#Bolt Wicker

[apocalypse-shuffle]

JASON TODD | RED HOOD (generalized fanon | maybe wfa)

—

“Yesterday, Today, and Tomorrow” (Jason Todd x Fem!Reader)

| Jason and you need to talk, the incident with Robin hanging over your necks like a relationship guillotine, but days later Jason’s realizing that shit is easier said than done.

| SFW, pre-established relationship, secret identity, reader’s hair is long enough to go into cornrows

| pic source: right= Batman Annual #25, middle= Red Hood: The Lost Days, and end= Batman: Under The Red Hood • all comics

| part of the meet the bats series

| 1k+ words

It’s been three days.

Three days of them easing around one another. Of this awkward balance of you not knowing how to best broach the topic and Jason knowing that but being too tense to push. For the last three days he’s been actively fighting the need to cut and run until it was silently agreed upon that you’d both just ignore that night and the appearance of Robin entirely.

That’s what you’re both doing right now actually.

Rarely, in your case, there’s nothing filling the silence around you. No music, no podcast, you yourself aren’t even cutting through the silence with your own voice. The only sounds between the two of you are the drone of the stove vent, the clicking of the oven, and the knife in Jason’s hand clinking against the wooden cutting board he’d gotten you last year as a housewarming gift; the sound of it knocking through his head like a taunt with every cut.

You’re keeping to yourselves in your little corners of the kitchen, a crude facsimile of your usual laughter-filled Sunday Dinner prep.

“Can you chop the parsley for me now, Jay?”

Jason hums and moves to fulfill the request, barely moving an inch to where the wicker produce basket is chilling on the counter and grabbing the herb.

He chops it all in under a minute and turns to swipe the hand full or so from the board to the bowl of ricotta, shredded mozzarella, and seasonings you’re mixing but when you turn to him his brain stalls a bit.

It’s not like he hasn’t seen you before now. This was your place and you’d greeted him at the door, but even the way you’d said ‘hi’ to each other had felt weighted. There’d been a slew of unsaid emotions locked behind both of your words but apparently catching sight of you now - slightly frizzy week old cornrows and a smear of hastily wiped tomato sauce on your cheek - is what finally unlocks his jaw.

You hold the bowl out for him to scrape the parsley in, not looking at him as you talk; your eyes, instead, on the stove top.

“I need you to taste the sauce before I add the ground beef, it’s kinda sour—”

“—Did you mean it?”

When you pause to blink over at him he finally remembers to scrape the parsley in.

“What?” Your face screws up before your head shakes. You put the bowl down on the counter behind you so you can cross your arms.

He does the same with his board, clearing his throat.

“That love and trust stuff you said the other night? That wasn’t just some shock induced rambling, right?”

The way you purse your lips bellies your frustration, but whatever his face is doing ultimately make you sigh.

“Yes, I meant it.”

He nods, doing a horrible job of looking like he’s not on the verge of bolting going off of the stare you’re pinning him with.

“Great,” he murmurs. He shifts, crossing his arms himself and leaning back against the counter. “I meant it when I said ‘love you too’…by the way.”

In response all you do is stare. Jason figures that’s fair and stays still under your scrutiny.

A minute of silence passes, only broken when you laugh a little and Jason can’t help but scoff at himself too.

“Fuck, you’re a mess.” You sigh, “I know, Jason. You wouldn’t’ve said it the first time if you didn’t mean it.” You raise your hand to make a so-so motion. “Run away maybe, but, you know?”

“Sorry,” he offers.

You shrug.

“Uh huh. So we talking about the Robin little brother thing now or…?”

“No, we can talk,” he cracks his neck, “You do deserve to know after everything with Dami and his sword.”

You cringe suddenly and Jason can guess why; waking with a sword to your throat will do that to you.

“I do, don’t I?”

“Hn,” Jason chuckles, but when he holds his hand out to you he’s holding his breath.

For a moment he’s really worried you’ll stare at his hand like it’s some kind of venomous snake and blow him off - he’s been distant, he gets it - but you only hesitate for a second before slipping your darker hand into his.

After that it’s a whole lot easier for you two to gravitate towards each other, colliding like two uncoordinated magnets in your haste.

Jason just holds you after that. Let’s the balm that’s rubbing his cheek against your soft hair and feeling your breathing so close with your arms around his shoulders wash over him as one of you slowly works y’all into a sway.

“The next time one of these things happen it cannot take three days for me to get an explanation, Jay.” Slowly one of your hands runs down his arm till you can tap the back of his hand, immediately he turns it over for you.

“I know,” he murmurs, “I’ll work on the confrontation thing.”

Your hand fits perfectly into his and squeezes once your fingers lace.

“You do that.” You press a kiss into his shoulder, drawing a low hum from him, and he can feel you smile against him before you continue. “I will also try making it more clear to you that I’m open to talk to, okay?”

“Yeah,” Jason agrees, pulling you closer and wrapping you tighter in his arms. He tenses up a little. “Is the stove—?”

“Stove’s good,” you squeeze his hand, “the lasagna noodles are still boiling so you’ve got a good eight minutes.”

You look up to smile at him - only somewhat strained - and Jason goes in for a short kiss. You’d said you weren’t going anywhere but he knows how overwhelming this whole thing can be.

“Alright, but you gotta promise not to freak,” he stresses.

You nod.

“Okay,” he clears his throat and makes sure to very carefully look into your eyes. “Most of my…’family’ are vigilantes. Including me.”

He leaves out the ‘sort of’ that he feels the need to tact on to the end of that sentence. He’s heaping a lot onto you as is and it wasn’t like you weren’t around when he first wreaked havoc on Bruce and overhauled Gotham’s criminal underbelly. He doesn’t regret it exactly, but it was still a point of contention.

“Right,” you nod before pausing. The way you look at him, mouth dropping open with a mixture of awe and something apprehensive, isn’t promising. “You’re not…Batman are you? Or one of them?”

Jason’s familiar with the theories that Gothamites make up about them - it came with the territory - but the way you dropped your voice to whisper that last question throws him. He would’ve never guessed you were such a conspiracist. Let alone a multiple Batmen truther. The theory wasn’t exactly wrong, but it certainly didn’t get the majority of the cowl switches correct.

He starts to laugh, only quelled after a slew of moments by the scowl that flashes across your face.

“No,” he chuckles. He wasn’t in the cowl for long at least. The grin he throws you manages to thaw that scowl at least a bit. “And thank god for small mercies.”

“Ah,” you tilt your head, “well - I mean as long as you’re not a rogue or like the Red Hood or anything then it’s not like it’s the end of the world,” you giggle to yourself.

Jason falls silent

When you look back to him, noticing the way he’s half cringing, your eyes widen and your mouth drops open.

“Shut the fuck up!” The beginnings of what might be a grin curve the surprised ‘o’ shape of your mouth as you take a step back. “You’re lying!”

Your eyes stay wide and your mouth fully forms into a wide grin. You smack him on the arm. Jason fights not to make a displeased sound at you taking your warmth away.

“You’re fucking lying— wait!” Your hands come up to frame your face. “Oh my god. What- what does this mean for our relationship?”

A sting goes straight up his spine and Jason surges forward to wrap his hands around your wrists, shaking his head.

“Nothing hopefully,” he says, “this doesn’t have to change anything if you don’t want it to. I’m still me, you’ll just be privy to a bit more of the inner workings of Gotham, but nothing crazy or too dangerous.” He grimaces. “The last thing I want is to endanger you.”

“Hold on. No, Jay, that’s not what I meant. I promise you this isn’t a deal breaker. Just…” you move to wave your hand still in his loose grip towards the sliding doors, indicating the rest of the city, “…I have something of a standing complaint with the Red Hood for blowing up my favorite bagel shop.”

“Oh?” He practically goes limp against you, letting go of your wrists after kissing the juncture of both to wrap his arms back around you. One corner of his mouth curls up. “Would you like to file a formal complaint?”

“I would, actually.”

He snorts, “In my defense it was a drug front for a group who was conspiring against me.”

You cast him a contemplative look before letting out a wistful sigh.

“Good bagels though.”

Simultaneously the two of you break off into laughter, hanging off of each other before sobering naturally as the timer rings and you’ve got to strain the noodles.

When you’ve got the water drained and are moving to set up the assembly station for the lasagna you throw him a grin.

“For the record, I think you would’ve made a great Batman.”

He laughs goodnaturedly, going over to add a pinch of sugar to the tomato sauce.

“Says you and nobody else but me,” he jokes.

“That’s alright,” you come up to press a kiss to his cheek from the side, using your hip to bump him out the way a little so you can slip one of the towels from the oven handles, “Gotham wouldn’t have been able to handle you, anyway.”

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!

Funnily enough she’s technically meeting the Red Hood in this one to some extent, but I’ll probably write a more costume focused entry later on that is her fully meeting Red Hood similarly to how she meets the other Bats.

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it!

Tagged: @bandshirts-andbooks

[whore-ibly-hot]

Midsummer nights madness.

Yandere!Fae x Gn!eader (Inspired heavily by fairies from Midsummer Nighs Dream).

Minors dni

Warnings: Suggestive content; manipulation; magic; mythical beings; intoxication; drugging?; coercion; and one very clingy boy.

A/N: Was in a Shakespeare mood and fell in love with Puck, also known as Robin Goodfellow; from Midsummer Nights Dream. Thus, I tried this fic out. Please enjoy!

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Brown, fallen leaves crunched under foot, the sun setting slowly just beyond the forest's dense canopy. Skipping down the muddied, beaten path is you, a simple peasant on a delivery run for the local apothecary. Your mother, a hermit widow and herbalist, was known in the county for her incredibly potent herbs, and her garden was unmatched. Despite how the people revered her work, she was never a social woman. Lately, she had become rather ill, and while she was at home curing herself, her deliveries still had to be made. Though it caused her great grief, though you were unsure why, she gave into your pleading to let you make the delivery.

"But mother, I'm perfectly capable of a small trip through the woods!" You had exclaimed. She only shook her head weakly, waving you away with her hand as she moved to grab the wicker basket of roots and plants. However, her ill state only becomes more evident when she suddenly collapses on the dirt floor of the hut. "Mother!" You cried, helping her trembling form stand. Walking her to her bed, she sits down, and sighs. "Mother, you're in no condition to deliver the herbs, please, allow me to go in your place!" You begged had begged. Begrudgingly, she had allowed you to take the ingredients, but not before slipping a small, worn scroll into your palm. "Remember the rules, my dear. The woods are not safe for anyone, much less someone alone, at the mercy of the night...". She had warned you off the usual dangers, wolves, bears, and thieves, but these simple natural occurrences did not seem to be what worried her most. The scrolls instructions were simple, and went as follows.

'Rule one, to prevent most danger, continue the path and speak to no stranger.

Rule two, if talking is their aim, always remember to not give your name.

Rule three, even if kindness they exude, from a stranger, never takes food.

Finally, rule four, if danger is discerned, touch them with iron, allow them to burn...'

While you must admit you weren't entirely sure about the Iron part, the other rules made sense. It was always best to avoid conversing with strangers in the woods. After having gotten a string of leather from your mother, one which she hung a ring of iron on, you had set off, leading to where you were in the woods now.

You sigh, taking in the fresh air of the forest around you. Being stuck at the cottage all day, allowed to walk no further than the garden, you didn't get too many opportunities to take in the beauty of nature. While initially you had been anxious about the woods, due to mothers warnings, they seemed rather peaceful. The sounds of a nearby stream paired with the gentle breeze make for a relaxing walk. As you hear a twig snap, you think nothing of it, until you look down, noticing that there is no twig under your woven sandal. Something else must have made that noise. You freeze, a feeling of ice in your veins spreading slowly as you look around, trying to discern the source of the noise. After a few seconds, something snaps again. You gasp, now sure that something is nearby. Clutching the basket to your chest, you begin to back away, and as your foot steps land just barely off the path, you hear scurrying. Convinced something is approaching, in a moment of panic you bolt.

Your light footsteps ring out, breathing growing heavy as you sprint away from the path, sandals rubbing harshly on your feet causing them to grow sore. The sound of the approaching beast grows quieter, but you continue to run. You whip your head back for just a moment, to see if you can catch a glimpse of whatever creature is stalking you, when you are suddenly thrown forward. You fall with a cry, slamming into the soft dirt of the forest floor, the contents of your basket scattering as they hit the ground with you. Still panicking, you ignore the pain and sit up quickly, your eyes following your now injured leg to what caused you to trip. Furrowing your brows, as you look closer, you realize you've tripped on some sort of mushroom. A small patch of blue and purple fungi rests where your foot was, stretching around you, as if forming a sort of ring. You hold your breath for a moment, straining as you try and hear any noise from the direction you came. You sigh when you hear nothing, assuming the wild animal has given up the chase in favor of another prey. Now that you feel slightly more secure, you wiggle your ankle a little, trying to work off any pain. Once you're convinced you'll be okay, you take a moment to steady your breathing. Looking to your left, you see the goods you were to give to the apothecary scattered amongst dirt and leaves, but your basket appears to be missing. You gasp, looking to your left and right for the basket, when suddenly a hand appears from behind you, offering you your basket from over your shoulder. You let out a terrified screech, whipping around and scrambling away from the mysterious figure, hands brushing against the edge of the mushroom ring.

As you tremble, your eyes focus on the figure before you. It is not a roguish thief, nor a golden-eyed beast, but rather a bare-chested, wild-eyed young man. He is squatted down on a stump in the center of the mushroom ring, head tilted with a mischievous smile as he peers down at your shaking form. Small horns emerge just past his head of wild, curly hair. Though shirtless, jewelry of animal bones and twigs adorns his neck and shoulders, with splotches of smeared ink and paint spread across his arms and pecs. He would be oddly alluring, if not for the paralyzing shock of his sudden appearance.

"W-who are you?" You exclaim, curling into yourself and staring up at him with a frightened gaze. The odd boy laughs, an impish sound, before leaning forward on his toes, allowing him to peer down at you. "Hmm, I don't know. You first!" He says, grinning as he looks at your face change from fear to confusion, your posture relaxing a little. "Me first...?" You repeat, before you gasp. Mothers scroll, you've already broken one of the rules, 'do not speak to strangers.' You mustn't break another by revealing your name. " I can't say. Besides, I asked you first." You speak out in a moment of boldness, and though his face falls for a moment, taken aback, he smiles once more. "Very well, mortal. They call me Puck, spirit of the northern wood, knave and jester-servant his majesty, the fairy king of the Seelie Court." You tilt your head, rather shocked at his introduction. "A spirit?" He nods. "A fae, in a more specific sense, though I doubt you mortals have an easy time discerning the difference." He sighs, hopping lightly off the oaken stump and shuffling closer to you. "A fae, what is that?"

He lets out a choked gasp at your questions, as if personally slighted. "What is a fae? Have you not heard the legends and tales of my peoples exploits from the drunks and gossipers of your townships, little mortal. We..." He pauses to stand and spread his arms wide, twirling once with a roguish glee. "We are the nurturers of nature, acolytes of the autumn and worshipers of the winter. You owe your fair green fields, evening rains and bountiful harvests to use, you know." He spins back around to face you, leaning down to meet your gaze. "I wonder how you've gone so long, living in neither awe nor fear of my kind." He ponders. You look away, upset about being reminded of your naivety of the outside world. You shrug. "I live with my mother, in no specific town. We are rather isolated, so we don't get the newest information." You explain, and Puck nods, a mischievous glint in his eye. You can't look past his whimsical aura to see the plan forming in his brain. "Aw..." He puffs out his lips, pouting. "Poor mortal, your homely duties allow you no knowledge of the world us fae give you? And no time for jest and entertainment? What a sad life." You sigh, and shake your head. "I'm quite fine with my life, I'll have you know. A-and I get out plenty, I'm delivering good for my mother right now!" You snap, feeling rather patronized by the spirit. He laughs, flopping his head to the side and sticking out his tongue. "You're lying, I can tell. We fae are very keen when sensing deception." "I'm not lying!" Puck only holds his hands up, as if giving you permission to remain in denial.

"Besides," You grab your mother's basket from his hands, ignoring his protests. You quickly begin to place the herbs and plants back into it, very concerned with both making your delivery and getting away from Puck. He seems nice, but... mother had warned you of strangers. As your hands rapidly sift through leaves and dirt, brushing off the produce, you stand back up. You move backwards, not turning your back on the spirit boy. "It's been... interesting to make your acquaintance, but I really must be going if I'm going to make my delivery and return home by nightfall." You attempt to bid Puck farewell and step back over the line of the mushroom ring, but as you do, Puck's eyes widen in momentary surprise. Jolting forward, the wild boy takes you quickly into his arms and leans over you, almost knocking you backwards with the sudden imbalance of your two forms now meshed together.

Despite his thin and lanky stature, his arms and body are surprisingly strong. You can feel his toned muscles press against you in this moment, as his surprise turns back to his grin. "Wait now, sweet mortal friend... there's no need to flee from Puck." He can clearly sense your nervousness, though you can't tell if he truly wishes to ease your fear or enjoys the power he holds over you. "Let me make you an offer-" "I should really-" "No, no, no... just give a spirit a chance, hear my offer before you decline me." He presses himself a little closer to you, though not in a way that makes you feel preyed on, persay. If any other man were to try and hold you to him like this, you would feel sick to your stomach, sure of the man impure and perverse intentions. With Puck though, even though you are frightened by his magical and impish nature, he touch feels almost... nice. He holds you to him, but not tight enough to be threatening, and his lanky limbs hanging from you makes the embrace playful. You open your mouth to speak, but close it, curiosity eating through your nerves. He leans in closely, shaking his head slightly and whispering his offer. "I'll take you to where your delivery is, the-" He pauses. "Apothecary." You finish. "Apothecary, and in turn, you will accompany me for a drink." He presses his forehead to yours playfully, invading your personal space for yet another time as he stares intently at you.

"Oh, no, no, I can't accompany you anywhere!" You take his moment of softness as he waits for a response as a chance to pull yourself from his grasp. To your surprise, he doesn't grin more or even pout at your refusal. Rather, his brows furrow and his smile fades. He seems genuinely disappointed, possibly even hurt. "And for what reason? Surely not for your delivery, as I promised to take you there quicker than any mortals legs could carry them." He inquires. You shake your head. "While I appreciate it, I'm not supposed to speak to strangers, much more accept things from them! My mother says-" He scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. "Oh, your mortal mother told you. If I recall, you told Puck that you and your mother know nothing of spirits and fae, so how can you truly know she speaks an accurate portrayal of my people?" He sighs. "I often find the mortals fear us more than they need, just think of me, for example. Has this shadow done anything to offend your nature or kind thus far?" You pause, but then shake your head. "And I'm sure you've broken some of her rules..." You gasp, looking up at him with a bit of a glare, causing him to laugh as he falls back onto the stump. "How did you know about the rules she gave me?" You ask. "I had your little basket with more for quite some time, gave me plenty of time to read." He says. From his hair, he pulls out the worn scroll, and rolls it open, turning to shield it from you when you lunge to get it. "Rule 1, hmm. Well, you've spoken to me, so consider that rule broken." He tears off the top of the scroll, making you groan in frustration. "Rule 2, you've told me no name, so consider that one intact." He moves down to the third rule. "Rule 3, says to accept no food from me, but... it says nothing about a drink...?" He pauses, looking at you. "I- fine, I will accompany you, but I must be home by midnight!" He hops up, and in a rush of glee he throws you up into the air, spinning you in his arms. When he places you back down, still embracing you, it takes you a moment to catch your breath. "You have my word, little mortal, and a faes promise is a powerful thing."

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Several hours later, (though you yourself have lost track of time), you find yourself with Puck, sitting on a smooth rock just beside a waterfall, which leads into a stream. Various flowers of all shapes and colors bloom around you, with one of them producing the sweet nectar which Puck has so graciously been serving the two of you. Despite your initial fear, this evening has been rather enjoyable. Puck tells you much of his life and his people. You learn his works directly under the king, serving as a companion and jester. He regales you with tales of his exploits, from curdling the milk of a farmer mid-drink to scaring a nun into believing she was haunted, nearly driving her mad. He tells you of the king and queen's affairs, the queen's bitterness and the king's anger. You smile, feeling the nectar relaxing you with every sip as you grow sleepy, time becoming of no importance. "More nectar, my mortal friend?" He asks, extending a cup of petals to you. You shake your head, waving him off weakly. "No, I couldn't... truly." He nods and places the vase away.

"Now, what of your home? Tell me what is it a lonely mortal like you does all day?" He inquires, leaning back as he stares at you. "Mmh, I'd tell you if I could think right now, but in all honesty I think this drink is affecting me... perhaps mortals like me are more weak to it?" You ask. Puck chuckles, he himself is calmed by the drink, when he notices your flushed face. Your eyes are dropping, the majority of your body weight leans against the rocks behind you. He often enjoys the drunken antics of his fellow fae, and though he knows mortals to be quite quicker to become inebriated with fae drink, he hadn't expected you to succumb so quickly. In truth, he had only given you a small amount compared to himself, but then he supposed you must not even drink much human ale. "Puck?" You mumble, looking at him through your hooded lids. He is shaken from his thoughts, and nods for you to continue. He tries to focus, but finds your once shy form now relaxed and happy quite charming. "S' getting late, I think... could you take me home?" You ask, slurring your words a little. In truth, he had planned to get the attractive little mortal in a drunken fever with fae ale, and in your combined lustful state enjoy a night of pleasure, before leaving you to find your way back to your human hovel. However, as he argued with you in that mushroom ring, and invited you out, he found himself growing more and more attached, your naive mannerisms and innocence providing a contrast to his wild and knavish behaviors. Now, as you ask for him to return you to your home, he feels the same aching inside him he first felt when you had pulled away from him. He bites his lip, one of his hands wringing and tugging at his leafen skirt, his eyes full of conflict. After a few moments, he swallows, and begrudgingly nods, before attempting to put on his usual grin and try to see unbothered.

"Very well, my mortal friend. Come into my embrace and I shall lead you through these woods to your little mortal abode." He only opens his arms a little, before grunting as you flop into his arms, any resistance sober you would have had completely voided by your drunken stupor and need for warmth. It was rather cold in these woods at night. Puck is taken aback, usually he was the on invading space and hanging uncomfortably off those around him, often being scolded for his perverted clingyness, even among the rather wild and lustful fae. He halts his breath for a moment, before a genuine smiles spreads across his face, though he tries to conceal it behind his smug grin. As his cheeks warm up, he shakes his hair, hoping to cover some of it with the brunette locks. His arms come to sneak under your legs, picking your tired form up and beginning his brisk pace towards your home, which you had described earlier. He knew of it, (as he was sure he'd stolen some herbs from there for some not-so-innocent pranks.)

Upon arriving to your home, he moved silently through the front door, entering your room and gently placing you against your sheets. He places one of the thinner covers over you, pausing to admire your form. Just then, the door behind him opens. Your mother peers in, a look of worry fading as she sees you tucked into your bed, having safely returned from your errand. Though knowing he can't be seen by her, Puck remains still. Once your mother leaves, shutting the door softly behind her, he waits until her footsteps disappear before turning back to you. You groan, and shuffle further under the covers, before looking up at him. "Puck... how come I can see you but mother can't?" He doesn't answer for a moment, as if unsure whether or not to tell you of his trick to scare you into that faery ring with the sounds of a beast, making himself visible to you as your crossed the rings magical threshold. In the end, he decides not to. "Perhaps you're just special?" He suggests with a smile, making you blush. As he looks at you, he clenches his hands, resisting the urge to take you in his arms once more and take you back to the king with him. 'Not yet, not now.' he tells himself. He turns to leave, but your soft voice stops him once more. "Puck?" He nods, turning to face you. "Will you come back and see me?" He feels his heart swell at your request, and he nods. "Of course, you have this fae's word." He flourishes with a bow. You giggle. "And a fae's promise is a powerful thing, right?" You repeat what he had said earlier.

He nods, and with a small gust of wind, disappears behind the blowing of a curtain.

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[honestsycrets]

enfócate ii: non-negotiable

❛ pairing | tutor!miguel x student!reader

❛ type | explicit

❛ summary | miguel has to choose his battles: insist on removing peter from your life or get what he wants.

❛ tags | schoolgirl au, spanish tutor!miguel, Miguel's jealousy, slight obsessive qualities, fuck buddies, fuck boy Miguel, mention of physical assault, hurt peter, mention of violence, breakups, non-penetrative smut, slightly unknowledgeable reader, silly playtime.

❛ sy's notes | masterlist here. please READ THE TAGS. on this fic particularly, i seem to encounter people who trigger themselves.

Miguel had many girls.

None gave a shit when it came down to it. They talked a good game over text messages and phone calls, tried their best to please him sexually, and snuck into their bed. They might even have lunch or dinner with him. Very rarely this.

He was doing his notes that Monday afternoon, scribbling away when his phone lit up. He flicked a look, realizing it was your photo that popped up. Not the many cum stained photos he had in his phone in your own folder. Those were not safe for any of his bosses to see, but one of those sweet photos that Peter’s taken.

Miguel isn’t stupid. He knows a love-sick puppy when he sees one. One look at Peter’s socials reveals many things: volunteering with a high school club to teach photography, stupid little flowers that he finds gorgeous, a number of subjects for his fine arts degrees, and on Sunday-- you. Sitting on a chunky rock in a beautiful dress in a stream, the sun bouncing off your strawberry-dusted cheeks. He has to do something about Peter.

“¿Qué pasó, Princesa? I’m finishing my notes.”

“I have something for you,” you answered. “Come outside.”

“For me?” Miguel tucks his phone between his ear and shoulder, closing his manilla folder that held a time-sensitive report. Miguel grabbed his keys and wallet, heading for the door. Everyone else was gone for the day, but Miguel did his homework in the lab.

“Sí,” you laughed. “¿Quién más?”

“Tch,”

At least those Spanish lessons are paying off. Miguel rushes down the three flights of stairs in record time and pops out the back door. You pushed past the archways into the beautiful gardens that usually obscure pedestrians from staring at scientists as they quickly woof down their food and bolt back inside to deal with whatever piteous work they had. Miguel slips on his dark sunglasses, turning his arms one over another. You have time to stop and appreciate nature, more than he could say about even himself.

