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xzaddyzanakinx · 1 year ago

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| Crybaby | part one

Mean Punk/Grunge Anakin x Naive Femme Reader

18+ MDNI

Warnings: demeaning comments, crude behavior, aggression toward reader, death mentioned, hurt/no comfort

Info: Anakin is an ass, like no joke he’s really mean. Pierced and tatted Ani, he plays the drums, annoying rude neighbor, modern AU (90’s), he might be mean now but I promise he will get better (probably)

NOT PROOFREAD

I based this bot on the concept of mean drummer Anakin, idk y’all he’s just so yummy to me and I had to write about him.

It had been about three days since your arrival to Bespin Drive, you’d settled in nicely, no lost boxes and no broken plates. Your home was tiny and perfect and all yours, tucked away at the end of a cul-de-sac.

All your neighbors seemed kind, at least the ones you’d met when you decided to make a good impression by bringing around fresh baked cookies to the houses around the circle.

There was one neighbor you hadn’t gotten to meet yet, the one you were hoping to catch leaving his house any moment now. As luck would have it, you saw him when you looked up from your book, after being startled at the loud clang of a screen door swinging shut.

It was then that you were finally able to take in his appearance, the grungey charm of his tattoos and piercings, the energy he exuded. You’d never seen someone like him in real life, only in magazines and the album covers of CD’s you’d never buy.

Spiked hair with a blue streak, chunky metal hoops in his cartilage, a giant slab of obsidian tucked into his stretched earlobes. Snake bite lip piercings paired with one in his eyebrow and two studs in each nostril, along with a dangling hoop in his septum.

He wore baggy jeans with a thick chain and scuffed shoes, an oversized band shirt and several leather studded bracelets paired with chunky sliver rings. He was attractive, a little unconventional, but attractive all the same.

He was the kind of guy your parents would ground you for bringing home, even if only as a friend. But you weren’t like your parents, you didn’t know a stranger, after all a stranger was just a friend you hadn’t met yet and this boy was no different.

“Hi!” You jumped up and tossed your book aside, bounding down your porch steps toward him.

Anakin arched an eyebrow skeptically at your outburst, his default response was to assume the worst in people. However, your genuine smile and the way you unabashedly made your way over stirred something deep within him.

He grumbled under his breath, trying to decide if this interaction would be worth the effort of walking over to you. With a puff of annoyance, he pushed himself off the side of his car where he had just ignited a cigarette and walked towards you, his steps heavy. He came to a stop a few feet away, crossing his arms as he peered down at you.

“Hey.” He responded simply, gesturing to your house with his cigarette, “you know the guy who lived there died in the kitchen.”

“He what?” You gasped, looking back at your front door in shock.

“Yeah.” He sucked air through his teeth, “you’ve never heard the noises at night?”

“Noises?” You squeaked.

“Mhm.” He flicked his ashes at the ground with a smirk. “Supposedly you can still hear his raspy breathing if you listen closely.“

You shook your head vigorously, backing up. “Wait, but the realtor never-“

“I’m joking.” He snickered, “it’s a joke you’re supposed to laugh.”

“Oh… um.” You smiled nervously thinking maybe you were making a mistake in trying to speak to him.

He was testing you, trying to gauge your reactions and responses, getting a laugh out of his little game.

“Cigarette?” He offered, tipping the soft pack and lighter toward you.

“I don’t smoke.” You said quietly, feeling a bit out of your comfort zone.

“I could’ve guessed.” He snickered.

“What do you mean by that?” Your eyebrows furrowed.

“I mean, you look like a prude.” His face devoid of all emotion.

The color drained from your cheeks and your palms began to sweat. You were already nervous to begin with, but seeing as how he was so abrasive, you were unsure of what to say or do next.

“That wasn’t very nice.” You mumbled.

Deciding it was best to let it roll off your back, you knew very well what stereotype you fell into. You’d had your fair share of catcalls and crude remarks toward your clothes and body shape. Even without having met someone like him before, you’d seen enough movies and TV to know that people who look like you are often mean to those who look like him.

Maybe he was worried you were trying to make fun of him?

“Um. So anyway,” you introduced yourself, holding out your hand for him to shake, “what’s your name?”

"You sure seem persistent," he muttered, his tone tinged with a mix of irritation and mild intrigue.

“I’m not interested in making friends with someone like you.” He sneered, knocking your outstretched hand out of the way.

The words may have been harsh, but his eyes betrayed him with flicker of something resembling guilt. Maybe it was your naive nature, but you couldn't help but think he just needed some coaxing. Even so, his words still hurt your feelings and you weren’t very good at hiding it. Your smile faltered a bit while he spoke and by the end of his sentence your lips were in a full frown.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you?” Your tone made him unsure if it was a question or a statement.

“Offend me?” He barked out a laugh, ducking his head into his shoulders.

“I mean- I just…” Wringing your hands you shifted from foot to foot.

This was going badly, so badly. This wasn’t how you’d planned this conversation to go, this was supposed to be friendly, this was supposed to be a fun little meeting. Your eyes felt prickly as though you might cry.

As he saw your smile falter into a frown, a pang of frustration shot through Anakin's chest. He wasn't immune to the pain he caused, no matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise.

Anakin's tough facade wavered just for a moment as he saw the hurt in your eyes. He cursed under his breath, feeling a bit of remorse. His stubbornness made it difficult for him to apologize for his harsh words.

“What?” He asked aggressively, putting that rough exterior shell back up.

“Look I’m sorry, I just- I’m new here and-“ he cut you off.

“And you thought what? That you’d sucker me into being your little toy?”

“My toy?” You whispered, so confused.

“You know exactly what I mean.” He snapped, “I know you, I know what you’re trying to do.”

He grumbled, his voice softer than before. "I don't need anyone pitying me."

His statement, though defensive, had a touch of vulnerability behind it. The way he continued to hold your gaze showed that despite his resistance, he couldn't completely dismiss the fact that you intrigued him. No one stuck around this long after he’d shown his ass like this.

“I’m sorry if I gave you a reason to think… anything like that.” You sniffled, “I wasn’t trying- I just, I’m sorry.”

“Oh my god.” He groaned, tipping his head back as he chuckled, “Did I hurt your feelings?”

“Y-yes.” You mumbled, turning on your heel to return to your porch after seeing his bottom lip stuck in a mocking pout.

“Crybaby.” He grumbled, kicking a rock in your direction, it bounced off the concrete of your walkway and grazed your ankle.

You hissed in pain, bringing your foot up to examine, seeing a tiny little nick and minuscule droplet of blood. You stomped up your steps and grabbed the Saran Wrapped plate of cookies meant for Anakin and promptly made your way back over to him.

Anakin was conflicted and it was clearly written all over his face, he felt bad, guilty even. He might’ve contemplated apologizing for real if you hadn’t done what you did next.

“I made these for you.” Your voice cracked as you held out the plate for him to take.

Just as he reached out, eyebrows furrowed and mouth poised to respond, you dropped the plate onto the grass and crushed them beneath your foot.

“Oh so not only are you fucking crybaby you’re a spoiled little brat too?” He shouted, scooping up the plate and tossing it in your general direction.

Anakin stood there, watching as you retreated into your house, his heart sinking with a confusing mix of regret and frustration. He muttered to himself, a curse directed at his unnecessary jab at your vulnerability.

Regret in his eyes as he turned away, heading back to his own place. He couldn't shake off the feeling that he had pushed you to much. Images of the interaction flashed in his mind, he didn’t know what caused him to react so harshly. Yeah he was always an ass, he wasn’t known for his hospitality or his stellar people skills, but he wasn’t one to be outright cruel.

He ran his fingers through his gelled hair in frustration, letting out a deep sigh. Anakin lit up another Marlboro cigarette, taking a long drag as he stared at the flame of the lighter. The smoke curled around his fingers, as he watched the smoke dissipate into the air, his feet moved of their own volition.

He found himself on your porch steps, collecting up the mess he’d made. Crumbled cookies scraped off the wooden steps with his bare hands while his cigarette hung precariously from his lips. Unbeknownst to him, you watched his every move from the comfort of your living room window.

What was his deal?

That unfortunate encounter had occurred weeks ago, the days now fading into the heat of summer. Anakin wasn’t as hostile anymore, but he wasn’t making an attempt to be friendly either.

He waved if you did first, he nodded if you said hello, he even dropped off a package of yours that had been wrongly delivered to his address - AND - had spoken to you when he brought it over.

Not to mention the time he shouted your name to catch your attention on your way out for an afternoon walk, it was surprising enough that he initiated an encounter. But even more shocking when you saw that he had people over, and not just any people. His band-mates stood there along side him and shot you a friendly smile and wave with Anakin.

You had found yourself mulling over each interaction for hours and sometimes days after they happened. Analyzing every word or lack thereof in hopes to pick apart his human hermit crab shell.

Teaser for the next part:

As the day went on you got yourself ready. A friend from one of your college classes was due to pick you up anytime now. The guy was nice enough to invite you out to go bowling with a group of his friends, knowing you were new and that you didn’t have a solid friend group yet. You were appreciative of the gesture, despite your bubbly personality you found it difficult to keep a steady friendship, it seemed that people took advantage of your naivety, your kindness.

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flowerflamestars · 2 years ago

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Course Correct snippet

Tie yanked off his neck, folded careful enough to hide in an inner pocket without making a bump, Eris unbuttoned his collar and met her eyes in the mirror. “Cunts across the water here yet?” Nesta just lifted the glass of fruity, terrible wine to her lips. White for a garden party, Morrigan had purred, insisted, when Nesta tried to dodge. A perfumed headache in a glass. Eris ran a hand through his already perfect hair, tousling the deep red. “We playing beard, Archeron?” “No.” A slink across the room, a mean face that made Nesta despite herself, breathe. “Feyre wants a balanced table.” “She learn that from Downton Abbey?”

“Be nice.” He slipped the wine glass out of her hand instead, waving it beneath his nose with a moue of distaste. “Christ. Why do rich people spend so much money on fucking trash?” “Taste?” Nesta offered, leaning back into the coolness of the wall. Marble, in place in exactly one location of this echoing, empty house: pretty, skylight studded bathrooms. Bone white nightmares, but at least they weren’t pretending to be comfortable or cozy. Without bothering to check if she actually meant to drink it- he knew better- Eris poured what was probably an obscene value of white into the grey moss of a planter. Careless of anemic looking ferns, lush orchids blooming colorlessly upward. Flipped the glass in his hand to dangle by the stem, hip propped against the slab that made the sink. “How bad?” Nesta shrugged. “She’s been tablescapping for two days. Freesia and bowls of oranges everywhere. Three cakes. Three different bakeries.” Eris shook his head. “They’re going to eat her alive.” A rainbow romper, flowers in her hair. Feyre was overflowing with enthusiasm. Brightness. Just because Rhys was following her around like an ink-dipped puppy didn’t mean the Lord Devlin was going to be equally charmed. “What do you know?” His thin mouth tipped, ever-present sharp expression rendered scathing. “Bunch of posh fucks who held onto their ancestral wealth and think they’re special for centuries of inbreeding. What do you know, Archeron?” Nesta rolled her eyes. Smiled, unwilling. Pressed her shoulders to grounding stone one last time before straightening. “That you have an in with Nox.” “Right, because I’d be working for my father’s firm if I had an in with”- “Eris.” He sighed. Crossed his arms. Light-catching brown eyes and unreal hair, he looked about as out of place as Nesta already felt, buried under this whole pale mausoleum. “They don’t like Rhys.” A shrug, one thin shoulder rising. “Typical fucking racism. But they like money. That’s all I’ve got, unless you’d like to hear about the quality of cock Rhysand’s lawyer is walking around with.”

#I'm sorry but Eris and Nesta are MEANT TO BE the snarky queer cousins at the shitty family event #its is TANTAMOUNT TO THEIR PERSONALITIES #CC Eris is just like... a rich asshole but we love him #yes I also think irish americans are allowed to hate the british aristocracy #as is #EVERYONE #Did Feyre watch downton? god honestly probably she's a huge Bates Anna shipper #(daddy issues)#Azris?#AZRIS #I love the little background relationships of the Acheron/Vanserra family unit so so much #Never have fathers been more righteously hated #oh god baby Feyre #SCAPPING HER OWN TABLES HONEY #for a bunch of people who are going to like.#make comments on how quaint it all is #family dinner 1: hell #course correct

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travelingjoe · 2 years ago

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Dartmoor National Park, Cornwall England, March 2023 — Driving through Dartmoor National Park in route to Cornwall we spotted wild and wooly coated Dartmoor horses. A bit further down the road we came upon and took a stroll across Postbridge — the best preserved clapper bridge. This early medieval bridge, made of massive slabs of granite, appears in Britain’s first known road atlas produced in 1675. Country roads in England often feel like walking paths at times. Hedges rise up high on the sides nearly slapping the car windows. Rolling bright green hills are studded with sheep. The speed limit is a shocking 60 mph which seems frighteningly fast and unnecessary even in the mini which hugs the road nicely.

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thewidowsghost · 3 years ago

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The Daughter of the Sea - Chapter 6

(Y/n)'s POV

Once I get over the fact that my brother's Latin teacher was half horse, we have a nice tour.

We pass by the volleyball pit. Several of the campers nudge each other. One points to the Minotaur horn Percy is carrying. Another says, "It's them."

Most of the campers are older than me. Their satyr friends are bigger than Grover, all of them trotting around in orange CAMP HALF-BLOOD t-shirts, with nothing else to cover their bare shaggy hindquarters. I'm not normally shy, but the way they are staring at me and Percy makes me uncomfortable. I feel as though they want us to do a flip or something.

I look back at the farmhouse. It's bigger than I'd realized - four stories tall, sky blue with white trim, like an upscale seaside resort. I'm checking out the brass eagle weather vane on top when something catches my eyes, a shadow in the uppermost window of the attic gable. Something had moved the curtain, just for a second, and I get a distinct impression that I'm being watched.

"What's up there?" I ask Chiron.

He looks to where I'm pointing and his smile fades, "Just the attic."

"Somebody lives there?" Percy asks.

"No," he says with finality. "Not a single living thing."

I get the feeling that he's being truthful, but I am also sure something had moved that curtain.

As we get closer, I realize how huge the forest is. It takes up at least a quarter of the valley, with trees so tall and thick, you could imagine nobody had been in there since the Native Americans.

Chiron says, "The woods are stocked if you care to try your luck, but go armed."

"Stocked with what?" Percy asks. "Armed with what?"

"You'll see. Capture the flag is Friday night. Do you have your own swords and shields?"

"My own - ?" Percy is cut off.

"No," Chiron interupts. "I don't suppose you do. I think a size five will do for you, Percy, and a size three for you, (Y/n). I'll visit the armory later."

Finally, Chiron shows us the cabins. There are twelve of them, nestled in the woods by the lake. They are arranged in a U, with two at the base and five in a row on each side. And they are, without a doubt the most bizarre number above the door.

Except for the fact that each has a large brass number above the door (odds on the left side, evens on the right), they lock absolutely nothing alike. Number Nine has smokestacks, like a tiny factory. Number Four has tomato vines on the walls and a roof made out of real grass. Seven seems to be made of solid gold, which gleams so much in the sunlight it was almost impossible to look at. They all face a commons area about the size of a soccer field, dotted with Greek statues, fountains, flower beds, and a couple of basketball hoops (which were more my speed).

In the center of the field is a huge stone-lined firepit. Even though it is a warm afternoon, the hearth smolders. A girl, maybe nine years old is tending the flames, poking the coals with a stick. I wave at the girl and she looks surprised, as though no one acknowledged her often, and waves back with a smile.

The pair of cabins at the head of the field, numbers one and two, look like his-and-hers mausoleums, big white marble boxes with heavy columns in front. Cabin One is the biggest and bulkiest of the twelve. Its polished bronze doors shimmer like a hologram, so that from different angles lightning bolts seem to streak across them. Cabin Two is more graceful somehow, with slimmer columns garlanded with pomegranates and flowers. The walls are covered with images of peacocks.

"Zeus and Hera?" Percy guesses.

"Correct," Chiron says.

"Their cabins look empty."

"Several of the cabins are. That's true. No one ever stays in one or two."

I stop in front of the first cabin on the left, cabin three.

It isn't high and mighty like Cabin One, but low and solid. The outer walls are of rough gray stone studded with pieces of seashells and coral as if the slabs had been hewn straight from the bottom of the ocean floor. I peek inside the open doorway and Chiron says, "Oh, I wouldn't do that!"

Before he can pull me back, I catch the salty scent of the interior, like the wind on the shore at Montauk. The interior walls glow like abalone. There are six empty bunks with silk sheets turned down, but there is no sign anyone had ever slept there. The place feels so sad and lonely, I am glad when Chiron puts his hand on my shoulder and says, "Come along, (Y/n)."

Most of the other cabins were crowded with campers.

Number five was bright red—a real nasty paint job as if the color had been splashed on with buckets and fists. The roof was lined with barbed wire. A stuffed wild boar's head hung over the doorway, and its eyes seemed to follow me. Inside I could see a bunch of mean-looking kids, both girls and boys, arm wrestling and arguing with each other while rock music blared. The loudest was a girl maybe thirteen or fourteen. She wore a size XXXL CAMP HALF-BLOOD T-shirt under a camouflage jacket. She zeroed in on Percy and gives him an evil sneer.

