#and first i go in with my hand then with a little wooden massage tool

[d3l3t3d-deactivated]

i've been kind of absurdly over-the-top scar treatment-ing my top surgery scars but like.... not for the reason you'd expect. like i don't really care about my scars fading that much, and i would be perfectly content if they stayed exactly the same as they are now 4 months post-op, but it's like a fun little activity to me. i've come to love and be obsessively into routines and self care and i love my little morning and night time Activity.

[roaringup]

Eventful day yesterday!

I think I want to start trying to use emojis to designate people I’m seeing who aren’t themselves on tumblr, because initials are getting confusing when the letters are the same and I’m increasingly feeling a little odd about full names. So I’ll say I saw both 🐦‍⬛ and 🪐, we’ll see how that works out for me. I didn’t get home until late.

In the morning I left for 🪐’s (beautiful, it turns out) house, which I’ve never been to before; it’s relatively far away and would normally just be a single hourlong train ride, but was complicated by an annoying shuttle bus situation. I met zir husband and a housemate. Zie made me brunch and we walked in the woods nearby.

I’m going to put the rest of this under a readmore because it’s a long diary entry kind of thing and some of it is about BDSM

Then we played. It was only the second time we’d done that, and the first time I saw/used their stuff. 🪐 has a nice big bag of toys, including the same Wartenberg wheel I do—I was so tempted to use one in each hand, but didn’t on this occasion—wooden paddles, which I do not have; and this delightful thin metal cane meant for impact that was great for doing nasty temperature stuff, because it was long and already cold to the touch. I did a little bit more non-pain mindfuckery, first tries with some ideas I want to refine and deepen and try again.

Then I went straight to 🐦‍⬛’s. We walked the dogs (they have one and are sitting one), got pizza, and just talked for a long time. They gave me some needles and two more needle hammers and a gua sha, and taught me how to use the gua sha. It isn’t painful if you do it as you’re meant to, with enough oil, slowly enough to let the sensation subside before the next stroke, etc. I didn’t do it that hard or attempt to use it in painful ways because it was my first try.

The way you hold this tool is that the divot in it sits in the web between your thumb and index finger. You scrape it along the skin, following the lines of the muscles, and it brings blood flow to the areas you scrape, which can feel good and warming if you’re stiff, etc. Done hard enough it causes beautiful and surprisingly intense bruises—that was what interested me!

It was so fun to be taught about the gua sha, and fascinating how all these things 🐦‍⬛ told me about it are things I already know from SM, or things that immediately made sense based on prior experiences. The big one was that if you give intense and not entirely pleasant sensation to a small area, it often feels nice to finish by to massaging that spot plus the broader area around it afterwards, because doing so sort of draws your sensory awareness back into that body part in a way that makes the pain-specificity subside. Some other details about muscles and bones and bloodflow and how people process sensation.

Anyway, that was an enjoyable day overall despite the transit not going well. Today I talked to Robin in bed for a long time, talked to a friend on the phone, had some leftover saag paneer I made, did a bunch of jigsaw puzzling, and wrote this up so I remember. I might bake some cookies later with some weed butter that’s in the fridge.

[wornoutmouse]

Cow Endeavor

Don't ask no questions you don't want answered. Either way, i have no answers for you. I cried while writing this

Praise kink, male lactation (🙃 say something i dare you) farm au, y'all know i love my breeding kink.

You were a simple farm hand. Every morning you'd wake up, feed the animals, and water the crops. It was your job to make sure everything was in order and working properly. In the essence of things working properly, that meant you had to take care of the farm's prized cow, Enji.

You weren't sure how or when he got here, he had just always been there. What you do know was that his performance in producing milk was so great that he had become the pinnacle for your farm, a mascot even. A cow that could make milk without even needing to be bred.

So it's understandable the panic everyone went into when their prized cow stopped producing his prized milk. "I just don't understand, he just had a calf but there's not even milk for hj., we had to result to bottle feeding!"

You pat Keigo's back reassuringly, "It's going to be okay, have you ever considered that maybe he's just too old now?" Takami's face paled, "You're right, what if our poor Endeavor has run his course?!" He then grips the front of your overalls and gazes you with a look that pierces your soul.

"You have to fix this, if they find out he's no longer making milk, you know what they'll do to him!" You nodded, retirement for farm animals was never fun, they'd either try to force his glands to make milk with dangerous chemically induced hormones, or it would be off to the chopping block.

So now, standing in front of Enji's stall, you take a deep breath to steady yourself. Though his primary caretaker, you had never seen Enji in person so this would be either overwhelming or underwhelming.

Opening the swinging doors, you stand amazed. It may be called a stall but it was nothing less than a renovated room. There was, of course, a wooden trough where his hay and water was, but there was also a nice bed for him and even a damn vanity with a 6ft tall mirror.

"Are you the butcher?" You jump and swivel your head around. There standing at a whopping 6,11, was the prized Enji.

His blue eyes were cold as they glared down at you, and if you hadn't seen his massive pecs, you would have confused him for a bull.

"Uh, no I'm not. I guess you could say I'm going to be your doctor today." Enji rolled his eyes and walked past you. He sits on his bed and for a moment, you saw a look of sadness etched in his scared face. A reminder of a past problem.

"Look I'd recommend you replace me with Touya, he can't do it as often but the quality in milk is just as good. I only ask that you allow little Shouto to sleep with him here, he gets terrible nightmares when he's alone."

You cursed your bleeding heart as you were two sentences from crying. Shouto was his most recent calf,, not even old enough to graze, yet he was far away from his mother where he should be, sucking and carefree.

"Well I hope it doesn't come to that, can you get comfortable?"

Enji lays on his back, sinking into the soft bed below him. You step out the stall and grab your bag of tools. You walk up to Enji and feel your face warm as he looks back at you. His face remained stoic as he watched your hands maneuver the bag clamps.

You let out a loud shriek as a warm hand envelopes your left breast. "If you were a cow, I'm sure you'd make excellent milk." You laugh awkwardly before breaking into a coughing fit as Enji releases you.

"Thanks, could you remove your top for me?" Enji sits up and does as you ask and you balk at how much bigger his chests were when released. "Mommy milkers." You whisper to yourself, catching Enji's attention. "What did you say?"

"Nothing!" You put your stethoscope in your ears, and hold the circle piece to his chest, uttering small apologies when he hisses at the cool temperature. You do the normal required check up before moving to the current task at hand.

You start to put on your latex gloves but it's stopped by Enji shading his head. "I don't like the way they feel." So with your bare hands, you examine his chest.

First you massage the skin around his nipple to try to coax some milk out. With no luck, you decide to pay attention to the actual nipples balancing from prodding to pinching them. "Normally when things like this happen it means that something could be blocking the exit." Enji huffed, "Why won't you people accept that I'm just old?!"

You ignore him and continue. You feel around the swell of his breasts and push inwards with two fingers. At that, you faintly catch the sight of his pink buds being coated with clear shiny liquid. Enji's face warmed at the feeling of it dripping down the valley of his chest.

"See, what did I tell you!? It just needed a little coaxing!" You press and prod more trying to coax a consistently white spurt of milk but soon run dry. Enji's face was completely red and sweat had accumulated on his brow. He was internally thankful for the pants he requested as an embarrassingly large bulge was present just below the fabric.

"S-See all that was just a shadow of what I once was." You flick his nip and shake your head, promptly missing how his eyes gently rolled back at the feeling. "Calm down edge lord. I think you need a constant force, I'm going to go get Shouta and see if he can suck more out and hopefully shift whatever is blocking."

You stand up and give Enji a reassuring smile. Rising into a panic, Enji grabbed your forearm, "Don't bring him!" You pout your lips, "Well who do you want me to bring?"

Enji grits his teeth, he didn't want any of his calves to see him in such a state, but he knew this was an opportunity for him to stay at the farm a little while longer. Gently, you feel yourself being tugged.

You trip over yourself, slightly leaning over Enji which gave him the perfect opportunity to cradle the back of your head. He says nothing as he holds you closer, and it wasn't until you saw his flushed face, that you realised what he wanted.

"E-Enji, I don't think this is appropriate I-" Enji wastes no time before pressing his hardened nipple into your partially open mouth. Your protest is muffled as he pressed your face closer. His eyes closed tightly as your warm breath fans over his cool skin.

Soon you realise that you were not going to be let go anytime soon. You reposition yourself the best he would allow you before closing your eyes as well, and sucking gently. Enji lets out a sigh that reverberated down his body.

You let out a muffled exclamation as you feel a warm liquid

flow into your mouth. It was thicker than the clear liquid you saw before, bittersweet and addicting without any additives. It was easy to see how Enji had become the prized cow.

Enji's grip slackened when he felt you relax against him, but you barely noticed as you became enraptured in the taste of his milk. In a strange way, suckling from him felt almost intimate in a maternal way.

Despite your innocent feelings, Enji found himself becoming aroused at the sight of you enjoying him. In all his years of work, he had never seen someone, besides his calves, drink his product.

"D-Do you like it?" You hum around him and he had to clench his teeth so he wouldn't release any sounds. You find yourself getting pliant in his arms, becoming more focused on getting more of the psweet liquid.

You soothingly lave your tongue around his nipple and Enji can't help but let out a small moan. His dick was painfully hard in his cotton pants and there was only so much he could take.

You remove yourself from him with a wet pop, before applying a kiss to his swollen bud. Rather high off happy chemicals, you stand shakily to your feet. Enji had drool and small dribbles of milk spurting from the unattended side of his chest. "You were so good for me Enji. I'm sure this will get you up and running in no time!"

With that, you utter a quick "thank you" and walk away, missing the large splotch of cum leaking from the fabric crotch of Enji's pants.

🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄

It was 3 weeks before you saw Enji again. And you don't deny that you were avoiding him. What you did was beyond inappropriate and uncalled for. You should have pulled away and called for one of his calves.

But avoiding your job is just as easy as it sounds.

"Hey y/n, Enji thinks he's running dry again. Even though there seems to be nothing wrong when the machine mills him, I think you should go check and make sure." You stiffen and shovel a mouthful of lettuce into your mouth.

"If there's nothing wrong, I have no reason to go. Besides why can't you do it." Keigo looks at you with a raised eyebrow, "He requested you specifically." You feel your chest flutter with an unknown emotion and you quickly finish your lunch to avoid any conversation.

You enter Enji's stall the next day and watch silently as he immediately removes his shirt. Ever since your first meeting, his chests had doubled in size since the milk had finally been allowed to move freely. The sight of them excited you, and you couldn't help but feel conflicted.

You sit in a small chair next to Enji's bed and examine his swollen breasts. Even the slightest touch caused milk to spill forth and it became hard to ignore. "You're not really starting to dry up are you?"

Enji sighs before sitting up. "Ever since that day I couldn't get you out of my head." You tilted your head confused as Enji cups his breasts before trailing his large hands down his stomach to his crotch before gripping his obvious manhood.

"Enji this is going beyond inappropriate." The large man made a sound that was a cross between a desperate whine and a grunt similar to that of a bull. "Don't deny that you like it too, I saw the look on your face." You lowered your head unable to look at his eyes.

Thoughts mulled over in your head about what type of punishment you could receive from possibly contaminating merchandise. Would the milk be different? People have been sending letters about how much sweeter Enji's milk has gotten.

Ah, but the thought of Enji's sweet sustenance on your tongue made your mouth water. Enji hid a small smirk as he saw you finally make up your mind. He had missed you since your last encounter, he spent nights thinking of you as his tits swelled with milk.

You untie your work apron and toss it on the stool before straddling Enji's thick legs. In the back of your mind, the logistics of his height and weight made your shiver at the thought of his cock.

Enji brings you in for a kiss and the rather off putting taste of oats and spring grass floods your senses as your tongues intertwine. You use your hands to massage his breasts and feel your front become warm as you subsequently squeeze out some of his milk.

You place hurried kisses along his jaw as you make your way to the true treasure. The sweet taste of his milk overrides your morning meal and you are baffled by how different it was from last time.

Enji, no longer feeling shy, let out a groan as he holds your head close to him. His free hand pulls his leaking cock out and strokes it in time with your rough tongue as you press it against his sensitive bud.

"Harder my little flower." You sigh with contentment at the nickname and do as ordered. You feel Enji flex below you and you take pride in it.

You scoot your lower body closer to his groin and rock your hips against him. The feeling of your denim pants against his throbbing cock was almost too much yet too little.

"Please, let me be inside you." You raise your head to look at him and Enji almost coos at the milky dribble rolling out the corner of your mouth. You were such a small thing, needed to be fed, needed to be protected and most importantly, needed to be bred.

Dazed, you shimmy off your pants and underwear and grind your hips. "B-Be gentle okay?" You were trembling on top of him and it was absolutely adorable. "Of course my flower."

In the corridor Keigo was making his way towards Enji's stall. It had been beyond the recommended time for an examination so he was coming to see what was taking you so long.

As he comes upon the door, the sound of whining fills his ears. "Just a little bit longer, flower." His eyes widen and he takes four steps away from the stall door. "You sly fox y/n fraternizing with the produce." Keigo shakes his head in disapproval before shrugging with a small grin.

"None of my business."

The feeling of fullness was strange and uncomfortable. Enji was not long whatsoever, that was another characteristic that set him apart from the bulls. But he was thick to the point where you knew you'd have to work extra hard to accommodate him.

"You're doing so well for me flower." You rub your face against his bosom and resume drinking from him. The taste of his milk was therapeutic and before you knew it, he was thrusting fluidly inside of you.

The thickness of his shaft rubbed just right against your g-spot. The feeling of your soft lips alternating between each nipple, made Enji speed up his menstruations for he could no longer contain his pleasure.

He was sad that he couldn't bring you to completion as well but that can always be saved for next time. The feeling of his semen filling you felt just as amazing as the milk flooding your mouth and you clenched tightly around him.

🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄🐄

"It's not funny Keigo!" "Really? I think it's hilarious." You groan as you cradle your slightly protruding belly. You should have seen it coming, and subconsciously, you weren't surprised to see two pink lines on the pregnancy test that you took 4 months ago.

Now at 7 months and obviously showing, Keigo took the opportunity to bring up the fact that he was there when your new child was consummated therefore reserved the right to be it's godfather.

Telling Enji the news went scarily smooth as the cow bastard only replied with, "Of course you are pregnant, I'm the sire." Followed by him asking to try your milk as well, so he could critique. All his calves, now yearlings, seemed to take the news just fine and only seemed excited to pick baby names.

"Look, all I'm saying is, don't come crying when little junior starts asking about the family business." You groan as the dirty blond man continues his jokes. A small content smile is present on your face.

[sunlightheidi]

Life Worth Living

Jihyun Kim "V" | MC / Reader

*NSFW (under cut)

Happy Sunday friends! Enjoy this very fluffy smut ~

Jihyun’s studio is your favorite room in the house.

Everything about it is light. Light wooden floors and walls a pale shade of ivory, both speckled with remnants of paint that neither of you have ever bothered cleaning. The windows are tall and give you a perfect view of the fluttering hummingbirds drinking water from the feeder you’d hung from the maple oak tree (had sat on Jihyun’s shoulders to do it – swaying and giggling).

The sun filters through the sheer curtains, illuminates the room in golden hues all through the day. It’s the perfect amount of light for Jihyun to work clearly and peacefully (whether he’s drawing, or painting or taking silly photographs of you) and lets you linger quietly in his space as he does so – content and warm in the little blue sofa and the soft blankets he’s placed in here just for you.

This little nook Jihyun has created is where you spend most of your free time. You love to lay down and daydream as you watch him work. His art is wonderful, you’ve always thought so – every piece sketched, every canvas painted, every picture taken leaves you in complete wonder of him, of his talent.

But what you love best of all is watching him create these dreamscapes; shirtless and muscles rippling as he sways freely, careless hair glittering in the light, tools in his gentle paint-stained hands – he’s beautiful.

You could lay in this little corner of yours forever; learning the names of his favorite paints, about which techniques he prefers to use, listen to way he moves and all that he dreams of.

There are days however, when minutes feel like hours and your heart feels weary because everything has gone pear-shaped and wrong. A long warm shower makes you feel a little more like yourself, but you struggle to keep your eyes open as you stumble up the stairs in your robe and nothing else, to the man you’ve given your heart and whole life too.

Ah, there he is; his back to the door and sitting on a spinning stool, paintbrush in hand and a palette in the other.

You go to him instantly, wrap your arms around his waist and kiss his back in greeting, say nothing because you don’t want to distract him from his work. You nuzzle his neck and peek over his shoulder at his current project. A landscape this time – cherry blossoms from the trip he had surprised you with for your anniversary a few months ago.

As you begin to pull away, he pulls you back and wraps his arms around you – kisses you dizzy, calls you darling and sweetheart and tells you how much he’s missed you.

You stumble into your little sanctuary afterwards, lips swollen and a little off balance but warm and happy; fall asleep the moment you wrap yourself in the coziness of your blankets.

You dream of a night in spring, of cherry blossom trees and a quiet breeze and a starry sky – a memory of gentle hands caressing your softness and making love to you under the moonlight.

The dream vanishes, colors and hues of blues and golds fill your vision – you wake to soft kisses along your thighs, on your hips. You shift a little, yawning and chest rising. Then, a gentle tap on your thigh; the solid end of a pencil. Warm, turquoise eyes meet yours as they open.

Jihyun is sitting on the sofa with you, has made room for himself at the very end with your feet on his lap, his earlier work long forgotten.

“Stay still for me, darling.”

You shudder under the weight of his gaze, seeking it even as his attention shifts back to the sketchpad in his hand, charcoal pencil in the other. Those same graceful hands that are always so careful when they take you apart; so careful and memorizing when they trace the outline of your figure on paper, and smooth an array of charcoal down the lines of your body.

Jihyun loves to spill you onto his art – pictures drawn and photographs taken of you, they are strewn all over his studio, displayed on the walls of every room in your home. They are beautiful, just like everything else about him, like everything he graces with his touch.

But hanging right next to them is your own work, a disarray of candid pictures you’ve taken of him. They are your absolute favorites because he’s always radiant and flushed, always giggles shily the moment you turn the camera on him.

“Your thoughts are spinning,” he says, eyes flickering up to you, a soft smile on his pretty mouth. “What did you dream about?”

“The night we camped underneath the stars, when the cherry blossoms were blooming.”

“Mmm,” he hums, a soft agreement. He remembers it perfectly – the night you’d laid naked with him underneath the stars and he’d made love to you until the sun rose. “A good dream then. Spread your legs a little wider, sweetheart?”

You do so, at peace with the warm flush that’s worked its way through your insides. It is still new to you, being bared like this for him to draw you, but you are comfortable. More than comfortable with him, if only a little shy at his attention, but he’s always tender with you.

His gaze flickers down your body; the blankets have long fallen to the floor, your robe in disarray and hiding nothing from him. You don’t fix it – let him watch every bit of you instead. “Are you getting a little restless, darling?”

“A little,” you admit, “but I can stay still a little longer for you.”

Jihyuns nods, a smile tugging at the edges of his lips. “Are you sure?” he asks, using his thumb to massage your inner thigh.

“Jihyun, dearest, you’re not meant to be making this harder for me,” you remind him, lowering your eyebrows in a faux-scowl, lip pouting. Your body shivers in delight as you witness his eyes darken – you know he loves your mouth, know it makes his fantasies unwind like nothing else.

He laughs, something dark and hoarse, but always as warm as the sun. “My apologies. You know I am just as tempted by you, if not more so.”

“Keep your hands to yourself,” you tease, letting your eyes fall closed once again as you slip into a steady daze. “Please finish quickly Jihyun, I’ve missed you terribly.”

And you have. All day long have been feeling a little heartsick for him.

You don’t open your eyes again for a while. Occasionally, you feel him moving you around; a hand adjusting the position of your arm, brushing hair from your face, or ghosting against your thighs.

It’s a while before he moves again, and you feel the sofa cushions shift as he slips his legs from beneath you; hear him place his sketchpad and charcoal down.

You open your eyes when you feel Jihyun hover above you – plush lips, soft lashes, smiling mouth, adoration in his gaze. You don’t need a single star or planet to align if only he keeps looking at you in this way for the rest of your life.

“Can I see the sketch?” You whisper, your body writhing at the wild, desperate look he gives you; know that he needs you just as badly as you need him.

You feel dizzy, drunk as you try to regain control of your body that never, never, never has enough of him.

“Later,” he answers, finally brushing his lips against yours, swallowing your moan as he presses every inch of his body against yours. He can’t ever have enough of you either.

Jihyun loves to capture these moments between you, has taken photographs of him pleasing you, of you pleasing him, of you two together; you wish he would paint this moment, the two of you intwined so tightly that you looked like one.

There is no need for preparation; you’ve been wet since he’d pressed you back into the blankets and asked you to stay there. Jihyun releases a shaky breath as he thrusts up and over your mound, coating himself in your arousal. You press his face into your neck and drape one leg over his hip, opening yourself up fully and giving unspoken permission at the same time.

You both gasp as the head of his cock notches at your entrances. His hips tremble slightly as he drives in, only stopping once his hips are tights against yours. You can’t help it; you squeeze around him, arch a little and writhe at the delicious fullness you feel.