“Princesa,” he hangs up the phone and takes a few steps to the tables where you were, twirling around the scent of fragrant orange blossoms. He bites back an amused smile, his voice picking up in a humored lilt. “What are you doing?”

“Dancing!” you hopped on one stone table, then the other.

“Don’t fall,” Miguel snatches you short of falling off the third table, setting your ass down with a mindful pull of your dark burgundy skirt over your thighs. “Why did you call?”

You supply him with a wicker picnic basket that was hooked over your elbow, pulling open the flap. The warm smell of meat and corn greeted his nose, finally shaking loose the smile that he had suppressed since you first called him.

“I brought you dinner.”

He blinks.

“Me?”

“You said you had to study for your test,” you looked up at the red brick building, “It’s better if you don’t get distracted by going out for food.”

He doesn’t have the heart to tell you that he usually brings his own food, regimented as he is. Miguel sets his hands on your hips and watches as you pull free whatever it was you made him. You set aside the basket and offer him the glass container and a bag of tamales, enveloped in their warm little husks.

“Menudo. And these are tamales con carne. My familia makes them every year. I brought them just for you.”

“You didn’t have to,” he murmured.

“But I wanted to.” You reached for the envelope collar of his lab coat, smoothing it down against his chest. “Besides, every one of my primas do it for their men. I can’t keep just bringing food home for Peter.”

It’s not that serious, he wants to say. There’s something soft about the way you recount it to him. He can’t stand to go against what you’re saying and instead sets the food back in its home, tucking your hair behind your ear. He traces the shell to your lobes, flicking his finger against the dripping earrings.

“Come upstairs.”

“No,” you answer quickly, leaning up to place a meager little kiss on his cheek. “You should be studying and if I go up there…”

He’d definitely get in trouble bringing his fuck buddy up to his office. Still, it might be worth it.

“I won’t get anything done,” he finishes. “Give me a real goodbye kiss.”

“You didn’t like that kiss?”

“It was a sad kiss.”

Peter was an essential part of your life.

He was closer than a friend if such things spaces between friendship and relationships existed. You supposed that in the absence of romantic relationships, friendships were the next best thing. Who else, but family, would support you? You nibbled on a hunk of toast with sweetened cream cheese and frozen berries ala Peter, whose head draped over your thigh. Your fingers combed through his thin brown hair, twirling bits around your index finger as he lay with a full belly and fuller thoughts.

“Sooo, how did it go?” Peter asked, staring at fluffy clouds that whirled by that perfectly cozy afternoon. “Did my super awesome plan go perfectly?”

You’re too shy to talk about it.

“Aw it did, didn’t it? I knew it!” Peter reached up, tickling his fingers through the ribbons of a pearl headband you wore that day. “Is he good? I hear all kinds of stuff about him.”

“Peter,” blood rushed to your face. “We haven’t…”

“Haven’t what?” he asked. “Ohhh. Oh. You haven’t fucked him? I thought…”

“We did-- just not that,” you patted his warm pink cardigan, flapping your hand down. “We haven’t you know--”

“Had sex?”

Peter could be too much sometimes. Today was one of those aggravating days. You settled down your hunk of toast, bobbing your head in a nod, eager to explain without making the words. “Just… oral. I couldn’t Peter, I’m not ready yet.”

“I know,” Peter’s tone goes soft. “But he can’t be happy about that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Every time Miguel has a new girl, he makes sure to fuck them as soon as possible. Keeps ‘em connected, or something, or that’s what Dana says.”

“Who’s Dana?” you chirped after him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You… looked so sad seeing him with someone else. I couldn’t… break your heart like that."

“You couldn’t tell me, but you could kiss me?”

“It was a nice kiss. Isn’t it about time for him to stomp past here?”

You wonder what Peter might mean by that. He slid his eyes shut, humming with one long leg thrown over the other. About time for his afternoon nap until you shook him awake because of your sore arms or back-- whichever came first. He slides his eyes shut, going to sleep under the feeling of your fingers twirling through his hair.

“You’re impossible, Peter.”

Peter was always right. You spotted your muscular man walking past the hedges, in a clean white shirt that obscured nothing about his muscles. You thought he would do what he usually did: wave, move on, talk to whatever whore of the day was on his arm.

He was walking with a girl who was tall and lithe. She made no moves to cling onto him as he slipped down the slight grassy slope where you sat with Peter, reviewing the intricacies of corrugated pottery before class. Your heart soared in your chest as he crouched down, a hand on his knee, scanning Peter’s face.

“I thought we talked about this.”

You didn’t expect those to be the first words out his lips, but lo, they were. He regarded Peter the same way he might an annoying animal with their favourite human, with blatant distaste and a passing hint of jealousy. You didn’t understand why.

“About…”

“Other men.”

“Peter isn’t another man. He’s non-negotiable.”

Miguel’s thick eyebrows pushed together as he processed the blatant line in the sand that you drew. You weren’t about to give up your dear friend, picnic dates at lunch, or photography shoots on the weekend for a man you sucked off. No matter how good he tasted and how thick his muscles were, crouched with those wild chocolate eyes.

“I’ll stay away from other men-- but not him. You take it or leave it.”

Miguel worked his jaw, clearly debating on the value of fighting you then and there. Miguel didn’t negotiate. It was never in his nature.

“Miggy,” called the woman on the sidewalk. She wore a dark bob, a streak of purple spiraling along her head. She has a terribly squeaky tone, one that is full of ire from having to say anything at all. “The samples.”

“This isn’t over, Princesa.”

He relented. Not because he wanted to, but because time was undoubtedly limited. You were pretty sure it was.

Miguel is breaking another rule. Not only does he glaze over Peter in your life, but he brings you to his apartment for tutoring. He’d deal with Peter after he secured you. You were proving one of the most difficult of his women to keep.

Come over, it'll be private, he claimed in a text message. It’s absolutely not to peel away your soft pale pink panties nestled up against your cunt, drag them down your hips, and onto the floor. He’ll keep those.

It’s not because the desk in the study room would do nothing to obscure his sinewy frame, shoving your legs apart and dragging you to the very edge of the seat.

“Take your vocabulary quiz.” You nibbled on your pencil as Miguel buried his head between your thighs, biting down on your thick thighs to encourage you to spread your legs wider. You breathed out an elongated hiss at another bite to your opposing thigh.

“Pero, Miguel-- how…” you murmured, making the mistake of looking between your legs. Miguel met your gaze, possessed with the smell of your body. You greet him with a choked-out groan of his name the second his mouth connected with your pussy. He knew you would taste sweet.

“It’s very simple. You start writing,” The quiz should be easy. A simple finish the sentences with the right word and vocabulary word box to boot. It was terribly easy-- if not for Miguel’s tongue suckling the juices that dripped from your core, you might have already finished it. It was hard-- too hard-- to focus on anything but Miguel’s warm tongue prodding your cunt, his fingers sliding within your hole. Miguel urges his finger around the rim. “Preferably something in Spanish.”

His tongue slid from your entrance to your clitoral hood. Another finger joins the first, twisting and pulling apart your impossibly tight hole. He just knew you would feel amazing. He suckled along your lips, suckling them wet as you struggled to read and make any sense of what was on the page. It wasn’t going to happen.

“Miguel, Miguel--” Your voice drew out, it had been so long since you had a partner. “Dame más.”

“There you go,” Miguel hummed, closing his mouth around your puffy clit in worship for the admittance. The pencil tumbled free from your fingers. Without thinking, your hand buried into Miguel’s silky dark brown hair, rolling your hips onto his face to pursue an orgasm. He suckled it fat and needy, his fingers curving in your body. With a soft sob, the pleasure caused you to gush messily all over his fingers. Your fingers knotted up in his hair, riding his face until you’re left with nothing but the cozy haze of your pleasure.

You don’t know how you’re going to pass this stupid language requirement now.

Miguel kisses you, soft and sweet, gentle and light. You taste yourself on his tongue and worry about the way you taste. Miguel doesn’t seem to have a single complaint. He grabs your hands, helping you to stand upright, even though your legs were as stable as a newborn giraffe’s. With your body against Miguel’s, you could feel the outline of his cock nice and hard, tenting his sweatpants.

“Should we take this to bed?”

“I…” you asked, shyly so. “I’m not ready for that. Is that… okay?”

Coño. It’s not the answer he hoped for, but Miguel can be patient. He dips his head down and resigns himself to a night of jerking himself off. He had been looking forward to today, fucking his new girl. He steeled himself from any reaction that may inch across his face and offered you his hand.

“Claro que sí, princesa,” Miguel finds himself saying. It’s not that you can’t retract the consent, but he knows that you have some shyness to do so. He rather honesty over concern for his ego. The session had at least been an hour-- with Miguel’s focus fading at the sight of your cute little pink dress. “We can stop here. You can take the test as homework. Have it done by next time.”

“But… you’re hard.”

“It’s not the first time I’ve jerked off,” Miguel shrugs off the thought. It wasn’t how he imagined today going, but it wasn’t-- Miguel dropped his gaze down to his waistband. Your fingers tingle over the white ties, pull them loose.

“I want to take care of you,” you shoved his sweats onto the floor, pooling around his slender feet. Miguel’s cock bobbed in the cool air, impossibly hard. You walked him back from his desk to his bed. He falls back on it, his big dick kissing his muscular stomach. “Lay back.”

He found himself eagerly complying. You snatched the lube he keeps on his desk, likely knowing that he kept it there for just this reason. Miguel likes to think that his sexual needs are usually met-- but sometimes, they aren’t. You shoved his legs apart and climbed onto the bed, gliding your hands up the inside of his thighs. A warmth filled his lower belly as you popped open the plastic bottle and drizzled it over his cock. The cool liquid made him flinch.

“It’s not that cold,” you asked, a tease on your lips.

“You find it funny? Let me pour some on you, then,” Miguel remarked, his gaze following your fingers. You gripped him, soothing your palms over the top of his cock and back down, milking him like with your soft hands. You spend particular time smoothing over his root, tracing his veins up to the tip. Your thumb massaged his slit, smoothing a soft bead of fluid that gathered there.

“Do you like it?” you asked.

“It’s nice.”

He hummed and lolled his head back onto his pillow. You met him where he was, your lips against his, exchanging a soft and wet kiss. A groan escaped his chest, clearly appreciating your affection. You want him to love it, need it, and crave it at the end of the day. Maybe you could not do all the things the other women could, but there was something about the way you looked and touched him that he knew he could not easily replicate.

“Miggy. How do I make it better?” You asked, more of a whine than anything.

"Better?" Miguel reached up, cupping your breast with one hand. He gives you a squeeze, urging your nipple to harden underneath the fabric. His hazy eyes turn to the other breast, repeating the treatment. You nodded as he worked-- and it's cute how much you want to make him happy.

“Let me fuck your tits. Get on your back, take the dress off,” Miguel looked toward the bottle of lube. He finally has you naked. Every inch you peeled away revealed a little more precious skin that he’s craved to see all week. You slipped off the dress, then your bra, laying back on the sheets. The lube is lukewarm, but when it hit your warm skin, it caused you to flinch too.

“Oh, now it’s cold,” Miguel teased. You smeared the wet lube over your breasts, pushing them together just right. Warmth bit your cheeks as Miguel mounted you, either muscular thigh on the side of your ribs. Between his large body cradling your breasts and his eyes on yours, he realized that you were terribly shy. He rubs the head of his cock against your nipples before sliding between your breasts. “You’re so shy.”

“I’m sorry,” you nodded. It becomes clear that as much as you trust him-- there is some barrier to complete trust. Miguel began to thrust, his hips cantering in the warm, wet lubricant. You could appreciate every day he spent at the gym, making a physique that other men could only aspire to. He was so thick-- so handsome. His breath came out in sharp little puffs as he worked, hands coming on top of yours for both stability and the opportunity to touch you. His fingers slid between the empty gaps of your own, eyes closed, face taut with pleasure.

You knew, as much as he knew, what he was thinking of. His cock wrecking your pussy for the first time because no matter how many times you jerked him off, sucked his cock, or let him fuck your tits, he’d always wonder. He was certain you wanted it too, wanted to feel what it would be like to be under him-- pounded pretty. Your head rose to watch his cockhead peep out between your breasts. Every sweeping motion was rewarded with a little lick, earning a hiss of your name. His measured features hardened.

“Coño,” Miguel cursed as the thick ropes of his cum coated your tits. He forced himself forward, cum pumped over your collarbone and neck, dripping into your hair. The grip on your breast was unrelenting, while the other jerked himself through the bolts of aftershock. To his surprise, you gathered his cum between your fingers and suckled it, tasting his warm salty fluid on your tongue. He watched you, enraptured, as you cleaned yourself-- then went after his softening dick, suckling the spent seed there.

“Beautiful,” he murmured as he pulled away. You followed, inching up his chest to kiss him. He tasted himself, finding that he liked how he tasted much more when it was on your tongue. “Stay the night.”

He never asked anyone to stay the night. It was a flagrant violation of another rule that all the others knew he had. Miguel was open to having another roommate. A pretty girl to fuck and keep. She just had to be the right kind of girl. He has a feeling you’re that girl, nestling between his arm and chest, holding him close.

He just had to fuck you first to find out.

The thing about having multiple girls is-- his interest wanes.

He never knows the exact cause. Only that he’s distracted with you. Perhaps it’s your resistance to letting him actually fuck you. Not eat you out, not have his dick sucked, not fuck your tits, but fuck you. He’s thought about how a hundred different ways. Against the museum, in his bed, in the library, his private office-- It encompasses much of his attention. You were at Peter’s art showing Friday night, which was how he ended up here with Dana, yet again.

She wants to see this stupidly romantic movie that no one else is really into from the looks of the empty seats. Miguel isn’t invested either, his mind is racing with thoughts of someone else. Her lips are wrapped around his dick in the dark movie theatre, he goes soft. Soft-- Miguel rarely goes soft, he’s looking for a hole to fuck into. Apparently, this one is no good. He eventually sighs, pushing on her head to remove her from his cock.

“What is it, Miggy?”

A balance of light and shadows highlight her face as she sits there, looking positively aggravated with her failed Friday night date. Miguel knows that he can’t perform like this. He glances down at the near-empty theatre and itches the back of his neck, tucking himself back into his jeans.

“I’m not horny,” he murmured, folding his arms one over the other. He’s surprised she can hear him over the beaming sound of the movie theatre. She does, shoving his shoulder in protest over his shitty performance.

“You’re usually horny,” she bites back.

“Then maybe it’s you.”

The impulse to take it out on Dana is out before he can control it. She flicks her head at him, her slight eyes popping wide open. She searches Miguel’s flat features for an apology, ruffling her fluffy purple bangs away from her eyes. He doesn’t give her one.

“Oh, now you don’t want me? Ever since you’ve started seeing that teashop bitch,” Miguel perked his brow up, “You don’t have time for me. What? Is she that good?”

Tea shop bitch. It’s been over a week of trying to get you to fuck him at multiple intervals. He hasn’t been able to. Not for a lack of trying, but your shy deflection and offers to do things like-- pick an orange off the trees by his building, walk around on a date, or just touch one another. He tried to understand: you weren’t a girl that ran out to date many men. In fact, he’s pretty sure that he is the outlier in your sex life.

“You’re right,” he says. “We should stop fucking.”

“What?”

“You’re too attached,” Miguel stood up, his hands forming tight balls in his pockets. “And I’m just not that interested.”

“When did that change? A month ago? Miguel?”

He doesn’t have time for her stupid possessiveness, her obsession with keeping her slot as his default bitch. Other women told him all about Dana-- how she tended to show up where they were, bumping into them, or the rumors she spread in the department. He jots down the stairs, ignoring her squealing call of his name. The issue with Dana was this: she loved him far too much and he loved her far too little. As with so many of his once-were fuckbuddies, it was better for Miguel to go on his way.

Or, it would have been. He received a concerning message the next day.

I don’t want to see you again.

It’s from your number. Any attempted calls go straight to voicemail. Logically, he should have been able to count it as a loss and move on with any of the other women he had in his life. Illogically, Miguel wants an explanation. If he can’t get one from you, he knows just who will give him one.

Jess already knows what it’s about from the look behind her yellowed sunglasses. Her arms are turned one over the other, clearly having some sort of reservation from this meeting alone. She seems pissed off at him too despite the fact that he has no idea what the fuck he did. He only knows that you’ve virtually disappeared from his life.

“Are you going to tell me?” Miguel asks.

The crispy bagel sits forgotten before him, alongside the coffee that plumes wisps of heat into the air. Jess flicks her eye down to the steam, then back to Miguel.

“I told you to leave that girl alone in the first place.”

“You also set us up. I should know why she left.”

Jess looked off to the wind wisping through the trees, then to everybody that walked on by. There was an undeniable truth to what he said, her involvement was obvious and disconcerting. Whatever had happened, he deserves an explanation. You weren’t going to make this easy to talk to you, but he was intent. So long as he knew the depth of your irritation with him.

“Someone burned Peter. Something about… what was it? Stealing her man?”

He hates that he doesn’t have to ask who.

"Is he hurt?"

"Bad enough," Jess answers. "Y'know how special he is to her."

He's not sure he does.

[echantedtoon]

Mermaid Douma x Reader Oneshot

You would have luck attracting the clingiest of creatures.

This is a sorta connecting story to Ocean Deep but with two different Y/ns. A gift for @warringwarrioridiot on Tumblr. It's not gonna be very long but it's here for whomever wants to read it. If you need a refresh for what Douma looks like in the mer au he's a Fairy Wrasse mer and the link to the fish is below.

https://images.app.goo.gl/Mg9woLteiSKnU8MQ7)

taglist: @six-eyed-samurai @lavenderdrxp @jjamsbangtan @camilo-uwu @hopefulworld1

@shadyd3ar @amypop122 @azuredragonstrike

@mimisweetz @chaoticoperatorduckhairdo @staarflowerr

Remember if you want to be added to the tag list lemme know.

"You're here again?"

"Naturally, Darling.~" 

"Don't call me that."

The distant sounds of water sloshing around the body circulated the air and a coo Lik a dove would give their beloved.  The sun shown down brightly today too. The birds were chirping and a few cute critters were scuttling around your small space until the presence of the large predator drove them all away in fear of being eaten alive. A nuisance really despite the muscle and power that he exuded like a bolt of lightning ready to strike any moment. But he teetered between such things as a harmless calm puddle and the for mentioned lightning. 

You paid the creature behind you not an ounce of attention or fear despite the animals running for their lives. The strong straw at your hands busy being tangled within your grip as nimble hands weaved a wicker basket. Rose petals tickled your head briefly as you continued to work but did now only pause as claws weaved through locks of your hair. Only then did f/c eyes turn to finally look at the cold eyes.

Like fragmented stained glass they were. Pretty but glossy with nothing barely in there despite their beauty. Claws that could kill, and probably have killed, combing over the delicate locks in their hold. Petting you and slowly trailing down your face until the dangerous hand cupped your face 

"There. So beautiful.~"

"You've been a pain ever since I untangled you from the net you were in."

Another coo as the ocean dwelling creature leaned closer from the edge of the stream he now occupied. "So mean. I'd prefer to call it taking care of the woman I'm fond over.~ My sweet little plaything.~"

You should've just left him to detangle himself all those years ago but you being young and naive didn't heed the warnings of being associated with creatures no human should tangle with. Your eyes glossed over as a distant memory replayed in your head. The fateful day all those years ago that trouble started following you.

"...Who...W-Who ARE you?!"

"...Douma!"

"Are you going to eat me?"

"Maaaaybe. Maybe not. Are you going to stand there and stare at me?"

You felt your body feel cold and frozen just standing there staring at the ..beast?. creature? Before you. He stared at you with such glazed over colorful eyes. A beautiful cascading head of platinum blonde fell from his head as if the starlight colored it, and a just as beautiful colorful fish tail adored his lower half. You had just been wondering around by the stream and laid down for a nap after fishing unsuccessfully for a few hours now. Then you were woken up by the sounds of something big struggling along the riverbank to your left just struggling behind a thick bush leaning over the river. You assumed it was a beached fish or perhaps a deer that had gotten it's antlers stuck in the branches, however when you pulled the bush away you were shocked by what you saw. So shocked that you sorta..just went on numb autopilot staring at the boy your age struggling to untangle himself.

"I-....WHAT are you?! A-Are you a siren?!"

It was the boy's turn to pout tilting his head. "That's a harmful stereotype to assume I am one of the more barbaric types. Sirens and merfolk are two completely different beings. I wished you humans would stop mislabeling us."

Your eyes widened. "Y-Y-You're a merman?!"

"I'm glad you caught on. Now please stop staring. You'll draw attention to me and I don't need that right now."

You opened your mouth and closed it a few times before shaking your head and blinking. "H-How did you get here in the first place?!"

"I was being hunted by one of those..." he hummed tapping a blue tipped claw to his chin. "What do you call them? Monster hunters?" He waved a hand smiling. "Anyways- They're blaming me for a kraken's killings although I'm sure they don't care." He watched as you stared at him a little longer before a hand touched his tail all of a sudden making him look down towards you. "Well now- If you found me so irresistible you could've just asked me.~"

You didn't answer other than giving an annoyed look. Instead tugging at the knots on the tail (that actually felt surprisingly smooth but wet) but found that the thick knots were too tight to be broken and you didn't have a knife on you. The ropes were also tangled up in the lower hanging branches of the bush. That must've been how he got stuck. Unfortunately it looked too terribly tangled up to get out without cutting it either. You'd be unable to cut him out....But.. Maybe he could slip out? He watched as you shifted to his tail and grabbed the ropes around it.

"What are do-Oh!"

He yelped as you bluntly pulled his tail up by the ropes lifting half his body off the went muddy bank and pulled up. The ropes were tight on him. And he was pretty heavy! You grunted pulling at them eventually jumping up and down a bit and trying to hook your fingers under the ropes to try and get a better grip on the ropes- Until something gave. With a wet splat sound, his tail wetly slipped through the ropes and he landed on the muddy ground with a thud leaving you holding ropes in your hands. Douma hissed in lingering soreness that throbbed from his tail and groaned laying there.

You blinked at the ropes before tossing them aside and leaning over him. "Are you ok?"

"Incredibly sore but I'll live." His eyes turned back up to you, turning in such an inhuman fashion it made you jump that large smile still on his face. "But...you helped me?"

"I mean-...You were stuck. Was I not supposed to? If you wanted to get out yourself then sorry. I guess. I mean I'd want someone to help me if I was trapped somewhere. Wouldn't you?"

"I suppose so." He pushed himself to sit up on his elbows raising a brow and looking you over. "It's just rare a human would help someone like me willingly and not try to get something in return." He made a point to reach out towards the bottom of your dress but you took a large step back.

You shrugged and looked at him. "I mean you did need help. I'm not sure what else I would do with you."

He continued to stare at you up and down before just silently flipping onto his stomach and you watched as he dragged himself across the short bank and into the water of the stream with a few water shuffling sounds. Blinking you continued to watch as his head reemerged a moment later and he looked at you.

"Never the less, thank you for your assistance. I would appreciate it if you don't tell anyone about our meeting. It's an inconvenience as it was just to escape the last time."

You huffed. "I don't think anyone would believe me even if I did tell them. I don't even believe this! I'm going to wake up from my nap and this'll all be a dream."

He chuckled. "Perhaps so...But still one good deed deserves another. What's your name?"

"My name is Y/n, Mr. Dream Merman. But I assure you that I don't need anything in return even from a dream."

He smiled wider. "Perhaps not." He then tilted his head. "...Are you married or engaged? Or do you already have a lover?"

"No. I mean you'd already know that being a figment of my imagination."

"Then I shall return to marry you once we're older. I'll be back to claim you then. Let this be my marriage vow to you."

"Ok. Mr Dream Mer-"...You blinked. "Wait. What-"

With a PLUNK sound, the head disappeared and you were left there stunned and staring slack jawed at the water. Whatever really happened just...gone. you continued to stare until you did the only thing that you could do in this situation. Go back to your nap, and sleep away the rest of this weird dream.

You had thought it had been nothing but a weird dream a silly teenage girl had. Until years later you were living on your own, with your own adorable cottage by the same stream and you were tending to the garden like you always did until a slippery wet creature decided to crawl up the banks-

"Y/N. I'M READY FOR YOU TO TAKE ME NOW?!"

You continued to stare at nothing lost in thought until two powerful arms wrapped around your and gently pulled your body into Douma's. His forehead dipping down to press against yours. F/c eyes deadpanned glanced at your shoulder.

"... You're getting my dress wet."

"Hmph! You Always have to spoil the moment."

"Will you let go of me if I did compliment you?"

"NOPE!~"

"Then suffer."

[im-ovulating]

hi, you may have seen my username recently in your notifications, i have gotten reobsessed with the arcana and i love your work.

may i request; the main six with a gn!partner who forgets/puts off taking care of themselves (eating, hygiene, etc.) unless theyre practically dragged off to do it? thank you!!

(A/n: I have and I appreciate all the support!❤)

Word Count: 1,944

Summary: If you won't take care of yourself, your partner will

Warnings: Various forms of self-neglect, Mention of injury/blood in Portia's, Reader's hair is long enough to put into a bun in Julian's

Age Rating: None

The Main 6 x Self Negligent! Reader

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

Lucio:

"Who's a good boy?~"

Melchior flops over for belly rubs as you continue to coo at him, his female counter part having gone to lay down in the shade a bit ago.

"You are, you're such a good, handsome boy, aren't cha? Yes, you are! Yes, you are~"

You're in the garden playing with Mercedes and Melchior as you had been most of the day. Opting to enjoy your rare day of relaxation.

After a few more scratches to his kick spot, Melchior abruptly sits up before bolting behind you. Turning, you're met with the one and only, Count Lucio. You knew he'd show up eventually. He always does. Whether it's to bother you, escape the courtiers, or to genuinely spend time with you, the count always has a bit of time with you each day.

"Y/n." Never learned to properly greet, huh?

He strides over to the tree sheltering Mercedes from the blistering sun, plopping down uncountly to lean against it as well.

"Hey, Luci," You're lucky you're his partner or you'd never get away with calling him as such. "What's it today? Come to pester me about distracting the dogs? Or has Valerius been getting on your case again?"

He places a hand dramatically against his chest as he feigns innocence.

"What? I can't just visit you out of the kindness of my heart? I'm wounded, truly, I am."