"Oh, look," Chiron says as we approach Cabin Eleven. "Annabeth is waiting for us."

The blond girl I'd met at the Big House is reading a book in front of the last cabin on the left, number eleven. When we reach her, she looks me over critically, like she was still thinking about how much I drool.

I try to see what she was reading, but I can't make out the title. Then I realize the title isn't even English. The letters look Greek to me. I mean, literally Greek. There are pictures of temples and statues and different kinds of columns, like those in an architecture book.

"Annabeth," Chiron says, "I have Masters' Archery class at noon. Would you take Percy and (Y/n) from here?"

"Yes, sir."

"Cabin Eleven," Chiron tells us, gesturing towards the doorway. "Make yourself at home."

Out of all the cabins, Eleven looks the most like a regular old summer camp cabin, with the emphasis on old. the threshold is worn down, the brown paint peeling. Over the doorway is a caduceus.

Inside, it is packed with people, both boys and girls, way more than the number of bunk beds. Sleeping bags are spread all over the floor. It looks like a gym where the Red Cross had set up an evacuation center.

Chiron doesn't go in. The door is too low for him. But when the campers see him, they all stand and bow respectfully.

"Well, then," Chiron says. "Good luck, Percy, (Y/n). I'll see the two of you at dinner."

He gallops away towards the archery range.

Percy's POV

We stand in the doorway, looking at the kids. They aren't bowing anymore. They are staring at us, sizing us up. I know this routine. I'd gone through it at enough schools.

"Well?" Annabeth prompts. "Go on."

So naturally, I trip coming in the door, and (Y/n) grabs my upper arm, straightening me up. There are some snickers from the campers, but none of them say anything.

Annabeth announces, "Percy and (Y/n) Jackson, meet Cabin Eleven."

"Regular or undetermined?" somebody asks.

I don't know what to say, but Annabeth says, "Undetermined."

Everyone groans.

A guy who is a little older than the rest comes forward. "Now, now, campers. That's what we're here for. Welcome, Percy, (Y/n). You can have those two spots on the floor, right over there."

The guy was about nineteen, and he looks pretty cool. He's tall and muscular, with short-cropped sandy hair and a friendly smile. He wears an orange tank top, cutoffs, sandals, and a leather necklace with five different colored clay beads. The only thing unsettling about his appearance is a thick white scar that runs from just beneath his right eye to his jaw, like an old knife slash.

"This is Luke," Annabeth says, and her voice sounds different somehow. I glance over and swear she's blushing, but after a moment she sees me looking, and her expression hardens again. "He's your counselor for now."

"For now?" (Y/n) asks, looking rather curious.

"You're undetermined," Luke explains. "They don't know what cabin to put you in, so you're here. Cabin eleven takes all newcomers, all visitors. Naturally, we would. Hermes, our patron, is the god of travelers."

I look around at the campers' faces, some sullen and suspicious, some grinning stupidly, some eyeing me as if they are waiting for a chance to pick my pockets.

"How long will I be here?" I ask.

"Good question," Luke replies. "Until you're determined."

"How long will that take?"

The campers all laugh and (Y/n) facepalms.

"Come on," Annabeth tells us. "I'll show you the volleyball court."

"We've already seen it."

"Come on."

Annabeth grabs my wrist and drags me outside. I can hear the kids of Cabin Eleven laughing behind me and (Y/n) waves good-bye shyly.

When we are a few feet away, Annabeth says, "Jackson, you have to do better than that?"

"What?"

She rolls her eyes and mumbles under her breath, "I can't believe I thought you two were the ones."

"What's your problem?" I'm getting angry now, (Y/n) watching us cautiously. "All I know is, we kill some bull guy -"

"Don't talk like that!" Annabeth tells me. "You know how many kids at this camp wish they'd had your chance?"

"To get killed?"

"To fight the Minotaur! What do you think we train for?"

I shake my head. "Look, if the thing we fought is really the Minotaur, the same one in the stories . . ."

"Yes."

"Then there's only one."

"Yes."

"And he died, like, a gajillion years ago, right? Theseus killed him in the labyrinth. So..."

"Monsters don't die, Percy. They can be killed. But they don't die."

"Oh, thanks. That clears it up."

"Percy," (Y/n) says calmly. "I think what Annabeth is saying, is that monsters eventually reform."

Annabeth nods and I think about Mrs. Dodds. "You mean if I killed one, accidentally, with a sword—"

"The Fur...I mean, your math teacher. That's right. She's still out there. You just made her very, very mad."

"How did you know about Mrs. Dodds?"

"You talk in your sleep," Annabeth answers and (Y/n) suppresses a laugh.

"You almost called her something. A Fury? They're Hades' torturers, right?"

Annabeth glances nervously at the ground as if she expects it to open up and swallow her. "You shouldn't call them by name, even here. We call them the Kindly Ones if we have to speak of them at all."

"Look, is there anything we can say without it thundering?" I sound whiny, even to myself, but right then I don't care. "Why do we have to stay in Cabin Eleven, anyway? Why is everybody so crowded together? There are plenty of empty bunks right over there."

I point to the first few cabins, and Annabeth turns pale. "You don't just choose a cabin, Percy. It depends on who your parents are. Or...your parent."

She stares at me, waiting for me to get it.

"Our mother is Sally Jackson," (Y/n) says softly. "She works at the candy store in Grand Central Station. At least, she used to."

"I'm sorry about your mom, (Y/n). But that's not what I mean. I'm talking about your other parent. Your dad."

"He's dead," I say simply. "We never knew him."

Annabeth sighs. Clearly, she'd had this conversation before with other kids. "Your father's not dead."

"How can you say that? You know him?"

"No, of course not."

"Then how can you say -"

"Because I know the two of you. You wouldn't be here if you weren't one of us."

"You don't know anything about us.

"No?" She raises an eyebrow. "I bet you moved around from school to school. I bet you were kicked out of a lot of them."

"How -"

"Diagnosed with dyslexia. Probably ADHD, too."

I try to swallow my embarrassment. "What does that have to do with anything?"

(Y/n)'s POV

"Taken together, it's almost a sure sign. The letters float off the page when you read, right? That's because your mind is hardwired for ancient Greek. And the ADHD—you're impulsive, can't sit still in the classroom. That's your battlefield reflexes. In a real fight, they'd keep you alive. As for the attention problems, that's because you see too much, Percy, not too little. Your senses are better than a regular mortal's. Of course, the teachers want you medicated. Most of them are monsters. They don't want you seeing them for what they are."

"You sound like...you went through the same thing?"

"Most of the kids here did. If you weren't like us, you couldn't have survived the Minotaur, much less the ambrosia and nectar."

"Ambrosia and nectar."

"The food and drink we were giving you to make you better. That stuff would've killed a normal kid. It would've turned your blood to fire and your bones to sand and you'd be dead. Face it. You're both half-bloods."

A half-blood.

I am reeling with so many questions I don't know where to start.

Then a husky voice yells, "Well! Two newbies!"

I look over. The big girl from the ugly red cabin is sauntering towards us. She has three other girls behind her, all big and ugly and mean-looking like her, all wearing camo jackets.

"Clarisse," Annabeth sighs. "Why don't you go polish your spear or something?"

"Sure, Miss Princess," the big girl says. "So I can run you through with it Friday night."

"Erre es korakas!" Annabeth says, which I somehow understand is Greek for 'Go to the crows!' though I have a feeling it was a worse curse than it sounds. "You don't stand a chance."

"We'll pulverize you," Clarisse says, but her eye twitches. Perhaps she isn't so sure she can follow through on ht threat. She turns towards me, then she looks at Percy. "Who are these's runts?"

"Percy and (Y/n) Jackson," Annabeth says, "meet Clarisse, Daughter of Aries."

Percy blinks. "Like . . . the war god?"

Clarisse sneers. "You got a problem with that?"

"No," Percy says, seemingly recovering his 'wits'. "It explains the bad smell."

Long story short, Percy made the toilets explode.

Yeah, I said it. He made the toilets explode . . .

Word Count: 2455 words

#percy jackson x sister reader #reader insert #fem reader #female reader #percy jackson and the olympians reader insert

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kookie-doughs · 4 years ago

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Y/N L/N AND THE HALFBLOODS

Percy Jackson X Reader

-Y/N L/N met Percy Jackson and everything was now ruined.

CHAPTER 6: WE HAVE BATHROOM INCIDENT

We passed the volleyball pit. Several of the campers nudged each other. One pointed to the minotaur horn Percy was carrying. Another said, "That's him."

Anxious if all the attention, I scooted closer to Percy holding onto his arm. Most of the campers were older than us. Their satyr friends were bigger than Grover, all of them trotting around in orange CAMP HALF-BLOOD T-shirts, with nothing else to cover their bare shaggy hindquarters. The way they stared at me made me uncomfortable. Though I am aware the attention was on Percy. I still felt like they were expecting me to do a flip or something.

I looked back at the farmhouse. It was a lot bigger than I'd realized—four stories tall, sky blue with white trim, like an upscale seaside resort. I was checking out the brass eagle weather vane on top when something caught my eye, a shadow in the uppermost window of the attic gable. Something had moved the curtain, just for a second, and I got the distinct impression I was being watched.

"What's up there?" Percy asked Chiron.

He looked where I was pointing, and his smile faded. "Just the attic."

"Somebody lives there?"

"No," he said with finality. "Not a single living thing."

I got the feeling he was being truthful. But I was also sure something had moved that curtain.

"Come along, you two," Chiron said, his lighthearted tone now a little forced. "Lots to see."

We walked through the strawberry fields, where campers were picking bushels of berries while a satyr played a tune on a reed pipe.. . . . . . . . . .

Chiron told me the camp grew a nice crop for export to New York restaurants and Mount Olympus. "It pays our expenses," he explained. "And the strawberries take almost no effort."

He said Mr. D had this effect on fruit-bearing plants: they just went crazy when he was around. It worked best with wine grapes, but Mr. D was restricted from growing those, so they grew strawberries instead.

I watched the satyr playing his pipe. His music was causing lines of bugs to leave the strawberry patch in every direction, like refugees fleeing a fire. I wondered if Grover could work that kind of magic with music. I wondered if he was still inside the farmhouse, getting chewed out by Mr. D.

"Grover won't get in too much trouble, will he?" I asked Chiron.

"Yeah, I mean... he was a good protector. Really." Percy added.

Chiron sighed. He shed his tweed jacket and draped it over his horses back like a saddle. "Grover has big dreams, Percy. Perhaps bigger than are reasonable. To reach his goal, he must first demonstrate great courage by succeeding as a keeper, finding a new camper and bringing him safely to Half-Blood Hill."

"But he did that! He brought two!"

"I might agree with you," Chiron said. "But it is not my place to judge. Dionysus and the Council of Cloven Elders must decide. I'm afraid they might not see this assignment as a success. After all, Grover lost you in New York. Then there's the unfortunate... ah... fate of your mother and Y/N's parents. And the fact that Grover was unconscious when you two dragged him over the property line. The council might question whether this shows any courage on Grover's part."

"He'll get a second chance, won't he?"

Chiron winced. "I'm afraid that was Grover's second chance, Percy. The council was not anxious to give him another, either, after what happened the first time, five years ago. Olympus knows, I advised him to wait longer before trying again. He's still so small for his age... ."

"How old is he?"

"Oh, twenty-eight."

"What! And he's in sixth grade?"

"Satyrs mature half as fast as humans, Percy. Grover has been the equivalent of a middle school student for the past six years."

"That's horrible."

"Quite," Chiron agreed. "At any rate, Grover is a late bloomer, even by satyr standards, and not yet very accomplished at woodland magic. Alas, he was anxious to pursue his dream. Perhaps now he will find some other career... ."

"That's not fair," I said. "What happened the first time? Was it really so bad?"

Chiron looked away quickly. "Let's move along, shall we?"

But I wasn't quite ready to let the subject drop. Something had occurred to me when Chiron talked about Percy's and I's parents' fate, as if he were intentionally avoiding the word death.

"Chiron," Percy said. "If the gods and Olympus and all that are real..."

"Yes, child?"

"Does that mean the Underworld is real, too?"

Chiron's expression darkened.

"Yes, child." He paused, as if choosing his words carefully. "There is a place where spirits go after death. But for now... until we know more... I would urge you to put that out of your mind."

"What do you mean, 'until we know more'?"

"Come, Percy. Let's see the woods.". . ..

As we got closer, I realized how huge the forest was. It took up at least a quarter of the valley, with trees so tall and thick, you could imagine nobody had been in there since the Native Americans.

Chiron said, "The woods are stocked, if you care to try your luck, but go armed."

"Stocked with what?" Percy asked. "Armed with what?"

"You'll see. Capture the flag is Friday night. Do you have your own sword and shield?"

"My own—?"

"No," Chiron said. "I don't suppose either of you do. I think a size five will do you both. I'll visit the armory later."

I wanted to ask what kind of summer camp had an armory, but there was too much else to think about, so the tour continued. We saw the archery range, the canoeing lake, the stables (which Chiron didn't seem to like very much), the javelin range, the sing-along amphitheater, and the arena where Chiron said they held sword and spear fights.

"Sword and spear fights?" I asked.

"Cabin challenges and all that," he explained. "Not lethal. Usually. Oh, yes, and there's the mess hall."

Chiron pointed to an outdoor pavilion framed in white Grecian columns on a hill overlooking the sea. There were a dozen stone picnic tables. No roof. No walls.

"What do you do when it rains?" Percy asked.

Chiron looked at me as if I'd gone a little weird. "We still have to eat, don't we?"

Finally, he showed me the cabins. There were twelve of them, nestled in the woods by the lake. They were arranged in a U, with two at the base and five in a row on either side. And they were without doubt the most bizarre collection of buildings I'd ever seen.

Except for the fact that each had a large brass number above the door (odds on the left side, evens on the right), they looked absolutely nothing alike. Number nine had smokestacks, like a tiny factory. Number four had tomato vines on the walls and a roof made out of real grass. Seven seemed to be made of solid gold, which gleamed so much in the sunlight it was almost impossible to look at. They all faced a commons area about the size of a soccer field, dotted with Greek statues, fountains, flower beds, and a couple of basketball hoops (which were more my speed).

In the center of the field was a huge stone-lined firepit. Even though it was a warm afternoon, the hearth smoldered. A girl about nine years old was tending the flames, poking the coals with a stick.

The pair of cabins at the head of the field, numbers one and two, looked like his-and-hers mausoleums, big white marble boxes with heavy columns in front. Cabin one was the biggest and bulkiest of the twelve. Its polished bronze doors shimmered like a hologram, so that from different angles lightning bolts seemed to streak across them. Cabin two was more graceful somehow, with slimmer columns garlanded with pomegranates and flowers. The walls were carved with images of peacocks.

"Zeus and Hera?" I guessed.

"Correct," Chiron said.

"Their cabins look empty."

"Several of the cabins are. That's true. No one ever stays in one or two."

Okay. So each cabin had a different god, like a mascot. Twelve cabins for the twelve Olympians. But why would some be empty?

I stopped when Percy stopped.

"Percy?"

He stood in front of the first cabin on the left, cabin three.

It wasn't high and mighty like cabin one, but long and low and solid. The outer walls were of rough gray stone studded with pieces of seashell and coral, as if the slabs had been hewn straight from the bottom of the ocean floor.

I held his hand and we got closer to the cabin. We peeked inside the open doorway and Chiron said, "Oh, I wouldn't do that!"

Before he could pull us back, I caught a glimpse of the interior walls glowed like abalone. There were six empty bunk beds with silk sheets turned down. But there was no sign anyone had ever slept there. "Come along, you two."

Most of the other cabins were crowded with campers.

Number five was bright red—a real nasty paint job, as if the color had been splashed on with buckets and fists. The roof was lined with barbed wire. A stuffed wild boar's head hung over the doorway, and its eyes seemed to follow me. Inside I could see a bunch of mean-looking kids, both girls and boys, arm wrestling and arguing with each other while rock music blared. The loudest was a girl maybe thirteen or fourteen. She wore a size XXXL CAMP HALF-BLOOD T-shirt under a camouflage jacket. She zeroed in on me and gave me an evil sneer. She reminded me of Nancy Bobofit, though the camper girl was much bigger and tougher looking, and her hair was long and stringy, and brown instead of red.

I kept walking, trying to stay as close as I could to Percy. "We haven't seen any other centaurs," Percy observed.

"No," said Chiron sadly. "My kinsmen are a wild and barbaric folk, I'm afraid. You might encounter them in the wilderness, or at major sporting events. But you won't see any here."

"You said your name was Chiron. Are you really..."

He smiled down at me. "The Chiron from the stories? Trainer of Hercules and all that? Yes, Percy, I am."

"But, shouldn't you be dead?"

Chiron paused, as if the question intrigued him. "I honestly don't know about should be. The truth is, I can't be dead. You see, eons ago the gods granted my wish. I could continue the work I loved. I could be a teacher of heroes as long as humanity needed me. I gained much from that wish... and I gave up much. But I'm still here, so I can only assume I'm still needed."

