#berry looks so fucking naked without her bow

[sommerregenjuniluft]

@jegulus-microfic june 9th — lip gloss — 1017 words — cw: slightly nsfw brought to you by james' dirty mind, tw: amab term used for reg's genitalia aka mtf regulus, red heart shaped sunglasses and james potter's thoughts about kneehigh boots

The lights in their flat are dim, music is playing and the air smells faintly of tequila and lime already.

James has been staring at Regulus reapplying her ‘lip combo’ for the past five minutes without blinking. One could reason it’s because Regulus is literally using his sunglasses as a mirror but James argues he wouldn’t have let himself miss out on this for any money in the world either way. He would have found a way to get a front row seat.

The red, heart shaped glasses on his nose do nothing to help him see but that’s why he’s got his contacts in. There’s a cool hand at James’ stubbled jaw, angling him this way and that because Regulus needs proper lighting, Jamie. Stop moving into the shadow! 

First she’d fished around in her small ass purse—how does anyone even fit anything in these little things ever?—and procured a thin, dark red looking pencil of sorts. Regulus has gotten all up in his face, wiggling closer where she was sitting on his leg, rubbing her ass all over James’ lap and by God, James has never felt so lucky and tortured simultaneously. 

Anyway, Regulus had started following the shape of her cupid’s bow, outlining her lips. Her hand had rested right between James’ pecs at first to steady herself, right in the middle of his chest. James hoped she couldn’t feel the wild beating of his heart, the irregular heaving of his torso. She was talking to Pandora while doing so, about some mutual friend James has no clue about but he wasn’t registering any of the words either way. Much too fascinated by the small moles next to Regulus’ left eyes, by her dark lashes, her icy blue eyes. Ruthlessly captivating, breathtaking and immobilising like the bone deep chilling northern sea. 

James isn’t sure he remembers how to swim.

Next is a red lipstick. Regulus’ parts her mouth and James has to suppress a groan. He’s only mildly conscious of the way his palms make their way up over Regulus’ hips, coming to rest in the dip of her waist, thumbs windshield wiping over the silk of her green dress. It’s some sort of nightshirt, actually, with black lace detailing and clearly thrifted. Well loved but in good condition and James has been breaking his brain over what she might be wearing underneath for the better part of the last hour. Ever since Regulus had stepped over the threshold of their flat in her kneehigh boots and that flimsy excuse of a dress that James wants to see crumpled on the floor of his bedroom rather than anywhere else. Preferably while Regulus is splayed out naked on top of his sheets, tits out, cock out. The boots can stay on.

“Fuck,” present James mutters quietly, blinking himself out of his obscene fantasies. Regulus’ leg adjusts and brushes against where James is starting to fill out in his pants. 

James squirms.

“Stop that,” Regulus tsks, tightening her hold on his chin.

The yes, ma’am on the tip of James’ tongue nearly tumbles out but he manages to swallow it back in time.

James tries to glance around the general area around them out of the corners of his eyes, “Is your brother around?”

“Why?” she asks immediately. Her lips are completely filled out with a deep berry sort of red now. Then Regulus is digging around in her purse again.

“Just ’cause,” James replies offhandedly, shrugging.

Regulus hums, low and deep, sceptical and it’s so unfairly sexy. James licks his lips and sighs a long breath out. Level head, Potter, he tells himself. Level head.

The final step seems to be lip gloss. It’s not clear and translucent but rather has a bit of a milky quality to it.

James chokes on nothing. 

Regulus takes it up to her lips and spreads the fluid on her full red lips. It creates a foggy sheen and James is powerless against the mental images of cum slick lips. Both of their cum mixed, James licking it from Regulus’ stomach and then climbing back up. Hovering and tugging at her lower lip until she opens obediently like a good girl and lets James spit it right onto her mouth. 

Regulus leans closer and makes some little p-p-p noises where she smacks her lips together to even out the gloss, presumably. James doesn’t know. Don’t ask James anything right now because the gloss is kind of pulling strings and James is this close to doing something violently indecent to his best friend’s little sister.

Regulus puts the gloss away and then taps against James’ cheek, announcing happily, “Thank you.”

“Any time,” James mumbles.

He expects her to stand up now, join Pandora where she’s conversing with other people on the sofa, but instead Regulus wraps her arms around the back of James’ neck, keeping the close distance. “Y’know,” she starts, shifting in James’ lap, “I haven’t seen Sirius in a while. In fact, I think he might have gone off with Loopy.”

“Lupin,” James corrects automatically, trying to make sense of what Regulus is saying. She’s so warm and soft pressed against him, it’s distracting.

Regulus makes a whatever noise and tilts her head, “I’m guessing they went to his flat instead. Rumour has it, it’s close by.”

James nods in affirmation because that’s true. Remus does live close by.

Regulus’ fingers wind themselves into the curls at James’ nape, “Smart lads. Going somewhere a little more private.”

James nods again, numbly. He feels stupid in the head. 

“By the way,” Regulus keeps going, “Have I seen your room in this flat yet?”

And James might be stupid but he’s not an idiot.

A slow grin spreads over his face and then James has to lean forward to muffle an equally happy as aroused groan into the crook of Regulus’ pale neck. 

“Is that a yes?”

James leaves a kiss on her cheek when he pulls back, squeezes her hips and then lifts them both off the chair, ushering Regulus through the crowd and into his room.

When they come back out, Regulus’ legs are wobbly and there’s red lipstick stains all over James’ mouth and neck and the heady taste of cum in his mouth.

[uknowmesblog]

How many things can you do in a few hours? Well, with some help from your friends, you managed to decorate your room without catching too much attention. You need to thank your father for helping you evolve your sneak-around-the-base ability since you bring inside lots of toiletries, blankets, pillows, and so on. 

Now your room is the epitome of a pink princess with all the posters decorating your walls and the covers for the bed. Plushies spread around it, even a small TV that you could connect with a laptop so you can watch your romantic series without too much effort.  

“Unbelievable we managed to do that!” Daniele chuckled, sipping from her vodka disguised in a red berry soda can. 

She was on the other side of the wall, sitting on her car hood with Mikael. His hand wrapped lazily around her shoulder, drinking plain soda. Driving safe y’know? 

“Me neither, I think I will get in trouble for that” You laughed, sitting on top of the wall. One knee up, resting your forearm against it. Was this an act of rebellion? Of course, did you see your room? Tragic! Those bastards need to let you leave, either your way or the highway. 

“You sure will” Dani laughed, shaking her head. “I can’t believe they won’t just let you leave this fucking prison.’ 

“Well, their funeral, not mine” You shrugged a shoulder, smirking. 

“Cheers to that” Mikael laughs, throwing a pack of cigarettes in your direction. Barely catching them with both hands, your brow raised questioning him with interest. “You have more in that pink box we gave it to you, take it as a gift to calm your nerves.” 

“What the hell is going on?” Ghost’s voice made you drop your drink, big eyes widening even more. 

“Shit, go!” You whispered, jumping in front of him as soon as they took their escape. “Hi, Ghost,” you said, straight back, eyelash fluttering innocently. 

“Who you were talkin’ to?”  

“No one?” You looked around confused (someone should give you an Oscar). “Are you okay, do you need to see the nurse?’ 

His hand moved so fast, gloved fingers wrapping around your chin holding you under his scorching gaze. Craning your head back until you could hold eye contact, pain already flaring at the back of your neck. He is tall, broad, and now holding you with his strong hand. 

“I don’ know what’s your plan” His fingers tightened, making you whine “But you better start acting accordingly, otherwise I won't hesitate to put you on your knees.” He growled, making you squirm. A small hand wrapped around his wrist, trying to push him away. 

“Let me go” You squeaked, but he only tightened his hold. 

“You reek of vodka, go take a shower, dress properly. You have 30 minutes on the clock starting now.’ He let you go, stepping back and looking at you darkly. His baklava made him look even more serious, that skull making you shiver. 

“30 minutes? I need one hour at best!” You exclaimed annoyed, but he only narrowed his gaze, giving you shivers along your spine.  

“I won’t be shy to drag your naked ass out of the shower and around the base, if you want to learn to discipline the hard way be my guest.” 

Your thighs clenched together for a second, your mind conjuring some freak images in your head. Ghost with his stoic facade didn’t seem to observe, but oh boy! He did, he inhaled deeply behind his baklava, hoping you would provoke him further.  

He is craving to punish you, to make you surrender and be a good girl. 

But since you are a stubborn girl, you turned around and walked toward your room ready to show him that 30 minutes are more than enough. 

═════ ◈ ═════ 

When Ghost knocked, you were already dressed in a pair of cargo pants and a black t-shirt, pulling your hair in a ponytail.  

“Wait!’’ You managed to say with a bow stuck between puffy lips. 

He didn’t wait, entering the room and looking for the first time since you two met, shocked. His eyes took in the whole room, even the bow now secured around your hair. 

“Bloody hell” He exhaled, lookin’ ready to sprint out like your room was about to suck out his masculinity. 

“What? Afraid of a little pink?” You mocked him, chuckling. 

“I cannot believe you did this so fast.” You smirked, following him outside. 

“I can do way worse, all you can do to avoid this is to dismiss me.” He ignored you, walking fast trying to avoid you. You continue to try and assault his mind with endless questions, only to stop mid track when a whistle erupts around you.  

Didn't even paying attention when you followed him inside the debriefing room, a guy watching you hungrily. His mohawk, his beautiful intense and blue eyes, his muscular body, his smirk.. Everything was screaming ‘proceed with caution’, but you watched like he was some kind of prize, mouth opened and eyes wide. 

"You're such a bonnie girl, I'd love to have a wee bit of fun wi' ye." His accent almost made you drop right there, ready to spread your legs and let him whatever he tried to say. 

“Not now Soap, let the doll at least meet you before you slobber all over her” Another rich voice coming from one of the prettiest man you had ever seen. Dark like chocolate skin, short dark hair and shinning eyes. “Come on, we don’t bite” he nodded towards an empty spot between him and the Mohawk guy, your eyes widening. 

"Ah dinnae want tae scare her, jist want tae gie her a warm welcome." Soap grumbled, and you moved before thinking, making yourself comfortable and stiff simultaneously. 

“Just so you know, Price is a reasonable guy” He whispered in your ear. “I’m Kyle, but you can call me Gaz” His finger wrapped around your tail, swirling a few strands softly. “The meathead next to you it’s Johnny, but you can call him Soap.”  

Soap’s fingers wrapped around your knee, tightening so slightly you barely felt it. 

"Be a good lass and we'll take care o' ye." He whispered and you tried to break the spell these two put on you. But it was like a wave pulling and pulling, chocking you with all the pressure. 

“Aight, let the girl breath” Price’s voice saved you, both of them sitting straighter and giving him their full attention. You blew a breath, not observing Ghost who’s already imagining you trapped between you and his good Johnny, or Price’s smirk when he seen Gaz wrapping a protective arm around your shoulder. Your cheeks flaming as he whispered something, making you whine and hide behind your hands. 

Your plan needs a new idea, since you stumbled on two powerful men ready to stop you from leaving. You’ll be their doll; you just don’t have an idea yet. 

If Soap's words are a bit off, Google is the one to blame.

Also! Thanks to everyone who read this, I m a happy girlie now hehe.

@brxghtlxghtz

@niresenrab

@nes-kopi

[beelas-bees-art]

just the two of them <3

[leisurelypanda]

Fantasy AU where Steve's a virginal omega who's chosen to be sacrificed to a fearsome dragon, in the hopes that his kingdom will be spared from its wrath. Even as his blood runs cold at the sight of the beast, a nightmarish thing of red and black descending upon the rock he's chained to, he keeps his head held high, choosing to face this unfair death with courage. But everyone is shocked when the dragon instead breaks the chains and carries Steve off to the distant northern mountains (1/2)

(2/2) Once they reach the beast's lair, Steve finds himself gently laid down in a pile of furs, watching in shock and confusion as the dragon slowly transforms into a naked human alpha named Thor. His movements slow and gentle, Thor kneels before Steve and pledges to be his mate, body and soul. As the weeks pass, Steve gets used to his new living situation and slowly starts to fall in love with this strange alpha, feeling warmer and more protected and loved then he can ever remember.

Okay, I love this concept, I'm weak for turning this "dragon capturing a maiden" trope on its head like this. Also, this sounds like my kind of monster fucking fic and I kinda want to write it. I kinda hate and love you for putting this idea in my head because I love it so much!

Once upon a time, Steve was wandering in the mountains. A dangerous pastime for a young boy, but his mother was the town's apothecary, and that meant Steve had to learn where to find medicinal herbs, roots, and berries. It's not exactly the most glamorous job in the world, but he enjoys it.

One day, he was looking for herbs to stock up for the winter. Every year was the same, of course. People got sick in the winter and his mother would make them medicines. There were rumors that she was a witch, but that didn't keep people from coming to her when they were sick.

On that particular day, Steve went further up the mountain than usual. He was older, nearly 12 years old. His mother said he could handle it, but to be careful. Strange things sometimes lived in the mountains and the forest that covered them. Steve heeded her words, even if he wasn't sure what exactly she was talking about. He had a bow and a quiver of arrows to protect himself and to hunt for food, should the opportunity arise. He was small and weak, but if he had the chance to shoot rabbits or fowl, he could take it.

He heard rustling in a bush and took out his bow. His pack was full, but if he could bring food home, that might be worth just as much as the herbs. When he emerged from the bush, though, what he found wasn't a rabbit or a bird, but a small, strange lizard fighting a fox. The lizard was striking; red and black swirling over its body. Steve had never seen one like it before.

Between them was the carcass of a pheasant that the lizard seemed to defending rather desperately. Without thinking, Steve drew his bow and shot an arrow into the fox's chest. The lizard squawked in shock, and growled at it caught Steve's gaze. Steve held up his hands as he approached to collect the body and his arrow. A fox wasn't good for meat, but the pelt could be used to make something warm or sold to the tanner in town so he could make use of it.