"Har har. It was Volta, then?-"

"OH! I just can't stand it! How does she put so much away?? And the chewing noises-" He cuts himself off with a shiver. "Ughack."

There it is.

You can't help but laugh. "She really can out eat the best of them, huh?"

"Speaking of- Have you eaten today, darling?"

Uh oh.

"Yeah, totally!" You lie.

"That's good. The chef really knows his way around a duck," Lucio's hand fall to scratch between Merchior's ear as he rests his head in his lap.

You nod in agreement. "He really does," you hum.

"You know what's funny?"

"What?"

He spares a glance your way before returning his attention to the dogs.

"Lunch was veal, not duck..."

There's a silence before you rush to explain yourself.

"To be fair, I-"

"Uh uh, no excuses." Lucio stands, brushing the dirt off his trousers before offering you a hand up. "Let's go get some food in you, sweet."

There's no arguing with him, so you let out a sigh and let him hoist you up.

"Let's go, then..."

-

Portia:

"Hey, Y/n? Have you seen- Oh my god!"

Portia drops the basket she's carrying as she catches sight of your arm.

She rushes to you as you stand frozen in shock. Her outburst and sprint towards you happening a bit fast to process.

You're snapped out of it when she grabs your arm, gently guiding you to a wicker chair.

"What happened?" Her fingers lightly graze over the cut on your arm.

"I, uh, had a slip up with one of the garden tools."

She looks up at you as she asks, "When did it happen? Some of the blood's dry..."

"I don't know..." You look at you lap, "Maybe 1 or 2 hours ago?"

Her grip tightens. "Why haven't you bandaged it up?? I swear, you remind me too much of Ilya sometimes."

"I had a lot to do, so I figured it could wait." The branches above cast Portia's face in a scary light as she glares at you.

"You put off fixing your sliced open arm because you had work to do!?" Well, when she puts it like that...

"I'm sorry," you whisper, gaze still on your lap.

Her look softens. "Sweetie... I'm sorry for yelling at you. I just-"

She lets out a breath, "I know you forget to take care of yourself and I worry that one day, you'll get seriously ill or hurt and I won't be there to-" She cuts herself off and you don't say anything.

"C'mon," Portia pulls you up with her. "Let's get you patch up, hmm?"

As if she can sense your oncoming argument, she says, "You can finish your work after."

-

Julian:

You wince as your hair is tugged once more.

"Sorry! Sorry, love. I can't seem to get this hair tie out; it's got some hair tangled around it..." Julian says as he tries to pry the band out.

"It's fine. You don't have to do this you know. I should have stayed on top of it and not just thrown it into a bun."

"I know I don't HAVE to but I WANT to. I like taking care of you, which helps since someone-" he reaches around to bop your nose, "-forgets to do it themself."

"Got it!" With one final tug, the hair tie comes free of your tangled strands. "Do you still have the brush?"

You pass it back to him and make yourself comfortable against his legs. You already know it's going to take a while to get all the knots out.

Julain takes the brush in one hand and the best version of a section that he could separate and gets to work. A calm silence settles over the both of you as he works. He starts from the bottom, lightly dragging the brush through the tangles, his movements rhythmic as he moves the brush up bit by bit.

Once the section is done, he runs the brush from root to tip to ensure it's done.

Section through section, Julian combs through your hair, successfully detangling the week's worth of knots. By the time he's finished, you're practically asleep against him.

Brushing through your whole head once more, he finally speaks.

"We're finished, dear," He gently sits you up, laughing when you groan in protest.

-

Nadia:

"What do you mean they haven't eaten in two days!?"

Oh no. Here it comes.

You know she's not going to accept your reasoning, but you really wanted to get this done. So what if you were a bit hungry, you were on a roll and would lose your creativity if you stopped now. You're almost done anyway.

The door to your room opens and Nadia comes storming in.

"Mind explaining to me why the kitchen staff just told me you haven't even touched the food they've been bringing you the last two days?" She stands with her hands on her hips as she waits for your response.

"Um..." You know she knows. she just wants you to say it out loud.

Yielding, you finally say it. "I was working on something... It's for your birthday so I wanted to get it done."

She pinches the bridge of her nose. "As much as that is incredibly endearing, you shouldn't put yourself in dangerous situations for a gift."

You balk. "It's not a dangerous situation though. If I keep working, I'll have it done by tonight!"

"That would make it three days with no food, and I'm guessing no water if we stay on theme." You don't like how she read you so well...

Before you can't respond, Nadia continues. "What if it didn't get done today, or tomorrow, or the next day? How far would you push yourself to get this done? I know how passionate you get about things and that's why I'm so stern about it. You're willing to go 36 hours without food or water for a present; what if it was something bigger? You could, in all honestly, die because of your passion."

She's right. You hate that she's right, but she is nonetheless.

"That's not happening on my watch, petal. Let's get some food in you and then you can go back to work."

Yes! You thought she was going to ban you for the rest of the day.

"Only until dinner, then you're done for the day."

Damn it.

-

Asra:

"I'm going to start a bath, would you like to join me, Y/n?" Asra calls from the other side of the door.

You had been working on perfecting a spell for the last few days. You locked yourself in your old room-turned-study just in case something went wrong; only opening the door to grab the tray of food the magician would set out for you or to use the bathroom.

Unintentionally, you'd put off cleaning yourself, which is probably why Asra was asking.

A bath honestly sounded like pure heaven, but you were so close to getting the spell right.

Another knock sounds out and you sigh. You really should take them up on their offer, but what if you forget how you did it last time?

'That's why you've been logging every attempt,' you remind yourself.

'But what if-' 'No, you need to bathe.' You quickly scan your notes to make sure everything's in order.

Once you've concluded that every thing is as it should be, you call out a 'Coming' to your partner. You know he's still outside the door so you quickly put your things back in place and head to the door.

.

"Fucking hell..." You sigh as you sink into the hot water, leaning back to rest against Asra. The heat doing wonders for your sore back.

"Spending days hunched over a desk doesn't do much good for you, huh?" They tease you.

You simply hum in response as he grabs your favorite soap, lathering it up before massaging it into your tense shoulders.

"Relax, I've got you..." They rub over a particular spot that causes you to go lax. "Would you like me to help with your spell? I think I have some ingredients that might make it easier for it to do what you need."

"At this point, that's all I want," you chuckle.

"Thank you." you turn your head to press a kiss to his jaw.

"Anything for you, love."

-

Muriel:

"Y/n?" Muriel asks as he enters your shared room.

"Yeah?" You respond.

Have you ate or drank anything today? I don't think I've you leave the room today..."

"I haven't, but I'm plan to in a bit, I just want to finish this book first."

"Oh, okay." He turns to leave but pauses, turning back to you. "How much is left?"

"Uh..." you flip to the last chapter to do the math.

"Like, 16? Maybe 18. Why?"

Muriel stares at you for a moment before striding towards you. Once by your side, he gently grabs your book, marking your page and setting it to the side.

"Hey- What are you doing?"

He takes your hands as he answers, hauling you to your feet. "It's getting late, you need to get something into your system."

You're slightly taken aback, you have to admit. Muriel is rarely assertive; always mumbling or trailing off his sentences and just generally lacking confidence in himself. So for him to take the initiative to pull you from your reading with out so much as a stutter is a bit shocking.

"I know, but I already said that I'll do it once I finish my book." You lightly protest as you follow him through the hut.

"...You're not- You're not going to be able to finish it today, though..." Just like that any assertiveness is gone.

It makes you break, allowing him to sit you down and place a bowl of soup and a roll in front of you.

"Eat with me?" you request, taking a bite of the roll.

God, this man can cook. You don't know where he learned it, but he makes some of the best bread you've ever had -it practically melts in your mouth.

He nods, moving to grab his own food, sitting down across from you as you both talk about anything that comes to mind.

[guess-my-next-obsession]

In The Cold, Cold Night: Chapter One

pairing: cowboy/frontier!joel miller x oc (Dorothea) / unrequited tommy miller

rating: M (talks of death, bordellos, gender constructs, other wild west things, tommy is a cocky flirt)

wc: 7.2k

series masterlist | playlist

It was a hot and dry spring in Texas, the corn fields out in front of the Mackey family farmhouse dying underneath the brutal and unforgiving sun. John Mackey, the patriarch of his small, humble family, tried his best to conceal his worry over the season’s meager harvest, but his wife, Jessa, and his eldest child, Dorothea, or Dottie as her family called her, had a unique ability to see right through his hardened exterior to the vulnerable, frightened man inside.

Although she was a grown woman, her twenty-fourth birthday passing just seven months prior, Dorothea chose not to venture out from her parent’s watch like all the other girls in their small town had done years before. She liked the predictability of home—the sound of her father’s work boots hitting the hardwood after a long day in the field, the smell of her mother’s cooking, the loud chatter of her five younger brothers as they ran around the house and farm like they were wild animals. Though a part of her did crave more, it was a small enough part that she could ignore, fixing her brown eyes instead on taking care of the things she already had.

“Daddy!” James, the youngest of the clan at only six years, came hurtling into the kitchen as his father sat at the dinner table sipping on a fresh cup of black coffee, Jessa Mackey and Dorothea standing at the sink scrubbing this morning’s dishes. “Look what the lady at the store gave me and Ed.”

“Let me see what’cha got,” the gruff man said, lowering his cup and newspaper to the tabletop as he fixed his attention on his son.

James wore a wide, boyish grin as he reached into the front pocket of his dirty, denim overalls and pulled out a burlap sack, his tiny fingers pulling the drawing string loose so that he could dump out the contents on top of his father’s morning news.

“Well, what’s all this, now?” John said, catching a few of the tiny glass spheres as they began to roll off the uneven table.

“Marbles,” he said, full of wonder and excitement. “She even taught me how to play with ‘em.”

“Can you teach me?” he asked, setting the handful of marbles into the little boy’s hand.

“I forgot,” he smiled bashfully. “But Eddie—“

“I didn’t ask Eddie, now did I?” John smiled back. “Come on, figure it out. You learned once, you can remember.”

“Oh, will you leave him be,” Jessa scolded lightly, chuckling at her husband’s insistence as she walked over, drying her hands on a cloth before throwing it over her shoulder. “Where’s your brother?”

“Outside playin’ with Sarah,” James said, looking up at his mother with round eyes as she carded her fingers through his dust-covered brown hair.

“Who’s Sarah?” Dorothea asked as she dried her hands off on her apron, her brows stitching together.

“She’s new ‘round here,” her youngest brother replied. “She ain’t got any friends—“

“Doesn’t have,” John corrected, lifting his newspaper back up.

“How old is she?” Jessa asked.

“My age,” the boy said, a big toothy smile on his face. “May I go play with ‘em, mama?”

“Yeah, go on,” Jessa smiled and watched as her son ran out of the room with his bag of marbles in hand, the wicker screen door slamming against the wooden frame of the old home as he bolted through it. “I gotta talk to Maggie about givin’ him new toys every time I send ‘em over.”

“She likes it,” Dorothea interjected. “Can’t have babies of her own, it only makes sense she spoils everyone else’s.”

“Don’t matter,” Jessa took a seat at the table to rest her aching feet. “We don’t need another tab.”

John’s eyes lifted to meet his wife as if he were daring her to continue.

“If that girl’s new, maybe I should bake a pie and take it over to her mama and daddy,” Dorothea suggested, sensing the building tension. “We got some blueberries that’ll turn any day now.”

“Sure, honey, go on,” John said, looking back to his paper.

“Don’t use more than y’have to, Dot,” Jessa ordered. “I need flour to make biscuits for supper.”

“I’ll only use what I need, ma,” Dorothea promised with a saintly smile, flashing her emerald green eyes at her mother before heading into the pantry to start out on her baking.

“Daddy!” Sarah’s squeal could be heard from a mile away, causing her father, Joel, to turn his head in the direction of the dirt road, spotting his daughter riding on the handlebars of of a brand new, candy red-painted bicycle, his younger brother pedaling towards the opened gate of their farm. “Look what Uncle Tommy got!”

Joel shook his head at the needless expense as he watched them ride up to where he stood near the porch, his white cotton shirt soaked down his spine from spending the better half of the afternoon fixing the old wooden steps.

“You ain’t got nothin’ better to spend your money on?” Joel asked as they came to a skid in front of him, Sarah hopping off the handlebars and skipping up to her father’s side to hug his hip, his hand smoothing her wild curls out of her face. “Where you been all day, missy? Out causin’ trouble?”

“I made friends with some boys down the road,” she replied, looking up at her father as he quirked an eyebrow.

“Boys, huh?” he asked, his tone playful. “You ain’t old enough to be hangin’ around any boys.”

“But daddy, they’re sweet,” she insisted, rounding her hazel eyes at him and poking out her bottom lip for good measure. Joel smiled and nodded, rubbing his hand across her shoulders.

“I’m just kiddin’, baby girl,” he assured. “What did y’all get up to?”

“We played cowboys on their farm,” she beamed. “I got to be the sheriff.”

“You know me and your daddy used to be cowboys?” Tommy said, leaning against the post of the porch.

“Well, I would’a caught you,” she said, tilting her chin up in confidence.

“Alright, sheriff, why don’t you go inside and wash off all this dirt before supper?” Joel ordered, patting her back as she begrudgingly obeyed her. “Cheer up, I’m makin’ your favorite.”

“Chicken soup?” she squealed again.

“You got it,” he nodded before waving at her to head into the house like he’d asked.

“If you’re gonna yell, yell,” Tommy sighed, taking a seat on the second step.

“I ain’t gonna yell,” Joel sat down with him. “But you can’t be goin’ around town showin’ off and spendin’ like that. We don’t need people pryin’ into our business and gettin’ the wrong idea.”

“It ain’t a crime to be a bounty hunter,” Tommy argued.

“Not when you’re workin’ for the law, but you and I both know we were about as far from the law as we could get,” Joel said. “Just don’t want people treatin’ Sarah bad because of what we did to make ends meet. That’s why we had to leave the last place, remember?”

“Yeah, I know,” Tommy nodded. “I just saw it and thought it would make droppin’ Sarah off at the schoolhouse easier on me, s’all.”

“Well, I ain’t gonna make you take it back,” Joel said, offering a soft smile, bumping his brother’s shoulder with his own. “Just…talk to me before you go out and buy somethin’ that pretty next time, alright? I might want one for myself.”

“Well, speaking’ of pretty,” Tommy nudged his chin forward in the direction of the gate, Joel’s eyes following his eyeline until he saw what he was so fixed on. Tan, freckled skin, a head of chocolate brown waves thrown up messily, a pair of bright green eyes and an equally bright smile heading up the dirt path to the porch.

“She here for you?” Joel whispered to his brother.

“I certainly hope so,” Tommy replied with a smile.

“Hi, y’all, sorry to interrupt,” the unfamiliar face greeted them as she reached the bottom of the steps, both men staring at her with a mixture of confusion and awe. “I’m Dorothea. My little brothers were playin’ with your sister earlier, and I thought I’d bring a pie over to welcome y’all to the town.”

“Sister?” Tommy asked, fixing a charming smile onto his face. “No sister here, but we’ll be glad to take that pie off your hands.”

“Oh,” she furrowed her brows in confusion. “I’m sorry, I guess I must’a—“

“You talkin’ about Sarah?” Joel spoke up, drawing her eyes to meet his.

“Yeah, I think that’s what her name was.”

“That’s my daughter,” he smiled.

“Oh!” Her eyes widened in shock. “I’m sorry, I thought—you look young, so I just thought—“

“No need to apologize,” he assured, standing up and unintentionally towering over her as he walked down the steps. “I had her young; I’m used to it by now.”

Dorothea smiled softly and nodded, her eyes lowering to the pie in her hands rather than at his dark, round eyes.

“Well, this is for y’all, then,” she said, holding the pie out for him to take.

“Thank you,” he accepted it and lifted the cloth covering the top, bringing the pie close to his nose. “Smells great.”

“It’s a family recipe,” she said. “I can give it to your wife if she’s around?”

“Oh—no,” Joel tensed, his smile faltering. “She, uh, she passed givin’ birth to Sarah.”

“Oh,” Dorothea’s eyes turned soft and sympathetic. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright,” he assured, flickering his eyes over to his brother who remained watching their new friend with eager eyes. “We’re about to have supper, you could join us? Let us repay you for the pie?”

“Oh, I wish I could, but my mama’s makin’ biscuits and gravy tonight and she’d throw a fit if I stayed out past dark,” Dorothea said, offering him an apologetic smile.

“Well, you’re always welcome,” Joel shrugged. “Your brothers, too. I’m sure Sarah would love it if her new friends stopped by.”

“I’ll let ‘em know,” she smiled. “Well, I should be goin’.”

“You need a ride?” Tommy asked, standing up.

“Oh, no,” she giggled. “I like the walk, gives me a little time away from all the noise.”

“Alright,” Tommy smiled. “You said your name was Dorothy?”

“Dorothea,” Joel corrected.

“That’s right,” she chuckled. “And y’all are?”

“I’m Tommy, he’s Joel,” Tommy said.

“Well, Tommy, Joel,” she smiled as she turned her eyes from Tommy to meet Joel’s again. “It was nice meetin’ y’all. Enjoy that pie.”

“I’m sure we will,” Joel smiled. “Get home safe, now.”

“Everybody knows not to mess with me,” she smirked as she began backing her way towards the gate.

“That so?” he smirked.

“Yep,” she giggled. “Bye now!”

“Bye,” Tommy called, waving at her as she turned around and started down the road in the direction she came. “What a looker.”

“She wasn’t lookin’ at you,” Joel teased.

“What, you think she was lookin’ at you?”

“No,” he replied defensively as he started up the steps. to head into the house, Tommy trailing closely behind.

“You got a crush, old man?”

“Twenty-eight ain’t old,” Joel argued, setting the pie down on the dinner table.

“Older than me,” Tommy quipped. “Older than her.”

“Alright, well since you’re so young and spry, why don’t you go out back and fetch us some milk for supper, charmer?” Joel teased, grabbing the cloth from the pie and swatting it at his younger brother.

It was Sunday afternoon, Joel and Tommy finished with the week’s chores and labor, Sarah skipping down the road with them as they made their way to town to look around at the shops and stands.

Joel, as always, kept his pistol tucked into the holster on his belt, his eyes scanning his surroundings for any potential trouble while desperately hoping none found him.

Joel had lived a lot of life in his twenty-eight years. He started out as a ranch hand to his father, Tommy just old enough to form a sentence while his older brother was expected to go out and tend to the horse, sheep, and cows at five in the morning. School wasn’t a priority to his parents, but learning to take care of the ranch was, to them, as essential to living as breathing.

Joel was fifteen when his father passed from typhoid fever, his mother following shortly after getting caught in the middle of a shoot out in town, leaving him to not only take care of the ranch, but his eleven year old brother as well.

Two years later, Joel and Tommy got swept up in the bounty hunting lifestyle after seeing how much the sheriff was offering for an outlaw on a wanted poster. They bid their ranch goodbye, packed up what little they had, and rode off into the desert to start anew, not knowing a single thing about what was to come.

Though their endeavors started out lawful, a then-seventeen year old Tommy quickly grew bored of their meager earnings and convinced Joel to abandon the lawful bounty hunting in favor of working with outlaws, the two of them hunting out sheriffs and their own people instead.

This was how Joel met Sarah’s mother at the young age of twenty-one. She was ten years older than him, working in a bordello Tommy insisted on staying at for the night during one of their hunts. Joel was hesitant at first, but quickly found his footing once he spotted her across the room. She had dark skin, rich, brown eyes, and a figure like he’d never seen before. He was already hooked then, but once their visits grew more frequent, he realized it was more than just a drunken lust he felt for the woman. He loved her. And when she fell pregnant with his child, Joel took her down to the town church and married her before riding off again to go on his next hunt. He only saw her two more times before Sarah came, and then she was gone.

Joel tried to go back to his old life, but found it difficult to do what he needed to do with a baby in tow. The boys settled down in Utah for a while, but Tommy’s antics at the local saloon had them packing up and heading west to California. Tommy had some luck there panning for gold, but just as quickly as the last time, he got into a brawl and the three of them were forced back on the road. It went like this for a while, up until just a few months ago when they were talked out of moving out of their old family ranch by a wealthy man looking to buy it for a handsome sum, the money too appealing for Joel to decline.

That’s how they ended up here in the Middle of Nowhere, Texas.

Joel liked it here. It was quiet, there wasn’t any trouble, and everyone seemed to have an understanding that this place was for families, somewhere safe to keep your children in the midst of all this shooting and debauchery. Joel wanted to stay here, but there was a nagging voice every time he looked over at his reckless younger brother that told him it was only a matter of time before they’d have to pack it all up again and run off. He hoped this time, Tommy would learn his lesson.

“Daddy, can I go look at the flowers?” Sarah chimed as they reached the booming Main Street, her little finger pointing at a flower cart.

“Yeah, but don’t go runnin’ off too far,” he said, keeping a watchful eye on her as she skipped towards the daisies.

“I’m gonna go see about that wheelbarrow,” Tommy said, nudging his head in the direction of an old man’s roadside stand of junk.

“Anything that keeps you outta the saloon,” Joel said, his eyes still locked on his daughter as she chatted the ear off of the older woman selling flowers.

“Robert, you better stay out of there!”

Joel’s attention was turned in the direction of a faintly familiar voice calling down the street. There he spotted Dorothea, surrounded by five boys ranging from Sarah’s age to somewhere around her own. The eldest looking boy, Robert he assumed, waved her off as he continued ahead of them into the saloon and bordello, leaving her fuming as she tried to corral the three youngest to follow her while the second oldest followed in his brother’s footsteps.

“Dottie, look! It’s Sarah!” the youngest squealed, his finger pointing down the road at Sarah who was getting a flower pinned in her curls. “Can I go say hi?”

“Yeah, just stay where I can see ya,” she said, watching as all three boys ran off in Sarah’s direction.

Joel cleared his throat as he felt obligated to go over and say hello, but Dorothea spotted him first and gave him a polite nod from down the road before turning to head into the general store. A strange pang of disappointment hit him in the chest at her lack of interaction, but he quickly reminded himself that he didn’t want the responsibility of a friend. He had enough on his plate with his ranch, his daughter, and his brother.

“Daddy,” Sarah came strolling back over hand in hand with Dorothea’s youngest brother, both of them smiling cheekily. “This is my boyfriend, James.”

“Boyfriend, huh?” Joel gave the boy a playful once over and shook his head in feigned disapproval. “How about a boy friend?”

“Daddy,” she pouted and fixed a stern look on her face that looked every bit her mother.

“Alright, James, but I expect you to respect my daughter,” he said, playfully wagging his finger in the little boy’s face and poking his nose, earning a giggle.

“Yes, sir,” James smiled. “I think Sarah’s the love of my life.”

“Love of your life?” Joel asked, resting a hand on his hip. “You ain’t lived much life, son.”

“Six years of it,” he countered.

“Six years a long time to you?” Joel continued with a smile.

“Yeah. It’s my entire life,” the boy quipped, pulling a laugh out of Joel.

“I guess you’re right,” Joel chuckled. “Long as you treat her right, we ain’t gonna have a problem.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Those your brothers?” Joel nudged his chin in the direction of the two slightly older boys, one of them chasing the other with a flower he’d plucked from the lady’s cart.

“Yes, sir,” James nodded. “Ed and Bo.”

“And the other two?”

“Robert and Paul,” James said. “But they’re mean.”

“Yeah? They mean to you?” James nodded. Joel smiled and squatted down to be eye level with him. “Let me ask ya somethin’. One day, you’re gonna be big enough to be mean right back to ‘em,” James nodded. “That somethin’ you’re looking forward to?”

“No,” James shook his head.

“No? Why not?”

“I don’t like bein’ mean,” James said, shrugging his shoulders.

“Good answer,” Joel smiled. “I don’t want my daughter with somebody mean.”

“Boys! Come help me with these groceries!” Dorothea called from the shop, her eyes flickering to Joel as he stood up and turned to look at her. “They ain’t botherin’ y’all, are they?”

“No, ma’am,” he said, tipping the brim of his cowboy hat at her.

“Lord almighty, she’s a fine lookin’ woman,” Tommy appeared next to Joel, earning a stern glare from his older brother.

“She’s off limits,” James said, his own face scrunching up. “My daddy said so.”

“Well, your daddy hasn’t met me yet,” Tommy smiled. “She got a boyfriend?”

“No,” James replied defensively. “And she don’t want one neither.”

“What about a friend?” Tommy persisted.

“I’m her friend,” he said, crossing his little arms over his chest.

“Did you get the wheelbarrow?” Joel asked, desperate to stop his brother’s back and forth.

“Yep,” Tommy nodded.

“Good, now go on and use it. We need fire wood,” Joel said, tipping his chin towards the hardware store. Tommy sighed and did as his brother commanded while Joel urged both Sarah and James off towards the general store to pick up their weekly groceries.

“Daddy, can we get some blueberries to make another pie?” Sarah asked, pointing ahead at a pint of blueberries sitting on the table in the middle of the store along with the rest of this week’s harvest.

“I didn’t make the pie, baby,” he said. “Don’t know what else we’ll need.”

“Y’all talkin’ about my pie?” Dorothea asked, offering a smile to Sarah as she walked over holding a basket of fruit in her hand while her younger brothers carried the rest of the haul.

“You made it?” Sarah asked with delight.

“Yes, ma’am, I did,” Dorothea nodded. “You want the recipe?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Sarah smiled. “I’ll make my daddy teach me.”

“Is your daddy good at bakin’?” Dorothea chuckled, glancing over at Joel who watched her carefully.

“No,” Sarah frowned.

“No, he doesn’t look the part,” she smirked at him, watching as a subtle blush grew on his cheeks. “Well, maybe I could come and teach you since your daddy ain’t so good.”

“Daddy, can she?” Sarah asked, tugging on her fathers arm.

Joel looked down at his wide eyed daughter and felt affection bloom in his chest for her, immediately caving in to her request. “Sure, baby girl.”

“Alright, you want me to show you what you need?” Dorothea spoke to Joel, bringing his eyes back to hers.

“Yes, ma’am,” Joel nodded, gesturing at her to lead the way.

“Gonna need flour, y’all got that at home?” Joel nodded. “Butter?” Another nod. “How ‘bout milk?”

“We got our own cows,” he said.

