to leave this conversation with Helen and his wife both, entwined by association in his mind. She tries very hard not to think about the Toziers divorcing, because that is un-neighbourly, and feels least neighbourly of all when a dopey, dreamy look crosses Dr Tozier’s face like a brief sunbeam at her question.

“Ah. Tonight. Not too late, hopefully.” He jerks one of his knuckley thumbs at his shopping cart, licking the other to wipe something unidentifiable from Richard’s grubby face. “That’s why we’re here, stocking up for her miraculous return. Like a couple of noble emperor penguins in Antarctica, eh Rich?”

“Penguins like from Batman! Ka-pow.”

Helen takes a peek into their cart, curiosity getting the better of her now that permission is granted. Dr Tozier might not know it, but looking into another person’s cart is bad grocery etiquette, especially in a town like Derry, where gossip grows like a fungus in every sweaty and close little huddle of people. Not that Helen would know about that. Anyway, there isn’t much to gossip about besides the unfortunately liquefied ice-cream, the severe lack of crunchy vegetables characteristic of a young man in 1981 trying to provide for a tooth-shedding son, and—

A little cardboard box. Tossed unashamedly between the Wonderbread and a magazine about sports. Prophylactics. Rubbers.

36-pack. XL

Helen knows her jaw is hanging open and strains to close it, the back of her neck and her shoulders feeling hot and tight and shuddery. She kneads a fist into her skirts. Crosses her legs at the ankles as demurely as she knows how, because the very last thing she needs is for frank, sensible Dr Tozier to see right through her with that easy doctor-patient-confidentiality smile, and know she’s soaking through her underwear at the sight of his Saturday grocery run, and all it implies.

Dr Tozier is laughing, nudging Richard in the direction of the register, or perhaps the apples. “Ka-pow is right. I’ll make sure to use that on Mom, thanks. Say hello to Rory for us, Helen. Have a nice day,” he says from over his shoulder, startling her. Holds up one long hand in a wave with a grin, and is gone, shadowing the boy’s haphazard attempts to push the cart despite not being able to see where he’s going.

Helen stands amongst the humming freezers, trembling. “You too,” she rasps, but Dr Tozier has rounded the corner, and is evidently going to have a nice day and a much nicer night, regardless of whether Helen wishes it for him or not.

All the bright little branded characters are watching her from their shelves, a silent jury. Helen Nash opens a freezer cabinet with a weak arm, and stands there for a while, staring at a leg of ham and thinking cooling, neighbourly thoughts.

#long post #idk how to do readmores on mobile soz not soz #wentworth tozier #richie tozier #poor sexually unsatisfied helen nash #sometimes you just have to write the DILF went tozier fic you want to see in the world #stephen king: he was a pleasant looking man with a rather thin face #me cracking my knuckles: a l r i g h t #but what if... big dick richie was hereditary... what then 😳🤔👀🤔👀😳😳👀#ficlet

211 notes · View notes