The lizard scented his hand and Steve tried his best to stay calm. It was said that an omega's scent could calm even wild animals. How much of that was true or old wives' tales, Steve had no idea, but it was worth a shot. The lizard calmed, picked up the pheasant in its jaws, and ran off faster than Steve could blink. Regardless, he bent down to pull the arrow out of the fox and put the carcass in an empty sack.

The fox made a warm hat that lasted many years. Steve never saw the lizard again, though. Two years after he found it, he went into his first heat. It was the talk of the town for more than a year afterwards. Many families made offers, especially the rich ones who thought that having a male omega would be a novel idea. Steve turned them all down. The last thing he needed was for some noble prick to take him from his work.

In time, rumors began circulating that he, too, was a witch. It didn't matter if Steve had never actually done anything more than heal the sick and turn down offers of marriage from wealthy families. It didn't even matter that his mother had, in fact, taught him actual magic in addition to his healing arts. He kept it secret and didn't practice anything where others might intrude.

Then, ten years after he met the strange lizard, his mother died. It wasn't unexpected. Her health had been failing her for years before it finally claimed her. Steve wept bitterly at the funeral. Many people turned out, but few offered comfort to Steve. His friends in the town were few, indeed, and none of them could fill the gaping hole her death left in his life.

Only months later, the dragon appeared.

The kingdom was in an uproar. Every effort to drive the beast away had been met with disaster. An army had been ravaged, fields burned, and towns pillaged. The entire town was in a state over the news. There was talk of preparing a sacrifice in the event that the dragon appeared in their region.

Steve scoffed at such talk. What kind of dragon would be placated with an omega virgin? Many of the men who made such suggestions were becoming eager to marry off their omega offspring in the hopes that someone else's child would be chosen to be offered. Steve didn't think it would really happen.

Until it did.

The powerful families of the town were increasingly anxious. Many of them were still offended that Steve had refused all offers of marriage. As the dragon entered their region, the rumors of his being a witch became louder. People stopped coming to his shop for remedies, they slammed doors in his face, some refused to do business with him. A few days after Steve consumed the last of his food, soldiers approached his door. The city council had agreed to offer him up to the dragon. Weak with hunger, Steve went willingly.

The next day he was taken out to the battlements. He was chained to the ground as the dragon approached. Steve gasped, his blood went cold at the sight. The dragon was huge! It was nearly as big as the fortress itself. The scales gleamed crimson red with black swirls, like a sunset with teeth that could set the entire town ablaze.

The head of the council shook violently as he read their declaration of offering Steve to the dragon. Steve took a deep breath and shook as the dragon sniffed him. Then, the dragon extended a huge, clawed paw and snapped the chains like they were nothing more than twigs. The dragon took Steve in its hand and flew away. Steve didn't even have the sense to scream as he watchd his town fade into the distance.

The dragon flew for what seemed like hours until it arrived in a part of the mountains Steve had never seen or heard of before. The mountains were tall and huge and covered with snow. Then, the dragon began to descend and walked into the mouth of an enormous cavern. It was decorated with lavish furs, torches, and rich furnishings. The dragon set Steve down on a pile of furs when it began to shine. A moment later, a large, very naked man stood before Steve. What's more, the man smelled very strongly of alpha. Steve had never scented one more potent. His blond hair went past his shoulders and his chest, arms, and legs were all covered in tattoos of the same red and black swirls as the dragon. Steve swallowed and backed away as the man approached.

"Well met, little one," the man---dragon--- said.

"Do I... know you?" Steve asked.

"Of course," the dragon said with a smile. "You saved me from the fox when I was a starving babe."

Steve's eyes went so wide he was surprised they didn't fall out. "That was you?!? How?"

"Dragons grow quickly when magic and food is plentiful," the dragon replied. He knelt in front of Steve. "I have been searching for you."

Steve blinked. "Why?"

"Your scent has remained with me night and day these past 15 years," the dragon said. "I have bided my time until I could return to you."

"But why me? And why did you cause so much destruction?" Steve asked.

"I did nothing that was not in self-defense," the dragon replied. "I attempted to reason with them, but they refused to listen. Knights preferred the prospect of becoming famous heroes than to help a dragon find the man he loves."

Steve blinked again. "The man you love?"

"Yes, little one," the dragon said. "I am Thor, the king of dragons, and I have searched these many months to find you. I will pledge my eternal love, service, and devotion to you, my sweet, if you will have me."

Steve reeled. He couldn't deny the attraction he felt for the still very large man, but no one had ever declared their love for him, at least, not in a way that he found convincing. Thor, though, seemed sincere.

"I didn't know the dragons had a king," Steve said. Thor smiled.

"We do, and I am he," Thor said. "I would have you be my queen, if you consent."

"And if I don't?" Steve asked.

"Then, with sorrow, I will return you to your home, or you may reside here to find another you deem worthy, or you may name the place and I will take you there and never return," Thor said. "You are free to do as you wish."

Steve considered this for a moment. His home had willingly turned him over, expecting him to be eaten. A dragon, and a king at that, had emerged as a suitor for his hand, who also happened to be the strange creature Steve had saved as a boy. It was a strange turn of events, to be sure.

He looked around the cavern. It was a surprisingly warm place for a home so high up in the mountains. The air smelled of jasmine and ginger, too, not like a den for a wild animal. Human kings and lords lived in less splendid conditions. Still, that wasn't a reason to accept such an offer.

"May I have time to consider?" Steve asked.

"Indeed you may," Thor said. "Take as much time as you require. I only have one thing to ask."

"Yes?" Steve asked.

"May I court you, in the way humans court a mate? I suspect that you would find the way dragons court a mate to be less appealing," Thor said. Steve smiled.

"I think I would like that," he said. Thor smiled, his teeth gleaming and sharp. The look made him appear wild, but also charming, in a way. He also looked excited, in a way that made Steve shiver with anticipation.

"Thank you, little one," Thor said. He bent to kiss Steve's hand, and despite the chaste gesture, Steve blushed furiously. Thor made a sound that was similar to purring, but deeper. The sound made Steve shiver again. "I promise you will enjoy your stay among us."

[autumnignited]

Top 9 of 2019

@crazyrandomhappenklance had the good idea to do a top 9 for writers the way that artists are doing. Since all of my writing was collaborative with @yuzuling, I decided to highlight times that I enjoyed their writing in particular. Sail always writes Lance and I always write Keith, so these are small moments where I either had Feelings of some kind for their Lance, or was just generally really proud of us and our teamwork. 

Several of these are from works we have yet to publish (and are already like 100k+ into) but they will be! Something to look forward to in 2020?? :D??

Seriously, though - before this year, I had forgotten how much writing meant to me, and it’s thanks to this fandom, but most importantly to Sail, that I got that back. And now they’re somewhere gagging because I’m a sap. Whatever, fucking choke on it. 

So, Sail’s Greatest Lance of 2019:

Oh no, Keith was hot. Keith was a hot ghost, Lance knew that now. That was knowledge he had, but no idea what to do with.

 "You look…"

 Hot. Sexy. Like a vampire I want to kiss. 

"Alive." 

Good one, Lance. 

The House with the Red Front Door by SailUnchartedWaters and AutumnIgnited

Lance shook his head. “It’s just.” He gestured to Keith’s....everything. Mostly his hair. “I thought you died in the 90’s, why do you have a mullet?”

Keith’s hand flew up to his hair indignantly and he scowled. “It’s not a mullet, asshole - I like it long and it just grows that way!” 

“Then I hate to break it to you, but it grows in a mullet. Rough afterlife facts, buddy.” 

The House with the Red Front Door by SailUnchartedWaters and AutumnIgnited

“Lance,” Keith whimpered. He had never sounded truly frightened before - not when he was caged, or magicless, or even locked in a root cellar with only the darkness, Lance, and his own vulnerability. 

“Don’t watch.” Lance pulled Keith toward him by the hand. Familiars all around them buried their heads or covered their eyes if they weren't already covering their ears. He wanted to run away. To take Keith far from here, back to their cottage, back to their simple life. “Look at me. Don’t look up there,” he commanded, but couldn’t tear his own eyes away.

The Sorcerer And His Dragon (tentative title) by SailUnchartedWaters and AutumnIgnited 

It wasn’t until Lance was well into retelling individual stories within the Annals of the Embrace that he realized Keith was only vaguely listening as he undid their bedrolls on top of their brand new and extremely depressing bedding. Clearly, his dragon was less interested in the wondrous happenings and miracles of the Nine than he was in the base, spooky stories meant to scare the young. He had devolved into giving occasional, disinterested grunts by the time he was stacking kindling in the remnants of the fireplace. 

“-and then the sea monster swallowed Maiess whole and all hearths were left unprotected. Thousands died that night. Including me.”

“Oh, really?” Keith asked blandly, reaching his hand into the burgeoning flames to rearrange a few logs. “Huh.”

“Yep. The whole world went dark and we all exploded. We don’t exist. It’s over. Poof.” Lance glared at the back of Keith’s head.

“Mmhmm.” Blowing on the kindling helped coax the embers into small licks of flame. “Go on.”

“You’re not listening.” Lance threw a pebble at Keith, hitting him square on the back of the head. “Salamander.”

Keith’s head snapped around. “Hey! I was, but this stuff’s boring! I liked it better when there was dismemberment.” He chucked a piece of ancient coal half-heartedly towards Lance.

The Sorcerer And His Dragon (tentative title) by SailUnchartedWaters and AutumnIgnited 

His Master was exactly where Keith had left him: staring holes into pondwater, looking as if he was rethinking every choice that had ever brought him to this point. Keith nudged him with a toe.

“Food,” he said. 

“Thanks.” Lance took a pie without looking and tore off a chunk. He threw it into the lake.

They both watched it bob at the surface. 

“I stopped a criminal,” Keith said conversationally around a mouthful of handpie. “He was stealing salt from the baker.”

“That’s nice. Why isn’t it biting?” Lance tore off another chunk and threw it. The filling oozed around his fingers. 

“Hey.” Keith snatched the pie back from him and sat down beside Lance, giving him a grumpy look. “If you’re just going to feed the pond monster, you’re not allowed to hold the pie. I’ll feed you myself if I have to.” 

“That’s it.” Lance undid the laces of his tunic and threw it off. “I’m going in, hold my pie.”

The Sorcerer And His Dragon (tentative title) by SailUnchartedWaters and AutumnIgnited 

Keith sighed, but nodded in reluctant agreement. “Fine. Permission to change forms, or are we still pretending to be incognito?” 

“I think subtlety has been thrown out with the carriage.”

“Good.” Bending forward, Keith roared as his back split and his human form rippled, giving way to a red-scaled beast three times the size of the bear. When he swiveled his gold eyes on the hooded attackers, more than one took a step back. 

“Yeah, that’s right,” he sassed at them. “I see your bear and raise you one I’m a fucking dragon.”

Okay, Lance could see that he wasn’t needed. That he was being stupidly stubborn to want to fight when his real skill was bending over a cauldron. But they’d taken on a water hag, a selkie, an unusually amorous manticore and a giant together. Well, okay, the giant didn’t turn out so well, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that they’d done it all together. Lance wasn’t going to stop now. 

He drew from Keith’s almost endless pool of magic and created a bubble of water around the bear’s face.

“Oh good,” Keith observed. “You take the bear. I’ve got the humans.” 

“Oh goodie. One whole rabid bear, all to myself. This isn’t going to be hard at all.”

The Sorcerer And His Dragon (tentative title) by SailUnchartedWaters and AutumnIgnited 

Once they were seated, Lance slung his arm around Keith's waist and dragged him to his side. "Did he hurt you?" he whispered, ducking his head so he wasn't looking at Keith. 

“No,” Keith whispered back, smoothing his pants. “But I’d like to hurt him. Thanks for the save.” He accepted the plate of fruits and cheeses passed down to him by a servant.

"Don't ever do that again." Emotions flooded and overflowed, twisting his heart and balling his fists. "I've never asked anything of you before. Give me this; never again." 

Keith’s eyebrows shot into his hairline. “Which part specifically?” 

"The part where I had to watch you gladly rub against other people-" Lance turned to face Keith. "-and watch them greedily rub against you." 

Keith gave a visible, full-bodied shiver, and goosebumps prickled along his gold-dusted skin. He picked up a plump orange berry and held it up to Lance’s lips, lashes falling to half mast as he pushed just a little, seeking entrance. “I was only ‘glad’ to rub against one of those people.” His tongue snuck out to wet his own lips. “Lance.” 

The Sorcerer And His Dragon (tentative title) by SailUnchartedWaters and AutumnIgnited 

"Love? Seal? I--" Lance clamped his mouth shut. It didn't matter if his magic came from rocks, nothing mattered if he didn't hurry. Lifting his chin, he squared his shoulders. "I will do whatever you want. Use me, if I'm so powerful, to destroy your enemies. I don't care." He folded, bowing low. "My life is yours if you let me save his." 

Allura’s face softened. She hovered a hand over him, uncertain, before finally placing it on his hair. “I was never going to stop you from leaving. I just thought you needed to know. Your magic may be unpredictable from now on.” 

She switched her grip to tug at his chin and urge him to standing. “I won’t let him die. Be swift.” 

[...]

“We can stay no more than three days. We will carry him with us, but longer than three days and you will need to track us.” 

"I won't be late." He bowed and kissed her knuckles. "Take care of him. He's all I have." 

“You have my word.” She nodded. “Go.” 

The Sorcerer And His Dragon (tentative title) by SailUnchartedWaters and AutumnIgnited 

Lance swallowed. “Uh, Keith? Where did you find my jacket?”

“In a small room. In the long room.” 

“Did you also happen to find any underwear?” Lance wasn’t sure which answer he wanted to hear. Either Keith was completely naked under that jacket or he was wearing a pair of Lance’s underwear. He should’ve escaped when he had the chance.

“I do not know that word,” Keith said blithely, pressing closer to take in Lance’s body heat. 

Okay, different question. “Are you wearing anything else besides my jacket?” 

Keith nodded. “Legs.” 