“Thank you for waiting for me, my love” he says, and you know he doesn’t just mean today, or every other day you’ve watched him work while basking in the sunlight.

He means that period so long ago, when both of you were lost and stumbling through life but had fallen desperately in love with each other. When he’d left to learn how to live with mistakes made and figure out himself and his dreams.

You stayed and tried to make sense of what your life had become. Had spent so much of your time praying to the stars, to the moon, to the sun that he would come back to you.

He pulls backs to look at your face, brushes wild hair from your forehead and presses a kiss where his fingers had been. He only moves once he is sure you won’t look away. The first time he draws away and presses back in is enough to make you whine, enough to make you cry with the tender way he is looking at you.

Jihyun fucks into you at a gentle pace, loves to draw out the pleasure and just feel you beneath him. You understand why, too. All those years of secrecy and lying had left his body tired and his soul weary, and now he is eager for a moment of respite. He’s found that peace, the calmness he’s searched his whole life for, in you.

You can feel your wetness coating your inner thighs and his. You suck in a breath as Jihyun slicks your wetness up, fingers grazing your swollen, sensitive clit. A broken gasp leaves you as he presses harder, circling around you and you press yourself against his hand, rocking into him as he thrusts into you. You begin to flutter around him and he groans, his pace finally stuttering, his hips shaking against yours.

“Come on, baby,” he urges, flushed and eyes dark and shining. “Let me hear you.”

And you do. You let yourself vocalize everything that he makes you feel – the adoration, the love, the coursing desire that has lit a burning fire within you. He presses his mouth to yours and tastes every sound you make, pupils blown and completely blissed out in the knowledge that it’s all because of him.

He continues to stroke you through the aftershocks of pleasure, joins you with a jerk of his hips – brows furrowed, eyes shut and his lips parted as he moans your name.

When he finally pulls away, your thighs are shaking and your eyes are dropping with fatigue. He kisses your cheeks, your nose, your forehead, pulls back to look at the mess between your thighs and sings you quiet praises.

“Come here, honey,” he whispers, slowly standing up and hooking one arm beneath your knees, the other under your shoulders and lifts you up effortlessly. You lock your arms around him and nuzzle into his neck, sigh in quiet happiness. “Let’s get to bed.”

He carries you through the hallways of this home you’ve built together. Photographs of you two line the walls, kissing and smiling and always looking at each other with joy in your eyes.

There are pictures of your friends too, posters of Zen’s productions, blurry images of Jumin with Elizabeth the 3rd, Jaehee in front of her new café, Yoosung at his recent graduation, and plenty of the reunited Choi twins on their many adventures (because Saeyoung has taken it upon himself to hang pictures on your walls too).

Days can be long, and sometimes you don’t feel like yourself; but these still images that capture the life you once dreamed of help you remember: you have Jihyun, you have a family – you need nothing else.

You lean closer to Jihyun, kiss up his neck and across his jawline. Press your lips against the corner of his smiling mouth. “I love you.”

I would have waited a lifetime for you, you think. You have made my life a living dream.

[oftenderweapons]

Mold Me New (3) — Taehyung

A Small Town Swoons Story

Pairing: Taehyung x reader (nicknamed Frog — for now)

Wordcount: 3.7k

Genre: ceramic artist!Taehyung, divorced!reader, Strangers to Lovers, Fluff, Angst, Slice of Life

Rating: 18+ (for future smut and explicit thoughts)

Hello to my readers!!! Welcome to the Small Town Swoons Universe! 🥰✨

In this episode: Terry has given very generic instructions to Frog about how to retrieve her birthday gift. A more then welcome surprise follows. 

TRIGGER WARNINGS: None. (Wow. I’m shocked.)

Once more let me thank potter supreme @joheunsaram​ (I’d be wandering in darkness and despair without you. Lob U)

Here is my complete masterlist and in case you need it, here’s the Spotify music companion.

Navi: Chapter 1 — Chapter 2 — Chapter 3 — Chapter 4 — Chapter 5 — Chapter 6 — Chapter 7

“Hello?”

You felt deeply embarrassed venturing into the backyard of a stranger.

“Excuse me? Hello?”

The heavy sound of something slamming against the floor of a garage had you slightly worried. You were ready to run away when the door opened. The neighbourhood wasn’t familiar to you and Terry’s refusal to tell you anything about the specific address she had given you scared you even more.

You feared you’d end up at one of Terry’s friends with benefit’s house.

You changed your mind, however, when you recognised the man standing out of the door.

“Frog? Is that you?”

“Taehyung?” You said, recalling the name of the man. You had met him only a couple days before, spending a good time with his friends while your own had ditched you.

“Hello Frog!” He exclaimed, incredibly happy to see you. “Are you here for a four pm meeting?”

“All I know is that Terry told me to be here by four. She gave me the address but,” you laughed, shaking your head and touching your hair nervously. “She didn’t mention it was you. She didn’t say anything. She only said it was a surprise.”

Taehyung’s laugh exploded suddenly, deep and loud. “That explains many, many things.” He nodded to himself, waiting for you to get closer. “Welcome to my studio,” he said, letting the door open a bit wider.

The space inside was bright and airy, with a wall that resembled a glasshouse, while the others were made of brick and lined with shelves. In a corner you noticed a strange contraption, like an iron cauldron, and an unfamiliar machine close to a basin. There was also a large table all along the glass wall, like it was waiting for plants to be hosted, but none were found.

“With me you’ll learn the humble, raw art of modelling clay.”

You turned to him with a furrowed brow, completely confused. “Clay?”

“Yes. Clay.”

“You model clay?” You asked, giving him an amused look.

“I am an artist,” he stated clearly. “I also model clay but that’s not all I do.”                                                                        

“So that’s my gift? A clay lesson?”

“Ten clay lessons. I’ll make you an intermediate.” Taehyung reached a wooden cabinet, opening it and taking out a large block of clay, grabbing something from his apron and detaching a smaller part before putting the clay back in the cabinet. “But first, let me get you an apron.”

You felt your eyes blink in confusion. “You teach?”

“Art should answer anyone’s calls, in my opinion. I help people learn how to call.”

You were positively impressed. The quiet, if a bit Darcy-esque man, seemed relaxed and talkative in his natural habitat.

Taehyung reached a coat hook on the wall, giving a good look at you before choosing a garment suitable for your height. “This should do,” he said, offering it to you and letting you put it on.

You appreciated the independence he allowed you, allowing you to wear it yourself. You hung your tote on the now free hook and slipped your arms and head into the different loops before closing the tie around your waist in a cute ribbon.

“You'll want to fix your hair before your hands get messy,” Taehyung suggested, watching you carefully get it out of harm's way, since the last thing you wished for was dirt in your hair.

“You didn’t mention you teach art the other night.”

He smiled shyly. “The night you introduced yourself, I remembered I had gift lessons booked under your name. I wanted your birthday surprise to stay a surprise.”

You were entirely endeared at the thought. “That’s very sweet of you!” You exclaimed, watching him collect the piece of clay he had previously cut.

“It’s not a big deal,” he murmured, looking away as his cheeks blushed.

He was eager to watch you learn. He already felt like your hands could have so much potential. He had studied them all night after he met you, watching the sinewy fingers arch and straighten and hold and curve. “Okay, let’s start from a little bit of theory.”

He moved to the table by the window, “Would you mind grabbing a bowl with some water, there?” He pointed to a large utility sink in one of the corners, where you found a bowl and filled it halfway with water.

You made a careful work of walking to the table, placing down the bowl and sighing in relief once you realised you had caused no issues so far.

“Two questions. Have you ever used clay before?”

You snorted and shook your head. “Nope.”

“So you supposedly know nothing about it?”

“Exactly.”

He chuckled and bobbed his head. “That’s okay. All you need to know so far, is that clay is a mineral, and it can have different compositions which make it more or less difficult to model and to cook. I’ll have you use very generic clay, which is suitable for beginners, isn’t too picky about cooking and will look a bit plain, but is also pretty easy to shape. You’ll thank me later.”

You raised your eyebrows and smiled.

“It’s easy to work with, it cooks at low temperature and is also cheap, which will make it better if you ever choose to continue this hobby,” he explained. “It will take a fairly long time for you to master several techniques with this one, so no use spending money on fancy stuff. We’ll keep that for when you’re an upper intermediate. All cool?” He asked, checking in on you with his beautiful, dark eyes.

He had very pretty eyes, you noticed.

“Yes, got that.” You confirmed, startling when he slammed the clay against the table.

“Cool.” He replied with half a grin. “Let’s start from zero.”

Once more he extracted a tool from the pocket of his apron, showing it to you. “This is a wire. You’ll find one in your apron too.”

You rummaged in the pocket and found it. “This will help you with step one — Wait. Lemme start from very very zero.”

He walked back to the cabinet and dragged a block of clay out — the one he’d cut a piece from a few minutes ago. “This is called craft clay or potters’ clay. It’s ready-made and you can buy it in any diy shop. Some artists make their own mix, but let’s start with this since it’s specifically made for learners.”

“It looks very tough,” you commented, testing the small amount he’d cut before, prodding it with your finger.

“It just needs some love,” he explained, pouting sadly. “Clay is so misunderstood. It needs to be firm. But it’s pliable, as long as you treat it appropriately.”

You arched your eyebrows. “I just thought it was softer. Messier, somehow.”

“It is once you wedge it and moisturise it.” Taehyung acknowledged. “Clay contains platelets. Platelets make it solid, but also plastic as long as it’s not dry. Right now you have two enemies. Shape memory and air.”

Taehyung’s hands got on the piece instinctively. “Today I’ll only manage to explain wedging and centering. So be careful and pay attention. If you mess up wedging, your life will get ten times more impossible on the wheel. Let’s start.” He brought the main block back in the cabinet. “That one needs to stay fresh.”

Once at the table he settled beside you. “What’s wedging?” You asked, staring at your piece of clay.

“Wedging is your starting point. As you saw earlier, ready- made clay comes in blocks. Which means square. On the wheel, you’ll always start from a cute soft ball. Which means round.”

Taehyung’s hands massaged the clay for comfort. He felt somehow uneasy at the way he was going to interact with you. “Basically clay holds memory of the shape it was in. You want to erase it to make it more pliable. Like… When an introvert is in their comfort zone for too long and you need to get them back in society and you just… force them in several different social circumstances to warm them up, make them more versatile. More sociable.”

God, he felt ridiculous. He was using his inner turmoil to explain pottery.

He was going to defenestrate himself.

“Okay,” you laughed. “I got the introvert thing. I like the parallel.” You smiled and for a second you thought about all the years you’d been there, shaped like a block to fit inside someone’s life — or to fit them in yours.

You could use some wedging too.

“We usually wedge on plaster, or concrete or wood, because they get the extra water out of the clay. You want it to be a tiny bit humid. But not wet.” Taehyung spread his large hands over the small disk in front of him. “You want to make it more homogeneous. Uniform. For today let’s use the ram’s head method. It’s basically like kneading dough.”

His hair fell over his eyes as he bent down, leaning towards the table. “We have a small amount of clay, since you’re starting. You basically want it to become a thick block first.”

He bent the disk in two, turning it in a thicker, longer rectangle before placing his hands to the opposite sides and pressing, making the clay become more compact.

“Okay, try,” he invited you to do the same.

You mimicked his actions, focusing on the cold, solid feeling of the material under your fingertips.

“Use your palms. Don’t be afraid to get your whole hands on it. You’ll need all your strength.”

You nodded and followed his lead, the cold expanding to your palms, the feeling amplifying beautifully. It was somehow reinvigorating after the initial strangeness.

“Good. Now. Ram’s head.” He inhaled and regained his position. “These,” he said, wiggling his fingers, “and these,” he explained circling his hand around his shoulder. “That’s where you want to focus. All your strength resides there. You won’t feel it right now, but you will once you work with larger pieces.” He steadied himself and placed his palms on the sides of the piece. “Palms on the sides. Your wrists will do all the work. Your thumbs wrap around the top of the piece. The other fingers on the back of the piece. Focus on the wrists. You want to push the clay downwards first, then outwards, to the back of the piece. Okay. Position your hands.”

Taehyung stood straight up, allowing you to see his clay, on top of which he was previously bent over.

“I’m not…” You frowned and tried to feel the clay under your hands, trying to recognise the different sides.

“It’s okay. May I?” He asked, bringing his right hand close to yours.

You nodded, waiting for the contact.

It was chalky, somehow, almost dusty with the way the clay was already drying up, but it still held some cold dampness.

He corrected your fingers, staring at them and giving them a slight twist. “This way your wrists should reach just fine.”

He stood at your side, respecting your personal space even though his hand touched you. The smile on his face was the gentlest, most exciting thing you had felt in a while.

“Okay, mirror it with your left,” he told you as he stepped back, regaining his own space.

“This feels nice,” you admitted, giving the first twist of your wrist.

“Let’s see if you still think so after wedging for twenty minutes,” Taehyung chuckled.

“Twenty minutes!?” You said, already worried.

He giggled and shook his head, his curls brushing against his forehead, which you didn’t notice, because you were too busy focusing on the clay under your hands.

“Ten, usually. Twenty if you need very pliable clay. Like if you’re doing hand-building. But we can use something a bit rougher.” Taehyung helped you get out of the position your clay body was stuck in. “Help it with your fingers. Bring it back, yes,” he encouraged you once the position was right. “And now your wrists. Exactly. Look at you. You’re learning!”

He looked excited when you turned to look at him. He was literally shining with the meek sunlight coming from the window.

“I’m learning!” Your excitement mirrored his own.

“Okay, now, watch. This is why it’s called ram’s head.” Taehyung showed you the spiral on the sides, and the elongated triangle on the front.

“That looks fancy!” You said, feeling curious about the shape.

“Keep going and yours will be just like this!” He spurred you on, making you work harder and faster, which eventually led you to the ruthless burning that possessed your arms afterwards.

With his elbow, Taehyung pointed at your shoulder blade. “Just push your body weight into the clay. The whole motion should mimic a wave,” he showed you how. “If your hands are positioned right, you only need to lean in to wedge— Just. Like. That! Good job, Frog!”

You smiled and went on, paying attention to his corrections, and his gentle advice, enjoying the gentleness with which his pinkie finger pointed to a specific direction, or a finger that was in the wrong position, realigning it.

“Nice! Now, tuck the corners in in a cute fluffy ball. See how soft and warm and round it feels now?”

You nodded enthusiastically. There was something in menial tasks that always made you happy with yourself. Seeing the results of your efforts and hard work always made you feel accomplished, productive.

And it’s been a while since you felt that rush, except for seeing an organised shelf in your shop, with books neatly aligned and rated.

“Okay. I’ll show you how to work the wheel. We got little time left, so maybe I can show you the groundwork and then you can toy around with the body I centred, so you can get familiar with the feeling.”

You agreed.

Taehyung gave a few more twists to your clay body and brought it to the wheel. “Okay. Here we go. Forget Ghost, this thing is a lot more difficult than that. And forget all that water. Too messy. Bowl?” He asked.

Your forehead creased as he pointed to a small stand with a basin. It looked like a short version of a vintage stand for those porcelain bowls used in bedrooms.

You moved it closer to him.

“Thank you,” he smiled and caught the clay body, throwing it on the middle of the turning plate, currently still as he hadn’t yet activated the wheel.

“You can aim for the centre. There’s an indentation to show it. See,” he pointed to the plate. “There are all these circles to show you if you’re actually following the shape.”

He dipped a finger in the bowl, letting the extra water drip down, until it was just slightly damp. “You run around the base to seal it. That way you don’t need to slam it down and you don’t risk watching it unstick and mess around with you.”

“Okay. Great!”

“Now. Position is very important. With your legs you hold the holster and the wheel. Don’t worry about getting too close. Check three things. Knees around the wheel. Elbows braced on your thighs — that will stabilise you. And your torso leans forward. Not angled but perpendicular to the wheel. You need to be right on top of it, so your weight sinks down. Not across.” He showed you the correct position, his lean frame protecting the ball of clay like a hen defends her chicks.

Watching him become so tactile and connected with the material under his hands was endearing, but also fascinating, especially with the way his hands wrapped around the body.

“Okay, let me centre it for you, then you can try. It’s a procedure that can go back and forth, so I’ll have you doing this over and over for a few times. It will help you familiarise with it.”

“Thank you,” you replied, watching his fingers sink in the water. “Now, trick. You wet your hands. Let them drip down just a little, so you don’t drench your piece. If the piece is drenched, the platelets will loosen and the walls of your cup, bowl, vase, whatever will collapse. And we don’t want that, right?”

The way his head snapped towards you with an inquisitive look made you shake your head and reply readily, “nope.”

“Exactly. So, we sink our hands in, rest, and— one, two three, drip and—” he moved his hands over the clay body, letting a few tens of droplets fall onto the material. “Nice and wet. Not sodden, of course. We don’t want that, remember?”

You blinked and nodded as his hands started moving.

Taehyung grinned as he noticed your captivated gaze. You were learning. You were curious, interested, completely amazed. It was the most satisfying look he had ever seen. “This is your treasure now. You curl yourself around it and protect it. Like a dragon hoards its gold.”

He leaned down into the piece, his foot looking for the pedal and pressing it down very, very delicately.

“Your pinkies and ring fingers are doing all the work right now. They seal around the base, reinforcing the sealing we did before. Once you gave enough spins around the base — oh, feel the plate with the side of your pinkie and palm!” He reminded himself, showing you the part of his hand and securing it around the wheel once more. He corrected his position. “You will feel the clay push you up. That’s when your palms close in. You want to make sure it goes up.”

The wheel suddenly stopped and Taehyung showed you the result. “See. Cute mushroom shape. A two inch stem, and then the round hat.”

You bent down to check and studied the way the table started spinning slowly again, showing you the consistent shape.

“More water. Same technique.” He repeated the dip-drip process. “Now. Pinkies stay in. Lots of pressure. And your palms are going to push the hat of the mushroom up. You want it to turn into a cone. So once the hat disappears, you’re gonna keep your hands steady, with a lot of pressure, and drag them up, slowly. And bend them inwards slightly, into a tip.” He followed the process with his hands, his fingers steady and his veins thicker at the effort and the pressure. The way his elbows braced against his hands brought even more blood to the back of his palms.

Still, you didn’t let that cloud your focus. You stared at the process, especially once he stopped the wheel and took his hands off.

“Now we’re bringing it downwards with the thumbs. We’re helping it regain the center. This,” he prodded the ball of his thumb, the soft part where the finger could sink, “is the part that gains the centre. You push it down, while your fingers lean over. Like you’re projecting energy from your palms.” He finished showing the procedure, showing how the ball of clay was a perfectly round dome, placed in the exact middle of the wheel.

“Now you take the lead!” He turned to you with a grin.

With a shy blush you watched him stand up and gesture to the seat elegantly.

You settled down and fixed your position around the wheel, following the instructions he had given you previously.

“That’s nice. Closer.” He corrected you helping your seat closer to the holster of the wheel.

“Now we’re ready to go. Wet your hands—” he directed you, helping you count the dip and drip. “Steady.”

You placed your pinkies tightly around the base, feeling the dome a bit too large for your hands. That’s because it was shaped for his large hands.

“Yes. Steady,” he encouraged you. “Go.”

The taglist is open!

Navi: Chapter 1 — Chapter 2 — Chapter 3 — Chapter 4 — Chapter 5 — Chapter 6 — Chapter 7

[thebmatt]

FFXIV Write 2021 Prompt #16: Crane

Crane - stretch out one's body or neck in order to see something.

Kugane tended to get very warm this time of year, and Ranaa Mhigo was grateful that the casual attire she wore was so breathable. It did an excellent job of keeping the sun from her bronzed skin, but let those all-too rare cool breezes grant the full measure of their cooling relief when they did show up.  

One was arriving now, and she let out an enjoyable sigh as it passed through. Unfortunately she also raised her her ever so slightly, and the movement sent a small stab of pain through her neck muscles. With a small exclamation of pain, she reached up to rub the pain away.

Makoto, who was sitting at the table of one of Kugane's smaller teahouses with her, looked over to her with concern in her eyes. "Are you well, my....friend?"

The small hesitation told Ranaa that she'd almost finished that sentence with "heart" as she often called Ranaa in private, but that she'd stopped herself from doing so. Public displays of affection were somewhat frowned on within Hingan culture, and relationships with foreigners or people of the same gender were even more so. Makoto occupied a somewhat prominent position within Kugane as captain of the Sekiseigumi, and so she had to keep their relationship private. Sometimes she went a little overboard on the caution, but Ranaa couldn't be too mad about it. After all she was very affectionate in private.

"I'm fine, just a little neck cramp." she replied. She leaned in and whispered "Between all his training we've been doing for our next performance and all the times we have to crane our neck to look up at Fearless, I think maybe it's gotten more sore than the rest of me!"

Makoto giggled quietly, smiling even as she cast her eyes around, confirming that no one else was within earshot. "You might jest, but honestly mine has been hurting me more than usual lately as well! But I don't think I can ever really complain about it. Seeing her look down back at me with all of that love in her gaze....it is very much a worthwhile trade."