“Looks like y’all ain’t gonna need much, then,” she smiled. “All’s left is some blueberries, a lemon, some sugar, and…I think that’s it.”

“You think?” Joel teased, quirking an eyebrow at her.

“I know,” she corrected herself with a smirk. “I’ll come by tomorrow afternoon, if that’s alright by y’all.”

“Sounds alright with me,” Joel smiled. “I’ll make sure Tommy ain’t around to bother ya.”

“Oh, you ain’t gotta worry about him. I think he’s kinda sweet…in his own special way,” she shrugged. Joel lifted his eyebrows in surprise at the jealousy that sparked inside him at the thought of Tommy and her together.

As if on cue, Tommy walked in, his eyes scanning the room until he spotted the three of them.

“Well if it ain’t Miss Dorothy,” he grinned.

“Dorothea,” James corrected from the counter as he scooped up the final sack of groceries.

“My apologies,” Tommy smirked. “Guess I’ll have to spend more time around ya. Get the name to stick.”

“Alright,” Joel rolled his eyes and patted Sarah on the shoulder, guiding her towards the counter to pay for their hail. “We’ll see ya tomorrow, then, Dorothea. Bring that James with ya if ya want. Word is him and Sarah are in love. I’d hate to come between that.”

Dorothea giggled and nodded. “That’d be a crime, now, wouldn’t it?”

“You’re comin’ by tomorrow?” Tommy asked, leaning against the counter.

“Yes, sir,” Dorothea nodded. “Showin’ your niece how to make my famous blueberry pie.”

“Got room for one more student?” he asked. “I’ve been meanin’ to learn how t’ bake.”

“Oh, have you now?” she giggled. “I suppose you can join us, long as you pay attention.”

“I’m gonna be payin’ attention, alright,” he smiled. “Have a good day, now, Dorothy.”

“Dorothe—“ She stopped herself from correcting him again once she realized he was now doing it on purpose, her head shaking as she smiled at him. “How ‘bout you just call me “Miss” from now on? Can’t get that wrong, can ya?”

“Ain’t no fun in that,” he smiled. “I’ll get it one ‘a these days.”

“I’m sure you will,” she rolled her eyes before looking to Joel. “See ya, Joel.”

Joel tipped his hat at her and watched her walk off back down the long road headed towards her ranch, her horde of brothers following closely behind.

“You gotta mess with her?” Joel asked Tommy as he pulled out a few notes and handed it to the clerk.

“Least she’s a nice woman,” Tommy reasoned. “Could be goin’ after one of my women at the bordello like you—“

“Watch it,” Joel warned seriously, no trace of amusement in his eyes as they flickered to an oblivious Sarah. “That mouth’s gonna get you in trouble, Tommy. One ‘a these days someone’s gonna come along and do somethin’ about it.”

“They already tried,” Tommy chuckled. “I’ll take my chances.”

Joel only shook his head as he led the three of them out of the store, Tommy’s hands busied by the wheelbarrow hauling lumber while Joel carried their bag of groceries and Sarah worked on the lollipop the cashier handed over to her.

“Dot, come down and help your mama with hangin’ clothes!” Dorothea’s mother, Jessa, called up the staircase of their quaint farmhouse, interrupting her journaling.

“Yes, mama!” she called back, closing her books before making her way downstairs to tug her boots on before entering the mid-morning heat. She joined her mother out in front of the lawn as she sat scrubbing the dirty laundry on her washing board, a few sheets already hung up on the line.

“Thank you, baby,” she said, wiping her brow. “It’s hot out today.”

“It’s been hot out every day,” Dorothea commented. “How’re the crops lookin’?”

“Your daddy don’t bother tellin’ me anymore,” she said. “Half of me wonders if we wouldn’t be better off packin’ up and movin’ west. I hear there’s still plenty gold.”

“Who ya gonna get to mine for it? Daddy’s back can’t take it, and your two eldest don’t seem to care ‘bout nothin’ except goin’ to the saloon.”

“Don’t you wish we had that luxury?” Jessa said with a smirk. “I know I’d like to be able to run off whenever I want and drink the night away.”

“I don’t care much for the drinkin’, but I would like to know what it feels like to do whatever I want whenever I wanna do it,” Dorothea replied. “Instead we gotta ask permission anytime we wanna leave the house. Makes ya sad if you think about it too much.”

“I’ll tell you somethin’,” Jessa locked eyes with her daughter. “You ever feel like sneakin’ off for a night—maybe go see a pretty boy—you can count on me t’keep your secret. Long as ya tell me, I’ll watch out for ya.”

“You gonna lie to daddy for me?” Dorothea giggled.

“Lord knows I’ve done worse things.”

Dorothea quirked an eyebrow at her mother, smirking in interest.

Jessa ignored her daughter’s curiosity. “So this mean there’s a boy?”

“No,” Dorothea shook her head. “Not yet, at least.”

“Come on, now,” Jessa smiled.

“James’ new friend, Sarah, has an uncle,” she shrugged. “He seems interested.”

“But you ain’t?”

“I don’t know, mama,” she blushed. “He’s fine and all, but…he ain’t really what I’m lookin’ for.”

“Why’s that?”

“He talks too much,” Dorothea replied, earning a hearty laugh from her mother.

“You’re just like me, ain’t ya?”

“Sarah’s dad, however—“

“Dad? How old is he?” Jessa furrowed his brows.

“He doesn’t look much older than me,” she replied. “But he’s quieter. Doesn’t talk unless he has to. And he was sweet with James,” she said. “Thought it was cute.”

“But he ain’t interested in you like the brother is?” Jessa asked.

“I don’t think so,” she said, grabbing the last piece of wet clothing from her mother’s hands and wringing it out before hanging it on the line. “Either way, I don’t foresee any sneakin’ out in my future.”

“A little sneakin’ out would do you some good,” Jessa argued. “You’re too well behaved for your own good.”

“Someone’s gotta be,” she smiled and nudged her head in the direction of the house. “Alright, I gotta go change.”

“Where you off to?”

“Helpin’ Sarah make a pie,” she said.

“Mmhm,” Jessa smirked. “Well tell the uncle and the daddy I said hello.”

“Sure, mama,” she smiled back knowingly before skipping off to the house.

“There she is,” Tommy chimed as Dorothea walked up the steps of the porch, a sweet tea in his hand as he leaned against the doorframe.

“Where’s my student?” Dorothea smirked, tilting her head at him.

“Right here,” he said, gesturing at himself. “Ready to learn.”

“I meant my promisin’ student,” she countered, bringing a grin to his face.

“She’s out back with her daddy,” he said, tipping his head back towards the house. “But we could get started without her.”

“I’m sure you’d like that,” she chuckled. “I’m gonna go find her.”

“I’ll be right here,” he drawled, watching her as she walked down the steps and rounded the corner of the house.

Out back, she was met with the sight of Sarah filling the pigs trough full of scraps while her father brushed the mane of a chestnut horse, his white shirt pulling taut across the breadth of his shoulders.

“Hey, y’all,” she announced herself, drawing both pairs of eyes to hers.

“Dorothea!” Sarah chimed, abandoning her work at the pig pen to come skipping over. “Time for pie?”

“Yes, ma’am,” she smiled, her eyes trailing from the little girl in front of her to her much larger father as he walked over, his blue jeans clinging to his legs as if they were painted on.

“Miss Dorothea,” he tipped his hat at her. “You come to take this trouble maker off my hands?”

“You causin’ trouble?” Dorothea asked, looking back to the six year old.

“Daddy’s lyin,” she grinned.

“So I got a troublemaker and a liar on my hands,” Dorothea smiled, looking back to Joel. “Ya gonna stay out here, or ya gonna join us inside?”

“Ain’t gonna be much help, I’m afraid,” he smiled.

“You can be our taste-tester,” she shrugged. “And maybe you can keep that brother of yours on a leash. He seems particularly determined today.”

“I apologize for his forwardness,” Joel spoke sincerely. “He thinks he’s smooth ‘cause every woman he’s ever talked to has been eager. He don’t realize it’s ‘cause he paid ‘em to be.”

Dorothea laughed, her brows lifting in shock at the racy nature of his joke.

“I’m sorry,” he said, realizing himself. “Forget I’m talkin’ to a lady.”

“Am I that homely?” she teased. “Maybe I’ll wear my best dress next time. Get Tommy to remember my name and you to remember you’re talkin’ to a woman.”

“Yeah, daddy,” Sarah scolded. “Where’s your manners?”

“I must’a lost ‘em,” he joked.

“Well, me and Dottie’ll help you find ‘em,” she sassed, grabbing Dorothea’s hand and dragging her along back to the house, Joel smiling to himself as he followed them.

“So, cows, a horse, pigs…looks like you’ve got yourself a ranch,” she said, looking behind her as Sarah continued tugging her along.

“Yep,” he agreed.

“You don’t talk much, do ya?”

“Try not to,” he said.

“Any reason?”

“Find people like me a little better when I keep my mouth shut,” he replied, earning another laugh.

“Someone must’a trained you right,” she joked. “Tommy on the other hand—“

“Y’all talkin’ ‘bout me?” Tommy spoke from the porch as the three of them ascended the steps. “Good things, I hope.”

“Hope is a dangerous thing,” Dorothea quipped, earning a chuckle from Joel, the sound drawing her eyes away from Tommy and over to him.

“I don’t get it,” Tommy said, smiling even though his brows were drawn together.

“Nevermind, let’s just get workin’,” Dorothea said, gesturing for him to lead the way.

“He ain’t too clever,” Joel leaned over Dorothea’s shoulder as they filtered inside, whispering to her, and she would’ve laughed if she hadn’t been so caught off guard by his proximity.

“You know anythin’ ‘bout makin’ a carrot cake? My mama used to make the best, and I haven’t found anythin’ quite as good since,” Tommy called from the kitchen as Dorothea remained frozen in the entryway, her eyes watching Joel as he squeezed past her to join his brother and daughter inside the small kitchen. “You hear me?”

“Yeah, sorry,” Dorothea cleared her head and composed herself as she walked in to join them. “Carrot cake, ya said? I don’t think I’ve ever made one.”

“Well, you had to have a flaw,” Tommy drawled.

“I’ve got a few,” she countered.

“Like what?”

“I’m very particular,” she replied.

“‘Bout what?”

“I like the quiet,” she said, smirking at him. “And I get real bossy.”

“I can shut up,” he said. “And I can follow orders.”

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Joel groaned, sitting down at their round dinner table.

“Alright, then, if you’re so good at shuttin’ up and followin’ orders, how ‘bout you go sit down and stay quiet while me and Sarah get to work.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Tommy grinned, walking over to the table by the window to sit with his brother while Dorothea and Sarah got to work. “She likes me.”

“She hates you,” Joel corrected.

“What d’you know about women, huh? When’s the last time you talked to somethin’ as pretty as that?”

“Just a few minutes ago in the yard,” he said, lifting an eyebrow to signal his victory.

“You think she likes talkin’ to you anymore than me?” Tommy asked with a smug smile. “I can’t imagine how crazy someone’d have to be to find you interestin’. All you do is take care ‘a the ranch and complain.”

“I didn’t say she liked talkin’ t’me,” Joel shrugged. “Just that we talked.”

“Yeah, well, leave the talkin’ to me,” Tommy said. “I’ll have me a wife come winter, you’ll see.”

“She ain’t gonna marry you,” Joel chuckled.

“Why not?”

“You ain’t committed to nothin’ but causin’ trouble,” he said. “No amount ‘a pretty’s gonna change ya that quick.”

“Well,” Dorothea smiled across the table at Joel as he hauled a bite of her and Sarah’s creation into his mouth, Tommy long gone and out at the saloon while Sarah laid in the living room fast asleep from two thick slices of pie. “Any good?”

“Ya know it’s good,” he said, flickering his eyes at her before dropping them back to his plate.

“Is it always like pullin’ teeth with you?” Joel furrowed his brows as he looked at her again. “Givin’ a sincere compliment?”

“It was sincere,” he said.

“Guess I’m expectin’ somethin’ more like Tommy’s reaction.”

“What, fallin’ to my knees?” he joked, cracking a half smirk. “My knees are busted. I’ll have to praise you from my seat.”

“You and him are so different,” she commented, watching him as he ate. “He’s…wild. Too wild. Reminds me of my two brothers.”

“The ones who went into that…establishment?” he asked, wiping his mouth on a scrap of cloth he’d fashioned into a napkin.

“Yeah, them two,” she nodded. “You ever…been to one ‘em?”

Joel froze a bit, his hand pausing as he lifted a glass of milk to his mouth for a sip. “You askin’ me—“

“I just wanna know what they’re like,” she shrugged. “What they do.”

“You’re better off not knowin’.”

“Well, the men always seem to leave happy,” she said.

“They sure do,” he blushed and brought his cup the rest of the way to his lips, taking a swig before setting it down. “But I ain’t completely sure if that’s somethin’ you need’a know about.”

“Why is it that you boys get’a have all this fun and us girls are supposed to stay home and bake pies, sit and wonder what y’all are doin? What if I wanted to go into a bordello?”

“I ain’t sure it’s they’d know what t’do with ya,” he chuckled.

“Is it—are they…makin’ love?” she whispered the last line, causing Joel to choke on his bite, his fist pounding against his chest to clear it.

“I—“ He shook his head, lost for what to say. “I don’t know that I’d call it that.”

“But they are…sleepin’ together?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “But they ain’t doin’ no sleepin’.”

“And that’s where Tommy ran off to?”

Joel hesitated for a moment but nodded.

“Well, then I know for certain I don’t want him,” she said, looking at her plate.

“You don’t like…those kinda men?” he asked, recalling his own past.

“I don’t like men who get around,” she clarified. “If a man wants me, I better be the only one. But so far, I haven’t met a man willin’ to hang up his hat.”

“They’ll grow outta it,” he said.

“Did you?” she asked, knocking his boot under the table with hers.

“I had my day,” he said, locking eyes with her. “Sarah’s mom—she, uh—I met her in one of those…places.”

“But you married her.”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Never liked two-timin’.”

“Well, there’s still hope to be had, then,” she smiled. “Just hope I’m still young and pretty by the time these boys decide t’grow up.”

“How old are you?” he asked, leaning back in his chair.

“I’ll be twenty-five on Christmas,” she said.

“Christmas, huh?”

“Yeah, makes it easy on my mama and daddy,” she joked. “What about you?”

“Twenty-eight,” he replied. “Twenty-nine in September.”

“Birthday just passed, then,” she said. “I’ll have t’bake you a belated birthday cake.”

“You tryin’ to win me over with food?” he flirted, just to test the waters.

“I didn’t know I was tryin’ to win you over,” she smiled.

“I wouldn’t mind if you did.”

“Your brother would,” she countered.

“Yeah,” he shrugged.

Dorothea sat there watching him with a smile, searching his eyes for any sign of a cruel joke being played on her but found none. Even still, she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do in this sort of situation. She’d been flirted with for half her life, but was never interested enough to flirt back. Until now.

“I guess I should be goin’ off,” she said, swallowing her feelings for the man in front of her out of sheer fear of falling flat on her face.

“You gonna get home alright?” he asked, standing up when she stood to carry her plate to the sink. “Could take the horse.”

“No, I’m alright,” she assured with a smile, turning around to find Joel right in front of her, his chin tipped downwards as she looked up into his molasses brown eyes. Though she remained breathless, she couldn’t help but let out an airy chuckle as she lifted her hand to press it against the firm wall of his chest. She didn’t push him away, she simply rested it over his heartbeat to feel for a similar rhythm to her own. “You’re awfully close.”

“Would’ya like me to step back?” he asked, his eyes darting across her features, admiring the curve of her button nose.

“No,” she replied, what was supposed to be playful turning into a whisper as she watched tongue peek out and swipe over his bottom lip. She couldn’t help herself but to want to trace the line, too, her hand raising to rest over his bearded jaw while her thumb ghosted across the bow of his lip. “Never kissed anybody before, y’ know that?”

“S’easier than you’d think,” he whispered back, leaning down to slowly fill the gap between their lips, Dorothea’s eyes fluttering shut as she splayed her hand over his cheek while the other lifted to bury her fingers in his curls.

Joel hummed into the kiss as his lips landed against the pillowy softness of her pout, his chest pressing to hers as he pressed her into the counter behind her, his hands gripping the edge of the rustic wood.

Dorothea’s brows laced together as she tried to keep her head above water in this sea of him. He tasted like the pie she spent all afternoon baking and a little bit of whiskey, the warmth of both heating her skin up as she melted into him.

“Daddy,” Sarah called from the other room, her tiny voice thick with sleep. Joel pulled back first, leaving Dorothea to chase his lips with her eyes still shut. He smiled at the sight and leaned forward to kiss her forehead, pulling her out of her haze.

“I gotta go take her t’bed,” he whispered, his voice raspy in her ear as his lips came to rest there. “Wait for me.”

Dorothea couldn’t speak, her olive colored cheeks turning a shade of red as she watched him walk back and out of the room, his voice soft as he spoke to his daughter, scooping her up in his arms and carrying her down the hall

She stood there resting against the counter, her hand resting on her heated cheeks, smiling at the wood beneath her feet.

Was this what it felt like to want somebody? Did it always feel this good? A blood rush to the head?

Joel found his way back into the living room a few minutes later, finding her in that same spot, still spinning over his touch.

“I…hope that was alright,” he said, seemingly catching her by surprise, her eyes jumping away from the floor to meet his. “I hope I didn’t…assume—“

“I think ya did, just a little bit, but that’s alright,” she smiled, walking over to meet him in the middle of the room, her hands sliding over his chest to loop around his neck. “You assumed right.”

“Tommy ain’t gonna like this,” Joel warned, resting his hands on the small of her back.

“He doesn’t got any claim over me,” she replied, her eyes flickering back to his mouth. “Y’know, your lips are softer than they look.”

“That supposed t’be a compliment?” he smiled and she nodded. “Well, thank ya, ma’am.”

“I like when you call me that,” she grinned. “When you use those southern manners.”

“Yeah?” he grinned back, leaning down to brush his lips over hers. “You like when I’m quiet and polite?”

She laughed softly and nodded, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “Like that you know when to talk and when to shut up.”

“Then I’ll shut up now,” he said, smiling into the kiss as he squeezed her closer, his tongue swiping across her bottom lip before grazing the tip of her tongue. Dorothea moaned into the kiss, the sound causing Joel to short circuit and pull away, his forehead resting against hers. “You gotta go home.”

“Yeah,” she nodded, still breathless.

“Come see me tomorrow, if you got the time,” he said, pulling back to comb his hand through her brown waves as they hung loosely down her shoulder and back.

“I’ll see if I can sneak off,” she grinned, stepping back from his embrace to walk out the front door to his porch.

“I’ll see ya,” she said, biting her lip as she turned on her heel to walk down the steps of his porch.

“Bye, Dorothea,” he smiled to himself, tucking his hands in his pockets and leaning against the doorframe as he watched her frame get tinier and tinier as she walked down the long, dirt road until she disappeared out of view, taking the sunshine with her.

[ohtobealady]

Love your writing so much, may I be a bit cheeky and ask for another one? Would you do 'future'? <3

Oooo be as cheeky as you like, friend! This word was hard for me! I don’t know why. You deserve a better one. But I’m glad for the exercise!

—————,’—————

Future

They both laughed at the way Tiaa rounded the tree, snapping at the ball, pieces of grass flying from her abrupt change in direction.

The children called out the dog’s name and ran after her, the heavy cricket ball firmly lodged in her teeth. She looked as if she was smiling as she bolted out of Tom’s reach.

She heard as Edith laughed harder still when Bertie turned to them, his shirtsleeves rolled, his thin hair flopping over his forehead, and shrugged in defeat. George, Mary saw, similarly forfeited. She watched her son’s blond head drop back, his square chin lifting to the sky, before he loosely slung his cricket bat to the ground.

“Chasing her won’t do any good,” she called to them all. “If you ignore her, she’ll come to you.”

But Mary’s advice was largely ignored, and she and Edith looked on as Tom, Bertie, and the children tried to woo the dog, sweetly sing-songing her name and promising her all manner of treats.

Mary sighed and sank further into her chair. Beside her Edith laughed into her glass of lemonade, and Mary could see that she tracked Bertie’s movements before she quickly looked to her, catching her eye. Edith’s brows furrowed, and Mary knew Edith sensed the quiet disappointment that Mary was trying her best to hide away.

After all, Edith knew her. She always seemed to know her better than anyone else, for better or worse.

“What is it?” Edith asked, smiling, and Mary shook her head.

She looked away and across the lawn. “It’s nothing.”

“Are you sure?” Edith pressed. “You’ve been very quiet since this morning.”

“Well, it really should be nothing. I wanted it after all.”

At this Edith angled towards her, the wicker chair creaking slightly amongst the laughter on the grass before them.

“Henry?”

Mary nodded, but she didn’t look at her sister. She couldn’t. She kept her eyes trained on her mother’s parasol bobbing along in the distance. “It’s difficult. I’ve asked him to claim adultery so that it can go ahead easily.”

“And will he?”

Mary still watched, far beyond them on the gravel, as her papa lifted his head and laughed at something Mama must’ve said. His hair looked so much grayer in the sun. She drew in a breath. “Yes. After all, how could it not be true? We’ve hardly seen one another in months.”

“That may not mean anything—-“

But Mary shook her head, and she looked at her sister. “I think it does. Even if it doesn’t mean adultery.” She lowered her eyes and smoothed a wrinkle from her skirt. “Anyway, I’ve got the documents now. They came in the morning post. It’s only a matter of telling Papa before we proceed.”

“Oh, Mary.” Edith turned away from her, and Mary assumed she searched out their father as well, closer to them, Mama’s fingers clutching at the bend of his elbow. “I wish there was a better way. Seems unfair to have to place fault on someone in a divorce. Everyone’s unhappy enough as it is.”

Mary tipped her head. She agreed.

“How do you suppose Papa will react?”

“I don’t know. He said he worries for me. He doesn’t want me to be alone,” Mary answered. She looked and saw her parents were nearer, but had paused. Mama’s parasol blocked her view of their faces, but she saw the way they stood still together, at a distance from their family. She saw the way their feet moved to face each other, and Mary looked away. “He just can’t understand that I already am.”

In her periphery, Mary noticed that Edith had looked to their parents now as well. And eventually, when the silence had gone on for a few moments more, she turned to Edith who still watched across the lawn as Mama and Papa began to move again towards them. They were smiling. “No. No one with that kind of luck could understand.”

Mary sighed. “Not just luck, Edith.” They both watched their parents now, and Mary felt her lips soften into a smile. “They decided to want each other. And in the end, I deserve to be wanted, too.”

[dick6615]

Master Returns

It was late Friday afternoon and I had just got changed from work when I heard a knock at the door.  As I walked to the door, I looked out at the front yard and did not see a car.  I opened the door and froze.  Master was standing there smiling at me.  “Bet you weren’t expecting me based on that look on your face?” I said, “No Master, but you can’t be here.” I was immediately slapped and then pushed against the wall with his forearm across my upper chest. “You are so fucking rude.  I told you I would be back, and that is no way to talk to Me.” Before I could react, he reached into his back pocket and took out a rag and held it against my nose and mouth.  There was a strong chemical smell and I lost consciousness and slumped to the floor.

I came to sometime later and I was lying on the living room floor.  My arms were bound as were my feet.  I looked down and saw that Master had stripped me and put me in the same harness he used last time, a leather belt around my waist and a jock strap. The restraining cuffs on my wrists and ankles were tight and had several rings. There was no gag as Master knew that living out in the mountains there were no close neighbors, so I could scream my head off, but no one would hear.  I looked around and heard noise from the basement, then Master came up the stairs to the kitchen.  He walked into the living room and looked down at me while holding my humidor and a bottle of good bourbon. “It’s going to be a fine weekend of training you boy.” I didn’t respond and received a sharp kick in the groin.  “Have you forgotten everything that I taught you boy? I guess I need to beat some sense into you, so you remember what you were taught.”  “No Master, I am sorry Master, I just didn’t expect you.”  Master put down the bourbon and cigars and took hold of my harness and pulled me to my feet. He stared at me with his ice blue eyes. 

Master was about 6’ 4”, in his early 40’s, well-muscled, dark hair, trimmed beard and hung like a horse.  Master led me out the kitchen door to the screened in porch.  He had already removed the hammock and had attached a chain with several S-hooks from the eye bolt in the ceiling. He clipped my wrists together and then stretched them up to hook on the chain.  The chain hung down to my mid back.  Master took it and looped it around my neck and clipped it behind my head.  He then took a 4’ bar and attached each end to my ankles.  I was able to stand on the balls of my feet to keep some pressure off my arms.  Master stepped back, reached forward and put his hand around my throat and started to squeeze.  He stared at me and finally released his grip just as I was about to pass out. He turned and walked back into the house as I gasped for breath.

When Master returned, he was in a black harness, leather vest, bicep bands, jock strap, chaps and back boots.  He put down the duffle bag and pulled the large chair over, so it sat against the outer wall across from me and moved the wicker table next to it and the smaller table in front of the chair.  He went back inside and returned with my bottle of Angles Envy bourbon and a few very large ring cigars.  He poured a stiff drink and took a few sips and then picked up the JFR Lunatic.  He removed the ribbon from one end of the 8+ inch, 80 ring cigar and moistened it with his tongue and lips.  He did the same with the tapered end, then clipped off a small amount.  He charred off the excess tobacco wrapper and lit the cigar, the tapered end fitting into his puckered lips.  Once lit, he inhaled and then exhaled slowly and sat back and stared at me. He started his slow smoking ritual.  He never took his eyes off mine.  A constant stare as he slowly brought the cigar to his lips, inhaled, moved the cigar slightly to the side and slowly exhaled. He paused for a minute or two and repeated.  After about twenty minutes he had a good ash on his cigar. He would reach over and take the glass and have a few sips of bourbon, still staring at me as he stood up and took the step to be in front of me. I felt like he was staring right into me.  He puffed on his cigar and then lowered it to my chest.  He brushed it slowly on my left nipple, so part of the ash fell off.  He did it again and I could start to feel the heat. Once more and I thought he was burning me and tensed up.  He continued to stare into my eyes, and I felt sure he was going to burn me. He held the cigar just in front of my nipple and I could feel the heat increase to a burning sensation.  I started to pull back. “Don’t” was all Master said and I went ridged. “I own you!  I will do what I want with you! You are only here for my pleasure. You back away from doing what I want, and you will be punished.”  He slowly took the cigar away and then reached up and pinched my nipple.  I screamed, but he did not release my nipple and I stood there trembling in pain.  His foot pushed against the rod connecting my ankles causing me to be hanging by my arms.  He finally released my nipple and turned and stepped back to his chair.  My feet touched the ground, and I balanced to get the weight off my arms.  Master drank his bourbon and continued to smoke his cigar and stared at me.  After 20 minutes he got up and stood in front of me.  His cigar had another inch or more of ash and he removed it on my right nipple, all the while staring into me.  I stood there and did not move or make a sound.  When he pulled the cigar away, he did not squeeze my nipple, he just went and sat down.  The pattern continued until he was finished with his cigar and had several glasses of bourbon. When he finished, he dropped the butt into his almost empty glass, stood up and went into the house.