I thought about being a teacher for three thousand years. It wouldn't have made my Top Ten Things to Wish For list.

"Doesn't it ever get boring?"

"No, no," he said. "Horribly depressing, at times, but never boring."

"Why depressing?"

Chiron seemed to turn hard of hearing again.

"Oh, look," he said. "Annabeth is waiting for us."

* * *

The blond girl I'd met at the Big House was reading a book in front of the last cabin on the left, number eleven.

When we reached her, she looked us critically.

I tried to see what she was reading, but I couldn't make out the title. I thought my dyslexia was acting up. Then I realized the title wasn't even English. The letters looked Greek to me. I mean, literally Greek. There were pictures of temples and statues and different kinds of columns, like those in an architecture book.

"Annabeth," Chiron said, "I have masters' archery class at noon. Would you take Percy and Y/N from here?"

"Yes, sir."

"Cabin eleven," Chiron told me, gesturing toward the doorway. "Make yourself at home."

Out of all the cabins, eleven looked the most like a regular old summer camp cabin, with the emphasis on old. The threshold was worn down, the brown paint peeling. Over the doorway was one of those doctor's symbols, a winged pole with two snakes wrapped around it. What did they call it... ? A caduceus.

Inside, it was packed with people, both boys and girls, way more than the number of bunk beds. Sleeping bags were spread all over on the floor. It looked like a gym where the Red Cross had set up an evacuation center.

Chiron didn't go in. The door was too low for him. But when the campers saw him they all stood and bowed respectfully.

"Well, then," Chiron said. "Good luck, Percy, Y/N. I'll see you at dinner."

He galloped away toward the archery range.

I stood in the doorway, looking at the kids. They weren't bowing anymore. They were staring at us. I knew this routine. I'd gone through it at enough schools.

"Well?" Annabeth prompted. "Go on."

So naturally Percy tripped coming in the door and made a total fool of himself, almost taking me with him but I had let go of him as he fell. There were some snickers from the campers, but none of them said anything.

Annabeth announced, "Percy Jackson, Y/N L/N, meet cabin eleven."

"Regular or undetermined?" somebody familiar asked.

I didn't know what to say, but Annabeth said, "Undetermined."

Everybody groaned.

"Now, now, campers. That's what we're here for. Welcome, Percy and Y/N. You can have that spot on the floor, right over there. Y/N can have the bed over there."

"Luke." I smiled. He replied with a grin and ruffled my hair.

"Uh?"

"This is Luke," Annabeth said, and her voice sounded different somehow. I glanced over and could've sworn she was blushing. She saw me looking, and her expression hardened again. "He's your counselor for now."

"For now?" Percy asked.

"You're undetermined," Luke explained patiently. "They don't know what cabin to put you in, so you're here. Cabin eleven takes all newcomers, all visitors. Naturally, we would. Hermes, our patron, is the god of travelers."

I looked at the tiny section of floor they'd given Percy. He was a few spots away from mine.

I looked around at the campers' faces, some sullen and suspicious, some grinning stupidly, some eyeing me as if they were waiting for a chance to pick my pockets.

"How long will we be here?" Percy asked.

"Good question," Luke said. "Until you're determined."

"How long will that take?"

The campers all laughed.

"Come on," Annabeth told us. "I'll show you the volleyball court."

"I've already seen it."

"Come on." She grabbed Percy's wrist and dragged him outside. Percy took my hand to come with him, I could hear the kids of cabin eleven laughing behind us.

"See you at dinner." Luke waved.

When we were a few feet away, Annabeth said, "Jackson, you have to do better than that."

"What?"

She rolled her eyes and mumbled under her breath, "I can't believe I thought you were the one. Maybe it was Y/N."

"What's your problem?" Percy was getting angry now. "All I know is, I kill some bull guy—"

I gripped his shoulder trying to calm him.

"Don't talk like that!" Annabeth told me. "You know how many kids at this camp wish they'd had your chance?"

"To get killed?"

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Hahah typo and originality go brrr

Taglist?

@gayer-than-the-gayest-gay @the-natureofme @booknerd-3000

#Percy Jackson #Percy Jackson X Reader #Percy Jackson X Y/N #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo #Y/N L/N #Y/N L/N and the halfbloods #X Reader #Book 1 #Lightning thief #luke castellan #Luke castellan x reader #Chapter 6 #Fanfiction #fanfictions

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0vorenation0 · 5 years ago

Text

Work Smarter, Not Harder

Cole was the college quarterback for the Panthers, he worked his whole life for a shot at being a college quarterback and then play professional. All he worked on was his body and his arm, so he could throw the ball down the field. Cole was a badass quarterback his first year he already took his team to state. Cole was an ass tho, always such a bully and a jerk. He would mess with Paul the nerd of the college, Paul was very smart. He was already gonna be valedictorian, but Cole always saw him as a push around. He would mess with him throw balls at him and make fun of the way he dressed.

One day Paul was walking through the gym to get to his geometry class when Cole stopped him. “Hey Paul get your ass over here, I need u to do my homework” Cole asked but Paul knew it wasn’t a question but a demand. “Fuck off Cole I’m not doing ur homework anymore fine someone else.” Paul said as he stood up to him. Cole shocked and angry grabbed Paul “Listen to me u little twerp I’m gonna come by ur house tonight and if my homework isn’t done I’m gonna best ur ass, now get on before I take u in the locker rooms and shove ur head in the toilet” Cole let go of his shirt and pushed him away. Paul cowarded in fear and anger and went on to his dorm.

When Paul got to his dorm he threw his bag on the ground and jumped on his bed. He grabbed his pillow and screamed “FUCK YOU COLE”. He got out Coles homework and finished it, but Paul wrote all the wrong answers so he would look like a fool. As soon as he was done he heard a knock on the door, it was Cole and he busted in. “Hey fuck face is it done?” Paul responded “hey it’s done, here” Paul handed him the work. “Good job, here my calculus work” Paul snapped and stood up and with ungodly strength he punched Cole right in the gut. Knocking the wind out of him and he collapsed on the floor.

Paul calmed and looked at his hands, he was shocked and stared at his hands. The strength seemed to come out of know where. After the punch another side of Paul came out. Cole managed to pick himself off the ground in anger and tried to swing at Paul, but Paul dodged it. He grabbed coles arms and twisted them behind him and held him to the bed. Paul was enjoying himself and he finally began to realize the more he touched Cole the stronger he got. He felt a twitch in his pants and noticed he was hard and his hard on was massive and startj g to hurt in his jeans.

He let loose his jeans and his massive cock swung out and hit the ground, his cock was easily ten times the side of his normal size. He felt powerful and felt an emptiness inside his cock. Almost a hungry feeling, he grabbed it and started to rub it, all of this was so strange. Cole kicked and squirmed to break free of Paul’s grip and Cole turned his head and saw the massive cock growing hard. Cole freaked and said, “PLEASE down fuck me, Paul, I’m not GAY!!!!” Paul had no plan to fuck him but his cock was craving something else them an ass. It craved and entire man, Paul let go of Cole. Cole turned to punch Paul again but he dived it again and his hand went passed his head and straight into the massive cock.

Cole tried to pull his hand out but it was stuck from the suction, he moved his other hand towards his hand to get a better grip but then his other hand was sucked in. He looked up at Paul who was both grinning and had his eyebrows raised. Paul was so confused about how this was happening but his inner dark mind wanted Cole to suffer as he suffered. He actually wasn’t guilty at all watching Cole plead for his life as his forearms were sucked in drawing his head closer and closer with every pulse of his cock.

Coles's head was inches away from the cock slit that was going to suck him in when Paul grabbed his hair and pulled up. Their eyes met and Paul spoke “this is for the worst year of my life u arrogant bastard, u made my life hell u dick. No one will no where ur stupid slef went, I hope u become a nice big load. I hear ur friend jack just came out as a gay sub maybe I’ll go meet him and blow ur cummifed remains into his ass. This feels so good knowing that I will have the last laugh, goodbye fuck face” and with that Paul lines his head up and Paul’s cock grows and expands over Cole's head.

The quarterback's body is slowly sucked in, every pulse of Paul’s cock takes in more and more of Cole. There’s was no escape for Cole now as he enter halfway inside the nerds cock. Paul could feel his cock slowly Glide and slide over ever slab of muscular ab. The jock worked his whole life for his body and he was about to be reduced to nothing but cum. He slide off Coles pants and underwear, Paul was surprised to see Coles ass and the object lodged inside it. Deep inside Coles asshole was a massive pink butt plug, Paul laughed and took a picture. “I’m gonna show all ur friends that u were a closet gay and that u liked getting fucked.” Paul pulled out the butt plug and threw it on his bed and slapped Coles ass as hard as he could.

The massive cock pulse big time and sucked in Coles ass and cock, Paul could feel every wiggle, squirm and fight that Cole made. Cole desperately wanted out and tired as hard as he could to squirm out but it was hopeless. Every attempted was like quicksand it just sucked him more and more, he slipped from the pre-cum covers fleshy walls. Soon to be his prison, Cole could feel himself getting pushed in from Paul. What was once pleading and begging turned into hatred and rage. He kicked and fought the whole way in and with that Paul pushed his legs and feet in. Cole was sent down the massive cock util he entered a large room, Coles head had entered the nerd's balls.

He slowly slide into the cum filled balls and curled into a ball, Coles anger turned to hopelessness and shame. He began to cry and wimpier like a little bitch, Paul rubbed his balls as he felt Cole squirm in them and sat down on his bed. He began to stroke his cock and felt the churning process begin. It wants long before Cole was completely turned to jizz, the poor Cole once a jock and the star quarterback turned into nothing but a load of jizz in a nerds balls. Paul was close and felt strange, not like a climax strange but a growth strange.

He absorbed all of Cole, and his muscles were distributed throughout Paul. He was no longer a nerd but a massive jock with muscles and pecs and abs. He smiled and jumped up still jerking his cock. He looked in the mirror and marveled at himself he was a stud and so hot. And once he saw himself he felt himself hit the climax, Paul felt his Balls tighten, and then she shot his laid out onto everything. He fell over and suddenly lay up in bed.

He looked down at his hands and they were still small and twinkish, he jumped out of bed and looked in the mirror. He was still a nerd and looked down at his underwear. They were covered in cum, “what it was all a dream, NO it felt so real that can’t be.” He beard his door get hammered and ran to the door and opened it, it was Cole look for his homework. “WTF U IDIOT I’ve been knocking for five mins didn’t u hear me. Where’s my work, and why are u covered in cum u gay boi.” Cole went over and pushed Paul, and saw his work on the bed. “ ahhh hear it is, u are good for one thing. Ewww, fuck Man ur cum is all over it WTF.” Paul still shocked that it was a dream and grabbed Coles's arm. Then he felt it, the ungodly strength he had felt in his dream. Paul pulled bakc his fist and ................

(Thanks to Louis or @masterlouistf for the pics and help!!!!)

#vorenation #cock vore

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needs-to-stop-looking-at-yigas · 3 years ago

Note

After a month in chastity, I think Huni deserves to get his whussy (whore pussy) wrecked by Daruk, don’t you?

Imma do this, instead of answering the fucking arbys shit, fuck you.

Fuck Rhoam. His royal high ass kept his pussy in a cage. Not just for a session-but a whole MONTH. He was FINALLY given a chance to be free, and at first, he was just going to jerk it until he passed out. But it wasn't enough. He wanted to not just cum, he wantes his toes to curl, his eyes to roll to the back of his head.

He wanted a big, damn near scary cock. And according to Kohga, that meant he neeced some Goron meat. And since Huni was the prettiest Gerudo, he deserved the sexiest Goron. As in, Daruk. Big muscles, big ol' stomach, and LOTS of hair- dude was a TOTAL stud with a sweetheart of a personality.

"Hey! You wanted to see me?"

Being the king's whore made him pretty important, so him summoning one of the champions wasn't so odd. Though, summoning him to his own little play room WAS a bit odd. Huni turned to look at him, barely able to keep himself hidden in his robe.

"Daruk, sooo glad you could make it. I've had SUCH a pain in my back, and I heard you Goron's are famous for your massages."

"We are, but its usually over a hot rock slab, I-"

Huni put on such a sad face, and of course, Daruk couldn't refuse him. He sighed, motioning to his bed.

"Suppose I can TRY. Can't guarantee I'll get any kinks out though."

Oh he will. Whether he knew it or not. Huni hopped into bed, sighing as he got comfy. Daruk was about to put his hands on him, when Huni whined.

"Daruk. I don't mean to be a pest, but could you...well. You know, never mind, I'm sorry."

Daruk looked down at him, clearly willing to listen.

"No no, what is it? I wanna make you comfortable."

Oh such a sweet, stupid man. He faked a sad face.

"I was just...could you get nude too? I'm in this little robe, and I just feel like I'd feel less...judged. You understand."

He didn't, but that didn't matter. Daruk was too sweet to refuse him.

"Uh, sure, if it helps you? I'll put it back on if you're uncomfortable too."

Daruk didn't move away from him, putting on QUITE the show for him. First came off the weapon, then the chain, then, finally, that pesky Goron underwear. Oh Huni could swoon. He. Was. HUGE. Dear god, a giant, scaley cock, with a matching set of balls. And this was him FLACCID.

"You're okay with this?"

"Oh yeah, totally. I'm like, SO much more comfortable now. You’re a sweetie, Daruk."

Daruk chuckled, rubbing the back of his head. Aside from rich asshole daddies, Huni was GREAT at reeling in one other type; buff dumbasses with huge hearts. And suffice to say, Daruk was caught in his little whore web.

"No problem. Sorry if I'm a bit rough. Revali says I dunno my own strength."

Holy SHIT his pussy was wet.

"Oh don't worry. I can handle a big guy like you. Now quit teasing! My back is just, awful."

Daruk did as he said. His hands were on him in an instant, digging his big fingers into his own soft skin. Oh they were ROUGH, and it made Huni just melt under him like butter.

"You good down there?"

"Oh...definitely. You're a god send, Daruk. Though...I'd love for you to go a little lower."

Daruk obeyed. His hands were now just RIGHT above his ass. His body was already sore from his handiwork, but he didn’t care in the slightest.

"Where exactly is that knot? I can't...find it?"

Huni was lost in thought for a moment, letting himself get touched all over by those absolutely beastly hands.

"Hmmm...maybe try getting in front of me. Might get a better angle."

"Worth a shot."

Daruk moved till he was right in front of him, before leaning over and reaching for his lower back. Huni felt himself drool as he looked in front of him. His cock was RIGHT there, just tempting him. He swore he could even feel the heat coming off his massive frame.

"You feel it, big guy?"

"Not...exactly? I'll keep looking though, I'd be embarrassed if I left without making you feel better."

Oh that was it. He was fucking getting it. Huni was unable to resist, and he leaned forward, wrapping his mouth around the thick head. Daruk jumped a bit, having to hold onto the table in order to keep either of them from falling.

"Woah woah! What are you-"

"You said you wanted to make me feel better, right? Come on, make me feel better~"

Daruk stammered in response, but he didn’t push Huni away. He stayed still, as if testing the waters. Huni could sway him, he was sure of it. He fit as much of him as he could, slurping and licking. Oh the scales made for such a new, yummy texture, he was obsessed. He felt himself whimper as Daruk pulled him away, already lightly panting.

"I...are you sure you wanna do this? What about Rh-"

"He's fine with it, trust me. Now get over here, I'm not done sucking that cobble crusher of yours~"

Rhoam WASN’T okay with this. He'd be FURIOUS if he knew Huni was getting destroyed by Goron cock. But sweet Daruk didn't need to know that. Huni got him to sit on the floor, before undoing his robe, letting it fall to the floor. Daruk chuckled.

"You planned this, didn't you?"

"You act like you've never thought about it. And its not my fault, look at how wet you made me."

Huni walked over to him, laying on him with his pussy facing him, and his face right in front of that semi hard cock. Daruk chuckled, holding onto Huni's cheeks, and parting them, getting a good look at his soaked pussy.

"Take it you like my hands."

"And you like MY mouth."

He was a bit of a spicy boy, and in a way, it made this more fun. Huni helped himself to more of that cock, one hand used to keep himself from falling, and the other to hold onto his growing gerth. Oh the way his scales glided against his tongue, the way the smell of dirt and flint tickled his nose. As is that wasn’t enough; Daruk was fascinated with his ass, massaging them and fondling them and making juices drip down his legs and-

"You wanna see what these hands can really do?"

Oh what a naughty, naughty boy, Daruk. Huni pulled away, spitting onto his cock and continuing to stroke him furiously.

"Fucking hell-you better finger my fucking pussy right now."

He turned to look at Daruk, who gave a small salute in understanding. Then he stopped being so nice. Shoving not one, but TWO of his big sausage fingers right into his pussy. And he wasn't gentle. His fingers pumped in and out of him quickly, making pussy juices soak his hand and onto the floor.

"Oh FUCK!! Oh that's it, milk my fucking pussy!!!"

He couldn’t even focus on sucking. He was barely able to stroke him, just melting on top of Daruk like hot butter. He had only been doing it for a few seconds, and he was already going to fucking cum. Then, he suddenly pulled out, leaving Huni feeling empty, and just absolutely desperate. Daruk chuckled.