Ranaa smiled back at her. "It really does. Hey, I'm curious, actually. What was your reaction the first time you ever saw her?"

She thought back to those days when she had traveled to Eorzea, seeking the legendary samurai Musosai, hoping he might be willing to rejoin them in bringing the insurgent who wanted to burn the city they all now called home to the ground.

"I will honestly never forget the sight. I was right outside the tavern known as the 'Quicksand' in Ul'dah, hoping to catch sight of Musosai, when this absolutely massive woman approaches me. I remember being equally terrified and entranced, my very breath taken away by how beautiful she was, to the point where it took me a few moments to realize that she was both wearing a katana at her hip and addressing me by name. I remember keeping my eyes absolutely fixed on her own, but my mind was practically begging me to allow myself to admire just how well her armor fit her!"

She looks down at her teacup. "Of course, it was then that I had learned that the man I had pinned my hopes on was no longer among the living, so that did put somewhat of a damper on my traitorous mind."

Makoto shook her head and looked back to Ranaa, smiling. "No. I'm not getting lost back there because it has led me here, and here, in my greatest happiness, is where I wish to be. So, now you must tell me, my dearest Ranaa. What was your own reaction to meeting "our girl" as you are fond of calling her?

Ranaa laughs. "Well, I'll be honest, I don't quite remember the first real time I laid eyes upon her. She was just another member of my first audience in Eorzea. Said audience was quite large, as a Thavnairian dancing troupe performing is hardly a common occurrence in Limsa Lominsa and there was no shortage of beautiful girls watching, both Roegadyn and otherwise. I make it a habit of catching as many eyes as possible when I dance, if only for a brief few seconds. I remember seeing her in the crowd, mostly cause of her axe. She was carrying a real big one"

"But then afterwards, Mistress Nashmeira brought her over to the Troupe and introduced her as her new protege and my new dance partner." Ranaa blushed a little. "I tried so hard to come off all smooth and confident when I talked to her, but inside, I had two conflicting thoughts going through my head. The first was 'How is this mountain  of muscles and tits ever going to have the grade needed to learn the Kriegstanz?' The other was 'Oh, Twelve, I'm going to get to look up at this gorgeous mountain of muscles in a dancer's costume...a lot...'"

Both of them erupted in laughter. Makoto managed to regain control of herself first. "We should make our way home, dearest. Perhaps we can convince our 'gorgeous mountain of muscles' to put them to good use in giving us a shoulder massage"

Ranaa smiled coyly at her. "I love you and your brilliant mind. Let's go!"

A short walk to the ferry and a ride across the river later, the pair arrived in their neighborhood, walking hand in hand. Unlike Kugane, Shirogane was reserved exclusively for foreign inhabitants, as well as any citizens who were invited to live with them. The pair were known to a few of their neighbors, but no one else even bothered the pair. Makoto thoroughly enjoyed being able to let her guard down at the end of the day. No one here knew she was a part of the Sekiseigumi, and unlike most Hingashi natives, the residents were not bothered in the least by "less traditional" romantic arrangements.

Ranaa had stopped to speak with a Lalafell neighbor of theirs, a man employed by the East Aldenard Trading Company in the city, and was just catching back up to Makoto when she noticed a familiar person walking up the road. "Wait....why is Franks here?"

Sure enough, the "Old Man" as he preferred to be called, was  indeed walking up the road, away from their home. He was carrying a large satchel which Makoto could see held all manner of tools. "Franks, is that you?" Makoto called. "What brings you here?"

Franks waved. "Ah, ladies! Well met. You're just in time, I just finished the addition!"

Ranaa and Makoto exchanged glances. "Addition? What addition?" Ranaa inquired.

He smirked "Ooooh, she didn't tell you! Well, I'll say nothing more, lest I let the rest of the metaphorical couerl out of the bag! Enjoy it!" With that, he gave them a wave goodbye and sauntered onward,

"What in the star was THAT about?" Ranaa wondered as they watched Franks head for the ferry.

Makoto took her hand again. "I suspect we shall find out when we get home, love."

A few less eventful minutes later, they arrived at the home they shared with Fearless to find her waiting for them at the gate. "Oh, good, you're home!" she said, kneeling down to embrace the pair, one under each arm. "I have a surprise for you, come on!"

Fearless stood and  spun around, grabbing one of their hands each as she did, and quickly walked around to the house, Both Ranaa and Makoto stumbled as Fearless almost dragged them behind her, but they quickly adjusted their pace and caught up to her.

Around the back of the house, up against a small rocky cliff that gave them some privacy, Makoto spotted a feature that had not been there that morning. It was a large rectangular wooden structure built onto a series of carefully sculpted rocks that gave an illusion of being naturally shaped. On the far end, a taller wooden structure rose, topped by a black tiled roof. Steam rose from the structure.

Ranaa gasped. "Is...is that a personal hot spring? Do we have a HOT SPRING in our backyard??"

Fearless smiled at her. "We do! I've wanted to take you both to one for so long, but the only ones I know of are in Eorzea, and we haven't had time for an extended sojourn there. I haven't been able to find one in Doma, and I know going to any of the ones in Kugane would be too risky. I mentioned it to the others, and Franks came up with this wonderful idea. He crafted it entirely himself. Fire crystals keep it heated, water crystals continuously replenish the supply and keep it clean. Now we can enjoy it whenever we like!

Ranaa lept up into her fellow dancer's arms. "And I'm sure getting to see us in swimwear a lot didn't factor into your decision at all" she teased.

Fearless kissed her. "Well, I see you in minimal clothing a lot as it is, sweetling. Makoto on the other hand? Yeah, totally did all this just to see her wear swimsuits more often

Makoto blushed and smacked her on the arm. "Do you want to tease, or shall we go inside and change and see how nice it is?"

A few minutes later, Makoto found herself loving the addition to their home as she leaned back against Fearless' legs while strong but gentle hands massaged all the aches out of her neck and shoulders as Ranaa sat next to her, awaiting her turn with her usual amount of patience. Which was to say, none at all. She continuously tried to distract her with kisses and teasing touches, waiting for the moment she could slip into her spot and begin receiving Fearless' ministrations.

Though it had not ended as she hoped, Makoto was very glad she'd made that first trip to Eorzea. It had changed her life in ways she never could have imagined, all for the better.  

[naturepointstheway]

“Drawn to the Stars” (Outer Wilds)

Will you look at that, finally writing fanfiction for Outer Wilds! In this, a very young Hatchling, born not long ago, finds themselves drawn to the stars and meets a Hearthian who also has a great passion for the great universe beyond Timber Hearth. One day I might come back and refine it some more to put it on AO3 in the future.

From the first moment they could see the sky and grass and trees and not have it be a blur of colour as their eyes learned to see for the first time, the Hatchling was immediately drawn to the curious twinkling stars and the bright burning sun and the eclipsing, rotating, looming planets and the Attlerock. The first night they saw the stars in their glory for the first time in their very small life, they lay back on cool Hearthian grass and just stared skyward until their eyes drooped closed, losing the battle against encroaching sleep. 

From the very first night their eyes could see the stars in each of their individual twinkling glories, the Hatchling (who had yet to be bestowed a name, unless they found one for themselves first), they played with the characters of the stars, finding all manners of shapes and objects among them. They pretended one was a little fish swimming close to its parent, and watched it grow until it became a bright constellation, one with several bright stars. Though, one night, they couldn’t help but notice one had dimmed and then went away forever for some reason. Maybe that star would come back, maybe it hid itself because it was shy. Could stars be shy?

Among those beautiful twinkling stars, they imagined an eye, round and bright yellow like their own. On the horizon, one late night, they connected a group of stars together so that it seemed to form the image of a scroll, spiraling in on itself like some strange, alien writing script. Another time, they sketched a space-faring ship among the stars, and dreamed of flying between and around and through every strange big round planet they could see. Maybe they might even be the first to land on one of those big round planets--imagine that! What wonders, what sights, what curiosities they might find! 

Oh! How muched they burned with the dream that they could get up closer, so much closer to the stars and planets, that they might even be able to touch them with their own feet or hands! It was a little ache at first, tiny like a seed planted in their heart, but it was one that grew every day and night until they imagined they might be consumed entirely by that desire and wish to fly among the stars and worlds and moons waiting for them to discover and explore. 

One night, though, after having sneaked out and walked well out of the village bounds to stare up at the stars again, they discovered an odd apparatus left alone in the vast plain of grass and sky. It was a cylindrical thing on a wooden stand, and it was staring up at the night sky too, as though just as drawn and awestruck by the universe as the Hatchling. 

No one was around to stop them, so why not go find out what in the world it could be--was it some kind of tool? Did it belong to someone in their village? Why was it here all alone? Did nobody else want it? Well then, maybe the Hatchling could have it, if it was useful to them at all! 

Letting their own insatiable curiosity lead the way, the Hatchling scurried to the object, examining it closely, running their fingers over the cool outside--it seemed to be made of some metal--and twiddling the knobs with their other hand, but they weren’t sure what effect the twisting and turning was supposed to have (as far as they could tell, nothing). When they grew bored of the knobs, they walked around to stick their little head into the larger opening, only their small ears sticking out of the rim. The world on the other side looked very small and blurry and upside-down. They wondered, what use could anyone get out of that? 

Maybe...maybe they were supposed to look in the other end? Maybe that was right, and what they were doing was the wrong way! 

With this thought in mind, the Hatchling pulled their head out of the large opening and turned around only to stumble as they saw someone else was already there. That “someone” was short and stubby, not much taller than the Hatchling themselves, their arms folded, ears high as they watched the Hatchling. 

“Are you quite done yet?” 

The Hatchling’s excited grin faded in the face of their new companion’s less-than-pleased, and very huffy, tone of voice. 

“Uh--sorry--yeah?” 

“Hatchling, let it be known this is my property, and that means do not touch, you hear?” 

Yes, this short Hearthian was clearly not happy for their company, let alone playing with whatever that was. 

“I thought it belonged to no one.” 

“Well, it does belong to someone--specifically, me--and it’s not a toy you can play with.” 

“Then why did you leave it so anyone could play with it?” 

The other Hearthian raised a finger to massage a temple. 

“Just because it was left out here doesn’t mean finder’s keepers. And it’s called a telescope, and it’s a very delicate instrument!” 

“What does a...telescope thing do? Why was it looking at the stars?” 

The other Hearthian dropped their hand back to their side with a sigh.

“Because that’s what it’s for. What did you think?” 

The Hatchling did not respond--every one of their thoughts captivated by this new knowledge: this telescope was for looking at the stars?! Then why couldn’t they see them? Why could they only see grass? Maybe....

“I think it’s broken, um...” 

Another sigh, but much less annoyed-sounding now. “Chert. And it’s not broken--at least last time I left it before I found you here.” 

“Um...I played with the knobs a little? And I can only see grass looking inside, not stars. And I wanna see the stars! Really bad! I want to see what they look like up close! And--and I want to see them so bad. And the planets. Can I? I mean, you don’t seem to like me much and that’s probably because I broke it--”

The Hearthian raised a hand to stop the Hatchling in their babbling tracks, the latter falling quiet--they had to stop to catch their breath anyway after so much talking at once. 

“Calm down, Hatchling. One: you were looking in the wrong end, and that’s why you saw the grass and not the stars.” 

Turned out the Hatchling’s guess was right after all. 

“Okay! I was starting to think that too anyway.” 

“Two: it’s not too much trouble to recalibrate everything. A damn nuisance after you played with them, but no matter. I have all night.” 

“Oh. Did I ruin everything?” 

“Yes, but it’s fixable. A fixable nuisance. And three: I don’t dislike you because you’re a child that saw something and thought it was a toy and wanted to play with it. Because that’s what children do.” 

“Oh! Okay! So...can I look at the stars? I mean, can you show me how to look at the stars?” 

“Use your eyes, you have four of them.” 

The Hatchling rolled their eyes. “Yeah, duh, that’s what I do every night. But what about...” the Hatchling gestured at the telescope. 

“I’m very busy tonight, but I can spare some time. A little time.” 

“Oh! Now? Will you? Show me how?” 

“Well, I might as well, since you’re obviously going to keep badgering me until I do, won’t you?” 

“Yeah.” 

The Hatchling may have been imagining things, but they were sure they saw the hint of a grin from Chert, the friendly expression softening their words.

“Let’s get started, then,” Chert crooked a finger at the Hatchling. “Get over here, Hatchling, let me show you the stars, once I re-calibrate my telescope.” 

“Ooh!” the Hatchling bounded closer to Chert as the latter peeked into the telescope and fiddled with the knobs, turning them this way and that with much more care and finesse than the younger Hearthian had. 

“Oh wow, you really are very short!” the Hatchling blurted as they stood next to Chert, barely able to wait to stare at the stars through the telescope. 

Chert lifted their head and looked pointedly at the Hatchling. “And I would ask that you not remind me.” 

“But--”

“No.” 

How did adults do that, finish a conversation just like that with all of one word? Chert was already looking through the telescope again, giving a knob one final little tweak before looking back up at the Hatchling with a smile. 

“Okay, it’s all set, but a warning first.”

“Um, yeah?” 

“Don’t expect to see everything in full detail like you would our sun.”

“Why?” 

“They’re very, very, very far away and even this powerful piece will have them show up no more than pinpoints of light. But. You can see some are double stars or even triple systems.”

“You mean like there’s more than one star?” 

“You can see galaxies too if you know where to look.”

“Whoa! Uh, what’s a galaxy?” 

“It’s a big collection of stars. If I can find one, I’ll show you what they look like. Or, there’s the observatory in the village. I think Hornfels has their image of a group of galaxies in there.” 

“Really?” 

“You can always go visit the observatory and ask them. They’re always at the observatory. I’m almost convinced they live there too. Give me another moment.” 

After giving their telescope one last check, Chert moved aside and motioned for the Hatchling to take a look through it. 

“Found a little beautiful collection of stars for you to look at. Take a peek!” 

“Really?!” 

The Hatchling’s excitement so great they were shaking from it, they sidled up to the telescope, leaning over to take a peek through the eyepiece, their eye wide and round as if to try to take in as much of the starlight waiting for them beyond as they possible could. 

And...oh. 

What a sight! 

The Hatchling cried out in delight, awestruck beyond anything they could have imagined as five twinkling stars shining brilliant blue and orange and white, winked right back at the little Hearthian. 

Whoa. 

Time fell away like the ground beneath their feet as they stared into the heart of the star cluster, wanting to stay like this forever, just still as a tree undisturbed by a storm, and as quiet as the last faint light of sunset disappearing over the valley borders. Everything collapsed to nothing but this handful of stars floating in a lonely patch of sky. 

I’m going there. I will.

The Hatchling, after what felt like forever, finally lifted their eye from the eyepiece and stared up, unblinking, at the splash of stars wheeling far over Timber Hearth. Some distant surprise hit them that Chert hadn’t said a word yet, and, wondering if they had left after all, looked to their side, only to find the other Hearthian was still standing nearby, a knowing smile and look in their eyes. 

“Beautiful, huh?” 

Yes seemed too small, too weak, too pathetic an answer, and so the Hatchling nodded instead, unable to find the words they wanted that would be poetic enough to even touch upon what seemed to them a transformative experience. 

When words that seemed full enough to voice finally filled their thoughts, the Hatchling remarked:

“I’m going to go visit the stars. And the planets. And the moons. I’m going up.” 

Chert patted the Hatchling’s arm, squeezing briefly, their voice gentle. 

“I know you will, Hatchling. You will. I can tell.” 

“Imagine all the stories I could bring back!” the Hatchling’s excitement sparked in them, warm and filling like a marshmallow toasted just right. “I want to bring back stories of adventures from other planets and maybe even the stars!” 

“They’re very far to travel to, but yes, you want stories, you’re in luck.” 

“What?” 

“Other Hearthians have been up there too. Maybe not the stars, but certainly within our solar system.” 

“Really?” 

“I think I’m going to have to introduce you to Feldspar tomorrow, Hatchling. I can tell you, they have lots of stories to share.” 

The Hatchling could hardly wait. 

[writefightandflightclub]

Arrivals

What is this? 6 of 14 prompt requests for my follower celebration! See OP + prompt list credits here.

What is the prompt? “Painting the house which ends in a paint fight and giggles.” with Modern!Poe and Pregnant!Reader. Thanks anon for the request!

Author’s note: I’ve never written Modern!Poe before and I’m not sure I would’ve without the request. So here goes. Thanks for the chance to try something new, anon! I think it turned out pretty cute? Let me know what YOU think!

Word count: A mere 2634, OOPS.

Warnings: pregnancy. Other than that it’s pure fluff and typos. Enjoy!

GIF credit: here

You hear your husband enter the room with a contented sigh, bare feet padding softly across the exposed floorboards. The patter of Beebs’ paws shortly follows. Your heart melts as he greets the dog with a sleepy “Morning, buddy.”, evidently stooping down to pet him as you hear Beebs’ soft pants and the happy beat of his tail against something or other in the room. “Happy beats, huh?” Poe says softly.

Then, he grants you his full attention.

“Oh oh, it’s happened again. I love you. Even more than I did yesterday.” he announces, sliding gently up behind you, pressing his warm chest into your back and wrapping his arms delicately around the pronounced curve of your belly, splaying his fingers to caress more of your bump. His head settles into the crook of your neck, his wild, bedhead curls tickling against the apple of your cheek as his arrival draws a wide, easy smile from you. He unconsciously begins swaying his hips in time with the easy-listening playlist you have muted in the background, his gorgeous voice a soft rumble against your ear as he starts to sing along.

The warmth -the sturdiness of him- is effortlessly reassuring, the shape and contours of him familiar even as he slots himself around your changing body. You don’t return his affections immediately though. Instead, you furrow your brow and stick your tongue out as you concentrate on some particularly intricate brush strokes on the wall ahead of you.

“I love you too, Poe, but if you knock me while I’m painting, I’m gonna have to kill you.”

You can tell that the goofball freezes then, as if he’s taking you completely literally. If you could see his expression as he perched his head on your shoulder you just know he would be emphatically statuesque.

“When you commit, you commit.” you smile.

“I’m sure you’re thankful that your husband has that quality, no?” he teases.

You’ll give him that one.

You chuckle at the thought of him, frozen there, trying to keep your brush steady as you do so. But then he’s still frozen and the wobble of your shoulders becomes more pronounced as you shake with gentle laughter. You hear him scoff by your ear, in return.

“Stop it, Poe!” You scold good-naturedly as your giggles intensify, the sound chiming musically around the empty-ish, in-progress room.

“I’m not doing a thing, sweetheart, it’s you who’s moving!” His voice has that wonderful playful edge, and you can hear the smile in it, can imagine that slight crinkle in his nose.

You get a handle on yourself for just about long enough to finish off the detail of the mural section you’d been working on. You have added incentive to get it done now, as you are desperate to turn around and get yourself a good look at that handsome face for the first time today. You down your tools and twirl towards Poe, his broad, gentle hands never breaking contact with your belly. His body navigates your bump to lean in for a sweet and loving kiss to your lips.

“Hmm. Morning, handsome.” You purr, blissed out from that kiss as your hand winds into his thick, dishevelled curls, his Sunday stubble grazing your skin.

His eyes glow as he looks back at you. “Morning, sweetheart.” As is tradition, he dips to plant a sweet kiss to your midsection. “Morning, Kiddo.” 

He gives you the once-over with his eyes, checking for any sign of new symptoms or discomfort. “You couldn’t lie-in, huh? You should have woken me.”

“I’m fine, Poe.” You dismiss -he does tend to fuss, for which you are thankful- and you nod back towards your progress with the mural, excitement flashing in your eyes. “What do you think of my progress?”

You both turn to regard it, and he resumes his original position, warm and sturdy at your back once again.

“Don’t tell me. It’s an... elephant?”

You’d been bouncing around ideas for the mural for weeks now. Since you’d officially stopped working, it had become a rather consuming passion project of yours. You’d suggested cute little airplanes and clouds to reflect Poe and his career as a pilot. But he’d said he hadn’t wanted to push his dreams on to the kid, and had proceeded to go down rabbit hole about how he just wanted them to be happy. You’d fallen even more in love with him, and then asked him to pick something that made him happy. Predictably, he’d said you. Of course. And Beebs. Then, out of nowhere, he’d gone straight to: “Monkeys. Monkeys make me happy. The one I saw on my last humanitarian mission - did I tell you about that one yet?”. So, here you were, with a beautiful jungle scene beginning to snake its way across the wall.

With a soft smile at the corners of your lips, you glance back at what is quite evidently a tiger. It’s a good job you’re secure in your abilities, and therefore confident that he’s teasing. “An elephant, you say? Poe, you’ll have to get much better at deciphering paintings before Kiddo learns how to hold crayons.” You lean your head back against him, resting your hands over his atop the globe of your belly. “Also, please don’t offend Sir Growlington; he’s a very sensitive tiger.”, you pout.

Poe peppers a few loving kisses on to your cheek and hairline and really, wherever his mouth can reach. “It’s amazing, sweetie, you’re so fucking talented.” He says genuinely. “But… don’t think I’m just going to brush past this... You named the tiger?”