“Give me strength,” Lance murmured to no one in particular.

At Water’s Edge by SailUnchartedWaters and AutumnIgnited 

“Keith, no!” It was already too late. Keith was sitting up to his waist in dirty fountain water. 

Black iridescent scales were already popping up across Keith’s legs as he looked at Lance from his contented place sitting on the bottom of the fountain. “Legs are itchy,” he explained. 

“No, no, no, no.” Lance grabbed at Keith but he wiggled away. “Get out of there. You can’t do that. What if someone sees you?” He leaned over as far as he could and swiped for anything to grab hold of. Even in shallow water, Keith was fast. There was no way he’d get to him without getting dirty.

With a few choice cuss words, Lance kicked off his shoes and rolled up his pants to trot in after Keith. “Get back here right now and put your legs back on.” He splashed in the fountain, his pants soaking up to his thighs.

At Water’s Edge by SailUnchartedWaters and AutumnIgnited 

[kamen-rider-zed]

Artiste et Muse Ch1

AO3

OHMIGOD IT FEELS GOOD TO BE BACK

This is the first time in almost a year that I’ve felt the inspiration to write. I want to thank everyone who has commented and kudo’d my work in my absence. I still read every comment and appreciate every kudo, but now I’m back, and it’s my OTP no less!

I might not get this finished by the end of the week because depression but I will finish it.

Definitely.

Without a doubt.

Just ignore the massive amount of WIPs in my backlog.

(#)

Chloe squeezed her eyes shut against the morning light streaming through the curtains and rolled over, curling up tighter beneath the soft sheets. She hadn’t felt this relaxed in ages, not since she learned the true price of having her Miraculous full time: Hawkmoth was nocturnal. Midnight Akumas constantly robbed her of her beauty sleep, but here and now? She felt comfortable and at ease. Her hands stretched out and she felt…something. It was warm, whatever it was, so she shifted closer to it and wrapped an arm around it. The warmth groaned and shifted, but she held on that much tighter.

In her half awake state, she barely registered the grunt from beneath her, but she quite clearly heard an unfamiliar voice say, “…the hell?”

She blinked herself out of her slumber and it took two seconds to realize she wasn’t in her own bed. It took only one second more to realize that, whoever’s bed she was in, she wasn’t alone. She lifted her gaze to a man, an older man, who she didn’t recognize. His long red hair and turquoise eyes seemed familiar but the only things she registered were that she didn’t know who he was and he was in the bed with her.

She screamed and shoved away from him, sliding across the sheets and off the bed opposite him. She stood, ready to demand some damn answers, but when the man’s gaze landed on her, his face turned as red as his hair, and he turned his head away with a hand over his eyes. Chloe opened her mouth to ask what his problem was, but a draft dropped her attention away from him and down to her bare body.

The man protested when she snatched the sheets off the bed and hastily wrapped them around herself. She may have, in the process of yanking the covers away from him, caught an eyeful of something that turned her own face red, but he was thankfully quick to cover up with a pillow.

“Okay, Red. You have ten seconds to explain why the hell you’re in my bed and why we’re…naked.”

“I…I have no idea how we got here, but, um…” His eyes dropped towards Chloe’s chest.

“Hey, hey!” She snapped her fingers at him and pointed at her face. “Eyes are up here, pervo!”

“I’m not looking…” He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. After easing it between his lips, he said, “I think I know why we were in bed together. Look at your left hand.”

Chloe had the sheets clutched to her chest with her left hand. Okay, so he wasn’t looking at her breasts. She shifted her grip on the sheets and looked at her left hand. Her eyes immediately fell on the magnificent ring on her fourth finger: a diamond flanked by a trio of citrine, ruby, and sapphire on either side, and set on a black band with a single gold stripe circling the entire ring. Next to it sat a plain gold band, and when she lifted her eyes back to the man, he had his left hand held up, displaying the gold band on his own finger.

“No, no no no no way in hell!” Chloe looked form the man, back to her hand, then back to him. “We’re…married?”

“Seems like it.”

“Uh uh, no way. A, if I’m marrying anyone, it’s going to be Adrien Agreste, not whoever the hell you are, and B, last I checked I’m only 15, a little too young to be married.”

“You don’t look 15.”

“I don’t recall asking for your opinion.” Though he did have a point. Her body felt different, taller and curvier than she normally was. She shook her head and grumbled, “This has to be the work of that Akuma I was just fighting.” She glanced down around her feet and, thankfully, found some clothes. Black panties and a yellow tank top, but it was better than walking around with a sheet wrapped around her. She sat on the bed with her back to the man and dropped the sheet to get dressed.

“Wait, fighting an Akuma?” Chloe heard some shifting behind her, so she assumed he was searching for some clothes himself.

“Yeah, you don’t recognize Queen Bee?” She pulled the tank top over heard head and pulled her loose hair from the collar. “One of Paris’ great superheroes?”

The sounds of movement stopped. “Wha…Ch-Chloe?!”

“Uh, yeah, who did you think I was?” She stood, working the panties up her legs. With them in place, she turned to address this stranger but stopped when Pollen and a blue kwami she didn’t recognize phased through the door.

“Good morning, my Queen, my King,” Pollen greeted with a small bow.

“May I have some berries please?” the blue kwami asked, rubbing its tummy. “I’m hungry.”

“Duusu!” The man, now clad in dark blue boxer briefs, lunged at the kwami and clamped his hands down around it, but when he turned his gaze back to Chloe, he knew the damage had been done.

“Duusu…” Chloe’s eyes widened. She knew that kwami’s name, just as she now knew who the man was. She scolded herself for not realizing it sooner; she would have recognized that red hair anywhere.

“Paon.”

Neither of them moved or took their eyes off of each other for ten full seconds. Chloe chanced a glance to his bedside table and spotted what she knew was his Miraculous. His eyes darted to her table and back, and she knew her own Miraculous sat there. They waited. Waited for the other to make the first move, with Pollen hovering between them and appearing more and more perplexed as the moment drew out.

There. The faintest twitch of his hand. Chloe’s own hand shot out, wrapped around the comb and she leapt over the bed just as she slipped the teeth into her hair and called for her transformation. The man ducked to the side and just as the golden sparks passed by Chloe’s eyes, he snatched up a pillow and threw it into her face, buying just enough time to affix his Miraculous to the waist of his boxers and call for Duusu to transform him.

He lunged, catching Queen Bee around the middle and crashing through the bedroom door and into a modest, sparsely decorated lounge area that all but proved they weren’t somewhere Chloe Bourgeois would call home. Queen Bee rolled backwards, drove her feet into Paon’s stomach throwing him behind her, then sprang to her feet to face him. He fell through a glass coffee table, but spun on his back just right so the tail of his coat swept a shower of glass shards upwards into his opponent’s face

Queen Bee lifted one hand to her eyes to block the glass, and with the other drew her trompo from her waist and spun it to deflect a barrage of feather darts. She flung out the top, but Paon sidestepped and, completely focused on Queen Bee, failed to notice it ricochet off of the refrigerator and slam into his back. Queen Bee whipped the trompo cord around him, catching the top on the end and using the momentum to wrap the line around him even tighter. She kicked him in the chest hard enough to knock him to the ground, leapt on top of him with her legs on either side of him, then caught her trompo.

The word to activate her power had just formed on her tongue when the handle to the front door jiggled, drawing her attention, and Paon’s. The door swung open and in strode a dark skinned woman with rust-colored hair in an undercut and a broad smile beneath her glasses. “Good morning Kurtzbergs! Put your pants on because I have a surpri-OH GODDAMMIT!” When she laid eyes on them, Queen Bee with Paon tied up beneath her, her face went from smile to disgust, to mild disappointment all in the span of two seconds. She spun back outside, swearing the entire way.

Queen Bee’s blood ran cold and she dropped her shocked gaze to the man tied up beneath her. “Kurtzberg? As in…Nathanael Kurtzberg?” Paon grimaced and turned his head away.

“What happened, Alya?” another woman asked just outside the door.

“I walked in on Chloe on top of Nath. They’re transformed and he’s tied up and-”

“Well, maybe this will teach you to knock from now on.” In walked another woman, this one with a dark pixie cut and bright blue eyes. “Okay you two. You’ve had all week to fuck each other’s brains out, now detransform and…Jesus, you broke the coffee table?” She groaned and slapped her hand over her eyes. “Do you have any idea how much Adrien spent on that?”

“Okay,” Queen Bee barked. “Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my house?”

The dark haired woman peeked out from under her hand. “Wait, what?”

“Hey, it could be my house,” Paon grunted indignantly.

“Shut it tomato brain. As if you could afford your own place drawing sub par Ladybug comics.”

Alya walked inside, seeming just as confused as her companion. “Tomato brain? You haven’t called him that in…like, ten years. Are you two having some kind of lover’s spat?”

Queen Bee rolled her eyes. “There’s no way I’m in love with, or married to, this absolute loser. This has to be the work of that Akuma his boss sicced on us.” She blinked at Alya. “And what the hell did you do to your hair?”

Alya lifted a hand to her undercut. “I…got this done, like…a couple months ago…”

“Tomato…Akuma…doesn’t recognize…” The dark haired woman narrowed her eyes at Queen Bee. “Chloe, what year is it?”

“2019, though I don’t exactly look 15 anymore, so I-”

She ignored whatever else Queen Bee had to say and dropped her eyes to Paon. “And Nath? Do you agree it’s 2019?”

Paon tilted his head to look at the woman, though she was upside down from his perspective. “Um, yeah, but how do you know who I am?”

She swore and turned to Alya. “Could you call Adrien and Nino please?”

“Team meeting?”

The woman nodded. “Team meeting.” Alya walked back outside, fishing her phone from her pcoket, and the dark haired woman crouched down. “Okay, this is gonna be a little shocking, but it’s 2029 and you two, at least the two of you from this timeline, got married last week. I know your identity-” she pointed to Paon “-because we’re not enemies anymore. We’re actually close friends. A little more than ten years ago, you betrayed Hawkmoth and helped us defeat him.”

“Us?” Queen Bee said. She looked the woman over. Dark hair, blue eyes, earrings… “Wait, Ladybug?”

The woman smiled. “Yeah, I’m Ladybug, and Chloe, I want you to promise me you won’t freak out too much when I tell you my name, oka-”

“Hey, Mari,” Alya walked back in and stuffed her phone back into her pocket. “The boys said they’ll be here in about-”

“Mari?” Paon turned his head to get a better look at the woman. “Marinette?”

“Marinette?” Queen Bee stopped breathing. “Dupain-Cheng?…Ladybu…wha…” Her breathing started back up, but far faster and shallower than it should have been.

Marinette slapped her hand over her eyes again and sighed. “Oh, goddammit.”

[the-angerina]

The Bureaucratic Spirit of the Season: 01 - Mistletoe

Prompts for the advent calendar can be found here on @drawlight‘s tumblr.

In the South Downs, there stood the traitors cottage decorated in Christmas lights. Glowing icicles ere hanging off the gutter, LED parcels with big bows stood on the lawn, arrangements of pine branches and dried flowers were set up left and right of the door.

Straight across the street stood another cottage, far more modest, except for the wreath hanging from the door with an upturned pentagram in its middle and small black and purple ornaments among the fir-needles. Inside this cottage, there stood a demon prince. Beelzebub had planned to decorate the little earthly house she shared with the archangel Gabriel for what had initially been purely traitor-observation-purposes with as many pagan knickknacks as possible.

One of which was a mistletoe.

Problem was, she couldn't reach the ancient-looking hook at the top of the door frame to hang it by a demeaning centimetre. The first idea to fix this issue was to get a ladder, but she had no idea where - and if - there was one in this cottage. Her second idea was to just miracle the bunch of greenery and berries up there. There was a third option, which she chose, based on mischief.

She hooked the mistletoe into the lower front of her oversized black cable knit jumper. Barefoot she walked back to Gabriel's office space that took up half of what most humans would prefer to use as a living room.

"Hey, angel," she purred, eyes lascivious, "give me a kiss." Beelzebub leaned against the doorframe, putting on a little show, one hand propped on a hip, the other pointing at the bundle on her front with a flourish. She was sure it looked perfectly cringeworthy.

Gabriel glanced up from his papers and snorted, clearly amused. "Really? What are you even wearing."

"It's comfortable." She tugged on the collar that had slipped down to her shoulder.

The archangel gave her a once over, toenails painted black, naked feet and legs, up to the dark jumper that swallowed her hands, settling on her blue eyes under dishevelled black bangs. If that haircut was supposed to have bangs, not even God knew. "You're not wearing anything underneath, are you."

She grinned in return and raised her chin. "Scandalized?"

"I'm not even surprised, honestly." He capped his pen and neatly tucked it away before waving his hand to beckon her closer. "Come here, you'll get your kiss."

Beelzebub padded up to him and leaned down for a chaste peck. She didn't get one. Instead, she had to squeal when he took her by her hips and lifted her into his desk to sit right in front of him.

"Humans kiss under the mistletoe, do they not?" Gabriel asked, feigning ignorance.

"Yeah." Shit! She meant to have a little fun, ruffle his celestial feathers, but she had the feeling it was just about to backfire at her.

"What were you planning, demon?" The archangel playfully poked at the plant on her front.

"A little temptation, nothing more."

He looked up at her, one brow cocked as he contemplated what she was up to. Certainly, he wouldn't go for--

"Oh, blessed Heavens!" Beelzebub gasped as the angel quickly pulled her jumper up to bury his head between her thighs. He started deftly lapping at her without any preamble. "Since when are angels so easily tempted to lust?"

"This is not a temptation, I'm just following tradition here." His hands smoothed over her thighs, deliberately pushing them further apart.

"You're supposed to kiss me on the lips!" Beelzebub shoved her hands into his hair, holding on as his tongue did a marvellous little flick.

"But I am doing that, see?" To prove his point, he placed an almost innocent kiss on her labia before licking between them with fervour to tease at her clit. "The rest is semantics."

"You smug-- oh, fuck!"