"Hey hey. Let's not forget the main event."

Daruk reached over, smudging Huni's face against his giant, hard, hot, leaking gerth. Oh Huni could have this cock in his face as if it was makeup. Daruk was sweet, and yet, he was still a bully. He loved it.

"Fucking shit- stop teasing me and give it to me, you fucking-"

Daruk didn't let him finish as he picked Huni up, held onto his thighs, and sank that soaked pussy right onto his cock. HOW that managed to fit, no one had a clue, but that didn't matter. It fit, it stuffed him fully, and he was seeing fucking stars.

And then Daruk decided he REALLY liked that pussy. He wasn't gentle as he slammed into him, holding onto his frame as he rutted against him like he was a goddamn sex toy. His breath was hot against his neck, his grip was strong on her pretty legs, his balls smacking against him in his fury-it was fucking everything. Huni reached a hand behind him, grabbing a fistful of that gorgeous hair, and using his other hand to furiously rub his clit.

"FUCKING SHIT!!! FUCK ME! RUIN MY FUCKING PUSSY WITH THAT GORON COCK!"

Daruk didn't even bother telling him to shut up. He just did as he was told; satisfying his insides with his scales, giving him the texture the likes of which he's NEVER had. Then Huni came. Oh he came, screaming out all types of swears as his pussy gushed all over that destructive dick. And Daruk fucked him right through it, right until HE came.

And holy SHIT, that was enough to almost make him cum again. Goron cum felt so different than Hylian cum. It was hotter, MUCH thicker, it was like stuffing his pussy full of hot cream. Daruk pulled out after a second, groaning loudly as he came all over him. His stomach, his chest, and his face- all covered in Goron cum. It even tasted good, like a nice, spicy/sweet drink. They sat there for a moment, basking in the afterglow, when Huni chuckled.

"Say 'cheese', big guy!"

Huni grabbed onto his face, winking at the camera, while Daruk looked a bit bashful. Oh this was going to be his new wallpaper.

And Daruk was his new toy.

#asks #daruk #huni #lemon #sorry it took so long #but here you go some goron dick

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foursideharmony · 4 years ago

Text

The Cat, the Prince, and the Doorway to Imagination (Chapter 5)

Summary: Roman confronts the other Sides.

Pairings: Platonic/familial LAMP/CALM, Platonic/familial DLAMPR

Content Warnings: Violence and threats of violence, nightmare imagery

Word Count: 3,194

Read on AO3: here

“Won't be long now,” said Mr. Beaver as the group rounded a low hill. The sun was just starting to sink, and the resulting shadow made them all the colder. They had been on the move for nearly twenty hours, with only brief and infrequent rest stops, and had long since begun dragging their feet. Their trail made a continuous ragged line through the snow.

“I can't feel my anything,” Patton moaned.

“Well if nothing else,” said Mrs. Beaver, trudging alongside him and patting his hand, “they'll at least have decent campfires where we're going.”

Another twenty-five or so minutes brought them around the base of that hill and the next one, and then the Beavers led the group up the slope of a third and tallest hill. “And here we are,” said Mr. Beaver once they reached the summit. “The hill of the Stone Table.”

The hilltop was a broad space, clear of trees, with a grim gray construction in the very center: the Stone Table itself. It seemed like the whole snowscape of Narnia spread out before them, all the way to the twinkling ocean. It would have been a lovely view if not for the circumstances that had brought them there.

No one greeted them. They thought at first that no one was even there, but Virgil pointed to a hunched figure crouched on the ground some distance away from the table, tending the embers of a small fire by means of an awkwardly long poker held at full arm's length, as if she were afraid to go too near it. She was very slender, with lightly tanned skin and misty pale green hair that stuck out from her head in bristly locks, falling down to merge with her dress, which was the same color and texture.

“Ailim, is that you?” said Mr. Beaver.

“Oh!” said the woman, rising to her feet in one motion, more gracefully than any human could manage. “Beaver...I wasn't expecting you.”

“Ailim...where is everyone?”

She shook her head with a sound like leaves rustling in a breeze. “A few are nearby, keeping to cover. As for the rest...they are safe in their homes. Where else would they be? Aslan has not come after all. Of my people, only my conifer siblings and myself are even awake. The rest of our cousins still sleep.”

“Ailim is a dryad,” Mrs. Beaver explained. “That's the spirit of a tree. In her case, a fir tree.”

“And you must be the humans of the prophecy,” said Ailim. “Do you know why Aslan has not returned?”

“B-beats me, Miss,” Patton said, teeth chattering. “The story seems to have hopped off the rails at some point.”

“Oh, how rude of me not to notice how cold you are. Do come sit by the fire. She crouched to poke up the flames, and used an equally long-handled set of tongs to add another log. Soon it was crackling nicely, and the Sides were clustered around it, sitting on small boulders that had been cleared of snow and soaking up the warmth.

“It doesn't bother you?” Virgil said as Ailim fed the fire again. “Burning wood? I mean, if you're a tree too...”

“This was all fallen and dead already when it was gathered,” she explained. “No Narnian of good heart would ever cut down a living tree, or even take so much as a single branch. Sometimes an aged dryad who knows she will die soon will bequeath her wood to those who need it, but living trees are sacrosanct. Or,” she added sadly, “so it was before the White Witch came.”

“We'll figure something out,” Patton said. “I think…I think the Witch is hurting someone we care about too.”

“In the meantime,” Mr. Beaver cut in, “this lot needs food and rest.”

“Of course,” said the dryad. “There are shelters in the thickets on the southeastern slope, and provisions. Tap three times quickly and twice slowly on the large boulder and the fauns will let you inside.” She met each of their gazes in turn. “In the morning we must hold a council of war.”

*******************************************

At least Jadis's bed was comfortable enough.

Roman had found it eventually, after wandering the frozen castle for what felt like hours. It was only a broad, thick slab of ice on the floor, but it was heaped with enough blankets and furs that he was adequately shielded from the worst of the cold, both from the frigid air of the castle and the bed itself. He crawled in, his head still spinning, and wrapped himself in layers of bedding like a caterpillar forming its cocoon.

Sleep came quickly, but proper rest did not; Roman's dreams were full of ice and crystal and stone and snowflakes that came spinning down out of a black sky like tiny sawmill blades. Where they touched him he flinched and bled, and his blood was the pale turquoise of a glacial core. It whispered to him in sounds that were almost words and phrases in a language he only partially understood.

Perhaps he thrashed or cried out in his sleep, but if so, no one noticed or responded.

And with the coming of the dawn, Roman opened his eyes...and knew who he was. And what he was.

*******************************************

The war council never happened.

After their long trek, the Sides had just enough energy left to swallow a few mouthfuls of the stew the fauns had prepared and fall asleep on rough cots in a den of sorts excavated from the hillside. The Narnians hadn't the heart to disturb them, and they didn't wake until the sun was well over the horizon, and then only because a strange, piercing sound was blaring from outside the shelter, coming from some distance away. It was like a horn, but shriller, and it set their teeth on edge.

Bleary-eyed from stolen sleep, they bustled out to find their hosts interrupted in the act of preparing breakfast. “What's going on?” Patton yawned. “Is it time for the council meeting thingie?”

“We're not sure,” said one of the fauns, whose name escaped him. The peculiar sound continued at intervals of a few seconds, and seemed intended as a signal of some kind.

“Something is approaching!” came Ailim’s voice from the hilltop. “Let us all gather as a show of our numbers!”

“What numbers,” Virgil muttered, but he joined the other two, and the Beavers and fauns and other handful of Narnian citizens now emerging from their respective shelters, in hiking back up to the summit, where Ailim was waiting with another dryad, taller and wirier than herself. They got there just in time to see, bursting through the trees on the northern slope, a Dwarf they barely recognized as the White Witch’s driver. He was blowing on some kind of wind instrument that appeared to be made from silvery crystal—or perhaps ice—which was of course the sound they had all been hearing. Behind him, further downslope, there was some kind of commotion that wasn’t yet visible through the brush and piled snow.

“Narnians!” bellowed the Dwarf. “Make ready to receive your most exalted ruler, the White Warlock!”

“What?” Virgil growled.

“White Warlock?” said Patton. “No, it’s supposed to be the White Witch. A scary lady! I remember that part!”

“'Warlock' is a semi-archaic term for a male witch,” Logan observed.

“Guys, I have the worst feeling about this…” said Virgil.

More creatures were emerging from the trees on the hill slope, and it took the Sides a moment to realize that they were looking at a procession of monsters. First was a group of Goblin heralds carrying gonfalons that seemed to consist only of crosspieces crusted with masses of icicles. Then came a formation of Dwarf archers, and then several Ogres bearing clubs. Following this were a few Hags, hissing and pointing threateningly into the gathering.

(“What is this, the whole bloody entourage?” whispered Mr. Beaver. “Dear! Mind your language!” Mrs. Beaver retorted.)

As the procession reached the hilltop, it broke to its right, circling the space counterclockwise and fanning out along the other side of the Stone Table from the Sides and their allies, effectively corralling them—they could retreat, technically, but there was only one direction available; they would be easy pickings if they tried.

Finally, the White Warlock himself appeared, lounging in a fur-lined sedan chair on the shoulders of four massive Minotaurs. His crown glittered as he moved in and out of patches of shade and his robe was made entirely of ermine, with a train that trailed behind the chair for ten yards, held off the ground by a team of Yew-dryads, their short shaggy hair speckled with scarlet berries. The Minotaurs crested the hill, and one of them kicked snow over the smoldering campfire, extinguishing it. They eased the chair down, and the Warlock rose from his seat, stepped lightly to the ground, and turned to face them.

It was Roman...and he was wrong.

They knew what “evil Roman” was supposed to look like. The fans loved to imagine him, for some reason, and they tagged Thomas in their fanart of the concept often enough that the Sides were familiar with the consensus image: the haughty expression, the gaudy gold crown studded with rubies, and especially the transformation of his suit from pristine, heroic white to Disney Villain black.

It wasn't...it wasn't supposed to become even whiter. It wasn't supposed to gleam almost too bright to look at in the sunlight, so that even the ermine barely looked white by comparison. The gold braid wasn't supposed to be replaced with silver, nor the noble red of his sash with a dusky grayish mauve like dried rose petals under a veneer of frost. The crown was not supposed to be made of silvery ice, with only a single huge diamond set under the central point.

His hair was not supposed to be shot through with white strands that turned out, upon closer inspection, to be ornamentation of impossibly delicate ice filigree. His eyes were definitely not supposed to be gray, flecked with blue-green. And he was not supposed to be pale, but he was—paler than Virgil, if such a thing were possible, lacking even a cold-induced blush to his cheeks, yet without looking the least bit unhealthy. It was as if he had been molded out of ivory.

The only hint of warmth in his appearance was that diamond, which flashed all the colors of fire.

He was wrong.

“Hark! You are all guilty of high treason against the Crown!” he said without preamble, and his voice at least, if not the disdainful tone, was familiar. “Except you three,” he added with a curt nod at his fellow Sides. “However! We are in a lenient mood! Abandon your rebellion at once, and swear fealty to us, and you will not be punished...this time. As for you...” He addressed the Sides again, and for just a moment, his cold arrogance retreated, “...in exchange for your fealty, I will make you all lesser Kings in my court. Think of it! This glorious winter kingdom could belong to all of us!”

The Narnians shuffled on their feet, making no reply. The Sides traded glances, Logan frowning uncertainly and Virgil shaking his head with a haunted expression. Finally, Patton spoke.

“Roman...this isn't fun anymore, with you acting like this. This isn't how you said the story was going to go. Can we just...go home? We can talk out whatever's bothering you.”

It was shocking how quickly Roman's eyes hardened. “I will not be mocked,” he said, low and dangerous. “You have one day and night to change your minds...or else prepare for war. And these—” he made an expansive gesture at the creatures he had brought with him, “—are merely the outermost tip of my armies.” He returned to his sedan chair and the Minotaurs hoisted it up. The procession began to descend the hill.

“Down with the White Warlock!” blurted the taller Dryad, Ailim's companion. “Aslan is King!”

Roman's head whipped around to glare at her. Without a single word, he nodded to the nearest of the Hags, and she lunged at the Dryad, shrieking and making a throwing gesture. There was something like a flash of light in reverse—a flash of darkness—and the tall tree-spirit sank to the ground with a sigh.

“Muricata!” Ailim cried as one of the Ogres stepped forward and lifted the fallen nymph in one massive hand.

“Find her tree,” growled the White Warlock. “Cut it down while she watches.”

“No! Please!” Ailim begged. “She is my sister!”

“Take the other one as well. Let them both watch.” A second Ogre seized Ailim and began dragging her along while she screamed in terror and grief.

“Roman!” Patton gasped. “H-how could you?”

“Don't make me punish you as well!” Roman snarled. “Move out!”

The procession withdrew back down the hill, leaving the Narnians devastated and the Sides both bewildered and appalled. “So now what?” Virgil said, pacing erratically and pulling at his hair. “This is really bad, you guys. Super bad. We're not just talking rail-jumping here. Roman's taken a flying leap off...off something, I don't know, but there is something wrong with him. I thought maybe he was just throwing a surprise twist at us, but did you see him? That look in his eyes? This is so bad—”

“Virgil, you are spiraling,” said Logan. “Try one of your breathing exercises.”

“I don't understand,” said Patton. “Why would Roman go this far? Do you think he's mad at us for something?”

“It is possible,” said Logan. “He has undergone a number of upsetting occurrences recently, and his mood has not been the most stable. Then again, with his talk of 'swearing fealty'...perhaps he is simply craving validation.”

“Should we just give it to him then?” said Virgil. I mean if it's the fastest way to get him off the crazy train...”

“Unfortunately, I have to advise against indulging him in this,” said Logan. “While it may work in the short term to, as you say, 'get him off the crazy train'—which does not sound like a practical or enjoyable means of transportation, by the way—the likely long-term effect would be to encourage him to continue these destructive methods of addressing his self-esteem deficits.”

“Patton, you're the 'should' guy around here...what should we do?”

“I'm honestly thinking we should just leave. The best way to send a message that the game is no good, is to quit playing. He can grapple with his feelings as long as he needs to, and we'll be there for him when he's ready to come out and talk.”

“I would tend to agree,” said Logan, “but I doubt there is any way for us to leave the Imagination without Roman noticing, and in his current state he would be certain to take steps to stop us, possibly violently.” He began to pace rapidly, wearing a tamped-down groove in the snow. “However...perhaps one of us could make it back to the door undetected, leave, and come back with...additional resources.”

“What kind of 'additional resources' did you have in mind?” said Virgil.

“It occurs to me,” Logan said, still pacing, “that Roman is rather...comfortable, with the three of us. That may cause him to take our points of view for granted, which ironically makes him less likely to listen to us than to someone with whom he might experience more interpersonal friction.”

There was a beat while Virgil and Patton took that in. “Oh, no!” Virgil said after a moment. “If you're suggesting what I think you're suggesting, then...no. I can't agree with that.”

“Just so we're on the same page,” Patton said carefully, “you want to go get Janus? You think he could help?”

“I think his presence might shock Roman just enough to shake him out of his assumptions about how this story is meant to go,” Logan explained.

“You could be right,” said Patton. “Roman arranged all this because he hasn't felt much like a hero ever since we started including Janus in our discussions. But somehow he wound up going completely the other way, to being the villain. Maybe seeing Janus will remind him of what he's trying to avoid?”

“Okay, cool, so I'm outvoted. Coolcoolcoolcoolcoolcool. So which one of us should go?”

“I was planning on doing it myself,” said Logan. “It would not be fair to ask you to carry out a plan to which you object, and between myself and Patton, I believe I have a greater chance of making the trek without getting sidetracked or losing my nerve. No offense, Patton.”

“None taken. It's an awfully long way to go by yourself, though. Are you sure you even know the way?”

“I have an excellent head for navigation and I believe I can triangulate the location of the door based on our travels thus far. I would feel more confident if I had some form of transportation, however.”

“I can carry you, sir,” said a deep but young-sounding voice from among the Narnians. It was the largest of those gathered, a Talking Bear not quite full grown but undeniably burly and powerful. “Name of Stoutpaws, sir. I'm not as good as a Horse but I'll do my best.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Stoutpaws. My name is Logan. If we start now, I estimate you can get me to my destination before sundown.”

“You're leaving already?” Patton said, fretting.

“Roman has only given us until tomorrow, Patton. Given the round trip, I need to use every minute I can to make sure I bring Janus back here before the deadline.”

Patton strode up and pulled him into a hug. “You be careful.”

“Likewise,” said Logan.

“I'll guard him with my life, sir,” said Stoutpaws. He crouched on all fours so that Logan could climb onto his back and then loped away down the westward slope of the hill.

“Gosh, things are happening fast,” Patton said, watching them go. “It all started so simply.”

“Come on, Pat,” said Virgil with a lopsided smile that got nowhere near his eyes, “you should know by now that nothing in this mind of Thomas's is ever simple. And on that note...we should probably pull this bunch together and come up with some contingency plans, just in case Logan doesn't get back in time.”

“Yeah,” Patton agreed noncommittally. “And someone oughta buck them up. They just watched two of their own get dragged away by the bad guys to be...” He trailed off.