“I did name the tiger.” you intone, hinting that maybe that’s not all.

He twirls you back to him so he can look you in the face again.

“Wait. Did you name all the animals?”

“No. Of course not. Would I be so silly?” you singsong sarcastically as you lean yourself up against the edge of the painting table. 

“Oh ok.” he says plainly with a nod of his head, a brush of his hand over his stubbled jaw. You love when he pretends to be serious and when he’s just so damn bad at pretending. “So you won’t mind if I call this bird... Sandra then?”

You suck in air through your teeth. “Sorry, that’s Porg. But that’s the only other one I named, honest.”

He folds his arms and raises his eyebrows to you, an easy smirk on his lips as he mirrors your position and leans against the pair of wooden ladders behind him. “Come on, let me have them all; monkey, giraffe, sloth - hit me.”

He makes a “bring it on” gesture with his fingers, and you blurt them out. “Peanut, Jungle Gump, and Mademoiselle Sleepyhead.”

He smiles in amusement and pads towards you, settling himself into your side, his eyes soft as they wander over the familiar details of your face. His voice is low in his throat. “Goddamn, you’re adorable.” You shrug and flutter your eyelashes in casual agreement. “Unless... Honey, should I be concerned?” He juts his hip and you can’t wait to hear what he’s going to come out with next. “Is this a subtle way of telling me you want to name our baby Jungle Gump?”

 “No!” You burst into laughter and bat him playfully on the chest. “But… now that you mention it? Jungle Dameron does sound kinda cool.” You’re actually only half-joking.

He sighs in mock defeat, waving his hand around in the air. “Fine, Jungle if they’re a girl, Sir Growlington if they’re a boy, and Peanut as a gender-neutral option.”

“Shake on it. Deal done.”

You place your hands on his chest, nodding back towards the wall again. “Did you see I left a space? I think you should paint something, Poe.”

“Honey, you know I can’t paint.” he argues, massaging little circles into your shoulder, your hip, your elbows. Anywhere you’ve complained of being sore. You love this man.

“You can paint. Everyone can paint.”

“Why would you want me to ruin your great work?”

You throw your arms around his shoulders, twining your fingers together at the back of his neck. “Because it’s our mural for our baby, and it’s about making something happy, yes? Well, I’m having fun creating this but you’re not in the room with me. And that’s the fun memory I want us to think about when we put our baby-”

“Jungle” he interjects.

“-Jungle,“ you nod, “to sleep. So, stay with me. Paint a crappy, fantastical animal of your choosing.” You gesture towards the paint selection on the table behind you with a sweep of your arm.

“You sure?” he asks, even though he’s already started to rifle through the supplies.

“I’m sure. I can’t wait to see how it turns out!”

A perfect, broad smile works its way across his face. His pretty, dark eyes flick over to yours, his voice deepening and becoming even richer and more robust as it infuses with meaning. “You’re incredible. I can’t wait to do this with you.”

You know he’s talking about far more than the mural. And you couldn’t agree more.

“First though...” he begins, that playfulness immediately back again. “Paint fight!” He picks up the nearest brush and dips it in your paint pot, before swiping a black streak across your cheek. 

You squeal in shock and he adopts a fighting stance, primed for your reaction. Before you can do a thing he manages to paint another stripe to your forearm with a quick, targeted swipe of his brush. You think he’s probably trying to make you look like Lady Growlington.

He torments you like this until you grab for your own brush, which you load, preparing to coat him. You assess the status of his sleep shirt. It’s old, you decide, and you land a splash of sky blue down his neck with a dramatic “A-ha”, a sound not unlike a swashbuckling pirate.

“Oh, you’re in for it now.” he warns with a grin, planting his whole palm in a pot of green and -gently, ever so gently, and avoiding your belly- chasing you around the room until he has covered your face and arms in his handprints. Then, when he’s had his fun he pulls you in for a giggly, breathless kiss.

“Are you trying to ruin my clothes, Poe Dameron?”

“Honestly? I’m trying to get you in the shower, gorgeous.” He pumps his eyebrows suggestively. “What do you say, wanna make love to me?”

He smiles, grabbing you hand with his own, paint-smeared one and giving you a light tug.

“If you think we can both still fit in the cubicle!”

“We’ll just have to get super close; that doesn’t sound like the worst thing, honey” 

All morning should start this way, you think. How could anything be better?

***

Months later, you are settling your precious baby for sleep. Poe is already passed out and lightly snoring on the couch, an array of blankets and bottles strewn around him. You allow yourself a moment to take him in. He looks so Goddamn beautiful when he’s sleeping. You feel so much love for him, for your new baby. More than you could have ever thought possible. It’s hard and it’s scary, but you are so happy you are doing this with him. Already, he is the most wonderful husband and father you could have dreamed of. 

Careful not to wake either him or the tiny sleeping bundle in your arms, you tread softly upstairs, Beebs -who rarely ever leaves your side since the new arrival- padding quietly along with you. When you get to the nursery you rock your baby in your arms a few moments more, humming lullabies softly into the cool night air.

Your eyes sweeping the room, the wonderful, perfect mural on the wall catches your attention. The mural with one animal that doesn’t look quite like the rest. Honestly, it doesn’t really look like any existing animal, so Poe has named it a “blurrg” instead. It makes you chuckle every single time, without fail. You wouldn’t change it for a thing. You wouldn’t change any of this.

You set your baby down in their basket before your laughter wakes them. Then, of course, you linger a moment longer to just stare at that adorable little face before clasping the door shut behind you.

Returning downstairs you smile at Poe. “You’re awake!”

“Yeah, I am.” You move to meet him on the couch and he drags you down into his lap. “And I heard you on the baby monitor, laughing at my blurrg! Again!”

You caress his curls, even though you know he’s not genuinely offended.

You smile so broadly your cheeks hurt. “I love it Poe. It makes me so happy every time. I’m so glad we created it together.”

His eyes meet yours, soft and warm, like the rest of him. “I sure as hell know that feeling.”

Oh boy. How does he make happiness swell in your chest like this? How is it possible to be this happy?

“Let’s... keep creating together, ok?”

He looks up at you in shock as he catches the full meaning of your words. “Are you... are you asking me to have another baby with you? Already?”

“Jungle’s gonna need a sibling.” you bite your lip, slightly nervous of how he might react. “Also, we really need to stop calling her that and settle on an actual name.”, you deflect.

“Baby,” he says gently, taking your hand in his. “I’d like Jungle to have siblings. I’m not sure she needs one just yet...” his tone switches, and it’s subtle but you know him too well to miss it. “...but as soon as you feel ready I’m very willing to start practising again.”

“You know, I think… I think I’m ready to start… practising.”

He swallows thickly, and you can see he’s holding himself back a little, for your benefit. He even backtracks a little. “You know I would never want to rush you, baby.”

“I know, Poe. So, what do you say, wanna make love?”

With unfortunate timing, the baby monitor crackles, transmitting a light cry from your daughter’s room.

“I’ll go check her.” Poe offers, patting your thighs for you to stand up and let him out from under you.

“You just want to smell her head again.”

“It’s the best smell, can you blame me?”

You smile to yourself. You love how soft and goofy and wonderful this man is. Every night should be like this, you think. How could anything be better?

***

When Poe does come back down to the living room you are already fast asleep, an open sketching pad nestled on to your chest. He thinks his heart might burst as he lifts it up for safe-keeping and notices you’ve drawn an adorable blurrg in there.

He casts his eyes over your sleeping form with nothing but love. He thinks you look so beautiful when you’re sleeping. He knows he couldn’t paint a prettier picture if he tried. No really, not with his skills. You’d agree; you’ve seen that blurrg, after all.  

He stoops, planting a gentle kiss to your forehead. He could swear that, impossibly, that he loves you even more than he did yesterday.

He stoops to pet Beebs as the corgi presses up against his ankles, giving him some well-deserved belly scritches. “Come on then big bro,” he whispers. “Let’s clear this mess up for Mama.”

Before he scoots around to collect up all the bottles and paraphernalia, he sets your sketchpad safely down on the coffee table. He can’t help but smile again. He knows what makes him happy. Happier than he ever thought he could be.

God knows why he said “monkeys”.

THE END

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[skywillsometimeswrite]

I lost the old, guess I need something new

Read it on AO3

Grian has lost his last contact, and has no glasses. Luckily, Cleo and Doc are willing to help him out.

“No. No no no. This can’t be happening. I did not just do that-” Grian gripped the sides of his sink, squinting into the dark brown of the bottom of it to try and see where the evil little circle of sight went. “I did not just drop my contact down there.”

He felt around the stained wood a couple times for good measure but groaned as he accepted the fact that he had indeed lost one of his last pair of contacts. Which means he would have to order some new ones from out of world and who knows how long those would take to get made. If he was going to do that he may as well get his eyes checked again, they had been getting blurry anyways since before the beginning of the season and if he waited much longer it wouldn’t matter whether he wore contacts or not. But that meant he would have to set up an appointment which most likely meant a waitlist that would no doubt span over a few weeks, if not months. That didn’t include the wait time for the contacts to be made.

Great. This was just great. He glanced over at the unopened side of his contact case and pondered if it was worth it to only put one contact in. With a hum he went through the motions, careful to cover the sink drain this time as he stuck the contact to his left eye and blinked to settle it into place. He stared into the mirror and his eyes shifted in confusion as they tried to decide how to perceive the world. Sometimes it was clear, other times it was blurry, but most of the time it was an awful mixture of both that Grian was certain would give him a headache in due time.

Even so, it was better than being totally blind so he would manage. He couldn’t stop working just because he couldn’t see the world in fine detail. Sure, maybe he should hold off on any delicate work until he could see, but there was plenty of stuff he could do like this. Like restock the barge! He could get all those annoying chores done and out of the way so he could focus solely on his building when he got new contacts. It was a flawless plan.

-------

It was not a flawless plan.

That headache came way sooner than he had anticipated, making his head pound as he tried to shovel sand into his shulker boxes while the blazing sun was beating down on him. Not to mention that everything got covered in the sand, and Grian began having a hard time discerning his shulker boxes from piles of the stuff. More than once he went to go sit down on what he hoped was a sturdy, solid box only to plop down on a grainy hill and sink uncomfortably into it.

He got through it though, even if it did take twice the time it usually would. Despite the throbbing behind his eyes he lugged his stock over to the shopping district, getting there just as the sun had set and leaving only the gently lit atmosphere of the mooshroom island to guide him. He would just drop this off at the barge and then go home and sleep. Then maybe he could rethink his plan regarding his eyesight. Maybe he could find a world with an ophthalmologist that would accept walkins. Or maybe he would just have to deal with only seeing blurry shapes for a while.

His thoughts were cut off by screeching from above and he whirled around, squinting up at the sky and grabbing his temples as his head screamed at him. He tried to look into the dark sky for the distinguishable features of the phantoms that were haunting him from his sand endeavor but couldn’t see anything against the solid navy blue that warned him of where they were coming from. Sharp teeth grazed at his scalp and pulled a few strands of his hair from it as the monster flew back into the air, leaving Grian to yelp and stumble forward, massaging the small injury. He remembered to pull his sword out, but failed to land a hit on a flying blur that scratched at his arm. After another hit by a camouflage attacker he decided to rush to his barge, taking shelter in the light underneath the ceiling. He sighed, resting his pain-filled, dizzy head on one of the chests.

“Oh hey, Grian. What are you doing out so late?” Grian slowly lifted his head at the voice, squinting at the blurry blob of muddled blues and greens. Alarm bells immediately rang in his head as he recognized the colors and outline of a zombie, and he pulled out his sword once more holding it in front of him. “Y’know, if you didn’t want to talk you could have just said that.”

He blinked a couple more times, squinting at the blob a little harder and taking notice of the bright orange hair that blended into the lighting so well. He lowered his sword, groaning at himself as he rubbed at his eyes. “Sorry, Cleo. I didn’t recognize you at first.”

“I feel like I should be insulted. Is this how you talk to all your customers?”

“Sometimes, depends on my mood and who it is. You were literally after everyone’s heads, I think it’s only fair to be a little bit cautious around you.”

“I had everyone else gather the heads for a reason, Grian. But I’ll still take yours if you don’t want it.”

Grian chuckled, combing through his hair and wincing at the fresh scratch underneath it. “A tempting offer, not gonna lie.”

“Why’s that?”

He opened the chest, watching a piece of paper flutter down onto the ground. He picked it up and stared at it, waiting for his eyes to adjust to reading the scribbled black ink. And wait he did. He held the paper further away from him then closer trying to guide his failing eyesight. He sighed and closed his eyes, leaning against the chest again.

“Everything alright, Grian?”

“I may have lost one of my last contacts a few days ago. And using only one has given me the biggest headache and I’m pretty sure my eyes are rebelling against me at this point.”

“You don’t have glasses?”

He looked over at her again, not bothering to even try to make out the details of her blob of an expression. “I well, uh, I left my glasses in my old world.”

“Like before you joined?” Her voice lifted in what Grian assumed was surprise. He nodded. “You’re telling me you’ve been using the same contacts for over two years?”

“Well, not the same ones, I had a couple pairs that I’ve gone through to get to this point.” Cleo sighed and he shrugged it off. “It’s fine, I’ll set up an appointment with the doctor I usually go to out of world. I can deal with not being able to see for a couple of weeks until then.”

“A couple of weeks? Why not just talk to Doc? He makes Joe’s glasses.”

“He does?” Grian had never considered that there may be someone on the server that could help him. “What about contacts?”

“I don’t know about that but I’m sure he can hook you up with a pair of glasses to hold you over until you can see your doctor about it.”

He nodded, smiling at her. “That sounds like it’d be great. I’ll try to talk to him soon.”

“Soon?”

“Yeah, I mean, I’m sure he’s busy and I have stuff I need to do and I don’t necessarily need to see-”

“Oh my god, you’re as bad as Joe. I didn’t realize people who wore glasses shared the same amount of brain cells. You’re going to see him tomorrow.” She walked over, looking down at him as she closed the chest and took the piece of paper from his hand. “And right now, you’re going to bed. I saw you getting completely owned by those phantoms out there.”

Grian glanced between her slightly clearer face and the now-closed chest. Even the slight movement sent a bolt of pain through his head and he relented, rubbing his temples. “Okay, okay. Fine. I’ll go see him in the morning.”

-------

Grian didn’t bother putting in his contact in the morning, heck, he barely got up at all. But a few threats of bodily harm from Cleo convinced him to get up and over to Doc’s place. She had already contacted him for Grian, stating how she didn’t trust him to go through with it on his own. He resented that remark, he would have texted Doc on his own. Probably.

He yawned, sitting in the grass outside the mansion he built that had been unceremoniously split in half, waiting for the creeper hybrid. Within minutes, a blob of green crossed his vision against the otherwise blue background of the sky and ocean and he rubbed away the remaining sleep from his eyes as he got up to greet Doc. 

“Hello Grian. Cleo.” He took a second to unequip his elytra, hanging it on the wall of his half-mansion. “I’m fine with helping out, but you see the equipment isn’t cheap and we never discussed payment.” 

Grian could practically hear the smirk in Doc’s voice and he looked over at Cleo who seemed unperturbed. She hadn’t told him anything about payment! Was he supposed to bring diamonds? Oh goodness, he didn’t want to have to give Doc of all people an IOU. He couldn’t imagine that ending well for him, glasses be damned.

“I don’t think we really need to.” Cleo sounded smug as she took a step forward and held out a piece of paper to Doc. “Considering you owe Grian.”

“He does?” Grian squinted at the paper, even though he wouldn’t have been able to read it anyways.

“That’s the paper that you failed to comprehend last night. Someone cleared you out and couldn’t pay for it, it seems.”

“Alright, fine. It’s only fair. But we’re even after this, okay?” Doc rushed through his words, moving past them to dig through a chest.

Cleo hummed in agreement with Doc, taking a seat on a wooden chair and leaning back. Grian glanced between her and Doc, blinking a couple of times. He sighed, dropping his shoulders and relenting to accept this as it was. “Yeah, sure. I don’t think I have much of a choice on the matter.”

He could only assume Cleo was beaming at him so he pointedly ignored her. Instead turning to Doc. “So what do you need me to do?”

“Do you know your prescription?” Doc didn’t look at him, examining a tool and whispering to himself before dropping it back into the chest.

“Uh, not off the top of my head, it’s been a few years. I have my last contact if that helps.” He thought about how his vision had been getting blurry and added, “I think it might be outdated by now though.”

“How outdated?”

“The last time I had my eyes checked was probably three years ago.”

Doc let out a heavy sigh, setting a few tools aside. “This is going to take a lot longer than I thought it would.”

“Sorry.” 

“No need to apologize, Grian.” Cleo butted in, now standing and walking over to Doc. She leaned against his hunched back. “I’m sure Doc is more than willing to help you for as long as it takes. Aren’t you, Doc?”

“...Of course.” Doc hesitated, his voice low and clearly annoyed. He didn’t shove Cleo off of him.

Grian watched the scene with a squint and an eyebrow raised. What was going on here? He knew Cleo was persuasive in her own threatening way (Grian had noticed this with all the girls on the server, actually) but he never expected it to affect Doc. Doc was usually the one doing the intimidating, but Grian had to admit it was fascinating, and rather amusing, to see it the other way round.

Eventually Cleo left, saying she had stuff she had to get done but she would be back to check on them as if they were children being left at a daycare. For a while, Grian and Doc fell into an uneasy silence as Doc was still sifting through tools.

“So,” Grian started, trying to sound as casual as possible, “what was that all about?”

Doc sighed, “I’ve been handing out a lot of IOUs this season.”

“Oh.” Not the answer he’s been expecting. “Why?”

“I’ve sworn not to mine any diamonds.” Doc stood up, stretching out his back, and closed the chest. He grabbed a few sheets of paper and started writing something on them. “It’s the G.O.A.T. way.”

Grian opened his mouth to ask what that even meant when Doc walked over to him and used his flesh hand to open his right eye wide. He recoiled at the sudden touch and unnatural feeling of creeper skin, but his head hit a wall before he could back up anymore. Then Doc was shining a light in his eye.

“What the heck-”

“Would you stop squirming around? I’m trying to help you.”

“By blinding me?” He asked, rubbing at his eye as Doc backed away slightly, only to repeat the annoying process on Grian’s left eye.

“Have you never had an eye exam before?”

“I have. The doctor is usually a little gentler and gives me some forewarning.” He glared at Doc as he turned to walk towards his tools

“Well, you’re stuck with me.” He marked something on a piece of paper, then took the other sheets he had. He stood against the other wall, facing Grian, and held up a piece of paper. “Close your left eye. What can you read off this?”

Grian did so, and squinted at the paper, turning his head this way and that. Despite this, he couldn’t distinguish any other color than white. “It’s a sheet of paper. I don’t see anything.”

“Alright.” He set that sheet down and held up a different one. “What about this one?”

This repeated for a few sheets, Grian noticing some color changes in what he assumed was black ink. He was able to guess a few letters, but it took about six pages in before he was able to guess anything right. The same happened for the right eye.

“Wow, you’re blinder than I thought.” Was Doc’s only comment.

The next hour was filled with Doc giving Grian bits of plastic to hold in front of his eyes, then trying to read once again from the paper. At least Grian knew that there was something written on that first piece. 

Doc marked one last mark on his note sheets and looked at Grian, nodding. “Alright, I think I have an idea of your prescription. I can’t make you contacts, not safe ones at least, but I can make you some temporary glasses until you can follow up with your usual eye doctor. Sound good?” Grian nodded and Doc grabbed his elytra off the wall. “Alright, you stay here. I’ll be back in a few hours with the glasses.” 

Without another word, the blob of green flew off and disappeared from Grian’s vision into the blue. And Grian was left there. Alone. He huffed. What was he supposed to do while he was waiting? 

-------

“How long has he been there?”

“No clue.”

“At least it’s getting used, I guess.”

Grian blinked at the light colors in front of him, snuggling into the soft material underneath him. He had been sleeping just fine and he didn’t feel like getting up yet. He let his eyes close again.

“He’s awake. I think.”

“We could just make sure he is up, you know.”

“You know, this is almost a cute picture. Grian all curled up in the GOAT’s pink bed. I think it’d make a good sidebar for the Hermiton Herald.”

“Don’t you dare.”

Fully disrupted from his sleep by the voices that weren’t even trying to keep their volume down, he opened his eyes once more. Looking down he noticed a vibrant pink that he knew was definitely not his bed sheets. He sat up, coming face to face with the indistinct greenish-colored blobs of Cleo and Doc standing over him.

“Morning, Grian.” Grian could hear the smirk in Cleo’s voice.

“More like evening. Glad you enjoyed your stay.” Doc grumbled. It hit Grian like a truck and he knew he must have turned a bright shade of red as he scrambled to get out of Doc’s bed, trying not to mess up the covers he had been sleeping on if Cleo’s laughter was any indication.

“I was still pretty tired and it looked really comfy.” He defended himself, practically feeling Doc roll his eye at him. 

His mechanical arm held out a small wooden box. “Here. Try them on, make sure they fit. I can make small adjustments.”