I stood there for a long time before he returned. Fresh cigar and another glass that he filled with bourbon. Master walked up to me and released my arms from the hook but left them clipped together. He unhooked the chain from the hook and left it around my neck.  He took hold of my harness and brought me forward a small step at a time, then told me to get on my knees as he lowered me to the floor.  He sat on the chair and told me to come closer.  I was difficult to do with the ankles spread apart and my hands bound, but I moved the foot forward until my face was in front of his jock strap.  He reached down and picked up my head and offered me some bourbon.  I took several gulps.  He put the glass down, lifted his leg and set his boot on the chair and pointed at his groin.  I leaned forward and started to lick his jock strap, lick around it and tried to lick under it. I did this for a long time while he leaned back and smoked his cigar.  I felt his ashes fall on my back and did not react as I expected that it would happen.  Master reached down and lifted my head and unsnapped the cup from his jock strap.  His semi hard dick fell out.   It was over 7 inches, thick and not even hard. I immediately started to lick his dick and crotch and suck on his balls. I then started to lick the head of his dick and slowly took it into my mouth. I started sucking and going down on his dick. It continued to grow, and I reached up and put my hands around it as I sucked.  I ran my lips up and down the side of his dick and would lick and suck his balls.

When fully erect, Master’s dick was over 10 inches and very thick.  He had trained me how to deep throat it, but I was not sure if I still could. I knew that it didn’t matter as he was going to force it down my throat.  I knew it was time when I felt his hand on the back of my head. I was sucking on his dick and continued to take more into my mouth, then let some out and go down again.  If I was taking more each time Master just held his hand on my head. If I didn’t, he put pressure to remind me to take it deeper.  I moved my hands from his dick and put them on the chair under his balls, thinking that I will have some leverage to push up if I need to.  I started taking more and let up and go back down. I was able to control my gag reflex for the most part, but I think Master liked hearing me gag on his dick. I looked up at him to see him put the cigar in his mouth, smile around it and move his other hand to my head.  I took a deep breath and tried to force the last inches of his dick into my mouth.  I didn’t have to as Master pushed my head down forcing his dick down my throat.  I could not breathe and just held my breath as he fucked my throat.  I started to push myself up, but he rammed my head down on his dick and held it there.  I was trying to gasp for breath when he pulled my head up and grabbed my hair with one hand, then slapped my face with the other. “Are you stupid or do you really want to piss me off? Don’t ever pull away from me!”  He grabbed my head and pushed it back down on his dick.  I barely got a breath before his dick was sliding down my tongue and it did not stop until my lips were buried in his pubes. He thrust his dick several times and then lifted my head so I could get a few breaths before thrusting my face back down on his dick.  I was taking a few breaths and felt his hand move off my head. I then felt him run his cigar across my shoulders as he was breaking off the ash. I tried not to react, but he saw it and expected. His dick was still halfway in my mouth while I was trying to catch my breath.  I felt his other hand on my head, and he pushed my face down to his pubes.  He started to fuck my face, but this was different.  He was groaning and pushing much harder.  I couldn’t push away, and he showed no signs of letting up.  I hoped he would cum NOW.  He didn’t, he just kept fucking my face.  My head was pounding, and I was getting dizzy.  I felt the gush of his cum deep in my throat.  The last thing I remembered was that I could not taste it.  When Master finished, he pushed me off his dick and I fell to the floor.

I woke quickly and found myself pushed up against the table and coughing. I lifted my head to look around and immediately had Masters boot push my head back down and hold it there. Sometime later Master moved his boot and told me to get up.  It proved difficult with my hands bound and while I tried, Master reached down and pulled me up and pushed me to the wall.  He took my arms and hooked them to the chain and then the chain to the ceiling. He sat back down, took a drink and said, “You disappointed me. I expected you to improve but I did all the work. That will not happen again, understand?” I replied, Yes Master.  He took another drink and finished his cigar while I stood there looking at him as I was afraid to put my head down.  Master got up and went into the house. There was some moving around but I could not identify what was happening.

When he returned, Ryan was with him.  Ryan was the man I had arranged to meet with that evening. Ryan and I had been chatting online for over a month but could never find a time to meet.  Tonight was to be the first meeting, Ryan was in his late 30’s with dark shaggy hair, brown eyes, clean shaven and average height and weight.  He wanted to meet a cigar dad and experiment with different types of kink.  He was standing next to Master and wore jeans with a harness and vest.  Master said, “Ryan, here is your cigar dad; not quite what you expected, is he?”  Ryan replied, “No Sir”.   “Why don’t you unhook him Ryan and you can show him what kink you are into.”  Master then stepped over to the chair and sat down and lit a small robusto cigar.  He handed the cigar to Ryan. Ryan walked over to me and started rubbing my chest and moved his hands down to my crotch. He gave a good squeeze and then bent over and undid the bar from my ankles.  He stood and reached up, unhooked the chain and then unhooked my wrists from the chain.  Ryan pushed me down to my knees and drove his hips into my face, forcing my head against the wall.  After several thrusts he told me to suck his dick. I started licking his pants and reached up to undo his belt and zipper. Before I could pull out his dick, he slammed his hips against my face. I quickly pulled out his dick and took it into my mouth.  I started to suck on his dick and felt it harden in my mouth. He was about 6-7 inches and not very thick.  Ryan started thrusting and pinned my head against the wall.  He was fucking my throat hard and fast.  Master said, “Slow down a bit, he has to last all weekend and he is used to taking my dick so don’t think you are going to make him gag.”  Ryan slowed down but kept the hard thrusting.  After a few more minutes he stepped back, pulled me up and turned me around and started to finger my hole. Master said, “Catch” and tossed him a condom.  Ryan put it on, spit on his dick and pulled my hips back onto his dick.  He thrust forward and I had to brace myself to keep from getting slammed against the wall.  Ryan wanted to show me how tough he could be, so he fucked me hard.  Master let him fuck me for a while then asked him to bring me over so I could suck his dick while Ryan fucked me.

Ryan stepped back and turned me around and told me to unlace his boots.  He took them off and stepped out of his pants. He pushed me toward Master, and I got on my knees and immediately started to lick Masters dick. Master put his hand on my head and guided my lips around his dick and slid it in until it hit the back of my mouth.  I felt Ryan push into my ass and start fucking me.  Master pushed my head down and started fucking my face.  Not so deep as to block off my air, but enough to make me gag. Every few strokes he would let me up and then push my head back down his dick.  Ryan saw that I took all of Masters dick and started fucking me harder.  He grabbed my harness and pulled me back as he thrust forward.  I was more focused on Masters dick until I felt Ryan slam deep in my ass and start shooting his load.  How could I feel that if he had a condom on.  Master was looking down at me and must have seen the look on my face.  He looked down my side and yelled, “What the Fuck are you doing!” as he said that he pushed me over on my side and grabbed Ryan by the throat and rammed him into the wall as he stood up.  I turned and looked over and saw the condom on the floor where Ryan had taken it off before fucking me. I just laid there and watched as Master lost it.  He threw a punch into Ryans gut that would have doubled him over except that he had his neck pinned to the wall.  He followed that with a knee to his groin. He pulled him forward and hit him in the jaw.  Ryan went down and lay on the floor.  “You fucking idiot, you know no one defiles one of mine. I have never let anyone bred you and you do this to me.” That was followed by a kick to his side.  Ryan did not react; he was totally out.  Master picked him up and laid him on the round table in the corner.  He got some rope and tied his arms under the table, his waist to the table and tied his knees to his harness. He was trussed up tight and ready for a hard fucking.

Master turned to me. “Why the fuck did you let him cum in you?”  I replied that I didn’t know he was going to.”  Master pulled me to my feet, grabbed the chain and hooks both my wrists.  I was almost dangling and could barely touch the floor.  I started to complain, but before I could say anything, Master turned and backhanded me hard on my face. He then walked back to Ryan.

Master put on his rubber cop gloves and slapped Ryans face a few times to get him to wake up. Ryan started groaning and that was enough for Master.  He picked up his cigar, took a few puffs and flicked the ash on Ryans face.  With the cigar between his teeth, he reached over and opened a jar of grease and scooped some out and moved between Ryans legs.  The Master was not gentle and with one finger he rubbed his hole then forced his hand in.  Master pushed and twisted his hand deep up Ryans ass.  Every time Ryan groaned or asked him to stop, Master took his other fist and punched him in the back of his thigh.  He fisted Ryan hard, and I could see tears running down his face.  “My hands are in your guts now so tell me why you defied me?  Ryan said he was sorry and screamed at what Master did when he heard that comment. He then said that he wanted to breed me so he could own me too. He thought since you invited him to fuck me you wanted him to own me as I was not the type of man you usually had. Master replied, “You are a fucking idiot to think, and you know better.”  Master pulled his hand out to Ryan’s groans.  Master reached over and picked the bourbon-soaked cigar and pushed his hand back up Ryan’s ass.  He pulled back and left the butt there.  “That will keep you awake for a while so you can think about what I am going to do to you the next time we meet.” Master wiped his hand across Ryans chest to remove the grease. He puffed on his cigar and flicked off the ash.  Ryan looked at Master and kept saying no, no, please no, I’m sorry.  Then he screamed as Master pushed the cigar to his skin just above his right nipple. Master held it there for a second or two, just long enough to brand Ryan.  Master reached over and took the bottle of bourbon and poured a bit on the burn. Master picked up a knife and held it under Ryans chin; “We will meet very soon to continue your punishment.”  Master then cut the ropes and pulled Ryan up off the table. He held him for a few minutes until he was steady. I could see the crescent burn from the cigar over his nipple. Master then pushed him into the house and told him to get his things and get out.  A few minutes later I heard the door slam and Master walking back toward the porch.

Master walked into the porch and picked up the lash and turned around and took a few lashes across my chest. He stopped and turned back to his table and poured himself a glass of bourbon and picked up another cigar.  He sat down and lit the cigar and just looked at me. I was looking at his intense hard on. He must really get off on punishing people. But I guess all masters do. I hung there for what seemed like hours but probably only 20 minutes.  Master stood up, walked up to me and unhooked me.  I stumbled to the floor.  He told me to get up and I did.  He took off my harness and restraints and told me to go get rid of every bit of Ryan’s stink. I immediately headed for the bathroom and got into the shower.  I used an anal douche and cleaned out my ass several times then just stood under the hot water till it ran out.  I stepped out and Master handed me a towel.  I dried off quickly and he attached my harness and all restraints.  He walked out and I followed him to the porch and watched as he walked over to the hook and removed the chain.  He wrapped it around my neck and picked up a lock and locked the chain in place.  There was about a 5-foot lead that he held while he picked up a glass of bourbon drank it and filled another then headed down the back stairs to the hot tub.

Master told me to get in the hot tub.  I was standing in the tub when he turned on the water jets and told me to squat over one.  I immediately felt the rush of the hot water into my ass.  He had me stay there for a few minutes while he savored his cigar and drink.  He told me to get up and stand on the edge of the hot tub platform.  I did and he stepped into the hot tub, settled in while I stood dripping on the deck. I squatted down a bit and a gush of water gushed out of my ass.  Master yanked on my chain and told me to stand up straight. “That water has not disinfected your ass, so don’t let any more out.”  Master relaxed in the tub and when his cigar ash grew over 2 inches, he reached over and rubbed it against my pubes.  During this time there was an intermittent flow of water and gas from my ass.  Master didn’t say anything, so I tried to release as much water as possible.  Master knocked his ash on my pubes again and then stood up and stepped out of the hot tub. He told me to spread my legs which I did and there was a small flow of water. Master told me to bend over the hot tub. When I did, I heard him spit then felt this dick push into my ass.  He went in a few inches, and I felt the warm stream of his piss. He filled up my ass until it was running down my legs.  He pulled out and told me to stand up and turn around.  He was still pissing and rinsed off my crotch and sprayed up my chest to my face.  When he stopped, he told me to squat down and let his piss drain out. I did and then he told me to follow him. We went up the stairs to the porch and he removed the chain and then led me into the house to the bedroom.

He turned me and pushed me down on the bed and climbed on top of me.  He pinned my arms with his knees and his dick was directly over my face.  He told me to open my mouth and he started to piss in it. I swallowed his piss rather than have him force me to.  It wasn’t a lot, just him marking his territory. He then restrained my wrists to each corner of the top of the bed.  He pulled a strap up and restrained one leg to the bottom corner. He got up and walked out. I lay there wondering what he had in store for me. I knew the issue with Ryan was not finished.

Sometime later I heard Master walk down the hall and into the room.  He took hold of my unbound leg and spread it so he could move between my legs by putting his legs beneath mine.  He slid forward until he was up against me.  He stroked his dick to get it hard then lifted my leg and started to push open my ass.  His dick was big and thick, and he was determined to get all 10+ inches in me. He was there to punish me and the look in his eyes was feral. He wanted me to hurt. He was about 8 inches in, and the pain just increased.  I knew I could take him as I had before, but it was months ago and it felt like he was tearing me open, He stopped pushing and said,” Why did you disrespect me and allow him to cum in you.”   As soon as he said that he thrust forward, and I screamed as he forced his dick past my rectum into my colon.  I screamed for him to stop.  He didn’t.  He pulled back a few inches and slammed his dick back in. The tearing sensation continued.  Master held his dick deep in me and then when he pulled back, I begged him not to do it again. He just rammed harder.  I finally realized that he wasn’t going to stop until I answered him.  I loudly said, “I didn’t know that he took off the condom. I trusted You and You said that You controlled what I did.” He paused and thrusted again. “I trusted You and You let him do this. I could barely breathe and couldn’t see what he was doing. I didn’t know until I felt him cum inside me.  I am sorry I couldn’t feel the condom on his dick.”  He paused again and slowly resumed fucking me, but not with the punishing thrusts or as deep.  I opened my mouth to tell him more and he reached up and put his hand on my mouth. I knew I better shut up. Master changed positions and lay on top of me.  He put his hands just above my shoulders and got up on his toes and fucked me hard in this position.  He looked down on me as he pumped my ass. His sweat was dripping on my face.  He started to shudder, and I felt his hot cum gush into my ass.  He continued to fuck me as he drained his balls. He continued to fuck my ass for another few minutes then abruptly stopped, rolled off me and go up and left.

Master came in several times during the night. He would crawl up behind me, wrap his arms around me to hold me steady and slide his hard dick into me.  He would fuck me hard for a while and then stop without orgasm and pull out and leave.  The last time he came in I was asleep and woke to him rolling me on my back and restraining me.  He put a pillow under my ass and pushed my legs forward lifting my ass as he drove his dick deep inside me.  I was awake by then and could not read his face in the dim light from the hall, but I could tell by the rough pounding he wanted to teach me a lesson.  He pounded me; deep and hard. He released my legs and moved his hand to my neck. It was a tight hold and I soon realized that he was continuing to tighten his grip.  His deep thrusting never paused.  In moments I was finding it hard to breathe and shortly was not able to speak. My head started pounding and I soon lost conscientiousness.  I came to quickly with Master still fucking me. Master had moved his hands to press hard on each shoulder, pinning me to the bed as he started groaning and fucking me harder.  It only lasted a few minutes and he started to cum. He continued his hard fucking until his orgasm was complete. My cum soaked ass was burning.  He just backed off me and walked out of the room.

I woke up the next morning and the house was quiet, and I ached all over.  I was still restrained. Master walked in and unclipped all the ropes and told me to stand up. I did, and he put a leather vest on me and walked out of the room.  I followed him into the living room.  He was dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt, but I could see his leather harness under the shirt.  He picked up a trench coat and told put it on and a pair of sneakers.  Once finished he clipped my hands behind my back.  He went to the kitchen and picked up his pack and told me to follow him to the truck.  We went down the outside stairs to the garage.  He opened the back door to his truck and told me to get on the floor. As I crawled in, he shoved me and slammed the door. He got in and we headed out.  We didn’t drive far, and he pulled off into a small parking area. He opened the door and pulled me out while he grabbed his pack.  He started walking and I followed.  I knew the place. It was an old dam that was made into a park and very rarely used so it evolved into a cruise spot for guys. I had come here many times for a quick blow job or sometimes more.  Master led me across the railroad tracks and up into the woods.  We walked to the end of the picnic area and then took a trail down toward the river.  Master stopped at a tree that had fallen.  Someone had used a chain saw and cut the end, so it was flat.  Master unclipped my hands and told me to remove the coat.  He laid the coat across the end of the tree and told me to bend over.  As I leaned over, he pushed hard on my back forcing me down on the tree.  He clipped my hands together around the tree trunk and then reached into his bag for some rope.  He circled my shoulders with the rope, so I was securely held against the tree.  He took several strands of condoms out of his pack and put them on the tree trunk in front of my face. He took out a hood from the bag and pulled it over my face, centering the nose and mouth openings.

I heard Master light his cigar and walk around the area.  I then heard footsteps coming down the trail.  Someone approached and I heard him say Sir.  The next sound was a condom being torn off the stip.  Hands were on my ass and fingers playing with my hole.  The voice said, Lube? Master responded, Not necessary.”  I felt his dick rub against my hole and then pushed in a few inches.  He pulled back and then pushed forward.  He started to fuck me. He was average size and there was no pain just humiliation to be used as a someone’s fuck toy.  As he was fucking me, I heard several others walking through the leaves to stand around me.  One guy walked up to my face and turned my head.  I then felt his dick rubbing against my lips. I did not open my mouth until I heard Master say, “Open.”  I opened my mouth and had a good-sized dick thrust in.  I started to suck on it as he started to fuck my face.  When my ass was free, he walked back and slid his dick up my ass and started pounding.  Everyone knew when he came from the load groans.  When he pulled out there was another and another after that.  I would hear a condom torn from the strip and seconds later feel someone enter my hole.  A few men would eat my ass for a bit before fucking me.  One guy fucked me, walked up to my face and stuck his condom covered dick in my mouth.  What a horrible taste.  He pulled it out then slid off the condom, and pushed his cum covered dick in my mouth and told me to suck it clean.  I obeyed. The noise around me slowly subsided.  One of the last men to fuck me had a large dick and when he slid into me, I knew immediately that it was Mike. Mike and I had been lovers for a few years, seeing each other several times a week.  He was one of the first men that I bottomed for, so I could never forget the feeling of his dick.  When he finished, he walked up to my head, leaned down and said, “I still love your sweet ass.”  There were one or two more men waiting and then all was quiet.  Master walked behind me and unzipped his pants. His dick just slid up my ass as he slowly fucked me.  He continued with slow steady thrusts for about 10 minutes, rammed his dick in and shot his load then pulled out.  He walked up to my face, pulled off the hood and pushed his dick into my mouth.  “Clean it up boy.” I started sucking and licking his dick and could taste the condoms but knew to keep on going.  Master said, “Now can you tell when someone is fucking you with a condom.”  I nodded yes and quickly received a slap on my head.  I mumbled around his dick, “Yes Master.” He said, “Don’t ever let it happen again or you will be punished more than Ryan was.”  He pulled back his dick and zipped up his pants. He took a butt plug from his bag and walked behind me and inserted forcefully into my ass.  He then undid the restraints, put on a collar and lease on me and handed me a bag and told me to clean up all the trash. Master stood there counting the 20-dollar bills that He charged these guys to fuck me.

We headed back up the trail and a man was walking down.  Master asked him what he was looking for?  He said he was hoping for a blow job. Master told him I would be happy to get him off. Master jerked down my leash and I went to my knees.  Master walked a few yards away and leaned against a tree and lit a cigar.  The man walked up to me and unzipped his pants and pulled out his dick and balls.  I leaned forward and started to lick his dick as it got firmer. He then pushed it into my mouth, and I started to suck his dick as it hardened.  I sucked for a while, and he was getting close. He put on hand on his head and jerked his dick in my mouth.  I tasted the first shot of his cum and then he pulled out and sprayed the rest of his load on my face.  He shook off his dick, zipped up his pants and thanked Master as we walked back up the trail.  Master walked over to me and used his cigar to push the cum on my face into my mouth.  He would have me suck the cum from his cigar.  He took a large glob of cum on the cigar, held it in front of my face, then raised it to his lips and slowly sucked it off.  With a mouthful of smoke, he leaned down and blew it into my mouth.  Master walked back to the truck, and he told me to lie on the floor of the back seat.  He clipped my hands together and got in the truck and drove out. He pulled out after a small sedan went by and followed it until it turned into a small gas station.  The sedan pulled up and parked on the side of the store towards the back.  Master pulled in near him. Master looked about for any cameras and then got out of the truck and opened the back passenger door. He had the bottle of chloroform in his hand and poured some on a rag and held it to my mouth and nose.

Master put the rag in a small plastic bag and put it in his pants pocket. He went into the store and found the liquor section and purchased two bottles of bourbon.  He noticed the other man come out of the beer cave with two suitcases of beer.  Master left the store and put the bottles in the back next to me.  He quickly put on his cop rubber gloves as the man approached his car. 

Master asked him if he needed a hand opening the trunk and walked over to him glancing around the parking lot.  The man said he was ok. Master was right behind him as he leaned over to put them in the trunk.  Master put the rag over his mouth and nose and forced him down against the side of the car and held him there until he stopped struggling.  Keeping the rag on his face he started to pull him to the back door of the truck and push him on the seat. He put the rag away and then found his car keys. He pushed him all the way in and shut the door. He moved the car behind the store and locked it.  He came back to the truck with a suitcase of beer and drove around the back of the store and out the side entrance.  We got home quickly as the store is only a mile from my house.  Master backed down around the house to the garage, opened the door, and backed in a few feet.

I was waking when the door opened, and Master took the bottles of bourbon and put them on a shelf and returned to pull me out of the truck.  I was able to stand, and he undid my restraints and took off my coat.  He led me over to the main support beam in the middle of the garage and put my back to the post and bound my hands behind it.  He also took some pressure tape and went around my forehead and post several times to hold my head up.  He went back to the truck and started to undress the man.  He checked his wallet for his license and took a picture of it with his phone.  When Master pulled Arron from the truck, he was still unconscious. Master laid him over the tailgate and completed fastening the harness and restraints on him.  He threw a rope over the rafter and methodically strung Arron up, so he was hanging from the rafters by his arms and harness.  His legs were bound together, and he would be able to stand on the floor when he woke up. Master slapped him a few times and he started to come around. Before he fully woke up, Master placed a ball gag in his mouth and securely fastened it.  Master then pulled the truck out, shut the garage door and went up to the house.

Arron came to and looked around and then looked at me. He started screaming for help and straining to get out of the ropes.  He looked down and saw the harness and that he was naked and continued to yell for help. He realized that he had a gag and tried to spit it out.  I told him not to bother to yell as there was no one around to hear him.  That didn’t stop him.  I tried to talk to him, but he was too busy struggling.  Arron was in his early twenties, average build, good looking, light hair, clean shaven and looked as naive as a boy scout. The garage door opened. Master walked in smoking a cigar, a glass in one hand and his duffle in the other.  He walked by Arron and put his things down and poured himself a drink.  He then walked over to me and held the bottle to my lips and filled my mouth with bourbon.  I quickly swallowed it down and coughed a few times.  Master then went to his duffle and pulled out a cigar and gag.  He fit the cigar into the gag and lit it.  He returned and fit the cigar into my mouth and tightened the gag. “I heard you talking. Shut up!  If this doesn’t keep you quiet, I have other ways to make sure you don’t talk. Do you understand”. I nodded yes.  He turned and walked to Arron.

Arron was trying to scream and struggling to get loose.  Master walked up to him and grabbed him by the throat and held tight until Arron settled down.  Master stood a foot in front of Arron, gripping his throat with his hand, the other slowly placing his cigar to his lips, inhaling and then moving the cigar and blowing smoke down on Arron’s face.  Arron tried to turn his face, but Master was in total control.  He held Arron there for almost a half hour before Master reached behind his head and removed the ball gag. He slowly showed Arron the long ash on the cigar. Master moved his hand and put pressure on Arron’s jaw to force it open. “Be still and learn. Move around or yell and you will get burned.”  Arron stiffened and stared into Master’s eyes.  Master took the cigar and moved it toward Arron’s mouth.  He inserted the cigar and touched the ash to his tongue and let it break off.  Master put the cigar back in his mouth and then shut Arron’s mouth.  Arron stood there, in shock or fear, based on the look on his face. 

Master took another drink and came back to Arron and started to examine him like he was a show dog. Running his hands all over him, feeling his arm and leg muscles, groping his dick and balls.  He walked behind him and started at his shoulders and worked down to his ass. He spread his ass cheeks and rubbed Arron’s hole.  Arron jumped when Master inserted his finger.  Master turned and walked back to me.  He reached between my legs and tugged at the butt plug in my ass. Master said to me, “Clench those cheeks, I don’t want any of my cum to drip on this floor or you are going to lick it up.”  He walked back to Arron and held the slick butt plug in front of his face.  He walked behind him and spread his cheeks with one hand and used the other to turn the plug and seat it in his ass.  While doing this the cigar in Masters hand brushed against Arron’s ass and he jumped and yelped. Master stood behind Arron and quietly said.” Arron, you will be begging me to do that to you by the time I am finished training you.”