“Don't think about it too much,” Virgil said. “Just...yeah, don't think about it.” The gathering was breaking up, the Narnians returning dejected to their hillside shelters. Patton and Virgil joined them.

Unseen in the snow-dusted brush nearby, someone was watching...

#sanders sides #fanfiction #lamp/calm #Platonic LAMP/CALM #dlampr #platonic dlampr #narnia #sympathetic janus #sympathetic remus #villainous roman

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moonscarsandstars · 4 years ago

Text

Lily: I can’t believe they actually went through with it, honestly.

Alice: I know, it’s just stupid.

Dorcas: the article said they were schoolkids.

Dorcas: they’re literally our ages, okay?

Lily: i get what you mean, but it’s a little much, don’t you think?

Lily: I mean, I’d expect some backlash if i put whipped cream all over the store’s windows.

Alice: Where’d they even get that much whipped cream from?

Alice: That shit’d cost a fortune.

Alice: I mean, have you seen the size of the freakin shop?

Lily: Ik, it’s a waste of time, money and food.

Remus slowly scrolled through the chats from earlier that evening.

He realy had no idea why the store had a night shift- well, he did; technically it was a 24 hour shop- but other than the occasional contraceptive, no one ever came anywhere beyond eleven.

Lily had tried to convince him not to take the shift. She told him that they had an important class at seven, but he refused skip the shift.

The truth was, he really wanted to buy a hardcover version of Wuthering heights, but it was way beyond the pathetic amount of pocket money he had, and his parents would rather buy the store he was working in than yet another book.

So here he was, running on two cups of coffee, wearing the store’s shirt, and scrolling through his phone in the flickering lights.

The store was relatively empty.

Except for the dishevelled stranger who’d suddenly rushed in, hair flying all around him.

He looked around frantically, before locking eyes with Remus, and promptly stalking towards him.

Remus’s heart sped up, and fear pulsed through his veins, as the man neared him with an intense gaze. But as the man came close, the fierce look in his eyes seemed more weary, and shadows hung under them.

But damn, this man was hot.

He looked no older than Remus himself, with wild, black hair- shoulder length- that wildly flailed around his face. He had black studs on his ears, and sharp cheekbones. Those eyes, however, were a whole new thing. They were hypnotic, and Remus couldn’t bring himself to look away.

There was something familiar about him, though Remus couldn’t put his finger on it.

“How- how can I help you? Remus hoped he didn’t notice the stutter.

“Hi, d’you have thermocol and citric acid?”

“What?”

The man didn’t seem to hear him, as his gaze lingered for a second or two- though it felt like hours- before he shook out of it. His focused expression dropped, and he looked much more relaxed.

“Oh- chemistry project. I- uh- was busy earlier, and this was only shop open near me. Yeah- don’t ask me what old sluggy expects us to do.”

“Sluggy?”

“Slughorn. Can’t blame him for wanting us to refer to him by his first name,” said Sirius, imitating him for the last part.

“Poor bloke must hate his parents.”

“Yeah,” said Sirius with a chuckle.

Remus noticed the man’s eyes slip to his lips unconsciously, and blushed faintly. He didn’t seem to notice, and his gaze lingered for a second again, before he Remus waved a hand in front of his eyes.

“S- sorry- I really need sleep. Anyway- yeah- citric acid and thermocol?”

“Oh,” Remus stretched out his hand behind him before continuing. “I think if you searched there, you might find the thermocol. It’s in the ‘art and crafts’ section.”

“Thanks.”

And with that, the man rushed back to the ‘arts and crafts’ section.

Remus smirked after the man, feeling butterflies he didn’t realised existed fade away.

He switched on his phone, and swiped to their group chat.

That’s when it hit him.

The boys in the article. Who put whipped cream all over the roof. Of the store. This hot man was one of them.

Remus started chuckling to himself, earning him a weird look from the man who’d just appeared with a huge slab of thermocol.

“What’s so funny?”

“Looked at my future,” mumbled Remus earning a dry chuckle from the man. “Anyway, the citric acid is most probably at the pharmacy.”

“Thanks.”

As Remus watched the man jog off, he escaped the till he was standing at, quickly making his way to the refrigerated section. Skimming over it, he found what he was looking for, and quickly made his way back at the till.

Not a moment or two later, the man came from the pharmacy with a bottle of citric acid and a hairbrush.

“Highly doubt ‘Sluggy’ wants neat hair as a part of his experiment,” mused Remus.

“Oh, don’t you know? Taking care of your hair is punk rock, no matter what James says.”

“I’m going to assume that James is your partner in crime.”

The man let out a chuckle, before it fell from his face in confusion.

Remus produced a bottle of whipped cream from below the till, earning him a loud bark of laughter, that even drew a grin from Remus himself.

“Has the whole world heard about it at this point?”

“Nah, Lily’s just way too obsessed with the headlines.”

“Oh my god.” Sirius stopped dead in his tracks, the grin still painted on his face. “Isn’t Lily the part time bartender- redhead?”

“Yeah? How did you know?”

“James is the bloke with messy hair, glasses, and heart-eyes for her.”

“That’s James? She’s been mooning for him forever now!”

“You’re kidding. James would start singing.”

“Really not. I’ve seen her taking the till whenever he comes in.”

“Oh no, poor girl. She could do better than James.”

“Sure she could, that’s what I keep telling her. But no, she’s stuck on him.”

“That’s really the saddest thing I’ve heard all day, and believe me when I say this has been a strange day.”

Just then, the man’s phone started ringing. He mouthed “sorry, one sec,” before picking it up.

It was then that Remus realised.

He was head over heels for the man.

And he didn’t even know the man’s bloody name.

As the man put the phone back in the pockets of his jeans, Remus resisted the urge to pull him over the counter and do things he’d be fired for.

“What’s your name?”

“Sirius. Sirius Black.”

“The star?”

“Why thank you, I am a star,” said Sirius coyly, before continuing. “Yeah, like the star. My biological parents were into the whole star thing, I mean, my brother was called Regulus.”

Remus was confused by the word biological, but decided not to press further.

“Anyway,” Sirius said. “As nice as this is, I need to go now.”

“Oh, right.”

Remus collected the items, and scanned the barcode. It was a robotic process really, one he could do in his sleep. He collected the bill, and held his hand out for the cash, stuffing it in the counter.

“D’you want the receipt?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Remus collected the bill, before an idea struck him. As Sirius fumbled with the items, trying to stuff them in a plastic bag, Remus found a pen, and scribbled down his number onto the bill.

“Here you go,” he said, holding it out and turning around to hide a grin.

It was barely a few moments after he’d left the building, that Remus felt his phone vibrate. He opened it, grinned widely as he saw the notification.

(501) 961-806: never thanked you for the free whipped cream.

#sirius black wears earrings you can fight me on this #yknow the ones #studs #cause he says #'theyre punk rock'#'no they arent'#'shut up james they are'#marauders #marauders era #wolfstar fluff #wolfstar meet cute #wolfstar #sirius black #remus lupin #sirius x remus #sirius black x remus lupin

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therealmofamorus · 2 years ago

Text

Writing Request: The Dirtiest Cleanse of Lust (Highschool DxD/Genshin Impact)

AU of Writing Request: Crossover AU Original Male Stud AU

Theme: Loving Sex, Handjob, Public Sex - 2B

Summary: Before Issei, Mona would save money by taking baths in small natural ponds found in the wild. She still does it these days, but with Issei there to bathe her and fuck her body.

...

XxxX

...

Astrologist Mona Megistus moaned in her lover mouth as she give her big strong handsome love a nice, sensual hand-job, while he squeeze her nice plump dumptrunk of a ass with his manly hands.

His cock feel so nice and good in her small hand. How even as she held and have this big slab of meat into her. She still couldn’t believe this monster was inside her and that she still able to walk (although with a limp) after rigorous hours of the loving sex with the dragon-blooded devil man.

Her lover, Issei Hyoudou, High-Devil of the Devil Faction and King of his own independent peerage is a natural born lover with near-peerless skills and understanding of the female body and desires. As many of his lovers spoke highly of his skills and his perfect well-endowed cock that was a weapon of mass pussies destruction.

And he skillfully use that love stick to laid absolute ruination to her twat over and over again in unending hours of the bliss-induced sex with the strong magnificent stud.

“Issei~!” Mona moaned out as she pressed her petite frame with lust and affection in her eyes. She move the dick into her wet love tunnel and without a moment to waste, impaled himself on the burly rugged manhood of the High-Devil stud who proceed to bring her bliss after bliss with nothing but smile and gentle gaze in his brown eyes.

She threw her head back to let out guttural moan out of her lips, cumming her mind with hearts in her eyes and shameless look of pleasure twisted her aloof face that radiated love and lust in equal measurement. His hips piston in and out of her tight cunt with his impossible long and thick cock that less of human manhood but huge battering ram.

It’ll hours before the duo clen themselves off the grime and fluids of their love making...and to indulge in their lust in Issei home again.

#submission #highschool dxd #highschool dxd smut #issei hyoudou #genshin impact #mona genshin impact #original stud male au #crossover prompt #writing request

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trinidother · 4 years ago

Text

Mommy Minerva's Blacked Afternoon

For single house-mom Minerva Grimsly, life was a damn constant battle between boredom and bliss. Nothing really satisfied her. She became pregnant at 17, then later took to raising what ended up being two daughters all on her own. Was she going to settle though? Hell no. If there was one thing Minerva knew she wanted, it was everything.

She wanted everything. She wanted a good job, a nice house, and happy, healthy children. That was easy, and something she always flaunted. She was a successful, refined, classy, self-made woman in all respects. Miss Grimsly, at the tender age of 35, owned her own house, 4 cars (two for her daughters, one grocery-getter, and one for fun), and had the best dress sense of any woman in the neighborhood. Some even said the city.

Her curves, a lot like her rich, raven hair and endless ocean mist-gray eyes, were what some might call excessive. She had a huge, round, and perfectly form-fitting ass. The same could be said for her perfect breasts, which sat round, bouncy, and 100% real on her toned torso with a visible rib cage and soft tummy. If it wasn’t for those curves, her striking eyes and fashion sense would’ve landed her on catwalks for billion-dollar italian luxury brands. But it seemed she was much happier with her life now.

Because she got everything she wanted.

And that wasn’t like most people in her upper-class neighborhood, who’s external success hid some secret pain inside. Oh, Minerva had secrets, sure, but not the painful kind.

Her main secret to success? Along with being an absolute bombshell with enough explosive punch inside to flatten a good city block, she was also a massive hypocrite.

Minerva Grimsly was an outspoken moral woman. Her business would donate plenty of it’s ample revenue to charities, she always made her daughters promise to never date a guy they wouldn’t marry, and, likewise, to promise not to flaunt their wealth at school. And she did a great job at all that. As for when she was alone, in secret?

Let’s not mince words; perfect mom Minerva Grimsly was also a whore who liked getting fucking railed by massive cocks. The bigger, the better. The blacker? The way better.

That’s what she was doing right now, in fact. Well, that’s not true; she was actually in her bathroom, wearing some lingerie black as her hair, throwing away a pack of condoms. It was full. Was she throwing it away because she knew the mandingo stud she had waiting in her bedroom was way too big for those little condoms, or because she wanted the feeling of his gargantuan black cock erupting against her cervix? We may never know.

But what we can know is that Minerva wasn’t stupid. She never bought condoms that weren’t XXL. Of course, this is a black guy we’re talking about. Even if the condoms were max size, that doesn’t exactly give credence to either possibility. Minerva sure knew how to pick ‘em though.

She looked at herself in the mirror. She looked lovely, of course, but that much could be said about her 24/7/365. Minerva had no delusions about her appearance, even when she wasn’t in perfect makeup, with her glasses perfectly even, black opal earrings on, pearl necklace around her neck as tight as a teenage girl with daddy issues’ choker, and of course, that lingerie. She looked nicer now, to fuck some random black guy in her bed, than she did for 90% of business functions. Why shouldn’t she? This was the most important part of her day.

The time when she got to feel satisfied.

And make no mistake. Just as Minerva knew as she puckered up her red-lipsticked lips, you should know that ‘part of her day’ wasn’t figurative. She brought home a new fuckbuddy every day almost. Sneaking around her daughters was stressful, sure. It would be horrible if she was caught fucking a man she barely knew, especially a black one. She would be totally exposed as a hypocrite, and her relationship with her daughters that she worked so hard to perfect would be ruined.

But on the other hand, big, hard, nigger cocks drilling deep into her soft, pliable, white MILF holes? Yes fucking please.

So she indulged. She got her daughters on their merry way, leading the active, healthy lives of physically fit white suburban teenagers, while she got her pussy impaled by some oversized black man she picked up while zipping around in her convertible. A hypocrite and a liar. And a happy one.

Today, her daughter, Maddie, was out on a date with her boyfriend. He was a sweetheart, a nerdy, academic little white kid. He also ran track, did extracurriculars, and was generally liked. The perfect little white boy for Maddie to date. The sort who bought a 10 year old economy car with his own money for a summer job. The sort who asked for books for christmas. The exact sort of unassuming boy Minerva would like her daughter to marry and be happy with.

Minerva, of course, could never do that. That sort of boy was what she called a wimp, the sort of loser who she wouldn’t look twice at, ever. Not just because he was white, but because he was so bookish, so polite. It was rude of her to admit, but white guys like him? All they did to Minerva was make her panties dry right up. And Minerva never liked feeling dry panties.

Still, Maddie liked him, so Minerva genuinely wished them the best. Just like she genuinely couldn’t wait for the hung black stud she had waiting for her to make her fucking sore in the morning, only to have her do this again next afternoon.

“Alright,” she breathed, looking herself over in the mirror. She spun around and pushed a finger up against the underside of her soft, round butt. Barely a jiggle. “Good!” she breathed. Her body was more than good. It was fucking perfect. She was sure her daughters were happy she didn’t wear revealing clothes in public (much), or every boy in school would be drooling after her bountiful tits and plump rump.

She slid open the sliding door connecting the master bedroom and the bathroom. And struck a pose too, with her arm on the doorframe, hips cocked to the side, and of course, chest hanging out. “Sorry to keep you waiting, stud,” she said, able to fucking taste her thick, cherry-red lipstick.

On her overpriced, over decorated, TempurPedic-matteresed bed was her ‘friend’ Tyrone, totally naked, relaxing back without a care in the world. If there was a word to describe him, it’d be ‘full’.

Minerva was curvy, with a tiny waist (though not as tiny as it used to be…) and pillowy assets, but all of her was fucking dwarfed by Tyrone. If that was even his real name.

He had big, full pecs, with equally rounded shoulders. His thighs? Just as massive, along with that big belly, a sign of a good diet and hard work. It even had defined abs. Everything about him looked stuffed to the brim. To call Minerva’s ass plump next to this superior man would be criminal. She was happy she had enough to please him. There was a reason she only fucked black.

“Took you long enough babe. I was almost thinking you were trying to trick me.” He said. His lips were just as full and plump, with the sort of cruel sneer that made every white boy shrink in fear and every white girl’s panties wet. As you know, Minerva lived to feel her inner thighs get soaked.

And we didn’t even describe his cock.

Flaccid; or, as flaccid as that thick, sturdy hunk of dark brown meat could get, it was still a tough slab of flesh that was halfway as long as his thigh, and fittingly fat. “Sorry babe, I just wanted to make sure I looked perfect for you. After all, you already do.”

“Hah!” he grinned with large, white teeth. Even if he was a toothless hobo, Minerva would have still probably fucked him. She’d tell herself she wouldn’t, but when there was a stream flowing out of her panties, she couldn’t resist. “Well, I’m happy to look so perfect for a beautiful lady like yo-self,” he boomed. He looked over his prize proudly.

“You flatter me,” she said smuggle. Of course, she also bobbed her shoulders up and down, just so Tyrone got a view of those double-d’s bouncing. With a poofy sound on the fluffed covers, Minerva got to her work fluffing this bulls massive cock. Sure, it was as big and fat as her head, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t try to blow it.

“Ahh fuck yea,” he moaned as her lips went around his cockhead. He pushed her head down on that massive cock. She drooled all over it, which made his dark, ashy cock gleam with the afternoon light from her windows. “I was waiting so long this thing got cold.”

She pulled up. She was used to cocks being so big she gagged on them, but this one was so thick that she couldn’t even get his head to touch her uvula. The big veiny shaft got real fat real fast. Too fat to actually fit past her lips. It hurt her cheeks to even try and stretch that much.

“What’s wrong? Can’t deepthroat it?”

She pulled off with a loud, wet gasp. “Ah- heh- I’d give twenty grand to any girl you can find that can fit this fucking moooonster down her throat,” she laughed crazily with her head by its side. She sucked her juices of his veiny shaft loudly. The big black cock lived up to its name and was far longer than the length between her ears.

Tyrone laughed boomingly. “Hah, no, not really. But I like to think one day some bitch’ll managed.”

After a long, loud, slurrrrrrrrrrp!, Minerva managed to tear her hungry lips off his cock. “Fuck it’s huge,” she whispered. She honestly couldn’t blame some white girls for not acting attracted to black guys. This was a chore to get off, even if she loved it. “Well, sorry honey, but that girl isn’t me.”