Later, Gabriel, quite satisfied with having thwarted the demon's wiles with divine logic, hung the mistletoe on the ceiling lamp, right between their contrasting desks. Also to be found on my AO3.

[warmbeebosoftbeebo]

All I Want for Christmas is You

There's a knock at the door as you get the fire going. "Come in!" you shout, figuring it's Brendon.

"Oh ho ho, little girl," Brendon calls out like the dork he is. You turn around, breath catching as he takes off his jacket: he has no shirt on, just suspenders, Santa pants, boots, and hat. He flings a sack over his shoulder. "You've been on my so-naughty-you're-good list this year, haven't you?"

"Oh, Santa," you say dramatically, placing your hand over your heart. "I tried sooo hard to be good, but your little elf, Brendon? He's been trying for months to seduce me." You pout, then grin. "And, well, he didn't have to try that hard; turns out, I am a very naughty girl."

"Well, good thing Santa is really a bunch of different elves..." he grins.

You smile too, jumping up onto him, and he has to drop the sack to catch you as you wrap your limbs around him, hands on your ass and thighs. You kiss him, one arm sliding between you to tweak his nipple. "Are you my present then, B?"

He chuckles. "Yes, this little elf is a present, but I still brought you others. Remember that list you made, y/n?"

You nuzzle into his neck. "Course I do, but there's so many things on it, I know you didn't get me all of them. And you wanted some things to be a surprise." You had seven of one kind of item in particular based on looking online with him that you are eager to get to.

It's the 22nd, but considering the time you're able to have alone together without respective families, you two decided that tonight and the 27th would be your nights together. He wanted to wait until after Christmas to get his gifts. For sure, most of your presents are for him too, including the naughty ones, but still... You can't help but think of some of the ones you picked out for him based on his choices, how he awkwardly and nervously, almost embarrassed, told you he wanted to try them, that you were so good with your fingers you made him want more.

Fuck, you kissed him so much, touched him, thanked him for telling you, told him he was so fucking hot... and reminded him just how good you were with your hands as he looked toys up on his laptop until he let the pleasure overtake him. Teasingly asked "Wonder if that'll feel like...this?", made him buck into your slick grip, rock down on your curled gloved fingers carefully massaging, pressing, stroking or shaking light and fast, like a weak vibe, over that spot inside him.

"Maybe we should start with the G-rated gifts? Well, the ones that seem G-rated, anyway." You get off him, letting him reach for the sack as you move back to the fireplace, grabbing pillows off the couch for you both to sit on. He hands things to you with the sweetest excited little boy look on his face. As you unwrap and take things out of gift bags, you discover food like berries, whipped cream, and butterscotch liqueur sauce. Only seemingly G-rated is right; as if you two don't know what they'll be used for. Next up, scented candles: peach, vanilla and mint. The books Mysteries of Pittsburgh and A Home at the End of the World; you'd been wanting to check them out since you saw the movies. The latest seasons of Supernatural--you'd fallen behind on two of your other favourite boys--and Orange is the New Black. And Tori Amos's latest cd. Brendon took second place to her as she was an utter musical and lyrical god, and your poor baby knew it, joked about you leaving him for her to your "Sadly, she's not nearly as into pussy as you are." You wouldn't turn her down if it were possible, but come on: no one could get you turning him down.

"Entering PG-13 territory, I think..." Brendon winks, beaming, handing you another.

You grin as he bites his lip and it just makes him look sexier and cuter. You can't stop gazing at him as you're opening the box, and don't look down until he does. "We're gonna have so much fun with these, Brendon." Chocolate almond, watermelon, strawberry, pineapple-mango. You kiss him, resting your hands on his thighs, gently massaging them, sighing. "Gonna get each other all messy and tasty with these?" You lick his bottom lip, then suck on it, and he moans, hands going to your hips, pulling you closer. "As if the flavoured massage oils and lubes were the only thing you got for us to suck and lick off each other. I know what that food is for."

He flushes. "Can't decide if that makes you my good boy or my naughty one. And you say *I* am on the so-naughty list," you tease.

He kisses you, slipping his tongue in this time, and you eagerly answer, breath heavier. "Being naughty is good, B..." you murmur against those luscious lips of his, climbing astride him, and you can feel him getting harder--"naughty little elf"--after your pelvis instinctively presses to his.

You find his hair, stroking, tugging gently and he groans. You love when he's noisy, your moany whimpery gaspy babe... Shameless about being as noisy as you. You lightly scratch the nape of his neck as your other hand throws the Santa hat to the side, and cards back through his hair. You stop, finding a-- "Bow?"

"Told you I was your present too." He waggles his eyebrows, chuckling at his gooberdom.

"What a present, B, looking all pretty 'n sexy in your suspenders..." You trail your hand down his gorgeous, slim chest, stroking his soft lower belly, gathering a bit of flesh from slowing down to smoke up, relax in his Christmas sweaters, eat as much as he wants to as he should, those little strips of hair you adore. You find a nice rhythm as you grind on him seriously. "Gonna be one of my toys tonight, ain't you?"

His hands trail down your back, tenderly squeeze your ass. He nods, kissing you again, pulling away to giggle, "Too bad I don't vibrate."

"No hon, I'd rather have you in human form. Boy toy, heavy emphasis on the boy. Very human form." You wrap one arm around his back, other hand burrowing under to grab his ass, smooching him, over and over before pulling away, both of you getting drunk on it. Your gaze flickers down, remembering how they feel all over you. "Especially with your mouth, B...fuck."

He licks his lips, the fucker, and gets this...dirty look on his face. You can feel his dick jerk against you subtly as he rubs back against you, hands running up your back, to your hair, carefully pulling to expose your neck to a pair of the softest fucking lips in the world. Softest skin too... Fuck, you want both of you naked, want to rub all over him, pressed together, tongues playing, hands roaming, getting achier as you think about it, feel his mouth suck softly. “Baby boy...” you moan-sigh, both of you rocking together, needy but easy. Easy as in slow and easy as in shameless hussies. Cradle his neck, stroking and lightly scratching, sending shivers through him. He revels in pleasure, touch, everything.

His hands slide under your shirt, cupping your breasts, but you don't feel self-conscious about the fact they only fill half his hand, not even full Bs, that you don't wear a bra unless running because you don't need the support. Your nipples, clit and whole pussy are too busy getting swollen and desperate for touches and kisses and sucks to care. His tongue circling over you...god wouldn't it be crazy if he could lick and suck more than one spot...somehow had two mouths...hands working over what his two mouths couldn't. One mouth on clit, other sucking one nipple, then the other, your neck... You're gasping and panting into his mouth, tongues barely touching, teasing... Press to him more, grind faster, needing, aching for him. Grab his head and kiss him firmer, knocking off the bow, and god his hair. Close, close...

“Bet you can, huh?” You nod, not realizing for a few seconds what he's referring to, but betting the answer to his question is yes.

You roll off him, bringing him with, parting to undo your pants, kick them and your underwear off. He makes quick work of your shirt. “That's my sweet girl,” he moans, nipple in his mouth, hand going between your thighs, brushing over your bush, finding you damp there, then slick and hot between your labia. Rubbing all over, telling you to rock on his hand, palm pressing and lifting against your clit and lips.

“Fuck, wanted to wait longer, but...” He's shifting down, spreading your thighs, tilting you, opening your heat up. He kisses your thighs briefly, nuzzles his nose through your hair, your wet. His tongue flicks out, tasting. Moaning, vibrating your pussy sweetly. “Could fucking live here, y/n...” he murmurs, gazing up at you, lips grazing, tongue rubbing over your labia, your clit. "Would live n die happy..." He's sucking, tongue circling over as much as he can get. Seriously. Shit, his moans...straight to your pussy in more than one way. Your hand in his hair...fouffy and silken, and you haphazardly stroke, sometimes pressing fingertips to his scalp.

Oh, fuck...his mouth. His mouth. “Fuck, B, suck it, please, baby...” He obliges...his mouth was made for this, you think, looking at him heavy lidded as he looks...eager and blissed out. Your eyes flutter shut, hands pressing on his head, rocking subtle but fast into his mouth. His hands slide over your thighs, cup your ass to get more of your cunt, chin pressing over what his lips and tongue aren't, sucking and slurping, focused on your clit, but sometimes opening up to gather more. “Circles, please...faster...oh...fuck, Brendon, ohgodohgodohgod, please...IneedfuckB...fuckmeplease...” You're coming, gasping, contractions gripping you, even more heat washing over you, blood pounding through you from your head to your cunt, legs trembling, tensing, belly heaving... He's kissing up your tummy, hand stroking over your still throbbing, aroused snatch, skips to your lips. You lick over his plush lips and tongue, his wet chin too, between kisses. “Mmmm...”

“Didn't tucker you out already?” he asks gently, knowing he didn't.

“Mmm...naw...” You stroke over his back, his ass. “Not my fault I got no blood in my brain... Lie down with me...” You keep kissing him though, stroking his hips, his dick and balls through the pants, realizing he must have satin panties on underneath, until he's panting and swearing into your mouth. You bet he's dampening those panties too.

If you weren't set on teasing him, you'd strip him, stroke over his bare skin, pubes, his silky pink eager dick and balls, kiss over his hips, suck and tongue and jack. Pussy and mouth both getting wetter at what you're doing, what you want to do... You love touching him, making him feel good, regardless of how long he lasts, how hard he is or isn't, whether he can still take stimulation on his dick because he loves being touched, loved, rubbed on, kissed, sucked. Loves fucking every which way, always making love... Fuck, everything was. “Think I should be a tease?” You love being his tease, but...fuck. You can totally go down on him, stroke him bare, and tease him.

“Still wanna lie down?” You nod, and he strokes your thighs, belly, breasts as you shift, cradles your head as you flop down.

You make grabby hands. “Want you on top of me.” You don't say the naked, but he knows you well, and the one worded question is greeted by your “Gimme my naked elf boy” as you tug his pants to his thighs, both giggling, and he gets everything off.

He puts the hat back on, and you're still giggling when you wrap your limbs around him. “My very own Brendon in a Santa hat...”

Rubbing your skin over his, everywhere you can, welcoming his weight, heat, firmness, softness... You use that moisturizer Jeremy got him into sometimes, but he does often...his skin is soft naturally, and it makes it baby soft...the softest skin you've felt on anyone. Your sweet soft baby.

Smooching over each other's faces, wriggling and touching, massaging casually. His hands in your hair, stroking...his dick rocking over your lips, clit, arousal spreading and building through you both. Silky and hard and wet from the both of you. Fuck, his dick. The moans he makes when his frenulum carefully presses your clit, both of you getting electric jolts that manage to soothe based on the pleasure on his face, his movements, noises...Fuck his dick like you are now. You think you started that, think you were moving against him everywhere including there since he covered you.

Your hands settle on his ass, small of his back, rub and squeeze over him, gently feeling those dimples, watching the pleasure on his face. He's always been on the curvy side for a boy with his frame, even having those dimples that mostly women have. Cup those round cheeks, fingers brushing between them, his gasping, fluttering lashes, rocking a bit faster, letting you know how pleasurable that simple touch is. “Applebottom,” you sigh, feeling his butt move with his movements over you, not realizing you said it aloud until he giggles.

“I got it from my mama, what can I say?” He kisses over your neck. “Should we stay like this, or move...lay out some sheets, get the oils?”

You think of him oiling you up, hands stroking until you're melting, relaxed but throbbing and so wet it's on your outer lips, hair, thighs and ass and the sheets...and his hands. “Fuck, the oils,” you sigh, reluctantly letting him go.

He wiggles his booty as he turns and you give him a swat, a stroke. “Think I'll ride that ass later...” You roll onto your side, open hand stroking over your mound and outer labia, missing his dick, his hips spreading your thighs, his warm skin, thinking.

Both of you covered in flavoured oil, him laying on you, rubbing...skin on skin, dick to cunt, his thigh between yours for you to grind on, his dick between your thighs, between your asscheeks. He lays down a couple matts, the plastic sheets. He's so beautiful: all that sensitive skin, the muscles shifting in his back, arms, legs, on his hands and knees, not realizing how it looks at first but it hits him with giggles. He turns his head and winks, pops his booty out, spreads, sways his hips, balls and asshole in view too. So comfortable naked generally, but eagerly adding in that vulnerability with you. Fuck, you can't help thinking of lapping over those delicate dangling balls, his perineum, that tender puckered skin, stroking and kissing his cheeks too, as he gasps and moans, your hands soothing his trembling thighs, head landing on a pillow to expose more to your mouth and hands.

He was often a tease with his past lovers with his ass and everything else, even tempting men with it, usually never letting more than a finger inside if anything, rarely two if slim, gentle and skilled, maybe a cautious insistent tongue if they got him to let go. Wanting, trusting a couple to rub between his cheeks without pushing inside, more inclined to letting them hump against his bum, or between his thighs, or dick to dick while they grabbed and rubbed it. One telling him how slow he'd be, how good he could make it for him. Brendon balking at something that big. Part of him wanting to try the other way sometimes but not wanting to ask for what he couldn't give, even if they offered. Besides, if just two fingers often hurt him, it probably wouldn't be easy for others... and with women, they didn't even have a prostate as incentive and pay off. You're glad other guys were safe enough to do that with for him, happy that no one pushed inside anyway.

You wish you got to see your gorgeous boy with someone else like he is with you, like he fucks with you, all that easy freedom, whether it included entry or not. You've had threesomes before, but he's not as free with men especially as with you, even now. He was and is even freer with women, calling women grinding on his ass riding the Bden Caboose even in his late teens (bless those two girl friends of his who invited him into their sex), eagerly rolling over for their pressing mounds, open pussies, stroking hands, probing fingers, tilting into it. Spanks, massages, grabs, nibbles, kisses, grinds, humps... Offering to touch, lick, finger open, massage, hump, everything to men and women back, but sometimes that was misread. (He still remembered what Audrey thought of his awkward, gooberish words, shy but excited touches, but he couldn't blame her considering what other guys who brought it up were after.) With you though, he's a... fucking nymph... God, you bet he hasn't done that, opening exposed and everything, lube nearby to remind him what could happen, and you know you're the first he’s wanted toys inside with... How does he even make you want to put your tongue there, lapping, massaging, circling...lost in him, too lusty and needy to worry about using a barrier? (Knowing you really should use one.) But, fuck, you do.