Master walked over and took some of his drink and opened the suitcase of beer.  He took out two cans and opened them. He went to Arron and pushed his head back and started to pour the beer on his lips.  Arron opened his mouth as Master poured the beer in and started to gulp it down.  He poured down the second can and got two more. Arron shook his head no and received Masters prompt reply – a gut punch that would have doubled him over.  Master grabbed Arron’s jaw and squeezed it hard. “Don’t ever say no to me.  I am your Master and you will do as I say or you will be punished. I own you; I will use you for my pleasure. If you don’t please Me, you will be punished.  To Me, you are some stray animal that needs to be trained to serve. You got that Arron boy?”  Arron just stared at him for a few seconds until Master lifted him off his feet by his throat. “I asked you a question. You will always answer Me and you will always address Me as Master.”  He held him up until Arron said, Yes Master.  Master roughly released him and grabbed the bottle of bourbon. He put it to Arron’s lips and started to pour. Arron coughed but managed to gulp down a few ounces.  Master stopped pouring and took a long pull on the bottle.  He put it down and grabbed more beer and poured three cans down Arron’s throat; well, most of it went down this throat.

Master reached in his duffle and took out a lash.  He walked over to me and slowly started to lash from my chest down to my knees. He slung the lash over his shoulders and removed my gag.  He walked over to Arron and held the wet cigar jutting from the gag to Arron’s lips.  Arron kept his mouth closed until Master’s hand grabbed hold of his dick and balls.  Master squeezed hard and Arron screamed and had the gag pushed into his mouth.  Master secured it and told Arron to keep smoking it and whenever he didn’t see smoke from the cigar or his nose, he would feel the lash.  Master stepped back and the lash flew across Arron’s chest.  Arron coughed and jerked backwards.  The lash struck several more times.  I said, “Just smoke the cigar.” Master picked up a full beer can and threw it at me.  It hit me in the chest, but on the harness and bounced off. It hit the floor and started spraying.  Master walked over and put his large hand on my throat and slowly tightened until I passed out.  He walked back to Arron, who was puffing on the cigar and coughing. Master stood in front of him, his big cigar in his mouth and his hand stroking Arron’s dick.  Master kept stroking as Arron’s dick stiffened. I came to and saw what Master was doing.  He was going to milk every drop of cum from Arron.  Arron looked pale and I thought he was going to puke in his gag.  I knew better than to say anything.  Master saw this and I am sure it was part of his plan.

Master took his cigar and dropped the ash on Arron’s dick and continued to stroke.  Arron began to stiffen and his eyes lost focus as Master brought him to an intense orgasm.  His cum flowed into Masters hand.  Master removed Arron’s gag as the cigar was almost gone.  He took his hand and pushed the cum into Arron’s mouth and pushed his mouth closed.  “Swallow that!”  Arron tried but started retching. Master put his hand over Arron’s mouth as he grabbed a bucket to catch the vomit.  Master waited and then pulled the chloroform bottle out and put some on the rag and placed it over Arron’s mouth and nose.  I watched as Master took Arron down and carried him out to the back yard.  I could see through the windows as Master carried him to the ropes set between several trees.  He tied Arron in a kneeling position with arms, legs and waist tied between the trees. There was a noose dangling in front of Arron’s head which was hanging forward. Master moved a table and chairs in front of Arron and got his bourbon bottle and cigars.

Arron came to and lifted his head to stare directly at the noose. He then saw Master sitting in the chair just in front of him.  Master placed the noose over Arron’s head and tightened it around his neck.  The rope went up to a tree branch and then hung down next to Master.  He tugged on it a few times and Arron realized he was really in trouble.  Master stood up and told Arron to open his mouth.  He did and Master started to piss on his face and in his mouth.  Arron turned his head and Master jerked on the rope and Arron’s head when up and he opened his mouth.  Master washed him down with his warm piss.  “I don’t want any of your puke on my dick.”   Master moved his chair closer and sat down.  He pointed at this dick and told Arron. “You need to learn to suck my dick and take it deep in your throat.”  Arron said that he couldn’t.  Master just released the rope to the noose and pushed Arron’s head down on his dick. Master said, “You will!”  Master stood with this cigar in his teeth and both hands on Arron’s head as he forcefully rammed his dick as deep and hard as he could.  Arron was drooling and gagging on Masters dick.  Master just kept throat fucking him.  Hard and fast. Master was determined to force his dick down Arron’s throat.  Arron gagged and coughed, but Masters dick could not fit into this throat.  Master finally stopped and Arron just hung from the ropes.  Master walked around and lifted up his waist, kicked his legs apart and held him still as he pulled out the butt plug. Master slid his dick into Arron’s ass.  Arron screamed!  Master just hauled on his cigar and fucked him as hard as he had to his mouth.  Arron begged Master to stop, but all that did was make Master fuck him faster.  Master started groaning and thrust deep and bred Arron’s ass.  Master fucked him until his dick started to soften, then pulled out.  Master walked around and finished his drink.  He walked behind Arron who had gone back on his knees.  He rubbed his cigar ash on Arron’s back.  Arron jumped and his ass was up as Master thrust in the butt plug.  “I want you to keep my seed in you.  I own you and you should be proud that you carry my seed.”  Master walked in front of Arron and took the chloroform rag and placed it over his mouth and nose.  Arron went limp and Master untied him and carried him to the truck.  He took off his restraints and harness and put back on his jeans and shirt.  He shut the garage door and drove off.  He returned Arron to this car putting him in the driver’s seat and the rest of his clothes on the passenger seat.  He put the remaining beer in the trunk and pulled his truck off to the side so he could watch Arron wake up.  When Arron woke, he was dazed and did not know what happened.  In a few minutes he realized what had been done to him and he quickly started the car and drove off.

Master drove down the driveway and opened the garage door. He walked over to me, and his hand was immediately on my throat, and he started to squeeze. “Now it is time for your punishment for disobeying me, and we have all night.”  Master delivered a hard knee to my balls, and I screamed.  The pain was intense, and I couldn’t double over with my head secured to the beam.  Master looked at me with that feral glint in his eyes.  To him I was the prey, and he was ready to hunt. Master never lost eye contact, but moved from side to side slapping my face, chest, dick, arms.  He started punching my shoulders. I could never had imagined the pain caused by the hit. My back was against the beam and my shoulders took the hit and my whole body shifted. The pain was still increasing, and Master was punching the other shoulder.  Within minutes I was just hanging there.  My lips were bleeding, my face red and sore, my shoulders felt dislocated, and I couldn’t even count how many times he kneed or punched me in the balls.   Master reached up and ripped the tape that secured my head to the beam.  He walked behind me and unfastened the restraints.  I slid down the beam and Master unfastened my feet.  Master told me to get up.  I didn’t hear him but felt his fist as he knocked me to the concrete floor. Master reached down and grabbed my harness and pulled me to my feet and started walking back to the house.  I stumbled a few times and Master let me fall each time.  Each time he picked me up, slapped me hard so that I fell again.  He pulled me to my feet, and we went toward the house.  I tripped going up the stairs and Master just let go of me as I fell to the stairs and rolled down a few. “Get up here.”  I grabbed the railing and pulled myself up the stairs and crawled into the porch. Master grabbed me and pulled me to the hook and stretched my arms as far as they could go toward the ceiling and fastened my wrists.  I was standing on my toes. Master turned me around, so I was facing the wall and slammed both fists into the back of my shoulders. I screamed and had a rag stuffed into my mouth.  Master walked into the house.

I hung there for what seemed like hours. My shoulders felt like they were going to rip off me and I would fall to the ground. Master came out of the house, and I didn’t even look at him, I just let my head hang.  He came up behind me and put a blindfold on me and then put a bit in my mouth. It was large, almost the size you would use for a horse. He secured it all with a rubber hood. I heard him sit down, light his cigar and pour himself a drink. After a few minutes he stood and turned me around to face him. He stood close to me, blowing smoke in my face. “I told you not to talk and you disobeyed Me. You will always obey Me. You only talk when I ask you a direct question, so be quiet and take your punishment.”  A few minutes later I felt something small rub down my chest.  When it reached my nipple, it exploded with an electrical charge.  I screamed and tried to jump back. The scream was muffled but the pain was intense and the pull on my shoulders was almost as bad.  “I see you don’t understand how to be quiet. The more sounds you make, the longer this lesson will be.” Master was deliberate in where he shocked me, always taking some time between each shock so I was always tense and dreading where the next shock would be. He was a Master for a reason as he randomly covered my entire body: neck, balls, legs, arms, nipples, lips, dick and chest. He then turned me around and started on my back. He started at the top and worked his way down. I saw the pattern, but never knew when he was going to strike next. He got to my ass, and I felt him slowly insert the wand.  I wanted to say, please no Master, but knew he would only punish me harder. Master shocked me deep in my ass, and for a long time.  I was biting on the bit so as not to scream and trying to pull away from the e-stim.  Master only pushed it deeper.  He finally stopped and I just slumped and hung there.

I hung for a few minutes and then felt the e-stim slide from my ass. It touched my shoulder and I jerked. Master slid it down my back and the shock was intense, but it also felt like it was cutting my skin. He moved to the other shoulder and worked his way down to the center of my lower back. Tears were running down my face and I was sure that I was bleeding. Master leaned over my shoulder and said, “Have you learned your lesson? (he chuckled) I can read you like a book, and you try to show that you accept Me as your master, but I can see you are just trying to trick Me.  I don’t like tricks! This was your first time being punished, I really enjoy this and am looking forward to the next time.”  I could feel Master’s hard dick against my ass.  He moved it between my ass cheeks and thrust deeply.  The thrust was so hard I was pinned against the wall.  Master started pounding my ass, driving his dick deep so every thrust caused me intense pain. I felt that he was trying to make me scream so he could punish me.  I knew that he didn’t need a reason to punish me, he could whenever he wanted.  Master kept pounding and then put his hands against the back of my shoulders and held my rigid body against the wall while he bred my ass. He fucked me for a while longer, then stepped back.  I then felt a large plug slide into my wet hole.  “I don’t want you to lose any of my seed.”

Master spun me around.  He removed the gag and blindfold and stared into my eyes.  I just looked back until I felt his cigar rubbing against my nipple.  I stiffened but before I moved Master said, “You pull back and I am going to grind this cigar into your nipple.  You need to learn trust. I am your Master!  You are just one of the many things that I own.”  I stood there and Master continued to rub the cigar and just as I thought that I could not take any more heat and was sure that I was burned, Master removed the cigar and put it back in his mouth.  He puffed on his cigar a few times and reached up and released the chain.  I slumped to the floor. Master sat in his chair and reached forward and pulled me over to him.  My face was over his slick dick, and I knew what he wanted.  I started licking his balls and up the shaft of his dick. My face and goatee were coated in his cum before I was halfway up his dick.  I licked to the top and slid the head into my mouth. Master’s hand moved to my head and guided my mouth down on his dick. He started face fucking me and I could fell his dick getting harder.  He slowed and I looked up and saw his hand with a small cloth moving toward my face. He pushed his dick deep into my throat and then placed the rag over my nose.  He was blowing smoke down on my face as I passed out.

When I came to, I was lying on the porch floor. My mouth had cum drooling out. I went to wipe it away and felt all the dried cum on my face.  I slowly propped myself up and looked around.  All seemed in order and Master’s truck was gone. I listened for a few minutes that slowly pulled myself up to the chair and then stood up.  I walked into the kitchen, and it was cleaned up.  I stumbled to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. I looked like I had been in an accident and would be wearing buttoned shirts and ties all week to cover the ligature marks on my neck. I stepped into the shower and let the water flow over me.  I finally felt good enough to remove the butt plug and squat down.  I pushed and felt Master’s loads flow from my ass.  I stood again and remained under that water until it started to cool.  I stepped out and slowly walked back to the kitchen and down to the basement. I went out to the hot tub and crawled into it. I planned to spend the rest of the day soaking my tense muscles.

[morri-draws]

Gwaine x Reader - 'The Threads That Bind Us' - Chapter 2

Story Summary:

You, a humble dressmaker from Camelot’s lower town, are commissioned to make a new gown for Queen Guinevere. Impressed by your skills, she offers you the position of Royal Clothier. During your time in the castle, you catch the eye of one of the knights of King Arthur’s inner circle, Sir Gwaine. What starts as a sweet courtship is turned upside down when misfortune strikes and you must deal with the aftermath, as well as an unwelcome visit from Gwaine’s unpleasant sister.

Rating: Mature

Tags: Female Reader/Gwaine, set between seasons 4 and 5, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort

Words: 4,757

Read Chapter 1

Read on Ao3

Loading up the last of your belongings in a small, borrowed handcart, you begin the difficult ascent from your small shop in the lower town to Camelot’s citadel. The journey is prolonged somewhat by the need for regular stops to rest, but eventually you make it across the bridge and into the castle’s large courtyard.

You wheel the cart about halfway across the square when a young man with short, dark hair and a red neckerchief approaches.

“Are you (Y/N)?” He asks.

“Yes, that’s me,”

“I’m Merlin, King Arthur’s manservant,” He introduces himself with a bright smile. “He asked me to assist you with moving your belongings into your new chambers,”

“Oh, that was thoughtful of him,” You set the cart down and shake the ache from your arms. “We might have to do a few trips,”

Merlin peers into the cart. “I think we can make it in one,”

You raise your brows in disbelief.

“I’m really good at carrying things,” He assures.

Merlin grips the cart’s handles and wheels it across the remaining length of the courtyard, positioning it beside the main entrance stairs, then begins removing your belongings from the cart, placing them over his shoulders and under his arms. You join him, taking your bag of clothing and the wicker basket, which is filled with sewing implements and kitchen supplies. Glancing at Merlin, you see he’s loaded himself up like a pack horse.

“I admit, I might have to come back for those,” He inclines his head to the remaining bolts of fabric in the bottom of the cart.

“A splendid effort, nonetheless. Are you sure you can carry all that up the stairs?”

“I’m sure,” He grins. “Shall we head up?”

As Merlin leads you through the castle, you try to memorise each staircase, corridor and corner to your new home, until Merlin stops in front of a door in a quiet passage.

“Here we are,” He says, reaching into his jacket pocket with some difficulty.

He pulls out a key and inserts it into the door’s keyhole. With a turn and a click, the door swings open, emitting a brief creak. You step into a large, rectangular room which is indeed well-lit, with several small windows along the right wall. To the far-left is a fireplace, with two chairs placed in front with a small round table between them. In the middle-left of the room is a dining table with a long bench on either side. On the right of the room, against the windows, are two large worktables, perfect for spreading and cutting fabric. Next to those is a full-length mirror, a wooden dressing screen and a large shelving unit. A few well-placed rugs already give the place a homey feel. You can’t wait to arrange your belongings in here.

In the centre of the far wall is another door. You stride across the room and open it to reveal a smaller chamber. Sunlight floods the room from a window on the left wall, under which is a bed, about double the width of the one in your old home. On the right side of the room is a wardrobe, a trunk and a modest bookshelf. Against the wall closest (the one which the door is positioned) is a washbasin with a small mirror, and a bathtub.

“This place is amazing!” You say as you step back into the main room.

“I’m glad you think so,” Merlin smiles as he places your belongings down on the dining table. “I’ll just go and fetch the rest of your things,”

“Let me help,” You rush forward to go with him.

Merlin holds out his hands to stop you. “It’s alright, I’m good at carrying things, remember?”

“If you’re sure?”

“I am. You can start making yourself at home,” He shoots you a toothy grin and heads out, closing the door behind him.

You only manage to put your clothing away in the wardrobe and trunk in the bedroom by the time Merlin returns. He places the last bolts of fabric on the table next to your other belongings.

“Before I go, Arthur wanted me to tell you that some of the knights will be stopping by tomorrow. Something about gambesons, I think,”

“Alright, thank you for letting me know, and for all your help today. I highly appreciate it, Merlin,”

 “You’re welcome. It’s nice to be appreciated.” Merlin smiles. “Anyway, I’d better get back to Arthur. Bye!”

He rushes out the door before you can respond.

~

The next morning, you find a place for your remaining belongings, making sure everything is neat and presentable. The shelves in the main chamber are now filled with fabrics, and atop one of the large tables, your sewing journal, quill and ink are ready for the day’s work.

A knock at your door startles you, but you take a deep breath, ready to greet your first client. You open the door to find not a knight, but the queen.

“My lady,” You greet her with surprise.

“Gwen,” She corrects you with a smile.

“Of course. Please come in, Gwen,” You step aside and gesture for her to enter.

She steps inside and looks around. “I hope everything is to your satisfaction?”

“Oh yes, I am more than satisfied. This will do very nicely indeed,”

“I am glad,” Gwen smiles. “Arthur informed me this morning that he’s planning to send some of the knights to you today. I thought he may have been a bit hasty, so if you need more time to prepare, I can put them off,”

“No, that’s quite alright, thank you. I am ready to get to work,”

“Very well, I should leave you to it. The first of the knights shouldn’t be too far off. Good luck on your first day,”

“Thank you my lad– Gwen,”

She nods with a smile and leaves your chambers.

About twenty minutes later, there are three firm knocks upon your chamber door. You rush to answer, and are greeted by a knight, one you believe you saw riding through the lower town a few days ago. He is tall and slim, with curly, dark blonde hair and a short beard.

“Welcome, sir?” You say, beckoning him inside.

“Leon,” He says, stepping into your chambers.

“Sir Leon, how may I be of assistance?”

“I’m in need of a new gambeson,”

“Alright, if you could just strip down to your tunic and trousers, I can take some measurements,”

The knight stiffens, brow furrowed in confusion. “Shouldn’t we wait until the clothier arrives?”

“I am the new clothier,” You state.

Sir Leon’s cheeks redden. “I’m sorry, I meant no offence. Just… is it really appropriate for a woman to fit a man’s clothes?”

“Since I haven’t asked you to strip down to just your unmentionables, I think we’ll be alright,” You smirk.

You swear you see the knight’s cheeks deepen further, as he nods and begins to unbuckle his cloak. You step closer and take his cloak when he’s removed it, standing by to do the same for his chainmail shirt and gambeson. You take the clothing to one of the worktables and place them down neatly, grabbing your tape measure.

“Lift your arms please,” You say as you approach him.

He does so, and you slip the measuring tape around his chest, bringing it together at centre front. You mutter the number to yourself, and step over to the table to mark it down in your journal. You do the same for his waist, then measure the length of his arms, before standing behind him to measure the width of his shoulders and the length of his torso.

Once all the figures are written down, you take his old gambeson from the pile of clothes and spread it out on the table. It’s clearly been well-used, the fabric worn through in some places, as well as rips and slashes in other areas. Grease stains cover the garment, made by the armour worn over it.

“And the new gambeson is to be in the same style and colour as this one?” You ask.

“Yes, thank you,”

You flip to a new page in your journal and take a quick sketch of the design.

“Very well, Sir Leon, I should have your new gambeson made up in a few days,”

You grab his pile of clothes and take them to him. He hastily gets dressed and clears his throat.

“Thank you,” Hey says, heading for the door. “Sorry about before,”

“That’s quite alright. Until next we meet,”

You close the door behind him once he’s stepped out, and exhale. You hope not all the other knights will be the same. You’re sure you’ll get sick of having to explain over again that you are in fact the woman for the job, not just an assistant.

You hardly have time to relax before there’s another person at the door. You answer to find Sir Gwaine.

“Sir Gwaine, please come in,”

He steps inside, looking about the room. “Nice place you’ve got,” He spins around to look at you. “I just saw Sir Leon on my way here. He looked flustered. What did you do to him?” He gives a lopsided grin.

“I didn’t do anything,” You defend yourself. “He was perhaps embarrassed that he basically said it should be a man in my role,”

Gwaine shakes his head playfully. “Ah, that’s Leon for you. You’ve got to cut him some slack. He’s been around since Uther’s time, so I suppose you could say he has a bit more of a… traditional outlook on some things,” He smiles. “Then again, he may have just been flustered from being alone in the presence of a beautiful woman,”

You scoff. “I don’t think so,”

“I wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss it. Leon is the nervous type. He’s not so skilled at talking to ladies,”

“Whereas I suppose you are, and are very confident in yourself,”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Gwaine shrugs.

“Anyway, I have a job to do. Stand here please,” You gesture for him to stand by the worktable. “What is it you need today?”

“A new cloak,” He grabs the sides of his cloak and spreads it out like scarlet wings, revealing several rips.

“What did you do, get dragged behind a horse?”

He laughs. “Something like that,”

“Well, remove the cloak please,”

He undoes the buckle at his throat and does as you say, passing the bundled cloak to you. You place it on the table and grab the tape measure. You stand behind Gwaine, measuring his shoulder width, marking it down in your journal before returning to your spot behind him, placing one end of the tape measure at the nape of his neck.

“Hold this here please,”

Gwaine reaches his hand behind his head and glides his fingers down until they brush against yours and over the tape measure.

“That’s it, now keep it still,”

He does as you say, and you extend the tape measure down, lowering into a crouch until the tape meets the floor. You mutter the measurement to yourself and stand.

“Thank you,” You retrieve the tape end from under Gwaine’s finger and he drops his arm down.

Back at the table, you mark down the number in your journal and unfold the cloak partially, to reveal the embroidered insignia. Flipping to a new page, you begin to sketch the design of the golden dragon for you to use as reference later. Sir Gwaine comes into your peripheral, leaning against the edge of the table next to yours. You feel his eyes on you and glance up.

“I expect you to take better care of the cloak I will make for you,” You say. “I will be very cross if you return here with it ripped to shreds,”

“Upon my honour, I will treat my new cloak as my most prized possession,”

Finishing your sketch, you pass the cloak back to him. He swings it around his shoulders and starts on the fastening when your stomach rumbles loudly.

“Please excuse me,” You say, embarrassed.

“Have you eaten today?” Gwaine asks.

“I admit I… may have forgotten. I’ve been busy getting ready for my first day,”

“No matter, let’s go to the baker’s and get you something,” He finishes fastening his cloak and heads for the door before looking back at you expectantly.

“I thank you, but there’s no need to trouble yourself,”

You glance over to the kitchen area of your chambers, spotting only a stale end of a loaf of bread to eat.

“It wouldn’t be any trouble,” Gwaine says, following your gaze.

“Alright then, I suppose I should get some things from the market as well while I’m out,”

You cross the room swiftly and pick up your basket before heading for the door.

“Let’s go,”

You walk with Gwaine from the castle to the town’s market street. He leads you to a small and familiar bread shop.

“I enjoy the fruit buns from here,” You say as you cross the shopfront.

“Have you ever tried the ones with custard in them?” Gwaine asks as he holds the door open for you.

“No, I haven’t.” You reply. “Since they cost a bit more,”

“Today’s your lucky day then,” He smiles before approaching the shop counter.

He orders two of the buns and the baker retrieves them from the angled shelves behind him, placing each bun in a small sheet of paper and passing them to Gwaine. The knight drops a few coins in the baker’s hand and steps back outside, where you follow him to a nearby bench to sit and eat. Gwaine waits for you to take a bite first, after which you look up at him with wide eyes.

“Good, isn’t it?” He grins.

You nod enthusiastically while chewing the mouthful.

You both eat the buns, Gwaine finishing his in three large bites. When you’ve finished yours, you wipe your mouth on the back of your hand.

“I really should do my shopping so I can head back and get started,”

Gwaine sighs. “I should head back as well. I hope you enjoyed your late breakfast?”

“I did, thank you Gwaine. I shall have to return the favour one day,”

“Nonsense. Having a fine cloak made by your hands will be repayment enough,” He stands and extends a hand to you.

You take it and stand as well, brushing crumbs off your dress. He lets go of your hand and gives a small bow.

“Good day to you, my lady,”

He smiles and turns around, walking back up the street to the castle.

After doing some shopping at the market, you head back to your chambers and use the rest of the day to start working on Sir Leon’s gambeson and Sir Gwaine’s cloak.

~

The next morning, you remember to eat breakfast, and with no new clients for the day, continue working on Sir Leon’s gambeson. An hour or so into work, a sharp pain swells in your lower abdomen. At first you push through, continuing with your sewing, but the pain intensifies, to the point you’re doubled over, gritting your teeth. You berate yourself for losing track of your cycle. You’re usually on top of it, but with all the changes recently, you’d let it slip your mind.

You rest for a while, waiting for the pain to pass, but every time it seems it’s going to subside, it rears its ugly head again. Irritated that if it continues, you won’t be able to get more work done today, you decide that you need to visit the herbalist in the lower town. You have seen her in the past for when your monthly pains have been particularly bad. You fetch your cloak from your bedroom and head out.

You slowly make your way through the castle, taking careful steps as not to jostle yourself too much. The stairs are particularly difficult and you take them at a snail’s pace. At last you reach the exit and start your descent down the main stairs into the courtyard.

“Hello, how are you settling in?”

The voice startles you, and you look up to find Merlin, giving you a warm smile.

“Oh, hello Merlin,”

Your jaw clenches as a wave of pain rolls over you, causing you to stoop over. Suddenly a hand is on your back.

“(Y/N), you’re unwell. I’ll take you to see Gaius right away,”

You look up at Merlin, his face lined with concern.

“That’s quite alright, Merlin. I’m just going to a herbalist in the town. She has helped me before,”

“You can’t walk all that way in this condition. I’ll take you to Gaius, he’ll be able to help you,”

You groan at another attack of pain, and lower yourself so you’re sitting on the steps, holding your knees against your chest. Merlin kneels on a lower step in front of you.

“I appreciate the offer, Merlin, but what afflicts me is… a women’s issue,” You say, sure it will get the man to leave you alone at last.

But he shows no revulsion, not even the slightest flinch.

“Gaius is a very skilled physician, and knows how to treat all sorts of ailments,”

You sigh, thinking how you would rather not have to walk through the busy streets of the town.

“Alright, you’ve convinced me,”

You reach a hand to Merlin and he stands, pulling you upright. He offers you an arm, which you grip firmly as he guides you up the stairs.

You remain on Merlin’s arm until he stops at a worn wooden door in a part of the castle you haven’t seen yet. He opens the door and guides you inside, an arm around your back. An old man with shoulder-length, silvery-white hair looks up from a book he was perusing, snapping to attention when he sees you.

“This is (Y/N),” Merlin says. “I caught her struggling down the stairs in the courtyard. She has severe menstrual cramps,”

“Bring her to the bed here,” The old man gestures to a simple bed nearby.

Merlin escorts you there and helps you to sit on the edge.

“A pleasure to meet you, (Y/N). I am Gaius, the court physician. Are you taking anything for the pain currently?”