Grian blinked at the box as he realized what they were and he took it, opening it to reveal the black, rectangular frames. He carefully lifted them out of the box and fitted them onto his face, pushing them up when they slid down his nose. He physically leaned back at the sudden difference in his eyesight. Having adjusted to the natural blurriness of his world, having sight again felt like a blessing he had taken for granted.

One which Doc ripped away from him all too soon. “They’re slipping. Hold on.” He vanished downstairs.

Grian pouted, crossing his arms. Then he looked over at Cleo. “You weren’t serious about the Hermiton Herald, were you?”

-------

Grian was finishing dumping the last of his sand into the chest, closing it and adjusting the price on the paper on top. TNT was going to be more useful, he had to get ahead of the trend now. Satisfied with his work, he looked around the barge and took note of everything that was done. He had to say, he was pretty happy with how far his little shop had come.

“Hey Grian, glad to see you aren’t stumbling around blindly anymore.”

He looked over to see Cleo in front of the entrance to the shop, a shulker box tucked underneath her arm. He smiled, and offered a wave. “It’s good to be seeing again. I need to remember to properly thank Doc next time I see him.”

“Maybe you can give him a discount or something. I wouldn’t mind one either, you know. You wouldn’t have those fancy glasses if it weren’t for me.”

He rolled his eyes, packing away his own shulker boxes so he could leave for the night. “I’ll think about it.” 

“The glasses look suits you, you know.” Grian looked up at her, eyebrows raised. She gave him a teasing smile. “They make your face more interesting to look at.”

He gasped in mock offense, holding a hand to his chest. “I- Why- What does that mean?”

“You have a very plain face. Actually you have a pretty plain everything, besides personality, I suppose. I think the glasses spice your look up very nicely.” She began walking away. “It does make you look like a huge nerd though.”

Cleo walked away laughing, waving a goodbye. Grian stood there, mock offense teetering on being real. Maybe he should consider wearing glasses more often.

[peaceisadirtyword]

hi! so i saw your post about possible ivar drabbles and was thinking about when ivar was getting his back tattooed when ubbe and hvitserk ask him why he has a personal bodyguard lol. i had an idea about maybe ivar takes you when you get your first tattoo. idk if that's any good but i thought it could be a good fluffy ivar idea. hope you're staying safe and well💖

A/N: I loved this one💜 especially because I’m getting a tattoo when all of this is over (in fact I was going to get it in March but then corona happened) and it’s a viking rune. I’m quite scared and I wish Ivar would come with me :( but, unfortunately, that won’t happen🌚 so I'll just put on a brave face. 

These days my writing is absolutely terrible, I'm really sorry💔 at least I can actually write now! Today I could only write this one because I had a lot of work, but tomorrow I'll try to post at least two. I hope you like it and thank you for your request love😘

Warnings: mentions of sex, Ivar being the perfect bf, pain and my bad writing 

Words: 990 (I'm getting there)

Ivar stopped in front of a building that made you bit your lip and look at him with a frown, a bit worried. The place wasn't exactly what you considered "a really professional business", as your boyfriend had said when you told him you wanted to get a tattoo. But all of his tattoos were beautiful, and he got them there, so it couldn't be that bad, right? 

You had decided you wanted a tattoo after Ivar asked for your help to apply the lotion over the new tattoo he had gotten on his back. You stared at the beautiful design in awe as you massaged his skin, and your next words were: 'I want to get one'. 

Ivar hadn't believed you at first, but you had insisted and finally he had called Arne, a friend of his that had a tattoo studio in town and who had designed and made all of his and his brothers' tattoos. You wanted something small, and Ivar suggested a vegvísir; the runic compass that, according to vikings, was a symbol of protection and guidance. You liked the meaning and the design, so you agreed. 

And there you were, a few weeks later and much more scared. Taking these kind of decisions was much easier when you had Ivar's lips on your neck and he whispered how sexy you'd be with a viking tattoo decorating your skin. 

"Will it hurt?" You asked squeezing his hand. Ivar chuckled and kissed your cheek before answering. 

"Yes" he winked at you "But I'll be there and I'll let you break my hand if you need it" 

You sighed and looked at the door. You hated the pain. 

"Hey" Ivar's tone softened. He had been teasing you and laughing at the faces you made every time he told you it'd hurt a bit "You don't have to do it, okay? It's only if you want to, it's your body, your tattoo and your decision" 

"I want to" you frowned "But I'm nervous, weren't you nervous when you got your first tattoo?" 

"Not really" he raised an eyebrow "Ubbe and Hvitserk took me to get it, and I supposed that, if Sigurd being a coward could get one without crying, I wouldn't have any problem" he shrugged "And I'm used to feel pain, so... It wasn't that bad"

"Okay" you took a deep breath "Let's do this" 

He nodded, letting go of your hand to open the door so you could enter the local. 

A giant man, with blonde hair and a long beard, was sitting behind a wooden counter, full of drawings and designs. He raised his head when he heard you and his lips curved in a smile when Ivar entered behind you. 

"Lothbrok!" he laughed "Missed me already?" 

Ivar chuckled as you stood there awkwardly, looking around the room. 

"Arne" he greeted him, approaching the counter to hug him and pat his back softly.

"How is the tattoo? I'm sure it looks even more beautiful now that is healed" 

"It looks amazing" Ivar nodded "Absolutely beautiful, you're an artist, my friend" 

"I know, I know, you're welcome" Arne chuckled, making Ivar smile "How can I help you today?" 

Ivar turned to look at you, smiling when he saw you touching your hair and biting your lip softly, something you did when you were nervous. 

"This is Y/N, my girlfriend" he took your hand and squeezed it softly "She wants a tattoo too, got jealous of mine" 

"Oh yeah, I remember" Arne smiled at you "Ivar told me you wanted a vegvísir, right?" 

You nodded shyly as he opened a book full of designs. You noticed that almost all of them were viking symbols. 

"I have some different designs, so just choose the one you like the most" he smiled gently at you. 

"Okay, thank you" you muttered as you took the book. Your eyes widened in awe as you saw the designs. Ivar hadn't lied, that man was very good. 

Ivar let you choose, looking at the drawings over your shoulder and caressing your waist softly, knowing you were nervous and needed some type of comfort. 

You chose a simple design; it was pretty and small and Ivar hummed in approval when you pointed at it. 

"Beautiful" Arne winked at you "Okay, where do you want it?" 

"I was thinking on my back" you shrugged "Maybe on my shoulder blade? Somewhere where I can't see it constantly and regret it" 

Arne laughed and nodded. 

"Okay love, go behind that curtain, take your shirt off and sit on the chair, I'll be there in a couple of minutes" 

"Thank you" you muttered as Ivar guided you. 

You took your shirt off, feeling self conscious even if you saw Ivar's eyes darken and he licked his lips. 

"Relax" his hand caressed your thigh as he sat on a wooden chair next to you "You're in good hands, and I'm here, everything will be okay" 

You nodded, smiling at him and leant in to kiss his lips softly. 

"Thank you for coming with me" you muttered. 

He just kissed you again, just before Arne appeared again and started preparing everything. 

"Don't be nervous" the blonde man winked at you "After putting up with Ivar, this would be nothing" 

You couldn't help but laugh as Ivar raised an eyebrow at him, but you saw his lips curve upwards. 

It hurt, maybe a bit less than you expected, but you teared up a bit and nearly broke Ivar's fingers a couple of times, but when it was over, and as Arne went to clean the tools, Ivar kissed you again and pressed his forehead against yours. 

"I'm proud of you, my little viking" he smirked "It looks amazing on you, even better than I imagined... I can't wait to get home..." His tone darkened and you tensed up, pressing your thighs together "And fuck you until you can't even walk"

[sif-the-tsunami]

Ropes and Roses part 4

Summary: Elizabeth Rosehill is a talented dance instructor and a force of nature that beguiles her famous student. Events in her life, however, have led her to search for more creative ways for her to keep herself afloat. What will she do to keep her dreams secure and what will it mean for her blossoming relationship. This is a very adult story about two people who are moderately terrible at adulting.

Warning: Fem! Dom/ Fem! Sub, Bisexual shenanigans, anal play, squirting, BDSM, crying, two people who are literal disasters trying to figure things out, Mentions of cheating, exhibitionism

Word count: 3300 and some change. This update is THICC

A/N: If you read it and like it, it would mean a lot to me if you could say something nice!

The next morning, Elizabeth woke up to the snuffling and snorting of one very bear like dog. He also might have stuck his cold nose right in her face a couple times. The room was unfamiliar, it took her a few moments to put together the pieces of the night before. Henry had put her in the soft flannel shirt he was wearing yesterday, but she didn’t remember that happening. The water and Tylenol were consumed, she looked around the room for a moment.  Her boots from the night before were sitting near the bedside table, placed together. Her dress and other personal affects were sitting on the empty space on the other side of the bed. The air was chilly but her bed was welcoming and warm. She didn’t think that this was his bedroom. Soon Kal was running back and forth between the bedroom and somewhere out in the living room.

Two soft knocks on the open door drew her attention the big man in the frame. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” Her normally luscious voice sounded small.

“How did you sleep?”

“Well enough I suppose. Thank you for the water bottle. How did you sleep?”

“I slept well.” He watched her scoot over a little in the bed, and pat the warm spot she had vacated for him.

“Lizzie, I don’t know. I...”

“It’s okay.” She tucked the blanket back up to her neck. “It is just cold and I wanted to talk to you about last night.”

“We don’t have to, we were drunk and having a good time. Two friends having a very… friendly… you know, make out session. Is there anything to talk about it?” He cringed just thinking about it. What the hell, Henry? He thought to himself.

“What? Oh, I guess not, is there.” Her voice cracked, she coughed to clear it. “Um, if you don’t mind giving me a moment, I guess I’ll just get dressed, and let you get back to your day.”

Henry closed the door to give her some privacy and swore under his breath. Kal whined at the door. He look up at his dad then put his nose right and the door again. He pawed at it a couple times, then very dejectedly laid down. A few moments later, she emerged, everything thrown back together, hair in a sloppy bun. She kept her eyes down and handed the flannel shirt to him.  

“Elizabeth, wait, I didn’t mean it like that.” She looked at him for a moment, all of the joy he worked so hard to bring her last night, that beautifully contented smile she had when she saw him this morning, was gone.

“I’m sure you didn’t, it’s fine.” And with that she left.

****

Later in the afternoon, Kal was resting his head on Henry’s lap when the pup let out a long low whine. He put his book down, “I know mate, I messed up. Do you think I should text her?”

Kal started wagging his tail. “I really should have cuddled with her this morning. Okay, Henry, we can do this, you like her a lot. She clearly liked you until you fucking blew it this morning. 

I’m a fucking idiot and I’m sorry

I hurt you and I would give anything to take that back. You said you didn’t know what you can give me, but I know what I am capable and wanting to give you.

I want to take you on a real date. Would you be be interested in joining me for dinner this Friday?

A couple hours later Elizabeth responded with Thank you for apologizing. I already have something going on Friday evening, I could make time for lunch, if not, I don’t have a free night until the following Thursday after my last class.

“I don’t think she has forgiven me,” Henry was then doing his dishes, Kal laying down in front of the refrigerator. “But she did say yes!”

Kal wagged his head and picked his head up.

Lunch works! What time would you like me to pick you up? He hammered out all of the details with the one he longed for. He sat down to eat an early dinner when Henry heard his phone vibrate again. It was Jeremy.

Hey, Jillian told me about you and your girl going out last night. I need to show you something, it’s important. Get cleaned up and ready to go, I’ll be there in an hour. Dress like you give a fuck.

His friend’s husband was not someone that weighs on other people’s choices, he honestly had mostly been indifferent to Henry and Jillian’s entire friendship, enough so that the text in itself caught him off guard. He showered quickly, put on a black suit with a light gray button up.

“Kal, be a good lad. Hopefully daddy isn’t over dressed.”

Jeremy said little on the way to their destination. It made his passenger a little anxious. They soon were in a dark district of the city, when businesses close for the day it usually was deserted. One dark building front had two men standing in front of it, and a flickering Edison style light bulb. Jeremy gave the man who approached their car a shiny black card, the logo read The Fox Catcher. Soon the doors were opened for them and one of the men outside was valet parking the car. Inside a large gentleman was standing there. He looked like he could crush the skull of anyone who would dare to start trouble.

In a deep Nordic baritone he said “Gentlemen, please grab a mask. The show will begin soon.”

After they had put on ill fitting masks that covered half of their faces, Henry and Jeremy were sat down at a small cocktail table by a woman with impossibly red hair hair that came down to her waist. She wore a tight black leather dress and knee high boots that made her pale skin look like porcelain.  The room was lit dimly enough that he had a hard time seeing the other people but the heat and buzz in the room let him know they were not alone.

Henry tried to make himself as comfortable as possible. Jeremy looked like he was seething with resentment and hostility. They were sitting close to where the performance would be taking place. Henry tugged nervously at his shirt collar.

“Why are we here?”

“You’ll see...” was all Jeremy said.

The light from above the stage clicked on revealed some wooden furniture. A platinum blonde was then lead out onto the stage by what Henry realized was a leash attached to nipple clamps. The man who brought her out was wearing a black mask and dark clothes attached the arms of the blonde woman to a large wooden X in the middle of the stage with her back to the audience. She was only wearing a black thong, but hers was the only face visible. Her skin was pale enough that the light above seemed to bounce off of her.  Soon came a clacking on the wooden stage floor. The unmistakable sound of high heels walking with authority came echoing out and the room fell silent. Out came a petite woman, long hair pulled back into a pony tail, wearing a leather mask with two cat ears on the top, tight pants, a suit jacket and a silver sparkly bralette under. She had blood red lipstick applied perfectly.  The stage was high enough that Henry saw the boots she was wearing as she strut out from the back.  

They looked a lot like the ones he put next to Elizabeth this morning. He bit the inside of his lip then looked over at Jeremy. His eyes were transfixed on the woman in the cat mask.  “Mate, I promise this is for your own good.”

“Good evening, Mistress Bettie.” The restrained woman said. She adjusted herself a little. A slight shuffle that caused the metal of her attachments to clink together softly.

“Good evening. I have been informed that you have been a very naughty vixen, is that right?” He knew that voice. Henry’s guts churned.

No, no, no, no. Please. He thought, his mind was screaming at him to leave. He kept looking over at Jeremy, the hatred he had on his face a moment earlier was turning into a look of smug satisfaction.

“Yes, Mistress.”

“And what do I do to naughty vixens, my darling?”

“You punish them, Mistress.”

“That’s right, so what do you think I’m going to do to you tonight?”

“You are going to punish this naughty vixen, Mistress.”

“Are you ready?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

There was a table next to the tableau, the Mistress picked up a leather paddle and softly pat her open hand with it. She set is down, then picked up a nasty looking leather tool that he didn’t know the name of, she swung it around a little bit, letting the tendrils of leather make whistling noises as it went back and forth. She hit her own thigh intentionally, making a loud thud. The blonde jumped. Lastly she picked up a whip that would make Indiana jealous. Walking to the farthest part of the stage, the domina made the whip crack to either side of blonde woman. She flinched and jumped away each time. The whip was placed down.

“That had better be the last time you move around like that, vixen, or I’ll give you a reason to squirm.”

“Yes Mistress, I’ll be better, Mistress.”

“I think I need to warm you up first, don’t you agree?” Henry watcher her put on some black medical gloves and then proceed to start spanking the bottom of woman tied up. The receiver squealed and moaned. Her pristine flesh turning a hot pink after a couple a good swats. The Domme reached between her captives legs and spanked her thighs. Higher and higher she went until she landed a slap on the cotton covered center point, but gave her a tender rub after. “You liked that, didn’t you? Such a good slut.”

“Yes, thank you Mistress,” her gratitude melted into a moan as she arched her back into the generous hands of her captor.

“Just so our friends are all clear, my beautiful vixen, what is your safe word?” Still massaging the blonde’s sex through the cotton fabric.

“Milkshake, Mistress.” She gasped as the black gloved hands found their way inside.

“Thank you, pet.” She pulled her hand away and had the blonde lick her gloved fingers clean. Henry watched the two of them share a tender moment before the Domme walked away. She then grabbed the  tool he didn’t know about. “Oh no, my little vixen, you are missing something.”

The Domme grabbed a faux fur fox tail off of the table. With the flick of a switch it started vibrating aggressively enough that Henry could hear it from where he was sitting. That poor girl was going to be in for it. He had a mixture of emotions coursing through his mind. He held onto the last shred of doubt that maybe Elizabeth had a doppelganger.

“I think these need to come off first.” and she ripped off the black thong. The Dominatrix ran the plug against the delicious folds of her captive, getting as much of her arousal on it as possible. The plug was inserted, the blonde started moaning and her knees buckled. She smiled at the ashen haired woman, letting her enjoy the moment and then clicked off the remote. “Remember, my darling, you can’t come without my permission.”

The submissive let out a groan and stomped her feet. Then the Dominatrix grabbed the heavy leather flogger and swung it around the blonde artfully. Sometimes it was just the tips dancing across the reddening skin, there were times it was a heavy sounding thud. As uncomfortable as this was making him, however, he couldn’t help but notice that the woman receiving was clearly enjoying herself. She arched her back, moaned and gasped in bliss. The Dominatrix gestured to the man on the stage and he unlocked her just long enough to turn her around. He gave her arms a little rub to get the blood flow back as the suit jacket came off of Mistress Bettie. There is was, plain as day. The roses on her torso that he had become more acquainted with the night before.  He closed his eyes for a moment as a wave of anxiety washed over him. He was not supposed to be here, to see this side of her yet. But there she was in front of him. She looked powerfully sexy.

As soon as she the vixen was situated, Elizabeth turned the vibrator back on and started flogging the fronts of her thighs, her breasts and pubic mound. She was clearly very aroused, her body was glistening and her nipples protruded proudly from where they were. The dominant woman placed the flogger down and came up to her submissive, she ran her hands all over her body. She gave the vixen’s nipples some much needed attention and then slide one, two then three fingers inside of her.

“Do you think you deserve to come, naughty girl.” Elizabeth’s hand started moving faster, coaxing her climax out of her soaking wet pussy.

“Yes please, Mistress.”

“Then tell me what you are.”

“I’m a slut, Mistress, a fucking slut.” Her breath was as shaky as her legs

“Who’s slut?”

“Your slut, Mistress.” The woman’s eyes were rolling to back of her head in pleasure

“Then come for your Mistress you fucking whore. Good girl” Elizabeth smiled at her as the sub came loudly all over her hand and proceeded to squirt. Flicking the fluid at the blissful woman, she playfully scolded the vixen “Look at the mess you’ve made.”

The man in black helped her down and the woman got on her hands and knees before Elizabeth. “So now, pet. You can get to chose your next punishment. We can either play the counting game, or we can play the clothes clip game.”

Still panting, “the counting game, Mistress, please.”

“Alright, catch your breath my dearest,” Elizabeth grabbed a stool. The blonde positioned herself leaning across it, she was facing Henry and Jeremy at this point. She wiggled her fingers in a little hello at them both and settled in. “Last time, we made it to what was it eight? Alright, my vixen, make me proud.”

“Yes Mistress.” Elizabeth turned the vibrator up a little, flipped the tail up her back, and spanked the sub’s bottom. “One, thank you Mistress, may I have another.”

Another very loud thud. “Two, Thank you Mistress, may I have another.”

After six, Henry realized that this was less pleasurable for the blonde than the flogging had been. Tears were running down her face. Elizabeth leaned down and licked one of the tears from her face. She looked down for a second and saw the man sitting in the front. She stopped dead in her tracks.

She mouthed his name, he nodded slightly and she then whispered something into the blonde’s ear. One last spank and suddenly the unnamed vixen burst out her safe word as loudly as she could and started openly crying.

“Oh no, my poor sweet girl.” She gently rubbed the subs bottom, Elizabeth then draped her suit jacket on the back of her plaything, she turned and looked at Henry one last time. “I think I’ve hit her limit tonight. Good night.”

The man in black rushed forward and covered the backs of the women like the proper body guard he was, escorting the women off the stage. Henry then turned to the man who brought him and hissed through his teeth “What the actual fuck was the point of you bringing me here?”

“What, you should be thanking me! I exposed her for the snake in the grass that she is!”

Henry walked away angrily. The room was emptying out as quietly as they had come in, although they could tell that some of the clients were giving the cocktail waitresses a hard time about the show being cut short. The redhead that took care of them that evening was being harassed by an older man. Henry told him off and handed her two of the largest bills that he had on him. He pulled his phone out and messaged Elizabeth. I have really fucked up your whole day, haven’t I? Please call me, I’m worried about you.

“You selfish fucking cunt. I am trying my hardest to not wreck this poor woman’s life more than I have and you decide that this is what you want to do?” Henry was trying to keep himself from yelling. “I like her, a lot. A whole lot. She is the nicest person I have ever met and what part of any of what we just saw would make you think that I would like her less?”

“She’s a whore!” Jeremy yelled.

“And? What is your problem with sex workers? I fucking whore myself for every damn role I do. At least she’s more honest about it! The shit I put myself through is no worse than anything that happened on that stage. Does your wife know about this?”