You've been rubbing your clit and upper lips for a while now, achy and full and wetter. Pressing him down on his belly and humping his butt silly as he thrusts slickly over a plastic covered or satin pillow. Maybe humping him on his hands and knees first or instead, grabbing his hips, petting his thighs and belly, gently squeezing his balls, rubbing his scrotum, stroking over his cock in counterpoint to your thrusts. Fuck, you're coming. Coming as he watches, panting, biting his lip, stroking slowly over his own cock. Rolling and sliding over each other, rubbing on each others backs, asses, breasts, bellies and fucking everywhere. Sucking each other, one on their back as the other is between their legs, and both at a time, maybe taking turns on top, on your sides. You both getting lost in the connection of mouths to genitals, that constant erotic current flowing into, through, and out of you back into him. Fingers sliding inside each other, gently spreading, rocking, searching. Him holding one of those new vibes, slipping, rocking, circling it over and in you as you command, moving into it, him kissing and rubbing on you. Feeding him your cunt as you straddle his face. Oh, fuck, another. This one grips hard, almost hurts, but you can't stop. Him straddling your breasts, feeding you his cock, his or your hand wrapped around what your mouth can't comfortably take. Fuck, you want him so much, need him...

"B... need you..."

You'll never get too much of him. You want to fuck for hours, love knowing he does too. Thinking of the fact that you get two, three, even four or more hour sessions with him as you glide over your clit and he kisses you, both moaning and panting, stroking your hair, calling you his bestest girl, the sexiest, one hand caressing over your thigh, hip, sucking your neck, hand slipping under you to stroke the small of your back, sets you off for the forth time that night. You stopped feeling guilty about your craving with him a while ago. One, no two, of the most sensuous, sexual, needy creatures on the planet. The most uninhibited, open either of you has ever been with someone, and that was saying a lot for both of you. You both had had great lovers of both sexes, great sex. But this was...fuck, it was something wondrous, often new, needing skin, mouths, genitals, drenched in want, need, love. Having him let you realize the rest of those subtle and not so subtle ways you were inhibited with men, that sex with a man could be as varied, open, boundless, ungoverned yet safe, as anything and everything as sex with women...

“Fuck, B... god... maybe I should put those panties on to keep things slowed down for a bit...” Your clit is oversensitive, hurting too much, but give you ten, even five minutes...

“Need a break, huh? I've got a matching pair for ya. You can tell me to take em off, or do it yourself when you want my hands there too. I'll put mine on too...” Goddamn, his ass, his cock and sac, hips, v-lines, in those panties... He slides another red pair up your legs and you lift, loving that he cops a careful feel after you smile your agreement of your mound and outer lips down to your ass first, pats your ass when they're on.

“Bet you can feel how wet I am through them already, B...” You brush your hand over them, then guide his. You look up at him, blissed out, sitting up, stroking over his hips, thighs bracketing his legs, delighting in that touch too, wriggling up and down them. “Peekaboo,” you sing, pulling his panties down, shifting his dick so the tip pops out, giving a few extra strokes, feeling his pulse, loving how warm he feels. He gazes back, eyes sparkling, grin filling those cheeks out even more. “Look at that... wanna smooch.” So you do, soft, then stroke your lips over it, tongue following over that hard but smooshy tip. Fuck, you'll suck him a little, you think. His hands stroke through your hair and you can't help grinding lightly against the couch, getting him wet with your sucking mouth, tongue, until he spurts precum, and you lick it up, take the second spurt. Rub your hand over his length and scrotum through the panties.

A gorgeous, pettable, smoochable, suckable... cock and balls on a lovely, gorgeous, pettable, and everything else boy. Because they're his and actually pretty and cute as far as male genitals go, absolutely silken—he totally uses the moisturizer there too, the minx—especially his dick. You pull his panties down more. God, such a good fit places: hand, mouth, between your labia and over your clit, tip to clit, the small of your back, between your asscheeks, thighs, inside your vagina. Him rocking in and/or you engulfing him, the rare times you crave and want him like that too, past begging for it into needing and truly being ready for it. Bless those girls who came before you and his own anxiety, his being eager to do what they wanted but wanting to make sure, both making him wait to make sure they meant it, him wanting to see what would happen if he didn't "get to it," that "fuck me" usually didn't actually mean what most men thought it meant, both at all and the way they thought of it. They also surprised that he...didn't, discovering they were glad he didn't rush into it, that it was a later part of things, or not even part of it. Beyond wet and swollen, feeling sloppy, almost fucked out after coming and coming, after his fingers, even a toy. So wet it's all over his dick, balls, pubes, thighs, pelvis, wherever else you've rubbed on, whether or not you cover him that way too. Him being smaller than average...fucking perfect.

“Fuck...this is your night, darlin...”

“Yes, it is,” you look up, kiss his belly, rub his back, ass, thighs, making squish noises. “My night with my good boy...my sweetest boy...” Every time with him was yours.

You still usually came several times even on “his” nights, still had him moaning around a mouthful of pussy, still had him eager for your hot juicy pussy all over him, touching, rubbing, kissing you how you liked it. His nights were sometimes him being needier, pleading, but docile. Beyond what he usually was, like he needed... lots and lots of caretaking, guidance and praise. At times even asking for, wanting you to hurt and dominate him, but you'd never be cruel to your baby, always tried to ease him out of that with loving words, gentle touch, kisses, showing him how good he made you feel, telling him that you would never humiliate or degrade your sweet soft boy. Even if you spanked him, pulled his hair with some oomph, slapped his cock, bit a little hard, got him on his knees, rode his face, told him not to come, rubbed on any part of him you pleased, gave commands but tenderly, letting him know he didn't have to, that you only wanted it if he wanted to, scratched or sucked hard enough to leave little marks for a bit... it would only be because he liked it, wanted it because it felt good, it was another way of loving him, of making him feel good... “Only if it feels good, Brendon, only if you know you're a good, lovely boy. Never want to hurt my wonderful boy...”

Other times, he'd let the assertiveness, confidence that you encouraged in him, take hold, or at least tried to feel it, both to differing degrees. Both concerned about it, wanting it to be real, not faked, but never wanting him to even seem dominant or any other negative aspect of masculinity. You were a lot more okay with getting into his enjoyment of... pain, sharp sensations, slaps, heat and cold, being bossed around then, when he was assertive back. Asked for it because he wanted it, liked it, knew he was worthy of things he enjoyed. The only other consistent differences were him being more active: moving a bit more into your mouth, hand, between your breasts, firmer over your pussy, guiding you with still considerate word and touch, asking often for a finger or two inside, desperate and assertive yet careful, chasing his pleasure.

He was usually so you-oriented, your pleasure and orgasms so arousing to him, him getting off was important and needed too, but quite down on the list, and these times it still wasn't first, but it was second. Often less teasing, playing with him before trying to get him off, unless he wanted edging. More of you seriously trying to make him come, seeing if you could encourage him into a second, a third, especially when mostly prostate stimulation. Keeping up with pleasuring him when he could barely move, lax but trembling, full of pleasure, moaning and whimpering, as long as you were on the right side of too much. Still playing with his thighs, hips, nipples, belly, lips, butt, when touching his penis or inside got to be too much.

It was usually both your sessions by design and how they developed. Switching back and forth. Lots of balance without switching. Just being yourselves. He definitely leaned towards what people would call submissive, often yielding and pliable solely in good ways, but also even what you thought was submissive, sometimes too much, both glad he could share that with you and worried for him about it, how people could take advantage. Knowing that was why he held back with men especially. He would often be able to slip back into his usual easy going, funny, eager to please puppy mode after he came the first time on his nights, or you were super smooshy with him. Your gentleness alone helped build him back up those “subby” times, or made him switch over those “toppy” ones. He could only be rather assertive, firm, if you were at least as much as he, and often wouldn't or couldn't even then. His “topiness” was fundamentally sideways.

You were glad of it, more and more, once you became lovers, exploring together, letting yourselves go. There were other guys like him, but they were all too rare, and the degree he was the way he was... it was a first for you. He had avoided, rejected, or gotten rid of what generally lurked within men to varying degrees due to his temperament, his bond with his mom, various ways he was gender nonconforming, the decisions he made in his life about how to treat people, him realizing he could compartmentalize people and how they are treated, being with you...

There were also lots of times when you rolled around, or lazed about, snuggling, making out, rubbing on each other, caressing, licking, kissing, anything and everything that sweetly pleasured, like gentle waves under a warm sun, neither of you getting around to coming. And other times just you once to three times (three times was a low number for you with your boy given the hours you tended to spend), rarely only him coming once, or both of you having those limited orgasms. Sometimes coming, sometimes not when your bits got wet, achy and swollen with need.

That's how you're petting him, kissing him, belly to dick to thighs, one hand often on his ass, between his cheeks, balls too, panties mid-thigh. Remembering and feeling that melty thick arousal, sometimes rubbing on the couch, as he’s half hard. It's been three days since you've been together, and he pants between groans that he hasn't come since as you lick the skin beyond his pubic hair.

You stroke his perineum, palm his balls, other hand focused on sliding the foreskin and tip wetly over each other. Kiss his pelvis, lips sucking and rubbing over his length, delighting in his flushed chest and stomach.

“Oh fuck...y/n...” You can feel him get firmer, pulse, contract, spurt. Not a big one considering the three days, a slow but surprising one. You catch the end with your mouth after it lands on his thighs, pubes, dick and your shoulder, hand, cheek, you bet your hair too... Your noisy shaky baby boy... “Jesus Christ. Jesus,” he pants, as you kiss him more, lick up and rub the saltiness, sweat and skin and semen mixed, into his skin.

“Babe, fuck...c'mere...” His hands shift from your hair to shoulders, and you stand up too as he sways, light headed, still shaking. He kisses you, lapping it from your mouth, moves to your shoulder, breast, getting as much as he can. You stroke over him, pulling his panties up, squeezing his ass, finding his thigh, rocking a bit.

You kiss over your lovely boy's face, cradle him in your arms, and he leans into it. His head moving to your shoulder, body slumped, both of you holding him up, as you kiss over his hair, stroking his back. “Wish I could carry my baby over... Or I can piggyback you.”

“We can do it, y/n,” he says with a thick Hawaiian accent, giggles, turning, still leaning, pulling you to him. “That's fucking teamwork!”

“I swear to fuck, if you keep singing Fuck Her Gently...” You kiss him.

“Oh, how 'bout...” He launches into diva level high notes with “All I want for Christmas is youuuu.”

“Fabulous, darling...” He can sing not just higher than you, but you swear he matches Mariah when he pushes himself. “Another reason people think we're a fag hag and her fag.” You grin as you say it, glad he embraces that fact, holding his hands to bring him too as you sit down on the mat. Noisy plastic sheet. “You pick the oil...” you sigh, spreading out comfortably, grabbing a pillow for your head, eyes closing. Mmmm, mango-pineapple.

When he first touches you, your heart picks up, cunt pulse too, remembering everything you thought earlier. How is he so sexy?

“Hopefully it's warm enough for my fag hag,” he jokes.

“Mmmhmm...Tickles...in a good way...” Wrigging your butt and thighs to provide some stimulation on your vulva. Kisses follow his hands. Your neck, shoulders, collarbone, breasts. Fingertips, then sucking mouth, on your nipples. Thinking about doing the same to him next time, how responsive he is, lapping his small hard nipples, teasing over him until he's shivering, gasping... Everything feels so nice... More oil for your stomach, hips, sides, pelvis, his thumbs stroking, palms pressing as he calls you his good girl, so sweet for him... You're just as sweet as he is, you want to say, but just gasp, buzzing all over, as he kisses over your tummy, hands still working your hips. Whole pussy throbbing, aching but melting, and you don't need to come soon.

He circles around your mound, the outline of your panties with his oiled hands, upper thighs, hips, and your legs, through your haze, spread. “'M so ready, honey.” And finally. “Thank god, B...” you sigh as he rubs more oil over your mound through the silk, outer lips, your slick mixing with it.

“That's my girl...” And he starts singing All I Want for Christmas is You again, from the start, soft enough to soothe more. Rocking his open palm all over your pussy... He's your boy.

You tummy growls. “Feed me?” you giggle. “But alas, food, not your cock.”

“I would never!” he says dramatically, and you open one eye to see him looking scandalized. He kisses your lips, still touching your pussy, other hand stroking over thighs, hip, belly as you watch, eyes closing when he leaves. Strawberries with whipped cream meet your lips. He kisses your neck, breasts, tummy as you chew, feeding you more. Blueberries and raspberries too. “Can I...?” he trails off, sliding your panties to the side, stroking between the lips. You “mmmhmmm,” eyes opening when you hear him suck on a strawberry; warming it up, you realize. He moves them to the side again, brushing the berry over your outer labia. You spread more, legs in a diamond shape, and he slips into your heat. Sliding up and down a few times before finding your clit, circling, back down, back up, circling for longer, back down.

“Sweet baby Jesus...”

“Know your sweet, darlin...” He moves it away, and your eyes open again when you hear him sucking on it. “If anything, you're sweeter than this. Wanna taste?” He dips back over you. You do, and you gaze in each other's eyes as you suck softly, nibble, getting the juices. Circling a raspberry over your clit slowly before bringing it to your mouth. You are sweeter than them. He trails down your body as he gets a blueberry, slides it inside. Another, resting between your lips. Berries and cream in a bowl for you to munch on, sliding a raspberry in your mouth for your tongue to press into. He gets between your thighs, pulling the fabric aside again, tongue rolling the one between your labia, up, back down, then eating it as he eats you. Other hand entwining with yours and his lashes flutter open, gazing up at you as he kisses over what he can get too.