“Not at the moment. I was just on my way to get something from a herbalist woman in the town,” You explain.

“You need not make the journey, you can come straight to me if you have any ailment,” He points at you with his thumb every few syllables, his voice stern but kind. “Do you know when your cycle is due to begin?”

“With the way I feel right now, I’d say tomorrow. I’m usually on top of this, just with the move into my new lodgings and everything, I lost track,”

“That’s quite alright. These things happen,” Gaius steps away to a long wooden workbench.

He sets up some equipment and beckons Merlin over, instructing him on certain ingredients he needs. Merlin swiftly steps across the room to a large bookshelf, packed with small glass bottles filled with various liquids, herbs and other things you don’t recognise. Merlin picks out some of the bottles and brings them to Gaius, who begins using the ingredients immediately.

“I will give you something for the pain now,” He turns his head toward you as he speaks. “But in future, I will be able to give you something to take a few days before your cycle, which should ease the discomfort,”

You hear crunching and scraping as he uses a mortar and pestle, followed by a low bubbling as a plume of steam rises from his workbench. You watch the physician work, until he presents you with a small bottle filled with a translucent green liquid.

“Take this now,” He says, passing you the bottle.

You hold it against your lips and tip the contents into your mouth, tasting an unpleasant bitterness as you swallow it.

“It should take effect in about twenty minutes. I will give you some vials to take with you,”

You hear a clink of glass on glass before Gaius turns around with a small parcel wrapped in hessian cloth.

“You can only take this once every six hours I’m afraid, but it should help. You may rest here until you feel ready to return to your chambers,”

“Thank you, Gaius,” you give the old man a smile, which he returns. “And you too, Merlin,”

After having rested for a time in the physician’s chambers, Merlin takes you back to your rooms and you part ways. Feeling quite worn out, you head to your room to lie down, hands clasped over your belly. Eyelids becoming heavy, you begin to sink into a slumber when a knock at your chamber door startles you. Swinging your legs over the side of the bed, you get up and head to the door. You open it to find Sir Gwaine looking back at you.

“I saw you in the courtyard earlier with Merlin while I was coming back from training,” He says, brow furrowed. “Is everything alright? You looked unwell,”

You step aside to let Gwaine in and he steps inside, his eyes still locked on you.

“I was unwell, but Merlin took me to see Gaius and I’m feeling much better now,”

A dull throb courses through your lower abdomen, causing you to flinch.

“What is it?” Gwaine asks, rushing to you, an arm on your shoulder.

“It is nothing to be concerned about,”

“I can take you back to Gaius, he ca–”

“If you must know,” You interrupt. “It is women’s monthly issues I am dealing with,”

Understanding washes over Gwaine’s face.

“And you are now the third man today I’ve had to speak to about it, so feel free to leave in disgust,”

“I’m not disgusted and I’m not leaving,” Gwaine stands firm. “Come and sit by the fire,”

He gently leads you across the room and into a chair in front of the fireplace, before beginning to pile kindling and firewood in the grate. After a few moments, he’s started a fire and steps back, taking the other chair beside you.

“I’ve heard the warmth can help,” He says, holding out his palms to feel the heat.

“You’ve heard?”

“Living with my mother and sister had me learn of these things,” He explains.

“I didn’t know you had a sister. Is she here, in Camelot?”

“No,” Gwaine says, reaching for the iron poker and jabbing it into the flames. “And that’s for the best,”

“Why do you say that?” You ask. When you look at him, you see his expression is not a pleasant one. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry,”

“No, it’s alright,” He sighs. “I suppose you could say that we don’t see eye to eye,”

You nod in understanding. “Family can be complicated,”

Gwaine hums in agreement, staring into the fire for a moment, before he gets up.

“I’m sorry to leave so soon, but I need to get ready for training,”

You start to stand.

“No, don’t get up, I can find my own way out,” He says. “I hope you feel better soon. I’ll check in tomorrow if it’s not a bother?”

Your automatic response is to tell him not to worry about you, but it has been nice to be looked after.

“It won’t be a bother. See you tomorrow,”

~

You plod along the next day, doing bits of sewing here and there, taking rests in between. The day seems to crawl on especially slowly, until at last the sunlight fades and you put your sewing away. Having no motivation to cook anything, you eat a simple dinner before sitting by the fire with a candle beside you, making a start on the dragon embroidery for Sir Gwaine’s new cloak.

You bundle your legs up on the chair as the pain returns, wondering if Gwaine will be visiting after all. Perhaps he is very busy of perhaps he forgot. You try to decide which to be more likely when there’s a soft knock at your chamber door. Placing the embroidery hoop down on the small table beside you, you get up and cross the room.

“Sorry I’m calling late,” Gwaine says as you open the door. “I went to the market straight after training and spent ages trying to find what I wanted, then I had to head back to my chambers and get washed and changed, and – you don’t need to know all this,” He gives an abashed smile.

“What matters most is that you’re here now,” You give him an assuring smile and beckon him inside.

He steps into your chambers when you realise his different appearance. Until now you’ve only ever seen him in his knight’s kit. Now he’s wearing a brown jacket, with leather bodice and quilted fabric sleeves, over a grey tunic, cinched at the hips with a leather belt. His posture suggests he feels more comfortable than when he’s in uniform, and you can’t blame him. You’re sure the chainmail shirt would weigh one down eventually, even a knight.

“How are you feeling?” He asks.

“Better than yesterday,” You lead him to the fireplace, gesturing for him to sit in the chair beside yours. “Although Gaius’ potion is starting to wear off and I can’t take another dose for a few hours yet,”

“Well I did bring something that’ll hopefully help,” He reaches into his jacket and pulls out what appears to be a red cloth bag and passes it to you. The weight and feel of the bag surprises you, and the contents sag as you hold it. It feels as if it’s filled with grain. Upon inspection, you find that the bag is sewn shut on every side.

“What is it?” You ask.

“My mother and sister used them to help with their monthlies. They called it a wheat bag. You heat it by the fire, then place it against the place that’s painful. The heat is said to help ease the pain,”

“Is this what you got from the market?”

Gwaine nods.

“The thing you spent ages trying to find?” You ask.

“Well…” He scratches the back of his head.

“That is very thoughtful of you,” You say, touched by his actions. “You must show me how it is heated, I don’t want to set it aflame my first time using it,” You pass it to him.

He places in on the ground a few feet in front of the fire.

“Have you eaten dinner yet?” He asks.

“I had some bread and cheese earlier. I didn’t want to bother with cooking,” You admit.

“Ah, good old bread and cheese, that’s classic late night tavern fare,”

Gwaine grins, reaching into his jacket again, pulling out a paper bundle. He unwraps it to reveal two fruit and custard buns.

“Will you be wanting some dessert?” He raises his brows.

You gasp and take one of the buns. “How could I resist?”

“I almost couldn’t,” Gwaine takes a bite of his bun. “I considered eating mine before I got here,”

“You showed great restraint,” You say between mouthfuls.

After finishing the bun, Gwaine removes the wheat bag from beside the fire and passes it to you. You place it in your lap, against your lower belly, and take up your embroidery again, stitching away while you and Gwaine talk. He shares amusing stories from his times with the other knights and you share anecdotes about particularly rude or misbehaved customers. Not until you get up to retrieve more thread do you realise that your pain has almost completely subsided.

“That worked wonderfully, thank you Gwaine,” You say as you sit down again. “I must repay you in some way,”

“There is no need for that. To spend time in your company is enough for me,”

Your cheeks warm. Gwaine groans as he stands up.

“Speaking of time, I really should turn in. Morning training tomorrow,” He grimaces.

“That doesn’t sound like much fun,” You say sympathetically.

“It really isn’t. Sometimes I think our king is in love with sweat and pain. Anyway, goodnight my lady,” He bows.

“You realise I’m not a lady,”

“Perhaps not officially, but to me…” He places a palm against his heart.

“Oh hush. Get out of here before you speak any more nonsense,” You hold back a smile.

“As my lady wishes,” He gives a deeper, exaggerated bow and exits your chamber.

[ambazaar]

The Bitter Taste of Hibiscus 🌺: Part 2

Shanks x oc

Synopsis: Tessa, due to a complicated past, has an opinion about pirates. An opinion that's become a bit muddled since he came to the village for the first time. It's all inconvenient, really. Falling in love.

Warnings: Swearing, Alcohol Use, Facial-Related Injuries, Fluff (may be subject to change)

A/N: I've barely read or seen ANY of the manga or anime so pls don't murder me about inaccuracies. I'm in love with OPLA Shanks and needed to get my frustrations out in writing. So have a fun, angsty short story filled with fluffy goodness. Will be updating as I can.

\\\

Shortly after the Red Force settled into port, Tessa left Makino to tend to her business with the pirates. She wouldn't be caught in the middle, not with her heart racing as fast as it was and sleep coating her eyelids so heavily. She thought to look for her street urchin, but realized halfway to his nook beneath the docks that he most likely would have snuck aboard the ship by now. He'd have bolted to see Shanks the moment he woke, having been counting the days until his return, of that Tessa had no doubt. The young woman sighed, unsure of what to do. 

Makino's voice rang in the back of Tessa's mind, warning her of regrets once more. But it was too early in the day to think of regrets. So, she turned back toward town, careful to avoid the main docks, and began the long trek from the beach to the cottage on the outskirts of the village. 

It was a small thing, Tessa's cottage, with a charming and rustic allure. The vibrant blue of the wooden planks that adorned its exterior had long faded from the coastal sun. The once bright yellow door, now tinged with a soft gray hue, hadn't welcomed visitors aside from Makino or Luffy in years. Inside, its worn walls were decorated with flattened bouquets of flowers that Tessa had picked during her hikes through the hills and paintings by her mother that were older than she was. She hung seashells with discarded fishing wire in an intricate path connecting the only two windows, which cascaded together in blissful chimes whenever a soft breeze caught the milky, lace curtains.

A large, peculiar-shaped piece of driftwood sat above the hearth, a gift from Luffy just one year prior. Not long after the Red Hair Pirates came and left Windmill Village for the first time, he'd found the driftwood on the beach and attempted to shape it to look more like the dragon figurehead of Shanks' ship. Tessa couldn't perceive the resemblance, but she never had the heart to tell him. So, above the hearth it stayed.

Inside the cottage was cold, as she had no need to light a fire last night, having spent the entire evening at Party's with Makino. Tessa reached for the dingy, red shawl hanging beside the hearth, wrapping it around her shoulders, and went to work on starting a small fire. Moments later, she swung a kettle over the open flames and nestled into the large quilt she'd spent most of the spring working on, which draped over an old wicker chair in the corner of the open room. The salty air of the sea drifted through the windows with the cool breeze, mingling with a scent almost like cranberries as Tessa poured the boiling water from the kettle through loose hibiscus petals. It was a tart drink, but one that served better to wake her than most things. She let it rest for a moment and sat back in the chair, turning her head toward the window.

Her gaze immediately fell to the pirate ship.

Despite the feelings Tessa held for their captain, she still remained uncertain of the Red Hair Pirates. She rarely spoke to any of them, usually just in passing and never for very long, despite the fact that they'd been coming and going from Windmill Village for over a year now. They'd established a mutually beneficial relationship with the islanders over that time, so much so that greeting the pirates at port became almost a tradition for some of the villagers. But not for Tessa. It was not completely lost on her that a band of respectful sailors was possible. But a band of respectable pirates? She'd never heard of such a thing.

The first time she found herself face to face with one of them, she'd been on her way to Party's to help Makino when she collided right into Benn Beckman, the first mate. He laughed it off and advised that she should watch her step. She couldn't recall what came over her that day, but his audacity sparked a fire in her chest.

"Well excuse me, sir!" She said, her voice already loud enough for everyone near to turn their heads. "I've never been made to 'watch my step' before you lot came, bounding about like you own the place. And usually when you knock into a lady, you apologize, not laugh in her face!"

The pirate laughed again, louder and much heartier than before. The pale of her face flushed pink, the anger coursing through her overshadowing any fear that might occur from the consequences of her outburst. But to Tessa's astonishment, he simply bowed, placing a large hand over his heart, and asked for her forgiveness. She didn't know what to say or do. When he met her gaze again, a genuine smile crossed his features and she stood there, completely bewildered. 

That's when she heard him for the first time, calling the first mate from beneath the canopy of Party's. "You starting trouble with the locals already, Benn?" He asked. 

"No more than usual, Cap'n." As Benn passed her on the dock, Tessa's eyes rose to the man that he'd referred to as 'captain'.

He was certainly tall, much taller than Makino who stood just beside him, with vibrant red hair and a grayish cape draped across his shoulders, and on his head sat a peculiar straw hat. Peculiar because it adorned the head of a pirate captain: the most fearsome sort of man one could come across. This man, with his straw hat and charming features, didn't look dangerous. In fact, as he watched her enter the bar, she found her gaze fixated on him, not in fear but in curiosity. Specifically his eyes. Dark as pools of ink under the shade of his hat, Tessa wondered in that moment the kind of stories they held within. But, as she arrived at Makino's side, she lastly took note of the three long scars that decorated the left side of his face and steeled herself at the last second, despite the man's warm smile.

"Apologies for my first mate, miss," he said to her. "A life on the seas sometimes causes a man to forget his manners."

Something inside Tessa tensed. Makino sensed it, immediately turning to look at her friend, and saw the hard expression on her face. "I'm sure manners isn't the only thing," Tessa retorted.

Though puzzled, Shanks chuckled and smiled wider in response. Heat rose immediately through Tessa's face, which irritated her more. She finally met Makino's worried stare and said, her words heavily soaked in resentment, "Since when do we do business with pirates?" She surveyed Shanks up and down, taking in the intrigued look on his face, and practically sprinted across to the other dining hut. 

Tessa looked back on that memory and cringed. She'd been so angry with Makino for helping them that day. She couldn't believe that in only a year her opinions on pirates would become so muddled. All because of Shanks and his crew. It was hard to believe there were others like them, at least for Tessa. Her own experiences with pirates had left a bitterness in her heart that cast a dark prejudice on them. So, in the beginning, she'd hated Shanks. She hated that Luffy admired him so much. She hated that the village placed their trust in him so quickly. But most of all she hated that, despite all her animosity and resentment, she'd still fallen in love with him.

She'd known it only a few months later when the pirates had returned from another trek across the seas and their captain called cheers for both her and Makino after they'd spent a whole afternoon making sure his crew was fed. She'd known it when she watched him help a young girl collect her basket of apples that had fallen to the ground, her tears shifting to laughter as he gave her words of assurance. She'd known it when he'd placed his hand over hers that night at Party's, though she hadn't been able to even look at him since. For all he knew, Tessa still hated him. But for the first time in a year, she no longer felt content keeping it that way. 

There was a sudden rapping at the door, which jolted Tessa from a sleep she hadn't known she had fallen into. Luffy was standing in front of her before she could wipe the haze from her eyes. "TESSA," the boy shouted, despite the fact she was already quite awake. 

"Yes, Luffy. What can I do for-" 

The woman's voice caught in her throat as she finally looked upon the boy's face. Her hand instinctively flew to his cheek, her thumb hovering anxiously over the tender stitches just below his right eye. "What on Earth happened?" 

"Tessa, you're not going to believe this! Look!" Luffy bounced away from her touch and stood just in front of the fireplace, the flames mere embers now; how long had she been asleep? Her eyes wouldn't leave the fresh wound on his face. 

"Luffy, please. Tell me what happened!" She urged him, but alas the boy ignored her. 

He raised his arm high above his head, and with a triumphant yell, swiftly thrust it forward. Tessa's breath was forcefully expelled from her lungs, leaving her feeling dizzy, as she observed the boy's arm unnaturally extending across the room, knocking her front door wide open and causing it to dislodge from the top hinge. Luffy instantly recoiled, overwhelmed by immediate regret, and looked to Tessa with sheepish guilt. "I can fix that," He said, lunging forward.  

Tessa's eyes were transfixed on the boy. She observed as Luffy attempted to hoist the door back into place, but found it unable to stay by itself, and had no choice but to let it fall once again. This time, the weight proved too much for the weakened second hinge, causing the door to collapse to the ground. Overwhelmed by an immense sense of remorse, Luffy avoided Tessa's wide-eyed expression at all costs. Fortunately for him, he wouldn't have to explain.

She'd heard many stories about Devil Fruits throughout her life and the unnatural gifts they offered, but also the curse they bestowed upon whoever consumed one. A multitude of emotions swirled within Tessa's mind, yet one sensation eclipsed them all—an abrupt and profound anger that surged from the depths of her stomach, fixating on a certain captain with vibrant red hair.

I'm going to bloody kill him.

---

Part 3

[shares-a-vest]

“What are you doing out in these treacherous hundred acre woods all on your lonesome, Princess Aurora!”

Nancy screams bloody murder, spinning around at lightning speed, sending the wildflowers she has collected flying from her flimsy wicker basket. She holds the basket out wide with a firm grip, ready to wallop whoever the hell is lingering behind her.

She freezes mid-swing at the sight of Eddie Munson, standing in some weird ninja-adjacent pose, wide-eyed with panic.

“What the hell, Eddie!” she yells, waving the basket about as she stomps her foot.

The move sends a flinch through Eddie’s body as he digs his Reeboks into the dirt track.

“I…” he starts through gritted teeth, slowly raising his index finger like he's trying to make a point. “I probably shouldn’t have snuck up on someone who owns several guns.”

Nancy lowers her wicker weapon and rolls her shoulders back.

“I don’t own several guns,” she clarifies, pursing her lips. “And I don’t just carry them around with me anywhere I go. Anyway, what are you doing out here?”

Eddie stands upright and holds his hands all too innocently behind his back. He swings back and forward on his heels, grinning.

“Looking for frogs.”

She rolls her eyes. Of course, that's what Eddie is doing out near Lover's Lake in the middle of the day on a Thursday.

He basically skips towards her until they are merely a step apart. He looks her over, eyes narrowing with suspicion.

Oh no.

Nancy swiftly crouches, avoiding Eddie's gaze as she moves to assess the damage to her scattered wildflowers. He starts circling her, taking large, gangly strides that send him stumbling every few steps on the uneven ground.

“Did you know…” he begins with a dramatic uptick. “Robin broke up with Miss Vickie…”

He tilts his head to the side with expectant glee, his hair flopping in front of his face as he drops lower and lower.

“Y-Yeah,” she splutters, shaking her head as she continues picking up the flowers. “Yeah... Totally sucks… I guess.”

“Oh!” Eddie shrieks, jumping upright. “I’m sure you are devastated!”

She bolts upright and places a hand on her hip, sending Eddie into a fit of giggles. She glares back, triggering an awkward, silent standoff in the serene warmth of the Spring day.

“I’m… I’m,” she eventually stutters, searching for a reasonable defence because, by the look of Eddie’s burning stare and his crossed arms, he isn’t going to let this slide. “I’m just trying to be a supportive friend.”

“Hence the flowers?” he shoots back, sticking out his bottom lip.

He crosses a lock of hair over his face as he leans in way too close, giggling yet again.

She sighs as she looks down at her muddied boots. “Hence…”

Wow, she really was that obvious. But it’s not like she was expecting an interrogation out in the woods!

“Care for an escort, M’Lady?” Eddie asks in an awful fake British accent as he bows and offers his hand. “I'll help you pick some new flowers. It's the least I can do. Besides, we can’t have you getting eaten up by The Big Bad Wolf.”

She takes his arm and hands over her basket, admitting, “I also have Easter eggs for Robbie, too...”

“Oh, yeah,” Eddie nods, voice dripping with sarcasm as he pats her hand. “Gotta commiserate with your secret crush over flowers and chocolate.”

They start off along the worn path they were separately following, a popular track down from the main road into Hawkins to Lover's Lake, to find said not-so-squished (and completely supportive and platonic... yeah, that!) flowers.

And some frogs.

[maecheng]

“YOU'RE A SHOE! YOU'RE A SHOE! BUT WHAT IF I DON'T WANT TO BE A SHOE!”

INTRODUCING…

NAME: Maeve "Mae" Gertrude Cheng

GENDER & PREFERRED PRONOUNS: Cis woman {She/Her}

AGE: 26

BIRTHDAY: September 30, 1998

ZODIAC: Libra Sun, Pisces Moon, Leo Rising

SEXUALITY: Lesbian

FACE CLAIM: Havana Rose Liu

LABEL: The Fashionista

OCCUPATION: Personal Shopper / Bridesmaid for-hire

CURRENT RESIDENCE: Wicker Park, Chicago, IL.

CHARACTER PLAYLIST: HERE.

↪ UP NEXT: “YOU'RE ON YOUR OWN, KID” BY TAYLOR SWIFT

BIOGRAPHY: TW FORCED MARRIAGE

Maeve was born to a well established doctor, Yutao, and a stay at home wife, Margaret in Brooklyn, NY. Though, the Cheng family wasn’t complete until Maeve’s younger sister was brought into the world a year later. Being the middle child, Maeve was never overlooked. In fact, she was her parents’ favorite - even though they wouldn’t voice such a thing. It would just be the little things, like Margaret letting Maeve wear her vintage Chanel - or how Yutao would allow her to ditch piano lessons and go to the office with him. Growing up in the Cheng household meant there would be boating lessons on the weekends, and galas to attend to on Friday nights. All of which, Mae didn’t mind. In fact, she didn’t mind all the ritz and glamor that came along with the family name, until she was promised to be married to another. At first, Maeve thought that maybe she just needed to try harder at loving her father’s best friend’s son. But, she soon realized that it ran deeper than that. Being a proud Cheng, it was hard for Maeve to realize she was living a life for her parents and not herself. The realization weighing down on her on her wedding day. She didn’t even like boys; an aspect of herself she wasn’t allowed to explore due to her parents’ beliefs. It all became too much and suddenly Maeve was shoving herself in her poofy wedding gown into a taxi and hailing to Penn Station. She wasn’t sure where she was going, but it had to be far from NYC and the lights.  Maeve wound up heading to Chicago, where she remembered an old friend of hers was residing and showed up on their doorstep begging for a chance to make it on her own. Due to ignoring her parents’ pleas to come home, she was cut off from her parents’ finances. Always loving the fashion world, Maeve actually found herself becoming a personal shopper at Chanel. Though it doesn’t pay much, she quickly came up with a bridesmaid for-hire service and has been working weddings every week since.

EXTRA-EXTRA, READ ALL ABOUT HER!

Maeve is always racking up her credit cards due to her love for fashion and the material aspects of life. She doesn't mind that this makes her have to hustle more due to the financial in-debtness, but she's trying to figure out her life as a twenty-something living in a major city. She's loyal to a default, and that's why it took so long for her to leave her family behind. Maeve is flakey when it comes to love, but is also a romantic at heart. It's just that when someone doesn't match the ideal she has in her head, she winds up bolting. It's an aspect of herself her is well aware of, but she doesn't know how to change it nor does she want to. She kind of writes it off as having high standards. Maeve is overly-emotional and it's something she gets from her mother. When in arguments or upset, the tears just flow - even when she's touched by an action or moment. Mae is charismatic, which is a Cheng signature trait. It makes her easily liked, so she gets annoyed when people don't like her. One of her fears in life is to wind up being like her parents, so she avoids any conversation related to them. She's actually quite the master of changing topics. At the end of the day, she is independent to her core. She wants to prove herself to everyone around her that she can live life her way and make it through okay. You can find her thrifting vintage designer pieces and refurbishing them. She also loves to go to concerts and cafe hop.

PERSONALITY:

+ Loyal, Charismatic, and Independent

- Materialistic, Flakey, and Emotional

[cloudbattrolls]

So Far to Fall

This drabble is preceded by To Stave Off the End and followed by In Cold Blood.

Ullane Wistim & Epsilo Volant | Present Night

Late twilight hung over Chimer’s estate in a beautiful dark shade of blue, the color of relief from a recently set sun. 

The hive cast in warm glow and dark shadows was elegant without being opulent, a more lowkey building than one might expect to belong to a fuchsia. It had some well-maintained trees and a wild lawn, standing a short ways from other, similar hives also owned by highbloods in the rural area. 

In this part of Alternia, the dangerous local wildlife was kept under careful control by those who enjoyed hunting them. There were very few murders; most trolls around had what they needed. Lusii that ate trolls were forbidden, and culled if brought in. 

Ullane sat by the duck pond near the hive on a long low-set wicker lawn chair, watched the birds bob peacefully in the water, and was so bored she felt like she might start screaming.

She should be grateful, she knew, as she idly shredded grass with her hands. She was as safe as she could be, and had gotten off far more lightly than she deserved.

Yet she couldn’t contact her friends. Couldn’t make any sort of communication that could be tracked by the grey mob. 

They might still be hunting her.

She had made the trip here about a perigee ago disguised and under cloaking tech, but after the trial, they certainly would have put together how one of their number had been imprisoned. They may have also realized how another had lost an hour of his memory. 

Ullane now dressed in hemoanon colors whenever she stepped outside, and had swapped her symbol for a different one. She had stopped dying her hair and covering the marks on her face. 

She had - with slight reluctance - stopped wearing her contacts, letting her true violet-tinged eyes show. One could never be too careful. 

Her tail, too, flowed unbound behind her.

The former clinic administrator stared up at the stars starting to appear in the sky, a slight breeze rustling through the trees and tossing her ponytail.

She wasn’t sure what was more fantastical; having once been willingly possessed by a horrorterror and working with him to wrench her clinic away from the gang she had worked for, or being pursued by a different criminal syndicate after successfully escaping their attempt to frame her for murder.

The yellowblood thought of the lost Varzims. She’d seen Zanzul last when the violet had talked to Calcit for her, and Thrixe some time before the whole business started. 

Why was she safe, and they were trapped in the furthest ring? 

Nothing about her life made sense.

Only science ever had.

The lowblood fed the ducks some lettuce, scattering it over the water as they quacked and gathered to eat it, jostling for the leafy scraps.

Then she got up, and walked back inside with a blank expression. 

Hours passed in which she tried to read research papers, then cleaned the hive in the vain hope any excess dust had manifested since last night. She exercised, ate without really thinking about it, and fed her lusus his own dinner. 

Eventually, as dawn began to creep over the hive, she slipped into her recuperacoon and went to sleep.