“Yeah, I know bitch. But you’re going good, just keep sucking.”

“Yes, sir,” she smiled with that devilish grin of a bad mommy before going right back down to serve her man for today’s black dick. She sucked down the head good, like it was one of those massive lollipops way too big for a little kid’s mouth. Though she was a tall, busy business woman, just trying to suck this black dick, even with all the experience she knew she had, made her feel like an amateur. A little girl against a real man.

At least her tongue still knew what to do. She gave him the massage of his life right on his cockhead, sure to tease the most sensitive zone on a man’s body while she looked up at him with those sharp gray eyes. She got on her knees, sticking up her curvy ass for him to see all of.

A few minutes of that felt like an eternity. She wanted it to last longer.

“Fuck baby- aw fuck yeah bitch, I’m gonna cum.”

“Yethhhh,” Minerva gasped with lust that did not fit her name. Her tongue was still glued to the tip of his tongue, tasting the precum he leaked. She forced herself to put it back in her mouth. It felt strange there; like it belonged on a black dick. “I’ll fucking swallow it all, babe.”

“Naw, naw,” the black bull huffed. He grabbed a fistful of Minerva’s raven hair, pulling her face right below his stone-hard cock. “Imma but all over your whore face.”

Those words made her ears tingle and her cunt gush. She was a whore. Respected businesswoman, mother, and neighborhood association member, was really meant to be here. She was a slut, a whore, a hole to please big black cocks. What else could Minerva Grimsly need?

She stared up at his god cock, her ass still sticking up. It began flowing. That beautiful, thick, pungent cum poured out of his dick. Fat spurts and twitches sent it flying. He cummed on her face, coating her red cheeks with his seed. His filthy, sexy semen could’ve drowned her and she would die happy. It smeared her makeup and got in her glasses. Fuck, that was hard to clean. Maybe she wouldn’t even.

“Fuck,” he huffed, dropping his head back down into the pillow, “you like that, bitch?”

“Yessir,” she breathed. Minerva licked the dripping cum off her lips as she thought of how she’d threaten to call the cops if anyone called her a bitch in public. She’d probably make a scene, like your typical spoiled suburban white work mom.

Of course, cock like this was what she really spoiled herself with.

She rested her head on his thigh, stretching her tired neck and jaw. All that work, and she barely got that monster cock into her mouth; and it was still so amazing to look at. With her face on his thigh, through just a little bit of his thick, manly hair, she got to smell that beautiful, hot aroma from his sweaty, churning balls. When she raised her eyes, she could see his black dick standing like a monolith. She wanted to get it inside of her. No way it wouldn’t turn her into a screamer.

“It’s still hard,” she muttered, more in awe than actually thinking about it. Minerva always turned her brain off when she melted into the throes of interracial pleasure.

“Yeah bitch, it is,” snorted her man, “All y’all white bitches can’t believe it,” he reached down and ruffled Minerva’s sleek hair. She accepted. “Prolly ‘cause y’all’s men can’t muster that shit, huh?”

“Please,” scoffed Minerva with a wicked grin she knew her daughters never, ever saw, “I haven’t been with a white guy in years. I went black and I’m never, ever,” she rolled over to take a long, pregnant lick at his balls, “going back.”

“So I was right?” he cocked an eyebrow. Cocky bastard. Huge-cocked too. Minerva would kill herself if her daughters brought home a man like this. She was about to cream herself.

“Wanna keep going?” she asked. The bed creaked as she climbed up onto it. She was rather desperate to distract her body, or she’d start fucking squiritng without even touching herself. How embarrassing. It happened more often than you’d expect, thanks to black guys.

“Fuck yeah bitch, you know I’m up n’ ready.” He bared his teeth. It looked like a grin, but Minerva saw it as an animalistic display of power. To tell her that he was about to rut into her and strip away what made her her. After all, she really didn’t act like she cared about it. Her money? Her career? Her family? If she really cared about that all, she wouldn’t be fucking a hung black bull every day of the week. And here she was.

“Yes, yesss,” Minerva muttered under her breath as she tossed her leg over his pelvis and straddled his dark, sweaty body. She grinded against him with enough force to strip a lesser cock to the bone. To squirt all she had to do was hump her needy pussy, shaved for ease of use, against his godcock. She did. “F-fuck- ah- ahh, fuck-”

“Shit babe, you fucking-”

“Fuck- yes I’m fucking cumming- aw!” She tossed her head back and her black hair swung. Her breasts and huge tits heaved as she panted. Was she shuddering? Probably. This guy’s name was fucking Tyrone, of course he gave her good orgasms.

“Damn, that fast?”

“Fuck,” she swore again and dropped forward over him. She stretched her neck and her arms. “I mean- yeah? But don’t let it stop you, big boy. No refractory period for us ladies, remember? I’m expecting eight or nine orgasms before the sun goes down.”

“No rubbers?”

“Hell no!” she smiled a little wildly, “I through those stupid things away!”

“Aight, you crazy bitch,” he grinned again and lifted his huge, two-toned hand to push his fat cock up against her. It pushed just a little into her slight tummy fat. “Let’s fuckin start.”

Minerva’s face grew into a crazed smile. A whole 24 hours without riding black cock, and a white woman was bound to go crazy. She bit her lower lip, held on to his strong belly, pushed up, and eased her white pussy onto that black dick.

Except she didn’t ease it. She was so slippery and wet, and her pussy had been so stretched out by constant hookups with horse-hung black strangers, that Tyrone barely had to push to shove his BBC balls deep into her cunt.

“Fuck!” they said, in perfect unison. Black career woman, ghetto thug? Perfect combo. Their hips rotated and moved. Sometimes they bounced up and down and against each other. That black dick in her white MILF body made a noticeable bulge from inside of her. She drooled, with fat glops of her saliva hitting his body the same time her thighs did. Her feet, still in heels, were on the bed, and her knees were up. Much more of this, and she would go limp, and he’d just have to thrust it into her until she had enough orgasms. His cock stretched her pussy out as far as it could go. Yeah, by tomorrow, her hole would return to its normal state for some other black man to satisfy himself in. And her, of course. She was always satisfied.

“I’m cumming!” She yelled. Thank god the house was empty. “I’m cummmmmmingggg I’m cumming I’m cumming!” From behind his girthy dick, her asscheeks clenched as tight as her pussy as she finally orgasmed. Again.

He slowed, courteous. When he fucked white women in neighborhoods like this, they were usually nervous, cheating on their good husbands and taking huge dick for the first time. He had to be kind to them, reassure them, make sure not to hurt them. Minerva was a different breed. She had none of that.

“Don’t fucking stop, are you fucking stupid?!”

Without hesitating, Tyrone raised his hand and slapped her right across the face. “Don’t you fuckin say that shit to me, white bitch. I don’t tolerate that.” He scolded as he held her face roughly.

“Yes sir,” Minerva squeaked through her pinched cheeks and puckered mouth. “Y-you can punish me for it, stud. You should- gulp- do that right now.” Her eyes were wide. Her pupils were dilated.

“Mm… I think I will bitch.” He relaxed again. Her legs slid down to the bed with her knees facing him. Easy access to slap her thigh; or spank her ass. And spank he did. That big, strong, black arm reached over, with Minerva just as scared of it as any other woman in the neighborhood. He brought his hand down again with a powerful SLAP!

“Owwww,” whined Minerva. Unbecoming for such a woman. Reduced to a horny little kid for big black cock, as usual.

“Fucking take it,” he slapped her again. Her back stiffened. SLAP. SLAP. With those, as her thick ass rippled, she started moving back. And forth.

Back and Forth. SLAP. She winced, but her juicing pussy showed how she really felt about the pain. As she went forward she lifted up a little. Her red ass now clapped on his dick again.

10 seconds later, they were going at it like animals. “FUCK YEAH FUCK YEAH FUCK YEAH” reverberated throughout Minerva’s Hobby Lobby-decorated house. She was so fucking happy to have her insides rearranged by that massive black dick. Maybe she’d bring Tyrone over for a second playdate, she almost never did that. She didn’t have time to think though. Only time to get fucked.

But then, there was what you call the twist.

She couldn’t hear it over the sounds of herself getting railed, but, downstairs and to the left, the Grimsly house’s front door was unlocked. A half a second later, as it opened, her overpriced security system sent a BEEP BEEP BEEP. Throughout the house. That she heard.

Part of living a double life was changing personas fast. When you were the most respectable woman and the biggest whore on the planet, you got good at that. So sure, Minerva Grimsly did just drop down a whole foot to take in Tryone’s BBC, but the second she heard that alarm in her ears, she jumped up, and all the chemicals in her brain triggered by their hot sex seemed like they were gone. And she didn’t like it.

“What is it?” asked Tyrone, “Someone home?”

“You heard it too, right?” Minerva was standing on her heels on her TempurPedic. Her back was hunched over to not hit her head on the ceiling fan. Her hair was a mess. Her pussy was still dripping. It wasn’t a great look.

“Yeah?” he said.

“Aw fuck, she wasn’t supposed to be home this early!” Minerva jumped on the bed and landed unsteadily on her heels to hobble over to the door, all the way praying to herself please don’t be Maddie please don’t be Maddie please don’t be Maddie; and Minerva wasn’t even a religious woman.

She opened the door and looked. Thankfully, ish, the hallway gave her a clear view straight down to the front door. And, there clear as day, was cute, well-raised, polite little Maddie Grimsly, with her perfectly milquetoast boyfriend.

And Minerva still wanted to orgasm 7 more times today.

That was gonna be an issue.

4 notes · View notes

mlinkwell · 5 years ago

Text

Remodel

Request: Hi love! May I request a do fluffy/smut neighbor au work jongdae please? Thank you!!!

Pairing: Chen (Kim Jongdae) x Reader (fem)

Genre: Fluff/Smut

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: slow burn, mostly plot/fluff tbh, hella dialogue, penatrative sex, slight alcohol use (the drinking and sex is spaced out. do not engage in sexual activity if anyone involved is not sober)

This took on quite the life of its own whoops :)

You were no quitter. Quitting wouldn’t have gotten you a stable job. Quitting wouldn’t have allowed you to completely remodel your home, starting with an amped up kitchen. Quitting wouldn’t have gotten you white marble countertops.

This is exactly what you tell yourself to be convinced that you could amp the kitchen up yourself, including lugging everything through your front door. The appliances weren’t as hard as you’d expected them to be. Once they were on the dolly, you wheeled them into the kitchen with confidence.

Now, you were standing in your driveway, hands on your hips, peering at the marble slabs you called countertops, wondering how you could ensure getting them inside in one piece. You managed to safely get them home and out of your vehicle. Getting them in the house without breaking them seemed to require some serious thought.

“Need some help?”

You looked up to see the source of the voice moving across your front yard. He was walking casually, a light grin on his face and sweats on his body. You smiled at him, waving slightly before returning your hand to your hip.

“Hey, Jongdae,” you said when he got closer.

“How’s it going?” He asked, stopping on the other side of the marble slab currently resting in a massive box on your driveway.

“Just remodeling,” you shrugged. “Trying to figure out how to get this inside without breaking it or me.” He laughed. It was melodic and loud. It made you laugh along for a brief moment.

“Well, I’m off for the rest of the day if you need a hand,” he offered.

“I wouldn’t want to interrupt your jog,” you replied, which was a complete and utter lie. You definitely wanted some help, and free help at that.

“I mean, this seems like more of a workout,” he joked while gesturing towards the marble, and you laughed lightly before nodding to him.

“Then a hand would be great, if you really don’t mind.”

“Not at all.”

You bent down with him, your hair falling around you as you moved. You leaned back up for a quick moment, taking the hair-tie off of your wrist and bound your hair at the nape of your neck. When you looked back up, you found Jongdae looking at you with a slight smirk. His bright eyes met yours. You blushed and looked down for a moment, mumbling a soft, “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he laughed out. You bent back down and placed your hands on the side of the marble. “Ready?”

“Um, what exactly is the plan?” You asked shyly. He eyes widened for a moment, and a heat bloomed up his face.

“Oh,” he began, eyes darting around. “Yeah, we should probably sort that out first. Um, let’s - Let’s just carry it. I’ll go backwards if you can direct me.”

“Okay,” you agreed and stood up. “Let’s swap sides then?”

He nodded and the two of you walked around the thick, white slab. You bent back down almost simultaneously. You looked back up to find his gaze already on you.

“Now are we ready?” He asked. You smiled and nodded at him. “One, two, three!”

You gripped the edge tightly, getting your hands underneath the marble as it rose from the ground. Your arms were flexed as you worked to keep it up. You looked over to Jongdae, meeting his eyes and nodding. He began to move backwards, pulling you forwards. You shuffled along, the countertop against your stomach as you moved to the front door. You slowed down, allowing Jongdae to adjust his direction to move straight through the door.

You let out a breath you did not realize you were holding as you made it up and through the doorway without a missed step. Jongdae caught the sigh of relief that left your lips and chuckled.

“Don’t laugh!” You whined as you kept shuffling. “Go left.”

He followed your directions, and the two of you ending up in the kitchen. It wasn’t as empty as it had been at the beginning of the day. One of the few things missing was the countertop in your now sweaty, shaking hands.

You made your way over to the counter, slowly moving to the ground and setting it down again. You stood up with a big sigh, shaking out your hands before grabbing a rag to wipe them off with. You threw the rag to Jongdae, who did the same.

“Not so bad,” he shrugged. “Now we just have to do it two more times.”

You laughed before turning and walking back out of the house. The two of you brought the next two pieces in, laying them down just as you had the first. After setting down the final piece, you sat on your kitchen floor, breathing hard.

“Finally!” You said dramatically.

Jongdae laughed lightly and joined you on the floor. The two of you sat in silence for a moment as he looked around your partially renovated kitchen.

“I think it’s going to be quite nice,” Jongdae said after a moment.

“Hm?” You turned to him.

“Your kitchen,” he clarified. “I think it’s going to be quite nice when it’s finished.”

“Well,” you began, “I’ll be sure to invite you over so you can see for yourself.”

“Really?” He asked, a smirk creeping up. “When will that be?”

“Whenever I get all my appliances in,” you said with a light laugh and nodding towards the hole in your counter space. “But I’m serious. It’s the least I can do after all your help.”

“What have you been doing without a stove or an oven?”

“Just simple things or ordering in.”

“Well, how about we get these counters in place, and then you come over and have a real dinner tonight?”

You eyes widened slightly at the sudden invitation. You turned to face Jongdae who was looking at you. His expression was calm, but there was a hint of nervousness in his eyes. You broke into a smile, nodded, and replied, “That would be very sweet of you.”

Jongdae mirrored your smile seconds later, and pushed himself off the ground. He reached out for your hand, helping you move from your spot on his floor and saying, “Let’s get to it then.”

You stood in front of your bathroom mirror dabbing lightly at your lipstick before leaning back and looking yourself over for an eighth time. After you and Jongdae set up your counters, he went to his home down the street. You then began the long process of trying to get ready without looking like you tried too hard to get ready. You moved from your bathroom to your closet in search of something to wear to your.. date? Dinner? You didn’t really know what to call it, which is why you had no idea how dressed up or dressed down you should be. You shifted back and forth in front of your closet, pulling out dresses only to find yourself dissatisfied with each option. You decided on an outfit you felt was an acceptable balance of cute and casual: dark jeans with a flowy light tee French-tucked in and finished off with stud earrings and flats. You checked over yourself one more time before grabbing your phone and house key and walking out the door.

Your heart was racing as you made your way across your yard and down the street. It was only a few minutes walk through your neighborhood before you found yourself at Jongdae’s doorstep. You took a deep breath and knocked on the door. Moments later, Jongdae appeared at the door. A long sleeved shirt and shorts clad his lean body. Thank God you decided not to dress up too much.

“You look great,” Jongdae said as you walked past him into his home. You missed the way his eyes danced up and down you as you thanked him. He closed the door, never taking his eyes off you. Finally, he shook off his stare and said, “Um, so you’re just in time.”

“Oh, really?” You asked, turning to look at him.

“Mhmm,” he responded. He placed his hand gently on your back and began leading you towards the kitchen. “Food just came out of the oven, and I just opened some wine.”

“Wow,” you giggled, hyper-aware of the hand leaving your lower back as you stepped into Jongdae’s kitchen. “I haven’t seen a fully furnished kitchen in weeks.”

“Well, you’re in luck,” Jongdae smirked at you while offering you a glass of wine. “You can look at this one all night. Although, it might seem lackluster by the time yours is finished.”

“Nah,” you dismissed his final comment. “Your home is nice.”

“So are you.”

You had never talked to Jongdae this much before. You were just casual, neighborhood friends who chatted when you ran into one another. But somehow, between bites of food, the two of you had yet to run out of stories to tell and jokes to laugh at. Not only did the boy cook a mean dinner, but enjoyed every moment of conversation. You had learned a lot about Jongdae from it. He loved music, which, had he not already told you, you could tell through his melodic laugh and the playlist that was softly playing from a speaker somewhere in the room. He had a big group of guy friends. You had met a few before. You’d seen Minseok with him a few times. However, his casual comment that you’d “probably meet everyone soon enough” and small touches from across the table had your hopes raising that this was something more than friendly neighbor stuff.