You stop eating to play with his hair and he hums, moaning softly into it, lips vibrating yours. You wriggle a little. “Fuck... you can take them off,” you sigh.

“That's my girl,” he murmurs, kissing over your mound before shifting to ease them down as you lift. He bites his lip, eyes heavy as he...oh god, brings the crotch of them to his mouth, sucking. You rub over your mound, upper lips, clit as you watch each other. He winks, tosses them aside, grins as he spreads you more, kisses over your thighs, hips, pelvis, wrist, hand, licks over your fingers, and you hold one out for him to slowly, firmly suck... “Fuck,” you sigh, palming yourself, the shivers going through you to your pussy as you moan out “fuck, Brendon..."

He slides off and you spread yourself, popping out your clit. He barely presses his tongue tip against it, and you wonder if he can feel the blood pulsing there, how swollen it is, because you sure can. He laps gently over, using lots of wetness, a few times, then switches to back n forth, and you take his hand again, squeezing, other in his hair, rotating your hips. “Circles, baby...fast n soft...” and he does... You like circles the best usually, with anything, tongue, finger, the tip of his dick...when you grind on him... “My sweet baby, my sweet boy,” you moan. “Oh god, B, don't stopdon'tstopfuckIneedI'mgonna—oh god fuck me like that, faster, fuckmeohfuuuuck...fuckfuck...” He switches to your labia as your contractions subside, letting you come down some, still trembling and panting. He doesn't even give you a minute before he's sucking over you firmer, moving till he gathers up your clit, lips sealed, sucking and sucking, rhythmically, quickly, and not too hard. Cupping your ass, kneading it as you rock into it for more, back when you need it gentler. Head, womb, pussy, everything throbbing as you burst again. “Oh, god, B...cmere...”

He moves over you, fingertips swirling circles over pussy before you wrap around him, pressing as much of him, including his half hard dick, to you as you can, wriggling, rocking, loving his weight on you. You pull his panties down his ass, and he eagerly takes the hint. Kissing him long and a lot, sharing your taste, the flavored lube. Faintly tasting the fruit, even him. Doing a drum roll on his bum, with sound effects, as you both giggle, then stroke, then squeeze. “My bestest squishie...” Kiss over his jaw, cheek, nose. “With the cutest nosie,” you sigh...fuck you love his skin on yours, feeling both your laughter, your breaths. Your soft, muscled, warm squishball cutie pie.

“My bestest, favouritest squishie,” he answers, lifting you both up for you to straddle and wrap around him and it's too soon--“Too dizzy, babe”--so he places you back down, grinning as he launches into a different song. Tenacious D again, but an even better one: Double Team. Kissing your neck, shoulder, rocking his underside along your snatch, making sure you're pressed together, the oil letting you slip along each other some easily. Both giggling a lot. B sometimes follows the action of the song, and you join in too.

“Really flowing, B,” you giggle. “Feel how wet I am?” you whisper, rocking back faster. Stroke his back, his ass, suck and kiss over his neck as you dip between his cheeks, rubbing softly. “Where's the incense? We can settle for candles.” Passably beat boxing a disco beat until you both fall into giggles.

“I'm not gonna rip my jeans, I'm gonna cream them.”

You chuckle at the mention of that I Ripped My Jeans song. “Ridiculous. No, ridiculously hot...seeing my horny boy come in his pants... Sex.”

“Have you ever been worked on/By two guys who are hot for your snatch?”

“Sex...And yes, many a time...” Mostly with him, and only with him since you got serious.

He tickles your scalp, neck with the lines about the feather and french tickler. You squeeze him to you tighter. “No toe sucking, you ain't getting offa me.” The next lines have you giggling harder. And you keep him from finishing the song with your laughter, repeating “splooge” over and over in different accents, tones, volumes, then suddenly switching to “Hail Satan!”

“The question is, who's Satan?”

“Me. But you're my second in command; I rule hell, with you as my beloved consort. My beloved boy...”

If your boobs were bigger, they'd be getting smooshed, you wouldn't be able to press quite as close, squeeze him to you so much, or it'd hurt; instead they fit along him so well. Your chubbier lower belly, hips, thighs give him some cushioning. You don't feel weirdly proportioned when you're having sex with him anymore, or when you're leaning together, hugging, lazing on the couch.

He's nuzzling over your neck when he chuckles. “I think I forgot something...”

“What?”

“Guess you can't feel it, huh?”

“Oh, the blueberry!” You clench and then you can feel it. You're tight, but not that tight. And your vaginal walls ain't your clit or labia. He faces you on his side, and you push down as a finger slides in, looking for your ok before adding a second, easing it in. You're so wet, puffy and relaxed it's easy going, letting him scoop it out easier. You like to think you're giving him a vagina hug when you squeeze him.

“You know I'll still eat it,” he winks, and pops it in, sliding a different finger in for more hugs.

You turn into him, wrapping him back up, sharing the taste. “Can't decide if I wanna keep you smooshed to me or if we should get to the toys...”

“Let's do both then, hmm?”

He moves away, swaying his hips as he goes, then fucking pops his ass up in the air again as he grabs the bag, making you giggle and flex your vulva muscles. “Which one first, darlin?” he murmurs, spreading the four toys out. A double bullet, a rotating rabbit, a simple slim squishy one, a handsfree butterfly...

The double bullets are different sizes: a slim longer one, barely thicker than a finger, and a egg shaped one, which you've not done together before, but the latter is still familiar so you go with that.

“Want to do the honours?” he asks after opening it and putting the batteries in. You nod, reaching out.

You turn it about half way, not wanting to shock your pussy. He holds the bullets in his open palm and you both giggle as they knock together. You know you want the fat one on your upper labia and clit, but aren't sure about the slim one... You get on your knees and give B smoochies before dribbling some lube onto them and his palm. “Rub me, B...” you invite, spreading out on your back, wriggling your hips.

He grins. “Think I'll do... this...” he answers, whole hand cupping, stroking over as much of your mound and vulva as he can get to, other hand holding the bullets by the cords, moving over your thighs, lower belly, mound, the creases where thigh meets groin. “Fuck, love the feel of your pussy,” he sighs absently, and you rub up against him, grinning and mmming. And she loves the feel of you, B, you think.

He finally shifts, holding your labia, almost squishing them, as he runs the bullets over them, until you're wriggling, spreading your legs, and they dip between them, finally focusing on your clit, knocking together. “Lucky fuckers,” he winks.

“Don't be jealous, Bren,” you tease back. “Wouldn't leave my bestest boy for a toy or two...”

“What about five of them?” he jokes.

You shake your head, “nuhuh. Never”ing. “Well, I'd take em as long as I still get you too...”

He slides fingertips over your cleft after gliding the egg sized bullet over you, gathering your wet to graze over your clit, asking “Do you know how wet you feel?”

Thanks to him. You nod, closing your legs some and wriggling. Hand reaching out for his, guiding it how it feels best, circles over your clit, and he catches on, leaving you free to stroke over his arms, chest, pull him closer. Fuck, you love kissing him... Rubbing over his back, all that soft skin. Closer still, getting his warmth on you. Hips swivelling subtly, gasping out faster or softer or like that... His lips on your neck, your hands in his hair, as you come, swearing, freezing up, panting... He knows you need it subtle again after you come, lightly gliding over your lips, massaging circles... Your hand feels blindly, finds the other cord, slides the slim one inside, and you can feel it shaking through your whole pussy now, subtler inside. His thumb circles gently over your clit as you slide the egg over your lower labia, letting sensation recenter... build in your glans as those bulbs underneath fucking ache for it deliciously, desperately. You start rocking into it as he circles faster, tilt just right, tensing, and you're coming again. “Motherfucker!”

“Potty mouth,” he scolds kindly. He's one to talk, you think, giving him a funny look. He slides the egg between your labia, around the rim, touching the two vibes. You turn it down and guide it back up, pressing softly into the left side. His hand stroking over your mound, pussy, thighs, hips, as he kisses over your breasts, warm softly sucking mouth and tongue on your nipples. “Rub all over...my pussy,” you gasp, and his palm covers you, circling, and you're coming again. You move the egg away, grind along him lightly, still swearing. “Inside...”

“One finger, y/n?”

“Mmmhmm...leave the vibe in...” You want him to feel it and you all around him. He easily slides inside your soaked, snug, full, welcoming pussy. Your whole pussy loves welcoming him home. The thought makes you smile. He comes home a lot. The porch, the doorway, the living room, the kitchen... Too busy needily moaning and begging to laugh. Not quite enough to come, but it feels too good to want to rush coming, or change his palm and finger and your pussy rocking together. You keep rolling, needing, needing, grabbing his shoulders, hair, blindly, face screwed up. “I need, Bren, please fuck me, I need, please, I--fuck--need, let me come, please let me come...”

“What does my baby need? My...mouth?...Another finger? Vibe?”

You grab his hand, press it to you, grind firmer, thighs squeezed around it, quickly crying out in frustration, pulling his palm away, grasping his thumb, circling the pad over your clit, light and quick as you rock back and forth.

“That's it, huh?” he murmurs as you pant, feeling your contractions, feeling your whole pussy pulse, flex, for him. Keeping up, and you're not stopping... not stopping... Your whole pussy, whole clitoris, throbbing for him, the contractions not stopping. Not a continual orgasm, but pretty close, unable to still, calling out for him with mouth and cunt, peaking another two times before you need a minute. Still crying out, but for him to soothe, gentle that needy, swollen mess of pleasure.

His thumb stroking over your labia, kissing you, over and over, free hand stroking your hair, massaging your scalp, your own hands running down and up his back and ass... pulling him to you, getting his thigh between yours, rocking nice and easy on him, welcoming his weight. Sweat, warmth, skin... Feeling sleepy, but he can totally coax you into more orgasms in a couple minutes, you bet.

“My sweet girl, my sexy, delicious, horny girl,” he whispers, kissing over your face, neck, half hard dick and balls warm and soft rubbing over your pelvis, mound. “Sleepy?” he teases.

“Eh, think I can keep goin' if you do most of the work,” you smile.

His thigh slides away and you pout but his hand finds you again, thumb stroking between your lips as his palm rests on your thigh and outer labia. Getting you even wetter before his finger slides in, pushing up and tapping the slow vibing bullet, pressing into your front wall, making your bladder feel full, a great way to make you crave more orgasms, dammit. Thumbing over your clit, then palming, then thumb, then palm, back to thumb and finally sticking with it as you grind, lazy and wanting.

“Oh, fuck, B...fuck...” Building, turning the vibe a bit higher, and he starts thrusting more than rocking and you moan out your “fuck yes” when he asks if you want another finger. Careful again, but fast, sliding in and out, rocking, curling his fingers to massage, according to your movements and instructions. So close... but you're getting kind of sore already. His other hand is sideways over your mound, thumb circling over your clit, and you're desperate again, shaking, bearing down, pushing, and you're coming, coming and peeing a little bit, and it's a nice, soothing orgasm, that doesn't satiate but is...lovely, still wanting. But... “Ouch, B...”

And he's sliding his fingers out slowly, rubbing over your mound, immediately apologizing, “Sorry, darlin, want the vibe out too? Just outside again?”

Seeing him suck your slick off the bullet turns you on even more as he raises his eyebrows, then grins cheekily.

“Kiss it better?” you ask slyly, waggling your eyebrows.

“Thought I was the cheeseball,” he giggles, wriggling down already. Making “mwah” sounds as he smooches over your mound, outer lips, inner, adding in some tender licks and sucks as he moves over your clit, still sore opening, then whole inner pussy, sometimes moaning soft into you. Your hands in his hair, stroking, lightly scratching. His wet hands massaging your hips and thighs. “My sweet girl...” Oh god, you had forgotten you...well...but whatever taste there was of that must be already licked away, so you let yourself relax back into his mouth, answering that he's your sweet boy. You didn't think you'd want to again yet, but you do...maybe you want another strong one, tilting your clit onto his tongue, trembling, tensing as he sweeps over it, circles, mouth sealed over you, sucking easy but rhythmically, and—“Oh god, ohfuckohfuckfuckme....yeah, like that....fuck.”

You slow, tugging his hair, and he goes lighter, but you want... so much squish... like... fuck, why can't he get his mouth and dick on your vulva at the same damn time? “B...the slim squishy one...where's the little fucker?”

“Which slim squishy little guy?”

“Not my fave one, the other one. You're slim but still more than an inch...” He rolls away, having to look a moment before finding the bag. He quickly opens it, finds the batteries, and you gather some of your slick as you pop open the lube, mixing them, sliding down his semi, cupping his package, getting it even slicker. Your favorite little guy, part of your even favoriter little guy.

You have an idea.

You keep stroking him lightly, flinging your legs open, tilting up. "Gonna slide it in?" you tease, so glad he likes teases. He slides the purple, rippled, and most importantly squishy and slim vibe in. He turns the base slowly until you sigh “that's good.” You squeeze down and relax repeatedly, fast at first, then slower. It's actually squishy. You switch between his hips, thighs, pelvis, dick and balls, petting blindly after your eyes close. He kisses soft over your face, neck, chest, sometimes rocking the toy, nudging your cervix, sometimes slipping it in and out, slow and easy, then stilling, sometimes slipping it out, length between your labia, up and down or all over, same with the tip over your clit, sliding it back in before you get too close to coming. Two can play at that, you think, petting over his belly, breasts, lips, back down, sometimes stroking over his back and bum, between his cheeks, only occasionally going to his dick. Once you feel yourself slip into relaxation, then into a still soothed building arousal, one hand leaves him to find your clit, circling, other hand loosely wrapping around him as he rocks a bit into your grip. Loose and teasy so he doesn't get too hard. "Hey B...gonna let me use yours too?" He's not much more than half hard, and fuck you want it rubbing over you.

He grins against your neck, up for whatever you have in mind, and you wrap him in your arms to bring him close, and you love that he knows you want his dick in all sorts of states. If anything, a semi feels even better. "Where should I go?" "Let's try...on top of me...wanna slide you all over me." You stroke over his balls as he settles over you, letting his tip brush over your mound as you kiss him, then hold him so you can run his silky soft but firm tip over your lips, down to where the vibe is sticking out, back up, rocking against him already.