Ullane sat bolt upright, gasping. Salt water welled from her mouth. She was - she was -

The water surrounding her rippled darkly, crushing down on her back and shoulders, yet she was not crushed. Violet tinged the liquid, galaxies of glowing lights slowly rising out of its depths, as if appearing from fog. 

She floated, suspended in this strange abyss, yet something about it was intimately familiar.

“Uryali.” she whispered.

She felt a rush of confirmation, of…relief?

What relief could she bring the Muted?

My DeScENDAANTSss are imPrISONED in the RING, came the voice that rose and fell in layered harmonies, a deep undercurrent of sadness welling through it. 

YoUUU heLPEd Us OOnCEE, MEDIIC. hElPP mE AGAAINN, foRR PESTILEnCE caaNNOT. THe fAEE have baRRED theiR reALMSss. buT yoU and I coULD opEEN thE wAY. 

“I am no medic.” She said softly. “Stripped of my title, my license.”

She felt…amusement? Amusement, and a hint of disdain.

alWAysS a mEDIC, medICC. yoU hEAL wITHoUT lAW. 

Ullane had no retort to that, and felt Uryali’s satisfaction.

sOO yOU wiLL Go. YoU WIlLL haVE to CRoSS ALl FOUR cOURTSS to fIND TOBRIA.

“Who?” She said with a frown.

hE PREDIictED theSE eVENTss. He Is a POWErful PRophet…or WAs.

Sadness again crashed over her like a wave.

“Why should I find him?”

oNlY hE cAN guIDE my DescENDANTS hOME. 

Ullane sighed and figured trying to ask more specific questions was probably pointless. 

It was a miracle to get this much sense out of the horrorterror…though, she supposed he had once been a troll. Thrixe had been able to stop him from destroying Nott Station in his anger, by appealing to what was left of his compassion. 

She’d watched as the horrorterror piloted her body, nearly killing her as an unintended side effect of his possession.

In light of this, a different - saner - person might have hesitated.

Ullane Wistim did not think of disobeying. The thought never entered her head.

“How will you help me?”

A vast starfish tendril reached up from the dark waters and placed its tip gently in her hand, leaving behind a small, unknown plant bud. 

tAKE pART of mE wiTH you. I wILL sPEAk in YoUR dREaMS, yoUR PsIiONICSs bOLSTERED by My poWER. 

We WiLl UnLock The WAy. I wILl gUiDE yoU.

She woke up heaving for air in her sopor slime, clawing at the edges of the cocoon. 

A dream. 

She licked her lips. They were crusted with salt.

Slowly, with dread, she turned her hand over.

A black bud lay tattooed - no - scarified on her palm. It…moved. The edges of it moved over her veins and the lines in her skin, rippling with her breaths, changing in the light as she tilted her hand. 

How had she bound herself? Could it be undone?

No - could she truly rescue the Varzims? Had the dream been real?

She took a deep breath and climbed out, green slime gently steaming away as she took off her day clothes and got dressed. 

Yes. Yes, she would accept it as true. She would question Uryali when she slept again. 

Ullane changed into clothes she hadn’t worn for a long time - her traveling wear, sturdy and full of pockets, warm and water-resistant. Her tail flicked, still unused to being free of clothing layers.

She had come from a town built over ley lines, a place full of undead, where magic had sunk into the roots of the place and things from daymares prowled.

Never had she imagined accepting a supernatural being’s bidding. Or asking one for aid.

She needed help, if she was to rescue the Varzims. She needed someone who she could rely on, though once she wouldn’t have dared trust him with anything.

She needed Epsilo Volant.

—

The violetblood was refining armor for his guild when he saw her, hands deep in a pile of monster samples - bone, horn, and carapace - that he was working with. He sat at his outside work bench, for the weather was fine and here he could see one of the island’s shores. 

At first, the former seadweller thought his eyes must be at fault when he saw her. He took off his glasses and squinted, wondering if he’d accidentally imbibed some sort of hallucinogen from his materials.

No, she was still coming closer, walking across the island, unbothered by any of the passing hunters or their palicos. He put them back on and got up, dipping his hands in the pot of disinfectant he kept nearby before he went over to meet the yellowblood.

“Wistim.” He said, neutral if respectful as she got within a few feet of him and stopped. “Why are you here?”

Last time they had spoken, he had asked for his fins and gills to be restored. For her to lift her part of the curse she and Uryali had laid on him. 

She had refused.

She smiled at him, a perfectly normal smile, yet the highblood found himself unsettled. 

Perhaps it was her violet-tinged eyes - a permanent remnant of her possession. Perhaps it was the way she looked at him - eager, fascinated, as if he was a particularly interesting specimen. It was not an expression he expected on a woman he had captured and given to a horrorterror. 

“I need you.” She said. “You’re a werehyena. Immune to horrorterror influence. Strong, and knowledgeable of animals. You want to be a seadweller again? Help me rescue the Varzims.”

Before he could respond, eyes widening in shock, the lowblood held up her hand.

It had a black bud inscribed on it. A…shifting…black bud, as if it moved in a wind. He could feel the energy from it; the same eldritch energy Vallis and all of Vernrot had. 

“Uryali has charged me to save them.” She continued. “I must cross the fae realms to seek aid - very dangerous, though I know something of their ways. I need a guard again. Will you help me?”

Speechless, the highblood couldn’t speak for a few moments, staring at her with a shocked expression, his mouth slightly open.

Then he shook his head and came back to himself, face settling into sheer disbelief.

“Wistim. This is suicide. The two of us in a strange land full of magical enemies? How will we eat and rest safely? How will we ensure we can return safely, or make it there to begin with? It is impossible.”

She stared back at him with those wide, strange eyes, as if he was the one who was being unreasonable.

Then she smiled again.

“I escaped you twice. I survived horrorterror possession. I have wrenched my clinic from the gang I once sold myself to. I have escaped another gang’s clutches, after I tracked and hunted two of their number. I once killed a whole gathering of corrupt jades.”

She raised and opened her arms.

All around her, the air turned headier with the scent of salt and life. The island’s plants curled and blossomed at her feet, roots rising up through the soil.

The hunters, attentive to any disturbance in bio-energy, stopped and stared, looking at the yellowblood and then at Epsilo. A few started to draw their weapons.

“Stop it.” He hissed. “They don’t take kindly to that here.”

He shook his head as she lowered her arms and the power waned, but he could still feel a crackle of it on his skin.

“Yes, I can tell you’re more powerful than before. Will that be enough?” He asked bluntly. “Having Uryali’s blessing doesn’t mean you can stand against every fae.” 

She raised her eyebrows.

“Don’t you want the Varzims back? For Vallis’s sake, if not your own needs?”

The former seadweller paused at the mention of his best friend. The man had been bereft when the other two horrorterror hybrids had left this world.

He scowled, thick arms folded under his light violet shirt.

The Varzims gone. Arty dead. Vannyn was away from Vernrot most of the time, and Lusien had the lighthouse to tend to…

He put a hand to his neck, where his gills had once been. Sometimes the places where they’d still ached at day, when he woke gasping for breath from a daymare of drowning.

“All right.” He finally said, turning around to walk back toward his hive. 

Sifrek wasn’t going to like this, Epsilo reflected as he thought of his primary guild contact and friend. Hopefully she would understand. 

Ullane easily fell into step next to him, her tufted tail waving back and forth. 

“I’ll go with you.” Said the highblood, waving to the hunters that everything was fine. The trolls and their feline companions heeded him, but their expressions remained wary.

“But first, I want more details. I’m not leaving unprepared.”

—

One night later, the pair left the island, taking a motorboat with one of the guild hunters back to the mainland. Winds tossed them about, making waves around them as they cut through the water, but the hunter’s control of the craft was steady and sure. 

They arrived on land none the worse for wear, though Epsilo looked like he was having second thoughts.

“Why you?” He asked Ullane as they set their feet back on land, thanking the hunter before they began to walk off. 

“Hm?” She said, almost absentminded, eyes ahead as she led them further inland.

“Why can’t Uryali simply possess someone and find this angel-fae himself?” The violet asked pointedly. “Why does he need us?” 

“Their body would break down before they made it.” Ullane said bluntly. “I nearly died on Nott, and he wasn’t trying to kill me. I have just enough of his power this time to guide us and help protect us; you can treat me if it starts to overwhelm me.”

“How likely is that?” Replied the highblood acidly.

She looked away from him, smiling slightly as she stared forward.

“It’ll happen in less than a week, regardless.”

The violet dragged a hand down his face, then heard a rumble of thunder.

He looked up, noting the dark clouds.

“Wistim. We should stop for the night. Where did you plan on staying before we left on this fool’s errand?”

“We keep going.” She said, eyes briefly flashing a brilliant pale magenta.

Epsilo shivered as the wind picked up as well, tossing his shoulder-length wavy hair around his head. He took out a band to tie it back. 

Why did the Varzims glow the color of moonlit snow, not ink-black like Vernrot’s terrors? 

He found he didn’t quite have the courage to ask right now, nor argue with his lowblooded companion.

So he silently followed her as it began to rain, and the lowblood didn’t seem to mind it at all. She did not shiver, nor falter from her path. Water dripped down her hair and tail as she forged on, leading him through bushes and trees as he cursed and had to detach his clothes at times.

“Wistim, slow down - “ He called irritably, and she waved a hand.

The thornbush that had just seized him began to droop from the weight of gray fungus sprung into existence on it, clinging to its bark.

Epsilo sprinted away from it, catching up to her panting and flecked with mud.

“That was unnecessary.” He said between breaths.

Again those unreadable eyes looked into his own.

“It worked.” She said calmly, and turned away from him again, pausing after a few steps.

The medic looked down at…a mushroom ring, Epsilo realized. 

He was no mycologist, but he recognized the species, red-capped and white-stalked. Fly agaric, one of the most toxic species there was.

The yellowblood got down on her knees, examining the ring with keen interest, her ears and tail flicking.

Then she swiped into the air above it with her marked hand, the air crackling with white energy as she - she pulled the world apart, creating a jagged rent within the circle as its mushrooms withered and rotted. The fungi then grew together in a thickening black mass as the rift widened and stabilized.

Now it was a gap large enough for both of them to pass through, but Epsilo could not see what was inside it; all he beheld was fog. He leaned over, trying to get a better look -

Ullane jumped inside and grabbed his arm, pulling him with unnatural strength beyond her caste and build as they both fell into the portal.

He yelled curses as they plummeted through the hazy air, writhing, but her grip was firm.

The haze cleared…and Epsilo’s eyes grew wide as his breath billowed out in awe.

Below them - stretching for miles and miles - was a wild land. Frozen forests of vast trees, branches interlocking and grown into fantastical woven shapes. Waterfalls of moving, frothing ice. Lakes set in tundra with waves cast in perfect, glittering frost. 

The wind around them swirled with snowflakes and stranger things, glowing blue insects that buzzed about, leaving shining trails in their wake. 

Even in the ocean, he had never seen anything so beautiful.

Beside him, Ullane laughed long and loud, and he tightened his grip on her hand.

There was still so far to fall. 

[fair-night-starry-tears]

New idea for the racing event au or just school racing. I decided. HOW ABOUT THE TEAMS GET THW COOLEST RACING INSTRUCTORS

that’s fucking right. Twist Lightning McQueen the the entire radiator springs!

Before NRC gets to making their cars. They meet the man who is their instructor for racing. Because this racing event will take over around the world. But they need to get a memo from the best.

This will take a lot of my brain so yeah!

We have Bolt Wicker. The fastest racer and compassionate racer! He has been racing at his high school years until he participated in the racing competition and rose his way to the top by steady training and working on his own car to meet the rules standards. He decided to make a racing program to help students learn to properly race and boost his friends business. He had a phone line for schools to contact him to help mentor their racer passionate students and this man answered Crowley’s the second he heard the hotline picked up. So he told Crowley to send his selected students to his race tracks and bought 7 or 8 cars to fit the selected students taste. Since it’s dorm wardens theme event. THIS MAN PREPARED THEIR CARS EXACTLY THEIR PERSONALITIES AND WHAT CARS THEY CAN RACE WITH

Bolt: yeah. I had to fine tune the engines, get my buddies to maintain the paintwork. And asked my crew which has to use. But I think they look amazing.

The dorm wardens + Yuu/ur ocs too: AND THIS WAS DONE IN A WEEK?!

Bolt: yeah. We had teamwork-

NRC wardens - Kalim and Yuu: say what-

Kalim: awww!!! That’s so sweet! WE SHOULD TRY THAT

Bolt is a lovable himbo but he’s a Smart Case for racing and proper team building. And also a huggable goof.

He has tanlines on his face but he is pale skin and natural blonde with red streaks and azure blue eyes. I will slam a beauty mark on that face and boom. Done. You get Bolt. He be around mid twenties or early twenties.

@adrianasunderworld @mangacupcake @writing-heiress @the-weirdos-mind @skboba-stars @nproduction626 @rose-tea-and-strawberries @anxious-twisted-vampire @luxstring

[feverinfeveroutfic]

”walk with me”

Monterey had a day in which not a drop of rain fell whereas the rest of the week had been foggy and misty with the grip of winter, and Christine yearned to feel the warmth of the sun on her face as she and Eric made their way through the narrow streets to find the one beach where they could be alone. It was an idea that had been held over the both of them since they arrived in California, and one that had to be on hold at least until there was a break in the clouds. But on this particular morning, the sun shone over the valley and Christine opened the curtains of their hotel room to witness the blue sky in all of its vast clarity.

A slight chill hung in the air still, but that never fazed her for one second as she woke up Eric and then bolted for the bathroom for a shower followed by a quick change of clothes. Once she was out of there with her long dark hair cascading down the curvature of her back, Eric was still in bed with his back to the bathroom door.

Christine then rubbed her hands together as she knew what she had to do right then.

“Eric, the hotel’s on fire!” she declared. He never budged for a second. She instead moved in closer to him and held her head right above his ear.

“Eric—Eric, wake up, it’s free breakfast day!” she exclaimed.

But Eric kept his eyes closed and he stayed perfectly still on his left side. Christine then set a hand over his mouth and the other hand over his nose. Eric then shuffled about on the bed, and he rolled onto his back: she let go of him just so he could breathe, complete with his tongue out of his mouth like a dog. He fluttered his eyelids open, at least briefly, and then they closed again. Christine leaned on the edge of the mattress to garner his attention.

“Wake up,” she insisted with one hand on her hip.

“Mmm, why?”

“Look outside.”

He rolled his head over the top of the pillow for a look out the open window, albeit through tired squinted eyes. But then he sat up and raised his eyebrows at the sight of the bright morning sunlight.

“Oh, wow.”

“Not a cloud in the sky. C’mon, get dressed.”

“Picnic on the beach?” he offered her.

“Yeah. Breakfast picnic on the beach.”

“Yeah, I heard you mention free breakfast, is that true?”

But she never replied as she fetched the blanket and the little wicker basket from the narrow closet next to the bathroom door, and more so when he nearly lost his balance putting his pants on. She ran a hairbrush through her wet hair while Eric put on his little light jacket.

“Do you think it’s going to be nice out or if I’m going to need my jacket, too?” she asked him.

“I’d wear it just in case,” he advised her, and she put it on right as he closed the curtains once again. He handed her her purse, to which she thanked him, and she hoisted it over her shoulder. Christine then picked up the basket, filled with the food they had bought the day before at that big warehouse of a grocery store down the street from the hotel.

He held the blanket under his arm all the while, and they headed on out of the room to the hallway. Christine offered to hold the blanket for him just so he could lock the door behind them, but he insisted he had it under his arm.

“Now it’d be one thing if it was you doing it,” he pointed out as he tucked the room key into his front jeans pocket. “I have to be the gentleman of the week.”

“You are kind of a gentleman, though,” she assured him as they walked onto the doors of the hotel, which had been propped open to let visitors in and out of there with ease.

“What do you mean ‘kind of’?” he asked her, flabbergasted.

“Oh, you haven’t seen?” she asked him.

“Seen what?”

“How you look at me even when I’m hiding away in the bathroom or the closet changing my clothes,” she remarked as they walked on across the narrow strip of a parking lot to their rental car.

“Oh, come on, that was an accident!” he declared as he unlocked his door.

“Please, I had the door closed.” She put the basket and her purse in the backseat, and then she put on her sunglasses. “You not only peeked but you deliberately pushed the door open.”

“It’s the funkiest door in the world, Chris,” he insisted. “You have to like… really push on it from the inside.”

“Yeah, I know that now,” she quipped, and she sank down into the front seat next to him with her hair down inside of her jacket. Eric climbed in as well, and they drove onwards to Cannery Row, which was just starting to come alive for the day.

“So what was this place you were telling me about yesterday?” he asked her as he took to a spot on the side of the street, one of the few they were able to find down on the row itself and with the view of the aquarium at the far end.

“Right over here.” Christine climbed out first, and she peeled off her jacket given the radiant warmth of the sun washed over her, and it reminded her of the time she and Alex had been caught up in a downpour outside of her father’s apartment building. Eric followed suit, complete with the blanket under his arm and his sunglasses perched upon the smooth crown of his head. Christine took the basket and her purse out of the backseat, and she led him onto the sidewalk, right before the front door of a chocolate shop: they were greeted by an amalgam of tempered chocolate as well as fresh pizza from across the street. 

“Fresh pizza even at eight-thirty in the morning!” Eric decreed, much to her amusement. Christine led him around the corner to a stretch of the boardwalk, and she beheld to him a long low white building on the other side of the aged wood. Outside of the front door stood displays of lollipops, big rainbow colored candies, and what appeared to be cotton candy, all radiant and bright under the warm sunlight. Before the candy store stood an aged copper statue of John Steinbeck in front of some bushes.

“That’s a big candy store!” Eric declared.

“What did I tell you?” Christine said with a chuckle. “When we got dinner last night, I happened to look over here and saw ol’ Johnny Steinbeck and I saw this place!”

She knew that Alex would love the place, and yet he would be so predisposed to it all, looking on at the vast displays of candies and confectionery with a twinkle in his eye and the look of temptation on his face. He knew how to make sugar seductive, whereas Eric looked on at it all as if he was ten years old once again. Some Swedish fish, a couple of rainbow lollipops, a handful of saltwater taffy, and a bag of chocolate rocks later, and she couldn’t help but laugh to herself.

The two of them congregated outside of the front door to gather themselves, with the candy in the basket, and Eric glanced up at the statue of Steinbeck.

“Candy for breakfast,” he joked in a low voice.

“We have breakfast burritos, remember?” she asked him.

“Of course…” And his voice trailed off, and then he turned his attention over to her with a slight part to his lips. She knew that look anywhere. The few people on Cannery Row hustled and bustled all around them as if it was midday, but everything seemed to stand still between the two of them. Eric leaned in with a kiss for her lips, such that it took her completely off guard.

“Whoa, what’re you doing?” she demanded. Eric never said a word as he leaned in for another one, and that time she never moved back, but rather moved in closer to him, at least until he let go of her lips and gazed into her eyes. His skin was soft and silken, and his eyes were warm, two kisses of chocolate to greet her a good morning.

“Where’d this come from?” she asked him.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for quite some time now,” he confessed to her with a shrug of his shoulders. He showed her a little smile, one which gingerly crossed his round little face.

“Eric…” Christine began, and she moved in closer to him so no one on Cannery Row could hear them, although it didn’t seem likely given the sheer amount of shops and boutiques all around them. She thought about the question she wanted to ask him that first day on the beach, and he never could answer her as well. “…is there anything you want to tell me?”

He shifted his weight right on the spot, and then he cleared his throat. She noticed the slight hooding to his big brown eyes as well. It reminded her of how Alex looked whenever he was in the mood, and she thought of calling him at some point that day.

“As a matter of fact… there is,” he confessed to her. A slight breeze emerged from the ocean, even on the back of the low tides.

“Don’t tell Alex, though,” he whispered right into her ear. She nibbled on her bottom lip and shivered at the thought of lying to Alex, but then again she never told her parents about him nor did she ever tell him about Chris and Ann, either.

“You know I won’t,” she promised him with a wink, and he took her by the hand, and he led her away from the statue of Steinbeck towards the next street over. Christine adjusted the strap of her purse with her other hand, though it was difficult given she held the basket, but she still managed to do so, and more so when he led her to the corner down to the water. There, they spotted a narrow stripe of beach which led under the dock, out of sight, out of mind, but right in the way of the incoming tide in an hour or so.

Thus, they had to hustle down there, down onto the sand, and they hastily pitched their breakfast picnic, complete with a full panoramic view of the ocean. But before Christine could make them their breakfast burritos of fresh tortillas and scrambled eggs and ground sausage heated in the microwave back in the room, and a sprinkle of taco sauce for him, Eric himself leaned in closer to her again for another kiss on the lips.

But she held onto his shoulder and nudged him onto his back there on the blanket. The waters lapped against the sands behind them, a good wall of noise to protect them from any onlookers up on Cannery Row that may be looking out to the waves; Eric opened his legs for her, and she reached down to his belt to help him out.

“Are you sure we’re alone?” she asked him over the rush of the waves right behind them.

“Positive. It’s been raining so—there’s no one here. Promise—” He gasped at the feeling of her fingers on his shaft, to which she treated him to a few little tugs. With her other hand, she reached down inside of her own jeans to get herself going. Eric glanced down at what she was doing, and he opened his lips to say something but no noise emerged.

Christine showed him her tongue, and he held onto her jeans with both hands. He tugged them down for her, again much to her amusement.

“I’ve got something, too,” he told her, and he reached into his pocket for something bright red.

“I take back what I said earlier—you are a gentleman,” she declared, and once her fingers gave her the same feeling as the waves behind them, she straddled his hips with one knee on the sand and the other on the blanket. He slipped inside as if they were swimming in the ocean together. They were swimming in the ocean together, and more so as Christine gyrated over his hips. She held onto the belt of his jeans to steady herself. She locked eyes with him, those big brown eyes that seemed to follow her more closely than they ever did back in New York.

She was breathing harder from the feeling. Eric parted his lips as if to make a noise, but she was only met with a soft groan and a few good little whimpers from the back of his throat. Christine panted, albeit rather quietly against the wall of white noise behind them, but her heartbeat quickened and her mind traveled at a mile a minute.

It took her all the way to the top of her own low groan from the back of her throat to realize that he had slid off the blanket and onto the bare sand.

She lifted off of him right as he showed her the pearls inside of the red, and she landed down right next to him on the blanket. She rested her hand on his chest, and he rolled his head to the side: all she could see was his side profile and a few grains of sand on the side of his neck.

“Girl from the sea…” he sputtered out.

“I can’t believe we did it on the beach,” she confessed, out of breath.

“I can’t, either,” he said with a huff of sand from the corner of his mouth, and then he laughed to himself. Christine caught up in the laughter as well, and then he sat up next to her: a few stray smooth tendrils of hair spread down over his shoulders onto his chest.

“Sometimes all you need is a little quickie, I guess,” he said with a clearing of his throat.

“A quickie and some sand,” she remarked as she looked down at her pants crumpled down by her knees. Not another soul to be found.

“A quickie before breakfast, too,” he added.

“A quickie before breakfast!” she echoed him, and she sat up to fetch the basket. And much to her surprise, the eggs and the sausage managed to stay warm this whole entire time.

[eragonartnmore]

Cyborg May Cry is a massive RP plot that I had recently finished (for now) with my partner in crime @vinny-scout

here we have 17 versions of Raiden in one piece. Each Raiden you see makes in appearance within the RP.

This takes place in a futuristic/cyberpunk world. Where there are currently two realms. The realm where Raiden and the others reside and the floating realm above dubbed Aeromire.

1: Child - Raiden is abandoned by his parents. They left him so they could reside in Aeromire, but he is taken in by Solid Snake.

2: Young - Raiden proceeds to sign up into training for Vergil’s army. He is given his Codename of Raiden, do to his speed and reflexes.

3: Entranced - Raiden is found in this state at a club after a drug bust has gone wrong. In this state he is forced to do sexual acts and dances for the guests at the club.

4: Cyborg body 1 - Raiden is offered a higher position by Vergil but soon learns what Vergil’s true intentions were. Before he could escape to tell the truth, he is trapped, ripped apart, and brainwashed. A year after obtaining this body he is ordered to kill Snake and succeeds.

5: Cyborg body 2 - A year after assassinating Snake, Raiden is upgraded and given the role as one of Vergil’s top cybernetic assassins. He is given the task of taking out Dante but fails upon his memories slowly resurfacing, making him join Dante while getting inside work done on Vergil.

6: Downgraded - Vergil finds out about what Raiden is doing and downgrades him. This makes his body weaker and places him in a more vulnerable position.

7: Obedience body 1 - Vergil sends a unit to kidnap Raiden. It does so successfully and Raiden in torn apart and placed into a body based on a creature known as a Wicker Beast.

8: Upgraded - This body is made by Dante. Dante has it infused with Angelic aura making it practically indestructible.

9: Obedience body 2 - Raiden is captured again and brainwashed slightly. He is placed in another Wicker body but Dante once again comes to the cyborg’s rescue and helps restore his memories and gets him out of the body.

10: Demonic - Raiden upon each time being dismantled and rebuilt by Vergil, Vergil had fused Demonic energy into Raiden. He is incredibly dangerous and powerful in this state.

11: Mr. Lightning Bolt - A body made for him by Dante. This body has him look more human when he wants to go out for daily or basic errands.

12: Neko - Raiden is subjected to a drug that turns humans into anthropomorphic creatures upon prolonged exposure. Luckily he went through minimal changes and was later on cured.

13: Hellbound - Raiden is murdered by a demon, dubbed Slaykonis, who was inhabiting Dante’s body. He returns to Earth pulsing with demonic powers and a deadly drive, seeking to kill Slaykonis.

14: Cybernetic exo suit - Raiden returns to Earth as human after the death of Slaykonis. The cybernetic suit is one of his cyborg bodies but completely gutted.

15: Rex disguise - A magic based disguise that is used to get around and blend into Aeromire: Alpha.

16: Snake disguise - Raiden gets trapped in their old residence as the Aeromire council is seeking to destroy Dante and the others. This is another magic based disguise that was made blending the DNA of him and the saved DNA of Solid Snake.

17: Reaper - After the fall of the Reaper, Raiden is chosen by their hand to become the next soul guide. He even uses this form to help take down the Aeromire councils leader.