“No, and you wouldn’t dare!”

“You have until tomorrow night to tell her that you come to clubs like this or I swear to god, I will.” He had never been so riled up before. It was taking everything to not rip the smaller, balding man apart piece by piece. “This would devastate her, and you know it.”

“Gentlemen, I need you to calm down.” The large Nordic man said calmly. Henry adjusted his suit jacked when he felt his pocket vibrate.

I’ll be out in a moment, wait for me?

Of course

As they walked outside, Jeremy started up again. Fortunately this time they were alone. The valet driver’s were getting his car as quickly as they could. “You can’t turn a woman like that into a housewife, Henry. You saw that she very clearly enjoyed playing with another girl. What will you do if she starts craving pussy? I am not okay with you seeing this bird. She will destroy you, Henry. We were all there after your last big break up. This one will be the worst of all of them. I can see it already.”

“Jeremy, I’ve know her for a few weeks at this point. After this, I wouldn’t blame her if she never wanted to speak to me again. And I probably don’t deserve to. But you do not get to make that call.”

Elizabeth watched from the door way as they yelled at each other.

“She’s literally a whore, she gets paid a lot of money to fuck people. What if she has private clients the same way she took on private dance lessons with you? How many people do you think she’s sleeping with?”

“Firstly, it is none of your business who I’m sleeping with. Secondly, I don’t do private shows, you know that, you asked me for one several time. Each time I said no.” She put her foot down. Henry reached out for her, and she leaned into him.

“Jeremy, I think you should leave. I will make my own way home.”

“You expect me to leave you here… with her?”

“Yes, and you had better tell Jillian or I will.” Henry snarled, protectively hugging Elizabeth. He turned to her and softly said “I’m so sorry.”

“Wait he’s married? And he’s calling me a whore? Hey, fuck you, Jeremy!” She snarled at the man getting into his car. “Well today has been a cluster fuck.”

“That is putting it mildly. Please come home with me, I want to make up for this morning and for surprising you like this, I’ll bring you breakfast in bed, we can do whatever you want.”

The woman smiled gently at him and shushed him with a kiss. “I would like that, but I would love to sleep in my own bed tonight. My place isn’t as nice as yours but you are welcome to be there with me tonight.”

“I would like that a lot.”

[ears-awake-eyes-opened]

More than frivolity

(Hayffie ❤️. — I wrote this fic in the spirit of shared little headcanons and with gratitude for that sweet  @hayffiebird who motivates me to continue writing. — Ellie, your remarkable creations and compassionate presence keep helping me feel that maybe... “It'll be spring soon. And the orchards will be in blossom. And the birds will be nesting in the hazel thicket. And they'll be sowing the summer barley in the lower fields... and eating the first of the strawberries with cream.” — I don’t know if hope can transcend the depths of extreme trauma. That transcendence has not yet been my experience, but you’ve been inspiring me lately to not lose sight of the possibility. Thank you, dearie.)

***

Through a whiskey fog, he felt her eyes on him.

Again.

All day she’d been hovering, dictating “musts” and “must nots.” And not just to the tributes.

“...Wear the navy blue coat. No, not THAT one. The one with pinstripes. It makes you look taller. And wear the silver tie that shimmers when it catches the light. It draws attention down from that chin you refuse to have manicured. Just two millimeters shorter is all I’m asking, and you balk as if I’m suggesting you cut off your head. Scuffed shoes?? Absolutely not! After all my efforts to make you presentable, you want to wear THOSE old things?! The black leather wingtips will be perfect. And, for goodness sake, comb your hair. It appears as if some sort of rodent nested in it last night...”

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the 71st Hunger Games.

Haymitch sank into the couch and put his feet up on the coffee table. The black shoes, the pinstriped coat, and the silver tie were all off now. The kids were in bed, and he was no longer on the clock. He could ignore her.

He took a swallow of whiskey and tried to ignore her.

She smelled faintly like cherry lollipops from the sweet shop back home. She drew her feet up beside her, and her knees shifted toward him. They brushed his thigh for an instant before she inched them away.

She was impossible to ignore.

He took another drink, closed his eyes, and awaited an additional onslaught of directives.

Effie’s clipboard lay abandoned on her lap as she examined the contours of his face. He was probably too drunk to notice her attention. If he noticed, she could say she was planning his attire for the following day. Her truth was that memories of those contours had haunted her the past year. Now he was here again in person, and she was taking in that reality.

Had she ever been turned on before by the spot where a man’s earlobe curves into his jaw? It sounded ridiculous. Nonetheless it was happening inside her. Her perusal shifted to his hairline, and her fingertips followed. What am I doing?

He shivered as her nails touched his scalp. He’d expected nagging — not this. This was the kind of sensation he experienced in dreams that made him wake up ready to fuck somebody. But he always woke up alone. He made sure of that.

Now he wasn’t asleep, and he wasn’t alone, and he was feeling this. He opened his eyes and rolled his head to face her. “What are you doing?”

“I’m thinking about washing your hair.”

Of course. “Always looking for something to fix.”

She continued the caress. “I’m just wondering how it would feel — to do it. Don’t you ever just wonder?”

Yeah, he wondered how it would feel to do it with her. When he woke up ready to fuck someone, lately he always thought about her.

“Will you let me?” she asked.

Hell, yes. ...Wait...  “What?”

“Will you let me wash your hair?”

He didn’t need to look away from her eyes to know the details of her body. He’d been glancing at her all day. Peacock blue eyelashes matched her dress with feathers stitched in strategic places. Her wig was platinum like the rings on Capitol fingers. It was late, and her makeup was worn out. He pictured pink seeping through it if he could make her blush. Her lipstick coated the rim of her teacup. Her lips were almost raw. And kissable. Too kissable.

“Nobody washes my hair but me, sweetheart.” It was the safe answer. But he didn’t tell her to stop touching him, because the longer she kept at it, the better it felt.

Abruptly, she stopped and folded her hands over her clipboard. “It was just a thought.” A fool’s thought. Of course he’d say ‘no.’

He didn’t want her to stop. Shit. He took a swig so long the liquor burned his throat. “You can wash my hair, but I have two conditions. One, I don’t want to smell like perfume or fruit when you’re done. And, two, while you’re washing MY hair, I get to see YOURS. Not *that* thing.” He scrutinized her wig.

He’d seen her hair before, a decade ago, when it was teased and curled and sprayed to perfection. She didn’t have the tools for that here since wigs were the fashion now. So if she agreed, he’d be seeing her plain and wispy and nothing special. The voice of insecurity berated her.

“I don’t know...”

“Then forget it. I’m comfortable right here on the couch.”

He drank, and she watched his throat. She focused on the three open buttons of his shirt, counting them down and back up again. His skin was weathered just the right amount to make her want to crawl out of herself and slip inside with him. She wanted to touch more than the stiff bend of his elbow, which she curled her fingers through when courting potential sponsors.

She wanted more with him than artifice. For the past year, she’d been irritated, embarrassed by her desire. Yet the want itself was more overwhelming than any irritation or embarrassment she felt about it.

Effie set her clipboard on the coffee table and dropped the first hairpin onto it. “I don’t want to ‘forget it’.”

He gaped as she slid the pins out and lifted her wig off. She shook out her hair, bending forward and quickly back up. The maneuver thrust the feathers adorning her chest into prominence, and he wanted to see all of her at once.

She fluffed her hair like a preening bird. The color was deeper than he remembered from that long-ago summer when she was 18 and barely old enough for him to be looking at her the way he did. Her hair was golden now, like late afternoon sun reflecting off the endless fields of wheat they passed as the train traveled alongside District 9... and like the honey he’d spread on a slice of fresh bread that morning.

“I don’t want to forget it either,” he said.

She reached for his whiskey. Their fingers brushed as she took it from him. She gulped a mouthful and choked down the cough that threatened to follow. She capped the bottle and set it on the table beside her clipboard. “If you stop drinking, just for tonight, then you might remember this.”

If he wasn’t drunk on the look of her hair alone, then he would have protested. In that moment, he’d do almost anything she’d ask. That recognition made him nervous.

“Follow me.” She stood up and moved through the dining room on stocking-clad feet.

He followed in socks. The walls had ears, but this act was quiet. Suddenly he wanted to keep it that way. “One more condition,” he said, “No talking.”

“But—“

“You don’t need to use your mouth to wash my hair.”

She pursed her lips. Her silence reflected her acquiescence. In the kitchen, she found a wooden chair used by the avoxes, and she held it out for him to carry. He took it, and she lead him back through the common rooms and down the hallway to her bedroom.

The layout was nearly identical to the room next door where he’d slept every July for 20 years. In all that time, he’d never been in the escort’s room. The space was Effie’s now, filled with delicate things he would have looked at more closely if she hadn’t ushered him straight through to her bathroom. Colorful robes and fluffy white towels hung on the wall. Dozens of shiny, fragrant bottles were lined up on the granite countertop. Haymitch stood there out of his element, holding the chair, unsure about what to do.

Mercifully she took it from him and positioned it with the back against the sink. She folded a towel in half and draped it from the edge of the counter over the back of the chair. As he sat down, he wondered when she’d done this before and with whom. He didn’t know why that mattered to him, but it did.

“You’re going to have to slouch,” she whispered, putting gentle pressure on his shoulder, “That shouldn’t be a problem for YOU.”

Smart-ass. He slunk down until the nape of his neck rested on the folded towel. She reached across him and cradled his head. Her forearm pressed against his cheek, and the scent of cherry candy hit him again. Her skin was soft. Beneath all those peacock feathers and that corset, she was surely the softest thing in this forsaken place.

She turned on the faucet and let it run. Then she let go of him.

“Where are you going?” He should have kept his mouth shut because he sounded like he cared too much about this. Like SHE was doing HIM a favor, rather than the other way around.

“Not far.” Stifling a chuckle, she opened a cabinet and pulled out a plastic tumbler.

Then she was back, even closer than before, and he recognized how much he wanted her there. He was sober enough to know this whole thing was probably a mistake but not sober enough to call it off.

When the water poured over his scalp, it was the dream world again. Warm shivers, ease, pleasure... Oh, god... Effie. He tucked his hands in between the chair and his ass so he wouldn’t do something insane — like touch her.

She threaded her fingers into his hair. Goodness. He is actually letting me do this. She was scarcely breathing, fearing that air alone could burst the bubble, and he would leave.

“Peppermint?” she asked gently.

“Hmmm?”

She reached for a bottle of shampoo and pumped a dollop into her palm.

“If you don’t like something, tell me, and I’ll change it.”

Don’t change anything.

She watched sensations play over his face as she massaged his scalp, mindful of her nails. She wanted this to feel good for him; plus, breaking a nail during the Games would be an extreme inconvenience.

Right now she SHOULD be getting ready for bed. Puffy eyelids would be another inconvenience. She could justify this time with Haymitch as more than frivolity by telling herself that sponsors would be more inclined to make deals with a more polished version of him.

She slid her fingertips along the base of his skull. His lips parted, and a sound between a sigh and a moan escaped his throat. She repeated the motion, curious if he was even aware of his response.

Her pubic bone brushed against his shoulder, and she wanted more. She wanted more of all of this. This wasn’t frivolous for her. It was intense and deliberate, and if she was being honest, impressing sponsors had nothing to do with her intentions.

She filled the large glass again with warm water. When she poured it over his hair, his eyes opened to find her staring.

Please don’t stop doing this.

Please don’t make me stop.

Effie didn’t glance away or prattle. She kept her eyes fixed on his as she pumped more shampoo and repeated everything that she’d done the first time. If he blinked, she didn’t notice.

If she blushed, he didn’t notice. Maybe the worn out makeup was too thick, after all, for him to see through it. Or maybe this was just business for her. Her body might be pressed against him simply because the space was small. She could be washing his hair a second time just because he was a mess.

His gaze dropped to her lips. He remembered the way they caught the corner of his mouth the summer before. He recalled his decision to not kiss her and how cold she’d turned afterward. 

His reasoning still made sense. He still liked her too much. He liked her now even more. She was aggravating and often preposterous... and she felt like the goddamn sun. The warmth of her was all consuming, especially when she was like this — quiet and close and wrapped up in fragrances of peppermint and cherry candy and whiskey fog.

Damn, this is dangerous.

She poured water over his hair once more, and he closed his eyes again. In a moment she’d be gone. If I’m going to touch her, it has to be now. He untucked his hands—

“Stay still,” she whispered, moving away to get a towel from the cabinet, and then returning. As she patted his hair dry, she felt him trace the feathers stitched along the sides of her dress. The warm water she’d been pouring ran through the core of her. His hands came to rest on her hips.

“Not tonight... Not like this,” he’d said the last time his hands were there. The words frustrated her then but didn’t make her want him any less. “Sit up,” she directed. 

He did so without letting go of her. As she dried his hair some more, he leaned his forehead against her stomach. The stays of her corset dug into him, but he didn’t care. Weeks of misery stretched out before him, and whatever this was with her, he needed it.

She set the towel down and held the back of his head. “You’re drunk.”

‘No,’ he shook his head against her. The haze of liquor was clearing. It was HER now in his veins.

“Do you want me to blow-dry your hair?”

“Hell, no,” he mumbled, “I’d probably come out of that thing looking like a poodle.”

“Hmm. No trust!”

When he finally looked up, her eyes were on the mirror.

“I’m a mess,” she murmured with her hands still in his hair.

He laughed. “Finally. Something we agree on.”

“Haymitch! Don’t spoil this.” With the back of a knuckle, she stroked his forehead, tracing the imprints of her corset stays. “Please don’t spoil this tonight.”

“I’ll spoil it tomorrow then.” He smirked.

The corners of her mouth turned up as she sighed.

She’d washed his hair. Twice. Their reason for being together in that space was done, but he kept holding her hips as she strummed a forgotten melody in his hair.

Neither of them was ready to let go.

***

[ladyreapermc]

Fic: Sick Day (John Wick x Reader)

Summary:  John gets sick and you take care of him

Author’s Notes: This has been sitting in my files for a while so it’s time to see the light of day. It’s slightly canon divergent.

Wordcount: 1904

Warnings: mentions of disease

You and John hadn’t known each other for that long, but in the time that you spent with him, he always felt like an unmovable, untouchable force. It was almost as if he was completely unaffected but things that would make most people break.

When you learned about what John really did for a living, about his life as an assassin for the High Table, you began to understand why he was the way he was. He needed that amount of control not snap under the horrors he witnessed and practiced.

That was why you didn’t think much of it when John arrived at your apartment that night with a headache and a stuffy nose. There was nothing to worry about, he assured. Everybody gets colds sometimes. Even world-famous, super dangerous assassins. Still, you made him lemon tea with honey and the two of you cuddled under the covers, watching a movie on the TV instead of going out like as planned.

You weren’t worried. Not until the cough started and John’s voice, which was already low and gravelly, became rough and raspy. You could tell the inflammation was worse than he was letting it on because he could barely draw a breath without wincing in pain and considering how high his pain tolerance was, it had to be really bad.

“Are you sure I can’t take you to the hospital? See a doctor?” You asked petting Dog’s head. The pitbull had taken residence by John’s side and didn’t seem interested in leaving, not even when you showed him the leash.

“I’ll be fine,” John croaked, buried under the bed covers. “It’ll go away in a couple of days.” Almost as if to prove him wrong, his body shook with another coughing fit that made him wince in pain.

You thought about protesting, because that sounded really bad even to your untrained ears, but whenever John dug his heels on something, it was next to impossible to make him let go of it. You just nodded in resignation and moved downstairs to make him soup and more tea hoping John was right.

Except he wasn’t right. The coughing got even worse and John started running such a high fever, his shivers looked more like a small seizure. Every breath was shallow because he couldn’t take the pain of deep breaths. Moving was torture and he couldn’t bring himself to eat anything more than a couple of spoonsful of soup and only after much cajoling from you. His headaches were becoming so bad, any little light would make him wince and curl tighter into a ball.

It’s been only a little over a week of this, but you could already tell John had lost some weight and worried gnawed your insides. Seeing him like this was terrifying. And you could tell he was getting scared, unused to this kind of situation. He could handle being punched, kicked, stabbed and shot. That was just part of his job. Being sick seemed to be a completely foreign concept for him. Especially because he took such good care of himself and was as methodical with his health as he was with every other aspect of his life.

“You need to see a doctor,” you pleaded, massaging his scalp, the only thing that seemed to help with the headache.

“Basement,” John rasped. “Second drawer. You’ll need a coin.”

You extricated yourself from the bed where you had been lying with John, keeping him company. He shifted his position, cradling his head and shivering even though he was already under a thick duvet. He was sweating so badly his clammy forehead had left a wet spot on your shirt.

You hesitated for a second in front of the basement door because you had only ever been there one other time when John gave you the tour of the house and showed it to you. It was the place he kept the tools of his job. Both bookbinding and the other one.

You moved to his worktable and searched inside the drawers but found only a locked wooden box. For a moment, you considered going back upstairs to ask, but a wave of inspiration hit you and you checked bellow the drawer. You found the key taped to the bottom of the drawer and unlocked the box, finding a small handgun, a pile of gold coins and a little black book. You flipped through the pages until you found an entry with the name doctor and a number.

It was almost a second nature to you to reach for your own cellphone, but there was no service downstairs. Too much concrete above you. Instead, you picked the landline and you couldn’t help but smile despite the situation. John was the only person you knew that still had one.

The phone rang twice before the call connected. There was no greeting, no words.

“Hi…” you faltered not knowing exactly how to proceed.

You learned about this part of John’s life a couple of months after the two of you started dating. One day, he just disappeared, stopped answering his phone. Worried, you came to his house, only to find it destroyed, burned to the ground. A firefighter told you they didn’t find any bodies. It gave you hope that John and Dog were alright, even if you didn’t know where they were. Even if John’s phone had been disconnected.

So, you did the only thing you could think of, you went online and checked the GPS location for Dog’s chip. It had been your idea to put one on John’s pitbull, make sure he could locate Dog in case he ever got lost or stolen.

You found Dog in a fancy hotel in Manhattan called the Continental. It was the manager Winston that told you the truth about John, about this part of his life. It had been terrifying at first, but slowly you began to understand the rules for this world. You knew what a coin meant and that it could get you almost any service associated with the Continental, including health care.

“I need a doctor,” you said after a long pause.

“Where?” a man on the other side of the line asked and you gave him the address. There was another pause on the other end of the line. “Thirty minutes.”

The call disconnected, leaving you confused and uncomfortable as you put the phone back and pocked one of the gold coins before headed to the living room.

When you told John he needed a doctor, you were thinking more in the lines of taking him to the hospital, not calling strange people in the middle of the night, but right now, you would take any help available, from your world or his. You paced the foyer, Dog right on your heels, maybe sensing your apprehension until the doorbell finally rang.

You weren’t expecting the short Korean man you let into the house any more than he seemed to be expecting you. He stopped by the door, watching you from above the rim of his glasses, holding onto a small leather bag.

“Well?” he said, making you jump into action and guide him to John’s room.

John whimpered pitifully when you turned on the lights but didn’t fight when the doctor approached him for an examination. The man worked quickly, with gentle, but nimble hands as he checked John over. You watched by the door, keeping Dog calm with a hand on his head, as the doctor talked to John in hushed whispers before going through his medical case and pulling out a glass vial and a syringe.

“What’s that?” you asked, unable to keep quiet anymore.

“Medicine,” the man replied, searching John’s arm for a good artery.

“For?” You pressed, but the man ignored you.

“It’s alright,” John wheezed, glancing at you with hazy eyes. “I trust him.”

With a sigh, you sagged back against the wall and watched as the man injected whatever it was in John’s arm, before standing up and moving towards you. He handed you two orange bottles.

“One of each, every 8 hours. With food, if you can get him to eat. If he doesn’t show signs of getting better in a couple of days, call me again.”

You stared at the pills for a moment. There were no labels, no indication of what they were or what they did. Why everything in John’s world needed to be so damn mysterious? With another resigned sigh, you handed the doctor the coin.

“I’ll show myself out,” he announced as he stepped out of the room.

Once he was gone, you turned off the lights and climbed back on the bed with John, maneuvering his heavy body until he was half on top of you, head resting on your chest. Dog lied on your other side, head on your thigh.

“Thank you,” John whispered as you combed the dark, sweaty locks away from his forehead. “I know this is all new and strange to you.”

You sighed and wondered how to explain to John that your awkwardness with all of this had less to do with the weirdness of his world and more to do with the overwhelming fear of losing him. You didn’t care if he had made you call a freaking witch doctor to perform a bloody ritual as long as he was alright.

“If this doesn’t work in two days, I’m taking you to the hospital. No arguments.” you declared and felt John’s low chuckle turning into a coughing fit.

“Ok,” he agreed, voice barely a whispered as he closed his eyes and slept.

Fortunately, he did get better. Almost miraculously fast and you wondered what kind of medicine could be that effective but knew it would pointless to ask John. He either didn’t know or wasn’t willing to tell you. Regardless of what it was, in less than a week he was on his feet again. You were relieved of course, but it was also strange to see. It was like nothing had even happened.