"Can you feel it? The vibrations?"

"Can feel you more, y/n, fuck...so wet...puffy too."

You slide him over the middle lightly, getting more wetness over him, jerking him as you press him to your clit, hoping his head can feel you all over as you slide him up and down, then in a circle around your pussy.

"Know you like it too..." Your free hand finds the bullets, wrangles with the cords till you've got the controller, turns them back on, but low. You slide the slim one between you, getting it all wet again before rubbing it between his tip and your clit. He gasp-moans so dirty, arms shaking from it and holding himself up once you turn it higher, press firmer on him. Fuck you love watching his face, so fucking gorgeous. And people thought his o-faces on stage were as good as he could look, all debauched, blissful, happy, flushed... This is even better. And his noises, trembling, feeling his pulse and heat and silken skin and fuck... If you got his frenulum just right and held it, he wouldn't be able to hold himself up, would come, you bet. Before this, you'd used your only vibrator together, a single bullet vibe. He is such a curious, horny boy you quickly learned he liked it too, if he was wet enough and you teased his head, especially the underside, with a firmer pressure than you usually needed. Also on his balls, perineum, the first inch or so below his tip. Fuck, you don't know whether you want him to come really soon, or get you off with the toys and his dick a couple times first. You circle the bullet and his tip over you quicker, still rhythmic. “Oh, god, B, fuck...” You roll you both over onto your sides, leg over his hip, rocking along him too, wanting to bear down, tensing, but...not quite. The toy is squishy, but it's been in a little too long, and it's getting in the way: you want to feel your boy more and you think it'd be better if you could squeeze down more... “Take—oh fuck—take—please? Like...I can't...”

“Shh, got you, y/n...” he whispers, shifting to reach between you. “Done with this one?” You nod, and he's easing it out of you. You are desperate at the break in stimulation, break from him on you, forehead finding his neck, bringing him closer, clenching down, needing, rolling on top of him, pining him, grinding on him messily, dimly aware the bullet is between your bellies—the feeling makes you chuckle, getting upright, dizzy, the shift pressing his balls and base to your lower vulva, to those aching bulbs, the ridge of his head just brushing your clit and you grind, and grind, and fuck—“Oh, please, oh fuck, oh fuck...” turning to wordless cries as you come, everything pounding and bursting. Oh god, more pee. But you need. You lean forward, press to him, kiss his lips, jaw, neck, back to those luscious lips, hands in his hair... His arms wrap around you, then stroke over your back and ass, then find your hair, muffling your moans with his kisses. You need to stay close, close... You rock faster, firmer, pressing hard into him, the fact he's hard, not rock hard, but...deliciously hard, doing the rest, you both giving you all that pressure you need over your whole aching, convulsing pussy. You're still moving against him as you come down from another orgasm, slow, needy, but fuck. You can't... Achy, still calling out for him, but... fuck. Everything so wet between you. You flush even more, wonder if he knows you're still embarrassed by it, especially given the whimpering he's doing, rocking gently into you, trying not to, both of you pulsing.

“Fuck, babe, so fucking...fuck.” Voice thick, cutting of into a whimper-moan. Your sexy boy. You nuzzle over his neck, suck, making him gasp, and you grind into him.

Your baby did such a good job holding on for you, letting you use his dick, trying not to come... “Jesus, B...fuck...my sweet boy gonna come for me?” He doesn't rock harder or faster, but you tug his hair, suck a bit harder on his neck, rock over his dick and balls firmly, and he moans so much, desperate, throbbing, then spurting over both your pelvises and lower bellies.

You'll both need a shower. Multiple fluids messing up you two and the sheets. Thank fuck for plastic sheets. You keep rubbing along him as he softens, hoping it's not too much. It is. “Christ...could...gonna rub on my thigh?”

He pets over your pussy, outer lips, and you get distracted asking him to massage with his thumb gently over your achy parts. Spoiler: that's pretty much your whole snatch. He swaps it out for his thigh and that lets you squish him more, kissing over his sweaty angel boy face. You roll over, him on top, getting the vibe from under you to turn it off, then wrap around him. You gasp, feeling a little shame even now, as he licks his hand off.

“Don't be embarrassed, y/n... It's ok, more than ok...” You believe him, know that he's not grossed out. But it's not supposed to be that, if something like that happens—oh fuck it. And fuck his thigh.

You probably won't be trying to come for a while, might not come again... we'll say until after you get a proper meal in you, but... even if your pussy goes “nope, and hell nope” to more orgasms, she sure ain't saying no to B's thighs. Or anywhere else she can rub softly on.

“Shower, Bren?”

He nods. “As long as someone keeps humping me...”

"Who is this someone? Another elf?”

“Didn't know you wanted Jake to join us,” he giggles as you both get up, shaky.

“Both Jakes?” you say eagerly, smooching him.

“One for each of us, or are we sharing all around?” he asks. Both of you glad your apartment is an apartment: no stairs.

“All around...” The elder Jake wouldn't actually since Kate, but the younger...

You caress over his front, smooching his shoulders and neck, as he turns the shower on and he spins around, kissing and enwrapping you. You grabs his hips, backing him into the sink, rocking on his thigh, and his eyes flicker shut. Fuck... One hand moving to his ass... “Gonna turn around for me, baby?” He “hell yes”es as he does. Leaning over the sink, legs spreading some as press to him, aligning your mound to his bum. His face in the mirror as he looks at you, both slick from the oils and everything else, his eyes slipping shut as you grind into him. Pulling him up with arms hooked under him, fingers over his shoulders, to mouth over them, wanting him so much, stroking over his still flushed torso... “Always my lovely boy, B...”

You register the hot water still running, steaming up the bathroom. Luckily, you can hump a bit more in the shower. Then again when you get out, laying him out on his belly, straddling and rocking on him. Maybe your pussy won't say no to more orgasms for very long, because all of you sure is saying yes to more of this...

[brightlycoloredteacups]

Snap

Series: Brynhilda’s Saga: Ivar x OC

Warnings: None for this chapter

Tag: @bluearchersstuff

           Ivar settles in for the night, thoughts filled with Brynhilda. Had she been any other slave, he would’ve tried to sell her by now, at most, kill her. No other slave here would dare treat him the way she did. A dangerous life led indeed. At first, he thought all those hints about being someone of some status was just her lying to make people feel impressed. Now, he truly believed her. It was her eyes.

           Round, doe-like, and green, those eyes of hers were more threatening than her words. Her eyes promised unimaginable tortures. Ivar licked his lips. They also told of unimaginable pain. Earlier in the day, when they both struggled to get to Floki’s for a moment, she had looked at him, had understood the pain, not pitied it. What kind of life had a slave lived that allowed such an uneasy connection?

           He turns over in his furs, frustrated. Who had she been before she came to him? She had to be a great warrior? There was no way someone half his size could perform the feats of strength she did. A momentary flare of jealousy ripples through him. Then he realized, if he asked her, she might train him. If I ordered her, she’d train me too, he thought smugly. Then, no, that wouldn’t work, she doesn’t listen to me now. I have to ask, I will ask. And I’ll be polite about it.

           With a definite plan to enact he falls asleep, smiling. He might get some actual training in, instead of fussing at Ubbe and Hvitserk to help him. Or just sitting there, watching his brother’s motions. She’d train him to be a great warrior, feared even. They could ride into battle together, striking down all their enemies.

           Brynhilda is even there in his dreams. There’s something different about it all. She’s still rubbing is legs, but she’s murmuring to him. “What?” He asks, unable to hear her. She smiled up at him, a gentle one, not the smirk that promises trouble. “I said I love you,” she repeats, placing a soft kiss to a twisted knee cap. He smiles, encasing her face in his hands. He runs the pads of his thumbs over the apples of her cheeks. “I love you too,” He tells her, then pressed his lips to hers. Her uncharacteristic giggle follows him out of the world of dreams, into the world of reality.

           Brynhilda is dreaming as well. However instead of love confessions and soft kisses, it the knife in her back, the axe to her ribs. Only this time, it isn’t Boggvir, it’s Sigrid. The young girl is looking grim. “What did you expect?” Sigrid asks, in Boggvir’s voice. “You trust to easily My Little Shield. You make the wrong friends wherever you go.” Brynhilda tries to promise to kill him, but she can’t, the pain is in her heart is too great.

           She awakens with a start, tears falling, covered in a sheen of sweat. “Bad dream?” Brynhilda jumps up, ready to defend herself. A chuckle rings out across the small slave house. She focuses and sees Ubbe staring curiously at her. “Relax,” He says, looking her up and down. Her skin crawls as he does. “Margrethe isn’t here,” She tells him, glaring. “I’m not here for Margrethe,” He says. He steps inside, trying to look innocent. “I want to talk,”

“No,” She snaps, “You want to fuck,” He begins to protest, but stops. “I want to get to know you,” He tries again. She snorts and crosses her arms. Ubbe was almost as irritating as Ivar, almost. He left her alone as long as Margrethe was around to entertain him. But the moment Margrethe was out of his sights, he turned his gaze towards her. “You know enough about me already.” He chuckles at her. “Don’t you want be friends?”

“No, I don’t.” His face turns to shock, no doubt not used to such a blatant rejection. Least of all from a slave. Where all the Ragnarssons such spoiled brats? “Haven’t I been nice to you?” He asks, trying to figure it out. “What’s your point?” He struggles for his words for a moment, before giving a disbelieving laugh. “Well, nice people are usually friends with each other.” Brynhilda rolls her eyes so far back in her head she could see her brain. “I see Ivar isn’t the only idiot Ragnar produced.”

“Now, there really is no reason to be so ornery.” He defends. She growls and steps towards him. “You come into the slave house when I’m alone and asleep, watch me from the doorway, then claim you want to be friends. You don’t want to be friends with me Ubbe, you want to fuck me. I don’t appreciate your deceit.”

“Now Brynhilda,” He says, holding his hands up. She begins to stalk towards him. “I don’t like you Ubbe,” she says, poking him in the chest once she reaches him. He begins to back out, unsure of how to deal with such a situation. “I don’t want to be your friend, I don’t want to fuck you, I don’t even want to look at you.” She backs him all the way out of the house. “Just leave me alone,” With one last vicious snarl, she slams the door in his face, hoping he’d finally get the message.

            It’s a satisfying feeling, being able to take her anger out on someone else other than Ivar. Ubbe hadn’t exactly cowed before her, but he had looked shocked at her outburst. No doubt she’ll have to deal with the consequences later. For now, she puts it out of her mind. She drags the bucket of water she shares with the other slaves and begins to quickly bathe. No doubt Aslaug will have a list of chores as long as the day for her to complete.

           As she’s toweling off, the door bangs open. “Brynhilda!” The familiar voice of Ivar calls her. She groans raising her face to the heaven. She sends a quick prayer to her gods, asking them to be gentle with her today. She wraps a blanket around her and faces him. If he’s seen her naked, he isn’t affected. “What?” She asks, walking towards him. “Come here, I’ve brought you breakfast.” She stops in the middle of the room.

           Ivar finally looks up at her. His face screws up into confusion. “Why are you wrapped in a blanket?”

“I was bathing. Why did you bring me breakfast?” She eyes the platter of meat, cheese, and bread. There are even blueberries tossed in for good measure. “Can’t I do something nice for my slave?”

“You’re Ivar,” she points out. He opens his mouth to argue, but instead, shuts it with a click. He’s got nothing. “I want you to train me.”

“Beg pardon?” She asks, leaning in so she can hear him properly. “I want you to train me.” He repeats, louder this time. “Train you in what? Taking orders?”

“With a sword.”

“Isn’t that Ubbe’s job.”

“He won’t do it, remember? Doesn’t think I need to know it yet.”

“Don’t you have two other brothers?” Ivar presses his lips together. “Please?” He asks. It’s Brynhilda’s turn for complete shock. “I’m sorry? Did the great Ivar the Boneless just say please? Did that really come out of your mouth, or am I still dreaming?”

           He throws a berry at her, in a stroke of complete dumb luck, she manages to catch it. “Yes,” He says. “I did say please, and I’m asking you, not ordering you.” She cautiously approaches him, popping the blueberry into her mouth. It’s sweet as she breaks the flesh with her teeth, and she can’t help but savor it. “I’m not in the best of shape,” She tells him. “But you can still teach me how to swing a sword. I’ll be doing all the heavy lifting.”

“Why is this so important to you?”

“I don’t want to be useless.” He admits. That’s twice now he’s been completely honest with her. She sighs, then sits next to him. “Fine,” She says. “But after breakfast.” She takes the plate from him and begins to eat. Ivar immediately begins to ask her questions. “Will you show me how to use an axe too? What about a bow? Can you hunt? I want to learn to hunt too.” Brynhilda gives him a sidelong glance. “You’ll have to give me a moment to figure out how to teach you to hunt.” She tells him. “What?”

“You can’t walk,” She says. “You’ll have to hunt differently. I think traps would be your best bet. Or maybe scaffolding in the trees. Do you know anyone who knows how to build scaffolding? Could you even climb scaffolding? Maybe camouflage will work better.”

           Ivar is looking at her, mouth open. “What?” She says, ripping off a hunk of bread with her teeth. “You,” he starts. “You’d actually teach me all that?” It’s a quiet question. “Yeah, see what happens when you’re nice for once?” She needles. Ivar manages a chuckle. She eats in silence now, Ivar turning the thought over in his head. He wanted to get excited, but he decided to wait until they both got out on the training ground. Things could very well go to shit the moment she started teaching.

           Brynhilda knows not to make Ivar wait too long, the boy’s mood swung with the wind. She gets up, then looks at him. He was so lost in thought he doesn’t acknowledge her for a long time. “What?” He asks, frowning. Had he done something? “Get out.” She tells him. “What?”