When you had cleared your plates, Jongdae stood from the table, pouring some after-dinner wine in both your glasses before picking up your plate and making his way to the sink.

“Give me a sec and I’ll join you in the living room,” he called over his shoulder.

“Uhh, no,” you insisted, getting up to join him at the sink. “You cooked me dinner. The least I can do is clean up for you.”

“I asked you to let me do this,” he reminded you. “You’re not doing my dishes.”

“Okay, well what if we both do our dishes?” You retorted.

“What if we rinse them off and put them in the dishwasher and neither of us really have to do the dishes?” He suggested. You considered it a half-win and took the deal. Jongdae moved to open the dishwasher as you took the plates in the sink and began washing them. Jongdae turned back to you, his voice louder than before. “Yah! I thought we agreed on the dishwasher.”

“I’m just thoroughly rinsing them,” you responded, suppressing your laughter at his outburst.

“Uh huh,” Jongdae muttered, grabbing the spray attachment from your hand. His hand squeezed tightly over yours, fully pressing down on the attachment and spraying your chest with water. You gasped dramatically and stepped backwards, trying to get out of reach of the water as you heard a “oh shit” slip from Jongdae’s lips.

“Dae!” You squealed. Your shirt was covered in water, the light pink, flowy fabric now practically see-through and clinging to your skin and bra.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to spray you,” Jongdae rambled out, moving for a drawer beside the sink and now dreaded sprayer.

He spun back around with a towel in hand. Before you knew it, he was right in front of you, one hand once again on your lower back and the other dabbing at the water on your upper chest. You stood still, face flushed and feeling overwhelmingly awkward. All that time you’d spent in front of your closet and you chose this top.

Not sure of what to do or where to look, your eyes fell to Jongdae right in front of you. He had a slight red tint to his cheeks. Whether it was from the wine or his own embarrassment, you weren’t sure. The rest of his face bore a look of concentration, his eyes never leaving the spot he was attempting to dry. You were once again hyper-aware of every touch, from the unmoving hand on your lower back to the firm dabbing of his hand against your chest. Feeling your eyes on him, Jongdae glanced up at you, a small chuckle leaving his lips. He shook his head as he laughed.

“I’m really sorry,” he breathed out, still laughing a little. “And I’m sorry I kinda have to stare at your chest to do this.”

“It’s okay,” you giggled back, the laughter breaking the weird silence that had formed. As his laugh faded, his smile stayed, and his eyes stayed locked on yours. For a moment he glanced down to your lips, then immediately back to your eyes. You were suddenly much more aware of how close the two of you were and how neither of you were making any effort to move apart. He glanced down at your lips again, then back to your eyes, searching for any sign that you wanted him to stop or keep going.

“It’s okay,” you repeated, your voice almost a whisper and all traces of laughter gone. Jongdae held your gaze for a moment longer before slowly moving down to press his lips against yours. Despite the gentle kiss, electricity ran through your body. Your mind was racing a mile a minute. This wasn’t at all what you’d expected for the night, but you weren’t upset with it either. Had Jongdae had an eye on you for longer than you realized? Was this just as spontaneous for him?

Your body wasn’t frozen by the numerous questions running through your head. Instead, you kissed him back just as gently. You felt the towel in Jongdae’s left hand fall from your chest, and moments later his hand was caressing your jaw. Your hands rested on his arms, fingers moving gently over the soft fabric of his sleeves. Jongdae began kissing you with more vigor. His lips were harder against yours and his hand pressed more firmly against your back, closing any space that was left between you.

His grip on you tightened and you moaned against his lips. He responded with a deep groan and pulled away from you slightly. You opened your eyes to see him looking down at you. You’d barely separated, lips still brushing and breath fanning each other’s faces. Jongdae held eye contact with you as he began to step forward, forcing you backwards. You took small, careful steps, not daring to break his intense eye contact. Soon enough, you felt your back hit the counter and Jongdae stopped inching you backwards. His eyes were still locked on you with an intensity that you had never seen from your neighbor before. You felt his hand slide from your lower back to your ass.

“Are you sure you want this?” he asked, the same calm expression and nervous eyes appeared from when he first asked you to dinner hours ago; although, the two of you carrying in your cabinets seemed days away at this point.

“Yes,” you breathed out, nodding lightly. As soon as he registered your response, both of his hands shot around to the front of your jeans, making quick work of your button and zipper and shoving them down your thighs. He moved down your legs with them. With his aid, you quickly stepped out of the tight denim and kicked them to the side.

Jongdae was crouched in front you, eye level with your knees and hands slowly moving up to your thighs. You were so shocked and nervous that you couldn’t move. You stood still, trying to remember how to breathe and waiting for Jongdae’s next move. He brought his hands to your knees and stood back up his full height. He caught your gaze once more as he moved towards you. Both of his rested on the counter on either side of you as he reconnected your lips.

You reached behind you, grabbed his hands off the counter, and placed them on your hips. He chuckled slightly against your lips before sliding his hands around to your back and down. He moved slowly down your ass, stopping to give it a quick squeeze, and then resting on the tops of your thighs. Without warning, he scooped you up and placed your bottom on his kitchen counter, finding his way in between your legs during the lift. You wrapped one leg around his waist, the feeling of his jeans against your damp, barely clothed core sending electricity through your body. You were trying to stop yourself from so shamelessly rubbing yourself against him, but the way he was moving his lips down your neck made it difficult.

Soft moans began escaping your lips now that his mouth had traveled elsewhere. Just as he reached your shirt, he pulled back.

“Probably should have taken this off first,” he joked while pulling at the wet fabric. You giggled. You had honestly forgotten about your shirt getting soaked the minute Dae’s lips touched yours, but still you raised your arms so he could completely rid your body of the garment.

“Yours, too,” you said, pouting at him and tugging at the end of his long sleeved tee. He smirked at you and pulled the shirt over his head. You looked him over, standing in front of you with messy hair, dark eyes, and a bare torso. He looked incredible, and you couldn’t help smiling while subconsciously moving your arms over your own naked skin.

“Oh, no, no,” he said, stepping back in between your legs and moving your arms to your sides. “Don’t get shy on me now.”

“‘s not fair,” you muttered while running your hands down his abdomen. You stopped when you hit the top of his jeans. “You’re wearing more than me.”

“Technically,” he challenged as his hands wandering up to your breasts, cupping them over your damp bra, “we’re both still wearing two things.”

You moved your hands from his waist to your back. In one quick motion, you unhooked your bra and allowed it to slowly fall down your arms. It fell to the floor and you leaned back on the counter, completely revealing your breasts to Jongdae. His grin grew as his eyes darken. When he lifted his gaze from your chest to your face, you raised a challenging eyebrow at him. He took a step back, ridding himself you his jeans.

Once you were both shielded by nothing but underwear, his arousal was more than apparent. He stared at you as you moved your teeth over your bottom lip, then kissed for the hundredth time that night. You moved your hands from his chest down the front of his body and hooked your fingertips in the waistband of his boxers. You teasingly snapped them against his skin before grabbing his length over the thin fabric. He groaned against your lips, his own hands finding your breasts. You ran your hand back and forth, slow and firm. His fingertips brushed over your nipples. Still, you kissed. Your lips would occasionally break from his to place a stray kiss on his collarbone or neck, but you returned to lips with more desire than you cared to admit.

Jongdae’s hand slipped down your skin and found the top of your underwear. Over your teasing, you moved from his length to the waistband and pulled his boxers down his legs. He took over, pulling them the rest of the way and kicking them off while you focused your efforts on shimmying out of your underwear. You spread your legs further as Jongdae began to line himself up with you. He rubbed his length up and down your slit, coating his tip with your wetness before pushing into you.

He gripped your hip with one hand as he entered you. His grip immediately tightened as he felt your walls around him. You jumped at the feeling, causing him to relax his hold slightly. He then began to move in and out of you. You buried your face in his chest, placing light kisses on his skin in between breathy moans. Above you, Jongdae was emitting low groans every time he plunged back in your tight walls.

He moved your hands off his chest and placed them behind you on the counter, making you lean back and bringing your naked body into view for him. His hands still on yours, he kept his eyes on where your bodies connected, swearing every time you clenched around him. He lifted his eyes from your core to your face. His hands left yours and moved to your head. Both hands found purchase on the back of your hand while his thumbs caressed your face. He picked up the pace, eventually pulling you forward to slip his tongue into your mouth.

You were a desperate, moaning mess. A thin layer of sweat had formed on both your bodies and you couldn’t help but clench around Jongdae as he thrust deep within you. You whimpered against his mouth as he continued to pleasure you. Your hips were moving weakly, pushing forward on the edge of the counter to meet his. Your hands were tangled in Jongdae’s hair in a weak attempt to deal with the overwhelming feeling he was providing you.

“Fuck,” he breathed out, breaking away to catch his breath. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

“I’m so fucking close,” you whimpered out, tugging on his brown lockes. “So close.”

One of Jongdae’s hands left your face to pull your leg up higher on his waist. The new position allowed him to move deeper inside of you and had you crying out at louder volumes than before. You were shaking in his hold, tears threatening to run down your face. You were so tightly wound up that you knew you would break soon. With every movement of his hips against your hips and lips against your neck, you were closer and closer to snapping.

“Jongdae!” You moaned out as you finally came, wave after wave of pleasure reaching every inch of your body. “Oh, God! Dae!”

Jongdae immediately sped up, his face now buried in your neck as his hips snapped against you. He gently pushed you to lay your back flat on the counter while he continued to chase his eye. You moved back, legs spread wide as you watched the look of pleasure and concentration grace his features in your post-orgasm haze. You clenched down on his cock after a particularly hard thrust, and he let out a deep, tortured groan. He pulled out of you quickly, jerking himself over your body until milky white cum littered your stomach and breasts.

“Wow,” Jongdae breathed out, still leaning over you.

“Wow,” you repeated.

“One sec,” he said and stepped away.

“Yeah,” you replied, catching your breath as you waited for him to return to your line of sight. The wait was only a few seconds. Jongdae appeared in front of you with the same dish towel as before. He had dampened a section, which he then began to use to clean up your torso. You stayed still, waiting in a somewhat awkward silence as he moved the cloth over your skin. When he was done, he walked out with the towel, presumably tossing it in the laundry. You sat up on the counter, legs still shaking slightly.

Jongdae returned moments later, bottom lip between his teeth as he looked at you. There was an unreadable expression on his face. He didn’t smile or hold eye contact. Instead, he moved to gather his boxers from the ground in front of you and slide them back up his legs. He leaned against the counter beside you. Shaking his head lightly, he let out a sigh.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he said as he turned to you. You froze, suddenly wildly uncomfortable and face heating up.

“I - Oh,” was all you could muster. You nodded, trying to hide the embarrassment in your face, but to no avail. Jongdae noticed. His eyes widened and he moved in front of you.

“Wait, no,” he interjected. “I didn’t mean - not like at all. I don’t regret this. Well, I don’t regret you. I just. I’m trying to say, I wish I had taken you on a real date before I made this kind of move.”

“Oh, my God,” you let a sigh of relief, running your hands through your hair. “Dae, you scared the shit out of me.”

“I’m sorry,” he laughed out. “And I’m sorry I moved this fast. I would still like to take you on a real date if you’d let me.”

“This was a real date,” you said and placed a light kiss on his forehead. “I just thought you instantly regret fucking me and were kicking me out.”

“I’m definitely not kicking you out,” he assured you. “In fact, I’d really like it if you’d stay. I’ll even give you a dry shirt.”

“That would be very sweet of you,” you smiled at him.

“Let’s get to it then,” he responding as he scooped you up from the counter and carried you to his bedroom.

#chen smut #jongdae smut #exo smut #exo chen smut #exo jongdae smut #exo #chen imagine #jongdae imagine #exo imagine #exo one shot #suho smut #xiumin smut #lay smut #baekhyun smut #chanyeol smut #d.o smut #kai smut #sehun smut #kim jongdae

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personalcoachingcenter · 5 years ago

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Home Improvement Tips That Will Inspire You

New Post has been published on http://mydecoradvice.com/homedecor/home-improvement-tips-that-will-inspire-you/

Home Improvement Tips That Will Inspire You

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Given the appropriate tools and information, there is no limit to what you can do! This is especially true of home improvement projects. You can use the information laid out here in a number of projects. With the right tools and materials, you can do it all.

If you are not bound financially, install the real hard wood flooring, rather than the laminate. While laminate is more cost effective and easy to clean, you can not refinish it. Years from now, you or the new owner are going to need to replace the entire floor, not just refinish it.

When managing your home in the summer months, make use of as many fans as you can. They circulate air and make your home more comfortable. This saves you money on air conditioning, too.

TIP! Use fans as much as possible to keep your home cool and comfortable in the summer. Ceiling fans can be particularly great at cooling down a room because they improve a room’s circulation.

You can use wallpaper to decorate a bookcase to make it look more appealing. Make sure it has an interesting design. Only put the wallpaper on the back of the bookcase; you will see the wallpaper behind the books. You will not only have a nice bookcase, but a nice addition to your room.

One great home improvement project is insulating. Place weather-stripping on all your doors and windows. If you are able to minimize the amount of air getting into your home, your heating and cooling systems will run better. This means a cost savings on your energy expenses.

A way to stop bugs from getting into your home, and saving money while you’re at it, is to simply seal openings or cracks. Apply caulking around windows, baseboards and other places that need it. As the caulk dries, it creates an almost impenetrable barrier against bugs; it also locks in cool and hot air.

Save money when it comes to kitchen remodeling through refinishing the cabinets that you have, as opposed to replacing them. You can use some paint on the base and add new finishing knobs to really update the look. This is an inexpensive task that can be done in a weekend, and it will give your home a fresh, new feel.

TIP! Your kitchen remodeling budget can be reduced greatly if you opt to refinish cabinets in lieu of replacing them. If you want a different look on your doors, paint the base and hardware.

Write a list of things you might need before going to the store. Making a list of all the items you need to purchase ensures that you will not need to make multiple trips to the store and also helps to keep you organized.

Ensure the space in your home can be looked at and pictured as that particular room. Buyers shouldn’t have to guess what a space is supposed to be; have appropriate furnishings and accessories in each room. This can help buyers imagine what it’s like to live there and give them ideas of how to use the space. Well defined spaces make a house more attractive and set it up to sell faster.

You should always tackle those home improvement repair projects first. If you wait it will cause more damage. Try not to fall into this trap. Because the various working systems in your home are interconnected, it is easy for problems to spread quickly. A problem that starts out small can grow very big in the blink of an eye.

When improving your home, give the most visible areas the most attention. When you sell your home, buyers will be looking at it, not inspecting its guts. If your goal is to improve the value of your home, focus on things buyers will notice – but if you want to create a more comfortable home for yourself, there are plenty of other improvement projects you can work on.

TIP! Work on the most visually obvious things in your home first. When you sell your home, buyers will be looking at it, not inspecting its guts.

Don’t skimp on the quality of paint you use to paint your home’s exterior. By picking paint that is a good quality, you will ensure that it will last. It may cost more, but it will keep you from having to redo the job sooner. You are better off spending the extra money for top quality paint, than having to repaint your home again in a few short years because the cheap paint didn’t last.

Think about the climate where you live before making home improvements. For example, an elaborate landscaping project may not be the best choice if you reside in a hot, dry climate and are frequently subject to watering restrictions. You are unlikely to see a return on your investment if you fail to make renovations that are appropriate for your area.

Install windows that have secondary glazing. These windows are a tad more expensive, but they cut energy costs in half and reduce outside noise. When you renovate, consider changing to these in order to save money and time. Saving money is worth the initial investment.

To add a unique touch to a bookcase, invest in the help of some wallpaper. Choose a design that’s unique and interesting. Apply the wallpaper to the back of your bookcase and when you stack your books, the design will peek out from behind your books. Not only will this bring an old bookcase back to life, it will be a signature piece in your room.

TIP! Use wallpaper to create a great looking bookcase. Choose a design that is both interesting and one of a kind.

Make sure those cabinets are securely screwed to stud in the wall. Before installing your screws, mark the location of each wall stud. An inexpensive stud finder from the local hardware store helps to make this process easy.

Before doing any work on any kind of gas appliance, you must be sure the gas is turned off completely. The fact that you do not smoke does not guarantee you will not create a spark. Also, just because you’re not disconnecting the line doesn’t mean you didn’t let any gas loose when moving things around.

If a wall you wish to repaint has glossy paint, use a good primer before painting. Primer helps paint stick to the wall and it prevents peeling of the new paint. Priming is very helpful if you’re switching from a darker color to a light one, because this reduces how many coats you have to apply.

It’s important that you are having fun in any home improvement job you choose. Yes, it’s important to be careful in your work, but you also need to be having a great time. If you aren’t enjoying the project, it’s more likely that you’ll make mistakes. Under these circumstances, it is probably best to consider hiring an actual professional.

TIP! Enjoying the project is important to any successful home improvement project. While there are several times that you need to be careful and serious while working, you still need to enjoy completing it.

At the very least, you should have access to the most popular tools of the trade: a sturdy step stool, tool belt, ratchet set, chisels and a heavy-duty rubber mallet. While these items might not be essential, that are often times very useful.