You always teased John about being indestructible after he told you how he got his scars. It was just playful fun of course but at times like this, when he recovered so fast for something that had him bedridden for days, it made you wonder if there wasn’t a little bit of truth behind your teasing.

Two strong arms wrapped around your waist, interrupting your musings as you were getting ready for work. You met John’s gaze through the mirror and there were still dark shadows under his eyes, but his cheeks now held some more color and he looked considerably healthier.

“Thank you for taking care of me.” His voice was still raspy, but slowly going back to the familiar baritone you loved.

“No problem,” you replied, turning around in his arms and pressing a kiss on his lips. “But who knew the deadly Baba Yaga could be taken down by lousy flu?” you teased, making John chuckle. He still winced a little at the action.

“Better not let anyone know that,” he said with one of his gorgeous smiles that never failed to make your heart skip a beat.

“I really am glad you’re ok. You scared me for a second.”

“I know,” John kissed your forehead. “But it’s over now. I’m not going anywhere, anytime soon. I’m staying right here with you.”

“Good.”

xxx

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[copias-thrall]

Spare the Rod, Spoil the Mary

Surprise! Here’s that meatier chapter I promised. 😉 

(Part 1; Part 2; Interlude 0; Part 4; Part 5)

*hard spanking*

Mary hasn’t done anything wrong. You just want to play.

As usual, his schedule is a living thing, subject to the whims of Mickey and Mary’s feelings toward his financial solvency.

Which means: he’s late. Which gives you a perfect excuse.

You lay out your wares—from a trip to the dollar store a few days before—on your coffee table: a heart shaped wooden spoon, a wooden hairbrush, and a belt. You’re practically vibrating with anticipation, barely concentrating on the show you’ve got on the TV.

When you finally hear the key on the door, you adopt an air of nonchalance.

Mary comes in, toeing off his boots with a tired Hey.

“You’re late,” you spit, not looking at him. “Hands and knees on the floor behind me.” 

There’s only a slight pause before you hear him rustling to obey you. When you’re sure he’s in position behind the couch, you say, “You’re to stay like that until I’m good and ready for you. Maybe you’ll learn how it feels to have to wait on somebody.”

You finish the episode you’re watching, then you start another. Mary, like a good boy, doesn’t make a peep. You’re tempted to make him wait longer, but you’re antsy to get there. You turn off the TV.

“Come here,” you demand. “And don’t even think about doing it on 2 feet.”

There’re the telltale sounds of Mary shifting and then crawling across the floor until you can see him round the corner of the couch. He keeps his head down even as he maneuvers around your furniture. You shift over to where he is so that you can run your fingers through his stiff hair.

“Such a good boy. You follow direction so well.”

It’s slight, but you feel him lean into your touch.

“Because of that, I’m going to let you choose.” You slip your hand down so you can tilt his face to the coffee table where your tools are laid out. “Nothing is going to get you out of your punishment for being late, but I will let you pick what I punish you with.”

Mary considers for a while—enough that you’re afraid you’ve overstepped and are about to call an end—but finally he says, “The hairbrush, ma’am.”

A thrill rushes through you, and you stroke his cheek.

“Thank you for choosing. Do you want your spanking here or the bedroom?”

“The bedroom, ma’am.”

“All right,” You pick up the hairbrush and tap at his lips. “Open.”

Mary opens his mouth and you put the handle of the brush in it.

“You will take this to the bedroom and wait for me. You are to keep this in your mouth and kneel at the edge of the bed. Got it?”

Mary grunts around the handle and gives a quick bob of his head. Then he’s off crawling to your bedroom. You hate for him to leave, but you love to watch him go—his jeans nicely accentuating the curve of his ass as he moves. You set a timer on your phone for 10min, only moving to join Mary once it’s gone off. He’s followed your orders to a T, kneeling at the foot of your bed with the brush still in his mouth.

“Very good,” you coo as you stroke his face before retrieving the brush. You situate yourself on the bed. “Jeans off, then over my lap.”

Mary scrambles to get out of his jeans as you eye the bulge in his boxer briefs. Once he’s free of his pants, he drapes himself over your lap so that his torso is resting on the bed. You rub the cheeks of his ass through the cloth of his underwear.

“How ‘bout a little warm up, hmm? Ten on each?”

Your question is rhetorical, so you get to work right away, giving him firm, alternating smacks on each cheek. Except for the jolt of each spank, Mary doesn’t move at all—nor does he make a noise. Once you’re done, you give each cheek a rub and a squeeze before pulling down his boxers. His ass is flushed a nice pink, and you smooth your hand over it.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And if you need me to stop?”

“Nickelback, ma’am.”

“Good boy.”

“It’ll be 16 total—8 on each side.”

At the first strike—in the meat of his ass—you hear Mary punch out a breath. At the fifth—on his crease—he grunts. By 11 he’s squirming. At 16 he’s whimpering, but it’s when you stop that he cries out.

“More, please, ma’am.”

You hesitate.

“More?”

“Oh yes, please. Make me feel it, please.”

You rub at his bottom.

“Your punishment was 16. Anything extra is a reward—for taking it so well.”

“PLEASE.”

“Ok, we’ll make it an even 30.”

You get to work again, alternate between each side, cheek then crease. At 20 he’s tense and panting, so you stop to tell him to relax. You wait for his breathing to even out and the tension to drain away before you start up again. When you reach 24 he screams, out, “Oh fuck, oh yes!” even as his legs kick.

“Stay still,” you chastise.

“Yes, ma’am,” he says as he gasps.

You rub over his cheeks. “Now. Do you want me to draw out these last 6, or do you want them hard and fast?”

“Oh god,” whines Mary as he rubs his face into your comforter. “Hard and fast, please, ma’am. Don’t stop.”

“But if you need me to stop?”

“PLEASE.”

You give him a light crack on his thigh and he flinches.

“If you don’t answer me, you’re not going to get 6 more.”

“Nickleback!”

“There now; that wasn’t so hard.” Mary whines. “Ok, here we go.”

You dole out the last hits hard and fast as promised, while Mary keens and squirms. You mean to rub out the sting and then gather him up, but he hastily scrambles onto the bed, rolling over onto his back. His dick is hard and flushed, tip shiny with precum.

“Oh please, Suey, please. Just like this, please?”

The spanking hasn’t left you unaffected—you’re definitely wet—and the sight of Mary trembling and begging (his makeup smudged and smeared) has your mouth watering.

“Only because you beg so nicely,” you say as you lean down over him and suck him into your mouth. You can tell he wasn’t expecting your mouth because he thrusts up into it—nearly gagging you—as he lets out an Oh fuck. You press his hips down firmly, and he lets out a hiss, as you bob on him.

“Oh god, harder. Press harder.”

You shift so you can press your weight down onto where you’re holding his hips.

“Oh jesus fuck,” says Mary as he tenses. 

You feel his cock harden, so you take a deep breath and swallow him whole. His cry chokes off in his throat as he arches off the bed, and then he’s screaming as you feel his dick kick and throb against your tongue. Once he relaxes down into the bed, you pop off and stroke him slowly with your hand. Mary’s chest is heaving and he has an arm over his eyes. 

When his breath slows, he whines and pushes your hand away before turning onto his side. You go to wrap him in your arms, but before you can pull him into you, he whimpers and squirms away. 

His ass. Right.

“Sorry, buddy,” you say as you shift over to the other side of him. Mary wastes no time glomming onto you and burying his head into your neck. His hands rove under your shirt and into your sleep pants, gripping and grasping hard at your ample flesh. It’s almost painful, but you allow it as you stroke through his product-stiff hair and murmur praise into it.

He finally settles, and you realize it’s because he’s nodded off. You carefully extract yourself, making sure to rest him on his stomach before folding your blanket over him. It’s only a quick trip to your kitchen area—you already set out the chocolates & ibuprofen from his coffin, so all you need to do is grab the ice wrap out of the freezer and the prepared glass of Pedialyte out of the fridge. It’s a balancing act, but you manage to bring all the items into the bedroom. Mary’s still out cold, so you arrange the glorious bounty on your night table. 

Well, if he’s still asleep, no reason you can’t take care of business …. You cast around until you see your vibrator poking out from under a pile of clothes. Shit. You hope it still has juice.

Once it’s in your hands, you find—to your great relief—that there’s still power left. Your eyes flick over to Mary, but he’s still drooling into your comforter. The goal here is to be quick, so you perch on your clothes chair and press the head hard into your crotch. Despite your earlier arousal and the almost direct stimulation, you’re struggling to get there. The hairbrush is at the end of the bed, and you snatch it up. It gives you a thrill just to hold it, and you smack it lightly against your thigh imagining that it’s Mary’s ass. You do that a few more times, eyes closed as you bring up spanking Mary in your mind’s eye, and it’s enough to ramp you up and tip you over the edge.

You let out an involuntary grunt as you cum, and you let the vibrations take you through the aftershocks, your body twitching. Once you’re finished, you let out a contented sigh and switch off your vibrator. When you open your eyes, Mary is staring at you.

You flush. “Oh hey, buddy.”

His eyes flick to the hairbrush in your hand.

“That’s mine.”

You look down at it. “Of course,” you say as you offer it to Mary. An arm emerges from the burrito and he yanks the brush from your hand and back into the fold. You get up and place the toy on top of the clothes you smushed.

“I have some things for you, buddy. Do you think you can sit up?”

Mary goes to sit up, then hisses, and flops back down.

“Ok, we’re going to take care of that.”

You offer him the ibuprofen, but when he just stares at it, you direct him to stick out his tongue. You place the pills on it, then you carefully tip the liquid into Mary’s mouth. It’s a sloppy business—a third of the drink ends up down Mary’s shirt—but you get enough in for him to swallow the pills and slake his thirst. 

After some maneuvering, you get Mary on his stomach with just his ass exposed enough to lay the towel-covered ice wrap over his cheeks. He grunts, but otherwise doesn’t react. You climb onto the bed, arranging Mary so that his head is in your lap and you can hand feed him the chocolates. As he sucks on them, you lean back into the wall and massage his scalp.

You don’t even realize you’ve dozed off until you come to because Mary is kissing your hand.

“Oh. Sorry,” you say, yawning.

His head cranes to look up at you. “It’s fine. But can we move? You kinda smell like sex and it’s distracting.”

You roll your eyes, but begin to move out from under him.

“There’s Chinese if you want to eat.”

Mary makes a rumbling noise. “I could eat you. You kinda deprived me of reciprocating.”

“I’m not a meal, Mary.”

He gives you a wolfish smile. “Aren’t you?”

“Mary.”

“A light snack then?” he says as he crawls over the bed after you and presses his face back into your crotch.

“Mary!” you shriek as he nips at your pajama pants and growls.

“I’m having my dessert first,” he rumbles as he begins to yank down your pants.

You truly don’t need him to do anything, but then his warm tongues makes contact with your folds and he hums an Mmm into you and

Thought leaves you as Mary’s tongue parts your lips and wiggles in to find your clit. He laps and licks at you, and you just melt into the bed. When he presses a finger into you, you moan loudly, and Mary begins to lap faster as his finger thrusts in and out of you. There’s no teasing, just a concentrated assault on your sensitive spots, and it’s not too long before you’re chanting out Oh oh oh as you feel your orgasm approaching. Mary curls his finger to press at your G-spot, and it’s enough to tip you over.

A low Uhn punches out of you as your orgasm hovers and you tense at the pooling build. Mary quickens his tongue, and your climax breaks, you moaning out in time to the waves pulsing through you. Once all the tension bleeds out of you, Mary withdrawals his finger—wiping it on the inside of your thigh—then he’s climbing over you, his cock clumsily poking into your cunt. You spread your legs further open as Mary reaches down to guide himself into you.

“So fucking wet,” he groans as he begins to pump into you. He leans down and curls over you, sucking at your neck and shoulder. “Your body is so fucking welcoming. Do you want my cock that much?”

“Oh fuck, Mary,” you moan. “Your hard fucking cock. Fuck me so good. Always want it filling me up.” You clench around him, and he growls, biting your clavicle hard.

“You better. You better fucking want it. Because I’m not going to stop fucking you. Not when your sweet cunt is so goddamned warm and tight.”

You turn your head and bite his earlobe. “You better remember how nice my cunt is. How,” you squeeze your walls around his cock, “tight for you.”

“Oh shit.”

Before Mary has the chance to do anything, you give a sharp slap to his ass. He cries out, seizing up, and then he thrusts hard and deep into you. He’s all but collapsed on you as he gives a few more abortive twitches into your hole. You can feel his hot breath as he pants into your skin, and—despite his softening cock—Mary doesn’t move off you.

You pet at him a little before saying, “Mare” as you wiggle under him.

He makes a disgruntled noise into your neck, but he carefully extracts himself from you so he doesn’t also roll onto his ass. He maneuvers off the bed and stands on wobbly legs. The hairbrush clatters after him, and he retrieves it from the floor.

“I think I probably do need to eat actual food.”

“Hey,” you say as you also roll off the bed, “do you really like the taste of me that much?”

He shrugs. “You taste like ‘girl’. Sweeter, I guess, when you’re all hot for me. It’s just—you taste like sex with you. I dunno. When you smell like that, I already know what you’re going to feel like around my cock. I guess it’s Pavlovian.” He grins. “And I’m just a dog hungry for it.”

You scrunch your face at him. “Ok, ok. It’s time to actually feed you. C’mon, rover.” You hold out your hand for the brush. “Do you want me to—”

“No,” he says, clutching it to him.

You drop your hand. “I was just going to put it in your drawer.”

He gives you a dubious look, then slowly hands it out to you.

“Don’t fucking use it again. It’s mine.”

You nod solemnly. “Of course, Mary. It’s only for you.”

After putting the hairbrush in his drawer, you head to the bathroom to pee and clean up a bit. When you emerge, Mary’s eating some lo mein out of a takeout container in your kitchen area in his t-shirt and boxers. You grab another container (it turns out to be the General Tso's), and shuffle to the couch.

Mary doesn’t move to join you.

“Are you just going to stand in the kitchen?”

“Yep,” he says.

“Why—”

He gives you a hard look.

“—oh.” A smile tugs at your lips, and you curl them into your mouth to hide it.

“Yeah. Don’t look so goddamned pleased with yourself.”

You throw up your hands. “You’re the one who wanted me to keep going!” 

“You still don’t have to be fucking smug about it.”

You mime locking your lips.

“Oh, and: you’re an asshole,” he says jabbing his chopsticks in your direction. “Slapping my ass when I was fucking you.”

You shrug, lips still tucked in, but the smile reaches your eyes. You thought it was pretty inspired.

The two of you eat in silence. Mary practically houses the lo mein before he finally comes over to the couch to steal bites of chicken from you, chopsticks clicking.

“Mare, stop,” you wine as you try to dodge him.

“You’re hogging all the good shit,” he says as his chopsticks try to dart into the holes in your defense.

“You just ate that whole thing of lo mein!” You try and twist away.

He clambers onto the couch, kneeling. “Whatever. You know General Tso's is worth more than noodles. Gimme.”

“Fuck off. You made your choice.”

You accidentally elbow him when he dives in like a seagull, and he falls backwards—hissing as his bottom makes contact with the couch.

“Aww, Mare,” you say as you bite back a giggle.

“It’s not funny,” he grumbles as he shifts to redistribute his weight.

You pat your lap. “Here. C’mon, lay down.”

Mary grumbles some more, but he wiggles around so he’s on his stomach, head in your lap.

“Let me just see …”

You gingerly pull the seat of his boxers down. His ass looks fine (yeah it does). It’s red and blotchy, but there’s no purpling. You smooth your hand around each cheek.

“When you’re done feeling smug about your handiwork, how ‘bout some chicken?”

You yank your hand away.

“I wasn’t …” (You were.)

He opens his mouth and points into it.

“Chicken.”

After pulling his boxers back up, you feed Mary some bites of chicken. He lets out a happy sigh.

“Now who’s smug?”

“Die mad,” he grouses.

You feed him a few more bites before finishing the rest yourself.

“Was that ok, though?” you ask as you lick your fingers.

“No, I could’ve eaten the whole thing.”

“The spanking, Mare.”

“Oh.” He seems to consider. “Um, it feels weird to say ‘yes,’ but: yeah.” He twists his head to look up at you. “I mean, maybe not all the time. It stings like a motherfucker—but … yeah.”

“Ok, good.”

“Did you like it?”

You feel heat rise to your cheeks.

“Is it weird to say ‘yes’?”

Mary meets your eyes with a serious gaze.

“Absolutely,” he says, nodding.

Your heart drops, but then Mary bursts out laughing. You make a mean lemon face at him and flick his ear.

“Ow, fuck,” he cries out, but it’s in between chuckles.

“You’re a dick. I’m sorry I gave you my chicken.”

He brings his hand up to his mouth. “I mean, I could give it back …”

“Next time I’m going to make you sit on your sore rump,” you grump.

What you don’t expect is for Mary to gulp and his eyes to dilate.

Oh. Oh ho ho.

You give him a vulpine smile.

“Next time I’m going to make you sit on your sore rump.”

⬅️Previous | Next ➡️

[lepus-arcticus]

OMENS: CHAPTER FOUR one | two | three trigger warnings apply

KICKING HORSE B&B JULY 23 - 6:23 AM

Pale sunlight streamed into the room, warming Scully’s cheek, a peaceful change from last night’s storm. She grumbled and stretched underneath the covers, rotating a sore ankle on a cool patch of sheets before letting her eyes flutter open. No one could accuse her of being anything resembling a morning person, but she’d never had the ability to sleep in after a night of drinking.

She surveyed the room in the lavender dawn, sober now, and made mental notes for her own apartment before remembering that there wasn’t much point in redecorating when you had a rapidly approaching expiry date. Her nightmare bled back into her memory in snippets, skin and blood and sweetness and dread, tears and panic, Mulder at the door.

She winced and eased herself up on her elbows, and then the headache hit her, a bolt of pain behind her eyes. Oh, fuck. Jesus. Oh. She needed water, and coffee, stat. She hoped Rhiannon was up.

She fingered her wristwatch on the bedside table, squinting to look at the time. Early, but not so early that it was impolite to be up and about in the house. Gingerly, she rolled out of bed and felt around the footboard for her robe. She slipped it around her shoulders, and stiffly padded out into the hall. Her mouth tasted awful, so she dipped into the bathroom to brush her teeth and finger-comb her hair, and then felt inspired to check in on Mulder.

She shouldn’t have been so harsh with him last night. He was only making sure she was okay. But that dream…

The door to his room was slightly open, and she could hear the steady, muffled sway of his snore. She peered inside, careful not to make a sound. He was completely buried in blankets, save for one long, bare foot sticking off of the edge of the mattress, toes twitching. A swell of guilty affection washed over her, and she had the urge to creep over and run her fingernails down the curve of his arch, see if he was ticklish.

Instead, she turned and moved down the hall, descending the stairs as the Bishop women and their dogs looked on. The wood creaked under her feet, and the sound summoned Hypatia, probably the only creature in the house unafflicted with a hangover. She met Scully a few steps up, whimpering in pleasure, slapping her with her tail and blocking the way downstairs. “Hey, sweet girl…” Scully massaged one of the dog’s fleecy ears between her thumb and fingertips, and maneuvered her way around her massive wriggling body and into the kitchen.

There was no evidence of yesterday’s dinner to be found. The kitchen practically sparkled, and something enticingly yeasty scented the air. A large pot of coffee was percolating, black and seductive, on the tiled counter, and the room was suffused in sunrise, beaming in from the attached conservatory.

A bittersweet hum trickled through the air, a melody that Scully recognized. The water is wide, I cannot get o’er, she thought, and heard ghostly strains of her father’s tuneless Navy warble. The memory tugged at her ribs. She followed the sound and found Rhiannon in the lushness of the conservatory, her frizzy corkscrew hair loose around her waist, lovingly plucking mint leaves one by one from a large potted bush propped up on a wooden bench. The conservatory was packed full of plant life⁠—ficuses and string-of-pearls, roses and tomatoes, and an assortment of herbs that would rival an 18th-century apothecary.

“My father used to sing that song to my sister and I when he was home from sea,” Scully said in greeting.

Rhiannon looked up and smiled. “Oh, good morning, Dana. I hope I didn’t wake you.” An embroidered velvet robe in faded garnet hung off of Rhiannon’s shoulders. With the halo of sunlight around her, the scene resembled a Mucha panel, especially when Hypatia left Scully’s side to wrap herself around Rhiannon’s hips. Her hair was so long that a tendril caught in the crimpy fur of Hypatia’s backbone, dragging in an alluring loop.

“No, no, you didn’t wake me,” Scully said, a little entranced. She wondered if she’d ever seen such a pretty scene in her life.

“I’ve got biscuits in the oven, care to join me in the kitchen? How are you feeling?”

“You know, I’d love a cup of coffee.”

Rhiannon chuckled softly at that, pressing a few more mint leaves into the handful she’d collected. “Perhaps the whiskey wasn’t the brightest idea. But the bottle invited itself to the table, and that’s the story I’m sticking to.”

“It was a wonderful dinner, Rhiannon. Thank you. I really wish you’d have let me help you clean up, though.”