“I have to get dressed.” She explains, motioning towards the cloth around her. “Right,” He mutters, snaking down to the ground, leaving without a word. She slips into a clean set of clothing and meets him outside. “The training ground should be free,” He says. “We’re not going to the training ground.” She tells him. “Where else would we train?”

“Somewhere quiet, where we won’t be interrupted.” Not to mention I don’t want your mother breathing down my neck. She thinks. That, she keeps to herself. Ivar follows her willingly into the forest. She decides to take him somewhere other than where she usually trains. He might end up there when the others wanted to bathe.

           She eventually finds a clearing with a stump he can sit on. “Here,” She says, patting it with her hand. “I will go get some sticks.”

“What are sticks going to do?” He asks, sounding irritated. “They will serve as swords for now,” she explains. “I’m assuming no one has even taught you the basics.”

“I’ve been watching Ubbe,” He defends. “I’m not totally inept.”

“Ah,” she says, bending down to pick up a rather large branch. She twirls it a few times. “Ubbe may wield a sword well, but he is self-taught.” She bends to snatch another stick in her hands. This one will do. “But he lacks fundamental knowledge. There’s a certain,” she pauses, throwing him a branch. He catches it easily. “Fine tuning, he lacks” She decides lamely. “He leaves himself wide open, attacks without thinking, this is something you won’t do.”

           Teaching is something Brynhilda had always been good at. She had years of experience, teaching Boggvir’s army. Remarkably patient for such a temper ridden woman, Brynhilda teaches Ivar how to hold the stick, how to swing properly and what exercises he could do on his own. “When you’re in battle,” She explains, testing his block. “It’s more about endurance, the warrior that tires out the quickest, dies first. Yes, strength can also be key, but you must outlast an opponent. Like stalking a deer through the woods.”

“I’ll never be able to stalk a deer.” Ivar grunts, almost losing his grip on the branch. “No,” Brynhilda answers honestly, “You won’t, but that doesn’t mean you can’t kill it. You just have to be smarter than the deer, that’s all.”

“Why does that raven follow you?” Ivar asks, completely changing the subject. Brynhilda falters and looks behind her. “I’ve noticed it,” Ivar says huffing. “Whenever we’re outside, it’s the same raven too, the one with a funny wing.” Brynhilda presses her lips together, glaring at it.

           She tried to ignore the raven’s constant stare, it was hard, because she knew it just had to be one of Odin’s, reporting in on her progress. She looks up at the sky. Had she made enough progress? Was he pleased with her? She berates herself, he couldn’t be. “Never mind the raven,” She tells him. “They’re Odin’s birds you know,” Ivar says, getting ready again. “I know what they are, I am a Viking.”

“I thought you came from another country? I’ve looked at the ring on your finger, it has a strange rune on it.”

“Never mind about the ring too.”

“I just want to get to know my slave.”

“It’s not important. None of it is.”

“You didn’t grow up a slave, did you?”

“Ivar,” Bynhilda’s tone is one of warning. “Let it go.” She knows, by the familiar evil smile and roll of his jaw he isn’t going to let it go. He’s going to needle her. “What? Did your parents sell you because they couldn’t afford to keep you anymore?” This is the last straw. Brynhilda’s patience snaps.

[thehobbblog]

Entry #25

It’s gotta be getting on a month right?

 Twenty five of these, generally I do them every night. Sometimes two in a day, but other times I forget to do them at all. Things got confusing in the halls, and I’m not good at math. I can’t even judge time by facial hair now that I’m cleaning up.

 It has to be about a month at this time. Shouldn’t I have seen something from my parents? An email asking how I am, or a Facebook post about a reward for finding me? Fuck, a news article that they died in a plane crashing coming to get me but something.

 Who am I kidding? We both know why Mom and Dad wouldn’t want to talk to me anyway. This extended vacation of mine is probably a relief to them, the longer the better. Who gives a shit?

This isn’t like me, I used to be the chill one. Voice of reason, very type B. Ending conflicts, mediating things. Not starting shit and passing judgment. Now I’m finding shit to be mad at, and I can’t tell you why. I’m just so irritable all the time.

 I don’t know what it is. Maybe this is just who Hobbs is when he stops getting his way. I like to think I’m not that type, but the evidence is stacking up against me. I don’t know how many more confrontations Weylinn and I have, before I finally break his nose. After that, I can’t be the good guy either. I’m just a bully who broke the Mage’s face because he’s too stupid to talk through a dispute.

 I could use “the excuse”. The same line every abusive parent, angry drunk and shitty boyfriend feeds to their loved ones. “No, it can’t be me. It’s not my fault. I’m a good guy, it’s just this shitty world.”

  I’m working really hard to be above “the excuse”.

 This is what I was ruminating on for most of the day. We made money giving the hammer to the blacksmith, and I spent my share getting my sword a bigger handle. It’s odd how mundane that sentence is, I almost forgot that I’m a fucking swordsman. People train years to do the shit I do, and I can see why, it’s really fun.

After getting it back, and practicing it’s not too much different. It takes a little more muscle to move around, but it hurts more. I’ll feel better if I can just make the bad guys hurt more.

In addition, Weylinn had time to tell us about what he wanted to do next. Stuart had time to practice intimidating the shellers. His choice of time wasting was more fun.

 Weylinn was trying very carefully to choose his words in such a way to get us to agree with something we obviously wouldn’t want to. He was talking about a “Lead” he had, where they would meet “Someone” in the direction of “Somewhere north”. Any attempt to get him to elaborate was met with very hostile demands of “What, do you have a better idea?”

The guy fancies himself a dark horse, but he’s a fucking idiot. You realize if you just told us “I want to go meet with someone shady in the desert, you want to come?” we probably would have agreed. We’re all for helping him do mage stuff, it keeps us alive. It’s like he’s going through extra effort to get us paranoid.

 He also told Geheim not to tell us anything. I don’t know that for a fact, but thanks to Anna I know the face Jules makes when she’s dieing to tell you something, and can’t. So yeah, I’m not happy with him. Whatever he’s doing, he should be honest about it. We’re supposed to be a team. The only reason he has to not tell us is if he thinks we’d get upset with him.

 If he’s hiding things out of fear, that means I might be getting to him. He’s still doing cowardly, probably terrible shit. But he’s understanding that there are consequences to his actions. Doesn’t seem to be helping, and I’m not sure it’s what I want. This team isn’t going to work if we all fear and distrust each other. I don’t know what to do about it.

 We get our things, and leave the Jewel again. The same heat, the same sweat, the same canteen and the same sand in my mouth. Maybe I’ll get used to this. Deserts were always cool, Lawrence of Arabia was a great movie. It’s fucking hot, but I don’t mind a little sweat. Stuart seems fine out here. It’s nice.

 We were marching for quite some time, and the night came. Just as the starflowers go over the horizon, you get a few hours of dim light. You can see without squinting, it’s not too hot. I like it, if not for the shifting shadows of possible dust things. It was about this time, where we were setting up camp. I don’t remember who saw him first, but we found the depressed Devily.

 He was just staring at something, and it was too dark to see what he was looking at. I start rushing to catch up with him. Say hi and all, and Weylinn stops me. He wants to check the area for traps and deception. I let him do his magic tricks, and he reconfirms that there’s nothing to worry about.

So with his permission to do exactly what we wanted to do earlier, we approach the Devily. Who starts reciting poetry. A lonely little thing, about traveling the desert. The narrator meets a beast, who greets him as a friend. The beast is eating his heart, and is oddly complacent about it. That’s more or less the poem.

 I thought I recognized it at the time, but I read so much poetry in school it was hard to remember. A quick Google search “Heat, bitter, eating poem.” and it confirms I’d read it before. Stephen Crane, an American realist wrote it ages ago. I’ll save you the lit-crit, but it’s a touching little thing. Either about how God sees man abusing their free will, or how the rational part of your brain confronts the rest of you or whatever else you put into it. I don’t know how the Devily got his hands on a relatively low-key American poet, but I like having other people down here that care for arts.

 The reason he was out doing poetry night in the middle of the fucking desert, was shivering in front of him. A Devily had burned, and laid amongst the wreckage of a raided caravan.

There’s no way of knowing who it is, or why it happened. Maybe the caravan’s owner had been raided and left for dead. Maybe a raider was ashamed of what they did to the caravan owner. Maybe some Devily ran away from all their responsibilities, and almost starved to death. Either way, it left a shivering, naked wretch crouched alone in the sand. Which is I guess what prompted the Devily to remember the verse.

 We talked about it for a while, what it meant to burn and what to do from here. Some of the group began searching for bits of mitral armour or a bow, but I’m fairly sure it couldn’t be Alice. If Alice was going to be consumed with her sins, it would have happened with the Butchery, or sacrificing Caramel’s dad or even just carrying around Violence. We might find her, insane and sinful. But her greatest flaw was not her conscience.

  Sorry I’m having a hard time staying on topic today. I’ve got my brain all scrambled.

 The Devily is deadpanning, as normal. Says he had been standing there, for quite some time. Just thinking of what to do with “her”. Leave her in the desert, to starve. Take her to the nearest town, to waste. Maybe just try to put her out of her misery so he can die doing something technically noble. I don’t know what his plan was.

 Living like that, it can’t be fun. Like, clearly they’re in pain. They have half a head and energy bursting out of satanic symbols burned in their skin. They’re stuck halfway between being a mindless beast and a living gravestone; because every time they are seen, people start theorizing. Oh, I wonder who that was. I wonder what they did. I wonder what they feel like. I wonder what happened to make them burn.

 They don’t have the sense to know they’re being treated like this. At least we think. They’re either reliving whatever made them burn, or just reacting on instinct. I dunno. Just looking at her makes me uncomfortable. Apparently, they do this when the sins of the world are just too much, and they can’t take it anymore. The Devily made it sound almost voluntary. Which makes him a bit of an oddity. If he’s depressed enough to kill himself, shouldn’t there be a similar thing? Maybe the reason he hasn’t killed himself is the same reason keeping him Devily. It’s hard to tell. Anyway, we just watched the thing for a while and the Devily asked us for our opinion. Immidiently fucking Anna turned the question around and asked him for his input. He did the sassing for me on that. We talked about the philosophy on it, and I gave the standard answer. “Life is always protected!” and all that. That’s what I’m supposed to say right? A Paladin—ex Paladin— who lost a loved one to suicide. I’m supposed to wage a war on the concept of depression or something.Star touring schools and talking about how therapy is the best. Fuck it. I don’t even know whose expectations I’m trying to live up anymore. I’m actually glad I’m keeping my own log, so I don’t have to rely on King telling my story. I am curious to what he’s saying. I wonder if I’m as much of a bitch in his story as I am in mine. I wonder if we’re going to see the Berry Golem, and I wonder what I can squeeze out of him in exchange for all the events that happen in his absence. He’s gonna want to see this. Anyway, eventually the Devily makes up his mind to guide the burnt one. He then asks to join us. Well of course he’s going to fucking join us. We’re down someone, we need the extra hands and we fucking owe it to this guy. You don’t get to have someone’s spouse killed and then deny them anything. Weylinn didn’t see it that way. He wasn’t sure if we could trust the Devily. The guy with nothing left to fight for, who cannot sin or deceive us. Weylinn thought he couldn’t trust him. Avram pointed out that he can’t be trusted because he looks like the devil, which is probably racist. Either way, Avram has a demon inside of him, so he’s not exactly in the best position to pass judgment. Anna agreed that we should take him on, and I’m glad I’m not the odd one out. I guilted Weylinn, because of the conversation we had earlier. Geheim promised to make sure he acts more nobly, so I dared him to go report to Geheim that he wanted to turn these two away. Over mistrust. Honestly, the only reason he has to slit our throats is pure spite for having his wife killed, and at that point we kind of deserve it. It’s decided he’d join us, myself and Anna taking the blame if he turns evil on us. He begins to order the burnt one around, and she followed them. I don’t know if all Devilys have this power, or just him. I do remember the Enforcer in the Daredevily settlement took care of burnt ones. They sit by the fire and had something to eat. I didn’t sit by the fire, I didn’t care to. I could see it from where I was sitting. I was happy on my dune, looking out over the sand. I’ve brought it up before, but I’m probably going to die here. I guess if I’m going to have a choice about it, I should get around to deciding how I want to go. Things would have been better, if I died a Paladin-in-training that everyone liked. Now if I die I’ll be a failed jerk, bulling everyone around and giving lectures. I don’t think I want to die fast, and I don’t think I was die easily. I wouldn’t mind dieing painfully if it meant doing something cool. So yeah, I cried a bit. I can claim sand got in my eye, or whatever. I just don’t understand what’s happening, or why any of it is happening. I’m being told on all sides what’s happening is out of my control and doesn’t matter. But then I get blamed personally for what happens, and the consequences are unbearable. I’m just trying to do good out here, but either I’m not a good person, or we’re all not good people. I have to double down on making everyone be better, but I have to do it without being a bully. I can’t stop the headache. I tried writing some songs down, but it didn’t help. This whole situation is pain. I gave up and started rummaging through my bag, and found the bunch of letters from Papa’s. They made me feel significantly better, and it’s hard to explain. Just comforting, you know? I miss him already. Stuart got too hungry to wait any longer, and got bored of intimidating the sun back over the horizon. So he came over to see me. He chirped, I chirped back and we chirped at each other until he got frustrated and tackled me. We both fell off the back of the dune, and tumbled into a pile on the other side. I tried to tickle him, he tried to slobber on me. My idiot bug and I have a great time. I hope I can go a while longer without seeing him bloodied. He’s too good for it. Edit: Addendum The night went absolutely horribly, by the way. A sandstorm moved in, and we had to bundle up very quickly. IN addition to normal sand problems, the sandstorm was full of dust ghosts, moaning and bumping into the caravan. Stuart and I bundled up in wool and sweat through the night, but we made it out. Nobody seemed to get infected, and now I’m even more pissed off about whatever Weylinn is bringing us out here for.

 In the morning, we didn’t speak much. Avram lost the fucking ring in the sandstorm, like an idiot. The Devily and the burnt one were kicking, and helped us set off. We move on.