Screws come in many varieties. Be aware of which ones you’ll need for your specific project. Wood screws are best for projects that involve wood because they could easily go through it. Sheet metals screws, obviously, work best with sheet metal.

Clean out, then organize your pantry. Get rid of old foods, spices, and out-of-date canned goods. Wipe down all shelves and put down new liner paper. After cleaning the shelves, put it’s contents back in an organized manner. You won’t have to rustle through your pantry looking for what you need when it is well-organized.

Any time you hire an outside company to do home improvement jobs for you, it is imperative that you check the legitimacy of the company first. If a company doesn’t give you a physical address and only conducts business over the phone, that means they’re probably small time and aren’t very reputable. Instead, select someone with a good reputation.

TIP! Always check the legitimacy of any company you plan to hire for your home project. Make sure that the company you choose conducts business face-to-face.

When renovating your house, choose tiles that are granite instead of granite slab. Granite coutertop slabs can cost more than $5000. However, with tiles you’re looking at a much less cost of only around $300. Tiles can add a granite look to your countertop without spending tons of unnecessary cash.

The information here will help you tackle the home projects you have been thinking about. So take some time and learn how you can fix up your home to make it look better and make you feel better.

#saving money #Home Decor

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yeshawrites · 6 years ago

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AGENCY, CHAPTER 2. You can find all other works of mine here. NOTES: This story is not always friendly. It contains some graphic content, brief mentions of non-sexual nudity, murder, death, and plenty of language. Please be advised before you read it.

February. Fifteen years later.

He didn’t have much to load into the passenger van. Honestly, the transport felt like a waste. Someone could have picked him up in a sedan and no doubt the trunk would have room to spare after his meager duffle bag was packed in. All he had to his name were his clothes. They’d assured him that the Agency would set him up with firearms of his own, and just the idea of getting his stash through TSA gave him hives, so he’d just liquidated them.

For a fleeting moment Anthony reconsidered his choices. He wasn’t there yet. He didn’t have to do this. Once he saw the Agency itself, he knew it was too little, too late, but until then… He clenched tight on the bag strap and wondered if he could just sling it over his shoulder and jog back into the airport, hitch the next flight back to Oklahoma and forget this whole death sentence.

The Watcher in the front seat stared back at him.

“Sorry.” He tossed the bag into the van a little too hard. It echoed hollowly. “Coming.”

Their ride was long and silent. His companion didn’t even turn on the radio. Instead Anthony busied himself by watching the curving ridges of Virginia roll past the window, every slope and dip the new stage of an uncertain world.

Forty minutes later they rolled into a large, sprawling shopping center. WESTCHESTER COMMONS read a bright sign at the entrance. Commons to what? He looked further down the road and saw it disappear into a country lane, the all other exits dipping off onto the highway. A large movie theatre, a few craft stores, a dance studio, and a few fast food restaurants (Taco Bell, Chik-Fil-A, Five Guys) surrounded a pretty grass lawn that was meant to be a gathering place.

But the rest of it? The whole southern half of the complex was nigh on empty. Only a ski store (in Virginia?), a gym, and a Buffalo Wild Wings occupied the vast swath of blank storefronts. An entire section had boards stacked over the front windows, a Christmas mural two months overdue for a change painted cheerily over its warped surface. Just as he was wondering who in their right mind thought that was a good idea, the passenger van idled along the back of it.

Oh.

The Watcher punched a button on the dash and part of the building shuddered. A garage door cleverly concealed by siding and a few crates rolled up. Was this it? Anthony checked his expectations. A secretive government group called the Agency--and it lived in a strip mall that couldn’t quite fill its vendor slots?

They rolled inside and he adjusted his opinion again. The garage was clean, with a few black SUVs, sedans, and equipment vans lined up by model. A black Tesla perched in the far corner by a charging station, a tidy mechanic’s workspace not far from there. The Watcher parked, so Anthony hopped out and grabbed his stuff from the back.

“This way,” his escort said.

“You can talk,” Anthony said aloud, realizing in the same breath how rude that sounded. “Sorry. Just wasn’t sure for a bit here, y’know?”

The Watcher looked bemused and said nothing once more. Before they could make any headway, a door out of the garage swung open.

“Smith!”

“Chief Piotrowsky.” The Watcher--Smith, apparently--delved his hand into his pockets and produced a phone. “Just sign, would you?”

Chief Piotrowsky was a handsome man with shoulder-length dark hair, narrow, dark eyes, and black nails. Anthony watched them shine as he signed with his finger on the screen. “Feels like I’m signing for a package. This is a bit inappropriate for people, isn’t it? When you all sent me Barry, he had a good laugh about that one later.”

“They are packages in a way.”

Piotrowsky frowned uncomfortably and shook his head. “I’ll take it from here. Thanks, Smith. Tell them back at the Rock I said ‘Hi’.”

Anthony lingered in the shadows, uncertain of what to do. At long last, the Chief turned his dark gaze on him.

“Hey there. Nice to meet you. Antonio Martin?”

“Just Anthony, Sir,” he managed, offering his hand. “Nice to put a face to the voice.”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s been a bit since we talked. I was almost worried you wouldn’t take my offer.” The Chief smiled and appraised him up and down. “Sorry, I almost didn’t believe the dossier. Looks like they were right about you.”

“Thanks for not saying ‘how’s the weather up there?’ or something like that.” Anthony managed a nervous grin. “But I can tell you it’s hell to find pants that fit quite right.”

“Well, that’s true. I’ll have to get our guys to source for your uniform. You’ll have to give me your inseam later. Six-foot-six, yeah?”

“Yessir.”

“Please, it’s Xi. Just Xi. Want the tour?”

It wasn’t like he could refuse. “That’d be awful kind of you.”

The hallways were narrow and labyrinthine. Somehow he’d expected cubicles and halogen lighting, tired interns and forever-empty coffee pots--at least from his experience with the county lockup and courthouses. The walls were a soft copper-brown, white baseboards and chair railing running throughout.

“Welcome to your new home.” Xi rapped his knuckles against the doorframe. “It’s not much, but I hope you like it alright. I wish I could say you’d get to spend more time outside than you will, but we mostly don’t, given the nature of the job. It’s imperative that people don’t locate us too easily, so there isn’t a lot of coming and going from the base unless it’s for patrol or missions. Fortunately, mostly everything we need is inside here. I’ll take you to your room first. Besides, I’m sure the others will want to meet you.”

Anthony craned his neck to look as they passed open door after open door. A small doctor’s office and what looked like a forensics table, a kitchen, a gym--Xi walked quickly, so he only caught glimpses. A woman hunched over a row of computers in another. Somewhere down the hall came the soft sound of laughter.

“Oh no.” Xi huffed a chuckle. “What in God’s name is she up to?”

They reached the end of the hall, a final door awaiting them. Xi rapped several times with his knuckles and pushed it open, revealing a small common room. A few couches cluttered around a tiny coffee table, all facing a TV with a couple of old gaming consoles. Around the perimeter were other, smaller doors to what looked like bedrooms. Light streamed down through a skylight, augmented by the chunky white Christmas lights strung around the ceiling.

And a short woman was shirtless on the table.

A woman with a brown mohawk whooped and flung jolly ranchers at the other woman’s chest. At the table, a dark skinned man with tight-cut ringlets of hair tried to hide his smile and just buried his face in his hands, another very unenthused older man staring up at her.

“Come on, Desch!” The woman on the table shimmied and got another peal of laughter from the other two. “Give a lady a smile or something!”

“Aishe,” Xi snapped. “God, please get off the table.”

Mercifully she was wearing a bra, because she spun around to face the newcomer with a shameless grin on her lips. Out of respect, Anthony lowered his gaze to the floor.

“Oop, Bossman here to take us down.” The dark man shot up to his feet. “I swear this was a legitimate operation, Sir. We’ve got permits.”

“Yeah!” Aishe laughed aloud before tempering her smirk. “We have permits. I’m a professional. I was just trying to get a smile out of Desch. Thought I might just, you know, do a little dance…”

“Aishe?” Xi groaned. “Your shirt. Please.”

She flung on a tank top and finally Anthony felt free to look her over. She was very short--maybe not even five feet tall--with long, bleached blonde hair and black, thick eyebrows framing golden eyes. Her lips were full and her body--well, he tried not to notice that too much. She had curves to rival the state. Her nose was the only straight thing on her; a sharp, angular line that only served to make every other swirl and dip of her more fascinating in contrast. A tiger’s eye stud glimmered from her eyebrow and a gold one from her nose and a third just under her lip, her ears rimmed with hoops and studs in a thousand patterns.

Anthony wondered if love at first sight was really as far fetched as he’d thought.

“We’ve got a newcomer.” Xi seemed to age a thousand years in the fifteen seconds they’d all been together. “Anthony is going to take the new slot.”

“Oh?” And Aishe flashed him a grin. “Charmed. I’m Aishe. Can you give good piggyback rides, or is all that height just for looks?”

“Aishe,” Xi groaned.

“Err, I haven’t done that in a bit, but I expect I’ll be put through my paces then, ma’am.”

“That wasn’t a no.” She looked triumphantly back at the others. “It’s possible.”

Xi pushed onward, motioning back at the others one at a time. “That’s Barry back there. Desch is the most senior Agent, so he’s an excellent resource. And Verna--”

If Aishe was a handful, it looked like Verna--the woman with the mohawk--might be too. She practically appeared in his face, poking and prodding at him. “Hey, you ain’t a slab of nothin’ and sinew like I got Barry in.”

Barry--the darker man in the back--stared off into the distance like he was seeing a battlefield. “Lucky him. You don’t have to go through the notorious Verna Welcome Warmup then.”

“I’d hope a big boy like him has a little swing in his fists.” Aishe grinned brightly, running her tongue over the ridge of her lip. “Where are you from?”

“Oklahoma. The Agency poached me from Colorado, though.”

“Well damn. You’re good, one hundred percent pure American beef, huh?”

Barry snorted so hard he doubled over, hiding his face even as Aishe grinned at her own joke. Xi sighed and adjusted her shirt to hide her bra straps.

“Will you please show him the run of the place and not scare him off?”

“Yeah, Dad. Don’t worry.” She swatted off his hands and stuck out her tongue at him. “I’ll get him set up nice. You got an appointment with the Rock or something?”

“No. Joshua.”

Every face in the room either grimaced, groaned, or rolled their eyes. Aishe pinned her mouth together to suppress what Anthony now suspected was a trademark grin. “Well you have fun with that! Let me know what else we’re doing wrong now. Figures we got the worst Watcher in the whole damn Agency.”

Xi didn’t answer that, but his face told a story of its own. “Behave. I’ll be back later.”

“Gotcha, gotcha.”

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving him alone with the others. Desch returned to whatever he was reading, but three pairs of eyes zeroed in on him.

“So.” Aishe grinned cheekily. “Why’re you in?”

“Huh?” Anthony almost laughed. The flashback to the county lockup was uncanny.

“What’d you do? What almost got you?” Verna bent over a chair, stretching out her hamstrings. “You’ve gotta tangle with something supernatural to get recruited into the Agency. What was yours? I punched out someone that was stalking a friend of mine.”

“Said ‘someone’ was a vampire.” Aishe laughed. “The Rock said they’d never heard of anyone doing that and living before.”

Barry grimaced. “Mine was a doppelganger.”

Anthony nodded and pointed back at the other man. “Same here.”

“Oh shit.” Verna pumped her fist enthusiastically. “These stories are always the trippiest. How’d yours go?”

“Err…” Anthony shuffled the bag off his shoulder and let it onto the ground. “Short version? It jumped my brothers and me. Got the best of them, didn’t manage to get me. Got charged with their deaths.”

“Yeah.” Barry nodded sympathetically. “Yeah, that’s how that one works usually. Usually it’s the Agency that gets people cleared from those ones.”

“Yeah, if Mr. Xi hadn’t gone and gotten me sprung, I’m pretty sure the prosecutor would’a hung me out to dry for murder.”

Aishe said nothing. She just tilted back her head and appraised him with those golden eyes, a half-smile on her face that concealed her every thought. For a moment Anthony wondered if she could see straight through him, through the layers of the button-up shirt and to his tattoos, straight down onto the pores of his skin where all the worst of him lived so close to the surface. But almost as soon as he saw it, her eyes brightened and crinkled again, that permanent laugh bubbling up to her throat.

“Well,” she said, offering him a hand. “I can show you your room. Then I can show you where you’re gonna get the weapons to take some doppelgangers out again. Sound good?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Sounds good.”

---

Joshua had never really cared for camping. The only time he’d ever really gone was probably thirty years ago; as best as he could recall it had rained the whole time. His older brother swore they’d all gotten terribly feverish and sick from a combination of the weather and his father’s poor attempts at cooking, a story his father had gone to his grave insisting wasn’t true. Joshua had to admit it sounded very plausible, considering their father. He sighed and pulled his black coat tighter around him, muffling the jostle of bullets. All misgivings about camping aside, the Shenandoah was still pretty. The trees were just now recovering from the winter and tiny buds of green poked their hopeful heads from long branches. The water was clear and the current strong in the river he kept meeting; it glowed crystalline and threw sparkles across the stripped trees, flecks of color across white and grey bark. Sunlight pooled in the flat rocks, and if you sat still for long enough schools of tiny white fish would scurry around the shallows in search of food. The deer were bold here. Already he’d come within arm’s reach of a doe. In his mind he’d named it Eighty-Three, after the bright yellow tags in her ears. It was magical enough to make him not hate camping as much. But he hated long drives, too, and the drive had been nearly four hours of blistering silence and intermittent arguing between Desch and Christiane in the way only those two could argue, and he crossed a trip back out in his mental ledger of potential family vacations. A stick scraped Joshua’s bald head. He swerved and scowled at it, taking another step down the hill. The trail was very steep and only growing steeper. He wondered just how long it would take until he caught up with his quarry. He fiddled with the earpiece he wore. “Any sight?” “Negateef.” Christiane’s French accent was too strong for his taste. She was good at her job, but Joshua wished her partner would talk instead. “Not’ing yet.” “This trail is getting steep. I might need help bringing it back up.” “We will assist, mais w--” Christiane fell silent. Joshua halted, an instinct born of ages of special training. “Feefty yards.” That was all Joshua needed to hear. He delved into his fleece pocket for the Beretta and peered cautiously down the hillside thick with bramble and dead leaves. Sure enough, a lone figure in what looked like a grey flannel, shaggy blonde hair, and hiking gear moseyed his lonely way toward the falls. Joshua crouched out of sight. “You guys his set up?”

Christiane opened the link; he heard the beginning of a derisive snort and it went dead again. Probably Desch. At long last she replied. “Yes. Eyes on you.” Joshua clicked off the mic and peered over the ledge again. The hiker had nearly reached the falls; the roar of the water would be enough. He seized the opportunity and launched himself down the path, hurtling through brush and trees and barely keeping his balance over logs supposed to serve as stepsohSHIT. His foot caught the edge of a fallen stick. He felt the fall before it even began and threw his whole body into it, rolling across his shoulder and back onto his feet, but it was too late. The hiker turned, blue eyes wide, staring at the middle aged black man picking himself back up from the leafy path. “Freeze!” Joshua yelled, training the Beretta on the hiker. Naturally, the target ran. Joshua squeezed off three shots before running after his quarry, chilly air whipping across his bald head. Christiane was yelling something in his ear, but the damn accent made it near impossible to understand her and he just kept going. Down, down the path they ran, across stumbling blocks of rocks and leaves. The hiker was fast, but Joshua had training and a couple years of college track under his belt. He lowered his shoulders and launched himself from the high ground, catching the kid around his waist and dragging him down; as one they rolled down the path, their descent stopped only by slamming into a boulder. Pain. There were fingers around his neck now, wild blue eyes like cold fire, a hateful sneer born of desperation and rage boring into his; Joshua tried to put his feet between himself and his attacker but the hands stayed, far too long and strong to be normal, the air throttled in his throat and his lungs burning and stars sparking in his vision. Joshua gathered up the last of his strength and bellowed in the hiker’s face. He flinched just enough and Joshua grabbed a handful of the blonde hair, wrenching him down onto the pathway-- BANG The shot rang clear and true into the hiker’s back; Joshua covered his face just in time to shield himself from the shower of blood. “Zere. Are you okay?” “Just fine,” Joshua grunted, gasping for breath. He worked his way down towards the body and flipped it over with his foot just in time to see the pale face ripple and shift. He’d heard of this before, but never seen it in practice. He watched with sick fascination as the clothes shuddered and grew loose, the backpack straps sliding from its shoulders, boots falling off feet that no longer existed. The kid’s expression warped like the ocean tide, morphing and twisting until an eerie gray blank took its place, eyes sinking into nothing, the nose flattening, cheekbones dissolving until the only thing staring back at him was mirrored reflection of his own face. It was a grisly reminder that it could have been him, lying dead in a ditch, this thing masquerading to his wife, to his sons, slipping into his clothes as easily as he did-- “Ees eet ze doppelganger?” Hands shaking, Joshua touched his mic. “Yeah. This is it.”

“Well, more zan zat.” Christiane paused. “Our sensors are glowing purple.”

#Agency #my writing #original work #writeblr #2.#Christiane #Anthony #Verna #Joshua #Xi #Aishe #Barry #Desch

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