“Oh, hush,” Rhiannon said, as she traipsed neatly across the tile past Scully and into the kitchen, depositing the mint leaves into a copper pot on the stovetop. She rattled four mismatched mugs down from the hutch in the corner, picked up the coffee pot, and tilted it over the largest one, the black stream of steaming liquid making Scully’s mouth water. “Now, Dana, how do you take your coffee? Cream, sugar? Or if you’d like, I can make it my way.”

Hell, why not. “Well, usually I just have a little soy milk, but when in Rome…” Scully smiled politely, leaning up against the counter and trying to ignore the pulse in her temple. She watched as Rhiannon caught a curled shard of cinnamon from a corked ceramic jar, and grated a nugget of nutmeg over it into a rough stone mortar. She added a swift dash of some mysterious blend from another jar, and ground it all together, rotating the pestle and humming lightly as she worked. A mound of butter was produced from the old-fashioned icebox, and she slid a generous pat of it onto a knife and into the mug, adding a fat pinch of the powdered spices, catching Scully’s slight grimace and imploring her not to knock it until she tried it.

“Here,” Rhiannon handed her the resulting brew, and Scully dutifully took a sip. A flood of heat and life immediately moved through her head, through her chest, down into her belly. It was delicious. It might have been the best cup of coffee she’d ever had.

“Oh my God, this is incredible,” she gushed over the rim of the mug, amazed, taking another sip. “... I really might never go back to soy.” Rhiannon laughed, busying herself with making another cup. “You’re quite the cook, Rhiannon. You’ve never thought of doing it professionally?”

“No,” she said, at work at the mortar. “No, I love what I do. I’ve always felt so connected with animals. Cooking’s just a hobby of mine, that’s all. An obsessive hobby, I’ll admit, but a hobby.”

“You’re, um. A medical doctor as well as a veterinarian, is that correct?” Scully asked.

“Well, I’m only certified in veterinary medicine, but my mother was a healer of sorts, so I learned a lot from her. I can handle the basic first-aid stuff⁠—when a kid from town needs stitches, when there’s an uncomplicated homebirth over at the settlement and they need assistance, that sort of thing - and I find a lot of concepts and practical applications carry forward. Medicine is such an instinctual practice anyway.”

“Hmm.” Scully cringed internally, but fought back the urge to argue with her. “Rhiannon, you know that you can’t legally practice medicine without a license.”

Rhiannon shrugged. “Is helping a neighbour out in a pinch the same as practicing medicine? Nobody’s going to sue me, Dana. Horizon isn’t New York.”

“That it is not,” Scully agreed. When they’d driven in to the police station the previous afternoon, they’d found it nestled in the middle of all of seven interlocking streets. The rest of the town, in name, was a scattering of isolated farmhouses and homesteads. She took another sip of her coffee. “Mulder mentioned that you performed an autopsy on Hugh Daly’s horse?”

“I looked him over…” Rhiannon said carefully, stirring spices into her own cup. “It was strange… it was as if Ghost just… laid his head down in the river. There aren’t many examples of suicidal behaviour in animals, unless you’re counting that bridge in Scotland where all those dogs are always jumping to their deaths. He was such a beautiful horse, wasn’t he?”

“Mmm,” Scully agreed.

“Hugh, um. Hugh bought that horse for Anna as a wedding gift. Oh, you should have seen her, Dana. She was like a fairy. She rode up to the church bareback, and she… she wasn’t wearing any shoes, and you know, it’s funny… that day… all I can really remember clearly are the soles of her feet, how dirty they were…” Her eyes misted over, unexpectedly, and she blinked up at the ceiling.

“I’m sorry,” she said, pressing her face into one of her wide sleeves and trying to compose herself. Her grief suddenly filled the room like smoke, and Scully couldn’t help but ache for her.

“I never liked that man,” Rhiannon said. “He was trouble from the start.” Scully furrowed her brows, uncomfortable. “You’re, um...You’re taking a look at Anna today, is that right?”

“Yes,” Scully replied softly. Theo’d arranged for a cleared-out room in the police station and had borrowed the requested materials and tools from Rhiannon’s supplies. Better than a bathroom, she supposed, thinking of Home, but if the photographs were any indication, Anna’s body was so thoroughly wrecked that she wasn’t sure there was much she could determine from it.

“I was the one who… who identified her body. Out in that field. Hugh was raving, out of his mind, he wouldn’t even look at her, wouldn’t even come close. God, I don’t think I’ll ever get over seeing her like that… Theo let Marion see her too, that stupid, thoughtless man. He shouldn’t have done that.” She gripped the counter ledge, coffee abandoned, her eyes still swimming.

Scully reached out and touched her arm. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Rhiannon. I don’t know if I said it last night.”

“Those girls, Dana… they’re my daughters.” Rhiannon dashed a tear from her cheek. “And I failed. I failed to protect them.”

“This is not your fault,” Scully said. “You can’t take that on. But what you can do is tell us everything you know. About Anna, about Hugh, about anyone who might have wanted to hurt her. Beginning with how she came to live with you in the first place.”

Rhiannon sniffed, considering this. “It was that brother of hers. She had to get away.” Abel Stoesz, again. “Abel is… he’s controlling, he’s possessive… even after she made it clear she wasn’t ever going to go back to the colony, he’d come here, screaming at her from the driveway…” Rhiannon ran water from the sink into a blue-tinted Ball jar, and sipped at it, regaining her composure. “He’s been especially persistent with her since she married Hugh, though. It’s a good thing Fox is going to talk to him today, although I wish Marion wouldn’t go with him and subject herself to that. Sometimes I wonder why on earth she went into law enforcement. She’s such a sensitive spirit. But anything to impress Theo, I suppose. She worships the ground that man walks on.”

Scully turned this over in her mind. “If it’s any consolation… Mulder, he’s sensitive too, and it doesn’t negate his strength or his capability. I may not always agree with him, but he has this… incredible ability to get to the heart of an issue, to understand perspectives and motivations that other people might not consider. His compassion makes all the difference in our work. I’m sure it’ll prove to be the same with Marion as well.” She left out Mulder’s desperation, his obsessive nature, how wholly and intensely he took on the pain of the people left behind. How every unsolved case was a new gaping wound that would never scar over.

Rhiannon assessed her for a few moments as she sipped at the jar, leaning back on the wooden island across from her. “You two must be very close.”

“We’re partners,” Scully said. “We’ve been through a lot together.” Suddenly self-conscious, she drew deeply from her mug, draining it, willing her cheeks to cool. A timer sounded, and Rhiannon turned her attention to the oven, opening the ceramic door to reveal a tray of fluffy biscuits. The smell was incredible. Scully hadn’t had an appetite in months, but there was something about Rhiannon’s cooking that was just… different. It was nourishing, appealing in a way that her usual diner fare and dry green salads just weren’t.

Rhiannon retrieved a jar of preserves⁠—“Last year’s serviceberries were so prolific that I made fifty jars, can you believe that? And I’m pretty sure that Theo’s eaten forty of those”⁠—and plunked it on the worn kitchen table. She plucked the steaming biscuits from the tray and piled them onto a chipped blue china serving platter, setting it down on the table next to a bowl of oranges. Hypatia paced, looking for a handout.

Just as Scully was working up the energy to ask Rhiannon for a second cup of coffee, the front door was unlocked from the outside, and Marion, stately and clean in a freshly pressed uniform, strolled into the kitchen. “Morning, Dana,” she smiled at Scully, and gave Rhiannon a kiss on the cheek. Scully’s mind lingered on last night’s dream, the scent of cedar, the woman’s bow-shaped lips poised above her own, and she blinked down at the tile.

Rhiannon asked Marion if she’d like a cup of coffee, and Marion declined. “You’re on a real health kick lately, Mare,” Rhiannon complained, but Marion just shrugged and took a jam jar of water to the table.

Just then, Mulder bounded down the stairs in his running shoes and a Knicks tank, rattling the walls, his hair sticking up in every direction. “Morning, womenfolk,” he said, squinting in the sun. Scully pressed coffee-warm fingers to her pounding temple, and wondered how on earth it was possible for him to run with a hangover. Where did he get all of that energy? Hypatia whined excitedly at the sight of him and rushed to his legs, but he sidestepped her, patting her awkwardly on the head after a moment of hesitation, and made for the sink. He turned on the tap and stuck his mouth under the running water, sucking at the stream obscenely. “Mulder⁠—” Scully scolded him, embarrassed, but the other women just smirked.

Mulder leaned against the counter and wiped his mouth with the hem of his shirt. Scully found herself looking at the lines of his hipbones disappearing into his sweats, and ripped her eyes away, but Rhiannon caught her and smiled knowingly.

“I’m seriously outnumbered here without Theo,” he quipped. “Marion, you okay if I go for a run before we leave?”

“Of course. Take your time. I’m still waking up, and it’s not like they’re expecting us.” Marion scuffled her nails on the tabletop, eyeing him openly.

“Fox, do you mind taking Hypatia with you? She doesn’t need a leash. There’s a lake a little way along the path out back, she’ll take you right to it and bring you back,” Rhiannon said, clearly not expecting him to refuse. Scully glanced at Mulder and caught him looking at her, defeated.

“Save some breakfast for me, Scully,” Mulder squeezed her shoulder on his way past her, last night’s tense exchange wordlessly forgiven. He begrudgingly held the screen door open for the dog, who trotted happily past him and down into the front yard.

“Uh, yum, Dana,” Marion laughed, once he was out of earshot. “Fox is a hunk under all that trenchcoat. I think I was too distracted by that awful tie of his to notice last night.”

Scully felt a grin tug at her lips, despite her best intentions. She suddenly realized how much she missed having female friends; Ellen’s cupboard full of cheap, secret wine, her college roommate Andrea’s fresh flower habit. Melissa, of course, with her incense and her crystals and the way she insisted on carefully studying the full astrological chart of every person Scully slept with.

She leaned towards Marion conspiratorially, nostalgia thrumming. “You should see him in glasses.”

8:04 AM

Mulder’s feet pounded mercilessly into the wet, mulchy grass at a counter-rhythm to the ferocious throb in his head. The trail to the pond was a worn, crushed valley through a field of knee-high wilderness. Wildflowers bloomed, silvery wolfwillow spicing the air with a sour, soaked-fur smell. The dog ran gracefully in front of him, darting off into the distance before returning to circle around his feet, panting joyously. Mulder had the distinct impression she was making fun of him.

“You’ve got four legs and I’ve only got two, you foul hellbeast⁠—” he called to her on her next rocket away. “This whole thing is rigged!” She barked happily in response, and reared onto her hind legs before jolting back to him for another relay.

His thoughts turned to Scully. God, sitting in that bed with her… he’d gotten dangerously close to doing something he’d certainly regret. Whiskey always made him dumb as shit, impulsive.

And her nightmare. He’d only been dozing, and her scream through the wall had been like a wave of ice water over him. How he’d wanted to run in there, wrap her in his arms, chase the shadows away. But she was right. She didn’t need him. Not like that.

He smelled the lake before he saw it, a moist earthy fetor tossed over the land like a wet blanket. As he came upon the glittering water, spooking a few mallards into flight, he noticed a rotting boat in the reeds on the far bank, turquoise paint flaking off in sheets. Just for something to do, he circled the lake at a sprint until he was closer to it. The dog trotted behind him, nose to the ground.

“Don’t eat anything weird,” he warned her, almost tripping as he drummed his heels to a stop. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and his stinging eyes. The morning sun shattered off of the surface of the lake and warmed the back of his neck, and he took a moment to kick out his legs a little as he caught his breath, bending to massage his aching right knee. The dog began to whimper irritably, a low growl that crescendoed into a keening whine. She threaded her long snout under his elbow.

“Hey⁠—stop it⁠—” He brushed her nose away, and returned to pressing his fingers around his oft-tortured patella. Scully’d been trying to get him to wear a knee brace lately, but he didn’t think he was ready to admit that he needed one. Maybe he should just swallow his ego before he did permanent damage, and had to resort to pumping on the elliptical with the government trophy wives at the Planet Fitness down the street from his apartment.

The dog moaned low, insistent, and let loose a stream of discontented yips. He looked up at her to find her crouching, her ears plastered backwards on her skull. “What the hell is wrong with you?” He chuffed a knuckle on her muzzle, and when she didn’t look up at him, he followed her eyeline.

The bottom of the boat was pooled with lakewater and blood.

A dead fox was curled in the murk, his toothy maw twisted into a grimace, as if in pain. The kohl tips of his ears were ragged. His eyes were closed. The dog yowled and whimpered behind him, pacing.

The sweet, mushroomy smell of death furled up from the corpse as Mulder leaned over it, looking for a wound. A few flies buzzed in circles around the eyes, nose, and mouth of the creature. As he got closer, he noticed the wriggling white body of a maggot crawl from the fox’s black-rimmed lip. A cold chill pierced Mulder’s stomach, and he retched into the grass beside him as he whirled away from the scene, losing what was left of last night’s dinner. The dog wailed.

He spat, and looked back up in horror.

“Fucking Jesus fuck,” he swore, scrunching his eyes and scrubbing his face with his palms. The dog’s crouching body was a coil of tension behind him. He backed away, but she wouldn’t follow.

“C’mere, dog,” he called, his voice rusty with bile. “Get away from that.”

The dog dainted a wide berth around the boat, starting and stopping, and Mulder called her again. “C’mon girl. Let’s go. C’mon.” She finally worked up the courage to pass it, throwing back a fierce growl as she skittered along. Mulder spat again, wishing for some water, and launched into a punishing pace back to Kicking Horse.

The sense of unease swirled around him. The dog ran in front this time, leaving him in the dust, eager to get home to her mistress. The fox in the boat couldn’t be a coincidence. Not with his name. Not with Scully’s vulpine head of hair.

Two omens in two days. Shit. And this one was personal.

[mes-obsessions-89]

Hamilton/Jefferson Tickle Torture Fanfiction (pt. 2)

A/N: This is a requested revenge sequel of my first tickle fic, which can also be found in this Tumblr, DeviantArt, and FanFiction.net account.

A/N: This is purely a tickle torture fanfiction. If that's not your thing, move on.

Alexander couldn't -or maybe wouldn't- stop thinking about what Jefferson had done to him. He wanted to get back at him, but how? It's not like Jefferson would have his guard down at work or anything.

"I'm serious, Laurens; that's what happened," He explained to his friend, a light blush dusting his pale cheeks, "I know it sounds ridiculous."

"You're right," John chirped back, "It does." He heard Alex let out a sigh before he gave in. "But I believe you. Jefferson is a freak."

"So you'll help me?"

"I guess. What were you planning on?" The question was asked a bit nervously.

"...I think we need Laf. Jefferson won't trust either of us with anything."

Lafayette really wondered how he had gotten involved in this mess. He should have made a run for it when Alexander asked him for a "little favor". But he hadn't.

He knocked on the well-polished door of Jefferson's house, only to be greeted seconds later by the devil himself.

"Come on in," Thomas said warmly, allowing the Frenchman to enter. He had always been friendly to Lafayette, which made him feel a little bad about what he was there for.

"Merci. Ça va?" Laf tried to make a bit of small talk, hanging his coat on the wooden rack near the door.

"Not too great, actually. I laid out a plan to erase the company debt, but Hamilton can't admit when I have a good idea. He's fighting it tooth and nail," Thomas rambled on, as his favorite topic to complain about had come up, "And he'll get his way, like he always does."

Laf had zoned Thomas's bitching out after the first sentence. He waited for the garrulous man to take a breath so he could get a word in. "Sounds like you could use a massage?" He suggested, hoping his part in this mess would be over with soon.

Thomas took a moment and considered declining, but... "Ah, why not? You're a good friend."

Just like that they ended up Thomas's bedroom, with Lafayette rubbing the other man's back. He worked at the knots until he heard Thomas's breathing get more regular, at which he asked his half-asleep friend to roll over.

Thomas did so without much thought. Lafayette took the opportunity to climb off him, reaching for cuffs he knew Jefferson kept on all four corners of the bed. How he knew that... is a story for another time. He slid Thomas's left wrist into the cuff, glancing at his face to make sure he wasn't giving a "what the hell?" expression. To the Frenchman's relief, he wasn't. He took his time, working his way to each corner of the bed and restraining each of Jefferson's limbs. Thomas, still half asleep, either didn't notice or didn't care.

He noticed when he felt Laf climb off the bed. "Hey... what's going on?" He asked, looking up at his friend.

"I-I... je suis désolé," Lafayette said not so smoothly before exiting the room. Thomas had never been more confused. Was he being robbed? By Lafayette of all people?

He heard two sets of footsteps returning, and, to Thomas's utter dismay, neither of them belonged to Lafayette. "Hamilton, what are you doing?" He demanded immediately. "And why did you bring your boyfriend here?"

Alexander rolled his eyes, taking a seat on the side of the bed. He'd been looking forward to this. "Tsk. You're in no position for that kind of attitude, Jefferson," He smirked, quoting the line Jefferson had used against him. "We're just going to have some fun. Like we did in my office, remember?"

"We came to a deal that you didn't keep," Jefferson replied, trying to keep as much dignity as he could, given his current position. "And this has to be illegal on some level."

"What're you gonna do?" Alexander teased, "If you want to go report a tickle attack, I'll be happy to do the same."

John, who had remained silent, moved to sit opposite of Alexander, sitting between Thomas's shins. He was quick to remove Jefferson's socks before waiting for his best friend's cue.

"Hey, stop that!" Jefferson protested, though his limited ability to squirm proved useless in preventing it. Alexander began to unbutton the older man's shirt, smiling pleasantly.

"John, go ahead."

Upon hearing this, Laurens ran his fingers down one of Jefferson's feet, provoking a kick and a "Cut it out!" from the restrained man. John simply chuckled and started to wiggle his fingers against Jefferson's soles as Alex tormented his ribs, methodically poking and teasing.

"Y'know, Jefferson, I never thought you would be this ticklish..." Alex reveled in his enemy's laughter.

Jefferson struggled against the cuffs, but, of course, they were on too well. It was only made more humiliating by the fact that Thomas had been the one to put the cuffs on the bed. "H-Hahamilton!" He forced the name out of his mouth as giggles escaped. Alexander was gentler now, lightly dragging his fingers along his belly. John's tickling had slowed also to soft scratching on his heels.

"Yes, Jefferson?"

"Stop this!"

"Never. You've earned this." With that, Alexander dugs his hands into his victim's sides, drawing a laughing fit out of the older man.

Only a full minute later did Jefferson get a reprieve from the two. Alex stopped to push Thomas's hair away from his face, pulling his shirt further away from his torso right after. "You're right, Thomas, this is fun." He produced an electric toothbrush from his pocket, being sure to let the trapped man catch a glimpse. "I got this just for you. Don't worry; he's got one too," Alexander teased, gesturing slightly to his partner in crime.

"Hamilton, I swear. You've made your point. Just cut it out," Jefferson started, really trying not to beg. He knew he couldn't beg, not to Hamilton.

In response, Alexander only hit the tool's switch, breaking the room's silence with its buzzing. He brought it toward Jefferson's side threateningly, satisfied with the man's sudden attempt to break out. "Aren't you into this, Jefferson? I thought you would like it." He didn't give his hostage any time to argue before he pressed it against his torso, dragging it up and down his ribs.

Jefferson spazzed, pulling on his cuffs (damn his decision to go with the high quality ones) and squirming away from the attack as much as he could. He could feel his other assailant attack his feet with his own torture instrument soon after, pushing him further into the insanity he was pretty sure he was descending into.

Alex adjusted to better hold him down. He ran the toothbrush in a spiral shape, slowly closing in on his victim's navel. He worked silently now, enjoying Jefferson's laughter. He glanced down the bed at John, who was haphazardly inching his toothbrush over Jefferson's feet: the balls, then down to his soles and around his heel.

As he felt Hamilton dig the toothbrush into his belly button, he gasped for air and hit a breaking point. "Pl-lease, Hamil-ton, I won't gehehet in y-your wahahay!" He stuttered out, fighting his shortness of breath and fits of laughter.

"What was that? Please what?" Alex teased, moving the toothbrush back down to just below the waistband of his slacks.

"Stop this! Plehehease, Alex!"

John's assault on his feet stopped, as did Alexander's on his torso. "So you're going to stay out of my way and let me do my job?"

"Yes..." Thomas muttered, suddenly exhausted and extremely embarrassed.

"Hm." Alex huffed softly before bending down to blow a raspberry on Jefferson's firm belly, eliciting a sound which was comparable to a squeal. "And you're not going to tell anyone about this?"

"Never!"

"Then thank you for your help, John." Alex smiled pleasantly, uncuffing one of the man's ankles. "I can take it from here."

John quietly exited the room, happy he was excused from Thomas's potential rage when he was freed.

Alexander finished freeing Thomas from his bed. "Don't be too mad at Laf. He didn't know exactly what we were doing. And Laurens was just doing me a favor."

"Do you have nothing better to do on a Thursday night, Hamilton?" Jefferson's attitude had returned.

Alex simply shrugged. "Eliza and the kids are out at her father's." He then dismissed that subject, picking up his toothbrush and holding it up to Jefferson. "Don't make me do this again. Because I'd be happy to."

"Good to know you're a freak as well."